Jeon Jungkook X Reader - Blog Posts

Masterlist

All rights reserved © lelestarmy. All pieces are works of fiction and do not represent the members in real life. Do not copy, translate, or repost.

Ateez

BTS

Enhypen

Seventeen

Straykids

A/n: Leave a comment or suggestion on who y'all want me to write. Like, comment, and reblog if y'all like any of my works, and don't hesitate to let me know if I can/need to improve on anything please and thank you.

BED CHEM // JJK

C₄₃H₆₆N₁₂O₁₂S₂

+

after overhearing jungkook fuck someone else; you can’t help but want out of being his frenemy

navi | m. list | ask me !

pairings: jungkook + oc

au/genre:

uni au

frenemies to ???

fluff / smut (x) / angst

mini series

parts:

♡ 01: maybe it's all in my head

♡ 02: how you talk so sweet when you’re doin’ bad things

♡ 03: where art thou? why not upon-eth me?

♡ 04: how you're lookin' at me, yeah, i know what the means and i'm obsessed

♡ 05:

end.

© 2024 muniimyg on tumblr

Inevitable (Series Masterlist) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader (ft. ot6)

Genre/Tags: exes au, parents au, baseball player!JK; angst, fluff, smut (18+)

Series Warnings: foul language, alcohol consumption, minor character death, talks of insecurities, explicit sexual content (oral sex, fingering, making out, straddling, unprotected/protected penetrative sex but be safe please! specific warnings will be written on applicable chapters)

Series Word count: ~89.8k

Summary: You convinced Jungkook to break up years ago so he could pursue his lifelong baseball dream. Now he’s back home, staring at you, and the little boy next to you who looks unmistakably like him.

A/N: I love exes aus, and (athlete) dad Jungkook does things to me and after months of this little family living in my head, I finally got to put them into writing. So I hope you enjoy knowing them as much as I loved writing them 🥰 Also, my knowledge on baseball (and the MLB and the KBO) is quite shallow so for wrong terms and stuff… please ignore!

Prologue (wc: 2.2k)

Chapter 01 (wc: 6.9k)

Chapter 02 (wc: 7.2k)

Chapter 03 (wc: 7.7k)

Chapter 04 (wc: 9.9k)

Chapter 05 (wc: 7.5k)

Chapter 06 (wc: 7.7k)

Chapter 07 (wc: 6.6k)

Chapter 08 (wc: 14.7k)

Epilogue (final) (wc: 6.3k) 

Only Love: An Inevitable Epilogue (wc: 13k) || End

masterlist

candles & flames | jjk (m) | masterlist

He wasn’t supposed to be yours. His foolery wasn’t supposed to target you. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader

➳ genre: enemies to lovers, royal!au; angst, fluff, smut

➳ contents & warnings: fuckboy!JK, royal!jk, lies, miscommunication, hints of fake dating but not really, past side character death mentioned, banter, crying, guilt, jealousy, explicit sexual content (such as oral, fingering, making out, (unprotected) sex, cum eating, etc.); and more chapter specific warnings! | 18+

➳ current word count: 100.8k

➳ status: completed

➳ collaborative playlist 🎶 

⁂ CHAPTERS

⤞ c&f: water (24.6k)

“To you, you’re water, and he’s fire — but perhaps there’s a grey area where you meet. Where you collide and become steam, evaporating, hot yet calm.”

⤞ c&f: fire (22.8k)

“The flicker’s colours are soothing. This fire is harmless, warm and tender; there are so much worse flames in your very own world.”

⤞ c&f: steam (34.3k)

“You thought you were water, cool as ice; and that he was fire, hot-headed and irresistible. You wanted to evaporate with him, but right now, you’re both burning.“

⤞ c&f: epilogue (19.1k)

“Neither the glowing star above nor the flickering flames will *ever burn as bright as you.”

⁂ TINY BONUS

⤞ c&f asks 💌  ⤞ c&f moodboard, made by ivi 🤍 

⤞ FAQ (or questions I found fun lol):

When do you always update? Whenever a part is done. I will try to finish C&F, including the epilogue, by the beginning of May ‘23!

How many chapters will C&F have? Three + the epilogue! For now, that’s all I’ve planned.

What inspired you to write C&F? The urge to write a royal JK, Bridgerton and you guys. <3

Were there condoms in the 1800s? Actually, there were!

✒︎ join the taglist! ♡

© 2023 taegularities. all rights reserved. Reposting and/or translating is not allowed, even if you credit the story properly.

fifth wish

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 18k

glimpse: jeon jungkook, world-class socialite and nepotism baby, should be out every night to celebrate while he’s at his prime. why should he fake-date his bodyguard instead?

alternatively, jungkook regularly throws coins to wishing wells with only one desire in mind — to get rid of you.

[ angst, unrequited love (at first), emotional constipation, jk is Very Frustrating to be with, so much pining, the constant repetition of the notion that one must amount to something to be deserving of love, rlly wholesome fluff, mentions of blood n injuries, whole 360 redemption arc dw i am not evil ]

notes: i’m back :) this belongs to the take five universe (take five feat. yoongi, nine to five feat. jimin) n although it’s a completely different jungkook, it’s still on the same vein!! thank u for waiting for me <3

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even replying to this post sends me over the moon :)

Keep reading

↳ 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐥’𝐬 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫

→ 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐁𝐅 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐆𝐅 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐓𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐦𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞, 𝐲/𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝, 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝’𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝. 𝐀𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐢𝐥, 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝.

→ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐀𝐔, 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚, 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐍𝐨𝐧 𝐈𝐝𝐨𝐥 𝐀𝐔

→ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬. 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝐥𝐦𝐤 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐲

→ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: 𝐨𝐧 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠

→ 𝐁𝟐 𝐌.𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

“Tell me you haven’t thought about me at all these past two weeks.”

“Jungkook-”

“Tell me” he says cutting you off again.

Why is he making this more difficult than it needed to be.

“does it matter Jungkook.” he scoffs rolling his eyes, “we put ourselves in this fucked up situation. What happened that night can never happen again. You know that”

Its silent, the air between you thick, for a moment he just staring at you like he's trying to figure out what to say. “But what if I want it to”

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧...

↳ 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐥’𝐬 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

→ 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐁𝐅 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐆𝐅 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐓𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐦𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞, 𝐲/𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝, 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝’𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝. 𝐀𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐢𝐥, 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝.

→ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏,𝟑𝟔𝟒

→ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐀𝐔, 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚, 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐍𝐨𝐧 𝐈𝐝𝐨𝐥 𝐀𝐔

→ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭, 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐨𝐠𝐠𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞, 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐦𝐚.

→ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: 𝐨𝐧 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠

→ 𝐁𝟐 𝐌.𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐏𝐀𝐃

“Is this ok?” he breaks the kiss, his voice low, thick with desire, his dark eyes darting between yours and your slightly swollen lips before biting his own.

The bathroom was a sharp contrast from the lively energy of the bar outside. The air was filled with a distinct red hue, casting ethereal glows on each of your faces, heightening the intensity of the moment. You were perched on the counter, your legs draped over the edge, encased between his body.

Your mind was caught in a whirlwind of emotions, every nerve in your body had a desperate longing for the man, yet your mind was screaming telling you, “No, this is wrong,” but you couldn’t stop, you didn’t want to. The tension between the two of you was palpable, making it impossible to think clearly. You felt trapped between your impulses and morality.

He leans in again, his breath warm and intoxicating against your skin, making you shiver. The proximity was maddening each second stretching the tension to its breaking point. You can feel the hunger in his gaze, this man wanted, no, needed you.

You nodded slowly but no less eagerly, silently agreeing to whatever the stranger had instored for you, A flicker of relief flashed in his eyes. His fingers gently brushing your cheek, the touch tender, almost as if he was searching for something,

Without breaking eye contact, he pressed his lips against yours again. This time. The kiss was far more intense, charged with energy that had been building since you first locked eyes, His lips moved against yours in feverish intensity, a desperate exploration of the desire that neither of you could no longer hold back.

Your hands roamed up to his raven locks, fingers gripping into his soft hair as you pulled him closer. His body pressing against yours, making the moment feel impossibly intimate, every touch sent little jolts of electricity through you.

The kiss deepened, his hands slid down to your waist, gripping you firmly, grounding you, but with a tenderness that contrasted with the kiss, His hips grinding into your clothes core, achingly slow

You couldn’t help but let out little whimpers into his mouth, making him smirk into the kiss. He breaks away once again, trailing kisses down to your neck. The room was filled with your pants and small moans. The mixed sensations of the wet sloppy kisses and the slow grinding against you was driving you insane. You couldn’t wait any longer.

You grip his black hair pulling his head up to eye level with you, “Just fuck me already” your voice came out slightly hoarse, “please”, something shifts inside of him, his slow movements now change to a sense of urgency,

He pulls off his black denim jacket revealing his big frame, followed by his white crew neck. fuck, you gulp once you catch the perfectly sculpted body the jacket was skillfully hiding, This man that you just met would be the death of you.

His gaze met your eyes, a cocky smirk plastered all over his face, “You gonna keep staring or get undressed?”, his voice just as cocky as that stupid smirk on his face but equally, if not more, playful.

You push his check back some, your excuse of a way to feel his chest, and leap off the counter turning towards the sink, you get a glimpse at yourself in the mirror. “What the fuck are you doing y/n,” you said to yourself. You already looked slightly disheveled and all you did was make-out.

The strange man grabs your waist, his lips trailing heated kisses along your neck. His eyes lock onto yours though the mirror, a smoldering gaze that pierces through the reflection. He presses you down, forcing your body to bend over the counter. He could easily overpower you, and you’d be a liar to say it wasn’t turning you on even more. The air was thick with tension as he maintains unwavering eye contact,

His eyes leave yours to lift your skirt, revealing the lace black thong adorning your skin. "Fuck," he breathes, his voice low and husky. He slides the delicate fabric down your legs, his fingers brushing against your clit, making you shudder. "No, none of that," you insist, your voice more desperate than intended. "Just fuck me." His eyes lock with yours in the mirror, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he notices you clench around nothing.

He unbuckles his belt, pulling down his loose jeans and boxers, letting his erection spring free, precum glistening at the tip. He gives himself a few slow pumps before gliding through your wet folds, barely grazing your entrance each time. Growing impatient with his teasing, you plead, "Please." Seeing your face in the mirror, he can't hold back any longer.

Finally, he sinks into you, both of you exhaling a shared breath of satisfaction. He pauses, giving you a moment to adjust, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort. He feels how tense your body gets.

“Relax mama,” He leans over your small frame, peppering a few kisses on your shoulder, “I’m not gonna hurt you. I promise”. You clench again.

You try to relax around his letting out a few gentle staggered breaths, He was thicker than you expected, you needed a little more time to get adjusted to him,

After some time he finally feels you relax around him. With a gentle tap on your hip, he silently asks for permission to continue. You respond with a fervent nod, your voice lost to the intensity of the moment.

“I’ll go slow.” he says reassuring you,

That's exactly what he did, his movements were slow, giving you all the time you need to adjust. Your head hung low, your plump lips slightly parted letting out the prettiest, sweetest moans he has ever heard. You were driving him nuts already,

You felt every single vein that decorated his dick, Your body was growing more and more used to him with each slow thrust he gave you.

You looked so cute and pouty in the mirror, but as cute as you were, he couldn’t take it anymore. His grip on your waist gets a tad bit rougher, grounding you before pulling out, just barely leaving his tip sunken inside of you, before roughly thrusting back into you.

If he didn’t have that grip on you, you would have for sure fell face forward into the mirror. You grip the sides of the sink tryna find a sense of stability over your own body.

He was fucking you hard, and deep.

The room was now filled with the slapping of your bodies meeting, along with the occasional ‘ngh’ and string of curse words that would leave both of your mouths.

“Fuck, you feel so good around me”, his voice is coming out breathless, you simply moan in response unable to form any sort of words, he was turning your brain to mush.

You make the mistake of catching his eyes again staring at you in the mirror, you couldn’t look away, the way his brows were pinched together his pink pierced lip caught in between his lip, The violet glow contouring his dark prominent features.

Neither of you can look away, something shifts in between you, neither of you know if it's the alcohol talking or the pure and raw lust shared between the two of you, His gaze softens for a quick second before he shakes his head putting all his focus back into making sure he gave you the best fuck of your life.

You drop your head, unable to hold it up any longer, loud moans turning into whimpers, he feels you clench around him, you were close.

He speeds up his movements, fucking into you at a harder pace.

You closed your eyes, giving all your focus to the pleasure in between your legs. He felt so good inside of you, too good that neither of you heard the constant ringing of your phone.

Your phone illuminated in the corner of the bathroom, “E ♥” the phone screen read, displaying a picture of you kissing your boyfriend…

𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 >>>

Nini’s Note: Taglist?🤔 FEED BACK IS APPRECIATED !!

@coralmusicblaze @alpha-mommy69 @lovkiss

↳ 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐥’𝐬 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫

→ 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐁𝐅 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐆𝐅 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐓𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐦𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞, 𝐲/𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝, 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝’𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝. 𝐀𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐢𝐥, 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝.

→ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐀𝐔, 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚, 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐍𝐨𝐧 𝐈𝐝𝐨𝐥 𝐀𝐔

→ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 𝐥𝐦𝐤 𝐢𝐟 𝐢 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐲.

→ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: 𝐨𝐧 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠

→ 𝐁𝟐 𝐌.𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Your bodies pressed together, breaths only coming out in ragged pants. The forbidden desire coursing through both your bodies. Jungkook’s hands firm on your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left to fill, the touch sending a sense of electricity through both of you.

His lips were soft, moving against yours in a rhythm that was all too familiar, that shouldn’t be familiar. His hands move from your waist to your back, tracing the curve of your spine, making a shiver run down your body. Every kiss was a testament of the unspoken want shared between the two of you.

Your hands find their way to his raven hair, tugging lightly. A soft groan escaped him, the sound swallowed by your mouths pressed together. The taste of him was too intoxicating. The taste of mint and something you couldn’t put a finger on but was easily recognizable.

His hand slid up to cup your face, thumb stroking your cheek gently. Your lips moving in sync, slow and deliberate, exploring each other in ways they never should be. The kiss deepened, growing more passionate with each second passing. You could feel the tension between the two of you.

Despite the growing need, you pull away, "Jungkook..." your voice came out as a hushed whisper, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes. "We shouldn't be doing this, this is so wrong."

His eyes were dark with desire, his breaths uneven. "I know y/n," he admitted, his voice low and husky. "But I can't stop."

@coralmusicblaze @alpha-mommy69 @lovkiss

↳ 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐥’𝐬 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝

“𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤, 𝐰𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠”

“𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩”

→ 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐁𝐅 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐆𝐅 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐓𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐦𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞, 𝐲/𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝, 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝’𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝. 𝐀𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐢𝐥, 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝.

→ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐀𝐔, 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚, 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐍𝐨𝐧 𝐈𝐝𝐨𝐥 𝐀𝐔

→ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈.

→ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: 𝐨𝐧 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠

→ 𝐁𝟐 𝐌.𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

↳ 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐥’𝐬 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

→ 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐁𝐅 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐆𝐅 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐓𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐦𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞, 𝐲/𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝, 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝’𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝. 𝐀𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐢𝐥, 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝.

→ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐀𝐔, 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚, 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐍𝐨𝐧 𝐈𝐝𝐨𝐥 𝐀𝐔

→ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬. 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝐥𝐦𝐤 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐲

→ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: 𝐨𝐧 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐏𝐀𝐃!!

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

- 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 -

- 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈 𝐅𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 -

𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀

- 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 -

- 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐑 -

YOURE LYINGGGG

tysm for putting me on here😭😭❤️❤️

jungkook in multiverse: fanfics recommendation 💌

Your neighbour? Spiderman? Best friend? Husband? Idol? Your dead ex? Yeah, he can be that guy.

ps: thank you authors! love you guys. so much. your stories means the world to me <3 (like this is art piece! no joke

jungkook masterlist.

🌟miss taken by @junghelioseok | fluff | smut | teacher!au | single parent!au | e2l | completed

summary: you pride yourself on being a professional, but sometimes your students' parents really test your patience.

my review

🌟clandestine by @junghelioseok | smut | fluff | brother’s best friend!au | completed

summary: forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.

my review

🌟 see both sides like chanel by @michuga | best friends to lovers, sexual tension, fluff, reader is a little absentminded, jk is a damn tease | completed

summary: your best friend, jeongguk, has only ever dated boys. unbeknownst to you, (he was also into girls).

my review

🌟 LATE NIGHT KOO 01:15 by @guksfairy | dabble, jungkook x reader | completed

my review

🌟 dream encounter by @michuga | jungkook x reader | completed

summary: you meet the man of your dreams. literally.

my review

🌟 heartwave by @chrrybbmb | spiderkook!, spideyjungkook, spideykook, spideyjk, spideykoo, spideyjk | ongoing

my review

🌟 i love you — a compilation by @kissforyouu | compilation of cute, funny and delicious stuff | completed

my review

🌟 peach and vanilla lip balm by @httpknjoon | genres | fluff, crack,  secret relationship au, established relationship au, friends to lovers au | completed

summary: No kissing rule was made between you and your secret boyfriend when he learned how you got your lip balm. But can Jungkook win in this rule he probably brought to himself?

my review

🌟Third Time's the Charm by @jjungkookislife | ex-boyfriend!jungkook x ex-gilfriend!reader | genre: crack, exes to lovers | completed

summary: Jungkook will do whatever it takes to get you back.

my review

🌟Inevitable by @ahundredtimesover | Genre/Tags: exes au, parents au, baseball player!JK; angst, fluff, smut (18+) | completed

summary:  You convinced Jungkook to break up years ago so he could pursue his lifelong baseball dream. Now he’s back home, staring at you, and the little boy next to you who looks unmistakably like him.

my review, my review, my review

🌟to be loved is to be seen by @twilghtkoo | pairings. idol!jungkook x reader | genres/aus. fluff, established relationship, idol!au | completed

my review

🌟 checkmate by @kookie-krumbss | genre : fluff, angst and smut | pairing : photography major/ bartender jungkook x econ major/ accountant reader | ongoing

summary: It's been 5 years since you've last been on the dating app - checkmate. The premise of the app is quite simple: enter your bucket list, and the algorithm finds your best mate to check off your bucket list goals. With a free premium pity membership given by the app, maybe its time to hop back onto the dating scene.

my review, my review

🌟está dañada by @aquagustd | genre/rating — R | angst, fluff, smut | neighbor au, slow burn, singer!JK | completed

summary: life through the eyes of someone who watches you fall apart and helps gather the shards of your heart, only for you to make the same mistake time and time again, but he refuses to accept the truth because to him, you’re infallible.

my review

🌟 the jeons (gym daddy) by @justarkive | family!au, non.idol jungkook, girl!dad jk, fluff | ongoing

summary: a collection of chaotic family drabbles. thats it.

my review

🌟Blame Morpheus for your sins by @voitier | [mini-series!] friends to lovers, college au | ongoing

summary: 𝒾𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽... you and jungkook had been attached by the hip since you were little toddlers learning how to live in your own bodies, which led you two to spend most (if not all) of your life together. one weird dream makes your whole view about your best friend change. how will you live with that?

my review

🌟the lunchbox delivery by @jincapableoflove | genre: househusband! jungkook, corporate office worker! reader, established relationship, flufff | ongoing | drabble

summary: jungkook, your soft yet badass househusband, goes on a city-wide mission—apron and all—to deliver the lunch you forgot in your morning rush.

my review

🌟shameless by @kooktrash | genre/au: gym instructor!y/n x jungkook. infidelity au. obsessive [she/her. afab] yandere | completed

summary: unsatisfied with your current relationship, you find yourself swept into an affair with a regular at your gym. it turns out he’s not the sweet, charming man you fooled yourself into believe he was but for some reason, you keep going back to him.

my review

🌟long way home by @sparklingchim | genre: dilf!jungkook, friends to lovers | tropes: single dad jk, boxer!jk, !angst! | completed

summary: jungkook's life makes an 180 degree turn when he's suddenly a single dad and while you're trying to help him come accustomed to the new circumstances, your long-standing friendship takes new turns as well.

my review

🌟Assistant Boy by @httpjungkookcom | Genre: assistant boy!jungkook x desk receptionist!reader, smut | completed

summary: Summary | sitting pretty at a desk all day gets boring, dealing with minimal tasks and check ins. you're unbelievably excited when a new assistant joins the office. and said assistant is a pretty boy with an even prettier personality.

🌟 lovenotes by @voyter | neighbor au. secret admirer koo | completed

summary: trying your hardest to avoid valentine’s day, you suddenly find yourself at the center of it when a secret admirer starts leaving notes at your door.

🌟 Baby Girl by @euno11a | Pairing: DILF!Jungkook x PreSchool Teacher!Reader | ongoing

summary: You always gave yourself one rule, never fall for a single dad. It would be messy and you’d never be his number one. So why did your favourite kid’s dad have to be so hot?

🌟 Broke Boy, Fake Girlfriend by @aajjks | genre: 18+, crack, roommate au | fake dating \ completed

summary: Your annoying roommate, Jungkook’s shameless fake dating act goes hilariously wrong when he thinks he can charm you into paying for his café splurge, but you turn the tables with some dangerously sweet flirtation.

🌟Dentist appointment by @hellokittykookies | genre: fluff | completed

summary: you’re scared of the dentist and jungkook comes with you to cheer you up. Unexpected words come out of you after the appointment.

🌟Instagram by @jeo9n | genre: fluff, slow burn, friends to lovers | ongoing

summary: you’ve been texting jungkook on instagram non stop ever since he opened his account as a joke. but what you didn’t expect was for him to actually text you back.

🌟NO NUT NOVEMBER by @voyter | boyfriend!jk | completed

summary: jungkook and his friends are all in on the internet's most ridiculous trend: no nut november. but you’re determined to make your boyfriend lose — and you know just how to do it.

🌟Introvert by @avianyuh | completed

summary: Jungkook is an introvert. He enjoys seeing his friends, but he hates having to leave the house. When Jimin throws a birthday bash, Jungkook being one of his closest friends feels obligated to go. He has his whole night mapped out. He'll greet Jimin, eat some food and then leave once he's made small talk with the other guests. But when the party makes a detour and hits the club, Jungkook is plotting his escape route. Or at least he was until he met you.

🌟Winter things by @girlygguk | genre fluff, smut | golden retriever bf x black cat gf, long distance established relationship | completed

summary: it’s jungkook’s favorite time of year and the only thing on his list is you. getting to finally feel you, see you, meet you outside of his computer screen. now it’s happening. and, god, you’re even prettier in person.

🌟Hot Eve by @aajjks | smut, ex!boyfriend!jk | completed

summary: getting fucked raw by your ex boyfriend stuck in an elevator on Christmas Eve.

🌟NOT JUST ON CHRISTMAS by @girlygguk | genre established relo, college au, fluff, smut | pairing nerdy!jk x gf!reader | completed

summary: he's the first boy you've ever brought home for christmas. jungkook's nervous. you're horny.

🌟Inkling by @gguksgalaxy | AU: Tattoo Artist ›› Genre: Smut / Angst | completed

summary: Jungkook is your brother’s boyfriend’s co-worker, they own a tattoo and piercing parlour. In other words, he’s tall, gorgeous, has his passion literally etched into his skin, looks incredibly good in a man-bun, and is semi-unattainable for you. Why? Well…you’re not entirely sure but him ditching right after a very heated make-out session sure isn’t a good sign. His extremely poor mood the next week sure isn’t either, but the only way to fix it is to face the beast head-on. Right?

my review

🌟Better Than Him by @margotw10bis | roommate!Jungkook x reader | Genre: fake-dating; romance; smut; one-shot | completed

summary: When your boyfriend cheats on you and decides to bring his lover to the wedding you invited him to, you take vengeance by pretending you have a new boyfriend: your hot roommate.

Baby Girl | Q&A

The characters have been through a lot, and now they’re ready to answer your burning questions. Whether you’re curious about their pasts, their wildest thoughts, or just want to know what’s going through their heads in the moment, drop your questions below or in my inbox and see what they have to say. No question is too big, too small, or too weird! So, what are you waiting for? Ask away!

Baby Girl

Pairing: DILF!Jungkook x PreSchool Teacher!Reader

Synopsis: You always gave yourself one rule, never fall for a single dad. It would be messy and you’d never be his number one. So why did your favourite kid’s dad have to be so hot?

Warnings: fluff, talks of child abandonment, single father JK, angst, arguments, smut, penetrative sex, oral (m and f receiving), light spanking, hair pulling, make outs, kissing, fingering, clit play, clit stimulation, teasing, pet names, mentions of past relationships, dom!jungkook, big cock!jungkook, blonde!jungkook, talks of past pregnancy (not reader), mention of abortion (JK’s ex), sexual tension, alcohol consumption, thigh riding, masturbation, aftercare, swearing, praising, a bit of jealousy, hickeys, handjob, protected sex, rough and soft sex, overstimulation, and multiple orgasms 

______________________________________________________________

“Why are you trying to feed Sara the crayon!” You squealed from your spot behind your desk, swiftly approaching the small circle table holding the kids before taking the purple crayon from Ara’s tiny hands. The small girl’s large brown eyes stared back at you, a smile breaking out onto her lips as she began giggling and babbling about the drawing she made for her dad.

“Look! Daddy has a pur..pur-el shirt cebause he love pur-el!” Ara pointed excitedly to the shirt she drew on her stickfigure, pride glowing in her eyes. 

Your smile grew as your grip around the crayon loosened, placing it back down on the table, crouching between her and Sara’s little chairs. “Now that’s gorgeous, Ara! Your dad is gonna love it so much, but how about we stop trying to feed our friends crayons?” She giggled, agreeing before going back to her art. It was true, Ara’s dad, Jeon Jungkook, treasured every single thing she made for him. Every time she would run up to him after school, hands reaching up to him with a new little project every day. One day it was a flower that had things we were grateful for written on the petals, other days it was just a little drawing she made, or it was a seasonal art project. And she never failed to tell you all about his reactions the next day.

Every day you would watch all your students run to their parents coming to pick them up at lunch, most stopped to say ‘Hi’ or ask how their kid was doing - Jungkook never did that. It seemed odd at first, wanting to meet your student’s dad to introduce yourself and get acquainted was a normal thing most teachers did. However, you started noticing pretty early on he hung out near the back of the group of parents that waited near the doors, waiting for Ara, getting her, and then looking at you with a little smile before leaving. Why did he do that? The small pleas for help to get their coats on before the bell filled your classroom, the children still mingling and talking, some cleaning up their tables, but most ready to up and leave as the bell rings. After making sure all the kids had their belongings, you told them to line up, “One, two, three! Eyes on me!” You called out, watching all their little bug eyes look back at you. The small action made a smile spread across your face each time - how could it not? There are about fifteen pairs of eyes that look at you at the same time, with the same little focused expression. It’s impossible not to smile!

Everyone crowded at the door, talking in soft whispers as they waited for you to open it and let them run off to their parents. You let the children run in different directions, enjoying the happy chatter around you as people began leaving. Just as you were about to head into the school again, you felt a little tug on your sleeve, making you look down. “ Miss L/n, daddy’s not here…”

Her little voice trailed off and it instantly made you go into protective mode. You crouched in front of her, holding her small hand as you observed how her big boba eyes got glossy and her little button nose got red. It was a rare sight seeing Ara cry, she almost never did in your class unless it was something truly meaningful to her. “Shh, it’s okay, Ara. Your dad probably got caught up in something! How about we wait here until he arrives, hm?” You offered, wiping away the small tears that dropped down her cheeks, her head nodding softly as you stood up and held her hand outside. 

Twenty minutes pass and nothing. It was unlike Jungkook to be late, every day you could see his car park in the same spot under a tree, getting out and adjusting his jacket before taking a few steps…then pausing beside his car to lock it three times. Now that you think about it, you sound kinda stalker-ish with how much attention you pay to him. The air started getting cooler, so you took Ara back inside the classroom, thankful that you had an hour break before your afternoon class showed up. “Are you warm? You can take your jacket off, Ara. Do you want some paper to draw?”

Her head was tilted down as she sat in her normal seat near the cozy corner you had set up for your students, not really answering your questions. “Did daddy leave me?” She asked, her tiny fingers picking at her other ones as she asked.

Sourness filled your heart as you heard her question, you pulled out the small chair beside her, tilting your head to see her face. “Honey, of course he didn’t leave you. He’s just running late for some reason. Why would you think that?” 

“Mommy did…” Her words were cut off by sudden footsteps approaching the class quickly, a man hunched over huffing and puffing like he had just ran a marathon. “Oh god, I’m so sorry, baby.” He said, still gasping for air as he approached us, kneeling down on her other side.

Her mom left? You stood up, straightening out your cardigan as you stared down at the man pressing his forehead against Ara’s jacket covered arm. “Ara, I’m sorry, daddy had to close up the shop cause your uncles weren’t there. I’m sorry, bug.” Wow, he apologized a lot, even though Ara had already probably forgotten about what happened. Her bright little smile was there again, brightening the room as his large…tattooed hand caressed the opposite arm. 

“Daddy! Look what I made!” Ara exclaimed, showing her dad her little portrait of her and her dad, wearing his purple shirt.

“Wow, I love it, baby girl! It’s so me. You know where this is going?” The way they both said “on the fridge” at the exact same time would make any woman’s ovaries burst. It was too cute! Ara’s dad stood up, rubbing his hands on the back of his pants before looking at you, staring blankly before his eyes widened and a hand was out stretched. “Sorry! I’m Jungkook, Jeon Jungkook! Ara’s dad, cause she has the same last name as me, but not only that reason! Her mom and I-” He stopped, his cheeks tinting a light red as you grasped his hand, shaking it with furrowed brows. “I’m gonna stop talking before I make it worse.”

“No, no, please. I always enjoy hearing about how parents are related to their child.” You laughed, releasing his hand again - eyes gleaming from the way his cheeks darkened in colour again. “It’s honestly okay, Mr. Jeon. Ara and I had a feeling something came up at work and that’s why you were late.”

The sigh of relief that escaped him must have been in him for a while, his whole body relaxing a little more after you said that. “Thank you for looking after her. This won’t happen again, at all. Uhm..Ms…?”

“Oh! Sorry, Y/n. Y/n L/n, Ara’s teacher. Since she’s in my class.” You over explained just like he did, thankfully he had a sense of humor since he let out a soft breathy laugh. “Again, don’t worry at all, I understand. Things happen sometimes.” You eased him, smiling gently as he grabbed Ara’s little hand, helping her out of her chair.

“Yeah…but thank you…still.” He said one last time, leaning down to pick his daughter up before propping her on his hip. Her little hand went to his hair immediately, tugging softly as he pulled his head away, smiling at her. They left the room, chatting softly as he walked back down the hall to exit through the front office. Sitting at your desk, you opened your computer, preparing your slideshow for your afternoon class on how to make a pretty sunset with pastels, but the only thing you could think about…

He had really pretty hair.

______________________________________________________________

“Wait, wait, wait- rewind. You’re telling me that you were face to face with a DILF and did nothing?!” Rose practically yelled as you walked together down the hall towards the parking lot.

“Okay, let’s not call him that…he’s still the father of my student. It feels wrong calling him something so…vulgar?” You squeemed while fumbling for your keys. “Plus, what was I supposed to do? His kid was right there, it’s not like I could’ve just jumped his bones right there.”

She glanced at you from the corner of her eyes, a small smirk on her lips as she grabbed her own keys out of her bag. “Well, I’m just saying, maybe he would’ve been into that. Having you get all up on him, nice and close and just-” You shoved her away playfully, laughing as you watched her mimic some sort of makeout session. 

“There is no way that would've happened! Again, Rose, you’re forgetting this was the first time I’ve ever actually talked to the guy. It’s not like some magical thing is gonna happen to make us instantly fall in love.” She pushed open the doors to the front office, a shiver running down your spine as the cool breeze hit your face. You unlocked your car, standing by the driver’s door as you spoke again. “This is real life, not some romance book that’s gonna have me sweeped off my feet by the end of it.”

“Yeah, yeah…” She waved a dismissive hand, opening her car door before poking her head out again. “I’m just saying, it’s been a while for you since you’ve dated, so why not try out the awkward, DILF of a dad?”

“Have a good night, Rose.”

All you could hear was her laughter as you got in and closed your own door. 

______________________________________________________________

Mondays are the worst.

It’s almost like a sick joke - you wake up and feel like it’s gonna be a productive day, but instead, your makeup looked trashy, your favourite shirt that you were supposed to wear today had a stain on it, your coffee machine was broken, and your car wouldn’t start for a good twenty minutes.

So yeah, it’s a lovely day.

“I am so sorry, Rose! Thank you for watching over my class, I swear I’ll be there soon.” You rambled quickly, looking both ways on the road before taking a left.

“Girl, relax, it’s okay. Could you pick me up a coffee though? Didn’t have time to make my own today.” You could hear her shuffling around, probably in your desk to find the spelling sheets you had ready for your students.

“Of course, I was gonna pick one up anyway.” Your voice came out as a murmur, trying to focus on the road so you didn’t add another problem to your list of issues today.

There was some sort of sound that came from her side of the call, something between a hum and squeal of delight. “There’s one coffee place that’s not too far from the school, The Quiet Bean, reaaaaally cute place!”

The Quiet Bean? People are getting creative nowadays…After a few more minutes of talking - you telling her what she should start the kids on, and her telling you where the shop is - you finally hung up. Plugging in the address of the coffee shop, you pulled up to a small shop. It was the sort of place that invited you in without making a scene. Its façade was a blend of weathered brick and soft, taupe-painted wood, the kind that had aged gracefully, like it had stories to tell. The large windows were framed in simple, cream-colored trim, their panes reflecting the faintest light of the afternoon sun. A faint trace of ivy crept up along the edges, as if nature itself had taken a liking to this quiet little corner of the world.

The café’s sign hung above the door, a modest wooden board with the name The Quiet Bean painted in elegant, flowing script. The letters, accented by a small, delicate illustration of a steaming coffee cup, as though to beckon you inside with the promise of something warm and comforting. It wasn’t flashy, but there was something undeniably welcoming about it, something that whispered of calm moments and good company.

As you stepped closer, the faint scent of lavender and earth drifted from a row of mismatched flower boxes, their colors a soft mix of greens and purples. Small, bistro-style tables were scattered outside, their wrought-iron chairs empty for now, but ready to welcome anyone looking to enjoy the sun with a cup in hand. 

Pulling the door open, you were met with a strong scent of freshly brewed coffee and pastries. Your eyes widened as you looked around, taking in the detail of the shop and taking note of every little detail that was put into building it. You slowly approached the counter, eyes trained on the display of sweets. God, they looked delicious. It was as if everywhere you turned there was something new you noticed - now, it was the simple yet captivating writing on the menu board that hung above the counter. Why was writing captivating you? Nevermind. 

You glanced around, a few people were sitting at tables, enjoying a warm coffee with a sweet treat, but no one behind the counter. Your brows furrowed softly, tilting your head to try and see if someone was lingering behind the walkway to the back of the coffee shop, but there was no one. You reached forward, tapping the small bell that sat beside one of the pastry display cases, the high pitched shrill sound making you jump slightly. 

A guy, wiping his hands on the towel that hung from his apron quickly rounded the corner. His blonde hair tied into a small bun as he looked up. Those eyes…the wide doe ones that seemed all too familiar. The ones that held the universe…where had you seen them before? “Welcome to The Quiet Bea-” The man’s voice cut off as he stood there staring at you, his round eyes widening slightly. “M-Ms. Y/n…what…you’re…”

It clicked. Those eyes, the ones you have to look at every single day, the same ones Ara had. “Mr. Jeon, it’s…uhm, hello.” Why was this so embarrassing? This was just like when you saw a teacher outside of school and didn’t know how to act. Holy hell. “Sorry…sorry, good morning.”

His cheeks tinted a light pink, the sound of him clearing his throat sounded through the small cafe, you watched him cringe from the sound. “G-Good morning…I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting…never mind.” He shook his head, a few strands of his blonde hair framing his face as he approached the cash register. “What can I get for you?”

“Just two lattes please.” You smiled, gaze wandering off to the side as you eyed the pastries again. As if on cue, your stomach rumbled, causing you to freeze and Jungkook to glance up at you from the register. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he leaned forward on the counter, a small tilt to his head. “Did you maybe want some food, too? Our pistachio croissants are really good, if I do say so myself.”

Now it was your turn to turn pink, a sheepish smile spreading across your face as you nodded. “I’ll take two of those, too, please.” He nodded, a smile still lingering on his face as he used the tons to grab out two of the fresh croissants. Placing the bag on the counter, he turned his back to you as he started on the coffees. 

As you stood there, it was hard not to notice how wide his back was. It was the perfect size to his waist which was - surprisingly - small. And not to mention the way his shirt hugged his chest and torso, there was practically nothing left for the imagination, there was even a teasingly small amount of tattoos shown that littered his right hand, and you just knew there were more. Maybe Mondays aren't so bad. I mean, you got to see that perfect ass- okay, no. Stop it! That is still your student's dad!

He turned around, two coffees in hand as he placed them on the counter, tapping something into the register before telling you your total. You pulled out your card, tapping it on the card machine before situating yourself to grab everything. “Uh…I don’t mean to be, like, that one parent…but why is the teacher of my daughter here getting coffee when school has already started?”

“Oh, so you were one of the kids that was always on time to class.” You said with a small smile, looking down into your wallet as you placed your card back into its proper place. “I was having a bad morning, running late. But my friend, who’s a teacher as well, is watching over my class. She wanted a coffee.” You wiggled your finger at the cup, a smile on your face that wouldn’t go away for some reason. 

It was impossible not to giggle at the way his brows furrowed and his bottom lip pouted from your comment. “I was not ‘one of those kids.’” He crossed his arms, looking at you as you grabbed the coffees and bag that held your pastries. “If it means anything…I hope you have a better day.” His voice was like honey, something so sweet, you never wanted it to disappear. 

“Thank you…I hope the same for you, Mr. Jeon.”

“Please, call me Jungkook!” Even his smile was sweet…fuck.

Just as you were about to exit the shop, you turned, using your back to push the door open. “Alright then, Jungkook. And call me, Y/n…I’m not your teacher.” Your last words left him going red again, and to your unease, it was a sight you wouldn’t mind seeing again.  ______________________________________________________________

As the warm afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows of your classroom, casting a comforting glow over the tidy rows of desks, Rose settled into the chair across from you, a concerned expression etched on her face. The air was filled with the faint scent of chalk and the distant hum of the air conditioning vent.

"Y/n, you're not going to tell me what's going on, are you?" Rose asked, her voice gentle but probing. You hesitated, fidgeting with the edge of the paper bag as you took a bite of your croissant. Damn they were good. They were alone in the classroom during their lunch break, the door locked securely behind them.

Rose's eyes narrowed as she watched your flustered movements. "Come on, spill it," she urged, her voice a gentle coaxing. You took another bite, your eyes avoiding Rose's inquiring gaze. "It's just...I saw Jungkook at the coffee shop this morning…Ara’s dad," you mumbled around a mouthful of food, eyes darting back to Rose.

Rose's eyebrows shot up. "That coffee shop? Where you got our lattes?" You nodded, your cheeks flushing. Rose's expression turned thoughtful as she leaned in, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. "So you saw Hot DILF again?"

Your eyes widened in alarm, hastily causing you to look around the room as if ensuring they were truly alone. "Rose, please, don't say that out loud," You whispered, voice laced with a mixture of embarrassment and fear. Rose chuckled, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

"What's wrong? You're not going to date him, are you?" It was almost as if this was the day you couldn’t stop blushing. Your face turned bright red as you hastily shook her head, your ponytail bobbing in time. "Of course not, I'm just...I'm just saying, he's a great guy, from what I’ve seen, but...but it's just a rule, you know?" Your words tumbled out in a rush, your voice growing more agitated by the second.

Rose's expression turned to understanding, and she reached out to place a reassuring hand on your arm. "I get it, I really do. You've always said no to dating single parents, and I respect that. But...it's just so hard when you're around him, isn't it?" Your eyes dropped, looking away, your face burning with a mix of embarrassment and longing.

Rose's gentle words hung in the air, and you felt your heart racing as you tried to process her emotions. You couldn't deny it - you had felt a flutter in her chest when you saw Jungkook, and it wasn't just because you were worried about being professional around him. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down and rationalize your feelings.

"I don't know, Rose," You said finally, voice barely above a whisper. "It's just...he's really nice, and easy to talk to...it's just hard to ignore the fact that he's Ara’s dad."

Rose nodded understandingly, her expression sympathetic. "I know, I know. And it's not like you can just...ignore the fact that he's cute, either," she added with a sly smile, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

You playfully rolled your eyes, trying to deflect the attention from your flustered state. "Yeah, real help, Rose. You're not making this any easier for me."

Rose laughed, her eyes shining with mirth. "Sorry, sorry. I just want you to be happy, and if that means being around Mr. Hot DILF...I mean, Jungkook...then so be it."

A smile spread across your face, feeling a warmth spread through her chest at her words. "Thanks, Rose. You're a good friend."

As they chatted, you couldn't help but think about Jungkook's warm smile and gentle laugh. You pushed the thoughts away, reminding yourself of the rule and the reasons behind it. But you couldn't shake the feeling that you had crossed a line, and that your attraction to Jungkook was more than just a harmless infatuation.

The lunch bell rang, shattering the peaceful atmosphere in the classroom. As they made their way to the classroom door, Rose leaned in, her voice low and conspiratorial. "Hey, Y/n? Just out of curiosity...what do you think would happen if you did date him?"

Your eyes widened in alarm, and you quickly shot Rose a warning glance. "Rose, don't even say that. I already told you I'm not going to date him, so let's just drop it, okay?"

Rose held up her hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. No more talking about Jungkook. Let's just focus on surviving through the day and parent-teacher interviews. How ‘bout that?"

You smiled, feeling a mix of relief and gratitude towards your friend. "Sounds like a plan to me."

______________________________________________________________

The faint echo of footsteps grew louder in the quiet hallway as you straightened up at your desk, glancing at the clock. The dim lights above flickered softly, casting a warm glow that illuminated the classroom filled with colorful student artwork. It was the night of parent-teacher interviews, and your heart raced in anticipation and anxiety. Each appointment was a gateway to success and growth, but tonight felt different. Tonight, you faced the sight of a certain single father…again.

As you set out fresh papers and a cup of coffee—mostly meant to ward off your own nerves—you tried to shake off the flutter twisting in your stomach. You had told Rose you wouldn’t get involved with parents, yet here you were, feeling exhilaratingly torn between professionalism and a sudden spike of anticipation.

The gentle knock on the door pulled you from your swirl of thoughts. “Come in!” you called, your voice steadying to mask your racing heart. The knob turned, and Jungkook stepped inside, his tall figure silhouetted against the hallway light. He looked slightly rumpled in a casual white fisherman’s sweater and jeans, as if he had just finished a long day balancing work and parenting. His sandy hair fell over his forehead, giving him an endearing boyishness.

“Hi, Y/n,” Jungkook said softly, his voice low and a little shy. He shifted between his feet, running a hand through his hair, and for a moment, you felt as though the air in the room thickened with something—tension, attraction, or perhaps, an endless stream of unspoken words.

“Hi, Jungkook! Thank you for coming,” You replied, trying to maintain the professional tone you’d rehearsed in your mind. “Please, have a seat.”

He hesitated for just a moment before sinking into the chair opposite your desk, glancing around the room and admiring the colorful projects that adorned the walls. “It’s nice to see what you’ve done with the place. Ara talks about it all the time,” he said, a smile creeping onto his face that lit up his eyes. 

As you reviewed Ara’s progress report, you couldn’t help but feel Jungkook’s gaze lingering on you, like a gentle warmth wrapping around you. “She’s doing wonderfully, really. She’s bright, creative, and so full of energy,” You continued, your voice flowing with professional ease.

“That’s great to hear,” Jungkook replied, his fingers nervously tapping on the desk. “I mean… I worry about her sometimes, you know? Juggling everything has been—” He paused, biting his lip slightly as if searching for the right words. “—hard. But she loves coming to school.”

In that moment, you could see the affection etched on his face. His love for Ara was so palpable, so tender, that it made your heart swell. “You’re doing an amazing job as a father,” you blurted out before you could catch yourself. 

A flush crept into Jungkook's cheeks, and he chuckled shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks. I still feel like I have so much to learn,” he said, glancing away, his honesty disarming you. 

“I think it’s a continuous journey for all parents,” You replied, forcing yourself to ignore the way your heart fluttered at his vulnerability. You forced herself to focus on Ara’s achievements, highlighting the areas where she could improve.

Yet with each laugh Jungkook shared, with each genuine word of praise he offered about his daughter, you found it harder to keep your feelings at bay. The chemistry crackled between them, threatening to bridge the gap of professionalism that you had once held sacred. 

“I don’t know how I can ever thank you for what you do,” Jungkook said suddenly, a sincere expression on his face. “I feel like Ara has blossomed since she started in your class.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Jungkook,” You spoke softly, heart racing as you met his gaze. “It’s my job and my passion.”

He leaned back in the chair, taking a moment before asking softly, “But what about you? Do you… do you enjoy being a teacher?”

You nodded, feeling a stirring inside you—a mix of admiration and a desire for connection that you fought to suppress. “I really do,” you confessed. “It's a rewarding experience, but...” You hesitated for a moment, knowing your feelings threatened to slip from your grasp. “It can be challenging at times.”

“Yeah, life can be tough,” Jungkook replied, his voice low. “But I guess we all find our way through it.”

Their eyes locked for a heartbeat longer than necessary, and you felt an electric jolt, a silent understanding passing between them. But just as quickly, you pulled yourself back, focusing instead on the paperwork scattered across your desk.

“I believe Ara will continue to thrive under your guidance,” Jungkook said, attempting to break the growing tension.

“Absolutely,” You agreed, feeling the flicker of excitement mingled with anxiety. “If you have any concerns, please don’t hesitate to reach out.”

Jungkook smiled, the warmth in his expression making your pulse quicken, and you couldn’t help but smile back, even as reality settled back in. They were from two different worlds, tethered by the innocent bond of a daughter between them, and you knew you had to tread carefully.

“Thank you for your time,” Jungkook finally said, rising from his seat, his voice a blend of gratitude and something softer, like an unexpressed hope. “I really appreciate it.”

As he turned to leave, you felt a mix of longing and resolve. “You’re welcome, Jungkook. Have a great evening,” You managed to say, your heart heavy with unspoken feelings and the sensation of his presence lingering in the room long after he had gone. 

With a sigh, you sank back into your chair, trying to reclaim your professional demeanor, fully aware that this was only the beginning of a journey you had carefully set herself against. And yet, without a doubt, it felt exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

The echo of Jungkook’s footsteps faded down the hallway as you sat back in your chair, staring blankly at the stack of papers on your desk. The soft, dim light of the classroom wrapped around you like a cocoon, but instead of feeling comforted, your thoughts spiraled into chaotic disarray. Your heart still raced at the memory of his shy smile and the way his gaze warmed you, sending unexpected flutters coursing through your chest. 

“Okay, Y/n. Let’s think this through,” you murmured to yourself, pushing your chair back a bit to pace. You took a deep breath, holding your head high as you began your internal debate, your footsteps echoing softly against the tiled floor.

Pros:

1. He’s Kind: Jungkook showed genuine concern for Ara’s well-being; that spoke volumes about his character.

2. He’s a Good Father: Seeing how much he adored his daughter made your heart melt. A man who values family is definitely an attractive trait.

3. We Have Chemistry: The connection was palpable during your meeting, the kind that sent thrills of excitement coursing through you.

Cons:

1. He’s Ara’s Father: You would always have that complex dynamic, which could complicate everything. What if things went wrong? The relationship with Ara would be at stake.

2. Professional Boundaries: As a teacher, you reminded yourself constantly of the boundaries that existed between you and the parents. Getting involved with a parent could lead to gossip and drama.

3. Could She Actually Do This? You didn’t want to enter the dating world and find yourself getting hurt. There was so much at stake, and discretion was key. 

The rhythm of your footsteps quickened, your thoughts tumbling into a whirlwind of confusion. 

“No, no, no.” You held her temples, trying to massage away the tension that gnawed at you. “You can’t think like this. You would be crossing a line, Y/n. Your job is to inspire and educate, not fall for the parents!” 

You paused, catching your breath, feeling the weight of your emotions. “But—what if this is something special?” An involuntary smile sneaked onto your face at the thought of Jungkook’s easy laughter, the way he nervously fidgeted in his chair, and the sincere glances he offered. “What if…he’s different?”

Your heart raced again, and you bit your lip, taking another deep breath to steady yourself. You have dedicated yourself to your career. You loved teaching and the bonds you created with your students. But you also felt the longing for companionship, for someone who would truly understand your heart, your struggles, and your dreams.

You found your way back to the desk, grabbing the paper you had written notes on about Ara. It was filled with nothing but good observations and bright notes that showcased the little girl’s personality. “This is about Ara, too,” you whispered, glancing at the portrait Ara had drawn of you standing beside her at the school. You had never looked better as a stick figure.

“Could I do this?” you inquired softly, staring out the window at the fading sunlight. “Would this be fair to Ara? To him?” You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to visualize yourselves together, the gentle kind heartedness belying a deeper connection that tethered you.

Footsteps interrupted your reverie, and you looked up to see Rose peeking through the door. “Y/n?” she called softly, stepping inside. The infectious energy of her friend brightened the room. “I saw Jungkook leave. How did it go?”

Your internal debate halted as you met Rose's eager gaze, the warmth of friendship wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. “It was... interesting,” You replied slowly, trying to sort through the flood of emotions that threatened to spill over.

“What does that mean? Was he flirty?” Rose raised an eyebrow, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

You shook your head, your cheeks flushing slightly. “No, it wasn’t like that. We just talked about Ara and her progress. But there’s this…connection, Rose. It’s hard to explain.”

“Do you like him?” Rose leaned forward, her excitement palpable, her curiosity evident.

“I don’t know! I mean, I shouldn’t, right?” You sighed, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “He’s Ara’s dad, and I’m her teacher. There are boundaries, Rose!”

“But do you want to explore those boundaries? You said it yourself; it’s a connection!” Rose's voice rose slightly, her enthusiasm inexhaustible. “You only live once, Y/n!”

“Why are you so supportive of this? Are you trying to get me into trouble?” You chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, but you felt the weight of Rose’s words pressing upon you.

“Maybe I am!” Rose teased, crossing her arms. “But look, if you feel something for him, that could be something worth exploring. Relationships don’t always lead to disaster, you know. Sometimes, they lead to wonderful things.” 

You chewed your lip, your heart fluttering at the prospect. “But what if I mess it up? What if I ruin things with Ara and her dad?”

“I think Ara would be happy if he found someone who makes him smile,” Rose asserted confidently. “And if that someone happens to be you...well, then that’s just a bonus!”

Looking down at your desk, pondering the vibrant artwork that Ara had drawn, you felt a gentle surge of hope amidst the confusion. Maybe there was a chance for something beautiful—if you could just take the leap.

“All right,” You said finally, fortifying yourself. “I’ll think about it. But I have to be careful...for Ara’s sake. And for my own.”

“Smart girl.” Rose grinned, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “Now, let’s plan how to help you catch his attention.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension lifting slightly as you felt the warmth of Rose’s friendship. As they began to chat and brainstorm about playful ways to show your interest, you felt a new storm of possibility unfurling in your heart—one that you could no longer pretend to ignore. ______________________________________________________________

After leaving your classroom, Jungkook leaned against the cold, tiled wall of the hallway, taking a moment to catch his breath. The sound of his heart thudding loudly in his chest seemed to resonate in the quiet space around him. What just happened? He couldn't shake the feeling of exhilaration mingled with a flicker of anxiety as memories of their conversation flooded his mind. 

He rubbed a hand across his neck, still feeling the heat rising to his cheeks—a bashful evidence of how easily flustered he had become in your presence. Your smile, your laughter, the way your eyes lit up when you spoke about Ara—it was utterly charming. Why did she have to be so captivating?  

His thoughts immediately twisted into a flurry of whims. Honestly, how could someone be so effortlessly beautiful? Your enthusiasm about teaching resonated deep within him; he admired how you handled the classroom, how you brought warmth and light to every interaction. The way you carelessly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear made his heart flutter. He relished in the thought that you cared so deeply for his daughter; it filled him with a swell of appreciation that lingered a little too long in his chest.

But then there was that chemistry, that intoxicating vibe that seemed to hum in the air between them. Jungkook winced slightly, aware that he was entering dangerous territory. Your laugh had tugged at something deep inside him—a longing that he rarely dared to face. Could he be falling for you? The thought was both thrilling and unsettling.

His mind wandered to the moment their eyes met, the way you had smiled at him as if you were sharing a secret, a moment just for the two of them amidst the world. Thoughts he knew he shouldn’t entertain slipped through like silk ribbons, tightening around his chest. What would it feel like to hold her? To run his fingers through her hair, to pull her close and whisper sweet nothings in her ear?

Jungkook pressed his lips together, forcing the blush creeping up his neck to subside. Damn it, Jungkook. Focus on Ara! But the image of you was stubborn, filling his thoughts with mischievous imaginings—your laughter echoing in his ears, your soft, inviting gaze lingering in his mind. 

He imagined you tucked against him on a lazy Sunday morning, sunlight streaming through the window casting dappled shapes on your skin, and he couldn't help but wonder if you would look up at him in that soft, sleepy kind of way—your hair tousled, and that peaceful smile gracing your features. God, he would do anything for that smile.

His heart raced at those thoughts. Was it wrong to want more? The deeper he delved into his fantasies, the more he wondered if he could truly let someone in again. The idea of developing a connection with you was thrilling but terrifying. 

But what if it went well? What if he got to know the woman behind the teacher façade? What if they clicked like he suspected they might? A sudden image of their hands intertwined danced in his mind, the warmth radiating from your soft fingers sending shivers down his spine. He imagined kissing you—a slow, intimate exploration that left you both breathless, your hearts racing in sync.

His body reacted even to the thought, and Jungkook groaned softly, shaking his head at the direction his mind had taken. He just wanted to know more about you—the fear and the thrill of the unknown gnawing at him as he paced in place. Was he ready to join the dating world again? To risk his heart?

Jungkook glanced down the hallway, half-expecting you to appear again with that mesmerizing smile. He exhaled slowly, trying to calm the whirlwind that churned within him. You had met as teacher to parent, you were cautious in your own ways, but there was something in your gaze, the spark of possibility daring him to breach the barrier.

“Just take it slow,” he whispered to himself, trying to ignore the overwhelming desire unfurling within him like a curtain drawn back to reveal a dazzling stage. “She’s worth it.” 

In his mind’s eye, he could see your face, lit with warmth and kindness, exhibited perfectly in the classrooms where you worked magic with children. But he wanted you outside of the school, in the real world, where they could be themselves.

With another deep breath, he turned and walked away from the classroom, his heart still racing and the ambitious thoughts whirling inside his mind. The night air hit him like a splash of cold water, grounding him, reminding him that this was just the beginning of something he knew could change everything. And as he left the school grounds, he couldn't shake the feeling that he wanted to do whatever it took to make sure he saw you again. ______________________________________________________________

The restaurant was awash in golden candlelight, casting flickering shadows on the walls adorned with tasteful art. The hum of conversation intermingled with the clinking of silverware, creating a cozy atmosphere that settled around the tables like a warm embrace. Jungkook had arrived early, wearing a fitted navy sweater that accentuated his figure and dark jeans—not too formal, but just enough to speak of a thoughtful effort. Tonight was important.

He twisted his napkin nervously in his lap as he surveyed the room, his gaze darting to the entrance. How do you prepare for a date with someone you genuinely like? It had been several weeks since they started talking, gradually letting layers peel away to reveal their authentic selves, and now here they were, on the brink of something new. 

As if summoned by his thoughts, you walked in, your presence radiant in a deep emerald dress that hugged your curves and made you look effortlessly elegant. Your hair cascaded in soft waves, and when their eyes met, a bright smile danced across your lips—a smile that made Jungkook’s heart skip a beat.

“Hey,” you greeted, your voice warm and inviting as you approached the table.

“Hey! You look amazing,” Jungkook found himself saying, his cheeks warming at the earnestness in his tone. 

“Thanks! You too!” You replied, taking your seat across from him, the evening lighting casting a gentle glow on your features. 

Jungkook tried to shake off the nerves, but it was hard not to stumble over his words as their waiter arrived. “Good evening! Can I start you off with something to drink?” 

“Uh, yes! I’d like a glass of red wine, please,” Jungkook said, his hands fidgeting on the table beneath the napkin.

“Same for me,” You chimed in, your openness making it easier for him to remember how to breathe. 

As they sipped their wine and exchanged laughter, they discussed everything—their favorite movies, childhood memories, and even the quirks of teaching that made them both laugh aloud. But as the conversation flowed, Jungkook felt the slight pressure of anticipation build in his chest, the electric tension flickering like a candle in the wind.

“So, what’s been the best part of your week?” he asked, hoping to keep the conversation light while his nerves simmered beneath the surface.

You leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “Well, this week we were doing some more basic spelling skills. And there was one point, where I said that our class was gonna have a small spelling bee competition against the other Kindergarten class. Ara took it a little too seriously, she started buzzing like a bee after every word she spelled.”

Jungkook chuckled, picturing the adorable scene. “Oh God, is that why she came home and couldn’t stop buzzing around? I mean, at least she’s remembering to spell more words correctly…she rewards herself by buzzing a little each time.”

“Well, she does have a great teacher,” you teased, your eyes locking onto his with that playful glimmer.

Jungkook felt the heat rushing up his neck. “I’m just trying to keep up with your class levels,” he said with a grin. 

Their connection felt tangible, fragile yet electric. Jungkook summoned his courage as the waiter returned with their meals. “It looks great. I hope it tastes great,” he said, lifting his fork, eager to divert his nervous energy.

As they began to eat, Jungkook was distraught to discover that his mouth seemed to have developed a mind of its own. “So, I was thinking maybe—I mean, if you’re interested—” he stumbled through the heavy words, glancing at her, “we could visit that new art exhibit next weekend? Or maybe a picnic? I’m definitely up for a picnic.” 

Your brows raised in surprise, a smile breaking across your face. “I’d love that! An art exhibit sounds fantastic.”

Jungkook exhaled, relief washing over him. They continued chatting, light and airy, until a relaxed silence fell between them. An idea struck him, and he leaned closer, teasingly, “You know, you’re making this date really easy. I thought I’d be sweating bullets.”

Just as the words left his mouth, careless and relaxed, he slipped. “I guess I just feel comfortable, baby girl…” 

His voice trailed off in horror as his brain caught up with his mouth. Did he really just call you that? His cheeks blazed a deep shade of crimson, eyes widening as he braced himself for your reaction.

You blinked, pausing mid-bite, amusement dancing in your eyes. “Wow, that was unexpected. Do I look like a baby girl to you?” 

Jungkook’s face burned, a thousand apologies spiraling through his mind. “I-I didn’t mean it like—! I mean, you’re—!” He stumbled over his words, rendering himself a stammering mess. 

You couldn’t help but chuckle, clearly amused, leaning forward as if to ease his embarrassment. “It’s okay, Jungkook. I kinda liked it, actually. It’s sweet.”

His initial panic spilled over into relief, but the flirty undertone hung between them, making the air around them more charged. Under the table, his heart raced as he played with the hem of his own sweater, unsure whether he was feeling flustered or exhilarated.

He took a deep breath, trying to regain control. “Well, um, you are adorable, so I guess it fits—just not in the way I set it up!” 

“Do you think I’m adorable, huh?” You teased, your playful confidence radiating from you. Your gaze held a challenge, one that made his heart race anew. 

“Not just adorable,” he clarified, leaning in slightly, feeling the heat of her presence. “You’re… captivating. Thoughtful. Kind. And it’s…” he hesitated, a smirk creeping onto his face, “dangerously charming.” 

You bit your lip, eyes glimmering with intrigue, every inch of your body language inviting him closer. “Dangerously charming, huh? Is that a compliment or a warning?” 

“Both,” Jungkook said, letting the tension linger in the air, a quiet challenge exchanged between them. As if he were testing the waters before diving in. “How about you tell me something about yourself that could potentially get us both in trouble?” 

This time, you laughed, and it echoed around their cozy corner of the restaurant. The flirtation was undeniable, thickening the air as they engaged in the dance of unspoken desires. Finally, it seemed like this date might indeed lead somewhere—somewhere beautifully unexpected, where the two of them could explore the chemistry that had sparked between them.

With their plates nearly empty and glasses refilled, you glanced over at him, a light blush dusting over your cheeks. Under the table, you let your foot caress up and down his calf, watching how he paused halfway through paying for the bill to look at you with a tilted head. You turned your head away, resting it in your palm as you continued your movements, hearing how Jungkook’s breathing changed from light and even to heavier and quicker.

“What’re you doing…?” He asked quietly, cheeks burning a red colour as he sunk into his chair a little more. You shrugged your shoulders, looking away again, the intensity of the situation making it hard to stare directly at him. 

The sound of chair legs scraping against the floor made you finally look back at him. His cheeks were a dark red, a hand extended towards you as he helped you out of your chair, pushing it in before slowly walking with you. A shaky hand was placed around your waist, sending tingles all throughout your body, it was clear Jungkook was nervous, but it was also clear he wanted something else. Craved something else.

“Jungkook, are yo-”

“Do you want to come back to my place?” He asked hurriedly but softly, his eyes  staring into yours as he waited for your response. “I know it’s inappropriate to ask, especially since it’s only our first date, but you just…you look really good in your dress, like, really, really good- and…and…” 

He looked as if he were about to lose his mind if you didn’t speak soon. You carefully cupped his face, brushing your thumbs along his cheeks as you spoke. “Hey, relax…it’s okay. You can breathe…” You calmed him down, his hands coming up to hold your forearms gently, taking in deep breaths. “I..I would love to…go back to your place, I mean. But…what about Ara?”

“She’s with her uncles…Namjoon and Jin promised to look after her.” He said breathlessly, his eyes looking everywhere on your face at once, taking in as much detail as possible as if he were trying to engrain an image of you into his mind.

“Am I supposed to know who those people are, or?” He shook his head, a small laugh escaping his lips as he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours before pulling away.

“They’re my friends that helped me raise her. Also work at the cafe.” He mumbled, bouncing a little as he looked at the parking lot. “ I really love sharing things with you, but I’m about to lose my mind if I don’t have you soon…so…my car is over there.” He said, pointing over to a black car parked a little further away from the restaurant. 

There wasn’t a lot of time between getting in the car, the drive to his place, and getting inside his place. As soon as you stepped foot inside the threshold, Jungkook was grabbing you, needy hands grabbing at your waist as he  looked at you, quietly asking for permission to kiss you. You barely nodded before he gently pressed his lips against yours, the kiss was firm yet soft, everything you expected from him.

“God…” He whispered against your lips, cupping your face as he kissed you again, groaning from how good you were. “You’re so perfect…so, so perfect.”

A soft giggle escaped you, pulling back so you were face to face with him, “You’ve barely kissed me, how can you know I’m perfect?” You asked, following mindlessly as he dragged you to the bedroom.

“Because.”

“Because?”

“Yes, ‘because.’ Don’t ruin the moment.”

You could hear the smile in his voice as he kissed you again, lifting you slightly to place you on the bed. His hands moved to your waist, squeezing and kneading the flesh under your dress. His lips slowly moved from your lips to your jaw, peppering soft kisses all along your skin. His left hand grabbed your chin, turning your head to the side so he had more room to find the spots that made you shiver. “Your skin’s so soft, baby girl…”

The feeling of his lips latching onto your skin made you shiver, feeling the slight suction as he sucked a mark into your skin, his tongue soothing the area afterwards. He hovered above you, arms propping himself up so he didn’t squish you completely, not that you’d mind. 

“Fuck…Jungkook…” You whimpered, feeling him smirk against your skin. He pulled away, eyes meeting yours as he pressed another soft kiss to your lips. 

“Can I take your dress off?” If he wasn’t breathless before, he sure was now, panting as he waited for permission. “Please, I wanna see your pretty body, baby.”

You managed to nod, propping yourself up so he could reach back and unzip your dress. His fingers gently grasped your sleeves, pulling the forward as the top half of your dress slid off your body. The sound that left his lips made your panties damper than before, his eyes focused solely on your bare breasts. “Oh shit…no bra?”

“Didn’t have one that worked with the dress.” You replied, finding it hard to stare at him head on. Jungkook seemed to notice this, his hands cupping your face again, focusing on your eyes as he spoke softly.

“Hey, you don’t have to be embarrassed or anything…you have the hottest body ever. Like, ever. I mean, you just showed me your bare tits and I almost came.” With his admission his cheeks tinted pink, but he didn’t pay any mind to it, instead focusing on you. “If you ever feel uncomfortable, just tell me. Okay? I’ll stop right away.” 

His gaze slowly went back to your tits, his thumbs resting just under your breasts, brushing against the soft skin before fully grasping them in his hands. You let out a breathless moan, eyes fluttering closed as you relished in his touch. It wasn’t long after that he had you out of that dress and your panties, being stripped down to only his boxers himself. His face was level with your pussy, lips pressing soft kisses against your inner thighs as he edged closer and closer to the place you needed him most. 

He darted his tongue out, licking a stripe down your folds, before making contact with your clit. The moans you let out egged him on more, pressing his face further into your cunt without any care in the world. The sloppy sounds that came from his mouth on your pussy was borderline pornographic. He used his fingers to part your folds, paying as much attention to your clit as possible. After a few minutes he pulled back, taking a few quick breaths before tugging you closer to the edge of the bed. He noticed the way you were gripping the sheets, how your eyes were screwed shut in pleasure.

“Aww, are you close, baby girl? Does my good girl wanna cum?” He taunted, and all you could do was whine and nod.

Your eyes were glossy as you opened them again, looking down at him to see the bottom half of his face covered in your juices. “Please… Please, wanna cum…wanna cum for you…” You moaned, blindly reaching for one of his hands. 

He got the idea, intertwining your fingers with his as he rested them just above your pelvic bone. He nipped at your inner thigh before licking another bold stripe up your sensitive folds, sucking your clit into his mouth. His tongue flicked over it slowly, steadily changing the rhythm to a pace that would bring you to the edge in an instant. With a few more flicks of his tongue, he had you coming undone on his tongue, slurping up every little bit of juice that leaked  from your hole.

You laid on the bed, limp and breathless as you looked at him, watching him stand up straight and wipe the rest of your juices that were on his face on the back of his hand. “How’re you doing, baby?” He asked softly, kissing your cheeks a few times to make sure you were still with him. 

You hummed softly, nodding as you pushed yourself up, connecting your lips with his in a slow and sensual kiss. Your hand snaked down to his boxers, barely rubbing against his hard-on before he grabbed your wrist gently. “If you do that, I’m gonna cum. And I want to cum while I’m inside you…”

The pout that formed on your face was inevitable, but you agreed, “Fine…but next time, you have to let me return the favour.”

His smirk grew as you insinuated there would be a next time. “Fine. Next time.” He kissed you again, fingers tangling in your hair as he groped your breasts again, groaning into the kiss. “I’m never gonna get over how soft your tits are…wanna fuck them.” He panted, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

A breathless giggle escaped you, “Maybe next time…” He took the answer you gave him, kissing you once more before flipping you to be on your hands and knees, your face pressed into the mattress as he grabbed at your ass.

“Fuck, is there anything about you that isn’t perfect?” When he saw you turn your head and part your lips to respond, he spanked your cheek gently, grabbing it to massage after. “Don’t answer that.”

It almost happened too quickly, he got the condom, slipped it on and pushed into you gently, rocking his hips into yours to make sure you adjusted to him properly. His hand reached under you, cooing at you to part your legs slightly so he could play with your clit. The sensations of his fingers stimulating your clit mixed with the rocking of his cock in you, you were a lost cause. 

“Mm, f-feels…so good…” You moaned into the mattress, feeling him speed up more, probably trying to chase his own high as well. Your walls fluttered around him, making him groan deeply, leaning forward to press a kiss between your shoulder blades. “Yeah? S’my cock that good for your little pussy? Hmm? Fuck, you take me so well…”

You whined, your walls tightening more around him, that knot in your lower belly slowly becoming too much to handle. “F- fuck…K-Kook, m’gonna cum…” You said in a high pitched tone, trying to hold back for him for as long as possible.

“Shhh, it’s okay, baby girl. Let go for me. I’m right there with you…” He encouraged you, thrusting into you faster as he kept rubbing your clit. Your moans melded together as you both came undone.

He kept pumping into you until he was sure you were satisfied, a gentle hand coming to your hips to stabilize you as he pulled out, listening to your soft whine. He hushed you sweetly, laying your hips down to the mattress as he quickly disposed of the used condom. He came back to the bed, curling up behind you, nuzzling his face into your neck as he breathed in your scent. 

“Mmm, you’re so pretty…” He whispered drowsily, smiling softly as he heard you giggle. He loved that sound so much.

“Sure, I look so pretty with messy hair and sweat covering my body.” You groaned, shifting to get more comfortable. It was his turn to chuckle, his arms wrapping around you tighter.

“Yes, you do.” The moment of peace was disrupted by the doorbell ringing. He furrowed his brows, looking at you before towards the bedroom door. “Give me a minute, I’ll go see who it is.” He murmured, kissing your temple softly before getting up and pulling on his boxers from before. 

He was gone for a few minutes, quiet chatter echoing through the house, but it wasn’t loud enough for me to hear. You wrapped the sheet around your body, tugging it securely around you as you got closer to the bedroom door. Then you could hear it, Jungkook’s voice stern and low, something you hadn’t heard from him before. But who was he talking to like that? And then you understood…

“I want to see my daughter.”

Baby Girl coming out sometime next week

Hi your Masterlist doesn’t work 🥲 I was trying to find your fic tattooed hearts (are you still writing that?)

Oh my god I haven’t heard someone ask about that fic in a while😭 so I’m not writing it anymore, it was completed a while ago, but here’s the link to Tattooed Hearts

And here’s the masterlist

pairing: Childhood best friend! Jungkook x Childhood best friend! Reader

Warning: not much? Slight heartbreak, reader being madly in love with JK, JK being oblivious, jealousy, slight angst, fluff

***

Was it wrong to be in love with your best friend, even though he has a girlfriend?

I mean, it probably was, selfish even - but how could you not? He had the sweetest smile, the kindest eyes that sparkled every time he talked about comics he loved or new foods he’s tried.

There was an innocence to him almost, one that made him see the world and all the good in it. You couldn’t help the way your heart tugged every time you saw him with his girlfriend, the way he was slightly stiff, always had an awkward smile on his face and did almost anything to keep away.

He met Jia, his girlfriend, in high school. You remember the day he ran to you all giddy and smiley, telling you about the girl he liked.

“She’s so pretty! She has the prettiest eyes, and her hair, god her hair! She puts it into a ponytail and it sways when she walks-”

“Doesn’t all hair sway when people walk? I mean, unless you put product in or something.” You asked, raising a brow as he looked at you with a pout and furrowed brows.

“Jeez, Y/n, just listen! Okay? She’s…different.” He said, but the way he looked away with a small smile made your heart break. He rambled on and on about her, how amazing she was, how funny she was, the fact that he saw her in the hall today.

Of course you supported him throughout his years of dating Jia, you didn’t want to sabotage his relationship no matter how much you loved him. So now, being in university and a….semi-mature person, you decided to put this silly crush behind you.

It was annual game night with all your friends at his dorm, it was a tradition you had started in junior high and carried to now, in university. You walked up to the frat house door, hating the smell of sweat that lingered outside even. You were let in by Jimin, one of Jungkook’s friends who welcomed you with a hug. Walking in further, you could see the small group of people. You migrated to the kitchen to help get some things ready, feeling someone poke your sides. You jumped, a small yelp escaping your lips as you turned to see Jungkook with a big smile on his face. “Jeez, Kook! You scared me!”

He chuckled as he pulled you into a playful headlock, his big hands tangling in your soft hair. Pulling you into a noogie, he peppered your head with kisses, ignoring your muffled complaints.

"Ah, my favorite girl is here! I missed you, Y/n~" He said in a singsong voice, finally releasing you from the headlock. You grumbled and tried to fix your messy hair as he just grinned like a fool.

"Aww c'mon, you know you love my noogies!" He teased, flicking your nose playfully. "Now c'mere, I need my daily dose of Y/n hugs!"

He opened his arms wide, waiting for you to walk into his embrace. He loved you, he really did, you always cheered him up no matter what. Even when he had Jia, they never hugged or touched as much as he hugged you. He needed your comforting presence in his life.

"Seriously though, I'm glad you're here. Game night isn't the same without you." He said sincerely, holding you close and rubbing soothing circles on your back. He nuzzled into your hair, breathing in the sweet scent of your perfume.

“Of course it’s not! You need someone to humble you, who else is gonna do it if not me?” You giggled, pulling back to look at him. There was always this look in his eyes, one that you always thought too much about. It was like a glow, a special shine that happened whenever he saw you - and it made you glow.

Soon enough everyone was called to the living room, sitting around in a circle, you sat across from Jungkook, and Jia…well, she sat in his lap. Glaring. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, looking towards Jimin who was explaining how to play Truth or Dare.

“Doesn’t everyone know how to play?” Namjoon asked, everyone giggling as Jimin hit the back of his head, “No! So let me have my fun and explain. We’re gonna spin a bottle to start, whoever it lands on has to ask someone else a question, then they answer and ask, and it’s just a big circle.”

The first round was simple, Jimin asked Taehyung if he ate his last cookie, leading to a pillow being chucked when he said yes - guess the moral was don’t eat his cookies. Everything was fine, flowing normally, people laughed, someone almost started to cry from how much they were laughing; but all good things must come to an end.

“Who were you with yesterday?” Nora, Namjoon’s girlfriend, asked. And soon enough, everyone was focused on Jia. I could see the way Jungkook pulled back, brows furrowed as he looked at her.

“W-What? I wasn’t with anyone yesterday. I was with Jungkook!” She exclaimed, immediately becoming defensive. It was all a blur - the yelling in the room, the look of anger on Jungkook’s face, and then him dragging her away.

Everything was silent. We all sat there awkwardly, looking at each other, knowing that there was most likely a fight going on behind the closed door of his room. Ten more minutes passed, and Jungkook finally came out of his room, staying silent as he walked past everyone and out onto the balcony. You bit your bottom lip, pushing yourself up to follow after him, seeing his hunched frame over the railing. “I broke up with her.”

A gleam of hope shot through you, knowing it probably wasn’t the best time to have a small smile on your face. You sighed softly, moving to stand beside him, looking at him with gentle eyes. “I’m sorry…”

 "Part of me feels relieved, like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. But another part of me feels guilty, like I just hurt someone who cared about me." He finally looked over at you, his brown eyes searching yours. "You know how much I value loyalty and honesty. And I just... I couldn't continue pretending anymore. Pretending to be someone I'm not, pretending to be happy when I wasn't... I like you. I have for a while, but I was too much of a coward to break up with Jia.”

His confession made your cheeks heat up, a look of adoration growing. He turned to you fully, his warm hands cupping your cheeks, eyes flickering from yours to your lips. He leaned in closer, his lips inches from yours as you lifted your hand to stop him.

“Kook…I like you too…a lot. Since grade school, actually. But…you just broke up with Jia, and I don’t think it would be wise to jump into anything just yet…” You wanted to bash your head in for denying him a kiss, but you knew it was for the best.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, you’re right…fuck.” He pulled away, looking down at his feet awkwardly. You smiled softly, reaching up to cup his face, words soft as you spoke.

“Don’t be sorry, okay? I’ve waited for you for this long…what’s a few more days?” It didn’t matter how long you had to wait for him, you just knew you would. And he would for you.

i want something sweeeeet maybe girl happy father jk?🥺

Cho-Hee was turning two, Jungkook’s pride and joy (apart from you of course), and it was safe to say you and Jungkook were running around the house, trying to make everything perfect.

“Wait, where’s the streamers? Jungkook, I asked you to put the streamers up!” You called from the dining room, looking at the empty window that should’ve been filled with frilly, pink streamers.

You heard a few grumbles, footsteps nearing as you laid out some snacks and appetizers for the guests when they arrived. “I got them, baby,” He said quickly, placing the bag of streamers into the table before grabbing your waist and kissing your cheeks.

You both had been under stress to make sure everything was perfect for your little girl, wanting to give her nothing but the best. Most decorations were put up as she was down for her nap, sleeping soundly in her bed upstairs. When the cries rang through the house, it was clear that everything would take just a little longer to put together.

Once you got her dressed and put her hair into two tiny pigtails, you carried her down on your hip, her little smile growing 10x when she saw her dad finishing with the balloons. A squeal echoed through the hall followed by a constant call of ‘Dada!’ Sometimes you thought that your husband loved your daughter more than you - but how could he not? From the moment you told him you were pregnant he was all over your stomach, kissing it and talking to it. But when he found out he was having a girl…his life before seemed miserable compared to what it would be when she came into the world.

It was a tradition he started, calling her his beautiful joy, that is. That is was how you settled with the name Cho-Hee. It meant beautiful joy in Korean. And your little girl was Jungkook’s constant joy. “Bug! Look who’s all grown up! My pretty little princess…” He smiled, taking her from you, leaning close after. “Please tell me she’s gonna stop growing.”

All you could do was laugh and shake your head, watching your baby girl cling to her daddy and smile up at him like a ray of sunshine. “You know she’s not gonna stop growing, Kook.”

more grumbles escaped him, leaning towards you, nuzzling into your neck. He pressed a kiss to the skin just under your ear, nipping it softly. “Guess we’ll just have to make more.” He smirked, his other arm coming to wrap around your waist.

“How about we focus on the party then talk later?” You suggested, watching how he stomped but agreed, kissing you gently before walking away with your daughter. They would always be your joy.

requests for Jungkook are open again :)

GUILTY AS SIN? | JK | PART 𝐈𝐈

"He remembered how to stay—and you learned that some things are worth the mess, that love sometimes comes too late, but longing never does."

→ Pairing brother in law! Jungkook x widowed fem!reader

→ Genre forbidden love! au, childhood friends to lovers, angst, smut, fluff

→W.C 17.10k

→ Warnings oc is going through it, Jungkook is a flirty menace, ceo jk, lovesick jk, simp jk, possessive Jungkook, jealous Jungkook, rich people lunch time!!, mentions of blood and injury, mentions of drinking, yoongi makes an appearance, he has no lines, namjin, yearning?, bathroom escapdes, silly banter, sexual tension kissing, making out, explicit sexual content, fingering, an almost handjob, penetrative sex, dirty talking, soft Dom jk, praising, creampie, bathroom sex, fluff (you don't even wanna know my definition of fluff), hoseok is a victim, minho is haunting the narrative as he should, angst (sorry girls It’s my brand 😝), doomed siblings

→ Playlist dress by Taylor swift, I can't be more in love by the 1975, in the woods somewhere by hozier, I can see you by Taylor swift, last words of a shooting star by mitski

→A/N Hii! Hello!! First things first: THANK YOU. Like, thank you in all caps lock. The love you all poured into Guilty as Sin honestly made me giggle to myself more than once. Every comment, message, share, and heart, It meant the absolute world to me. You’ve made this messy little story so much more than just words. You made it matter. And it was just so disrespectful of me to keep you waiting so long for a part 2 that wasn't really in my plans but yeah. Life got a little too unbearable, the plot bunnies misbehaved (you know how they are). But I really hope it’s worth the wait and not me just reheating my own nachos 😅😅 This is also most probably the last thing I'm gonna write for this story, at least for a long while. Thank you for reading. Thank you for being patient and most importantly,thank you for being kind. I love you and please do let me know your thoughts. Message me. Tell your plants. I'm all ears.

| PART 1 | PART 2 |

A thing about churches is that they were built for quiet.

Not silence. No, silence is an absence. This is presence. Heavy and hushed and holy.

There was something about the air inside them—perhaps the solemn, how it was weighty, drenched in devotion—that made the world outside feel far-flung. The towering arches, the glow of candlelight flickering against stained glass, the low murmur of prayers threading through the smother.

The light is softer here too, filtered through the glass—fragments of crimson and gold painting benches and pressed shoulders. Candle flames sway slightly, flickering like they know secrets, like they remember everyone who ever sat here in search of something they couldn't name.

You tell yourself this stillness is what you needed. That this space—sacred and slow—would help clear your head. But the truth is, the quiet here doesn’t comfort. It exposes. Peels you open from the inside out.

You hear too much in it. Feel too much in it.

Even on days when you could still hear easy synchronicity—hands clasped, laughter spilling into the cool air. Especially on days like these.

Or maybe you're mixing that up with something else. Something that has been coloring your days blue for a while now.

Something that doesn't pauses for holidays, doesn't make exceptions for birthdays, doesn't even bother to step aside for just one evening and let one breathe.Does not give way to leaded glass windows or the allay of a congregation. No, it lingers, seeps into places meant for worship, curls around the edges of pews and prayers alike. Certainly doesn’t soften on afternoons like these. Even though the flowers hadn’t wilted.

You hadn’t given it much thought.

Or rather, you had avoided thinking about it altogether.

Perhaps that is why, sitting here now—hands folded neatly in your lap, shoulders drawn tight—yet you feel it, heavy as ever.

Your mother-in-law had insisted you come, refusing to leave you alone, her soft-spoken request leaving little room for refusal. Mira had chimed in too, linked her arm through yours with a smile that tried to coax you back into the land of the living, or like she was letting you in on some joke only the two of you shared.

And so, here you were.

Church had never been a place you frequented, even when Minho was alive—he hadn't been particularly devout, preferring to spend bargaining his way through the sunday market and believing in the way the sky could shift from blue to violet in the span of a single evening—though you both had come when his mother had asked you to, of course, had sat beside him in these very pews, but never like this.

Not without him whispering some irreverent joke about heaven’s waiting list, about how maybe angels got bored too.

But now, you found yourself here more often.

If only because there was no reason not to because what waited you was a quiet apartment, a neatly made bed you hardly slept in and a day untouched by plans, by purpose, by anything remotely significant.

Also because you thought he wouldn’t be here.

Your mother-in-law had told you he wouldn’t be able to make it, had mentioned something about work, something about how he's not big on religion, much like his brother and oh, how you’d clung to those words. Let them blanket your nerves in fragile relief. One more hour. One more day of—knowing you wouldn’t have to see him today, that you could go on one more moment pretending you weren't aware of the inevitable, that you weren't unraveling at the seams every time you so much as thought about him.

That, that's why you had been skirting around him.

Maybe not consciously. At least, that’s what it looked like (You knew. Deep down, you knew.) But ever since that night—God, you really don't want to think about that or him in front of.. God without feeling like you're going to burst in flames. But its not exactly easy.

Not here, where the quiet literally wangles you into the deepest darkest of your thoughts. Thoughts that you're sure would.

Because the quiet here curls around your memories like smoke, drawing them out from where you’d hidden them. It coaxes them up your throat and behind your ribs until they’re a dull, burning pressure you can’t shake off.

You shift slightly in the bench. Mira breathes beside you, soft and steady. You press your palms flat against your lap, grounding yourself.

It hardly works. Especially not when he arrives. That strange, electric knowing. Like the air knows him. Like the space adjusts around him.

The low creak of a door, the faintest hush falling over those nearest the back.

Late, quiet, slipping into the back like a ghost who had learned how to walk among the living, embodying every bit of the word 'handsome' in the most tailored of ways. Hair laid out in perfect symmetry. A ironed, muted blue suit hugging every bit of his perfect posture. Eyes so probing, so demanding of attention that you wonder why you ever got confused when everyday a new number of girls would approach you at school, especially at university for his number.

Then he had just been your doe eyed friend who you wanted to spare from heartbreaks. Not aware of the term-"heartbreaker" that had been given to him. Ironic, really.

Now you feel like you understand. You feel like you sense him before you see him. Sense every bit of his presence that you maybe had overlooked before. A shift in the air, the faintest murmur of acknowledgment rippling through the congregation.

Both Mrs Jeon and Mira are turned towards the figure, thier expression brightening in recognition, waving small hands at the figure that is approaching your way, pulse quickening with the footsteps.

No.

He said he doesn't do church.

He wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t sit—

The soft creak of the seat behind you made your breath hitch.

The older woman only smiled, a pleasant suprise. For her, atleast. "Jungkook-ah! You came! Oh, how lovely!"

She's sure the reason is that he is finally letting divinity in, you're sure you're losing yours.

You don’t turn but Mira does as she shifts beside you, knees bumping against yours to smile in greeting. Saying something about how her husband should learn a thing or two from him and give this a try, accompany her once in a while. A deep, warm chuckle in reply hits you square in the back of your head and your shoulders tense.

Low, rich, like warm amber poured over ice.

It lands like a bruise.

You feel it—real and impossible and close.

You swallow hard, keeping your eyes downcast, determined not to react any more. You fix your gaze on the marble altar, on the golden flicker of votive candles.He’s behind you. Of course he is.

Because where else would he be, if not the one place you prayed he wouldn't?

Even as the sermon continued, voices rising in unison for prayer, you could barely hear them, could barely not feel your dirtiest secret behind you, close enough that if you leaned back even slightly, you might brush against him.

The service moves forward, and you try to focus. You try to listen. Tried to will your ears to listen, to stay anchored in psalms and promises and the choir’s distant swell. Just get through this.It couldn’t possibly be so difficult. No one knows. No one suspects a thing. The polished congregation kneels and stands with rhythm and faith, unaware that your spine was stiff with a secret, that your breath refused to steady. Only you knew. Only he does. And that truth grips your tounge so hard there’s no way it’s ever slipping past your mouth.

But then a touch happens. As if maneuvering. A whisper of movement behind you, so faint it could be the air shifting, a trick of your mind.

Light. Fleeting. Not direct. Not quite.

You freeze.

Just the faintest brush of fingertips against the ends of your hair that spilled over your shoulders, the softest, most cursory pull. Just a teasing pass, like he’s testing the silk of it between thumb and forefinger. There’s a pause, then the strand is gently looped once, slow and idle, as though he’s turning it over in thought.

Then released.

The answer to that is that it happens again. A lazy twirl of a strand, a slow release.

Not enough for anyone to notice. Not enough to draw attention. But enough for you to feel it. Enough to make your skin prickle, your heartbeat stutter.

You shift in your seat, pressing your hands tighter into your lap, back rod-straight, lungs stuck in a breath that wouldn’t come. The sensation was too distinct now, too exact to mistake.

It doesn’t stop. Another strand. A drag of fingertips. A near-caress.

What the fuck is he doing?

You don’t turn. You don’t react when you should have thrown him a warning glance—but that would mean acknowledging him. That would mean facing him.

And you didn’t know how to look him in the eye and not think about it.

His mouth. Your sigh. The sound of your name said like prayer and profanity.

Didn’t know how to hear his voice and not remember the way how his lips shaped against your skin. Venal. Hungry.

Didn't know how not to follow the tattoos that ran through his sleeve and pretend that you haven't took your time exploring them. Aversly. Teasingly.

Didn’t know how to feel the weight of everything you weren’t supposed to want pressing down on you like a second heartbeat.

The way he had tugged your shirt up with reverence and bitten down like he wanted to leave a mark not even salvation could scrub away.

Do not react.

Do not move.

But he kept going. And the sermon blurred.

Gods, you were going to burn. You were going to hell. And he'd be there already, waiting with his hands in your hair.

When the sermon concludes, you stand too quickly, push your hair forward and Mira shoots you a look, her fingers grazing your wrist in question. You shake your head, offering her a quick, brittle smile before stepping toward the exit. You walked. Out of the stall. Out of the building. Out of your goddamn mind.

To your relief—you were still a perfectly coordinated bundle of cells when you were out. The sun hit you outside, sharp and sudden, dragging long shadows over the stone steps. You sucked in fresh air like someone who had been underwater too long.

The relief lasted long enough until Jungkook spoke under the sun casting long shadows against the stone steps. “I’ll drive.” Voice cutting through the polite chatter.

“Oh, that would be great, dear. Y/N, Mira, come on.” Your mother-in-law, oblivious, beamed, completely unaware that you had just spent forty-five minutes debating if setting yourself on fire in the house of God would be less painful than what had just happened.

The car ride should be easy.

It should be nothing. A short drive. A forgettable stretch of road between church and the Jeon family estate.

Should be.

But as you are pressed against the window, your coat bunched beneath you like a failed barrier, you want to either open the window for air or bolt from the moving car, with every inch of your skin crawling with awareness, tight and buzzing and flushed in ways that had nothing to do with the temperature.

The cabin is too quiet. Too warm. The low hum of the engine does nothing to drown out the sound of your heart, which feels like it’s beating directly into your throat.

And then there’s that scent again.

The scent of leather and something distinctly Jungkook curling in the closed space. A mix of his cologne—something dark and woodsy—and the faintest trace of laundry detergent, clinging to his shirt like it had no intention of leaving. It shouldn’t be so familiar, but it is. And that’s the problem.

“That sermon was lovely, wasn’t it?” Mrs. Jeon’s voice is light, warm, like freshly baked bread. The kind of voice that belongs in a home, not a car filled with tension so thick it could choke you.

Mira hums in agreement beside you. “It was.”

You blink, only now realizing how little of the service you actually absorbed.

“Of course,” Mrs Jeon continues, turning slightly in her seat, eyes alight with something rebuke, “not everyone was paying attention.”

You tense, breath catching, even when the accusation isn’t aimed at you. You feel it anyway.

“What?” He finally speaks, voice even. A little hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken in hours. Like his vocal cords were dry from silence and prohibition.

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t know, Jungkook-ah." his mother huffs, shaking her head. “You join for the first time ever in a while, sit in the back, and then spend half the time looking like you didn’t even knew where you were." she finishes with a scolding tone.

Jungkook exhales through his nose, hand tightening against the steering wheel. He doesn't argue.

Because It did seem so.

Mira, ever the enabler, bites her lip to stifle a laugh, glancing at you with barely concealed amusement.

You do not look at Jungkook.

You absolutely do not.

Mrs. Jeon, unbothered by the quiet tension thickening in the car, continues, “You know who else was praying a little too hard?”

Silence. No one answers with whatever self preservation they have.

Not because they don’t want to. But because they know better.

Because when Mrs. Jeon starts on church gossip, there’s no stopping her because apparently it's what it's best for.

She leans in, lowering her voice like she’s about to reveal something sacred. “Mrs. Kang.”

Mira gasps dramatically. “No.”

“Oh, yes.” A firm nod. “She was crying, dear. Again. Right in the middle of the third hymn.”

You blink. “Why?”

The older woman tsks, as if the answer should be obvious. “That husband of hers. You know how he is.”

You makes a thoughtful noise, tilting your head. “Didn’t he… move to Seoul?”

“Yes, but does distance stop a man from causing stress? I don’t think so.” You didn't think so too.

Jungkook exhales, long-suffering. “Why do you know all of this, eomma?”

His mother waves a hand dismissively. “Please, son. I hear things.”

Mira leans in. “Did she cry last week too?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Jeon replies. “But last week was because he didn’t call her for three days. This week, I believe he’s dating someone half his age.”

Mira sighs. “Men.”

You let out an involuntary snicker before you can help it. You don’t even know if it’s a real sound or something your soul exhaled out of disbelief.

Then, you make the mistake of glancing toward the front.

Because Jungkook’s eyes are on you.

Not on the road.

Not on his mother, who is still detailing the tragic love life of a woman you barely know.Not at the red light blinking in the distance.

His eyes are dark and unreadable, barely hooded, like he’s watching you and also thinking about the last time you were under him, gasping. Like maybe he’s remembering the way your nails looked against his neck. Or the way you said his name like a prayer, far more pledged than anything the pastor could conjure.

And every so often, you caught him.

The first time, you looked away immediately. The second time, you stared out the window so hard you gave yourself a headache. The third time, you stared back, even as something molten and dangerous simmers in the quiet between you.

His gaze held yours for a beat longer than necessary before shifting back to the road.

Every part of you was aware of him.

Of the way he adjusted his grip on the wheel. Of the way the veins along his forearm flexed when he turned. Of the way he never looked away fast enough.

Mira nudged you gently. “You okay?”

You nodded through the lie. "Fine."

Your mother-in-law again turned in her seat, smiling warmly. “I hope you’ll stay for lunch, Mira. We have invited the kims too. It’s been long overdue." The word ‘lunch’ doesn’t quite capture what’s waiting at the Jeon house.

Because it isn’t just lunch.

It’s crystal glassware, centerpieces too elaborate for a midday meal, and courses that require cutlery you don’t know how to use properly. It's a show. A subtle flex. A performance wrapped in linen napkins and wine pairings. And if you had to guess, this lunch isn’t just a friendly catch-up.

It’s Mrs. Jeon doing what she does best—playing politics with a smile. Maybe it’s her way of returning the favor after that party the Kims threw. Maybe she’s angling for something else entirely. But it’s definitely not casual.

She then adds as an afterthought. “We thought it would be nice to host something a little more intimate after such a wonderful service.”

“Oh, I’d love to.” Mira grins, relaxing against the seat. “Y/N, you up for it?”

You forced a small smile. “Uh-yeah. Yeah, of course!”

It’s automatic. Reflexive.

Because you can't say what you really want.

Which is to get out of the car.

To breathe. To clear the fog from your chest that smells like leather, and cologne, and fire.

From then, from the backseat, you had counted the moments until you could step into open air again and feel the crisp edge of early spring, the scent of freshly turned earth and blooming jasmine lacing through the quiet garden. The table was set beneath the sprawling branches of the old oak, where dappled sunlight filtered through on the delicate porcelain plates, silverware so polished it reflected the light, dishes, conversations lively and layered with subtext in the way rich families knew how to be.

You, too used to know the dance.

Used to let the brezzy hum of conversation wrap around you, used to nod along at the right moments, used to catch the way Minho would kick Jungkook under the table just to make him crack a smile.You remembered that.

Now, Mira sat beside you, her elbow jolting against yours as she reached for a serving spoon, her plate already filled to the edges.“Try this one,” she whispered, already loading her plate still like she hadn’t eaten in days. And then there was Yoongi—her husband—sitting with a plate he barely touched, scrolling through something on his phone until Mira shot him a look. He cleared his throat and slid it away.

Across from you, your mother-in-law delicately dabbed her lips with a napkin before resuming conversation about Mrs kang with a woman- namjoon's mother- who had grayer streaks in her hair that only painted the greater picture of elegance, her voice carrying that effortless ease of someone used to commanding a room. Someone who had enough money to command at all

Then there's Jungkook who sits two chair away from you, separated by separated only by a stretch of linen and eating irons. Jungkook who could barely catch up to Namjoon's enthusiasm about his dad dying, something about the shifting board members, something that should require Jungkook’s full attention."And now that my father’s out, the balance is shifting," Namjoon said. “We’ve got a chance to pull things clean, finally. The new proposal’s solid.”

Especially when his father speaks. "You’ve seen the numbers, Jungkook," His deep voice cutting through the low hum of conversation. “The deal’s been in discussion for months now. The board expects your response by next week.”

“I’ll look it over.” He acknowledged it with a slow nod.

"Not look over, son." His father’s tone was measured, but firm—the kind of voice that had always left little room for negotiation. "Confirm."

Jungkook exhaled through his nose, setting his wine down. "I won’t confirm anything without making sure it’s solid first."

He pauses. A glance. His father’s sharp gaze flickered over him, assessing. Not questioning—no, never questioning. Because Jungkook had earned his place, had spent years proving himself, had molded himself into the kind of son his father could rely on, because Minho never did.

Not that Minho ever needed to. Not that he ever wanted to.

Jungkook had understood that early on. That Minho had been different. That Minho’s place had always been elsewhere—with paint on his fingers and art in his head, with you curled into his side, laughing in a language he had willed himself to forget. And so it had fallen to him.

And Jungkook—Jungkook hadn’t minded. Not really.

Not when he could see the relief in Minho’s eyes every time their father skipped over him in business conversations, every time he looked at him liked he had birthed a catastrophe. Ambition morphed into inheritance and starry eyes jaundiced. Jungkook realized that this was what he was born for. That his older brother was a fool for denying everything that had been laid on a silver platter for him.

And because it had been easier than actually admitting that maybe he wasn't a fool at all. That maybe it wasn't the legacy he was born for.

Because every waking moment he finds himself tangled in the thoughts about what was right in front of him.

It had been days, yet it remained, stitched into him like something permanent—like the ink on his skin, like the weight of his own name.

It wasn’t just the memory of it. Not just the way you had felt beneath him, the way his name had left your lips in shuddering breaths. It was everything else—the before, the after. The way you had looked at him, wide-eyed and hesitant in the dim light of that unfamiliar room, as if realizing for the first time that he was capable of something like this. That he had spent years knowing, wanting.

Jungkook, who had spent years perfecting restraint, found himself breaking under the weight of it at only the sight of you that brought the memory of the night where he pretended you were his, like fever rushing through.

Because you would not look at him.

Because your eyes had skimmed past him all afternoon, slipping over him like he was nothing, like he hadn’t once been pressed against you, groaning into your skin.

And fuck if it didn’t drive him insane.

His fingers curled around the stem of his glass, his knuckles white as he brought the wine to his lips, stealing glances of you reaching for a pitcher of water at the same time as Mira, your fingers brushing, the smallest of startled laughs escaping you.

Soft. Effortless. Rivaling the intoxicity of the drink in his hand. He couldn't remember when it was the last time he heard it, only the withdrawals that came with it.

Jungkook exhaled sharply, setting down his glass before he did something reckless—before he let himself stare too long, let his thoughts slip into something visible, something impossible to ignore.

And then, as if the universe were intent on pushing him closer to the edge—you left, something he used to be best at.

You pushed back your chair, the scrape of wood against stone barely registering above the conversation which started with Mrs Kim going- “I should probably head home soon,” she said. "Joon's father probably running the househelp ragged by now.”

Namjoon huffed a laugh beside Jungkook, reaching for the hand resting on his thigh. “Let him. Maybe they’ll finally get him to stop redecorating the library every three months.”

Seokjin, seated beside him, shrugged. “Or maybe he’ll burn the place down and finally have an excuse to build that ‘modern masterpiece’ he’s been threatening to commission.”

Mrs. Kim sighed, exasperated but fond. “I wouldn't put it past him. He’s been threatening that ‘modern masterpiece’ since 2003.”

Mrs. Jeon clapped her hands together. “Oh, nonsense. Stay for tea at least. Mr Kim will be fine. Yoongi, you’ll take another pour, won’t you? Y/N, dear, why don’t you grab the set from the kitchen?”

"Of course. I'll be right back." you murmured, barely loud enough for anyone to catch, save for the ones listening too closely. Save for him.

Jungkook watched as you stepped away, disappearing through the doors of the house, something tightening in his chest.

The moment his hand closed around the stem of his glass again, Jungkook knew what he was about to do.

Would it be too obvious? Too stupid?

He doubted it.

Maybe it was reckless. Maybe it was childish. But as his grip tightened and the glass stem cracked beneath his palm, sending shards of glass and a sharp jolt of pain through his hand, he felt something darkly satisfying settle in his chest.

The table fell silent.

And all eyes fell on him. "I-I'm sorry. I didn’t realize." He cleared his throat and started to rise up from his seat.

Namjoon, the closest to him, attempted to reach for his hand and he instantly flinched. Just because the wound was intentional, didn’t mean it didn't hurt.

"What the hell, Kook? Are you okay?"

“Its nothing,” he muttered, jaw clenched as he pressed his uninjured hand to his palm, watching the thin trickle of crimson bead against his skin.

“Jungkook?” His mother’s voice came next to break through the quiet, sharp and immediate, her chair scraping against the stone as she pushed back. “Oh my god—what were you thinking? Do you need me to—”

“No,” he cut in, firm but even, already standing. “I’ve got it.”

Seokjin, looked up from beside his boyfriend, a just as suprised and bewildered expression taking over his face. The same one that mimicked every other person's that sat around the table, with Mira looking like she was going to choke on her food as she met his eyes before her husband smoothed a hand down her back.

"Are you sure? You don’t need any hel—"

"I'm okay, hyung. I said I got it." He said it with perhaps too much irration shimmering beneath his words and the table fell silent again.

Jungkook ignored them all.

He was already moving.

Already following.

Through the hallway, past familiar frames on the wall.

He finds himself checking his reflection in one, taking note of his hair that seem tousled and runs a smooth hand over them.

He finds you in the kitchen.

The afternoon light streamed through the windows, casting golden lines across the marble counters, across the soft fabric of your dress. You stood with your back to him, your hands grasping something—kettle, tray? Don't know.

You just know that you feel him before you hear him like you always do, the weight of his presence shifting the air, settling around you like something impending. You pretend you don’t notice. Pretend you’re too preoccupied with the cups in your hands, as if arranging over the same sets of cups for the fourth time will make it any more legible. It’s pointless, really—You had always known Jungkook, even in silence.

“Gonna keep avoiding me?"

It’s not exactly a question.

Not accusing, but certain. Because yes, you have. Not because you’re angry, not because you regret it, but because it scares you how little you do.

You swallowed. Still not looking. “I’ve been busy.”

He drawls out. “Have you?"

That makes you look up.

By this time you should have realized that it's always a mistake when you do that.

Because he’s leaning against the counter, a hand tucked casually in his pockets, sleeves still rolled up, collar slightly undone. And he’s watching you.

Not like at the table, where his expression had been smooth, unreadable or like that one time where you had been exactly where you are now and he was exactly where he was. Just then, it had been the same illegible look.

Here, in this quiet, his eyes are darker. He looks at you like he knows.

Its in the way his gaze dips, taking you in and how the amber light fluidly danced across your hair that framed your guilty face. So fucking adorable. "So busy you won't even look at me."

You hated how your breath hitched. Hated how you had no answer that didn’t sound like a lie.

You forced a slow breath and placed the napkins in the space left in the tray. "I've had a lot to do."

"No you didn't."

"I did."

"No you didn't, Y/N."

You force yourself to move, to wrap your hands around the tray, to act as if this conversation isn’t happening. “What do you want me to say?”

Instead, he pushed himself off the wall and came closer, close enough that the warmth of him touched your spine, close enought that you could see everything—the way his jaw tightens, the way his throat bobs when he swallows, the way his fingers twitch at his sides and when he finally spoke, it was low, just for you.

"Tell me you don't hate me. I can't go on like that." Has no idea how he has done that for years and has no intention to relive that ever again. He's a buisness man now. Buisness men learn from their losses and never give up profit.

Heat curled in your stomach.

Minutes passed. Too many, too few.

And he waits. He’s patient like that. He always has been.

But your eyes were drawn to something else entirely.

His hand.

The sharp contrast of crimson against his skin, fresh and glistening, pooling at the edge of his palm before dripping onto the tiled floor in slow, schemed drops.

You inhaled sharply, setting the tray down with a quiet clatter, your pulse kicking up. “What the—Jungkook, what happened?”

He didn’t answer right away, didn’t even glance at the wound. Instead, his eyes stayed fixed on you, dark and unreadable, watching the way you reached for his arm, fingers curling around his wrist, your touch careful and instinctive. Maybe it wasn't that bad of an idea, he thinks.

You turned his palm over, assessing the damage. A deep cut, but nothing catastrophic. "You're bleeding."

His voice was slow, aforethought. “I noticed.”

Your head snapped up, irritation flickering behind your concern. “What do you mean, you noticed? Why didn’t you say anything? You should’ve—”

Your breath catches, shifting your weight, as he steps closer, the space between you dwindling.

You try to ignore it. Try to recoil from it. Try to do anything but this. Because you recognized it now. This wasn’t about his hand.

Not really.

Not when his gaze flickered down to your lips in that moment.

Not when his fingers twitched at his side, like he was waiting.

Not when the air between you suddenly felt too thick, too warm, too charged. Too much like that one hallway.

You swallowed, cursed under your breath and forced your eyes away from his wound to take hold of the abandoned tray. You didn’t trust yourself enough with his. With him.

He seemed to revel in that fact.

His fingers brushed against your wrist in protest, dwadling, intentional. His head leaned in, lips grazing the curve of your jaw, just the lightest touch, just enough to rattle the glasses on the tray, just enough to summon a maelstrom of sensations.

Your hand flexed beneath his grip, and for a moment, the room felt smaller, quieter, like the world outside of it ceased to exist.

No. No. You reminded yourself of the straight stuff.

“Jungkook, let go. Everyone's ou—”

He doesn’t let you finish.

Jungkook’s breath ghosts over your cheek, his nose brushing against yours, the scent of him—sylvan cologne, something faintly sweet—pulling you under, drowning you in it.

He turns you, presses you back against the counter. His eyes are dark, searching of the surroundings for a moment before they are back on you. Then, so is the unrelenting heat of his mouth, catching your lips with his, slow and deep, like he had all the time in the world to corrade you.

His lips moved against yours, insistent, beguiling you to open up, to give him what he wanted. Because it had been days. Days since he had his first taste. Days since you have deprived him off it.

And so you did.

You gasped against his mouth, your fingers curling against the handle of trays, gripping, steadying yourself. He groaned at the way you responded, at the way you always responded, despite every calmour, despite every attempt to put distance between you.

You didn’t know who reached first, who needed more, who ached better—only that neither of you pulled away.

The kiss deepened, his uninjured hand slipping beneath the curve of your jaw, his thumb dragging against your cheek, his teeth grazing against your bottom lip. The wounded one curled around your waist. You gasped at the contact—at the warmth of his blood seeping through the fabric of your dress, staining the pale church blue with sin. You felt it against your ribs, hot and sticky. You didn’t care. You whimpered into his mouth, heat pooling low in your stomach, and that was all it took to prouduce a low, guttural noise in his chest, his fingers flexing against your waist, gripping, needing, wanting

And suddenly, the counter is the only thing keeping you upright. Your mind is spinning, lost in him, lost in this, in the fact that this is happening—

Here.

Now.

Where anyone could walk in.

“Y/N?”

Your heart stopped.

Jungkook froze.

Your mother-in-law’s voice was distant but getting closer.

Your breath hitched, panic flaring in your chest, but before you could pull away, Jungkook caught you again.

Pressed his lips to yours, stealing another kiss, this one shorter, sharper, like a punishment, like he was branding you with it as if he hadn’t already stained you with his blood, making sure you’d feel it long after he let go.

But he didn’t.

“Please” he breathed against your mouth, he kisses you deeper, hungrier. He drinks you in like he’s been starving, like he wants to ruin you.

Like he already has.

His tongue brushed against yours, hot and sure, and your stomach twisted, heat

licking at your spine. “Tell me you don't."

A voice—your mother-in-law’s, calling your name grows closer and semblance slams into you like a freight train.

Yet Jungkook stands untouched, refusing to let go, refusing to understand what's he doing, how it could end.

"Jungkook, stop—mhmm—Mom's coming!"

Your resolve is slipping.

Falling.

Falling.

Gone.

And then, when you finally find your voice—

You don’t tell him to stop.

You whisper—breathless, aching, a confession and a surrender all at once.

“I don’t.”

Jungkook groans a curse and he's swift in the way he pulls away because it's only in a second away that another figure breezes into the space.

Your mother-in-law stands in the doorway, looking between you and Jungkook , her brows pinching in mild confusion.

“What was taking so long, dear?”

Jungkook is the first to move, straightening, rolling his shoulders back like nothing happened. Like his tounge wasn't down your throat.

You, though, find it hard to hide the compact it had on you. You're sure everyone in the room can hear how your heartbeats, can hear how it wants to get out of your constructing chest. Your wide blown pupils gaze roams everywhere and stops at the tray in your hands.

Yeah, right.

You start to speak. “I was just—”

But before you can finish with whatever you come up with, her eyes land on his still-bleeding hand that's making a mess on the once polished clean floors.

“Why haven’t you cleaned that up yet, Jungkook-ah?” she scolds, sighing. “You’re going to get an infection.”

Jungkook exhales through his nose, and swips his tounge over his kiss bruised lips. “I was going to."

“I’ll help him, mom. Why don't you take this?” you blurt out, too quick, too loud.

Your mother-in-law’s eyes flicker to you. Something unreadable passes through them.

Then, after a long beat, she nods, smiling. “Youre a sweetheart, Y/N. I'll take this.”

She steps forward, plucks the tray from your hands, and turns toward the dining room without another word.

The moment the door clicks shut behind her, the weight of everything crashes into you.

Your pulse was still erratic, your lips tingling from his kiss, your hands shaking as you turned to him.

You whirled on Jungkook, eyes blazing at his audacity.

"What were you thinking?"

You wanted to kill him.

Your fingers curl into a fist before you can stop them, and you swat his chest, your palm colliding against solid muscle.

He catches your wrist before you can pull away.

And before you could yank off, he pressed a kiss to your knuckles. Your breath stutters.

His eyes flicker down to meet yours, dark and knowing. His expression pleased. Deliciously so. Almost resembling the look that crossed over his face after he had made you come on his mouth for the second time, saying something along the lines of how he could stay buried—

Oh, shit. Uh, scratch that.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” you heave out.

His lips quirk. “Likewise.”

You inhale sharply, snatching your hand from his grip, grabbing his unsullied wrist instead.

“Shut up and come here.” you mutter, tugging him toward the hall.

Jungkook lets you drag him to the bathroom, silent, unresisting. He thinks if it's you he has to follow, he will, even to the ends of the world. Wherever you want.

For now it's the bathroom that was silent, except for the soft drip of the faucet and the sound of your own heartbeat thrumming in your ears. The space was impossibly small with him in it, the air thick with something that hadn’t dissipated even after your mother-in-law had nearly caught you both in the kitchen.

And the moment the door closes behind you.

You realize two things.

One: His hand is still shaking, still bleeding, still a mess of raw skin and recklessness.

And two: You really don’t trust yourself to be alone with him.

Yet you always found yourself in closed rooms. Closed bathrooms, for this instant. Only places you can afford being this close.

You turned the tap, watching as the water rushed down, steam curling into the air. Jungkook stood behind you, leaning against the sink, his injured hand still cradled in his other. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing strong forearms, tendons shifting beneath inked skin as he flexed his fingers experimentally.

The sight shouldn’t make your stomach twist the way it did.

“You’re a idiot." you muttered again, reaching for the first aid kit tucked behind the mirror cabinet.

Jungkook hummed, the sound deep, amused. "So, I've been told."

You turned, finally looking at him, and immediately regretted it. Because he was watching you. Again. Not passively, not carelessly—but like he was memorizing something, like he was still thinking about the way you had whispered I don’t against his lips only minutes ago.

Your throat tightened. You gestured toward the sink. “Hand. Under the water.”

He didn’t move.

Instead, his head tilted slightly, a slow smirk ghosting at the edges of his lips. “That an order, angel?”

You exhaled sharply, grabbing his wrist before he could make another smart remark, forcing his injured hand under the warm stream. He hissed at the contact, fingers twitching, but otherwise didn’t complain. Blood swirled in the sink, a diluted pink that spiraled down the drain.

You repeated, biting the inside of your cheek. “What were you even thinking?”

Jungkook’s voice was ceaseless, unfaltering. “That I wanted you alone.”

Your hands stilled, fingertips just barely brushing against his palm. His words lingered between you, weaving into the steam, settling into your bones.

Slowly, carefully, you lifted his hand out of the water, watching as droplets slid down his fingers, over the sharp lines of his knuckles. The cuts were shallow but jagged, the skin angry and raw, small flecks of glass still embedded in his palm.

Your chest ached.

You reached for a towel and dabbed carefully around the wounds.

This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. But he was also In pain and a part of you has never liked him In pain. It reminded you of nights where he'd think too much about where he actually belonged. Something very candid. Something very raw. Something a child shouldn’t have to think. You had known how to bandage scraped knees and scuffed elbows. Knew nothing about those nights.

You refocused on his hand, plucking a pair of tweezers from the kit and leaning in, carefully pulling out the slivers of glass still buried in his skin. Your breath brushed against his wrist, your fingers gentle, your focus unwavering. Jungkook didn’t move, didn’t even flinch.

But he watched.

Watched the way your brows furrowed, the way your lips pressed together in quiet concentration, the way your hands trembled just slightly when his thumb twitched against your palm.

He inhaled deeply. "You're good at this. You always have been."

You ignored him, reaching for the antiseptic. “This is going to sting.”

Jungkook smirked. “You sure you don’t want it to?”

You pressed the gauze down harder than necessary.

Jungkook inhaled sharply, his good hand gripping the edge of the counter. “You're enjoying this, aren't you?”

“A little,” you admitted, pressing again just to make a point.

His laughter was quiet, but it was real.

You forced yourself to focus, wrapping a clean bandage over his palm, fingers tracing lightly over his knuckles as you secured it in place. His skin was warm beneath yours, solid, alive. You wondered if he could feel the way your pulse was hammering.

You sucked in a breath, finally, finally releasing him, stepping back like distance could fix what had already unraveled.

"This is reckless." You spoke, not knowing yourself if you meant his hand or him following you to the kitchen. "We need to stop doing this." You finished and looked up to gauge his reaction to your words, only to find that he was already staring.

Too close. Too secure. Too much.

You weren’t sure what you were excepting. Hurt? Regret? Guilt?

Definitely not the recap of what happened in the kitchen. Definitely not his good hand lifting. Again.

It’s imperceptibly, resolute. His fingertips brush your hip first, featherlight, a touch so barely-there that you almost convince yourself you imagined it.

Almost.

Until he grips.

Until he tugs.

And suddenly, you're slamming right against his unmalleable frame,

Your eyes fly up, locking onto his.

Jungkook’s gaze is unreadable, filled with something that makes your stomach clench. His hands plant themselves firmly on either side of you, caging you in.

“You tell me to stop,” he said quietly, “and I will.”

Your fingers tighten around his forearm.

You should.

You should.

But you don’t.

Because he shifted, tilting his head slightly, the smallest movement—one that said he’d do it again.

Kiss you.

Undo you.

His gaze flickers down, lingering on your parted lips. "Yet all you do is look at me like you want me to fuck you on this damn counter. And Jesus, angel, if it doesn't make me rock hard."

The crude words leave him like there’s no consequence to him. To you they rise goosebumps all over your body. For a moment, you try to convince yourself that it's a warning sitting heavy on your skin.

It shimmers through your mind, something about distance, about lines, about how you’ve already crossed too many. You could still say it.

You could still put an end to this before it tattered beyond repair.

But then Jungkook’s grip on your waist tightened, and suddenly, the ground wasn’t beneath you anymore.

Your breath caught as he lifted you. Effortlessly, hands firm, unwavering. The air shifted around you, heat rolling off him in waves, and before you could catch your breath, the cool press of marble kissed the backs of your thighs.

You swallowed hard, fingers instinctively curling into the fabric of his shirt. He settled between your parted legs, the warmth of his body bleeding into yours.

Your pulse thrummed, a frantic, uneven rhythm against your ribs.

"That," you breathed, trying to sound firm, trying to anchor yourself in reason, "sounds like a bad idea."

Jungkook exhaled through his nose, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. "It does."

And then he kissed you again.

It wasn’t fair, the way he kissed.

Like he knew exactly how to disentangle you.

Like he knew that every time his mouth met yours, resistance becomes a footnote.

His tounge moved with yours, fingers traced the edge of your knee, palms gliding up the sensitive skin of your thigh before finding its mark at your hip with a confidence that says its his anyways. A soft ache that doesn’t seem to matter anymore. He doesn’t move closer. He doesn’t have to.

The space between you is already non existence.

But his hands need to be closer. Preferably, inside so one of his hands slides higher, disappearing beneath the hem of your dress. Unhurried, exploring, teasing.

Your thighs tensed against his hips, heat coiling in your stomach, something familiar and overwhelming pressing at the edges of your ribs. His bandaged hand then found the small of your back, fingers splaying against your spine as if mapping you, tugging you still until you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours and the outline of his bulge against your thigh.

Your fingers curled into his shoulders, anchoring yourself, gripping onto something solid as his touch grew more confident, more certain when he found the wet spot forming on the lacy white material—so thin, so damn easy to tear—and something primal glinted in his gaze.

His lips dragged along the planes of your chin, the corner of your mouth, before he exhaled against your skin, voice hushed, but steady. "Still want me to stop?"

His answer was you pressing into his hands instead of pulling away, your breath catching when his fingers brushed higher, thumb pressed bolder and stroking slow patterns against your clothed fold, dragging his knuckles along the delicate fabric.

Your head tilted back slightly, your breath uneven, and Jungkook watched you—watched the way your lashes fluttered, the way your fingers dug into his biceps, the way your body responded to him, even without words.

He knew.

And he liked it.

His lips found your throat, his voice low, rough. "You should." A kiss, slow and deep. "You really should." Another, this one firmer, teeth grazing over your pulse.

A shiver rolled down your spine and desperation rolled on.

"Don't stop. Want your fingers." His cock twitched in his pants and he bit harder onto your neck. He thinks he's again gonna make a wreckage in his pants at the realization of you trembling for him.

"Good girl, angel. Already so wet for me." he breathed, and eased down your soaked panties from your thighs. His eyes glinting again when the thin white late is revealed to him. And god, when it slipped down, revealing glistening skin beneath, he exhaled something broken. "Fuck—have you been waiting for this? Is that what it is?" He wantons and bunches the fabric in his hand to tuck it in his pocket. You flush at the implications, at what he just did, at what he might do.

"Have you?" You dodge the question and he grunts, parting your folds with his thumb and forefinger.

"You have no fucking idea." His forehead pressed to yours, jaw clenched. "The idea of having you like this again consumed me. You consume me."

A soft whimper slipped from your throat, and he grunted again at the sound, his fingers pressing more firmly now, tracing, exploring, teasing you apart. "Did that charming mouth used to get you a lot of girls out there?" The question sounds like a taunt but tastes like lemon on your tounge. You don’t know why you ask it—why you let the thought slip past your lips when you could have buried it like all the others. Maybe now, with his hands on you, with the past and present colliding so violently in the space between breaths, the thought worms its way in.

If he had kissed someone the way he kissed you. If his hands had crammed the shape of someone else’s body. If, somewhere across an ocean, he had found something that didn’t taste like longing.

His fingers stilled. A sharp breath. A pause thick enough to drown in.

Then—he laughed. A low, disbelieving sound that sent a shiver curling up your spine. Not amused. Not really. More incredulous than anything, roughened at the edges with something else.

His bandaged hand tightened around your thigh, dragging you closer. "You think I’ve wasted this mouth on anyone else?"

His voice was low, velvet-soft but weighted, pressing into your skin like the heat of an open flame. Your stomach clenched.

"I don’t know." You swallowed, pulse fluttering against your throat. "I never heard anything, but—"

"But what?" His thumb dragged along your folds. “You think I’d let someone else have what’s yours? Thought I’d put my hands on someone else and think of anything but you?" The pads dig into your skin, his grip an demand for honesty because this is all he plans to give you now. The honesty that every time he tried to want something else, it was your voice in his head. Your name on his tongue.

Your lashes fluttered, the words sinks into your bones, pools at the base of your core. It terrifies you how much you like the way it sounds coming from his mouth—low aching, like it had been a curse, like you had ruined him without ever meaning to— how much you like the way him stressing every word with press of his fingers.

“I want things with you,” he said, the words dragging out of him like they’d been kept in a vault. “Not just this. Not just your body—though fuck, I’ll worship it until I’m in the ground.”

His hand stilled again, the stillness worse than movement, because now he was looking at you. Really looking. Voice softer now. Like he was afraid to let it live in the air.

"I want it all." He whispered. "I want every morning with your hair on my pillow. Every night with your hands on me." Your mouth parted, but no sound came out—just breath, shallow and stunned.

His fingers moved again, slow and reverent, his touch suddenly less about taking and more about giving. "Your clothes in my closest." Showing.

Promising.

Your head fell back against the mirror, your breath coming in sharp, uneven pants, every flick of his wrist sending another spark of pleasure shooting through your limbs.

"Jungkook," you gasped, barely able to form his name.

"Your name on every piece of paper that has mine." he kept going, his voice low, yet the way two of his digits slipped inside, slow, stretching, filling, setting a rhythm that had your thighs trembling wasn't exactly something you could keep quiet for. "Your moans in my ear that I'm gonna keep just for myself."

Your cunt clenched around him and head dropped to his shoulder in an attempt to muffle the sound. "Mhm. Fuck." Your body arched into him, chasing the fire that threatened to consume you whole. His pace quickened, his touch growing rougher, more desperate, as if he needed this just as badly as you did, as if he needed to become a devotee of the way you fell apart in his hands.

"Say it." He curled them just right, making a consistent squelching sound that bounced off the walls. "Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me." His mouth was scornful when it spoke but affectionate when it peppered kisses on the crown of your head.

"You know I do." Your voice was wrecked, barely more than a whisper against his skin, hips stuttering beneath his touch.

"Not enough." He growled, voice thinned by impediment, fingers curling again, slow and deep and your grip on him was the only thing keeping you from floating away.

"I—Jungkook—I" You broke off, a cry catching in your throat as he pressed and flicked. A merciless rhythm of knowing.

"Come on. Be my good fucking angel." He murmured against your hair, fingers pushing in and out of your slick hole with practiced ease, working you open, watching every shift of your body, every tiny gasp and shudder.

"I feel it," you breathed. "God, I feel it—I want you."

He too could feel how you seized against his fingers, how your breath started to come in short pants. "More." He husked. "I want you to lose it for me," his voice took a pleading note, his head dunking down, lips finding the curve of your jaw, his teeth scraping lightly before soothing the bite with his tongue. "Fall apart. Come on my fingers knowing what I want with you. Knowing you're it. Let go, baby."

And then he found that spot—the one that drove knuckles deep into your quivering cunt, curling and flicking, shattering you, the one that had your eyes rolling back, your breath catching in a sharp, broken cry as teeth dug unconsciously into his shoulders, hips shifting, chasing his touch, needing more and he felt the urgent need to bury his cock into you the next second.

“Right there, fuck—Jungkook,” you whimpered, eyes fluttering shut, lashes damp.

“Don’t stop. I’m—god, I’m gonna cum. So close. So fucking close.” Eyes stayed fixed on your face like it was a masterpiece made for him alone. The heat of your slick coated his fingers, the way your body clenched down around him driving a ragged curse from his throat.

Your orgasm hit with brutal force, crashing into you like a wave breaking at high tide, leaving you boneless, trembling, and Jungkook caught you, his arm wrapping securely around your waist, his lips pressing into the side of your neck, as if searing the moment into your skin.

As if he had no intention of letting you go. As if he never had.

"Beautiful girl." He mummered. "So fucking perfect when you come for me." He praised and pulled his two digits drenched with your essence out of your pulsating pussy to slide them into his mouth. Eyes closing when the taste of you settled on his tounge, reacquainting himself what has been taken hold of every inch of his mind. The appreciative hum that starts to leave his mouth gets lodged in somewhere in the middle when he feels your thighs wrapping around him, your front pressing against his cock that throbbed with the need to be lamented inside your salivating warmth.

He cursed under his breath, his control fraying at the edges. "Needy little thing." he growled, half in awe, half in torment. "Still aching for me?"

You blinked at him, all wide-eyed innocence, but your hips shifted again, grinding up into him in a way that had his jaw clenching, his breath turning ragged.

“I can feel how hard you are,” you whispered, voice barely there. “What if I want more?”

"Fuck," he gritted out, "I need to be inside you." He needs and his hands gripped your thighs, clutching you closer with the intention to rub against your bare, soused pussy. You felt the heat of him, the weight of the orgasm he had wrung from you with nothing but his fingers, the sheer presence of him pressing against you, and your pulse fluttered, a mix of nerves and overwhelming want.

His hand that you mended, hooks up your chin. You barely registered his words at first, too dazed, too lost in the lingering ache of pleasure still pulsing deep within you. But then—his voice, low and thick with something rekt, something wanting.

"Think we've got enough time?" He asks, shrugging a glance at his rolex. His hands traced over your thighs, palms spreading against flushed skin to bunch up the silk material of your blood stained church dress, the delectable longness of his erection pressing against you. And though it was phrased like a question, it sounded rather possessive and certain, as if the answer had already been decided.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, torn between reason and the undeniable heat pooling low in your stomach. "We'll have to find out." You whispered, teeth biting onto your lip as you grinded in response, letting you feel him—hard and urgent, straining against the fabric that abstracted you—until it didn’t.

Your fingers moved without permission, trailing down his stomach, feeling the taut muscle beneath the crisp fabric of his shirt. Lower still, to the belt that had been teasing you with its presence, the polished metal of the buckle cool beneath your fingertips.

Jungkook inhaled sharply when you undid it, the sound rough. His hands around you clenched, but he didn’t stop you. Didn’t pull away.

Didn’t want to.

You took your time, savoring the way his breath hitched as you worked open the button, the zipper, how his body tensed beneath your touch. And then—when you pressed your palm against him, feeling the full length of his need—his head fell back, his throat bared in a perfect, aching display.

God.

Your breath stilled in your chest.

He was beautiful like this.

Not just in the obvious way—not in the way the world saw him, sharp-suited and composed, the perfect image of a man in control. No, this was something else entirely.

You traced your gaze over him, over the column of his throat, over the way the muscles in his jaw tightened as he swallowed. Over the way he looked like he was waging a war against himself.

“Y/N,” he gritted out, his voice tight, strained, as if he were warning you.

Or begging.

But you only pressed a little firmer, fingers teasing, tracing, thumb swiping over his swollen tip that leaked with pre cum.

With a growl, his hand wrapped around your wrist, halting your movements, dark eyes snapping open to meet yours. "Fuck, baby. I'm not patient enough for this."

And then he was lifting your hips, guiding you against him, his tip poking at your entrance, making you let out a shuddering  breath. He leaned in, his lips brushing over your cheek, feather-light, a stark contrast to the way his hands gripped your thighs.

"Let me feel you," he hiss, more plea than demand, his voice thick with restraint. "Let me have you all of you, angel."

And when you nodded—when you let him pull you to the very edge, let him replace his fingers with something hotter, heavier—your hands fisted in his shirt, nails biting into his shoulders as your breath hitched.

Jungkook groaned against your ear as he pushed himself all the way to the hilt, sworeing how he would never get enough of you, his fingers flexing at your waist as he stilled, letting you adjust to the sudden intrusion of his massive length, letting himself revel in the feeling of you wrapped around him like you always would in the sweetest of his dreams, like you did a certain night away. And from that moment he had wondered how had he ever functioned without this? How will he ever function without you if you keep yourself away from him?

Your hands slipped up, cupping his face, tilting him toward you until your lips brushed. “Move,” you whispered, voice barely there.

Slow at first, rolling his hips into yours, his mouth catching every broken sound that left you, his hands never stopping their worship of your body.

And when he felt his willpower leave him, when slow became desperate, when his name spilled from your lips like a prayer—he answered.

He met you in every way you needed.

It was urgent—messy and desperate and filled with everything neither of you could say out loud. Could only afford in hushed whispers and lips tracing sin on skin. Something he'd taken pain from you if it meant he'd get to kept this. Because it was better than nothing, better than those years when he wanted you with a desperation that should’ve dulled with time, with grief, with regret.

But it hadn’t.

It had only grown sharper.

It was too much. It was not enough.

The way he gasped softly as he pushed himself inside you—inch by inch, stretching you around him, your hands fisting his shirt like you couldn’t decide whether to pull him closer or push him away.

He pressed you further onto the counter, knocking over something ceramic that shattered on the tile, neither of you caring. The pace of his cock driving inside you turned desperate, driven by something raw, something that tasted too much like loss but felt too much like home.

Your fingers found his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your lips, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer, closer, closer. "Oh yeah! Fuck, just there!" You panted, hips snapping against his, encouraging him further as he outright pounded into you.

"You’re—fuck—so tight,” he rasped. “So warm. I knew it. You were made for me.” He highlighted with a squeeze to your boob, rolling your pebbled nipple between his digits. Your walls fluttered around him, still so tight, still taking all of him like you had been made to, eyes fluttering close when he gave it a pinch.

And fuck—he wanted to see that again.

“Eyes, Y/N.” he murmured, his voice rough, strained.

Your lashes lifted, glassy and unfocused, your lips parting around a soft gasp as he rolled his hips again, hitting deeper this time.

He smiled, dipping his head, lips brushing over your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “That’s it, baby. Let me see you.”

You swallowed hard, fingers pulling into his hair. “Jungkook I can't—Too much!”

His grip on your waist tightened, his pace faltering slightly. “Shhh. I've got you,” he whispered, voice shaking. “You don’t have to do anything. Just take me.” He cooed, his head falling to the crook of your neck. His teeth grazed over your pulse, tongue following, lips dragging along heated skin.

The sensation sent a shiver rolling down your spine, sharp and electric.

Your back arched, pressing further into him, your thighs tightening around his waist. You could feel yourself spiraling, the coil in your stomach winding tighter and tighter with every roll of his hips, every deep, mind blowing thrust.

You felt full.

Overwhelmed.

Like you were going to break apart any moment.

Jungkook must have felt it—the way your nails dug into his skin, the way your breath stuttered against his ear—because his grip shifted, one hand slipping between you, fingers pressing against your most sensitive spot, rubbing slow, lazy circles.

Your body jolted at the added sensation, a sharp cry tumbling from your lips that he caught in his own.

And he smirked.

“My angel's so close, hmm?" he murmured against your mouth.

Your breath hitched, a whimper escaping before you could stop it. "Yeah—shit—yeah. Wanna come again. Want come so bad, Jungkook."

Jungkook groaned, his cheeks hollowing, brows furrowing like he was barely holding himself together. “Fuck, you sound so pretty when you do that.”

You were right there.

Jungkook felt it.

And he wasn’t about to let you go without making you fall apart for him.

His thumb rubbed faster, tighter circles, his thrusts rougher, deeper, his lips brushing over your ear, his voice low, wicked.

“You’re gonna come for me again,” he promised, panting. “Right here. Around me. Look at me when you do.”

The coil snapped, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave, your body tightening, then releasing all at once. Your vision blurred, your entire body trembling, your nails raking over Jungkook’s back as you moaned his name, breathless and undone. "Shit, that's right." He heaved.

His thrusts started to get sloppier, trying to constraint the sound of his hips slapping against yours in the tiled bathroom only while he pursued his own release. More urgent—less about control and more about instinct. He could only last so long with your pussy milking him for all he's worth.

"Fuck—baby," he rasped, voice wrecked, forehead pressed hard against yours, sweat-slicked and trembling. "I’m close… fuck, I’m gonna come. Gonna fill you up."

You found yourself nodding mindlessly, relating with the wretched appetite in his voice to be warmed up to within.

“Such a needy girl,” he murmured, voice rough as gravel. “So desperate to be filled, huh? You want all of it, angel?” His hand moved from your waist to your jaw, thumb swiping your lip like he was trying to soothe something uncontainable.

Jungkook's thrusts slowed into something deeper, deliberate, chasing every inch of you as he buried himself to the hilt and groaned, full-bodied and guttural, like it had been torn straight from his chest. His release hit him hard, cock twitching deep inside you, thick warmth spilling in hot waves as his fingers dug into your hips hard enough to bruise like he was trying to memorize you, like he hadn’t spent the better part of his life trying to memorize you in ways he had never deserved.

He didn’t stop—just kept grinding into you, riding it out, chasing the feeling of being so deep inside you that the world didn’t matter. His jaw clenched, eyes squeezing shut as he emptied every last drop, as if he could carve his name into you from the inside.

Like the years had never carved a distance between you, like nothing—no one—had ever come between this pull, this thing that always seemed to exist between you and him.

And yet, reality was creeping back in.

You could hear it—the soft murmur of voices beyond the door, the distant clatter of dishes, the low hum of conversation that you were supposed to be a part of.

The world you were supposed to return to.

You exhaled shakily, body still trembling in the aftermath, shifting against the counter, trying to gather yourself, trying to think. Your fingers curled weakly into his shoulder, and you felt it—his chest rising and falling against you, his breath warm against your temple, the quiet steadiness of him as he held you there, as if neither of you were quite ready to move just yet.The sweat cooling on his skin glistened where the low light caught it, and his nose nudged softly into your hairline, inhaling you like he wasn’t ready to let go yet.

"Still with me, angel?"

You hummed a airy "barely" and he kissed one, featherlight and sweet, dragging his mouth lazily toward your jaw. He was taking his time. He didn’t seem to care that your clothes were halfway off or that you were still tangled around him.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, wrapped up in the quiet. You sighed, resting your head back on his shoulder, content and warm and glowing all over. The mirror behind you was fogged with breath, the air still thick with the scent of heat and sweat and him.

“We should go back now," you whispered and when you moved to slip away, his hands curled against your thighs, halting you in place. Not tight, not forceful—just there, just asking.

He shook his head, exhaling through his nose, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your skin where he adjusted the hem of your dress after wiping the remnants of him with a tissue, doe eyes giving away the look a kicked puppy would have. “Not yet. Give me a minute."

Not yet.

Not don’t go. Not stay.

Just not yet.

And maybe that was why you didn’t move.

Maybe that was why you let yourself linger for just a second longer, your fingers smoothing over the collar of his shirt, tracing a wrinkle that your own grip had left behind. A pointless action, an excuse to touch, to feel the warmth of him for just another moment before you had to pretend like none of this happened. "Fine. I mean I wouldn't want to walk back smelling like sex and you."

Jungkook’s gaze darkened. His hands slid up, brushing over the curve of your cheekbone, his touch slow and sharp like satisfaction curling under his tongue.

“That right?” he murmured. “You smell like me?”

The question caught you off guard.

Too late. He was already drunk on it. He ducked down, nosing along your throat, breathing in deep with a groan like the idea physically did something to him. “Fuck. You do. You smell like me, angel."

You blinked, your fingers stilling against his shirt, your breath hitching in your throat.

Something darker lit his eyes—satisfaction painted in shadow. “Good.”

Your breath caught. “It’s good that I reek of you?” And definitely not the hottest scandal the neighborhood will get their hands on. Right.

He dipped his head, nose brushing your neck, lips skimming your pulse. “You should smell like me,” he whispered. “You should walk out there with your thighs dripping and my scent all over you. Glowing because you took every inch of me." he murmured, voice low and reverent. "Let them wonder."

You whimpered, helpless under the press of his mouth, the press of his words.

“I—” you started, but your thoughts tangled as he sucked gently at your neck, just above where your collar would hide it.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze again, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Still want to go back?”

"Yes."

Jungkook studied you for a second longer, his eyes searching, tracing every inch of your expression, as if he was looking for something, as if he was still waiting for you to change your mind.

But you didn’t.

So he only exhaled, pressing his lips to your head. And then, finally, finally, he let you go.

You breathed out, fingers curling at the edge of the counter before you shifted again, moving to slide down—to plant your feet back on the ground, to leave but not before letting yours eyes drift to him for a second where he tucks himself in his slacks.

“Y/N.”

His voice was softer this time, but it stopped you all the same.

You barely had time to react before his fingers found your jaw, tilting your chin up, forcing you to look at him.

Your breath stilled.

Jungkook’s thumb brushed against your bottom lip, slow, lingering. And then, so softly, so quietly he asked—“when you walk out from here will you start avoiding me to the next Sunday again?"

Your brows scrunched up and you attempted to look away.

"Please don't, angel." He pressed his lips to where the crease formed for a brief moment.

And god help you, you wanted to listen.

The evening (6:25, you noted from your wrist watch) was quiet, the sky yawning open into a stretch of velvet dark, the stars distant pinpricks of light like secrets kept at a distance. You had always known the halls of the university to be full—full of voices, of conversations that layered over each other, of common stories and repeated gestures. Even today, it had been the same.

The evening air carried the last remnants of warmth, a hesitant shift between winter and spring that clung to the pavement, to the air, to you, you could feel reprieve take hold instead of a sort of suffocation.

You pulled your coat tighter around yourself, your breath curling in the cool air. The once-busy campus had emptied out, leaving only a handful of cars scattered beneath the flickering glow of overhead lights.Your heels clicked against the pavement, hurried, purposeful, as you wove between the cars, searching.

Hoseok was ahead, his figure easy to spot—relaxed posture, a casual sway in his step, his tan coat catching the dim light. It wasn’t hard to catch up with him. He moved like someone who never rushed, even when he should. But you still called his name, breathless from the rush.

“Professor Jung—Hoseok, wait up.”

His tailored blazer was unbuttoned, sleeves pushed up to reveal lean forearms, his usual crisp attire softened by the slight ruffle of his hair, undoubtedly from running a frustrated hand through it after a long day. His dark eyes lifted at the sound of your approaching footsteps, and when recognition flickered across his face, his lips curled into an smile.

"Ah," he mused, had just reached his car, one hand already on the door handle when he turned at the sound of your voice. His lips curved into an easy smile as he leaned against the frame. "To what do I owe the honor of you sprinting across the lot?"

You huffed, coming to a stop beside him, shifting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “I think some of my test papers got mixed up with yours. I noticed a few of my poetry essays were missing, and I have a hunch they ended up with your psychology midterms.”

Hoseok made a thoughtful noise, rubbing his chin. “That… would explain why I was grading a sonnet on existential dread instead of cognitive behavioral theories.”

You sighed. “I knew it. I must have switched the stacks when I was in a rush earlier, I'm sorry."

“Don’t worry about it," he assured you, resuming unlocking his car. "I’ll check when I get home. Worst case, I’ll bring them to you tomorrow.”

You nodded, relief sagging through your shoulders. "Thanks, Professor Jung. You're a life saver. I planned to finish grading them tomorrow."

Hoseok made a mock grimace. “You work too hard.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “Says the guy who spent last night preparing an extra credit seminar.”

“That was different. That was for the kids who actually care about my class,” he countered, before nodding toward the nearly empty lot. “You’re headed home? Want a ride?”

It was harmless. A casual offer from a friend, from someone who had sat across from you in faculty meetings, who had lent you his pen more times than you could count, who had laughed with you over shared frustrations about students turning in assignments late. There was no reason to hesitate.

It had been a long day, longer than you realized. You would actually prefer it rather than waiting for the bus that always seems to be running late by minutes.

Yet the answer that came was.

"She's already got a ride." The voice wasn't yours. It had been the one you had come to realize that avoiding was futile, that whatever admissions it breathed into your ear ran deeper that you would have assumed, affected you more than you'd liked and you have started to come terms with it. The words weren’t sharp either, weren’t cruel, but they cut through the quiet with the ease of something unquestionable.

Hoseok’s brows lifted slightly as both of you turned toward the voice, towards the faint crunch of footsteps against pavement.

The raven haired man who had once been standing a few feets away, watching, was now stepping forward, minimizing the distance until he was right beside you, hands tucked into the pocket of his coat that was as dark as the night, the sharp cut of his jaw illuminated by the glow of the streetlights. His eyes didn't lock with yours as they usually would, instead they zeroed In on the psychology professor who was unaware of the sudden tension buzzing through the air.

What the hell?

“Oh, I didn’t realize you had someone waiting.”

You swallowed, grounding yourself. “Uh—yeah.” You cleared your throat. “Hoseok, this is Jungkook. My—" You cringed at how visibly you struggle to come up with words when the ardour of the man beside you pressed into your side. God, he was always so warm.

When Hoseok, ever perceptive, raised an eyebrow you snapped out of it and continued. "Minho's brother."

Hoseok glanced between the two of you, and his mouths part in understanding. Dots connect. His eyes glance at you with a look that says 'That Jungkook?' And you blink, 'That Jungkook.' All that you've ever told him about Jungkook making it clearer.

"Ohhh." He grins and extends a hand without hesitation, always one for politeness. “Well, nice to finally meet you, Jungkook. I'm Jung Hoseok. I first met Y/N at a masters program. Been friends since then."

Jungkook’s gaze flickered to the offered hand before he shook it, firm and brief. Just a little tighter than necessary, enough to make Hoseok chuckle under his breath.

“Oof. Strong hands,” he said, raising an eyebrow but otherwise unfazed.

"Nice to meet you." There was nothing outright hostile in Jungkook’s voice. Nothing overly tense but you still felt like you were caught between two frequencies—one warm and familiar, the other crackling with something dangerously unspoken.

Hoseok seemed to pick up on it. He glanced between the two of you again, the corners of his mouth tilting into something unreadable before he shifted his weight.

“Well, I won’t keep you if you're settled then,” he said easily, flashing you a small smile. “See you Tomorrow?”

You nodded, grateful for the out. “Yeah,

see you.”

Hoseok gave Jungkook a small nod before slipping into his car, headlights flashing on as he pulled out of the lot.

You exhaled slowly, shifting on your feet, resisting the urge to lean into him. No, you were supposed to question him first.“What was that? And what are you doing here?”

“What was what?” He hummed, his mouth no longer set in that stern shape, his hand slipping from his coat pocket to brush a stray strand of your braid that barely seemed to hold its own away.

You narrowed your eyes, looking around instinctively before back at him. “You know what.”

Jungkook took a slow step forward, not even bothering that you were out in public, the space between you shrinking, charged. His head tilted slightly, voice deceptively light, tounge pushing against his cheek; That little tell of his, a habit you learned and found more attractive that it should have been, a habit he did when he was displeased with something. Maybe even pissed. Or both. "Didn’t know you were that close with Hozook, angel."

You blinked, thrown by the sudden turn in conversation. “It’s Hoseok.” You scoffed. “We work together, Jungkook. I’ve known him for years."

His lips pressed together, as if that information did absolutely nothing to quell whatever had flickered across his face moments ago.

Then—he opened his mouth, about to say something else, when you cut in, tone flat, unamused, every word sharpened.

“You’d know that if you hadn’t ghosted me for years.”

Whatever he was about to say dissolved right there on his tongue. His jaw twitched once. His brows dipped slightly, something unreadable passing through his gaze—but he said nothing. Good.

After a beat, he exhaled, shaking his head before motioning toward his car when he noticed the thin layers of your clothing, a dress shirt paired with a half sleeved sweater. “Come on.”

You frowned, your feet hesitating. You should be walking the other way. Should be dealing with public transport, going through the motions of an evening that should have belonged to you alone. He wasn’t obliged to be a part of this. “You didn’t have to come pick me up.” you say, smoothing down the strap of your bag.

He shrugs and his hand reaches you, or most specifically your bag, fingers curling around the strap and taking in his fist. “I was in the area.”

You snort, unimpressed. “Right.”

Still, you don't protest when he opens the door for you for reasons you don't want to analyze. And when you slide into the passenger seat, you don't mind how natural it's starting to feel.

He drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting against his thigh. The city hums past you in streaks of gold and red, the kind of light that makes you feel like you’re inside a dream you once had and forgot the ending to. The faint murmur of the radio filling the space between you.

You’re both quiet for a while.

Then—“How was work?” he asks, without looking. His tone is mild, almost too careful, as if the question isn’t just about your day but about the right to ask.

It’s a simple question, casual, but the way he says it slows your thoughts. Like he’s trying, like he wants to know you again.

You shrug, shifting in your seat. “Fine. Uneventful. Spent half the day grading, the other half convincing students that deadlines actually mean something.”

He hums in amusement. “They don’t.”

You glare at him. “They do when I say they do.”

“Terrifying,” he muses, the corner of his mouth twitching.

You roll your eyes but it does little to conceal your own smile. “What about you?” It feels like you owe him the same curiosity.

Jungkook exhales through his nose, a slow, measured thing. “Had a meeting. Went as expected. Some numbers that needed fixing. Boring stuff.” You had always understood your husband's disdain for a life that was a repeat of listening to some guy talk too much, lose his temper when his ego would be on the line. But you had never known why Jungkook would prefer this or even why he wouldn't.

You look at him then, the sharp cut of his jaw, the way the city lights flicker across his skin in intervals—light, dark, light, dark—like the world couldn’t quite decide how to hold him. You weren’t sure you could either. Maybe you never asked enough questions, never studied every crease on his face liked you'd with minho and inspect it to hell.

“Sounds exhausting.”

“It is.” He steals a glance at you, quick, assessing. “Less exhausting now, though.”

But now that you do, now that you want to, you understand what he means.

It’s easy, this. Talking like this. Falling into a rhythm you hadn’t realized you still knew, one that had been untouched for years but still existed, waiting beneath the veneer. The intimacy of nothing in particular.

Jungkook has to force himself to focus on the road, fingers flexing again as he shifts gears.

If you scrutinize deeper, you'd also find that this—this slow glide through streets neither of you had named, the soft murmur of the radio, your shoulder nearly brushing his in the dark. This is what he’s always wanted. Not the secrecy. Not the stolen minutes behind doors that you had to double check if they are locked.

But this.

A ride home after a long day. A quiet conversation. The sound of your addictingly sweet voice in his car, in his space, in his life in a way that feels so woefully unpolished that it almost hurts.

“You’re not driving to my place.” Your voice pulls him back, your gaze sharp now, watching as the streets grow less familiar.

He doesn’t even pretend to be surprised at your realization.

“No.”

Your brow furrows. "Can you for once just drive me to my apartment without taking me to some place I don't want to go?"

"No."

That alone makes your fingers twitch where they rest in your lap.

You had spent so much time trying to untangle your own thoughts about him, about whatever this was turning into. Picking at it. Trying to name it. But Jungkook had been the picture of certainty. Unflinching. Unbothered. Like none of it had touched him the way it had touched you. Like he had already made peace with something you were still trying to name.Like he’d walked back into your life not to ask if he could stay—but to decide that he would.

Tonight, he seems different.

Its in the way his jaw tightens every time you shift in your seat, like he’s bracing himself. The way his tongue swipes over his bottom lip before he speaks, only to change his mind and stay silent. The way his gaze flickers toward you like he’s waiting for something.

You don’t know what to do with that.

Jungkook and hesitation have never belonged in the same sentence. At least, not since he came back.

You try again. “Where are we going, Jungkook?”

His mouth pressed into something unsure. Jungkook, unsure. It wasn’t something you were used to seeing now. It wasn’t something he looked when he pressed you against the kitchen counter, hadn’t sounded like this when he whispered his most cordial of dreams into the corner of your neck.

When he finally speaks, his voice is even, controlled. “Somewhere I want you to see.”

“That’s vague.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s a surprise.”

Something about the way he says it makes your stomach pull tight.

Because you’ve seen Jungkook confident. You’ve seen him arrogant, smug, amused. You’ve seen him angry, cold, unreadable. But nervous? No. Not since he came back from a different life, not since he became the man that no longer fit into the spaces you had once saved for him.

And yet, right now, here he is. Inside, the space, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting against his thigh, fingers drumming idly like a song he hadn’t decided to play yet. It was a small thing, a habit from when he was younger—back when he used to tap against the wooden desks in class, always restless, always itching to move.

Some things hadn’t changed.

Some things had.

Your fingers curled against the fabric of your coat. “You’re being weird.”

"I’ve always been weird, angel."

"No you haven't." There's something defensive in the way you phrase these words. "Don't change the subject."

This time, he smiled—brief but real. It softened something in his face, something he so rarely let slip anymore.

“You’ll like it,” he murmured after a beat, voice softer now, like he was almost convincing himself of the same thing. “I think.”

Just turned down a street you didn’t recognize, the road quieter here, the buildings spaced apart, until he finally pulled up in front of a modest, modern structure with floor-to-ceiling windows and a single light illuminating the entrance.The kind of place you wouldn’t look at twice if you didn’t know what you were searching for.

You couldn't help but ask again. "Where are we? What is this?"

Jungkook cut the engine, but he didn’t move right away. His fingers tapped against the wheel once, twice, before he finally exhaled and turned to you.

"I bought this place," he said simply.

You blinked up at the building again. "What?"

His lips pressed together, eyes flickering away before he cleared his throat. "Just—come inside."

You followed him out, your steps slow as you took in the building, the way the large glass panes mirrored the stars. The sky leaned against the windows like it, too, wanted to press closer, to see inside. There was a sign by the entrance—simple, elegant script, almost shy in how little it asked to be noticed. You don’t recognize it, and that alone makes you reconsider.

Jungkook said nothing as he unlocked the door, the quiet snick of the key turning loud in the stillness. He held it open for you like always, but this time his eyes didn’t meet yours.

You stepped inside and the push of the door revealed —A gallery.

Not just any gallery.

Paintings. Everywhere.

Paintings stretched across every wall, soft pools of golden light falling over their frames. Each piece breathed color—bold, bruised, aching with emotion. Blue melted into umber, ochre kissed the edge of crimson. Every brushstroke pulled something raw from your chest.

You moved forward, like your body remembered the path before your mind could catch up. Your fingers hovered in the air, trembling as they traced the lines without touching them, as if the act of reaching alone might wear you.

All of it look like what had been painfully dear to you.

Your stomach twisted.

Because you knew this work.

You knew it. Not just the style, not just the way the colors lived together in layered silence—but the soul of it. The way it looked back at you. The way it knew you.

You knew the hand that had created it. Been the first and last one to hold them close to you.

You reached for the closest canvas, your vision blurring at the name signed at the corner.

Jeon Minho.

The name cleaved through you like a wave, cruel and kind in equal measure. Your heart twisted. Your fingers hovered over a piece, afraid to touch, afraid it might slip through your hands if you weren’t careful. It was his—all of it, the way he saw the world, the way he translated it onto canvas.

It was like standing inside his head again, like hearing him laugh through color, like stepping back into a time where his presence still existed beyond memory.

Your breath shook.

“This…” Your voice wavered. “This is his.”

He was watching you instead, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense like he was waiting for you to feel it before he explained it.

And you did.

God, you did.

In the farthest corner of the room.

Your feet carried you again, before your mind could catch up, before you could brace for the impact of what you were about to see.

The world blurred at the edges.

The painting was soft, muted in color, like it had been caught in the golden hour of a fading summer. Three figures sat at the edge of a dock, backs turned, feet dipping into a painted lake that rippled with every brushstroke.

Two boys who's curves of smiles you would know even from behind.

One girl who knew.

It was them.

It was you.

Your throat tightened painfully, a memory rising unbidden, curling at the edges of the canvas, spilling into the quiet of the gallery until it was no longer just a painting—It was then.

You were twelve the summer Minho decided that the best way to survive the heat was to sit at the edge of the lake until the sun stopped trying to kill him.

Jungkook had been the first to follow, feet kicking idly at the water, arms propped behind him as he leaned back, his oversized t-shirt damp from an earlier splash war that he had definitely lost.

You had been the last to sit down, cross-legged between them, tossing small pebbles into the lake just to watch the ripples expand.

It had been quiet, warm, easy. The afternoon smelled of earth and sun, of laughter spilling into the open air.

“Stay still, Minho!” you giggled, reaching over to press another blade of grass into his already messy hair.

“Why?” he huffed, cracking one eye open. “You’re ruining my masterpiece.”

“You’re ruining my masterpiece,” you shot back, grinning as you tucked another strand behind his ear. A few away, Jungkook sat cross-legged, watching the two of you with quiet fascination. He was younger then, still round-cheeked, his dark eyes wide and serious as he curled his fingers in the grass.

“Are you gonna put grass in my hair too?” he finally asked, tilting his head.

You paused, considering, then reached over and plucked a small daisy from the ground.

“Not grass,” you said, leaning closer. “But hold still.”

He did.

Even then, Jungkook had been good at that—at waiting, at being patient in a way that seemed too big for his age.

Carefully, you tucked the daisy behind his ear.

“There,” you murmured, sitting back.

Minho snorted, pushing himself up on his elbows. “Now he looks really ridiculous.”

But Jungkook only blinked, reaching up to touch the flower gently, like it was something delicate, something that had been given to him and him alone.

He didn’t take it out.

It stayed there like the three of you—trapped in summer light, forever twelve, forever laughing, forever somewhere time could not reach.

A quiet exhale broke the silence behind you. But the deep ache stayed spread through your chest, slow and unforgiving.

"He never showed me this," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "He painted it the year before he…" Jungkook hesitated, the words catching. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze tracing the familiar lines of Minho’s signature. "Before he passed."

Your chest constricted. The truth never stopped feeling like a knife.

From the first time since you stepped inside, you finally turned to Jungkook then, eyes searching, waiting for him to tell you why.

Why he had done this.

Why had he crushed that one devastating voice in your head that would make it's appearance timely—you are forgetting him. You are forgetting the exact way his laughter curled at the end. The domesticity of how his step fell beside yours. Those were slipping with every sunrise you surived without him. Dissolving like fog under the sun. You are forgetting your min min.

And one night, you'd wake up desperate, breathless, trying to recall the way he said your name but you wouldn't. And the guilt—God, the guilt—would sit on your chest.

Until now that Jungkook had gathered every fragment of Minho’s soul and brought it back to life. Not as a ghost. But as something immortal. As something known. Someone someone will always know. A hundred things rise to the surface. None of them make it past your lips.

Jungkook exhaled softly, running a hand through his hair before shoving it back into his coat pocket. His shoulders were drawn tight, but his voice was steady when he finally spoke. "I started looking for them a while ago. A month before I came back, maybe longer. They were scattered—some in old studios, some with collectors. A few were in storage, collecting dust. I tracked them down, bought back what I could."

He hesitated before continuing. "Hyung's anniversary is next month." The words felt heavy, like they were scraping raw against the throat of a boy who had never quite come to terms with losing the only man he's ever looked up to. "And I—" A pause, like he was choosing his next words carefully. "We—never really did anything, did we?"

You blinked hard, trying to push back the sting behind your eyes.

"No." Your voice was barely there.

A muscle in Jungkook’s jaw ticked. "I didn’t want this year to be like that. I wanted to do something. Do you like..this, angel? We could open this to the public too if you want. Show mom and dad."

Something rises within you, vast and unnameable—less a feeling, more a tide. It isn’t just the gallery. It isn’t just Minho.

It’s the echo of affinity stitched into every frame. The invisible thread that leads back to Jungkook.

It’s the fact that Jungkook did this. That he spent God knows how long making this happen, gathering Minho’s work, making sure his art wouldn’t just sit in forgotten portfolios, lost in the quiet corners of time.He unearthed what time tried to bury. Preserved what you feared was lost.

And the immensity of it—the quiet significance of what he’s saying, of what he’s not saying—hits you harder than you were prepared for.

The gallery holds its breath. Your pulse does not.

Slowly, carefully, you reach for his hand like you would in the dreamiest of dreams.

Jungkook stills.

His fingers are warm beneath yours, rough at the knuckles, tense. But he doesn’t pull away. Not from you. Never from you.

“Thank you,” you whisper. It doesn’t feel like enough, but it’s all you have. Like gratitude too big for language. Like grief softened into approbation. “This is—” Your throat closes, a breath hitching past your lips, eyes blinking away tears that had nothing to do with sorrow and everything to do with love."This is beautiful. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Jungkook doesn’t speak, but something shifts in his face, something almost imperceptible. In a way that made him want to take this moment where you're looking at him like he had hung the stars back in the sky and bury it deep inside his ribs, somewhere no one could ever touch it.

And when he does speak, his hands intertwine with yours, eyes holding yours like gravity. "You're beautiful."

Your lips parted, caught off-guard.

A muscle of his cheek clenches. “I meant—your face is all red. It’s distracting.”

You smiled, watery and gentle, and he swore if he if he had even a silver of the talent his brother carried in the cradle of his hands, he would’ve painted you too.

With your face flushed from crying and the faint glimmer of laughter still clinging to your lashes. With your fingers looped between his like you didn’t even realize you were holding on.

He would’ve painted you in soft oils and pale light, your presence the only subject, the only truth. And maybe he’d leave a smear of color just beneath your eye where your tears had dried, like a signature only he could understand. Not even someone who could’ve looked at it years from now would have understood.

But Jungkook couldn’t paint.

Couldn’t even draw a straight line without it wobbling under pressure. He had no brushstroke to offer you, no canvas that could carry the weight of this feeling blooming in his chest like it had always belonged there.

So he squeezed your hand instead, pulled you into him and pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, repeating how you're so beautiful, how he wants to spend the rest of his life telling you so, how he will lay the world on your feet if you only just smile like that for him.

What he doesn't say is that he came back for this. He stayed for you. He'll always stay.

And how still, in the soft lull that followed, his mind—traitor that it was—pulled him somewhere else.

Back to the night he first listened to Minho’s voicemail.

He hadn’t planned to.

It had sat in his inbox for two weeks after Minho passed, unopened. Just a little notification bubble, small and silent, like it knew it wasn’t ready to be heard.

But that night, something in Jungkook had split.

Maybe it was the cold. Maybe it was the way the world kept turning like nothing had happened. Maybe it was just loneliness.

He’d climbed up to the roof of some rented building in Daegu, drunk off something cheap, the stars sharp above him, the world far below.

And he played it.

"Jungkook-ah." Minho’s voice cracked a little. Old, soft, raspy. Too gentle for someone whose lungs had been fighting him for years.Too familiar, too. The kind that had once read bedtime stories and yelled over bicycle crashes.

“I figured you’d be too pissed to pick up. Can’t blame you.” A soft chuckle, winded.

"I know it’s been a while. Years, actually." He waited, if considering whether it's worth a try or not before resuming. "Too long, huh?"

"I saw your name the other day. Don't even remember where. But it made me stop. Not that I got too much going on for me." Another shaky chuckle followed. "I don’t know what kind of life you’re living now. Maybe something busy. Maybe something brilliant. But if you’re hearing this… I want you to know I was proud. I am proud. Even when I was angry. Especially then, maybe. Even when I didn’t understand you. I watched you become your own person, and it scared the hell out of me. I didn’t wanted to see you turn into our father."

His voice wavered, raw and fraying.

"But you didn’t become him. You didn’t. And I wish I’d told you that sooner."

“Because you're my little brother. You always will be and I'm sorry I forgot that for a moment and I..I don’t know how much longer I’ve got so I had to tell you this." He paused, and Jungkook could almost hear the way Minho looked up at the ceiling when he was thinking. Like there was something celestial about regrets once they’d been said out loud.

"They don’t say it, but I can tell. I can see it in the beautiful brown of my wife's eyes."

Jungkook remembered pressing his palm against his chest like it could stop the ache. It couldn’t.

"Though it has dulled a shade ever since the coughing starting hurting worse. I suppose, I should be sorry for that too, but I don't want to die drowning in sorrys. I don't want to die regretting. Even if it kills me that I'll never hear your name in the news again, that I will never see her in morning light and think that heaven’s not far off."

He cleared his throat, like it hurt to speak. Maybe it did.

"I want to be content with all that I've had. With all that I've become. I want to be hopeful that the world will be kinder to her. To you. That you'd not spend your whole life outrunning ghosts."

Minho’s voice lowered, like it was just the two of them now. Like it had always been.

"I hope it’s not too late." I hope I'm not too late. "I hope—when the dust settles—you’ve still got something to hold onto. Someone. And I really hope she forgives you."

Silence stretched, one last time for minho, perhaps. For his little brother, it was the sound of his own breaking. He tried to hold his breath. Tried to stay still. But the pain didn't stay quiet. It raked up his throat, rude and coarse, until the first sob slipped out, ruptured and helpless. His hand, the one holding the phone, trembled violently. The other curled into a fist against his thigh, knuckles white, nails digging into his palm like that might stop the shaking.

It didn’t.

“I’ll be somewhere soft. Don’t rush. Just… be good. Remember your hyung. I love you, Jungkook-ah."

Static.

He pressed the phone harder to his ear, like if he clung to it tightly enough, Minho might speak again. That maybe—somehow—he could rewind, could stop it, could change everything.

Only static.

"The centre of every poem is this: I have loved you. I have had to deal with that." — Salma Deera, Letters from Medea (2015).

Favourite Jungkook Fic Pt. 2

My previous Fic Rec list: One Shot Series

None of the fics in the list is mine. These belong to some amazing, creative and wonderful writers. Go check them out and read their other fics. Also like, reblog and/or comment there 😊

Mango Series by @whatifyoulivelikethat || Angst, Fluff, Smut (Kind of Bad Boy Jungkook but not that much. OC has a abusive past)

Wishing For You Pt.2 by @kookiestarlight || Angst, Fluff, Smut (Husband Jungkook. Ahh this one is soooo good. I love it too much. Jungkook is a sweetheart. He is like the ideal husband here. This Jungkook can rival with all the bad boy Jungkook out there. He is just perfect)

Read the Drabble too My Lucky Stars

My Beauty My Blood by @7cypher || Angst, Fluff Slight Smut (Mafia boss Jungkook. But not the ruthless type of mafia. It mainly focuses on the emotional side, the love for friends and family)

The Warmth You Bring by @moonchild-mp3 || Fluffy Fluff (Dad Jungkook. Gamer/Streamer Jungkook)

Amour by @taesthetes || Fluff, Angst (Fantasy, Supernatural au. Angel Jungkook. Devil OC)

Caught by @parkdatjimin || Fluff so much Fluff (Roommate au. Jungkook and OC both are awkward and they are hiding their feelings. It's really cute)

Spidey Spidey by @kookings || Fluff, Humor (Jungkook Neighbor au. It's really funny. There's a ferocious spider in OC's room 😂)

Ghost in My Bed by @yeojaa || Angst, Smut yet (Jungkook ex lovers au. Infidelity au. Rockstar Jungkook) <Ongoing>

In the Frosty Air by @gukyi || Angst, Fluff (Roommate au. Christmas au)

Snaps by @cryxstal-moon || Fluff, Slight Angst (Photographer Jungkook. Secretary OC)

Azaleas by @randombtsprincessa || Fluff, Smut (Lawyer OC. Lawyer Jungkook. So much professionalism)

A Fallen Bookmark on a Thursday Afternoon

by @cutaepatootie || Angst, Fluff, Smut (Nurse OC. Ahh this one is really sad 😢)

Feeling by @sometimeinjoon || Fluff, Smut (Devil Jungkook)

What Money Can Buy by @jeonstudios || Angst, Fluff, Slight Smut (Sugar baby au. CEO reader. Jungkook as sugar baby. This story is totally different from all the sugar baby troops)

𝐄𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢 | 𝐂𝐡 𝟏

Pairing: Mercenary!Jungkook x ?? Female!Reader

Summary: When past comes knocking on your door wearing the face of unknown dangers, you can either refuse acknowledging it and be a sitting duck or find out what it was that turned your world upside down all those years ago—that has come back yet again to hunt you—with a stranger promising to keep you safe, by your side. One thing is sure: secrets will unfold. And it would not be anything you could've imagined.

Word Count: 8.4k

Genre: Fantasy au; adventure; action. Fluff; angst; future smut(??)

Rating: 18+ (violence and mature themes)

Warnings: Fighting ig. Not much for this chapter

Published: 9th March 2025

Note: Hello! This chapter is being reposted from my previous blog. I've been really excited to share this fic with y'all and really hope that you like it. Thank you for taking your time and giving it a chance. This fic is my baby.

Glossary and Map: here

Esati Masterlist

They say winter is cruel. Harsh and unforgiving. Anyone unfortunate enough to encounter it at its worst seldom survives it. It only knows how to take, how to steal—the warmth from your blood, the hope in your eyes, the life from your soul. The white snow spread like a blanket over the lands and waters alike: beautiful yet a warning of destruction for all.

All but one. Alastair has found no comfort other than these sharp winds and freezing soils in a long time. He took in a deep breath of peace, something he hadn't had the pleasure of for days—or had it been weeks?

It's been so long since he started his travels. Traveller. He liked calling himself that, much better than introducing himself as someone who's being hunted. 

It's been so long; being on the run didn't grant him a minute of peace, but now he could feel a stillness in his mind. A quiet, which only came from knowing no eyes were following him anymore.

He walked higher up the mountains; the path was rocky and difficult to climb, but he managed even in his current state. It also ensured that had anyone been on his trail, he'd have easily known.

But as much as these snowy mountains were liberating to his mind, his body was not in the same condition. After being chased, hunted, and hurt, his body was battered and starting to feel more numb with each passing hour.

A final feeling washed over his mind. Like he knew it was coming. He was dying.

And it seemed fitting. Appropriate. Considering there wasn't anything left for him to do. He fulfilled his duty and played his part in the play of universe, for which he was chosen by Cianbhàta himself. After all, he hadn't escaped for his own safety. It was something greater than his existence that needed to be protected. 

But now, he could sense it. His time was up.

No. No, he couldn't die like this. Not yet.

It felt selfish of him to still be holding on to this useless life. He tried hard, convinced himself it was over, but still, he couldn't figure out why he felt this strong need to keep moving.

His foot sunk in the soft snow, and he stumbled; leaning against a leafless tree he looked past the branches, up at the gray sky. Looking and searching, hoping to catch a glimpse of the almighty so he could get his answers himself.

He closed his eyes and sat down completely with his head against the rough, cold bark. "Oh almighty," he called out in a croak.

"Forgive your subject for being greedy, asking for more than you've graciously offered to us already. My body is giving up, but my heart is tearing apart," cough, "screaming, screaming at me that I'm leaving something unfinished," His eyes opened, filled with tears of anguished helplessness, "give me a sign. A reason, to-"

He coughed sharply, gasping and wheezing as the numbing winter air pushed its way past his lips, burning a path down his throat. Black spots started blinking across his vision, sorely standing out against the blurry white of the snow. This is it. This is how he will meet his end; he was sure of it.

Accepting his fate, he let his eyes close shut. His bones ached, and his skin was frozen cold. Just as he thought this was it, his ears picked up a faint sound. He didn't pay it any mind; if someone was here to capture him, it would be useless. He would be dead before anyone reached him.

But the more he heard, the clearer the voice became. A cry. He must be losing his mind. He blamed his growing incapability to differentiate in sounds and scenes the more he breathed in the bitter cold air. 

But the cries started again.

His eyes snapped open, he was sure now that the cries were real.

Gaining a burst of strength he didn't know he was capable of anymore, he dragged himself up with the help of the tree and listened for more sounds—trying to locate the direction where it was coming from.

His feet started moving in a direction with thicker vegetation on their own, like they already knew where to go before his ears could actually locate the source. 

He rushed past more bare trees, shrubs, and boulders and came face to face with a series of rocks protruding from the mountain, covered in a thin layer of snow, and then looked around trying to figure out the source where the sound could be coming from—which he now realised couldn't be heard anymore.

To his right, there were more trees packed together tightly, and he considered going in that direction when he heard the tiniest whimper, which he would've missed if he hadn't strained his ears to catch any noise. 

The sound was coming from the rocky surface; confused, as there was no way something could get stuck between them, he looked around some more trying to figure it out when he noticed a hole in the far left side of one of the rocks near a tree growing close to the black rocks. 

The hole was—he found out upon a closer look—no bigger than the size to fit a small dog, it seemed that the snow couldn't reach here because of the thick roots protruding from above, and the shrubbery that was still green and flourishing in the winter, but that's not what surprised him—it was the woven bamboo basket and a thick green blanket covering it and the whimpers that were coming from that basket.

He pulled it out, pulled the covers back, and revealed—

A child.

A very cold child with blue lips and the faintest of breaths puffing past its mouth.

Urgency immediately seized his limbs as he brought the infant out of the basket and close to his chest. It is going to die; this was the only thought echoing in his mind.

He took off running in search of someone. Anyone. He couldn't let the child die.

He ran and ran, holding the baby close to his chest, tucked in his coat.

"Is someone out there!? Help!" There was no response. He knew the tribals lived in this place, but he couldn't be sure of the exact location. And he hadn't been in his right mind to try and get a sense of the direction to figure out where he was at that moment.

"Please," he begged, "it will not survive, please," he cried up towards the sky. The black dots were back in his vision, stronger than before, but before he could succumb to the darkness, he took one more careful look at the child in his arms and assessed its soft breaths.

What a beautiful child. Shame I couldn't save you. 

With that final thought, he tucked the tiny being close and let darkness take him under. 

—————

Warm. Everything felt so warm. Alastair hadn't felt warm in months. He shifted in his position, drifting in and out of consciousness.

The sound of fire crackling was what brought him out of his slumber at last. He blinked his eyes open, still a little dazed, and found himself lying on a cot in front of a blazing fire. He closed his eyes back immediately; his head hurt, and so would have his legs if they didn't feel numb already.

He tried to move his head, his neck protesting after being in that position for too long, and at first he couldn't, but his stubbornness won over his fatigue, and finally he managed to lift his head just a couple of inches. He tried to take in as much as his eyes allowed in that position and discovered that he was placed in a dark room. It seemed the walls were made of mud and the floor was wood.

Before he could think about how he got here, he heard the door behind him creak open. A chilly gust of wind entered the place along with the visitor. He tried turning his head again and just barely managed to lift it when the person came hurrying in front of him.

"Oh! You're awake," the person, who now he could see was an old woman, asked him happily, "must be confusing to wake up here, but not ya worry, ya were saved by our  gatherers." The woman continued, oddly cheerful, in her accented voice as she came around to sit on the mat beside his cot, her arms carrying something he couldn't focus on as she kept talking.

"Found ya freezing on the ground, oh, and ya girl is fine too! Strong child, Cianbhàta himself preserve the child."

Only now did he realise that the thing she put down on the floor wasn't a bundle of clothes but a child. The child—the girl—he found in the snow. She was staring at him, her dark eyes looking innocently up at him, and she definitely looked better too.

He was relieved. A little surprised how she survived long enough to make it here, wherever it is they were at, but he felt safe, and so he let the relief consume him.

He summarised what he remembered and what he was told just now and reached the conclusion that he was saved by these people—likely a mountain tribe—and was in their home right now; he saved the child, and now they think it's his child. That she's his daughter.

He opened his mouth to correct her, tell her that she wasn't his. That they might need to find her real parents. But somehow all that managed to escape was, "thank you for saving us."

"Not a problem! It brings honour to help our brothers in our  community." The woman said kindly and got up off the floor, "I'll go fetch more firewood and something for ya to eat, ya must be hungry too. I fed the child while ya were sleeping, so not worry about her." And with that she left the room.

He got up on his elbows and pulled himself into a sitting position; groaning, he looked at the infant now playing with her blanket.

She looked magical in the glow of the fire, and he felt an inexplicable affection for her.

He stared at her, with a mind full of hundreds of things, thoughts flowing faster than the warm water springs, but then she looked back up at him with those same dark eyes, and his brain stopped in its frenzy. She reached out, a hand making motions as if to grab the smoke rising from the fire. That was the moment everything became clear to him.

He'd decided. He will spend the rest of his life living and protecting this child; after all, she gave him a second chance at life. A will—a reason to live.

He will take this child as his own. He will do all he can to become a father for her.

And for the next decade and a half, he did just that.

huff huff

Hurried footsteps echoed in the silence of the forest. With nothing but the sound of tired pants that carried their way through the saplings emerging from the frozen cold soil, raising their heads to greet the summer only to be trampled by the heavy steps running from everything it had ever known.

"Aghh," a yelp was heard as a lock of dark brown hair got stuck in a branch hanging too low.

What am I doing?

A sharp turn towards a safer path with fewer branches on the way down.

I'm running. He told me to run.

The moss on the uneven ground slipped from under your foot, making you stumble.

Am I dreaming?

You quickly got up, instincts telling you that you had to keep moving. There was no time to collect the few things that spilled from your bag at your fall; you only grabbed the leather journal and kept running. A few coins spilling out from your pouch tucked in your waist. The sound of them hitting the rocks painfully loud.

The forest became a blur; you couldn't focus on anything other than the pounding in your heart and the pain that your brain didn't have the time to register—both physical and emotional.

The way downhill was not too steep, but there were places where soil had shifted away, making it harder to navigate where there was solid ground and where you'll encounter a gaping hole ready to swallow your feet. You'd never been to these parts of the mountains. You never needed to; you lived on the other side. But you have no other option; this was the path your father said was safe and asked you to run to.

Your father. The man who made you leave. The one you were getting farther away from with every passing second. The man who you might never see again.

"Pa."

You let out a sob. Leaning a hand against a leafless tree to brace yourself. This place was a lot warmer than the snow-covered hill you called home; you were sweating—your tears getting mixed with the salt. The evening sun, halfway hidden down in the horizon, warmed your skin, but your insides were freezing cold. 

You left home. left him. How did it ever come to this?

Before today you had been living in a bliss, unaware of the possibilities that such a storm could stir up in your life, one that you never would see coming and snatch everything you held dear. 

You sniffled, thinking back to how everything was so normal and okay just this morning. And now it's not. 

You stumbled, taking one step forward then the next. The sun had long disappeared, the moon hidden behind the clouds. The misty wind carried you forward, whispering a soft melody. You walked and walked, feet aching and heart heavy; your tears had dried off, but all you could do was move. 

There was a light shining in the distance. You didn't know how long you had already walked, but just a little more. A few steps. Another few. 

You reached the door, banging hard on it. The door opened, a middle-aged woman peeking out. 

She said something. She was talking to you. You were so tired. She was shouting now. 

But you couldn't hear her. Solid ground met the side of your head as you fell. Unconscious and numb. 

An owl let out a hoot, breaking the quiet of the dawn. A gust of cool breeze made its way across the empty spaces among the trees, yet to be warmed by the rays of sun. The same breeze rushed into your home, tickling the hair on your neck, announcing their arrival through the jingles of the bells on your window. You forgot to shut them. Again.

You looked out the window at the fog weaving a blanket of white in the evergreen canopy it claimed as home till the sun rose and chased it away. For a moment, just one heartbeat, you thought of home. Remembered the cold of snow, the steam rising from potatoes straight out of the coals and in your gloved hands.

You let out a shaky exhale, willing the memories away.

You picked up the woven basket and strapped the hunting knife to your waist. On your way out you grabbed the hooded cloak off of the hook. Dressed in the dark green of the forest, you ventured away from the deeper parts of the wood where you lived on your way to collect the 'dawn lilies.' They could only be found near riverbanks and must be plucked before the sun came out. You ran out of those after making the previous supply of burn ointments.

The grass was soft under your boots, the morning dew getting soaked in the bottom of your pants. The air was crisp and tinged with a chill; one wouldn't be able to live in the dewy and wet cold of a place such as this without proper gear, but you had always been a little more resistant to the cold. Still, you made a mental note to grab some gloves when you would go to meet Kenzie the week after.

Winter was just around the corner, and you ought to be prepared for the changing season.

On your way to the river, you made a detour and took the longer path. Dense shrubbery with no definitive footmarks, a less walked path. Crouching down in a few spots, you checked on the snares you had set up yesterday. The wires and ropes twisted in the way you had learnt when you were seven. Three out of five and no luck. It looked like one of them was triggered, but whatever it was, it got away.

But the fourth one did not disappoint, as you found a marmot trapped and wriggling. Carefully moving it, you untangled the rope from around its body.

You took the knife out from your belt and nodded your head once, "Thank you for giving your life to sustain mine," and swiftly pushed the knife deep in its neck. Swift kill.

You checked the fifth one too. Empty. And continue on your way to the river.

Emerging from the forest line, you ran your gaze along the length of the riverbank, making sure no wild animal was there that would feel threatened by you or threaten your life. It would be unusual, though—for any predator to be here. You have never seen any wild animal that could put your life in danger in all the time you lived here. You concluded that these parts of the woods must not be suitable for them, hence making it safer for you to live.

As you look around, there are only the occasional critters roaming the forest floor. Small animals, those you saw plenty of. You made your way towards the small flowers growing close to the water and began collecting them.

You got up soon, flowers and some wild berries collected in your basket. It also held the meat from the marmot that you had just cleaned in the river, wrapped up in large leaves. Scanning the area once more, you got ready to make the trek back to your home.

I'd have to make another trip to collect some water later in the day.

On the way back, you took the shorter path. The one you used regularly. Munching on the berries as you walked.

————————————————————

"Thank you, Mayah."

The tall girl gave you a smile in response as she heaved up the crates you had brought with you and started walking back towards the open door of the shop. 'Rennie's' written on a wooden board in bold letters. You pulled a wooden case from the wagon and handed it over to the other man, Kane, who stood there with arms stretched out.

"Is that the last one?" He asked, taking the heavy box.

"Yes, that is it." You grabbed your satchel and hopped off the wooden platform. "Take these ones straight to the storage,or else the potions may go bad." And he followed the girl into the shop.

Turning back to the carter, you handed him a silver coin; he examined it and then immediately said, "This would not be enough, miss."

You looked at him, confused. "Why not? It always takes this much. I would know; I travel to Fubroch every month."

You made ointments and health potions—a skill you had learned since childhood. That was what your father did, and you decided to continue on the same path as him.

Once a month, you would travel from your home, half a day's journey away from Fubroch, and sell them at the market here. You were not keen on making contact with many people—the lesser knew of you, the better—so it was comfortable for you to have secured a vendor who bought your products to then sell them himself, and on a fair rate too. This is how you've been doing business for the last few years.

"Ah, miss, you know nothing of the raids that happened down South?" You pushed your lips, eyebrows pulled down, raids? 

Before you could question him about it, he continued, "razed the whole town in days," he shook his head, "coins and cattle all gone. Those Aberrants," he sighed and tried coaxing the bulls attached to his wagon, who had started moving restlessly, "even the Lord turns his eyes another way when it comes to those Diels."

He continued to grumble some more before saying that he had to get going. You pulled a few copper pieces out of your pocket and handed them to him. As you watched him leave, you realised that someone was standing behind you.

"Kenzie," you said, turning back to the elder man.

"You look tired, miss." Kenzie replied, his wrinkle-covered face was kind as ever, and his voice warm. Meeting him always reminded you of a family you didn't have.

"The journey was long, and I left late today too. I'm fine, though. But that doesn't matter; what was that Carter talking about? Aberrants?"

"We shall talk inside, miss," his deep eyes swept the surroundings, and he started walking towards the back door. "Mayah? Bring a cup of water and also brew some tea, dear."

His daughter gave a short nod and went further inside the store, entering another set of doors.

You took a seat on the cot, and Kenzie did the same. "This far out, people are calling them raids," he started talking.

"And... they aren't?" You asked. You were never one to poke and prod about anything that had nothing to do with you. But this time you were curious; after all, this was not the first time you were hearing the name:

"Aberrants," he continued after taking a sip from the cup Mayah handed him. You thanked her when she did the same for you and mirrored him, "the second army of the Lord, I believe you know that much."

You nodded, also aware of how Lord Cras doesn't really have much control over them and lets them run wild. "They are bad news." Was what Pa once said. But that's all; word of their presence never came close to where you lived, and you never encountered them.

You stayed away from things that did not concern you. That's how you've lived.

"They came to a village south of Glenross first. Out of the blue, like they always did. No one knows where they come from or go to. But when they left," a grimace pulled itself on his face, "the village had become lifeless."

"Did they...?" You asked, your brows meeting in the middle as lines appeared between them. You feared they were killed.

"No. They just took everything. Valuables, grains, horses—"

"I suppose that's what a raid sounds like." You interrupted him in the middle, giving your empty water cup to Mayah, who came with a cup of tea in exchange—which you took with a grateful smile. His lips pursed as his eyes darted to his wall, on a painting of the forest on his right, before moving it back up the next second.

"Not quite. It was more than just that. Those deils brought a curse on the lands," Curse? This is not the first time you're hearing of something like this, but something about the tone in the old man's voice made you think of the stories from your childhood. The ones you had shut the doors to a long while ago, yet on the days the wind is stronger, you can hear their whispers rising with dust from between the cracks in the wood.

"By word of mouth, they drained the fertility from the soil and spat poison in the waters. The people became ill, so deathly ill." He coughed, chugging the rest of the water from his cup. "Nothing has come out of that town in the past half of the year. No yield, no supplies, no tax money that the incompetent Lord demands," Kenzie finished, his breath slightly laboured.

You made a note to make extra potions for him to use throughout the cold months. It did look like an extra harsh winter was casting its shadowy wings over the country. It is possible that your next trip down here might be the last one for this year.

You took his words in, trying to make sense of them. "And that's what caused an upsurge in prices?" You asked.

"No, that was not it. It has been months since the incident in there. They chose a small village at that time, but recently," he tried to continue but stopped as his daughter came back in the room, a hot water bag in hand.

"Don't speak so much at once, Pa," She scolded him gently in her soft voice. You looked at them, talking; your eyes that were tired just now had a glassy film to them, and your body stilled for just a second as she placed the bag on one of his shoulders. You turned your head away, focusing on the conversation.

"Then what caused it? All of a sudden?" You prodded, clearing your throat.

This time Mayah was the one who spoke, "It was after last month, when the same happened in Cunkeld." You've never been there, but you knew it took some time to reach there from Fubroch. 

Her face took on a grave expression, "this time though the country is suffering. Taxes are higher and commodities got expensive, we expect it to only get worse during winter."

You listened intently, forgetting about the tea in your hand.

"I fear what they are doing is more than just raids or spreading poison for just the wealth," sighed Kenzie, his eyes shut; you wanted to ask why he thought that and what more he believed was there. But you didn't. The less you got involved, the better, and you believed that you had already questioned about things more than you should have. 

Kenzie didn't look like he would be answering more of your questions either; he needed to rest. And so, you bid goodbye to Mayah, who handed you a small bag of coins. "I know it's not the whole amount—"

"Don't stress. Pay me the rest when you've sold all the stock," you smiled at her. Waving Kane off when he tried to walk you back.

Leaving out from the front this time, you slung your satchel across your body and decided to find a tavern for the night. It was late afternoon; the sound of bells ringing came from the center of the town having. The journey back would take hours, and it would be past midnight by the time you reach home. Not that you had any problem with traveling at night. But the wagon carters might not be too keen on that.

It didn't matter; you had errands to run either way, so you won't mind spending just one night here. And you were tired. You left later than expected in the morning; something had felt off, and you had checked around the perimeter. Although nothing was out of place, you still decided to be cautious, and it took some of your time.

So you started walking in the opposite direction of bells, on your way to the smaller market stalls.

"How much for the lotus seeds?"

You asked around about different items, things that you needed for your workshop as well as other necessities. Soaps. New wires for snares. Some red clay.

You bought a few things and left behind a few others. There was not enough money for everything. You had to prioritize carefully.

A cat purred loudly as you neared a stall with fabrics of all colours arranged orderly. You scratched the cat on the head, and she went back to hissing at the stall on the left, one with shiny green apples. It was when you were inspecting a brown shawl that the vendor noticed you.

"What you lookin' for, girl?" an old-aged woman asked.

You looked up, hands pausing, "gloves for winter, leather."

The woman began rummaging around and produced a pair in a minute, "shoulda fit you, six silver pieces."

Your hands, previously reaching for said gloves, stopped in their tracks. "A bit too much, don't you think, madam?" Finally getting some movement back, you plucked the gloves, inspecting them, almost hoping to find some defect so that you can bargain for less.

"Leather comes precious these days, no bargain," She sniffed, then with a furrow in her brows, said, "No supply, so we're low on material; some rumored monster in the forest. No bigger monster than the cold and hunger, I  say." She scoffed.

You looked at the leather gloves, clutching your coin bag with one hand, deep in your satchel, "Can't do more than 3 coins, I'm afraid."

The woman's face took on a look of annoyance before she sighed, a look of understanding passing over her face. "Tell you what, here," She produced a pair of woolen gloves, "sellin' them for three silver and two copper, but they are the last ones, on a discount, take it."

You picked up the ones she tossed your way. You really would've liked the leather ones, preferable when working near water. You put your hands through, noticing how it swallowed your hand and still had space to sneak half a dozen grapes.

"Do you have a size smaller? They seem a bit big." You asked, biting your lips, hands tugging the wool between your fingers.

"Told you they are the last ones. They'll work just fine; the weaving is higher too, will stop the cold and water."

You left, walking further away from the crowd, with black wool adorning your hands.

————————————————————

The tavern you chose for the night was brimming with patrons. Tables full of people eating and drinking. Located on the outer part of the town, it was not your first time at this place, but yet it managed to look new to you every time.

You got yourself a room on the second story. The rooms here were cheaper due to the dripping roof when it rained and poor insulation caused by paper-thin walls. But for you it was more than enough.

You would have preferred to go straight to bed, but having forgotten to eat at the market earlier, you were currently on your way up the stairs after getting some food.

Gathering your skirt with one hand, you lifted your foot up to take the first step, only to stumble back as a body slammed straight into you. Hard.

"Ah! Whoa, be careful, mister!" You exclaimed as you righted yourself with the help of the wall.

As you looked up, wondering how you didn't hear his footsteps, especially on creaky stairs, your eyes made contact with a hand—outstretched, as if trying to reach you in case you needed assistance. You looked up, eyes now fixed on the dark face wrap covering half of his face, and a hood was pulled low, casting a shadow on the other half.

He looked scary at a glance, but when you looked a little below, you caught his eyes. Dark and wide. And beautiful.

You stood there breathless, tracing the kohl lining his eyes with your own.

He pulled his hands back and jerked his body, sitting down on the floor. Reaching for something near your skirt.

You jumped back, startled.

But he was only grabbing for the apple that had rolled away on the floor, which he must've been holding when he bumped into you.

He looked up at you, apple in hand, "Hope I didn't startle you."

You looked down, shook your head once, and opened your mouth to say something, but he straightened and was up in a flash.

He stepped closer, and you noticed how he was towering over you, the black of his flowy tunic—untucked from his leather pants—brushing against your arm crossed in front of your belly.

"Don't go bumping into things," he leaned down now whispering beside your ear, "you might get hurt."

You were barely breathing and didn't even notice that he had unfurled your fist and tucked something in there.

By the time you regained your senses, he was already walking in the direction of the bar.

You looked down when you finally felt the weight of something in your hand and saw that it was none other than the fruit he was carrying. A bright green apple.

You looked after him for another second before deciding not to think much of him and walked up the stairs. Off to get some sleep and start the journey early tomorrow.

Knock knock knock!

You woke up to frantic knocking on your door. Heart thundering, matching the raps of wood on the other side, you got up.

The knocking stopped.

In the silence of the darkness spread over the room, you stood still. One look out of the window and you confirmed it was early, the sun yet to rise.

For a moment you convinced yourself it was your imagination—a nightmare, maybe. It wouldn't be the first time. You decided to just go back to slee-

Knock knock knock!

The knocking resumed.

You walked up to the door and in a hesitant but loud voice questioned, "Who is it?"

The knocking stopped. You held your breath. Waiting for an answer.

Knock knock knock.

You felt through the slit in your skirt for the small blade on your thigh. Feeling nothing, you recalled having placed it on the side table. You grabbed it. Just in case.

"Who is it?" You placed a hand on the handle, another holding the blade.

A moment of silence. Just as you were about to question again, a voice called out,

"Open the door," a deep voice answered.

Body frozen, you took a big gulp of air. Where have you heard it? Warning bells were ringing in your head, telling you how this situation felt familiar.

You backed away, hand leaving the handle. I need to get out of here. In blind panic you started considering your options. You certainly couldn't fight whoever was outside. Maybe you could climb down the window?

But you stood still. You focused on the voice; it was familiar. Something in you was telling you that you should open the door.

Another knock, and you were opening the door before you could stop yourself.

The door cracked open just a sliver, but the stranger didn't make any attempt to make the gap wider or push his way in right away, unlike what you would have expected. It gave you a moment of clarity, and you came back to your senses. Raising your eyes, you were met with a half-covered face and dark eyes, lined with kohl. You knew where you had seen them.

"You are—"

"You need to come with me."

There was an urgency to his voice. His eyes were locked on yours, urging you to take a dive into the essence of midnight they held. A lock of hair fell in front of his eye; he pushed it back.

"Who are you?" The words were a whisper, but in the quiet of dawn they rang loud and clear.

One of his hands reached up, pulling the dark piece of cloth, hiding half his features, down. He gazed at you while you stole glimpses of the rest of him. Full cheeks but a sharp jaw. Soft lips but a tense tilt to them. If it were any other situation, you would have been captivated by his contrasting features. But now was not the time.

Breaking you out of your thoughts, the man in front of you glanced back at your room, then back at you, lips pursed for a moment, before he parted his lips and answered, voice clearer now without any obstruction. He answered your question.

"Someone who is going to make sure you don't bump into anything and get hurt."

You stepped back on instinct as he made his way in.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," He was crazy, and you had finally shaken yourself out of his spell. You needed to get him out of here and then get yourself out. Probably leave this town for good.

"You don't have a choice. Either you come with me or we die."

Your brows shot up in disbelief at the situation. This can't be happening. Was he messing with you? Trying to trick you? Make you think he's here to save you—from what?—and then thrust the blade deep in your ribs when you let your guard down.

You opened your mouth. To question him or cry out for help—you weren't sure. But you didn't get a chance.

Not when you heard a dull thud.

You looked behind his back, but your door was already open halfway, and no one stood there. The sound had been distant; it must have come from the room on the other end of the corridor.

While you didn't think much of it—too preoccupied with thinking how to get away—the man in front of you turned and walked back to the doorway. He only peeked outside for a single moment before sucking in a breath through his teeth and shutting the door close, rushing back towards you.

"Stay quiet!"

You jerked away, back against the wall. "What do you think—" you pulled the knife out, brandishing it in front of you, "—you are doing?"

"Shut up." He gritted through clenched teeth, eyes on the door.

"What—"

In the time it took you to release half a breath, his left hand rose, wrapping around yours, twisting your wrist, and bending your arms back. He tugged you towards him, forcing your right hand behind your back, making you loose your grip on the knife.

You stood there, chest to chest, as he peered down at you with hooded eyes, while yours squinted as you wriggled trying to get free.

"Shhh," he shushed you, putting the palm of his other hand up above your mouth and walking you a step back towards the wall. Your eyes widened as he trapped you there, with just enough force to keep you that way and not hurt you.

Heart thundering in your chest, your head pounded, matching its beats. You tried to come up with all the possible ways to get yourself out, but the warm exhales leaving his parted lips left your brain a scrambled mess.

It was stupid. To let this stranger in. You just might have invited your own death over, dressed in rugged leather, with gleaming orbs of darkness for eyes.

You shut your eyes tight as you felt him lift his hand up, releasing your mouth. You could scream, but what use would that be? Those blades you saw strapped to his back, they could slit your throat before the scream could fully form.

Expecting the press of the blade on your skin, you tried to prepare yourself. But soon were extremely surprised when a gentle finger tapped on one side of your jaw, just below your ear.

"Listen."

Blinking back at him, you squinted your eyes at his command. With no understanding of the situation, you had no other choice but to oblige. That's when you heard it.

Bang

That definitely came from the same direction as the sound before.

"What was that?" You whispered. Creases appearing on your forehead as you tried to listen more carefully.

"We should go." He stated calmly and stepped back. Putting his head against the door, he started listening for something.

"No. I don't understand anything, and unless I do, I'm not going—"

"You're not listening!" He hissed, and for the first time, his carefully managed emotions cracked, giving way to compelling urgency. He moved back to stand in front of you. "If we don't leave now and they find us, it will all be over."

They? Who is he talking about?

You eye him, your gaze full of skepticism, and it is then that you hear a muffled sound, neck snapped towards the wall as if you could see past the wood; you deduce it sounded like a scream. Your blood ran cold.

"That was a scream. We c-can't leave; we need  to—" Your breath hitched when you faced him again and came face to face with a knife.

"You're in no position to worry about that." It took you a moment to realise he was holding the knife by the blade, urging you to take it. It was yours; he must have picked it up from when you dropped it.

"But—"

"They are after you."

He you dead in the eyes and tilted his head, hair falling in his eyes, silently asking you to cooperate.

It was just like five years ago. The weight of your feet doubled, sinking you deeper in a darkness you knew too well. Your head spinning, a whirlwind of different shades of green flew past you. And you were fifteen again. Your father was asking you to leave, to run away. And you wanted to cry. "They are coming for you."

"Hey." He touched your shoulder softly, "It's okay; we'll get out of here. You can trust me."

"I don't." You replied shakily.

His eyes gleamed, "Good." You thought you heard a smile in his voice, but when you looked back at him, his face was as stoic as ever.

He motioned for you to follow as he cracked open your door just barely enough for his thumb to fit. He peeked out—assessing the corridor. Finding it bare, he pushed the door halfway open and stepped out, then motioned for you to follow.

You eyed the distance separating you and him, the doorway right in the middle. You could lock him out right now, when he was distracted. There was no proof he was telling the truth—that he was actually helping you. But deep inside you had an inexplicable inkling that doing that would not work in your favour.

You gathered the few things you had and were out the door, following close at his heels. You meant it—you didn't trust him, but at this moment he seemed like your best bet at figuring out what was going on.

And maybe, just maybe, even shine some light on a past you couldn't quite let go.

Giving your head a shake internally focused on the current situation at hand and started walking in the opposite direction from where the sounds had been coming from.

Behind you, the stranger shut the door behind you and urged you to move in front of him. He stood there for just a second longer before matching you step by step.

You walked faster, turning the corner before he did and missing the guy emerging from the other end. He locked eyes with the man walking behind you but didn't pay any mind, his attention focused somewhere else.

The other man—about to enter your room—stopped there for a second, hands on the doorknob. They were warm. The metal of the knob shouldn't be warm in this chilly tavern. Unless someone had made contact with it not too long ago.

The moment you both rounded the corner, safely out of sight, your partner wasted no time in taking huge steps forward, leaving you no option but to increase your speed as well. Not even two breaths passed before you heard thundering footsteps hot on your heels. You turn around, and your eyes meet with that of a man.

The man is dressed in peasant clothing, but it doesn't hide the sword at his waist. Hair a reddish brown, you only caught a brief glance of his enraged expression because the next thing you knew, a hand was grabbing your wrist tight and breaking off in a sprint.

The man gave chase. You change direction, disappearing from view, but you could hear him coming. The stairs were only a few steps away; you quickly tried to make your way there, eager to descend the stairs but felt yourself get tugged in the opposite direction.

"Not there," he said, moving up the stairs, you following behind.

"We will be trapped up there! We need to get out of this building if we want to loose that man."

"We are not trying to loose him," he calmly stated even as you both ran up the stairs. You reached the top floor and saw a large iron plate suspended in the middle, ropes dangling in front of it where there should have been a log hanging. You realised this place was once used as a bell tower.

"What now?" You asked him as he kept walking forward and did not stop until you reached the other side of the spacious place. The large open windows on all sides letting the cool wind in, spreading goosebumps all over your arm.

"Did you think these were just accessories?" He motioned back at the handles peeking out from behind his back, a pair of twin short swords. 

Your lips parted open and eyebrows raised up, "Are you—"

With a bang, the man slammed open the door where you both had just come from.

"Stay back."

Before you even registered what he said to you, you saw him pull one of the swords out and sidestep the other man who had already started lunging at him with his own sword out. Their blades clashed, a ring echoing in the empty space. Similar sounds followed the one before with the grunts of the two men adding to the cacophony of noises.

"Mako," the stranger let out a laugh, the sound light as the air, after deflecting his opponent's last blow, "I thought they would send their best?"

The man, Mako, raised his sword, aiming for the chest, but the black-haired stranger blocked him and raised his leg, kicking him in the gut. The man stumbled, almost doubling over before he took a swing at his feet. Hurriedly he stepped back as the Mako stood straight, slashing the air in front of his face.

This Mako was clearly trained in fighting, and you would be worried if your savior didn't seem just as good at it, if not better.

"You seem to know me," he heaved a breath, and they both circled each other, "but you don't seem to know who you're messing with." The man swung repetitively at him, but he couldn't land a single scratch on the stranger. After another swing, he shoved him back with a powerful push. "I get the girl, and you go free," he heaved.

You felt your heart drop but stayed silent. This was no time to panic.

Coming to a standstill, not a single drop of sweat visible, he replied, "I know what I am doing. The girl is going nowhere."

Mako, now furious, let out a yell and charged at him with more vigor. He met his swings with his own slashes and started walking backwards. Nearing one of the windows, he changed to offense and pushed back hard. Sending the man a couple steps back. He prepared for another attack and picked up speed, running at him.

Just where he wanted his opponent.

At that precise moment, the stranger stepped to the side in a swift movement. The man missed him, but before he could turn and deliver another attack, he was onto him, thrusting the sword at his neck.

Mako's upper body dangled out of the window, and his hands became useless as he tried to grip the railing to keep himself from falling over. He could easily have pulled himself inside had it not been for the blade keeping him there. He grunted, letting out curses directed at the owner of said blade.

"As I said, I know who I'm dealing with, but maybe you don't." He whispered lowly—doe eyes gleaming—so only the man in front of him could hear.

Breathing calmly and getting the beating of your heart back to normal, you stepped out from the corner; eyeing the door, you wondered if you could make a run before either of their companions came looking. But you were curious too.

Walking behind him, you chanced a glance at the man hanging out of the window. His gaze trained on you, and he did something unexpected. He had a wide grin that made you uncomfortable. You stepped back, away from his sight, and eyed the other man.

The fighting couldn't have lasted more than five minutes, and even though you weren't the one brandishing a sword, you felt winded.

"What are we going to do with him?" You voiced your question at the same time he shifted the sword to his other hand.

Mako screamed just as the stranger swept both his feet off the floor in a single sweep of his foot and sent a punch directly at his chest.

You watched in horror as the man fell out of the window and ran, leaning against the railing as you saw him groaning on the pile of hay. Alive. You released a shuddering breath and twisted your body to face your savior.

The first rays of sunlight began shining from the east, making their way through the scattered clouds. Their glow was soft and warm, and as he stood there looking back at you, his eyes glowed iridescently.

But that was not what caught you off guard. It was the upturn of pink lips, white peeking out between them.

"Haven't done that in a while," He groaned, stretching his arms back and sheathing his sword.

He was smiling; it was the first one you witnessed. He was smiling after he threw a man out the window. Something was wrong with him.

You couldn't will your eyes to look away. Perplexed. A little scared. Amused.

A question ringing out in your head: where do you go from here? But another quickly emerged, pushing past it—

"Who are you?"

Dark-lined eyes locked with your wide ones. His grin faded, and instead his mouth attained a genuine, friendly quirk.

"Intelligence gathered and former mercenary," he offered his hand in greeting, "Jeon Jungkook."

As you stared at his extended hand and up at his face, you came to a conclusion. One your subconscious had already realised the moment he appeared at your door. 

Wherever you go after this, it won't be back home.

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠♡

𝘛𝘢𝘨-𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯! 𝘚𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥.

𝐄𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Pairing: Mercenary!Jungkook x ?? Female!Reader

Summary: When past comes knocking on your door wearing the face of unknown dangers, you can either refuse acknowledging it and be a sitting duck or find out what it was that turned your world upside down all those years ago—that has come back yet again to hunt you—with a stranger promising to keep you safe, by your side. One thing is sure: secrets will unfold. And it will be more than anything you could've imagined.

Word Count: TBD

Genre: Fantasy au; adventure; action. Fluff; angst; future smut(??)

Rating: 18+ (violence and mature themes)

Warnings: Fighting, blood, kidnapping, weapons, use of magic, minor character deaths, dead parent(s), and I'll add more as I keep writing.

Published: 9th March 2025- ???

Moodboard, Map, and Glossary : here

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3 (coming soon)

𝘛𝘢𝘨-𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯! 𝘚𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥.