"I think you look great," Jungkook said suddenly, like the words slipped out before he could stop them. "And... quiet is overrated. This place was way too quiet before you came. I'm not sorry about the change."

Holy shit.

Was that... a compliment? From him?

I laughed, a little breathless, like his words had knocked the wind out of me. "Uh... thank you?"

His smile appeared again, that rare curve of his lips that felt more like a privilege than a reflex. God, I was so glad I was sitting down because my knees would've buckled under the weight of that grin.

"You're welcome." He tilted his head up toward the stars, his voice dropping an octave. "You really think Layla's doing okay?"

I nodded softly. "Yeah. She's sad. She's grieving. But she's also smart, and strong. And she's working through it in her own way. So yes, I think she's going to be okay."

I hesitated, then added, "Other than the, you know, getting-kicked-out-of-school part."

He exhaled deeply, shoulders sagging. "Yeah... that one's on me. I'm failing her, aren't I?"

"No," I said firmly. "But I do think she needs more of your time. She needs to feel like she's wanted—not like she's just... your responsibility."

Jungkook sat up straight, suddenly alert. "Did she say that?"

"Not directly," I said, turning toward him.

Our eyes locked. And for a second—just one suspended heartbeat—my breath caught. His gaze was like a flame licking at the edge of restraint, something deep and dark and unspoken curling in the space between us.

"But... she thinks you don't want her here," I said carefully.

His eyes flinched, full of hurt, like I'd wounded him.

"I didn't mean it like an accusation—"

"It's not that," he murmured, shaking his head slowly, running a hand through his dark hair. "It's not that at all."

"I know," I said gently.

He stared at me, jaw tense. "How could you possibly know that?"

"Because I was her," I whispered. "My parents sent me to boarding school when I was about her age. Told me it was to help me 'adjust to the world.' But what they really meant was... their world."

Jungkook blinked. "You went to boarding school?"

I laughed softly. "Surprised?"

"A little. You don't seem like the... Daechi-dong, chaebol-daughter type."

"I wasn't meant to be the society wife, and thank God for that." I shrugged, looking out at the night. "Didn't fit in then. Still don't."

There was a long pause. He didn't speak, but I could feel him watching me again.

"It's just—why be a nanny when you could do anything else?" he said finally, and this time his voice wasn't judgmental. Just curious.

I gave him a small, secret smile. "Because this is what I want to do."

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It was electric.

His gaze lingered too long—tracing my cheekbone, drifting to my lips, dropping lower before snapping back up like he hadn't meant to stare.

But he had. We both knew it.

The longer Jungkook looked at me like that, the hotter my blood ran. It wasn't nerves, not really. It was hunger. Pure, unspoken tension crackling in the space between our loungers. The kind that made my thighs tighten and my nipples harden under my thin bra. My core pulsed with something primal, and my body betrayed me before my brain could intervene.

I stood abruptly. Maybe too fast to look natural.

"I should, um... head to bed."

He stood too, slow and deliberate. "I'll walk you up."

"No need," I said, too quickly. "I know the way."

One corner of his mouth curled up in that maddening, lethal smile. "So do I."

Shit.

I gave up the protest, walking toward the house, my skin buzzing with awareness. The night was quiet, but not calm. There was tension in the air—thick and clinging, like monsoon heat. His steps echoed behind mine, close enough that I could feel his presence without seeing him. His warmth. His masculinity. The raw potency of him.

I took a deep breath to slow my heart.

This is just my boss walking me up. It doesn't mean anything. It's not what it feels like.

Except... it was what it felt like.

His body radiated heat. His gaze was a weight on my spine. And my imagination was already running wild with what would happen if he stopped me at the top of the stairs and kissed me like he was dying to know what I tasted like.

We reached the landing.

"This is me," I said, trying to sound breezy, like I hadn't been spiraling into filth for the past 90 seconds.

Jungkook leaned against the doorframe casually. Too casually. "Thanks for the talk, Y/N."

His voice—God, his voice—sent a flutter low in my belly.

"Goodnight," I whispered, suddenly breathless.

But he didn't leave.

Instead, he stepped closer. The space between us evaporated. His hand ghosted over my waist before settling there—hot, possessive. I sucked in a sharp breath.

"You feel more like a... Y/N-ssi to me," he murmured, teasing.

I shivered. "Jungkook—"

He didn't let me finish.

His hands slipped fully around my waist, pulling me flush against his chest. His body was firm—everywhere. My breath caught as his chest rose and fell, slow but heavy, and my palms flattened against him instinctively.

His heart thundered under my touch.

Mine raced to match it.

Our lips were barely inches apart.

And if he kissed me now—if he claimed me—I wouldn't stop him.

I didn't want to stop him.

"And how exactly does a Y/N feel, Jungkook?"

He looked like he was fighting a war inside himself. But whatever battle it was, he lost—because the next second, his lips crashed onto mine.

"Like this," he growled.

His mouth moved with calculated aggression, his tongue sliding slowly—deliberately—across the seam of my lips, as if he had all the time in the world to devour me. The press of his body was hard, unyielding, and heated from the inside out.

"And this," he whispered, voice rough with desire as the tip of his tongue traced the shape of my lips like he was memorizing it for later. "Every fucking part of you..."

The kiss deepened and my spine arched into him without thought, my entire body burning from the inside out.

"And this," he snarled low in his throat as his hands slid from my waist to grab my ass with both palms—tight, possessive, and completely unapologetic. At the same moment, his tongue plunged into my mouth, stealing the last of my breath.

Jungkook kissed like he owned me.

Like he'd waited too long for this and wasn't going to waste a second pretending otherwise.

He tasted like danger and cinnamon, like control just starting to unravel. His tongue explored everything—slow at first, teasing, then hungrier, darker, like he wanted to wreck me from the inside out. Our tongues met and tangled, my breath catching when he sucked lightly on mine before biting down on my bottom lip.

It wasn't just a kiss.

It was a goddamn obliteration of sanity.

My skin flushed hot, my knees barely holding me up. If it weren't for his hands gripping me so tightly, I would've collapsed against the wall behind me, melting into a puddle at his feet.

My panties were soaked. Ruined.

And he knew it.

Jungkook tilted his head and kissed me deeper—filthier—as if he wanted to mark me with every slide of his mouth. My hands clawed at his chest, fingers tracing the taut ridges under his shirt, down the solid planes of his abs, and around the curve of his back.

He moaned—moaned—into my mouth when my fingers grabbed a handful of his ass.

I couldn't help it.

Jungkook the nerd was absolutely fucking ripped. That thought snapped through my brain like a whip.

What the hell was I doing?

My breath hitched as I tore my lips away from his. My chest heaved with each panicked inhale. I staggered back one step, then another.

This was insane.

I didn't even know this man.

Not really.

I knew his name was Jungkook. That he worked remotely—something with cybersecurity or programming or hacking, I didn't know—and that he was raising his niece after her parents died in a car crash he never talked about.

That was it.

No last name, no history, no real context.

Just a quiet house, a grieving girl... and that body under my hands, so hard it made my teeth ache.

This was the literal definition of a bad idea.

A dangerous, earth-shattering, fuck-me-now-and-ruin-me-later kind of bad idea.

I forced a breath past my lips. "I should, um... good night."

His smile was slow. Lazy. Wicked.

Like he hadn't just tried to swallow me whole two seconds ago.

But the worst part?

I could still feel his mouth on mine.

His tongue, slick and possessive, exploring me like he was claiming territory.

I tried again. "Good night, Jungkook."

His smirk deepened as he stepped forward, close again. The air shifted.

And just as I opened my mouth to but—he lifted his hand and pressed two fingers against my lips.

"Shh," he purred. "Don't ruin it."

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

His fingers—long, strong, and callused—rested right there on my mouth, still glistening with the heat of his skin. I didn't even think.

I licked them.

My tongue darted out in one soft, hesitant stroke. Just a graze. Just enough to taste the salt on his skin and let him know I wasn't exactly in control anymore.

Jungkook flinched like I'd electrocuted him. His fingers yanked back as if my tongue had burned him.

His voice dropped an octave, raw and strangled: "Fuck."

That's all he said.

And that was all it took.

I slipped into my room, shut the door quietly behind me, and leaned back against the wood with my pulse going ballistic.

My chest rose and fell in erratic bursts. My panties were soaked. My C-cup bra felt too tight, my nipples aching against the lace. I could still feel his breath in my lungs.

I shut my eyes.

I let myself enjoy the moment. The memory of that kiss—wet, deep, and sinful. The weight of his hands on my ass. The near growl in his chest when I touched his back. The glazed, filthy look in his eyes when I licked his fingers like a fucking invitation.

And then?

Then I proceeded to freak the fuck out.

Because I wanted him again.

Because I knew I'd taste him in my dreams.

Because no part of this was going to end well.

A/n : Early updates on my Scrollstack, the link can be found in the link in my Instagram bio.