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jincapableoflove · 3 months ago

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The Grumpy Girlfriend Protection Program | One-shot

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre: sunshine bf x grumpy gf, golden retriever! jungkook, black cat! reader, office worker! reader, veterinary student! jungkook, fluff, comedy, thriller, mystery (slight), action, angst.

Summary: Jeon Jungkook has always been the sunshine in every room; warm, kind, and completely oblivious to danger. Luckily, you, his grumpy, overprotective girlfriend have made it your personal mission to keep him safe. But when the threat shifts to you instead, Jungkook proves that even sunshine can scorch, and for you, he’d burn.

Word count: 22.8k+

Warnings: reader is very protective, themes of stalking and obsession, usage of drugs (not reader or jungkook), fight scene, violence, multiple flashback scenes.

MOODBOARD

A/N: hugeeee thanks to my dear friend sy (@btswit7 ) for going through my fic and suggesting edits! ilysm. sorry this took so long for me to write. i swearrr this fic was supposed to be fluffy, cute and around 10k words but I got carried away 😔 (not sorry for that). i might've absolutely butchered the tattoo shop scene pls forgive me (I've never been to a tattoo shop before idk how it works) this is also my first time writing an action scene it prolly sucks but wtv.

The sun hung high in the cloudless sky, casting a golden glow over the city. A gentle breeze drifted through the streets, the warmth of the morning wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, just the right kind of day that practically demanded an escape from the ordinary. And what better way to spend it than sprawled out on a checkered blanket, a basket full of food beside you, and your ever-so-enthusiastic boyfriend, Jungkook, grinning at you like this was the best idea in the world?

That’s right. It was picnic day. After a gruelling week at work, all you wanted was to stay in bed, sleep until the afternoon, have a late lunch, and then (ideally) go right back to sleep. But Jungkook, being the ever-optimistic, early-rising, productivity-loving man that he was, thought weekends were best spent on morning picnic dates at whatever random park he had decided on that week.

There was nothing you hated more than disappointing your sweet boyfriend, so cancelling the picnic dates altogether wasn’t an option. After extensive negotiations (read: you groggily whining while he laughed and refused to budge), you managed to compromise—morning breakfast dates became brunch dates. Because let’s be real, every extra second of sleep counts.

On the way to your picnic, you were stopped by a teenage boy, probably 17 or 18, who practically shoved a clipboard into your faces. With the practised enthusiasm of a seasoned salesman, he introduced himself, flashing a grin as he extended a hand in greeting. Then came the pitch.

“Donations for a local animal shelter,” he announced, voice laced with urgency. A shelter you had never heard of.

“The puppies and bunnies are all sick, sir, and the kittens are underfed,” he continued, his face contorting with the sheer heartbreak of it all. The kind of expression that would probably work on unsuspecting souls. Jungkook, being Jungkook, was already pulling out his wallet. And you were having none of it.

Before he could hand over a single bill, you yanked the wallet straight out of his hands. Jungkook blinked at you, stunned.

“Did you even check if it’s a real shelter?” you asked, unimpressed.

Jungkook glanced at the boy, then back at you. “Looks pretty real to me.” You sighed, taking a look at the "official website" the scammer eagerly pulled up on his phone. One glance was all it took.

“That’s a Wix template, you dumbass,” you deadpanned, shooting Jungkook a look. And to drive your point home, you dialled the actual shelter’s number. A moment of silence.

Then, like clockwork, the boy’s phone started ringing. The scammer stiffened, eyes wide with panic. And then, without as much as another word, he bolted down the street before you could report him to someone.

Jungkook pouted, stuffing his wallet back into his pocket. You rolled your eyes. “I can’t believe you almost fell for that.”

“One of these days,” he muttered, crossing his arms, “you’re gonna stop me from donating to a real shelter.” You snorted, nudging his shoulder as you started walking again. “Yeah, well, until that day comes, I’ll keep saving you from getting scammed by guys who probably spent five minutes on Google slapping together a fake charity.”

Jungkook huffed, kicking a loose pebble down the sidewalk. “He had a clipboard. People with clipboards always seem legit.”

“Oh, right, because clipboards are the universal sign of trustworthiness,” you deadpanned. “Next time, I’ll be sure to scam you with one myself.”

He shot you a playful glare. “I’d see through you in a second.” You smirked. “Would you, though?”

Jungkook opened his mouth, then shut it again, squinting at you like he wasn’t entirely convinced. You just grinned, patting his arm. “Exactly.”

You sit cross-legged on the checkered blanket, arms crossed, watching as Jungkook digs through the picnic basket like a child on Christmas morning. He’s practically vibrating with excitement, pulling out sandwiches, fruit, and what looks like an obnoxiously yellow thermos you don’t remember packing.

You squint. “Did you sneak in banana milk?”

Jungkook pauses, looking entirely unrepentant. “No.” You stare. He stares back. The thermos stares between you, the undeniable evidence of his crime.

Finally, he grins. “Okay, maybe.”

You let out a slow exhale, reaching for one of the sandwiches while he happily pours himself a cup of his beloved banana milk.

“I don’t get how you function sometimes,” you mutter, unwrapping your food.

“I function beautifully,” he corrects, flashing you a smile that’s far too bright for someone who just lied to your face. “You’re just too grumpy to appreciate it.”

You roll your eyes. “Right. Because nothing screams ‘functioning adult’ like getting scammed five minutes before a picnic.” Jungkook gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “I was being charitable!”

“You were being a prime target,” you deadpan. He huffs dramatically, taking an exaggerated bite of his sandwich as if it’s the ultimate form of protest. Cheeks puffed out like a bunny, he mumbles through his mouthful, “You stress too much.”

You raise a brow. “I wonder why.” He ignores your sarcasm, swallowing before continuing, “Maybe if you—” He suddenly stops, mid-thought, his eyes lighting up with a spark of mischief.

Oh no. You’ve seen that look before. It never leads to anything good.

"You should feed me."

You nearly choke on your drink. Coughing, you set your cup down with a thud and blink at him. “What?” Jungkook leans forward, resting his chin in his palm with the most infuriatingly smug expression. “You know,” he drawls, wiggling his eyebrows, “since you like taking care of me so much.”

You stare at him, unamused. Then, without breaking eye contact, you take the smallest, most unimpressive bite of your sandwich—just to spite him.

Jungkook groans, slumping back. “You’re no fun.”

“You knew that when you fell in love with me.”

His lips curve into something thoughtful, eyes flickering over your face like he’s considering something. Then, in one swift motion, he reaches over and swipes a strawberry from your plate, popping it into his mouth before you can react.

You gasp. “Jungkook!”

He grins, entirely unapologetic. “Yeah, but I like a challenge.” Without hesitation, you swat his hand, aiming for another grab. He yelps, laughing too hard for someone who just got smacked, dodging your next attempt with the reflexes of a seasoned strawberry thief.

"Unbelievable," you mutter, shaking your head. "A menace to society."

Jungkook only grins wider. "And yet, you still love me."

And just like that, it’s the both of you, bickering, teasing, him being too soft, and you pretending you don’t secretly like it. Despite everything, you’re glad he dragged you here. Because for all his nonsense, for all the chaos he brings into your life, Jungkook makes the world a little brighter.

You hated Monday mornings with a burning passion. If you walked into work and saw someone being all cheerful and optimistic, you’d have the overwhelming urge to dump ice-cold coffee over their head, just to make their day as miserable as yours. Of course, you wouldn’t actually act on that particular intrusive thought. Not unless you had a sudden desire to get fired.

Every day, it was the same soul-sucking routine. Log into your computer, answer emails, prepare for meetings, and trudge through an endless list of mind-numbing tasks that make you question all your life choices. You were staring blankly at your screen, fingers moving mechanically as you typed up a report when your phone buzzed.

Kook 🐰💜 [11:10 AM]: Miss me yet?

Your fingers pause on the keyboard. Buzz.

Kook 🐰💜[11:10 AM]: Or are you too busy being all serious and grumpy at work? Kook 🐰💜[11:11 AM]: Bet you’re smiling right now, though.

You bite your lip. You are not smiling. Absolutely not.

“Okay, what is that face?”

Jimin’s voice cuts through your concentration like a knife. You snap your head up to find him leaning against your desk, arms crossed, a knowing smirk already in place.

“There is no face,” you say quickly, locking your phone screen and shoving it away. Jimin gasps dramatically. “Oh my God, it’s him, isn’t it?”

You groan, rubbing your temples. “I swear to—”

“Ohhh, it totally is!” Jimin snatches your phone before you can react, scrolling through the notifications like he has every right to be nosy.

If there’s one person who never lets you live in peace, it’s Jimin. Coworker, best friend, professional pain in your ass, he’s all of the above, wrapped in a smug little package. You first met him when you started this job, and somehow, between the forced team projects, shared complaints about the boss, and mutual hatred for monday mornings, you ended up stuck with him for life. Not that you’d ever admit you’re grateful for it.

Unfortunately, he knows it anyway.

“Jimin, I will end you.”

But it’s too late. He’s already grinning like the devil himself. “Look at you. Getting all giddy over a text. My, my, how the mighty have fallen.”

“I’m not giddy.”

“Oh, you absolutely are.” He mimics your earlier expression, clutching his phone to his chest with a dreamy sigh. “Oh, Jungkook, my sweet precious sunshine, text me more. I can’t possibly get through this workday without knowing you’re thinking about me.”

You throw a stapler at him.

He dodges effortlessly, laughing. “Relax, lover girl. It’s cute. Gross, but cute.” You huff, snatching your phone back. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Jimin plops down in the chair next to you, still smirking. “Now tell me, what’s golden boy up to?”

You hesitate. But your phone buzzes again.

Kook 🐰💜 [11:13 AM]: Hey. Don’t overwork yourself. I’ll call you later, okay?

You stare at the screen for a moment, fingers hovering over the keyboard before you eventually settle on a simple reply.

You [11:14 AM: Okay.

…Okay, maybe you are smiling a little.

Jimin sees it immediately. And you already know you’re never going to hear the end of it.

The moment you step into the break room—finally free from Jimin’s relentless smirking, you let out a breath and pull out your phone, scrolling through your recent calls before dialling Jungkook. It barely rings twice before he picks up, his voice warm and teasing, like he already knew you’d call.

“Hey, baby,” he greets smoothly, amusement lacing his tone. “Miss me already?”

You roll your eyes, setting your lunchbox on the table with a thud. “In your dreams, Jeon.”

Flipping open the lid, the rich, savoury aroma of bibimbap immediately washes over you. The vibrant colors of the ingredients are neatly arranged, looking almost too perfect to eat—almost. You can tell Jungkook took his time making it, carefully placing each topping exactly where it should be, ensuring it looked as good as it tasted.

Your heart does something traitorous in your chest, but you ignore it. Jungkook chuckles at your silence, clearly pleased with himself. “I assume this is your way of telling me my cooking is amazing?”

“Not even close,” you say, grabbing your chopsticks. “Jimin wouldn’t shut up about you, so I figured I’d call and annoy you instead.” A deep, rumbling laugh comes through the speaker, the sound sending warmth curling through your stomach. “Mhm. Sure, love. You could’ve just admitted you wanted to hear my voice.”

Your eye twitches. “That’s not—”

“Shh, no need to be shy. I won’t judge.” You groan, tilting your head back against the chair, but the small smile tugging at your lips betrays you. He’s impossible, and worse, he knows it.

“Whatever,” you mutter. “What are you doing this weekend?”

“Mmm.” There’s some shuffling on his end, followed by the faint rustling of sheets like he’s lying down and getting comfortable. “I was thinking… instead of our usual park picnic, you could come with me to get my sleeve reworked.” That makes you pause, chopsticks hovering mid-air. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he says, voice a little more casual. “It’s been a while, and I wanna touch up some parts. Maybe add something new.”

You lean back in your chair, considering it. You’ve seen his tattoos up close plenty of times—traced them absentmindedly, let your fingers follow the inked lines whenever he had an arm wrapped around you. There’s something mesmerizing about them, the way they flow seamlessly over his skin, each design an intricate part of him.

You definitely wouldn’t mind watching the process.

“That’s fine with me,” you say after a beat. Then, under your breath, you mumble, “But if the artist messes up, I’m fighting them.” Jungkook snorts. “Of course you will.” His voice takes on that teasing lilt that makes you want to reach through the phone and flick his forehead. “You’re so cute when you get all protective.”

Your face heats up instantly. “Oh my god, eat your lunch.”

“I will. But only if you say you love me first.” You nearly choke. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” His grin is obvious, even through the phone. “Say it, and I’ll go eat.” You huff, glancing around the empty break room just to make sure no one’s around. Then, in the lowest possible whisper, you mumble, “…Love you.”

A beat of silence.

And then, even quieter, “Love your bibimbap too.”

Jungkook hums, unreasonably satisfied. “Love you too, baby. Now go eat before Jimin catches you blushing.” Your eyes widen, and you hang up immediately.

Unfortunately, when you turn around, Jimin is standing in the doorway, arms crossed, looking far too smug for your liking.

“So,” he drawls, tilting his head. “How’s Jungkook?” You groan, slamming your head onto the table. You are never going to live this down.

Jimin’s laughter echoes in the room, pure evil.

Jungkook’s apartment is the kind of place that makes it dangerously easy to never leave. It’s cozy with warm lighting, soft blankets draped over the couch, and the faint scent of vanilla and fabric softener lingering in the air. You tell yourself that’s the main reason you always find yourself here instead of your own place, but, if you were being completely honest, there are a few other factors at play.

For one, his snack collection is legendary. His kitchen cabinets are stocked with an endless supply of goodies, including a lifetime’s worth of Twinkies, your weakness. And then there’s Jungkook himself, but you’re not about to admit that. Especially not to him.

Curled up on his couch, you lazily flip through his Netflix, eyes scanning titles without really registering any of them. The ambient noise of the apartment, the hum of the heater, the occasional rustling of pages from Jungkook’s workspace, only adds to the drowsy comfort settling over you. Just as you’re about to give up on finding something to watch, Jungkook suddenly plops down beside you, sketchbook in hand.

The cushion dips under his weight, and you barely manage to suppress a startled flinch. He doesn’t say anything at first, just leans back against the couch with a content sigh, flipping the sketchbook open across his lap. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, curiosity piqued despite yourself. "Okay," he says, grinning as he settles beside you on the couch. His fingers drum against the edge of his sketchbook before he flips it open, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. "Wanna see what I’ve been working on?"

You nod, humming in interest. "Mhm. Sure."

The moment the pages spread out before you, your breath catches. Intricate designs fill the book, some half-finished, others shaded to perfection. There are fine, precise lines, bold strokes, and an almost obsessive attention to detail in every drawing. You can tell he's poured hours into this, into crafting something that isn’t just art but a reflection of himself.

"Damn," you murmur, fingertips tracing lightly over the paper. "You did all these?" Jungkook grins, his dimples making an appearance. "Yup," he says, clearly pleased with your reaction.

You take your time flipping through the pages. There’s a sketch of a skeletal hand doing the rock on sign, a detailed microphone showcasing his love for music, lyrics from his favorite songs inked in elegant script, and the word Bulletproof scrawled in a graffiti style, right beneath it, a note written in his unmistakable handwriting: cover-up for eye tattoo. And then, sitting proudly in between these edgy, personal pieces, is a woozy face emoji.

You huff out a small laugh. His tattoo ideas range from deeply meaningful to outright ridiculous.

But then you pause. Nestled between his designs is a rework of his tiger lily tattoo—his birth flower. But entwined around it, curling gracefully between the petals, is another flower. Chrysanthemums.

Your birth flower.

The realization sinks in, slow and warm. Jungkook goes still beside you, barely breathing. You don’t miss the way his fingers twitch, or the way his ears turn bright red when he realizes that you understood. Then, like a man caught in the act he snatches the sketchbook away, snapping it shut so fast you barely have time to process it.

"Aha—! Anyway—" He clears his throat, ears burning. "That one wasn’t, uh—I wasn’t supposed to show you that yet."

Your lips twitch. "Mhm. Jeon, I see what you did there."

"What?" he says too quickly. "It’s just, you know, it looked nice with the lilies." His voice cracks. You arch a brow. "Looks nice? That’s all?" Jungkook nods a little too fast. "Yeah. No big deal."

You don’t believe him for a second.

So, naturally, you lean in, lowering your voice just enough to watch him squirm."You sure about that, baby?"

Jungkook.exe has stopped working.

With a groan, he buries his burning face into your shoulder, mumbling something incoherent against your sweater. You laugh, warmth blooming in your chest, fingers threading absentmindedly through his hair. Yeah. No big deal.

The weekend sun was just beginning to climb when Jungkook pulled up outside your place, the low hum of his car engine a familiar sound by now. You barely had time to lock your door before he leaned over, effortlessly pushing the passenger door open with that usual bright grin of his. “Morning, baby,” he greeted, fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. Without missing a beat, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss against your cheek—warm, lingering just a second longer than necessary. “You sleep well?”

You slid into the seat, closing the door behind you with a huff, eyes narrowing at him. “No, because someone was blowing up my phone with memes and ‘fun facts’ about toxic tattoo inks at two in the morning.” Jungkook had the audacity to look proud. “I just thought you should know! What if they use cheap ink, huh? Gotta protect this masterpiece.” He gestured vaguely at his arm, where his tattoos peeked out from under the sleeve of his shirt.

You sighed, clicking your seatbelt into place. “Just drive.”

As he shifted gears and pulled onto the road, you let your gaze wander around the car, taking in the familiar scent of his cologne, the faint hum of the engine, and the steady rhythm of the music playing low through the speakers. His hand, warm and absentminded, found its usual place on your thigh like it belonged there, thumb tracing gentle patterns against your skin. It was peaceful. The kind of easy, comfortable silence that only came from knowing someone so well.

But then, something caught your attention.

Your eyes drifted to the backseat, where his sketchbook sat, slightly ajar as if hastily tossed there. A few loose sheets stuck out from the pages, filled with the intricate designs you’d seen before. You reached for it instinctively, but before you could grab it, the scenery outside made you pause.

“...Wait.” Your brows furrowed as you looked out the window. The streets weren’t familiar, the route different from what you expected. You turned back to him. “This isn’t the way to your usual place.” Jungkook hummed, like he’d been waiting for you to notice. “We’re trying a new one today.”

You turned to him, suspicious. “Why?”

His grin widened, full of mischief. “Jin got a job there.” That took you a second to process. “Seokjin?”

“My cousin, yeah.” Jungkook drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, glancing at you briefly before turning his attention back to the road. “He’s a receptionist now. Lured me in with staff discounts.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “So, let me get this straight—he got a job there yesterday, and today you’re already showing up to cash in?” Jungkook gasped, all faux offense, clutching his chest as if you’d just wounded him. “I would never use my dear cousin like that.”

You gave him a deadpan look.

His lips twitched, the act crumbling instantly. “…Okay, maybe a little,” he admitted, flashing you a boyish grin. “But hey, cheaper tattoos, and I get to support my hyung? Win-win.” You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the amused smile pulling at your lips. “Does he even know we’re coming?”

“He does,” Jungkook replied, his grin not fading. “He actually told me to wait for him before I get started with the consultation.”

And that’s how you and Jungkook ended up stuck in the lobby of the tattoo shop, waiting for over thirty minutes for Jin to show up.

Jungkook exhaled loudly, rolling his shoulders before pulling out his phone and dialing Jin for the sixth time. His other hand absentmindedly tugged you closer by the wrist, a small, unconscious habit of his whenever he was growing impatient. “Jin said he’d be here soon,” he muttered, eyes flickering to the entrance yet again, as if willing his cousin to walk through the door. “Told me to get comfy and wait.”

You smirked, shifting slightly in your seat. “He did? So, naturally, he’s gonna be late.” Jungkook groaned, tilting his head back against the couch. “He promised, okay? Swore he wouldn’t ditch me this time.”

“That’s cute.” You patted his thigh mockingly. “You still believe him.” Jungkook shot you a halfhearted glare before flicking his gaze to the empty reception area for what had to be the hundredth time. His foot bounced impatiently against the floor, but before he could make another complaint, the sound of a door opening drew both of your attention.

A woman with sleek, silver-dyed hair emerged from one of the back rooms, her sharp gaze scanning the lobby before landing directly on Jungkook. Her expression immediately shifted into a perfected customer-service smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly. “What are you here for?”

“Sleeve rework,” he replied casually, rolling his shoulder as if to emphasize the ink beneath his sleeve. “You’re the one getting the sleeve reworked?” she asked smoothly, completely ignoring your presence. “Seokjin’s cousin, right?

Jungkook nodded, his own expression polite but confused. “Yeah, but he isn’t here yet. Jin told me to wai—”

“Oh,” she cut in, her lips curving just slightly, a little too knowing. “Well, that’s okay. I’m sure he would’ve referred you to me anyway. I could start taking care of you now.”

Something about the way she said it made your jaw clench.

Jungkook, oblivious as ever, only hummed. “Uh, I mean… I guess we could start the consultation?”

You didn’t like the way she was looking at him.

As she moved closer, the glow of the overhead light caught on her name tag—Nari. The name meant nothing to you, but something about her demeanor put you on edge.

Jungkook settled into the chair, stretching his arm out as Nari prepped her station. You remained seated across from him, phone in hand, pretending to scroll while keeping a close eye on the exchange. Nari pulled on a pair of gloves, her movements fluid and practiced as she leaned in, examining Jungkook’s inked skin. “Your ink is solid,” she murmured, fingers ghosting over the intricate designs. “Whoever did this knew what they were doing.”

Jungkook grinned, clearly pleased with the compliment. “Yeah, my old artist was great. Just wanted some refinements, you know?”

“Mm,” Nari hummed in agreement, grabbing a marker to outline a few areas. Her gaze lingered on his arm longer than necessary, her lips curving slightly. “You’re adding new work too, right?”

Jungkook nodded. “Yeah, just some floral details around the tiger lily.”

That was supposed to be the end of it. But then Nari tilted her head, eyes flickering up to his face before dropping back to his arm, and subtly, but not subtly enough she licked her lips.

“I love doing florals on guys,” she said, voice dipping into something softer. “There’s just something about the contrast, you know?”

Your grip on your phone tightened. Jungkook, completely unaware of the shift in tone, simply lifted his arm to show her the faded edges. “Yeah, I wanted to add some chrysanthe—”

Before he could even finish, Nari reached out, fingers wrapping around his arm, her touch lingering.

“Oh, your skin is so nice,” she murmured, smoothing her fingers over the defined muscle as if she were admiring it rather than prepping it for work. Your eye twitched.

Jungkook blinked, a little startled by the comment but still too polite to pull away. “Uh… thanks?” Nari only smiled, nails grazing his forearm ever so slightly as she adjusted his position. “Good canvas makes all the difference.”

You swore you could hear your patience snapping like a twig. Jungkook looked slightly uncomfortable but still handed over his sketchbook, flipping to the page with his design. “This is what I had in mind for the rework,” he said, tapping the paper.

Nari barely glanced at the intricate details before tilting her head, her gaze flickering back to him instead. “You drew this yourself?”

Jungkook nodded. “Yeah.”

“Wow,” she hummed, leaning in slightly, the corner of her lips quirking up. “That’s impressive. Not many clients walk in with this level of detail.” From where you sat, you rested your chin on your hand, unimpressed.

Jungkook offered a small, polite smile. “I just like having a clear idea before I commit.” Nari's smirk deepened. “That’s really attractive,” she mused, fingers skimming the edge of the sketchbook instead of actually turning the page. “A guy who’s artistic and decisive? Rare find.”

You blinked. What.

Jungkook cleared his throat, shifting in his seat like he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “Uh… thanks?” Nari finally flipped to the next page—though at this point, it felt more like a courtesy than genuine interest. “And you did all of these?”

Jungkook nodded again. “Mhm.”

“That’s insane,” she gushed, dragging her fingers over the lines like they were worth framing. “You could easily be a tattoo artist yourself.” Jungkook chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t think I have the patience for it.”

“That’s a shame,” Nari sighed, her fingers lingering a little too long on the sketchbook. “With hands like yours, I bet you’d be amazing at it.”

Your expression went flat. Jungkook just coughed into his fist, visibly flustered. “Uh—”

You snapped before you could stop yourself. “If you’re done with the consultation, I think you should get started with the sketching.” Your voice was even, but the words were clipped. “Unless this is just a fan club meeting now.”

That made Nari pause.

Jungkook turned to you, lips twitching as if he was trying not to laugh. Nari dared to send you a sharp glare, like you had just interrupted something sacred. But she grabbed a fineliner anyway, her movements slow and deliberate, as if making a point.

You didn’t waver. Arms crossed, you kept your gaze locked on her hands, watching every unnecessary adjustment she made—each one turning into soft, lingering touches against Jungkook’s skin. It was infuriating, the way her fingers skimmed his arm like she had every right to.

And then she bit her lip.

A coy smile played at the edges of her mouth, subtle but unmistakable. Jungkook, completely oblivious as always, remained relaxed in the chair, only wincing slightly when the cold surface of the fineliner pressed against his skin.

You were far from relaxed.

Shifting in your seat, you clenched your jaw, fingers curling against your arms. Maybe—maybe—she was just a touchy person. Maybe you were overanalyzing this. Maybe it was nothing.

“So,” Nari began, her voice light and conversational, “do all your tattoos have a meaning?” Jungkook, still staring at the ceiling like this was any other consultation, nodded. “Most of them, yeah.”

“What about this one?” She tapped the tiger lily, her fingertips trailing over the ink just a little too leisurely. Jungkook smiled, unaware of the way your patience was fraying. “That one represents passion, confidence… all that stuff. It’s also my birth flower”

Nari hummed, like she was committing that information to memory. “And the chrysanthemums?”

At this, Jungkook hesitated. For the first time, he flicked his gaze toward you, something unreadable passing through his eyes. Your posture stiffened, waiting. He cleared his throat. “They mean a lot to me.”

Nari tilted her head, expectant.

You leaned forward, expectant.

But Jungkook just chuckled lightly before answering, “They’re my girlfriend’s birth flower.” His tone was proud, almost smug, as if relishing the chance to say it out loud. A smirk tugged at your lips. That should be enough to shut this down, enough for her to finally get the message—

Except Nari barely reacted.

If anything, she just hummed again, dragging her eyes across his arm like she hadn’t even heard him. “Hm. Bet they’d look really pretty on you,” she mused, her tone as sweet as syrup. Then, without missing a beat, she added, “Then again, I bet a lot of things do.”

Your head snapped up. Jungkook tensed slightly but played it off with an awkward laugh. “Uh… thanks?”

Oh, hell no.

Maybe it was the way she said it. The way her voice dripped with something just a little too sweet, like she wasn’t just appreciating his tattoos but the person wearing them. Maybe it was the fact that her fingers were still lightly dragging along his forearm, slow and deliberate, like she had every right to touch him like that. Or maybe—just maybe—it was the fact that Jungkook, ever polite, ever oblivious, wasn’t saying anything to stop her. Either way, your patience is officially gone.

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, voice smooth but sharp enough to cut. “So, is this your usual customer service?” you asked, tilting your head. “Or is my boyfriend just getting the VIP treatment?”

Nari barely spared you a glance. “Oh, don’t worry. I take very good care of my clients.” Your smile was saccharine, all teeth. “I bet you do.”

Jungkook shifted, fingers gripping the armrest as if bracing himself. “Baby—” You ignored him. “I thought professionalism was a basic requirement for tattoo artists. But I guess it’s optional here, huh?”

Nari’s smirk twitched, but she held her ground. “I’m just making conversation.”

“Right.” You nodded slowly, voice dripping with faux understanding. “Because flirting with your client while his girlfriend is sitting right here is so normal.”

Jungkook, bless his clueless heart, looked between the two of you like he’d just walked into a battlefield with no armor. His lips parted—he should say something, anything, should try to calm you down before things escalated, but the words never came.

Because truth be told, seeing you like this, so protective and so fierce was kind of hot.

Nari’s eyes narrowed, her confidence flickering just a little. “I wasn’t flirting.” You let out a mock gasp, pressing a hand over your chest in exaggerated horror. “Oh, my bad.” Your tone was syrupy, dripping with fake innocence. “I must have misheard when you basically drooled over my boyfriend while I was sitting right here.”

Nari let out a sharp huff, her irritation finally surfacing. She set the fineliner down with a little too much force, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and condescension. “Look, do you want me to finish this or not?”

You opened your mouth, already armed with a sharp retort—

“No.”

Jungkook’s voice cut through the air, calm but unwavering.

Nari blinked. “What?”

Jungkook rolled his shoulder back as he sat up straighter, his usual easygoing expression replaced with something unreadable. “I’ll get it done somewhere else.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms. “Seriously? Just because she’s insecure?”

Oh. That did it. A slow, burning heat unfurled in your chest. The audacity, the sheer nerve to say something like that when she had been the one crossing every possible line. You barely registered standing up, only aware of the way your pulse pounded in your ears as you took a step forward.

“Excuse me?”

But before you could let loose, Jungkook was already moving. His hand found yours, his grip warm and steady as he gently pulled you back. “Let’s go,” he murmured, his voice low but insistent. Nari rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair like she couldn’t care less. “Your loss.” Jungkook didn’t bother responding. He just grabbed his jacket, intertwined his fingers with yours, and led you out of the shop without a single backward glance.

The second the door shut behind you, the tension that had been coiling in your muscles finally snapped.

“I swear—” you started, still fuming, but Jungkook sighed, squeezing your hand in his. “I know, baby,” he said, his voice softer now, the warmth of it cutting right through your frustration. “I know.”

You exhaled sharply. “She was touching you.” Jungkook let out a low chuckle, rubbing his temple. “I literally had no idea she was flirting.”

“You never do.”

That earned you a grin. Jungkook tilted his head slightly, leaning down just enough that his nose nearly brushed yours. His eyes locked onto yours with a familiar fondness. “But you do.” His voice was teasing, but there was something else there too. Something softer. Something that made your breath catch, just a little.

You scowled, but he just wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “Jealous?” he teased. You scoffed.

His smile turned fond. “Cute.” You smacked his chest. “Shut up.”

Jungkook barely flinched at the hit, his grin only widening. He tightened his hold around your waist, pulling you in until there was hardly any space left between you. “That’s not a no,” he murmured, his voice dipping just enough to make your stomach flutter. You narrowed your eyes, tilting your chin up defiantly. “I wasn’t jealous.”

Jungkook hummed, unconvinced. His fingers skimmed over the small of your back, the touch light but deliberate. “Mhm. Sure.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “She was unprofessional.”

“True.”

“And disrespectful.”

“Very.”

“And her eyeliner was uneven.”

Jungkook snorted, finally breaking into a full laugh. “Okay, now you’re just being mean.” You shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but the way he was looking at you, like you were the most amusing thing in the world made your face heat up. His laughter faded into something softer, something unbearably fond. “You know you’re cute when you’re all worked up, right?”

You scowled, jabbing a finger into his chest. “I said shut up.” Jungkook grinned, catching your hand with ease before lacing his fingers through yours. “Make me.”

Your breath hitched. His gaze flickered to your lips for the briefest second, and suddenly, the air between you shifted—

“You guys done with the tattoo already?”

A loud, familiar voice shattered the moment like glass hitting the pavement.

Both you and Jungkook turned your heads in unison, only to find Jin standing a few feet away, looking between the two of you with an expression far too amused for your liking. Jungkook groaned, running a hand down his face. “Hyung, seriously?”

Jin blinked. “What? I was just asking.” His gaze flickered over Jungkook’s arm, eyes narrowing as he took in the faint ink lines still marking his skin—the rough sketch of the tattoo, untouched by the needle. His brows furrowed.

“Wait. You didn’t actually get it done?”

Jungkook huffed, crossing his arms. “No. Because the tattooo artist was too busy flirting with me.”

Jin’s face twisted in confusion. “Huh?”

You, still somewhat bristling from the whole ordeal, rolled your eyes. “She was all over him. Barely even looked at his designs before trying to eye-fuck him.” JIn’s jaw dropped. “Wait, are you serious?”

Jungkook nodded, his expression flat. “Dead serious.” Jin winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Damn. I had no idea she was like that.”

At least he had the decency to look sorry.

Jin sighed, rubbing his temple dramatically. “Alright, fine. Since I unknowingly threw you both into the lion’s den, I owe you.” He clapped his hands together. “Lunch is on me.” Jungkook raised a brow. “You? Paying for food? Willingly?”

Jin scoffed. “I can be generous, you know.”

You snorted. “That’s new.”

Jin ignored you. “Come on, let’s eat. My treat. Think of it as compensation for the mess I accidentally dropped you into.”

Jungkook hummed, pretending to consider. “I mean… if you’re paying, I’m definitely ordering the most expensive thing on the menu.”

Jin rolled his eyes. “As if you wouldn’t do that anyway.”

Jungkook just grinned. “True.”

You laughed, your earlier irritation melting away. “Alright, fine. You’re forgiven. But only if I get to pick the place.” Jin groaned. “Why do I feel like I’m about to regret this?” Jungkook laced his fingers through yours, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Because you probably will.”

Jin sighed but motioned for you both to follow. “Hurry up before I change my mind.” With that, the three of you headed off, leaving the unpleasant encounter behind in favor of good food.

Nari leaned against the counter, arms folded tight as she glared out the shop’s large window. Outside, you stood near the curb, your gaze fixed on Jungkook and Jin as they chatted. You weren’t speaking, just watching with that quiet, unreadable expression. But somehow, that made Nari even angrier.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath.

“What is?”

The question came lazily from the man who had just strolled up beside her. He shook out his wrists after finishing with his last client, pulling off his gloves and tossing them into the trash. His attention remained casual, uninterested until Nari gestured toward the window with a sharp tilt of her chin.

“Her.”

His eyes followed her gaze. His posture was still loose, still easygoing until he saw you. For the briefest moment, his entire body went rigid. His casual demeanor cracked, just slightly, before he smoothed it over with a slow smirk.

“Huh.”

Nari, oblivious to the shift, let out a scoff. “She threw a whole fit because I was being nice to her boyfriend. Completely embarrassed me in front of him and acted all possessive, like I was some kind of threat.” She tapped her nails against the counter, still glaring at you through the window. “And now, thanks to her little tantrum, he refuses to get his tattoo done here.”

The man hummed, tilting his head. “Jealous girlfriend type, huh?”

“Exactly.” Nari huffed before turning to him with a slow, calculating smile. “You’re good at handling people, right?” He lifted a brow. “Depends on what you mean by ‘handling.’”

She leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Do you think you could… I don’t know, do something about her? Save Jungkook from her?” For a moment, he didn’t respond. His gaze flicked back toward the window, settling this time on Jungkook himself.

And just like that, his smirk thinned.

Jungkook stood beside Jin, hands in his pockets, his head tilted slightly as he listened to whatever Jin was rambling about. But every so often, his attention shifted to you. The way his fingers brushed absently over your back, the way his expression softened whenever he glanced your way, like keeping you close was second nature.

The man’s fingers curled into a fist. “Figures,” he muttered under his breath.

Nari frowned. “You know him?” A sharp exhale. A shake of his head. “Not personally. But I know of him.”

She perked up at that, her curiosity piqued. “Oh?”

His tongue ran over his teeth, jaw working as he leaned against the counter. When he spoke again, his smirk had returned but there was nothing amused about it. “Let’s just say… I have unfinished business with her.”

Nari blinked at that, lips parting slightly as she took in the underlying venom in his tone. Then, as if catching on, she let out a slow, delighted hum. “Well then,” she murmured, turning back to the window, watching you through narrowed eyes. “Wouldn’t it be fun to mess with her a little?”

His gaze never left you. He watched as Jungkook reached out, tugging the sleeve of your jacket into place with an unconscious sort of familiarity, the kind that spoke of years spent together.

The kind of familiarity that should have been his.

The corner of his lips lifted, the smirk sharpening into something colder. “Oh, sweetheart.” His voice was smooth and teasing, laced with something far more sinister.

“I’d love to.”

You groggily blink your eyes open, immediately regretting it as the soft glow of the morning filters through your curtains. Too bright. Too early. Too… awake. You bury your face into your pillow, grumbling incoherently, unwilling to leave the comforting warmth of your bed. It’s Sunday. A day meant for sleeping in, doing absolutely nothing, and ignoring all responsibilities.

Then, you feel it—the weight of an arm loosely draped over your waist, the warmth seeping through your thin shirt. Your sleep-addled brain takes a moment to process before it clicks. Jungkook.

Right. He stayed over last night.

A sleepy sigh escapes your lips as you shift slightly, pressing closer to his warmth. His scent lingers on your sheets, wrapping around you like a second blanket. You peek up, still half-asleep, and catch the sight of him lying beside you, propped up on one elbow, his phone held in his free hand. The soft glow of the screen illuminates his face, casting delicate shadows over his sharp jawline. He’s already awake, completely engrossed in whatever he’s scrolling through.

Too awake for your liking.

“Five more minutes,” you mumble sleepily, voice muffled against the pillow. Your words slur together, more of a plea than a statement, as you instinctively nuzzle into Jungkook’s chest, seeking warmth.

A deep chuckle rumbles from him, low and fond, the kind that makes your heart squeeze without permission. His arm tightens around you in response, fingers lazily tracing light circles against your back. “Five more minutes? Baby, you said that like… an hour ago.”

You don’t respond, only snuggling deeper into his embrace, fully intent on ignoring him. Jungkook exhales dramatically, an exaggerated, put-upon sigh. “You’re gonna sleep the whole day away.”

“That’s the plan.”

“You’re literally wasting the morning.”

“Mm,” you hum noncommittally. “Not wasting if I’m warm and comfortable.” Jungkook pokes your cheek, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he tries to stir you. “C’mon, let’s go out. We could get breakfast, maybe go on a walk—”

“No.” You blindly swat his hand away.

Jungkook groans, flopping onto his back in frustration. “Why did I fall for someone lazier than me?” You crack one eye open, just enough to see his pout. Smirking, you shift slightly and mumble into the pillow, “Because I’m cute.”

Jungkook huffs. “…I mean, yeah, but that’s not the point.”

Jungkook finally manages to wrangle you out of bed—a feat that takes a ridiculous amount of whining, bribing, and sheer force of will. He practically drags you across the apartment, his grip firm around your wrist, ignoring every single one of your grumbles and half-hearted protests.

“You are,” you mumble as he steers you into the kitchen, “the absolute worst.” Jungkook snorts, already rummaging through the cabinets for coffee beans. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was I supposed to let you rot in bed for eternity?”

“Yes.”

Jungkook ignores you, expertly working the coffee machine like a man on a mission. You slump against the counter, still half-asleep, head lolling dramatically to the side as you watch him move around like an overly energetic golden retriever. Then, your phone buzzes on the counter. You lazily glance at the screen, skimming the weather forecast—

Rain incoming.

Your spine straightens, sleepiness vanishing in an instant as you whip your phone up to show Jungkook, shoving the screen in his face with an almost evil sort of glee. “Oh no~” you sing-song, tone dripping with faux disappointment. “Looks like we can’t go out.”

Jungkook’s brows furrow as he squints at the screen, reading the forecast. His expression quickly morphs from mild confusion to full-blown horror. “…It wasn’t supposed to rain today,” he says slowly, almost like he can will the reality away.

��Guess we have to stay in.” You sigh dramatically, clutching your chest like it pains you. “Damn. What a shame.”

Jungkook groans, slumping against the counter like his entire soul has left his body. His dreams of a fun, eventful day were shattered. “You’re lying,” he accuses weakly. “This is a personal attack.”

You shake your head, voice dripping with fake sympathy. “I don’t control the weather, baby.”

Jungkook glares. “But if you could, you’d make it rain every day, wouldn’t you?” A smirk tugs at your lips. “Absolutely.”

Jungkook throws his head back with a dramatic, suffering groan, sliding down the counter like a man defeated. You watch him in amusement, lifting the coffee cup he had just made for himself and taking a slow, satisfied sip. The moment the taste hits your tongue, Jungkook’s entire body snaps upright.

He watches, utterly betrayed, as you lower the cup with a pleased hum.

“…Did you just steal my coffee?”

You blink at him, all innocence. “You made this for me, didn’t you?”

Jungkook scoffs, expression scandalized. “No! I made it for me!”

You shrug, taking another sip as you meet his glare with zero remorse. “Tastes great, babe. Thanks.”

Jungkook clutches his chest like you’ve personally wounded him. “You’re the actual worst.”

“And yet,” you hum, leaning against the counter with a satisfied smirk, “here you are, hopelessly in love with me.”

Jungkook stares at you for a long second, lips pursed. Then, without warning, he lunges. You yelp as he wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you with ridiculous ease and tossing you over his shoulder.

“JUNGKOOK—”

“NOPE,” he interrupts, already marching towards the living room. “If I can’t have fun outside, I’m gonna make you suffer with me inside.” You kick your feet uselessly, fists pounding against his back as he effortlessly carries you away. “Put me down, you muscle bunny!”

Jungkook only laughs, completely unfazed, before spinning on his heel and tossing you onto the couch like you weigh nothing. You land with a soft ‘oof,’ bouncing slightly against the cushions as he flops down beside you, stretching out like a starfish. “You are so dramatic,” you grumble, attempting to shove him away with your foot.

Jungkook just grins, easily catching your ankle and tugging you closer instead. “And yet, you love me anyway.”

You huff, too lazy to argue.

Before you can protest further, he shifts, rolling onto his side and resting his head comfortably on your lap. His eyes flutter shut almost instantly, his breath evening out as he settles in like he belongs there. At first, you stiffen, but as the seconds pass, your fingers instinctively weave through his soft, dark hair. You barely even realize you’re doing it, the motion coming as naturally as breathing.

Jungkook hums at the feeling, half-conscious, but content. His face is completely relaxed and unguarded in a way that makes your chest ache. He looked so soft like this. So warm. So… safe. And something deep inside you just melts.

Your fingers slow, combing gently through the strands, nails lightly scratching his scalp. A soft scowl tugs at your lips. Because this? This is a version of Jungkook you’d fight the entire world to protect.

Jungkook must feel your gaze because, after a moment, he cracks one eye open and peeks up at you. “You’re staring,” he murmurs, voice still laced with sleep. You blink, quickly masking your expression with a huff. To cover up the warmth creeping up your neck, you flick his forehead. “Just making sure you’re still breathing.”

Jungkook snickers, stretching lazily. “Aww, are you worried about me?”

You cross your arms, unimpressed. “Obviously. You’re fragile.”

Jungkook immediately bursts out laughing, full-bodied and carefree, his entire frame shaking against your lap. “Me? Fragile? Baby, I could bench press you.”

You roll your eyes, completely unfazed. “Yeah, well, I could stab someone for you.”

Jungkook’s laughter dies instantly. His eyes widen slightly, blinking up at you as if processing your words. Then, ever so slowly, a grin spreads across his face.

“…Okay, that’s really hot.”

You scoff, flicking his forehead again. “Pervert.”

Jungkook just smirks, completely shameless. “What can I say? I like my girlfriend a little unhinged.” You roll your eyes, but before you can retort, a deep rumble of thunder echoes outside.

Jungkook groans, throwing an arm over his face. “Great. So we really are stuck inside all day.”

You don’t even bother hiding your glee. “Tragic.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Jungkook shifts, burying his face into your stomach like a sulking puppy. You try to shove him off, but he only clings harder, grumbling nonsense against your his hoodie.

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmur, fingers idly threading through his hair again. Eventually, he shifts, lifting his head to look at you properly. His expression softens laced with something so fond it makes your breath hitch. He doesn’t say anything. Just laces his fingers through yours, absentmindedly tracing patterns against your palm.

Then, suddenly there's a sharp poke to your side and you jolt with a squawk, trying to wiggle away. “Jungkook!” He grins, eyes twinkling with mischief. “If we’re staying in, we should do something.”

You glare at him, still half-prepared to smack him upside the head. “Like what?”

His smirk deepens. “You know exactly what.” For a second, you just stare at him. He stares back.Then, without breaking eye contact—he grabs the game controllers.

Jungkook’s sunshine boyfriend energy disappears the second the race countdown starts. Gone is the sweet, cuddly man who had been wrapped around you like a koala just minutes ago, now, he’s leaning forward, brows furrowed, fully in the zone.

“Loser does the dishes in both apartments,” he announces, rolling his shoulders like he’s prepping for war. You scoff, cracking your knuckles for dramatic effect. “You’re about to regret that.”

The moment Lakitu drops the starting light, Jungkook launches forward like he’s been possessed by the spirit of every pro gamer ever. Meanwhile, you barely get past the first turn without slamming into the barrier. You spam every single item box you can get your hands on, determined to take him down with sheer pettiness if not skill.

Then there’s a miracle. Jungkook is just about to cross the finish line when you hit him with a perfectly timed blue shell.

BOOM.

His character spirals into the air, crashing down just inches from victory. You zoom past him at the last second.

“IN YOUR FACE, JEON.” You throw your arms up like you just won an Olympic gold medal. Jungkook stares at the screen in stunned silence. Then, slowly he turns to you. You suddenly get the feeling you’ve made a terrible mistake.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, cracking his knuckles. “No more playing nice.”

The next race starts and you get absolutely destroyed.

Jungkook goes full demon mode, drifting around corners with terrifying precision, dodging every single attack like he can see the future. He launches red shells, banana peels, lightning bolts— you don’t even know how he’s getting this many power-ups.

It’s a massacre. One round. Two rounds. Three. You lose every single one. By the end, your controller is nearly embedded into your palm from how tightly you’re gripping it. Jungkook, on the other hand, is lounging back against the couch, arms stretched behind his head, smug as hell.

He tilts his head, smirking. “Do you yield?”

You scowl. “I hope you step on a Lego.”

Jungkook just laughs, grabbing your wrist and yanking you into his lap before you can escape. The controllers are discarded, forgotten as you end up tangled together on the couch. His arms snake around your waist, holding you in place as you halfheartedly struggle.

Then—he boops your nose.

You blink. Once. Twice. Then groan, flopping dramatically against his chest. “I take back every nice thing I’ve ever said about you.”

Jungkook only hums, smug and unbothered. “Even though you lost, I still think you’re the cutest.”

You smack his arm. “I will actually fight you.”

“Mm. As long as it’s not in Mario Kart, I like my chances.”

Jungkook’s phone buzzes against the coffee table, the vibration cutting through the comfortable silence. He lazily reaches for it, glancing at the screen. His brows knit together for a second before his face smooths over into a grin.

“Oh, my mom’s planning a family dinner. She wants you to come.”

You, mid-sip of your newly-made coffee, nearly choke.

“…Huh?”

Jungkook tilts his head, amused. “What? You act like this is the first time she’s invited you.”

You pause, tapping your fingers against the cup. His family liked you. You knew that. His mom always sent you home with extra food whenever you visited, and his dad made it a point to tease Jungkook about “finally settling down” whenever you were around. Jungkook leans closer, watching you expectantly. “So? You’ll come?”

You exhale dramatically, pretending to be deep in thought. “…Maybe.”

Jungkook narrows his eyes. “Maybe?”

You smirk. “I’ll go on one condition.”

He leans in even more, suspicious. “What?”

You set your cup down with a slow, deliberate motion. Then you look him dead in the eye. “…Admit that I’m better at games.”

Jungkook snorts. “Not happening.”

You grin. “Then I’m not coming.”

Jungkook blinks. Then, before you can react, he pounces.

“YOU’RE COMING.”

“JUNGKOOK—”

You barely have time to throw your drink onto the table before he tackles you down onto the couch, arms caging you in as he buries his face into your neck. His weight presses you into the cushions, his laughter muffled against your skin.

“You little brat,” he mutters, nuzzling into you. You squirm, but he’s relentless, peppering lazy kisses against your jaw just to distract you.

“Say you’ll come,” he murmurs, voice laced with amusement.

“Say I’m better.”

Jungkook grins against your neck. “Hmm. How about this—you come to dinner, and I’ll let you win next time.” You gasp, shoving at his chest. “Let me win?!”

His laughter shakes both of you, but he doesn’t budge. “I’m trying to be generous, baby.”

“Jungkook, I swear—”

The argument quickly devolves into a mess of tangled limbs and laughter, neither of you backing down. Jungkook is still half on top of you, his arms lazily wrapped around your waist, completely unwilling to let you escape. His warmth seeps into you, making it harder to even think about moving. You sigh, dramatically slumping against the couch cushions. “Fine. I’ll go to dinner.”

Jungkook’s head snaps up instantly. “Really?”

You roll your eyes, poking his cheek. “Yeah, yeah. But I’m expecting VIP treatment.”

Jungkook grins, wide and bright, before leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. “Deal.”

Outside, the rain picks up, sheets of water blurring the world beyond the glass. The streetlights flicker, their glow reflecting off the puddles collecting on the pavement. But just beyond the window, Neither of you notice the figure standing on the balcony of the building across the street a dark silhouette barely visible through the downpour.

He watches. He waits.

The overhead lights in your office cast a dim, sterile glow, humming softly in the near silence. The usual buzz of the workplace has long since faded, leaving only the occasional click of your keyboard and the distant sound of the air conditioning whirring. You rub your tired eyes, exhaustion settling deep in your bones as you scroll through the last few emails of the day.

Just as you’re about to tackle the next document in your never-ending pile, your phone vibrates against your desk, the soft buzz cutting through the quiet. You glance at the screen, and a familiar name lights up:

Kook 🐰💜 [6:15 PM]: Still working? Kook 🐰💜 [6:15 PM]: Come over after work?

A small smile tugs at your lips despite the fatigue weighing on you. You reach for your phone, letting your gaze drift to the towering stack of documents beside you before sighing. There’s no way you’re finishing up anytime soon. With a resigned exhale, you type out a response.

You [6:16 PM]: Working overtime. I’ll text when I’m done.

His reply comes almost instantly, as if he’d been waiting for your response.

Kook 🐰💜 [6:16 PM]: It’s late. Want me to pick you up?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard for a second before you shake your head, rolling your eyes fondly. It wasn’t like you weren’t capable of getting home on your own. The walk to your apartment was barely ten minutes, and you’d done it countless times before without issue. You hated the idea of relying too much on someone else, even if that someone was Jungkook. He was always eager to drop everything for you, to take on your burdens like they were his own, and while a part of you adored that about him, another part resisted it. You never wanted to feel like you needed saving. You could handle yourself.

You [6:16 PM]: I’m fine. My apartment’s nearby, remember?

There’s a brief pause before his next message comes through.

Kook 🐰💜[6:18 PM]: At least text me when you’re home.

You bite back a smile, shaking your head.

You [6:18 PM]: Yes, yes, Mr. Protective.

A second later, your screen lights up again with a message that’s nothing but a row of emojis. You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head as you set your phone down. Stretching your arms over your head, you glance back at the unfinished work in front of you. The night is far from over, and exhaustion lingers in your limbs, but you push through.

Two hours later, the office is nearly deserted. Rows of empty desks stretch out before you, their monitors dark, abandoned by coworkers who were lucky enough to call it a day. Somewhere in the distance, the faint murmur of a janitor echoes through the halls, a quiet reminder that you’re not entirely alone. Still, the stillness feels heavy, pressing against your shoulders as you rub your tired eyes and blink at your laptop screen.

“Still here?”

The familiar voice startles you, pulling you from your work-induced daze. You look up to see Jimin standing by your desk, a bag slung over his shoulder and an amused expression on his face.

You let out a sigh, leaning back in your chair. “Unfortunately.”

He crosses his arms, leaning casually against the cubicle wall. “Overtime?”

“Yeah.” You stretch your stiff fingers before clicking through your files. “Trying to get ahead of things since I’m taking a day off for Jungkook’s family dinner.”

Jimin raises a brow, clearly holding back a smirk. “You? Taking a day off? Who are you, and what have you done with my workaholic friend?”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “It’s one day, Park.”

“Still. Didn’t think you’d willingly take time off for a boyfriend’s family event.”

You shrug, shifting your attention back to your laptop. “I’m being a supportive partner. And also avoiding Jungkook’s pout if I don’t go.”

Jimin chuckles. “Yeah, that tracks.” He checks his watch, then nods toward the exit. “Well, it’s already past eight. I can drop you off—my car’s in the basement.”

You pause for half a second, tempted. It would be easy, safe. A quick ride home without having to walk through the dark streets alone. But something in you resists. You’ve always prided yourself on being independent, on handling things yourself. You weren’t about to start needing an escort home like some helpless protagonist in a thriller movie. Besides, your apartment wasn’t far, and you could take care of yourself just fine.

You shake your head. “I’ve still got work left. Need to refine a client presentation before tomorrow.”

Jimin frowns, clearly debating whether to push the issue. “You sure? I don’t mind waiting.”

You give him a small, reassuring smile. “Go home, Jimin. I’ll be fine.”

He hesitates for a moment longer before exhaling in defeat. “Alright. Text me when you get home, yeah?”

“I will.”

Satisfied, he ruffles your hair in a way that makes you swat at him, laughing as he dodges your weak attempt at retaliation. “Night, workaholic,” he teases before heading out, his footsteps fading down the hall.

And just like that, you’re alone again, the dim glow of your laptop screen casting long shadows across your desk.

It’s nearing eleven o'clock by the time you finally leave the office, exhaustion pressing down on your shoulders like a weight you can’t shake. The automatic doors slide shut behind you, sealing the building in eerie silence. Outside, the streets stretch before you, quieter than usual, the world dipped in shades of silver and black under the dim glow of the streetlights.

The scent of rain lingers in the air, damp and heavy, even though the drizzle had stopped hours ago. The pavement glistens under the flickering glow of streetlights, reflecting the distorted shapes of the empty road ahead. A chilly breeze whispers through the deserted streets, curling around your skin like invisible fingers. You shiver, tugging your coat tighter around you, telling yourself it’s just the cold. You exhale slowly, watching your breath fog in the night air, and begin your walk home. It’s not far—barely a ten-minute walk. You’ve done this route countless times before. It should feel familiar. Safe.

But tonight… something feels off.

At first, it’s just a small shift in the air, a faint prickle at the back of your neck that strange, creeping sensation of being watched. It crawls up your spine, makes the hair on your arms stand on end.

You shake it off, adjusting the strap of your bag. You’re just tired. Paranoid. That’s all. The streets are always eerie this late of course they are. There’s no one around, just the distant hum of traffic blocks away, the occasional flicker of a neon sign from a closed shop. But then when you’re halfway home, just as you pass the turn near the old bookstore you hear it.

A faint, subtle sound, a footstep, echoes just a second too late after your own. Your breath catches in your throat as you freeze, and the sound stops too. The silence is suffocating, pressing in from all sides. Slowly, so painfully slowly, you turn to glance behind you.

Nothing.

Just an empty sidewalk, stretched too long and too dark behind you. The streetlights buzz faintly, their glow flickering, casting strange, distorted shadows on the wet pavement. Your own heartbeat pounds against your ribs, a heavy drumbeat in the stillness. You swallow, trying to shake the feeling creeping under your skin. You’re imagining things. You have to be. The city is full of noises like cars in the distance, leaves rustling, a stray cat darting between alleyways. That’s all it is.

Still… your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag as you push forward, steps quicker now. But the feeling doesn’t go away. It lingers. Pressing against your skin like static, buzzing at the edge of your awareness. You’re not alone.

You almost pull out your phone. Almost. Jungkook would pick up in an instant and he’d tell you to stay on the line, that he was coming to get you. But you don’t.

Because what would you even say? Hey, I think I’m being followed, but I’m not sure, and I don’t want to sound like an idiot? No way. Jungkook would freak out, and you weren’t about to send him into a panic over something that was probably nothing. So instead, you pick up your pace, each step sharper, more urgent. The streetlights above seem dimmer now, their glow barely cutting through the shadows pooling at the edges of the road.

Your building is just a few turns away. You make it past the first one, then the second. Then you hear it again—not just a sound this time, but a shift, a presence. Someone is there. Your heart hammers as you whip around faster this time.

Nothing.

Your own shadow stretches long on the pavement, its shape warping under the flickering lights. The alleyway to your right is yawning and dark, a gaping mouth of blackness that seems to pull at the edges of your vision. Your pulse is a thunderous roar in your ears.

You’re not imagining this. This is real.

And now, your body knows it too and every instinct is screaming at you to move. So you do.

You rush forward, walking as fast as you can without breaking into a sprint. Your breath quickens, your fingers curling into fists, every nerve in your body on high alert. Just a little further. Just one more turn.

And then finally your apartment building comes into view, looming in the darkness like a beacon. Relief crashes over you so forcefully that you nearly stumble. You don’t turn around again. You don’t want to know if someone is standing there. Watching.

You force yourself to stay calm as you punch in the building’s entry code with unsteady fingers, stepping inside the safety of the lobby. The door shuts behind you with a heavy click, locking out the night.

You practically rush inside, the cool air of the lobby offering little comfort as your fingers tremble over the keypad. Your breath is shallow, coming in uneven gasps as you punch in your passcode. The numbers blur slightly in your vision, whether from exhaustion or the lingering tension clawing at your mind, you’re not sure. The beep of the lock disengaging feels deafening in the stillness. You push the door open, stepping inside so quickly that you nearly stumble over your own feet. The door swings shut behind you with a soft but final click, sealing you in the safety of your apartment. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

For a moment, you just stand there, listening. Nothing but the hum of your refrigerator, the faint creak of the building settling, and the sound of your own breathing, ragged and uneven in the silence. You don’t stop moving until every lock is in place.

Click. Click. Click.

Each one echoes louder than it should, like an affirmation that you are, in fact, secure. That no one followed you. That no one is outside, waiting. Still, the unease gnaws at you, refusing to settle. So, you make your rounds. Checking. Double-checking. Triple-checking.

You pull the curtains shut, firmly, ensuring no sliver of the outside world can seep in. You check the windows next, pressing your fingers against the glass, as if expecting to feel warmth from another presence, a breath on the other side. But there’s nothing. No shadow moving in the darkness, no faint imprint of something or someone having been there.

Finally, with a deep breath, you force yourself to move, shedding your coat, kicking off your shoes with sluggish movements. The exhaustion from the long day crashes down on you all at once, dull and heavy. Your limbs feel leaden as you shuffle toward your bedroom, every step slower than the last.

The warmth of your bed is almost enough to chase away the unease, the mattress soft, inviting and safe a stark contrast to the cold anxiety curling at the edges of your consciousness. You exhale, forcing yourself to relax, letting your body sink into the familiar comfort of your sheets.

But even as your eyes grow heavy, your mind refuses to let go completely. That nagging sense of being watched still lingers. Faint but present. And just before sleep claims you, a final thought slithers through your mind.

What if you weren’t imagining it? What if someone was still out there? Watching. Waiting.

Jungkook drives with effortless ease, one hand lazily gripping the steering wheel while the other taps against the radio in rhythm with the song playing softly through the speakers. The hum of the engine blends with the melody, filling the quiet space between you, neither of you needing to speak. The road stretches ahead, endless and open, disappearing into the horizon. A faint trace of salt lingers in the air, creeping in through the half-open window, a quiet reminder that you’re getting closer to Busan.

You sit in the passenger seat, your gaze flickering between the blur of passing scenery and the man beside you. The steady motion of the car, the warmth of the moment, it all feels oddly soothing. After days of unease, of tension wound so tightly in your body that even sleep felt like a battle, you finally feel yourself exhale.

“Can’t believe you actually agreed to take a day off for me,” Jungkook teases, his grin nothing short of triumphant as he spares you a glance. “Is this what love does to people?”

You roll your eyes, but the small smile tugging at your lips betrays you. “One time, Jeon. Don’t get used to it.”

Jungkook chuckles, shaking his head like he doesn’t believe you for a second. His smile spreads wide, bright enough to make your chest ache with something unspoken. He reaches over without hesitation, his fingers giving your knee a playful squeeze before returning to the wheel. The touch is fleeting but warm, grounding in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

You should tell him.

The past few days have been unbearable due to the creeping paranoia, the feeling of eyes tracing your every move and the subtle shifts in your apartment that made your skin crawl. It’s like living with a shadow just out of reach, something you can’t see but can feel pressing in from the edges. You don’t scare easily, but this has been different.

Your fingers twitch against your lap. One word. That’s all it would take. Jungkook would listen like he always does. He’d furrow his brows, tilt his head in that concerned way he does, and tell you not to brush it off. He’d probably get all worked up, insist on staying over, refuse to let you out of his sight.

And yet, looking at him now being so carefree, his bunny-like smile tugging at his lips as he taps his fingers against the beat makes you hesitate. He’s happy. Peaceful. This moment is untouched by the weight sitting on your chest, and for once, you don’t want to taint something good.

So you take a slow breath, forcing yourself to relax against the seat. You tell yourself it’s fine. That you’re just being paranoid. That if anything truly happens, you’ll deal with it.

You exhaled slowly, willing yourself to stay in the present, to focus on the soft hum of the radio, the rhythmic tap of Jungkook’s fingers against the steering wheel. But the memory pulled at you, dragging you under before you could stop it—

You had come home after another long day at work. Your shoulders were aching from hours spent hunched over your desk. You had barely registered the familiar scent of your apartment as you pushed the door open, the soft creak echoing into the stillness inside.

Everything had looked normal at first.

Your shoes sat neatly by the entrance, exactly where you had left them. The kitchen counter was cluttered with the remnants of that morning’s rushed breakfast.

But the air had felt… different. Slightly off. As if someone had been there. Your heartbeat had stumbled, picking up speed before you could rationalize it. You had told yourself it was nothing. Just the exhaustion making you paranoid.

And yet, as you had stepped further inside, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. The sound was the first thing that struck you. Cheerful, repetitive, out of place.

Your TV was on.

Not just on but playing Mario Kart. The character selection screen looped in the background, the upbeat jingle clashing against the heavy silence that filled your apartment. You hadn’t touched your console in days. Not since you and Jungkook played together last Sunday. Your pulse quickened.

Your eyes flickered to the couch. It had been moved just slightly. Barely an inch out of place, but enough for you to notice.

A slow, creeping unease settled into your bones as you stepped further inside, your movements cautious. Your apartment wasn’t large. There weren’t many places for someone to hide. And yet, your skin prickled with the overwhelming sensation that something or someone had been here.

Your breath hitched as your gaze fell on your bedroom door, slightly ajar. You had closed it that morning. You were sure of it. With measured steps, you pushed the door open fully. And that’s when you saw it.

Your bed—completely in ruins. The sheets were tangled, pillows tossed carelessly, the once-smooth blankets now bunched in the center as if someone had been lying there. Your stomach twisted with unease because this morning, just before leaving for work, you had made your bed. Yet now, the sheets were rumpled, disturbed in a way that sent a chill crawling up your spine. Someone had been here.

Your pulse thundered in your ears as you took a shaky step back, your eyes darting around the room. Everything looked normal aside from the bed, the couch and the TV but the air felt wrong. Tainted. Like someone had occupied this space in your absence.

Your mind raced as you checked the locks. Still in place. No broken windows. No signs of forced entry.

So how— Your breath hitched as a thought struck you. With trembling fingers, you grabbed your phone and immediately dialed Jungkook. He picked up after a few rings, his voice slightly breathless, like he had been running. “Hey, baby. Everything okay?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, gripping the phone tightly. “Yeah,” you lied, forcing your voice to stay steady. “Where are you right now?”

"Still at the clinic," he answered easily. "Was assisting with a surgery on a Pomeranian. Poor guy had a blockage so it took longer than expected." Your stomach dropped.

If Jungkook wasn’t here… then who was?

Your fingers curled around your phone, knuckles whitening as you fought to keep your breathing even. “Got it,” you said, trying to sound casual. “Just checking.” There was a pause. Then, Jungkook’s tone softened. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.” Another lie. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Before he could press further, you ended the call.

The only sound left was the distant loop of Mario Kart, mocking you.

The weight of the memory lingered, suffocating, but the warmth of the car, the low hum of the radio, and Jungkook’s familiar presence slowly pulled you back. You blinked, staring at him.

Jungkook was happily rambling about his mom’s cooking, hands moving animatedly as he drove. “—and she always makes extra, like extra extra, because she knows I eat a lot. But now she’s even more excited since you’re coming—oh! She even tried making those cookies you love—”

His voice was light, full of an excitement you didn’t want to taint. A small part of you wanted to tell him. But another part, the part that didn’t want to see that deep crease of concern on his forehead, didn’t want to take away his peace, told you to keep it to yourself. For now.

You turned your head, looking out the window, watching the scenery blur past. You didn’t notice the way Jungkook’s eyes flickered toward you, his brows knitting together for just a moment before he forced his usual smile back onto his face.

Jungkook pulled into the driveway, parking with practiced ease. You had been here more times than you could count, yet there was always something comforting about stepping into his childhood home like the faint scent of home-cooked meals wafting through the air and the familiar sight of the wind chime swaying gently by the door.

Jungkook turned to you with a grin, one hand still resting on the steering wheel. “Mom probably made enough food to feed a small army.”

You chuckled, already knowing that was true. “She always does.”

Before you could even step out of the car, the front door swung open, revealing his mom waving enthusiastically. “You’re finally here! Hurry, come in before the food gets cold!” His mom pulled you into a hug the second you stepped inside, squeezing you tight.

“You’ve lost weight,” she huffed, pulling back just enough to inspect you with a critical eye. “Are you eating properly?”

Jungkook groaned beside you, already exasperated. “She’s fine, Mom.”

You laughed, but before you could respond, his dad stepped forward with a warm smile, offering a firm handshake. “It’s good to see you again,” he said, his voice as steady and kind as ever.

“It’s good to see you too, Mr. Jeon,” you replied politely. “Mrs. Jeon, thank you for having me—”

Before you could finish, his mom smacked your arm lightly, her expression scandalized. “Yah! How many times do I have to tell you? It’s Mom and Dad.”

Your face heated instantly. “R-Right. Sorry… Mom.”

Jungkook snickered under his breath at your obvious embarrassment, and his mom beamed, clearly pleased. “That’s better,” she said, linking her arm with yours as she led you further inside. “You’re family, sweetheart. No need for formalities.”

The house smelled incredible of rich simmering broth and freshly cooked rice. The warmth of it all settled deep in your chest, making you realize just how much you had missed this. As you stepped into the living room, your gaze landed on a few baby toys scattered near the couch, a soft blanket draped over the armrest. Before you could ask, his mom sighed.

“Junghyun and his wife wanted to come with the twins, but the girls were too fussy today.”

Jungkook pouted dramatically, crossing his arms. “I still haven’t met my nieces.”

His mom shook her head, unimpressed. “You could visit them, you know.”

“I will,” Jungkook mumbled, already defeated. “Just… eventually.”

The dining table was packed with dishes his mom had gone all out, as always. Various side dishes, steaming hot soup, perfectly grilled meat, and a mountain of rice sat invitingly before you. It was a feast, one you had grown familiar with over the years, yet it never failed to impress you. Before you could even reach for anything, Jungkook was already piling food onto your plate, stacking it with precision. “Eat,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You know the rules.”

His mom beamed, clearly pleased. “At least someone in this house listens to me.”

You chuckled, picking up your chopsticks, but the moment was shattered when your phone lit up beside your plate, vibrating with an insistent ping. You glanced down, your stomach twisting into a knot.

Your pulse quickened. The messages came one after the other.

Unknown [1:10 PM]: You think you can stay safe by staying away from here? Unknown [1:10 PM]: You think he’s gonna save you? Unknown [1:10 PM]: I am always watching you, doll.

Your breath hitched. Cold fingers of unease crawled up your spine, but you forced yourself to stay composed. Your hands thankfully didn’t shake as you turned your phone upside down and set it to silent. Jungkook had noticed. His gaze flickered to the screen before you flipped it over, his brows knitting together in quiet concern. He looked like he wanted to ask, but you didn’t give him the chance.

The vibration had caught his parents’ attention too. “Oh dear, is that work?” his mom asked, concern lacing her voice.

“Yeah,” you lied smoothly, forcing a small smile. “Just some messages I need to deal with later.”

You weren’t sure if Jungkook believed you, but he didn’t press. Instead, he reached out under the table, squeezing your knee reassuringly before focusing back on his food. You tried to do the same, pushing down the paranoia clawing at your chest.

Dinner flowed with easy conversation. His parents asked about your work, laughing when Jungkook grumbled about how much time it took away from him. They also teased him relentlessly about how attached he was to you.

“Three years, and he still acts like you’re going to disappear if he looks away,” his dad joked, shaking his head fondly.

You snickered, nudging Jungkook’s foot under the table.

But Jungkook just shrugged, completely unbothered. “Can you blame me?” he said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Dinner continued with warmth and laughter, his parents seamlessly shifting the conversation to Jungkook’s studies.

“So, how’s school going?” his dad asked, scooping some more rice onto his plate. “Third year already, huh? Feels like just yesterday you were running around pretending to be a zookeeper.” Jungkook groaned. “Dad.”

His mom chuckled. “What? You were obsessed with animals. You even tried to ‘rescue’ the neighbor’s cat by sneaking it into your room.”

You gasped dramatically, turning to Jungkook. “Wait, I didn’t know about this!”

Jungkook sighed, shoving a bite of food into his mouth like he could physically escape the conversation. “That was years ago.”

His dad laughed. “And now look at you, halfway to becoming a real vet.”

“Not halfway,” Jungkook corrected between bites. “But yeah, it’s been tough. Classes are intense, and the practicals are even harder. Two days ago, I had to assist with a surgery, and let’s just say I wasn’t prepared for how long it would take.”

His mom’s eyes softened with pride. “You’ll be amazing, sweetheart. You’ve always had such a big heart for animals.”

Jungkook ducked his head, ears tinged pink. You smiled, nudging his foot under the table again. “She’s right, you know. You’re going to be an incredible vet.”

Jungkook glanced at you, his bunny-like smile appearing for just a second before he returned to his food. But the warmth of the moment did little to push away the unease creeping up your spine. The phone lay silent beside your plate, but you couldn’t shake the eerie feeling.

Just as the conversation was settling into a warm, familiar rhythm, the front door slammed open with the force of a small explosion.

“The prodigal son returns!”

Jungkook groaned, not even bothering to look. “Why. Are. You. Here.”

Jin strutted in like he was making a grand entrance at an award show, tossing his jacket onto the couch with an unnecessary flourish. “Heard there was food,” he announced before turning to you with a smirk. “And obviously, I had to make sure my dear cousin hasn’t scared you off yet.”

Jungkook scoffed. “You scared me off first.”

Jin ignored him completely, already making a beeline for the dining table. His mom, unfazed by the theatrics, clapped her hands together. “Oh, perfect timing! Sit, eat.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Jin said cheerfully, dropping into the seat beside you. He grabbed a pair of chopsticks like a warrior unsheathing his sword, ready for battle.

“So,” he drawled, nudging you playfully. “Three years and you still haven’t run for the hills? Impressive.”

You smirked, taking a sip of your drink. “I’ve considered it.”

Jungkook gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like you had personally stabbed him. “Betrayal! In my own home!”

“Technically, it’s our home,” his mom corrected.

“Exactly!” Jin said, pointing his chopsticks at Jungkook before shoving a mouthful of rice into his mouth. Jungkook’s dad, ever the composed one, leaned back in his chair and regarded Jin with an amused shake of his head. “So, how’s the tattoo shop? Are you still working reception?”

Jin waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, that? I quit.”

Jungkook’s mom sighed, as if she had already seen this coming.

Jungkook’s dad pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jin, you just started that job.”

“Yeah, and I just quit that job,” Jin said brightly. “But don’t worry—I’ve moved on to better things.”

Jungkook raised a brow. “Should I even ask?”

“I now work at a pastry shop.” Jin declared, as if he had just announced a groundbreaking scientific discovery.

Jungkook blinked. “You?”

“Yes, me.”

Jungkook’s dad sighed. “Jin, you have to start thinking about stability. You can’t keep jumping from one job to another like this.”

Jin only laughed, waving him off like the thought of responsibility was a foreign concept. “Oh, please. Stability is boring. I get bored too fast—I need thrill, excitement, the rush of something new.”

“You sell croissants,” Jungkook deadpanned.

“And I do it with flair,” Jin shot back, popping a piece of fried chicken into his mouth. “Speaking of which, I brought some samples! The head baker said they were too ‘experimental’ for customers, but I figured you guys would appreciate my artistic vision.” He reached into his coat pocket because of course he carried pastries in his coat pocket and plopped two small, questionably green muffins onto the table.

Jungkook recoiled. “What is that?”

Jin grinned. “Matcha and kimchi fusion.”

Jungkook’s dad sighed again. His mom simply patted Jin’s hand, as if she had long since accepted his chaotic ways. Jin wipes his hands dramatically after placing down his abomination of a pastry creation, then immediately turns to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“So,” he starts, leaning in with the air of someone about to cause chaos. “On a scale of one to dear god, someone save me, how difficult is he to live with?”

You barely have time to react before he fires off another.

“Any plans to upgrade from ‘boyfriend’ status?” Jin asks, voice dripping with faux innocence.

Jungkook chokes so hard on his food that you have to thump his back. His mom gasps in concern, while his dad just continues eating like this is any other Thursday night.

Jin smirks in triumph. “Ah, so is there a wedding?”

Jungkook, still recovering, glares murderously. “You are so not invited to the wedding—”

Jin claps his hands together. “Confirmed!”

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. He grabs a spoonful of rice and hurls it straight at Jin. Jin dodges like a seasoned warrior. “Oh, it’s war now.”

A second later, a piece of kimchi smacks Jungkook right in the cheek. Jungkook gapes at Jin. “You did not—”

“Oh, I did.” Jin wiggles his eyebrows before launching another attack. What starts as a petty sibling squabble escalates into all-out warfare. Jungkook lobs a dumpling; Jin retaliates with a piece of radish. Rice goes flying. You duck just in time to avoid getting hit by a rogue piece of tofu.

“Jeon Jungkook!” his mom shrieks, voice cutting through the chaos like a knife. “Kim Seokjin!”

They both freeze mid-throw, like guilty kids caught red-handed.

His dad sighs, a long and tired sigh, the kind that speaks of years of dealing with this exact scenario. He calmly reaches for his drink. “Can we please have one dinner without someone launching food across the table?”

Jungkook and Jin exchange glances.

Then, as if telepathically synchronized, they both lift their chopsticks and point at each other. “He started it.”

You snort. His mom groans. His dad sips his tea in silent resignation.

The night air is crisp, carrying the distant hum of crickets and the occasional rustling of leaves in the trees that line Jungkook’s backyard. The stars above twinkle through gaps in the branches, their light soft and distant. Out here, away from the city’s chaos, everything feels quieter like the world has shrunk to just the two of you. Jungkook slips an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “Sorry about him.”

You chuckle, leaning into his warmth. “I like him. He makes things interesting.”

“Interesting until he’s grilling you.”

“True,” you admit, grinning. “But I can handle him.”

Jungkook huffs a quiet laugh, resting his chin atop your head. You exhale, letting your eyes flutter shut for a moment, savoring the security of his presence. It’s moments like these that make you forget the paranoia and the unease clawing at the edges of your mind.

But it never truly leaves.

The feeling of being watched. The weight of unseen eyes crawling over your skin. The messages you’ve ignored all night. They all linger in your mind. You glance up at Jungkook. He’s still smiling, talking about how his mom packed you extra leftovers. “She thinks you don’t eat enough,” he says fondly, shaking his head.

You should tell him.

The words sit heavy on your tongue, pressing against your teeth. One sentence, and it would all be out in the open.

But you don’t.

Instead, you nod, forcing a small laugh. “She really doesn’t take no for an answer, huh?”

“Never,” Jungkook confirms, squeezing your waist. His touch is warm, grounding. But even that warmth doesn’t reach the cold pit in your stomach.

“Jungkook!” His dad’s voice calls from inside. “Come here for a second.”

Jungkook groans, reluctant to move. “Stay here, I’ll be back,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before disappearing inside.

The moment he’s gone, the silence presses in. You hesitate before pulling out your phone, unlocking it with a swipe of your thumb. The notifications are still there, messages from Unknown piled up like unanswered warnings.

The last one catches your eye.

Unknown [1:10 PM]: I am always watching you, doll.

Your breath stutters.

The phone suddenly feels heavy in your hands, like a weight dragging you down into something inescapable.

No.

Your pulse pounds in your ears, drowning out the gentle chirping of crickets, drowning out reason. A suffocating sense of dread settles in your chest as you stare at the word, doll. There was only one person who ever called you that.

Only one voice that had whispered it against your skin, had laughed it into your ear, had let it drip from his tongue like a slow poison.

Kim Taehyung.

The room was thick with the stench of alcohol and sweat, the air heavy with cigarette smoke that coiled toward the ceiling in lazy spirals. Dim lighting flickered from a dying bulb, casting long, distorted shadows across the stained walls.

Taehyung sat slouched in a tattered armchair, his body sinking into the worn-out fabric. His limbs felt like lead, the weight of intoxication pressing down on him, making his movements sluggish, his thoughts hazy. A half-empty bottle dangled loosely from his fingers, the condensation dripping onto his jeans, but he barely noticed.

Around him, his friends were strewn across the room in various states of intoxication, some laughing at nothing, their voices slurred and senseless, while others lay sprawled out, lost to the world. Taehyung exhaled a slow, heavy breath. Everything felt distant and detached until a stray thought cut through the fog: you.

His lazy smirk faltered. His fingers twitched against the armrest, tightening before relaxing again. His vision blurred at the edges, but the memories were sharp. Unwelcome. Unrelenting. His jaw clenched. He willed himself to push it away, drown it in the haze, let the high carry him somewhere else. But it never worked.

It never did when it came to you. His body was here, slouched in a torn armchair, but his mind was somewhere else. Three years ago.

"I don’t love you anymore."

The scent of espresso and warm pastries was suffocating. The quiet hum of conversation around them felt like static in his ears. But none of it fucking mattered. Not when you were sitting across from him, staring at him like he was nothing.

The words barely registered at first. His mind lagged behind reality like a glitching tape, playing back a version of events where this wasn’t happening.

"What?" His voice was sharp, disbelieving. "What the fuck did you just say?"

Your gaze didn’t waver. "I said I don’t love you."

The words cut. They didn’t hit all at once they sank in slowly, like a blade sliding between ribs.

Taehyung laughed. "Bullshit."

He leaned forward, jaw tight, fingers curling into the edge of the table. "You’re being dramatic. You always do this shit when you want attention."

Your expression didn’t change, but something about it made his stomach turn. You weren’t crying. You weren’t shaking. There was no hesitation or guilt or any of the things he had relied on to keep you in line. This wasn’t like before.

Your voice was flat. "You ruined this, Tae. You ruined me."

His laugh was louder this time, bitter and sharp. "Oh, so I’m the villain now? After everything I did for you?"

"Everything you did to me."

His breath stuttered.

And then you kept going. You fucking kept going.

"You controlled me. You isolated me. You made me feel like I was insane every time I called you out on your bullshit."

His hands curled into fists. "Oh, fuck off—"

"You threatened me, Tae. You threw shit. You punched walls, grabbed me so fucking hard I had bruises for days. And every time, you’d crawl back, begging, saying you didn’t mean it—"

His teeth clenched, fury bubbling beneath his skin. "Because I didn’t!"

"You dangled your own life over my head like a leash."

His blood turned cold, the first sliver of panic slicing through the rage that had consumed him moments ago. He wasn’t winning. The realization struck hard. His grip tightened on the table, nails digging into the cheap wood as if he was bracing for impact. You weren’t supposed to fucking say that. You weren’t supposed to know.

He forced a laugh, but it came out desperate. "And what, you're suddenly a fucking therapist? Psychoanalyzing me like I’m some fucking monster?"

Your voice was quiet, but it sliced straight through him.

"I don’t need to psychoanalyze you, Taehyung. I lived through you."

The air left his lungs. His vision blurred at the edges, rage and panic clashing, drowning him.

All of a sudden, ‘his’ name fell from your lips like a gunshot.

Jungkook? That pathetic little nerd? The one he used to shove into lockers, humiliate just for the fun of it? The same one who flinched if someone raised their voice too loud?

He let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh, but there was nothing funny about this. His hands shook from the effort of holding himself back.

"So that’s what you’ve been doing, huh?" His voice was sharp, venomous. "Nursing him back to health after I fucked him up?"

You exhaled, shaking your head, unimpressed.

Then, he snapped. "You fucked him, didn’t you?"

He spat the words like a curse, like they burned his tongue. Even as he said it, he knew you wouldn’t. You were a self-righteous bitch with all your morals, your bullshit standards. You wouldn’t dare. But the thought of it, the idea of you with him made his head spin, made his vision go dark at the edges.

His voice dropped to a hiss. "That little fucking loser? You let him touch you? You let him—"

His hands ached. He wanted to grab you, to shake you, to make you look at him.

"He’s a pussy, doll." His voice cracked, something wild and desperate bleeding through. "He won’t take care of you like I did."

You scoffed, expression unreadable. "You never took care of me, Tae."

"What the fuck does he have that I don’t?" His voice rose, teetering between fury and desperation. "Tell me."

You just stared at him, and that look—that fucking look—

It was over.

It was fucking over.

Panic clawed at his ribs, lodged itself in his throat, made his vision blur and his hands shake. So he did what he always did when he lost control.

"I’ll kill myself if you leave me."

The words came out fast and sharp, a desperate lifeline thrown into the storm. It had always worked before, always made you hesitate, always made you stay. But this time, you simply exhaled a breath of relief, as if you had finally broken free.

And then, for the first time, you smiled.

"Look at you." Your voice was soft. Almost pitying. "Still trying to manipulate me."

Something inside him snapped.

His vision blurred, his body moved and the next thing he knew, the coffee cup on the table was in pieces, shattered porcelain scattering across the floor.

The café had gone silent.

The whole fucking world had gone silent.

You stood, your chair scraping against the tile. Unbothered.

You walked away. No hesitation. No tears. No fucking remorse.

And for the first time, Taehyung had nothing.

Nothing left to say. Nothing left to hold onto.

The cigarette burned down to the filter, searing his fingers. He didn’t flinch. Taehyung’s jaw clenched, knuckles turning white as his fists curled against the armrest. The high didn’t feel so numbing anymore, just agitating. His skin felt too tight, his thoughts too sharp, too loud.

For almost a year, he had drowned you out with drugs, alcohol, distractions, anything to blur the edges of what you had done to him. To make himself forget the way you walked away without looking back. But the moment he saw you again it all came rushing back.

The obsession. The hunger. The need to undo it all.

You thought you walked away for good?

No. You were always his. Even when you hated him. Even when you ran. And now he was going to take back what was his.

One way or another.

After returning from Busan, you stayed over at Jungkook’s place.

You didn’t want to sleep alone. Not after the messages. The number was blocked now. You hadn’t received anything since. But still… you didn’t feel comfortable going back home yet.

Jungkook hadn’t questioned it. He just smiled and let you in, happy to have you around. But the more time you spent with him, the harder it became to ignore the guilt settling in your chest.

Because Jungkook didn’t know.

You hadn’t told him about the messages. About the unease creeping up your spine every time your phone vibrated. About the name that had resurfaced in the form of a single word:

“Doll.”

It shouldn’t have meant anything. Anyone could use that word. It was common, impersonal.

But not to you.

Not when you could still hear his voice saying it. Not when you remembered how it had dripped from Taehyung’s lips sometimes sweet, sometimes cruel.

“Be good for me, doll.” “You know I only act like this because I love you, doll.” “You’re nothing without me, doll.”

The thought alone made your stomach churn. You weren’t even sure if it was him. Maybe it was just paranoia. Maybe it was just a coincidence.

Yeah. It had to be. So you pushed it down, shoved it into the corners of your mind where you didn’t have to look at it. You told yourself you were keeping this from Jungkook to protect him.

But now, as you sit at your office desk, your mind is miles away from the reports in front of you. You tap your pen against the surface, gaze unfocused.

You don’t notice Jimin watching you from across the room until he finally speaks.

“Everything okay between you and Jungkook?”

You blink, snapping out of your daze. “What?”

Jimin leans against your desk, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “You seem off. Thought maybe you two had a fight or something.”

You force a small laugh, shaking your head. “No, nothing like that. Everything’s fine.”

Jimin doesn’t look convinced. His sharp gaze lingers for a second too long, like he’s waiting for you to crack. But he doesn’t press.

And you’re grateful for that.

Lunchtime rolls around when you finally check your phone.

The morning had been filled with client meetings, thankful for the welcome distraction. For a few hours, you managed to keep your mind from spiraling. But the moment your screen lights up with a string of unread messages from an unknown number, reality crashes back in.

Your stomach plummets.

Unknown [10:28 AM]: Did you really think blocking me would make me disappear, doll? Unknown [10:28 AM]: How cute. Almost as cute as you playing house with your little pet. Unknown [10:29 AM]: Speaking of pets… your boyfriend’s been working so hard. Diligently studying to save all those poor, dying animals. Unknown [10:30 AM]: How pathetic. Unknown [10:31 AM]: Wanna see?

Your breath catches.

The next message has three images attached. With shaking fingers, you tap them open.

First image: Jungkook in class, focused, scribbling down notes. Second image: Him in the lab, sleeves rolled up, handling equipment with practiced ease. Third image: Now. Jungkook at lunch, head slightly tilted as he listens to someone, chopsticks resting in his hand.

Your blood turns to ice as your vision tunnels, the world narrowing to a single horrifying realization—Jungkook is right there. Someone… no, not just anyone. It has to be Taehyung. He is near. He is watching. And if he is close enough to take these photos, then he is close enough to do something worse. Your phone nearly slips from your grip as pure, heart-stopping terror crashes into you. Jungkook is in danger. The first message was sent almost an hour ago, which means Taehyung has been near him this whole time. Watching him. Stalking him.

Your first instinct is to call the cops. Your fingers hover over the dial pad, heart hammering until your screen lights up again. As if he had been waiting for you to see his messages.

Unknown [12:01 PM]: I know what you’re thinking, doll. Unknown [12:01 PM]: Call the cops, and I’ll slit your pretty boyfriend’s throat right where he sits.

Your breath locks in your chest, hands trembling so violently you almost drop your phone.

No. No, no, no.

You don’t think you just move.

You bolt out of your office, barely registering Jimin calling after you. His voice is distant, but you can’t stop. You don’t have time. You race to your car, hands fumbling with the keys as you throw yourself into the driver’s seat. The second the engine roars to life, you’re speeding down the street, ignoring every traffic rule, every red light.

There’s only one thought pounding in your skull, louder than the frantic beat of your heart—

Get to Jungkook. Now.

You pull up to Jungkook’s university, barely throwing the car into park before shoving the door open. Your legs feel unsteady as you rush out, breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. Your hands tremble as you fumble with your phone, fingers slipping as you dial Jungkook’s number again and again. No answer. You try once more, the ringing tone stretching unbearably before it goes to voicemail.

The campus is alive with movement students chatting, laughing and going about their day, blissfully unaware of the sheer terror gripping you. You push through the crowd, scanning faces wildly, your heart pounding against your ribs. Where is Jungkook?

People glance at you, their whispers buzzing at the edge of your hearing, but you don’t care. You try his number again. Still nothing.

A sickening thought slithers into your mind— What if Taehyung already got to him? What if you’re too late?

Finally, your eyes land on him.

Jungkook stands in the courtyard, laughing with a couple of friends, completely oblivious to the danger shadowing him. The world around you blurs as relief crashes over you like a tidal wave.

Alive. Unharmed.

Your knees almost buckle, the tension in your body unravelling just enough for you to let out a sharp, shaky exhale. Your breath stutters as the panic begins to subside, but the urgency still thrums beneath your skin. Then Jungkook sees you.

His laughter dies mid-sentence, his brows knitting together in concern as his eyes rake over your disheveled form. His friends glance at you curiously, but Jungkook is already moving toward you.

"Y/N?" His voice is gentle but urgent. "What’s wrong?"

You shake your head quickly, forcing a weak, unconvincing smile. "It’s nothing," you say, voice tight. "But we need to leave. Now."

Jungkook blinks, his confusion evident. "What? I have an afternoon lecture."

You tighten your grip on his wrist, desperation seeping into your voice. "Jungkook, please. We need to go home."

His brows draw together, concern deepening in his soft gaze. "Why?" His voice remains gentle, but there's a quiet insistence beneath it. "What’s going on?"

When you don’t answer, Jungkook exhales softly before taking your hand, leading you away from the courtyard and into a quieter corner. His touch is firm but never forceful.

"Y/N, talk to me." His voice is barely above a whisper, but there’s an edge of worry to it. "What’s wrong?" His dark eyes search yours, trying to unravel the truth you refuse to say.

You swallow, avoiding his gaze. "It’s nothing, I swear—"

His jaw tightens, his fingers twitching at his sides. "That’s not true."

Jungkook doesn’t raise his voice, but the frustration is clear. He takes a slow step closer, his warmth now suffocating. "You’ve been acting different for weeks. Distant. Jumpy. And now you show up here looking like you’ve seen a ghost and expect me to just go along with it?"

You flinch at the quiet intensity in his words, but still, you don’t answer. Jungkook’s voice rises just a little, but the hurt in it is undeniable. “Do you not trust me?”

You bite your lip, guilt pressing down on your chest like a heavy weight. “Of course I do, Jungkook, it’s just—”

“Then tell me.” His fingers rake through his hair, his brows drawn together, frustration flickering in his dark eyes. But his voice stays soft, laced with something almost pleading.

“I’m not a child, Y/N.”

The words land harder than you expect, sinking deep. Silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken truths and the weight of his quiet disappointment. You know you should tell him. You should warn him. But… you can’t.

Jungkook exhales slowly, his jaw tightening as he watches you struggle with whatever it is you’re refusing to say. His frustration is evident, but his voice remains gentle, laced with quiet insistence.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on,” he says firmly. “If you won’t, I’ll just stay here.”

Your stomach drops. No. He can’t stay here. Not when you know Taehyung is watching. “Jungkook, please,” you whisper, gripping his wrist tighter.

“Then tell me, Y/N.” His gaze softens, but the unwavering determination in his eyes sends a surge of panic through you. You have no choice. You have to tell him something—anything—just to get him to listen.

“Someone’s been watching you,” you admit in a rush, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know who, but it’s not safe.”

Jungkook stiffens. His expression shifts from frustration to shock, then to something unreadable. “Watching me?” he echoes. “Y/N, what—why wouldn’t you tell me earlier?”

You look away, guilt gnawing at you. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s still skeptical, still confused, but he can see the genuine fear in your eyes. And that alone is enough to make him give in.

“Alright,” he finally murmurs. “Let’s go.”

Relief washes over you, but just as you think you’ve convinced him to leave, your phone vibrates. It's another message.

Unknown [12:17 PM]: Ah, there you are, doll. So desperate to save your boyfriend? Cute. But I’m not done playing yet.

Your breath hitches.

Taehyung is watching you right now. Your fingers tighten around your phone as your eyes dart around the campus, paranoia seeping into your every movement.

Jungkook immediately catches the way your face drains of all color. His fingers gently close around your wrist before you can react, his other hand swiftly taking your phone from your grip.

“Jungkook, wait—”

But it’s too late. His eyes scan the message, and you feel his entire body go still. His brows knit together, his lips parting slightly as he rereads the words, processing the threat laced between them.

“Who…” His voice is quiet at first, controlled. Then, a little sharper. “Who the hell is this?”

You swallow hard, panic clawing at your chest. You should’ve been more careful. But now there’s no avoiding it. Jungkook looks up at you, eyes searching. “Y/N,” he says softly, but there’s an undeniable firmness in his tone. “Tell me.”

You take a shaky breath, forcing the words out before you can hesitate.

“I… I think it’s Taehyung.”

Jungkook blinks. For a moment, he just stares at you like you’ve said something completely incomprehensible. Then, he shakes his head, a disbelieving scoff leaving his lips.

“Taehyung?” He lets out a breath, his brows furrowing. “No. That’s impossible. We haven’t seen him in years.”

You can see the way his mind is racing, trying to rationalize it, trying to convince himself that it can’t be true. But then piece by piece it all starts to click. The way you’ve been acting. The paranoia. The half-truths. Everything makes sense now.

Jungkook’s expression shifts, his grip tightening slightly around your phone. He looks at you again, this time with quiet intensity. “Tell me everything.”

You take a deep, unsteady breath and finally let it all out. Every message. Every chilling threat. The way Taehyung has been watching, lurking in the shadows, getting closer and closer. How you’ve been living in constant fear, too terrified to sleep, too paranoid to breathe. How you blocked him, but he always found a way back. The photos of Jungkook the proof showing that Taehyung has been near him all along.

Jungkook doesn’t say a word. He just listens. His hands slowly curl into fists at his sides, his jaw tightening, but his eyes stay locked on you, soft and unwavering. By the time you finish, your throat is tight, and your vision blurs slightly. You blink rapidly, forcing back the tears threatening to spill. You quickly wipe at your eyes before Jungkook can notice.

But he does.

Without a word, he steps forward and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his warmth. You freeze for a second, startled, but then you let yourself sink into the embrace. His arms are strong and steady, anchoring you as if he’s shielding you from everything that’s been haunting you.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice softer than ever. “You don’t have to hold it in, Y/N.”

Your breath shudders. “I-I’m fine,” you whisper, even though your grip on his hoodie tightens. Jungkook shakes his head slightly. “No, you’re not. And that’s okay.” His hand runs up and down your back in slow, soothing motions. “You don’t always have to be strong on your own.”

Something in you cracks at his words. A single tear slips down your cheek, and this time, you don’t wipe it away. Jungkook holds you tighter, his voice firm but gentle. “You should’ve told me sooner.”

“I know,” you whisper. “I was scared.”

“I get that.” He exhales, resting his chin lightly on top of your head. “But you’re not alone in this. I’m here now. And I won’t let him hurt you.”

When you finally pull away, his hands stay on your shoulders, grounding you. Now, you have to decide.

Go to the police? It’s the logical choice, but Taehyung already made it clear what would happen if you did. Jungkook’s life isn’t something you’re willing to gamble with. Confront Taehyung yourself? It’s reckless, dangerous, and probably a mistake. But part of you feels like it’s the only way to put an end to this.

Jungkook watches your face carefully, reading the thoughts swirling in your head. Then, his jaw tightens, his voice steady but firm. “If you think I’m letting you do this alone, you’re out of your mind.”

For the first time in weeks, the suffocating loneliness eases because no matter what happens next, Jungkook is with you. Suddenly your phone vibrates again.

Unknown [12:51 PM]: Such a heartwarming moment. But how far will he go to protect you?

And then another message. A photo.

It’s a picture of you and Jungkook. Right now.

He’s still here.

"Y/N?" Jungkook’s voice is soft but sharp with concern. "What is it?"

You turn the phone toward him, and the moment he sees the message, his entire body stiffens. His jaw clenches, fingers curling into fists. His voice is low but firm when he speaks.

"We’re leaving. Now."

You don’t argue.

Jungkook grabs your wrist, pulling you through the crowd of students, his grip tight but reassuring. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you scan the area frantically, eyes darting from face to face.

But you don’t see him. He could be anywhere.

Jungkook doesn’t slow down until you reach his car. He unlocks it in a rush, practically shoving you inside before slamming the door shut behind him. His hands grip the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. Only when he locks the doors and exhales a shaky breath does he turn to look at you.

"He’s here, Y/N." His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it.

You swallow hard, gripping your phone. "I know."

Jungkook starts the car. "We’re going home. Then we figure out our next move." You nod, but the unease lingers.

Because Taehyung isn’t done playing yet.

Jungkook paces the length of his living room, fingers running through his hair in frustration. You sit on the couch, gripping your phone tightly, going over every possible option. Jungkook is still talking, still trying to come up with a solid plan but his voice fades into the background as your eyes remain glued to your phone screen.

Unknown [1:37 PM]: Come alone. Midnight. Your apartment. Unknown [1:37 PM]: Don’t make me repeat myself, doll.

Your grip on the phone tightens. Your pulse roars in your ears. If Jungkook sees this, there’s no way he’ll let you go. He’ll insist on coming with you. And that’s exactly what Taehyung wants, a reason to hurt him. Swallowing hard, you quickly lock your phone and shove it into your pocket before Jungkook notices.

“Y/N?”

You snap back to reality to find Jungkook watching you carefully. “Yeah?”

“I was saying…” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe we should stay at a hotel tonight. Just in case. I don’t want you anywhere near that apartment if Taehyung’s been watching you.”

Your stomach churns with guilt, but you shake your head. “No. I think we should just stay and act normal. If we start running now, he’ll know we’re scared.”

Jungkook’s eyes darken. “We are scared, Y/N.”

You force a small, tired smile. “But we can’t let him know that.”

He exhales, clearly frustrated but unable to argue. “Fine. But I’m not letting you out of my sight.” You nod, pretending to agree.

But deep down, you already know that the moment Jungkook falls asleep tonight, you’re leaving.

Alone.

It’s a little past midnight when you finally slip out of Jungkook’s apartment.

You hesitate at the door, glancing back at his sleeping form. Even in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, you can see the tension on his face. He had been restless for hours, his body stiff with unease, as if sensing that something was wrong.

You had pretended to fall asleep just so he could relax. It worked eventually. But now, as you step out into the cold night, a bitter weight settles in your chest.

Jungkook would never forgive you for this.

But this is the only way.

You move quickly, keeping to the shadows as you make your way to your apartment. The streets are eerily quiet, the distant hum of the city muffled by the pounding of your heart. Every step you take feels heavier like you're walking toward something inevitable.

Suddenly you hear a second set of footsteps.

You don’t have time to react before a hand clamps over your mouth, muffling your startled gasp.

Before you can struggle, an arm wraps around your waist in a vice-like grip, dragging you off the sidewalk. The world tilts as you're yanked into a dark alleyway. Your pulse hammers against your ribs as you thrash against the hold, but it’s uselessm his grip is unyielding, effortlessly strong.

A low, deep chuckle brushes against your ear, sending a sickening shiver down your spine.

"Took you long enough, doll."

Taehyung had grown impatient waiting for you to show up. Without warning, he forcefully turns you to face him, his grip unrelenting. The sudden contact sends a jolt of fear through you, and seeing him again after all these years feels like being doused in ice water.

Time has changed him, but not enough. His face is still achingly familiar from the sharp jawline, the tattoos that snake up the expanse of his neck to the piercing eyes that burn with something much darker.

A part of you always knew this day would come. You had told yourself that the way Taehyung left without so much as hurting you was too good to be true, but maybe, just maybe he had realised he was in the wrong and disappeared into the past like a bad dream. But now, standing here with his breath hot against your skin, you realize how foolish you were to think he’d ever let you go.

"You thought I wouldn’t come back for you?" he whispers against your ear, his voice sickeningly soft.

Your breath stutters. You try to shove him away, but he’s faster amd stronger. His grip tightens as he forces you back, slamming you against the cold, unforgiving brick wall of the alley. The impact knocks the air from your lungs, and before you can recover, his fingers press into your jaw, tilting your face up toward him.

The streetlamp above casts a sliver of light over him, illuminating the twisted smile on his lips.

"I gave you everything, and you threw me away for him?"

Resentment drips from every word, his voice cracking with something raw.

"I should’ve taught you a lesson years ago."

Your heart hammers in your chest, panic locking your limbs in place. But before you can even react—

A force rips Taehyung away from you, sending him crashing onto the pavement with a brutal thud.

Jungkook stands over him, breath uneven, fists still clenched from the impact. His usual softness is nowhere to be found—his expression is cold, lethal.

“You thought I wouldn’t notice?” His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it that makes the air feel heavier.

Taehyung chuckles darkly. “I knew you’d come running.”

Jungkook doesn’t take the bait. His eyes flick to you, scanning for any sign of injury, before settling back on Taehyung with something dangerously close to disgust.

“You don’t get to lay a hand on her,” Jungkook says, his voice steady. “Not now. Not ever.”

Taehyung chuckles again, pushing himself up with an air of arrogance. He rolls his shoulders, cracking his knuckles as if this is all a joke to him.

"You?" He scoffs, eyes glinting with amusement. "Defending her?" His gaze flickers to you, sharp and accusing. "I bet she never even told you what she did to me."

Jungkook doesn’t flinch nor does he hesitate. His voice is calm, unwavering. "She didn’t do anything." He steps forward, eyes locked onto Taehyung like he’s daring him to try again. "I know she’s mine. And I know you’re just a lying, manipulative piece of shit."

Taehyung's smirk vanishes.

In a flash, he lunges.

Jungkook barely dodges, twisting to the side just in time, but Taehyung is relentless. He moves fast, and Jungkook isn’t a fighter he doesn’t have brute force or years of experience throwing punches. But what he does have is speed, quick reflexes and the sheer, unshakable will to protect you.

A fist catches Jungkook’s side, making him stagger back, but he barely registers the pain before Taehyung moves toward you again.

And that’s when Jungkook stops thinking.

His hand finds a broken pipe lying in the dirt. In one swift motion, he grips it tight and swings, slamming it straight into Taehyung’s stomach.

A sharp gasp rips from Taehyung’s throat as he doubles over, coughing violently. But he’s not down. Not yet.

Jungkook doesn’t wait. He reaches for you, his fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist. His eyes meet yours, urgent and fierce.

"Run."

The pounding of your footsteps echoes against the pavement, your lungs burning as you push yourself to keep running. The night air is thick, every breath heavy with exhaustion and fear.

Behind you, Taehyung is gaining. His ragged breaths cut through the silence, his footsteps unrelenting.

“You think you can run from me?” His voice is sharp, twisted with amusement and fury. A metallic glint catches the dim streetlights indicating he has a knife now.

Panic seizes your chest.

Jungkook’s grip tightens around your wrist. He doesn’t slow, doesn’t hesitate just yanks you sharply to the side. Your vision blurs as he drags you toward a dark, skeletal structure.

A construction site.

You stumble into the half-built building, weaving through stacks of bricks and steel beams. The scent of dust and concrete fills your lungs as you press yourself into the shadows, trying to quiet your frantic breathing.

Jungkook releases you only to crouch down, scanning the ground. His fingers curl around a rusted wrench, heavy in his grip. It’s not much, but it’s something.

“Stay behind me,” he whispers, his voice steady despite the fear you know he must be feeling. Your heart slams against your ribs. Your thoughts are spiralling. You should have been more careful, quieter when slipping out of the house. You can't believe you're the reason Jungkook is in danger, that he is the one standing between you and the threat. It should be you protecting him, not the other way around.

The footsteps slow. Taehyung has followed you inside.

A chilling silence settles over the space.

Then, a low chuckle.

“You can’t hide forever.” His voice is laced with amusement, the scrape of his knife dragging along metal making you flinch. “Come on, Jungkook. You really think you can protect her?”

Jungkook doesn’t move, his stance solid, wrench gripped tightly, shoulders squared. The tension is suffocating, every second stretching unbearably. You don’t dare breathe. Then Taehyung moves. The knife slices through the air.

Jungkook barely dodges, instinct driving his body before his mind catches up. The blade misses him by inches, but there’s no time to think, theres no time to breath, only react.

With everything he has, he swings the wrench. It connects hard against Taehyung’s wrist.

The knife clatters to the ground.

But Jungkook doesn’t stop this time.

His fist collides with Taehyung’s jaw, the impact ringing in the empty construction site. The force of it sends Taehyung staggering back, his body slamming against a stack of bricks. He’s weak now, unsteady, but still smiling like he’s enjoying this.

And then, in a last, desperate attempt, he speaks.

“You really think you’ve changed, Jungkook?” Taehyung breathes, voice laced with mockery. He spits blood onto the dust-covered ground, laughing through the pain. “You’re still the same pathetic kid I used to toy with. Weak. Spineless.”

Jungkook’s breath hitches.

“You’ll never be enough for her.”

The words land heavier than any punch ever could. For a split second, Jungkook falters. The old wounds, the taunts, the bruises, and the humiliation come rushing back. The memories claw at the edges of his mind, threatening to pull him under.

He remembers the way they used to laugh at him, the cruelty in their voices, the way they looked at him like he was nothing. Like he would always be nothing. He was the loser, the punching bag, the boy who never fought back. Every insult had carved itself into his skin, every shove had left something deeper than just bruises. They made him believe it. That he was worthless. That he would never be enough.

And then there was you. You. The only light in the darkness, the only person who had ever looked at him without disgust. He fell so hard, so helplessly in love with you, even though you belonged to Taehyung. It was cruel, really. The way fate played its hand. You were Taehyung’s girlfriend, yet you were the only one who saw Jungkook. The only one who stood up for him when Taehyung and his gang pushed him down. When he was at his lowest, you were there, offering kindness.

But how could you have chosen him? Him? A pathetic loser who had spent years as the butt of every joke, the weakling who was too afraid to fight back. He hears the echoes of their laughter, the mocking whispers that still live inside his head. Maybe they were right. Maybe he really is nothing. Maybe you made a mistake choosing him.

Taehyung’s voice is smooth and insidious, wrapping around him like a noose. The doubt, the shame, the years of self-hatred it all pulls him under, dragging him back to a place he swore he’d never return to. His fists loosen at his sides, his body feels too heavy, like he’s sinking into the past, like he's losing himself all over again.

But then—you.

You, standing behind him. The warmth of your presence, the unwavering belief in your eyes. The way you never once hesitated to love him, to choose him. His heart pounds against his ribs, pushing away the suffocating weight of the past.

No. No.

He is not that boy anymore. He is not weak. And he will not let Taehyung twist his mind, not when he has you to protect.

The hesitation vanishes as Jungkook moves, striking once, then again, each blow fueled by something raw, something deeper than anger—something desperate. His jaw is clenched, muscles taut, as if he is holding back years of something buried deep inside, something he never let himself feel until now. You have never seen him like this. Then another hit. And another.

His knuckles split, blood dripping onto the cold concrete, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. Not until Taehyung stops moving.

The only sound left is Jungkook’s ragged breathing. His chest heaves, his hands shaking.

His eyes, dark and unfocused, burn with an intensity you have never seen before. It is not just fear, nor is it just anger. It is something far more terrifying in its certainty, something that does not waver, something that does not break. It is an unrelenting, all-consuming protectiveness, the kind that leaves no room for hesitation, no space for doubt. And the most haunting part of it all—you know he did it for you.

“Jungkook.”

Your voice is sof t but it cuts through the chaos like a blade.

He freezes.

His chest rises and falls in uneven bursts, his knuckles raw and bloodied. His grip on the wrench trembles, muscles locked so tightly you wonder if he even hears you.

Then he looks at you, and in that moment, something inside him fractures. The fury that had burned so fiercely in his eyes splinters, crumbling into something far more fragile: fear. But it is not fear for himself. It is for you. For what could have happened. For what he almost became.

You take a step closer, carefully, like you’re approaching a wounded animal. His breathing is ragged, his body strung so tight it might snap. But he doesn’t move away when you reach for him.

Fingers brushing against his wrist, you gently pry the wrench from his grip. His hand is still trembling when it slips from his grasp, clattering onto the ground.

“It’s over,” you whisper, your voice steady even as your own hands shake. “I’m okay.”

Jungkook swallows hard, his throat working around unspoken words. The wail of sirens cuts through the heavy silence, distant but growing closer. Someone must have heard the commotion and called the police.

Taehyung groans from where he lies sprawled on the ground, too weak to move, too beaten to fight. But you barely spare him a glance.

Jungkook exhales shakily, his entire body trembling with the aftermath of it all. His fists are still clenched, his knuckles still bleeding, but his eyes are different now.

They are not just the eyes of your sweet, oblivious boyfriend anymore.

He steps closer, hesitant, hands hovering over your arms, your waist, checking, searching, needing to convince himself that you’re still here. That you’re real.

“I could’ve lost you,” he breathes, his voice rough, breaking at the edges.

The weight of his words settles deep in your chest.

You reach up, cupping his face, your thumb skimming over the small cut on his cheek. He flinches at the touch, but not from pain he just wasn’t expecting something so gentle.

“But you didn’t,” you murmur.

Jungkook’s breath shudders out of him. His lashes flutter shut for a second, his jaw tightening like he’s holding something in, something overwhelming, something too big to put into words.

Then, in a voice so quiet, so broken, it almost shatters you

“I was so scared.”

And just like that, everything collapses.

The rage, the adrenaline, the fear everything he had forced himself to carry, to bury, it all crumbles in one breath.

You don’t hesitate. You pull him into you, arms wrapping around him, and he clings back just as tightly. His grip is almost desperate, his fingers pressing into your back like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go.

Then, suddenly, he tilts his head down, capturing your lips in his.

The kiss is not careful. It’s not soft.

It’s raw. Desperate. Heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid.

His lips press against yours with an urgency that steals your breath, like he’s trying to pour everything he feels into this moment. His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, as if he wants to lose himself in you, in the feeling of you alive and warm in his arms.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, anchoring him to you, and he sighs into your mouth—a broken, trembling sound that sends a shiver down your spine.

When you finally pull back, foreheads pressed together, Jungkook’s breath is warm against your skin, uneven and ragged.

He’s still shaking.

And you hold him tighter, letting him feel it all.

The flashing red and blue lights spill across the pavement as the police cars screech to a stop.

Jungkook pulls away just enough to look at you, his hands still cradling your waist, like he’s reluctant to break contact. His eyes search yours, and for the first time since this nightmare began, you see something unshakable in them.

Taehyung’s screams cut through the air as he thrashes against the officers, his wrists locked in cold steel. His voice is hoarse, spewing empty threats, venom dripping from every syllable—

“This isn’t over!” he snarls. “You think you can take her from me?”

Jungkook doesn’t react. He doesn’t even spare Taehyung a glance.

Instead, he lifts a hand, brushing his fingers lightly against your cheek, grounding himself in the fact that you’re safe.

His voice, when he finally speaks, is low, steady. A quiet promise.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

And for the first time you believe him.

Because this isn’t the same Jungkook who was oblivious, who used to let things slide, the one who always saw the good in people even when they didn’t deserve it.

This is the Jungkook who stood his ground.

The Jungkook who fought for you.

And if the world ever tried to take you away from him again, he wouldn’t hesitate.

The park is quiet, bathed in the soft glow of late morning light. Birds flit between the branches, their songs blending with the gentle rustling of leaves. A cool breeze brushes against your skin, carrying the scent of freshly baked pastries from the open basket beside you.

Jungkook sits across from you on the checkered picnic blanket, absently poking at his croissant with a fork. His knuckles are bandaged and a faint bruise lingers on his cheek just below the strip of medical tape.

You watch him, waiting.

He hasn’t said much about it. But the way he holds himself now, shoulders squared just a little more, gaze a little steadier it feels different.

“You know,” you start, plucking a strawberry from the fruit bowl and tossing it into your mouth. “For once, I wasn’t the one saving your ass.”

Jungkook snorts, shaking his head. “Don’t remind me,” he mutters, but there’s a small, lopsided smile tugging at his lips. “I’m still getting used to it.”

“You should be proud,” you tell him, shifting onto your knees so you’re closer. “Not just because you fought. But because you didn’t let him win.”

Jungkook exhales, rolling his jaw like he’s still processing the weight of it. “I used to think…” He hesitates, gaze flickering down to his hands. “That I’d never be the kind of guy who could protect someone. That I’d always be the loser who let things slide.”

You reach out, fingers curling over his bandaged knuckles, squeezing gently. “You were never a loser, Jungkook.”

You trace a light touch over the bruise on his cheek. “And if you’re measuring strength by how many fights you win, you’re missing the point.”

Jungkook’s lips twitch, his fingers tightening around yours. “Oh yeah? And what’s the point, then?”

“That you were strong even before this,” you murmur. “You didn’t need to throw a punch to prove that. But I think… you finally see it now, don’t you?”

He doesn’t answer right away, but the tension in his shoulders eases. Then, with a soft chuckle, he tilts his head and smirks. “So what you’re saying is… you’re swooning over me right now.”

You roll your eyes, but your laugh gives you away. “Unbelievable. One heroic moment and your ego skyrockets.”

“What can I say?” He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “I’m basically a knight in shining armor now.”

You groan. “You’re literally covered in bandages, Jungkook.”

“Battle scars,” he corrects smugly.

“You are so—”

He cuts you off with a kiss.

His lips taste like the strawberries you were just eating, but there’s something else too, something warmer. The quiet relief of knowing you’re here. That you’re safe. That you chose him, again and again.

When you finally pull away, Jungkook rests his forehead against yours, exhaling quietly. “I wouldn’t hesitate,” he murmurs. “If it ever happens again. If the world ever tries to take you away from me.”

Your heart clenches. You press a kiss to his bruised cheek, whispering against his skin. “I know.”

For a while, you just sit there, basking in the quiet hum of the park, in the way his fingers stay laced with yours. The past still lingers, but it doesn’t hold you down.

You’re here together.

And for now, that’s all that matters.

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lmk ur thots <3

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witchywithwhiskey · 2 months ago

Text

like no other man

pairing: toxic!bucky barnes x toxic!female reader

summary: your situationship, bucky barnes, invites you out to the bar with him and his friends. but when he leaves you alone to talk to some other girl, you come up with a plan to get his attention—and keep it.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), established situationship, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, semi-public sex, dry humping, fingering (f receiving), handjob, come play/come marking, panty sniffing, bdsm elements, orgasm delay/denial, biting and marking, choking, finger sucking, some dacryphilia, referenced free use, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, degradation kink, pet names (baby), begging, teasing, some aftercare, taking and sending nude photos, possessive behavior, toxic behavior, jealousy, referenced situationship between reader and john walker, very anti-john walker behavior, very anti-sharon carter behavior

word count: 16.8k

a/n: so, uh, this part took a little longer than i expected 🫣 and it's also longer in word count than i expected. whoops! i explained this elsewhere, but i ended up having to switch the last two parts that i had planned for the series because what i originally wrote didn't end up fitting with what the first two parts became after my editing process. so this was originally the ending, and it has some conclusion, but the next part is the proper ending. and once i'm done with that, i have plans to write a fic for the night that reader and Bucky met (and maybe more, we'll see). anyway! i hope y'all enjoy this part and that it was worth the wait!! ♡♡

you ain't my boyfriend and i ain't your girlfriend series masterlist

Picking you up in 30, baby. Wear something slutty.

Annoyance flared, hot and sharp, in your chest as you reread the text message from Bucky Barnes. It was a reminder that it had been his idea to go out, that it had been his idea for you to wear something he liked.

Even though he was just a situationship, just another guy on your roster, you liked Bucky enough that you’d done what he asked. You’d put on your skimpiest dress, a garment that barely covered your ass and made it look like your tits were about to spill out.

And, since you didn’t want to ruin the effect of the dress, you’d gone without a coat, darting into Bucky’s car when he’d picked you up and tucking yourself into his side when he’d parked around the block from the Brooklyn dive bar he and his friends frequented.

Bucky had kept you warm—until he hadn’t.

A shiver worked its way down your spine and you did your best to stop your shoulders from trembling, refusing to wrap your arms around your shaking body and curl in on yourself against the chill in the bar. Instead, you huffed an annoyed sound and shoved your phone back in your bag, zipping it closed for good measure.

There was no point in rereading the message again. It wouldn’t change how the night had turned out.

Everything had started out fine. Your heart had given an excited little flutter when you’d first read Bucky’s text earlier that evening, and you’d had to viciously stomp down on that emotion before it could bloom into something dangerous, something that came with expectations.

You knew better than to think Bucky was taking you on a date. You and Bucky didn’t do dates.

At most, Bucky took you out to his favorite dive bar to meet up with his friends, usually on a night when John Walker—another guy on your roster—wasn’t going to be there. Since Bucky and John didn’t get along very well, and that was doubly true when you were around, it made sense.

But you knew for a fact that John would be there that night, and Bucky’s request for you to wear something slutty had you feeling some kind of way. It almost sounded like he wanted to show you off in front of his friends, in front of John Walker—which was something a boyfriend would do.

But those were dangerous thoughts. Bucky had been adamant from the start that he didn’t do relationships, and you weren’t the type to push him. So you spent the entire time getting ready working to kill off every last butterfly that tried to take flight in your belly, and refusing to acknowledge the excited pitter-pattering of your heart.

It had been easier to ignore the emotions hovering at the periphery of your awareness when you’d hopped into Bucky’s car. Heat bloomed in your core at the wide, appreciative grin that spread across his face as his eyes raked down your body.

And when he’d slid his big hand onto the bare skin of your leg, his fingers flirting with the hem of your dress and teasing higher on your soft thigh, it had been easy to pretend all you felt for Bucky Barnes was lust.

When you’d gotten to the bar, Bucky had thrown his arm possessively around your shoulders, tucking you deeper into his side. You hadn’t been able to bite back the pleased smirk when you saw the smug expression on his face as you approached the table where John sat with the rest of their friends.

Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Joaquin Torres and Lemar Hoskins had all given you a warm welcome while John choked out a bitter greeting, his jaw grinding so hard, you thought he might crack a tooth. You’d hidden a giggle in Bucky’s shoulder, then he’d pulled out a chair for you at the high top table and helped you up into it.

When you’d looked at your other situationship across the table, John’s gaze had been filled with a possessive resentment that annoyed you.

It wasn’t like he had any claim to you—you’d told him countless times that you weren’t looking for anything more with him than the occasional hookup. But, for some reason, John always seemed to think you were playing hard to get.

So you’d tipped your face up toward Bucky when he asked you what you wanted to drink, giving him your order. Then you’d pulled him in by the sides of his canvas jacket for a loud, smacking kiss in front of all of his friends, and most importantly, John.

Bucky’s eyes had been sparkling with mirth and his smirk had been even more smug when he’d pulled away, his hands groping your hips in full view of the entire table.

Before he’d walked away, he’d tugged teasingly on the hem of your skirt, reminding you how little you were wearing around his friends. But Bucky didn’t seem to mind, he seemed to like showing you off.

Then he’d shot you a wink, and between that and the kiss and the way his hands seemed perfectly at home touching you, even in front of his friends, Bucky had your body buzzing and heating with anticipation.

And then…

“Everything alright over there?”

Steve Rogers’ voice was low and concerned in your ear, his arm nudging gently against yours and dragging you out of your thoughts.

Just that little touch offered some semblance of warmth and you had to brace yourself against a shudder, your body needlessly reminding you of how cold you were in your skimpy dress.

But just as fast as relief flooded through you, it was replaced by renewed annoyance.

Bucky had left to get you a drink more than 20 minutes ago, which was way more than it should have taken. And apparently you looked unhappy enough that his best friend was clearly worried about you, which only grated further on your already frayed nerves.

Bucky had invited you out, told you to dress in something slutty for him, and then he’d abandoned you all by yourself while he’d gone to who fucking knew where. He’d left you alone with his friends—and John fucking Walker, who hadn’t stopped staring at you since you sat down.

It took every ounce of self-control not to snarl at Steve, knowing he didn’t deserve your ire. But you also didn’t want him to know how upset you were, so you sat up straight, tossing your head and giving Steve your most charming smile. Hopefully it didn’t look too much like a grimace.

“Fine,” you bit out, trying and not quite succeeding in keeping the anger from your voice. “Just thirsty.” You trilled a laugh and shrugged your shoulders, as if it didn’t bother you even a little bit that it was taking Bucky so long to get you a drink.

Steve’s lips pressed into a flat line, a furrow of concern still wedged between his brows. Then he sat up taller, looking through the weeknight crowd toward the bar. You saw the moment he spotted Bucky, the corners of his mouth turning down in a frown before he quickly wiped the expression away.

“Looks like he got held up,” Steve said, returning his gaze to you. There was sympathy in his eyes that had your hackles rising, the urge to spit in his face clawing at your throat. “Let me go help him along.”

Steve moved to stand up, but you reached out and curled your fingers around his bicep, nails digging into his skin through his shirt.

“Don’t,” you hissed, the venom in your voice catching Steve’s attention. He wavered, half standing, half hovering above his seat. With a none-too-gentle shove, you pushed him back down. Your smile was flinty and brittle, your teeth clenched as you muttered, “Don’t help him with anything.”

A displeased sound rumbled in Steve’s chest and he stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. At least the sympathy was gone from his eyes, and that was victory enough for you.

Just as the silence began to grown uncomfortable, Steve let out a harsh breath and took a swig of his beer. “I hope you make him pay for it,” he grumbled, low enough for only you to hear.

A snort escaped you before you could stop it, and you caught Steve’s eye out of the corner of yours. An evil smile flickered at the edge of your mouth.

“Oh, I will.”

With that pronouncement, you let your devious grin spread across your face and turned your back to Steve. You held your head high as you looked through the crowd, wanting to know what was holding up Bucky for so long. But what you found made the anger and annoyance in your chest erupt into white-hot fury.

Bucky was talking to Sharon fucking Carter—and had been for damn near 25 minutes already.

Sharon Carter worked with Bucky and his friends at Stark Industries, and every time you saw her, she was always roping one of them into a conversation that lasted a millennia. She was always whining about her boss, or one of her coworkers, and never seemed to have the self-awareness that she was monopolizing the conversation.

You’d tried to be friends with her. You really had. But she’d never once asked you about yourself. She just talked endlessly about herself and her problems.

But what really annoyed you was the way she was always touching Bucky, always putting her hand on his arm and shoving at his shoulder when she laughed. And she’d laugh at anything he said, even if it wasn’t a joke, tossing her head back and letting her grating giggle fill the room.

That sound filtered across the dive bar, managing to be heard even above the din of other conversations and the indie rock music playing from speakers. It set your teeth on edge, a possessive fury you’d never felt before curling around your heart and urging you to act.

You were halfway out of your seat, intent on clawing out Sharon’s eyes and then ripping off Bucky’s dick, when a large body collapsed in the empty seat beside you. The one where Bucky was supposed to be sitting.

Before you even looked to see who it was, John’s pungent cologne filled your senses and your lip curled in disgust before you could wipe the expression off your face. Thankfully, John didn’t seem to notice, leaning too close into you and talking a little too loud, letting you know he was well on his way to being drunk.

“Y’know, if you were my girl, you’d never catch me talking to another woman when I’m supposed to be getting a drink for you.”

The slight slur in John’s voice confirmed just how much he’d already had to drink. You couldn’t imagine how he’d gotten drunk so fast, but one look at Lemar Hoskins, who was returning to the table with a couple more beers, told you everything you needed to know.

Stifling the urge to roll your eyes, you turned your attention back to your occasional hookup. You wouldn’t even call him a situationship, since John Walker was the guy you called when Bucky and all the rest were busy. But for some reason, he always seemed to be the neediest, the most inclined to be possessive.

“I’m my own girl, John,” you reminded him in a sickly sweet voice, the kind that was laced with venom he wouldn’t notice until too late—especially while he was drunk. “And I’m perfectly capable of getting my own drinks if I want.” You smoothed your hands down your thighs, tugging the hem of your dress down in a feeble attempt to keep warm.

“A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be buying her own drinks,” John scoffed, a boyish grin on his face, and for a moment, you remembered why you hooked up with him. He could be handsome, when you weren’t listening to the words coming out of his mouth. “Isn’t that right, Rogers?”

John reached around your back to clap Steve on the shoulder, the move caging you in against the table. His too spicy cologne filled your senses and made you want to sneeze or cough or do anything to get it out of your nose. Instead, you turned your head away from John and hid a grimace against your shoulder.

You suspected, based on the way Steve stifled a laugh in his beer, that he’d caught your expression. But Bucky’s golden boy best friend didn’t give you away. You knew you’d always liked Steve for a reason.

“Anyone can get their own drinks if that’s what they want,” Steve answered John’s question in an even tone, his eyes flashing with something like displeasure as he glanced at John over your head. When his gaze dropped to yours, there was a question in his eyes, but you simply shook your head.

You didn’t need anyone fighting your battles for you, least of all Steve Rogers.

“Well, aren’t you sooo progressive,” John sneered meanly, which only made Steve bite off another laugh with a swig of his beer.

You’d had enough of John’s weight resting on your side so you huffed an annoyed sound and pushed at his broad chest, shoving him back until he sat in his own chair. Unfortunately, that meant his focus returned to you, his fingertips dragging across the bare skin of your shoulders.

“No girl of mine would ever buy her own drinks, it’s my job to take care of her,” he muttered distractedly, his eyes on the spot where is fingers were playing with the thin strap of your dress.

John’s touch was making goosebumps rise all over your arms, but not in a good way. So you shimmied your shoulders and shrugged him off. Pinning him with a displeased look, you said flatly, “Remind me why I let you fuck me.”

At that, John chuckled good-naturedly, the rich sound rushing over your shoulders and down your spine. Despite your annoyance with the man, you found yourself enjoying the feeling of making him laugh, of the warmth sparking in your core.

Before you knew what you were doing, you found yourself leaning into John, letting the low rumble of his laughter warm your cheek. Your arm brushed against the leather of his jacket, and you moved closer, seeking his warmth, even as a part of you recoiled at the scent of his cologne and the beer on his breath.

“Because I take care of you,” John murmured, brushing the backs of his fingers over your cheek, his hand trailing along your jaw to the back of your neck, drawing you in closer to speak into your ear. “I always make you cum, don’t I, princess?”

Your lips pressed into a flat line as you thought back on all your dick appointments with John Walker. Sure, he’d made you cum—but only once each time you hooked up with him. Bucky, on the other hand, made you cum far more than that.

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell John as much. You were pissed and annoyed at Bucky for leaving you alone at the table with all his friends—and John was a much more deserving punching bag than Steve—but you also didn’t want to start a bar fight between your two fuck buddies.

And with how drunk John was, you didn’t think he’d take kindly to being told how much better Bucky could make you cum.

So instead of answering his question, you chose a different tact.

“You know I don’t like that infantilizing pet name,” you said to John, leaning back in your seat as you shot him an annoyed look. His hand squeezed the back of your neck again, like he wanted to stop you from pulling away, but he gave in quickly.

“But you’re my princess,” John said, pouting and dragging his fingers down your bare shoulder and trailing along your arm in a way that you knew was meant to be seductive.

Whatever warmth you’d felt for John moments ago had been extinguished by the memory of Bucky. Cutting a glance over your shoulder, you confirmed he was still talking to Sharon fucking Carter, which renewed the anger that had been boiling in your belly.

John was still rubbing your arm in a clumsy attempt at seduction, and you barely noticed except that his fingers were warm against your chilled skin. A shiver raced down your spine that had nothing to do with John’s touch and everything to do with how cold you were in your slutty little dress, almost cursing yourself for leaving your jacket at home.

You’d planned to beg Bucky for his jacket if you’d gotten cold, maybe reward him with a bj in the bathroom if he’d let you wear it all night. But he hadn’t taken it off when you got to the table, so it was still around his shoulders while he was still talking to Sharon fucking Carter.

Suddenly, an idea popped into your head. An idea that was probably toxic and definitely a little mean—but when had that ever stopped you before?

Beside you, John’s fingers were still idly stroking your arm and he was mumbling about everything he could do or give you if you’d just be his girlfriend, but you weren’t paying him any attention. You feigned interest, pretending you were listening to his old-fashioned and chauvinistic views on relationships until you could get a word in.

When he finally paused, you wrapped your arms around yourself and gave an exaggerated shudder, pouting up at John as you whined, “I’m cold, can I borrow your jacket?”

You knew it was a little forward to ask John outright for his jacket, but you didn’t have the patience to try to play it more coy.

Besides, John was drunk enough that it would take all night for him to actually notice you were cold, and make the chivalrous move to offer his jacket—and by then, Sharon might’ve tried to shove her tongue down Bucky’s throat. Which was unacceptable. So you had no choice but to ask John directly for his jacket.

Still, John hesitated, his eyes trailing lazily down your body. You could practically feel him eye-fucking your tits, his gaze lingering for a long moment on the plush expanse of your thighs beneath the short hem of your dress.

You had to fight not to fidget under his lascivious stare, wishing—not for the first time—that Bucky hadn’t left you alone at the table.

“You sure, princess?” John drawled in a low, rumbling voice that sent a shiver down your spine that was almost pleasant. “And cover up all that?” He gestured vaguely to your body, and you nearly rolled your eyes at the implication that his view of your body was more important than your comfort.

“Please, Johnny,” you simpered, pressing your soft tits up against his bicep, which was admittedly very firm. You pushed your lower lip out and fluttered your lashes in the most pitiful pout in your arsenal. “I’m so cold, you can see my nipples through my dress,” you whined. “I don’t want your friends to see my nipples.”

It was a lie. You didn’t care if any of Bucky and John’s friends could see your nipples—you knew all of them were too honorable to look anyway. Steve had held a whole conversation with you without looking anywhere lower than your chin.

But you knew the comment would irritate the possessive streak John had. Sure enough, as soon as you voiced the words, he started to shrug out of his jacket, though he grumbled while he did it.

You thanked him with a placating smile while you pulled the brown leather jacket around your shoulders and pushed your arms into the sleeves.

It didn’t fit you well, and was a little uncomfortable. Plus, it reeked of John’s cologne, and you had to wiggle your nose against the urge to sneeze, but you endured it. You had a plan and the jacket was key, so you grinned and bore it.

Stealing a glance over your shoulder, you had to work to keep a glare off your face as you caught sight of Bucky still talking to Sharon. They’d edged closer to the bar, and you had the venomous thought that he might be buying her a drink instead of you.

Had he forgotten who he’d invited to the bar that night? What the fuck was he still doing talking to Sharon fucking Carter when you were sitting at the table waiting for him? You could put up with Bucky refusing to commit to you, but you drew the line at him blatantly disrespecting you.

Any reservations you might’ve had about your idea being toxic or mean went up in smoke at that moment. Turning your attention back to the table, you pushed away from John and hopped off your chair.

“Y’know, I think I will get that drink for myself,” you announced to no one in particular, whirling on your heel and heading off through the bar before John could even open his mouth to protest. Or offer to buy you a drink again.

There was an open spot at the bar close to the table where you could’ve gone to order your drink, but that wouldn’t work for your plan. So instead, you opted to walk down the length of it, making sure to squeeze past Bucky and Sharon.

Sharon’s annoying, grating voice met your ears as she yammered on about something, but you didn’t spare either her or Bucky a glance. You did, however, knock into his shoulder to make sure he noticed you while you pretended to be focused on finding a clear spot in the crowd to order a drink.

As you passed him, you heard Bucky suck in a sharp breath and you suspected he could smell John’s cologne on you. Even if he didn’t recognize whose spicy scent was clinging to you, he’d no doubt notice you were wearing another man’s jacket, and you had to duck your head to hide your smirk.

A little further down the bar, there was a place in between two groups of people where you managed to shove in and signal the bartender. You watched him catch sight of you, his eyes flicking briefly to your cleavage, which was framed perfectly by John’s jacket, before nodding to let you know he’d take your order next.

You settled in against the bar to wait, wondering who would get to you first, the bartender or Bucky. Thankfully, you didn’t have to wait long to get your answer.

A familiar, delicious scent swirled around you, distracting you from the unpleasant smell of John’s cologne. Muscular arms slipped around your sides, hands furiously gripping the edge of the bar to cage you in.

A broad chest pressed to your back, warmth surrounding you in the chilly air of the bar. For the first time since Bucky left you alone at the table, you felt like you could take a deep breath and settle into the heat suddenly blooming between your thighs while he pressed possessively close to you.

Wildly, you wished you weren’t wearing John’s jacket. You didn’t want anything between you and Bucky, unless it was his jacket draped across your shoulders. You wanted everyone to know who you’d come with, who you belonged to.

But you shoved those thoughts aside as soon as they flitted into your mind. He wasn’t your boyfriend, and you were pissed at him. So you were going to make him pay for it.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Bucky growled, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as his deliciously deep voice filled your head.

It took every ounce of control in your body not to lean into him, not to press your back more flush against his chest and shove your ass into his lap. It didn’t matter that his chest was heaving with angry breaths, it felt good—it felt right—to have Bucky’s attention all on you.

Your heart was beating fast in your chest, warmth gathering between your thighs and making your slit damp with arousal. But you had a plan, and you were sticking to it.

“A dress,” you answered innocently, tossing your head and catching Bucky’s eye over your shoulder. “My sluttiest dress, actually,” you said, giving him a wide-eyed look with your lips slightly pouted like you were put out that he hadn’t noticed. “At your request, remember?”

Bucky’s eyes darkened, narrowing at your subtle dig about whether he’d remembered what he’d texted you earlier that evening. His mouth twisted into a snarl, and a dangerous look flashed in his bright blue eyes. In that moment, he looked furious and depraved, and you couldn’t get enough of it.

You knew you probably shouldn’t rile him up, not when you were wearing John’s jacket even though you were meant to be with Bucky, but you couldn’t help yourself. It was too much fun, and you knew it’d end with him fucking you good and hard.

Besides, he deserved to get riled up. Maybe then he’d understand how angry you were about how long he’d been talking to Sharon fucking Carter when he was meant to be getting you a drink.

“That’s not what I’m talking about you know it,” Bucky growled. His breath still smelled like the mint he’d had in the car, and you realized he hadn’t had a drink yet either.

Bucky pushed against your back until your body was pinned against the hard bartop. It dug into your ribs and made it difficult to take a deep breath, but that only made your pussy pulse with desire, your hole aching with the need to be filled.

“Whose jacket is this?” Bucky demanded, his voice dark and dangerous as it slipped into your ear.

Already, you could feel a bulge in Bucky’s jeans and an evil sense of satisfaction flooded through you at the realization he was getting as turned on by you as you were by him. You wanted to push him further, to grind your ass back into his lap and see how hard he’d get for you.

Instead you held yourself still and, in response to his question, you lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug.

“John’s.”

“John fucking Walker? You’re wearing John fucking Walker’s jacket?” Bucky snarled, pressing even closer, until you could feel every hard line of him against the soft curves of your body—the bulk of John’s leather jacket the only real barrier between you. “Why the fuck are you wearing John fucking Walker’s jacket, baby?”

The pet name was snarled with so much ferocity, it almost made you laugh. Bucky was more furious than you’d ever seen him before. Even more than that time you’d sent him a picture of your body covered in John’s hickeys. But you weren’t worried.

In fact, his reaction was exactly what you’d been hoping for, the anger pouring off him in heated waves that warmed your chilled skin. Finally, he was feeling a fraction of the rage you’d felt being left by yourself while he’d been talking to Sharon fucking Carter.

“I was cold,” you said simply, turning your head to look at Bucky over your shoulder. You pouted up at him from under your lashes, playing innocent since you knew that would only rile up Bucky even further. “And you left me all alone, what was I supposed to do?”

If Bucky noticed the fury that was edging into your tone when you reminded him he’d abandoned you at the table, he didn’t point it out. He only bit off a frustrated growl, the sound rumbling in his throat as his Adam’s apple bobbed enticingly.

You wanted to bite him there, on his neck, and leave a mark. You wanted everyone to know he was yours. Everyone, but especially Sharon fucking Carter…

“If my girl is cold—”

“Not your girl,” you cut in, giving him a look sharp enough to slit his throat where he stood.

Bucky’s mouth snapped shut with an audible snap. For a long moment, his jaw worked like he was grinding his teeth, his eyes blazing with an anger that looked like it could spill over at any second. There was fury and possessiveness and frustration in his gaze.

But somehow, he managed to keep his emotions reined in, taking a moment to collect himself before starting over.

“You came here with me,” he said pointedly, the flash of danger in his eyes daring you to contradict him. But you kept your mouth shut and he went on. “So if you were cold, you should’ve come and asked me for my jacket.”

“You were busy,” you spit, annoyance and rage finally fully bleeding into your tone. “You were too fucking busy talking to Sharon fucking Carter.”

You knew you were showing your hand too much, being too vulnerable by showing Bucky the depth of your anger at his actions. But you couldn’t seem to stop yourself. You were angry, but worse than that, you were hurt. And it was making you reckless.

“I’m not going to chase you across the bar and beg for your jacket because you’re talking to some pick-me bitch for too fucking long while you’re supposed to be getting me—the girl you came here with—a drink.”

For an excruciatingly long moment, your words hung in the space between you and Bucky. Your chest was heaving with heavy, furious breaths and you glared into the dark eyes of your situationship with all the fury and hurt in your heart.

Then, Bucky wrapped his hand possessively around the front of your throat, collaring your neck and turning you to look at him more fully. His expression was unreadable as his gaze swept over your face, seeing far too much, and you suddenly realized what you’d done, the mistake you’d made.

Desperately, you tried to hide your emotions, to tuck them away. Emotions had no business butting into your situationship with Bucky Barnes. You’d worked so hard to keep your heart guarded from him, but it was like he’d torn down all your defenses without you knowing.

And the most terrifying thing about that was how certain you were that he’d leave. Bucky had told you he wasn’t interested in a relationship, and you were clearly getting too attached, expecting too much of him. You were letting your heart get involved and you had no doubt he would run.

But, to your surprise, Bucky didn’t flee from you immediately after your emotional outburst.

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you sounded jealous, baby,” Bucky rumbled, a smirk flirting with the edge of his mouth. His voice was entirely too pleased, and you bristled in his arms, every muscle in your body going taut with fury.

You wanted to violently slap that knowing look off Bucky’s stupidly handsome face, to rage at him some more for teasing you about being jealous when he was constantly acting jealous about you and John fucking Walker.

But you settled for snarling, “Shut your filthy mouth, Barnes.”

Just then, the bartender you’d signaled finally approached, a charming smile on his face as he stared at your tits. It wasn’t until he looked up at your face that he finally caught sight of Bucky crowding your back, his arms caging you in possessively against the bartop.

You didn’t know what expression was on your face, or Bucky’s for that matter, but the bartender took an instinctive step back. That was probably a good idea. Whatever was going on between you and Bucky was volatile and it made sense that anyone else would want to escape the blowback.

“She won’t be needing your help yet, man,” Bucky said good-naturedly, his tone all friendly and charming.

It was such a contrast from the furious growl he’d used when he first found you, it made your head spin. You didn’t quite realize how effectively he’d dismissed the bartender until the man was beating a hasty retreat, quickly moving to help someone else at the other end of the bar.

Before you could do anything more than huff an indignant sound of protest at Bucky’s heavy-handedness, your situationship’s hands were grabbing your hips and manhandling you away from the bar. He held you in front of his broad body, leading you through the crowd toward the back hallway where the bathrooms were located.

Bucky lifted a hand from your hip only long enough to shove open the door to the men’s room, then his harsh grip was right back on you, squeezing your body possessively as he guided you through the doorway. It was hotter than it had any right to be, how easily he manhandled you into the bathroom.

Like any good dive bar, the bathroom was dark and dingy, with decades of graffiti and girl’s phone numbers written on the walls, which were lit only by a blue neon light. The mirror over the sinks was covered in dozens of lipstick prints, an anonymous record of all the other girls that had been fucked bent over the counter.

But your lipstick print wouldn’t be joining collage, since there was no way you’d ever put your mouth on any surface of that bathroom.

As if to prove your point, one of the guys at the urinals zipped himself up and turned, heading toward the door without washing his hands. He paused when he caught sight of you, making a strangled kind of sound that got the attention of the others in the room.

There were a couple more guys at the urinals, and one at the counter, fixing his hair in the lipstick-covered mirror. All of them seemed to pause and look at you with varying degrees of disgruntlement and curiosity. None seemed to notice the bristling man at your back, who grew more rigid the longer the men looked at you.

“Put your dicks away and get out,” Bucky snapped, moving you out of the way to give the men a clear path to the door. He ducked his head to check inside the bathroom’s single stall, but since the door had apparently been torn off its hinges at some point, there was no one inside.

The expressions of the other men in the bathroom turned knowing, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize they’d figured out what you and Bucky were about to do.

They all knew you were about to get fucked six ways from Sunday in the dive bar bathroom decorated in decades of graffiti, but you held your chin high, refusing to apologize for being the slut that you were.

Most of the strangers scurried out of the bathroom at Bucky’s command, but one lingered at the urinal, taking his time shaking off his dick and zipping himself up. You could feel Bucky’s fingers digging harder and harder into your hips as his patience grew thin and you tried not to squirm with your own restlessness to get railed.

Finally, the man swaggered toward the door, his gaze wandering lecherously down your body in a way that made your skin crawl. The way he looked at you, like you were nothing more than a hole to fuck, creeped you out enough that you pressed back into Bucky, pulling John’s jacket tighter to cover yourself up as much as possible.

“Let me know when you’re done, man,” the guy said, talking to Bucky even though he was still looking at you, leaning close to peer down the front of your jacket and get a glimpse of your tits. “I don’t mind a bit of sloppy seconds, and I bet this whore’s pussy will still be tight enough—”

Bucky moved so quickly, it took your breath away. He shoved you behind his back so he stood between you and the strange man. At the same time, he grabbed the guy by the collar of his crisp blue button-up and yanked him close so Bucky could snarl in his face.

“If you so much as fucking look at my girl again, I’ll rip your dick off and shove it so far down your throat, you’ll be choking on your own tiny sac,” Bucky threatened, a fury in his voice you’d never heard before—not even when he was talking about John Walker. “Do you fucking understand me, asshole?”

Even in the blue neon light of the bathroom, you could see the blood drain from the creep’s face, his expression contorting in fear. You couldn’t say you hated the sight—it was the least he deserved for how he’d looked at you and talked about you.

“Yeah, yeah, man, I get you,” the guy stuttered, trying to pull himself out of Bucky’s grip, but Bucky held the guy firmly as if waiting for something. “I won’t look at her, man, I promise—I promise.”

“Damn fucking right,” Bucky muttered ominously. Then he yanked the bathroom door open and shoved the guy out into the hallway so roughly, you saw him stumble and fall into the opposite wall.

The door closed with a dull thud that echoed slightly off the tiles, and Bucky quickly flipped the lock, kicking the garbage can in front of it for good measure before he turned back to you.

He was breathing heavily, his shoulders tight and tensed with anger and a nearly feral expression on his face. But when he caught your eye, his gaze doing a quick sweep of your body as if checking to make sure you were unharmed, you saw some of the fury drain from him.

Meanwhile, your body was a riot of emotions. The creeped out feeling the strange guy had given you was still lingering a little, but it was quickly being replaced by the heat of your arousal, and something else. Something like gratitude for Bucky for defending you.

It all twisted together inside you until you didn’t know where your lust ended and your real feelings began.

“Isn’t this the part where you tell me you’re not my girl?” Bucky teased, the side of his mouth lifting in a charming smirk as the rest of his anger was replaced with cocky assuredness.

It was only then, when he pointed it out, that you realized you hadn’t corrected him like you normally did. He’d called you his girl to that creep and you hadn’t butted in to remind him you weren’t his girl.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, you’d liked it when Bucky called you his girl. When he’d defended you and protected you, it had felt good. It had felt right. Even though those were the actions of a boyfriend, and Bucky still wasn’t your boyfriend.

You could see your situationship with Bucky going off the rails and heading toward something else, something with a higher likelihood of getting you hurt. But you couldn’t seem to stop the emotions burning in your chest, the emotions that you had no business feeling for a guy who wouldn’t commit to you.

The smart thing to do would be to walk away, to put some distance between you and Bucky until you got your head on straight and got your heart under control. Instead, you threw yourself at Bucky. Literally.

Launching yourself at Bucky, you wound your arms around his shoulders, fingers digging into his soft brown hair, your lips crushing to his in a fierce kiss. You needed this more than you needed anything else in that moment—more than you needed to protect yourself, more than you needed air.

Bucky caught you easily, his arms circling your waist and holding you flush against his body as he spun you around and walked you back until your ass hit the edge of the sink counter. While his mouth devoured yours, the kiss full of nipping teeth and gasping moans, he shoved John’s jacket down your shoulders and then boosted you up to sit on it on top of the counter.

Eagerly, you spread your legs for Bucky’s hips to press between your thighs, your fingers grabbing his hair, his shoulders, the lapels of his soft, black canvas jacket. You sucked on his tongue, greedy for the minty taste that lingered.

He felt so strong and familiar beneath your fingertips, and realization dawned dazedly in the back of your mind—you knew his body better than any other man in your life.

You knew the curve of his neck and the breadth of his shoulders, you knew the planes of his chest and the way his muscles shifted beneath his back when he was fucking you. You knew the taste of him, groaning when he licked into your mouth, and you knew the scent of him like it was imprinted somewhere deep in your brain.

And Bucky knew you just as well.

He knew how to nip at your lips and fuck your mouth with his tongue to pull the dirtiest moans from you. He knew how grope your tits, shoving the front of your dress down so he could pinch your nipples and have you writhing on the counter for him. He knew the soft lines of your curves, his hands skimming all over your body and driving you wild for him.

And it turned out, Bucky knew your heart just as well as he knew your body. He knew how to break down your defenses and get close to you in a way no other man had ever before.

“First you’re jealous of Sharon, and now you’re not correcting me when I call you my girl,” Bucky muttered in between kisses, the scruff on his jaw dragging over your cheek and sending sparks of blistering pleasure straight to your core. “And you wore John fucking Walker’s jacket to try to make me jealous.”

Bucky’s strong fingers dug into the plush softness of your ass and he dragged you to the edge of the counter, his bulge pressing against your clothed core, your panties already damp with arousal. Your head fell back at the feel of his big cock against your pussy, a wanton moan spilling from your lips as you clung to his firm shoulders.

“Careful, baby,” Bucky warned, the warmth of a teasing smirk in his tone as he leaned forward and sank his teeth into your neck, biting at the fluttering pulse point beneath your skin. “I’m starting to think you actually want to be mine.”

“Shut the fuck up, Barnes, you’re the one who insisted you didn’t do relationships,” you growled, rocking your body against his, taking your own pleasure with a furious greed. “You won’t be my boyfriend, but you’re always calling me your girl… If I didn’t know better, I’d think you actually want to be mine.”

Leaning into Bucky, you sank your teeth into his jaw, tongue licking over the roughness of his stubble, and making him groan loudly. You liked the sound so much, you dragged your mouth down to his neck, biting him again, sinful delight filling your chest when his hips thrust against your core like a reflex.

“So what if I did?” he mumbled, burying his face in the crook of your neck and sucking a hickey into your skin.

The harsh, rhythmic pull of his mouth sent curls of heat licking through your body, making your clit throb between your thighs. You knew he was going to leave a mark, but you didn’t care. You wanted to be covered in his marks, you wanted him covered in your marks.

“Yeah, right,” you scoffed, laughing huskily, your fingers twisting tightly in his hair as you took out your frustration on his body, biting and sucking on Bucky’s neck to leave hickeys on his pale skin while you rocked against him. “You’re just saying that because you can’t stand the sight of me in John’s jacket.”

Bucky sucked harder on your skin and you let out a helpless whimper, rubbing against him like a cat in heat. Despite your fury—or maybe because of it—you were nearly feral for him, curling your body around Bucky’s and clinging to him, pulling his hair as you held him close, your teeth raking over his raging pulse.

His hips were rocking between your thighs, his denim-clad cock shoving against your soft, swollen and achingly needy pussy in a mimicry of how you wanted him to be fucking you. It felt so good, and you needed more.

You needed him to fill you up, to bury his cock so deep in your cunt that you’d feel him for days. You needed Bucky to fuck you like he owned you. Even if he’d never be your boyfriend, he could still make you cum better than any other man you’d ever fucked, and you needed that.

But before you got there, you needed to wrap up this conversation. You knew it would end the way it always did, with Bucky refusing to budge on committing to you, and you refusing to let him treat you like his girlfriend.

Ducking your head so your mouth was close to his ear, you kept talking. “You’re only saying that because my cunt’s the best you’ve ever had,” you hissed, an anger you didn’t fully understand dripping venomously from your voice.

But Bucky didn’t seem phased by your anger, only chuckling like he was pleased about something, though you couldn’t figure out what.

He finally pulled away from your neck long enough to drag the line of his nose up your throat and nip at the lobe of your ear. Your pussy pulsed between your thighs and you had to bite back a moan, not wanting him to know just how much you needed him. But, of course, the bastard already knew.

“Oh c’mon, baby, don’t pretend my dick isn’t the best you’ve ever had.”

His voice was deep and seductive as he slowly dragged the long length of his cock against your slit through your panties. He was so big and so hard and you wanted him so desperately, the neediness rushing through your body so completely that you momentarily forgot your anger.

His cock felt so good, it wrung a filthy moan from you that made him laugh smugly again.

“Don’t tell me your cunt hasn’t been aching for my cock all night—don’t tell me that’s not why you’re really pissed about me talking to Sharon, because you were so impatient for my cock.”

Not giving you a chance to respond, Bucky pulled his hips away, and you had to bite your lip against a whine, refusing to give him the satisfaction. You felt pathetic in the best possible way, your legs splayed wide open for Bucky in the dive bar bathroom, your panties soaked with the evidence of how badly you wanted him.

In the next second, Bucky’s hand dove between your thighs and shoved your panties aside, two fingers plunging into your wet cunt and wringing a cry from your lips. You were so wet that you could hear the slick sounds of your pussy as Bucky slowly pulled his fingers out and pushed them in again, fucking you in an agonizingly slow pace.

You groaned, clinging to Bucky’s thick biceps while you rocked your hips, trying to impale yourself faster and harder on his fingers as you stared at him through slitted eyes. You tried desperately to keep your heart out of your eyes, but it was hard to concentrate with his fingers working you so expertly.

“I’m so sorry for neglecting this pretty pussy, baby,” Bucky cooed, leaning in and brushing a kiss to your heated forehead. The gesture was so uncharacteristically tender, it made your cunt clench around his fingers.

Thankfully, Bucky didn’t comment on how your body responded to his sweetness. But he did seem to reward you, fucking you harder, his palm slapping against your clit while you moaned and whimpered mindlessly for him, hips grinding down on his fingers as you chased your release.

“But if you wanted my attention,” Bucky was saying, murmuring the words against your temple while he stared down at the place where his fingers were spearing you open. “You didn’t have to use John fucking Walker to make me jealous—you just had to ask.”

He curled his fingers inside you and your spine arched, sparks of pleasure bursting behind your eyes. Already, you were hurtling toward your release at an alarming speed, the lewd sounds of his fingers fucking your wet hole a soundtrack to your filthy pleasure.

“I’ll aways take care of you, baby. I’ll always take care of this pretty, perfect pussy.”

His words were too sweet, the thread of honesty in his tone too close to the surface for your sanity. Your fingers curled into claws, nails digging viciously into Bucky’s biceps through his jacket as fury swept through your body, chasing and twisting with the pleasure that swirled in your belly.

“Yeah, right,” you scoffed, your voice breathless but still managing to be hard. “You were too busy with Sharon fucking Carter to notice that John fucking Walker wouldn’t leave me the fuck alone.”

You weren’t even trying to hide your fury from Bucky anymore. He was dancing too close to something real, something you’d both avoided for so long, and it was scaring you—which only made you all the more furious. How dare he do this now.

But Bucky didn’t seem scared, or like he wanted to shy away from the commitment he’d avoided for so long. He seemed practically ecstatic as he laughed at your snarled words.

Smoothing his free hand down the side of your face, Bucky wrapped it around the front of your throat. The tips of his fingers dug into the sides of your neck, choking you lightly and making your pussy clench around his thrusting fingers.

He seemed determined to work you up toward a brutal release, one that would leave you forever changed, just as he seemed determined to knock your entire situationship off-kilter. All with a stupidly charming smirk on his annoyingly handsome face. The bastard.

“Y’know, I’ve never seen you like this before,” Bucky purred against your cheek, slowing his fingers down and adding a third. His thumb rubbed against your clit and you were so lost to the pleasure you nearly missed his next words. “But you’re cute when you’re jealous, baby.”

You wrenched yourself back from the depths of pleasure and huffed an annoyed sound. “I wasn’t jealous, I was pissed, you left me,” you seethed through gritted teeth.

Your angry tirade was cut off in a screech of protest when Bucky suddenly pulled his fingers from your pussy, leaving you pulsing, dripping and bereft. It was the most delicious kind of agony to have your orgasm denied so brutally, and it brought tears to your eyes.

Bucky tutted and shoved his fingers, slick with your arousal, into your mouth before you could give voice to all the vicious thoughts running through your mind. Even still, you narrowed your eyes at your situationship, glaring at him even as you licked your wetness from his fingers until you felt your eyes go hazy with desire.

“Uh uh, only good girls get to cum,” Bucky purred, a note of condescension in his tone as he pulled you close by the throat, watching as you sucked on his fingers. “And you’re not being very good, are you, baby?”

Your expletive-ridden response was muffled by Bucky’s fingers, but the message was clear—he could go to hell.

A storm raged in Bucky’s eyes, the blue darkening to a deep midnight a moment before he pushed his fingers deeper in your mouth, making you choke and gag. Tears gathered in your eyes and spilled down your cheeks but you didn’t relent, and neither did he.

“Stop lying, baby,” Bucky growled, a note of desperate pleading in his tone that you’d never heard before. “Admit you were jealous, or I’ll… I’ll leave you empty and wanting right here in the men’s room. Is that what you want?”

Anger surged in your blood, until the riot in your chest matched the storm in Bucky’s furious gaze. Of course you didn’t want him to leave you unfulfilled in the bathroom, but you weren’t going to give in so easily—not when giving in felt so dangerous, like you were admitting to more than just lying, more than just being jealous.

So instead of responding, you pressed your lips into a firm, stubborn line and slipped your own hand between your thighs. Your fingers had barely brushed against your soaked panties before Bucky was grabbing your wrist and batting your hand away, his mouth twisted in a scowl.

“Don’t touch what’s mine without permission, baby,” he snarled, cupping your pussy possessively.

His fingers dug into the fabric of your panties, pushing the soaking wet fabric into your sopping hole. He was fucking you too shallowly to be anywhere near satisfying, but it was so filthy that you couldn’t stop your hips from squirming on the counter, a helpless moan spilling from your mouth around his fingers.

“This cunt belongs to me, doesn’t it?”

Your hands lay limply at your sides for a moment, but at Bucky’s demanding question, they slid up his chest, diving beneath the edges of his jacket and fisted in the soft t-shirt he wore beneath. Your eyes were watery with tears of need, your pussy throbbing greedily and urging you to give in, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t.

You shook your head wildly, Bucky’s fingers falling from your lips.

A frustrated sound tore free from Bucky’s mouth, and his face pressed close to yours, your noses nearly bumping as he stared deep into your eyes, fury and something like hurt swirling in the depths of his gaze.

“Why do you always do this?” Bucky demanded, his voice harsh and his chest heaving. You could taste the mint on his breath and hear the little cracks in his voice. “Why can’t you just admit that you’re mine?”

“Because you won’t commit!” The words burst from your lips before you could even think about biting them back. Then, to your horror, more spilled out of you. “I won’t belong to someone who won’t even call me their girlfriend, who won’t be my boyfriend. I won’t—I can’t.”

Your voice broke on that last word and you had to swallow down a sob. Lowering your eyes, you refused to look at Bucky, feeling raw and exposed in a way you hadn’t in a long, long time. You’d said too much, and you couldn’t bear to watch when it turned your situationship against you.

You flinched in surprise when Bucky’s fingers brushed against your cheek, even though his touch was torturously gentle. You’d expected him to pull away, to retreat from the bathroom entirely, or, at the very least, to move past your desperation for commitment like it was nothing.

Instead, he lifted your chin until he could meet your eyes. His blue gaze was calm, his expression open and soft, and the way he looked at you settled something deep in your chest.

“Ok,” Bucky said, before dropping a sweet kiss to your lips. “Ok.”

Your heart was doing something…concerning in your chest. There was a fluttering feeling in your sternum and a swooping sensation in your belly that felt too much like hope. Meanwhile, your mind warred with itself, a part of you certain you hadn’t heard or understood Bucky correctly.

For a long moment, you were silent, simply staring at Bucky in the neon blue light of the dive bar bathroom, trying to determine if he was serious. You were sure that if you waited long enough, a smirk would break across Bucky’s face and he’d tease you for thinking he would actually commit to you.

But the seconds dragged on, and Bucky simply stared back at you, as if waiting patiently for your response.

“What?” The question was all you could muster, but it seemed to be what Bucky expected because he grinned then, the expression blooming across his face and nearly stealing your breath.

“I’ll be your boyfriend, baby,” Bucky purred, ducking forward and pressing a playful kiss to the corner of your lips, which were still parted in shock.

Your heart fluttered at the kiss, hope taking flight in your chest before you could stop it. Still, you forced yourself to press your mouth closed, firming your lips into an unamused line.

“Be serious, Bucky,” you said, an embarrassing note of pleading in your tone that you worked to cover up with anger. “You were clear from the start that you don’t do relationships.”

“I changed my mind,” he said, shrugging his shoulders easily, as if it was as simple as that. And maybe it was, but you still weren’t buying it.

“Men like you don’t change their minds,” you pointed out, narrowing your eyes at Bucky, looking for the lie in his face, but finding none. He looked perfectly genuine, which worried you even more.

“I’ll go out there right now and tell the whole bar you’re my girlfriend,” Bucky said, ducking close and pressing a kiss to your cheek as if he couldn’t stop himself. His next words brushed against your soft, tingling skin. “The look on John fucking Walker’s face will be satisfying, don’t you think?”

At that comment, a sharp, caustic laugh fell from your lips and you shook your head as realization dawned over you.

“Oh, I get it now,” you scoffed, shoving at Bucky’s shoulders until he leaned back enough to see the unamused glare on your face. “This is all because you don’t want me fucking John anymore, isn’t it? You don’t actually want me, you just don’t want me fucking him.”

Bucky planted his hands on the sink counter on either side of your hips, ducking down so he was at eye level with you and he tried to hold your gaze, but you refused.

You were terrified he might see right through you—see that you were fucking terrified he was serious because it meant opening yourself up in a way you hadn’t in a very long time.

“Hey—hey,” he murmured, chasing your gaze until he caught your eye. His expression was serious, more serious than you’d ever seen him, with emotions churning in his darkened gaze that had your heart fluttering in response. “This isn’t about John, or Sharon, this is about us. We have fun together, don’t we?”

It was on the tip of your tongue to protest. There was no way this conversation could lead to anything but you getting your heart broken. Even if it turned out that Bucky was serious, and he was ready to commit, all relationships ended eventually. It was just a matter of hurting now versus hurting later.

But as you parted your lips to make a mean comment about how Bucky was nothing more than a bit of fun, he quirked his brow at you, giving you a stern look like he knew what you were going to say.

You huffed an annoyed sound, rolling your eyes at how easily he could read you even as your heart warmed in your chest. Bucky knew you, and he still wanted you. Reluctantly, you gave your honest answer.

“Yeah, we have fun together.”

“Thought so,” Bucky teased lightly.

He ducked forward and pressed a quick kiss to your lips, a reward for your honesty, which made the corners of your mouth flicker in a smile.

“When I met you, I didn’t think I’d ever meet anyone I’d want to be in a relationship with, but you proved me wrong, baby.”

Bucky’s words were soft and sweet, such a contrast to the dirty dive bar bathroom you sat in. But somehow, the moment felt perfect in its imperfections. Because it was Bucky, and it was you.

Against your better judgement, your hands slid cautiously up Bucky’s hard chest, skimming up the sides of his neck so your palms cupped his handsome face. You stared into his blue gaze, watching the emotions flicker across the raging sea of his eyes—sincerity, affection and hope were all on display for you to see.

Your careful touch seemed to affect him, and he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat in such a way that you wanted to bite him, to show your own affection and fondness for him through a gentle act of violence. But you held still, holding your breath has he continued speaking.

“I want you to be mine—all mine, only mine,” Bucky murmured, his voice low and pleading and so seductive, it almost felt like he was casting some sort of spell over you. “And I want to be yours—all yours, only yours.”

Bucky wrapped his fingers loosely around one of your wrists, dragging your hand down from his face until your palm was pressed over the center of his chest.

Beneath your fingertips, you could feel his heart beating fast, a little unsteady, and you realized he was just as nervous as you were.

“Whaddya say, baby? Be my girlfriend and let me be your boyfriend.”

The feeling of Bucky’s heart beating hard beneath his sternum, matching the panicked and excited thrumming in your chest, was the only thing keeping you grounded and reminding you this moment was real. It felt too good to be true.

Ever since you met Bucky and he’d been clear about his intentions to never commit, you’d kept a tight leash on your emotions. You hadn’t allowed him to act too possessive over you, to say things a situationship had no right saying, because you knew you could fall for him.

Hell, a part of you already had, despite your best efforts.

And now Bucky was willingly standing in front of you, offering to be your boyfriend, to catch you if you fell in love with him. You knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you would be an idiot to say no to him.

You were still scared, of course, and you were still certain you’d get your heart broken eventually. But looking at Bucky, at the handsome face that was so familiar and steadying, and seeing the hopeful curve of his smile, you couldn’t help but think it’d be worth it.

“Ok,” you said, your voice barely a whisper.

Bucky went still, his breath catching like he barely dared to hope he’d heard you right.

Swallowing against the fear still churning weakly in your gut, you tried again, your voice louder, stronger. “Ok, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

A smile broke across Bucky’s face, as bright as the dawning sun, and your heart clenched at how handsome he looked.

Had he always been so goddamned handsome? His blue eyes bright even in the neon light of the bathroom, crinkling at the sides from the sheer force of his happiness. His mouth looked far too enticing as he beamed at you.

A strangled sound, something between a huff and a groan, rumbled in Bucky’s throat, and then his hands were on you, cupping your face and dragging you in for a filthy, possessive kiss.

You could feel his smile against your lips before he deepened the kiss, licking into your mouth and stealing the breath straight from you lungs until you were gasping and panting beneath him. Your heart was hammering in your chest as you kissed him back just as hard.

The kiss was overwhelming and wonderful and so fucking good that you couldn’t get enough. Your hands fisted in Bucky’s t-shirt, pulling him closer until there was barely any space between your bodies. It wasn’t close enough.

Shimmying to the edge of the counter, you wrapped your legs around Bucky’s hips, holding him between your thighs with his bulge pressed to your center, right where he belonged.

Except, not really, because he belonged inside you.

Wrenching your lips from Bucky’s, you gasped for breath while he trailed nipping, hungry kisses down your neck. Your fingers tangled in his hair, the taste of mint from his mouth lingering on your tongue.

Suddenly, you realized there was something you still needed to settle with your boyfriend before you could start begging for his cock.

“Now that you’re my boyfriend…” you began, panting as you were distracted by Bucky.

He was sucking on your skin, and his hips were thrusting into the cradle of your thighs, grinding his bulge against your pussy like he couldn’t get enough of you—couldn’t get enough of you calling him your boyfriend. You moaned helplessly, taking a moment to gather your thoughts before you continued.

“No more saying you’re going to get me a drink,” you said, trying to sound stern despite how breathless you were. “And then leaving me all alone while you talk to Sharon fucking Carter.”

“Deal,” Bucky responded without hesitation, lifting his head and looking at you through heavy-lidded eyes, his pupils blown wide with desire. It only made him look hotter, and you had the wild impulse to take a picture of him just like this.

A smirk curled the edge of Bucky’s mouth like he knew exactly what you were thinking, then he ducked forward and sank his teeth into your plush lower lip, drawing a whimper from you. His big body shuddered at the sound, his cock twitching against your core.

“And now that you’re my girlfriend,” he rumbled against your lips, his words spilling directly onto your tongue. “If you’re cold, you ask me for my jacket—no more going to John fucking Walker just to make me jealous.”

You were nodding before he’d even finished his sentence, but at his final words, you huffed a pleased sound and licked teasingly into Bucky’s mouth. “So you were jealous,” you murmured, smugness clear in your voice and in the vicious smile on your face.

“Of course I was fucking jealous,” Bucky muttered, his hands skimming up your bare thighs and pushing beneath the hem of your dress to grope your hips, holding you in place while he rubbed against your drenched core. “But you were jealous, too, weren’t you, baby?”

Leaning back on the sink counter until your shoulders nearly hit the mirror behind you, you stared into Bucky’s handsome face. His mouth was curved into a devastatingly self-satisfied smirk, like he already knew the answer to your question.

It occurred to you to keep denying it, to tell Bucky that you weren’t jealous, but the truth was you were. You’d been jealous of how much of Bucky’s night Sharon was taking up, and you’d asked John for his jacket to make him feel a fraction of how you felt.

“Fine, yes, I was jealous,” you admitted, rolling your eyes at Bucky. Then you turned a glare on him, your eyes narrowing at the victorious expression on his face. “But I was also furious that you were neglecting me, especially when I dressed up all slutty for you.”

Your words prompted Bucky to rake his eyes appreciatively down your body. His heated gaze lingered on the way your tits bounced lightly with your breaths, then on the juncture of your thighs, your soaked panties on full display with the way your dress was rucked up.

“You’re right, baby, that was fucking shitty of me,” Bucky rasped, his voice drenched in arousal as his gaze slowly made its way back up your body. “It won’t happen again,” he promised, staring into your eyes so you could see the honesty in his words.

“It better not,” you murmured, pouting up at him and making Bucky chuckle. He nipped your lip, making you moan, then soothed the sting away while you writhed against him.

“Good girl,” he purred against your mouth. “Now tell your boyfriend, is your pretty pussy feeling neglected, too? D’you need daddy to take care of you?”

Your clit throbbed and your pussy pulsed at the deep rumble of Bucky’s voice and you mewled pitifully, dragging Bucky even closer and nipping at his stubbled jaw.

“Yes, daddy, my pussy is feeling sooo neglected,” you simpered. Lifting your legs and hooking them around Bucky’s waist, you crossed your ankles behind his back and held him trapped against your body. “I need your cock, Bucky, I need it so fucking bad, please.”

“Baby, baby, baby,” Bucky crooned against your lips, his strong fingers digging into your hips possessively and toying with the edge of your panties. “It’s all yours. Take it out, stroke it, show my cock how much you want it inside you, splitting you open.”

“Fuck, Bucky,” you groaned, your pussy getting even wetter at his filthy words.

With one hand, you pulled him in for a deep, messy kiss while the other fumbled with his belt. It took you a moment to remember how belts work, then you were undoing it quickly and slipping the button of his jeans before pulling the zipper down.

“Oh god, I’ve missed this cock,” you moaned, wrapping your fingers around Bucky’s stiff length and giving him an affectionate stroke. “Are you gonna fuck me with this cock, daddy? Gonna fill up your girlfriend’s pussy with every inch of this dick?”

“Fuck, yes, baby,” Bucky rumbled, his fingers hooking in the hem of your panties and yanking them down.

You had to lift yourself up so he could drag them over your ass, and when he stepped back to pull them off your legs entirely, you whimpered at the loss of his cock against your pussy.

Bucky chuckled as he stepped back between your legs, one hand stroking the soft skin of your thigh while the other held your panties up to is face. He took a deep inhale of your scent while you stroked his cock reverently, your slit dripping with desire as you watched his eyes go even more hazy at the smell of you.

“Fuck, somehow your pussy smells even sweeter now that you’re my girlfriend,” Bucky groaned, fixing a playful glare on you that had your heart beating a little harder in your chest. “Why is that?”

A sultry smirk spread across your face and you squeezed his cock affectionately, drawing a grunt from your boyfriend. “Because it’s yours now, daddy,” you purred, “all yours.”

“That’s right, it is.” Bucky shoved your panties into the back pocket of his jeans, a feral look in his eye as he grinned and spread your thighs even wider with his big hands. His fingers shamelessly groped your soft flesh while you gripped his cock and pressed the tip to your drenched pussy.

“Bucky,” you whined when he held himself back from thrusting forward. “Need you inside me, now.”

Instead of indulging you, Bucky grabbed your wrist, pinning your hand down on John’s jacket beside your hip. Before you could even think, he’d done the same with your other hand, leaning close until your chests brushed, your nipples dragging against his soft t-shirt in a way that was both teasing and torturous, and his forehead dropped to yours.

“Is my girlfriend feeling needy?” he teased, his hips working between your spread thighs so his cock dragged against your sopping wet folds. You could feel every ridge, every vein of him, and it had you panting for him. “Is this pussy—my girlfriend’s pussy—craving my cock, huh?”

His voice was deep and patronizing, sending tingles of anticipation flooding through your body. A soft whine slipped from your lips, and you lifted your hips from the counter to grind against Bucky’s cock, but he only kept up his maddeningly slow thrusts against your wet, swollen cunt.

“It doesn’t matter that we’re in a dirty dive bar bathroom and your ex-fuck buddy’s jacket is under your ass, you’re a needy, cock-craving slut for daddy, aren’t you, baby?”

“Oh fuck,” you moaned at Bucky’s filthy words. “Yes, yes, daddy, all for you, only a slut for you. Please, Bucky, gimme your cock, I need it, I need it so bad,” you babbled, trying to angle your hips to take him inside your clenching hole.

Bucky’s fingers tangled with yours, curling in the soft leather of John’s jacket, which was getting damp from the arousal dripping from your hole. Precum was leaking from Bucky’s tip, joining the mess of juices slipping down your slit to your ass.

But you didn’t have the space in your mind to care or even think about how you were ruining John’s jacket, not when Bucky’s cock was wedged between your thighs, the hard length of him teasing your clit and wet hole.

“Tell me this pussy belongs to me,” Bucky said through gritted teeth, his jaw flexing with his effort to hold back. When you looked up at him, his eyes flashed with a possessiveness that was so greedy and hot, it took your breath away. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“It’s your pussy, daddy,” you cooed, pressing your body closer to his until your mouth brushed against the shell of his ear. You felt a shudder wrack through his body at just that gentle touch and couldn’t help but smirk even as you kept your voice soft and sweet. “I’m yours, Bucky, all yours.”

“Fuck yeah you are,” Bucky growled, untangling his fingers from yours to grab your hips as he pulled back and notched the tip of his cock at your entrance.

He gave you only the briefest of seconds to brace yourself, but you were more than wet and ready enough for him. In the next breath, Bucky slammed forward with a bitten off curse, burying the full length of his cock in your tight hole with one thrust.

A loud, obscene moan spilled from your lips, your head tipping back as you reveled in the delicious stretch of Bucky’s cock filling you up. You were plenty wet, so he’d met no resistence when he’d pushed inside, but it still punched the air from your lungs to be filled so quickly and thoroughly. You could swear you could feel him in your guts.

Your breaths were coming in gasps while Bucky’s hands on your hips pulled you closer, fitting your bodies together perfectly, his cock exactly where it belonged—inside you.

It felt so good, so right, that you couldn’t hold your tongue.

“How’s it feel, Buck?” you asked, your words breathy and drenched in pleasure. “To be buried balls-deep in a cunt that belongs to you? Does it feel better, hotter, when your cock is being milked by the pussy of your girlfriend?”

“Fuck, it does,” Bucky groaned loudly, his head dropping to your shoulder as his hips jerked reflexively between your thighs, like he was trying to bury himself even deeper inside you. But he was already pressed against the very end of you, filling you up completely with his thick cock.

You laughed at the tortured sounds Bucky was trying to muffle in your neck, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, fingers carding through his soft hair as you cooed patronizing sounds of sympathy in his ear.

At the same time, you hitched your legs up and draped your thighs around his waist, heels dinging into his ass as you held him flush against your body.

“That’s it, daddy, stay deep in your girlfriend’s cunt,” you murmured in his ear, pressing wet, suckling kisses to his neck and stubbled jaw, enjoying the little tremors of pleasure that reverberated through his big, strong body. “This is where you belong, Bucky, buried in my pussy, being such a good boyfriend and filling me up sooo perfectly.”

“Fuck, this was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” Bucky growled accusingly, more defeat than anger in his voice.

Before you could ask him what he was talking about, he began rocking his hips in little movements, grinding into you and stealing your breath from the pleasure that sparkled through your body. Desperate whimpers and soft moans fell from your lips as you clung to Bucky, trying to meet his thrusts but having to little leverage to do more than writhe.

“You made me crave this cunt so much,” Bucky went on, fury seeping into his tone as his movements grew more brutal.

His fingers dug harshly into your hips as he dragged you back and forth on the counter, like your pussy was nothing more than his personal fuck toy. It was hot and perfect and you never wanted him to stop.

“You drove me fucking wild with how good you feel, just so I’d claim you and make you my girlfriend—that was your plan, wasn’t it, baby?”

There was something in Bucky’s voice, some raw emotion that had worry breaking through the pleasure coursing through your body. Leaning back, you grabbed Bucky’s face in both hands and held him still so you could look at him properly.

There was a guarded look in his eye, but the longer you stared, the more you saw what he was hiding—devastation, masked thinly with accusation. It was the only thing that kept you from laughing at his preposterous accusation.

“Bucky,” you said seriously, and his hips paused, his eyes staring at your mouth like he was hanging on your every word. “I may have worn John’s jacket to make you jealous, but I haven’t been…” You trailed off, trying to think of the right word, but only one seemed right. “Conspiring to get you to be my boyfriend.”

You stared at him, willing him to hear what you were saying. You knew Bucky had some trust issues—you didn’t need a psych degree to figure out that was the root of him not wanting to commit to one person—but he knew you and you hoped that meant he trusted you.

“You know me, Bucky,” you said softly, using your hands on his face to tilt it up until his eyes met yours. “You know I was fine with our arrangement. You know I like you, but I’m not going to conspire or beg you to be my boyfriend—I don’t beg like that.”

For a long moment, Bucky only stared back at you, his eyes skimming your face as if searching for the lie in the curve of your lips. You let him look, because you knew there was nothing for him to find, only your genuine, open honesty.

He must’ve figured that out, because he softened little by little, until a smirk slowly curled the edges of his mouth.

“No, you don’t beg like that—you aren’t like that,” Bucky agreed, his voice low and rough. The guarded look was crumbling from his eyes, his blue gaze sparking with desire and need and something deeper than affection.

Ducking forward, Bucky captured your lips in a brief, scorching kiss that left you breathless. You wanted to keep him close, but Bucky stood up straight, his fingers digging beneath your ass to hold you firmly on the edge of the counter, then pulled out until on the tip remained inside.

“You just beg for my cock, don’t you, baby,” he crooned in a teasing voice, his smirk blooming into a wide grin when you whimpered and squirmed, your heels digging into his ass as you tried to pull him back inside you. “You beg me to fuck you like no other man can, beg me to fill you up with my cum—that’s how you beg, isn’t that right, baby?”

“Yes, daddy, I’m a greedy little slut and I need your cock, Bucky, please,” you whined, squeezing your thighs around Bucky’s waist and trying to pull him closer, wailing softly when he wouldn’t budge.

Bucky chuckled, dropping his head to your shoulder and latching his mouth onto the swell of your breast. He sucked on your skin so hard, you half expected him to leave a huge mark on your body. And you liked it.

He was no doubt leaving a hickey behind while his breath ghosted across your tits, making your nipples pucker and ache for attention. And all you could do was moan and writhe in pleasure, your fingers twisted in his soft hair as you clung to his strong, steady form.

“That’s a good start, baby,” Bucky rumbled condescendingly into your skin, moving to your other breast and beginning to suck a mark into your skin there. Then, he was slamming inside you again, sheathing his cock deep in your tight cunt.

A pleasured scream tore from your lips, bouncing off the tiled walls of the dive bar bathroom, and your thoughts scattered across the dingy floor. It felt so good, and you were so full, stretched around his fat cock, that all you could do was cry and whimper, your hands clinging to Bucky wherever you could reach while he fucked you on the counter.

“That’s it, baby, let me hear you—let me hear how good your boyfriend fucks you,” Bucky growled into your tits, one of his hands leaving your ass to grope your soft mounds, fingers pinching your nipples harshly and turning you into a sobbing mess. “Fuck, you feel so good, you feel so much better now that you’re all fucking mine.”

“All yours,” you moaned mindlessly, rocking your hips on the counter to meet his thrusts, delighting in the perfect way he fucked you—hard and fast. Blistering pleasure was coursing through your body, sending you careening toward your release even as you whimpered pitifully, hoping the ecstasy you felt would never end.

Your fingers curled in Bucky’s soft brown hair and you dragged him to your mouth for a messy, filthy kiss filled with possessiveness and affection and so much more emotion that it made your head spin. When your lips parted, you held Bucky close, your heavy breaths spilling into the minuscule space between your bodies.

“You feel better, too,” you admitted in a panting, breathless voice. Your pussy clenched around Bucky’s cock and he grunted, rutting into you even harder. “You feel so big, daddy, so perfect filling me up. Fuck, I can’t get enough of your cock, Bucky.”

A ruthless slash of a smirk spread across Bucky’s face and his hands dug beneath your ass to hold you right where he wanted you, fucking into your tight hole with a purposeful brutality as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge of your release.

“Now that you’re mine, and this pussy belongs to me, I’m gonna keep you on my cock all the time, baby,” Bucky rumbled, his words filthy and intense in a way that made your pleasure surge higher as he continued.

“I’m gonna make you my perfect little cock sleeve, use your slutty cunt and mouth to keep me warm and get me off whenever I want, and you’re gonna be a good slut for me, aren’t you? Because you’re my girlfriend, huh?”

“Oh fuck, yes, Bucky, use me, use my holes to make you feel good—any time, anywhere. I’ll do anything for you, daddy,” you babbled, the words spilling from your lips as easy as the arousal leaking from your pussy. “Please, Bucky, I’m your girlfriend, I’m your slut, I’m yours.”

“Mine,” Bucky growled, rutting into you, his cock spearing deep into your cunt and hitting a spot that had you seeing stars. You were so far gone, you nearly missed his next words. “And I’m yours, baby, all yours.”

His voice was soft and sweet and your pussy throbbed at the affection in his tone. He hadn’t said the ‘L’ word, but based on the way your body reacted, he might as well have.

Your heart surged with the same emotion, the one you weren’t ready to name, but you could show him and say it another way. Wrapping your hands around the back of Bucky’s neck, you dragged him close for a messy, perfect kiss.

“Mine,” you echoed, claiming him as yours. “You’re all mine, Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky slammed deep inside you, his cock twitching at your words and he groaned, clenching his jaw through a bitten off curse.

“Fuck, ya gotta cum for me, baby,” Bucky rasped, a thread of desperation in his tone.

His thrusts grew more frenzied, grinding his hips into your soft, swollen pussy so your clit rubbed against the base of his cock while he fucked you in short strokes, barely pulling out.

“Cum on your boyfriend’s cock,” he urged, his hand sliding around your body so his thumb could slip between your soaked folds and rub your clit. “Show me how much you love getting fucked by your boyfriend, baby, c’mon, cum on daddy’s cock.”

“Fuck, Bucky, Bucky, Bucky,” you cried, chanting his name as he sent you flailing over the edge. Pleasure crashed over your body, a scream of bliss tearing from your lips. You trembled and shook in Bucky’s arms as you came on his cock, your pussy squeezing tight around his stiff length while your legs hugged his waist desperately.

“Good girl, baby, good girl—such a good girlfriend, cumming so hard on your boyfriend’s cock,” Bucky mumbled, burying himself to the hilt in your pussy and moaning into your neck while he followed you over the edge. His teeth raked over your skin, sinking in briefly as he grunted his pleasure against your throat.

You felt him twitch and throb inside you as he pumped you full of cum, but after just a few strokes, Bucky was pulling out and fisting the base of his cock. The rest of his cum spilled across your swollen, aching pussy, his eyes going dark and possessive as he watched his creamy seed make a mess of you.

It was enough to make your pussy pulse greedily, some of his cum leaking from your hole. Watching Bucky mark you with his cum was hot as hell and you were suddenly craving another round of his cock filling you up, fucking his cum deeper into you.

Bucky groaned as he milked the last drop from his cock and then he was using his hands to rub his cum into your skin, making an even bigger mess as he spread your combined juices around your cunt.

Then he was tucking himself away and zipping up his jeans, pulling out his phone. He took a few photos of your body splayed out on top of John’s jacket on the sinks in the dive bar bathroom, Bucky’s cum and your own wetness glistening between your spread thighs. A lazy smile curled your lips and you grinned up at the camera for Bucky.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, baby,” Bucky murmured once he was satisfied, a devious smirk on his face.

Before you could figure out what he was doing, Bucky grabbed the bottom of John’s jacket and he used the soft leather to clean his cum and your wetness from your well-used pussy. A shiver raced down your spine at the feel of it.

It was so filthy, and so fucking toxic for your boyfriend to use your ex-situationship’s jacket to clean you up, but that only turned you on even more. Renewed desire leaked from your slit, ruining John’s jacket even more.

Moaning while Bucky cleaned you up, you rocked your hips against his hand through the jacket, rubbing your messy pussy against the leather and helping your boyfriend ruin it with your juices. It might’ve been the worst thing you’d ever done to a guy, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

Bucky chuckled, catching your eye and the two of you shared an evil smile. No words needed to be said, both of you were getting off on ruining the leather jacket that belonged to John fucking Walker, and your heart fluttered in your chest at just how perfect Bucky was for you.

Curling your fingers around the back of his neck, you dragged Bucky in for a messy, filthy kiss that was all nipping teeth and searching tongues. But as the kiss went on, it turned soft and sweet. By the time you pulled away, you and Bucky were both grinning at each other, your hearts in your eyes.

In that moment, you really, finally believed that a relationship between the two of you could actually work. Bucky Barnes was like no other man you’d ever met, and you had a sneaking suspicion that was exactly what you needed, just like you were exactly what he needed.

Before Bucky helped you right yourself, he snapped a few more photos of you on top of John’s ruined leather jacket. A deeply satisfied smile curved your lips as you lay back on the counter, your thighs splayed open, your dress pushed up down and pulled down so your tits and cunt were on full display.

When he was satisfied, he passed the phone to you so you could see the photos.

While you looked hot in all of them, you couldn’t help but stare at the expression on Bucky’s face in the mirror. His blue eyes were bright and possessive even in the dim neon light of the bathroom, his mouth curved into a greedy, hungry grin.

You sent your favorites to yourself, then gave the phone back to Bucky, who dropped a kiss to your lips that sent a delightful little spark of excitement through your heart.

Bucky helped you down from the sink counter and tugged off his jacket while you righted your dress. Then he draped the canvas jacket around your shoulders and you slit your arms in the sleeves and hugged it close as he redid his belt. It was so much more comfortable and better fitting than John’s jacket.

Turning your face into the collar, you breathed deeply. Bucky’s scent filled your senses and settled something deep inside you. Your exhale was a sigh of relief. With Bucky’s cum still leaking out of your pussy and his jacket wrapped around your shoulders, everything felt right.

Your eyes fluttered open and you caught Bucky watching you, a small smile curving the corners of his mouth, and a not-so-small amount of affection burning in his gaze. You had half a mind to throw yourself at your boyfriend and fuck him again in the dirty dive bar bathroom—but the unhappy knocking on the door stopped you.

Bucky wrapped his arm possessively around your waist, his other hand grabbing John’s jacket before unlocking the bathroom door and kicking the trash can out of the way.

The two of you strode out into the hallway with your heads held high. Neither of you were ashamed that it was clear what you’d been doing in the bathroom. After all, you were just having some fun with your boyfriend, and Bucky had been having some fun with his girlfriend.

When you approached the table filled with Bucky’s friends, he tossed the leather jacket to John in such a way that the ruined part of the leather wasn’t immediately obvious.

John seemed a bit more sober as he caught the jacket, a confused frown pulling at the edges of his mouth. He looked up to find you tucked into Bucky’s side, wearing Bucky’s jacket, and his face immediately soured.

The look in John’s eyes only grew more mutinous when he noticed the freshly fucked, very satisfied smile on your face.

Idly, you wondered if John noticed that the expression on your face was nothing like how you looked after he’d fucked you. But then you remembered it didn’t matter.

John Walker would never fuck you again—and you didn’t want or need him to. Not when Bucky Barnes was your boyfriend.

Suddenly, it dawned on you that Bucky could go back on his word.

He’d said he was willing to tell all his friends that you were his girlfriend, but that had been while you’d been alone and he’d been trying to get into your pussy. Would he keep his word now that he was faced with all his friends?

Thankfully, Bucky didn’t leave you hanging in uncertainty for very long.

“You’re gonna wanna get that dry-cleaned, Walker,” Bucky said casually, tugging you even closer to his side, his hand splaying wide and possessively over your hip.

Everyone else at the table was silent, shamelessly watching the interaction between Bucky and John. Meanwhile, John’s eyes bounced between you and his so-called friend, confusion creasing his brow. But before he could speak, Bucky was clapping his free hand on John’s shoulder, shooting him an arrogant smirk.

“You can send me the bill.” Then Bucky leaned into John, as if to tell him something in confidence, but kept his voice loud so the whole table could hear. “And I want you to be the first to know, my girl’s officially done with you.”

Bucky pulled you around to his front, and you tipped your head back so he could press a kiss to your lips. In front of all his friends, Bucky slipped his tongue into your mouth, kissing you deeply, possessively, before turning back to John.

“She’s my girlfriend now, so lose her fucking number.”

At Bucky’s declaration, John’s face crumpled in disappointment and devastation. A very small part of you felt bad for him, but then you remembered how he’d treated you earlier that evening, how he was a little too pushy, and even that small bit of pity evaporated.

When John looked at you, you gave him a remorseless shrug and turned your attention to Bucky, effectively dismissing your ex-fuck buddy. Looking at Bucky, you couldn’t help but smile at how much happier you were with him than you’d ever been in John’s presence.

“You still owe me a drink, boyfriend,” you murmured teasingly, reaching up and raking your nails over his scruffy jaw, turning his face to look at you.

A huge grin spread across Bucky’s face and he tugged you impossibly closer, until your body was plastered against his and wrapped around him to a nearly obscene extent.

“You’re right, baby, let’s go,” he murmured, kissing you again with an indecent amount of tongue, before tugging you away from the table and leading you to the bar.

You practically collapsed against Bucky’s chest as you walked, snickering at the look on John’s face while Bucky muffled his own laughter in your hair. It was only his arm wrapped firmly around your waist that kept you upright as you maneuvered through the other tables and chairs.

Halfway to the bar, you heard a disgusted shout behind you. Both you and Bucky stopped to look back at the table you’d just left.

John was standing up, holding his jacket at arm’s length, his eyes staring at the parts of the garment that Bucky had used to clean you up. John held his hand to his mouth, pressing against his lips like he was trying to stop himself from being sick.

It took every ounce of your self-control not to tip your head back and cackle your amusement for the entire bar to hear. Instead, you buried your face in Bucky’s shoulder, and let your mirth spill out of you in muffled snorts and giggles.

For his part, your boyfriend was doing his best to stifle his laughter as well, his fist pressed to his mouth and his teeth sinking into his finger to bite back his evil amusement. Together, you held each other up as your bodies shook with your barely restrained laughter.

“Did that make you feel better?” you asked, your voice still shaking with mirth as you collected yourself and began heading toward the bar again, Bucky’s hand never leaving your waist as he trailed behind you.

You found an open spot between a couple groups and leaned a hip against the sturdy bartop, facing Bucky as he slid in beside you.

Before responding, Bucky flagged down the bartender, a different one from earlier, who made quick work of taking his order. Bucky asked for a beer for himself, and the drink you’d asked him for when you’d first gotten to the dive bar. Then he waited until the bartender moved away before answering your question.

“It did,” Bucky said smugly, his hands falling to your hips and pulling your soft body flush against his hard chest. His arms wrapped around your waist beneath his jacket, fingers idly stroking your spine through your dress.

You’d just circled your arms around Bucky’s shoulders and were leaning in for a kiss when movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention.

John Walker stormed past, throwing a glare at Bucky before making a show of forcing his jacket into the garbage can by the door and shoving outside. He left in a huff, Lemar Hoskins following on his heels to make sure he got home safe.

Once they were gone, you tipped your head back and finally let out your evil cackle, tears gathering in your eyes while Bucky laughed just as loudly.

The sound of his callous triumph reverberated through you everywhere you were pressed together, and it sent tingles of pleasure spiraling through your body.

Suddenly, you were very aware that you were no longer wearing panties—since they were still tucked into Bucky’s back pocket—and you could feel your desire leaking from your slit. You pressed your thighs together to try to stop it from dripping any further.

Bucky caught your eye as you both calmed down, and something seemed to pass between the two of you—an understanding, an acceptance of even the worst parts of yourselves. Not for the first time, you thought that Bucky was like no other man you’d ever met, and you were excited to see what havoc you could wreak on the world. Together.

The meaningful moment you were sharing with Bucky was cut too short when Sharon fucking Carter appeared at your boyfriend’s shoulder, her fingers curling around his bare bicep to get his attention.

Your gaze zeroed in on where Sharon was touching your man, a red haze of fury falling over your vision as you tensed, your arms wrapping more tightly around Bucky’s neck.

“Hey Buck, we got cut off earlier. I didn’t get to finish telling you about the ridiculous project Ross has me working on,” Sharon said, seemingly oblivious of the way you and Bucky were wrapped around each other.

Just then, the bartender returned with your drinks, and Bucky used the opportunity to shake off Sharon’s hand. Turning to the bar, he slid some bills across the hardwood then grabbed your drink and handed it to you before picking up his beer.

“Not now, Sharon, I’m with my girlfriend,” Bucky said dismissively, his eyes never leaving your face as he watched you take a sip of your drink. “And for future reference, I don’t give a shit about any projects Ross has you working on, or whether Nat’s giving you a hard time. Bother Sam with your bullshit.”

You took another sip of your drink, that time hiding your evil smile as Sharon huffed in annoyance. But when Bucky only kept his attention fixed firmly on you, she whirled around and walked away, taking her annoying, grating voice with her.

A sense of satisfaction spread warmly in your chest and you moved your drink out of the way so you could grin up at your boyfriend. Pushing yourself against his chest, you captured his lips in a kiss, licking into his mouth in reward for sending Sharon Carter away.

“How about you, baby, did that make you feel better?” Bucky murmured in your ear before pulling away to take a sip of his beer, watching you the whole time.

It was intoxicating to have Bucky’s full attention, to know that he was your boyfriend and you were his girlfriend, and you didn’t need to suffer through the company of John Walker or Sharon Carter anymore. That realization was so delightful, you almost forgot to answer Bucky’s question.

“It did,” you said, letting Bucky see your evil smirk before you leaned in and pressed another kiss to his mouth. You trailed kisses along his jaw until your lips were close to his ear. “Finish your drink fast, I want you to take me home and fuck me like no other man can, Bucky.”

You could feel Bucky’s bulge grow against your soft belly, but he only chuckled at your words. Then he led you back to the table and sat down with his friends, holding you close with his arm around your shoulders and his legs tangled with yours as you enjoyed the company of his friends for a little while.

When he finished his beer and you’d downed the last of your drink, you and Bucky said goodbye to his friends and he took you back to his place. There, he fucked you again, like no other man ever had, claiming you as his girlfriend while you claimed him as your boyfriend. Finally.

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