inthelow

[inthelow]

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TEMPORARY FRAGMENTS — jeon jungkook (4).

summary: When you meet Jungkook— an older man who is amazing in bed, you thought it would be a simple arrangement of casual sex. Except things start getting serious and before you know he’s asking you on dates and introducing you to his daughter… Of course, he doesn’t know that you’re bad with kids and never wanted one of your own— well, at least it was just something temporary… right?

pairing: business! fem reader x dad! jeon jungkook

genre/warning: fluff, crack, smut, angst / a lot of themes like insecurity, jealousy, death, dysfunctional family, etc.

chapters: intro; one; two; three; four; five; six; seven; eight; nine; ten; eleven; twelve; thirteen; fourteen; fifteen; sixteen; seventeen; eighteen; epilogue.

WC: +9k words

The meeting was already running ten minutes late, and you had begun mentally composing an email firing the junior associate responsible for the glitch in the logistics report when your phone buzzed in your lap. You glanced down. Unknown Number. Your first instinct was to silence it. You didn’t take calls you didn’t recognize, especially not mid-meeting. But something- maybe instinct, maybe the tight feeling in your gut- made you swipe and quietly stand. You excused yourself with a sharp, muttered apology and slipped out of the boardroom, stilettos silent on the soft marble floor.

You answered as you pushed through the glass door to the hall.

“Hello?”

“Is this Miss Y/n?”

The voice was soft, female. Polite, but serious.

“Yes,” you said, already shifting into alertness. “Who’s this?”

“This is Elena from the Villa Santa Teresa assisted living facility. I’m one of Mrs. Mariani’s nurses.”

Your spine straightened. “Yes, I remember you. What happened?”

“Oh, nothing too serious, I promise,” Elena said quickly. “But she gave us a bit of a scare earlier this morning. Slight dizziness, some low blood pressure. She refused to let us call an ambulance, of course.”

“Of course she did,” you muttered, rubbing your face. Already feeling the stress hitting you harder.

“She’s resting now. But she’s been… quieter lately. Low appetite. Not quite herself. We thought maybe, if you had time, you could come by. She always perks up after you visit.”

There was no hesitation after that comment.

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

The drive to the facility was autopilot. You didn’t even remember turning onto the highway. Your brain whirred through work obligations, calls you’d miss, people you’d have to reschedule. But it was all background noise. Because in the foreground was a woman in her eighties who once saved your life, not with grand gestures but with small, brutal, unwavering love.

Villa Santa Teresa was warm and sunlit, smelling faintly of lavender oil and antiseptic. The only Italian Villa in Korea, a rich one. The halls were quiet, afternoon light streaming through tall windows. You walked them like you had a hundred times before, heels clicking softer now, more reverent. The sound of your own steps reminded you of other footsteps, smaller ones, running barefoot through a marble kitchen. The door to Rosa’s room was slightly ajar. You knocked gently before pushing it open.

“Nonna?” you said softly.

Rosa was sitting up in bed, a thin crocheted blanket over her knees like always, her face turned toward the window. She looked smaller somehow. Her hair whiter, her skin thinner. But her eyes were the same. Sharp as ever.

“Ah,” she said, turning her head. “La regina finalmente arriva.” Rosa sniffed. “Late as always.”

“I had a meeting, Nonna.”

“You had a childhood too and I still waited twenty minutes in the rain outside the ballet studio every weekend of winter.”

You walked to the bedside and kissed her cheek. “Are you trying to guilt me to death before the blood pressure does?”

Rosa patted your hand. “You’re impossible.”

You sat down. “You scared me, you know.”

“Bah. I’m old. We do that sometimes. Keeps you on your toes.” You didn’t say anything. You just looked at her. After a moment, Rosa said, quieter, “It’s the loneliness. Not the heart. I don’t like being around all these old people.”

Your throat tightened. You wanted to help her, but you didn’t know how to. She didn’t have any family anymore, just you. And you weren’t a doctor or a magician to take care of her in your home, she told you she preferred to be there, now you were doubting if the decision had been a good one.

“I know.”

“They watch game shows and forget their husband’s names,” you snorted, feeling more relaxed at the explanation of why she didn’t like the place anymore.

“Maybe their husbands deserve it.”

Rosa smiled faintly, but her hand squeezed yours.“You’ve been busy.”

“I’ve been working.”

“I can tell.”

And then there was a long pause, soft, not uncomfortable. The kind of silence that existed only between people who knew each other to the marrow. You leaned back in the chair and tilted your head.

“Do you remember that time I made you cry with the ricotta cake?”

Rosa let out a raspy laugh. “You made me cry? You terrorized that poor cake like it owed you money.”

“You told me not to open the oven.”

“And what did you do?”

“I opened the oven.”

“And what did the cake do?”

“It deflated like your patience.”

Rosa reached over and slapped your hand. It was soft, affectionate. “You were a menace,” she said.

You smiled, but your eyes burned.

You still remember. Being twelve and angry. Always mad. Sharp-tongued. Bitter. Your last nanny had quit after you locked yourself in the wine cellar for seven hours and refused to come out unless someone “rescued you dramatically.” Your parents were in Geneva or another city outside Korea that you couldn’t remember. Rosa had arrived the next day with a suitcase full of spices and fury. Rosa had looked at you for a long time, days of analyzing you and calling out your shit. And then she told you— “You better start behaving, bambina, or I’ll leave you first.”

And she hadn’t left.

She yelled, cooked, cleaned, scolded. She taught you how to knead dough, how to salt water properly, how to sit up straight at a table, how to speak Italian when she was angry and needed better vocabulary so you would understand her curses. And when you cried, Rosa didn’t coo. She handed you a spoon and said, “Stir this until your tears are gone.”

It had worked. She always knew how to make you feel better. She always knew how to make you feel like family could be chosen when the one you had wasn’t enough. She had given you something you couldn’t ever pay for or take for granted: incondicional love. You had learned the meaning thanks to her.

Back in the room, you sat there for a while longer, watching her chest rise and fall, watching the way her fingers curled slightly in her sleep. And you wished there was a way for her to be healthy and a way to make her stay in your life forever. For the first time, you cried about money. Because now you knew money couldn’t buy you time with the person you loved the most.

You hated remembering moments with her. Moments that made you want to cry for hours. But everytime you visit her it was like reliving everything. That’s why every-time you went to see her, you broke a little more.

You remember how she started cooking every afternoon when she arrived at your house. Real food, not the bland stuff you were used to since your parents didn’t even hired Korean people, usually white girls who would run away in minutes. The kitchen began to smell like garlic and basil, tomatoes that had been crushed by hand, dough that was kneaded on marble like something sacred. That smell had become your home. You remember you wouldn’t eat it at first. She’d pretend not to notice. But one day, Rosa made ravioli stuffed with ricotta and lemon zest, and you caved. You had snuck into the kitchen that night barefoot in your pajamas, standing by the fridge in silence.

Rosa was there. Of course. “You are hungry,” she had said, not turning around.

“No, I’m just bored.”

Rosa smirked. “Good. I don’t cook for babies. I cook for smart girls with empty stomachs.”

You had rolled your eyes, but you sat down. You ate in silence. And then Rosa served you a second portion without asking.

And it was the start.

It was slow, a truce. More than once, you snapped or tested boundaries, waiting for Rosa to leave like the rest. But Rosa didn’t flinch. She was sharp-tongued and warm-hearted, firm as marble and soft in all the unexpected places. And she stayed.

One afternoon, weeks later, you came home with teary eyes after someone had made fun of you for not knowing how to do a cartwheel in gym class. You didn’t want to cry in front of Rosa, you had your pride. And Rosa didn’t push. Instead, she brought out flour, eggs, sugar. “Come,” she said. “We bake.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Perfect. I don’t want to listen to your whining either. Let us both suffer.”

You cracked the first egg with a little too much force. Rosa sighed and handed you another. “Gently, bella. We are not murdering the chickens.” You made biscotti for the first time that day. It was messy, and Rosa shouted in half-Italian the whole time, and you laughed so hard you snorted powdered sugar through your nose.

That night, Rosa tucked you in for the first time. Not with a story, but with a hand brushing your hair off your forehead, and a quiet, “You are not as wild as you want people to think, piccolina.”

You didn’t say anything. But you slept like a girl who’d finally been seen.

She had become your family… And it was so heartbreaking losing the only family you had little by little.

The soft glow of the wall lamp made Rosa’s small room feel like a pocket of time untouched by the outside world. You had meant to stay just an hour, long enough to hear her stubborn, sharp-voiced tell you off for worrying too much and maybe eat half a cookie together. But Rosa had dozed off not long after you settled in, and for the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel like moving. You stayed. You watched her breathe. Thought about the years between you two. The ones she barely remembered some days, the ones that still stung. Every small flash of childhood warmth seemed to have Rosa’s fingerprints on it.

By the time you checked your phone again, the sun had disappeared. It was past 9:30. Your stomach dropped. You had a lot of emails, calls and text, but there were two messages from Jungkook that called your attention.

7:32 PM: On my way. Let me know if you need anything.

8:15 PM: At yours. No rush.

Just one missing call. No demands. Those two texts, steady and polite, like him.

Today was supposed to be the dinner at your house, for the first time. You blinked, shoved your coat back on, and carefully brushed a strand of white hair off Rosa’s forehead. You kissed her cheek before leaving, heels tapping fast over linoleum, coat clutched in your hand, guilt trailing you like perfume.

You hadn’t meant to stay that long. You hadn’t meant to forget.

When you pulled into your parking space, you sat in the driver’s seat for a few seconds with the engine still running. The overhead light inside the car buzzed quietly, casting a tired glow on your reflection in the mirror. Your makeup was still intact, barely, but your expression had softened into something unfamiliar: not quite guilt, not quite panic, more like a private, internal disorientation… How long had it been since you had to answer to someone? To explain yourself? To consider someone else’s time?.

You shut off the engine, grabbed your purse, and walked toward the elevator with your coat draped over your arm like a broken apology. Thinking how you could apologize to him in a way that you didn’t have to explain yourself, not because you didn’t want to but because it made you uncomfortable thinking about it.

Your heels clicked sharply on the polished floor as you stepped into your hallway, heart hammering in your throat. And there he was. Jungkook. Sitting on the small velvet floor near your door, one leg stretched out, head leaning against the wall. There was an unopened water bottle beside him. His coat was folded in his lap. He looked like he’d been waiting a while. As if hearing you before he saw you, his eyes opened slowly. He straightened.

You froze for half a second. Your heart clenched in your chest. “Shit,” you whispered.

He stood up, brushing a hand through his hair like it was nothing. “Hey.”

“Jungkook,” you said breathlessly, walking toward him. “You’ve been waiting here?”

He nodded, not unkindly. “Didn’t have the code.”

“I’m sorry.” Your voice cracked with guilt. “Why didn’t you call again?”

“You were obviously caught up in something,” he said. “Didn’t want to crowd you.”

You blinked, overwhelmed by the gentleness in his voice. That quiet way he gave space, even when it left him sitting in your floor alone for over two hours.

“I’m so sorry,” you said again, unlocking the door. “Come in, please.”

The doors opened to your penthouse, and you led him inside. The apartment was spotless. All gleaming surfaces and soft lighting, like it had been arranged for a date that never happened. The apartment felt too quiet. Jungkook looked around but said nothing. You dropped your bag on the console table and turned to face him. He didn’t look annoyed. Just… still. Like he’d been there long enough to settle into a version of patience he didn’t like using.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, voice dry.

Jungkook gave a small smile. “It’s okay.”

You closed the door behind you, the click of the latch louder than it should’ve been.

“I’m late,” you pointed out, setting your keys on the entryway table. “I know, I suck.”

“You okay?” he asked, stepping away to watch around.

“I should’ve texted you.”

“Sure,” he said, nodding once. “But I’m not asking for an apology. I’m asking if you’re okay.”

You blinked. You opened your mouth to say you were fine because that was always your default. It rolled out like muscle memory. But the words caught somewhere in your chest, weighed down by something you didn’t fully understand. And with the gentleness he carried, so soft it made you melt, you couldn’t stop yourself from explaining. Because you did want him to understand.

“I had to go see someone,” you finally said, toeing off your shoes and walking barefoot toward the kitchen island. “Someone important.” Jungkook stayed quiet, just watching you with that calm, open expression that somehow made you feel even more exposed “She’s— she’s my family, well, not officially,” you said, grabbing a glass and pouring water you didn’t really want. “But she practically raised me. Rosa. My… nanny, technically, but that word doesn’t do her justice. She came into my life when I was twelve, after I’d chased off a whole line of caregivers by being an insufferable little witch.”

Jungkook walked to you. He gave the ghost of a smile. “Hard to picture.”

“It was intentional,” you said. “I thought if I made everyone miserable enough, my parents would have to come home.” You looked up then, trying to gauge his expression. He wasn’t judging. Just listening. “She had a small health scare,” you added. “They called me in the middle of a meeting. I left. I didn’t tell anyone. I just went.”

Jungkook walked around the island and leaned against it, close but not crowding.

“Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. Stubborn. Thin. Quieter than usual. But fine.” your voice wavered for a second before you caught it. “She fell asleep and I just… stayed.”

He nodded again. “Sounds like she matters a lot.”

“She does.” Another pause. “I guess I haven’t done this in a while,” you said suddenly, eyes on the marble countertop. “The whole… explaining myself to someone I’m seeing thing. I’m not very good at it.”

“You’re doing fine.”

“I forgot the dinner,” you said, sharper now, like you had to name the failure or it would keep gnawing at you. “I forgot you were waiting here. That’s not fine.”

“It’s not a crime,” Jungkook said, tone even. “And I wasn’t waiting like I was keeping score.”

“But you were waiting,” you said. “And I hate that.”

Jungkook tilted his head. “Why?”

You hesitated. “Because I don’t want to mess this up,” you admitted, quietly. “Not because it’s serious because it’s not. I mean… not, you know, yet. But it’s… good. You’re good. And I’m… not good at this part. I plan things. I anticipate. I don’t forget.”

Jungkook stepped a little closer. “Can I tell you something?” You looked up, guarded but curious. “I grew up with two parents who never missed a dinner or a school play. My mom packed lunches with little notes in them. My dad once drove seven hours to fix my flat tire in college because he didn’t trust the mechanic I called. I had a great family. Like, sitcom good.”

“That’s rare.”

“I know.” He smiled. “I’m lucky.”

You felt something in your throat tighten. A little jealousy of his life hitting you. “You are.”

“And I also know,” Jungkook continued, “that not everyone had that. Which means sometimes I’ll have to remember that not everyone knows how to do this stuff without flinching. That explaining isn’t second nature for everyone.” You stared at him. “That’s what this is, right?” he added gently. “You flinching.”

You laughed once, surprised. “Maybe. Maybe I forgot how much effort this takes. Or maybe I’m scared to find out I don’t have the bandwidth for it.”

“I think you do,” he said. “You just have to let yourself take up space in it.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. There was a long pause. Not awkward. Just weighted. Then Jungkook stepped back toward the place. “Should I cook you something?.”

You smiled. “What if we just order ramen and pretend we had an amazing and expensive dinner?.”

“We are going to have an amazing dinner.” He stretched his hand to you. “Not expensive though.”

You hesitated before grabbing his hand and following him toward the living room. Your fingers warm in his hold. And just like that, the tightness inside your chest uncoiled a little. Maybe you weren’t perfect at this. Maybe you never would be. But maybe this wasn’t about being perfect. Maybe it was just about showing up—late, breathless, overwhelmed—and still being let in.

———

The bar wasn’t loud. At least, not in the way bars usually were. No thumping bass. No crowd of twenty-somethings trying to scream flirtations over trap beats. Just low jazz in the background, the quiet clinking of glasses, and the hum of tired professionals unwinding under the muted glow of amber lights… You leaned back against the velvet banquette, a half-empty Negroni in your hand and your heels kicked off under the table like the night had earned it. Se-hoo sat across from you, legs crossed, blazer off, button-up rolled to the elbows. She looked relaxed, as much as she ever did, but still polished. Always put together. The kind of woman who could command a boardroom and then debate the merits of Russian cinema over cocktails without smudging her lipstick.

“I swear to God,” you said, taking a sip, “if that junior manager sends me one more email addressed to ‘Dear Boss,’ I will personally ensure he’s promoted to head dishwasher in a Burger King in Japan.”

Se-hoo grinned. “Maybe he thinks he’s being endearing.”

“He’s not. I don’t work this hard to get mocking-named by someone who unironically quotes Elon Musk.”

“I’m putting that on your tombstone.”

“Please do. Just above ‘Beloved restaurateur. Ate the world.’”

You two laughed. The kind of warm, worn laughter that comes from knowing someone for years and surviving the same wine-stained trenches of early adulthood together.

“How’s your new sommelier?” she asked, setting her glass down. “The one with the man bun and that little soul patch. He still breathing?”

“For now,” you said, stretching your neck. “He’s insufferable. But he knows Burgundy like a sommelier god, so I tolerate him… Barely.”

You both took a pause, sipping your drinks, letting the quiet settle.

Then Se-hoo cocked her head. “So…”

You raised an eyebrow. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That So with a capital S. The one you use when you’re about to transition into my emotional landscape like a surgeon without anesthesia.”

She smirked. “I’m just asking. How’s Jungkook?”

She was using his name now. Was the situation becoming actually serious!.

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real irritation behind it , just the reflex of someone unused to being seen too clearly. “He’s fine,” you said, trying to sound breezy. “Charming. Hot. Punctual.”

“Punctual?”

“Last week he showed up early to our date with reservations and a backup plan in case the first place was too loud. That’s basically porn for me.”

Se-hoo laughed. “So things are going well?”

“They’re going,” you said, swirling you drink. “It’s… weirdly good. Which I hate. He’s smart. Funny. Mature. Like a whole functioning adult. Who knew those existed outside of movies?”

“And?”

You leaned forward, elbow on the table. “And I’m not spiraling yet. Which is nice. I mean, I know we’re not trying to become something yet. It’s casual. Just dating. No need to break out the tulle and baby names.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, the kind of narrowing that wasn’t judgmental, just aware. “You’ve been seeing him for what, six months now?”

“Give or take.” You shrugged. “Three months since the first actual date.”

“And you’re still calling it casual.”

You sipped your drink like it was armor. “It is casual.”

“Last week he took you to a museum date and brought your favourite wine to your place. That’s not ‘I just want to see you naked and chat more’ behaviour, babe.”

You paused. “He’s thoughtful,” you admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I have to start planning joint holiday cards.”

Se-hoo leaned in, gentler now. “Look, I’m not saying you’re suddenly going to become stepmom of the year, but… he has a kid, Y/n. That’s a package deal.”

There it was. The subject you didn’t want to deal with yet.

You looked away, then back. “I know.”

“Do you?”

“I’m not pretending she doesn’t exist,” you said, trying not to sound defensive. “I just— I’m not planning to… what, tuck her in at night? That kid has a mom. A good one, apparently. Jungkook’s not asking me to fill a void. He’s not asking me to play house.”

“But he will, eventually. Even if it’s not intentional. You know how life works. It bleeds at the edges.”

You were quiet for a moment. “I don’t hate kids. I just don’t understand them. They’re sticky and loud and their opinions are unsolicited and terrifying.”

“That sounds like you at seventeen.”

“Exactly. And nobody liked me then.”

Your friend laughed again, shaking her head. “I’m not saying you need to go buy glitter glue and be stepmom of the decade. But you’ve got to ask yourself… are you okay with being in something where that will always be part of the picture?”

You exhaled slowly. “I don’t know yet. I like him. And I like this… whatever this is. Maybe that’s enough for now.”

She nodded. “Fair. I just don’t want you to get sideswiped by something you saw coming.”

You two sat with that for a moment. The bar hummed softly around you two. Then you tilted your head and smirked.

“Enough about my spiraling. What about you? You’ve been suspiciously glowy lately.”

Se-hoo tried to look nonchalant. Failed. “I’ve been seeing someone.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “And you were going to tell me when? After the wedding? Who is she?”

“She’s a food critic.”

You gasped. “Oh my God. You’re dating the enemy.”

“She’s very honest,” she said with a smug little grin. “Brutal in print, gentle in person. It’s a weirdly sexy combo.”

“And what’s her name?”

“Valeria.”

“VALERIA?! That’s such a sexy name. You’re in trouble.”

“I am, she’s latina.” Se-hoo shrugged, clearly pleased. “It’s early. But she makes me laugh. And she gets my work obsession. She doesn’t flinch when I say I have three meetings and a board call on a Sunday.”

“Okay, she might be a fairy.”

“I thought the same.”

You two toasted to that. Two tired women in suits, drinking gin and swapping truths under the low bar lights, trying to make sense of what your hearts were doing.

You didn’t say it aloud, but you felt it somewhere under your ribs: That weird, unfamiliar sensation of maybe. Maybe this thing with Jungkook could work. Maybe you didn’t have to know everything before you stepped forward. Maybe you could just… try.

One date at a time… And a lot of excuses to not met his kid.

You could make it work. Specially since you knew things were changing faster.

It was true that the rhythm of your lives had shifted. What had started as casual meetings had blossomed into something that neither of you wanted to label too soon but couldn’t deny was different. It wasn’t just the dates anymore, it was the in-between moments, the ease of silences, the shared jokes that no one else understood. You found yourself texting Jungkook about trivial things. A ridiculous latte flavor you’d just seen at a café, or a song that popped into your head. And he responded with his usual dry wit, sometimes a simple emoji, sometimes a mini essay about his day at the shop. The conversations were long, sometimes starting late at night and stretching into the early morning hours, as if the world outside had paused just for you two.

You’d been out more times than either could count—restaurants, art galleries, the occasional dive bar, lazy Sunday brunches where Jungkook would tease you about how you always ordered the fanciest things on the menu, and you’d retort with sharp jokes about his inability to pick a drink that didn’t come with some kind of syrup or was on the kid’s menu.

One evening, after a dinner that had ended with you sharing a dessert spoon like teenagers sneaking sweets, Jungkook had surprised you by taking you to a rooftop overlooking the city. String lights flickered overhead, casting a soft glow as you leaned into each other, the hum of the city below a gentle soundtrack to your quiet conversation. You remembered how he’d brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary, his eyes holding yours with something unspoken. That night, the world had felt a little softer, a little more hopeful.

On another afternoon, you caught him watching you when you weren’t looking. They way your lips moved when you talked passionately about your business, or how you’d scrunch your nose when deep in thought. It made you feel seen, in a way you hadn’t been in so long.

Your weekends started to blend together, a patchwork of movie marathons, grocery runs, and lazy mornings where you’d stay in bed just a little too long, tangled up in sheets and quiet conversation. Your penthouse, once just a place you came home to, had become more of a sanctuary—a space filled with laughter, music, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee. And despite the lightheartedness, there was depth beneath it all. Jungkook admired how fiercely independent you were, how you held your own in a world that often tried to define you. And you, in turn, respected his calm steadiness, the way he managed his business with quiet confidence, his devotion to his daughter clear in every decision he made.

Of course, not everything was perfect. There were moments of tension, small disagreements that hinted at the complexities beneath the easy smiles. Your occasional impatience with kids, something Jungkook noticed but didn’t push, and your tendency to retreat when things felt too vulnerable. Jungkook, too, wrestled with the balance of wanting to open up but not wanting to scare you away. But those moments were brief, eclipsed by the warmth they found in each other’s company.

One rainy evening, as you sat curled up on the couch with blankets and takeout, you caught Jungkook staring at you, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“What?” you asked, teasing.

“Nothing,” he said, voice low. “Just thinking how lucky I am.”

You nudged him playfully. “Keep dreaming, Jeon.”

He laughed, pulling you closer. “No dreams here. Just us.”

And in that quiet apartment, surrounded by the soft glow of lamplight and the steady rhythm of your breathing, something real was taking root. A fast burn neither of you wanted to rush, but both were eager to see where it might lead.

———

The sound of pop music filled the apartment. But then it changed to a soft piano cover of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” playing over the speakers like background music in a slightly chaotic museum. Jungkook’s apartment smelled faintly of acrylic paint and leftover lasagna.

“Dad” Sunni said, one foot on the coffee table and the other dangling over the side of the couch, “your dinosaur doesn’t look like a real triceratops. That looks like a smashed potato.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow without looking up from his canvas. “You’ve never met a real triceratops. Maybe that’s exactly what they looked like.”

“No,” she said with a dramatic sigh, dipping her brush into a messy swirl of blue. “Triceratops had frills and horns. Yours looks like it has been through hell.”

Jungkook laughed, the deep, warm kind of laugh that filled the room. “Alright, alright, Miss Paleontology. Let me see yours, then.”

Sunni held up her painting like she was unveiling the Sistine Chapel. “This is my dinosaur family. That’s me. That’s you. And that’s mom, but I put her in New York because she’s working there right now.”

The painting was mostly bright pink blobs with stick arms, three figures under a rainbow. Jungkook had a green triangle for a body and horns. Sunni had painted herself wearing a tiara. His heart melted just a little.

“You gave me a tie,” he noted.

“That’s because you’re the boss at the tattoo shop, and bosses wear ties.”

The older smiled. “Not the kind of boss I am, kiddo. My kind wears hoodies and sneakers and accidentally spills espresso on client forms.”

“Then why are you the boss?”

“Because I’m old and I yell the loudest.”

She snorted, then blew on her painting like it was a masterpiece. There was blue on her nose and pink streaked across one eyebrow. Jungkook reached over with a paper towel. “Hold still.”

“I’m fine,” she said, dodging him expertly.

“You’re turning into a Pollock painting.”

“Who?”

“Jackson Pollock.”

She frowned, concentrating. “Did he paint dinosaurs?”

“No, he kind of threw paint at a canvas and called it a day.”

“That’s cheating.”

“Some say genius. Others say mess.”

She thought about that for a second, then grinned. “Sounds like you.”

Jungkook sat back against the couch and watched her mix green with red, ending in a muddy brown. She was talking to herself quietly, giving voices to the dinosaurs, something about one of them being late for a “dino dentist” appointment. He didn’t interrupt. These were the moments he lived for. No school rush. No packed lunches or early drop-offs. Just quiet, weird, colorful evenings with the person who looked most like him but acted like a tiny hurricane with an anime addiction.

“Can I have a cookie?” Sunni asked abruptly.

“You already had two.”

“Can I have a third one because I’m smart and did not drink paint water this time?”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows. “We don’t reward not poisoning yourself.”

“But we should.”

He laughed again and stood up, ruffling her hair. “Alright, you get half.”

“Three-fourths.”

“You don’t even know what that means.”

“I know it’s more than half.”

“Wow, you’re getting smarter.”

He walked toward the kitchen and grabbed a cookie from the jar, a homemade chocolate chip one they’d baked the day before, or at least, attempted to bake. Sunni had added “a pinch” of cinnamon, which in her case meant three tablespoons.

He returned with a napkin and handed it to her. “I’ll allow three-fourths,” he said. “But only because I’m impressed by your negotiation tactics.”

“I learned from you.”

Jungkook gave her a pointed look. “Don’t say that too loudly. Your mom will get mad at me.”

She bit into the cookie with theatrical satisfaction, crumbs decorating her shirt immediately. “Daddy,” she mumbled with her mouth full, “do dinosaurs still exist in secret?”

“No.”

“But what if—”

“No, Sunni.”

“Okay, but like tiny ones?”

“That’s what birds are.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Birds are not dinosaurs.”

“Science says otherwise.”

“Science also said Pluto wasn’t a planet, and that was rude!”

Jungkook grinned as he leaned back, watching her wag her finger like a tiny, furious professor. “Have you thought about being a lawyer?”

“I want to be an astronaut princess vet.”

“That tracks.”

She painted in silence for a moment, then asked in a quieter voice, “Are you gonna get married again?”

The question caught Jungkook mid-sip of water. He coughed a little. “Why do you ask?”

“I dunno,” she said, not looking at him. “Just wondering. My best friend’s mom got married again.”

“Sana?.”

“Yes!, she told me she hates her new dad.”

“Well… I’m not planning on it. Not unless someone very cool comes along and makes me change my mind.”

She nodded. “Would they have to like me?”

“Absolutely.”

“What if I’m annoying?”

Jungkook reached for her foot, tickling her without mercy. She squealed, laughing until she nearly dropped her brush. “You’re already the coolest person I know,” he said when she caught her breath. “They’d be lucky to even get a hug from you.”

She leaned her cheek on her shoulder and gave him a sleepy smile.

“Okay,” she said. “But they have to know the names of all the dinosaurs. All of them.”

“I’ll make that a requirement.”

“Good.”

Jungkook looked at her. Her tangled hair, her ridiculous smudge of paint, her stubborn grin. And something deep in his chest shifted again. She wasn’t just his daughter. She was his world. And anyone who wanted a place in his life… would have to understand that.

———

The sky was turning lavender when you stepped out of the cab, holding a glossy paper bag with tiramisu and a handwritten note from the chef who adored you. The hem of your coat fluttered as a gust of wind kicked up. You wore a short satin skirt and a soft oversized cashmere sweater, your hair still in a half-up twist from a long, punishing day filled with back-to-back meetings and a screaming match with a supplier who thought “imported” meant “available in six months.”

You were bone-tired, and the only thing that could make the evening better was Jeon Jungkook in a hoodie, bare feet, and maybe nothing under that hoodie. With wine. Possibly sex. Probably sex. Definitely sex. You clearly didn’t overthink it.

You hadn’t made plans, but he had said “You know the code, come by whenever.” So you did, like you been doing it for the last week.

The door clicked open with the familiar beep. You stepped inside, took a deep breath. Still warm. Still smelled like cedar, ink, and soap. You kicked off your heels. “Kook?” you called, expecting the usual shuffle of footsteps or his amused baritone answering from somewhere in the apartment.

Silence. Weird. Maybe he was in the shower?

You padded across the hallway, glancing around. The place was mostly dark except for a soft lamp near the living room. On the coffee table: watercolor paints, glitter glue, and a very wet paper towel that had somehow fused to the wood. Then… A sound. Not just any sound. A child sound, a little soft voice. Your entire body froze like a deer caught in the road. You turned slowly toward the hallway where the bedrooms were and… There. Standing in the hallway like a vengeful ghost in unicorn pajamas, was a little girl with one sock, half a braid, and a plastic tiara slipping off her head.

Both of you froze.

For a long beat, the only sound was your paper bag crinkling slightly in your hand.

Oh my god. Jungkook’s daughter.

The little girl blinked up at you. “Who are you?” she asked with the slow, careful tone of someone considering whether to scream, run, or throw a stuffed animal.

You blinked back, dry-mouthed. “Who—who are you?”

The girl squinted. “You’re not Dad.” she frowned. “This is my house. Are you here to rob us?”

“Rob you?” your voice went shrill. “Are you joking?”

“You’re holding a bag.”

“A bag is not a gun.”

“It’s a suspicious bag.”

“It’s tiramisu.”

“That sounds made up.”

You exhaled, already annoyed. “ I’m… Y/n. I’m a friend of your dad’s.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What kind of friend?”

“What do you mean what kind?” you frowned too.

“There’s mom friends, and school friends, and yucky kissing friends.”

“Well, I’m certainly not—” you blinked. “That’s none of your business.”

“So, yucky!?.”

“That’s not—okay, look, I am an adult, you can’t just go around labeling people like this.”

“You have to tell me, I don’t want my dad to have yucky kissing friends” she said, almost exasperating.

“I don’t owe you explanations.”

“You just broke into my house!.”

“I did not!. Your father gave me the code.”

“Which you could’ve stolen.”

You threw your head back. “Oh my god.”

“I’m calling him.”

“God?.”

“My dad!, I obviously don’t have God’s number.”

Ah, you were reminded why you didn’t like kids.

“You don’t even have a phone.”

“I’ll use Alexa.”

You clutched the tiramisu like it was a weapon. “Listen here, little shit. I came here to see your dad, not fight a goblin child in unicorn pajamas.”

“Daddy said we don’t curse in this house!” she frowned, looking at you up and down. “Why is your skirt so shiny?”

“It’s silk.”

“They look slippery. Like a fish.”

“You look like chaos in a tiara.”

She pouted. “Are you the cookie woman?”

“I… what?”

“Dad said there was a cookie woman once. Who made jokes and had shiny hair. He didn’t say you had shiny skirts too.”

You glanced down at your silk skirt. “These are not for children.”

The girl crossed her arms. “You broke into our house.”

“I did not break in, your father gave me the code—why the fuck am I explaining myself to a person under four feet tall?”

“Not cursing! And ’m seven.”

“Oh, forgive me.” There was a long pause. A little stare-off. It was like a high-stakes chess game between a Prada ad and a princess-themed cryptid. “What’s your name?” you asked stiffly.

“Sunni. What’s yours again?”

“Y/n.”

Sunni made a face. “That’s a weird name.”

“It’s not, I like it.”

“I like pancakes better.”

“…Alright.” Another long, awkward beat. “Where is Jungk—your dad?” you finally asked, trying to remember how adults usually navigated this kind of situation. It wasn’t like they covered ambushing your hookup’s child in law school.

“He went to get me gummy bears,” Sunni said simply. “He said it would take five minutes and it’s been… one Spongebob episode.”

You sighed. “And how long is that?”

“Ten minutes, plus the ads.”

You stared. “Oh my God, he left you alone?”

Sunni gasped, hands to her chest. “It’s not illegal! He left the baby monitor and locked the door and the shop is right there! Are you gonna call the police on him?!”

“I wasn’t—Jesus, no! I just—don’t yell. I’m not calling anyone.”

Sunni eyed you suspiciously. “You don’t like me?”

You blinked. “Why would you say that?”

“You look scared. And you smell like fancy soap.”

“I’m not scared. I just didn’t expect a small human to jump out at me. And this is Jo Malone. Thank you.”

Another pause.

Then Sunni tilted her head and gave you a sideways look. “Do you wanna see my painting of a triceratops with a mustache?”

“…Kind of.”

She turned without waiting and marched to the table. “Here. This is Dad. And this is me. And that’s my stegosaurus friend who hates bedtime.”

The drawing was a mess of color and chaos. But in the center: a dinosaur family. And your cold, overworked, high-functioning heart wanted to leave as soon as possible.

“That’s… weirdly good,” you said, leaning over.

“Thanks. I’m gifted.”

You smirked, amused for the first time. “Modest, too.”

Before the snark war could escalate further, the door opened. Jungkook stepped in with a small bag of candy and a soda under one arm. “Alright, I got the—” He stopped before smiling. “Hey.”

You and Sunni looked up at him at the same time like two cats caught mid-crime.

The little one immediately pointed. “She scared me.”

“She scared me!” you snapped.

Jungkook stared, then laughed. Looking way more relaxed about the situation than he should. “I see you two met.”

“Without warning,” you said, straightening and getting closer to him to whisper. “Why didn’t you tell me your child was here?”

“I didn’t plan for this. She asked for candy. I was gone for five minutes.”

“She has paint on her face. She could have died.”

“I was watching her through the monitor. I watched everything that happened. This apartment is not a death trap.”

“Still!” Jungkook walked over and handed the gummy bears to Sunni, who took them with a smug little smile. “You said you saw everything. She said I broke in,” you tattled.

“You kind of did,” Jungkook said, grinning at you.

“I had tiramisu!” you huffed, holding up the paper bag.

The small girl took it immediately from your hands, leaving you a little shocked. “This smells fancy!.”

Jungkook kissed you on the cheek, still laughing. “I love this chaos.”

“I do not. She said my name is weird.”

“It’s a very elegant name.”

“I said I like pancakes more!.”

“I mean, fair.”

Sunni yawned and curled up on the couch, sugar already forgotten. “She smells like expensive candles,” she said, eyes fluttering as she yawned, her bravado dimming a little.

“She said ‘fancy soup’ before.” You rolled your eyes.

Jungkook gave a small laugh and walked over, gently brushing her hair off her forehead. “Alright, terror. Time for bed.”

“I’m not sleepy,” the little one whined, even as she blinked slowly.

“You’re literally mid-snore.”

Sunni grumbled but didn’t resist when he scooped her up. She curled against his chest instinctively, tiara falling to the floor with a soft clink. He turned to you with a lopsided smile. “Give me five minutes to put this war general to bed and then we can…”

“Actually,” you cut in, clearing your throat. You looked down, then stepped back toward the door. “I think I’m gonna head out.”

Jungkook stilled, trying to find your eyes. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I, uhm, I just came by with dessert. No big deal.”

He studied you. You weren’t panicking in an obvious way, but he could see it in the stiffness of your posture, the way your voice had gone carefully neutral. Your armor was back on. That version of you that always looked like you were ten seconds from making a PowerPoint to explain your feelings and run away.

Jungkook nodded slowly, adjusting Sunni in his arms. “Okay.” He didn’t stop you. Didn’t try to convince you. Just let the space settle. But before you could open the door, he added softly, “Hey.” You turned. “I know this wasn’t what you expected,” he said, voice warm but serious. “And I know she’s a lot. This is a lot.” You said nothing. “I’m not asking for anything you’re not ready for,” he continued. “But I like you, Y/n. I really like you. But I also get that this might feel like… stepping into something big. And weird. And loud.”

You gave a dry laugh, still not looking at him. “Loud is one word for it.”

Jungkook grinned. “You held your own against a seven-year-old with a gummy bear addiction and a god complex. That’s impressive.”

You looked up at him, eyes softer now. “I just… wasn’t expecting her.”

“I know,” he said gently. “I wasn’t expecting you either. But here we are.” Another pause. Jungkook stepped forward just a little. “You don’t have to figure it out tonight. Or tomorrow. Or at all, if it’s not what you want. But don’t run just because you’re scared, okay?. You don’t have to be.”

You didn’t say anything right away. But your eyes lingered on his for a moment too long. And then you gave a small nod, barely-there.

“I’ll text you,” you murmured, already reaching for the doorknob.

Jungkook didn’t push.

“Goodnight, Y/n.”

“Night, Jungkook.”

As you walked out, he looked down at Sunni asleep in his arms and whispered, “You really had to go full dive, huh?”

From the crook of his shoulder, she mumbled, “She started it.”

He smiled. Jungkook was a little amused by the situation. Even if it had been a little out of place for you. A little too much to handle.

———

“WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. FUCK.”

Your heels clacked in rapid-fire across the marble floor of your penthouse as you stormed inside, dumped your new bag of tiramisu you picked up from the restaurant on your way home on the kitchen counter like it had personally betrayed you, and flopped onto the velvet chaise lounge like a woman possessed.

One arm flung over your eyes. One leg dangling off dramatically.

Your phone buzzed. You peeked at it.

Se-hoo: How was dessert with zaddy

You groaned. You barely had the strength to text, but you had to get this out of your system.

Y/n: i got verbally destroyed by a seven year old in a tiara

Se-hoo: oh mT GOD, YOU MET THE DAUGHTER??

Y/n: not by choice

Y/n: she called me a thief and made fun of my name

Y/n: THEN said i probably do yucky kissing with her dad

Se-hoo: this is so much better than porn

Y/n: she looked me in the eye and said i smell like expensive candles and TOLD ME MY SKIRT LOOKED SLIPPERY LIKE FISH AND THAT SHE LIKED OANCAKES MORE THAN MY NAME

Y/n: what kind of child tells people that???

Se-hoo: a powerful one

Se-hoo: I fear her

Se-hoo: I respect her

You sat up, typing at full speed now.

Y/n: i tried to hold my ground

Y/n: we ended up in a passive aggressive fight match about a cookie woman and tiramisu??

Y/n: I think she won

Se-hoo: you got roasted by a 2nd grader who’s dad you’re in love with

Se-hoo: what a journey

Y/n: I’m not in love

Se-hoo: lol yeah not in love

You tossed your phone across the sofa with a groan and buried your face in your hands. You weren’t spiraling. You weren’t. You weren’t just… used to being caught off guard. You weren’t used to being seen without presenting a thesis and three bullet points first. And you sure as hell weren’t used to a child stomping into your life in glitter pajamas and rearranging the furniture in your brain.

Your eyes flicked to the paper bag on the kitchen counter. Tiramisu, the new one you had to get because that little monster took yours from your hands.

“Little shit didn’t even say thank you,” you muttered.

You poured yourself a glass of wine and stood by the window, city lights flickering below you.

And in that moment, you weren’t the boss. You weren’t the daughter of the high-rise empire you ur parents had. You weren’t the woman who curated every outfit, every move, every sip of your espresso. You were just Y/n. Barefoot, flustered, with a kid’s annoying voice still echoing in your head. But specifically with that comment Jungkook had made. “But don’t run just because you’re scared”.

Jesus Christ.

You took a sip of wine and let the doubts swim in your mind. Were you made to deal with that kind of life? Did you want to deal with that kind of life?

On the other part of the city Jungkook’s apartment was finally quiet.

Sunni was asleep, truly asleep this time, curled into her comforter, one hand still loosely clutching a gummy bear wrapper like it was some kind of war trophy. Jungkook stood at her doorway, leaning against the frame with arms crossed, just watching her breathe. The tiara sat lopsided on her nightstand now. Her pink dinosaur nightlight glowed faintly. And her latest abstract crayon masterpiece she made in school was taped proudly above the bed. A violent, chaotic swirl of colors labeled in large, confident print: “MOM DAD ME SPAGHETTI.”

He smiled. Then sighed.

Back in the kitchen, he poured himself a glass of water and leaned on the counter, finally letting his mind drift back to what had just happened. You had entered like a storm and exited like a ghost… and he didn’t blame you. You weren’t supposed to meet Sunni like that. He’d imagined something slower, something more intentional. A conversation first. A warning. A way to prepare you for the miniature gladiator that was his daughter… But instead, you’d walked straight into enemy territory wearing heels and carrying dessert.

And still, you’d held your ground.

He chuckled to himself. God, the image of you arguing with a sleepy seven-year-old about tiramisu and yucky friends was now permanently engraved in his brain.

He pulled out his phone. There was still no text from you. But he didn’t push. Jungkook had dated. Not a lot, and not for long. Most things fizzled quickly when women realized that having a daughter wasn’t a quirk, it was a permanent, full-time gig. His life had rules. Bedtimes. School drop-offs. Sick days. There was no room for chaos. No room for someone unsure… Other times it was worse, people who only wanted the children and not the man. Jungkook had been out of the dating game for a while, but he knew how to work around it. Specially with you, with someone he liked. You weren’t unsure in the usual way. You didn’t run because of Sunni, not exactly. You’d been caught off guard, yes. But Jungkook had seen something in your face when you looked at his daughter. Not hate. Not even fear. Just unfamiliarity. Like someone who’d accidentally walked into a class they didn’t register for and was trying to decide whether to sit down or bolt.

Jungkook got that. Really. But he also saw something else, the way you froze when Sunni asked who you were, the way your voice went sharp and sarcastic because that’s what you did when you didn’t know how to feel. The way your hand lingered on the doorknob, like you wanted to stay but didn’t know how.

He could be patient. He’d been patient. He wanted to believe you were worth it. He didn’t need you to be perfect with kids. He didn’t need you to suddenly want to play house or braid Sunni’s hair or volunteer at school fundraisers. He just needed honesty. Clarity. Effort. And you gave that in you own way.

He took another sip of water and walked back to Sunni’s room, just to peek again. Still asleep. Gummy bear wrapper now discarded. He realized, he was dealing with two different chaos of people… And he always liked a challenge.

Then turned off the nightlight.

At 2AM, he called you.

The phone rang once. Then twice. Then three times.

You stared at it from your bed like it was something feral. Something untamed. Something you hadn’t invited. Jeon Jungkook. No text first. No “u up?” breadcrumb. Just a full-on, unapologetic phone call like you were in the 2000s and nobody had social anxiety… You thought about letting it ring out. Pretending to be asleep. Letting it be his turn to spiral in silence. But then again… Jungkook didn’t strike you as the spiraling type.

You exhaled and answered.

“Hey.” your voice came out level, too smooth. Like you hadn’t just spent the last hour reliving your verbal brawl with his child.

“Hey,” his voice came through warm, low, steady. “You home?”

“Yeah. For a while now.”

A pause.

“You okay?”

You blinked. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jungkook laughed softly on the other end, and it made your stomach flip. The kind of laugh that said I see right through you. The kind that was both, affectionate and maddening.

“I’ve seen wild things in my life,” he said. “But watching you and Sunni throw shade at each other over dessert might be top five.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, pressing your palm over your forehead. “Are we going to relive that?”

“We are,” he said calmly. “Because you left here like your heels were on fire and haven’t texted since.”

“I was letting you… decompress,” you said, half-laughing, half-deflecting. “I figured a man needs some silence after his daughter challenges a grown woman to a duel…”

“You know,” he said, voice like a slow grin, “for someone who says she doesn’t care, you’ve come up with a lot of clever ways to not talk about it.” That shut you up. Jungkook continued, “Look. I’m not calling to lecture you. I’m not mad. She’s a lot. That wasn’t how I wanted you two to meet.” You exhaled, shifting in bed. “But,” he went on, “you’re doing that thing. That thing where you pretend everything’s chill so you don’t have to admit anything rattled you.”

“That’s not—”

“It is.”

Another silence.

You weren’t used to being called out so calmly. So directly. Not as a fight, not as a power move, just… as truth. Given without venom. Offered like a mirror you hadn’t asked to look into.

“I’m not,” you said quickly. Always trying to have the upper-hand even when you didn’t need to. “I mean, this is casual. It doesn’t have to be…”

“No,” Jungkook cut in, firm now. Voice lower. Surer. “It’s not casual anymore.” You froze. He let the silence stretch just long enough to make it clear that he wasn’t filling it with soft reassurances or walking it back. “I know what casual looks like,” he said, voice like velvet over gravel. “And this isn’t it. Not for me. You don’t get nervous after the woman you’re sleeping with meets your daughter by accident,” he continued. “You don’t call someone at midnight because you can’t stop thinking about the way they looked when they said goodbye. You don’t miss casual.”

“Jungkook…”

“I’m not trying to scare you,” he said, gentler now. “But I’m also not going to play the cool, detached guy card just so you don’t freak out.”

You sat upright in bed, heart thudding in your throat.

“You said you didn’t want a relationship,” you said, reaching for anything stable.

“I said that, I know I don’t need one,” he admitted. “But I also didn’t plan on meeting someone who called my daughter a ‘goblin child’ and still left me wanting to kiss the hell out of her again.” Your breath caught. “I like you,” he said simply. “I’m not ashamed of that. And I’m not gonna act like it’s casual when we both know it’s turning into something else.”

You blinked. Swallowed. Everything in your chest felt tight, like your ribs were made of glass.

“I…” you started, then stopped. “It’s just been a while.”

“I know.”

“And I’m not… This is a new territory for me, I don’t know how to do this.”

“You don’t have to,” he said. “Not all at once. But don’t lie to yourself about what it is just because it’s easier to pretend you’re fine alone.”

Another beat of silence. Then you whispered, “You’re really annoying.”

He chuckled. “I’ve been told.”

“You’re hot when you say annoying things like that.”

“Good. I was going for that.” You let your head fall back against the pillow, breath escaping in something between a laugh and a groan. “Talk to me.”

“Okay,” you said after a beat. “Fine. It was… weird. I felt like I walked into something I had no business being in. Like I was crashing someone else’s life.”

“You’re not,” Jungkook said, without hesitation. “I invited you.”

“And I brought cake and mean comments.”

He chuckled. “She liked the tiramisu, by the way. Even if she pretended not to. And like me, she likes a good banter.”

You let that sit for a second. A tiny peace offering.

“I’m not good with kids,” you said finally. “I don’t think I ever will be.”

Jungkook didn’t rush to fill the space. He let you own the silence.

“That’s okay,” he said. “I’m not asking you to be her stepmom. I’m not asking you to play dolls or braid her hair or come to school plays.”

“Good,” you muttered. “Because I’d set the dolls on fire.”

He laughed again. “All I’m asking,” he said, voice soft but certain, “is that you don’t run when things stop being perfectly curated. I don’t need a picture-perfect version of this. I just want you.”

You felt something tighten in your chest. That dangerous, terrifying feeling of being seen again. “I didn’t run,” you said quietly.

“You were halfway down the hallway before Sunni finished yawning.”

You snorted. “Okay, technically, yes—”

“I’m just saying,” he cut in, still warm but firm, “you don’t have to pretend like you don’t care. It’s okay if this is starting to mean something. It is for me.”

That stopped you, cold. You looked up at the ceiling like it had answers. Like it could tell you what to say. But the truth sat heavy on your tongue. It was starting to mean something. And that terrified you more than a child in a tiara ever could.

“…I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted, voice small. “I haven’t done this in a long time... I thought for a long time there’s just people who are not made for this kind of thing, relationships and everything. Specially when they come with other person attached.”

Jungkook was quiet on the other end. Then, he told you gently: “Okay. So we take it slow. You don’t have to know everything right now. You don’t have to be perfect. Just… be honest.”

You swallowed. “You’re annoyingly good at this,” you said.

“I’m older,” he said. “Wiser. And very hot.”

You laughed, again. And it made you realized how easy was for him to make you calmer, more secured. Even with his honesty, even with his desire of knowing exactly what he wanted.

“I’ll text you tomorrow,” you said, softer.

“You better.”

“And hey,” you added, “tell your kid I’m sorry I called her a ‘Goblin child’”.

“No way,” Jungkook said, grinning. “That made her entire week.”

You smiled. A slow, reluctant, maybe kind of hopeful smile. Maybe things were meant to be easy with him.

FOURTH CHAPTER HEHEEHEH

my fav dynamic (Sunni and Y/n) starts here >_<;; hope you liked the chap, we could see more of Rosa and how the relationship with dilf jk is evolving!!! tell me how you’re liking it so far 🤭

just added the word count in the chaps hehe

Taglist:

@sanguchitodeternera @yneisstuff @smoljimjim @almatiarau @annpeachy @mar-lo-pap @taetaecatboy @rrosiitas @httpsmei @jeonnabi11 @gigi4evr @sabrinahiddig @tatzzz-25 @slythermania @yuyu0y11 @ultracnt @baekpop05 @tinyxrose @satisfied18 @kissyfacekoo @synamon @smut02 @alextgef @lindsayjoy444 @ottergirl @imagine-this-motherfucker @dream-lover200 @astralovesu @dragons-flare @jungkookswifeeeeeee @jungkooknippleanddicksucker @yuniesluv @kookooquette @lanyia @dearkayzel-blog @katie-tibo @strawberryacethingz @jalexad @llallaaa @eyesforjungkook @wandabillywrites @flowinj @strawberrysweetness @osakis-gf @bambijuicee @dollyunjinz @jjeonjjk7 @focused-island @cravingforbangtan @elinaki92

[inthelow]

TEMPORARY FRAGMENTS — jeon jungkook (4).

summary: When you meet Jungkook— an older man who is amazing in bed, you thought it would be a simple arrangement of casual sex. Except things start getting serious and before you know he’s asking you on dates and introducing you to his daughter… Of course, he doesn’t know that you’re bad with kids and never wanted one of your own— well, at least it was just something temporary… right?

pairing: business! fem reader x dad! jeon jungkook

genre/warning: fluff, crack, smut, angst / a lot of themes like insecurity, jealousy, death, dysfunctional family, etc.

chapters: intro; one; two; three; four; five; six; seven; eight; nine; ten; eleven; twelve; thirteen; fourteen; fifteen; sixteen; seventeen; eighteen; epilogue.

WC: +9k words

The meeting was already running ten minutes late, and you had begun mentally composing an email firing the junior associate responsible for the glitch in the logistics report when your phone buzzed in your lap. You glanced down. Unknown Number. Your first instinct was to silence it. You didn’t take calls you didn’t recognize, especially not mid-meeting. But something- maybe instinct, maybe the tight feeling in your gut- made you swipe and quietly stand. You excused yourself with a sharp, muttered apology and slipped out of the boardroom, stilettos silent on the soft marble floor.

You answered as you pushed through the glass door to the hall.

“Hello?”

“Is this Miss Y/n?”

The voice was soft, female. Polite, but serious.

“Yes,” you said, already shifting into alertness. “Who’s this?”

“This is Elena from the Villa Santa Teresa assisted living facility. I’m one of Mrs. Mariani’s nurses.”

Your spine straightened. “Yes, I remember you. What happened?”

“Oh, nothing too serious, I promise,” Elena said quickly. “But she gave us a bit of a scare earlier this morning. Slight dizziness, some low blood pressure. She refused to let us call an ambulance, of course.”

“Of course she did,” you muttered, rubbing your face. Already feeling the stress hitting you harder.

“She’s resting now. But she’s been… quieter lately. Low appetite. Not quite herself. We thought maybe, if you had time, you could come by. She always perks up after you visit.”

There was no hesitation after that comment.

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

The drive to the facility was autopilot. You didn’t even remember turning onto the highway. Your brain whirred through work obligations, calls you’d miss, people you’d have to reschedule. But it was all background noise. Because in the foreground was a woman in her eighties who once saved your life, not with grand gestures but with small, brutal, unwavering love.

Villa Santa Teresa was warm and sunlit, smelling faintly of lavender oil and antiseptic. The only Italian Villa in Korea, a rich one. The halls were quiet, afternoon light streaming through tall windows. You walked them like you had a hundred times before, heels clicking softer now, more reverent. The sound of your own steps reminded you of other footsteps, smaller ones, running barefoot through a marble kitchen. The door to Rosa’s room was slightly ajar. You knocked gently before pushing it open.

“Nonna?” you said softly.

Rosa was sitting up in bed, a thin crocheted blanket over her knees like always, her face turned toward the window. She looked smaller somehow. Her hair whiter, her skin thinner. But her eyes were the same. Sharp as ever.

“Ah,” she said, turning her head. “La regina finalmente arriva.” Rosa sniffed. “Late as always.”

“I had a meeting, Nonna.”

“You had a childhood too and I still waited twenty minutes in the rain outside the ballet studio every weekend of winter.”

You walked to the bedside and kissed her cheek. “Are you trying to guilt me to death before the blood pressure does?”

Rosa patted your hand. “You’re impossible.”

You sat down. “You scared me, you know.”

“Bah. I’m old. We do that sometimes. Keeps you on your toes.” You didn’t say anything. You just looked at her. After a moment, Rosa said, quieter, “It’s the loneliness. Not the heart. I don’t like being around all these old people.”

Your throat tightened. You wanted to help her, but you didn’t know how to. She didn’t have any family anymore, just you. And you weren’t a doctor or a magician to take care of her in your home, she told you she preferred to be there, now you were doubting if the decision had been a good one.

“I know.”

“They watch game shows and forget their husband’s names,” you snorted, feeling more relaxed at the explanation of why she didn’t like the place anymore.

“Maybe their husbands deserve it.”

Rosa smiled faintly, but her hand squeezed yours.“You’ve been busy.”

“I’ve been working.”

“I can tell.”

And then there was a long pause, soft, not uncomfortable. The kind of silence that existed only between people who knew each other to the marrow. You leaned back in the chair and tilted your head.

“Do you remember that time I made you cry with the ricotta cake?”

Rosa let out a raspy laugh. “You made me cry? You terrorized that poor cake like it owed you money.”

“You told me not to open the oven.”

“And what did you do?”

“I opened the oven.”

“And what did the cake do?”

“It deflated like your patience.”

Rosa reached over and slapped your hand. It was soft, affectionate. “You were a menace,” she said.

You smiled, but your eyes burned.

You still remember. Being twelve and angry. Always mad. Sharp-tongued. Bitter. Your last nanny had quit after you locked yourself in the wine cellar for seven hours and refused to come out unless someone “rescued you dramatically.” Your parents were in Geneva or another city outside Korea that you couldn’t remember. Rosa had arrived the next day with a suitcase full of spices and fury. Rosa had looked at you for a long time, days of analyzing you and calling out your shit. And then she told you— “You better start behaving, bambina, or I’ll leave you first.”

And she hadn’t left.

She yelled, cooked, cleaned, scolded. She taught you how to knead dough, how to salt water properly, how to sit up straight at a table, how to speak Italian when she was angry and needed better vocabulary so you would understand her curses. And when you cried, Rosa didn’t coo. She handed you a spoon and said, “Stir this until your tears are gone.”

It had worked. She always knew how to make you feel better. She always knew how to make you feel like family could be chosen when the one you had wasn’t enough. She had given you something you couldn’t ever pay for or take for granted: incondicional love. You had learned the meaning thanks to her.

Back in the room, you sat there for a while longer, watching her chest rise and fall, watching the way her fingers curled slightly in her sleep. And you wished there was a way for her to be healthy and a way to make her stay in your life forever. For the first time, you cried about money. Because now you knew money couldn’t buy you time with the person you loved the most.

You hated remembering moments with her. Moments that made you want to cry for hours. But everytime you visit her it was like reliving everything. That’s why every-time you went to see her, you broke a little more.

You remember how she started cooking every afternoon when she arrived at your house. Real food, not the bland stuff you were used to since your parents didn’t even hired Korean people, usually white girls who would run away in minutes. The kitchen began to smell like garlic and basil, tomatoes that had been crushed by hand, dough that was kneaded on marble like something sacred. That smell had become your home. You remember you wouldn’t eat it at first. She’d pretend not to notice. But one day, Rosa made ravioli stuffed with ricotta and lemon zest, and you caved. You had snuck into the kitchen that night barefoot in your pajamas, standing by the fridge in silence.

Rosa was there. Of course. “You are hungry,” she had said, not turning around.

“No, I’m just bored.”

Rosa smirked. “Good. I don’t cook for babies. I cook for smart girls with empty stomachs.”

You had rolled your eyes, but you sat down. You ate in silence. And then Rosa served you a second portion without asking.

And it was the start.

It was slow, a truce. More than once, you snapped or tested boundaries, waiting for Rosa to leave like the rest. But Rosa didn’t flinch. She was sharp-tongued and warm-hearted, firm as marble and soft in all the unexpected places. And she stayed.

One afternoon, weeks later, you came home with teary eyes after someone had made fun of you for not knowing how to do a cartwheel in gym class. You didn’t want to cry in front of Rosa, you had your pride. And Rosa didn’t push. Instead, she brought out flour, eggs, sugar. “Come,” she said. “We bake.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Perfect. I don’t want to listen to your whining either. Let us both suffer.”

You cracked the first egg with a little too much force. Rosa sighed and handed you another. “Gently, bella. We are not murdering the chickens.” You made biscotti for the first time that day. It was messy, and Rosa shouted in half-Italian the whole time, and you laughed so hard you snorted powdered sugar through your nose.

That night, Rosa tucked you in for the first time. Not with a story, but with a hand brushing your hair off your forehead, and a quiet, “You are not as wild as you want people to think, piccolina.”

You didn’t say anything. But you slept like a girl who’d finally been seen.

She had become your family… And it was so heartbreaking losing the only family you had little by little.

The soft glow of the wall lamp made Rosa’s small room feel like a pocket of time untouched by the outside world. You had meant to stay just an hour, long enough to hear her stubborn, sharp-voiced tell you off for worrying too much and maybe eat half a cookie together. But Rosa had dozed off not long after you settled in, and for the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel like moving. You stayed. You watched her breathe. Thought about the years between you two. The ones she barely remembered some days, the ones that still stung. Every small flash of childhood warmth seemed to have Rosa’s fingerprints on it.

By the time you checked your phone again, the sun had disappeared. It was past 9:30. Your stomach dropped. You had a lot of emails, calls and text, but there were two messages from Jungkook that called your attention.

7:32 PM: On my way. Let me know if you need anything.

8:15 PM: At yours. No rush.

Just one missing call. No demands. Those two texts, steady and polite, like him.

Today was supposed to be the dinner at your house, for the first time. You blinked, shoved your coat back on, and carefully brushed a strand of white hair off Rosa’s forehead. You kissed her cheek before leaving, heels tapping fast over linoleum, coat clutched in your hand, guilt trailing you like perfume.

You hadn’t meant to stay that long. You hadn’t meant to forget.

When you pulled into your parking space, you sat in the driver’s seat for a few seconds with the engine still running. The overhead light inside the car buzzed quietly, casting a tired glow on your reflection in the mirror. Your makeup was still intact, barely, but your expression had softened into something unfamiliar: not quite guilt, not quite panic, more like a private, internal disorientation… How long had it been since you had to answer to someone? To explain yourself? To consider someone else’s time?.

You shut off the engine, grabbed your purse, and walked toward the elevator with your coat draped over your arm like a broken apology. Thinking how you could apologize to him in a way that you didn’t have to explain yourself, not because you didn’t want to but because it made you uncomfortable thinking about it.

Your heels clicked sharply on the polished floor as you stepped into your hallway, heart hammering in your throat. And there he was. Jungkook. Sitting on the small velvet floor near your door, one leg stretched out, head leaning against the wall. There was an unopened water bottle beside him. His coat was folded in his lap. He looked like he’d been waiting a while. As if hearing you before he saw you, his eyes opened slowly. He straightened.

You froze for half a second. Your heart clenched in your chest. “Shit,” you whispered.

He stood up, brushing a hand through his hair like it was nothing. “Hey.”

“Jungkook,” you said breathlessly, walking toward him. “You’ve been waiting here?”

He nodded, not unkindly. “Didn’t have the code.”

“I’m sorry.” Your voice cracked with guilt. “Why didn’t you call again?”

“You were obviously caught up in something,” he said. “Didn’t want to crowd you.”

You blinked, overwhelmed by the gentleness in his voice. That quiet way he gave space, even when it left him sitting in your floor alone for over two hours.

“I’m so sorry,” you said again, unlocking the door. “Come in, please.”

The doors opened to your penthouse, and you led him inside. The apartment was spotless. All gleaming surfaces and soft lighting, like it had been arranged for a date that never happened. The apartment felt too quiet. Jungkook looked around but said nothing. You dropped your bag on the console table and turned to face him. He didn’t look annoyed. Just… still. Like he’d been there long enough to settle into a version of patience he didn’t like using.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, voice dry.

Jungkook gave a small smile. “It’s okay.”

You closed the door behind you, the click of the latch louder than it should’ve been.

“I’m late,” you pointed out, setting your keys on the entryway table. “I know, I suck.”

“You okay?” he asked, stepping away to watch around.

“I should’ve texted you.”

“Sure,” he said, nodding once. “But I’m not asking for an apology. I’m asking if you’re okay.”

You blinked. You opened your mouth to say you were fine because that was always your default. It rolled out like muscle memory. But the words caught somewhere in your chest, weighed down by something you didn’t fully understand. And with the gentleness he carried, so soft it made you melt, you couldn’t stop yourself from explaining. Because you did want him to understand.

“I had to go see someone,” you finally said, toeing off your shoes and walking barefoot toward the kitchen island. “Someone important.” Jungkook stayed quiet, just watching you with that calm, open expression that somehow made you feel even more exposed “She’s— she’s my family, well, not officially,” you said, grabbing a glass and pouring water you didn’t really want. “But she practically raised me. Rosa. My… nanny, technically, but that word doesn’t do her justice. She came into my life when I was twelve, after I’d chased off a whole line of caregivers by being an insufferable little witch.”

Jungkook walked to you. He gave the ghost of a smile. “Hard to picture.”

“It was intentional,” you said. “I thought if I made everyone miserable enough, my parents would have to come home.” You looked up then, trying to gauge his expression. He wasn’t judging. Just listening. “She had a small health scare,” you added. “They called me in the middle of a meeting. I left. I didn’t tell anyone. I just went.”

Jungkook walked around the island and leaned against it, close but not crowding.

“Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. Stubborn. Thin. Quieter than usual. But fine.” your voice wavered for a second before you caught it. “She fell asleep and I just… stayed.”

He nodded again. “Sounds like she matters a lot.”

“She does.” Another pause. “I guess I haven’t done this in a while,” you said suddenly, eyes on the marble countertop. “The whole… explaining myself to someone I’m seeing thing. I’m not very good at it.”

“You’re doing fine.”

“I forgot the dinner,” you said, sharper now, like you had to name the failure or it would keep gnawing at you. “I forgot you were waiting here. That’s not fine.”

“It’s not a crime,” Jungkook said, tone even. “And I wasn’t waiting like I was keeping score.”

“But you were waiting,” you said. “And I hate that.”

Jungkook tilted his head. “Why?”

You hesitated. “Because I don’t want to mess this up,” you admitted, quietly. “Not because it’s serious because it’s not. I mean… not, you know, yet. But it’s… good. You’re good. And I’m… not good at this part. I plan things. I anticipate. I don’t forget.”

Jungkook stepped a little closer. “Can I tell you something?” You looked up, guarded but curious. “I grew up with two parents who never missed a dinner or a school play. My mom packed lunches with little notes in them. My dad once drove seven hours to fix my flat tire in college because he didn’t trust the mechanic I called. I had a great family. Like, sitcom good.”

“That’s rare.”

“I know.” He smiled. “I’m lucky.”

You felt something in your throat tighten. A little jealousy of his life hitting you. “You are.”

“And I also know,” Jungkook continued, “that not everyone had that. Which means sometimes I’ll have to remember that not everyone knows how to do this stuff without flinching. That explaining isn’t second nature for everyone.” You stared at him. “That’s what this is, right?” he added gently. “You flinching.”

You laughed once, surprised. “Maybe. Maybe I forgot how much effort this takes. Or maybe I’m scared to find out I don’t have the bandwidth for it.”

“I think you do,” he said. “You just have to let yourself take up space in it.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. There was a long pause. Not awkward. Just weighted. Then Jungkook stepped back toward the place. “Should I cook you something?.”

You smiled. “What if we just order ramen and pretend we had an amazing and expensive dinner?.”

“We are going to have an amazing dinner.” He stretched his hand to you. “Not expensive though.”

You hesitated before grabbing his hand and following him toward the living room. Your fingers warm in his hold. And just like that, the tightness inside your chest uncoiled a little. Maybe you weren’t perfect at this. Maybe you never would be. But maybe this wasn’t about being perfect. Maybe it was just about showing up—late, breathless, overwhelmed—and still being let in.

———

The bar wasn’t loud. At least, not in the way bars usually were. No thumping bass. No crowd of twenty-somethings trying to scream flirtations over trap beats. Just low jazz in the background, the quiet clinking of glasses, and the hum of tired professionals unwinding under the muted glow of amber lights… You leaned back against the velvet banquette, a half-empty Negroni in your hand and your heels kicked off under the table like the night had earned it. Se-hoo sat across from you, legs crossed, blazer off, button-up rolled to the elbows. She looked relaxed, as much as she ever did, but still polished. Always put together. The kind of woman who could command a boardroom and then debate the merits of Russian cinema over cocktails without smudging her lipstick.

“I swear to God,” you said, taking a sip, “if that junior manager sends me one more email addressed to ‘Dear Boss,’ I will personally ensure he’s promoted to head dishwasher in a Burger King in Japan.”

Se-hoo grinned. “Maybe he thinks he’s being endearing.”

“He’s not. I don’t work this hard to get mocking-named by someone who unironically quotes Elon Musk.”

“I’m putting that on your tombstone.”

“Please do. Just above ‘Beloved restaurateur. Ate the world.’”

You two laughed. The kind of warm, worn laughter that comes from knowing someone for years and surviving the same wine-stained trenches of early adulthood together.

“How’s your new sommelier?” she asked, setting her glass down. “The one with the man bun and that little soul patch. He still breathing?”

“For now,” you said, stretching your neck. “He’s insufferable. But he knows Burgundy like a sommelier god, so I tolerate him… Barely.”

You both took a pause, sipping your drinks, letting the quiet settle.

Then Se-hoo cocked her head. “So…”

You raised an eyebrow. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That So with a capital S. The one you use when you’re about to transition into my emotional landscape like a surgeon without anesthesia.”

She smirked. “I’m just asking. How’s Jungkook?”

She was using his name now. Was the situation becoming actually serious!.

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real irritation behind it , just the reflex of someone unused to being seen too clearly. “He’s fine,” you said, trying to sound breezy. “Charming. Hot. Punctual.”

“Punctual?”

“Last week he showed up early to our date with reservations and a backup plan in case the first place was too loud. That’s basically porn for me.”

Se-hoo laughed. “So things are going well?”

“They’re going,” you said, swirling you drink. “It’s… weirdly good. Which I hate. He’s smart. Funny. Mature. Like a whole functioning adult. Who knew those existed outside of movies?”

“And?”

You leaned forward, elbow on the table. “And I’m not spiraling yet. Which is nice. I mean, I know we’re not trying to become something yet. It’s casual. Just dating. No need to break out the tulle and baby names.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, the kind of narrowing that wasn’t judgmental, just aware. “You’ve been seeing him for what, six months now?”

“Give or take.” You shrugged. “Three months since the first actual date.”

“And you’re still calling it casual.”

You sipped your drink like it was armor. “It is casual.”

“Last week he took you to a museum date and brought your favourite wine to your place. That’s not ‘I just want to see you naked and chat more’ behaviour, babe.”

You paused. “He’s thoughtful,” you admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I have to start planning joint holiday cards.”

Se-hoo leaned in, gentler now. “Look, I’m not saying you’re suddenly going to become stepmom of the year, but… he has a kid, Y/n. That’s a package deal.”

There it was. The subject you didn’t want to deal with yet.

You looked away, then back. “I know.”

“Do you?”

“I’m not pretending she doesn’t exist,” you said, trying not to sound defensive. “I just— I’m not planning to… what, tuck her in at night? That kid has a mom. A good one, apparently. Jungkook’s not asking me to fill a void. He’s not asking me to play house.”

“But he will, eventually. Even if it’s not intentional. You know how life works. It bleeds at the edges.”

You were quiet for a moment. “I don’t hate kids. I just don’t understand them. They’re sticky and loud and their opinions are unsolicited and terrifying.”

“That sounds like you at seventeen.”

“Exactly. And nobody liked me then.”

Your friend laughed again, shaking her head. “I’m not saying you need to go buy glitter glue and be stepmom of the decade. But you’ve got to ask yourself… are you okay with being in something where that will always be part of the picture?”

You exhaled slowly. “I don’t know yet. I like him. And I like this… whatever this is. Maybe that’s enough for now.”

She nodded. “Fair. I just don’t want you to get sideswiped by something you saw coming.”

You two sat with that for a moment. The bar hummed softly around you two. Then you tilted your head and smirked.

“Enough about my spiraling. What about you? You’ve been suspiciously glowy lately.”

Se-hoo tried to look nonchalant. Failed. “I’ve been seeing someone.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “And you were going to tell me when? After the wedding? Who is she?”

“She’s a food critic.”

You gasped. “Oh my God. You’re dating the enemy.”

“She’s very honest,” she said with a smug little grin. “Brutal in print, gentle in person. It’s a weirdly sexy combo.”

“And what’s her name?”

“Valeria.”

“VALERIA?! That’s such a sexy name. You’re in trouble.”

“I am, she’s latina.” Se-hoo shrugged, clearly pleased. “It’s early. But she makes me laugh. And she gets my work obsession. She doesn’t flinch when I say I have three meetings and a board call on a Sunday.”

“Okay, she might be a fairy.”

“I thought the same.”

You two toasted to that. Two tired women in suits, drinking gin and swapping truths under the low bar lights, trying to make sense of what your hearts were doing.

You didn’t say it aloud, but you felt it somewhere under your ribs: That weird, unfamiliar sensation of maybe. Maybe this thing with Jungkook could work. Maybe you didn’t have to know everything before you stepped forward. Maybe you could just… try.

One date at a time… And a lot of excuses to not met his kid.

You could make it work. Specially since you knew things were changing faster.

It was true that the rhythm of your lives had shifted. What had started as casual meetings had blossomed into something that neither of you wanted to label too soon but couldn’t deny was different. It wasn’t just the dates anymore, it was the in-between moments, the ease of silences, the shared jokes that no one else understood. You found yourself texting Jungkook about trivial things. A ridiculous latte flavor you’d just seen at a café, or a song that popped into your head. And he responded with his usual dry wit, sometimes a simple emoji, sometimes a mini essay about his day at the shop. The conversations were long, sometimes starting late at night and stretching into the early morning hours, as if the world outside had paused just for you two.

You’d been out more times than either could count—restaurants, art galleries, the occasional dive bar, lazy Sunday brunches where Jungkook would tease you about how you always ordered the fanciest things on the menu, and you’d retort with sharp jokes about his inability to pick a drink that didn’t come with some kind of syrup or was on the kid’s menu.

One evening, after a dinner that had ended with you sharing a dessert spoon like teenagers sneaking sweets, Jungkook had surprised you by taking you to a rooftop overlooking the city. String lights flickered overhead, casting a soft glow as you leaned into each other, the hum of the city below a gentle soundtrack to your quiet conversation. You remembered how he’d brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary, his eyes holding yours with something unspoken. That night, the world had felt a little softer, a little more hopeful.

On another afternoon, you caught him watching you when you weren’t looking. They way your lips moved when you talked passionately about your business, or how you’d scrunch your nose when deep in thought. It made you feel seen, in a way you hadn’t been in so long.

Your weekends started to blend together, a patchwork of movie marathons, grocery runs, and lazy mornings where you’d stay in bed just a little too long, tangled up in sheets and quiet conversation. Your penthouse, once just a place you came home to, had become more of a sanctuary—a space filled with laughter, music, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee. And despite the lightheartedness, there was depth beneath it all. Jungkook admired how fiercely independent you were, how you held your own in a world that often tried to define you. And you, in turn, respected his calm steadiness, the way he managed his business with quiet confidence, his devotion to his daughter clear in every decision he made.

Of course, not everything was perfect. There were moments of tension, small disagreements that hinted at the complexities beneath the easy smiles. Your occasional impatience with kids, something Jungkook noticed but didn’t push, and your tendency to retreat when things felt too vulnerable. Jungkook, too, wrestled with the balance of wanting to open up but not wanting to scare you away. But those moments were brief, eclipsed by the warmth they found in each other’s company.

One rainy evening, as you sat curled up on the couch with blankets and takeout, you caught Jungkook staring at you, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“What?” you asked, teasing.

“Nothing,” he said, voice low. “Just thinking how lucky I am.”

You nudged him playfully. “Keep dreaming, Jeon.”

He laughed, pulling you closer. “No dreams here. Just us.”

And in that quiet apartment, surrounded by the soft glow of lamplight and the steady rhythm of your breathing, something real was taking root. A fast burn neither of you wanted to rush, but both were eager to see where it might lead.

———

The sound of pop music filled the apartment. But then it changed to a soft piano cover of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” playing over the speakers like background music in a slightly chaotic museum. Jungkook’s apartment smelled faintly of acrylic paint and leftover lasagna.

“Dad” Sunni said, one foot on the coffee table and the other dangling over the side of the couch, “your dinosaur doesn’t look like a real triceratops. That looks like a smashed potato.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow without looking up from his canvas. “You’ve never met a real triceratops. Maybe that’s exactly what they looked like.”

“No,” she said with a dramatic sigh, dipping her brush into a messy swirl of blue. “Triceratops had frills and horns. Yours looks like it has been through hell.”

Jungkook laughed, the deep, warm kind of laugh that filled the room. “Alright, alright, Miss Paleontology. Let me see yours, then.”

Sunni held up her painting like she was unveiling the Sistine Chapel. “This is my dinosaur family. That’s me. That’s you. And that’s mom, but I put her in New York because she’s working there right now.”

The painting was mostly bright pink blobs with stick arms, three figures under a rainbow. Jungkook had a green triangle for a body and horns. Sunni had painted herself wearing a tiara. His heart melted just a little.

“You gave me a tie,” he noted.

“That’s because you’re the boss at the tattoo shop, and bosses wear ties.”

The older smiled. “Not the kind of boss I am, kiddo. My kind wears hoodies and sneakers and accidentally spills espresso on client forms.”

“Then why are you the boss?”

“Because I’m old and I yell the loudest.”

She snorted, then blew on her painting like it was a masterpiece. There was blue on her nose and pink streaked across one eyebrow. Jungkook reached over with a paper towel. “Hold still.”

“I’m fine,” she said, dodging him expertly.

“You’re turning into a Pollock painting.”

“Who?”

“Jackson Pollock.”

She frowned, concentrating. “Did he paint dinosaurs?”

“No, he kind of threw paint at a canvas and called it a day.”

“That’s cheating.”

“Some say genius. Others say mess.”

She thought about that for a second, then grinned. “Sounds like you.”

Jungkook sat back against the couch and watched her mix green with red, ending in a muddy brown. She was talking to herself quietly, giving voices to the dinosaurs, something about one of them being late for a “dino dentist” appointment. He didn’t interrupt. These were the moments he lived for. No school rush. No packed lunches or early drop-offs. Just quiet, weird, colorful evenings with the person who looked most like him but acted like a tiny hurricane with an anime addiction.

“Can I have a cookie?” Sunni asked abruptly.

“You already had two.”

“Can I have a third one because I’m smart and did not drink paint water this time?”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows. “We don’t reward not poisoning yourself.”

“But we should.”

He laughed again and stood up, ruffling her hair. “Alright, you get half.”

“Three-fourths.”

“You don’t even know what that means.”

“I know it’s more than half.”

“Wow, you’re getting smarter.”

He walked toward the kitchen and grabbed a cookie from the jar, a homemade chocolate chip one they’d baked the day before, or at least, attempted to bake. Sunni had added “a pinch” of cinnamon, which in her case meant three tablespoons.

He returned with a napkin and handed it to her. “I’ll allow three-fourths,” he said. “But only because I’m impressed by your negotiation tactics.”

“I learned from you.”

Jungkook gave her a pointed look. “Don’t say that too loudly. Your mom will get mad at me.”

She bit into the cookie with theatrical satisfaction, crumbs decorating her shirt immediately. “Daddy,” she mumbled with her mouth full, “do dinosaurs still exist in secret?”

“No.”

“But what if—”

“No, Sunni.”

“Okay, but like tiny ones?”

“That’s what birds are.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Birds are not dinosaurs.”

“Science says otherwise.”

“Science also said Pluto wasn’t a planet, and that was rude!”

Jungkook grinned as he leaned back, watching her wag her finger like a tiny, furious professor. “Have you thought about being a lawyer?”

“I want to be an astronaut princess vet.”

“That tracks.”

She painted in silence for a moment, then asked in a quieter voice, “Are you gonna get married again?”

The question caught Jungkook mid-sip of water. He coughed a little. “Why do you ask?”

“I dunno,” she said, not looking at him. “Just wondering. My best friend’s mom got married again.”

“Sana?.”

“Yes!, she told me she hates her new dad.”

“Well… I’m not planning on it. Not unless someone very cool comes along and makes me change my mind.”

She nodded. “Would they have to like me?”

“Absolutely.”

“What if I’m annoying?”

Jungkook reached for her foot, tickling her without mercy. She squealed, laughing until she nearly dropped her brush. “You’re already the coolest person I know,” he said when she caught her breath. “They’d be lucky to even get a hug from you.”

She leaned her cheek on her shoulder and gave him a sleepy smile.

“Okay,” she said. “But they have to know the names of all the dinosaurs. All of them.”

“I’ll make that a requirement.”

“Good.”

Jungkook looked at her. Her tangled hair, her ridiculous smudge of paint, her stubborn grin. And something deep in his chest shifted again. She wasn’t just his daughter. She was his world. And anyone who wanted a place in his life… would have to understand that.

———

The sky was turning lavender when you stepped out of the cab, holding a glossy paper bag with tiramisu and a handwritten note from the chef who adored you. The hem of your coat fluttered as a gust of wind kicked up. You wore a short satin skirt and a soft oversized cashmere sweater, your hair still in a half-up twist from a long, punishing day filled with back-to-back meetings and a screaming match with a supplier who thought “imported” meant “available in six months.”

You were bone-tired, and the only thing that could make the evening better was Jeon Jungkook in a hoodie, bare feet, and maybe nothing under that hoodie. With wine. Possibly sex. Probably sex. Definitely sex. You clearly didn’t overthink it.

You hadn’t made plans, but he had said “You know the code, come by whenever.” So you did, like you been doing it for the last week.

The door clicked open with the familiar beep. You stepped inside, took a deep breath. Still warm. Still smelled like cedar, ink, and soap. You kicked off your heels. “Kook?” you called, expecting the usual shuffle of footsteps or his amused baritone answering from somewhere in the apartment.

Silence. Weird. Maybe he was in the shower?

You padded across the hallway, glancing around. The place was mostly dark except for a soft lamp near the living room. On the coffee table: watercolor paints, glitter glue, and a very wet paper towel that had somehow fused to the wood. Then… A sound. Not just any sound. A child sound, a little soft voice. Your entire body froze like a deer caught in the road. You turned slowly toward the hallway where the bedrooms were and… There. Standing in the hallway like a vengeful ghost in unicorn pajamas, was a little girl with one sock, half a braid, and a plastic tiara slipping off her head.

Both of you froze.

For a long beat, the only sound was your paper bag crinkling slightly in your hand.

Oh my god. Jungkook’s daughter.

The little girl blinked up at you. “Who are you?” she asked with the slow, careful tone of someone considering whether to scream, run, or throw a stuffed animal.

You blinked back, dry-mouthed. “Who—who are you?”

The girl squinted. “You’re not Dad.” she frowned. “This is my house. Are you here to rob us?”

“Rob you?” your voice went shrill. “Are you joking?”

“You’re holding a bag.”

“A bag is not a gun.”

“It’s a suspicious bag.”

“It’s tiramisu.”

“That sounds made up.”

You exhaled, already annoyed. “ I’m… Y/n. I’m a friend of your dad’s.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What kind of friend?”

“What do you mean what kind?” you frowned too.

“There’s mom friends, and school friends, and yucky kissing friends.”

“Well, I’m certainly not—” you blinked. “That’s none of your business.”

“So, yucky!?.”

“That’s not—okay, look, I am an adult, you can’t just go around labeling people like this.”

“You have to tell me, I don’t want my dad to have yucky kissing friends” she said, almost exasperating.

“I don’t owe you explanations.”

“You just broke into my house!.”

“I did not!. Your father gave me the code.”

“Which you could’ve stolen.”

You threw your head back. “Oh my god.”

“I’m calling him.”

“God?.”

“My dad!, I obviously don’t have God’s number.”

Ah, you were reminded why you didn’t like kids.

“You don’t even have a phone.”

“I’ll use Alexa.”

You clutched the tiramisu like it was a weapon. “Listen here, little shit. I came here to see your dad, not fight a goblin child in unicorn pajamas.”

“Daddy said we don’t curse in this house!” she frowned, looking at you up and down. “Why is your skirt so shiny?”

“It’s silk.”

“They look slippery. Like a fish.”

“You look like chaos in a tiara.”

She pouted. “Are you the cookie woman?”

“I… what?”

“Dad said there was a cookie woman once. Who made jokes and had shiny hair. He didn’t say you had shiny skirts too.”

You glanced down at your silk skirt. “These are not for children.”

The girl crossed her arms. “You broke into our house.”

“I did not break in, your father gave me the code—why the fuck am I explaining myself to a person under four feet tall?”

“Not cursing! And ’m seven.”

“Oh, forgive me.” There was a long pause. A little stare-off. It was like a high-stakes chess game between a Prada ad and a princess-themed cryptid. “What’s your name?” you asked stiffly.

“Sunni. What’s yours again?”

“Y/n.”

Sunni made a face. “That’s a weird name.”

“It’s not, I like it.”

“I like pancakes better.”

“…Alright.” Another long, awkward beat. “Where is Jungk—your dad?” you finally asked, trying to remember how adults usually navigated this kind of situation. It wasn’t like they covered ambushing your hookup’s child in law school.

“He went to get me gummy bears,” Sunni said simply. “He said it would take five minutes and it’s been… one Spongebob episode.”

You sighed. “And how long is that?”

“Ten minutes, plus the ads.”

You stared. “Oh my God, he left you alone?”

Sunni gasped, hands to her chest. “It’s not illegal! He left the baby monitor and locked the door and the shop is right there! Are you gonna call the police on him?!”

“I wasn’t—Jesus, no! I just—don’t yell. I’m not calling anyone.”

Sunni eyed you suspiciously. “You don’t like me?”

You blinked. “Why would you say that?”

“You look scared. And you smell like fancy soap.”

“I’m not scared. I just didn’t expect a small human to jump out at me. And this is Jo Malone. Thank you.”

Another pause.

Then Sunni tilted her head and gave you a sideways look. “Do you wanna see my painting of a triceratops with a mustache?”

“…Kind of.”

She turned without waiting and marched to the table. “Here. This is Dad. And this is me. And that’s my stegosaurus friend who hates bedtime.”

The drawing was a mess of color and chaos. But in the center: a dinosaur family. And your cold, overworked, high-functioning heart wanted to leave as soon as possible.

“That’s… weirdly good,” you said, leaning over.

“Thanks. I’m gifted.”

You smirked, amused for the first time. “Modest, too.”

Before the snark war could escalate further, the door opened. Jungkook stepped in with a small bag of candy and a soda under one arm. “Alright, I got the—” He stopped before smiling. “Hey.”

You and Sunni looked up at him at the same time like two cats caught mid-crime.

The little one immediately pointed. “She scared me.”

“She scared me!” you snapped.

Jungkook stared, then laughed. Looking way more relaxed about the situation than he should. “I see you two met.”

“Without warning,” you said, straightening and getting closer to him to whisper. “Why didn’t you tell me your child was here?”

“I didn’t plan for this. She asked for candy. I was gone for five minutes.”

“She has paint on her face. She could have died.”

“I was watching her through the monitor. I watched everything that happened. This apartment is not a death trap.”

“Still!” Jungkook walked over and handed the gummy bears to Sunni, who took them with a smug little smile. “You said you saw everything. She said I broke in,” you tattled.

“You kind of did,” Jungkook said, grinning at you.

“I had tiramisu!” you huffed, holding up the paper bag.

The small girl took it immediately from your hands, leaving you a little shocked. “This smells fancy!.”

Jungkook kissed you on the cheek, still laughing. “I love this chaos.”

“I do not. She said my name is weird.”

“It’s a very elegant name.”

“I said I like pancakes more!.”

“I mean, fair.”

Sunni yawned and curled up on the couch, sugar already forgotten. “She smells like expensive candles,” she said, eyes fluttering as she yawned, her bravado dimming a little.

“She said ‘fancy soup’ before.” You rolled your eyes.

Jungkook gave a small laugh and walked over, gently brushing her hair off her forehead. “Alright, terror. Time for bed.”

“I’m not sleepy,” the little one whined, even as she blinked slowly.

“You’re literally mid-snore.”

Sunni grumbled but didn’t resist when he scooped her up. She curled against his chest instinctively, tiara falling to the floor with a soft clink. He turned to you with a lopsided smile. “Give me five minutes to put this war general to bed and then we can…”

“Actually,” you cut in, clearing your throat. You looked down, then stepped back toward the door. “I think I’m gonna head out.”

Jungkook stilled, trying to find your eyes. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I, uhm, I just came by with dessert. No big deal.”

He studied you. You weren’t panicking in an obvious way, but he could see it in the stiffness of your posture, the way your voice had gone carefully neutral. Your armor was back on. That version of you that always looked like you were ten seconds from making a PowerPoint to explain your feelings and run away.

Jungkook nodded slowly, adjusting Sunni in his arms. “Okay.” He didn’t stop you. Didn’t try to convince you. Just let the space settle. But before you could open the door, he added softly, “Hey.” You turned. “I know this wasn’t what you expected,” he said, voice warm but serious. “And I know she’s a lot. This is a lot.” You said nothing. “I’m not asking for anything you’re not ready for,” he continued. “But I like you, Y/n. I really like you. But I also get that this might feel like… stepping into something big. And weird. And loud.”

You gave a dry laugh, still not looking at him. “Loud is one word for it.”

Jungkook grinned. “You held your own against a seven-year-old with a gummy bear addiction and a god complex. That’s impressive.”

You looked up at him, eyes softer now. “I just… wasn’t expecting her.”

“I know,” he said gently. “I wasn’t expecting you either. But here we are.” Another pause. Jungkook stepped forward just a little. “You don’t have to figure it out tonight. Or tomorrow. Or at all, if it’s not what you want. But don’t run just because you’re scared, okay?. You don’t have to be.”

You didn’t say anything right away. But your eyes lingered on his for a moment too long. And then you gave a small nod, barely-there.

“I’ll text you,” you murmured, already reaching for the doorknob.

Jungkook didn’t push.

“Goodnight, Y/n.”

“Night, Jungkook.”

As you walked out, he looked down at Sunni asleep in his arms and whispered, “You really had to go full dive, huh?”

From the crook of his shoulder, she mumbled, “She started it.”

He smiled. Jungkook was a little amused by the situation. Even if it had been a little out of place for you. A little too much to handle.

———

“WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. FUCK.”

Your heels clacked in rapid-fire across the marble floor of your penthouse as you stormed inside, dumped your new bag of tiramisu you picked up from the restaurant on your way home on the kitchen counter like it had personally betrayed you, and flopped onto the velvet chaise lounge like a woman possessed.

One arm flung over your eyes. One leg dangling off dramatically.

Your phone buzzed. You peeked at it.

Se-hoo: How was dessert with zaddy

You groaned. You barely had the strength to text, but you had to get this out of your system.

Y/n: i got verbally destroyed by a seven year old in a tiara

Se-hoo: oh mT GOD, YOU MET THE DAUGHTER??

Y/n: not by choice

Y/n: she called me a thief and made fun of my name

Y/n: THEN said i probably do yucky kissing with her dad

Se-hoo: this is so much better than porn

Y/n: she looked me in the eye and said i smell like expensive candles and TOLD ME MY SKIRT LOOKED SLIPPERY LIKE FISH AND THAT SHE LIKED OANCAKES MORE THAN MY NAME

Y/n: what kind of child tells people that???

Se-hoo: a powerful one

Se-hoo: I fear her

Se-hoo: I respect her

You sat up, typing at full speed now.

Y/n: i tried to hold my ground

Y/n: we ended up in a passive aggressive fight match about a cookie woman and tiramisu??

Y/n: I think she won

Se-hoo: you got roasted by a 2nd grader who’s dad you’re in love with

Se-hoo: what a journey

Y/n: I’m not in love

Se-hoo: lol yeah not in love

You tossed your phone across the sofa with a groan and buried your face in your hands. You weren’t spiraling. You weren’t. You weren’t just… used to being caught off guard. You weren’t used to being seen without presenting a thesis and three bullet points first. And you sure as hell weren’t used to a child stomping into your life in glitter pajamas and rearranging the furniture in your brain.

Your eyes flicked to the paper bag on the kitchen counter. Tiramisu, the new one you had to get because that little monster took yours from your hands.

“Little shit didn’t even say thank you,” you muttered.

You poured yourself a glass of wine and stood by the window, city lights flickering below you.

And in that moment, you weren’t the boss. You weren’t the daughter of the high-rise empire you ur parents had. You weren’t the woman who curated every outfit, every move, every sip of your espresso. You were just Y/n. Barefoot, flustered, with a kid’s annoying voice still echoing in your head. But specifically with that comment Jungkook had made. “But don’t run just because you’re scared”.

Jesus Christ.

You took a sip of wine and let the doubts swim in your mind. Were you made to deal with that kind of life? Did you want to deal with that kind of life?

On the other part of the city Jungkook’s apartment was finally quiet.

Sunni was asleep, truly asleep this time, curled into her comforter, one hand still loosely clutching a gummy bear wrapper like it was some kind of war trophy. Jungkook stood at her doorway, leaning against the frame with arms crossed, just watching her breathe. The tiara sat lopsided on her nightstand now. Her pink dinosaur nightlight glowed faintly. And her latest abstract crayon masterpiece she made in school was taped proudly above the bed. A violent, chaotic swirl of colors labeled in large, confident print: “MOM DAD ME SPAGHETTI.”

He smiled. Then sighed.

Back in the kitchen, he poured himself a glass of water and leaned on the counter, finally letting his mind drift back to what had just happened. You had entered like a storm and exited like a ghost… and he didn’t blame you. You weren’t supposed to meet Sunni like that. He’d imagined something slower, something more intentional. A conversation first. A warning. A way to prepare you for the miniature gladiator that was his daughter… But instead, you’d walked straight into enemy territory wearing heels and carrying dessert.

And still, you’d held your ground.

He chuckled to himself. God, the image of you arguing with a sleepy seven-year-old about tiramisu and yucky friends was now permanently engraved in his brain.

He pulled out his phone. There was still no text from you. But he didn’t push. Jungkook had dated. Not a lot, and not for long. Most things fizzled quickly when women realized that having a daughter wasn’t a quirk, it was a permanent, full-time gig. His life had rules. Bedtimes. School drop-offs. Sick days. There was no room for chaos. No room for someone unsure… Other times it was worse, people who only wanted the children and not the man. Jungkook had been out of the dating game for a while, but he knew how to work around it. Specially with you, with someone he liked. You weren’t unsure in the usual way. You didn’t run because of Sunni, not exactly. You’d been caught off guard, yes. But Jungkook had seen something in your face when you looked at his daughter. Not hate. Not even fear. Just unfamiliarity. Like someone who’d accidentally walked into a class they didn’t register for and was trying to decide whether to sit down or bolt.

Jungkook got that. Really. But he also saw something else, the way you froze when Sunni asked who you were, the way your voice went sharp and sarcastic because that’s what you did when you didn’t know how to feel. The way your hand lingered on the doorknob, like you wanted to stay but didn’t know how.

He could be patient. He’d been patient. He wanted to believe you were worth it. He didn’t need you to be perfect with kids. He didn’t need you to suddenly want to play house or braid Sunni’s hair or volunteer at school fundraisers. He just needed honesty. Clarity. Effort. And you gave that in you own way.

He took another sip of water and walked back to Sunni’s room, just to peek again. Still asleep. Gummy bear wrapper now discarded. He realized, he was dealing with two different chaos of people… And he always liked a challenge.

Then turned off the nightlight.

At 2AM, he called you.

The phone rang once. Then twice. Then three times.

You stared at it from your bed like it was something feral. Something untamed. Something you hadn’t invited. Jeon Jungkook. No text first. No “u up?” breadcrumb. Just a full-on, unapologetic phone call like you were in the 2000s and nobody had social anxiety… You thought about letting it ring out. Pretending to be asleep. Letting it be his turn to spiral in silence. But then again… Jungkook didn’t strike you as the spiraling type.

You exhaled and answered.

“Hey.” your voice came out level, too smooth. Like you hadn’t just spent the last hour reliving your verbal brawl with his child.

“Hey,” his voice came through warm, low, steady. “You home?”

“Yeah. For a while now.”

A pause.

“You okay?”

You blinked. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jungkook laughed softly on the other end, and it made your stomach flip. The kind of laugh that said I see right through you. The kind that was both, affectionate and maddening.

“I’ve seen wild things in my life,” he said. “But watching you and Sunni throw shade at each other over dessert might be top five.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, pressing your palm over your forehead. “Are we going to relive that?”

“We are,” he said calmly. “Because you left here like your heels were on fire and haven’t texted since.”

“I was letting you… decompress,” you said, half-laughing, half-deflecting. “I figured a man needs some silence after his daughter challenges a grown woman to a duel…”

“You know,” he said, voice like a slow grin, “for someone who says she doesn’t care, you’ve come up with a lot of clever ways to not talk about it.” That shut you up. Jungkook continued, “Look. I’m not calling to lecture you. I’m not mad. She’s a lot. That wasn’t how I wanted you two to meet.” You exhaled, shifting in bed. “But,” he went on, “you’re doing that thing. That thing where you pretend everything’s chill so you don’t have to admit anything rattled you.”

“That’s not—”

“It is.”

Another silence.

You weren’t used to being called out so calmly. So directly. Not as a fight, not as a power move, just… as truth. Given without venom. Offered like a mirror you hadn’t asked to look into.

“I’m not,” you said quickly. Always trying to have the upper-hand even when you didn’t need to. “I mean, this is casual. It doesn’t have to be…”

“No,” Jungkook cut in, firm now. Voice lower. Surer. “It’s not casual anymore.” You froze. He let the silence stretch just long enough to make it clear that he wasn’t filling it with soft reassurances or walking it back. “I know what casual looks like,” he said, voice like velvet over gravel. “And this isn’t it. Not for me. You don’t get nervous after the woman you’re sleeping with meets your daughter by accident,” he continued. “You don’t call someone at midnight because you can’t stop thinking about the way they looked when they said goodbye. You don’t miss casual.”

“Jungkook…”

“I’m not trying to scare you,” he said, gentler now. “But I’m also not going to play the cool, detached guy card just so you don’t freak out.”

You sat upright in bed, heart thudding in your throat.

“You said you didn’t want a relationship,” you said, reaching for anything stable.

“I said that, I know I don’t need one,” he admitted. “But I also didn’t plan on meeting someone who called my daughter a ‘goblin child’ and still left me wanting to kiss the hell out of her again.” Your breath caught. “I like you,” he said simply. “I’m not ashamed of that. And I’m not gonna act like it’s casual when we both know it’s turning into something else.”

You blinked. Swallowed. Everything in your chest felt tight, like your ribs were made of glass.

“I…” you started, then stopped. “It’s just been a while.”

“I know.”

“And I’m not… This is a new territory for me, I don’t know how to do this.”

“You don’t have to,” he said. “Not all at once. But don’t lie to yourself about what it is just because it’s easier to pretend you’re fine alone.”

Another beat of silence. Then you whispered, “You’re really annoying.”

He chuckled. “I’ve been told.”

“You’re hot when you say annoying things like that.”

“Good. I was going for that.” You let your head fall back against the pillow, breath escaping in something between a laugh and a groan. “Talk to me.”

“Okay,” you said after a beat. “Fine. It was… weird. I felt like I walked into something I had no business being in. Like I was crashing someone else’s life.”

“You’re not,” Jungkook said, without hesitation. “I invited you.”

“And I brought cake and mean comments.”

He chuckled. “She liked the tiramisu, by the way. Even if she pretended not to. And like me, she likes a good banter.”

You let that sit for a second. A tiny peace offering.

“I’m not good with kids,” you said finally. “I don’t think I ever will be.”

Jungkook didn’t rush to fill the space. He let you own the silence.

“That’s okay,” he said. “I’m not asking you to be her stepmom. I’m not asking you to play dolls or braid her hair or come to school plays.”

“Good,” you muttered. “Because I’d set the dolls on fire.”

He laughed again. “All I’m asking,” he said, voice soft but certain, “is that you don’t run when things stop being perfectly curated. I don’t need a picture-perfect version of this. I just want you.”

You felt something tighten in your chest. That dangerous, terrifying feeling of being seen again. “I didn’t run,” you said quietly.

“You were halfway down the hallway before Sunni finished yawning.”

You snorted. “Okay, technically, yes—”

“I’m just saying,” he cut in, still warm but firm, “you don’t have to pretend like you don’t care. It’s okay if this is starting to mean something. It is for me.”

That stopped you, cold. You looked up at the ceiling like it had answers. Like it could tell you what to say. But the truth sat heavy on your tongue. It was starting to mean something. And that terrified you more than a child in a tiara ever could.

“…I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted, voice small. “I haven’t done this in a long time... I thought for a long time there’s just people who are not made for this kind of thing, relationships and everything. Specially when they come with other person attached.”

Jungkook was quiet on the other end. Then, he told you gently: “Okay. So we take it slow. You don’t have to know everything right now. You don’t have to be perfect. Just… be honest.”

You swallowed. “You’re annoyingly good at this,” you said.

“I’m older,” he said. “Wiser. And very hot.”

You laughed, again. And it made you realized how easy was for him to make you calmer, more secured. Even with his honesty, even with his desire of knowing exactly what he wanted.

“I’ll text you tomorrow,” you said, softer.

“You better.”

“And hey,” you added, “tell your kid I’m sorry I called her a ‘Goblin child’”.

“No way,” Jungkook said, grinning. “That made her entire week.”

You smiled. A slow, reluctant, maybe kind of hopeful smile. Maybe things were meant to be easy with him.

FOURTH CHAPTER HEHEEHEH

my fav dynamic (Sunni and Y/n) starts here >_<;; hope you liked the chap, we could see more of Rosa and how the relationship with dilf jk is evolving!!! tell me how you’re liking it so far 🤭

just added the word count in the chaps hehe

Taglist:

@sanguchitodeternera @yneisstuff @smoljimjim @almatiarau @annpeachy @mar-lo-pap @taetaecatboy @rrosiitas @httpsmei @jeonnabi11 @gigi4evr @sabrinahiddig @tatzzz-25 @slythermania @yuyu0y11 @ultracnt @baekpop05 @tinyxrose @satisfied18 @kissyfacekoo @synamon @smut02 @alextgef @lindsayjoy444 @ottergirl @imagine-this-motherfucker @dream-lover200 @astralovesu @dragons-flare @jungkookswifeeeeeee @jungkooknippleanddicksucker @yuniesluv @kookooquette @lanyia @dearkayzel-blog @katie-tibo @strawberryacethingz @jalexad @llallaaa @eyesforjungkook @wandabillywrites @flowinj @strawberrysweetness @osakis-gf @bambijuicee @dollyunjinz @jjeonjjk7 @focused-island @cravingforbangtan @elinaki92

[inthelow]

we are going to get a chapter today?? im so excites 😭😭😭

YESSSS!! JUST FINISHING SOME THINGS, imma post it in some minutes >_<

[inthelow]

You’re dodging please tell us didn’t 😧

LMAO I WAS JUST JOKING, ITS COMING!!!

[inthelow]

Do we get a tf update today?☺️🫶

do we?

[inthelow]

Is it not Wednesday today?

and tomorrow thursday

[inthelow]

how do you picture TF!JK?

idk if you've answered this b4, I'm a new reader so if you did i prob wasn't around yet :( sorry for the repetitive question.

But are there any specific pics or clips that you think are tf coded or inspired you to write this jk?

OH MY GDNESS I LOVE THIS QUESTION!! lmao

firstlyythank u so much for reading, i hope you’re liking the story so far>_<

i collected for you some pics that - i think- describe TF jk perfectly. i hope it goes with what you were thinking hehehe

i just love short hair jk, it makes him look more mature so i think it goes better with the story, specially since he’s older;; but also very soft and sweet since he’s a dilf lmao so i think some of this pics encapsulate his different facets since he’s a very multifaceted and complex character

and ofc the ones i use for the little moodboard at the start of every chapter

[inthelow]

OMGG THANJ U FOR ADDING ME HERE PRETTY<3333233!! cowboy jin (him just on tour in general) hits different frrr , the girls who get it get it 🤭🤭🤭

ksj fic recs 01

these jin fics range are like... amazing. read them in order, read them out of order, read them at 3am, i don’t care. just read them!!!

♡ name: darling, under the sun by @jiminsafairy ♡ link: darling, under the sun ♡ paring: Kim Seokjin x Reader ♡ summary: Your husband takes you on a baby moon to the Maldives. a sequel to Darling, you are late! (also amazing, btwww). ♡ words counting: 1,1k ♡ warinings: pwp, reader is heavily pregnant, lactation kink, nipple sucking, breast play, creampie, mild public sex (they are on a private place but not that private so...?) oral (m!receiving) ♡ my comment: so filthy i can't. like... literally cant. amazing writting.

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♡ name: REUNION SEX by @jeonsbabygirlsworld ♡ link: REUNION SEX ♡ paring: Husband!Jin x Wife!Reader ♡ summary: Seokjin has been now out from his military service, but he has buried himself with work and you miss him, miss sex. ♡ words counting: 1.7k ♡ warinings: titty sucking over clothes, oral (m,f), fingering, riding, emotional sex at the end lmao, reader is called names (jagi, slut, whore), cum eating. ♡ my comment: omg, this is amazing. i might have read it more than once, or twice..........

━━━━━ • ஜ • ❈ • ஜ • ━━━━━ • ஜ • ❈ • ஜ • ━━━━━

♡ name: 𝙆𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙩𝙤𝙗𝙚𝙧 2024: 𝘼𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚 by @whatudowhennooneseesyou ♡ link: Aftercare ♡ paring: Dom!Kim Seokjin x Sub!Fem!Reader ♡ summary: Jin experiences dom drop after a session and you try and get him out, little do you know taking care of you is exactly what he needs to do so. ♡ words counting: 1.9k ♡ warinings: cuddlefucking, slight angst, bath tub sex, praise, clitoral play, unprotected sex (don’t do it but it’s a bath you know?), kissing, nipple play, reader is called “princess”, 18+. ♡ my comment: hot aftercare = perfection

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♡ name: SAVE A HORSE, RIDE A COWBOY — kim seokjin by @inthelow ♡ link: SAVE A HORSE, RIDE A COWBOY ♡ paring: Fem!Reader x Idol!Kim Seokjin ♡ summary: He looked so good with that cowboy outfit. What were you supposed to do? Not fuck him? ♡ words counting: ♡ warinings: literally not plot just porn. dry humping, riding (penetration), sex, dirty talk. / very nasty. ♡ my comment: im obssessed since run seokjin: tour ep and cowboy jin will ruin you in the best way.

[inthelow]

2 more days til TF update muah wah hahahaha

next chap one of my favs fr!!;;; i love that the abbreviation is TF lmaoo thefuckk

[inthelow]

fav moment of the week? getting a new TF update ☝️☝️☝️

SHUT UP I LOVE U, fav moment of the week is reading all ur comments fr u guys are sososo cutecutecutewee

[inthelow]

TEMPORARY FRAGMENTS JK ?

https://www.tumblr.com/jung-koook/792142212086497280/jungkook-at-the-gym?source=share

he’s looks so buff and so TF jk when he goes to the gym fr 😭😭

[inthelow]

Already waiting for TF chapter 4. I am sat and ready!!! Love the story line and this JK is so mature and manly🤭

THANK YOU SO MUCH pretty>_< hes literally THE dilf fr 🤭

[inthelow]

do you have a posting schedule? i’m asking specifically for temporary fragments ☺️

with ‘temporary fragments’ is usually wednesdays!!!🫶🏼

[inthelow]

Is there any chance we can get a double update

i’d like to lie and say yes but the next chaps are a little long and i only have time to edit them on my off days (which is the day i update😭)

[inthelow]

When Y/N and hers friends went to McDonalds after the Gala

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DGyNGYvxljS/?igsh=MXc2eGdjYmZ4eWNt

LMAOOO THATS THEM FRRR

[inthelow]

TEMPORARY FRAGMENTS IS SOOO GOOD AND MY GIRL WALLS ARE FINALLY CRACKING. OC LOVER GIRL ERA COMING SOON????????

TF!JK WHAT A MAAAAAAN oc if you don't lock in i will. hehehhe just kidding.... unlesss....

so excited to what happens next, now you got me impatient i can't wait to see what you have planned for chapt 4 since you keep saying it's your fav, what did you cook AAAAHHHHHH GIVE IT TO ME NEOWWWWWWW

also i have a question, is there a reason oc doesn't want kids????

not that she needs one ofc i support the child free life yassss

but like is there maybe some lore that maybe played into that decision (besides not being good with kids?)

She's living her best life child free so i can't wait to see how her relationship with Jungkook’s kid is going to go and how that will play into her arrangement or whatever jungkook and her have going onfudjkdkdkfkfi, not calling it the r word bc it can trigger some people 😹😹😹 (@ TF!OC yeah im talking about you girl)

First of all THANK YOU OMGGGG,,, ure the sweetest and yes, she’s definitely cracking. But also, she really likes him so she knows what she’s getting into but she likes to downplay it because sometimes it’s too much. And he’s a man MAN

and about the kids. i did show a little about her story with her parents. she never had like a ‘real’ parental figure or something similar when she was a kid so she doesn’t know how to treat them or deal with them, thats why she’s bad with kids BUT the reason she doesn’t want them is just because. It’s not a goal for her. it’s not because some trauma or anything else, just not something she wants. (bare with me in this pls, not all woman are just soft and want kids)

And i love chap 4 because my fav dynamic starts there 🤭🤭🤭 i hope you love it as much as me because it opens a new dynamic not only for y/n but also for Jungkook with her which i loveeed writing— like he’s such a MAN FRRRR give me one like him pls

THANK U FOR READING BTw, i love when u guys send me this tupe of questions and comments<3332

[inthelow]

your story is so fucking good that I try to forget about it so I can come back in a few months when it’s finished and binge it all (I keep failing)🧎🏽‍♀️

I LOVE THAT FOR ME;; it will be finish before u know it so stay 🙏🏼😓 also, thank u sososo much for reading<333