pairing: jungkook x f!reader
genre/warnings: established relationship, college au; fluff, suggestive; reminder that bonus tracks are flashbacks just in case everyone forgot, mentions of a boner
note: henlo i know no one actually believes me every time i say i'm gonna finish obs so here is my first obs post in 3 years to prove you wrong LOL. also bc i got to see bts last weekend up SO FUCKING CLOSE with my own eyeballs and jungoo was in full obs!jk attire and busted out all the stops so i’ve been having Big Feelings about it
series masterpost / main playlist ; moodboards ; taglist
as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡
The first thing you feel in the morning is a chill running down your arms, because the covers must’ve been haphazardly shrugged off sometime during the night.
The mattress is softer, more cloud-like. The room smells like fresh laundry and a cologne you’ve become familiar with.
Then the faint warmth radiating from behind, hovering nearby but not quite touching. Doesn’t take long to register that it’s not your own bed you’ve woken up in.
The realization has you stiffening almost immediately. You’ve never stayed over at Jungkook’s before.
It’s not like it was intentional. You’d been at his dorm last night, the two of you spending a lazy Saturday indoors to avoid the brutal winter outside. Snuggling in his bed, rewatching your comfort anime, then some kissing, with his hand tenderly kneading under your shirt and his tongue in your mouth.
The kissing bit might’ve been your favorite.
You don’t recall falling asleep, not on purpose anyway. You remember the taste of his kiss-swollen lips, the last peck he gave you before hopping over to the bathroom. That was it. Now here you are.
It shouldn’t be a big deal because it isn’t. It really isn’t. But this thing is new and delicate and you’re prone to blowing up fragile things. Just a few weeks ago, Jeon Jungkook had been at the very top of your shit list. Now you know how his bed feels and you don’t even hate it!
Just as you’re thinking of ways to extract yourself from said bed without waking him up, an arm loops around your waist. He pulls you closer, flush against his chest like it’s nothing.
You blink, wide eyed and everything. That’s all you do. You don’t even breathe.
He caresses you over your shirt before pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Don’t freak out,” he mumbles, voice still heavy with sleep.
You grumble out on an exhale, “I’m not freaking out.”
“You’re like a log of wood.”
There’s one thing you do hate, however, and it’s the way Jungkook can read you so easily. Even half asleep. Even when he hasn’t seen your face yet.
You shuffle in his hold, trying to relax, determined to prove him wrong even though he’s not. Just for the principle, just because you’re stubborn.
Then, something hard pokes against your ass.
“Speak for yourself,” you mutter, but you don’t move away.
“Just ignore it. It’ll go down,” he says, unfazed somehow, tightening his arm around you so you’d stop squirming. “Just let it happen. Don’t get weird about it.”
“About your dick?”
He scoffs lightly, pinching your waist. “About waking up with me.”
You have to bite back a retort, but you relent anyhow. You focus on the calming rhythm of his breathing, the way his fingers trace gentle patterns onto your skin, how his lips brush over the back of your neck.
Your body just melts into his by the second. It feels natural. It feels right, a little terrifyingly so.
“Alright?” he asks.
You only respond with a noncommittal hum.
“Come here,” he says, but he doesn’t wait for an answer this time. Before you can ask what here means since there’s not really anywhere else for you to go, Jungkook is already propping himself up to lean over you. He cups your face with one hand, turns you toward him in one swift motion.
His mouth descends upon yours, slow and soft and all too sweet. His lips muffle the surprised noise that escapes from your throat. There’s nowhere to run, not that running is even on your mind anymore. At least not right now.
But in this moment, you just let him consume you in that tender way that he does, like a safe harbor calling you to shore.
You’re dazed when he pulls away—too soon for your liking.
“This isn’t so bad, right?” He’s grinning now, that smug bastard. A month ago, you’d have wanted to slap that smirk right off his face. But you don’t really care now; you just want him back in your orbit for always. Unfathomable.
“Yeah.” You merely nod, like he’s got you entranced or something.
Messy hair and boyish smile, Jungkook looks down at you with his eyes crinkled still. He gives you one more kiss, deeper this time, sweeter if it were even possible. He holds onto you like you’re something fragile and precious, and when he lets you go, it’s only to lie back down and squeeze you close again. Your face fits perfectly in the crook of his neck, where his scent is soothing and lulls you off once more.
“C’mon,” he says, stroking your hair lazily, “let’s get some more sleep. I’ll make you waffles when we wake up.”
synopsis: packed and ready to go for your best friend’s destination wedding in italy? check. hot, broody senior manager jeon jeongguk as the groom’s best man? nothing could’ve prepared you for that. alternatively, what happens in italy, stays in italy … right?
pairing: sr. manager!jeongguk x fem colleague!reader
wc: 15.6k
genre: forbidden love, coworkers au, smut, angst
cw: slice of life, age gap (jk 37, oc 22), cold jk (#TroubledMen), hopeless romantic oc, grief, negative family dynamics, side character death, corporate lingo, light fluff, rich privilege, yearning, one sided grudge, oc gets harassed, hurt with some comfort, 18+ ONLY, porn with lots of plot, sexual tension, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, slight overstimulation, multiple orgasms, riding, missionary
a/n: pls go wish my queen n goat of dilf jk @lovieku the happiest bday! this was written as a gift to her <3 SHE DESERVES THE WORLD AND SO MUCH MORE
Auntie Lin’s only piece of advice after you announced your acceptance of your first corporate job: Small talk is your best friend. The advice hadn’t registered in your mind until you facilitated a meeting with executive management where the first five minutes of silent judgement nearly made you quit the job until you asked, “Any weekend plans?”
You learned the power of small talk and how obsessed executive leaders were when it came to bragging about their personal lives outside the office. The advice worked so well, management gave you an unprompted promotion two weeks later.
Nothing wrong with being the personality hire if it helps you climb the corporate ladder.
Okay, well, no, you had history with this company.
Your father’s connection with the talent acquisition management landed you an internship at this very company right out of high school, so you didn’t need to reestablish your rapport after graduating from university.
You’re still a hard worker. Yes … objectively speaking, nepotism played a part in your current successes — you don’t shy away from that fact.
Your charming and curious personality only got you so far, but the magic always stopped with one person.
Jeon Jeongguk.
Hard case to crack and even harder to not stare at when he’s within your vicinity.
He’s polished, well-spoken, and … let’s just say there are things you shouldn’t say or think about in a place of work, let alone towards someone in the senior management team. He hardly smiles and if he does, it’s never towards you.
Right now? You think the least Jeongguk could do is crack a smile at your joke to break the tension in the virtual meeting. No one liked hearing bad news and you became the bearer of bad news as you explained to the client why a deliverable will not be made by the proposed timeline.
Delivering bad news was a manager’s job and unfortunately, your manager entrusted you with this responsibility right before she left for maternity leave, raving about how it’ll build your leadership and communication skills … right, right.
Jeongguk was the other leader overseeing the project. His team met all the deliverables, so there was no real need for his attendance other than pure formalities.
This was your chance to show him what you were capable of.
“Mr. Choi, we apologize for not making the deadline. With half the team on leave, the estimated completion date will need to be extended as a result.” You explain.
Jeongguk sits and watches you exchange words with the client. The mic button remained on mute during the many moments you would’ve benefited from his direction or support. You didn’t think you’d have to go through a humiliation ritual the day before your big trip for your best friend’s wedding in Italy. It’s your turn to have your mic button on mute as you let the client chew you out in front of your peers.
“Mr. Choi.” Jeongguk interrupts.
Thank god, finally.
“The deliverables will be completed by the original proposed due date. I will personally see through that.”
You exhale in relief once the client settles back into their chair, demeanor shifting from their outburst moments ago.
You [3:32 p.m.]: Thank you, Jeongguk.
As expected, he doesn’t reply.
The meeting wraps up on a positive note thanks to Jeongguk’s interception. Everyone bids each other farewell until you hear a call of your name.
“Stay on the call. Need to discuss a few things with you.”
Confused, you aren’t sure why he doesn’t ask you to walk ten steps to his office to chat privately. You swallow and one by one, all of your colleagues leave the meeting until it’s just you and him.
He sighs, letting his agitation come out freely now. He loosens his tie and fixes his frames on his nose.
“So …” you begin.
“Do you know what your first mistake was on that call?” He sneers, a complete one-eighty from the well-mannered speaker he was during the meeting.
“I’m–uh, not sure.” You reply honestly.
“‘We apologize,’” he repeats your words, “there is no ‘we’ in this — you were the one that didn’t meet the service level agreement. Learn to take accountability for your own shortcomings.”
Ouch.
He continues, “You also failed to offer any alternatives or incentive for the delay. This is about being reputable — customer experience dictates future collaborations with new clients. If this one goes sour, we lose our clientele.”
Each word morphed into daggers piercing and digging into your self-esteem.
The finishing blow?
“That being said, you will finish what we originally promised the client.”
“But,” your heart drops at the mention of working during your time off, “I’m not going to be in the country.”
“I’m sure there’s internet wherever you’re going.”
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“And then! He said I’m paid salary, not hourly, so it doesn’t matter how long I need to work — I just need to get it done.” You complain to your colleague, Mina, who happened to work under Jeongguk’s section.
“Oof, sorry girl.” She pours the coffee into her cup, unsurprised by her boss’ expectations. Setting the pot back onto the warmer, she leans against the counter. It’s just the two of you in the breakroom, free from prying eyes and ears. “So what are you gonna do?”
You groan. As much as you’d like to ramble and moan about how unreasonable Jeongguk’s demands were, you knew he was right about needing to take accountability.
“Well, if I push in some work in the early morning and night the first couple of days in Italy, I should be able to get it done.” You sigh. “Just hate it.”
Mina pats your shoulder and gives you a reassuring smile, which soon changes into a bewildered expression as she digs her fingers into your shoulder.
“Oh, hey bossman, here for a coffee refill?” Mina’s voice strains, projected to the space behind you.
You turn and there stands Jeon Jeongguk in all his glory. While you had the privilege to see him earlier today during the virtual meeting, nothing compared to the real deal. Dressed in an all-black suit, Jeongguk looks ever immaculate. His face is free from his metal-framed glasses, but they leave their small indentations on the sides of his nose. The deadliest combo came in the form of his hair pushed back, exposing his wrinkle-free forehead.
If it weren’t for his wired earphones and outdated iPod you caught him with during his walk, you would’ve never guessed his age. Technically, you still don’t know the exact number but Anna in Human Resources hinted he’s in his mid to late thirties.
Whatever. Age is just a number and hasn’t stopped you from trying to befriend the older man.
“Yes, my third one today.” He muses.
“Anything the team and I can do to help wrap up things for you before your vacation?” Mina probes.
Wait. You never caught wind of that.
“No,” he shakes his head, “thank you, though.”
Your heart stirs at the low timbre of his chuckle, surprised at his abilities in displaying any other emotions outside his stoic expression. You theorize it comes easier with an established rapport.
Maybe you’ll try your luck today.
“How long are you going to be out for?” You ask, moving to the side so he has better access to the coffee pot. His scent naturally fills your space — a mixture of fresh laundry and cedarwood.
“Two weeks.”
“Oh, same here!” You beam.
“Yes, you’ve mentioned that quite a bit this month.”
You warm in embarrassment; though, the feelings get swept underneath the rug at another fact.
He listened — more importantly, he remembered your many musings.
“I’m going to Italy.” You remark, hoping he’d give a little more detail on his own vacation if you shared a bit about your upcoming adventures.
Jeongguk freezes momentarily and clears his throat before setting down the nearly empty pot.
“That’s nice.”
Seizing the moment to continue the conversation, you throw out details of your trip, namely for the wedding you’ll attend as maid of honor for your best friend.
“And they’re going to have this lovely venue near the beach. It’s going to be great.” You marvel.
“Ugh, I’m jealous,” Mina pouts. “Are you going to be doing something fun during your time off, Jeongguk?”
You watch him with expectant eyes.
“Tending some family matters.”
That’s corporate lingo for: it’s personal, so none of your business. Everyone knows to back off on the topic at that point.
Taking a sip of his coffee after mixing a pack of Splenda, he offers a tight-lipped smile, “I have to head back to the desk. Enjoy your break.”
Alone with Mina once again, you look at her with defeated eyes.
“He’s just introverted and private, babe. I wouldn’t sweat it.” She waves.
“I’ve been here for over a year and he’s never like this to management or clients.” You sigh. “Maybe I’m the problem.”
It’s hard to not take things to heart being a natural born people pleaser. You want to be liked and if you’re not, at least know why; except, Jeongguk kept things strictly work related with all the little pocket of interactions you’ve had with him.
If you were brave enough, you’d ask him about it over coffee or lunch — anywhere that might give you a glimpse of who he is outside of work.
“Don’t mind him. In about twenty-four hours, you’ll be in Italy! Last time you updated, the best man was a little wishy-washy about the wedding? How’s that going?”
“Jihyo said Seojun got it sorted out, so they’re okay.” All you know from the matter is how much of a struggle it was to get a definite answer from his best man. Prick move and unnecessary stress for the wedding party. Had you been in Seojun’s position, you would’ve cut losses and moved forward without the best man early on.
Planning a wedding was difficult enough, let alone dealing with difficult people in the wedding party. You pray he steps into his role as the best man to lessen the to-be-wedded couple’s worries.
“Good. Wedding drama’s the worst.” Mina nods. “Still haven’t recovered from finding out my cousin’s husband was fucking his cousin.”
The gossip session goes for another fifteen minutes until you begrudgingly head back to finish up some last minute tasks. You weren’t going to be that coworker who leaves a bunch of unfinished work for your backup.
Another thing you didn’t want to be was like your father, but you’re no different by the time you finish your pending tasks at 9:52 p.m. You do a quick once-over your automatic out-of-office notice and send out a list of items for your backup to look after before stuffing all your belongings into your workbag.
Going home was always your favorite time of the day, granting you the chance to walk past Jeongguk’s office. Even from where you’re standing, the lights in his office are the only ones still on out of all the managers on the floor.
His door remains slightly ajar throughout the day aside from the times he’s on a call or speaking to one of his employees. An ‘open door policy,’ Mina explained. Wants the folks on his team comfortable coming to him with their needs or questions.
You didn’t need anything, per se. There were plenty of questions floating in your head, but none that would qualify as work-related or professional. Things like … where are you going for vacation? Would you like to grab dinner together? … Are you seeing anyone?
Your short almond shaped nails tap on his metal name plaque outside his office.
He looks up from his computer, the monitor’s brightness setting doing little to hide his exhausted stare. One brow raised, he cocks his head to the side.
“Come in.”
You take in your surroundings: a shelf containing all his Employee of the Year awards, empty “In” bin as opposed to a stacked “Out” bin, and half-finished cup of coffee. Above all, no pictures of his family or signs of life outside of work.
A stark contrast in comparison to your cubicle full of small trinkets, pictures of your loved ones, and cards you’ve received from both your coworkers and clients.
“Just wanted to say goodnight and thank you again for joining the meeting.” You say. “I followed up with the client with your recommendations and they’re happy with the timeline.”
He nods. “I’m glad it worked out.”
“Well,” You rock on your heels, not wanting to leave just yet, “I’ll see you in two weeks. Hope you have a nice time off, Jeongguk.”
He leans back into his deskchair, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he studies your face. His black dress shirt stretches and expands tightly at a passing thought; at the last second, he makes his resolve in foregoing the notion for simpler words.
“Likewise. Safe travels to Italy.”
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Despite the two layovers and many near-death turbulences later, you arrive in Venice, Italy in one piece. Your best friend, Jihyo, was the first person you see at the gates, smile lighting up the building when she finally spots you through the crowds. These days, she glows more with her soon-to-be husband, Seojun.
You’ve met him only a handful of times and he’s always been kind. You don’t know him well enough, but as long as your friend was happy, so were you.
Which is why she’s going all out for her wedding — it’s her chance to do what she wants with those who care for her. Jihyo’s parents unfortunately did not extend their support and care. They were so against the idea of her marrying a person of no status, her father threatened to cut off all ties and funds if she were to go through with marrying Seojun.
“My favorite person is finally here!” She squeezes you in her arms. “How was the flight? Are you hungry? We can go get a quick bite.”
“Jihyo, love, slow down,” Seojun comes from behind and offers you a kind greeting. “You must be exhausted. We can head back to the hotel. Just waiting for my uncle to clear customs.”
“Oh! Do you know when he’ll land?” You ask.
“I think he was on the same flight as you, so he should be out soon.” He pulls out his phone to answer a quick text before scanning the area.
“Think that’s him.” He squints. “Uncle, over here!” He extends his arm above his head.
You expected a fifty year old balding man, not senior manager, Jeon Jeongguk.
Fuck.
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You didn’t think you’d ever ride in the same car as one of your managers, especially one you had a dire crush on. You definitely didn’t think you’d be seated in the back of a rental car with him in Italy for your best friend’s wedding.
This whole scenario has to be straight out a romcom … or, in your case, a horror film.
You open up the notes app in your phone and type out a quick message: Do we tell them we know each other?
What you really wanted to ask was: Why the hell didn’t you say anything about this being the “family matter” you had to take care of?
He takes your phone from your hand and begins typing something before handing it back to you. Nothing from your original note was edited, but a second later a notification comes through.
Jeongguk [4:56 p.m.]: No. Too complicated.
You [4:56 p.m.]: Okay..
“Uncle.” Seojun looks at the rear mirror. “How’s work been?”
“Busy,” he sighs. “But it’s been getting better.”
“I’m glad. Hope these two weeks will give you the break you need. You didn’t bring your work laptop, right?” He presses.
Kind of cute seeing the younger male lecture his uncle — cuter seeing Jeongguk grumble at his nephew’s nagging.
“No promises.”
“Speaking of work,” Jihyo chimes in, “How you coping with work?” She turns her entire body from the passenger seat to look at you.
The passengers in the car go silent for your reply, feeling Jeongguk’s shift from the work status inquiry.
“Fine.” You answer quickly.
“Really? That one manager didn’t give you more shit right–”
“Jihyo!” You interrupt, quickly covering up with an awkward laugh and stiff smile, “ Ha-ha … no, it’s been great!”
“Wha–? But you were venting about having to work during the trip … Honestly, that manager’s lucky he’s hot.”
“Ji–”
“Hot?” Jeongguk asks with a raised brow. There’s a lift in his voice, forcing you to bury and shrink deeper into your seat.
“Allegedly.” Jihyo replies mindlessly. Oblivious to your discomfort of the topic, Jihyo continues, “You still gotta sneak a picture of him when you can, babe. I need to see if his pretty privileges warrant this sort of power trip.”
You’ve heard summers in Italy were magical. You wish for some of that magic to touch you right now — the kind good enough to make you disappear all together from this awkward conversation.
“Huh.” Jeongguk props his elbow by the car’s window ledge, palm covering his mouth. “I’m curious too.”
Jihyo changes the topic to the itinerary she made for the wedding party; however, you couldn’t be bothered to tune into the details. Knowing Jihyo, she’ll eventually send the party a spreadsheet of the schedule.
You [5:02 p.m.]: Please ignore Jihyo 🥹
Your heart accelerates at the appearance of the infamous dots signaling Jeongguk’s reply in the making.
Jeongguk [5:03 p.m.]: I’ll try. Power trips make it insanely hard to.
You chew on your bottom lip out of habit, feeling the sweat gather behind your neck. Hand fanning your face, you glance over and notice a slight shake in Jeongguk’s stature. He’s still facing away from you and towards the window, but from the reflection, you can see the corners of his mouth lift.
Endorphins rush through your bloodstream at the thought of making him happy.
While chasing your happiness has always been your life motto, you wouldn’t mind chasing for Jeongguk’s happiness too.
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On Jihyo’s itinerary, she deliberately left Venice off from the rest of the wedding party arriving later at the actual wedding site. The next two days were solely meant to spend more time with the maid of honor and best man.
The first day in Venice naturally got cut short with your arrival time; so, the only thing Jihyo planned was a nice dinner after you and Jeongguk settled into your respective rooms. Dinner rolls by with just you, Jihyo, and Seojun perusing the menu for the umpteenth time. The seat, meant for Jeongguk, remains cold and empty. After about thirty minutes and a couple text messages, Seojun confirms with the waiter to remove the utensils and plate — something about his uncle not feeling well.
“Okay, but he’ll be at dinner tomorrow, right?” Jihyo frowns, eyes full of worry.
“Yes, love.” He smiles. “Just old man tendencies and jetlag got the best of him. He’ll be there tomorrow.”
Back at the hotel, you had half a mind to check in on him and just as you built up the courage to knock, the door swings open to reveal a Jeongguk you’ve yet to ever witness: dark grey compression shirt with five-inch inseam shorts. He has his wired earphones in and looks well rested, contrary to what Seojun mentioned at dinner about two hours ago.
“Oh, are you feeling better?” You ask, hand retracted and tucked behind your back.
His brows twitch, fingers removing one of the buds out his ear. “Sorry?”
“Seojun mentioned you weren’t feeling well. Are you better now?”
“Yep.” He answers.
Awkward.
“Where you headed to? It’s late.” You rock on your heels, afraid you might’ve overstepped with your light interrogation.
“Saw a small running trail nearby, just wanna get some movement in.”
“Would you like—”
“Well, goodnight.” He places the earpiece back in and walks off, the scent of his fresh linen deodorant trails along with him.
“—company?” The end of your sentence comes out in a tiny whisper, the question dying on the tip of your tongue as his figure disappears in the distance.
It was going to be a long two weeks, but you’re optimistic for a chance to change the tides with Jeongguk. Maybe even get to know him a little better or collect more versions of who he may be outside of work before this trip ends.
Arms linked with Jihyo, you walk down the small alleyways of Venice the next day, marveling at the tiny trinkets on display. Seojun and Jeongguk were always a couple steps behind, mainly taking note of the repeating gelato flavors at each stand. Your ears perk when Jeongguk chuckles at Seojun’s excitement of finally finding a stall with a new flavor. His laugh rings deep and rich, something you’re rarely afforded at the workplace.
You hold up two carnival masks to your face. “Which one suits me better?” You preferred the pink one in your left hand, but the green in your right hand spoke to you as well.
“Mm, you know I’ll always favor pink, but is there room in your suitcase?” Jihyo inquires.
Well, no, but you could always buy another suitcase.
“All going to end up as clutter once you’re home.” Jeongguk mutters to himself, eyeing the other trinkets on the shelf.
Whether or not it was directed at you, you put the mask back with the rest. The shop owner smiles, a little dejected at the missed sale, but with the numerous tourists filtering through the alley, he’s bound to make his daily quota by closing time.
The rest of the day is spent on trying new food — your favorite being the bruschetta flight near the waters. Again, Jeongguk and Seojun were always a couple steps behind, chatting about god knows what while you and Jihyo swap gelatos between every two or so licks. Venice was packed — mainly with tourists, but in a specific alleyway you all decided to turn into held a different kind of danger.
Pigeons. Lots of them.
One could argue Venice might be the motherland to birds; you’re not in any position to disagree as you cower between the birds staring down at your group from the railings. They swarm around your feet, begging for whatever you’d offer or accidentally drop.
Lucky for you, a shop owner comes and throws out bits of their baguettes. All the pigeons flock over in pursuit of their (probable) tenth snack for the day. You breathe a sigh of relief for the small deterrence, walking quicker to escape from the flock.
“Phew, thought we were goners back there.” Jihyo jokes, looking back at the boys.
At the last second, a seagull swoops in and takes the unfinished gelato right from your hand. You let out a blood curdling scream, hand immediately letting go of the cone. You grab Jihyo by the shoulder and chant for the birds to take her as an offering instead.
Everyone within the vicinity laughed, some tourists offered a sympathetic smile and asked if you were okay. Among the laughter, Jeongguk’s chuckle echoes loudest in your head. It had never been your goal to become the group’s court jester, but you wouldn’t mind making it your life’s sole purpose for this version of him.
Seojun checks his watch. “Jihyo, baby, we still have five more hours to kill before our flight over to Sicily. Should we head back to the hotel? Uncle said he’s tired—”
Smile wiped off his handsome face, Jeongguk nudges the young man in the arm. “Don’t use me as a scapegoat.”
You never realized how much the two men resembled each other, catching you off guard when Jeongguk hooks his arm around Seojun’s neck, and rubs his knuckles over his nephew’s head. Their laughter comes out the same, pairing well with their toothy grins.
“We only have one last item on the itinerary.” Jihyo says, a fond smile at the sight of her happy fiance. “I wanted to do a little gondola ride.”
Most tourists seized the golden hour for their boat ride too, which sent you and your group on a hunt for an unoccupied gondola, eventually finding two docked boats on the opposite entrance of Venice.
“I’ll pass.” Jeongguk says with a hand up.
Jihyo pouts, pointing in your direction. “But she’d be all alone.”
“Oh, um, I don’t mind staying behind.” You smile, doing your best to not sound disappointed at the lost experience. “Can always ride a boat at home.”
“But Miss, when will you ride a gondola in Venice while the sun is setting?” One of the gondoliers pitches.
“He’s right.” Jihyo nods. “Please, Jeongguk?”
He’d rather not waste money on a tourist trap … one look at Jihyo’s pleading eyes in combination with his nephew’s displeased stare has him folding on the spot.
Defeated, he sighs, “Fine.”
Jihyo cheers, skipping over to the first boat lined up where Seojun waits patiently with a hand out for her.
Their boat rows off first and five minutes later, it was yours and Jeongguk’s turn to step into the gondola. He holds out his hand to steady your step, boat wobbling as you plant your first foot down. His hold lingers a little longer even when you’ve successfully made it into the boat. Eyes peering up at Jeongguk’s tall stature, your body heats up under his watchful gaze.
“Steady now?”
“Yes.” You chirp.
“Good.” He lowers you both carefully onto the small seats. Once secured, the gondolier begins his descent through the canals.
Naturally, you strike up a conversation with the gondolier, asking how many rides he averages a day to which he politely answers, ‘too many to count.’ The conversation goes on for another five minutes until Jeongguk sighs, a subtle signal for you to stop and take in your surroundings instead.
Despite the on and off whiffs of the decade old sewage lines rooted in the city, the ride descends to the narrower alleyways one would miss on foot. Water levels rising, the gondolier signals you both to duck at an approaching bridge. You hadn’t realized you didn’t duck low enough until you feel Jeongguk’s warm palm at the base of your head, urging you lower.
His hand rests there until it’s time for you both to lift your heads up again. So warm and thoughtful, unlike how he’s been treating you at work.
You might explode at the silence, finding the need to address the elephant in the room. What were the odds you’d be alone with Jeongguk again? What are the odds you’d be riding on a gondola in Venice, Italy with Jeongguk?
“Do you hate me?” You blurt out, immediately embarrassed at your sudden forwardness. The gondolier peers from the side and looks forward again, slowing his rowing motion with his oar.
Jeongguk’s brows furrow, lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t hate you.”
“It seems like you do. You always are just so …”
“So …?” He trails along.
“Mean.” You frown. Feeling more foolish for your lack of proper vocabulary words for such a serious confrontation, you do your best to explain. “You seem to get along with everyone else at work and even here. You’re nice to everyone but me.”
He stares straight ahead, tongue probing against his cheek. He doesn’t respond right away and you deflate at your wasted effort in an attempt to understand Jeongguk beyond the cubicle. You only hear the waters splashing against the gondola as the oar steers you both to another quieter route.
If Jeongguk didn’t hate you before, he probably does right now. So evident in his silence and unwillingness to discuss this topic, you wonder to yourself … were older generations this bad with expressing their emotions and thoughts? Your father was a great example, and while you don’t want to generalize an entire generation, Jeongguk drives a hard bargain.
“How’d you get into Cientra Corporations?” The question rolls out of Jeongguk with no hint of curiosity.
What did your place of work have anything to do with his alleged animosity?
“I applied for an opening.” You answer.
His chuckles, full of mock and taunt. “When?”
You frown, a little taken aback by the conversation now turned into an interrogation.
“I think a month before my graduation?” Your stomach churns from the unpredictability of his next words.
“Right, of course.” Jeongguk looks to the side, eyes tracing the water stains on the old brick buildings.
“I’ve had plenty of internships during undergrad and I graduated early with honors.” His demeanor only makes you overexplain your qualifications. “My recruitment was done through a fair hiring process.”
“The position was not in the budget.” He rolls his eyes, his crossed arms accentuates his muscular build. If you were more shameless, you’d let your eyes linger at his chest for a little longer despite how his next words batters your pride. “Freshly graduated with little to no experience landing a mid-entry position?”
You’re not ashamed to admit you had a foot in thanks to your connections. Of course, you were unaware a position had been created just for you, but to insinuate you didn’t deserve your place … now, that was not something you’d take lightly.
“I’ve worked hard with all the opportunities—”
“As one should.” He interrupts. “But all your ‘opportunities’ only became yours because they were taken away from someone else. There were at least ten other highly qualified applicants in the candidate pool.”
You open your mouth, but Jeongguk beats you to it, “One summer internship at Cientra wouldn’t have gotten anyone else into the company.”
Now that shatters you. You had really thought you stood out in the pool considering you had previously applied and interned for the same company. Now you’re rethinking whether you’ve also gotten the job purely from connections.
Fighting through your imposter syndrome, you stand your ground. “At the end of the day, I was chosen and I take my job seriously. I can’t change what’s already set in stone.”
“That’s your privilege speaking.” He leans against the backrest. “I’ll only repeat this once: I don’t hate you.” Extremely hard to believe after your self esteem’s been kicked to the curb.
And despite the sour mood, you still try to salvage what you can. “Okay,” You breathe, “Regardless of how you feel about me, can we get along for the sake of the wedding?”
“Of course.” He rolls his shoulders, discomfort clear from the small chair setup. “Trying to make this wedding as seamless and pain-free as possible.”
You piece his aversion to the wedding now. The last minute confirmation of his attendance and lack of enthusiasm for the trip’s activities … it all checks. The gondolier rounds to the ride’s starting point and docks the boat where you and Jeongguk need to quickly alter your attitude in front of the unsuspecting couple.
Jeongguk stays behind to tip the gondolier, murmuring his apologies for the tense ride. From a distance, you overhear the gondolier snort, saying something on the lines of how he should be tipping Jeongguk for the soap opera level conversation.
Your act works — neither Jihyo nor Seojun suspected any shift in moods because Jihyo was too busy begging for another cannoli and, of course, Seojun being the exceptional fiance he is, advised you guys to return to the hotel first to prepare for the flight while he ran to the specific stall Jihyo requested for.
“Uncle, you go on ahead with the girls.”
Jeongguk shakes his head. “I’ll come with you.”
On the train ride back to the hotel, Jihyo lays her head on your shoulder. “I think Uncle Jeongguk hates me.”
That makes the two of you.
She continues, “I know this wedding was rushed, but I thought he’d warm up to the idea of us by now.”
Very out of character for Jihyo to sulk over the minute things in life. You’re not one to talk, knowing firsthand what it’s like to wish for someone’s approval.
“Hey … it’s been less than two days. And who cares what he thinks? You and Seojun are in this for life.”
“I know, I know. Seojun just adores his uncle, you know? That’s his only family.” Jihyo frowns. Unlike him, she’s grown up in a big and affluent family her entire life — well, now cut in half since her choice to marry Seojun, a man of no title or status. She can bear the disdain from her own family, but she doesn’t want Seojun to lose his one and only family member over their choices.
“I was thinking,” Jihyo begins, suddenly sitting upright with determined eyes. “You know, you’re always so fun and great with people … could you maybe get to know Uncle Jeongguk and put in a good word for me? Just until the time of the wedding at least.”
You’ve never seen her this desperate. You ponder back to the conversation on the gondola and if there were little to no chance of making things right with Jeongguk yourself, how were you going to do it for Jihyo?
You’re no better than Seojun and eventually give into her plea.
“Okay.” You smile, arms embracing her.
All checked out of the Venice hotel, your party makes it through the airport’s security checkpoint just in time for the flight to the actual wedding destination: Sicily.
Italy is magical and Sicily proved every part of that belief even in the cab ride over to the rental property. Windows down, you let the warm breeze run through your locks, uncaring if the sea salted air clung onto your hair and skin. The tips of your hair unknowingly float over and graze Jeongguk’s arms, marking and reminding him of your presence whether or not he welcomed it.
Jihyo really went all out and booked the dreamiest villa. The villa had everything: a fifteen minute walk to the wedding venue, close to local shops and restaurants, and here’s your favorite: the beach. It’s perfect … almost as perfect as the living situation Jihyo had planned out. No brainer, she and Seojun would get the main house while you and Jeongguk would occupy the cottage a couple steps away.
“Dinner in fifteen minutes? I have a reservation with the restaurant down the street.” Jihyo shrugs her duffle bag higher on her shoulders to which Seojun immediately takes after he unloaded all the other suitcases from the trunk.
“Isn’t it a little late for dinner?” Jeongguk reads his watch.
“Customary to eat later in Italy.” Jihyo smiles.
Jeongguk checked off all the body cues to decline. His resolve crumbles yet again from another one of Seojun’s stares, ultimately agreeing to dinner after settling in.
The first thing you and Jeongguk noticed upon entering the cottage was the stuffy and warm air from the windows being closed for too long. No matter how hard you push and yank the panes, the windows just wouldn’t budge. With a sigh, a strong source of heat presses against your backside.
The scent of fresh linen only welcomes you after laundry day and whenever you’ve switched out your bedsheets. Your mind wanders around scenarios of being welcomed by this exact scent and warmth in bed, sheets needing to be constantly changed afterwards.
Fuck.
Jeongguk’s fingers pull at the knobs above the window sill. Using way less force and energy, the window cracks open with ease and the crisp crash of waves in the distance meets your ears. Nothing was louder than the beating in your chest — must’ve been your imagination when you thought Jeongguk stayed a beat longer behind, breath sucked in from the proximity.
You replay the scenario in your head even at the dinner table.
The times you’ve looked up from your plate, you’ve unconsciously caught Jeongguk staring in your direction too. He looks away, suddenly mesmerized by the shoreline. His attention pulls at some clapping in the background, waiters and waitresses nearing your section of the restaurant. Your smile widens as they circle your table, confused but pleased by the grand gesture.
Setting a small cake down on the table and resuming their singing, you peer over at the frosted words: Happy 37th Birthday, Jeongguk!
Jeongguk keeps his smile at a sensible level, not wanting to show too much excitement.
After the employees leave, Seojun beams, “Jihyo arranged this. Nice, huh?” He has his arm around her shoulder.
“Yes, very. Thank you, Jihyo.” Jeongguk smiles, warm and sincere.
Bellies full, you all walk back to the property. Everything seems to fall into its natural place. Jeongguk lets you shower first and because you’re self conscious of taking too much time, you cut your usual routine by half. You’re seated at the same window sill again, watching the shoreline.
The lights in the room turn on and you startle. Looking back, you catch a half naked Jeongguk drying his wet hair with a small towel. Bare torso on full display, you gulp at the sight while unknowingly clenching your thighs together.
Thirty-seven looked good on Jeongguk.
You hope you looked this good at that age, but you have a long way to go. At twenty-two, you know your two little tattoos, one on your lower back and the other on your forearm, will look completely different in fifteen years. They’re nothing like Jeongguk’s, especially with all the intricate tattoos going up his arm, stopping at his chest — both old and new ones. In the office, you’ve only seen a snippet of his tattoos on his forearm, now you’ve been granted full access. Which you’re reminded that everything that happens in Italy will have to stay here. Water break chatter with Mina will exclude these details, saving these memories just for yourself on lonelier nights.
Jeongguk sucks in a breath, surprised at the sight of you. Should be in bed and knocked out from today’s festivities, but you’re there in your silk pajamas, shorts riding dangerously high in your seated position with your knees hiked up to your chest. His jaw clenches, fixing himself a glass of water at the kitchen sink. Hips pressed against the sink counter, he drinks the water, letting a couple droplets dribble past his chin and sharp jawline.
Summers in Italy were magical, but were they usually this hot?
You edge closer to the window sill, praying for the night breeze to snap you out of whatever spell you caught at this hour.
“Jetlagged?” He asks, rinsing the cup. You blink at his question, a little confused at his initiation. It warms you, but you know better than to latch onto this small exchange.
“A little.” You let out a disgruntled sound as you get up. You think you’ve must’ve hallucinated Jeongguk’s frustrated exhale at your change of position. “You?”
“Mhm. Not as bad as the first night. The run helped.” He replies.
You have all the reason not to get along with him, let alone strike a normal conversation; though, you bare your warmest and genuine smile, “That’s nice. I’m glad.”
“Yes. Well. Goodnight.” He clears his throat.
The lock on your door clicks first, back pushed against the door for some grounding and support. Your bones click against the hard surface, ears cluing in for any sounds from your temporary roommate on the other threshold. His door shuts too, followed by a deep sigh.
There’s some shuffling followed by a drop of what you assumed were clothing. Hot and consumed by your thoughts, your mind spirals at the image of him in nothing but his briefs.
God, this was going to be a long trip.
⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆
The internet connection in this villa was probably the worst thing Jeongguk has ever encountered in his life — even worse than the time he went abroad for school during his prime. It was another neighboring country, but still … how hard was it to get an adequate signal?
He’s tried everything. Sitting in odd places, being closer to the router — nothing’s worked.
He looks out the same window you were seated at last night, hoping to find an answer before he hurls his laptop out.
Until he sees you.
You’re seated outside near a lemon tree between the two accommodations, laptop perched on the patio table while you tug at one of the nearby branches for a quick sniff at the fruit. Your eyes shut in bliss, lemon distracting you with its fresh scent.
You’ve done well to distract Jeongguk from his work too. As much as he’d like to hold onto this vendetta, he knows the grudge was misdirected and undeserving. He also knows a part of his hesitancy with you is who you are. Knows the reasons why you were hired aside from the connections you had. And although you had a good personality, he can’t call you a personality hire if you knew how to do your job.
He won’t deny your accomplishments in school, allowing you to graduate with high honors by the time you were twenty. You were an adequate worker, but again, only because you were given unfair advantages — tools and resources that were taken away from someone else more deserving and eligible.
His grudge stretched beyond that, having been on the other receiving end of losing opportunities because of his upbringings. So yeah … maybe he’s biased.
You, on the other hand, want to hurl your laptop for other reasons. The laptop sits on top of the patio table, waiting for you to begin your long half day of work.
The metal legs of the empty chair across from you scrape against the concrete floor.
“Mind if I join you?”
You straighten from your slouched posture, surprised eyes meeting his neutral expression. Vacations were meant for fun, not the work you were trying to escape from. With Jeongguk here, you really can’t slack off. You quickly clear your items from the small table and gesture for him to sit.
“Terrible connection in the cottage.” You remark. “Gave me problems all morning.”
He hums, typing away on the laptop to make up for the lost time. You fall back into your work too seeing that there was a good motivator.
On your left side, there’s a small bowl of olives paired with the wine Jihyo delivered to your shared cottage. Jeongguk stares at the bowl, following one of the olives held by your fingers and popped in between your plump lips.
A small puff of air escapes through his nose at your winced expression from the initial burst of flavors, washing it down with a swig of wine.
“Would you like to try?” You push the bowl towards him.
“Didn’t look all that good.” He stares up, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Though small, you detect a teasing tone in his comment.
“It was … different. But!” You perk, “When will we be in Italy again, in a beautiful villa eating olives while working?”
Answer? Never.
Such a ridiculous thought that he reaches into the small ceramic bowl to plop an olive into his mouth. The bitter tang of the small fruit amplifies on his tongue from your expectant stare.
Not unpleasant, but there were plenty of other cuisine choices in Italy worth trying.
Though, when will Jeon Jeongguk be in Italy again, in a beautiful villa eating olives while working with your melodic laughter resonating in his ears as you scoot your wine glass over to him?
Tongue no longer graced with the olive’s bitterness, a new type of bitterness spreads as Seojun and Jihyo announce they’re headed to the beach.
“How much longer do you need to work?” Jihyo pouts, hands on her hips as she peers down at your laptop. She’s not reading anything you have opened, deeming them unimportant especially when you should be spending time with her.
You offer a sheepish smile, afraid to voice your true thoughts in front of management. Jeongguk keeps his face trained to his screen, brows twitching in an attempt to hide his bemusement.
Had it been anyone else in front of you, you’d throw your hands in the air and say ‘Fuck it.’ But it was Jeongguk … one of the higher-ups you’d always admired — whose opinion you immensely cared for.
“Uncle …” Seojun frowns. “You promised you weren’t going to work.”
“Code red. Need to take care of this.” Jeongguk explains.
Seojun sighs, the expression resounds his frustration to his uncle’s work habits.
In the short span of time working at the company, you’ve never seen Jeongguk falter; yet, the man seated across from you wavers at his nephew’s disappointment.
“It’ll be quick.” He remedies.
You also know Jeongguk took his time. He’s meticulous and wants everything right the first time around. It appears Seojun knows this too, not taking his promises too seriously, and grunting a small ‘okay’ before he takes Jihyo’s hand to lead them both to the beach.
Jeongguk purses his lips, a vexed expression he doesn’t let linger for long. You shouldn’t meddle with family affairs, but you couldn’t help thinking back to the missed dinners, absent parent recitals, and text messages telling you to not wait up late from your father.
“Work’s never that important.” The words slip past your mouth before realizing it.
Jeongguk isn’t afraid to voice his response too, seemingly prepared for your judgment.
“Easy for you to say.” His eyes narrow. “Some people aren’t afforded breaks.”
You take another bite of the olives, hoping the flavor would conceal the shame. The invisible wall between you and Jeongguk grows higher and thicker, making it impossible to penetrate. You refocus on the task at hand.
Three hours pass with the sound of birds and ocean in the background — the sounds would have been enough for anyone to relax into their work, but all it does is make you yearn for fun. Makes you think anything might be better than being with the man seated across from you. Which is so unlike you when just a week ago, you’d do just about anything to be closer to him in the office.
Every five minutes, you have to look at the shoreline and the people enjoying the summer rays. It was a good distraction until the envy sets in.
Another deep sigh.
“Go.”
“Huh?” You look up from your laptop.
“I have access to your document in the shared drive. You won’t be leaving any time soon at the rate you’re moving.” He takes off his glasses, index and thumb pinching and rubbing to relieve himself of any tension. “Go spend some time with Jihyo.”
You almost think it’s a test until he looks at you questioningly for not having moved. You scramble to close out everything after a quick thank you before going back into the cottage to change. You shouldn’t feel guilty as you slip into your swimsuit and cover-up … shouldn’t feel guilty exiting the property, sneaking one final look back at the patio.
You shouldn’t ache the way you do for Jeongguk’s content smile when he nears the lemon tree.
Even Jeon Jeongguk needs breaks too.
You blame the aches from having laid down in the sand for an hour and not at the image of him back at the villa taking on your unfinished work. He made his decision, so why are you still feeling this way?
“Uncle!” Seojun beams. “You made it.”
At the acknowledgment, you lift your head up and it’s none other than the man who’s plagued your mind since you’ve left the villa. He’s changed into lighter clothing, a short-sleeve button up over his white tank top with some beach shorts. The tight tank top hugs around his figure, ab ridges outlined from his small chuckle. The contraction intensifies when he looks down at you and over your stringy two-piece bikini.
He clears his throat. “Was able to wrap up what I needed to get done for the day.”
“Good.” Seojun replies. “Should enjoy our time while we can.”
Jeongguk’s face falls; immediately, the moment’s swept away when Jihyo calls for Seojun to help her take pictures.
The older male settles next to you, mindful to not kick up any sand in the process. The couple eventually go to get some refreshments, leaving both you and Jeongguk under the rays of the sun.
He doesn’t say much … actually, he doesn’t say anything as he stares out to the bluest waters.
“Thank you, Jeongguk.” You say. “You didn’t have to.”
You wonder if your father had acted the same at work, taking on additional workload he didn’t necessarily have to at the expense of missing out on moments in your life.
Jeongguk isn’t your father. He didn’t have obligations to you. Didn’t need to sacrifice his own time for your sake.
The center of a candy was usually the sweetest — perhaps if you keep at it, you’ll discover more of Jeongguk’s sweetness too.
⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆
Being around Jeongguk has been a tad more tangible now that you’ve spent a few hours together the next couple of days working in the morning, ending the nights over dinner with the couple.
The next evening, Jihyo has you all crammed in a kitchen for a cooking lesson with a private chef. You’re on garlic peeling duties with Jeongguk, fingers sticky from the essence of the individual cloves, so sure this scent was going to linger on your skin.
Jeongguk remains unaffected, diligently peeling away. At the sight of you rubbing your sticky fingers together, he chuckles.
“Just wash your hands in between.”
The advice works. While you’ve barely peeled half a clove, Jeongguk was already on his second.
“Did you have ‘pro-garlic peeler’ on your resume?” You try teasing.
He pauses, a small smile on his lips as he continues peeling the cloves.
“My sister had me on garlic peeling duties whenever we cooked.”
As far as you’re aware from Jihyo, the topic of Seojun’s mother was unspoken … only knowing she passed when he was very young.
You work a little harder peeling the leftover cloves, running your hands under the faucet to rid yourself of the stickiness. The stickiness retained in your chest whenever Jeongguk peers over at your pile of perfectly peeled garlic. It’s retained throughout dinner and the glasses of wine served during and after a meal, following you as the group takes a walk on the beach the night before the rest of the wedding party was scheduled to meet for the rehearsal dinner tomorrow.
Jihyo yawns and announces she’ll head back to the villa to rest. Naturally, Seojun follows along. You expect Jeongguk to do the same, but he sits on the brick wall staring out at the beach.
You tuck your hair behind your ear and a strong, pungent scent greets you. Hand discreetly at the front of your face, you sniff.
“The smell doesn’t leave for a bit.” Jeongguk says. “My sister always recommended lemon juice and a little bit of soap.”
“Have you tried it?” You ask, tucking your hands underneath you to hide the excitement of Jeongguk initiating a conversation with you.
He shakes his head, “I like the smell of garlic.”
Be it from the glasses of wine served over dinner, you’re bolder as you ask about his sister. And he’s just as loose-lipped as he recalls memories of her. You learned she was four years older than Jeongguk, her first job was at their aunt and uncle’s convenience store, and they were ultimately left to fend for themselves the moment she had Seojun at eighteen.
Every story, small chuckle, and silence of the memory of his sister only softens the hard, jagged edges around Jeongguk.
“She sounds lovely.”
“She was,” he concedes, “Would’ve loved Italy too.” He speaks into the sea-salted air. He leans back, hands anchoring himself up as he looks up at the clear night sky. “Maybe give her son an earful about marrying too early.” She’d know firsthand how she lost out on her own developmental years as a result of having Seojun early with a man that wanted no part in fatherhood. Though, a small part of Jeongguk knows his sister would’ve adored Jihyo.
Back at the villa’s garden, you make a quick detour to the lemon tree, picking one from the bottom branches.
The lemon doesn’t get used quite yet when you both enter into the stuffy cottage. You and Jeongguk reopen all the windows to let some fresh air in.
You eye the unopened wine bottle — the night’s gone too well to end like this. Lemon placed on the counter, it’s spared and unscathed for the time being as you pop off the cork.
Wordlessly, you pour and slide the glass over to a receptive Jeongguk.
One glass turns to three over the course of the night. The alcohol loosens the year’s worth of work tension, eyes blinking slowly as he swirls the glass around.
“Do you plan to stay with the company until retirement?” You ask.
“Depends.”
“On?”
“If I have to keep overseeing project leads who can’t make their deadlines.”
Had you both been less drunk and not seated on the high stools of this lovely cottage in Sicily, you’d be more offended. Eyes bemused and lips curved at your exaggerated gasp, Jeongguk brings the glass of wine to his mouth, red staining and deepening the natural shade of pink on his lips.
You’ll take this. It’s a development in comparison to what you’ve experienced in working with the company … not to mention the ride on the gondola. You like this Jeongguk. Where he isn’t going on a tangent about deliverables and Key Performance Indicators.
“What about you?” He asks.
You swallow the last of the wine in your glass. “I’m not sure.”
Honestly, you thought you’d be at another place of employment after your one year anniversary at the company. Yet, you’re still here.
“Huh.”
“What?”
“Answered like a person with one foot out the door.” He shrugs.
“I don’t mind the company.” You pout.
He rolls his eyes. “You’re young. There’s more out there.”
“You’re staying.”
“Never said I was.”
Wait … you hadn’t accounted for the fact of Jeongguk leaving one day. He has so much more years of experience than you, so having a promotion elsewhere would be a cake walk. One of your incentives to stay might disappear one day without warning and it frightens you.
“The benefits are nice.” You reason. “It’s worth staying for.”
“The benefits are standard. Hm.” He purses his lips. Then, an expression you’ve never once witnessed stretches across his face. “That hot manager Jihyo mentioned can’t be enough incentive to stay.”
“She’s lucky she’s my best friend.” You groan.
He laughs through his nose, “You’ll know if a company is worth staying for. Don’t be afraid to venture out.”
Friends and family have often told you to look for a higher paying job after every promotion — never concerned whether you’re content with where you’re at.
You find it hard to believe just a couple days ago, Jeongguk was grilling you for being a nepo-baby, and now he’s mentoring you over wine. You take in his words, letting them swirl in your mind before shaking away thoughts of the future.
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”
He nods, taking another small sip, “If only Seojun listened more like that. That brat.” He lowers his head with a fond smile, orbs glimmering like the wine glass caught in the light.
You should hold off from asking any overbearing questions and end tonight on a high note, but that just wasn’t your style.
“Do you not support their marriage?”
“It’s unfavorable.” He sighs. “I’m sure Jihyo’s nice—”
“She is.” You interrupt.
“But she’s reckless and so is my nephew. They didn’t think this through.” A pause. “Doing things out of love only gets you so far.”
If life wasn’t about love, then what could it possibly be about?
He chuckles and mumbles to himself, “She’s too much like her.”
“Huh? Who?” Your brows scrunch from the cryptic words, trying to decipher who he was referring to. Foolish of you to think he’d answer as he gets up and empties his glass of wine into the sink, eyes locked on the counter where the lemon resides.
You were going to ask if he’d like to use the lemon too; though, he beats you to your question when he tucks in the stool.
“Get some rest, we have a long day tomorrow.”
You exert all your energy into the lemon, squeezing and wringing out the halved fruit to distract you of the confusion. Have you pushed for too much? Were you out of line wanting to know more about Jeongguk? You hope the lingering thoughts of your cottage mate disappears with the garlic stench after a thorough soak.
After your shower, you take one last peek at his door and the light emitting from the small slit persists even through the late hours. Was he still working or also plagued with the thoughts of tonight’s conversation?
It’s a little past midnight when you emerge into the kitchen again to get a glass of water only to notice a slightly ajar front door.
101 Dumb Ways to Die would commend you and your efforts to close the door. Your fingers touch the doorknob, ready to twist and secure the locks.
You die a little inside when you spot a figure outside near the lemon tree.
Jeongguk.
He sits there, staring at his hands before he lifts one of them up to his face. A small sniff, then his hand falls onto his lap again.
You lean against a nearby wall, hand clutching the glass of water close to your chest.
He bends down from his seated position and grabs a fallen lemon, uncaring if it came from the top or the bottom branch. Suddenly, he stands up and makes his way back to the cottage again.
“Fuck!” You whisper yell, scrambling to go back to your room but your foot catches onto your other ankle and you’re sent flying to the floor with the glass of water held close to your chest to brace the fall and potential damage.
Aside from a wet shirt and the bruise forming on your knee, the glass was still intact. What wasn’t intact was your pride as Jeongguk opens the door to find you laying on your side.
His eyes widen, immediately crouching down to check your conditions. “Are you okay?”
You could fake an episode of sleepwalking and walk back to your room, wet shirt and all, but then you’ll be labeled as the colleague who sleepwalks.
“Oof,” You grab his extended hand, the one without the lemon, and pull yourself up to a sitting position. “Y-yeah, um, just wanted some water.” You peer down at the pool of water around you and flush harder.
He grabs a nearby cloth to clean up the mess and when he’s done, he holds his hand out again, “Can you stand?”
You nod, hand engulfed in his warmth as he tugs you up along with him. You walk stiffly next to him and thank him after he hands you a spare towel in the kitchen.
You should return to your room to nurse your broken pride; yet, your feet stay planted as Jeongguk gets out the cutting board.
“Oh, there’s still half a lemon in the fridge.”
Nodding, he retrieves the lemon and he squeezes the sliced half with ease. He dips his fingers in first, spreading the juice all over his hands and in between the crevices just as you did. You watch his fingers spread the juices all over the top of his veiny hands, light from the kitchen emulating the glisten on his skin.
A tingly sensation starts at your fingertips and you clench your fists tightly before it travels up your arms, unsure why your body is reacting at the simple act.
God, did you hit your head on something during the fall?
“You sure you’re okay?” He asks, breaking you out of your daze.
You blink, body automatically moving around to check for any soreness. High knees in place and a twist to your side, you confirm your health condition. You do one last stretch, intertwining your fingers and reaching up to the ceiling.
All’s well, so it seems.
Actually, no.
The action lifts your camisole, exposing the lower half of your stomach. Jeongguk’s gaze dips to your full hips and areas where the sun can’t fully reach.
“Yeah, all good.” You swallow, arms coming down and holding your hands behind your back.
Lights shut off, you and Jeongguk make your way back to your bedrooms, steps heavier as you near your door.
Suddenly, your hand reaches out, weak fingers wrapped around his wrist. He looks down at you with a raised brow, unmoving, so you tighten your grip around him.
“I saw you outside.” You confess, voice small and hesitant. “Are you okay?”
Jeongguk didn’t owe you an answer. But after all the time spent leading up to this moment, you think something should’ve changed by now.
His jaw clenches, eyes swirling with a mixture of uncertainty and discomfort as he considers the option of being honest.
He purses his lips and shakes his head no.
Be it your underdeveloped prefrontal lobe or your innate desire to fix a troubled man, your fingers tighten around his wrist.
“Is there something I can do–” The latter part of your question gets cut short at another shake of his head.
Your default solution is to deflect and lessen the embarrassment with cynicalism and a humorless laugh. “I know you hate me and all–”
He laughs, too — the dullness masking the irritability behind your unfinished statement.
“I don’t hate you.” He pauses and ponders his next words. “Whatever I’m going through right now has nothing to do with how I feel about you.”
Maybe … if you do make it about you, Jeongguk might forget about his bigger worries. The day has gone so well and all your effort’s about to be undone with what you do next. You step closer, gleaning at his reaction and any indication of his repulsion from your proximity.
“If we didn’t work at the same company, how would you feel about me then?” You ask.
His stare darkens. Pattern recognition from all the other fleeting moments in Italy only pushes you to do something you’d never have the courage to in a professional environment where you’d both break all code of conduct.
What happens in Italy, stays in Italy … right?
“We’d get along.” You answer for him.
“We’d be strangers.” He corrects. “I don’t need twenty year old friends listening to my problems.”
Good thing you’re not twenty and good thing you don’t want to be friends with Jeongguk. In the span of this conversation, you and Jeongguk now share the same air and warmth as you press your front to his hard chest. He doesn’t pull away from your softness whether it be through the silky camisole, your nature, or exposed skin … he lets himself soak in what you offer him.
And when you tip-toe closer to his face, he doesn’t move, allowing you to do as you like despite all signs in his head telling him to turn you away.
“We’d get along.” You repeat, eyes bold and hopeful as you stare into his hooded ones. “You’d let me help you forget about your problems.”
Cause you’d create new ones for Jeon Jeongguk as you press your lips to his.
The original hold you had on his wrist ceases as your nimble fingers find refuge on the ends of his cotton shirt. Your thighs tense from the vibrations of his small groan, the pleasure pangs intensifying when his hands cup your jaw. Lips soft and so rightfully slotted on yours, your eyes flutter shut and embrace the abundant hues of yellow and green similar to the villa’s lemon tree.
The crisp citrus scent from his fingers warms and melts you further into his lips. He parts his mouth slightly, and for a moment, just a moment … you hope he’d run his tongue on yours.
Your hope gets wringed out like the used lemons residing in the wastebin the exact moment he says your name and pulls away, chest moving in tandem with his strained breaths.
“This isn’t right.” He breathes, swallowing as he steps back to create some space between your bodies.
“I–”
“Goodnight.”
His door shuts, no different than how he shuts you out of the life you hoped to get a better glimpse of. Your fingers trace your lips, remembering how he felt against you before he took everything including your pride with him. You also shut your door, only bringing humiliation and rejection back in with you.
⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆
You barely slept.
Instead, you chose to put in the extra work you needed to meet your deliverables for your client. You locked yourself in the bedroom — rather brave through the shitty internet connection until it was time to meet up with the rest of the bridal party who arrived last night.
“So,” Yebin starts, “I hear the best man is a hottie and you’re staying in the same cottage as him?”
You splutter into your drink, quickly grabbing the napkin on your lap to dab away the cascading liquid on your chin.
“Uh, wha–”
“Jihyo mentioned it in the group chat. What? Been too busy with him to catch up in the thread?” She wiggles her brows with a playful grin.
You push your body forward to give Jihyo a tiny glare. She sits prettily at the top of the table, the only person wearing white while the rest of you were in different variations of yellow to match the wedding theme.
“What?” She says with a mouthful. “He is objectively handsome. Not a surprise, I mean, look at my Seojun.”
“Isn’t he in his forties?” Another one of the girls asks.
“Thirty-seven.” Jihyo corrects. “We celebrated his birthday recently.”
“Basically forty.” Yebin retorts and turns back to you. “So what’s he like?”
You’re thankful for the soft breeze in the midst of Italy’s humid summer — helps you cool the sweat sitting uncomfortably on your skin, both from the rising afternoon temperatures and last night’s memories.
“He’s … fine.” You pause and try to come up with other adjectives to better describe him, ultimately coming short and resorting to a foolproof excuse. “We haven’t really spoken.”
“Oh, please. Aside from his nephew, Jeongguk’s more friendly with you than he has been to me.”
Yeah, ‘cause you also work in the same building as him forty hours a week for the past year, but no one here needs to know that. The conversation eventually shifts over to Jihyo’s wedding itinerary, makeup and hair plans, and what the other girls plan to do after the wedding dinner rehearsal. You enjoyed your time in the smaller group, but you also valued the community the other girls brought in this part of the trip. You visit the nearby boutiques, splurge on things you could most definitely find back at home, because … when were you going to be in Italy with your girls again?
“Remember, be there at 8 p.m. The venue’s gates close five minutes after.” Jihyo reminds.
“Yes, ma’am. Got it marked down in our calendars.” Yebin yawns, still slightly jetlagged and ready for a much needed nap after the day’s festivities. You and Jihyo drop off the girls at the front of their hotel and begin the walk back to the villa. Would’ve been quicker to take a cab, but Jihyo wanted to walk off her second gelato and you didn’t mind not being in the same vicinity as your cottage mate all that soon.
“You nervous for tomorrow?” You ask, steps slowing as you both near the villa.
“No,” she smiles fondly at a passing thought. “But I am anxious for the future. Don’t know how long it’ll be till my parents want to talk to me.”
You’ve thought about the times you’ve fought with your parents — nothing as big as marrying someone they didn’t approve of. Hopefully Jihyo’s parents will come around. Love, from a parent at least, should be unconditional.
She reads your thoughts with a chuckle and nudge to your shoulder. “Hey, I’m okay. It’s me and Seojun against the world.”
“They’ll come around.” You reassure. “You also have your friends too, so you’re never alone.”
⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆
“And then, the maid of honor and best man will walk here.” Violetta, the wedding planner, points down the long stretch to the altar.
She looks over to the group, trying to single out the girl with that title since Jeongguk was the only male aside from the groom. You step out, having avoided Jeongguk all day with the wedding party, there are just some things you can’t avoid.
You avoid looking at the older man, keeping your stares locked on the wedding planner and aisle markings.
“Oh, to be maid of honor.” Yebin mumbles jokingly and the group of girls erupt into a small fit of giggles.
Jeongguk pays no mind and extends his arm for you to hold. Practice. Yes, this was still a rehearsal. You might’ve imagined his tense inhale as you press your body closer, breast pushing against his arm to see if the action could produce a similar sound or reaction.
Nothing.
After the rehearsal, you and Jeongguk still avoid each other like the plague, unwilling to address the elephant in the room. You try to sleep, tossing and turning all night until you made the executive decision for some much needed fresh air.
Part of you worries Jeongguk might also be outside, claiming the lemon tree as his area of respite. Can’t be his if you claimed it first. Unfortunately, the spot was occupied … not by him at least.
Pulling the metal chair, Seojun looks up, startled, but relaxes at the sight of a familiar face.
“Can’t sleep?” He asks.
“Yeah. Too stuffy in the cottage.” You lie, unwilling to admit the actual source of your unrest. “You?”
“Yeah.” He looks into the distance, worries swirling in his orbs. “I think my uncle’s right.”
Your brows pull together, head tilting in confusion.
“We’re too rash. Jihyo’s parents might never speak to her again and it’s all my fault. And I,” Seojun begins to crumble at the weight of his realization. “I don’t know if I’m enough for her to lose everything.”
You know more than anyone that there are some things money and power can’t buy. Jihyo wasn’t risking anything because Seojun was everything. Because if life wasn’t about love, then what was it about?
“You’re enough for Jihyo.”
“Uncle said–”
“Screw what Jeongguk thinks.” You interrupt, gasping at your sudden abrasiveness. “Wait, I don’t mean any offense to your uncle …”
His laugh could’ve woken up the entire villa, but you’re thankful to see this side of him in comparison to how he was a moment ago.
“No, no,” he chuckles, “I know he’s not the most likeable person.”
“He’s not … awful.”
Seojun nods, tilting his head down to conceal a tender smile you’ve witnessed whenever he was around Jihyo — now you understand those were reserved for his loved ones. “He used to be different … lighter, does that even make sense?”
You agree, waiting for Seojun’s next words.
“Uncle was fun.” You learn how Jeongguk would take little Seojun to the zoo every year because his mother would be too busy with work, along with the late night video game sessions he would partake in despite his busy university schedule.
“He was in his second year of university preparing to study abroad … I don’t know much, but something didn’t work out and another student was chosen instead of him. Mom worked hard so that she could support uncle and his dreams.”
“Worked too hard — damn workaholics.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know he means well not wanting me to rush into things without a proper safety net.”
You think back to a younger Jeongguk navigating life alone with a young child … he couldn’t have been any older than you — a baby raising another baby with no one to turn to.
“Ah, I’m sorry,” Seojun shakes away some thoughts, “I didn’t mean to dump all of this on you. I’m sure you’re tired–”
“No, no,” You wave your hands. “I don’t mind. You’re marrying my best friend and whether her family or Jeongguk approves, it doesn’t matter. I’ve seen how happy you make her — how relaxed she is around you.” You offer a warm and comforting smile to which Seojun returns at the mention of your friend. “We’re both in this for Jihyo’s happiness. You deserve to be happy too.”
“Yeah, we do.” He replies, shoulders sagging in relief.
You linger outside a little longer after Seojun’s departure, begrudgingly going back into the cottage. Before entering your room, you take one look at Jeongguk’s room, noting the small sliver of light from underneath his door.
You think back to all the late nights waiting for your father’s lights to turn off … wondering when you’d be enough for his attention. And as you shut your door to your room, you hope that was enough to garner Jeongguk’s attention too.
⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆
Jihyo loved everything about yellow. Loved the song by Coldplay and loved her flowers yellow — thinks she saw yellow when she met Seojun. Her bridesmaid dresses had to be yellow, as with everything in the wedding.
You see yellow everywhere too: the sand in the distance, wedding favors in the form of bagged perle di sole candies, and the boutonniere pinned on the left side of Jeongguk’s vest.
Yellow blurs around you during the ceremony, tearful gazes exchanged with the other bridesmaids.
Jihyo had always centered her world around her friendships — no man has ever been enough to pull her away from that value. Though, as she stands across from Seojun, her hands in his, it seemed as though nothing could’ve pried them apart from each other’s gravitational pulls. Your eyes peer over the wedding attendees, taking in their expectant stares and proud smiles — even Jeongguk seemed to have softened at the sight.
When it was time for the vows, you hand them over to Jihyo from behind, who took them without turning around, eyes still locked onto her soon-to-be husband.
She takes a steadying breath before speaking: “Seojun. These past years with you have been the happiest of my life. I could’ve never imagined meeting anyone like you. Now, I won’t call you my best friend, because that spot is taken and I think my lovely maid of honor might have some things to say about that–” The wedding party sounded a collective chuckle. You smile to yourself, eyes instinctively finding Jeongguk’s, who had already been looking your way in confirmation of your title.
“But I’m so happy to have found you, that I’m able to call you my friend, lover, and now, husband. I know a lot of people thought we were rushing into this, and they might be right. It is early, but I’ve never been as certain about anything as I am about wanting to spend the rest of my life with you. Seojun, you are the most wonderful and kindest person — better than I can ever hope to deserve, I love you.” Her voice had become increasingly more unstable as she went and she quickly wiped her eyes, not wanting to ruin her bridal make-up. Seojun wasn’t fairing any better, softly cupping her cheek and kissing her lips, whispering a small gratitude to her.
“Excuse me?” The officiant interrupts. “We’re not quite there yet.”
Laughing, the pair separates and refocuses their attention back to the ceremony. You turn to your fellow bridesmaids after hearing a quiet sniffle from Yebin. You carefully lean back into her, nudging her shoulder in comfort.
“Jihyo, you son of a bitch.” The girl mutters, dotting the corner of her eye with a tissue.
You chuckle, moving back into your position after assessing everyone’s conditions.
When you find the confidence to check on Jeongguk, he’s just as affected and politely turns away from the couple to hide his emotions.
At the wedding reception, you watch Jihyo and her husband dance to every song on their playlist, joined by their guests, eventually being the last ones standing as the night progresses. The ache on the soles of your feet grow by the hour, and you find yourself sitting alone, nursing your drink and watching your best friend soak in happiness.
Yellow persists in the form of strung lights on the small dance floor. Though, a new opponent, green, enters when you catch some wedding guests approaching an unsuspecting Jeongguk.
As the maid of honor, you should stay for the night even if it’s nearing 2 a.m. Selfishly, you can’t bring yourself to. You tell Jihyo you’re not feeling well and that you’re going to walk back to the cottage to rest. She looks at you with concern, but she nods and asks you to text her once you’ve made it back.
Ten steps out the venue, you hear some whistles and chuckles. Shit. You walk quicker and a slimy hand wraps around your wrist.
The men smile at you, saying something you can’t really decipher. If all fails after your persistent ignorance to the Italian language, your heels make an excellent weapon of defense.
“C'è un problema?” A familiar voice says in the distance.
Immediately, the man releases your wrist and holds his hands up. The group of men shuffles away, mumbling to themselves as they look back at your savior.
“You okay?” Jeongguk asks.
“Yep.” You answer quickly, steps resuming in the direction of the villa.
Jeongguk follows closely behind you, silent as he has been all night.
“Aren’t you supposed to stay with the bride? Maid of honor duties.”
“Aren’t you supposed to stay with the groom? Best man duties.” You retort with no malice.
“Touché.” He contemplates his next words. “I’ve got an early flight tomorrow.”
Your brows furrow, and an immature part of you assumes you’re the reason for his early departure. He quickly follows up with, “There’s a fire I have to put out at work.”
The bitter memories of your father leaving for work resurfaces again. Would it be so awful to not think about work and be with his loved ones?
You wave off those feelings and express your gratitude instead. “Thanks for helping me back there. You never mentioned knowing Italian.”
Would’ve come in handy during the ample times you all had to order food, but this was not the right moment to joke.
“Studied some basic phrases before going abroad. Didn’t end up in Italy though.”
You freeze a little, remembering the small detail Seojun mentioned the night before about Jeongguk’s missed opportunity.
Silence takes over and continues even as you both face your bedroom doors.
“Jeongguk.” You say, before he enters his room. “I hope what happened between us doesn’t impact our work. Please forget it happened — I’m truly ashamed and sorry.”
He nods, jaw clenched and tense.
“Have a safe flight home. See you in the office.” No other words are needed in your retreat back into your room.
The knot at the back of your neck strains and you can’t wait to finally shed your makeup, tight bun, and dress.
You [2:18 a.m.]: Made it to the cottage 💛
Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: GOOD
Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: JEONGGU SAI HES HEDIN TO COTT TO
Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: ILY
Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: im drun
You smile at your phone, typing a quick reply and before you hit enter, you hear a knock on your door.
Door swung open, your eyes widen at the sight of Jeongguk, tie loose around his neck and hair tussled as if he ruminated for an eternity before knocking your door.
“It’s been nice with you in Italy.” His arm from behind comes to the front with a small object. You remember it from your last day in Venice: the green masquerade mask. “Safe travels home.”
You take the little green mask in your hands, frown deepening at the sentiment.
“Why would you get this for me?” You ask.
His tongue probes against his cheek, eyes coming down to look at your figure in your yellow halter dress. The same fleeting stares you’ve grown accustomed to in the time spent in Italy, unaware these glances have always existed without your knowledge back at home. He laughs through his nose and shakes his head.
He brings his eyes back to your face. “You’re a smart girl, graduated with honors and all … so think a little harder for me.”
You shake your head, afraid of the aftermath of another wrong move that could jeopardize your heart.
“I don’t know if I can …”
Leaders take the initiative — you’re nowhere near that point in your career and life. Jeongguk recognizes this too, which is why he walks you backwards into the room. His fingers trace the intricate beadings on the mask still in your hands.
“Here, we’re just two people who met through the people we love. No roles or responsibilities. I only know you as Jihyo’s friend. You’re just … you, and I’m just Jeongguk.”
“And who are you, Jeongguk?” You place the mask onto a nearby dresser, eyes never leaving the man in front of you.
He looks down at you again, a type of stare only capable of burning and tainting every inch of your being. He’s afraid to admit who he really is — what he actually wants, knowing he can’t fully have even if it was ready for him to take. Though, with only a couple hours to spare in Italy, he wants to use what little time he has on an experience he would never let himself indulge in back at home.
It’s what vacations are meant for, right?
“Someone that wants your help. Someone that wants to finish what you started two nights ago.” He answers.
It doesn’t make sense with you — he doesn’t make sense with you just like when he leans down to press his lips on yours. The kiss is punishing, no colors of yellow like the kiss from two nights ago. Yellow is only meant for lovers and Jeongguk is no lover. Would be the only logical reason you’d now see black and blue — colors of old bruises and wounds left unattended for too long, and Jeongguk has far too many to count.
“Fuck,” He says in between kisses, shrugging off his vest, “Tell me to stop.”
You whimper, shaking your head and looping your arms over his neck to bring him closer. He pushes his tongue past your lips, savoring the way you moan around and suck on his wet muscle.
The only thing that makes sense is how your dress, the only yellow left, needs to come off. Your hands move behind your neck to undo the tight knot, letting the top fall down your front. Taking Jeongguk’s large hands, you take note of their softness, like sand — so malleable and so much harder to hold. You place them on your breasts instead.
He groans, the sound so painful and full of want to give into his desires.
“This can’t mean anything.” He says through a harsh breath. “You know that, right?”
“It’s okay.” You reply, moaning again as the pressure from his hands increases. “I’m … I’m okay with that.”
You’re not and Jeongguk knows this too. He’s aware of the subtle glances in the time he’s worked with you, your shift in demeanor when he enters a room, and how your eyes search for his approval when none was ever needed. He knows you won’t be okay with this just being a one night stand or quick fuck, but it has to be because you and Jeongguk don’t make sense.
Not under the dull fluorescent lights of the company building, not in Italy.
His teeth grazes your skin, leaving a trail of pain and pleasure behind its wake. You quiver and his body presses harder against yours in panic that if he leaves any space in between, the distance would only grow should he second-guess.
Dress bunched up at your midsection, he turns you away, eyes immediately landing where your mistake from your teenage years resided right above your pert ass.
Was this going to be another mistake too?
Your hands brace yourself on the dresser, arching from his hand tracing down your back and down your ass. He pauses and waits for your nod to proceed. Palm up, he runs his hand over the pathetic cloth you’d call your underwear now completely soaked through and scrunched to the side of your pussy.
He sucks in a breath, “Kissing gets you like this, hm?”
You shudder, praying he eventually moves. His middle finger probes gently at your sodden folds, gathering your arousal. He stays doing this for a couple minutes, listening to your soft sighs, wondering when you’d begin to beg for him to continue.
And when you don’t ask for more, it aggravates him realizing he’s the one who needs more out of something that’s supposed to be meaningless. As the older adult, he should be the gentleman with better restraint, but he’s here in your room seeking something he can’t find anywhere else:
A distraction from all the buried guilt and pain — for once, he wants to win.
He somehow gets you perched on the dresser, head between your thighs as he eats you out both as a punishment and reward. The bottom half of your dress hangs over the side of your hips, thighs spread wide open as Jeongguk thrusts his tongue into your cunt.
He knows this is just sex … worse that you’re a younger colleague whom he has vehemently denied his attractions for. But he’s here in Italy where he’s tasted olives, rinsed his memories of past loved ones with citrus … he should enjoy this trip — enjoy you. Because when was Jeongguk going to be in Italy again fucking you in a shared cottage?
“Jeong–fuck, m-yeah, right there.” You cheer, fingers carding through his hair.
Your encouragement only spurs him on to work harder, lapping over your swollen clit until you tense and cease all noise in concentration for the impending orgasm. It’s all over when you fight his hold and win the battle with your legs clamped tightly around his head. You cum with a small sob, thighs shaking around him as he continues to eat you out.
He replaces his tongue with two fingers, lazily pumping his digits in you while he kisses your lips with the taste of you still on his tongue. Meanwhile, you fumble clumsily with his buttons and zipper, jaded by how much you want him.
He’s just as eager, moaning and grinding his cock into your hand when you’ve finally freed him of his confinements.
Hoisting you in his arms, he brings you to the edge of your bed, groaning at how you automatically spread wider on the softer surface. So ready for him to do more with you until he realizes:
“Shit, I don’t have a condom.”
You hold yourself up with your forearms, legs still spread wide open for him despite his hesitance to move forward. His teeth sink onto his bottom lip, troubled dimples appearing as he stares at your glistening pussy clenching around nothing.
“I’m on birth control.” You assure and add, “You can pull out if you want.”
What’s another bad idea added into the pile?
He strokes over his length, squeezing harder at the tip and lines himself up. You whine and circle your hips from the hard poke at your entrance, arousal coating his bare cock. He doesn’t push himself in just yet, watching as a bead of precum smears at your opening … a silent territorial marking.
You’re his for tonight.
His thumb lands on your clit, rubbing it up and down. You keen, eyes shutting to concentrate on the added stimulation around the bundle of nerves.
“You’ve always been too rash on your decisions.” He pushes the tip of his cock into you, teeth biting the inside of his cheek. “Gotta work on that.” As if he’s not about to make an irrevocable mistake himself.
“High risk, high rewards … r-right?” You stammer through a shaky breath as he pushes more of him into you, uncaring that there’d been little to no prep. But that doesn’t matter, all your fantasies were coming true at this very moment and you’ll take whatever he gives you.
He gives you two more orgasms. One with your ankles by his ears. The other one where you lay on your side, memorizing the way his fingers dig into your skin as he pumps his thick shaft into you. You hike your knee closer to your chest to allow him to sink even deeper into you, hitting a specific spot repeatedly to burn figments of stars behind your lids.
The room’s hot and musty — didn’t help that neither of you remembered to air out the cottage upon arrival, but no one cared about that at the moment. Your sweat gathers behind your knees and drips down the slope of your thighs as Jeongguk continues fucking you into the mattress with an intense need.
“Gonna cum.” He announces, jaw going slack as his balls grow heavy with the need to release. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”
“Want you to cum for me.” You nod, and the slapping of his skin on yours grows as he moves quicker and harder.
You moan, brows scrunched in anticipation for Jeongguk to pull out and the feeling of being stuffed full by him will cease all together. And through your past experiences with other men, sex typically ends once they cum, so you ready yourself for the mirage to end — ready yourself to face reality again. Your lower half relaxes, waiting for him to turn your body so that he could unload everything on your stomach.
Two things happen.
He pushes deep inside you, stilling as he fills you with his arousal.
Hands soft as sand, cradle your jaw for a searing kiss to conceal words he shouldn’t utter to a colleague, let alone a direct report.
Minutes pass like this and you come to find out: sex doesn’t stop when Jeongguk finishes inside you.
He lays down next to you and hoists your body on top of his, movements swift in slipping his sensitive cock back into your cum-filled hole. He hisses, fighting through the overstimulation in acceptance of the punishment for all the terrible acts he’s committed with you. Again, both a punishment and a reward as he lets you ride him, watching the way your hips roll smoothly over his. Your mixed juices trail down his length and over his balls the more you move and bounce.
He doesn’t tell you to give him another orgasm, knowing you’re working hard to get there again.
“Don’t wanna stop. Wanna do this with you all night long.” Your breath hitches as the pleasure shifts into a type of pain no one can see. And no matter how you try to fight the physical effects of the hardest orgasm of your life, your body gives into the exhaustion and slumps over Jeongguk’s sweaty body.
In your slumber, you feel the sand, the breeze, and the absence of another human body. The next morning only proves your reality when you wake up clothed and sore from last night’s affair … with Jeongguk nowhere in sight.
You frown, tucking the sheets closer to your chin and watching the tree branches scrape against your opened window. The air in the room was no longer stuffy, ridding any evidence of what you and Jeongguk did.
Summers in Italy were magical.
Though, the fact stands: magic was nothing but illusions, deluding you from the truth. And you feigned indifference when Jihyo tells you Jeongguk had gone home for an important project — you ignored the hurt and betrayal. You had never been enough for your father to come home, so it was easy to turn a blind eye at the heaviness in your stomach from the thoughts of hoping you’d be enough to make Jeongguk stay.
Another couple of days in Italy go by with those illusions till the truth sets in the day you return to work.
A couple coworkers stop you on the way to your cubicle, asking you for a trip recap. Your debrief takes longer as intended — half due to wanting to avoid work and the other half as a result of your efforts to leave out key details of a certain someone.
You could’ve taken another path to your desk — one that kept you from the usual ajar door. Perhaps the magic followed you back home and you’ve alluded to think Jeongguk’s stares trail after your figure when you walked past his office.
The magical illusions continue as you settle into your cube, a bright yellow sticky note on your keyboard with a familiar handwriting reads: Lunch at Romano’s. - J
Even if the center of the candy happened to be sour, you have to see through it — you want to see through it.
fin.
a/n: missed me? cuz i’ve been missenU. ahh, ahh?? 🥹 i’ll see yall in about 1-2 months with something new! in the meantime, go send your well wishes to the bday girlie!! toodles ♡
also s/o to my bestie @takeitawaykenny for beta’ing!! love ya pookie
You never planned on taking in a hybrid. Especially not one like him.
You offer him food. A place to stay. Rules.
He offers you obedience. Tension. Trouble.
Because hybrids like him don't know how to exist without earning their place and you're about to learn that kindness, to someone like Jungkook, can feel just as dangerous as cruelty.
A/N: if you're here for emotional damage, slow-burn tension and a little bit of chaos-then yeah. let's go... this fic is messy in all the ways: hurt, comfort, trust issues, anc a hybrid who doesn't really know how to be safe even when he finally is.
When you find out the person you care about most in the entire world has been taken away, probably lost forever, you really only have three choices:
Option one: Be wise. Stay logical. Take a deep, deep breath, and calmly try to figure out where they dragged him.
Option two: Throw a really bad fuss about it. Scream until your lungs split, cry until you choke, and nearly vomit your empty stomach right onto the floor.
Option three: Go end your life on the nearest bridge.
Of course, you completely skipped option one, went straight to option two inside that sickening lobby, and now, finally, you're standing here on the very edge of the concrete railing, looking at the drop.
Because just twenty minutes ago, you were slamming your palms against the counter of the cruel facility, your vision swimming in streaks under the harsh lights. You had run the entire way to get there, your legs shaking so violently they felt like water because the damn bus never came. You had pushed your body past its absolute limit, desperate to beat the clock.
And for what? Only for those absolute dicks at the front desk to look at you like you were stupid.
"I'm sorry. There is nothing we can do, Miss," the first lady said, her manicured fingers tapping idly on her keyboard.
You were trying so hard to just catch your breath, your chest heaving violently, but the air felt like pure glass in your throat. All that agonizing running, only to be met with the cold announcement that Jungkook had already been sold.
"Please," you gasped, leaning so heavily on the counter that your knuckles turned translucent. "Please... I have the money. Look, I can pay extra. Just get him back. Or give me the address of the new owner! I'll go there, I'll trade him back, please, please..."
The front desk lady shot you a glare that didn't hold a single ounce of real sympathy. The tight bun on top of her head stood so sharp and pointy it looked like a radio antenna desperately trying to catch a signal that would magically remove you from her face. Still, she forced her voice into that sickeningly professional tone:
"As I said, Miss, that is simply not possible."
"But why?!" You screamed, tears finally blurring your sight. "I told you I would buy him! I announced it!"
Movement near the back hallway caught your eye. You spotted Ryan stepping out from the restroom corridor. He recognized you instantly, his entire posture freezing up as his face shifted into a deeply awkward look.
"You!" You yelled, pointing a trembling hand at the shelter guy as he reluctantly walked over toward the desk, clearing his throat. "I told you! You knew I was coming back with the money!"
"Hey... Calm down, please," Ryan muttered, raising his hands defensively and nervously looking around the lobby. "It wasn't my call, okay? An early private auction was opened for the VIPs. It was a direct order from above. Like I told you earlier, we don't hold reservations here, so Asset 701—"
"Don't call him that..." you breathed, your voice cracking.
Ryan didn't comment on the interruption. He just let out a heavy sigh, continuing in a flat, matter-of-fact tone. "He was placed on the auction block because of the massive interest. The buyers wanted him today."
"I don't care. Get him back!" you sobbed, the anger ripping out of you. "Do something to get him back!"
Ryan winced, shifting his weight uncomfortably under your furious gaze until he let too much slip. "Look, even if I could, the rabbit didn't behave anyway. He didn't even get sold."
You froze. The frantic, painful hammering in your chest stopped dead.
"What?" You stared at him. " What do you mean he didn't get sold? She just said the auction was sold out!"
"Well... the bidding hit the mark," Ryan admitted, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "But there was a massive incident on the stage. He went completely feral. Threatened a high-profile buyer. He’s a total menace, a major safety liability."
"Where is he then?!" You demanded, lunging slightly forward over the counter. "If nobody bought him, where is he?!"
"I don't know," Ryan said quickly, shaking his head. "They just took him."
"Who took him?!"
"I don't know!"
"How do you not know?! You work here!" The tears were spilling over your cheeks in streams now, the brutal exhaustion of the past week completely crashing down on your shoulders. You looked at him pleadingly, your eyes begging, completely stripped of any pride. "Please, Ryan. Just tell me."
Ryan looked down at your trembling form, and for a fleeting moment, a flicker of genuine pity crossed his face. He let out a heavy, defeated sigh and glanced at the two front desk ladies next to him. One of them didn't even bother to hide her annoyance, rolling her eyes and shifting her weight as if your heartbreak was nothing more than a minor workplace inconvenience.
Ryan looked back at you, his shoulders dropping. "I'm sorry. I really am." he said, his voice changing to a low murmur. "But that animal was dangerous. The state he was in today? He would have killed you if you took him home. He's completely unhinged."He stepped back, delivering the final, crushing blow. "They took him to the back facilities. He's probably going to get put down. "
"No... no, no..." The words spun around your head, making the edges of your vision go completely black.
"Miss, it really is for the best—" the front desk lady started, her voice sounding like it was underwater.
But you couldn't breathe in that room anymore. A sudden, violent wave of nausea slammed into your guts, and you slouched over, your knees buckling as you nearly fainted right there on the polished floor. Your stomach churned so hard you thought you were going to vomit.
Ryan moved around the counter, his face twisting with worry. "Is everything alright?" He asked, as if that wasn't the dumbest, most agonizing question anyone could possibly ask in that exact moment.
As he reached out to steady you, a blind surge of rage fractured through your panic. You aggressively threw your elbow back, catching him hard in the chest to shove him away. Without another word, you spun on your heels and bolted. You burst through the glass doors, running blindly until your weak legs brought you right to the edge of this bridge.
The wind here is freezing, biting directly into the sweat drying on your forehead. You stare down into the abyss. The stone ledge beneath your worn sneakers is sharp and uneven, the water far below looks dangerously shallow, and you can easily just lean forward and end it right now. Just step off and let the quiet take you. If Jungkook is gone... what is left to fight for?
A hollow weight settles behind your ribs as you stare at the dark horizon. It’s funny, isn't it? You had spent your entire adult life building walls, mastering the art of being the lonely type, the kind of person who survived by relying on nobody and needing nothing. Yet, somehow, that stupid, stubborn bunny had burrowed his way so deeply under your skin that your chest felt entirely empty without his presence pressing into your side. You had gotten so used to the quiet rhythm of his breathing, the soft twitch of his ears, and the desperate way he anchored himself to you.
Is this what love is? This breathless terror that left you trembling over a freezing river? You miss the simplicity of a life before him, the raw innocence of a time when your heart didn't feel like a ticking bomb, constantly induced by fear.
Because loving Jungkook doesn't feel like a gentle comfort; it feels like drowning. It’s like being dragged beneath a freezing tide where you are constantly gasping for air, never allowed to fully breathe because you are always waiting for the next strike.
But you know with absolute certainty that Jungkook is not the one to blame for this suffocation. He is completely innocent in all of this. His love isn't the thing holding you under; It’s the world. It’s this filthy, transactional system that treats him like property, making it a crime for the two of you to just exist in the same space. He never asked to be hunted, and he never asked to be caged. All he ever did was love you with everything his bruised soul had left.
And just when you had finally opened your eyes to your own feelings, accepting the depth of what you felt for him, a merciless wave crashed down and ripped him right out of your grasp before you could even hold him tight. Without him, the very air in your lungs feels like a complete waste. If he isn't breathing it with you, you don't want it either.
Your spiraling thoughts are suddenly shattered by a obnoxious burst of laughter echoing down the pedestrian walkway.
Stepping back slightly from the ledge to avoid drawing any attention, you look around the sprawling city grid, finally noticing the heavy passage of time. The sky has completely bruised and darkened into a deep grey. Beneath the flickering streetlights, the arteries of the city are beginning to swell with manic activity. People are flooding out of the office buildings from long work shifts, car horns are blaring into the gridlock traffic, and groups of teenagers are loitering on the corners. Among them are crowds of people wearing expensive fabrics and sharp, confident outfits meant for a wild night out, clearly heading to some local bar or, if they are fancy enough, to the exclusive NVN club to get lost and drink the night away.
Then, you freeze. Your fingers lock around the cold railing of the bridge so hard the metal bites painfully into your palms.
The NVN club.
Your mind violently fractures, flashing backward to the heavy bass of Hobi's birthday, to the suffocating heat of that night in the club, and the terrifying time when you accidentally discovered what truly hid beneath its glamorous surface. You remember the sickening metallic scent of blood, the terrifying roars of the crowd, and the hidden fighting ring where broken hybrids were forced to tear each other to pieces for the amusement of the wealthy.
You remember the words of the guy who had been sitting next to you, his voice sounding like a distorted blur in your memory:
"From what I heard, the hybrids here are the ones snatched up because they’re life-threatening. Danger to society, right? Might as well use 'em for entertainment before they get put down."
The realization hits hard, sending a violent spike of adrenaline through your exhausted veins. They didn't take Jungkook to a veterinary clinic to be peacefully euthanized. The shelter wouldn't waste a high-value asset like a purebred rabbit just to bury him in a backyard. They are a transactional machine; they wouldn't just throw away half a million dollars of potential profit. If he was too aggressive for the elite buyers, if his unhinged rebellion had labeled him a dangerous menace to society, they wouldn't kill him for free. They would sell his violence. They would capitalize on his fangs.
You need to get to the NVN club. Right now.
The next thing you know, you are already moving. Your legs find a sudden surge of strength as you wrench your hands away from the cold railing and throw yourself back onto the pavement. You are leaving the bridge behind, the freezing wind whipping through your hair, biting into your cheeks as a wild spark of hope ignites right in the center of your chest.
It is a twisted, sickening kind of hope. Under any other circumstance, you would never, ever wish for Jungkook to be thrown into a hellhole like that subterranean club–a place where creatures are treated like disposable toys for bloodsport. The very thought of him in a cage like the one you saw that night makes your stomach twist into knots. But right now? You are down on your knees, mentally praying for it.
You manifest with everything your shattered soul has left that he is inside that fighting ring. Because if he is there, it means he isn't dead yet. It means you aren't too late. If he is there, he is still breathing, his heart is still beating, and there is still a chance for you to find him, to tear him out of their hands, and to keep your promise.
Not far from the foot of the bridge, the harsh city lights of the main strip give way to a dim, sketchy alleyway where a line of unregistered taxis always idles against the curb.
Normally, you wouldn't catch yourself dead in one of these specific, off-grid taxi lines. They always look incredibly creepy, the drivers leaning against the steering wheels with predatory stares that trace anyone walking past alone after dark.
There is an old, rusted payphone ringing persistently against the brick wall nearby, its shrill tone echoing off the pavement, adding to the suffocating grit of the street.
Under any other circumstance, your survival instinct would tell you to keep walking, but tonight you throw open the back door of the first cab you reach and slide onto the worn leather seat, the faint scent of stale smoke hitting your nose.
"NVN club." you pant out, slamming your bank card against the plastic partition before the driver can even open his mouth to complain. "Drive. Now."
The driver blinks at you through the rearview mirror, tracking the desperation in your eyes, before slamming his foot onto the gas. The car screeches away from the curb, throwing you back against the seat.
As the taxi weaves aggressively through the streets, a sharp vibration buzzes against your thigh. You pull out your phone, the screen illuminating your face with a barrage of worried text messages from Hoseok
Hobi: Y/N?? Did you get him?
Hobi: Please text me when you can, I'm getting worried.
Hobi: Are you guys safe?
You can't leave him hanging. The last thing you want is for Hoseok to think you just swindled his personal life savings and hopped on a flight to a tropical island to live your best life. You quickly tap out a rushed reply, your fingers trembling over the cracked glass.
You: Hobi, I'm so sorry. I am alive. I still have the money safely with me, but the plan went completely sideways. I didn't get Jungkook from the shelter. They moved him out, but I have a solid lead on where they took him. I am checking it right now. I will explain everything later, I promise.
You shove your phone back into your bag, puffing your cheeks out with air as a sudden wave of nausea rolls through your stomach. The sheer amount of adrenaline coursing through your veins, makes your vision spin uncomfortably as the car moves forward.
But as the neon-drenched skyscrapers of the entertainment district finally loom into view, the taxi slows to a brutal, agonizing crawl. Two blocks away from the NVN club, the traffic grinds to a complete halt. Horns blare in a deafening chorus as lines of luxury sports cars and blacked-out SUVs jam the multi-lane street, completely gridlocked.
Your knee bounces erratically. Five minutes. Ten minutes. You are losing time.
So your hand flies to the handle, and you violently wrench the car door open. The driver glances back, eyes wide in the rearview mirror, his mouth already opening to shout after you. But before he can utter a single word, you throw a rushed, breathless "Thank you!" over your shoulder and hurl yourself out, slamming the heavy door behind you as your feet hit the exhaust-fumed street.
You sprint through the narrow gaps between the idling cars. Annoyed faces stare out at you through the tinted glass windows, their eyes tracking your frantic, disheveled form as you dodge side mirrors and leap over the painted lines of the asphalt, driven by nothing but the terrifying imagery of what they might be doing to Jungkook right now.
As you round the final corner, you are met with another massive wall of traffic, but this one is made entirely of people.
The sidewalk leading up to the NVN club is a sprawling sea of human flesh. The ropes keeping the queue in place are straining under the sheer volume of the crowd. The atmosphere is thick with the suffocating scents of expensive cologne, and the distinct hum of anticipation.
Massive bouncers in tailored black suits stand guard by the heavy double doors, their faces completely expressionless as they ruthlessly check IDs and turn people away.
In the middle of the line, a loud, aggressive shoving match breaks out between two heavily intoxicated men, a girl in a sequined dress screaming in the middle of them while a nearby guard steps in, his hand already reaching for his baton.
You stand at the edge of the concrete, your heart hammering against your ribs as you try to calculate how the hell you are going to get inside. The line stretches so far down the asphalt that it disappears around the dark corner of the block where you can’t even see the end of it. If you wait for your turn, you will be standing out here until tomorrow morning. By the time you get past those doors, it may be too late.
Swallowing down the lump of panic in your throat, you keep your head low. You try to blend into the chaos, shifting your weight and slipping past the loud groups of people, moving forward inch by inch along the side of the brick wall. You just need to get close enough to the front to slip past the velvet rope when the guards are distracted by the fight.
You manage to bypass a dozen people, your chest tight with hope. You duck your shoulder, about to slide right under the heavy velvet rope, but in the middle of the process, someone deliberately steps directly in front of you. Before you can back away, a hand clamps firmly around your arm.
Your head snaps up. A ginger girl stands blocking your path, her long nails digging sharply into the fabric of your jacket sleeve. She smacks her gum loudly, her heavily smudged smoky eyes looking like someone had just blown a handful of ash directly into her face. She scans you up and down, taking in your messy appearance.
"What exactly do you think you're doing?" she asks loud enough to instantly draw the attention of the surrounding group.
You force a tight, incredibly nervous smile, as you gently attempt to wrench your arm out of her tight grip.
"I'm sorry, I just... I'm meeting someone at the front. I really need to get through."
"Oh, really?" A mocking laugh escapes her lips as she releases your arm, only to cross her own over her chest. "You're meeting someone? Let me guess, your imaginary VIP boyfriend? Look at you."
She pointedly gestures down at your decidedly not-so-clubbing outfit, her eyes practically drilling holes into your worn jacket and scuffed shoes.
You squeeze your lips together, the humiliation burning hot in your throat because, sadly, you do look quite like something resembling a piece of trash, or a desperate homeless human (which, given your lack of a real bed or shower, you technically are.) You can't even argue with her. The only saving grace is that at least your makeup skills are better than whatever ash-disaster she has going on.
"Let me make it clear for you: Get your ass to the back of the line."
You stare at her for a tense moment, and she glares right back at you, her jaw working aggressively on her gum.
Just then, the crowd shifts and the line starts moving again.
"Come on, get the fuck moving, people!" someone farther back in the queue shouts impatiently.
So you step back to get out of the line. Not because you are a coward, and definitely not because you can't talk for yourself, but because your eyes dart past your shoulder and catch one of the massive bodyguards giving you a sharp, warning look. You can't afford getting banned from the club because of a stupid sidewalk fight just yet.
Swallowing your rage, you just mumble a venomous "Bitch" under your breath as you catch the girl's ugly victory smirk.
You turn away, your hands instantly flying to your hair, brushing through the tangled strands in a nervous tic. Your eyes scan the massive exterior of the NVN club, looking for any possible sign of an alternate entry point.
They must have an emergency entrance. A back door. A delivery hatch. Anything.
Breaking into a rushed jog, you begin to circle the perimeter of the building. The venue is colossal, occupying nearly half a city block, and the trek takes a frustrating amount of time. Somewhere along the side, you pass the very end of the queue—the miserable souls who will definitely still be waiting out here by sunrise—but you don't even think about taking a place there. You keep moving.
The back of the club is a stark contrast to the front. The glossy pink neon disappear, replaced by a distinct lack of luxury. Finally, you come face-to-face with an enormous iron gate blocking off the rear loading dock. The bars are thick, topped with sharp, menacing metal spikes. Climbing over it would probably leave you hanging like a skewered kebab. But honestly? That's fine. You're a snack anyway.
You shove your shoe into a gap in the metal bars and hoist yourself up. You are halfway up the gate, your muscles straining, when a loud, sharp rip echoes in the air. You clench your teeth, as a jagged metal edge tears right through your sleeve. Great. Your jacket is ruined, right along with your will to live.
But just as you manage to yank the fabric free from the spike, a loud mechanical buzz cuts through the alley. The iron structure beneath you trembles violently, automatically starting to slide open to the side, with you still clinging to it like a feral raccoon. The worst part is that your foot gets completely stuck between the moving bars.
"Shit, shit, shit!" you panic, as the gate carries you sideways.
Suddenly, a massive tour bus swings into the street, a heavy bass beat vibrating from its frame. The headlights flash on, completely blinding you when you look back. Trapped, blind, and terrified of getting crushed, you give one final heave. You manage to wrench your foot free and jump off just in time, landing hard on the concrete—only to realize your shoe is still trapped, riding away from you with the gate.
The bus doors hiss open and a wave of noise spills out; loud music, laughter, and the sharp clatter of high heels on metal steps. A group of women in short, glittering dresses and dramatic wigs begins pouring out, shrieking and singing something in Russian at the top of their lungs.
You stand there frozen, one leg slightly raised like a confused flamingo, as one of the women pauses dramatically on the bottom step of the bus. She lifts a half-empty bottle of champagne into the air like a trophy.
“Woohoo! Gates open, legs open!” she yells, her voice thick with an accent.
Before she can take another step, a woman with a layered blonde wig shoves her from behind. “Get off, Marika, my tampon is halfway out!”
Marika whips around so fast her massive breasts jiggle violently under her tight dress. “Push me again and that tampon will end up deep up your fake nose, you cow!”
The two of them start shoving each other on the narrow stairs, their voices rising in a rapid-fire mix of English and Russian while the other women spill around them, laughing and shouting encouragement.
You take few steps forward, trying to blend into the chaos, when your eyes catch on a familiar face near the back of the group. Svetlana. As you stare through the glaring headlights, you spot a few other familiar faces right behind her, and a heavy dread settles deep in your gut as you realize exactly who they are.
These are the "Caucasian Ladies." The untouchable VIP regulars from the bar you work at. The same rich, entitled bitches who had sneaked Jungkook into the lounge once before, treating him like their personal toy.
A woman next to you, whose dramatic, spider-leg eyelash extensions are literally peeling off and hanging halfway down her cheek, stops mid-laugh. She looks down at your feet, then up at your face, her heavily lined lips curling into a suspicious pout.
"And who is this one?" she asks. "Look at her. Did the bus hit her on way here?"
The comment draws a few eyes, and your breath hitches as Svetlana herself slowly turns her head. She stands with the cigarette tilted casually between her fingers, a cloud of thin gray smoke escaping her red lips. She looks you up and down, a sharp flash of recognition goes across her face. Her heels click sharply against the pavement as she approaches you, the rest of the women parting to let her through.
"Well, well, well," Svetlana purrs, stepping forward until the expensive silk of her coat brushes against your torn sleeve. She takes a long, slow drag of her cigarette, her eyes glittering with dark satisfaction. "Isn't that my favorite bartender?"
Before you can even formulate a response, the blonde wigged woman next to her gasps loudly, as she points a manicured finger directly at your chest. "The bitch that took our bunny!"
You instinctively roll your eyes, the audacity of these women overriding your panic for a split second. You open your mouth, ready to give her a piece of your mind, but the words cut off instantly.
A massive, stone-faced bodyguard appears in the open gates, his heavy boots thudding against the concrete.
"Ladies, inside. Main backstage entrance is cleared. Move it," he barks, gesturing toward the interior of the club.
The crowd of women immediately starts shifting, babbling in Russian as they head toward the open doors. Svetlana gives you one last amused look and begins pushing past you to join them.
Desperation snaps through your veins. Forget your pride. Forget the fact that you hate her. You reach out and grab Svetlana firmly by her elbow, stopping her in her tracks. The woman freezes. She looks down at your hand, her eyebrows snapping together in a dangerous glare.
"I need your help," you say, your voice tight, and completely deadpan despite the hammering in your chest.
Svetlana lets out a sharp, mocking laugh, her eyes dancing. "Is that so? What could you possibly want?"
"I just need to get inside the club." you press, your eyes locking onto hers. "Please. Just get me past the guards."
Svetlana hums, tilting her head as she evaluates your ragged appearance, from your torn sleeve down to your single gray sock. A slow, incredibly wicked grin spreads across her red lips. She steps closer, blowing a stream of smoke right over your head.
"Then beg me. On your knees, little bartender."
You freeze. You look at her, your jaw clenched so hard it aches, but you can see the bodyguard getting closer out of the corner of your eye. You don't have a choice. Swallowing every last drop of your pride, you exhale a shaky breath and actually start lowering your weight to drop to the concrete.
But before your knee can even touch the ground, Svetlana bursts into a loud, melodic laugh. She throws her cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath the sharp point of her designer heel.
"Oh, dignity of a wet paper towel," she scoffs, shaking her head as her heavy silver earrings glint under the lights. "I make one little joke, and you throw yourself on floor? Get up, Darling. You look ridiculous." She waves a dismissive hand. "Where I come from, we say only dogs beg on four legs. Have at least little respect for yourself."
You instantly straighten up, a hot flush of anger heating your cheeks as you glare at her. She just smirks, entirely amused by her own twisted humor.
"Do you know how to dance on a pole?" she asks out of nowhere.
"What?" you blurt out, your brain short-circuiting. "No, I—"
"Too bad. You will learn fast," she cuts you off smoothly.
Before you can argue, the bodyguard notices the delay. His brow furrows deeply as his eyes lock dead on your disheveled form. "Hey! You there. You're not on the list," he demands, his heavy boots thudding against the asphalt as he rushes over to intercept you both just as you start heading toward the open gate.
Svetlana doesn't even blink. With practiced grace, she effortlessly slides her arm through yours, pulling you flush against her side. She looks the massive guard dead in the eye with untouchable authority.
"She is with us," She states smoothly. "She is our special guest. The star of tonight's show."
The guard hesitates, looking you up and down one last time with deep suspicion, but nobody safely questions Svetlana. He quickly backs off, raising a hand to gesture for you both to move through quickly.
As you and Svetlana pass through the heavy threshold, the mechanical hum of the iron gate kicks up behind you, starting to slide shut. Just before the heavy back doors click into place, you hear the guard's muffled voice echo in the alley:
"What the fuck... What idiot left a shoe stuck in the gears !?"
Then, the door slams shut, cutting off the outside world.
Svetlana leads you down a labyrinth of long, industrial corridors, everything moving at a dizzying rush. You end up in a sprawling backstage dressing room that looks like a neon bomb exploded in it. Wardrobe stylists, makeup artists, and half-naked dancers are running in every direction.
Before you can even think about slipping away, a frantic woman with a headset spots you, and next thing you know you are immediately thrown into a chaotic assembly line of preparation.
You try to protest, to tell them you're just trying to find someone, but your voice is completely drowned out by the backstage madness.
Within minutes, your ragged clothes are aggressively stripped off, replaced by a ridiculously small, dangerously tight dress that barely qualifies as fabric, and your feet are shoved into impossibly high, platform heels. Someone shoves a short, neon-blue wig with blunt bangs onto your head, pinning it down mercilessly.
"Sit!" a makeup artist commands, shoving you into a chair.
A barrage of brushes, blinding glitter pallets, and heavy lip gloss slams into your face, masking your exhausted eyebags under a dramatic, shimmering eyeshadow.
"Okay, honey, you're up! Don't keep the high rollers waiting!" a stage manager yells, completely ignoring your wide, panicked eyes.
Before you can scream a refusal, the velvet backstage curtains are ripped open, and a violent shove sends you stumbling forward. Your wobbly platform heels hit the slick surface of the main stage, and you instantly put your arms out to keep from face-planting.
Your eyes strain against the blinding glare of spotlights that slice through a thick, sweet-smelling haze of stage smoke. The deafening thud of a heavy bassline vibrates right through the soles of your shoes, rattling your ribs.
As your vision adjusts, the scale of the club opens up around you. You're on an elevated runway that snakes through a packed, dim VIP lounge. On two smaller side stages, other dancers are already performing, their bodies twisting effortlessly around gleaming steel poles in practiced movements.
The crowd below is a sea of tailored suits, expensive watches, and predatory grins. Drunken cheers echo through the air as a rain of crisp dollar bills flutters down from the upper booths, sticking to the sweat-slicked skin of the performers.
Panicking, you realize every eye in your section has just locked onto you—the new girl in the blue wig.
A collective roar of drunken approval goes up from a nearby table of businessmen. Your heart hammers against your ribs. You can't just stand here like a mannequin. Forcing your trembling legs to move, you shakily navigate the few steps toward the central pole. You grip the cold metal, your knuckles turning white. Taking a deep breath, you try your absolute best to fake it. You arch your back, throwing your head back to let the blue bangs fall over your eyes, and slowly drag yourself in one awkward, agonizingly tense circle around the steel bar.
You try to make it look like a sultry catwalk as you move away from the pole, but the lethal height of the clear heels makes you look more like a newborn deer on ice.
Screw this, you think, the urgency of finding Jungkook crashing back into your mind. I don't have time for this.
Instead of continuing the show, you completely abandon the stage presence. You practically bolt toward the small flight of stairs leading off the runway into the main crowd. The moment the VIPs realize you aren't putting on a show, the cheers instantly sour. A loud, unified wave of "Boo!" and disappointed groans erupts from the tables.
"Hey! Where are you going?!" someone shouts, a crumbled bill bouncing off your shoulder. "What a rip-off!"
You don't care. You don't give a single damn about their money. Ignoring the insults throwing themselves at your back, you trip down the final step and hit the main floor, stumbling blindly through the crowd as you run for your life toward the neon-lit exit doors.
But the club is a sprawling, labyrinthine nightmare. Instead of the exit, you burst through a heavy set of double doors and find yourself trapped in a long, unfamiliar VIP corridor lined with private velvet-curtained booths. Your ankles twist dangerously inside the platforms, shooting sharp needles of pain up your calves with every step. You feel completely ridiculous, but you keep pushing anyway. Left. Right. Another turn.
You finally push through the main dance floor first, where hundreds of bodies move beneath flashing lights, hands raised in the air as the bass shakes the entire room. Then the bathrooms. Then, at the end of a dim side corridor, you see it. The door. The one you remember. FIRE EXIT.
You throw your entire body weight against the push-bar. The doors fly open, and you plunge down a steep, dark concrete stairwell. The deeper you go, the louder the muffled thudding music of the main club fades, replaced by something far more terrifying: a raw, primal roar of human bloodlust. The deafening vivat noises of a ravenous audience bounce off the damp walls.
You sprint down the last flight of stairs, your wobbly heels clacking loudly, and burst directly into the massive, dark underground arena. But the moment your eyes adjust to the dim room, your heart drops into your stomach.
It’s too late.
The frantic roar of the crowd is already peaking, shifting from suspenseful shouting into a chaotic cheer of victory and disappointment. You stand frozen by the entrance, your hand gripping the cold metal doorframe just to keep your buckled knees from giving out entirely.
In the center of the room, illuminated by a single, harsh white spotlight, is the fighting ring. Steam or smoke or stage haze hangs in the air, making everything look slightly unreal.
The match is over.
Your vision blurs, dizziness washing over you in a violent wave as you stare at the shapes inside the ring. One figure is sprawled motionless across the blood-stained canvas, face down, limbs heavy and unresponsive. Sitting directly on top of his back, pinning him down with brutal finality, is the victor; a massive, heavily scarred tiger hybrid, his striped ears pinned back as he draws in ragged breaths.
An announcer's voice booms over the crackling PA system, echoing off the walls: "Fight done! Winner by total submission... Asset 912!"
No... no, please, no, your mind screams. The room spins violently. Black spots dance at the edges of your vision as a sickening certainty takes hold. That's him. The broken, unmoving body on the floor is Jungkook. The world tilts, and a sob chokes in your throat.
The arena staff swarm the cage to secure the victor. The winning hybrid suddenly snaps, baring razor-sharp fangs at the guards. A brilliant flash of blue electricity arcs from a prod, slamming into his shoulder. The hybrid convulses, his muscles freezing instantly as he collapses into a twitching heap, completely paralyzed by the shock.
As the handlers drag the aggressive victor away, the other man flips the defeated hybrid over onto his back to check for a pulse. You lean forward, your breath completely hitching in your throat, staring through the haze. The bright spotlight catches the details of the fallen hybrid's face.
It isn't Jungkook.
You let out a ragged, gasping breath, your chest heaving violently. It’s a completely different hybrid; a panther hybrid, his tail twitching weakly against the canvas as the medics load him onto a stretcher.
The force of the emotional whiplash hits you like a physical blow. Your legs lose all their strength, completely liquefying under the weight of your relief and lingering terror. Before you can faint, you blindly stumble backward toward the spectator tribunes, practically collapsing onto the lowest row of benches. You sit down hard, burying your face in your trembling, glittering hands, trying to stop the room from spinning.
"Whoa there, sweetheart," a slurred voice chuckles from the row above you. A man reeking of cheap whiskey leans over, his eyes traveling slowly down your impossibly short silver dress. He lets out a low, appreciative whistle. "Nice ass. Are you the prize for the next round?"
You don't even have the energy to glare at him. You just bury your face deeper into your hands, mumbling a tired "fuck off" under your breath.
But as the words leave your mouth, the realization suddenly pierces through your brain. You straighten up instantly, your posture stiffening as you whip your head around to face the man. "Wait. Next round?"
Right on cue, a sharp, electronic four-second tone beeps over the PA system, signaling the start of the next match. The crowd's low chatter instantly swells back into a hungry, anticipatory rumble. Down below, the heavy iron security gate on one side of the pit groans open. Your breath catches in your throat. You dig your fingernails so hard into your seat.
From the right gate, the staff drags out a skinny, panicked Dog hybrid. He wears a heavy iron collar chained tightly to a short leash. He looks completely disoriented, his wide eyes darting around the arena maniacally as he tosses his head from side to side, whimpering. You feel a sickening pang of pity for him; he clearly doesn't know what's going on. When he hesitates, the guard behind him brutally lashes him across the shoulder blades with a heavy leather whip, forcing him to walk faster.
Then, the left gate opens.
Your heart stops dead in your chest. Compared to the trembling dog hybrid, this one walks out with a eerie stillness. There is no struggling. No resistance. His hands are cuffed tightly behind his back, his head sloped low toward his chest so that a curtain of dark, messy hair shadows his face. Long, soft black bunny ears flop forward over his shoulders, completely motionless.
It's Jungkook.
He is bare-chested, wearing a pair of loose, dark fabric shorts low on his hips. The harsh arena spotlights catch every single contour of his body, and it's devastating. His skin is a map of violence; faded white lines, angry red welts, and fresh, dark bruises cutting across his skin ribs.
You expect him to be trembling, to see the same wild terror in his eyes that the dog hybrid has. But as he stops at the entrance of the ring, he remains terrifyingly calm. There is no panic in the way he carries himself. Instead, his posture is heavy with a quiet, hollow resignation, as if he has already accepted that this cage is the only place he was ever meant to die.
The guards aggressively push both hybrids toward the center of the ring, opening the heavy chain-link cage doors. They rough-handle the dog hybrid inside, quickly unlocking his collar before scrambling out. The moment the boy realizes he's free, he panics and bolts back toward the exit, but it's too late. The heavy cage door slams shut right in his face.
Through the mesh, you watch Jungkook. Finally possessing free wrists, he doesn't rush, nor does he look at the screaming crowd. He stands perfectly still for a moment, slowly rubbing his reddened wrists to restore the circulation. Then, with a deliberate motion, he lifts his head. His dark, hollow eyes pierce through his messy bangs, locking dead onto his frantic opponent.
The dog hybrid, realizing his escape is completely blocked, slowly turns around. His breath hitches in a visible shudder, light brown hair falling haphazardly into his eyes as he takes a proper look at the standing bunny.
For a fraction of a second, the puppy goes completely still. You can see his eyes widen even further, a feat you didn’t think was anatomically possible given how terrified he already was.
Jungkook doesn’t react at the look. He doesn’t even blink. You shift uncomfortably on your hard bench, as the trembling dog hybrid takes a hesitant step toward the center. His hands are shaking so violently they look like a blur. He opens his mouth, his lips moving as he tries to say something to Jungkook–perhaps begging for mercy, perhaps pleading for a quick end. But his voice is completely swallowed by the bloodthirsty arena.
"Fight! Fight! Fight!” The crowd erupts into impatient roar, demanding the violence they paid to see.
You are violently startled when Jungkook moves without a warning. In the blink of an eye, he closes the distance, his hand shooting out to catch the boy ruthlessly by the back of his neck, and slams the poor puppy's face directly into the metal cage. The dog hybrid stumbles back, clutching his bleeding nose. Realizing there is no mercy to be found, survival instinct finally overrides his terror. With a desperate, choked cry, he lunges forward, swinging wildly, completely forced into fighting back.
For a long moment, you just sit there. Frozen into place, staring at the raw, unadulterated violence unfolding right before your eyes.
You have seen Jungkook fight before. You knew he carried a dangerous strength beneath his soft exterior. But back then, he had fought like a shield, driven by a desperate need to protect you. This is entirely different. From the outside, he looks utterly ruthless, a machine of pure, unhinged determination. He tracks his opponent with a predatory focus, shifting his weight effortlessly as he dodges the dog's sloppy swings. He steps in, delivering shar blows that make the crowd cheer in wicked delight. It looks like slow, calculated torture. It looks like the "dangerous menace" the shelter workers warned you about. The feral animal that belongs in a cage.
But if you look straight into his tired, dark eyes, you can see the agonizing truth. It’s not different at all. Jungkook doesn't want to do this. He hates every single second of it. You catch the minute details that the bloodthirsty crowd is too blind to notice. You see the way he subtly controls the trajectory of his fists, intentionally angling his knuckles so his heaviest punches land on the meat of the boy's shoulders or the thickest parts of his ribs; moves designed to exhaust and drain the puppy's energy rather than fracture his skull or deal lethal wounds. You see the brief, agonizing twitch of Jungkook’s jaw every time the dog hybrid cries out in pain.
He isn't fighting because he's a menace. He's fighting because he's a broken boy carrying more pressure than anyone should have to bear. He knows the rules of this filthy machine: If he loses, it's over. If he wins, he gets to live another day.
And staying alive is the only thread of hope he has left to cling to. He's doing this because he remembers the quiet rhythm of your breathing. He's doing this because he remembers the soft, gentle way you held him when the world was too cruel. He's enduring this absolute hell because, somewhere beneath the bruises and the broken pieces of his soul, he's still desperately fighting his way back to you.
You snap back to reality when the brown-haired boy lands heavily on his back with a dull thud. His head lolls back in pain, his chest heaving as abreathless groan escapes his bloodied lips. Jungkook approaches him, his chest rising and falling in steady intervals.
You need to end this. You didn't run across the city, and humiliate yourself in a neon wig just to sit here and watch Jungkook be systematically destroyed from the inside out. You came to get him out, and you will not let him inflict another ounce of this torment on another living creature or himself.
The stadium seats vibrate as the crowd reaches a fever pitch, screaming, jeering, and throwing empty cups toward the mesh. They want blood. They chant for Jungkook to finish the dog hybrid off once and for all.
You look around the roaring tribunes, and a profound hatred curdles in your stomach. You see hundreds of humans surrounding the pit, yet there isn't a single ounce of humanity left in this room. You hate every single person here with a burning passion, and you wish the entire roof would collapse and smash straight onto their stupid faces.
Driven by a sudden surge of adrenaline, you bolt from your seat and hurtle down the concrete steps toward the cage. The absurdly high platform heels twist dangerously on the uneven steps, but you don't care.
"Hey! Blue wig! Get the hell back to the stage area!" a massive, muscle-bound guard barks, his heavy boots instantly pivoting as he spots you trespassing into the secure perimeter.
"Jungkook!" you scream at the top of your lungs, your voice instantly swallowed by the deafening uproar of the audience.
He doesn't hear you. Down in the ring, Jungkook is already dropping to his knees directly over the exhausted boy.
Your foot suddenly catches on a thick tangle of heavy black cables snaking across the floor. You stumble violently, the lethal heels giving out beneath you as you pitch forward, barely catching your balance. Through the cage, you see Jungkook raise his arm, his blood-stained fist frozen high in the air, his dark eyes locked on the boy beneath him as he prepares the final blow to end the match.
Panic completely hijacks your throat. "Jungkook, no! Stop!" you shriek, your voice cracking into a desperate sob.
Before you can take another step, the massive bodyguard slams into you from behind, his giant arms wrapping around your waist and aggressively lifting your feet right off the ground.
"Let go of me! Put me down, you asshole!" you scream, thrashing violently against his grip. You kick your legs wildly, the dangerously short silver dress riding all the way up your hips, leaving your underwear completely exposed to the flashing lights as you fight to break free, but you don't give a single damn about your modesty. "Put me down!
The sheer, piercing desperation of your voice somehow cuts through the roar of the crowd.
Jungkook’s head suddenly snaps toward the source of the commotion. His bunny ears twitch violently, and he looks up, his dilated eyes lock directly onto yours. Time completely stops. The entire underworld arena seems to evaporate as you make eye contact.
But the distraction is fatal.
The hybrid beneath him is still fighting for his life. Seeing Jungkook completely lose focus, the brown-haired boy finds a final, desperate burst of survival instinct. He sits up abruptly and lunges forward, throwing his entire weight into a brutal tackle that catches Jungkook completely off guard, burying his shoulder right into Jungkook's bruised ribs.
"No!" you scream, your heart leaping into your throat as you watch Jungkook crash sideways into the ground.
But you don't get to see anything else. The bodyguard ruthlessly wrenches your body around, dragging you backward through the heavy exit doors and throwing you out of the arena, cutting off the sight of the ring as the metal doors slam shut, leaving you screaming into the dark corridor.
You throw your entire body weight against steel, the impact rattling through the bones of your shoulders, but the door doesn't budge. Through the small, wire-reinforced glass window, you can see the shadow of the massive guard leaning his weight directly against the frame from the other side, barricading you out.
You spin around frantically, your eyes sweeping the dark corridor. It’s a dead end. Exposed pipes hiss with steam overhead, and the distant bass of the upper dance floor pulses rhythmically, completely indifferent to the nightmare unfolding beneath it.
Then, you see it.
Gleaming like a drop of fresh blood at the far end of the hallway, illuminated by a single flickering bulb: the small, red plastic emergency casing of the fire alarm.
You don't calculate the consequences. You scramble toward it. Reaching the box, you don't even look for a hammer; you curl your hand into a tight fist and slam it directly into the thin glass pane. The glass shatters, jagged shards biting into your knuckles, but you barely feel the sting. You plunge your bleeding index finger onto the heavy white button, jamming it deep into the wall.
For a terrifying beat of three seconds, there is absolute silence.
Then, the world breaks.
A deafening, high-pitched electronic siren cuts through the air, accompanied by the harsh strobe of red emergency lights pulsing from the ceiling. The sudden shift in atmosphere is instantaneous. Within moments, the heavy iron doors you were just pounding on are violently thrown open from the inside. The massive bodyguard stumbles out backward, his eyes wide with panic as the alarm blares above his head. Terrified spectators pour into the hallway, desperate to escape what they believe is a catastrophic fire. They shove past you in a rush toward the club's exit, their panicked voices swallowed by the shriek of the alarm.
Suddenly, a loud hiss echoes from the ceiling. A split second later, the overhead emergency sprinklers trigger, unleashing a torrential, icy downpour of water. The freezing water hits you instantly, completely drenching the short dress and plastering the blue synthetic bangs flat against your forehead. The heavy glitter on your face begins to wash down your cheeks in shimmering, messy tears.
Fighting against the current of the escaping crowd, you duck your shoulder and forcefully shove your way back through the open double doors, plunging right into the main fighting hall. The automated fire system hasn't just unlocked the emergency exits; it has completely short-circuited the electronic security grid of the arena. Down in the pit, the heavy chain-link cage doors are swinging wide open. And it’s not just the main ring; the holding cages along the dark perimeter walls have clicked open, too.
The other dangerous, high-value hybrids that were locked up in the dark, waiting in line for tonight's bloody entertainment, realize they are free.
A wolf hybrid throws his head back, letting out a wild laugh that cuts through the blaring sirens before vaulting over the security railing. Beside him, a sleek black panther hybrid blurs past a screaming guard, his claws extended as he fights his way toward the exits. The arena staff–completely overwhelmed and soaked to the bone–desperately swing their electrified riot prods, but it’s no use. The blue electricity arcs uselessly through the heavy downpour of water, short-circuiting in their hands and sending them stumbling back in fear as the creatures they treated like disposable property finally take their revenge.
The air is thick with the scent of ozone, wet concrete, and pure, chaotic freedom.
Your eyes dart frantically through the lights and the thick curtain of fake rain. You wipe the water from your eyes, your heart hammering against your ribs as you scan the entire room, desperate to spot one single, specific pair of black bunny ears.
Then, through a sudden flash of a red strobe, you spot him.
Jungkook is wrestling with a hulking security guard near the edge of the cage. The guard catches him off balance on the slick floor, tackling him onto the wet concrete. Jungkook thrashes violently beneath him, twisting with everything he has to break free.
The man drives one heavy knee into Jungkook's chest, pinning him down, while his trembling hand fumbles through the pocket of his tactical vest. When he finally pulls it free, the crimson emergency lights catch the gleam of a long metallic syringe filled with amber-colored fluid.
God, no. The thought screams through your mind, paralyzing you for a fraction of a second. Jungkook sees the needle, his jaw clenching as he bares his teeth, his ears pinning flat against his wet hair as he tries to throw the man off. But his movements are sluggish.
Your eyes scan the floor around you. Amidst the discarded trash, your high-heel kicks against a half-empty whiskey bottle left behind by a fleeing spectator. You dive for it, your fingers gripping the sticky glass neck just as the guard forces Jungkook’s head down against the wet floor, baring the side of his neck.
The guard drives the needle home. Jungkook lets out a muffled cry as the metal pricks deep into his skin. But before the man can fully depress the plunger, you are there. Bringing the heavy glass bottle down with every ounce of strength you possess, you smack the guard squarely across the jaw. The guard groans, dropping the syringe as he falls sideways, clutching his face and whining in agony on the floor.
Jungkook immediately throws the man's weight off him, scrambling backward against a concrete pillar. His trembling hand flies up to his neck, fingers pressing hard against the puncture wound where the needle had pricked him.
"Jungkook! Are you okay? Can you hear me?" You drop the broken bottle, dropping to your knees beside him, your hands hovering in the air, terrified to touch him.
He doesn't respond. He can't.
A low, guttural groan tears from the back of Jungkook's throat. A sound so raw and animalistic it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.The drug (whatever fraction of it managed to enter his bloodstream) is working with terrifying speed.
The symptoms manifest violently before your eyes. The artificial rain cascading from the ceiling washes the old, dried blood from his face, revealing a complexion that has gone deathly pale under the pulsing red lights. His jaw is clenched so tightly the muscles in his cheeks violently twitch, and his hands curl into fists so severe that his knuckles turn stark white, his claws digging deep into his own palms.
On the floor, the injured guard rolls over. His eyes go wide with absolute horror as he looks at the syringe lying on the floor, then at the physical state of the bunny hybrid.
"Shit... oh, shit," the guard wheezes, his voice cracking with error, as he looks up at you. "Run... you need to run..."
"What?" you demand, your voice shaking as you look between the man and Jungkook. "What did you give him?!"
"I grabbed... I grabbed the wrong one," the guard stammers, his boots slipping on the wet floor as he desperately tries to stand up to save his own skin. "That wasn't the sedative. That’s the combat catalyst... the stimulant. We use it to make them violent... to make them kill."
Your blood runs entirely cold.
Slowely, you turn your head back to Jungkook. His head tilts up, his wet, dark hair parting to reveal eyes that look completely unhuman. His pupils are so massively dilated they have entirely swallowed his irises, leaving two endless, pitch-black voids. There is no recognition in them. No warmth. No Jungkook. Right now, his drug-rattled brain only registers a shape in his immediate vicinity. A target.
You try to act calm, to keep your breathing steady, but the primal fear seizing your muscles makes your instincts take over.
Cautiously, painfully slowly, you begin to stand up from the wet concrete. Jungkook’s blown-out eyes stalk your every move. His head tilts slightly, like a beast tracking it’s prey. You are absolutely terrified to break eye contact, instinctively knowing that looking away might be the final invitation for him to strike.
As you reach your full height, Jungkook begins to stand up too. He doesn't rise like a human; he uncoils, his movements dangerously fluid, his muscles trembling with a volatile energy.
Your survival instinct screams at you. You take a slow, agonizing step backward, your shoes splashing quietly in a puddle. Jungkook immediately matches your movement, taking a deliberate step forward. He closes the distance you just tried to create, his gaze locked entirely on you. You are the closest living thing to him, and the chemical cocktail in his veins is demanding blood, demanding violence, and right now, all of his hyper-fixated attention is locked entirely on you.
You take another slow step back, your hands raised slightly in a placating gesture. "Kook…" You breath out, voice trembling as you try to reach whatever is left of him. "Jungkook, please, it's me..."
Jungkook’s black bunny ears twitch. "Run," he pants.
This time you don’t have to be told twice. You sprint. You sprint for your life–your stupid, messy, tragic little life that you actually hate, but right now, your body is screaming at you to preserve it. The problem is, you are a tragic runner. It certainly doesn't help that your feet are still shoved into a pair of ridiculous high heels. Each stride is a clumsy gamble against gravity as your heels clack frantically against the slick concrete floor.
Desperate to shorten the distance to the outside world, you make a blind, panicked choice. You throw your weight against the nearest door. It is a bad, fucking choice. The second you cross the threshold, the oppressive darkness tells you everything you need to know: you have never been in this part of the corridor system before. This could easily end tragically for you.
Before the heavy door swings shut behind you, you steal one quick look back.
Jungkook is still remaining in his exact spot. He hasn't chased you yet. Instead, he’s dropped to one knee, his nails digging so brutally deep into the concrete floor that his knuckles are turning purple. He is fighting himself. He is actively resisting a drug designed to turn him into a mindless killing machine, all just to give you a head start. The willpower of his resistance makes a pang of deep admiration cut through your terror.
But you can't stop. You turn and barrel down the suffocating corridor.
You push forward, making two sharp, panicked turns into the labyrinth of the building's underbelly. The silence doesn't last. A minute later, a loud, echoing bang reverberates through the concrete. The door has been thrown open.
Then come the footsteps.
Panic blinds you. As you tear around another corner, your eyes land on a heavy metal cleaning trolley stocked with chemical bottles, brooms, and industrial buckets. You throw your weight against it. The trolley crashes down onto the ground, spraying soapy water and plastic bottles across the floor. It's a pathetic attempt to stop a creature that can leap security railings, but it's all you have.
Ahead, a green, glowing sign cuts through the shadows: EMERGENCY EXIT.
You almost scream as the cold night air hits your sweating skin. Far off on the other side of the club, the distant, wailing sirens of approaching firetrucks and police cruisers cut through the night.
Safety is over there. Help is over there.
But you don't turn toward the lights. You immediately wheel around and dive into the deep, lonely shadows of the narrow alleyways behind the venue. Because you know one thing for certain: no matter how close you are to dying tonight, you can't let a single soul see the feral, drugged bunny hybrid that is currently tearing through the darkness right behind you.
You don’t get to run for long. As soon as you plunge into the nearest alley, a hand crashes into your back, launching you into a stack of metal crates propped against the brick wall. They collapse with a metallic clatter, sending you launching headfirst toward the ground. You hit the asphalt hard, your hands shooting out just in time to catch yourself. Pain explodes through your wrists as your palms skid across the rough ground, while the unforgiving concrete scrapes the skin clean off your bare knees.
You let out a panicked shriek, your heart leaping into your throat as you scramble to crawl away. Your nails dig desperately into the cracks in the stone, scraping against the rough ground as you try to drag yourself forward.
Then long fingers suddenly wrap around your bare ankle.
Before you can even react, Jungkook gives one sharp, effortless yank. You slide helplessly across the stone, your body dragged flat on your stomach until the sliver of open space above disappears, leaving you completely trapped beneath him.
He pins your lower half to the asphalt with the trembling weight of his thighs. He isn't massive or hulking like the arena guards; his frame is lean, almost dangerously skinny from his time locked away in the shelter facility, but the drug pulsing through his veins has turned his muscles into absolute iron.
You try to push up onto your scraped elbows, but Jungkook instantly drives his palms down against your shoulders, ruthlessly pressing you back down into the concrete. He leans his entire upper body over yours, trapping you in the narrow space between his arms.
His breathing is a frantic, ragged mess, hot breaths ghosting across your neck. Violent shivers wrack his body as the icy water from the arena evaporates from his pale skin.
"Kook... Stop," you choke out, your eyes watering from the stinging pain in your knees and the sheer terror locking up your joints.
You manage to tilt your head sideways to look up at him, and your breath hitches. His pupils are still completely blown out, black pools staring down at you, but the feral glaze of the stimulant is warring with something else. His jaw is clenched so tightly that a thin trickle of dark blood is beginning to ooze from the corner of his lips, where he has bitten the inside of his own cheek to keep from snapping. The veins in his neck are pulsing erratically against the raw puncture wound from the needle. He is still fighting it. The drug is screaming at him to tear you apart, but his soul is desperately trying to claw its way back to the surface through the chemical haze.
Slowly, his fingers leave your shoulders, sliding up to cup the sides of your neck. His hand shaking so violently against your skin that you can feel his rapid, terrifying pulse. For a horrifying second, you think he’s going to choke you.
But he doesn't.
Instead, his dilated eyes snap shut, his long lashes fluttering weakly as a dark, twisted war rages behind his eyelids. He lets out a broken, miserable groan of pure agony. His forehead drops heavily against the back of your shoulder, his wet hair burying into your neck. The velvety bunny ears flop forward, draping over you, softly tickling the side of your jaw and moving the damp strands of your bright blue wig.
He fight the urge to tear you apart, to destroy the closest living target, to feed the primal monster the arena created. His grip on your throat tightens just enough for you to feel the lethal weight of his raw strength, a terrifying reminder that he could break you in a split second.
"Y/N..." he rasps out, the sound tearing from his throat like a suppressed sob. "Y/N... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Run... please, why didn't you run faster?"
He presses his face harder into the crook of your neck, his chapped, bloody lips brushing against your skin as he inhales your scent like a dying man grasping for oxygen. He is entirely submissive to his love for you, even while his body is a weapon primed for violence.
"I don't want to hurt you," he whimpers against your skin. "Don't let them take me back. Please... just hold me down.
"Okay... okay, I will," you stammer, your voice cracking with emotion as you try to push your weight upward. "Just let me get up, Kook. Let me turn around."
The moment you try to move out from under him, Jungkook lets out a warning groan. He brings his fist down, slamming it violently into the concrete ground right next to your head.
"Don't," he gasps out, his muscles locking up in a rigid spasm as the drug surges again. "Don't move. If you move... I can't... I can't control it
You freeze instantly beneath him. Your eyes dart to the side, locking onto his fist. The skin over his knuckles is split and raw, oozing fresh blood where he had ruthlessly pulverized it against the stone. A cold dread washes over you; not for your own safety, but for his. You cannot let him do this to himself. You refuse to let him break his own body.
For a few agonizing seconds, the only sound in the narrow alleyway is the heavy rhythm of his panting. But then, you feel it; the subtle shift in his weight. His chest heaves in a shallow pattern, and the rigidity in his thighs begins to waver, slackening just a fraction as the physical toll of fighting the stimulant leaves him momentarily weakened.
Taking advantage of the sudden dip in his strength, you gather every single ounce of force left in your body. You wedge your elbows beneath you and forcefully push him off your back.
Jungkook lets out a disoriented whimper as his balance shatters. He tumbles sideways off your lower half, landing heavily on his hip before pushing himself back up into a sitting position. His arms instinctively fall behind his back, his hands pressing flat against the concrete to keep his upper body upright, his dark ears drooping low, head swaying slightly as the world spins around him.
You scramble frantically to your feet, your plastic heels slipping dangerously on the asphalt before your knees finally steady. Your breath catches in your throat as you look down at him. Jungkook's head snaps up. He looks like a cornered animal, his wide doe eyes tracking your every movement as his muscles coil tight, a desperate instinct urging him to spring up after you.
"No," you blur out. You instantly wave your scraped hands in front of you, gesturing sharply for him to stay down. "Don't move, Jungkook. Stay right there."
To your absolute relief, he freezes. He sinks slightly back onto his hands, his chest heaving as he watches you with wide, vulnerable eyes.
The dangerous tension draining from his shoulders at the command tells you everything you need to know: the drug is losing its grip on his nervous system. The dose had been too small to keep him in that state much longer.
"Okay... Okay, good," you whisper, your voice shaking as you try to calm your own hammering heart.
The flickering glow of the distant streetlight cuts through alley, catching the single, heavy drop of sweat that tracks slowly down from Jungkook’s temple, carving a clean line through the grime on his pale cheek. He sits perfectly frozen, but his shaking irises are wildly active. They wander all over your body, tracking the fresh, angry red scratches on your palms, the grit embedded in your skin, and the raw, bleeding scrapes on your bare knees where the concrete had bitten into you.
A crushing wave of guilt floods his features, twisting his pretty face into a mask of pure agony. His bottom lip trembles, making him look heartbreakingly innocent despite the blood staining his mouth. You can practically see the toxic realization settling into his brain; the devastating thought that he did this to you, that his weaponized body turned on the only person who came to save him.
You desperately don't want him to fall down that rabbit hole. You can't let him drown in that crippling shame all over again.
Gulping down the last of your panic, you drop to your knees directly in front of him on the gritty ground.
You reach out, your hands trembling as you gently push his wet, tangled black hair back, clearing the strands out of his eyes so you can see him fully. His forehead is burning hot against your fingertips, but his pupils are finally beginning to shrink, returning to a normal size.
As soon as he registers the soft, familiar touch of your hands, the last of his resistance crumbles. Jungkook shifts forward with a low, needy whine, completely abandoning his defensive posture as he practically falls into your space.
You catch him, finally wrapping your arms tightly around his bare back and pulling him flush against your chest. You gently guide his face into the warm crook of your neck, burying him there, shielding him from the cruel lights of the outside world. You hold him with everything you have, a protective ache tearing through you as you feel every single one of his ribs pressing against your body; a painful reminder of how much he has starved, how much he has suffered while you were apart.
You are finally getting him back, but he feels like a shattered piece of glass, fragile and barely held together by nothing but the desperate strength of your embrace.
"Just breathe," you whisper as you press your palm flat against his spine. "Just breathe, Kook. Fight it. You're okay. I've got you."
For a long slice of time, you stay exactly like that in the dim alley. Jungkook’s fingers lock into the fabric at your back, his blunt nails digging deeply into your flesh through the thin, silver material. The pressure is painful, but you welcome the ache; it is the only thing proving he is actually here, alive, and in your arms. He holds onto you, his entire muscular upper body rigid, as if he is genuinely convinced that the moment his grip slackens, the chemicals in his blood will tug him straight back into the dark.
You rock him softly, running your hands over the rigid line of his spine, soothing the violent tremors racking his thin frame until his breathing gradually slows from messy, panicked gasps into soft, exhausted sighs.
The blaring sirens of the emergency vehicles sound further away now, echoing across the streers as a completely irrelevant background noise to the fragile sanctuary you've built in the dark alley.
After a long, heavy silence, the brutal grip on your body subtly shifts. Jungkook’s head moves slightly against your shoulder, his chapped lips brushing against your wet skin as he finally speaks, his voice a tiny, raw friction in the quiet.
"Y/N."
"Hmm?" you swallow hard, your throat feeling completely dry as your voice comes out in a raspy whisper.
Jungkook slowly straightens up from your embrace, his weight lifting off you. Your hands reluctantly slide down from his back, falling to your sides as he sits back on his heels. He looks at you curiously, the feral intensity entirely drained from his features, leaving him looking soft and deeply exhausted.
You furrow your brows unknowingly, tracking the way he slightly tilts his head to the side, his long ears shifting with the movement.
"What?" you ask softly.
He blinks his large, glossy doe eyes, staring at you intently. "Why do you look like this?"
You lean back slightly, your eyes automatically dropping down to look at yourself, realizing he is talking about your absolutely ridiculous, slutty appearance. A soft, amused sound escapes you despite everything. Of all the things he could be focused on after everything that happened—a cage fight, and a drug-induced struggle for survival—this is what his hyper-focused, recovering brain is concerned about.
"Oh... this," you murmur, a tired smile tugging at your lips as you look back up at him. "This is... a long story."
You watch him bite his bottom lip, his long ears drooping as he continues to scan the neon-blue bangs plastered to your forehead.
You nudge his knee gently. "What? You don't like it?"
"No," he pouts, his voice dropping into a flat, blunt murmur.
Before you can say anything else, his hands come up, and his fingers grip the edges of the blue wig. With one swift tug, he pulls the wet synthetic hair completely off your head, tossing it aside into the dirt.
Your natural hair instantly tumbles down over your shoulders, damp but familiar. Jungkook stares at you, a soft docility settling over his face as his ears give a small, content twitch at the sight of the real you. Yet, true to his stubborn nature, he still lets out a tiny, bratty huff, turning his nose up slightly at the discarded wig.
"Don't wear that again," he grumbles, his voice small, a possessive little demand that sounds so entirely him it makes your throat tight. "It's ugly."
"Okay," you nod, cracking a fragile smile as you reach out to brush a stray, wet lock of black hair from his eye. "I won't."
You look down at the two of you—your scraped knees and ruined, glitter dress, his bare, scarred chest and bloody fists.
"Kook, we have to find a place to clean up," you say, pushing yourself up onto your aching feet.
Jungkook follows your lead, pushing himself up from the asphalt. His long legs are a little unsteady, but he manages to hold his weight.
"Are we not... going home?" he asks, the word home leaving his cracked lips with a heartbreaking, fragile naivety.
You freeze in your tracks. Your heart completely drops into your stomach. You realize, with a sickening pang of guilt, that Jungkook has no idea. He doesn't know about the landlords raid on your apartment, the eviction, the fact that you have absolutely nothing left to your name.
"There is no home anymore, Kook."
Jungkook's entire face falls. His large eyes widen in panic, his ears pinning sharply back against his wet hair as if the roof has just caved in on him all over again.
Seeing the sheer terror distorting his features, you immediately step into his space, grabbing his cold, wounded hand.
"But I will find us something," you say quickly, forcing an assuring, confident tone into your voice. "I'll sort it out, okay? I promised you I wouldn't leave you, and I meant it. We are going to be fine. I'll find us a place. Just trust me."
You tug his hand firmly, turning toward the mouth of the alleyway. "Come on."
He doesn't resist. He takes a deep, shaky breath and starts moving right behind you. The two of you step out into the dimly lit peripheral streets, both of you limping heavily. Together, you probably look like two battered war survivors dragging themselves back across the border of a destroyed country.
As you walk, your mind begins to spiral into a chaotic loop. Where do we go first? You can't take a drugged, bleeding, bare-chested hybrid into a public hotel. Should you sneak into the bar and risk getting caught by Markus? Or should you go to Hobi?
You instinctively navigate through the shadows, sticking strictly to the side streets and industrial alleyways. You completely avoid any main roads where a human could possibly see you.
Behind you, the soft, rhythmic scuff of Jungkook’s shoes suddenly slows.
"Is it because of me?"
You don't look back. You can't bear to see the look on his face right now. You keep your eyes locked straight ahead on the dark concrete, your grip tightening around his fingers.
"No," you lie smoothly, forcing a casual, tired shrug into your shoulders. "Of course not. I just... I missed my rent payments while everything was going crazy. The landlord was an asshole anyway. It has nothing to do with you."
Behind you, the bunny hybrid doesn't say a word. He doesn't call you out on the lie, but his long ears droop heavily forward, shadowing his face. His hybrid instincts can easily pick up on the sudden spike in your heart rate and the tight friction of your grip, sensing the utter lack of sincerity in your voice. But he doesn't press you. He simply walks on in silence, his head sloped low toward his bare chest, letting you drag him blindly into whatever unknow comes next.
The labyrinth of backstreets grows progressively darker as you guide him deeper into the city's commercial district.
Suddenly, as you turn a sharp corner into a narrow dumpster alleyway, you stop dead in your tracks. Your arm extends instinctively, your hand pressing flat against Jungkook’s bare chest to halt him.
"Wait," you breathe.
Just a few yards ahead, illuminated by the flickering neon sign of a distant convenience store, a pair of bare, bruised legs is sticking out from behind a massive blue recycling bin.
Jungkook’s ears instantly snap upright, his posture locking into a rigid, defensive guard as you both approach quietly.
Leaning heavily against a stack of torn trash bags is an unconscious hybrid. His torso is slumped forward, and his head is lolled lifelessly to the side, resting against the brick wall.
"Kook... it's the dog hybrid from the fight," you notice, your eyes widening in horror.
He looks fatal. The boy looks completely, devastatingly dead. His skin has taken on a sickening, ghostly grey tone under the dirt and sweat. Thick, dark blood has crusted around his nose and mouth, but the worst of it is the deep, jagged laceration slicing across the side of his head, sluggishly leaking crimson down his neck. The heavy iron collar is gone, but the skin beneath it is a raw, purple ring of blisters.
"Tae..." Jungkook raps.
"Tae?" You look up at him, your brow furrowing in deep confusion. "Wasn't that the name of your childhood friend? The one from... your old shelter? Your happy memory?"
Jungkook doesn't speak. He just gives a small, slow nod, his long black ears pinning tightly.
A sickening wave of sorrow washes over you as you realize the sheer cruelty of the nightmare you just witnessed in the arena. They had recognized each other. When the gates had opened and they were thrown into that blood-soaked cage, they hadn't just been facing an opponent—they had been forced to face a person from a past where they were still innocent. Jungkook had been forced to systematically dismantle and break his only childhood friend, turning off his own humanity just to survive a match he never wanted to fight. They never had a real choice.
Without a word, you cautiously step over a pile of debris, trying to move gently so you won't startle the dog hybrid if he suddenly regains consciousness. You lean down over his frame, pressing your trembling index and middle fingers firmly against the cold skin of his neck, you search for a pulse.
You look back over your shoulder, your eyes reflecting a deep, mirroring panic as you meet Jungkook's waiting gaze.
"His pulse is barely there," you whisper frantically. "Kook we have to help him. Or he will die."
ANOTHER A/N: omg finally FINALLY i finished this chapter. im so happy it's done i could perform a happy twerk right now lol. it was so hard to get back to writing after my vacation break (ya know i got lazy and shit) 😅
But im curious how you guys feel about this chapter. a bit happened i guess. i got asks before if kook will ever get in touch with his childhood friend (Tae), so i thought i would write their little cutesy reunion <3
also if any of you wonders ' hmm how the heck that stupid wig survived almost the whole chapter on y/n's head after all that running and practically rolling on the ground? ' well i dont know either. lets just pretend gravity is different there ok? i facepalmed myself so hard rereading this shit but i really dont have the time to do any more corrections cause im going on a nap right now and thats kinda urgent.
Tag list: @lolfccfvvvvbbbb @achbbys000 @reicoolboy @junglekookz @ttipa @strawberryberrygirl @kyljjk @viillamilla @junkookloverinfinity @hellomate1234 @lindsayjoy444 @canarystwin, @svnk1ssd @sleepyeclipes @doublebunv @lunaryoongie @mochiminiee @aestheticalime @namroo @lostinjk @celliez @twilightsparklingwater @uhmsothisiscrazy @joonmonjagi @mrpranjalmr @isamisaaoo @channit @bjoriis @zzzoooma @stardust-n-raindrops @oopscoop @existingbtw @mooniepersona @givemethatkookie @mikrokosmosellen @soratomyaza @reesesbutterwithwoozi (if you wanna be tagged, just let me know 💌 and if you wanna be untagged also let me know ;))
Whenever you're not updating, I always end up checking your fic recs because they're literally top tierrrrrrr!! The one where JK's a fucking priest????? ABSOLUTE CINEMA
YESSSSS!!!! so good 🩷 been loving @ggukiebar’s work recently, as well as @wintrbears cradle robbers anniversary special
@cupidsbling is also an ol reliable for me + @jenyluv or @ohhowjooniewept
Summary: Jeongguk needs help mastering a skill he’s certain Seokjin excels at, but his oldest hyung has rather unique, hands-on teaching methods.
Pairing: Seokjin x Reader, Jungkook x Reader
Genre: Slice of Life AU, Cuckolding, Established Relationship, Boyfriend’s Best Friend, Fluff, Smut, Crack (if you squint)
Word Count: 4.6k
Warnings: unedited writing (!), awkward conversations, stuttering, anxiety, embarrassment, korean honorifics (aka alyssa’s barely concealed noona kink), boundary pushing. SMUT: kissing, cuckolding, mention of masturbation (m), oral sex (f receiving), voyeurism, fingering, spitting, hair pulling, orgasm denial, edging, lack of control, following instructions, cum eating, that’s it!
Author’s Note: hellooooo everyone!! it’s about time I post something for jinkook aka my favorite duo 🥹 this is pure filth and came to me one night in bed and wouldn’t leave my mind until I wrote it down. it isn’t very long but it doesn’t need to be to give you everything you could want from a smutty little one-shot involving two gorgeous men. enjoy, my friends!! oh and please excuse any errors hehe!
Jeongguk isn’t lacking in the experience department. He’s had many hookups, one night stands, booty calls, and even a situationship or two. The issue lies in the fact that amongst all those interactions, he’s never once taken his time. There might be brief foreplay, but he always finds himself rushing into the main event. He’s a busy man, after all, and the women he chooses are often fellow idols who have the same packed schedule.
So a year after completing his mandatory military service and in the middle of a world tour, he’s realizing he doesn’t have all the skills he needs. He’s never been in a real relationship for a multitude of reasons, but he’s thinking about it more as he nears his thirties. Meaning it’s time to learn all the tips and tricks for when the sex isn’t just a quickie backstage.
He knows exactly who to ask for advice. Who else but his oldest hyung, the one in a relationship lasting over half a decade.
You and Seokjin met while on vacation in Europe, even though you both hail from Korea. It was a fairytale meet-cute. You both stumbled into a bookshop to escape a sudden downpour and upon finding out you speak the same language, chatted for hours until the owner kicked you two out.
The rest is history, and you’ve become a staple in all their lives ever since Seokjin brought you to rehearsal for a formal introduction.
Jeongguk adores you. Not only because of your own kindness, generosity, and compassion, but because you make Seokjin undeniably happy. His hyung was going through a tough time when you met and Jeongguk’s sure you’re the reason he was able to recover.
He’s especially protective of his oldest brother. They’re extremely close, so Jeongguk knows firsthand that sometimes he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders without telling anyone. But he feels better knowing Seokjin has someone like you.
You don’t see one another too often anymore, unless you come to visit Seokjin or everyone gets together on a day off. But it’s always a good time whenever you’re around.
He’d never admit to his hyung, but you’re easily one of the most gorgeous women he’s ever seen. Of course, you are, because Seokjin’s breathtakingly handsome himself. That’s not to say Jeongguk has a crush on you, but he has thought about you with his hand around his cock a couple times.
It’s hardly his fault when his hotel room’s usually next door and he can hear your whines and moans through the wall. And based on the noises you make, it’s clear Seokjin knows what he’s doing in the bedroom.
Thus Jeongguk’s reason for sending a text at eleven in the evening asking him to swing by his room.
Seokjin arrives only moments later by ceremoniously throwing the door open and strutting inside. Jeongguk chuckles at the familiar behavior as his hyung crosses the room before plopping into the chair opposite his bed.
“What’s up, ya punk?”
Even when Seokjin’s teasing him, there’s always a lick of affection for the younger man in his tone. Everyone knows how much they care about each other; that’s why Jeongguk trusts him enough to ask for help in this department.
He practically raised him since he was a teenager, so it just makes sense for him to be the one to teach Jeongguk the ropes.
“I need your help,” Jeongguk admits from his spot on the edge of the mattress.
“With what?”
Seokjin relaxes into the lavish hotel chair, spreading his legs and resting his back against the cushions.
“Well, uh…” A nervous chuckle escapes while Jeongguk decides how to approach this. “I mean, you always satisfy Y/N, right?”
“I’m sorry?”
His hyung immediately sits up again with a furrowed brow.
“I don’t… I didn’t — ugh.”
Jeongguk rakes his fingers through his hair out of frustration with himself.
“Spit it out, kid, or I’ll smack it out of you,” he threatens, although still with a hint of fondness.
“I want you to teach me how to eat pussy.”
The silence that follows is so loud it could break glass.
Seokjin’s staring at him in utter disbelief; his eyebrows almost kissing and his mouth agape. Except only a second later, he bursts into hysterical laughter.
“Oh my fucking god!” He bellows while clutching his stomach.
“Hyung,” Jeongguk whines.
It takes some time, but the sound eventually slows to merely punctuated giggles.
“I’m not… laughing at you. I’m just… so… shocked.”
“Well, who else would I ask? Like I said, I know you take care of Y/N.”
“No, I know. I just never expected you to come to me for that kind of advice.”
He shrugs.
“If you wanna get better at something, you need a good teacher.”
Seokjin sighs and swipes at the corners of his eyes once the laughter finally leaves his system.
“So, you’re just trying to hone your skills or what?”
“Yeah. I’ve done it plenty of times, but never for that long and all without focusing on any technique,” Jeongguk explains.
His hyung thoughtfully nods as his gaze shifts towards the door.
“You know, it’s quite the coincidence you're bringing this up now,” he states.
“How so?”
The smile forming on Seokjin’s lips is eerily mischievous.
“Because Y/N just arrived an hour ago to visit for the month.”
Jeongguk’s face scrunches. He racks his brain for the reason you’d have anything to do with his request, but comes up short.
“Why does that matter?”
Seokjin chuckles like a sly, criminal mastermind.
“What better way to learn than by doing?” His blood runs cold, but before he can register his hyung’s movements, his phone’s already in his hand. “Angel?” He asks into the receptor. “Can you come next door to Jeonggukie’s room?”
“Hyung,” Jeongguk snaps through gritted teeth. “What are you doing?”
All he does is wave him off.
“Nope, door’s open. See you in a sec.”
The line cuts and Seokjin smirks while leaning back in his seat again. It leaves Jeongguk even more confused about what’s happening. His older brother can’t possibly be alluding to… that, can he?
“Hyung —”
“Relax, Jeonggukie. It’s not like her and I haven’t done something like this before.”
“What?”
Seokjin rolls his eyes.
“Look, when you’ve been in a relationship as long as we have, there’s a level of trust that allows for experimentation without worrying about the consequences,” he answers. “We both know no matter what, we’ll always choose each other. So, why not have some fun while we’re at it?”
Jeongguk genuinely can’t believe what he’s hearing. Seokjin’s really just going to let him practice oral sex on you? It’s mind boggling because he could never share the person he loves with someone else. But his hyung’s always been far more gracious than he is.
There’s a quiet knock before you peer inside with a wave. Your boyfriend beckons you, leading you to sneak in and shut the door before waltzing over to him.
“Hello, gorgeous,” Seokjin greets you as you bend down to kiss him.
“Hi, handsome,” you chirp. “Hi, Jeonggukie!”
He gulps and tries his hardest not to choke while waving at you.
“Hey, noona.”
“So, what’s up?”
As if it’s the most natural act in the world, you sit on Seokjin’s lap and his hands curl around your body to rest on your hip and thigh, respectively.
“Well, Jeonggukie here was asking for advice and I think you can help me teach him some stuff.”
“What stuff?”
You chuckle as your eyes flit between the two men, your eyebrows high in curiosity.
“Do you wanna explain it, kid?” Seokjin asks.
His mouth goes completely dry and his brain feels like it’s about to explode. How will he ever look you in the eye again after this?
“Um, you see… uh, well…”
When you notice how uncomfortable he seems, you send him a warm smile and reach out to pat his knee.
“It’s alright, Ggukie. I won’t judge,” you assure him.
“I think you might, actually.”
It’s becoming increasingly clear poor Jeongguk won’t be able to voice his own needs aloud, so Seokjin leans over to whisper in your ear.
Jeongguk watches your face for a reaction, but it certainly isn’t as grand as he was expecting. After your eyes momentarily widen, you start giggling and stand up.
“Oh, Jeongguk, that’s nothing.”
His own eyes expand into massive saucers when you slip your hands under your denim skirt and pull your panties off. You shimmy the lace down your legs before kicking them off onto the floor, all while he nearly passes out from how fast his heart’s beating.
“Noona, you don’t have to do this,” he protests.
“Have to?” The confident smirk you’re sporting only makes you look sexier. As if that were possible. “Who says I don’t want to?”
“Well, I just —”
“Kid, I promise it’s fine,” Seokjin interrupts. “But we do need to lay down some ground rules.” Jeongguk nods assuredly. “Alright. You asked for my help, which means you’re going to follow my orders. But you also need to watch Y/N’s reactions to know what works and what doesn’t. So, your eyes will be on her and her eyes will be on me. Clear?”
After he nods again, your boyfriend looks to you for affirmation as well. Prompting your smile to grow as your eyes affectionately roll into your skull.
“Oh, please. Like I can ever look anywhere but at you.”
Seokjin smiles and gives your ass a liberal smack.
“That’s what I thought.”
This all still feels too surreal for Jeongguk. He’s known Seokjin since he was thirteen and you since his early twenties. Then again, maybe that’s why you both trust him with such a delicate situation.
“Are you sure about this?” He questions you two. “I don’t want to push anyone’s boundaries just for the sake of knowledge. I mean, I could just go out and practice with a stranger instead.”
Your eyes soften while his hyung’s smirk becomes incredibly fond.
“Ggukie, you know that wouldn’t be smart. What if they tell someone? A standard NDA’s only enforceable for five years,” you reply.
You’re an attorney, so you obviously know the ins and outs of these things.
He sighs, despite knowing you’re right. It’s just hard to shake the fear that doing this could damage something precious to him.
“Hyung.” Seokjin meets his gaze and gestures for him to continue. “This won’t come between us, right?”
Ironically, the older man is usually the more anxious one. Jeongguk often throws caution to the wind while Seokjin forces him to stop and think everything through. The role reversal does ease his mind a little. Because if his hyung’s so calm about this, he must be confident it’ll all turn out fine.
“C’mon, you know nothing could ever come between us.” He leans forward to rest a hand on his little brother’s shoulder. “It’s gonna be fun. You’ll see.” Before Jeongguk can burrow any deeper inside his own head, Seokjin turns to you. “Lay down on the bed, angel.”
You two share another quick peck before you sit on the mattress and scoot back until you’re right in the center. Jeongguk’s still at the foot of the bed, but he only has enough courage to watch you out of the corner of his eye.
He can’t see much yet since you’re resting on your elbows with your legs together. That is, until Seokjin moves his chair closer and makes himself comfortable.
“Spread ‘em, baby,” he instructs.
It actually shocks Jeongguk how quickly you heed the command. Whenever he’s around you and Seokjin, it’s always abundantly clear no one rules over the other. But it seems his older brother likes being in charge behind closed doors.
The less surprising thing is how fucking delectable you look laid out on his bed with your legs wide open. He initially tries to be a decent human by averting his eyes, but the temptation’s simply too much.
His throat feels like sandpaper as his eyes roam over your entire body. Even though you’re practically fully clothed, you look like the epitome of sin. Your pussy’s on display just inches from him, although he can’t see everything yet due to your skirt. But he can certainly tell how pretty and pink you are.
“Shit,” he sighs under his breath.
“Isn’t she perfect, Jeonggukie?”
Jeongguk nods as though in a trance and it causes you to giggle.
“You can come closer, Jeongguk.” His focus shifts to your face. “I won’t bite,” you tease.
As if your cunt isn’t enticing enough, your features are so fucking ethereal he genuinely worries this is all a dream.
“Hyung?”
He looks at Seokjin over his shoulder, silently asking for permission, to which your boyfriend replies with a curt nod.
There’s no reason to waste time. And truthfully, if Jeongguk doesn’t have his face between your legs within the next five seconds, he might go insane.
Alas, he doesn’t bury his nose in your pussy just yet. His first move is to turn around and crawl until he’s close enough to lie in the center of your thighs. He glances up to check for any signs of discomfort or protest, but you couldn’t look more content as you observe him inching closer.
“Can I touch you?” Jeongguk asks.
“Ask him.”
You gesture at Seokjin and that’s when Jeongguk realizes why his hyung’s so relaxed about the scene playing out. Because he’s the director of it with complete creative control.
“Go ahead.”
Jeongguk’s nervous as hell, but he doesn’t let it deter him from reaching out to shove your skirt past your hips before yanking you down the bed towards his awaiting mouth.
He doesn’t dive in right away, just begins with featherlight kisses along your inner thighs. Your skin’s so warm and soft it elicits a deep groan from his chest. Not to mention he can already smell your sweet arousal.
“First lesson is to go slow. It’s easy to make a woman come if you push the right buttons, but it’s all about how you push them,” Seokjin explains from behind him.
His lips are almost at your core, so he inhales in preparation.
“Fuck, you smell s’nice.”
It’s so quiet he doubts you hear him, especially when your attention’s on your boyfriend lounging in his chair across from you.
Jeongguk still can’t believe he’s about to taste you. His heart’s pounding like a drum and his mind is shrouded by lust and desire. But the excitement is short lived because Seokjin speaks again before he’s able to put his mouth on you.
“Touch her first.” A disapproving growl almost makes it past Jeongguk’s lips, but he manages to control himself. “You’ll be able to do a lot more with your tongue if you know the landscape.”
There’s a lot of willpower involved in following Seokjin’s order. All he wants is to lap at your cunt until he’s drowning in you, but he asked for help for a reason and disobeying would make it pointless.
His hand moves from your hip to your folds, spreading you open with two fingers so he can see your hole. Jeongguk doesn’t know if he’s ever seen such a gorgeous pussy before and watching your essence slowly leak out onto his fingers makes his cock strain against his pants.
He glides upwards to touch your clit next and your body jolts in response. It fills him with pride, even if he knows it’s just a natural reaction to stimulation. Your nub’s already swelling because of his exploration, so he pushes your hood back to get a closer look. A breathless moan accompanies the act and Jeongguk smirks when your cunt automatically produces more arousal.
“Don’t forget to tell her how pretty she is, Jeongguk,” Seokjin adds.
“You’re… fucking unreal,” he whispers in awe.
You chuckle following another soft whine.
“What you make a woman feel internally is almost as important as externally.” Jeongguk hums, only half listening because he’s too enamored by how your body responds to his touch. “Okay, you can use your mouth now.”
Without any hesitation, he replaces his hand with his mouth by wrapping his lips around your clit and gently sucking.
A loud, amorous whimper floods the air as your back arcs off the bed. Jeongguk has to tighten his grasp to keep you still, his fingertips digging into your hips and ass. Behind him, he hears Seokjin groan in pleasure and suddenly realizes his hyung’s getting something out of this as well.
“Oh, my god,” you mumble while lacing your fingers through Jeongguk’s hair.
He grunts at the pressure, sending a vibration straight into your sensitive nerve endings.
“Is Jeonggukie doing a good job, baby?”
Even though your hand’s in his hair and his face is stuffed between your thighs, your eyes are locked on Seokjin. It’s like there are two separate sexual encounters happening at once. A physical one between you and Jeongguk, and a psychological one between you and your boyfriend.
“Mmhm. Really good.”
Your answer encourages him to explore more of you, so he releases your clit before dragging his tongue up the entirety of your slit. The action makes your legs twitch on either side of his head as you moan again and tug on his scalp.
Jeongguk goes full throttle after that, enthusiastically slurping up your cum while soaking you with his saliva. He licks you with the flat of his tongue to cover as much surface area as possible, but eventually uses just the tip to fuck your hole.
Once his wet muscle sinks inside you, your noises double in volume and raspiness. He can also feel your thighs shaking beside his ears and knowing he has you in such a vulnerable state is driving him insane.
“Whenever you’re focusing on her cunt, use your nose to keep friction on her clit.”
Damn, he’s never even considered that before. He knew choosing Seokjin as a teacher would be worthwhile.
Following the instruction, Jeongguk begins moving his head up and down at the same pace as his tongue and you immediately whine over the new sensation.
You have one of the most sensitive pussies he’s ever touched. Everything he does causes your walls to pulse around his tongue and you’re only getting wetter by the minute. He absolutely loves it; thrives on how reactive your body is. Jeongguk himself adores praise and compliments, so you’re more than he could ever ask for.
Along those same lines, you seem to be pretty close to finishing. Your endless whimpers, trembling limbs, and creamy cunt all tell him it won’t be long now before you come on his face.
Except Seokjin must have a better idea, because as soon as your moans turn high-pitched, he throws out another command.
“Don’t let her come yet, Jeongguk. It’ll be so much better if you make her wait.”
“Jinie,” you whine.
When Jeongguk gazes up from between your legs, he finds you pouting at Seokjin, who clicks his tongue at your protest.
“C’mon, angel, I can’t teach if the lesson ends so soon.”
In order to do as his hyung says, Jeongguk removes his tongue from your cunt. But he stays close by gently kissing along your slit while wrapping his arms around your thighs to give himself more leverage.
He can’t get enough of feeling your soft skin beneath his fingertips. Seeing his hands splayed out across your legs, including the divots he creates from holding onto you, is beyond heavenly.
“Noona,” Jeongguk calls to grab your attention. Your eyes shift down in response and a small smile appears when you notice how shiny the bottom half of his face is. “You taste amazing.” Another kiss, right on your puffy clit. “I don’t think I ever wanna stop.”
You giggle.
“You’re such a sweetie, Ggukie.”
It’s embarrassing how bright he blushes over your compliment, but at least he can bury his face in your pussy again to conceal his reaction.
He quickly returns to his previous endeavor without worrying about disobeying Seokjin since you’ve had a minute to fall back from the precipice. But rather than continuing to lick you, he sucks on your clit as his tongue flicks back and forth.
Your body lurches and you cry out in pleasure, eliciting a low, eager groan from Jeongguk. His grip on your legs doesn’t allow you to move an inch other than squirming. Providing him with the perfect view of you trapped by his biceps while your chest erratically rises and falls. You’ve stopped looking at Seokjin as well, your head dropping down onto the pillows instead.
“If you want to make her last long, just keep switching between her clit and her cunt. Bring her close with one, then pull back and move to the other,” Seokjin narrates. “And when you’re playing with her clit, try different things. Flatten and swirl your tongue, draw shapes with the tip, spit, you can even use your teeth if you're gentle enough. But you hurt her and I’ll kick your ass.”
The craziest thing about his hyung giving orders is that despite speaking eloquently, his voice is strained because the sight of his girlfriend being eaten out by another man is turning him on.
Jeongguk can’t blame him, the sight of you lying on the mattress with your legs spread and head thrown back is probably sublime. Not to mention how erotic the visual of you shoving his face deeper into your pussy must be.
“Fuck, right there,” you moan.
Seokjin’s advice works wonders because you’re clearly enjoying the way Jeongguk alternates tactics with his tongue. He’s focusing solely on your clit at the moment, utilizing all the aforementioned movements to bring you right back to the edge. He rotates the order to keep you stimulated and you seem to especially like whenever he spits on your nub before circling it.
It’s obvious your orgasm’s approaching again, so Jeongguk waits until the very last moment to retreat towards your hole so he can deny you a release.
You whimper and yank on his hair, but you’re not the one in charge and Seokjin gave him specific instructions.
He edges you three more times by following his teacher’s wisdom. Every time you come close to a climax, he swaps from lapping at and fucking your cunt to wetting and teasing your nerve endings. By the time you’re nearing a high for the sixth time, you have tears streaming down your face as you ceaselessly pant.
“God, you look so stunning like this, baby,” Seokjin comments. “Doesn’t she, kid?”
Jeongguk’s been watching you the entire time and couldn’t agree more. Seeing you nearly fall apart on his tongue over and over again is making his dick twitch inside his pants. All he wants is to finish you off, but he’s staying patient for his brother’s signal.
Rather than stopping to reply, he merely groans and nods his head, causing his nose to brush against your swollen, oversensitive clit.
You loudly sob from the intense pleasure while your thighs quiver where they’re flanking Jeongguk’s ears.
“Please, baby, please,” you beg.
It's uncertain how long you three have been doing this. Jeongguk’s jaw is growing sore, so it must be a decent amount of time. He can’t imagine the overstimulation you’re feeling from being repeatedly denied an orgasm.
“Aw, you wanna come, angel?”
“Jinie…”
There’s a rustling sound and suddenly Jeongguk senses his friend moving closer. The next thing he knows, the bed dips and Seokjin appears in his line of sight beside you.
“You think Jeongguk can make you come?” You nod. “Yeah?” He glances down at the man in question, who’s still avidly swiping his tongue through your folds. “You know what to do?”
When Jeongguk hums, you wail and a fresh flood of arousal drips from your hole.
“Seokjin, I can’t.”
“I know, baby,” he pacifies you before turning his attention back to his younger brother. “You can break her off now. And don’t hold back.”
Those magic words are all he’s been wanting to hear since the moment he first tasted you.
He enthusiastically heeds the command by driving his fingertips into your hips and licking you with newfound fervor. His head bobs as his tongue pushes in and out of your cunt at an obscene pace. As much as Jeongguk doesn’t want this experience to end, feeling your entire body shake because of what he’s doing to you is so worth it.
You come only seconds later with a high-pitched, muffled, cry while your thighs lock around his head and your fingernails scratch his scalp. Jeongguk’s busy ensuring you meet a satisfying end, but when he gazes up again, he sees Seokjin zealously kissing you. His hands are cradling your face and it’s obvious his tongue’s far down your throat.
Perhaps that’s why you absolutely drown Jeongguk in cum that doesn’t stop even as your body begins to relax in his grasp.
Jeongguk takes advantage of your lengthy climax by swallowing every ounce of you he can, all while moaning over how amazing you taste.
The magical experience comes to an end when a new hand lands on his head and forces his face away. He could honestly cry at the thought of never getting to have you again, but he can’t let either of you know that.
“You enjoy yourself, kid?”
All he can do in his mystified state is aimlessly nod. It causes you to giggle, clawing Jeongguk’s attention back in an instant.
“Here, sweetie, let’s clean you up.”
You maneuver your leg around his body so you can hop off the bed and grab something before returning to clutch his face. There’s something soft and purple in your hand that you use to wipe away the essence staining his cheeks, mouth, and chin. Jeongguk doesn’t realize what it is until you shove the fabric into his palm and curl his fingers around it.
“What… you’re giving these to me?”
The lace underwear’s staring at him like he’s undeserving.
“So you have something to remember me by,” you explain with a wink.
Jeongguk scoffs in sheer disbelief.
“I don’t think I could forget you if I tried,” he counters.
“You better,” Seokjin sneers, but he’s smirking.
Your boyfriend helps you stand again and adjusts your skirt into a presentable position while you affectionately comb his hair back. You two then turn back to Jeongguk with intertwined hands.
“This was fun, Ggukie! We should do it again sometime.”
He genuinely can’t comprehend that he’s hearing you correctly.
“Yeah, just let us know if you need another lesson,” his hyung tells him.
“Uh, well —”
“Alright, alright! No need to be greedy, you little shit.”
You cackle at Seokjin’s familiar teasing as he pulls you towards the exit.
“Bye!” You shout between giggles.
“Bye,” Jeongguk whispers, his hand waving at you of its own accord due to his current lack of brainpower.
He flops backwards onto the mattress once you’re both gone while his mind reels over what just occurred. It’s almost impossible to believe, but the images replaying behind his eyelids aren’t just his imagination. Your flavor’s still lingering on his tongue and he can hear your whimpers ringing in his ear.
Maybe it was a terrible idea considering he’ll probably never not see you and want to shove his face into your pussy again, but he can’t bring himself to regret anything. He learned multiple valuable lessons and got to make a gorgeous woman come, so who is he to complain?
in which your husband jeon jungkook comes back home to you - his 8 months pregnant, needy wife - after a reluctantly accepted five day business trip.
| PAIRING | : husband!jungkook x pregnantwife!reader
| GENRE | : married au, porn with little plot, smut and fluff
| WARNINGS | : 18+, explicit language, explicit smut, masturbation (f.), oral (f. + m. rec), penetrative sex, riding, pregnancy sex, titty play, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, lactation/he drinks her breast milk??, titty sucking, raw sex, scratching, making out, creampie, mentions of sex toys, use of vibrator, big dick jk.
| WC | : 4.3k
| FROM ME | : hi everyone!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I hope you all are well and safe - I wrote this in 30min and it’s not proofread so pls don’t come for me :) please, if you are a minor do not interact!!
five days weren’t supposed to feel this long.
jungkook had reluctantly left on sunday morning for a business trip overseas, it was now friday evening. he had been travelling since early morning, having taken a series of trains, buses, and flights just to get to the airport which was still a two hour taxi ride away from your shared apartment.
he was exhausted, slightly hangry, and terribly missing you - his heavily pregnant wife, his y/n, the one and only love of his life.
you were just about eight months now, always hungry and waddling everywhere, your due date fast approaching. jungkook had been very hesitant to leave, refusing the offer at first. but then you assured him that you could call your best friend - jina, who lived 5 minutes away - if anything happened, and that this trip could lead to a potential promotion for him, which would benefit you both greatly given the baby on the way.
even though jungkook knew you’d be fine for a couple of days with help nearby, he still didn’t want to leave at all - he missed whispering to your belly at night, missed kissing and stroking your hair until you fell asleep, missed being able to slip it in gently from behind when you got needy during the night - which was nearly every night.
a little pathetic for a 5 day absence, yes. but this was jungkook - you’d been married for 3 years, dated for 5, and his obsession with you only grew stronger with each passing day.
your pregnancy wasn’t planned, but it wasn’t a surprise, either. you weren’t on any birth control and hated when jungkook wore condoms, so it was only a matter of time. a baby now wasn’t an inconvenience, you worked remotely and jungkook’s job was steady. he couldn’t wait to become a father, to grow your family and watch either a mini you or him run around the apartment.
throughout your pregnancy, jungkook had literally stopped letting you do anything tiring - especially when your belly started growing bigger. he was constantly by your side, usually one hand on your belly and the other stroking your hair. he cleaned the whole apartment regularly, made sure you took at least two naps a day, and tended to every pregnant need you had, no matter how silly it was.
jungkook always agreed to doing whatever you wanted, even before you got pregnant. you were his main priority, and he wanted to make you feel happy and loved all the time. so when he’d come home from work to find you sprawled on the couch balancing a box of pizza on your bump whilst watching tv? he just took out a spoon and your favourite ice cream from the freezer, sat beside you, and fed you the ice cream with one hand while the other rubbed your swollen feet.
he was never overbearing, just wanted to ensure you and the baby were completely comfortable and calm - even if doing so meant watching you eat junk food all the time and treating you like you were a piece of easily breakable fine china.
you knew he was constantly working hard so you didn’t have to. he’d assembled almost everything in the nursery himself or with the help of taehyung - a close friend - during weekends, he’d ask to work from home some days just because you didn’t want to let him go in the mornings. and despite being exhausted, he still intently listened to you ramble on about whatever whilst tenderly rubbing your back each night.
you thought this trip might be helpful for jungkook, might give him a deserved break from you, even though he’d text you every twenty minutes complaining about how he’d rather be home with you.
you wanted to do something special for him tonight. you wanted to fulfill jungkook’s needs, too. being pregnant meant you two went on a lot less dates, you dressed up less, tired most of the time. and whilst jungkook claimed this was definitely not a problem - you just felt like you weren’t really trying for him anymore.
he had called you fifteen minutes ago, asking how you felt and if you had eaten. you lied to him, saying that you were just about to go for a nap, when you were most definitely not.
jungkook had just gotten into the taxi to get home, which meant he’d be back in around an hour, leaving you enough time to get ready for him. he had sounded so exhausted and frustrated over the phone, the poor thing. apparently he’d already eaten, you just hoped it was something light since you’d planned to be his dinner tonight.
you had just finished shaving your body head to toe - difficult with your bump, but not impossible. “sorry, baby.” you had whispered when you accidentally scratched your belly button too hard whilst putting lotion on. you weren’t going to half ass this, you were going to make sure jungkook had one of the best nights of his life.
earlier that day, the new lingerie set you’d ordered arrived - crimson, lacy, and with minimal coverage - jungkook’s favourite. you carefully slipped it on, the lace hugged your curves beautifully, highlighting your bump without feeling too uncomfortable. you also curled your hair and did your makeup, finishing the look by applying some sultry lipstick.
as you adjusted the set in the mirror, your gaze drifted to the clock. perfect, jungkook would be home soon - and you looked hot.
you’d planned to wait for him on the couch, but your impatience started to get the better of you. but who could blame you? you were 8 months pregnant, missing your husband, and your sex drive impeccably high.
around five more minutes had passed, and you soon found yourself reaching into the bottom drawer of your nightstand where you and jungkook kept a series of sex toys - dildos, kegel balls, restraints, whatnot - and took out the baby pink vibrator jungkook had bought you just a couple of weeks ago.
you’d used it continuously during his absence, and you were already so wet at the thought of him finally coming home that sound of the vibrator made you drip even further.
legs spreading, you moved your panties to one side and edged it closer to your aching folds. the cold air made you gasp, and the moment you pressed the vibrator against your clit - you became a moaning mess.
thoughts of your husband filled your mind - him putting together furniture in the nursery all shirtless and sweaty, the way the veins on his arm popped out when he flexed it just because he knew it turned you on. “ah. fuck.” your eyes rolled back as you pressed the vibrator harder against you, that sweet feeling already forming in your lower stomach.
in between your gasps and moans, you faintly heard the front door unlock. finally, jungkook was home - and what a sight he’d walk into. you didn’t turn the vibrator off, didn’t get up, you just waited for him to come and find you - pleasuring yourself to the thought of him.
jungkook was so happy to finally be home, to find you and hold you after what felt like forever. as he closed the door and put his suitcase to one side, he noticed that the lights were off and the living room empty. had you fallen asleep?
“baby?” jungkook called out, voice slightly hoarse from the wind outside - you didn’t respond. he slipped his shoes and jacket off, dropping his keys on the side dish, and started walking to your shared bedroom. if you were asleep, then he wanted nothing but to join you as soon as possible.
as he approached, he could hear soft muffled sounds. what were you doing? the bedroom door wasn’t fully closed, and when jungkook pushed it open, his mouth immediately went dry at the sight before him.
you, legs spread wide and shaking with your vibrator pressed against your core whilst your free hand played with your nipple erotically - luscious tits now spilling out of your sexy lingerie.
your head was tipped back against the headboard, eyes closed and biting your lip as the vibrator circled your dripping clit. “mm…baby, is that you?” your eyes stayed closed. “I missed you so much, kookie - ah..” you gasped as you turned the vibrator to a much stronger, harsher setting, pushing the tip of it inside you now.
jungkook was stunned. he was frozen, eyes wide, just stood there in the doorway watching you - cock already straining his pants - you’d never pulled anything like this before. christ, you looked pornographic right now, and he’d never been more turned on. the sounds of the vibrator pushing in and out of you were actually obscene.
he quickly found his voice again, though it was quiet and slightly shaky. “b-baby, what are you doing?” jungkook inched closer, now stepping fully into the bedroom and closing the door behind him. his gaze landed on your bump, so plump and full with his baby - the fact that you were pregnant made this even hotter.
you giggled, your eyes opening slightly to look at him. fuck - he looked so good - a mixture of confused, exhausted, and aroused - standing there in a white button up and black slacks, hair slightly messy. “i couldn’t wait anymore…had to take care of myself without you…” your breathing was starting to become laboured, it was clear you were nearing your release.
jungkook’s eyes darkened immediately, desire replacing the confusion. he couldn’t take it anymore, he wanted to throw that vibrator across the room and pleasure you himself. he quickly lowered one knee onto the bed and dove in, taking the vibrator from your grasp and tossing it somewhere behind him, then quickly sliding your drenched panties off.
his mouth closed over your clit immediately, licking and sucking enthusiastically. “yes…fuck..” your hands tangled in his hair, pushing him further into you whilst you wrapped your legs around his head, effectively trapping him in between your legs so you could grind against him easier. jungkook loved it when you did that, especially when you were so wet like this - you tasted so sweet, he wanted to be buried in your pussy forever - even if it suffocated him.
his hands dug into your thighs - not hard enough to hurt - and pushed his skilled tongue inside you, quickening his pace just to hear you moan louder. “there…kookie, yes..!” his nose pressing against your clit sent you over the edge - eyes rolling to the back of your head as you began to see stars. “yes! oh!” you yelled. jungkook smiled against your pussy, his pace never wavering as his tongue lapped up all of your juices. he kept swirling his tongue and licking until your legs stopped shaking, loosening around his head.
jungkook pressed a sweet kiss to your clit before coming back up to look at you. his eyes finally met yours - your light hazel eyes glistened with contentment - his favourite sight ever. jungkook’s lips quickly found yours, the kiss was heated and your tongues immediately intertwined - now reunited after days apart. you could taste yourself on him, and you loved it.
your hands cradled his face as your lips continued moving, then jungkook reluctantly pulled back for some air, resting his forehead against yours. “i missed you so fucking much.” he murmured as his hands gently rubbed your belly - right where the baby had been kicking more lately. “baby ok?”
you nodded, still a little out of breath, your hands now at the nape of his neck - caressing his soft skin. “never better.” jungkook smiled and pressed one last kiss to the corner of your mouth, before looking down at your body, his finger hooking into the strap of your bra as he raised a brow. “new?”
you giggled and licked your lips. “yes. wanted to surprise you.”
jungkook hummed. “red. good choice.” he murmured before burying his face between your velvety tits - his hand started travelling back down, slipping between your folds which were already wet again - but your hand stopped him, wrapping around his wrist and pushing it away.
you shook your head and sat up, one hand on your belly as you got off the bed. “no more. I want to make you feel good.” you stated as you carefully kneeled on the floor in front of him and patted the mattress for him to sit on.
but jungkook frowned - cock still painfully hard. “baby, I can’t have you kneeling on the floor at 8 months pregnant.”
you rolled your eyes and patted the mattress again. “jungkook.” you licked your lightly swollen lips, and jungkook was halfway to going insane again, then you asked sweetly. “I want to suck your cock - please?”
yeah, jungkook was a goner. he couldn’t possibly say no to you when you sounded so fucking pretty and sinful. he did want to shove his cock so hard down your throat until you cried - the fact that you were pregnant and sensitive was the only thing stopping him. well, not anymore. you were being a brat tonight, and he had no choice but to put up with it.
“alright - fuck.” jungkook swiftly repositioned himself on the mattress so that your head was now between his legs. you started to massage his thighs through his pants, he undid his belt whilst you did that, tossing at across the room as you started to pull his pants down. once they were off, jungkook leaned back on his forearms and sighed, cherishing the feeling of you touching him after such an exhausting fucking day.
you started palming his huge cock through his boxers, thumb circling the tip - your mouth watered. “you’re so hard, kookie.”
jungkook groaned, one tattooed hand - the one with your initials on his knuckles - coming down to grab your hair as his hips buckled. “god…” his voice was low and quiet, you hadn’t even begun to blow him and he was already close to cumming.
after stroking his length some more, you finally pulled his boxers down - his massive cock springing out towards your face. it was so hard and thick - you’d missed the sight of it so much that it nearly brought you to tears, your wetness starting to drip onto the floor beneath you.
you licked your lips then leaned in, pressing a kiss to his tip and licking off the little bead of precum.
your tongue swirled around the tip - wet and slow - then you wrapped a hand around the base and started to stroke gently. jungkook muttered a series of tender curses as you continued to lick and tease his needy cock.
you pulled back and admired your work for a second - your saliva coated him all over now - his cock glistened in the low light. then you finally started to take him deeper, mouth stretching to accommodate his size, his breath hitched as your tongue serenaded his cock.
the feeling of his warm, salty, wet length on your tongue felt so heavenly, heat pooling low in your belly. jungkook’s delicate fingers tightened in your hair as you took him fully inch by inch, bobbing your head up and down just how he liked it. “fuckkk…baby, I love you so much.” his eyes were hazy as he watched you - tired but full of love. “you’re so beautiful like this, light of my fucking life…”
another deep moan escaped his lips, motivating you to take him further. your nose brushed his pelvis, tears beginning to pricking at your waterline from his thick length against your throat - but your motions didn’t waver. saliva started to form at the corners of your mouth, progressively dripping down your chin. you just hummed, one hand coming up to stroke the base of his balls with your thumb.
jungkook’s hips began to thrust - gentle at first. when you started to moan loudly, some tears falling down your cheeks, his thrusts got bolder - your eyes were so soft, so watery all because of him. jungkook’s eyes never left your face, he always loved to watch your mouth get fucked by him. “come on, princess….you’re so good, you can take it…” his voice was hoarse, and airy - strained by your mouth.
it was evident jungkook was starting to lose control - his thrusts got meaner and faster, the lewd sounds of you taking his cock making him even more eager. the bedroom was full of quiet gagging and slurping sounds from your lips, spit was dripping to the floor now - along with your wetness. you sucked him off with complete love and care, smiling when his thighs began to tremble.
jungkook’s thrusts continued to get even rougher - his cock now practically buried down your throat. his moans began to get relentless and needier - as did your own - you were so turned on that you were grinding onto the floor subconsciously, whining and whimpering into it. his free hand came to wipe a tear falling down your flushed cheeks, whilst the other tightened in your hair, guiding your head up and down faster. jungkook’s breathing was erratic as he desperately tried to hold on and murmured to you. “gonna cum, pretty….gonna fucking fill you. you gonna swallow it all up, yeah?”
you hummed and nodded eagerly, and jungkook moaned your name deeply as he finally let go - white, hot ropes of cum beginning to shoot down your throat. “y/n…you’re such a good girl for me…yes..” he whispered breathlessly as you swallowed it all up greedily, not daring to waste any. your own orgasm came crashing down on you - eyes tightly squeezing shut - moaning and whimpering against your husband’s cock as you continued to grind and leak shamelessly all over the floor.
you kept your mouth around him the whole time, taking every last drop until he was trembling and starting to get hard again. jungkook had let go of your hair, now stroking gently. you released him with a soft pop, your lips glistening and glossy - chin still dripping his release.
jungkook hadn’t even realised you had cum too - too overwhelmed by pleasure. his eyes darkened again as he took in your face and the floor beneath you. “get on this bed now.” his voice was low and commanding, still hoarse from before - it was the sexiest thing you’d ever heard. he didn’t have to tell you twice, anticipation brewed in your lower stomach again as you quickly got up off the floor (as fast as a pregnant woman could), and got on the bed.
jungkook’s strong hands immediately found your forearms to steady you, you were still completely bare apart from that lacy bra and the evidence of your earlier orgasm still dripping down your legs. he shook his head and tutted whilst rubbing your belly, you gave him a confused look “hm?” - then his hand drifted down to your pussy, spreading your folds and dragging his ring finger over your swollen clit. “baby, you had to fuck the floor because of me - we gotta fix that.” his tone was apologetic yet teasing, and you couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped you.
jungkook smiled, gently rubbing your clit now - you were already so wet again (thanks to pregnancy), it was all he ever wanted to see and feel. he crashed his mouth onto yours again, gently sucking on your bottom lip, then he pushed his tongue into your mouth. he could taste himself on your tongue, but jungkook didn’t mind - if anything, it turned him on more. you had blowed him so fucking good he was sure his dick was going to snap in half.
you whimpered again when jungkook pulled away, his hand still working between your legs. you wanted him so badly - right now, completely inside of you.
your hands came up to his chest- still covered by that useless shirt - and lightly pushed him back against the headboard, he raised a brow. “want to ride you, kookie…” you sounded like an angel, grinding your hips against his.
jungkook’s breath hitched, he didn’t want to wait anymore either.
much to your delight, his shirt came off in seconds, revealing those delicious muscles. your hands immediately latched onto his biceps, just squeezing and feeling them. jungkook was so fucking big now compared to a couple of months ago, and you loved it. he had been going to the gym for some time, forever going on about how he wanted to be fit and healthy for you and the baby, but holy fuck - this was on another level.
jungkook let you explore for a minute, just sitting there quietly rubbing your inner whilst you basically drooled over his body - until he started getting impatient.
his hands moved up to your hips and lifted you onto his lap, looking straight into your eyes. then he leaned down to kiss the sensitive spot under your ear, nuzzling the tip of his nose against it. “thought you said you something about riding me, hm?” he whispered. you bit your lip, heat pooling low in your stomach.
a whimper escaped you as you nodded at his words. jungkook just hummed, rubbing the tip of his cock against your drenched folds - smearing your arousal all over it. you moaned instantly, your head dropping against his shoulder. jungkook pulled you closer so that your bump could rest comfortably in between you two, then he began to push the tip in.
low curses escaped you both as his thick cock started to stretch your walls - warmth filling you quickly. jungkook buried his head in your neck as you fully sat down on his length, pressing soft kisses everywhere he could. he let you get comfortable first, then started to slowly thrust his hips upwards. “oh…” you murmured at his slow motions, hands gripping his biceps again.
you started to move up and down - jungkook was not ready for that. “fuck, baby-“ his hands flew back to your hips, helping you move yourself up and down.
the pace was still slow, just how you two liked it - not short and sweet, but long and loving. jungkook’s lips kissed down your neck, collarbone, to the column between your tits. one of his hands started to massage one gently through your bra. he was so mesmerised - pregnancy had changed your body significantly, and jungkook wouldn’t have it any other way. you looked so full now, full with his baby, full of love - he wanted you pregnant always.
“so pretty for me, baby…” he murmured as his hands continued to play with your tits. his breath hitched when you reached back and unclasped the bra, tits spilling free.
you started getting bolder, quickening your pace, using him to fuck yourself. jungkook didn’t mind at all - he wanted you to take all the pleasure you could get. the image of you bouncing on his cock was always his favourite.
“ah! yes!” you moaned as his cock went deeper, hitting that sweet spot inside you again and again. jungkook’s mouth then closed over your nipple, licking and biting gently. you whimpered at his actions, nails digging into his back as he started to move his hips faster up to yours.
jungkook kept sucking on your nipple, and that’s when he felt it - a warm, sweet liquid - your milk. he let out a low, loud moan as it continued to come out, it turned him on so much. your milk tasted so fucking good, jungkook lapped it all up without missing a drop - he was almost jealous of your unborn baby for getting this milk.
jungkook could tell you were reaching your peak now - your back was arched, your nails were scratching and digging into his back, and the sounds coming out of your mouth as you bounced up and down on his cock were nothing but obscene - he couldn’t torture you any longer, his own release was building in his lower stomach.
“I know, beautiful, I know.” he murmured, groaning as your lips met again. his hand travelled back down, finding your clit and beginning to rub firm circles over it. “let me help you. let go, baby..” you moaned into his mouth at his words “yes! jungkook!” and finally let go, your cum and squirt coating his cock all over.
jungkook came with a guttural moan as soon as your walls clenched around him. your name left his lips continuously as he continued to thrust into you - fucking you gently through your high - until they began to get sloppy. “good girl.” he praised when you were finished.
he stayed buried inside you for a bit, head resting against your shoulder until he pulled back and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. jungkook then brushed some hair out of your face and moved so that you two were lying side by side, still not pulling out.
he adjusted the covers over you then pulled you closer - one arm draped over your waist and bump whilst the other gently stroked your hair. jungkook could tell you were exhausted by now, your quietness the main hint. he murmured an ‘I love you’ to both you and the baby before adjusting the pillows again. you hummed, only registering the press of warm lips against your forehead before dreams finally pulled you under.
summary: desperate to see if a man devoted to god will unravel, you test his faith with your sweet, deceptive innocence—seducing fr. jeon until his devotion no longer belongs to god…but to you.
warnings: priest jungkook x sinful reader, explicit sexual content, forbidden relationship, candle wax play, rosary choking, edging, clit rubbing, filthy sexual desires, spitting, degradation, mock sympathy, pussy eating, condescending dirty talk, blow job, cum eating, usage of whore & slut, praising, cum eating, m. masturbation, manipulation, multiple orgasms, rough sex, overstimulation, fingering, penetrative sex, creampie.
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Temptation, they said, was the devil's favorite weapon…subtle, patient, and often disguised as something beautiful.
Your beauty was the kind that invited sin. Like a priceless painting in a museum, admired by many but forbidden to touch, existing only to test the restraint of those who stood before it.
Yet despite the effect you seemed to have on everyone else, Fr. Jeon remained frustratingly untouched by it all. Men had always looked twice, their attention lingering long enough to make their interest known. But his eyes never lingered on you. They would meet yours for a fleeting moment before moving on, calm and unwavering, carrying the same gentle warmth they offered every soul that walked through the church doors.
Pathetic.
Wearing a long white virginal skirt, a matching conservative blouse, and your hair falling neatly down your waist, you grabbed your purse before heading downstairs to meet Sana.
“Glad you finally wore something decent,” Sana commented with a sheepish smile when she saw you stepping out of your house.
You pouted, looking down at the modest skirt fluttering around your ankles. “My cute dresses are decent too, you know.”
You weren’t a very religious person, but when your friend Sana told you she wanted to join the church choir, you were more than happy to come with her.
Between the two of you, she was the religious one—always carrying a small pocket bible in her purse, always reminding you to watch your words and actions because God was watching.
A lot of your friends were confused about how the two of you became so close. You were playful, rebellious, and bratty—more of a bad influence beside someone so polite and devout. But despite your mischievous nature, you were very sweet, friendly and charming. At university, you were one of the popular students, with plenty of friends and a reputation as a social butterfly.
When you first met Sana, you hadn’t expected the two of you to get along. She was a new student, still adjusting to the unfamiliar environment and trying to find her place among the other students. Being the friendly social butterfly that you were, you became the first person to approach her.
Your personalities couldn’t have been more different. Sana was calm, reserved, and quiet, while you were bold, bright, and loud.
Despite being complete opposites, the two of you grew unexpectedly close. You liked Sana because she was a breath of fresh air. Her calmness grounded the chaos within you, while your playfulness brought balance and excitement to her peaceful life.
Ever since you became best friends, you often accompanied her to church. Although you looked somewhat out of place trailing behind her while she helped with various church duties, volunteer work, and parish activities...you still enjoyed spending time with her.
You liked how she always listened to your rants and endless rambles. Following her around while she busied herself carrying boxes and helping wherever she could, your kitten heels clicked softly against the church’s marbled floors, and the longest dress you could find in your closet swayed gently with every step. As unusual as it felt to be dressed so modestly, you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed these moments with Sana.
Your usual style of dressing didn’t exactly align with the church’s dress code… you had to trade your short skirts, midriff-baring tops, tight dresses, and cute spaghetti-strap tops for something more... demure.
At first, you tried to argue against it, but Sana quickly reminded you that those clothes weren’t appropriate for church. And of course, you had no choice but to listen unless you wanted another lecture about being a poor instrument of the Lord.
“Since when did you become a singer?” you teased as the two of you entered the church alongside a few parishioners and choir members.
Sana was dressed similarly to you, wearing a long skirt paired with a flowy long-sleeved blouse. In her right hand, she carried a small booklet filled with choir songs.
She pouted. “I can sing a bit, you know.” she opened the booklet and flipped through its pages. “As long as I’m serving the Lord, then no voice shall sound bad.”
You chuckled, already accustomed to her holy little remarks.
“If you say so,” you sang back playfully, following her up to the choir loft. You offered a polite smile to the other choir members, who were already busy practicing.
Since you weren’t actually there to join the choir, you let Sana focus on rehearsal while you wandered around the church on your own. Normally, you would have spent the entire time chatting her ear off, rambling about anything and everything, but today you let her concentrate.
A few parishioners were arranging fresh flowers around the framed images of saints, while others carefully dusted and polished the statues lining the church walls. The distant voices of the choir drifted through the air, blending with the soft murmur of prayers and quiet conversations, creating a peaceful atmosphere that settled gently around you.
When Sana first invited you to come with her to church, you had agreed out of nothing more than curiosity. You traded your usual weekend night outs for sunday mass, wanting to see the world through her eyes and understand why this place, with its quiet prayers and solemn rituals, meant so much to her.
The church offered a kind of quiet that rarely existed in your everyday life. Away from crowded parties, endless conversations, and the glittering chaos of your social circle, there was something unexpectedly comforting about this place. It gave you a chance to slow down, to breathe, and to simply exist without needing to be the loudest person in the room.
“Good morning, Fr. Jeon.” a few choir members and parishioners greeted.
You turned around absentmindedly, your head tilting curiously when you saw a priest entering through one of the church's side doors. Dressed in a long black cassock, he offered everyone a warm smile and a slight bow as he stepped inside.
A new priest?
“Are you here for the charity blessing, Fr. Jeon?” someone asked.
The woman approached him and received a gentle pat on the head in return.
He smiled. “Yes, I stopped by to gather a few materials for the blessing.”
Your head tilted slightly as you watched him, finding yourself taking an unconscious step forward.
A handsome fucking priest.
For the past few months that you'd been spending time at the church with Sana, this was the first time you'd seen him, and unfortunately for your soul, he was ridiculously attractive.
You found yourself shamelessly staring, almost in awe as he greeted everyone with effortless kindness.
He bowed politely, acknowledged each person with a warm smile, and listened attentively whenever someone spoke to him. It should've been a crime for a priest to be that good-looking.
Sinful.
The long black cassock he wore looked attractively sinful wrapped around someone so impossibly holy, the stark contrast only making him harder to ignore. His sharp jawline became more pronounced whenever he turned to greet someone with a kind smile, and a pair of thin-framed glasses rested neatly on his nose, lending him an air of quiet intelligence that did absolutely nothing to help your situation. His eyes were dark and warm behind the lenses, attentive whenever he listened to someone speak, and his jet-black hair was styled neatly, though a few stubborn strands had fallen across his forehead.
Everything about him looked composed, dignified, and entirely inappropriate for the thoughts currently running through your head.
You almost let out a dramatic gasp when Fr. Jeon finally waved his goodbye and turned to leave. A curse nearly slipped from your lips as you watched him make his way toward the church doors.
Everyone else had managed to greet him and earn one of his warm smiles, some even receiving a fond pat on the head. Meanwhile, you had spent the entire time standing near the altar, staring at him like an absolute creep, too mesmerized by his existence.
Internally rolling your eyes at yourself and the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, you watched him disappear through the church doors. And then, because apparently your dignity had already left the building before he did, you immediately made your way back to Sana, who was still busy practicing her choir lines.
“So...” you began, trailing behind Sana as she walked around with her booklet, quietly memorizing her choir pieces.
“Is Fr. Jeon a real priest?”
Sana lowered the booklet and stared at you, her brows knitting together as she caught the suspicious wiggle of your eyebrows.
“Huh?”
“I mean...” you hesitated. “Is he a real priest or, like… an intern priest?”
The moment the words left your mouth, you realized how stupid they sounded.
Was there even such a thing as a priest internship?
Sana blinked. Then she burst out laughing. “He's a real priest, Y/N. What do you mean, intern priest?”
Your cheeks immediately warmed. You looked away while she continued laughing, lifting the booklet back up as you followed after her.
You pouted. “Well... he looks young.” And hot. “And I've never seen him before. Every time I've attended mass with you, he wasn't the presider.”
You tried to think back to the past few months but came up empty. No handsome priests. Because if there had been one, you definitely would've remembered.
In fact, you were pretty sure you would've started sitting in the front row.
“Yeah, because he only got appointed recently,” Sana answered, her attention back on the booklet. “A few months ago, I think.”
You bit the inside of your cheek, almost groaning when you haven’t met him before he got appointed.
What the fuck, Y/N. Are you seriously eyeing a priest?
Absolutely not. That was...unholy!
For the following weeks, you found yourself clinging to Sana more than usual.
At first, you convinced yourself it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Going to church with her wasn't exactly new.
You just weren't nearly as consistent as she was.
There were plenty of sundays you skipped altogether, choosing late nights with your friends over early mornings in church. Besides, you figured there would always be another mass to attend, while convincing Sana to show up at one of your parties was practically impossible.
That was why you never attended as regularly as she did.
Lately, however, the situation seemed to have reversed. Now, you were the one volunteering to come.
Party invitations sat unanswered in your messages. Night outs were declined without hesitation. Instead, you found yourself asking Sana about choir practice, church activities, and whether she planned on volunteering for any upcoming events.
It was becoming a little concerning.
Wearing one of your now-usual long skirts and a modest blouse approved by church standards, you applied an extra layer of lip gloss in front of your mirror. Excitement bubbled inside you as you remembered what Sana had told you earlier that week—a charity event was coming up, and the church needed volunteers to help organize donations.
There had been plenty of charity events before, many of which you had skipped. Sana would usually spend the entire day helping sort donations and assisting the parishioners, leaving little time for the two of you to actually spend together. As much as you enjoyed tagging along with her, wandering around the church by yourself for hours wasn't exactly appealing.
This time, however, you were genuinely excited to come.
It wasn't as though you couldn't visit the church on your own. Nobody would stop you if you decided to drop by one afternoon.
The problem was that it would be… strange.
Ever since you started coming to church, it had always been because of Sana. Everyone knew you as her friend, not as someone particularly devoted to the church.
If you suddenly started showing up by yourself every weekend, people would notice. You weren't exactly known for your devotion.
Especially when the answer involved a certain priest.
It was already strange enough that you were beginning to resemble a devoted Christian.
False piety.
When you arrived at the church, your heartbeat picked up immediately. Volunteers moved in and out of the building carrying boxes and supplies, conversations blending into a lively hum that filled the grounds.
“You can help with the boxes, Y/N. I'll just talk to the choir members,” Sana said with a smile.
You nodded a little too eagerly, grateful she didn’t question your sudden burst of interest in coming with her to church. It helped that you had accompanied her before—enough for it to not feel completely out of the blue.
“Okay! I'll help with the boxes!” you smiled brightly.
The moment Sana wandered off to join the other choir members, you immediately began looking around for ways to help.
“Let me carry those,” you offered with a bright smile, reaching for a volunteer struggling with a stack of old toy boxes meant for donation.
The woman thanked you and asked if you could bring them outside, where a small truck was parked to collect everything.
You happily agreed.
“I hope he comes today,” you muttered under your breath as you carried the boxes toward the truck, your eyes drifting toward the church entrance every few seconds.
According to Sana, Fr. Jeon frequently stopped by to check on donation drives, visit the parish office, or help coordinate volunteer work.
You had already carried nine boxes, then… ten. With every trip back and forth, you found yourself slowly losing hope that Fr. Jeon would show up at all. You were starting to regret wearing your cutest pink skirt today, and the growing disappointment was beginning to settle in alongside your irritation.
Just as you were about to accept that all your effort had been wasted, Fr. Jeon finally appeared, walking into the church hall.
Your eyes widened.
“Fuck—” you immediately winced, biting your lip the moment the word escaped. Mentally apologizing for cursing inside the church.
With a fresh box of donations balanced in your arms, you hurried toward the entrance, trying your best to look useful, helpful and responsible. Like the kind of person who volunteered here regularly and wasn't secretly waiting for your handsome priest to show up.
Your heart hammered against your ribs when he finally glanced in your direction.
“Good day,” he greeted with a smile and a polite nod, raising his right hand to gently pat your head.
Your cheeks immediately flushed, almost dropping the boxes when he touched you.
He patted my head!
Today, he was dressed in a fitted black long-sleeved shirt tucked neatly into black slacks, a simple brown cross necklace resting against his chest. His jet-black hair was styled neatly away from his face, exposing a heart-shaped forehead that made him look unfairly handsome. He wore his usual pair of glasses, the thin frames resting on the bridge of his nose and softening the sharpness of his features. Behind the lenses, his round eyes looked steady and attentive, always observant, as if he noticed everything without ever needing to say so.
Goodness gracious.
Your gaze drifted lower, almost shamelessly staring…only to pause on his right hand.
You frowned slightly, you wanted to take a longer look, but his sleeves hid the rest of his arms from view, making it impossible to tell how far they extended.
Was that a tattoo?
For some reason, that discovery stunned you more than it should have. Priests and tattoos weren't exactly a combination you'd ever imagined together.
You were so distracted staring at his hand that you didn't realize he had already walked past you and moved on to greet the other volunteers.
You didn't even greet him back! Oh God.
Panic immediately settled in your chest. Adjusting your grip on the donation box, you hurried after him, determined to salvage the interaction somehow. You just needed a reason to talk to him.
A simple religious question, maybe?
Unfortunately, your brain had chosen this exact moment to stop working.
You couldn't exactly walk up to him and ask if priests were allowed to have tattoos. Nor could you suddenly start quoting bible verses when the majority of your religious knowledge came from Sana lecturing you every other week.
You wanted to sound natural and virginal.
The problem was that you had absolutely no idea how to start a holy conversation without sounding fake about it, like you were trying too hard to be someone you weren’t.
When you saw him entering the church office, you frowned and stomped your foot against the floor in irritation.
Pity.
You were a bit disappointed when his gaze didn’t even linger on you. You were used to boys in college always noticing you…showing their interest, getting swayed by your pretty face and charming personality. But here, inside the church, you were nothing more than another kind volunteer in his eyes—someone he greeted with the same calm respect he gave everyone else.
Importunate.
At this point, it had become a routine. You would come to church with Sana after school, grateful she had joined the choir because it gave you an excuse to be there almost every day instead of only on weekends.
While she attended rehearsals, you spent your afternoons helping with volunteer work and assisting the parishioners...all while discreetly searching the church grounds for your future boyfriend.
You even started dressing for it—slipping into the most “virginal” outfits your closet could offer in hopes of blending in. Long skirts, conservative blouses, dresses that covered everything they possibly could. It was almost laughable how much effort you put into looking like the perfect church girl, when a few months ago you would’ve rather died than be seen in half of these outfits.
The worst part was that it wasn't even guaranteed to work.
There were days when your timing simply didn't align. You would arrive at the church only to hear that Fr. Jeon had already stopped by earlier, or spend the afternoon helping around the parish before finding out he had come and gone while you were busy elsewhere. Sometimes you would leave just before he arrived, missing him by mere minutes.
You would come home without seeing even a glimpse of him, staring at your ceiling later that night and wondering why you felt so deflated over someone you barely knew.
Then there were the good days—when your schedules happened to align and you finally saw him. Your eyes would immediately light up the moment you spotted him across the church grounds, your smile growing brighter despite your attempts to act normal, your cheeks burning whenever he greeted you with that gentle smile and absentminded pat on the head.
Transgression.
At first, seeing him had been enough. Now, however, you found yourself expecting more. Not much...just a conversation that lasted longer than a few seconds. Something beyond charity drives, donation boxes, retreats, and volunteer work.
But Fr. Jeon was frustratingly...polite.
He greeted everyone with the same kindness, smiled at everyone with the same warmth, and spoke to everyone with the same respectful attentiveness. Whenever you managed to stand near him long enough for a conversation, he would ask about the charity, the donations, the volunteers, or whatever church event happened to be coming up next.
The discussion always remained firmly within the boundaries of church matters, and before you knew it, he would excuse himself to continue helping elsewhere.
You couldn't even ask him anything personal. Every question that came to mind sounded ridiculous the moment you imagined saying it out loud. Are those tattoos real? How old are you? Why are you so handsome for a priest?
None of them exactly sounded appropriate for church conversation.
So you remained stuck in this strange little cycle of yours, coming to church almost everyday with hopes far bigger than the interactions you actually received. And despite how ridiculous it felt, despite how much you scolded yourself for it, the highlight of your day was still that brief smile and the weight of his hand resting atop your head for a few seconds.
Shameful.
A shame that you had never actually talked to him.
Not beyond a few good afternoons exchanged in passing and the occasional greeting whenever your paths crossed around the church.
You didn't want to be too bold, afraid that he would notice your embarrassingly obvious attempts to get his attention. As someone who wasn't particularly religious, you found yourself in an absurd predicament.
Should you start reading the bible? Memorize a few scriptures? Learn enough about church teachings to hold an intelligent conversation with him?
The fact that you were even considering studying scripture just to impress a priest made you question every life decision that had led you to this point.
You wanted his eyes to linger on you. Wanted him to look at you a little longer than everyone else. Wanted to feel special in some way. But every time your gaze met his, he would simply smile and move on, his attention never staying in one place for too long.
Sometimes you wondered if the only thing capable of holding his complete devotion was God himself.
Which was unfortunate for you. Because you were used to being noticed.
You were pretty, and you knew it. Attention had always come easily to you, yet the one man whose attention you wanted most remained completely out of reach.
A man who was distant, unattainable, and forbidden in every possible sense of the word.
Standing in front of your mirror that afternoon, you smoothed down your floral dress and examined your reflection one last time. The modest dress fell neatly against your figure, paired with white kitten heels that made you look far more innocent than you actually were. You dabbed a little extra blush onto your cheeks before adding a touch more glitter to your eyelids, your excitement growing as you remembered what Sana had told you earlier that week.
Fr. Jeon would be presiding over today's mass.
It would be the first mass of his that you would be attending, and as you stared at yourself in the mirror, unable to stop smiling, you realized your excitement felt dangerously close to the kind of anticipation one would have before a date.
Sana had noticed that you were coming with her far more often nowadays, but being as naive and obedient as she was, she only took it as a good sign. In her eyes, your heart was simply getting closer to God, closer to faith, closer to something pure and meaningful.
Closer to Fr. Jeon, rather.
“You look excited,” she said with a soft smile, her eyes twinkling when you mentioned wanting to sit in the front row. The thought only made her happier, convinced that your devotion was finally deepening in the way she had always hoped for you.
Oh, you were devoted.
“Excited for the Mass, you know,” you replied with a small giggle, clasping your hands together as if to sell the image. “Wonder what bible chapter will be discussed today.”
Of course you were gonna listen, be a good little church girl and have your eyes and attention to him.
Your eyes were practically shining when you stepped into the church, making a beeline for the front row without hesitation. You sat down shamelessly, smoothing your skirt as if you had done this every sunday of your life.
Sana only smiled at your eagerness, completely oblivious to the fact that your decision had nothing to do with spiritual focus and everything to do with proximity. Sitting at the front felt less like devotion and more like VIP seating for the sole purpose of seeing Fr. Jeon up close.
When the bell finally rang, the entire church rose to its feet. Your heart kicked up immediately as the sacristans entered in procession, one of them carrying a smoking thurible that swung gently with each step. And right at the center of it all was him.
Your future boyfriend.
Your lips parted slightly, eyes widening as Fr. Jeon walked slowly down the nave with calm, deliberate steps. His hands were clasped together in front of him in prayer, and he wore the full liturgical vestments—a long white linen robe beneath a green chasuble, a thin stole draped over his shoulders, and a cincture tied neatly at his waist. The fabric moved softly as he walked, making him look almost unreal under the church lights, like something out of a painting you weren’t supposed to stare at for too long.
He greeted people with gentle smiles along the way, bowing his head politely, even pausing to pat a few children on the head as he passed the pews.
By the time he reached the altar, your attention was fully locked in.
Disingenuous.
You nodded a little too eagerly when responses were required, your voice coming out brighter than necessary during the choir parts, as if enthusiasm alone could prove your devotion. Every time he spoke, your focus sharpened, hanging onto his words a little too intently, even when you were supposed to be blending in with the rest of the congregation.
He was wearing his usual pair of glasses, slowly turning the pages of the bible with precise, practiced movements. His voice was steady and clear as he read, each word delivered with a calm authority that made it clear this role suited him completely. There was nothing rushed about him, nothing uncertain.. only a quiet certainty in the way he stood at the altar, as if it had always belonged to him.
By now, you had started mirroring him without even realizing it. Whenever he closed his eyes to say the prayers, you would close yours too, hands folded a little tighter than necessary, breathing in sync with the rhythm of the mass.
You were fucking crazy.
When it was time for the holy communion, you stood up almost too quickly, your heart thudding loudly in your chest as you joined the line forming in the aisle. Each step forward felt heavier than it should have, not because of the sacrament itself, but because of who was waiting near the altar.
“Are you alright?” Sana commented quietly when she noticed your flushed expression after the bell rang.
You let out a small, awkward laugh and instinctively smoothed down your long hair, trying to compose yourself. “Just thinking about my prayers,” you said lightly, as if that explanation made any sense at all.
She gasped, like you were really serious about your prayers, when all you could think about was—
He’s gonna feed me the host!
You were almost sweating as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, feeling the moment inch closer with every step in the line. Sana’s voice was still beside you, something about God always listening and having faith in his timing, but her words barely registered anymore. Your mind was elsewhere entirely, stuck on the growing realization that you were seconds away from facing him directly.
Preparing your hands in a prayer position, your brain almost short-circuited when you finally faced him, his right tatted hand holding the host up for you.
“The Body of Christ,” he said in a soft tone, almost detached in its reverence.
You wanted him to recognize you—the obedient good girl who always volunteered at the church. But fuck, he was too absorbed in God and the communion.
Your lips parted. “Amen…”
When he finally fed you the host, you almost choked when you felt the slight, accidental brush of his index finger against your lips as he withdrew his hand. You were left completely flustered, while he remained composed and focused on the ritual, seemingly unaware of the effect he had on you.
To you, it felt intimate.
To him, it was simply the Eucharist…a sacred duty, a practiced motion repeated countless times.
When you returned to your seat and lowered yourself to kneel again, you pressed your hands together a little too tightly. In your head, you immediately apologized to God for every impure thought, questionable intention, and shameless moment you had done.
Then, without even a full second of self-reflection, you proceeded to ask if he could somehow let you be a little closer to Fr. Jeon.
Your priorities were clearly a work in progress.
“Sana, are you gonna visit the church this week?” you asked with a small smile, falling into your usual habit of checking with her.
For the past few weeks, your afternoons and weekends had quietly reshaped themselves around her schedule.
It had become something strangely comforting… helping wherever you could, spending hours in a place that once felt unfamiliar but was now slowly turning into routine.
But of course, you couldn’t deny that recently, there was another reason woven into it too.
“Nope,” Sana replied as she hugged her books closer to her chest. “I have to study this week. Finals are coming up, and I still have a chemistry exam to review for before vacation starts.”
You groaned softly and walked beside her as the two of you left the campus. “Then why don’t we just stop by for a bit? To pray for good grades?” you suggested, lifting a brow as if it was the most logical solution in the world.
Please. Please. Please agree with me.
Sana pouted, clearly considering it for a moment, and your heart almost stopped in anticipation. Then she shook her head slowly, and your excitement deflated instantly.
“You’re right,” she said gently, “but it’s a long test, Y/N. I need to review all week. God would understand.”
She smiled softly and slipped her arm through yours. “Let’s just pray at home and do the rosary before reviewing.”
You forced a small smile, though your shoulders sagged slightly at the realization. It wasn’t just a missed church visit—it was a missed chance, even if you kept telling yourself it wasn’t supposed to be about that.
Sure, you would probably still see Fr. Jeon at sunday mass. He was the new presider in the city now, after all.
But it still wasn’t the same.
You almost groaned when you found yourself at the church that saturday morning. You were wearing a cream-colored dress, kitten heels, and a rosary necklace you had recently bought for the sole purpose of impressing Fr. Jeon. You had no idea whether he would even notice it, but in your mind, it felt like the kind of thing a good church girl would wear.
Preposterous.
Sashaying your way inside, you took in the usual parishioners and volunteers already busy arranging boxes for the charity drive.
You bit your lip. This was your first time visiting the church without Sana. Still, as you walked in, you were relieved when a few volunteers recognized you.
Thank God and all the saints.
You smiled and bent down to help with the boxes, already familiar with the routine—carrying them to the truck, sorting old clothes and toys, or helping with the lists.
If any of your uni friends saw you here alone, they would be completely confused. Without Sana, your sudden appearance at church would make absolutely no sense.
“Good day, Fr. Jeon.” someone greeted, and your ears immediately perked up. You turned just in time to see him entering the church halls in his usual black long sleeves and slacks.
You were only on your third box today! He was early!
Your lips curled into a small, excited smile as you instinctively stepped closer, box still in hand, already anticipating the familiar greeting and gentle pat on the head.
“Good day,” he said as expected, offering a polite nod before his hand lifted to pat your head.
Your eyelashes fluttered.
But instead of letting him move on to greet the others…for the first time in the past few weeks, you actually gathered the courage to stop him.
“Uh, Fr. Jeon?” you called softly just as he was about to turn away.
He paused, tilting his head slightly. “Yes, sweetheart?”
Jesus– God in heaven.
Your cheeks instantly reddened at the nickname, fingers tightening around the box. Still, you forced yourself to breathe, and finally blurted out the question you had been rehearsing all night.
“Just wondering if you have any c-chapter recommendations? I’m currently reading the bible and I don’t know where to start,” you said shyly.
There was a brief flicker of pleasant surprise on his face, quietly impressed that you were asking about the bible in the first place. It wasn't often that someone approached him with genuine curiosity about scripture.
He was about to answer when, suddenly…his attention shifted.
His gaze drifted downward, landing on the rosary hanging around your neck—the small cross resting between your breasts.
His lips pursed. “Sweetheart…rosaries are not meant to be worn as necklaces,” he chuckled softly, his eyes lingering on the rosary before looking back at you.
Your eyes widened. “I-It’s not…?” you asked, your ears and neck already heating in embarrassment.
Fuck. You didn’t know that!
Fr. Jeon exhaled gently. “It’s a prayer tool,” he explained, his tone patient and calm. “Meant to be held in the hands… used in prayer, not displayed like jewelry.”
You blinked. “I-I didn’t know,” you admitted quickly, almost defensively. “I just really… like rosaries.”
Deception.
Fr. Jeon sighed softly, then lifted a hand to gently pat your head. “It’s okay…if you want, you can still wear rosary bracelets.” he offered you a small, reassuring smile.
You almost melted at his kindness. “R-Right, that would be better,” you said shyly, barely keeping yourself together.
He chuckled softly at your reaction, adjusting his glasses before finally returning to your original question. “If you’re reading the bible,” he added at last, “start with the gospels. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.”
You nodded quickly, smiling up at him as he returned a warm, genuine smile of his own.
“Noted, Fr. Jeon.” you smiled, unconsciously stepping a little closer. “...Uhm, d-do you have a bible in your office, Father?” you asked shyly, doing your best to sound innocent and academically curious.
The moment the question left your mouth, you almost mentally slapped yourself.
Of course he has a bible in his office!
You opened your mouth, ready to rephrase the question, to save yourself from the embarrassment of sounding so foolish—but Fr. Jeon answered before you could.
“I do have a few bible collections in my office…would you like to see them?” Fr. Jeon offered, gesturing gently toward the church office.
You dropped the boxes. “Oh, my-”
Your plan actually worked!
Your eyes widened in horror. Mortified, you immediately bent down to pick them up, only to find Fr. Jeon already reaching for them.
“Careful, sweetheart,” he chuckled softly, lifting the boxes with ease as if they weighed nothing. “Let me carry these.”
“S-Sorry, it was kinda heavy,” you reasoned out, your neck already turning red. You still couldn’t believe you were actually having a full conversation with him.
And now he was even taking you to his office!
The Lord had truly answered your prayers.
With a polite smile, Fr. Jeon handed the boxes to the truck before gesturing for you to follow him toward the office.
“I can let you borrow a few scriptures if you’d like. I have the new version of the bible—would you want that?” Fr. Jeon asked as he reached into his pocket for his office keys.
You nodded immediately, hands clasping together behind your back. “Uh, yeah. That would be heavenly!”
Heavenly? For Christ’s sake, Y/N.
Fr. Jeon only smiled at that, unlocking and opening the office door as if he were letting you step into a space you had no right to be so excited about.
Pious.
You had done your research last night—it had been difficult since he was such a private person, but you had managed to learn a few things.
Fr. Jeon had been ordained only six months ago and was now officially assigned as the priest of your city’s parish, something you were embarrassingly looking forward to.
He was twenty-eight. He had studied arts before eventually pursuing theology. There were only a handful of photos of him online…mostly seminarian group pictures, a few formal ones where he wasn’t wearing his usual cassock, though he was always in long sleeves.
You had even found one rare image where he had rolled his sleeve slightly during a group photo, revealing part of a tattoo on his arm beneath a white long-sleeve shirt and a cross necklace.
“Fuck… he’s hiding all that under his sleeves?” you had muttered to yourself last night, squinting at the screen and trying to find more…only to realize there was barely anything else. No social media, no casual photos, nothing.
“Take a seat here. I’ll get the books for you,” Fr. Jeon said now, smiling as he gestured toward the small couch in front of his desk.
You nodded and sat down obediently, trying very hard to look like a good parish girl.
His office was quiet and orderly in a way that immediately made you straighten your posture. The walls were lined with wooden bookshelves filled with thick religious texts, bible editions, theological commentaries, and neatly stacked parish documents. A simple desk sat against one side, organized and uncluttered, with a few folders, a pen holder, and a small lamp.
In the center of the room, mounted on the wall above the desk, hung a large crucifix—christ on the cross—watching over everything in silent stillness. The soft light from the window fell across it gently, making the entire room feel even more solemn, almost sacred.
Yet your thoughts were nowhere near sacred. You were here to attempt a very dangerous, carnal sin.
Seduction.
Masked in your perfect good-girl appearance, wondering if you could crack that unshakable composure he wore so effortlessly—if you could make his calm, holy restraint finally slip.
You slowly stood up from the couch while his back remained turned, focused on his bible scriptures. Your head tilted slightly as you tried to make it look as innocent as possible…to enter his space without revealing your true, sinful intentions.
“Fr. Jeon,” you called softly, standing too close behind him.
You needed to converse, to interact with him, to get him interested—to show him how much you adored God as much as he did.
“Hmm?” He didn’t glance at you, still focused on the scriptures.
You pouted, slowly taking a peek at what he was doing. “I was wondering if I could just read the bible here instead of borrowing it….” you attempted softly. “That way, if there’s something I don’t understand… I can ask you about it right away.” you said in a sweet, suggestive tone.
Fr. Jeon glanced at you, subtly stepping back when he realized you were right behind him, your vanilla scent brushing his senses.
He paused for a moment, looking into your hopeful eyes.
“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, a small smile appearing on his face. “That's actually a good idea. Understanding scripture is easier when you can discuss it with someone. If I'm here, feel free to ask me anything you're confused about.”
Providence.
You smiled brightly, feeling your relationship with him finally take another step forward.
“That would be great! Thank you, Fr. Jeon,” you said, tilting your head and giving him one of your most charming smiles.
It was absurd.
After your finals, you were granted a two-month semestral break, and instead of using that time to party, travel with friends, or go on night outs, you had spent nearly all of it at the church.
Sana, unfortunately, never questioned your growing interest. She was too kind to question your faith.
Over the next few weeks, your afternoons were spent in the parish office, reading scripture, flipping through commentaries, and waiting for the familiar sound of the office door opening.
During those weeks, you managed to have a few small talks with him whenever he stopped by. You learned that he visited the church every day…sometimes to pray, sometimes to help with ongoing charity work, hear confessions, or simply check on the church office before moving on to his next responsibility.
Hearing about his schedule made you quietly adjust your own, ensuring you arrived at the office around 3 p.m.—the time he usually came in to check mails and paperwork at his office.
Today, you were wearing a baby blue dress that flowed nicely around your ankles, trimmed with delicate lace at the hem. Your hair was tied in a half ponytail with a blue ribbon, your makeup subtle, and your kitten heels matching the softness of your outfit.
Sana didn’t come with you every day anymore—she had other “holy” activities outside the church, like charity visits, helping at retreat houses, touring other churches, and even climbing mountains to visit shrines and statues.
You had politely declined most of those invitations, telling her you found comfort in staying within your church’s city.
Disingenuous.
The rhythm between you had become almost routine. You would come to the office in the afternoons, sit down with a bible, and quietly read while asking him occasional questions whenever something didn’t make sense.
Fr. Jeon would remain at his desk, either going through papers or reading his own scripture in silence. The room would stay mostly quiet, filled with the soft turning of pages and the steady presence of his focus, as if the world outside didn’t quite reach either of you in that space.
Sometimes you would try to steer the conversation a little further, testing small openings beyond scripture, but it always naturally circled back to the same things—bible passages, God, charity work, church matters… anything within that same unspoken boundary of the holy.
Yet, that alone felt like a privilege—being allowed into the quiet rhythm of his office, as if you belonged there too.
“Good day, Fr. Jeon. I brought some snacks for you,” you said with a smile as you entered the church’s office.
As usual, he was sitting at his desk, wearing his framed glasses while reading some papers.
You walked toward him and held up a small box of cookies you had gladly baked. “I made these…kind of like a thank-you gift for letting me stay here in the office,” you said proudly.
During your free time, you had spent the entire afternoon baking cookies for Fr. Jeon, thinking it would be a nice thank-you gift for him. At first, you had even wanted to decorate them with cute frosting faces of Jesus, convinced it would make you look extra devoted in his eyes.
Unfortunately, after staring at your frosting bag for ten minutes, you realized it might look a little too....performative.
So, with great reluctance, you abandoned your tiny Jesus-face cookie idea and settled for regular chocolate chip cookies instead.
The result sat neatly inside the box you now held out to him, carefully packed and decorated with far more effort than necessary.
Fr. Jeon looked at the cookies, his head tilting slightly when he noticed the box was covered in heart stickers. A soft smile formed on his lips, quietly touched by your kindness.
“That’s very kind of you, sweetheart.” he said softly, taking the box before looking up at you from his swivel chair. “Thank you, Y/N.”
Your cheeks flushed, making you feel like a schoolgirl finally noticed by your crush.
“No worries, Fr. Jeon… besides, I really like reading the bible here! it feels comforting,” you said, leaning in slightly as if to emphasize your point. “And thank you… you really help me understand it better when I get confused,” you added softly, fluttering your lashes at him.
He blinked slowly, clearly caught off guard by your sweet smile and the way you leaned in, his usual composure faltering for a brief moment as he paused.
“No...no problem sweetheart.” he said with a small smile. “I’m… glad you find comfort here. God will always find a way to comfort our souls.”
You smiled sheepishly and sat down on the small couch in front of his desk. “Hmm, I know…I always pray whenever I’m overwhelmed, somehow talking to God really helps me.” you said thoughtfully, even if you had only learned those kinds of phrases from Sana.
Fr. Jeon nodded quietly, he didn’t expect you to be this devoted.
You were very pure, kind, and charming. He had always noticed you volunteering at the church with your friend Sana—you would help with the boxes, sit around during her choir sessions, sometimes simply sit in the pew as if the presence of the church alone was enough for you.
It wasn’t hard to notice you. You were pretty and graceful, always smiling at everyone, carrying a soft, composed presence whenever he saw you at the church in your long skirts and modest blouses—like a quiet image of devotion itself.
Despite that, his eyes never lingered.
Always composed, always measured…because anything longer than a passing glance felt like something he shouldn’t allow himself.
Ever since you asked him about the bible that day, he had been quietly amazed. Nowadays, very few people showed genuine interest in scripture, let alone someone your age.
Seeing your devotion—or what he believed was devotion…filled him with a warmth he hadn't expected. It was rare to meet someone so eager to learn more about God.
What he didn't realize was that your sweet, holy little plan had been working all along.
And what you didn't realize was that your sweetness, your smiles, your carefully built innocence—had been working from the very beginning.
You were so focused on the fact that his eyes never lingered, so convinced that he remained untouched by your presence, that you failed to see the subtle effect you had already left behind.
“What do you do during your free time, Fr. Jeon?” you asked casually one friday afternoon, trying your best to sound merely curious rather than interested.
You had spent weeks keeping your questions safely within the boundaries of scripture. Careful not to reveal how badly you wanted to know the man behind the collar.
So you kept your tone light and innocent, as though it were nothing more than a harmless question that had happened to cross your mind.
Fr. Jeon's head tilted slightly. He was sitting across from you at the small coffee table inside his office, a bible resting in his hands just like yours.
“I visit charities,” he answered lightly. “I usually stay there for a while and spend time with the children.” a fond smile crossed his face at the memory.
Your lips parted. Oh! still religious.
“How about you, sweetheart?” Fr. Jeon asked.
You quickly searched for a suitably holy answer. “Umm, I-I sometimes climb mountains to visit shrines and blessed statues,” you said, biting your lip as you recalled one of Sana's favorite religious activities.
Fr. Jeon nodded thoughtfully, visibly impressed…his expression softening as if genuinely moved that you spent your free time in service of the Lord.
“What a good girl you are,” he said softly.
His eyes lifted to meet yours for a brief moment—just long enough to make your heart stumble…before he looked away first, a small smile forming on his lips that he quickly hid as he lowered his gaze back to the bible.
Your lips parted slightly, warmth rushing to your cheeks at the compliment.
Good girl. Oh to be called his good girl.
Even though Sana had been busy lately with her other holy activities, you didn't mind attending mass alone. In fact, you were more than happy sitting in the front row.
Your eyes would sparkle whenever Fr. Jeon spoke, your heart thumping whenever his gaze swept across the congregation and briefly met yours.
It always felt like a small victory, as though he was finally acknowledging you, finally noticing you.
“The Body of Christ.” Fr. Jeon held up the host.
“Amen,” you replied softly.
Unlike before, however, his gaze briefly lowered to meet yours. It lasted only a moment, accompanied by a small smile, but it was enough to make your heart skip a beat.
Enthralled.
Little by little, the distance between you seemed to shrink. The walls around him no longer felt quite as impenetrable as they once had.
Overtime, you had finally managed to crack through the edges of his usual reserve. What started as strictly scripture and charity talk had slowly, almost imperceptibly, begun to shift into something more personal.
You learned how he first became interested in the priesthood, how his mother had served in the church, and how deeply devoted his family was to their faith. You even found the courage to ask about his tattoos, discovering they came from his love for art long before he pursued theology.
In return, you had shared little pieces of yourself as well—your hobbies, your favorite things, your likes and dislikes. Of course, you were careful to sprinkle in a little extra holiness whenever you could, always eager to impress him and maintain the image he seemed to have of you.
Fr. Jeon enjoyed your presence. It was refreshing to converse with someone who seemed to share the same interest and devotion that he held so dearly.
As the weeks passed, he found himself quietly looking forward to your visits, anticipating the familiar sound of your voice drifting into his office each afternoon. After all, you had always been naturally playful and talkative, and somehow… your constant babbling had become a welcome part of his routine.
It had been a month since you started spending your afternoons in his office. Upon entering, you found him sitting at the coffee table instead of his desk. Scattered across the table were several small boxes in different colors.
Curious, you stepped inside, your usual box of homemade cookies in hand—the same kind you brought him every week.
“What’s that, Fr. Jeon?” you asked, taking a seat across from him and placing the cookies on the table.
Fr. Jeon looked up and smiled. “When's your birthday, sweetheart?”
You blinked, a question that was out of the blue—like you were on a date, and he was casually getting to know you.
Your cheeks immediately flushed, you told him your birth date, unable to hide the slight confusion in your voice.
Fr. Jeon nodded thoughtfully before reaching for one of the small boxes on the table.
There were twelve of them in total, each a different color. Pink, purple, green, blue, yellow, and several others.
“This would be your birthstone color then,” he said with a fond smile, handing you the box that matched your birth month.
Confused, you picked up the box and slowly opened it.
A small rosary bracelet rested inside.
Your heart began thumping so loudly you could hear it in your ears as you remembered the conversation from weeks ago…when he had gently corrected you and told you that rosaries weren't meant to be worn as necklaces.
“T-This is for me?” you asked, eyes wide and sparkling.
Fr. Jeon smiled softly. “Yes, sweetheart. I didn't know your birthday, so I bought all twelve colors,” he admitted with a small chuckle, glancing at the remaining boxes on the table.
It was such a simple gift, yet your heart fluttered stupidly in your chest. Somehow, this meant more than the flowers, chocolates, teddy bears, and expensive jewelry your admirers had given you before.
Before you could stop yourself, you rose from your seat and threw your arms around him.
Fr. Jeon froze in surprise, his eyes widened as you suddenly closed the distance between you. The force of the hug nearly made him lose his balance in the chair as your arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders.
“Thank you, Fr. Jeon...so sweet of you.” you murmured, overwhelmed with happiness.
He gulped harshly. It had been a long time since he had been touched by a woman.
Not accidentally in a crowded place. Not a polite handshake after mass. Not a brief greeting exchanged out of courtesy.
A long time.
His heart raced against his ribs as your arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Your hot breath fanned softly against his collar, carrying the familiar scent of vanilla that had become impossible for him not to recognize. The closeness was overwhelming in a way he hadn't expected, making him painfully aware of how little physical affection existed in his life.
His hands hovered awkwardly in the air for a moment before gripping the edge of the table instead. Every instinct told him to return the gesture, to place a comforting hand against your back and reassure you, but he remained still, forcing himself to hold onto his composure.
“You're welcome, sweetheart.” Fr. Jeon rasped, his voice coming out rougher than usual.
When you finally pulled away, you smiled brightly and sat back down in your chair, immediately slipping the bracelet onto your wrist.
Meanwhile, he remained frozen for a moment, trying to swallow away the lingering awareness of your closeness. The warmth of your embrace, your breath against his collar, the brief press of your breasts against him.
The hug had been innocent, sweet and harmless.
Which only made it worse.
Because he had no reason to be affected by it at all. He found himself quietly unsettled by the fact that he had needed to restrain himself in a moment that should have been nothing more than simple gratitude.
Temptation.
The next day, you proudly wore the rosary bracelet he had given you. You had even chosen a dress that matched its color, complete with a ribbon in your hair to tie everything together.
When you entered his office, you found Fr. Jeon standing by the bookshelves, a scripture in one hand. His glasses rested low on his nose as he read through a passage.
Immediately, you raised your wrist and showed off the bracelet. “Look,” you said with a grin.
Fr. Jeon glanced down, you were already twirling in place, eager to show him how the bracelet matched your dress.
Pretty.
The thought came so naturally that he frowned at himself.
“Good day, Y/N.” he replied, forcing his attention away from the observation.
You smiled brightly and wriggled your wrist. “I matched the bracelet with my dress and ribbon, see?”
Turning in a small circle again, you proudly showed off the entire outfit.
Fr. Jeon watched for a brief moment before lowering his gaze. Lately, he had become far too aware of things he shouldn't be noticing.
How pretty you looked whenever you walked into his office, how your face lit up whenever you talked to him, how easily your excitement filled the room.
Even your long dresses—soft fabric falling gently to your ankles, lace details tracing along the edges…began to feel distracting in a way he could not fully explain or justify.
Turning innocent things into distractions. The modesty that should have protected his thoughts was beginning to have the opposite effect, making him painfully aware of the woman hidden beneath layers of fabric and lace.
Perhaps it was because it had been so long since he had allowed himself to be this close to a woman. Years spent in seminaries, rectories, church offices, and ministry had made him accustomed to a life of distance and discipline. He had grown comfortable in it.
Until you.
“Glad you like it, sweetheart,” he said at last, forcing a small smile before returning his attention to the scripture in his hands.
It was easier to focus on the page than on the way you were still standing there, smiling at him as if he had just given you the greatest gift in the world.
You giggled and stepped a little closer. “You know, I didn’t remove the bracelet yet… I’m planning on wearing it forever.”
Fr. Jeon raised a brow at that, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.
“Really?” he asked, unable to hide the delightfulness in his voice.
“Yes! I didn’t even remove it when I took a bath,” you giggled, smiling at him with pure adoration.
His brows furrowed slightly at what you had just said, but before he could stop himself, a faint flush crept across his cheeks.
Test of faith.
His mind betrayed him for a brief second, wandering toward the image of you showering while still wearing the bracelet he had given you, carefully keeping it on even then. The thought was so sudden and inappropriate that he immediately felt ashamed.
He gulped harshly, disappointed in himself. He would have to repent later and ask the Lord for forgiveness for allowing such a crude thought to cross his mind.
Fr. Jeon could not entertain that desire. It was forbidden, a temptation that needed to be buried and forgotten before it could take root.
Yet despite the turmoil quietly unfolding inside him, he weakly reached over and gently patted your head.
His heart immediately thumped against his ribs when your eyes lifted to meet his, shining with unmistakable adoration at the simple gesture.
You beamed at him...letting out a small, delighted giggle that softened the moment even further.
Craving.
The past few weeks had been exhausting. As the city's new presider, he had been buried beneath paperwork and responsibilities. The church had also been flooded with parishioners seeking confession, and the lines seemed to grow longer with each passing day.
Hundreds of voices had passed through the confessional since then, each carrying their own sins, burdens, and regrets. Most of them faded from memory the moment absolution was given.
Yours hadn't.
Fr. Jeon leaned back in his chair and stared at the crucifix hanging on the office wall. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the window, casting long shadows across the room.
He had spent years strengthening his faith, disciplining his mind, and dedicating himself entirely to the Lord. Yet lately, all it took was a sweet smile, an innocent touch, or the sound of your voice to shake that discipline.
Closing his eyes, he lowered his head.
"Lord, forgive me," he murmured quietly.
A threat to his devotion.
-
“Ouch, fuck,” you groaned, pulling the tray of cookies out of the oven.
You were baking a fresh batch for Fr. Jeon today, trying out a larger baking tray than usual so you could make more cookies at once. Unfortunately, the experiment immediately backfired.
As you bent down to take the tray out, the hot metal edge accidentally brushed against your inner thigh. You winced, pouting as you watched your skin slowly turn red.
“This looks so bad,” you murmured, setting the tray of cookies down on the counter.
Luckily, you had been wearing long skirts these days.
Prepping the boxes of cookies you had baked, you decided to wear a purple long lacey skirt paired with a cute ruffled top. Your hair was styled into low pigtail braids, each tied with a ribbon at the ends. Holding the box carefully, you frowned slightly when you felt the bandage rubbing against your swollen skin.
“Good day, Fr. Jeon, I got you cookies!” you beamed.
You noticed he had become even busier after being appointed as the city’s official presider, though you didn’t realize he had been deliberately drowning himself in paperwork—anything to keep his thoughts from drifting where they shouldn’t.
“Good day, Y/N,” he replied, glancing up for only a brief moment to return your smile before his attention went back to the documents in front of him.
You frowned slightly and placed the box of cookies on the table in front of him. “Got you a different flavor! It’s red velvet this time,” you said, pointing at the box with a small, proud smile.
Fr. Jeon glanced at them, warmth flickering in his chest before he quickly pushed it down.
“Thank you, Y/N… that’s very kind of you,” he said gently, his tone careful, as though he was trying to place distance even while accepting your kindness.
You pouted almost immediately. The response felt far too brief for someone who had spent the morning baking for him.
Wanting his attention back on you, you shifted your weight and played with the ends of your braid, searching for something that would pull his focus away from the paperwork on his desk.
“You know… I even got burned earlier because I used a bigger tray and it hit me,” you said with a small chuckle, watching him carefully for a reaction. “But it’s fine, I’m just worried it might leave a mark,” you added with a light giggle, unable to hide the hopeful note in your voice as you waited for him to look at you again.
That got his attention immediately.
His brows furrowed as he looked up from the papers, concern breaking through the careful distance he had been trying to maintain. His eyes instinctively moved to your hands, searching for any sign of injury.
“Where is it? Let me see,” Fr. Jeon said, the concern in his voice unmistakable. His gaze lingered on your fingers and wrists, unable to find the burn he was looking for.
You had to fight the smile threatening to appear.
Slowly, you made your way around the table until you were standing beside him. From his swivel chair, he tilted his head back to follow your movement, his attention still fixed on your hands.
“It’s not there, Fr. Jeon…” you said softly. “Here...”
A small giggle escaped you as you gently lifted the hem of your long skirt.
His eyes widened instantly, panic flashing across his face before he could hide it. Before you could lift your skirt any higher, his hand shot forward on instinct, wrapping around your wrist to stop you.
“W-What are you doing?” he asked, nearly choking on the words.
The reaction was immediate, almost alarmed, as though the sight of you standing there with your hands on your skirt had caught him completely off guard. His grip wasn't harsh, but it was firm enough to halt your movement, his composure visibly rattled.
“I burned my thighs, Fr. Jeon… see?” you said innocently, lifting the fabric just enough to reveal the bandage wrapped beneath.
His lips parted at the sight, momentarily stunned.
The bandage sat against your soft thighs, the realization of how close he was to something so private making his mind go blank for a second.
He had never seen so much of you like this before—not this close, not this exposed in such an unguarded, unexpected way.
Your thighs looked so soft, pink and smooth… faintly marked by the redness around the bandage, drawing attention to how tightly you had wrapped it.
“It hurts a little,” you pouted, pointing at it.
His throat tightened as he swallowed hard, his gaze immediately faltering. Behind his glasses…his pupils were dilated, his ears and neck flushing red. His hands gripped the sides of his swivel chair tightly, as though grounding himself in place.
“Y-You wrapped it wrong,” he managed to say at last, his voice strained. He cleared his throat and forced his attention elsewhere, brows furrowing as he tried to recover his composure.
You tilted your head. “I did?” you looked down, trying to check your bandage when he suddenly stood up.
“I-I have a first aid kit in my cabinet. Sit in my swivel chair...I-I’ll wrap it for you,” he said quickly, already turning away from you as if creating distance would steady him. Without waiting for another reaction, he walked toward the cabinet near the bookshelves.
You bit your lip. “Okay…”
You obediently sat down in his swivel chair, a small, satisfied feeling flickering in your chest when you noticed how concerned…and slightly flustered—he seemed.
When he returned, he was holding a small first aid kit. Your breath caught slightly when he suddenly knelt in front of you.
“L-Lift your skirt, please.” he said, his tone firm but strained, his brows drawn together as he deliberately avoided looking too directly while waiting for you to comply.
Your heart stammered, green thoughts flowing inside your filthy brain.
With shaky, anticipatory hands, you lifted your skirt up to your inner thighs, purposefully raising it a little higher than necessary.
When he looked at your exposed thighs, his breath hitched. He tried to remain as calm as possible, forcing himself to focus. Slowly, he reached for the bandage, almost flinching when he felt the softness of your skin beneath the rough pad of his fingers.
“It’s too tight,” he said breathily, his hands trembling as he unwrapped the bandage from your thigh.
“Is it?” you said softly, watching the way his lips were slightly parted, his expression focused and controlled.
When the burn was finally exposed, his brows furrowed. “You should be more careful, Y/N.” he said quietly.
He took a small tube of ointment from the kit, applying a bit to his index finger before carefully spreading it over the burn.
You winced slightly at the contact, while his attention remained fixed and steady as he worked.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, his voice lower than usual as he briefly checked your reaction before focusing back on the injury.
You bit your lip. “J-Just a little bit.”
He sighed harshly at that, gently rubbing the ointment in with steady movements, though you could see beads of sweat slowly forming on his forehead.
“Just a little more,” he murmured almost under his breath, applying another layer of ointment. His control was thinner now, each movement more deliberate than the last, as if he was carefully holding himself together.
When he took the new bandage, he wrapped it carefully around your burn with precise, practiced hands. Once he was done, he immediately adjusted your skirt, smoothing it down with controlled efficiency…perhaps a little too quickly, as though creating distance from the moment itself.
When he stood up, you could see it more clearly now: the restraint in his posture, the tension in his jaw, the way his composure wasn’t as effortless as before. He looked like he was actively holding himself back from something, grounding himself before it showed too much.
“Thank you,” you said warmly, smiling up at him.
He looked down at you, tilting his head slightly at how innocent you appeared with your ribbons and braids.
Forbidden.
That night, Fr. Jeon fell into the forbidden temptation he had been trying so hard to resist.
It was ten o’clock, yet he remained inside the church office, refusing to leave the premises until his mind and soul were free of guilt.
Frustrated, he buried himself in scripture, but his thoughts kept drifting back to your soft, beautiful thighs and the rosary bracelet on your wrist that had stirred such sinful thoughts within him.
“Forgive me,” he muttered under his breath, his tattooed hand sliding down his slacks to palm his hardening cock.
His lips parted. It had been a very long time since he had touched himself...he had almost forgotten how good it felt. With a shaky breath, he slowly stroked his growing erection, murmuring apologies and curses beneath his breath.
He nearly rolled his eyes back at the sensation. It felt far too good. His cock hardened with alarming ease at the mere thought of you.
Lust.
With trembling hands, he slowly pulled his cock free from his slacks. It was thick and pulsing, a bead of precum already forming at the swollen tip.
When his tattooed hand squeezed the base, more fluid gathered at the head, coating his throbbing shaft.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered under his breath, a groan escaping him as he rediscovered how good it felt to touch himself after so long.
It was sinful. Dirty.
He was still inside the church office, dressed in his usual black clerical shirt with its roman collar. Scripture lay open on his desk, and his glasses had begun to fog from the heat of his breath.
It had been years. He could no longer remember the last time he had touched a woman, nor the last time he had thought of one this way. When he devoted himself to the Lord, he had promised never to indulge in such acts again.
The longer he had restrained himself, the better it felt to finally release that tension after so many years. His cock almost ached. Thick and veiny, it twitched whenever he rolled the foreskin down.
“God, help me.” Fr. Jeon moaned shamelessly, jerking himself in slow, deliberate strokes, determined to savor every second of it.
He gathered spit in his mouth and let it trickle down his aching shaft. The added lubrication drew a groan from him. He bit down hard on his lip as the realization struck him once more—how good this felt, how much he had missed touching himself.
His thoughts drifted to you.
He imagined your sweet confession about still wearing the rosary bracelet he had given you... even while bathing. The thought lingered longer than it should have, unfurling in his mind as he pictured your small, delicate hands gliding a bar of soap across your soft skin. The rosary would brush against your chest with every movement, the beads shifting and sliding as you washed your nipples.
And then his thoughts wandered further, painting one image after another—your inner thighs, the way the beads might accidentally graze your soft skin as you shower. Each vision arrived unbidden, more vivid than the last, and far more difficult to suppress.
A sacred desire.
He was leaking more and more with every thought of you. The only sound echoing through the office was the wet rhythm of his hand jerking along his hard leaking cock.
Curious, he gathered a bead of precum between his thumb and index finger and brought it to his lips. The taste was salty, thick, and strangely addicting.
“Oh, God,” he groaned, collecting more of it only to taste himself again.
Your forbidden thighs.
The softness of them. The way he had been close enough to imagine burying himself in their warmth. The way they flushed pink beneath his touch. The way they looked so plump and beautiful, tempting thoughts he should never have entertained.
He imagined pressing kisses along your legs, lingering there as though each touch were an act of devotion. He imagined how soft your pussy would feel beneath his lips, how he would part your folds just to stare at your glistening cunt, worshipping it with the reverence of a prayer.
Fr. Jeon was close to climaxing, using memories of your past interactions to fuel his sinful fantasies. His hand was slick with saliva and precum, his thighs tensing as he struggled to hold himself back. He tried to edge himself, to prolong the moment, because the sensation felt far too good after so many years of restraint.
Your body. Even beneath your long dresses and modest blouses, he could tell you were beautiful.
It shamed him that it had been one of the first things he noticed when he saw you wearing that rosary. The way your chest filled out your modest clothing. The way your waist appeared so delicate beneath layers of fabric. The way he found himself wondering what was hidden beneath all that lace and decency.
It was a sin he was terrified to acknowledge. A sin he was terrified to put into words.
But you were beautiful, kind, gentle, and devoted in your faith.
He wanted to fuck you.
When the shameful thought finally broke free from the restraints he had placed upon it, he came hard, his release staining the dark fabric of his slacks.
A deep groan tore from his throat as he continued to stroke himself, milking every last wave of pleasure from his body. His thumb brushed along the underside of his cock, chasing the lingering sensitivity.
“Fuck, I’m still hard,” he muttered, biting his lower lip as he glanced down at himself.
It was understandable.
After years of abstinence, it wasn't surprising that his body responded so eagerly. The restraint he had maintained for so long seemed to have shattered all at once.
Yearning.
All night, instead of losing himself in scripture, he gave in to temptation. His hand jerked shamelessly over his cock as his thoughts returned to you again and again. To every forbidden desire he had tried to suppress. To every impulse he had buried beneath prayer, discipline, and devotion.
Hours passed unnoticed.
He had so much pent-up desire, so much neglected hunger, that he remained awake until dawn, caught in an endless cycle of pleasure in jerking his insatiable cock. The office grew quiet around him while the darkness slowly gave way to morning light, yet his thoughts never strayed far from your face, your kindness, and the feelings he had spent so long denying.
And the fantasies that filled his mind were so sinful that he feared they had carried him beyond forgiveness.
“This should do it,” you giggled to yourself, wrapping the bandage poorly on purpose so he would have an excuse to fix it for you again.
Your box of cookies was already prepared, resting neatly on your lap while you held a bible in your hands and waited for Fr. Jeon.
Unfortunately, hours passed with nothing but the sound of turning pages accompanying you. You flipped through scripture after scripture, occasionally glancing toward the door, expecting him to appear at any moment.
Yet he never came.
Confused, you eventually stepped out of the office to look for him yourself. Perhaps he was outside helping with the donations or speaking with parishioners, as he often did. But after wandering around the church grounds and checking every place you could think of, you still couldn't find him anywhere.
“Where is he?” you pouted to yourself, a disappointed sigh slipping past your lips as you made your way back to his office.
By the time you returned, the warm glow of sunset had already begun spilling through the stained-glass windows.
Realizing he wasn't coming, you reluctantly decided to leave the cookies behind along with a small handwritten note. The thought alone made your chest feel strangely heavy.
“I miss him already,” you murmured, frowning at your own words.
It wasn't as if you could simply call or text him. Despite spending weeks at the church, Fr. Jeon had never given you his number, and you had never found the courage to ask for it. Perhaps it was because you preferred seeing him in person.
The idea of receiving his answers through a text message whenever you had questions about scripture felt disappointing somehow. You liked sitting across from him, listening to his voice as he patiently explained things to you. You liked the little smiles he gave you, the way his attention never seemed rushed, and the comfort that came with simply being around him.
That day left you unusually sad. It was the first time you hadn't seen him at all. Even when he was busy, he always managed to stop by, if only for a minute. No matter how much work he had, he never missed the opportunity to check on you.
Avoidance.
You came back today...hopeful that you would finally see him again and finally ask where he had been yesterday, you were instead met with confusion when he didn’t appear again. You pouted when you noticed the box of cookies you had left behind was still untouched, exactly where you had placed it.
“That’s odd, he can’t miss a bible reading,” you murmured to yourself, already accustomed to his usual routine. He always visited the church at a certain time to pray quietly and read scripture before continuing his day, and you had grown used to waiting for him during those moments.
But days passed, and he was still nowhere to be seen.
The cookies you had prepared for him began to lose their freshness, and the papers he usually kept neatly on his desk started to gather dust. A strange sense of unease settled in your chest as you tried to understand what had changed.
You asked around the church, speaking to parishioners and volunteers, hoping someone might have seen him or could explain where he had gone. But what you learned nearly broke your heart.
He was still coming to the church every day. He just arrived earlier now.
You had always known his schedule well—he used to visit his office around three in the afternoon, which was why you were always there waiting at that time. You never thought he would suddenly change it without warning.
“T-Thank you,” you managed to say, forcing a small smile when one of the parishioners finally informed you that he had been seeing Fr. Jeon every morning. You were lucky this particular parishioner stayed at the church throughout the day, otherwise you might never have learned the truth.
Still, the information left you disappointed and strangely hurt.
The fact that he was visiting every day but never acknowledged your cookies. The fact that he never even left a note to explain. The fact that you had been waiting for him all this time, dressed in your usual modest dresses, as if your presence alone meant anything to him.
Tears slowly began to gather in your eyes for reasons you couldn’t fully understand. It felt almost like being rejected without a single word, like a quiet heartbreak you hadn’t been prepared for. It seemed as though he was suddenly avoiding you.
“What did I do?” you pouted softly to yourself, walking home with slumped shoulders as you tried to wipe away the tears rolling down your cheeks.
On the way, your thoughts turned over your last interaction with him. Had you been too bold? Had he noticed something in you that you thought you had hidden well? Had he finally realized that your devotion wasn’t as pure as it appeared?
The more you thought about it, the more desperate you became to see him again. And instead of wanting to reveal your true ill intentions, you found yourself wishing the opposite—that he would see how devoted you were, how deeply you admired him, how willingly you would sacrifice your dignity just to remain close to him.
Restraint.
You didn’t know that he had been avoiding you all along, because your sick plan had finally taken effect, his careful restraint crumbling like a rock under pressure.
Fr. Jeon couldn’t bring himself to face you. Even the slightest eye contact felt like it would burn through his skin, your presence alone eating away at whatever remained of his guilt until there was nothing left but discomfort and temptation.
Desperate.
You woke up early that day, preparing yourself carefully so you could see him. The constant overthinking had become unbearable, and you were convinced that seeing him would finally calm your thoughts.
Slowly, you walked through the church halls, your kitten heels clicking softly against the marble floor. Your wandering gaze passed over parishioners and silent figures lost in prayer, the morning air gentle and warm as it settled over your chaotic mind. The scent of the church—fresh flowers and holy water—was oddly soothing as you moved deeper inside.
But as you went further in, you nearly lost your balance when you noticed his office door slightly ajar.
Your heart began to pound in anticipation as you carefully approached. And when you finally looked inside, your eyes widened.
There he was.
In his usual black clerical long-sleeved shirt and roman collar, Fr. Jeon stood looking down at the box of cookies you had left a week ago.
Your heart sank at the realization that he must have seen the box of cookies days ago—and still chose to ignore it.
Taking a steadying breath, you stepped inside and gently closed the door behind you, locking it without hesitation.
“Fr. Jeon,” you said softly.
He looked up immediately, his eyes widening as though he had seen something he shouldn’t have. For a brief moment, he looked almost like he had seen a ghost. His entire body stiffened, tension tightening in his posture as he forced himself upright.
“What are you doing here?” His tone came out sharper than intended, almost accusatory, as he tried to regain control of himself by straightening his clerical collar and adjusting the bridge of his glasses.
You frowned at the reaction, slowly taking a step closer. Something in your chest cracked when you noticed how his expression shifted with each movement you made—his brows tightening, his gaze dropping as if he couldn’t bear to hold it steady on you for too long.
“You didn’t get the cookies I got you,” you said with a small pout, glancing between the box and him as if the answer should have been obvious.
Fr. Jeon bit his lower lip and closed his eyes for a moment, as though needing time to steady himself.
“I was… busy,” he said, his throat tightening as he swallowed hard. He almost stepped back when you moved closer.
You tilted your head at him. “Am I taking too much of your time, Father?” you asked softly, your voice carrying a sad little pout.
Patience.
Fr. Jeon exhaled slowly and heavily, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek as if trying to ground himself. Your presence alone seemed to shut down every carefully built wall he had been maintaining.
He looked down at your sad pout, and something in him nearly cracked at the sight of your sadness. For a moment, his composure faltered as fantasies surged back in, uninvited and overwhelming.
For the past few days, he had been deliberately avoiding you. He had started arriving at the church earlier, knowing you always came in the afternoon, carefully timing his routines so he would not run into you. He avoided his office as well, because every corner of it reminded him of you.
But this morning, he had come in anyway.
And the first thing he saw was the box of cookies you had left behind… along with a small note that said you missed him.
Desire.
For the past few nights, he had been jerking his cock non-stop. Ever since that first time, he couldn’t shake the feeling, couldn’t resist the urge to return to it again and again—groaning your name under his breath like a sacred prayer.
“No, sweetheart… I’m just—”
“I’m sorry… I just really like it here, and I love talking to you,” you said in a soft tone, stepping closer until he could smell your vanilla perfume, your pleading eyes pulling him deeper into your orbit.
Fr. Jeon swallowed harshly, his pulse quickening at how sweet and beautiful you looked for him.
“Sweetheart—”
“Would you like me to leave?” you asked quietly, biting your lower lip.
His eyes dropped to your lips. His hands curled into fists, every passing second testing his hard-earned faith and devotion.
But no...he would rather endure the torment alone, rather than risk touching your beautiful, tempting soul.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t give you much of my time right now. I’ve been really busy—” Fr. Jeon said with finality.
Suddenly, you rose onto your tiptoes to meet his height and wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.
“It’s okay, Father… I understand,” you whispered, your lips lingering dangerously close to his.
Succumbed.
Before you could pull away, his hands slid to your waist, steadying you—holding you in place more firmly than expected. You were about to look at him in confusion when he suddenly crashed his lips into yours.
Your eyes widened, your body nearly falling backward, but he held you firmly in place. His kiss was harsh and desperate—like a man starved, and you were the only water in a burning desert.
His tongue forced its way into your mouth, and the sound of his low groan sent shivers down your spine.
His brows were furrowed tightly, every bit of pent-up frustration spilling into the kiss. It was rough, consuming—his control slipping as he pulled you deeper into it, saliva beginning to spill messily between your mouths from how intensely he claimed your lips.
When he finally pulled away, his pupils were blown wide. His lips were red and swollen, his chin damp with both of your saliva.
He released your waist almost instantly, as though you had burned him.
Swallowing hard, he stared down at your flushed cheeks and swollen lips.
Oh God. What had he done?
“W-What—” you stammered, bewildered, still in shock at how easily Fr. Jeon—a priest with such a good reputation….had fallen into your lips like a man undone by weakness and lust.
Surrendered.
When you saw him step back, his brows furrowing as if he had just realized what he had done, you immediately grabbed his arms.
“I—I’m sorry, this is blasphemous, I—”
You pulled him back and kissed him again, softer this time. “I like you, Fr. Jeon. Please don’t avoid me,” you almost pleaded, tugging him down so you could reach his lips again.
His eyes widened. He shook his head immediately. “Y/N, n-no… this is wrong,” he blurted weakly, trying to grab your wrists as you pulled him closer.
Hearing those words from your mouth struck something deep in him, shaking his resolve. He couldn’t fall for you, he couldn’t kiss you, he couldn’t touch you...he couldn’t even think about you.
The only solution was to stay away—to pretend none of this had ever happened.
You shook your head. “Please, I want you so badly… there’s nothing wrong with this,” you insisted, trying to kiss him again, but he turned away. His eyes were heavy-lidded, weakened, the air in the office suddenly suffocating.
“You make me happy, Fr. Jeon… please,” you pleaded.
He shook his head firmly. “I am a priest, Y/N. This is forbidden,” he said weakly, his voice low and rough—like every word cost him something, like it was painful to say.
“But...why did you kiss me?” you pleaded.
Fr. Jeon groaned under his breath, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.
“Do you like me too, Fr. Jeon?” you pushed further, stepping closer, watching how much it seemed to strain him.
“Y/N, this is wrong—”
Your lips parted. “You...you like me,” you concluded when he didn’t deny it.
A small smile formed on your lips at the confirmation. Suddenly, the past few weeks made sense—the distance, the avoidance, the restraint. Everything clicked into place.
When he weakly let go of your wrists, you immediately wrapped your arms around his neck, as if he had finally surrendered to you. His lips parted, his eyes clouded and hazy.
“Since when, Father?” you whispered, your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.
He shut his eyes tightly. The feeling of your hands on him was already enough to send him spiraling. His lack of physical affection was becoming obvious in the way his body reacted—his restraint slipping under something as simple as your soft, shallow touch.
“The first time I saw you at the church,” he whispered so low you almost didn’t catch it, as though even admitting it was a sin.
You gasped, your eyes widening at the revelation that he had noticed you from the very beginning.
“I-I thought… you didn’t recognize me. Y-You were always so busy and—”
“I did,” he cut in softly, his voice rough. “But it’s impure of me to stare at such beauty. I cannot do that.”
His gaze dropped to your lips again, weak and conflicted.
You gasped, a fond grin forming on your beautiful face. “Indeed, that’s very impure of you…Father,” you giggled.
Fr. Jeon groaned, attempting to step back again, but this time you pulled him closer and kissed him without hesitation. When you tried to part his lips with yours, you felt him shake his head, his hands gripping your waist to hold you back.
“N-No… we can’t—”
“Shh... it’s okay, Father… we’ll keep this a secret,” you whispered like a little devil in disguise, your pouty lips brushing against his again. “No one will know…”
Fr. Jeon groaned, your words sending shivers down his spine. The tension between restraint and desire tightened further.
“No, sweetheart, this is wrong… we should—”
“Please, Father…I’m already so wet.” you mumbled softly, looking at him with pleading eyes.
His eyes widened. It had been a long time since he had heard such crude words—especially coming from a pretty mouth like yours.
“T-That’s—” he stammered, his composure slipping further under the weight of you.
“Unholy?” you giggled, taking his right hand and guiding it beneath your long skirt.
His lips parted when his fingers brushed against the wet fabric of your underwear. His cheeks and ears burned red at the realization of how aroused you were.
You bit your lip, rising onto your tiptoes to whisper against his ear.
“No one will know.” you dragged your tongue along the shell of it, smiling when you heard him let out a soft, broken sound.
Blasphemous.
His lips grazed your inner thighs as his once devout, God-bound gaze now fixed on your bare, wet pussy. He knelt before you like you were some immaculate saint.
“Y-You’re so beautiful,” he said breathlessly, his fingers parting your folds and gently pulling back your hood to expose your sensitive clit.
You gasped loudly when he spat onto your center, his soft lips immediately wrapping around your clit, sucking in both his saliva and your wetness.
“Oh, God,” you moaned.
Fr. Jeon looked almost sacred between your thighs. Your skirt was bunched at your waist just enough for him to fully indulge in your pussy, while his black clerical shirt began to stain from how much you were dripping onto him. His glasses had grown slightly fogged from the heat of his breath against your body and the warmth between your legs.
He ate your pussy like a starving man, unable to get enough. His tongue pushed inside your tight cunt in search of more, drawing more juices from you, while the obscene sounds of his mouth filled the room. His throat worked with every swallow, adam’s apple bobbing as he greedily took in every drop you gave him.
“You taste so good,” he mumbled between your thighs, the vibration of his voice sending pleasure straight to your core.
You bit your lip, giggling softly while trying to keep your balance—you were leaning against his desk.
“Do you like how wet it is?” you asked, looking down at him as if amused by how much he was enjoying himself.
Fr. Jeon nodded against your cunt. “So wet and pretty,” he mumbled, sucking your clit until his cheeks hollowed, his dimples showing each time he latched on harder.
The way he ate you out was wet and messy, continuously spitting as his lips stayed locked around your clit. You gasped when he pinched your folds together, trying to eat your entire pussy into his warm mouth.
Every time you squirmed, he tightened his grip on your thighs, groaning under his breath as if he wanted to drown himself in you completely.
Whenever he pulled back to breathe, he took a moment to stare at your swollen, messy cunt—admiring it like something sacred, something almost holy in its beauty. He whispered how ethereal it was before spitting on it again and diving back in hungrily.
“H-How come you’re so good at that?” you moaned, looking down at his mouth as he remained relentless, your juices dripping down his chin.
Fr. Jeon looked up at you, adjusting the glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. “I’ve fantasized about this,” he said with a smile. “I imagine devouring your cunt while I jerk off my cock.”
He pressed a light kiss to the top of your clit before burying his face against you again.
Your eyes rolled back at the confession, a small smirk playing on your lips. “Hmm... really? That’s ungodly, Father.”
Fr. Jeon only groaned, pressing his face deeper until you were certain he could barely breathe. “I’m only willing to surrender myself to you.”
You gasped. The way he said it felt so wrong, so forbidden, and your pussy throbbed at the thought of him willingly committing such sinful acts, of him literally being on his knees for you.
When he felt your wetness growing, he lifted his head slightly to look at your cunt. Using his index and middle finger, he spread you open, watching as more of your milky-white juices gathered.
Fr. Jeon groaned, swallowing hard at the sight of how wet and horny you had become.
“You like that, sweetheart?”
He gathered your juices, the pads of his fingers sliding down your slit and making you flinch. Your breath caught when you watched him scoop your cum onto his fingers and bring them to his mouth, tasting your sweetness. "You got so much wetter."
“Fr. Jeon, oh my—”
He continued gathering the excess wetness, scooping up your cum until he was satisfied that you were no longer dripping. His brows furrowed as he sucked the collected juices from his fingers, unwilling to let any of it go to waste.
When he finally gathered the last drop, you frowned as he rose to his feet.
For a moment, you thought he was done. Then he brought his fingers, coated with your cum, up to your mouth.
“Open up, sweetheart.” he whispered, his gaze lowering to your lips, swollen from how hard you had been biting them.
You slowly opened your mouth, moaning when he slid his fingers inside so you could taste your own juices mixed with traces of his saliva.
“You taste like sin, don’t you?” he said softly, his fingers twirling inside your mouth, nearly making you gag.
You sucked on his fingers, your cheeks hollowing eagerly as you looked up at him with expectant eyes. “Mhm. I want to taste how pure you are, then,” you said softly, sucking his fingers the way you imagined sucking his cock.
His cock twitched inside his slacks, precum already gathering at the swollen tip.
He immediately shook his head. “Want to make you cum first, sweetheart.”
Before you could protest, he was already kneeling again, his tongue out as he buried his face between your thighs as though his life depended on it. His nose brushed against your swollen clit while his tongue alternated between slow, deliberate licks and eager suction, determined to draw every reaction from you.
The moment he sensed you were getting close, he pushed his tongue deeper, determined to suck every drop. You were about to push him away from the sudden wave of oversensitivity, but his grip on you tightened.
"I wanna swallow it, please."
You bit down hard on your lip, whispering curses beneath your breath as your body tensed. Your pussy pulsed uncontrollably, heat rushing through you as release overtook your senses.
He groaned at the way your body responded to him, your pussy throbbing vigorously against his tongue.
“I-I want to pleasure you too,” you almost cried.
He didn't stop eating you, even after you came he was sucking your pussy again. He had already made you cum several times just by eating you out. Even after your fifth orgasm, he still hadn’t stopped—still devouring you, drawing out every last drop before spitting it back down onto your slit, pulling your folds apart just to watch it drip, then catching it again with his tongue as if he couldn’t get enough.
You were already overstimulated, your thighs burning from his tight grip, but every time you looked down at him, another wave of arousal surged through you. His brows were furrowed, his eyes closed, almost as if he were praying.
“Please, I want to eat your pussy more.” he mumbled, looking up at you through his glasses, his tongue teasing slow circles around your very swollen clit.
It had been hours. His knees were already red from kneeling, and your back ached from leaning against his desk, yet he still had the stamina to continue, again and again. His cheeks and chin were slick from your cum.
You could see his slacks straining…his arousal obvious beneath the fabric—but he remained focused, almost pleading when you tried to push him away, his mouth still following your spent pussy as if he couldn’t let go.
“Please… one more, sweetheart,” he begged, his thumb soothing along your inner thighs.
When you shyly nodded, he parted your legs further, scooping up what remained of your release as it dripped down. His face pressed in close, his nose brushing against you as he worked, the carpet below you already damp with a mixture of saliva and your arousal.
Unholy.
The once-simple afternoon bible sessions had turned into something far more profane.
The moment you arrived at his office and locked the door behind you, his hands were immediately around you. He would drop to his knees, pushing your panties aside so he could press his face against your wet slit, sniffing your cunt before his tongue slipped out to taste your wetness.
“Hmm… do you like my pussy, Fr. Jeon?” you whispered, fingers tangling in his hair as he indulged you.
He groaned against you, burying his face deeper. “Like it so much.”
He was always so desperate—needy, almost whiny. It was obvious how deeply his years of abstinence had affected him, how long he had denied himself even the thought of such intimacy.
Every touch carried the weight of that restraint, as though all those years of self-denial had finally found an outlet. The way he ate your pussy for hours without stopping, the way he would suck your breasts until they turned swollen and red.
Every time you tried to touch him, he would pin your hands down instead. You had never really touched him yet—he always insisted on giving first, on worshipping you instead. He would say that pleasing you was enough,that eating your cum was enough for him, that devoting himself to your body was what satisfied him most.
“Shh, sweetheart… please be quiet.” he pleaded, his middle and index finger pushing inside your cunt, knuckles deep while massaging your spongy spot.
You were certain his fingers were already wrinkled from how long he had been fingering you, your nipples swollen and sensitive from how harshly he had been sucking them while rubbing your clit.
You bit your lip, tears almost forming in your eyes from how good it felt. “S-sorry, it’s just so good,” you mumbled incoherently.
Fr. Jeon groaned. “Yeah?” He spat down where his fingers met your pussy. “Hear that, sweetheart? You’re so wet for me.” he muttered, biting your nipple harshly while his fingers continued going in and out of your wet cunt, the sounds echoing inside the church office.
You were always a whining mess. Even if he hadn’t fucked you yet, your body was constantly left exhausted from how intensely he made you cum repeatedly. Your legs were always wobbly and shaking after each round, and you would always come home with new hickeys and bruises left by his harsh mouth.
He had the stamina to go on for hours and hours, until the entire afternoon was filled with nothing but wet sounds and your filthy moans echoing through his office.
You wanted to return the pleasure so badly, but every time he begged you to eat your pussy, your knees would go weak. You always gave him what he wanted, opening your legs and spreading your cunt for him.
It was one afternoon when you decided that you wanted to please him.
He was busy sucking on your nipples when you noticed how hard he was beneath his slacks. Your eyes rolling back when you saw him almost humping the air.
With a determined groan, you gently pushed him away from you. Your nipples were already pink and swollen.
“Let me taste you,” you pleaded, pressing a kiss to his cheek before trailing down his jaw.
He protested again, trying to guide you back against the couch.
“Sweetheart—”
“Please, Father.” you begged. “You always make me cum so good. I think I’d cum even harder if I got to taste your cock.”
You couldn’t deny that he always left you more than satisfied, constantly pushing you to the edge of overstimulation. Every time it happened, you could see just how hard his cock was. Sometimes, you would even catch the subtle movements of his hips while he was buried between your thighs, completely consumed by pleasuring you.
Fr. Jeon licked his lower lip, as though contemplating whether he could truly accept the idea of you being on your knees for him. It felt like too much to bear, as if he wasn’t ready for it yet. Shamefully, he was certain he would cum the moment your lips touched his tip.
But seeing you like this—begging, your lips drawn into a sweet pout—made his resolve weaken. His eyes fluttered shut helplessly as you eagerly knelt in front of him.
“Sweetheart,” he rasped, swallowing hard.
You looked up at him before slowly leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss against the bulge beneath his slacks.
A harsh groan escaped him. His cock throbbed beneath the fabric, and that simple, innocent kiss was almost enough to make him stumble.
When you pulled down his zipper, you gasped audibly at the sight of his black boxers, already soaked with a large patch of wetness from his precum.
“You’re leaking, Father,” you said with a pout, looking up at him with sparkling eyes.
He sucked in a breath, his hands curling into fists as he struggled to compose himself. You looked beautiful and completely undignified at the same time, and it was becoming harder and harder for him to resist.
Slowly, you tugged down his boxers...just enough to tuck his balls and free his hard cock.
Your eyes widened.
He was huge and pretty, twitching on his own and curving upward. Thick veins ran along his shaft, and his swollen pink tip glistened with precum.
You licked your lower lip, unable to hide your anticipation at the sight of him. Leaning forward, you pressed a soft kiss to the wet tip.
A strained whimper escaped him.
His hands immediately grabbed the sides of his clerical shirt, as though physically restraining himself from losing control over something as simple as your lips touching him.
“Look at me when I suck you, Fr. Jeon.” you said, raising a brow when you noticed him avoiding eye contact.
He bit his lower lip, trying to look down at you.
You gasped when his cock twitched the moment you made eye contact.
With a teasing look, you slowly sucked his mushroom tip while keeping your eyes on him, fluttering your lashes as you took him into your warm mouth.
He groaned harshly. He was about to close his eyes, but you shook your head immediately.
“Eyes on me, please.”
“Oh, God,” he whimpered, looking down at you through heavy-lidded eyes as you eagerly sucked his leaking tip.
You swirled your tongue along the underside of his cock, his eyes rolling back every time you repeated the motion. When you finally pulled away, you spat on the tip, your fingers immediately spreading your saliva and his precum along the shaft, leaving him even wetter and messier.
“Does it feel good?” you asked before taking his tip into your mouth again, trying to take him deeper until his mushroom head brushed the back of your throat. The upward curve of his cock dragged against the roof of your mouth, drawing another whimper from him.
“Y-You look like a slut,” he blurted out through a moan, his jaw repeatedly tensing, his knuckles turning white from how tightly he was fisting his shirt.
You looked up at him and nodded obediently...like a good girl seeking praise.
He bit his lower lip. “My pretty slut.”
Fr. Jeon was trying so hard not to come. He wanted to savor the feeling of your tight mouth around him for as long as possible, wanted to hold on to it, to prolong it, but you were simply too much..too pretty, too warm. Every time you took him deeper, his resolve weakened a little more.
Your eyes were already beginning to redden, your throat struggling to accommodate his thickness. Drool slipped messily down your chin, and the wet, obscene sounds coming from your mouth only pushed him closer to the edge. Each swallow, each desperate attempt to take more of him, made his chest tighten with pleasure, his restraint slipping further and further away.
Whenever you pulled back to catch your breath, you would stroke his cock quickly with your hands and spit messily onto his tip.
Before the saliva could slide down his length, you would take him back into your mouth, licking along his shaft and tracing the prominent veins with your tongue before returning to the swollen underside of his head with soft, teasing kitten licks.
Using your free hand, you reached up to cup his balls gently, applying just enough pressure to make him whimper. The movement only made it harder for him to hold himself together, especially as you continued gagging on his cock like a good little slut.
The moment you noticed him clutching his shirt again, you immediately grabbed his hand.
“Use my mouth, Father,” you whispered, guiding his hand to your hair, silently urging him to take control.
Fr. Jeon groaned and shook his head, but your eagerness never wavered. You paused, waiting patiently for him, your eyes fixed on his face.
The moment you placed your hands obediently behind your back, he nearly cursed the Lord himself.
He weakly dragged a hand through your hair, gathering it away from your face before pulling you a little closer. His jaw tightened as he looked down at you, every ounce of restraint tested by the sight of your quiet obedience.
Grabbing your hair with both hands, he guided your face toward him before finally rolling his hips, slowly thrusting into your waiting mouth.
“God, you really are a slut,” he moaned, his composure unraveling a little more with every passing second.
Whenever he pulled back, you would twirl your tongue around the underside of his crown, earning a shaky whimper from him. Then, he would push you down forcefully onto his cock, your nose hitting his pubic hair as he lost whatever restraint he had left.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, sweetheart,” he whimpered.
Your mouth was already growing tired, but you remained determined, refusing to pull away. Tears gathered in your eyes and slipped down your cheeks as you struggled to keep up with him, yet you stayed exactly where he wanted you.
When he saw the tears in your eyes, he almost stopped.
But you eagerly took him deeper, deliberately pushing forward until your face was pressed flush against his pubic hair. Your mouth struggled to accommodate his thickness, soft gargling sounds escaping despite your efforts to suppress them, yet you took everything he gave you.
“God, fuck.” his eyes rolled back as he released hot, thick cum into your mouth.
He was about to push you away when your hands tightened around the backs of his thighs, holding him firmly in place...determined not to let a single drop of his cum go to waste.
“Sweetheart,” he said weakly.
When you finally pulled away- his cock slipping from your lips, you stuck out your tongue to show him his thick, milky cum. Your lashes fluttered as you held his gaze for a moment, letting him take in the sight before you swallowed.
Delirious.
“The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.”
Fr. Jeon stood before the congregation, one hand resting lightly against the pulpit as he prepared to proclaim the gospel.
“A reading from the Holy Gospel according to Matthew.”
“Glory to You, O Lord,” you whispered under your breath, your sparkling eyes lifted up toward him.
You were in your usual favorite spot—in the front row, like his favorite little church girl—your hair tied with a white ribbon, a long modest dress hiding the sinful image beneath.
Every time he spoke, his eyes never lingered on you. He looked over the crowd like a devoted priest, delivering his words slowly, with quiet passion. And whenever he did happen to find you in the congregation, he would only glance past you, as if you were anyone else.
You smirked inwardly. Who would’ve known that this same priest was literally begging on his knees to eat your pussy inside the church office?
When Holy Communion came, you made sure to open the first few buttons of your dress, revealing the rosary necklace you were wearing—the small cross resting between the plush curve of your cleavage.
“The Body of… Christ,” Fr. Jeon said slowly, his eyes drifting down to the rosary wrapped around your neck, the cross sitting dangerously above your breasts.
“Amen,” you said softly, parting your lips for him.
You almost smiled in quiet victory when you saw his jaw tighten—his composure slowly, subtly fracturing beneath the weight of your sacrilegious act.
When he placed the host on your tongue, you leaned in just slightly too far, letting your tongue brush against his thumb in a fleeting, deliberate touch. So small it could be denied. So intentional it could not be mistaken.
A soft hum escaped you as you pulled back, watching the shift in him—the way his body stilled, the way his breath caught. You were already turning away when his voice followed you, low and controlled.
“Meet me after this.”
You looked up at him, briefly thrown, but his gaze had already returned to the ritual at hand, as if nothing had happened.
Delight curled through you at the sight of him unraveling so carefully in public, holding himself together by force alone while you watched the cracks form in real time.
And when you returned to your seat, you could still feel it—the difference. His voice had deepened into something sharper, more distant. His posture stiffened as he finished the mass, each word now measured, restrained, as though he were forcing himself back into place one line at a time.
Wicked.
Sitting properly on the couch in his office, you waited patiently for Fr. Jeon. It was the first time you would see each other up close after mass, and the thought alone made a soft, bubbling excitement bloom in your chest.
You even brought a small box of cookies for him, carefully balanced in your lap, as if sweetness alone could disguise the anticipation curling beneath your ribs.
When the office door finally opened, you looked up at once and smiled.
He stood there still in his liturgical vestments. Over his white alb, he wore a flowing chasuble that draped heavily over his shoulders, embroidered gold catching the afternoon light that spilled through the glass windows like something almost sacred in itself. A white stole rested beneath it all, marking him clearly as the celebrant of the mass, a figure meant to be untouchable.
He looked absolutely breathtaking—so holy, so distant, so unreachable.
And yet, you already had him like a servant—willing, obedient, on his knees for you.
When he walked toward you, his expression was serious and unyielding. You stood up quickly, excitement lifting you, holding out your small gift for him.
“Good afternoon, Fr. Jeon. I got you cooki—”
The cookies slipped from your hands as he suddenly closed the distance, his hand wrapping around your throat. The rosary beads pressed sharply into your skin.
“I told you...that rosaries are not meant to be worn around your neck, didn’t I?” he said in a mocking tone, his voice low and controlled. His eyes looked darker behind his glasses.
His liturgical vestments suddenly felt overwhelming in this close space, no longer distant or ceremonial, but imposing, almost suffocating, as if you were only now realizing the weight of him in this proximity.
You gasped as his fingers tightened slightly around your throat, not enough to hurt—just enough to demand an answer.
“Y-You did, Father.”
“Mhm. I did,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “Didn’t I?”
A shiver ran down your spine as you felt the shift in him—how his composure had snapped so suddenly, as if the thin thread of his restraint, stretched in the presence of the Lord, had finally given way.
Dominance.
You gasped when he kissed you hard, cutting off your breath in an instant. His other hand bunched up the long skirts of your dress, hot palms slipping beneath the fabric to cup your warm pussy.
“You’re so impure,” he chuckled darkly, his fingers tracing over your clothed clit.
A soft moan escaped you as you tried to wriggle in his hold, but his grip at your throat kept you firmly in place.
“Sit on my desk and spread your legs,” he commanded, releasing you all at once—both your throat and your pussy.
With shaky legs, you moved toward his desk, climbing onto it and bunching your long skirt up around your waist before slowly spreading your legs wide for him.
Fr. Jeon walked toward you, his gaze fixed on the sight of you—so openly willing for him. The rosary cross rested between your breasts like a sin made visible, the white ribbons in your hair now looking almost tainted, your dress bunched up enough to expose your wet cunt to him.
His fingers closed around the rosary you were wearing. Your breath hitched as he slowly pulled it, forcing your neck to tilt forward with the motion.
“You’re such a whore, wearing this around me,” he said in a condescending tone, drawing you closer until he pressed a shallow kiss to your lips.
“I-Isn’t it pretty?” you asked weakly, still trying to tease him.
He let out a humorless chuckle. Without another word, he reached for the scripture on his desk. “I’ll show you what’s pretty.”
You gasped as he pulled the rosary again, forcing you forward while his other hand held the bible. “Open your mouth.”
Confused, you slowly obeyed, your eyes widening when he suddenly placed the book between your teeth.
“Hold still and bite the scripture,” he commanded sharply before spreading your legs wider.
You bit down hard on the book as he suddenly slapped your cunt.
“Mhmp!” you whimpered, eyes watering from the intensity of it.
Fr. Jeon raised a brow. He lifted his hand, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean, his gaze locked on you as he slowly dragged his tongue over them. You bit down harder on the book when he used his saliva-coated fingers to slap your cunt again.
“Shh, quiet, sweetheart… there are other people outside- praying,” he said mockingly, tugging lightly on the rosary around your neck.
You bit down harder when he slapped your cunt again, pulling harshly on the rosary around your neck whenever your whimpers escaped.
“Poor baby… you want me to finger you?” he cooed, slapping your cunt once more. Your panties were already soaked, your arousal building from the relentless stimulation.
You eagerly nodded, drool spilling past your lips and onto the scripture beneath you. Your neck was beginning to ache and swell each time he tugged on the beads.
“Do you deserve it?” he asked, twirling the rosary between his fingers, playing with it slowly.
A tear slipped down your cheek when he slapped your cunt again. Your thighs tried to wriggle on the table, but he only pulled harder on the rosary in response.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m finally going to give you what you want,” he said, letting go of you.
Your eyes almost rolled back when you saw him kneel.
You drooled messily against the book when he flipped your panties aside, three of his fingers immediately slipping inside you to stretch your cunt.
“So tight, sweetheart,” he chuckled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your clit while his fingers continued to thrust inside you.
Each time his fingers pulled back, a fresh gush of wetness spilled out, revealing just how needy and aroused you were.
Looking down, you saw how godly he looked—kneeling so close to your pussy, lips parted as he watched his fingers disappear in and out of your tight hole.
“Mhmph,” you whimpered, his fingers knuckles deep inside you, brushing against your spongy spot and leaving you wriggly and tingly.
“You’re so soaked, sweetheart. It’s so hard to rub you properly like this… so, so wet.”
When he saw how restless you were getting, he suddenly removed his fingers. You were about to frown when he stood up, your eyes widening as he began removing his chasuble and slacks.
“This is what you wanted, right?” he taunted, finally revealing his hard cock.
It was already thick and hard, twitching on its own before he even touched it. Prominent veins pulsed along the girth, and his mushroom tip looked swollen and flushed. Using his fingers, he squeezed the plump head, drawing out more precum before spreading it along the shaft. He slowly rolled the foreskin down, his gaze fixed on your helpless body.
“Do you want this cock inside your tight little pussy?” he said breathily, jerking his hard cock in his hand…his eyes were heavy-lidded, lips slightly parted.
You nodded eagerly, tears spilling down your cheeks from anticipation. Your pussy pulsed hard, leaking more of your arousal down onto the table beneath you.
He chuckled, gripping both of your thighs and spreading them wider for him. “Hold your skirt up, sweetheart,” he murmured, as your long skirt kept drifting down while he positioned you.
With weak hands, you slowly bunched your skirt up. Your jaw was already aching from biting down on the book, but you were determined to be a good girl for him, biting down harder as your eyes turned red and your cheeks flushed, warm and swollen.
When he positioned his mushroom tip against your slit, you almost dropped the book. The feeling of his wet cock against your folds sent a sharp jolt through you.
“Gonna fuck you now, sweetheart,” he whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead.
Your teeth nearly ached from how hard you bit down when he suddenly pushed inside you. Your tight walls immediately sucked him in. You watched his lips part in shock, his eyes rolling back for a moment—before he could even thrust, you felt him spilling inside you.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he cursed under his breath, trembling as he suddenly came so hard inside you, his lips parting at how good your pussy felt.
You were so warm and tight that he was already convulsing. His grip on your waist tightened so hard it was almost painful. You were shocked—you hadn’t expected him to cum that quickly, but then again, it had been so long since he’d done anything like this. The pent-up frustration was overwhelming, and the moment he felt you, he was already shaking.
When you saw him trembling, you slowly removed the book from your lips. Your jaw ached, but you still managed to give him a small, weak smile.
“Mhm, am I tight, Fr. Jeon?” you whispered weakly, feeling him twitch inside you, filling you with so much cum that it had you feeling completely full.
"T-Too tight." he groaned.
His arms were growing weaker, still trying to push his cum deeper and deeper into your cunt. His cock was already overstimulated and softening, but he still wanted his cum buried deep inside you, some of it already dripping down your thighs.
He groaned, pushing his cock deeper until he was finally hard again. You could feel his mushroom tip swell once more, your pussy stretching around his thickening girth.
“You feel so good,” he whispered, eyes heavy-lidded as he looked down at you. He had come so hard he had nearly forgotten about the book he made you bite down on, his rational thoughts slipping away completely, leaving only the heat and the feeling of you.
You bit your lip, opening your legs wider. “Yeah? Do you miss having such a warm pussy around your cock?”
His lips parted...his right hand returned to your neck, fingers wrapping around your throat.
“What a dirty mouth you have,” he whispered breathily, like he was only just remembering why he was fucking you so hard in the first place.
He squeezed your throat, earning a loud whimper from you.
Before you could coo at him, he was already flipping you over, bending you against his desk. He immediately grabbed the book, shoving it forcefully into your mouth.
“You think I’m done, huh?” he taunted, kneeling down behind you.
You groaned, biting down on the scripture again, whimpering loudly when you felt him spreading your wet pussy from behind.
“Push my cum out for me,” he said, opening your folds and waiting for you to push it out.
You contracted your pussy, and a gush of his milky white cum spilled from your used hole. Before it could even drip onto the floor, his tongue was already there, scooping it up and swallowing everything until no trace was left.
When he stood up, you were left a trembling mess. Your eyes widened as he pulled on the rosary necklace, the beads wrapping around your throat like a collar. He used it as leverage before pushing his cock back inside you.
“Shh… bite down on the scripture. Let it silence your impurity,” he murmured behind you, thrusting deeper and harder until your body was nearly bouncing against the table from the force of it.
You wanted to moan so badly. The way his mushroom tip kept brushing against your g-spot felt so overwhelming. When he angled his hips in slow circular motions, your weak lips finally dropped the book, and you gasped as it hit the floor with a dull thud.
The moment he felt you slipping out of control, he stopped—only for you to immediately reach for the book. Before you could even grab it, he flipped you onto your back again.
“Fucking whore, can’t follow simple instructions while my cock’s deep inside you, huh?” he taunted, ripping the buttons of your dress just enough to expose your breasts.
“I-I’m sorry, I—”
You shrieked loudly when he suddenly slapped your nipples, the area turning immediately pink.
“Stay there,” he commanded.
You went still at once, your weak eyes following his movements as he reached into the bottom cabinet of his desk.
When he stood up again, he was holding a candle and a box of matches. “Hold this, sweetheart.”
He usually used those candles during scripture readings, letting the flame illuminate the pages.
You held it for him as instructed, watching as he struck a match and lit it, the small flame flickering to life before he set the match aside.
You turned slightly, glancing toward the window. There was still daylight outside—enough to see clearly. Before you could ask what he needed it for, he took the candle from your hand.
“Fr. Jeon, w-what are you—”
Your eyes widened when he tilted the candle downward, the wax threatening to drip onto your breasts. You gasped sharply when it finally landed on your nipple.
“Does it feel good?” he whispered, lowering the candle toward the other bud.
When the hot wax fell onto your other nipple, you moaned loudly, your hands gripping the edge of the desk as pain and pleasure collided.
It was hot and shocking—yet, for some reason, the sting felt addictive, almost intoxicating.
“Y-Yes, Father.” you bit your lower lip hard, watching as the candle was now directed toward your inner thighs.
He raised a brow, your nipples already covered in white wax. “Yeah? Does this get you wet?”
Before you could answer, he was already pouring hot wax onto your left inner thigh. The pain there was sharper, more intense—like the skin was far more delicate and sensitive. When you instinctively tried to close your legs, he held them open, spreading you wider as he moved the candle to drip more wax onto your right inner thigh.
“Oh, God,” you moaned loudly, the hot wax dripping dangerously close to your wet pussy.
You were already trembling. The mix of heat and pain felt overwhelming yet addictive, tears falling uncontrollably down your cheeks.
Fr. Jeon chuckled at you. “What a pretty little pain slut… I’m supposed to punish you with this, but you’re dripping like a whore.”
He grabbed your cheeks, raising the candle up toward your face. “Make a wish,” he whispered.
You looked up at him with weak eyes, your nipples and inner thighs still burning and oversensitive from the wax. With a faint, shaky smile, you told him your wish.
“Fuck me like a slut, Fr. Jeon." you said breathily.
He growled harshly, stepping back a little to admire his work on your body, how the wax was covering your skin like a sin, how your pussy was so swollen and red, yet your hole was still eagerly twitching to be used.
He tilted his head. “You want that, sweetheart?” he said sweetly, his tone contradicting what he had just done to you.
You nodded eagerly. "Please, use my body like a whore, cum inside me until I’m dripping full of your cum, abuse my tight little pussy until I’m all loose and gaping, release all your forbidden frustrations and destroy my dignity.”
Fallen.
You couldn’t count the number of times you came around his cock that night—his cock thrusting so hard and deep inside you that you could feel how stretched your pussy was.
Every time you tried to fight him, he would push your body down onto the desk, threatening to silence you with scripture whenever you tried to break free from his hold.
When you thought he was done, he would maneuver your body again, spreading your legs wide so he could fuck you hard. His cross necklace would dangle in your face with every thrust. Whenever you moaned too loudly, he would punish you by dripping hot wax onto your inner thighs.
He would always condescendingly praise you, telling you what a poor little girl you were, letting him use you for his own sick pleasure.
"God, you'd let me use you whenever I want wouldn't you? Letting me fuck this tight pussy inside the church, like a good little christian." he would whisper.
It was so lewd when he asked you to touch yourself using the hand that wore his birthstone bracelet, urging you to part your lips for him, watching how the beads would brush over your clit every time you fucked your fingers inside your used, swollen hole.
"That's right...stretch your pussy, sweetheart. I want you nice and gaping when I fuck you again."
Then he would pull your body up, forcing you to bounce on his cock while pressing the beads deeper into your throat. He held both of your cheeks with his free hand so he could continually spit into your parted mouth, watching it drip messily down your chin like a cheap filthy whore. "I love how sinful and dirty you are...so perfect for me."
Capitulated.
You never forgot him, after that night he vanished like a wind.
When you heard that he had suddenly been appointed to another city, it felt as though the ground had been pulled from beneath your feet. Overnight, he was simply gone. The weekly sunday mass was no longer presided over by him, and no matter how many people you asked, nobody seemed to have a clear answer as to why.
All you heard were rumors.
Some said he wanted to experience ministry in a different city. Others claimed he had become so busy that he was constantly traveling between churches, handling responsibilities in several places at once. Every explanation sounded vague, rehearsed, and unsatisfying.
You wanted to believe them. But you couldn't.
For months, you carried that bitterness inside you. A part of you convinced yourself that he had simply left. That perhaps everything you shared had meant far less to him than it had to you. The thought hurt more than you cared to admit, especially because, between the two of you, you had been the dishonest one. You had been the one who approached him with hidden intentions, who slowly seduced him, who carefully led him into your snare while pretending to be an innocent church girl.
Yet somewhere along the way, things had changed.
For all your lies, for all your schemes and carefully crafted devotion, you couldn't deny what had happened to your own heart. You had fallen in love with his kindness. Not because he was a priest. Not because he was forbidden. Not because winning his attention felt like a challenge.
But because it was him.
It was the way he remembered small details about you. The way he listened whenever you spoke. The way he always treated people with patience and warmth. Somewhere between the scripture lessons, the afternoon conversations, and the countless boxes of cookies, your feelings had become real.
Then, one afternoon, a letter arrived.
Your hands trembled as you opened it, your heart pounding with a mixture of hope and dread. As your eyes moved across the page, tears immediately gathered in them.
All this time, you had believed he left because he wanted to.
The truth was far worse.
Someone had noticed. Someone had seen the way he treated you differently from everyone else—the way his gaze lingered a little too long, the way his voice softened whenever he spoke to you, the way he always seemed to make time for you no matter how busy he was. And eventually, they had discovered what happened behind the closed doors of the church office.
Tears slipped down your cheeks as you continued reading, your vision blurring with every line. For the first time since he disappeared, you finally understood why he had left.
The moment the parish discovered what had happened, he immediately apologized—to the church, to his superiors, and most of all, to the Lord. He had even offered his resignation, believing he was no longer worthy of his position.
But they refused. The parish forgave him.
They told him he was too kind, too devoted, too valuable to lose over a mistake. Instead of removing him from the priesthood, they gave him a chance to start over in a different city, far away from the rumors and whispers. They told him that what happened was a test of faith. A temptation. That God would always be stronger in his heart than any earthly attachment.
You were the temptation they spoke about.
You never wrote back, you never tried contacting him again. Because if he had truly wanted you, he would have resigned. He would have walked away from the collar, from the church, from the life he had chosen long before you entered it.
He would have chosen you.
Instead, when forced to decide between you and God, he surrendered himself to God. And that answer was enough.
With a deep breath, you entered the confession booth. You wanted to confess your sins, you wanted to move on.
It had been two years, and somehow you were still holding on to him.
Whenever Sana mentioned his name, your eyes would sting with unshed tears. Whenever you heard stories about him…how successful he had become, how respected he was as a priest now…an ache would settle deep inside your chest.
You could no longer step inside a church without thinking about him.
The stained-glass windows, the scent of incense, the quiet hum of prayer before mass. Every sacred thing had become tangled with the memory of him, until devotion and desire were no longer things you could separate.
So, with a heavy heart, you finally decided to let him go.
Sitting inside the confessional that afternoon, your fingers twisted nervously in your lap as you gathered the courage to speak.
A thin wooden partition stood between you, a barrier meant to separate priest from sinner, confession from judgment, devotion from temptation.
“Bless me, Father…. for I have sinned.” you said softly, behind the confession grille.
Your voice…soft and unforgettable, echoed through the small confessional booth.
The familiar scent of vanilla wrapped around him like a memory he had spent years trying to forget.
i have never. IN MY YEARS OF LIVING. reacted to a fanfic like this. as a catholic, this genuinely changed my life. OH MY GOD. the perfect amount of slow burn… the candle wax scene …. the ENDING???? bangtumblr we are so fucking back
in which your boyfriend, jungkook, has always had a massive fuckin’ size kink. but today, something snaps in him when he watches as your stomach creates a huge bulge as he’s fucking so deeply, into you. and let’s just say, that was the moment that led to the decision of him impregnating you right there and then.
You slowly lowered yourself onto his cock, both of you moaning loudly as he stretched you open again, for the 3rd time tonight.
His hands gripped your hips tightly, helping you take him inch by inch. “That's it... fuck... take it all baby.” He hit bottom inside of you, making your stomach bulge again.
“Fuuuck, look at that..” He groaned, watching you take his entire length. He started guiding your hips up and down, maintaining a rhythm.
Jungkook had two obsessions in this world. The first one being the obvious, you.
And the second? The time during sex when he watches as his 9 inch cock penetrates into you, having you crying before his cock is even fully plunged into your cunt.
“Bounce on my cock baby, let me see you use me.” He slapped your ass lightly. “You wanted to ride me, yeah? Fuck, you're so pretty bouncing on my dick like this.” His stomach pressed against yours.
Jungkook's eyes dropped immediately to your bouncing breasts as you rode him, his mouth watering. The sight of your nipples swaying with each bounce made his cock throb violently inside you. “Fuck... look at these fuckin’ tits,” he growled, reaching up to pinch and roll your nipples between his fingers. “So pretty... fucking hypnotic.”
“Nghh—hm! Koo!— please. Wan’ your m-mouth.” You cry out, tears falling from your eyes as the immense pleasure was becoming too intense to handle.
“So fuckin’ greedy. But anything for my princess..” He leaned forward, wrapping his lips around your bouncing nipple just as he slammed his hips up into you, hitting your deepest spot.
“Mmmff..” He sucked hard, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bead while his cock wrecked your pussy, “Gonna ruin this beautiful fuckin’ body. Every part of you is mine. Fuckin’ mine.” He slapped your ass hard, resulting in a wince.
“Mmh!— wait! T-too big, please—!” You try to cry out, but it’s useless.
He’s a fucking goner.
“N-no— You can take it, princess... you were made for my massive dick,” he groaned, releasing your nipple with a wet pop.
He thrusted up harder, making you scream as the huge bulge in your stomach grew deeper. “Shhh... don't fight it, hm? Let kookie stretch this little pussy out.” He gripped your hips, forcing you all the way down.
“How is it— fuckin’ possible that I fuck this pussy every, fuck, day. A-and yet, you’re still s’fucking tight.” He barely lets out, his head lolls back as he starts seeing stars.
“K-kookie!— gonna cum! wanna— t-together.” You manage to stutter.
“Yeah? Where’d you want me, pretty girl?”
“I-inside— please!”
His eyes darkened instantly at your desperate plea. "Fuck. Want me to breed you? Yeah? Is that it?” He repeated, thrusting up savagely, intensely. Almost as if he’s fuckin’ angry.
"Gonna fill this pretty pink pussy until you're dripping with my cum? Want daddy's baby inside this tight cunt?" He slapped your ass hard, pulling your hips down to meet his thrusts. “P-please say yes, angel. Say yes and l'Il bury my cum s’deep inside of you. so deep inside..”
You could barely let out a word, your head barely nodding yes as you could feel his cock repeatedly abuse your sensitive spot inside you.
“Fuuuck yes...” He flipped you both over suddenly, pinning you beneath him, his cock buried even deeper now. “Hold onto kookie, yeah?... gonna breed this pussy so good.” He started pounding relentlessly, his stomach smacking against yours.
“Feel that? That's my dick, baby.... needa fill this empty womb.”
“Gonna pump you so full of my fat cock and my cum.... gonna make you so fucking pregnant,” he snarled, his hips moving rapidly. His massive length slamming into you over and over, the sound of his skin slapping against yours was filling the room, “This pussy is mine... gonna lock my baby inside it.”
“Please!— can’t hold it any l-longer! N-need you to cum r-right now!”
Nails digging into your thighs, he lifted your legs over his shoulders. The new angle allowed him to pound even deeper, making your stomach bulge obscenely with his dick. “Such a good girl... begging so nicely to be fuckin’ bred.”
"Not stopping... never gonna fuckin'stopp... milk my cock, princess." His hips pounded into you relentlessly, the head of his cock grinding against your g-spot, “Cum for me... make a mess on this fat cock while I breed you.”
Finally, he buried himself balls deep inside your already sensitive pussy, his hot, thick cum leaking out of you continuously.
“T-take it, fuvck... C-can’t let it leak—” His eyes scan the porn scene beneath him, immediately pushing back his cum into you.
His hips jerked with each spurt, making your stomach bulge even more visible.
“Shit. You’re definitely getting pregnant after that.”
so… I had a dream, woke up and am ovulating.. okay? let a girl live 🥹 also FIRST and FUCKING LAST time am I ever editing the whole drabble into smaller font because holy fuck does it take time. Also I did not proof read.. wrote this literally 45 minutes ago so any grammar mistakes will not be mentioned 💗 lmk ur thoughts bcs this is the first ever smut drabble I’ve made!! i tried to be as detailed as possible and that’s not really something I usually do!! so lmkkkk!!!!!! ;))
it's your first sexual encounter with jeon jungkook and you've already got him pussy-whipped.
genre – smut, pussy whipped jk
pairing – jungkook x fem reader
wc — 1k
Jungkook's eaten pussy a good few times before, but nothing, and he means nothing compares to this – compares to you. he doesn't know how he's gone this long, experienced so many things, lived the most lavish life without tasting you. you're so fucking delectable he might just start crying or coming hard in his pants. well, he's already almost doing the second one because he feels the precum leaking from his throbbing cock. you're tight, wet and so sweet like candy.
he thought as much he'd enjoy eating you out, and he's been very eager to – especially after the erotic, vivid dream he had of you a few weeks back. in the dream he had been in a similar position, between your thighs, devouring you like this. Jungkook had woken up sweaty, panting and inarticulate. he sat up against the headboard, ignoring the way his boxers were soaked as he roughly rubbed his hands over his face several times. he had a sex dream about you? you? y/n?
of course, there's absolutely nothing wrong with you – you're great, perfect even. Jungkook's growing to understand that. despite everything that's happened and what he felt before, he's developed something for you. he doesn't exactly know what it is, but it's a strong, inexplicable feeling that's becoming too much to ignore. but a sex dream was a bit much, was it not? yes, you're the most beautiful, smartest, kindest, cutest, sexiest, funniest woman ever. he'll forever be thankful to have discovered that… but again, a sex dream? about you? he must be he is losing his mind.
Jungkook's over-thinking about you comes to an end when you let out a loud, pornographic moan that shoots straight to his aching cock. he grunts, realising that he's found a sweet spot. his tongue plunges deep in your pussy before his lips close around your clit, sucking it into his mouth. He sucks you like that over and over again, before he goes back to just tongue-fucking you. your legs are thrown over Jungkook's broad shoulders and your thighs are tight around his face, keeping him trapped there. he's barely even breathing since his nose is now pressed right on your clit. he doesn't care much about oxygen right now, he loves your scent filling his nostrils more than he needs some air, he inhales it deeply. even if he suffocates right here, he'll die as one grateful and satisfied man.
"K-Kookie–" you gasp.
oh fuck. he loves that nickname you gave him, you are the only person in the universe he'll ever allow to call him that. Jungkook hums at the sound of your sweet voice. he thrusts his tongue into you deeper and faster, slightly moving his face up and down so his nose grinds against your clit. your fingers fist and tug into the sheets as the pleasure becomes too much. it's your first sexual encounter with Jungkook and you're in complete, utter ecstasy. the euphoric feeling you're currently experiencing is intense enough to override the confusion you feel, and to silence the voices in your head, screaming and asking: what the hell is going on? how is this happening? how do you have Jeon Jungkook in your bed eating you with such enthusiasm? the same guy you always considered a prick? yes, despite you being the sweetest person to everyone, Jungkook was someone you felt bitter towards – but for very good reason. though things have changed, haven't they. from deeply disliking him, to tolerating him, to having his tongue buried in you…
your moans become louder when you realise that you're really close. one of your hands moves to thread into Jungkook's hair so you can tug on it.
"Jungkook?" you call breathlessly.
he hums again, too focused on his new favourite task to realise that you're actually calling him. your thighs loosen around his face and you tug a little harder on his hair.
"yeah?" he asks against you as he continues sucking on you.
"I-I'm close," you say, feeling a little shy for some reason.
Jungkook leans back a little and replaces his tongue with two of his long fingers. shit. you feel too good around his fingers, way too good. feeling you with his fingers makes his cock leak and ache even more. he doesn't think he's ever been so hard in his life or this pathetic. pleasuring you has such an effect on him, yet he's always been more of a receiver than a giver. you are corrupting him and he has to admit that it scares him.
when you lift your head a bit to look at him, the sight makes your breath hitch. his hair's a mess, he's a little sweaty, his lips and nose are glistening with your arousal. even when you didn't like him much, you always found him hot. but now he's something else. he's so attractive right now, you want to lean down and kiss him for the first time. you don't have time to salivate over his appearance because he starts fingering you. his fingers are long and thick, allowing him to hit the perfect spots inside you over and over again.
from between your legs, Jungkook watches your reactions – watches as your eyes flutter shut, as you pant heavily and bite on your lip to prevent the needy moans that want to leave you. you're lucky it's your first time with him, if it wasn't he'd make you scream for him, he'd make you hold the eye contact and watch the dirty things he can do to you. once Jungkook feels you clenching hard on his fingers, he doubles down and starts to use his thumb to rub your clit. when you let out a moan of his name, he knows that you're right there at the edge. quickly, he replaces his fingers with his mouth again. you release hard, gasping sweetly as you do. Jungkook sucks your pussy like a starved man, wanting every single drop of your come in his mouth.
when you do try to pull away from him because you're a little oversensitive, he grabs your thigh with his hand and yanks you back, holding you flush against his face.
"let me finish." he growls against you, causing you to whimper.
he licks through your folds, thrusts his tongue inside a few times before going back to make out with your clit before pulling away with a groan. he gets up and sits on his heels, looking down at you. you've got a hand on your heaving chest and your lips are parted as you stare at him with wide eyes. Jungkook wants to kindly ask, maybe even beg for you to allow him to eat your pussy again, but it seems as if he's taken a toll on you. you're shy, he should give you time to process what just happened. he knows you must be as shocked as he is that things have gotten to this point. he hopes you have no regrets, he has absolutely zero. you are the best thing he's ever had, it's impossible to regret it. if your pussy was so fucking good to eat, so good to have his fingers in, he can't even begin to imagine how good his cock will feel slamming into it.
fuck. what the fuck is he going to do. he might be completely ruined by you. you, the sweet girl, with the sweetest taste. Jungkook has never really been fond of sweet things, however you've changed that for him as well…
hi pookies🩷, this is not just a drabble. it's going to most likely be a used scene from a series i will be starting in a couple of months. im genuinely so excited to write it, it's going to be so so cool i promise. it's rich snobbish jk x sweet, baker fem reader. but it's going to fluffy, angsty, sad and smutty ofc. everytime i daydream i think about this series.. ugh, im going to do my best to make it beautiful!! since it's been on my mind, i thought to write this little drabble. and it's inspired by doja cats candy!!
summary: a little harmless flirting never hurt anyone, right? you've been on jack abbot's mind a little too often lately and he's starting to suspect the feeling is mutual. after a late night out at the bar, you're determined to show him just how mutual that feeling is.
content/warnings: age gap, inappropriate work crushes, i don't even bother pretending like i know how a hospital works, jealous!jack, masturbation mentions, garsantos crumbs, alcohol consumption, smoking cigarettes, reader wears a dress/heels/make up, soft dom!jack, dirty talk (jack's got a filthy mouth), kinda degradation if u squint, praise, oral (f + m receiving), jack abbot is a munch duh, fingering, unprotected piv, some breath play, cream pie? NSFW + MDNI! 18+ ONLY!
wc: 7.5k (got away from me lol)
notes: this is like the first proper thing i've written in several years and probably my first real smut ever, but i couldn't stop thinking about jack abbot's tits. purely self indulgent because i know for a fact that he talks you through it lol he's just so yummy. enjoy my old man brain rot
credit: gif taken from this set by ho-ii :)
—
Jack hasn’t been able to focus since you joined the night shift.
You seem to be everywhere. Ever since that first day, he hasn’t been able to shake you. Any corner he turns, every trauma room he enters, there you are. Even when he can’t see you, you still haunt him. He picks up the faint smell of your shampoo, sometimes. Hears your laughter ringing somewhere in the halls and can't help but turn his head towards it.
It’s worse when you’re next to him. You’re great at what you do, there's no denying that. But it's been difficult to work alongside you, elbows and arms brushing while you crowd over whatever patient is bleeding out on the table in front of him. His brain just can't keep up, sometimes. Not with the warmth of your body next to his. Commands come out a little slower than usual. He hesitates for a second longer than he usually does.
However, it's the worst when you’re batting your eyelashes at him when you finally have a moment of downtime. Handing him some coffee from the break room, letting your fingers linger on his for just a beat too long. Casually laying a hand on his bicep when you talk to him, leaving him tingling for an embarrassing amount of time after you leave. He knows exactly what you’re doing. That you know exactly what it does to him. He’s got scars older than you, but that doesn't stop his gaze from following you as you flit around the ER. And he knows you feel it. You’re real young, you’re real fucking pretty and you’re real fucking capable.
Which is why it feels like a cruel joke that you’re always flirting with him. Especially since he’s pretty sure you’d never actually see him in the way that he sees you. Honestly, it makes this inconvenient attraction he has towards you all the more complicated. Jack can't help but notice the way you chew your lip when you’re deep into charting. The curve of your neck when you adjust your hair. When you look up at him with those big eyes, just eagerly waiting for him to tell you what to do next.
Fuck, he’s hard just thinking about it.
His thoughts always wander in that direction when it comes to you. He finds himself at home, thinking of the way that you looked at him earlier in the day or when you swept a slow thumb over your bottom lip absentmindedly, lost in thought. Jack feels filthy when he thinks of you like this, but he still can't help but palm himself through his pants when the thoughts come. Which is more often than he'd like to admit.
When he thinks of you outside of that, however, he’s not entirely sure how he feels. It’s more than just something carnal. He wants to take care of you. And he does, sometimes. Leaves a protein bar by your hand when he hears you complain about how hungry you are, and steps in when patients start being rowdy or handsy with you.
It’s an entirely different feeling while he watches a doctor get handsy with you instead.
It's the early hours of the morning, and the day shift has started to trickle in. It was always interesting, crossing paths with them. The night shift attracted a certain kind of person. Someone who prefers working under the cover of darkness. Jack noticed that the people on the night shift always played their cards closer to their chests, had a little more hidden depth. Maybe that's why they all worked well together, moving like a unit, fluid and unspoken.
The day shift on the other hand was, well, bright, in a sense. They were all dazzling smiles and caffeinated energy, bouncing from one patient to the next. They clashed like nobody’s business, bold and brash. There were exceptions of course, like Mohan, who Jack had grown fond of and even attempted to convince to join the night shift on more than a few occasions. (She always said no.)
Then there were the textbook examples. And no one embodies the day shift more than Robby’s prodigal son, Frank Langdon.
Frank Langdon, who was standing just a little too close to you, elbow propped on the nurse’s station as he gave you one of his signature smiles. Jack was too far away to hear exactly what he was saying, but he didn't miss the way his fingers played with your badge, the light glinting off it as he fiddled with it and examined your photo. Jealousy twists in Jack’s gut, but he can't make himself turn away. He just grips his tablet harder, listening to you giggle at whatever Langdon had to say. It’s the same giggle that you give him when he's just a little too sarcastic in an attempt to make you laugh. That was his giggle.
A hand on his shoulder snaps him out of his daze.
“What'd the tablet do to you?” It’s Robby, looking at Jack expectantly to begin their hand off for the day. Jack can't curb his jealousy fast enough and the other man follows his gaze right over to you and Langdon. He can see the gears turning in Robby’s mind, piecing everything together until he barks out a laugh and shakes his head. “You’re so screwed, brother.”
“I don't know what you’re talking about.” Jack grumbles, and Robby raises a disbelieving eyebrow at him. He’s still gripping onto the tablet, probably moments away from cracking the damn thing in half.
“Right…” Robby has to basically wrestle it out of his grip and Jack finally drags his eyes over to his friend, who looks thoroughly unimpressed. “So you’re just here, burning holes into Langdon for no reason.”
“I’m not,” Jack says, a little too indignantly for his liking. “He’s married. He shouldn't be flirting like that.” Robby laughs at him again, which is really starting to get on his nerves. He knows that it’s a terrible lie, but his mind is too foggy from his overnight shift to think of a better one. He wishes his friend would cut him a little slack here.
“Sure. And it’s got nothing to do with her, I’m guessing,” Robby nods over in your direction, and Langdon is still there. He’s leaning on the nurses station, still talking away while you nod, full attention on him. Doesn’t this guy have a job to do? A beat of silence passes, and Jack doesn't answer. “Okay, well, good luck with that then.”
With that, Robby takes his leave, but not before he grabs Langdon by the scrubs, wordlessly hauling him away. You seem shocked at the sudden intrusion, waving goodbye to the dark haired doctor just a moment too late.
It seems like his best friend can cut him some slack, after all.
—
You’re already two drinks deep when Jack Abbot walks through the door.
You’re in the day shift’s favourite bar, squished into the booth seat next to Trinity. She’s yapping away and gesturing wildly to Robby and Garcia who are sitting across from you, looking equally as squished. Truthfully, you’d tuned her out a few minutes ago; it was a story about Dennis and the farm girl she’s told you a million times before.
Your eyes are wandering across the bar, drifting over your friends who are scattered around as if they own the place. Samira and Cassie are perched on stools at the bar, Parker is trying and failing to teach Dennis how to play pool. Movement catches your eye and your gaze drifts towards the door, where John strides in, with Jack in tow.
You can't even pretend to notice Shen, not when Jack catches your eye right away. He’s got his typical black shirt on, tight in all the right places. His hands are shoved into his pockets as he saunters in, looking confident as always. You swear that you’ve never seen him look out of place before. Everywhere he enters, it feels like all heads turn in his direction.
Well, yours does at least.
And it’s really irritating how fucking good he looks all the time. Scrubbed up, in his civvies and in that unbelievably hot uniform that he rolled up in on the fourth of July. He really has you feeling a lot of things you definitely shouldn’t be, considering that he’s your attending. But that still doesn’t stop your eyes from wandering across his broad frame, up his freckled arms to the grey stubble on his jaw. You practically have to physically stop yourself from biting your lip.
“Oh my God, drool much?” Trinity says in a low voice. She’s clearly stopped telling her story, as Robby and Garcia are now engaged in a conversation of their own. Trinity has caught you checking out Abbot on multiple occasions and she never gives up an opportunity to bemoan you about it. “He’s like, geriatric.”
“Not geriatric. Kind of like, silver foxy?” You laugh, shaking your head. “Plus, I thought we kind of had a thing for older people?” You gesture not-so-subtly at Garcia, who’s taking a sip of her drink and nodding along to whatever Robby is saying. Trinity rolls her eyes at your comment and slips past you, out of the booth.
“Okay, well, I’m gonna get another drink,” She tells you, waving her empty glass. Before she leaves, she sneaks a peek over her shoulder and then leans in closer to you, her breath tickling your ear. “He’s heading your way. So try not to cream your pants, huh?”
That makes you sit up straight as Trinity saunters off and Jack comes into view. He’s looking down at you in a way that makes you squeeze your thighs together. He stares, but only for a moment before sliding into the booth across from you, next to Robby. Garcia seems to have slipped off to get another drink as well. What a coincidence.
‘Well, look who finally made it!” Robby gives Jack a slap on the shoulder as he settles in, whiskey glass in hand. He gives his friend a nod, glass extended in an invitation. Robby accepts, clinks his bottle against his cup and both the men take a sip. You can’t help but be drawn to Jack’s hands, much like you always were during surgery. There was just something about them — the way his fingers were nice and thick maybe, and you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly they would feel like skimming your body.
You almost let your gaze trail down to his mouth, but you shake your head in a daze as Jack sets down his drink. He still catches you though, the ends of his lips quirked up in an almost smirk. Your heart pounds in your chest as you look down at your hands to avoid any further eye contact, but you can still feel the heat of his gaze on you. It’s dangerously enticing and fuck, are you enticed.
He opens his mouth to say something to you but Dennis plops himself in the spot next to you, interrupting. He’s looking around, beer hugged close to his chest. “I think if I missed one more time, Ellis would have actually killed me.” He says, and you glance over at the pool table where Shen has gracefully slipped into Whitaker's role instead, much to Ellis’ delight.
The conversation takes off again and you can't help but wonder what exactly Jack was going to say to you. He’s wrapped up with Robby and Samira, who has floated her way down to your booth and is looking as angelic as ever. She’s perched on the corner of the table, all long legs and sweet smiles. You watch the way Jack talks to her; smooth, easy and familiar. You’re sure your smile twitches and you give Dennis a tap on the shoulder.
“I think I’m going to get another drink too.” You say, both to Dennis and to no one in particular. You stand and Samira gives you just a bit of a liquored up grin as she helps you adjust your short dress. You thank her with a smile of your own, turning around. There’s hope blooming in your chest at what feels like Jack’s eyes on your back as you walk away, but you're too cowardly to look back and see for yourself.
Trinity is standing at the bar, looking about as dishevelled as you expected. She quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything as you approach.
“Your drink is taking a long time, huh?” You nudge her with your shoulder and she just rolls her eyes. Ignoring her attitude, you rest your elbows on the bar, trying to get a look at where the bartender fucked off to.
“Don’t worry about it,” Trinity is reapplying her lipgloss and attempting to tame her hair, using her phone to assess her reflection. You try to help and she gives you a grateful smile in return. She nods towards the bartender, who is still kind of ignoring you. “I already got one for you.”
“You’re the best,” You’re still smoothing down her hair, giving her a big smile back. “Should we, like, kiss?” You fake going in for a kiss, and she pushes you away with a laugh.
“Please. You wish,” The bartender finally slides two drinks towards Trinity, who hands you one of the glasses. The chill from the glass is definitely welcome against your warm flesh, flushed from the drinks previous. Trinity shoots you a smirk as she grabs your hand to lead you back to the booth. “Besides, don’t you have a silver fox to catch?”
The two of you arrive at the booth and in the short time you’ve been gone, the people seem to have rearranged themselves. Robby and Whitaker have disappeared and Samira has taken your place, McKay beside her. On the other side is still Abbot, nursing his whiskey. Heads turn at your presence and the pair of you are greeting with excited chatter and big smiles from the girls.
It takes you a minute to realize that the only open spot is next to Jack.
Trinity gives you a small push and you claim the seat next to him. Trinity slides in after you and it’s a bit of a tight squeeze, leaving you thigh to thigh with the attending you definitely don’t have an inappropriate workplace crush on. You can feel the heat radiating off him — his arms, his thighs. You swear you feel him stiffen for a second, but the moment is over as quickly as it happened. He smells woody and warm, and it’s got you basically swooning. Is that just the way he smells, or is it cologne, body wash? You resist the weird, perverted urge to take a sniff of his neck and take a sip of your drink instead.
Conversation comes easy for you guys, especially as the drinks continue to flow. People come and go: Ellis, Shen, Dennis — everyone shuffles through, exchanging seats and manoeuvring around each other as easy as they do on the floor of the hospital.
You and Jack though, you don’t move.
Your two stay pressed together, even when Trinity is long gone. Eventually, everyone thins out and spreads across the bar instead, leaving you and Jack alone together. It’s getting hard to ignore the mirth swimming in his eyes, your faces just a little too close together for the conversation you two are having.
You trace what’s left of the condensation from your empty glass with your finger, savouring the feel of the cool water. Is it hot in here? Or is it just you?
“How about I get you another drink?” Jack offers, the timbre of his voice lower than usual. “On me?”
It feels like he’s getting closer, close enough that you can smell the whiskey on his breath. It’s probably inappropriate to want to kiss your boss, right? Especially one almost twice your age? The prospect of the situation makes you almost dizzy with want, especially when he’s looking at you like that. Or maybe that’s just the alcohol rushing to your head.
Yeah, it’s definitely just you.
“Actually, I think I need a smoke.” You manage to utter, like the responsible adult you are. You need to remove yourself from the situation, fast. He retreats from your space slowly, and you immediately feel the absence. It takes everything in you to suppress the urge to lean back into him again, instead giving him a shy smile as you exit the booth. Jack lets you leave wordlessly, and this time you’re certain his eyes are on you as you walk away.
The cool breeze outside is a welcome reprieve from the overwhelming heat inside and you take a moment to let it wash over you. You press your back against the brick of the bar and pull out your pack from your purse and stick a cigarette between your lips, fishing around for your lighter. After some digging, you finally find what you were looking for and you cup your hand around the cigarette, flicking the lighter on until you see the familiar cherry red at the end. Things seem a bit less hazy when you take a deep inhale and exhale slowly, grey smoke curling around the dark sky.
You close your eyes and rest your head against the wall, feeling the tension leave your shoulders. Taking another long drag, you review the night in your head. You’ve always enjoyed flirting with Jack, sure, but Jack also flirts with anything that has a pulse. You never really expected anything to come of it, except maybe something to think about later in the night while you were alone. Lately though, it’s been feeling different. He’s always brushing against you, placing his hand on the small of your back as he squeezes past you. The way he looks at you recently is glimmering with something you can’t exactly place. The way he looked at you when Langdon was trying to charm you.
You lift your hand to take another drag when the cigarette is suddenly plucked from between your fingers. Your eyes flutter open and there stands the subject of your thoughts, Jack Abbot, who has your cigarette between his lips now.
“Whiskey makes Jack a bold boy, eh?” You tease, watching as he takes a drag. It’s unfair how good he makes it look. He gives a small chuckle at your comment but doesn’t reply, letting silence settle between the two of you. Instead, he extends the cigarette towards you and you take it back. Something is painted on his face, like he’s mulling something over, but you don’t ask. You two continue this for a while, just enjoying each other’s company for a moment, taking turns until you finally hit the filter. It’s easy to admire him in the quiet you share. The flex of his biceps, the way he shifts his weight between his prosthetic and his good leg. He’s so broad and handsome, especially when he’s in his tight shirt and cargos. It’s got you wanting to drop to your knees right then and there.
You don’t miss the way he’s looking at you either, though. It’s common knowledge that Jack’s got a staring problem. It makes you flustered at the best of times and wet at the worst, but this stare was different. You can see the want in his eyes as his hazel eyes basically bore into your soul. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he was giving you bedroom eyes. Every so often his eyes flicker down to your lips instinctively, especially when they’re wrapped around the cigarette the two of you are sharing. You’re sure that you’re probably doing the same.
“So, can I buy you that drink now?” He asks huskily as you put out the smoke, tossing it into the garbage can behind you. Your eyes flick between the door of the bar and your phone; the numbers flashing at you indicate that you’ve been out longer than you’ve anticipated and it was late.
“I was actually kind of thinking of pulling an Irish goodbye. I live pretty close,” You say sheepishly, tucking your phone back into your purse. He almost looks disappointed, and you revel in the feeling. You’re not sure if it’s the drinks you’ve had or the way that he was staring at Langdon like he wanted to strangle him with his bare hands for flirting with you the other day, but the words slip out of your mouth before you can really think it through. “Want to walk me home?”
Your tone is shy but warm, an airy lilt at the end of the invitation. Or at least that’s what you aimed for. Realization spreads across his face, until it’s replaced with a smirk. You know it’s an offer he can’t really deny. Even if he didn’t want to fuck you, Jack Abbot was nothing short of a gentleman. He’d never let you walk home alone so late at night. “Of course.”
“Why thank you, Doctor Abbot.” You give him a smirk of your own as you push off the wall, enjoying the way that he watches you move languidly. He scoffs at your joking use of the professional title you call him at work, tongue darting out to wet his lips. You adjust your dress and you two look at each other for a moment; him staring down at you with that obnoxiously smug look on his face, and you staring up at him half lidded like you don’t know what you’re doing.
“Lead the way, sweetheart.” He gestures with a sweep of his arm, breaking your staring contest. You start off in the direction of your apartment, shooting him a cheeky look over your shoulder as he takes a minute to follow behind you.
“Think you can keep up, old man?”
—
He hangs back, just for a second, to admire the view as you flounce away, your heels clicking against the pavement. He can’t help but appreciate just how good you look, dress hugging your figure in all the right places. It doesn’t help that he caught a glimpse of your panties earlier when you left the booth, and he’s been thinking about taking another peek ever since. He’s so distracted that he barely catches the words you throw at him.
“Watch it, kid.” He warns, starting off after you. The night is just cool enough that he can feel the alcohol flowing hot through his veins as he reaches you, matching your stride. The nickname was just a slip of the tongue, something he calls you when you’ve made the right call when treating a patient or when you’re offering to refill his coffee in the break room. You give him that look that you’ve been giving him all night, the one that’s got him in this mess in the first place. Blinking through your eyelashes, like you want to climb him like a tree. It does make him feel like a bit of an old man in a way, chasing after a girl basically half his age.
But you’re the one that invited him, right?
“I’m not sure what you mean.” You say innocently, another flutter of your eyelashes. He gives a chuckle at that, rolling his eyes. The night is quiet at this hour and the tension is thick between you two as you walk alongside each other. Jack’s got his hands tucked into his pockets, watching as you walk a bit unsteadily and he’s not sure if it’s the drinks you’ve had or the shoes that you were wearing. Before he could ponder on it any longer, your heel skids and you stumble over a small lift in the sidewalk.
He grabs your waist instinctively, catching you before you go down. You’re closer to him now and the scent that he’s become so familiar with fills the air, masked a bit by the perfume you wear, all floral and ambery. The proximity between you two almost makes him stumble as well.
“Careful, sweetheart,” He says, voice low, still affected by just how close you are. “Don’t think you’d like to make a detour back to work before your next shift.” He hauls you upright and you give him another sweet smile. Jack can’t help but give you one back.
“Why would I need to?” You recover much faster from the stumble than he does, smoothing your dress down with the palms of your hands. “You wouldn’t patch me up? I’d be in very capable hands, no?” You tease, smirking. He knows you’re joking but the idea of getting his hands on you, being able to touch you beyond the feather light touches you have shared, makes his heart beat in want.
“Yeah, you think so?” He smirks and you slow to a stop in front of a building that he assumes must be your place. You answer his question with a small nod, suddenly shy. He can see you scanning his face, looking for some kind of answer in it. You press your lips in a thin line and finally speak in a small voice.
“Walk me up?”
He should say no. Any sort of gentleman would leave it here, say good night. Especially one as old as he is.You’re staring at him, not breaking eye contact as you await his response. He should definitely say no.
“Sure.”
Goddamn it.
You give him a smile as you turn, pulling the door to your building and he grabs it, holding it open for you. The climb to your place is quiet, the click of your heels against the stairs punctuating the terrible choice he’s making. But the choice doesn’t feel as terrible as it should when he gets to watch you climb the flights of stairs, getting the flash of your panties that he was desperately wishing for earlier.
You approach your door, fumbling with your keys for a second before he hears the soft click of the lock. He’s got his forearm resting against your doorframe, watching as you slowly pull the door open. Jack catches a glimpse into your apartment for a second before you face him; it’s a small studio, lived in and inviting. It smells like you.
You’re just staring at him for a moment and he’s staring right back. The thought that this is a terrible idea is swirling in his mind somewhere, but the heat pooling in his gut as you look at him seems to be all he can focus on right now. You cock your head and enter your apartment, door still wide open. Jack’s body moves before he can even think about it, one foot after the other, crossing the threshold. Something he can’t take back.
He closes the door behind him with a gentle hand, like any loud noise might snap one of you out of a trance. You’ve got your windows open and you’re bathed in the moonlight, the same way you were outside the bar. That exact vision of you has hijacked his better judgement tonight and landed him in the apartment of a pretty young girl. He tries to push the thought aside.
Jack opens his mouth to speak, maybe even tell you how bad of an idea this is, but you’ve already hooked your fingers in his belt loops, pressing your lips against his before he can get a word out. He can taste your lip gloss and it makes his knees buckle a bit, the words suddenly dying on his tongue. You don’t hold back, all dirty and desperate, slipping your tongue into his mouth. He can feel you sigh and pull him closer, hands resting at his stomach now. Your nails scratch against the skin above his waistband and it makes all his blood rush downwards.
You let out a shaky moan into his mouth and his resolve just breaks. His hands finally move and take what he’s been wanting, cupping your jaw for a minute before moving down, rough, skimming down and pulling you flush against him, hands coming to a rest on the curve of your ass.
It’s intoxicating the way you kiss him, like you just can’t fucking get enough. Your hands are wound in his hair, carting through the grey curls. You pull away all too soon, chest rising and falling quickly in an attempt to catch your breath. It sends a shiver down his spine when he sees the sultry look on your face and you grab his hand and pull him deeper into your apartment.
He lets you lead him and come to a stop at your couch. Jack must be drunker than he thought, because you barely push his chest and he lands on the couch behind him. It’s a sight to see when you drop down to your knees without a word, dress rucking up at your waist. He can’t help the moan that slips out from between his lips as you look up at him, the same way you do at work. Waiting for him to tell you what to do. His legs part involuntarily and you slip yourself between them.
“Fuck, baby,” He can’t help but take in the moment, cupping your cheek as you lean into his touch. “ You want to suck my cock that fucking bad, huh?”
You nod —eagerly, he can’t help but note— and he grabs a fistful of your hair loosely. He gives you a small nod, giving you permission to go ahead. Biting your lip, you trace a soft finger over the bulge in his pants and he can’t help but shiver. You take your time unzipping his pants and pulling him out, hand wrapped around the hard length of him. It’s fucking delicious watching you like this, pumping his cock slow, a wicked grin on your face.
You press a kiss to his tip and his hips stutter at the sensation and then you’re pressing the flat of your tongue against him, licking him from root to head. He lets out a loud groan, grip on your hair tightening ever so slightly. He takes in the scene in front of him, you on your knees just for him. It feels perverted in a way, like he’s way too old to be this undone, especially for a woman so many years his junior. But then you place him between your soft lips, lip gloss all smeared from the sloppy kisses you two had shared earlier and he can’t really bring himself to care. Your hands skim down the sides of his bare legs, not even pausing when you feel the heat of skin turn into cool metal on one side.
Your mouth is so warm and wet and it’s got him wondering what your pussy will feel like if your mouth already feels this good. Honestly, he can’t remember the last time someone has had him like this. Your hand is soft where it grips him at his base, spit dripping onto your knuckles and you take him deeper and deeper, until he almost hits the back of your throat.
“Such a good girl for me.” He drawls, voice shaking as you swallow around him. You’ve settled into a rhythm now and Jack is happy to hold you by the hair and let you take control. It feels so fucking good that he can’t help but thrust into your mouth, a crooked grin forming when you gag and drool for him. He can't help but praise you. “You look so pretty on your knees, drooling all over your tits like that.”
That earns him a moan from you and he can feel the vibration of it around his cock. He thinks it can’t get any better than this, and then you look up into his eyes, lips still wrapped around him and a guttural moan rips its way from his chest. This seems to invigorate you as you begin to suck harder, cheeks hollowed as your other hand sneaks its way up to his balls, rolling them in your palm. It’s sloppy and wet and loud —the only sounds in your apartment are the loud, filthy way you’re taking him deep into your throat, and Jack's soft pants and utters of your name. His brows are burrowed in pleasure and it takes all of his focus to not cum in your mouth. He’s basically dripping from your spit, wet all the way down to his balls.
He pulls you up by your hair, rough. You let out a small whimper, like you’re real sad that he’s not letting you suck his dick like you were trying to suck his soul out of it. His lips are parted and his pupils are blown with lust, the hazel of his eyes barely visible around the black. His voice is husky when he speaks next.
“Get on the bed, sweetheart.” The apartment is small, and the bed is just behind him. You’re still wearing your heels and the sound of them reverberates in the cramped space. You don’t bother to pull your dress down this time and he soaks it all in as he pulls off his shirt, trying his best to kick off his boots and pants that have pooled around his ankles at the same time.
He catches up to you in no time and he knows you’re teasing him, walking all slow and sexy like that. Then he decides you’re teasing just a bit too much and he grabs you by the waist and tosses you onto the bed. You land with a soft bounce on the mattress and he crawls on right after you, pulling you towards him.
He’s nosing at your pussy through your panties, the dampness forming for him to see. You smell so fucking good that it makes him throb and he can’t help but wrap a fist around himself and pump loosely a few times.
“You’re soaked for me,” He says gruffly and you mewl, desperate for him to touch you more. “Should I have a taste?”
Now he’s running his fingertips over your covered slit, and your hips buck. Jack can feel the heat of you just under the thin cloth, radiating through the lace and he briefly wonders if you’ll let him keep them after.
“Yes…” You breathe, and he takes a peek at you from between your legs. You look absolutely wrecked, propped up on your forearms, staring down at him through half lidded eyes.
“Why don’t you ask me nicely?” He coos and you groan, head tipping back. He loves having you like this, nice and pliant under his hands. You’re better than he imagined when he was alone, touching himself to the thought of you. “Tell me how bad you want it.”
“Please, Jack,” Your voice cracks as you plead, hips rolling, craving some kind, any kind of friction. “I want it so fucking bad, please…”
“You always listen so well to me, sweetheart. So obedient.” Jack can’t deny you when you whine for him all breathy like that, so he pulls your panties to the side and does exactly what he said he would do, taking a taste. He laps at your pussy like a man starved, your wetness smearing all over his chin, gathering in his stubble.
He feels your hands grip his hair as you pull him in deeper, wordlessly asking for more. Obliging, he dips his tongue into your cunt and you tighten around the muscle, making Jack’s eyes roll back into his head. He’s sure he’s moaning just as much as you are, one hand on your hip, the other one stroking his cock roughly.
Once he’s had his fill of fucking you with his tongue he lets his fingers take over, sliding two of them into your sopping entrance. Your hips buck again at the intrusion and he lets out a deep growl. “You taste so good, baby —could eat you all fucking night. You like having my fingers buried deep in your cunt?”
The whiskey has worn off by now but he’s drunk with lust, his head spinning as he ducks his head back down, sucking your clit softly. He can feel you fluttering around his fingers, getting tighter as he fucks you rough. He’s caught you staring at them more than once and your little comment about his hands earlier hadn’t gone unnoticed by him.
He can tell you’re close by the way you’re moaning and the way you’re gripping his fingers; he can barely pull them out. The pace he sets is brutal and then you’re coming on his hand and face before he even realizes. The taste of your cum is heady and he’s licking it all up like it’s his last meal.
You’re catching your breath and he flips you over without a word, ass up for him. His hands are rough and calloused on your soft skin, pulling down the top of your dress to expose your breasts. You both moan as he tweaks a nipple between his fingers, before palming your ass and yanking your soaking panties down your thighs.
“Fuck…” Jack curses. He’s rutting against you, coating his cock with your cum, moving infuriatingly slow. You’re pushing against him, pleas falling from your lips as he places a hand on your bare back, pushing you deeper into the mattress. Jack has half a mind to hope that your apartment walls aren’t as thin as he thinks they are. He’s busy trying to sear this moment into his memories to care all that much about it though; you’re under him, moaning his name, begging for him. “Still think I’m an old man? That I can’t keep up?”
He’s throwing your words back at you, the frantic shakes of your head as you rut back into him going straight to his ego and his dick. Jack can't resist the sight any longer as he drags himself up and down your entrance, tapping on your clit a few times and loving the way you jump at the sensation. He’s barely got the tip in when you start moaning for him again, breathy and desperate. Ignoring your begging for him to start moving faster, he pushes in nice and slow instead, mesmerized by the way your pussy just sucks him in.
Gripping fabric of your dress that has bunched up around your waist, he sinks in deeper until he’s fully bottomed out. He stays still for a moment, letting you adjust to his size and schooling his breathing so he doesn’t cum embarrassingly fast. You’re so tight and he can’t help but think you’re one hundred percent better than what he imagined and one thousand percent better than his fist that he fucks into when he thinks of you. Sharp pain interrupts his thoughts, your nails scratching at his thighs as you try to get him to finally move.
“Feels like you’re made for me, sweetheart. So fucking tight for me.” Thoughts are spilling out now, pleasure taking over and loosening his filter. As much as he wants to savour this, savour you, he’s on the fringes of his self control. You’re gripping his cock in a way that makes his head spin and your small pants have him feeling downright sinful. He tries to start slow, he really does, but he just can’t resist. He’s been thinking about having you for so long, the way you would look under him, and now that he has you, he’s not letting you think about anyone else again. Jack wants you to think about him every time you crawl into bed without him.
He fucks you in earnest, the wet slap of skin on skin just spurring him on. He buries a fist in your hair again, yanking your head up so you’re on all fours for him, back curved. The frame of your bed creaks quickly in time with his thrusts, the same way his thrusts are punching small gasps out of you each time. He loves listening to the noises you make and he pulls your hips up higher, balls slapping your clit as he buries himself deeper. Your moans are getting louder, walls squeezing him tight and he pulls out quickly before his vision goes white.
“Jack, please!” He can tell you’re getting tired of the way he’s been teasing you all night, thinking that he just might edge you all night. But really, he just wants to see what your face looks like when you cum around his cock. He flips you over easily, biceps flexing. Before you can even muster out a squeal he’s back inside you, filling you up to the hilt. Your lips part and your eyes roll back into your head, and he can’t help but smirk as he begins to move once more.
This time the pace he sets is punishing, determined to make you cum before even thinking about chasing his own high. Jack can tell by the way that you’re squeezing him like you don’t want to let him go that it won’t be long. He allows his eyes to sweep over your body appreciatively, your thighs, your stomach, the way your breasts bounce, how absolutely blissed out your face looks.
It’s hard to resist the temptation to splay a hand just below your neck, gauge your reaction, so he doesn’t. His hand is so large against the base of your throat and the way your eyes flutter in pleasure makes his dick twitch. He lets it rest there for a moment, then dips two fingers between your lips, tongue swirling around the tips of them like it was around his dick just a little while ago.
Leaving a wet trail down your chest, he makes his way down to your clit, drawing tight circles around with rough fingertips. He lets out a growl at the noise you make, deep and primal. He glances down, noticing the cream gathering around the base of his cock, his happy trail covered in your slick. His legs shake at the sight, his climax suddenly a lot closer than he anticipated. He can guess that yours is too, judging from the way your cunt is fluttering around him and that you’ve seemed to stop caring who can hear just how good he’s making you feel.
“You gonna cum on my cock, baby?” You’re nodding loosely, like you barely even registered the question. He loves seeing such a capable girl come apart in his hands like this. “Yeah? Cum for me then.”
And you do, as he should have expected, since you always do what he tells you to.
Your cunt is milking his orgasm out of him, and he can feel his hips stutter. He barely squeezes out the words, asking you where he should finish, half aware that he’s not wearing a condom. You look up with shiny wet eyes, fingers tangling in the curls at the base of his neck and he nearly cums at the sight.
“I want you to fill me up.” You say, and yeah, that makes him want to cum even more. A few more messy thrusts and he gives a low groan, spilling deep inside you. He’s hutched over your form, body shaking in pleasure, loving the heat that’s radiating from your body. After a few moments the haze of sex dissipates and you two are left chest to chest, your nipples brushing his chest with every breath.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart.”
—
Jack cleans you up, all nice and sweet, with a warm rag from your bathroom. The action is tender, especially compared to the way he just wrecked you. It makes you feel taken care of, which is not something you would admit aloud to him for now. You’re a little confused about the position that this puts you in with your attending. The only thing you can really make sense of is that the entire situation has gotten about a million times more complicated than it was eight hours ago.
But when Jack looks at you, eyes soft in a way you’ve never seen before when you offer to help him remove his prosthetic, you decide that you don’t really care. You’d give anything to have him look at you that way again.
And now he’s here in your bed, freckled back to you and breathing even. He’d fallen asleep soon after you asked him to stay the night, which you thought was sweet. Old man was up way past his bedtime.
Your phone vibrates on your nightstand and you flip it over, squinting at the bright light. You’d pretty much ignored it when you left the bar with Jack, pretty one track minded. You’d miss a flurry of text messages from everyone else: Garcia asking if she could bum a smoke, Samira asking if you left and then following up asking you to let her know you got home safe, Robby wondering if you had seen Abbot anywhere, Dennis just sending you a blurry picture of the bar floor, which you assumed was a drunken accident.
Trinity has sent you the most recent text, sitting atop of your stack of notifications.
trinity: thank u for winning me the betting pool. will buy u a drink ;)
FERAL THINGS DON'T BELONG INSIDE II PART 9 [IN PROGRESS] Bunny Hybrid! Jungkook
Parts: P1 l | P2 I P3 | P4 | P5 | P6 | P7 | P8 | P9 |
DESCRIPTION:
You never planned on taking in a hybrid. Especially not one like him.
You offer him food. A place to stay. Rules.
He offers you obedience. Tension. Trouble.
Because hybrids like him don't know how to exist without earning their place and you're about to learn that kindness, to someone like Jungkook, can feel just as dangerous as cruelty.
A/N: if you're here for emotional damage, slow-burn tension and a little bit of chaos-then yeah. let's go this fic is messy in all the ways: hurt, comfort, trust issues, anc a hybrid who doesn't really know how to be safe even when he finally is.
The bathroom light feels too bright for this hour.
It makes everything look harsher than it is. The chipped edge of the sink, the water stains near the drain, the tiles laid unevenly along the floor.
Your hand looks wrecked.
The skin around the deep scratches is swollen, angry red fading into ugly purple bruising. Dried blood still clings to the edges where the paramedics didn’t quite clean everything. Every small movement sends sharp stings up your arm, but you keep working in quiet determination, teeth clenched, trying not to hiss every time the antiseptic wipe touches raw flesh.
You sit on the bathroom floor, the chill of the floor seeping into your legs, medic tools scattered loosely around you.
Jungkook sits on the floor beside you, back pressed against the wall, knees drawn tightly to his chest with his head buried between them. He refused to leave you alone. The moment you stepped into the bathroom, he followed like a shadow, sliding down onto the cold tiles without a word. He hasn’t moved since.
You can hear the way his breathing changes every time you press on the wound; small, pained inhales like he’s the one being hurt. His bunny ears twitch and flatten against his hair with every sting you feel. It’s like he’s experiencing it with you. Like your pain is somehow transferring straight into his body.
You sigh, long and tired. Your hands still for a moment as you stare at the top of his head, fingers hovering where you’d just been working.
“...Kook”
You stretch your free hand toward him, aiming for the messy dark strands of his hair, wanting to offer even the smallest comfort. But before your fingers can sink into the soft locks, his voice comes out muffled and hoarse:
“Don’t touch me.”
You stop. Your hand freezes mid-air, hovering just inches from his head. For a moment you just stare at him, not sure if you heard right. After a painful second, you pull your hand back and return to bandaging your wrist in heavy silence. The only sounds are the soft tear of medical tape and the faint hum of the bathroom light.
You finish wrapping the fresh gauze, securing it tightly, then speak again, voice low and tired. "So now you won’t even look at me because I’m hurt?”
Jungkook doesn’t move at first. The words hang between you. For a long moment there’s nothing. But you feel the subtle shift in his attention. One ear twitches, faint and uncertain.
Then, slowly, he lifts his head.
Not all the way. First just his eyes peeking over his knees. Big, dark, guilty. Then his nose. Then the slightest pout, lips pressed together.
You stare at him for a second, the tension in your chest easing despite yourself.
“There you are,” you murmur.
His ears twitch at your voice. He looks away, embarrassed. “You can pat me now,” he mumbles, gaze turned so far to the side it almost seems like he’s talking to the laundry machine instead of you.
A laugh escapes you. Soft and disbelieving, the first real one since the tunnel.
"Should I?” you ask teasingly.
He nods immediately, still pouting, eyes flicking up at you through his lashes. You crouch a little and reach out again, this time slower, giving him the chance to refuse. He doesn’t.
Your fingers slide into his hair and he melts immediately. Shoulders dropping, breath leaving him in a shaky exhale. You pat him gently, smoothing the mess of his fringe, and he leans into your hand like he’s been starving for it. Your thumb brushes over the base of one ear as he sneaks another glance at your freshly bandaged wrist, expression tightening with quiet distress.
“You know this doesn’t even hurt that bad, right?” you say, voice light. Just a little lie. It hurts like hell.
“I don’t like it,” he mutters.
You can’t help thinking he’s been through worse than this.
You’ve seen it: His body. The scars. The old marks that don’t match the fresh injuries. The stitched wound under his ribs. The bruises in places that make your stomach turn if you think about them too long. Some of those scars must carry meanings you don’t even want to imagine. Different pains. Different kinds of hurt.
Yet he’s here, acting like your small wrist scratch is the end of the world. Like it’s unbearable.
You tilt your head, studying him more closely under the warm bathroom light. He actually came out of tonight’s fight with almost no new wounds. Just a few fresh bruises blooming across his cheek and shoulders. The stitched gash under his ribs had reopened slightly and needed cleaning, but nothing serious. The blood that had been smeared across his face and hands… most of it hadn’t even been his. Which it terrifying.
Was that his life until now? Fights. Fear. Drawing blood. Hate. Misery. Running. Getting cornered.
You keep your hand in his hair and ask before you can overthink it. “Can you tell me about your past?”
Jungkook goes still.
His ears twitch again, then flatten slightly. His gaze drops to the tiles between his feet, as if the patterns there are safer than your face.
Then comes silence again. Long enough that you regret asking.
You swallow, “I mean… if you don’t want me to know, that’s okay. It’s not my business.” Your voice comes out quieter this time, careful. You know you’re stepping around something fragile.
The words settle between you. For a second, you think that’s it. You’ve pushed too far. He’s already retreating somewhere you can’t follow. This is the moment he’ll lock himself away forever and you’ll never hear him speak to you again.
“I want you to know.” It’s so soft you almost miss it.
Your breath catches before you can stop it. Fingers tightening slightly in his hair.
He doesn’t look up.
“But…” His voice falters. You see the way his throat moves, the hesitation catching there. His fingers tighten around his own sleeves. “I don’t want to tell you.”
You nod slowly. Your throat tightens, forcing you to gulp before you speak.
“It’s okay,” you say gently and careful not to push. Your hand moves again, stroking through his hair one last time, slower this time. Grounding. “You don’t have to tell me then.”
He finally looks up, eyes shining with something uncertain. Relief, maybe. Or guilt that you didn’t push.
Your hand lingers in his hair for just a second longer, then slowly slips away. You clear your throat quietly and shift your attention elsewhere, reaching for the scattered supplies around you. You gather everything with careful, practiced movements, placing it all back into your first aid kit one piece at a time. The soft rustle of plastic and fabric fills the space where words don’t. When you’re done, you zip it closed and set it aside before forcing yourself to stand.
Your vision tilts for a second, the room dipping slightly as a wave of dizziness rolls through you. You steady yourself with a small inhale, pressing your lips together as you wait for it to pass. Your hand lifts instinctively, fingers brushing the back of your head where the plaster sits, covering the tender spot beneath. It still aches but you ignore it. You’ve felt worse.
“Let’s go to sleep, huh?” you say, as you move to put the kit back into the cabinet.
The moment the words leave your mouth, Jungkook scrambles to his feet with surprising speed, nearly bumping into you in his haste. His ears are perked up now, eyes wide and hopeful despite the exhaustion weighing on him.
“Can you sleep in the bed tonight?” he asks, voice small.
You pause, looking at him. “We agreed you’re sleeping in the bed until you recover.”
“I will,” he says quickly, almost desperately. His fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t dare. “I just… I want you next to me.”
The quiet vulnerability in his voice fills the small bathroom. You look at his tired face, at the way his ears droop slightly as he waits for your answer, and feel something soft and fierce settle deep inside your chest.
“Alright,” You give in.
His entire face sparks up. Eyes widening, ears lifting. For a second, he just looks at you like he doesn’t fully believe what he’s hearing
“But only this time,” you add quickly, before he can start vibrating out of his skin.
Jungkook nods immediately, almost eagerly. Like he’ll take any condition you attach, just to keep the yes.
You step out of the bathroom first. Your apartment is quiet. Everything looks normal again, which feels wrong after what happened today. You do a quick round like your brain won’t let you stop: check the front door lock, the chain, the window latch. You switch off the lights one by one, leaving the apartment in dim pockets of darkness.
You can feel Jungkook’s eyes burning into your back the entire time. He lingers by the bedroom door, half leaning against the frame, shoulders tense.
You glance at him from the corner of your eye.
His anticipation is palpable. He bites the side of his cheek, a nervous habit you’ve recently noticed. His tail bumps softly against the doorframe behind him. He’s in the new shorts and hoodie now. They fit better than anything he’s worn since you met him. Earlier you’d already cut and stitched little openings so his tail can move without tearing fabric.
“You can go lie down,” you tell him. “I’ll be in a minute.”
Jungkook’s head tilts. His eyes sharpen with immediate concern. “But you’re not going anywhere?”
“I’m not,” you promise, trying not to sound annoyed even though the question hits that soft bruise in you. How hard he must've been trained to expect abandonment? “I just have to brush my teeth.”
“Oh.” He nods, but he still hesitates like “teeth” is a suspicious excuse. After a long second, he gives you one last look memorizing you, then slips into the bedroom.
You exhale slowly.
Back in the bathroom, you turn the faucet on and stare at your reflection while you brush. Your hair is a mess, falling unevenly around your face. You pause for a second, toothbrush still in your hand, then tilt your head slightly, trying to catch a better angle in the mirror. Somewhere in the mess of it, the bandage should be there. You try to spot it properly, but it’s too far back, too buried under your hair to see clearly from this angle.
You reach for your phone charging on the counter. The screen is cracked, but at least it still works. You glance quickly at the message you sent to Marcus asking for tomorrow off, explaining you got sick and apologising for texting so late.
Thankfully there is a reply.
Marcus: alr. get better. next week will be busy.
A wave of relief washes over you. At least you won’t have to drag yourself to work tomorrow.
When you finally step into the bedroom, the first thing you notice is the dim glow of the small night lamp on the bedside table, casting a warm, golden pool of light across the sheets. Then there is Jungkook–Sitting neatly on the verge of the bed, hands resting on his thighs, looking unsure what to do with himself. The moment you walk in, he stands up quickly, ears perking.
“I didn’t know which side you want,” he says quietly.
You blink, caught off guard by how seriously he is. “I’m good with both.”
He nods, shifting his weight. “…Okay.”
Since he’s standing there awkwardly on the right side of the bed, you move around to the left and slip beneath the covers, hoping the quiet cue is enough. The sheets are cool at first, then warm as your body sinks into them. You lie flat on your back, staring at the ceiling, feeling your bones finally remember they’re allowed to be tired.
Jungkook hesitates for only a second before climbing in on the other side. He lies down carefully, mirroring you by lying flat on his back, scooting closer in tiny increments, but stopping just short of touching. You can feel the heat of him beside you anyway, close enough that the space between your arms feels charged.
It's awkard. You won’t lie. It really is.
This feels intimate and it’s almost stupid, considering everything you’ve already shared. The closeness, the way you’ve tasted each other, touched, comforted, even crossed lines that should’ve made this easier.
But it doesn’t. This is different.This is quiet. Vulnerable in a way that leaves no room to hide. Just existing beside each other, aware of every breath, every shift, every inch of space. Sharing a bed feels like something else entirely. It's an act of trust.
You don’t know how to act. Whether to turn toward him or stay perfectly still. The silence stretches, broken only by the faint hum of the city outside and the soft rustle of fabric every time one of you breathes.
“I’ll switch the light off,” you say eventually.
"Okay,”
Of course the lamp switch is on his side.
You lift your upper body and lean over him carefully, trying not to fall off the bed. Your hair brushes your cheek; the bedsheets slide a little.
You reach toward the lamp cord.
Under you, you feel Jungkook go rigid. His fists clamp on the bedsheet, knuckles whitening. His breath stops so suddenly you can almost hear the silence it leaves behind.
You pause with the cord in your hand. For some reason, you want to look at him one last time today. So you turn your head slightly. His gaze is already on you. Wide. Soft in a way that almost doesn’t feel real under the low light. His pupils are blown slightly, dark and glossy with exhaustion, reflecting just enough light to make them shine. He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t even blink.
His lip catches between his teeth, and he might not even realize he’s doing it. For a second, you’re sure he’s going to split it open again if he presses any harder.
“Goodnight,” you murmur softly.
Then you flick the switch.
Darkness drops over the room, sudden and complete, swallowing everything except for the faint, silvery glow of the city that slips through the gap in the curtains. It paints the ceiling in pale, ghostly strokes.
You ease back to your side of the mattress, turning onto your side so you’re facing the wall. You pull the bedsheets higher, tucking it under your chin, and try to force your body to relax.
Behind you, you hear Jungkook’s breath start again. It’s shaky, quiet, like he had been holding it the entire time you were leaning over him. You close your eyes. Your head still hurts, a dull, persistent throb at the back of your skull where it had met the tunnel wall. You try really hard to fall asleep, to let exhaustion pull you under before your brain can start overthinking (which has always been your worst habit).
You focus on your breathing. In. Out. In. Out.
The painkillers are finally kicking in, making your limbs feel heavy and numb. Sleep begins to creep over you, dragging your thoughts down into softness.
Until a shift behind you disrupts everything.
Jungkook moves. Once. Twice. Three times. Restless, small adjustments like he can’t find a comfortable position. The mattress dips and rises with every motion. His elbow brushes against your back once, then again, warm through the thin fabric of your shirt. You squeeze your eyes tighter, pretending not to notice, trying to will yourself back toward sleep.
“Y/N…” His voice is barely a whisper, soft and uncertain in the dark.
You decide not to answer. You really want him to rest. You’re afraid that if you respond, he’ll keep talking, keep worrying, and neither of you will get any sleep. So you stay perfectly still, breathing slow, pretending to already be gone.
But he doesn’t move away. Instead, his body shifts closer. You feel the mattress dip as he props himself up slightly, hovering over you. His breath ghosts across the sensitive skin of your neck, warm and unsteady, sending a trail of goosebumps racing down your spine.
“Are you asleep?” he whispers, so close that his lips nearly brush your ear.
You sigh, giving up. “Yes,” you murmur, voice heavy with exhaustion. “Go to sleep, Kook.”
There’s a pause.
He doesn’t move. He just stays there, hovering, breathing against your neck. You press your face deeper into the pillow, trying to hide from the tension thickening in the air.
Then he shifts again. His chin comes to rest carefully in the crook of your neck and shoulder. The contact is gentle, but it’s intimate in a way that makes your chest tighten. The closeness is overwhelming. His chest almost touching your back, the faint scent of his own warm skin surrounding you.
“Y/N…” His voice rumbles low against your skin, vulnerable, the sound vibrating through your shoulder.
You open your eyes but don’t move. His warmth is oddly comforting, like a weighted blanket you didn’t know you needed.
“Yes?” you whisper. “What is it?”
For a long moment he stays quiet. Then his hand moves slowely and comes to rest on your hip. His fingers curl gently into the fabric of your shirt, gripping it like an anchor. You feel his cheek press more firmly against your jaw.
“I was so scared…” The words are barely spoken, fragile in the dark.
You shift a little, eyebrows scrunching as you tilt your face slightly toward him, trying to understand better. The movement makes his grip on your shirt tighten.
“When they hurt you…” His voice cracks. “I was so scared.”
Your heart skips hard in your chest. You know exactly what moment he’s talking about: The tunnel, the moment the hybrids claws caught your wrist, the way you hit the wall. The memories flash behind your eyes in the darkness.
“I wanted to run to you,” he continues, voice trembling. “But I couldn't. They held me back. I saw you on the ground... I thought that was it. That I lost you.”
His fingers twist harder into your shirt. His face presses closer, lips brushing your neck as he speaks.
“And then when you ran away... I thought you left me. That you finally hated me. Realized what I really am.”
You listen in complete silence, barely breathing. This is the most honest he has ever been with you. The words pour out of him like he’s been holding them inside for years, not hours. You don’t interrupt. You let him speak, even as your own chest tightens with every confession.
“Then you came back,” he whispers, voice breaking. “You came back for me, even after everything. But I had to leave you there. I was so afraid it would happen again. So I decided to leave you."
The words hit you so hard you can’t stay still anymore.
You turn.
You twist in the bed, forcing him to lift his head. The covers tangle around your legs as you sit up. Jungkook freezes, startled by how suddenly you moved, as if he expected you to stay quiet and accept his logic.
You’re inches away now.
Close enough to see the shine in his eyes. Close enough to see his ears sit lower than before. Close enough to feel his breath on your lips.
“But you didn’t really leave,” you say. “You followed me.”
Jungkook’s lashes flutter. He nods once, almost ashamed. “…Because I’m selfish,”
You blink. “What do you mean?”
His eyes drop to your mouth, then to your hands. He can’t hold your gaze while he confesses. His fingers twist the fabric of the sheets until it wrinkles.
“I should’ve let you go,” he murmurs. “Let you go home and live your life without me.” A pause. “But I didn’t. I waited for you in the dark.” Your chest squeezes. “I told myself that I would just make sure you were safe. Just watch. Make sure you got home.” He swallows hard. His ears twitch, then droop again. “But…” His voice breaks on the word.
The apartment is so quiet you can hear your own heartbeat. You know he hears it too. Moonlight seeps through the edges of the room, tracing the outline of Jungkook’s face in a faint, almost unreal silver. It catches on the curve of his cheekbone, softens the shadow under his eyes, makes him look even more distant and close at the same time.
He lifts his eyes to yours again, slowely. “I couldn’t let you go,” The sentence lands with weight. Not dramatic, not pretty, just the truth dragged out of him. “How could I live without you?” Your breath catches. He leans closer by a fraction, the movement hesitant and needy at the same time, like he’s afraid you’ll recoil but he can’t stop himself.
“I wanted you to hate me,” he admits, eyes shining. “If you hated me, it would be easier. I prayed you would leave and you would be safe and I could just disappear.” His voice drops lower “But you didn’t.” His gaze flicks to your bandaged wrist like it’s a bruise on his soul. “You searched for me—You didn’t leave me.”
He shifts even closer. You can see the tremble in his lower lip. “So I made a promise,” he whispers. His hand finally finds yours, fingers curling around your knuckles. “I’m all yours.” Your stomach flips. “Tell me and I will die for you,”
The words are terrifying. Not because you doubt him. It's because you don’t. You believe him completely and that’s what scares you. That kind of devotion can get him killed. Used. Broken.
“No,” you whisper, voice shaking but firm in a way that matters. Your other hand lifts, finding his face, cupping his cheek and forcing him to look at you properly. “I don’t want you dying for me.” Your thumb brushes under his eye, catching the faint tremble there. “I want you here. With me.”
A pause. Your forehead almost touches his. “So if you’re mine,” you murmur against his lips, “then you don’t get to disappear. If you’re mine, then you stay.”
His lips brush over yours, trembling, barely there. He knows he isn’t allowed any further. He is waiting for you to either accept him completely or shatter him into pieces. The tension is unbearable, thick and alive in the dark room. You can feel every shaky exhale against your mouth, every tiny tremor running through his body as he holds himself back.
Your hand slides to the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair as you close the distance between you. Your lips meet in a soft, unhurried kiss, molding together with a tenderness that steals your breath. He kisses you back just as gently, like he’s afraid anything more might break the moment. There’s a careful devotion in the way he moves, restrained but unmistakably drawn to you, as if he’s memorizing the shape of you through the kiss itself. You've been kissed before, but never like this, with the quiet desperation of someone baring their soul.
A tiny, broken whimper escapes him, swallowed into the press of your mouths, and it ignites something deep inside you. You realize, with a strange kind of clarity, right there in the middle of the dark, that this isn’t just a kiss. It’s Jungkook choosing you. Choosing to stay. Choosing not to run, not to disappear, not to tear himself away even when everything in him tells him to.
Choosing to belong.
No matter how scared he is or how deeply he still believes he doesn’t deserve it. He’s giving it to you anyway. Every fractured piece of himself—body, soul, scars, loyalty, all of it—laid bare in the quiet of your room, in the way he presses closer like he has nowhere else left to go.
Between the gentle presses of your lips, his whisper ghosts against you.
“Don't you think I’m selfish, Y/N?”
You pull back just enough to breathe, your forehead resting against his. You shake your head slowly, eyes locked on his in the faint silver light. “No,” you whisper back immediately. “No.”
Because you don’t see selfishness when you look at him.
All you see is someone who tried to leave even when it tore him apart. Just to keep you safe. Someone who convinced himself he was the danger, that the best thing he could do was disappear into the night like a stray no one would miss.
That isn’t selfish. That’s someone who would rather break himself in half than risk being the reason you hurt.
You look at him like this for a long time. His eyes are glassy, wide, and so unbearably sad that something inside your chest cracks open and bleeds. Those big, dark doe eyes that have followed you since the moment you found him make you want to give him the entire world. Not just safety. Not just a bed and new clothes. You want to give him peace. Belonging. The kind of love that doesn’t come with conditions or collars or fear of abandonment.
You lean in and press a gentle peck to the corner of his lip.
Something inside you decides, that if words don’t reach him, you will speak in the language his body understands. You’ve spent days trying to make him feel human. Trying to pull him into your rules, your version of normal, your safe little boundaries so he wouldn’t get hurt or seen as less. You thought that was kindness. You thought that was progress.
But right now?
Right now it isn’t about changing him.
It’s about wanting him. Letting him feel it, deep in his bones. Letting him be Jungkook, ears, tail, trembling devotion, instinctive submission, all that, and making sure he knows, without any doubt, that he isn’t simply tolerated. He is wanted.
Your lips trail lightly to his cheek, a soft press that lingers, then down to his jaw. He tilts his head instinctively, baring the line of his throat, eyes fluttering shut as you graze your teeth there in light, teasing bite. A moan rips from him, low and throaty, his bunny ears twitching forward then flattening in bliss.
But before you can make your way back to his lips, his eyes snap open, dark and feral. His hand shoots up, fingers wrapping around your neck, not crushing, but firm, possessive. You let out a sharp noise, half gasp, half moan, as his other palm presses flat against your back, hauling you closer until your chests crush together. The hold on your throat tightens just enough to make your pulse thunder under his thumb, but the air still slips through.
“I could kill you right now, Y/N,” he breathes, voice rough at the edges, something instinctive slipping through the cracks of his control. His teeth catch faintly in the low light as his lips hover just above yours, close enough that every word brushes against your mouth.
It isn’t a threat. It’s a test. A fragile, dangerous way of asking what he doesn’t know how to say plainly. Do you trust me? Or am I too feral, too animal for you? His gaze holds yours, unblinking, searching. And yet, even like this, with his hand around your neck, there’s something almost painfully innocent about him.
“I know,” you whisper, unflinching, eyes locked on his.
He nods once, his fingers flex, squeezing a fraction harder. Testing. Pleading. Trust this. Trust me. Then Slowly, his hand eases away from your neck, it slides down, finding your arm, then your back, pulling you in with quiet insistence.
He shifts you carefully, guiding you until you’re sitting on his lap. His mouth finds your neck almost immediately. Rushed kisses first. Then slower ones, lingering where his hand had been moments ago. Your breath catches, but you don’t pull away. Instead, your arms slide around his neck, holding him there, steadying him as much as he’s holding you. Your chin rests lightly against the top of his head, grounding both of you in the same breath, the same space.
“Promise me.”
You tilt your head slightly, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Promise what?”
He answers with another kiss to your neck. Then another, slower this time, like he’s gathering courage from each one. “That you won’t go near other hybrids,” he murmurs
“Okay,” you whisper. “I promise.”
Jungkook’s lips brush along your jaw, slow, tentative kisses that trail upward, warm and careful. His hands stay at your back.
“They’re dangerous,” he mumbles against your skin, voice low and rough. “Not all of them… but Lio and his pack are.” His lips pause just below your ear. “They seek revenge. They hate humans.”
You feel the words settle cold in your stomach. “Revenge?” you ask, tilting your head slightly. “Is that why they attacked you?”
Jungkook goes still. His lips hover over your jaw, breath warm against your skin. For a long moment he doesn’t move, like he’s deciding whether he should tell you. Then he gently pushes back, shifting his body so he can look up at you properly. You tilt with him, now looking down at him from above. His hand stays on your back, thumb rubbing slow circles on your bare skin as if he needs the contact to stay steady.
“It was because of her,” he says after a long pause. You wait, giving him space. “Lio… he had an owner first,” Jungkook continues, voice quiet. “She didn’t want him anymore,” he says. “So she threw him out. Onto the streets.” Jungkook’s ears droop slightly. “Then she bought me. I took his place.”
“She was… good to me,” he says after a beat, and your heart does a strange, awful twist at the word good. “I had my own room in the basement. Altough she locked me there. She beat me. Punished me.” He pauses, throat working. His gaze stays on your face, watching carefully for recoil. “She touched me wherever she wanted.”
The room goes very still. You can feel your own breath catch in your chest, sharp and shallow. The thought of anyone putting hands on him like he didn’t get a choice makes your stomach turn hard enough to hurt.
But Jungkook keeps speaking, because once he starts, the truth seems to spill out of him with no way to stop it. “But it was okay,” he admits, voice cracking just slightly. “I would rather be abused than abandoned.”
Your chest draws tight, breath turning shallow.
“I thought I loved her,” he whispers. “Because she kept me. I had a home... I kept living thinking I was hers forever." Jungkook’s fingers tighten on your back for a second before loosening again. “But then she got bored. So she threw me away too.”
You press your palm gently to Jungkook’s forehead, brushing his damp hair out of his eyes with your thumb. The moment your skin touches his, you feel the heat radiating from him. He’s burning up.
“You don’t have to tell me all of it,” you whisper, voice soft but steady. “I know it’s hard.”
Jungkook’s eyes flutter at your touch, but he doesn’t stop. Once he started, it seems like the words won’t let him rest until they’re all out.
“Lio found me. He took me into his pack.” His thumb keeps rubbing slow, absent circles against your back. “They wanted revenge. On humans. On everyone. They said humans are monsters… and monsters deserve to be hurt before they hurt us.”
His ears flatten slightly at the memory, and his gaze drifts somewhere past your shoulder.
“But it was too much for me,” he admits, voice dropping lower. “I didn’t like people much… but I didn’t want to hurt them either.” He swallows hard. “So I left. Now they think I betrayed them by leaving. They think I’m trying to live like a human. That I’m pretending to be something I’m not.”
You lean down slowly, pressing your forehead back against his, letting your noses brush.
“Then they’re wrong,” you whisper softly, your lips barely grazing his. “You didn’t betray anyone… you just chose yourself.”
His eyes searches your face, something uneasy flickering there. “you’re not afraid?” he asks quietly. “They could find us again… They could hurt you.”
You shake your head. “No,” you breathe, steady. “And even if they do… If i have to fight them with you, then i will.”
Something in him softens, the tension in his shoulders loosening as if it’s finally allowed to slip away. Relief washes over his features, quiet but unmistakable. His forehead presses more firmly against yours, heat radiating from his skin, almost feverish.
His eyes drop to your lips.
And the next thing you know, he leans in again with a quiet exhale through his nose. You tilt back slightly under the weight of him, of the kiss, of how completely he’s leaning into you. Your lips meet in the quiet, soft and unhurried, the sound of it barely there.
You let him taste you for a second. Just a second.
Then you pull back gently, your hand coming up to rest against his cheek. “Hey…” your voice softens, thumb brushing over warm skin. “let’s rest, okay?” you murmur. “you’re burning up… i don’t want you getting sick.”
He exhales quietly, like he wants to protest, but doesn’t. Instead, he just nods faintly, his grip loosening enough to let you shift. You slide off his lap carefully, guiding him down with you. The bed dips softly under your weight as you settle back, the room falling into a quieter kind of stillness.
For a moment, he just lies there, watching you.
“…Will you hold me?” he asks, voice low.
“Of course,” you whisper.
You move closer, turning onto your side and pulling him in with you, fitting against his back. Your arm slips around his waist, hand resting lightly over his stomach as you press into his warmth. He shifts instinctively, easing back into you, his body relaxing the second you’re there.
His ears droop slightly, then settle.
The tension slowly drains out of him, piece by piece, until his breathing evens out, steady, brushing against the quiet of the room.
You stay like that, holding him close, your cheek resting near his shoulder.
And somewhere between one breath and the next, you both fall asleep, him anchored in your arms, and you wrapped around him, wishing with everything in you that nothing ever comes for him again.
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SYNOPSIS: Forever was a long time to spend with someone you weren't in love with. Saying yes to Taehyung's proposal had been a mistake, one you didn't think you could walk away from in fear of destroying everything you've ever made for yourself. But, your heart laid with Jeon Jungkook, your grooms best man and best friend.
STARRING : 💍 bestman!jungkook x reader & fiance!taehyung x reader
WARNINGS : smut mdni, closet sex, hotel sex, multiple sex scenes, cowgirl, bathroom sex, infidelity, angst, fighting, blood, weddings, reader and jungkook are not good people at all.
▹ word count ✶﹐20k
The soft glow of string lights and the warm flicker of candles bathed the rehearsal dinner venue in a romantic haze, but beneath the surface, the air crackled with the kind of electric anticipation that came the night before a wedding. Tables were being meticulously set with crisp white linens and gleaming silverware, florists adjusted overflowing arrangements of blush roses and eucalyptus, and the low murmur of laughter mixed with the clink of champagne flutes as the wedding party mingled.
Taehyung moved through it all with his usual bright, easy smile, clapping Jungkook on the back as they joked about something you couldn’t quite hear from across the room. Your fiancé looked happy— genuinely happy and a sharp pang twisted in your chest at the sight. You loved him. You truly did. He was safe, kind, and had built a beautiful life with you. But love wasn’t the same as the all-consuming fire that burned in your veins whenever Jeon Jungkook was near.
No one noticed when you slipped away from the bustling main hall, your heels clicking softly against the polished floors as you made your way down a dimly lit side corridor. Seconds later, the supply closet door opened and closed with a quiet click, and Jungkook was on you. The space was small and intimate, barely large enough for the two of you, filled with the clean scent of fresh linens, lemon furniture polish, and the faint woody notes of his cologne that always made your head spin. Shelves lined the walls, stacked high with folded tablecloths and spare glassware that trembled slightly as he pressed you back against them. His hands were everywhere at once, cupping your face, sliding down your neck, gripping your waist with a hunger that had been building for far too long.
His mouth crashed against yours in a heated, desperate kiss, tongues tangling instantly as years of suppressed longing poured out between you. You moaned softly into him, fingers threading through his dark, silky hair and tugging just hard enough to draw a low growl from his throat. The kiss was messy, breathless, all teeth and tongue and raw need. One of his large hands trailed down your body, bunching the soft, flowing fabric of your rehearsal dinner dress higher and higher up your thighs until the cool air kissed your skin. He hooked his fingers into the delicate lace of your panties, yanking them roughly to the side without bothering to remove them. You felt the thick, hot length of his cock pressing against your entrance, already slick and aching for him after just one heated look across the room earlier.
“Jungkook…” you whispered breathlessly against his lips, but the name came out more like a plea than a warning. You tried not to think about how long this had been going on; one entire year of stolen touches, secret meetings, and nights where you told yourself it would be the last time. You tried not to think about Taehyung waiting just down the hall, about the vows you would speak tomorrow, or the life you had so carefully built. But then Jungkook pushed inside you in one slow, powerful thrust, stretching you open so perfectly that all coherent thought shattered.
A choked gasp escaped your lips as he filled you completely, his cock buried to the hilt, your walls fluttering around his thick girth. He was so big, so deep, the delicious burn of it making your toes curl inside your heels. Jungkook pressed his forehead to yours, breathing hard, his hands gripping your hips with bruising strength to hold you steady in the cramped space. “Fuck, baby… so tight, so wet for me already,” he rasped, voice low and wrecked, barely above a whisper. He began to move then, deep, rolling thrusts that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you, the angle perfect in the tight confines of the closet. The shelf behind you rattled softly with each measured pump of his hips, the quiet, wet sounds of your bodies connecting echoing obscenely in the small room.
You clung to his broad shoulders, nails digging into the crisp fabric of his black button-up shirt as you tried desperately to stay quiet. Outside, the rehearsal dinner continued, laughter rang out, glasses clinked, someone called your name faintly in the distance, but in here, it was just the two of you. Your leg hooked around his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper as he fucked you with controlled intensity, grinding against your clit with every thrust. Pleasure coiled hot and tight in your lower belly, building faster than you could handle. Sweat beaded along your skin, your dress sticking to your back, while Jungkook’s breath fanned hot against your neck, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered filthy praises.
“You feel so fucking good… always take me so well,” he groaned quietly, one hand slipping between your bodies to rub tight circles over your swollen clit. His pace quickened slightly, hips snapping forward in short, powerful strokes that made stars burst behind your eyelids. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, biting down on his shoulder to muffle the desperate whimpers threatening to spill out. The scent of him, clean soap, faint sweat, and pure Jungkook— overwhelmed you, making your head spin. Every drag of his cock sent sparks of ecstasy racing up your spine, your inner walls clenching rhythmically around him as you neared the edge.
He could feel it, knew your body better than anyone. “That’s it, baby. Come for me,” he murmured, voice strained with his own impending release. “Let go… I’ve got you.” The coil inside you snapped, pleasure crashing over you in powerful waves. Your thighs trembled violently as you came hard around him, a broken sob muffled against his skin while your pussy pulsed and fluttered, drawing him even deeper. Jungkook followed right after, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural groan he tried— and failed— to silence. You felt the hot rush of his release filling you, his cock twitching deep inside as he rode out his orgasm, hips grinding lazily against yours until you were both spent and shaking.
For several long moments, the only sounds were your ragged breaths mingling in the dim closet. Jungkook stayed buried inside you, softening slowly, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as if he couldn’t bear to let go just yet. He pressed soft, lingering kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, tender now that the storm had passed. You kept your eyes closed, trying to savor the warmth of him, the feeling of being so completely his, even if it was only for these stolen minutes. Tomorrow you would walk down the aisle and promise forever to Taehyung. Tomorrow this would have to end.
The aftershocks of pleasure still hummed through your body as Jungkook cupped your face with both hands, thumbs brushing tenderly over your flushed cheeks, and kissed you— slow, deep, and devastatingly intimate. It wasn’t the frantic hunger from minutes ago; this kiss was full of quiet longing, his tongue sliding against yours like he was trying to memorize the taste of you. You melted into it, fingers curling weakly into his shirt, wishing you could stay wrapped in him forever.
Eventually he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours with a heavy sigh. “We should get back,” he murmured, voice low and rough, still laced with emotion. He pressed one last soft kiss to your swollen lips before carefully slipping out of you. The loss of him made you ache in more ways than one. Jungkook stepped back just enough to fix himself, tucking his shirt back in, smoothing down the front of his black trousers, and running a hand through his messy hair until it looked intentionally tousled rather than freshly fucked. He gave you one final look, eyes dark and conflicted, the weight of tomorrow hanging between you like a storm cloud.
“I’ll see you back out there, baby,” he whispered, the nickname slipping out like a secret he couldn’t hold in. Then he cracked the door open, checked the hallway, and slipped out without another word, leaving you alone in the dim, cluttered space.
You stood there for a long moment, thighs still trembling, his release slowly trickling down your skin. The distant sounds of the rehearsal dinner filtered in, laughter, music, the clinking of glasses, reminding you that the world outside hadn’t stopped turning.
With a shaky breath, you reached for the small mirror hanging on the back of the closet door. Your reflection stared back at you: cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen, hair slightly disheveled. You carefully smoothed everything back into place, patting down stray strands, fixing the smudged edge of your lipstick with your fingertip, and adjusting the neckline of your dress until you looked like the composed bride-to-be everyone expected.
As you stared at your own eyes in the mirror, a heavy wave of memory washed over you. Your mind drifted back to the exact day this all began, the moment everything between you and Jungkook shifted from best-friend’s-girlfriend and best man into something irreversible.
one year ago.
The rain came down in merciless sheets that night, turning the city streets into glossy rivers that reflected the blurred glow of streetlights. Thunder rolled overhead like distant artillery, shaking the windows of the apartment building as you slammed the door behind you. Your heart hammered wildly in your chest, a chaotic mix of rage, hurt, and disbelief crashing through you with every step. The fight with Taehyung had been one of the worst you’d ever had, maybe the worst. It started over something small, as these things often did: a forgotten anniversary plan, a careless comment about your long work hours. But it had snowballed fast, words flying like daggers neither of you could take back.
“You’re never here anymore!” Taehyung had shouted, his usually warm voice sharp with frustration. “It feels like I’m dating a ghost. Do you even still want this?”
You’d fired back just as viciously. “Maybe I don’t! Maybe I’m tired of feeling like I’m carrying everything while you act like the charming golden boy who never has to try!” The accusations had grown crueler, old insecurities dragged into the light, past arguments rehashed with fresh venom. He’d said you were emotionally unavailable. You’d thrown back that sometimes you wondered if he even loved you or just loved the idea of you. By the end, both of you were yelling things you never thought you’d say to each other. “Maybe we shouldn’t even be together,” he’d spat. You hadn’t disagreed. You’d grabbed your coat and left before the tears could fall in front of him.
Now, soaked to the bone, your phone vibrated relentlessly in your pocket. Taehyung’s name lit up the screen again and again, missed calls piling up, text notifications buzzing like angry hornets. You ignored them all, teeth chattering as the cold rain seeped through your thin jacket and into your skin. The wind whipped your hair across your face, stinging your eyes that were already burning from crying. Where could you even go? Chaewon was out of town for the whole week, visiting family in Busan. Hotels felt too lonely, too clinical for a night like this. Your feet carried you almost on autopilot through the storm, blocks blurring together until you found yourself standing in front of Jungkook’s apartment building.
He was Taehyung’s best friend, but over the years he had become yours too. The three of you had built a comfortable little world together, lazy Sundays playing video games, late-night drives for street food, inside jokes that no one else understood. Showing up at his door in the middle of a breakdown wasn’t entirely out of character, but it still felt vulnerable. Your knuckles rapped against the wood, weak at first, then louder as another crack of thunder split the sky.
The door opened after a moment, and Jungkook stood there in a simple black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, his dark hair slightly messy like he’d been relaxing. His eyes widened instantly at the sight of you, drenched, shivering, mascara running in dark streaks down your cheeks, lips trembling from the cold and suppressed sobs. “Holy shit,” he breathed, reaching out without hesitation. “Get in here right now. You’re going to freeze to death.”
Strong hands pulled you inside, and the warmth of his apartment wrapped around you like a hug. The door clicked shut, muffling the roar of the storm outside. Soft lighting glowed from a lamp in the living room, and the faint scent of his cologne, something woody and clean, mingled with the smell of rain on your clothes. Jungkook didn’t bombard you with questions. Instead, he moved with quiet efficiency. He disappeared down the short hallway and returned quickly with a large, fluffy towel, an oversized black hoodie that smelled like him, and a pair of his sweatpants.
“Here,” he said gently, pressing them into your arms. “Bathroom’s yours. Change out of those wet clothes before you catch pneumonia. I’ll make you something warm to eat.” His voice was steady, grounding, the kind of calm that made the chaos in your head feel a little less overwhelming.
You nodded numbly and slipped into the bathroom. Peeling off your soaked clothes felt like shedding a layer of the fight itself. The dry fabric of his hoodie engulfed you, soft and comforting against your chilled skin, the hem falling mid-thigh. The sweatpants were loose but warm. When you emerged, Jungkook had already set up the living room: a steaming bowl of spicy ramen on the coffee table, a blanket draped over the couch, and a glass of water beside it. He patted the seat next to him.
Only then did he ask, voice soft and free of judgment, “What happened?”
The words tumbled out of you for what felt like hours. You told him everything, the small spark that started the argument, how it escalated into screaming matches about commitment, about feeling unseen, about fears that maybe the two of you had grown in different directions. You recounted the cruelest things said: how Taehyung had implied you were selfish for prioritizing your career, how you’d thrown back that sometimes he felt more like a best friend than a partner. Tears flowed freely again as you spoke, and Jungkook listened through it all. He never interrupted, never took sides. He simply nodded, offered quiet “I’m sorry you went through that,” and handed you tissues when your voice cracked.
As the ramen cooled and your shivering finally stopped, the conversation stretched deeper. You talked about the good times too, the early days when everything with Taehyung felt effortless and exciting. Jungkook shared his own observations from the outside, careful and kind. “You two have always been strong,” he said at one point, leaning back against the couch. “But even strong couples hit rough patches. Doesn’t mean it’s over unless you want it to be.”
Time slipped away. The storm outside began to ease into a steady drizzle. Eventually, Jungkook stood and returned from the kitchen with a bottle of red wine and two glasses. “You’ve earned this,” he said with a small, comforting smile, pouring generously. “Might help take the edge off.”
You accepted the glass gratefully. The rich, velvety liquid warmed your throat and loosened the knot in your chest. As you sipped, the heavy topic of the fight slowly faded. The conversation drifted naturally into lighter waters, funny memories from group trips, inside jokes about Taehyung’s dramatic reactions to horror movies, stories from Jungkook’s recent work projects. He was always so easy to talk to, his laughter low and genuine, his eyes crinkling at the corners when something truly amused him.
Eventually the topic turned to his love life, or lack thereof. Jungkook swirled the wine in his glass, a faint sigh escaping him. “I don’t know… I just haven’t found the right girl yet. Dating feels exhausting lately. Everyone I meet seems nice on the surface, but there’s no real connection. No spark that makes me want to fight for it, you know?”
You tilted your head, studying him under the warm lamplight. The wine had brought a soft flush to your cheeks, and the comfort of his clothes made you feel safer than you had all night. “She’ll come along, Kook. I promise. You’re… you’re really attractive. Like, stupidly attractive. You’re kind, talented, funny, thoughtful. Any girl would be incredibly lucky to have you. Don’t sell yourself short.”
He looked surprised, then shy. A light blush crept across his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he ducked his head with a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Stop it. You’re just saying that because you’re being nice after a bad night.” But when he lifted his gaze again, his dark eyes met yours and held. The air between you thickened, charged with something new and electric. “You’re attractive too,” he said quietly, voice dropping lower. “Really fucking attractive. Inside and out. The way you light up when you talk about things you love… the way you’re so strong even when you’re hurting. Taehyung’s lucky. Anyone would be.”
The compliment landed heavily, warmth blooming in your chest that had nothing to do with the wine. You stared at each other across the small space of the couch. The storm outside had become a distant murmur. Your heart pounded hard against your ribs, a mix of guilt, curiosity, and undeniable pull swirling inside you. Without fully realizing what you were doing, you set your wine glass down on the coffee table with a soft clink. The sound seemed to echo in the quiet room.
Then you leaned forward, closing the distance in one breathless moment, and pressed your lips to his.
The kiss started tentative, soft and uncertain, tasting of red wine and the faint salt of earlier tears. But the moment Jungkook’s hand came up to cradle the back of your neck, fingers threading gently into your damp hair, something ignited. The kiss deepened, slow and exploratory, like both of you had been waiting for permission you didn’t know you needed.
The kiss deepened almost instantly, like a dam breaking after years of careful restraint. What started as soft and tentative quickly turned hungry— your lips parting, tongues sliding together in a slow, intoxicating rhythm that sent heat rushing through your entire body. Jungkook tasted like red wine and warmth, his mouth moving against yours with a quiet intensity that made your head spin. One of his hands stayed cradled at the back of your neck, fingers threading through your still-damp hair, while the other settled on your waist, gripping the fabric of his oversized hoodie like he was trying to anchor himself.
You couldn’t stop yourself. The ache that had been building inside you all night, the hurt from the fight, the confusion, the unexpected pull toward Jungkook, pushed you forward. You shifted on the couch, swinging one leg over his lap until you were straddling him, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his thighs. The new position brought your bodies flush together, your chest pressed against his, and you felt the sharp intake of breath he took against your mouth.
Jungkook’s hands instinctively moved to your hips, holding you there as the kiss grew hotter, wetter. A low sound rumbled in his chest— half groan, half sigh— and for a few blissful seconds, he kissed you back like he’d been starving for it. His tongue explored yours, teeth grazing your bottom lip, sending little sparks straight down your spine.
Then he suddenly pulled away, breaking the kiss with a gasp. His forehead rested against yours, eyes squeezed shut, breathing ragged. “Wait— wait,” he whispered, voice strained and rough. One hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your flushed skin. His dark eyes searched yours, filled with conflict. “But… Taehyung. He’s my best friend. You’re his girlfriend. We can’t— we shouldn’t—”
The words hung heavy between you, the reality of what you were doing crashing down like cold water. For a heartbeat, guilt flickered across his face, his jaw tight as he fought an internal battle. You could see it, the loyalty to Taehyung warring with the undeniable desire burning in his gaze.
You shook your head, heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat. Your fingers curled into the front of his t-shirt, holding him close. “I know,” you breathed, voice barely above a whisper. “I know it’s wrong. But right now… I need this, Jungkook. I need you.” Your voice cracked slightly, raw with emotion. “Tonight I don’t want to think about the fight or what it means. I just… I want this. I want you. And I can tell you want it too.”
Jungkook stared at you for a long, charged moment. His chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes dark and conflicted, lips slightly parted and still glistening from the kiss. The silence stretched, thick with tension and unspoken consequences. Then something in his expression shifted, the hesitation cracked, desire winning out. With a quiet, defeated groan, he slid his hand back into your hair and pulled you back down into a searing kiss.
This time there was no restraint. The kiss was deeper, more possessive, his tongue claiming your mouth as his hands roamed. He kissed you like he was pouring every hidden feeling he’d ever had into it. His lips soon trailed away from your mouth, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down the sensitive column of your neck. You tilted your head to the side, giving him better access, a soft whimper escaping as his teeth grazed your pulse point.
“Fuck… you taste so good,” he murmured against your skin, voice husky. One of his large hands slid down to your thigh, fingers slipping under the hem of the borrowed sweatpants, stroking the bare skin there with slow, deliberate touches. The other hand stayed on your hip, guiding you as you began to move.
You rocked slowly against him, grinding down onto his lap in a gentle, teasing rhythm. You could already feel him hardening beneath you, the growing bulge pressing against your core through the thin layers of fabric. Each roll of your hips drew a low, muffled groan from him, the sound vibrating against your neck where he continued kissing and gently sucking, careful not to leave marks but clearly struggling with the urge.
His hands explored your thighs with increasing hunger, squeezing the soft flesh, fingertips digging in just enough to make you shiver. “You feel so fucking good on me,” he whispered between kisses, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Been trying not to think about this for so long…”
You answered by grinding down harder, chasing the friction that was quickly turning the slow burn into an open flame. The living room felt smaller, hotter, the distant sound of rain against the windows the only thing grounding you to reality. Jungkook’s breath grew heavier, his hips starting to lift subtly to meet your movements, hands guiding your pace as he kissed lower, nudging the collar of the hoodie aside to press his lips to your collarbone.
Every touch, every whispered word, every roll of your hips blurred the line further, guilt and desire twisting together until they were almost indistinguishable. The heat between you had become unbearable, a slow-building fire that consumed every last shred of hesitation. Jungkook’s hands were everywhere, sliding under the oversized hoodie, palms hot against your bare skin as he pulled you closer.
Your fingers trembled as they found the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it upward. He helped you, lifting his arms so you could peel it off, revealing the smooth, toned planes of his chest and abdomen, muscles flexing with every ragged breath. The hoodie came off next in a frantic blur, your hair tumbling messily around your shoulders as he yanked it over your head. Sweatpants and his own followed, fabric whispering against skin and pooling on the floor until there was nothing left between you.
Naked, skin to skin, the world narrowed to just this: the warmth of his body, the rapid thud of his heartbeat against yours, the way his dark eyes drank you in like you were the only thing that mattered. Any lingering thought of Taehyung dissolved completely, washed away by the storm outside and the one raging inside you. There was only Jungkook, his scent, his touch, the way he looked at you like he’d been waiting years for this moment.
You rose up on your knees, straddling him fully now, one hand braced on his broad shoulder while the other reached between your bodies. His cock was hard and heavy, flushed and leaking at the tip. You wrapped your fingers around him, stroking once, twice, feeling him twitch in your grip. Jungkook’s breath hitched, a low, needy sound escaping his throat as he gripped your hips, thumbs stroking soothing circles into your skin. No words passed between you. None were needed.
Slowly, torturously, you sank down onto him.
The stretch was exquisite, inch by inch, he filled you, thick and deep, pressing against walls that had never been touched quite like this. A soft, broken moan slipped from your lips as you bottomed out, your thighs trembling against his. Jungkook’s head fell back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, his chest rising sharply with a silent groan. His hands tightened on your hips, not guiding, just holding, reverent, steady, like he was afraid this might vanish if he gripped too hard.
You stayed there for a long moment, just feeling him, letting your body adjust to the fullness. Then you began to move. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t rough. It was slow, rolling waves, your hips lifting and sinking in a languid rhythm, grinding down on every descent so his cock dragged perfectly against that sensitive spot deep inside you. Every movement drew quiet, breathy moans from both of you. Your forehead pressed to his, noses brushing, mouths hovering close enough to share the same air. His hands roamed your back, your waist, your thighs, gentle caresses that felt almost worshipful. One palm came up to cup your breast, thumb brushing tenderly over your nipple, drawing another soft whimper from you.
You rode him like that for what felt like forever, lost in the rhythm. The wet, intimate sounds of your bodies moving together filled the quiet living room, mingling with the steady patter of rain against the windows. Your breaths synced— short, panting exhales every time you sank down, shaky inhales when you rose again. Jungkook’s moans were low and guttural, vibrating against your chest whenever he buried his face in your neck. He kissed you there, open-mouthed and slow, sucking gently, tongue tracing your pulse.
You hated yourself for the thought that flickered through your mind, but it was impossible to ignore: Jungkook was hitting places Taehyung had never reached. Deeper, fuller, brushing against a spot that made sparks explode behind your eyelids with every roll of your hips. The pleasure was different, richer, more intense, curling low in your belly and spreading outward like warm honey. Guilt twisted sharp and sudden in your chest, but it melted away again under the next wave of sensation as you ground down harder, taking him to the hilt.
Jungkook seemed to sense it. His arms wrapped fully around you, pulling you impossibly closer until your bodies were flush, moving as one. One hand slid into your hair, cradling the back of your head; the other stayed on your lower back, guiding your slow, sensual rhythm without forcing it. His lips found yours again, kissing you deeply, languidly, tongues stroking in time with your hips. Every moan, every sigh, every quiet gasp became your only language.
You could feel the tension building in both of you, coiling tighter and tighter. Your walls fluttered around him, clenching with every descent. Jungkook’s breathing grew more ragged, his hips starting to lift subtly to meet yours, pushing just a little deeper each time. Sweat slicked your skin where you pressed together. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, nails leaving faint crescents as the pleasure crested.
When you came, it was slow and devastating, waves of ecstasy rolling through you, pulling a long, trembling moan from your throat that he swallowed with another deep kiss. Your body pulsed around him, drawing him in, holding him there as pleasure blinded you. Jungkook followed moments later, burying himself deep with one final, shuddering thrust. A broken groan tore from him as he spilled inside you, hot and pulsing, his arms tightening around your body like he never wanted to let go.
You stayed like that for a long time afterward, still joined, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in. His hands stroked soothingly up and down your back. Soft kisses were pressed to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. No words. Just the quiet intimacy of two people who had crossed a line they could never uncross.
The next morning light crept in slowly through the half-drawn blinds of Jungkook’s living room, painting long, lazy stripes of pale gold across the hardwood floor and the rumpled blanket that had been pulled over your bodies sometime in the night. You woke gradually, not with a jolt but with a soft, heavy awareness that settled into your bones like warm honey mixed with lead. Your body felt different, deliciously used, sore in the most intimate places, a faint ache between your thighs that made heat bloom across your cheeks even before your eyes fully opened.
Every shift of your hips reminded you of how deeply he had been inside you, how perfectly he had filled you, how your walls had clenched around him in those slow, rolling waves of pleasure. The memory hit you in fragments: the way his hands had gripped your hips with such tender reverence, the quiet hitch in his breath each time you sank down onto him, the way your foreheads had stayed pressed together as if you were sharing the same heartbeat.
Jungkook lay beside you on the wide couch, still fast asleep. His dark hair was tousled against the cushion, one arm draped loosely over your waist, fingers curled loosely against the bare skin of your lower back where the blanket had slipped. His chest rose and fell in deep, even rhythms, lips slightly parted, lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks. He looked so peaceful, so boyishly handsome in the morning light, and for a fleeting second your heart squeezed with something dangerously close to affection.
Last night had been… God, it had been some of the best sex of your life. Not just the physical release— though that had been shattering— but the intimacy of it. The way it had felt romantic, almost sacred, like two souls reaching for each other in the dark without a single word spoken. You hadn’t rushed. You hadn’t needed to. Every slow grind of your hips, every shared breath, every soft moan had built something deeper than lust. And now, in the quiet aftermath, you lay there feeling the evidence of it still inside you, his release, dried on your inner thighs, a sticky reminder that refused to let you pretend it had been a dream.
But the warmth in your chest curdled quickly into something colder. Your heart felt heavy, a dull, throbbing weight pressing against your ribs as reality seeped in like the gray dawn outside. You didn’t regret it. Not entirely. How could you, when your body still hummed with the afterglow of something so raw and real? Taehyung had never touched you like that— never reached the places Jungkook had found so effortlessly, never made you feel so completely seen and wanted in the middle of your brokenness.
The thought made guilt twist sharp and vicious in your stomach, but it was tangled up with an odd, stubborn sense of clarity. Last night had been a release you hadn’t known you needed. Still, the dread pooled low in your belly, thick and icy, spreading outward until your fingers trembled where they rested against Jungkook’s arm. You had cheated. On Taehyung. With his best friend. The words echoed in your mind like a courtroom verdict, cold and final. You had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed, and the weight of it pressed down on you until breathing felt like an effort.
Your mind began to whirl, thoughts spiraling faster and faster. What if Jungkook woke up right now? What would you say? What if he looked at you with those dark, searching eyes and asked if it changed anything? What if Taehyung somehow sensed it the second you walked through the door, the faint scent of Jungkook’s cologne still clinging to your skin, the subtle marks his mouth had left on your neck that you’d have to hide? Panic flickered at the edges of your consciousness. You couldn’t stay here. You had to leave before the apartment filled with daylight and questions and the terrifying possibility that last night might mean more than either of you could handle.
Carefully, so carefully, you began to disentangle yourself. You lifted Jungkook’s arm inch by inch, holding your breath when he stirred and let out a soft, sleepy sigh. His fingers brushed your hip as they fell away, sending a traitorous spark through you, but he didn’t wake. You slid off the couch on silent feet, the cool floorboards kissing your bare soles. Your clothes from the night before, still slightly damp from the storm, lay folded neatly on the coffee table where Jungkook must have placed them.
You dressed quickly but quietly, pulling on your pants and shirt with shaking hands, wincing at the way the fabric dragged against skin still sensitive from his touch. The oversized hoodie and sweatpants you’d borrowed last night stayed behind; you couldn’t risk taking anything that smelled like him home. One last glance at Jungkook, his peaceful face, the faint red lines your nails had left on his shoulder, and your chest tightened with a confusing mix of longing and shame. You slipped out the door like a ghost, pulling it shut behind you with the softest click. The hallway was empty, the building still hushed in the early hour. Your footsteps echoed too loudly in your own ears as you hurried down the stairs and out into the morning air.
The city was just waking up, the streets still glistening from last night’s rain. Puddles reflected the pale sky, and the air carried that fresh, earthy scent of wet pavement mixed with distant coffee shops opening their doors. You walked the familiar route home, each step heavier than the last. The dread in your belly grew into a storm of its own, churning and expanding until it felt like it might swallow you whole. You had cheated. With Jungkook. Taehyung’s best friend. The man who had stood beside him at every milestone, who had laughed with the two of you over late-night dinners, who had been part of your shared life for years.
How had it come to this? One fight, one storm, one vulnerable night, and now everything was tainted. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, Taehyung again, probably, but you couldn’t look. Not yet. Your mind raced through every possible scenario: what if he could tell just by looking at you? What if the guilt was written across your face like a neon sign? What if Jungkook texted him something innocent later and the truth slipped out anyway? You prayed, silently and desperately, that Taehyung wouldn’t be home when you got there. Maybe he’d crashed at the studio. Maybe he’d gone for a run to clear his head. Anything but facing him with last night still burning on your skin.
But the universe had other plans. Punishment, it seemed, came swift and merciless.
The moment you slid your key into the lock of your apartment door, the familiar click sounded like a gunshot in the quiet hallway. You pushed the door open and stepped inside, heart hammering so hard you could feel it in your throat. The living room was dim, curtains still drawn, but the lamp on the side table was on. And there he was, Taehyung. He had clearly spent the entire night on the couch, exactly where you’d left him. His hair was a wild mess, dark circles carved under his eyes, clothes wrinkled and rumpled from hours of restless tossing. The second the door opened and he registered your presence, he shot up from the couch like a man possessed, eyes wide and red-rimmed with exhaustion and unshed tears.
“Baby—” His voice cracked on the single word, raw and broken. He crossed the room in three long, desperate strides, bare feet silent on the floor. Before you could even open your mouth to speak, he dropped to his knees right in front of you, the impact loud enough to make you flinch. His arms wrapped around your legs in a crushing embrace, face burying itself against your thighs as heavy, gut-wrenching sobs tore from his chest. “I’m so sorry,” he cried, voice muffled against the fabric of your pants. Tears soaked through immediately, warm and relentless. “I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t mean any of the things I said last night— none of it. I was scared and angry and I took it all out on you. I love you. God, I love you so much. Please… please don’t leave me. I can’t lose you. I can’t do this without you.”
His shoulders shook violently under the force of his crying. He clung to you like a lifeline, fingers digging into the back of your thighs as if letting go would make you disappear forever. “I stayed up all night thinking about everything. About us. About how I’ve been taking you for granted. I’ll change. I’ll do better. I’ll be the man you deserve. Just… just tell me we’re okay. Tell me you still love me.”
Your heart sank like a stone dropped into the deepest, coldest part of the ocean. The guilt you’d been carrying since you left Jungkook’s apartment crashed over you in a tidal wave, so intense it stole the breath from your lungs. Here was Taehyung— your boyfriend, your partner, the man you had built a life with, completely shattered at your feet, pouring out his soul in raw, ugly tears. And you… you had spent the night wrapped around his best friend, letting Jungkook fuck you slow and deep while the rain fell outside. The contrast was nauseating. You couldn’t tell him. Not now. Not ever. The truth would destroy him. It would destroy the three of you. Everything you had worked so hard to build would crumble into dust.
Right then and there, kneeling on the floor with him, the decision crystallized in your mind like ice forming over a lake. It had to be a one-time thing. A horrible, beautiful, unrepeatable mistake born from anger and vulnerability and the storm. You would talk to Jungkook, soon, before anything else could happen, and make him understand. You would convince him that you couldn’t tell Taehyung, that it was a mistake that could never be repeated, that the two of you had to bury it so deep it never saw the light of day again. For Taehyung’s sake. For all of your sakes.
Tears spilled down your own cheeks then— hot, guilty, bitter tears that burned tracks down your skin. You sank to your knees too, right there in the entryway, cupping Taehyung’s tear-streaked face in both your hands and lifting it so you could look into his eyes. They were so full of love and relief and desperation that it nearly broke you all over again. “Taehyung…” you whispered, voice thick and trembling. You leaned in and kissed him softly, tasting the salt of his tears on his lips. The kiss was gentle, reassuring, everything he needed it to be. “I forgive you. I’m sorry too. We both said awful, hurtful things. I love you. We’re going to be okay. I promise.”
He pulled you into his arms with a broken sob of relief, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his body shook against yours. You held him tight, stroking his back in slow, soothing circles, letting your own tears fall freely into his hair. The two of you stayed like that on the floor for what felt like hours, two broken people clinging to each other in the wreckage of last night’s fight.
Taehyung’s tears eventually slowed, replaced by shaky, grateful breaths and whispered promises against your skin. But while his were tears of remorse and gratitude and second chances, yours were born from something far darker: a crushing shame that settled deep in your bones, a fear that gnawed at the edges of your mind, and the terrifying knowledge that you had just shattered something sacred and could never, ever take it back.
The apartment smelled like yesterday’s dinner and stale coffee. The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the silence between his sobs. Outside, the city continued its morning rhythm, cars passing, birds calling, life moving forward as if nothing had changed. But inside, everything had. You stroked Taehyung’s hair and whispered more reassurances, even as your mind replayed every slow, intimate moment with Jungkook in vivid, unwanted detail. The way he had looked at you. The way he had felt inside you. The way your body had responded like it had been waiting for him all along.
You hated yourself for it. But you couldn’t undo it. All you could do now was bury it, lock it away, and pray that the secret wouldn’t eat you alive from the inside out.
The week that followed the stormy night felt like walking through fog, thick, disorienting, and heavy with the weight of what you’d done. You threw yourself into repairing things with Taehyung: quiet dinners at home, long talks where he held your hands and promised to be better, soft kisses that tasted like forgiveness. You told yourself every single day that the night with Jungkook had been a one-time lapse in judgment, a moment of weakness you would bury so deep it would never surface again. You even avoided places where you might run into him, deleting the casual “you okay?” text he’d sent the day after and never replying.
But the memories refused to stay buried. At night, when Taehyung slept beside you, your mind replayed every slow roll of your hips, every shared breath, the way Jungkook had looked at you like you were the only real thing in his world. Your body remembered too— the delicious ache, the way he had reached places no one else ever had. The guilt was constant, but so was the pull. By the seventh day, you couldn’t fight it anymore. You told Taehyung you were going out for a walk to clear your head, and your feet carried you straight to Jungkook’s apartment building like they had a mind of their own.
Your heart thundered as you stood outside his door, fist hovering. Just end it, you repeated like a mantra. Tell him it was a mistake. Make sure he understands we can never speak of it again. You knocked before you could chicken out.
Jungkook opened the door almost immediately, as if he’d sensed you coming. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, hair messy, wearing the same black hoodie from that night. The moment his gaze landed on you, something raw and relieved flickered across his face.
“You came,” he said softly, stepping aside to let you in.
The apartment smelled exactly the same, clean cotton, faint cologne, warm coffee. It made your stomach twist with unwanted nostalgia. You sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, the same one where everything had started, hands knotted tightly in your lap. Jungkook settled across from you, leaving careful space between you, but his eyes never left your face.
You swallowed hard. “Kook… what happened last week can never happen again. It was a mistake. I was hurting, the fight with Taehyung was fresh, and I was vulnerable. But I love him. He’s your best friend. We crossed a line we had no right to cross.”
Jungkook nodded slowly, jaw flexing. He ran a hand through his hair, looking down at the floor. “I know. I’ve been sick over it. He’s like a brother to me. Every time I think about looking him in the eye, I feel like the worst person alive.” His voice was heavy, genuine. “You’re right. It has to stop. We bury it. Pretend it never happened.”
Relief flooded through you, cool and fleeting. He agreed. This nightmare could end here. But the silence that followed stretched too long, thick with everything unsaid. Your mind betrayed you first.
“I still can’t stop thinking about how slow we went,” you whispered, almost against your will. “The way you held me… like I mattered. Like nothing else existed.”
Jungkook’s breath caught. His eyes darkened, pupils blowing wide. “Yeah?” His voice dropped lower. “I keep remembering how you sank down on me… so wet, so tight. The way your walls fluttered every time I hit that spot deep inside. Fuck… I’ve jerked off to that memory every night since.”
Heat flashed through your body like lightning. Your thighs pressed together instinctively. “The way you looked at me when I came,” you continued, voice trembling. “Like you were feeling it too.”
“I was,” he rasped. “I felt everything. Every little gasp, every roll of your hips, the way you clenched around my cock when you fell apart. I’ve never come that hard in my life.”
The air between you crackled, electric and dangerous. You leaned forward slightly at the same time he did. “We shouldn’t,” you breathed, even as your body leaned closer.
“I know,” he growled, but his hand was already reaching for you.
The distance vanished in a heartbeat. Jungkook pulled you up and into his arms, mouths crashing together in a desperate, starving kiss. This wasn’t the tender exploration of last week. This was weeks of guilt, longing, and frustration exploding all at once. Tongues tangled, teeth nipped, hands roamed frantically. He walked you backward down the hallway without breaking the kiss, kicking his bedroom door open.
Clothes came off in a frenzied blur, your sweater yanked over your head, his hoodie tossed aside, pants and underwear shoved down and kicked away. By the time your back hit his bed, you were both completely naked, skin flushed and burning. Jungkook climbed over you like a man possessed, eyes blazing with raw hunger. He hooked his hands behind your knees and pushed your legs up and over his broad shoulders, folding you nearly in half beneath him. The position left you completely open, vulnerable, and aching.
He gripped his thick cock, dragging the swollen head through your slick folds once, twice, teasing your entrance. Then he thrust in— hard. One powerful snap of his hips buried him to the hilt inside you. You cried out sharply at the sudden, breathtaking stretch, your walls fluttering wildly around his girth. He didn’t pause. He pulled back almost to the tip and slammed in again, setting a brutal, punishing rhythm that made the headboard slam rhythmically against the wall.
“Fuck— Jungkook!” you sobbed, nails raking down his back hard enough to leave marks.
He groaned deep in his chest, the sound animalistic. “So fucking tight. So wet for me. God, this pussy was made for my cock.” His hips snapped forward relentlessly, fast, deep, almost feral. The new angle had him dragging against that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, the head of his cock kissing your cervix and sending white-hot pleasure shooting up your spine. Skin slapped loudly against skin. Sweat slicked your bodies. His balls smacked against your ass with every powerful drive.
Nothing like the slow, romantic first time. This was pure, unrestrained need, a week of denial poured into every brutal thrust. He fucked you like he was trying to erase the guilt, like he could fuck his name into your soul. Your legs shook over his shoulders, toes curling in the air. Every drag of his thick cock sent sparks exploding behind your eyelids.
“You feel even better than I remembered,” he growled against your neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark you’d have to hide later. “So deep, shit, I’m so deep inside you, baby.”
You couldn’t form words anymore. Only broken moans and whimpers spilled from your lips as he pounded into you, the wet, obscene sounds of your arousal filling the room. Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly, white-hot and devastating. When you came, it hit you like a freight train, your walls clamping down around him in rhythmic pulses, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as your entire body seized.
Jungkook followed right after with a guttural moan, burying himself as deep as he could go and spilling inside you in hot, thick ropes. His hips stuttered through the aftershocks, grinding against you as he emptied every drop.
You stayed locked together, breathing hard, hearts pounding against each other. Slowly, he lowered your legs, but he didn’t pull out. He collapsed half on top of you, forehead pressed to yours, eyes closed like he was savoring the connection.
“We’re so fucked,” he whispered after a long silence.
You let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a sob. “Yeah… we are.”
Neither of you suggested stopping again.
And so it began.
What was meant to be the final goodbye became the second time, then the third, then an addiction neither of you could quit. Over the following weeks and months, you found yourself at Jungkook’s door again and again. The excuses started weak—“I just need to talk”—but soon you stopped pretending altogether. You would text him a single “now?” and he would reply with his door code.
The encounters grew more intense, more varied, more dangerous.
One rainy afternoon he took you on the kitchen counter. He sat you on the edge, spread your legs wide, and fucked you slow and deep while staring into your eyes, whispering how perfect you felt, how he couldn’t stop thinking about you even when he was with Taehyung. Another night he bent you over his gaming desk, pounding into you from behind while one hand reached around to circle your clit until you were sobbing his name. You rode him in his desk chair, grinding down on his cock while his hands guided your hips and his mouth worshipped your breasts.
He ate you out on the dining table for nearly an hour, tongue and fingers working you until your thighs shook uncontrollably and you begged him to fuck you properly. In the shower you clung to him as he held you against the tiled wall, water cascading over your joined bodies while he thrust up into you. In the backseat of his car in a deserted parking garage, windows fogged, you straddled him desperately because you couldn’t wait the extra ten minutes to get upstairs.
With every new position, every new location, the sex evolved. It stopped being just release and became something deeper, more intimate. He started staying inside you after he came, holding you close, tracing lazy patterns on your bare skin. You talked for hours between rounds— about childhood dreams, fears of the future, silly stories that made you both laugh until your stomachs hurt. He comforted you when you cried after arguments with Taehyung. He listened when you admitted how lost you sometimes felt in your own relationship. He looked at you like you were the center of his universe.
And somewhere in the quiet moments after mind-blowing orgasms, you fell in love with him.
It happened gradually, terrifyingly. You started craving not just his body but his presence, his laugh, his gentle teasing, the way he made you feel truly seen. You caught yourself smiling at your phone when his name appeared. You found yourself comparing Taehyung’s gentle kisses to Jungkook’s consuming ones. The guilt never disappeared, but it became background noise, drowned out by the overwhelming love and pleasure you felt in Jungkook’s arms.
You were in love with your boyfriend's best friend. and then, you were— you were Taehyung's fiance.
The night he proposed was one you'd never forget. The elegant Italian restaurant glowed under warm amber lighting, crystal chandeliers casting soft golden patterns across crisp white tablecloths and polished silverware. The air carried the rich aroma of garlic, fresh basil, aged wine, and seared butter — the kind of scent that made every breath feel indulgent. Soft jazz played in the background, mingling with the low murmur of conversation and occasional laughter from surrounding tables. It was the perfect setting for a special night, or so everyone believed.
Your mother sat across from you, elegant in her cream blouse, chatting animatedly with Chaewon, your best friend, who kept shooting you knowing little smiles. Taehyung was in his element— charming, bright, laughing easily as he poured more wine for everyone. And then there was Jungkook, seated diagonally across from you, his usual easy smile nowhere to be found. His jaw was tight, brows furrowed, dark eyes clouded with something raw and anguished. He kept glancing at you, then at Taehyung, then down at his plate, fingers white-knuckled around the stem of his wine glass. He knew. Somehow, in the way only someone who had been tangled in your secret for months could know, he sensed what was coming tonight.
You hadn’t planned to sneak away with him. Not here, not with everyone present. But the tension had been unbearable from the moment you all sat down. Under the table, Jungkook’s foot had brushed yours once, twice, then stayed pressed against your ankle. When Taehyung excused himself briefly to speak with the waiter about a special dessert, Jungkook’s eyes met yours, dark, desperate, pleading. You gave the smallest nod.
The two of you slipped away separately, hearts racing. You waited in the dimly lit hallway near the restrooms for what felt like an eternity before his hand closed around your wrist and pulled you into the single-occupancy bathroom at the end of the corridor. The door locked with a quiet click.
There was no time for tenderness tonight.
Jungkook spun you around, pressing your front against the cool marble counter, your reflection staring back at you, flushed cheeks, wide eyes, swollen lips. He hiked your elegant black dress up around your waist in one rough motion, yanking your lace panties down just enough. You heard the metallic sound of his belt, the rasp of his zipper, and then he was pushing inside you, thick, hard, and urgent.
“Fuck,” he breathed against your ear, one hand covering your mouth to muffle your moan as he bottomed out in a single thrust. “So wet already… you’ve been thinking about me all night, haven’t you?”
You could only nod frantically, pushing back against him. He fucked you hard and fast, hips snapping forward with desperate intensity. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed quietly in the small space, drowned out by the restaurant’s ambient noise just beyond the door. One of his hands gripped your hip hard enough to bruise while the other reached around to rub tight, frantic circles over your clit. It was quick, dirty, and devastatingly good. Within minutes you were coming hard around him, biting down on his fingers to stay silent as pleasure ripped through you. Jungkook followed right after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a choked groan, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades.
For a few seconds you both just breathed— ragged, guilty, addicted. He kissed the back of your neck softly, almost apologetically, before pulling out. You quickly fixed your panties and smoothed down your dress while he tucked himself away and washed his hands. Your eyes met in the mirror. His were tormented.
“We should get back,” you whispered.
He nodded, jaw clenched. “Yeah.”
You returned to the table one after the other, trying to look casual. Taehyung was already back, smiling warmly as he pulled your chair out for you. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, his lips lingering sweetly against your skin.
“There you are,” he murmured affectionately. “Missed you for a second.”
You forced a smile, cheeks still warm from the bathroom. “Just freshening up.”
Chaewon raised an eyebrow at you but said nothing. Your mother continued talking. Jungkook stared down at his plate of half-eaten risotto, fork gripped so tightly in his hand that his knuckles had gone white. His expression was twisted— anguish, jealousy, heartbreak, and self-loathing all etched into the sharp lines of his face. He looked like a man watching his entire world prepare to slip away.
The conversation flowed around you. Taehyung’s hand rested warmly on your thigh under the table, thumb stroking gentle circles. You laughed when you were supposed to, nodded at stories about old memories, sipped your wine to steady your nerves. But every time you glanced at Jungkook, your heart cracked a little more. He barely spoke. When he did, his voice was tight, clipped.
Finally, as dessert plates were being cleared and another bottle of wine opened, Taehyung stood up. The table quieted. Your stomach dropped like a stone. He turned to you, eyes shining with love and nervous excitement. Slowly, he lowered himself onto one knee right there beside your chair. The entire restaurant seemed to hold its breath. Soft gasps and murmurs rose from nearby tables as people realized what was happening.
Your mother’s hands flew to her mouth. Chaewon grinned widely, already pulling out her phone to record.
Taehyung took your left hand in both of his, his touch warm and steady. From his pocket he produced a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a stunning diamond ring that caught the chandelier light and sparkled like starlight. It was beautiful. Perfect. Everything you should have wanted.
“Baby,” he began, voice thick with emotion, “from the moment I met you, I knew my life would never be the same. You make every day brighter. You make me want to be better. I want to spend every tomorrow with you— building a home, chasing dreams, growing old together. I love you more than words can say.” His eyes glistened. “Will you marry me?”
Time slowed.
Your mind spun wildly. Saying no would shatter everything. It would break Taehyung’s heart in front of your mother, your best friend, and half the restaurant. It would destroy years of shared memories, plans, stability. Your career, your social circle, the life you had so carefully built— all of it intertwined with him. People would ask questions. Rumors would spread. You would lose the safety net you had clung to for years.
Your gaze flickered desperately to Jungkook.
He sat frozen, head bowed, staring down at the tablecloth. His fork was clenched so tightly in his fist that it looked like it might bend. His shoulders were tense, jaw locked, chest barely rising with each shallow breath. He wouldn’t look at you. He couldn’t. The anguish on his face was so raw it hurt to see.
You looked back at Taehyung— kind, loving Taehyung, on his knee with nothing but hope and devotion in his eyes.
Your throat tightened. The word you wanted to say— no, lodged somewhere deep inside you, trapped beneath layers of fear and guilt and years of momentum. Instead, you whispered, voice barely audible yet somehow carrying across the silent table, “Yes.”
The restaurant erupted in applause. Taehyung’s face lit up with pure joy as he slid the ring onto your finger. He rose and pulled you into his arms, kissing you deeply in front of everyone. Your mother was crying happy tears. Chaewon cheered. Cameras flashed from nearby tables.
You smiled. You laughed. You hugged him back.
But inside, something vital fractured.
Later that night, back in your shared apartment, the guilt sat like lead in your chest.
Taehyung made love to you slowly, reverently, the way he always did on important nights. Candles flickered on the nightstand. Soft music played low in the background. He kissed every inch of your skin like you were something sacred, whispering “I love you” between each touch. When he finally slid inside you, it was gentle, familiar, comforting, safe.
But all you could think about was Jungkook’s desperate thrusts in the bathroom earlier, the way he had filled you so completely, the anguished look on his face at dinner. Tears slipped silently down your cheeks as Taehyung moved above you, slow and deep and loving.
He noticed the tears and misunderstood completely. A tender smile crossed his face as he brushed them away with his thumbs, still rocking into you gently. “Are you crying because it feels good, baby?” he murmured, voice husky with affection. He kissed the tears from your cheeks, then your eyelids, then your lips. “I’ve got you. Let it out. I love making you feel this way.”
You nodded, unable to speak, fresh tears falling faster. He took it as overwhelming emotion from the proposal, from the intensity of the moment. He held you closer, hips rolling languidly, murmuring sweet nothings against your skin. When you came, it was quiet and bittersweet, more from emotional exhaustion than pleasure. Taehyung followed soon after, groaning your name softly as he spilled inside you.
Afterward, he pulled you into his arms, spooning you from behind and pressing kisses to your shoulder. “My fiancée,” he whispered happily, already drifting off. “I can’t wait to marry you.”
You lay there in the dark, his warm breath against your neck, the new ring heavy on your finger. Silent sobs shook your body long after he fell asleep. The guilt was suffocating. You had said yes to a future you no longer wanted, all while carrying the scent of his best friend on your skin.
Jungkook’s tormented face flashed behind your closed eyelids again and again.
You had never felt more lost.
Present day.
The supply closet door creaked open just a sliver. You peered out, heart still racing from the aftershocks of what had just happened. The hallway was mercifully empty— no lingering guests, no staff rushing by with trays. Only the distant hum of the rehearsal dinner setup floated toward you: silverware clinking, soft laughter, the low murmur of voices echoing off the high ceilings of the venue. You slipped out quickly, smoothing down the front of your rehearsal dress with trembling hands. Your thighs still felt slick, your core pleasantly sore, and the faint scent of Jungkook’s cologne clung to your skin like evidence you couldn’t erase.
You paused at a decorative mirror hanging on the corridor wall, checking your reflection one final time. Lips slightly swollen but hidden under fresh lipstick. Hair mostly back in place, though one strand still looked a little too mussed. Cheeks flushed, but you could blame that on the warm venue lighting or a glass of champagne. You took a slow, steadying breath, forcing your expression into something calm and bridal. The diamond on your finger caught the light mockingly as you turned and walked back toward the main hall.
No one seemed to notice your absence. Or if they did, they didn’t care. The venue buzzed with pre-dinner energy, florists making last-minute adjustments to centerpieces, waitstaff filling water glasses, family members chatting in small clusters. You spotted Taehyung immediately. He was standing near the head table, looking unfairly handsome in his tailored navy suit, laughing at something Namjoon said. The moment he saw you, his whole face lit up.
“There you are, baby,” he said warmly, crossing the distance in a few strides. His arms wrapped around you before you could prepare yourself, pulling you into a tight, loving hug. One hand rubbed soothing circles on your lower back while the other tilted your chin up gently. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, then another to your temple, exactly where Jungkook’s breath had ghosted earlier. “I was starting to wonder where my beautiful almost-wife disappeared to. The rehearsal dinner’s about to start. Everything okay?”
You smiled up at him, the motion automatic after months of practice. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just needed a minute to breathe. It’s all a little overwhelming.”
Taehyung’s eyes softened with understanding. “I know. But tonight’s going to be perfect. Tomorrow’s going to be perfect. Because I get to marry you.” He kissed your forehead again, then laced his fingers through yours, giving your hand a gentle squeeze as he led you toward the long head table.
The seating arrangement had been planned meticulously. You sat near the center, with Chaewon— your maid of honor, on your immediate right. Next to her were your other bridesmaids: Jennie, glowing in a sleek emerald dress, and a couple of college friends who chatted excitedly about the florals. Across the table sat Taehyung’s groomsmen, Yoongi looking effortlessly cool in all black, Namjoon with his dimpled smile, and a few others. And directly across from you, of course, was Jungkook. Best man. Taehyung’s closest friend. The man who had just fucked you senseless in a supply closet less than ten minutes ago.
You did everything possible not to look at him.
Taehyung pulled your chair out for you like the perfect gentleman, then took his seat beside you, immediately draping an arm along the back of your chair. His fingers found yours again under the table, thumb stroking over your engagement ring as if reminding you, or himself that this was real. He leaned toward Yoongi and Namjoon, launching into an easy conversation about some new whiskey Namjoon had discovered on a recent trip. Their laughter rolled over the table, warm and familiar.
You kept your gaze fixed on your water glass, on the delicate gold rim of your plate, on the beautiful floral arrangement in the center of the table, anywhere but across from you. Still, you could feel Jungkook’s presence like a physical weight. The heat of his stare. The way his shoulders filled out his black button-up. The faint redness on the side of his neck that you knew you’d left there with your teeth.
Chaewon nudged your side gently. “You good? You look a little flushed.”
“Just the wine,” you lied with a small laugh, lifting your glass as proof.
Before anyone could press further, Jennie leaned in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that only you and Chaewon could hear. Her eyes sparkled with gossip. “Okay, you guys are never going to believe this. Wonyoung just told me she heard two people straight-up fucking in one of the supply closets a little while ago.”
Chaewon gasped, hand flying to her mouth in dramatic shock. “No way. During the rehearsal dinner? That’s insane. Who would be bold enough?”
Your face drained of color. Ice-cold dread flooded your veins, turning your stomach into a tight knot. Your fingers tightened around the stem of your wine glass until you worried it might snap. They know. Oh God, they know. The room suddenly felt too loud, too bright, too small. You forced yourself to breathe slowly, keeping your expression neutral even as panic clawed up your throat.
Jennie shrugged, clearly enjoying the scandal. “Wonyoung said she heard moaning and the shelf rattling. She tried to be sneaky and wait to see who came out, but she got bored after a couple minutes. The only person she actually saw leave was Jungkook. The girl, whoever she was, took too long, so Wonyoung gave up and came back to the table.”
Chaewon made a disgusted yet amused face, leaning back in her chair. “Of course it was Jungkook. Leave it to him to sneak off and fuck some random girl right before his best friend’s wedding rehearsal. The man has zero shame. I swear, he’s going to end up causing drama at the actual wedding if he’s not careful.”
You swallowed hard, forcing a weak chuckle that sounded fake even to your own ears. “Come on, guys. We don’t know for sure it was him doing anything. Maybe he just… needed something from the closet. Or maybe Wonyoung misheard. These old buildings have weird acoustics.”
Chaewon turned to you with a weird, skeptical look, one perfectly groomed eyebrow arched. “Since when do you defend Jungkook’s hook-up habits? You’ve literally complained about his ‘playboy phase’ with me a dozen times.”
Jennie giggled, already moving on. “Maybe it was one of the catering staff. Or that cute bridesmaid from Taehyung’s cousin’s side? God, I hope it wasn’t. Can you imagine the drama if someone finds out?”
The two of them launched into eager speculation, voices low but animated, throwing out names and possibilities while laughing behind their hands. You sat there frozen, smiling stiffly when they looked at you, nodding along like you were just as amused. Inside, your mind screamed. Every beat of your heart felt like a countdown. The memory of Jungkook’s cock buried deep inside you, his hand over your mouth, his whispered “so fucking perfect” still echoed in your ears while your fiancé held your hand lovingly under the table.
Taehyung squeezed your fingers, completely oblivious, still deep in conversation with Namjoon about honeymoon destinations. “What do you think, babe? Beach or mountains?”
“Beach sounds nice,” you murmured, forcing warmth into your voice.
Across the table, you couldn’t resist anymore. Your eyes lifted.
Jungkook was already watching you. His gaze was intense, dark, and unapologetic. He hadn’t touched his food. His fork rested beside his plate, forgotten. Those familiar eyes, the same ones that had looked at you with lust and something far deeper in the closet, bored straight into you. He didn’t smile. He didn’t look away. He simply stared, jaw tight, like he was daring the entire room to notice. Like he didn’t care if they did. One of his hands rested on the table, fingers drumming once, slowly, as if remembering how they’d gripped your thigh earlier.
The heat in his stare made your core clench involuntarily, a fresh rush of slick mixing with what he’d left inside you. Guilt and desire twisted together so tightly you felt dizzy. You looked away first, cheeks burning, focusing instead on the way Taehyung’s thumb kept stroking your knuckles.
The rehearsal dinner continued around you— toasts starting soon, servers bringing out the first course, laughter rising and falling like waves. But inside your chest, everything felt like it was fracturing. Tomorrow you would walk down the aisle. Tomorrow you would promise forever to the man beside you. And the man across from you, the one still staring like he owned every broken piece of your heart, would be standing right there watching it happen.
The rehearsal dinner wound down slowly, like the final notes of a song that had gone on just a little too long. Laughter gradually softened into tired goodbyes, chairs scraped against the polished floors, and the warm glow of string lights overhead began to feel almost too intimate. Plates were cleared, half-empty wine glasses collected, and the wedding party slowly migrated toward the connected hotel lobby in a cheerful, slightly tipsy procession. Hugs and promises to meet bright and early tomorrow filled the air. Your mother kissed your cheek and whispered how proud she was. Chaewon squeezed your hand and reminded you she’d be there first thing in the morning to help you get ready. Everyone was glowing with excitement.
Everyone except you.
A heavy fog of exhaustion and dread clung to your bones as you walked beside Taehyung through the elegant hotel corridors. The plush carpet muffled your footsteps, but nothing could muffle the storm raging inside your chest. Jungkook lingered somewhere behind the group with the other groomsmen— you hadn’t dared look back at him since that intense stare across the dinner table. The memory of his eyes on you still burned.
True to old-fashioned wedding tradition, you and Taehyung were to spend the night apart. No shared suite, no last-minute intimacy. Just one final night as fiancés before tomorrow made everything permanent.
Your group reached the executive floor where the bridal and groom parties had been booked. Doors lined the quiet hallway, each marked with elegant gold numbers. Taehyung’s suite was three doors down from yours. The others said their final goodnights, waving and calling out teasing reminders not to stay up too late thinking about each other. Slowly, the hallway emptied until it was just the two of you standing outside your door.
Taehyung turned to face you fully, the soft hallway lighting casting gentle shadows across his handsome face. He looked at you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever seen, eyes warm, smile soft and full of love. Your heart clenched so hard it hurt.
He stepped closer, cupping your face with both hands. His thumbs brushed tenderly over your cheeks as he leaned in and kissed you deeply. It wasn’t a quick goodnight peck. This was slow, reverent, full of promise. His lips moved against yours with familiar affection, tongue gently teasing until you parted for him. You tasted the red wine from dinner on his tongue, felt the steady warmth of his body pressing close. One of his hands slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepened.
When he finally pulled back, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his voice was low and thick with emotion. “God, I love you. I can’t believe tomorrow is finally here. I get to marry the love of my life. My best friend. My everything.” He kissed the tip of your nose, then your forehead, then your lips again, softer this time. “I’ve been dreaming about this day since the moment I proposed. I can’t wait to watch you walk down that aisle toward me. I can’t wait to call you my wife.”
You swallowed hard, forcing a smile that you hoped looked genuine. “I love you too, Taehyung,” you whispered, the words tasting both true and bitterly false at the same time. “I can’t wait either.”
But inside, a mountain-sized rock of fear and doubt sat heavy in your stomach, pressing against your lungs and making it hard to breathe. Tomorrow you would stand in front of family, friends, and God, and promise forever to this man while carrying the weight of months of betrayal. While the memory of Jungkook’s hands, his mouth, his body still lingered on your skin. The thought of saying “I do” felt like stepping off a cliff. What kind of life were you building on such a rotten foundation? What if you ruined him? What if you ruined yourself?
You pushed the thoughts away violently, locking them behind a mental door you refused to open tonight. Not now. Not when Taehyung was looking at you like this.
He smiled against your lips, then leaned in closer, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. His voice dropped into that husky, intimate register that always made your stomach flutter. “You have no idea how badly I wish I could take you into that room right now,” he murmured, breath warm against your skin. “How much I want to peel this dress off you, lay you down on that big bed, and fuck you slow and deep until you’re moaning my name. I’ve been thinking about it all night… how perfect you’d feel wrapped around me on the night before our wedding.”
A shiver ran through you, part guilt, part muscle memory from the supply closet earlier. You played along, letting out a soft, breathy laugh as you slid your arms around his neck. “Tae… you’re going to make this separation even harder,” you whispered back, kissing the corner of his jaw. “But you’re right. We’ll have forever after tomorrow. All the nights we want.”
He groaned quietly, pulling you into another deep kiss, this one edged with restrained hunger. His hands roamed your back, pressing you closer, and for a moment you let yourself sink into the familiarity of him, the safety, the love, the life you had chosen. When he finally stepped back, his eyes were dark with want but shining with pure happiness.
“One more night,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Then you’re mine forever. Sleep well, my beautiful bride. Dream of me.”
“I will,” you lied gently.
He kissed you one last time, slow, lingering, full of quiet devotion, before pulling away with visible reluctance. He walked backward a few steps, still watching you with that bright, loving smile, then turned and disappeared into his own suite a few doors down. The soft click of his door closing echoed in the now-empty hallway.
You stood there alone for a long moment, keycard clutched tightly in your fingers, staring at the polished wood of your own door. The mountain in your stomach grew heavier. Your thighs still ached faintly from Jungkook. Your lips still tingled from Taehyung. Two completely different kinds of kisses, two completely different kinds of love, one safe and warm, the other dangerous and all-consuming, warred inside you until you felt dizzy.
Finally, you slipped the keycard into the lock and pushed the door open. The luxurious suite welcomed you with soft lighting, a king-sized bed piled with crisp white linens, and a breathtaking view of the city skyline through floor-to-ceiling windows. It should have felt like a dream. Instead, it felt like a beautifully decorated cage.
You closed the door behind you, leaned back against it, and let out a shaky breath. Tomorrow was coming whether you were ready or not.
You had been lying in the massive king-sized bed for what felt like an eternity, though the clock on the nightstand insisted it had only been forty-three minutes. The silk sheets were cool against your skin at first, but now they clung to your legs like a second, suffocating layer. No matter how many times you flipped the pillow to the cool side, no matter how you rearranged your body— on your back, curled on your side, sprawled on your stomach— sleep refused to come. Your mind was a hurricane, relentless and loud, every thought crashing into the next with brutal force.
Tomorrow.
The word echoed like a death knell. Tomorrow you would walk down a petal-strewn aisle in a dress that had cost more than most people’s cars. Tomorrow you would stand in front of two hundred people and promise forever to Kim Taehyung. Tomorrow you would become someone’s wife.
And tonight, your body still carried the ghost of Jeon Jungkook.
You could still feel the faint ache between your thighs from the supply closet. The taste of his kiss lingered on your lips beneath the mint of toothpaste. His scent, clean, woody, faintly sweet, seemed embedded in your skin no matter how many times you’d showered. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw his face at dinner: that anguished stare across the table, the way his knuckles had gone white around his fork.
You and Jungkook had never truly talked about it.
Not once in all those stolen months had either of you said the words “I love you.” The relationship, if it could even be called that, had existed in heated silences, desperate touches, and late-night conversations that danced around the edges of real feelings. You’d talk about music, about childhood memories, about fears of failure and dreams you were too scared to chase. You’d laugh until your stomachs hurt, then fuck like the world was ending. But love? That word had always stayed locked behind teeth and bitten lips, too dangerous to release.
Still, you knew.
You loved him. God, you loved him in a way that felt terrifying and inevitable, like gravity. You loved the way he looked at you like you were the only real thing in his universe. You loved how he remembered tiny details no one else noticed. You loved the way he touched you— like worship and ruin all at once. And deep down, in the quietest part of your heart, you were almost certain he loved you back. The way he held you after sex, the way his voice would crack when he said your name in the dark, the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching… it was all there.
But love wasn’t enough. Not when it was built on lies and betrayal. You couldn’t keep doing this. You couldn’t spend the rest of your life sneaking around, stealing moments, destroying two people who didn’t deserve it. Tonight had to be the end. One final goodbye, then you would lock your heart away and become the wife Taehyung deserved.
The decision settled over you like cold steel.
You sat up abruptly, heart hammering. The city lights outside the floor-to-ceiling windows blurred through the tears gathering in your eyes. You didn’t bother with a robe, just grabbed the hotel keycard and slipped on the soft hotel slippers. Your silk nightdress brushed against your thighs as you moved silently to the door. The hallway was quiet, dimmed for the night, the carpet plush underfoot. Every step felt like walking toward the edge of a cliff.
Jungkook’s room was only two floors up. You took the stairs instead of the elevator, needing the movement to steady your nerves. By the time you reached his door, your hands were shaking so badly you almost dropped the keycard twice. You stood there for a long moment, forehead pressed against the cool wood, breathing through the panic.
Then you knocked. Soft. Hesitant. Barely audible.
You heard movement inside, sheets rustling, footsteps padding across the floor. The door opened. Jungkook stood there in nothing but black sweatpants slung low on his hips, hair messy from tossing and turning of his own. His eyes widened in genuine shock when he saw you. For a second, neither of you moved. The hallway light spilled into his dimly lit suite, highlighting the sharp lines of his collarbones, the faint red marks your nails had left on his shoulder earlier.
You didn’t wait for an invitation. You stepped forward, gently pushing the door wider, and slipped inside. Jungkook closed it behind you with a quiet click, the sound final in the heavy silence. No words passed between you. You stood just inside the room, staring at him. He stared back. The air felt thick, charged with everything unsaid for months. The king bed behind him was rumpled, one pillow tossed aside like he’d been struggling to sleep too. A single lamp cast a warm, golden glow across the space, catching on the sharp angles of his face and the tension in his jaw.
You moved first, walking slowly to the edge of the bed and sitting down. The mattress dipped under your weight. Tears welled up instantly, hot and stinging, blurring your vision. You tried to hold them back, but one slipped free, rolling down your cheek.
Jungkook was on his knees in front of you before you could draw another breath.
He moved with that quiet, graceful speed he always had, dropping down between your legs, hands coming up to cradle your face with heartbreaking gentleness. His thumbs brushed away the tears as they fell, warm and calloused from years of playing guitar and working out. His dark eyes searched yours, full of worry and something deeper, something that made your chest ache even worse.
“Baby… what’s wrong?” he whispered, voice rough with sleep and emotion. “Talk to me. Please.”
You shook your head, lips trembling. More tears spilled over. “This has to be the last time, Jungkook,” you managed, voice cracking. “Tonight. This… us. It has to end. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t marry him tomorrow while I’m still… while we’re still—”
Your words dissolved into a quiet sob. You cried harder, shoulders shaking, the weight of months of guilt and love and fear crashing down all at once.
Jungkook’s face crumpled. His own eyes glistened as he continued wiping your tears away with careful thumbs, like he could erase the pain if he was gentle enough. “Okay,” he whispered, voice wavering badly. He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Okay… if that’s what you need. I’ll… I’ll let you go.”
The words sounded like they physically hurt him to say. His hands trembled against your cheeks. He stayed on his knees, looking up at you like you were his whole world breaking apart right in front of him. You cried harder, leaning forward until your forehead rested against his. Your hands came up to clutch at his bare shoulders, nails digging in like you could anchor yourself to him one last time. The sobs came freely now, quiet but devastating. Jungkook wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer, pressing his face into your stomach as he held you through it. His own breathing was shaky, uneven.
After a long stretch of silence broken only by your quiet crying, he pulled back just enough to look up at you again. His eyes were red-rimmed, devastatingly beautiful in their pain. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear with infinite tenderness.
Then, so softly you almost thought you’d imagined it, he whispered:
“Don’t marry him.”
The words hung between you like smoke. Time seemed to stop. Your breath caught in your throat. Jungkook’s eyes never left yours, raw and pleading and full of a love he had never dared speak out loud until this moment. His hands stayed on your waist, thumbs stroking slow circles through the silk of your nightdress, grounding and desperate all at once.
You stared down at him, heart shattering into a thousand pieces. Then you pulled back slightly, staring at him through tear-blurred vision. Your heart stuttered. “What… what do you mean?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, cracking on the last word.
Jungkook didn’t look away. His hands stayed on your waist, thumbs stroking slow, desperate circles through the silk of your nightdress. “I mean don’t marry him,” he repeated, louder this time, voice thick with emotion. “Don’t do it, baby. Please.”
You shook your head frantically, fresh tears spilling over. “Jungkook… I don’t have a choice.”
“You do,” he said immediately, eyes pleading. “You have a choice. Right now. Right here.”
A broken sound escaped your throat. You pulled away from his touch, wrapping your arms around yourself as if that could hold you together. “No, I don’t. Everyone would hate me. My family, his family, our friends… they’ve all poured so much into this wedding. Into us. I can’t destroy everything like that. I can’t do that to Taehyung. He doesn’t deserve this. None of them do.”
Jungkook stayed on his knees for another moment, watching you unravel. Then frustration flickered across his face. He pushed himself up abruptly, running both hands through his hair, tugging at the dark strands in clear agitation. He paced two steps away, then turned back to you, chest rising and falling rapidly.
“But what about what you want?” he asked, voice rough and edged with pain. “What about you? For once in all of this… what do you actually want?” You looked at the ground, unable to meet his eyes. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it. The truth sat on your tongue like fire: You. I want you. I’ve wanted you for so long it feels like I’m drowning. But the words wouldn’t come. Admitting it would make everything real. It would make the pain sharper, the consequences unavoidable.
So instead of answering, you stood up. Jungkook watched you, breath caught, waiting. You closed the distance between you in two shaky steps. Your hands came up to cup his face, thumbs brushing over his sharp cheekbones. For one heartbeat, you just looked at him — memorizing the way his dark eyes searched yours, the slight tremble in his jaw, the love and heartbreak written so clearly across his features.
Then you kissed him.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was deep, desperate, and devastating, all the things you couldn’t say poured into the press of your lips. Your fingers slid into his hair, tugging him closer as your mouth moved against his with raw hunger and sorrow. Jungkook groaned into the kiss, hands gripping your waist almost painfully as he kissed you back like it was the last time. Because it was.
Tongues tangled. Breaths mingled. Tears slipped from your eyes and mixed between your lips. The kiss tasted like salt and goodbye. You poured every unsaid “I love you,” every stolen moment, every future you could never have into it. Jungkook held you like he was trying to memorize the feel of you, like he could keep you here forever if he kissed you hard enough.
When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathing hard. Your forehead rested against his for one final second. Then you turned and walked toward the door. A sob caught in your throat, thick and painful, threatening to break free. You didn’t let it. You kept your back straight, shoulders tense, even as your vision blurred with fresh tears.
Jungkook didn’t try to stop you. You heard him take one shaky step forward, then stop. “Please…” he whispered, voice wrecked. You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. You opened the door and slipped into the hallway, the cool air hitting your tear-streaked face like a slap. The sob finally escaped the moment the door clicked shut behind you, a broken, muffled sound that you tried to swallow as you hurried back toward the stairs.
Your bare feet moved quickly over the carpet. Tears fell freely now, dripping onto the silk of your nightdress. Every step away from him felt like tearing your own heart out. You pressed a hand to your chest as if that could ease the pain, but it only made it worse.
By the time you reached your own floor, your shoulders were shaking with silent sobs. You slipped back into your cold, empty suite, closed the door, and leaned against it, sliding slowly down until you were sitting on the floor.
The ring on your finger felt heavier than ever.
The morning light filtered through the sheer white curtains of the bridal suite like a soft, golden promise. It was supposed to be the most beautiful day of your life, the kind of day people wrote songs about, the kind of day you had spent months planning down to the last petal and place card. Instead, it felt like the heaviest weight you had ever carried.
You had barely slept. After slipping back into your own suite last night, you had curled up on the cold floor by the door for what felt like hours, sobbing until your chest ached and your eyes burned raw. Eventually exhaustion had pulled you into the bed, but the sheets still smelled faintly of the hotel laundry and nothing like home. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Jungkook’s face, his tear-streaked cheeks, the raw desperation in his voice when he whispered “Don’t marry him,” the way his lips had moved against yours in that final, devastating kiss. The memory played on repeat, mixing with flashes of the supply closet yesterday, the storm night a year ago, every stolen moment that had led you here.
Now you sat in a high-backed velvet chair in front of a large vanity mirror, the room buzzing with excited energy all around you. The bridal suite was a whirlwind of satin, lace, laughter, and the sweet scent of fresh peonies overflowing from every available surface. Your mother flitted between the racks of dresses and the champagne station, chatting animatedly with the wedding planner. Jennie and the other bridesmaids lounged on the cream-colored sofas, sipping mimosas and scrolling through their phones, occasionally bursting into giggles. A photographer darted around capturing “candid” moments, someone adjusting a veil, someone else helping zip a bridesmaid dress. Soft classical music played from a speaker in the corner, but it all felt distant, like you were watching it happen to someone else through fogged glass.
Chaewon stood behind you, her fingers gentle but precise as she worked through your hair. She had insisted on doing your makeup and hair herself, “No one knows your face like I do,” she had said with a wink this morning, but right now her usual bright energy felt like it was pressing against a bruise you couldn’t hide. She had already curled and pinned half your hair into an elegant updo, soft tendrils framing your face exactly the way you had pictured it months ago when you’d chosen the style. The makeup artist had already done the base, flawless, glowing skin, subtle contour, the perfect neutral lip, but Chaewon was handling the finishing touches: the smoky eye that made your eyes look bigger, the highlighter that caught the light just right.
You stared at your reflection and hated what you saw.
The woman in the mirror looked beautiful. The silk robe with your new initials embroidered on the pocket, the diamond studs in your ears that Taehyung had given you last Christmas, the faint flush on your cheeks that could almost pass for bridal excitement. But your eyes were dull. The smile you kept trying to force felt plastic and wrong, like a mask that kept slipping no matter how hard you held it in place.
“Hold still, babe,” Chaewon murmured, carefully sweeping a fluffy brush across your cheekbone with setting powder. “You’re going to look insane when I’m done. Taehyung’s jaw is going to hit the floor the second he sees you.”
You tried to laugh. It came out small and hollow. “Yeah… I hope so.”
Chaewon paused, her eyes meeting yours in the mirror. She tilted her head, studying you the way only your best friend could, like she could see straight through the carefully constructed walls you had spent the last year building. The room’s chatter continued around you, but for a moment it felt like the two of you were in a bubble.
She set the brush down and leaned in closer, resting her forearms on the back of your chair so her face was level with yours. Her voice dropped low, soft enough that only you could hear over the background noise. “Hey… are you okay?”
You nodded immediately, plastering on the brightest fake smile you could manage. The muscles in your cheeks protested. “I’m fine. Really. Just… wedding day nerves, you know?”
Chaewon didn’t smile back. She searched your face for another long second, her perfectly winged liner making her eyes look even sharper. “You’ve been quiet all morning. Like, too quiet. And your smile keeps doing that thing where it doesn’t reach your eyes. I know you, remember? I’ve seen you fake it through finals week, through that horrible breakup in college, through every single time you tried to convince me you were okay when you weren’t.”
Your throat tightened. You could feel the tears from last night threatening to resurface, stinging behind your eyes. You blinked rapidly, forcing them back. “I’m just nervous,” you said, keeping your voice light. “Overthinking everything, like always. What if I trip walking down the aisle? What if the flowers aren’t right? What if I forget my vows?” The excuses tumbled out easily, practiced from months of hiding the truth.
Chaewon’s brow furrowed. She lowered her voice even more, almost a whisper now. “Is it cold feet? Like… actual cold feet? Because if it is, you can tell me. I’m your maid of honor. I’m supposed to be the one who helps you through this shit, even if it’s messy. We can slow everything down. We can talk to Taehyung. We can—”
“No,” you cut her off quickly, shaking your head so hard that one of the pinned curls almost slipped. You reached up and caught her wrist gently, squeezing it. “No cold feet. I swear. I love Taehyung. He’s… he’s good to me. He’s safe. He’s everything I’m supposed to want.” The words tasted bitter on your tongue. Safe. The same word you had used in your own head a thousand times. Safe, but not the one who made your heart feel like it was on fire. Not the one who had looked you in the eyes last night and begged you, in the softest voice imaginable, not to go through with this.
You forced another smile, wider this time, even though it hurt. “I’m just overthinking. The last year has been a lot, planning this whole thing, work, everything with Taehyung’s schedule. It’s all hitting me at once. But I’m happy. I promise.”
Chaewon studied you for another beat, clearly not convinced. Her thumb brushed over the back of your hand where it still held her wrist. “You know you can tell me anything, right? Even if it’s scary. Even if it changes things. I’ve got your back no matter what.”
The sincerity in her voice nearly broke you. For one wild second you considered it, telling her everything. The affair. The way Jungkook had fallen to his knees last night and whispered those three words that had shattered your entire world. Don’t marry him. How you had kissed him like your life depended on it and then run away like a coward. How you were sitting here in a wedding dress about to promise forever to the wrong man because the right one was standing on the other side of the aisle as his best man.
But the words stayed locked behind your teeth. You couldn’t destroy everything. Not today. Not when your mother was already tearing up in the corner watching you. Not when two hundred people were already seated in the garden waiting for you. Not when Taehyung was probably pacing in his own suite right now, smiling that bright, hopeful smile you had fallen for years ago.
“I know,” you whispered instead, squeezing her hand one more time before letting go. “Thank you. I really am okay. Just… help me finish my makeup so I don’t look like I cried all night?”
Chaewon hesitated, lips pressing into a thin line. She clearly wanted to push more, but the wedding planner chose that exact moment to clap her hands loudly from across the room.
“Ten minutes until we need the bride in the dress, ladies! Let’s get that veil on and do the final touch-ups!”
The bubble popped. Chaewon gave you one last searching look, then straightened up with a forced bright smile of her own. “You heard her. Time to make you the most beautiful bride this venue has ever seen.”
She went back to work, dabbing at your under eyes with a cool sponge to hide any remaining redness, then carefully placing the delicate lace veil into your updo. The fabric fluttered down around your shoulders like a cloud. Your mother came over, eyes already misty, and adjusted the veil with trembling fingers. “My baby girl,” she whispered, voice thick. “You look like a dream.”
You smiled at her reflection in the mirror, the same fake smile you had been wearing all morning. “Thanks, Mom.”
Jennie popped up beside you, holding up a glass of champagne. “One last sip for courage? Or is it bad luck before the aisle?”
You took the glass, mostly to give your hands something to do. The bubbles tickled your throat as you sipped, but it tasted like nothing. The room continued its happy chaos around you—bridesmaids zipping into their matching dresses, the photographer snapping more photos, your mother fussing over the hem of your gown as it was finally brought out on a rolling rack. The dress was everything you had once dreamed of: soft ivory silk, a fitted bodice with delicate beading, a long train that whispered against the carpet. It should have made you feel like a princess.
Instead, it felt like armor you were putting on for a battle you didn’t want to fight.
As Chaewon helped you step into the gown and began buttoning the long row of tiny pearls up your back, your mind drifted again. Last night’s kiss burned behind your eyelids. The way Jungkook’s hands had gripped your waist like he was drowning. The broken sound of his voice. What about what you want? You hadn’t answered him then, and you still couldn’t answer yourself now. Because the truth was too terrifying: what you wanted was him. All of him. The stolen nights, the laughter in the dark, the way he saw every broken piece of you and loved them anyway.
But wanting wasn’t enough. Not when it would ruin so many lives. “Almost done,” Chaewon murmured behind you, her voice soft again. She fastened the last button and stepped back to admire her work. “There. You’re perfect.”
The entire room turned to look at you. Gasps and soft cheers filled the air. Your mother covered her mouth, tears slipping free. Jennie raised her phone to take a video. The photographer clicked away furiously.
You stood there in the center of it all, the most beautiful bride anyone had ever seen, and felt absolutely nothing but dread. Before Chaewon could pull you aside for one more private question, you could see it in her eyes that she was about to try, the wedding planner appeared in the doorway, clipboard in hand and a bright, efficient smile on her face.
“It’s time, everyone! The ceremony starts in twenty minutes. Bride, we need you in position for the processional. Let’s get you to the garden entrance.” The words landed like a final bell.
Chaewon squeezed your hand one last time, her expression still worried but resigned. “You’ve got this,” she whispered. “I love you.”
You nodded, swallowing hard. “Love you too.”
As the bridesmaids lined up in front of you, as your mother gave you one last tearful hug, as the veil was lowered gently over your face, you felt the mountain of everything you had been carrying finally settle into place.
This was it.
The best day of your life.
And all you could think about was the man waiting at the end of the aisle, not as your husband, but as the best man who had begged you, just last night, not to walk toward anyone else. The doors to the garden opened. Music swelled. Everyone turned to look. And you took the first step.
The first step down the aisle felt like stepping off solid ground into open air. Hundreds of eyes watched you, warm and adoring, but your own gaze kept betraying you. It flickered forward to Taehyung, standing tall at the altar in his perfectly tailored black tux, eyes already glistening with happy tears, that bright, boyish smile lighting up his entire face. Then, helplessly, it slid to the left.
To Jungkook.
He stood just behind Taehyung as best man, posture rigid, hands clasped tightly in front of him. The black suit fit him like it had been made for this exact moment of torment. His hair was styled neatly, jaw clean-shaven, but none of that hid the devastation carved into his features. His eyes, dark, red-rimmed, utterly shattered, locked onto yours the second you looked at him and refused to let go. A sinking feeling twisted deep in your stomach, heavy as lead.
Every step brought you closer. Your heels sank slightly into the white runner. The guests murmured how beautiful you looked, how radiant, how perfect. But all you could see was Jungkook’s face, the way his lips pressed into a thin, pained line, the subtle tremble in his shoulders, the way his eyes glistened like he was barely holding himself together. He looked at you like you were killing him. Like every step you took toward Taehyung was a knife sliding between his ribs.
You tried to look away. You really did. But your eyes kept returning to him, drawn like magnets. Flashbacks assaulted you with every heartbeat. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You blinked them back furiously, forcing a soft, trembling smile for the guests. Your father mistook it for emotion and patted your hand proudly.
Closer now. Ten steps. Five. Jungkook’s chest rose and fell faster. His jaw clenched so hard the muscle jumped. For one heartbeat, as you passed the front row, his eyes met yours fully and the pain in them was so raw, so open, that your knees nearly buckled. I love you, his gaze seemed to scream. Please don’t do this.
You reached the altar.
Your father kissed your cheek, then placed your hand in Taehyung’s. Taehyung’s fingers were warm, steady, loving. He squeezed gently and mouthed, “You look breathtaking.” His smile was so full of pure joy it hurt to look at.
Jungkook stood directly behind him, only a few feet away. You could feel the heat of his stare on the side of your face like a brand.
The officiant began. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union of Kim Taehyung and…”
The words blurred. You stood facing Taehyung, bouquet lowered, veil soft over your vision, while every nerve in your body remained hyper-aware of the man standing just over his shoulder. Jungkook’s presence was a storm at your back. You could hear his shallow breathing, could almost feel the tension rolling off him in waves.
Taehyung looked at you like you were his entire universe. He mouthed “I love you” during the opening remarks. You tried to say it back. The words came out, but they felt hollow.
The ceremony moved forward, readings, a short sermon on love and commitment, the sharing of memories from friends. Laughter rippled through the guests at funny stories. You smiled when you were supposed to. Nodded. Squeezed Taehyung’s hands. But your mind kept screaming.
This is wrong. This is all wrong. Then came the moment. The officiant smiled warmly at the crowd. “If anyone here has any reason why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
A respectful, anticipatory silence fell over the garden.
For three full heartbeats, nothing happened.
Then Jungkook moved.
He stepped forward, shoulders squared, voice cutting through the quiet like thunder.
“I do.”
Gasps erupted everywhere. Heads whipped around. A wave of horrified murmurs swept through the guests. Your mother’s hand flew to her mouth. Chaewon’s eyes widened in shock beside the other bridesmaids. Taehyung’s smile froze, then slowly fell as he turned toward his best friend.
Jungkook didn’t look at anyone else. His eyes were locked on you, burning, desperate, filled with months of suppressed love finally breaking free. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking but growing stronger with every word. “I’m so fucking sorry, Tae. But I can’t stand here and watch this happen without saying something. I’ve been in love with her for over a year.”
The crowd’s murmurs turned into outright shock. Someone dropped a phone. A few people stood up. Jungkook took another step closer, eyes never leaving yours. Tears slipped down your cheeks now, unchecked. The veil did nothing to hide them. “From that first night she showed up at my door in the rain, broken from a fight with you… I tried to fight it. I swear I did. But every stolen moment after that only made me fall harder. The way she laughs at my stupid jokes. The way she looks at me like I actually see her. The way she makes me want to be better. I love her in a way I’ve never loved anyone. Deep. All-consuming. The kind of love that ruins you.” His voice broke completely. “I know this destroys everything. I know I’m the worst friend in the world. But I can’t let her marry you while pretending I don’t feel this. I can’t forever hold my peace when my heart is screaming her name.”
Silence. Absolute, horrified silence. You stared at him, tears streaming freely now, chest heaving. The love in his eyes was devastating. Raw. Real. Everything you had been too scared to admit you wanted. Taehyung’s hand dropped yours. He looked between you and Jungkook, confusion melting into dawning horror, then white-hot anger and heartbreak all at once. His face crumpled. “What the hell is he talking about?” he asked you, voice low and trembling. “Baby… what is this?”
You opened your mouth, but no sound came out at first. “Taehyung, I—”
Jungkook stepped forward again, reaching toward his best friend. “Tae, please. This is my fault. I—”
Taehyung’s fist flew before Jungkook could finish.
The punch landed hard, right against Jungkook’s jaw with a sickening crack that echoed through the garden. Jungkook stumbled back, hand flying to his face. Blood instantly trickled from the corner of his mouth. Guests screamed. Chairs scraped. Chaos erupted. Taehyung stood there, chest heaving, eyes wild with betrayal and pain. “You son of a bitch,” he snarled, voice breaking. "How long?"
Jungkook didn’t fight back. He just stood there, blood on his lips, eyes still locked on you even as tears mixed with the red on his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, but the words were lost in the growing uproar. You stood frozen at the altar in your wedding dress, bouquet long forgotten on the ground, tears pouring down your face as the perfect day shattered around you in front of everyone you loved. The man you were supposed to marry had just punched his best friend. The man you were in love with had just torn everything apart in the most public, devastating way possible.
But Taehyung wasn’t done. Rage and heartbreak twisted his usually gentle features into something unrecognizable as he grabbed the front of Jungkook’s suit jacket with both hands and shoved him again, snarling through gritted teeth. “You fucking traitor—”
You moved without thinking, silk gown tangling around your legs as you surged between them. “Taehyung, stop! Please!” Your voice cracked, raw from hours of suppressed tears. You grabbed his arm, trying to pull him back, but he was stronger than you in his fury. His elbow jerked back sharply, shoving you hard.
You stumbled, heels catching in the runner. The world tilted. Strong arms caught you from behind— Jungkook’s arms— pulling you against his chest to keep you upright. His blood smeared across the shoulder of your pristine ivory gown as you gripped his suit jacket, breathing hard.
Every single person in the garden was staring at you now. Hundreds of eyes. Phones still recording. Gasps and horrified whispers rippling outward like shockwaves. Your mother looked faint. Jennie had her hands over her mouth. The officiant stood frozen with the bible clutched to his chest. And Chaewon… Chaewon stared at you like she didn’t even recognize you anymore.
Taehyung’s chest heaved as he looked at the two of you, his fiancée clinging to his best man, blood staining her wedding dress. His eyes were glassy with betrayal, pain, and fury so deep it looked like it might break him. “Is it true?” he demanded, voice low and trembling. “Everything he just said… all of it. Is it fucking true?”
You turned slowly in Jungkook’s arms, still gripping his jacket like it was the only thing keeping you standing. Your veil clung to your wet cheeks. The bouquet you’d been holding lay forgotten on the ground, petals crushed under panicked feet.
You met Taehyung’s eyes, those warm, loving eyes that had looked at you with nothing but devotion for years, and felt your heart splinter. “Yes,” you whispered, voice barely carrying but loud enough in the deadly silence. “It’s true.”
A collective gasp swept through the crowd. Someone cried out. Phones lowered slightly, then rose higher as people realized they were witnessing something historic in the worst way possible.
Taehyung’s face crumpled further, like you had reached into his chest and ripped his heart out in front of everyone. “Do you love him?” he asked, the question raw, desperate, almost begging you to deny it even though the truth was written all over your tear-streaked face.
You looked at Jungkook first, his split lip, the rapidly swelling bruise on his jaw, blood mixing with tears on his chin. His eyes were locked on you, full of love and terror and regret. Then you looked back at Taehyung.
“Yes,” you said again, the word trembling but clear. “I love him. I’m so sorry, Taehyung… I never wanted this. I tried to stop it so many times, but I do. I love him.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Chaewon stood frozen near the altar, one hand pressed to her throat, eyes wide with pure shock and dawning disgust. Your mother sobbed openly. Taehyung’s mother looked like she might faint. The entire wedding party stared at you like you were a stranger.
You took one shaky step toward Taehyung, reaching out with a trembling hand. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you like this. I tried to end it, I swear on everything, I—”
Taehyung spat a thick mouthful of blood onto the white petals at your feet. The red stain bloomed obscenely against the pristine aisle like an accusation that would never wash away. His eyes were cold now, filled with nothing but disgust and heartbreak. “Go to hell,” he snarled, voice low and venomous. Then he turned on his heel and stormed down the aisle, shoving past groomsmen who tried to reach for him, disappearing toward the venue building as guests parted in stunned silence.
You stood there shaking violently, the weight of what you had just admitted crashing down on you. The perfect day you had spent months planning lay in ruins, scattered flowers, overturned chairs, horrified faces everywhere. Chaewon moved next. She walked up to you slowly, her beautiful maid of honor dress suddenly looking too cheerful, too out of place. Her expression was a mixture of disbelief, anger, and deep, cutting betrayal.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” she demanded, voice shaking. “All those times I asked if you were okay this morning… every late-night conversation we had about the wedding… you were fucking his best friend behind his back? For how long?”
“I… I didn’t know how,” you stammered, words tumbling over each other in a desperate rush. “It started after a fight with him… it was supposed to be one time and it just… it got so out of control. I was scared, Chaewon. I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to lose everyone. I tried to end it, I swear I did, but I—”
She looked at you with such raw disgust that it felt like a slap across the face. Her eyes, which had always held nothing but love for you, were now ice cold. “You deserve every single bad thing that’s coming for you,” she said quietly, voice trembling with betrayal. “All of it. Every bit of pain. You did this to yourself.”
“Chaewon, please—” You reached for her arm, sobbing openly now, fresh tears pouring down your face.
She jerked away from your touch like it burned. “Don’t. Just don’t.” Then she turned and walked away, following the same path Taehyung had taken, leaving you standing alone at the ruined altar in your bloodstained wedding dress.
A broken sob tore from your chest. The world spun. You felt like you might collapse right there in front of everyone. Jungkook stepped closer, voice wrecked and hoarse. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for it to go like this. I just couldn’t let you marry him without—”
You didn’t let him finish. You grabbed his hand, bloodied knuckles and all, and pulled him urgently through the staring, whispering crowd. Guests parted like the sea, murmurs rising into a roar. You didn’t care. You needed to get away from the eyes, from the judgment, from the wreckage you had caused.
You dragged him toward a side entrance of the main venue building, heart pounding so violently you thought it might explode. The first door you found was a small, secluded preparation room used earlier for photos. You shoved it open and pulled him inside. The door slammed shut behind you, muffling the chaos outside. Jungkook opened his mouth immediately. “I’m so sorry, I ruined everything, I—”
You cut him off with a kiss.
It was hard. Deep. Desperate. Your hands fisted in his bloody suit jacket as you poured every ounce of fear, relief, heartbreak, and overwhelming love into it. Jungkook groaned against your mouth, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head while the other gripped your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. Blood from his lip smeared between you, but neither of you cared. The kiss tasted like copper, salt, and the end of everything you had known, and the terrifying beginning of something new.
When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, your veil tangled around his fingers. “You’re so stupid,” you whispered against his lips, voice hoarse and shaking. “So fucking stupid for doing that in front of everyone.”
Jungkook looked confused, eyes searching yours, still glistening with tears and uncertainty. “I know. I destroyed your life, your reputation, everything—”
You shook your head, cutting him off again. Your hands moved up to cup his bruised, bloody jaw with heartbreaking tenderness. “I love you,” you said, the words finally free and ringing with truth. “I love you so much, Jungkook. I’ve been in love with you for so long it felt like I was drowning. Our lives… they’re utterly destroyed right now. Everything we knew is gone. But at least we have each other. At least I finally have you.”
A broken, relieved sound escaped his throat. He pulled you into his arms, crushing you against his chest, burying his face in your hair and veil as his shoulders shook with silent sobs. You clung to him just as tightly, fingers digging into his back, wedding dress torn and bloodstained, both of you crying and holding each other like the world outside no longer existed.
For the first time in over a year, there were no more secrets.
if someone was new on bts tumbrl - - and not looking for anything in particular, smut, angst, fluff, all welcomed - - what authours/fics would you rec them?
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀:¨ ·.· ¨:
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ `· . 𐙚
such a good q! i would recommend my mooties @kookooluvr @voyter @lovieku @matchastwb @pjminii @jiminsafairy
also been really loving @inthelow @gukcnt and ofc my fucking goat @trivia-yandere / @explicit-tae
i’m forgetting people for sure but these are my most current reads 🤓
jungkook works overtime to assure that things go back to normal - all from behind the scenes.
word count: 13.493
warning: police brutality??, namjoon putting belt to ass, dirty talk, phone sex, masturbation, vomiting, kissing, nipple sucking, semi-public sex, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, age different/milf reader, overstimulation,
part one | two | three | four | five | ½ | six | seven
Kim Namjoon swore he could write a tell-all book about his time working with the Jeon family. It’d be a best seller, he thinks, making him the top author. Then, he’d write a sequel detailing the odd jobs he’d do for the children - like that time he had to scrap indecent pictures of Jeon Nari from the internet that only a select few have witnessed, but otherwise have no evidence of. Or when Jeon In-su had called him when he was driving under the influence and wrecked his car entirely.
Jeon Jungkook, however, always kept him busy. Like right now, Namjoon thinks as he slams his police cruiser shut, flashing red and blue lights flashing as he makes his way towards the luxury car. His eyes glanced at the license plate prior to making his way to the driver window.
“License and registration.” Namjoon says to Lee Dae who appears that he’s had a rough morning thus far. His face is flushed and he notices a few scratches along his forehead and temples.
“Is there a reason why I was pulled over, officer?” Lee Dae attempts to sound as polite and professional as he could, but it’s evident something is bothering him. He hands over exactly what Namjoon asks of him. “I wasn’t speeding, was I?”
Namjoon doesn’t answer and instead eyes the license for a moment. He had no use for this, but he had to keep Lee Dae talking.
“Everything alright, sir?” Namjoon questions, glancing his way. “It appears you got into one hell of a tussle.”
Lee Dae inhales through his nose. “Not exactly.” he states, ignoring the question. “May I ask again what was the reason for me being pulled over.”
Namjoon sighs. “Well,” he begins, hanging Dae back his license and registration. “we got a call about a domestic dispute.”
For a moment, Dae is confused. Then, it dawns on him, realization settling through. He scoffs, his eyes widening. “That bitch called the police on me?!” he spats, venom laced in his tone entirely. Namjoon almost wanted to laugh, but he was on the clock. “After she attacked me?!”
“Sir, do you mind stepping out of the vehicle?”
Dae is taken back. “Why?” he asks. “Am I being arrested for being attacked?”
“Sir,” Namjoon’s tone deepens. “Step out of the vehicle.”
Dae doesn’t. His eyes harden at Namjoon, one hand clenching the steering wheel until his knuckles are white. His cheeks are still burning after the hot coffee was splashed into his face. He had enough going on in his personal life and it appears as everything was adding onto it - you being unreasonable, him going bankrupt, his parents refusing to help him.
“I’m not doing a damn thing.”
Namjoon could laugh right now. His eyes scan the quiet area. It’s too early for anyone to be out; the birds weren’t even chirping yet.
Without warning, a fist slams right between Dae’s eyes, so sudden that he cannot even predict what he is supposed to do next. He feels his body being dragged out of his vehicle and slammed against the cold concrete of the street.
“I’m requesting backup.” Dae hears Namjoon say from behind him, but his head is ringing so loud. There’s pressure on his back. “The suspect is resisting arrest and attempting to flee the scene.”
“What the fuck?!” Dae hisses, attempting to fight Namjoon off of him, but it’s no use. “You just fucking assaulted me!”
There’s cold metal clasping around Dae’s wrist, his cheek pressed firmly against the ground.
“Whatever that bitch said I did to her, she’s lying!” he hisses, rage overtaking him. “Do you know who I am? I’ll have your job by the end of the day.”
Namjoon yanks Dae up by his shoulders, forcing him to stand before slamming him against his own car. Behind him, he begins to chuckle.
“The suspect is belligerent and matches the description from the reported domestic dispute.” Namjoon radios in before turning his attention back to Lee Dae. “I have no idea who you are, though I’m sure you know what family I work for. Jeon Jungkook has told me to make sure your time with me is one you won’t forget.”
Dash recalls a time in which it was just him and his mother. There were traditions that were held when he was a child - like every Thursday they had breakfast for dinner and every Saturday they’d go to a restaurant of his choosing.
Dash cannot recall a time in which he ever longed for his father, or any father figure in general. He’s grown accustomed to not having one. His mother rarely dated, and if she had at all, she never brought such men home with her. It’s one of the many reasons why he hadn’t cared to reach out to his father as he grew older. The man came around when he wanted to, throwing cash around as if that made up for his years of absence.
It’s why when Dash takes a break from the treadmill - the last piece of equipment he finds himself on right before he leaves the gym - one of the many televisions catches his eye. He removes his headphones, the music blaring from them as his eyes fixated on the News. At the bottom of the screen in bold letters reads “BREAKING NEWS”. Dash doesn’t typically watch the news, especially at the gym, but it’s the man on said news that captures his interest.
Lee Dae - because he would never truly call said man his father - is on the screen. He’s nearly unrecognizable and the only reason he had come to realize just who the man was is because of the similar bold font next to the “breaking news”.
BREAKING NEWS: PROMINENT LEE FAMILY MEMBER, LEE DAE, THRUST INTO THE SPOTLIGHT ON DOMESTIC BATTERY
Dash swallows, his feet moving faster than he realizes, his attention fully on the television. It’s hard to hear in the gym where the music is louder than anything, but he manages to read the subtitles as the reporter speaks.
“A sudden turn of events has transpired early this morning,” the reporter says, her eyes looking right into the camera, behind her an array of flashing red and blue lights. “authorities confirmed to me that Lee Dae, eldest son of one of the city's well-known Lee family, has been arrested with domestic battery.”
“No fucking way…” Dash murmurs to himself, his eyes unblinking. He scans the scenery in the background, his breathing slowly at the familiar houses.
“Sources tell me that the arrest has followed just a day after Lee Dae has officially filed for bankruptcy. Such an act has become talk of the town due to his family name. One officer responded to a reported disturbance early this morning by residence.”
The camera turns to the right, a sea of officers surrounding one man that is on the ground now - Lee Dae. Two officers lift him up from the ground as the reporter begins to stroll towards another man, dressed more formal than in uniform. He’s tall, broad shoulders and serious eyes.
“Officer-”
“Detective.” the man says and as he speaks, his cheeks suck in. “Detective Kim Namjoon.”
“Detective,” the reporter corrects. “can you give any information on what has transpired here today?”
Detective Kim looks right at the camera. “We’ve responded to a series of complaints about screaming coming from a home just down the street. Witnesses allege that a physical altercation had occurred between Lee Dae and an individual. This investigation is an active case and we’re still currently gathering information.”
“Thank you Detective Kim.” the reporter turns back to the camera. “An anonymous source has given us information about Lee Dae’s financial documents that had been filed just yesterday and may play a role in the incident that occurred between him and the woman rumored to be the mother of his illegitimate child. We’ll have more information-”
Dash doesn’t stay in the gym longer. He knew it was rude to shove the man lingering in the entrance out the way, but the feeling in his stomach doesn’t feel right to him. His palms are sweaty as he enters his car and he’s speeding out the parking lot in less than a minute later.
You’re showering when your phone rings from your bedroom and it goes to voicemail - over ten times. If anything, you were sulking, the hot water burning your skin in the way you deserved - deserved for allowing Lee Dae to continue to ruin your life. For hooking up with Jungkook that has Dash pulling away from you. For going too far with the younger man in general that now has him claiming his love for you.
You were done sulking when the water began to cool and decided that you’ve made your bed and it was your time to lie in it. Before you lived in this home, you had an apartment. It was small, sure, but it was yours.
You’re drying your hair when you hear a bang from outside your room. For a moment, you believe it’s Dad coming back with vengeance - and you were prepared to attack him yet again if it meant you could release even more anger. Instead, it’s Dash when you hear his frantic voice calling for you.
“Dash?” you call back, swinging your bedroom door open to see your son just down the hall. He’s sweaty, you note, and in his usual gym attire. “What’s wrong? You look terrified-“
“Are you okay?” Dash’s eyes scan your face then your body for any visible wounds. “The news said you were attacked.”
“The news?” your eyebrows shoot up in confusion. “What do you mean? I’ve been here the entire time.”
Dash takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes for a moment before opening them to look at his mother. He’s been avoiding you for too long. He didn’t want to have that uncomfortable conversation.
“I saw him on the news.” Dash speaks and finally, he feels his heart go back to a normal pace. “They said he got into a domestic dispute with his supposed mother of his child.”
It takes you a moment to connect the dots, but when you do your blood continues to boil. You have more questions than you should probably ask all in one sitting.
“I have no idea what’s going on.” you turn your eyes down the hallway to where the front door is wide open. “Are you hungry?”
Dash remains quiet. His eyes scans you over once more, concluding that you’re fine. Lee Dae, however, was not. He was bruised and obviously beaten by someone that had no care for him.
Dash also cannot find it in his heart to truly care.
“Please stay.” you murmur, your voice low and defeated. “Just long enough for me to make you something to eat. We don’t even have to talk.”
“We should talk.” Dash quips. “About everything.”
It was a step forward, even if that step terrified you.
There was no more hiding anything from Dash and you promised that whatever he asked you, you would answer truthfully. As you cook, Dash sits at the island. He doesn’t speak and you’re positive that he’s collecting his own thoughts just as you are.
Dash is positive that you’re attempting to lighten the mood when you place the stack of pancakes in front of him, the sweet aroma filling his nostrils that remind him of a simpler time - just you and him.
“I know you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.” Dash murmurs, forcing a large portion of the pancake in his mouth.
You take a deep breath.
“I don’t want you to hate Jungkook either.”
Snorting, Dash takes another bite of his pancakes, but remains silent. His dark eyes flicker to you and in that instant, he looks far too much like Lee Dae for your liking.
“It’s my fault-”
“You’re both adults.” Dash interrupts. “It isn’t more his fault than it is yours, right? You fucked my friend and my friend fucked you back.”
Your body is hot with humiliation. You never wanted to be here with your son. For years, you prioritized Dash and worked overtime assuring that if you dated, it never interfered with him. Any man you had entertained throughout the years rarely made it to the stage in meeting him, all deemed not not “ready” enough to further the relationship.
“Are you still-”
“No!” you hiss, eyes wide. You shake your head. “Jungkook and I-”
Dash raises a brow.
You sigh. You run a hand over your forehead. “I shouldn’t have done anything with him. You and him…”
Dash waits for you to continue - were you finding the right words? Did you truly feel terrible as you looked saying it? He isn’t sure entirely. A part of him ponders if you and Jungkook were something purely physical or did you harbor feelings for him and vice versa.
Taking another bite of his pancake, Dash begins to think back to how Jungkook has acted. He rarely came out with him to parties like he used to. He avoided the girls that approached him and always made excuses to end conversations prematurely. He hasn’t received any texts from his friend in a long while that asked him to not return to the dorm room - understandable now seeing as he fucks you in your bed.
Dash clears his throat. “Have you talked to him?”
You sigh. “To Jungkook?”
“No,” Dash snickers. “to the other motherfucker who you fucked and allowed to ruin your life.”
“Don’t talk like that.” your eyes glare, but then they soften. You squeeze your hands into fists. You had to put yourself into his shoes instead of living outside of it. “I have. This morning actually.” you sigh. “I may have thrown scorching hot coffee into his face.”
Dash is taken aback by your seriousness. So much so that he laughs, something deep from his throat that has your own lips twitching upwards.
“I’m not sure how the news knows this but-”
“He’s apparently a prominent figure.” says Dash sarcastically. “When I saw him, he was fucked up. Like, really. He was arrested."
Your eyebrows knit together. “Really?”
Instantly, your mind flashes to Jungkook. There’s no way that he and Dae had an altercation together - you’re positive. That would do more harm than good, but damn did it get you going just thinking about the younger man beating that prick’s ass.
“He filed for bankruptcy officially yesterday.” Dash snickers. His pancakes are nearly done and knowing him, he would just go in the fridge and look for something else to eat.
“I know.” you groan. “We’re going to have to start packing soon.”
“What?” Dash’s eyes flicker to yours. “What do you mean?”
“That’s why that good for nothing asshole was here this morning.” you shrug a shoulder. “Apparently…he’s selling the house.” you let out another sigh.
Dash’s face falls a bit, his eyes glancing around the kitchen. “He can’t do that…we…you live here. His parents-”
“Cut him off.”
Even with bad news, you’re giddy enough to know that Dae will still have a terrible life without his parents money.
“You still have your inheritance, though! They wouldn’t allow him to touch it.” you offer a soft smile. “You’re almost done with college and I have enough money saved up-”
“I don’t want that inheritance.” Dash scoffs.
You understand why, but you ask either way. “Why? You can have a jump start into your career. You can…buy a home for yourself. Or save it-”
“All of a sudden I have cousins who pretend to give a fuck about me. Am I expected to meet with these people for the holidays?”
Dash crosses his arms and sits back into the island stool. He’s been with Sumi - not officially - for months. He’s grown close enough with her to hear the stories of what happens in these rich families and he wanted no parts in them.
“Then,” Dash shakes his head. “I got a call from my supposed grandfather to tell me that I could possibly inherit his company. I didn’t ask for this.”
“Wait, what?”
Dae’s father was a strict and serious man. For years, he avoided all contact with Dash and made little effort to be a part of his life. He never asked questions, only made sure the check cleared every month.
“Imagine that.”
You tilt your head, eyes peering at your son as he speaks.
“The illegitimate child possibly inherits everything. I know that would crush him.” Dash cracks a smirk. “I’d just burn it to the ground. Watch decades of hard work crumble.”
“You sound so evil.” you say, amused. “The son I raised wouldn’t do that. That’s something Dae,” you say his name as if it’s venom. “would do. He’s too stupid to run a company.”
Raising your son, you rarely spoke ill of his father. Now that he’s a man, you couldn’t do anything but that.
“But if you don’t want to, you don’t have to. It’s your life.” you grab the sticky plate from the island and toss it into the sink. You turn on the water. “But that inheritance is yours. Do whatever you want with it.”
The silence you and him are left in as you wash the dishes is a comfortable one, at least for you. You don’t want to force him into more conversations that would have him pushing you away again.
You’re scrubbing the sink when Dash does speak up again, this time asking a question you weren’t sure you knew the answer to.
“Do you love him?”
That obviously wasn’t towards Lee Dae.
Dash is staring at you, waiting for an answer. His face is unreadable, you note, the perfect poker face as always.
You turn off the sink water, your eyes cast down as the water goes down the drain. A part of you wishes you could go with it.
“Dash…”
“Yes or no.” says Dash. “Do you love him? Or was it just sex?”
You watch Dash watch you.
The kitchen is entirely still, silent. You don’t say anything in response.
Did you love Jungkook? Of course you did. At first, you adored the friendship Dash & Jungkook had, the motherly side of you witnessing the boyish atmosphere they created together that reminded you of two siblings. You enjoyed having the both of them over and assuring them that when they left, it was always with packed dinners.
Then, it became complicated. Jungook found out about the profile - the one you made just to hookup with anyone, and used it against you.
It became complicated because you liked the way Jungkook spoke so dirty to you, those boyish features you loved about him that you thought were cute now had you swooning.
It became complicated because you loved how good Jungkook fucks you, showing such passion for your body that no man ever has before. His kisses would be left lingering on your hours after the fact, his hands bruised on your flesh like a tattoo.
But even then, you think, outside of sex you thought of Jungkook. You enjoyed his company. You enjoyed the times you and he shared together, even if it was behind the backs of others. He’d lay his head on your chest, listening to the way your heart beat rhythmically, his arms hugging you tightly - almost afraid to let you go.
“That tells me everything I need to know.”
The stool scratches against the floor as Dash gets up. Your heart jolts and you reach out for him. “Wait-“
“I have to get back to the dorm and shower. Sumi and I-“ Dash stops speaking. He’s forgotten he hasn’t talked to you about Sumi, or about anything in his life recently.
“-have plans.”
Sumi, you think. That must’ve been the girl he was with that night. Immediately, that familiar humiliation comes through you.
“I’ve,” you chuckle bitterly, your hand slowly falling. “I’ve missed you…is all.”
Offering a strained smile, Dash nods . “Me, too.”
“Ruining people's lives is suuuuch hard work.”
Sumi’s voice sounds through his phone speaker, as sugary and sweet as always. Only, Jungkook knows his cousin and knows just how false that voice was. Of course, only when it came to Dash.
Jungkook hadn’t thought that he’d ever had to talk to his cousin in order to hear about one of his closest friends, but here he sat doing just that. From Sumi, he learned that Dash had started speaking with you again, which was great, only on your side, of course, as he continued to avoid Jungkook like his life depended on it. He isn’t sure he could blame him.
However, you still refused to see him. He was one step ahead, though, as you weren’t completely ignoring him. You answered his texts and sometimes, his calls.
“Tell me about it.” Jungkook sighs. He’s laying against his pillows in his dorm room. “Having to be the mastermind to get the woman you love back is tiresome.”
Sumi snorts. “You have such mommy issues, I swear.”
“Don’t we all?” Jungkook retorts. “Besides, I’m just doing what you suggested.”
It’s been a long month so far. Within said month, Jungkook worked on assuring you and he could be together. But in order to do that, he first had to worry about Dash.
It was Sumi’s idea, Jungkook recalls, thrusting Dash into the Lee family's good graces. Dash had confided in her (Jungkok could vomit on how lovey-dovey she was with him) about his grandfather reaching out to him, and it was Sumi who encouraged him to take up the offer.
In all wealthy families there were those who were attempting to get into the good graces of the patriarch - that would be Lee Dae’s father himself. Dash had several cousins, all raised with money who attended private institutions like he had. They had the name, yes, but not the work ethic or the strive.
Lee Daniel, just a year older than Dash, was already out. Wealthy families hated scandal - and he was the first in Sumi’s plan to fall. Jungkook recalls the moment it happened, him unlocking his phone and revealing it was yet another headline involving the Lee family. This time, Lee Daniel, whose father - married to Dae’s sister - had bribed the elite university to take in Daniel. Of course, it’s something that happens all the time, but they were the first to be caught.
Said scandal had people wondering just how iditioc the Lee family could be if getting into a good University was that difficult.
The next on the list was Lee Nara, only a sophomore in college herself, but old enough to know that drinking and driving was wrong. “I can’t believe you’re adding me to your schemes.” was what Jimin had said, but was fully willing to drive a bit too close to the brand new car she had gotten for graduation just a few years prior to cause an accident. It was Namjoon who answered the call when Jimin’s car “spiraled” out of control and ended up on the side of the road with a hysterical Lee Nara.
Sure, she only had a few drinks that night, but it wasn’t the detectives first time altering a breathalyzer.
BREAKING NEWS: LEE FAMILY BACK IN THE SPOTLIGHT!
LEE NARA involved in serious drunk driving crash in Downtown
Police confirm that Lee Nara, sophomore, and granddaughter of prominent business man, Lee Dae-hwan, was involved in a serious vehicle collision late last night. First responders rushed to the scene and managed to bring those injured - and unnamed - to the hospital and their injuries under investigation.
Eyewitnesses describe the scene to be not only chaotic, but heartwrecking. Shattered glass, smoking engines and panicked individuals gathering around the intoxicated and unruly Lee Nara.
Authorities, along with Detective Kim Namjoon, had confirmed that Lee Nara has been taken into custody and is expected to face charges for her crime of operating a vehicle under the influence. Detective Kim has this to say:
“Lee Nara may be young, but she’s old enough to know right from wrong. Let this be a cautionary tale, don’t get behind the wheel if you’ve had a lot to drink. This is a young girl who is known for her high-profile lifestyle as a Lee, but that does not mean that she is above the law.”
“Do you think what we’re doing is wrong?” Jungkook asks, blinking back into reality.
Sumi hums from the other end as if thinking of his question. “Do you feel bad?” she asks him.
Jungkook thinks about it for a moment - then another.
No.
Maybe that was Jungkook’s own privileges catching up to him. Growing up in an elite family, nearly everything was competition. Who could come out on top, who could gain the most, who could be the best.
This was what it was, only Jungkook was assuring the top spot remained on one who wasn’t competing - Dash. Compared to his cousins, Dash was perfect. He got into college because he worked for it and didn’t need anyone to bribe his spot. He was responsible and as far as anyone knew, not in the limelight giving their family a bad name.
“Besides,” Sumi’s voice is cheery. “isn’t this what you wanted? Dash has no competition now, not like he ever had. Daniel is a dumbass jock, Nara’s reputation is dwindling.”
“Yeah.” Jungkook hums. “It is what I wanted. I gotta go.”
Jungkook doesn’t wait for Sumi’s response before he hangs up. Instantly, his mind drifts to you, so you are who he calls.
You answer on the fourth ring, your face coming into view. You take a deep breath, your eyes glancing at him in fake annoyance. It does nothing for Jungkook, however, as he smiles widely as he sees you. “Mommy!”
“Kookie…” your tone is lecturing. “…what did I say?”
“To jump in front of a car.” Jungkook deadpans.
“What? No!” you’re fully into the camera now. “You’re so dramatic.”
“Well I'd rather do that than go a day without seeing you.” Jungook sits up on his bed. “Did you get the flowers I’ve sent you?”
Jungkook watches the way you get out of frame to return a few seconds later, holding the bouquet he’s sent you. The flowers are lush and colorful, a mix of lavender blossoms and pink lilies.
You attempt to be annoyed - just a bit - but there’s a glint in your eyes that Jungkook sees.
“I got them.” you say. “I appreciate them, Kookie. But you know-”
Jungkook interrupts you. “It’s been torture, mommy. Why don’t we go out?” he suggests. He wants to change the subject. He doesn’t want to hear you remind him what he already knows.
“Are you insane? Talking to you now is risky.” you sigh. “I thought I told you that we keep talking, it has to be-“
“Strictly platonic.” Jungkook pouts with a roll of his eyes. “I miss you, though.”
Jungkook witnesses the way your eyes soften and his heart jolts. You place the bouquet back out of frame and return back to the phone. “I miss you, too.”
At that, Jungkook smiles. His heart jolts in his chest like it always does. He doesn’t blame you for being skeptical in meeting with him, but it’s hard for him. He has to force himself from being at your door every night, knowing that Dash could possibly show up at any time. It was riskier then, but the adrenaline clouded his mind. He never thought that the two of you would be caught.
“You do?”
“Of course I do.”
Jungkook tilts his head. “I figured you’d found someone else by now,” he jokes. He’d know if you did. He wasn’t paying Namjoon extra to keep an eye out on you for nothing.
“And if I do?” you raise a brow, staring right at him through the phone.
“If you do, it won’t be for long.” Jungkook responds instantly, cooly. “But you don’t have anyone.”
You snort. “Are you following me?” you question, fully joking on the matter.
Yes, Jungkook was in a way. Namjoon got paid more by the Jeon family than he did as an actual detective. “I just know.” he smiles a bit. “Besides, if you did have someone, you’ll still be thinking of me.”
“You’re always so cocky.”
Jungkook isn’t wrong, and that’s what upset you - with yourself, not him. The younger man is a plague on your mind that you cannot get rid of. It didn’t help that he refused to be forgotten, determined to have a relationship with you by any means necessary, an idea you shot down time and time again.
Yet, when your mind wasn’t plagued with Jungkook, it was about him, especially Dash’s question. “Do you love him?”
“Mommy?”
You blink a few times, your vision returning clearer. You look at Jungkook to find that he’s already looking at you. However, he’s changed the view from him holding his phone to said phone being propped up on his nightstand. You see him laying down, a few strands of hair in his forehead and covering his eyebrows. You see him place his airpods in his ear before continuing to speak.
“What are you thinking about?” Jungkook questions.
It was your turn to get comfortable. You didn’t have to work until later nor were you expecting company. Dae had kept his distance from you - you thanked the higher power for that - and Dash made it his mission to call before he did, no matter how many times you told him there wasn’t any reason to anymore.
Jungkook watches the way you lay on your own bed, your head crashing onto the soft pillow. He wishes he could be next to you, he thinks, and inhales the sweet (and sexy) scent upon your sheets. Just the memory has his cock hardening in a perverted way.
“You.” you say, answering Jungkook’s question honestly.
“Me?” Jungkook’s eyes widened a bit, a tint dusting his cheeks. “What about me?”
You couldn’t hold back the snort, your lips twitching upwards.
“I’m thinking about how cute you look right now.” You tease.
“Cute?” Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Stop flirting with me, mommy. Just tell me to come and I’ll bend you over-”
“Jungkook!” There’s no malice in your voice and this time, you laugh. “You have such a dirty mouth.”
“You like how dirty my mouth is.” Jungkook retorts. “I miss using my mouth on you.”
This was your moment to stop him. Jungkook was taking a step and it was your responsibility to not allow him to leap.
Instead, you raise your brows. “Do you really?” you murmur, eyes watching through the screen at Jungkook.
“Yeah.” Jungkook nods his head. “I miss tasting you…”
There it was, you think, your sanity screaming at you to not do this. Everytime you’ve gone too far and went down a rabbit hole with Jeon Jungkook, it causes you to make terrible decisions.
In your silence, Jungkook continues. “...miss touching your soft skin. I miss trailing my tongue on every inch of you.”
“Kook…”
“I miss laying my head on your chest, too.”
Jungkook’s voice lowers into a hushed whisper, as if speaking lower in the empty room would hide what he’s saying. His tongue glides across his bottom lip.
“...miss the way your nipples feel against my palm…against my tongue.”
Your thighs clench together pathetically. No matter how many times you told yourself to hang up the phone - because this was not being strictly platonic - you don’t. Instead, your body reacts, imaging said man doing exactly that. His hands gliding against your naked flesh, his warm mouth wrapping around your nipples and suckling on them until they’re hardened and bruised.
“You miss it, too, don’t you?” Jungkook hums and from your view, you witness the way his legs widen just a bit. “I wish you’d stop being so stubborn, Mommy…”
Jungkook’s bottom lip pokes out a bit, so cutely that you are nearly distracted by the way a tattooed hand trails down his torso and to the hem of his sweatpants.
“Instead you insist on torturing me…” Jungkook trails off.
“Torturing you how, Kookie?”
A shiver runs through Jungkook’s body. He closes his eyes for a moment, letting out a breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding. Your sweet voice speaking his name just does something to him - and he feels it right at his core.
“You know how, mommy.” Jungkook whimpers, fluttering his eyes open to look at you. His hand slides into his sweats without a care. “I’m so hard at just thinking about you.”
You swallow - hang up the phone, you tell yourself. “You should be hard for girls your own age, Kookie.”
Jungkook snickers humorlessly. “Girls my age won’t treat me like you do.” he says, squeezing a hand around his clothed cock, his boxer briefs painfully tight. “The way you make me cum, mommy, no one has done that before.”
Hangup, you tell yourself, the familiar heart beat growing between your legs.
“Why do you think I can never get enough of you?” Jungkook sighs and from the camera angle, you see the way his hand jerks inside his sweatpants.
“Are you touching yourself?” you ask - damn you, you think. You couldn’t stop watching him and his own pathetic words aren’t helping, either.
“I have to because you hate me.” Jungkook whimpers. This time, he pushes the sweatpants from his waist. He’s sporting navy blue briefs that he proceeds to push down, as well, his cock springing forward.
Your lips part just a bit.
“I don’t hate you, Kookie…” you trail off as Jungkook wraps a hand around his cock. You swallow, you were going to regret this when you were in the right mind. “...I miss you just as much.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” you nod your head. “You were such a good boy for me, Koo…I miss feeling your cock in me. I think about it all the time.”
Jungkook’s heart jolts, his cock twitching in his palm. Instantly, he squeezes it, stroking it as his eyes watch you through the screen closely. “Fuck, mommy.” he gasps. “I can still be good for you! Please-”
“How would you be good for me?” you couldn’t help but ask. You and Jungkook were already too deep - and sure, you could end it now, but you wouldn’t.
“You know how, mommy. Have you forgotten how good you felt when I’d fuck you?” Jungkook grunts, shamelessly taking out his cock. Your eyes zone in on it through the screen, the tip flushed just as you remembered it. Your legs squeeze tighter. “-fuck you so deep just how you like it, too.”
Watching Jungkook pleasure himself is hotter than you’d thought it’d be. Of course, it had to be because it was Jeon Jungkook. A handsome face with a handsome cock and seductive voice that shot a wave of heat through your body - and between your legs.
“I wish you were here right now, mommy.” Jungkook then whimpers, a total switch up to his once overly-cocky attitude that you’re positive would be back just as quick as it left. “No, I wish I was there! I know you’re wet right about now. You’re always so wet for me, mommy.”
“I am wet.” you admit, voice lowering to a whisper. “I wish you were here with me, too, Kookie. I miss feeling your cock in me.”
Jungkook pumps his cock harder, round eyes widening at you. You’re teasing him, he thinks, the way you’re breast are right in the camera, but not fully exposed just because he knows you want to torture him.
“L-Let me see you, mommy.” Jungkook pants. “Please, I miss you. And listening to you right now is torture…”
Jungkook swallows the lump that’s in his throat, uncaring at how pathetic he might sound. It was obvious what he was doing - you were literally watching him - but it wasn’t a secret to you of all people how he felt for you.
“Hmm…see me?” you ask, tilting your head. “What do you wanna see?”
What didn’t Jungkook want to see? It would be perverse for him to tell you to put your whole pussy into the camera, even if it was his first thought when he ponders your question. His hand squeezes his cock, a whimper coming from his lips. “Your…breast.” he swallows yet again, throat dry. “I wish I could feel them right now…please, mommy.”
Now at the thought of your soft breast in the palms of his hand has him salivating, truly wishing he could hold them in his hands once more - even if it was for a mere second.
You do, pulling your shirt up to show Jungkook your breast, amused - and aroused - but the look of the man. His head is pushed back against his pillow, his cock wet with his own pre-cum and you hear it as he pumps himself.
“So pretty,” Jungkook whines. His mouth part, his tongue salivating at the way your nipples are hardened. His mind swirls with memories of him between your breasts, his fingers twirling and twisting those very nipples, along with his tongue, suckling and leaving it flushed and bruised. “I wish I could cum all over them again, mommy…”
Jungkook’s eyes flutter shut as you watch, your bottom lip being caught between your teeth. Your legs clench tighter together, the sight you’d never thought would ever be hot to you, but here it was. He isn’t silent, nor are the sounds of him pumping his cock at just the sight of you.
As for Jungkook, his mind continues to replay past encounters with you - his cock springing between your breast, his tip hitting against your tongue, an act so lewd that his stomach churns at just the remembrance. “Gonna cum, mommy!” he grunts.
As of lately, nothing has gone Jungkook’s way. Sure, he was making moves behind the scenes - assuring that Lee Dae paid the ultimate price for being a piece of shit to you and Dash. Him and Sumi found ways for Dash, the illegitimate child, to strive ahead of his cousins, but all of that wasn’t his focus. What was his focus was simple - cumming to you.
“Fuck,”
Jungkook jumps instantly at the sound, his eyes opening like a deer in headlights.
Jungkook knew that voice, and so did you. You act fast, body warm with embarrassment and before asking any questions, you hang up, your heart pounding.
Jungkook goes to cover himself with his blanket, his cheeks flushed as he watches an unamused Dash close the door behind him.
“should I have knocked?” Dash glances away.
Jungkook grabs his phone, now free of you. He lets out a sigh of relief - Dash hadn’t seen you on the screen.
“You didn’t put anything on the door.” Dash murmurs, going towards his own bed. He drops his bag onto the bed and opens it.
“You…you’ve been avoiding me.”
Jungkook’s voice is small. He pulls his sweats up underneath the covers. It was Dash’s idea to put something - anything truly - on the outside of the door to let the others know that they wanted the room to themselves. It mainly meant when they had company, not desperately masturbating.
Dash doesn’t respond and Jungkook is unsure how to further lead the conversation. He sits up, swinging his feet to the side of his bed and straightens his shoulders. He wanted nothing more than to catch Dash around, but he’s made himself disappear and avoided him as if his life depended on it. He could ask Sumi for help, but that would be admitting that he needed her even more, and he’d be damned to give her more satisfaction.
“Dash,”
Dash stops what he’s doing. He slowly turns towards Jungkook and at this, Jungkook is taken aback. What he was expecting was for Dash, upon seeing him again after months, to say something. To berate him, attack him (again) even - and he would take it all.
This, however, wasn’t what he was expecting. Dash, of course, isn’t a fighter unless provoked. But he gives Jungkook nothing but a simple stare, waiting for him to speak.
Swallowing, Jungkook stands. “I,”
Dash waits for Jungkook to speak.
Jungkook’s hand clenched and unclenched several times.
“Are you nervous?”
Jungkook exhales. “Yes.” he admits, his cheeks darkening. “...you’re my best friend.” he says quietly.
Jungkook doesn’t see the way Dash’s eyes soften for a moment, or the way his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
“Thing’s would be easier if you,” Jungkook shrugs. “I don’t know, beat my ass.” He’s only half joking - he doesn’t want to get punched again by him, but it was something. “I thought about what I would say when I finally saw you again.”
“What did you come up with?” questions Dash, genuinely curious. He wasn’t positive that Jungkook was at the dorm, but after his visit with you, he knew he couldn’t avoid the man forever.
Witnessing him with his cock out wasn’t how Dash wanted to see the man, however.
“Nothing good enough to get you to stop hating me.” Jungkook snorts humorlessly. “I’m sorry.”
Dash bites the inside of his cheek. Avoiding Jungkook was easier than this. The sight of him and you together left his mind, but it was easier to conceal when he didn’t have to see him.
Letting out a sigh, Dash repeats the words he’s said to his mother. “I don’t…hate you.”
Jungkook inhales. He doesn’t want to speak at the risk of ruining the moment.
Dash sits on his bed, rolling the kink out in his neck.
“I thought about what I’d do,” Dash begins. “about you…if I wanted to continue to fight you at every given chance.”
Jungkook eyes the way Dash raises his eyes to look at him.
“Or if I wanted to just forget about it and move on with my life. To leave you and my mother behind.”
Jungkook’s eyes widened. “You shouldn’t do that to her.” he’s quick to interject. “She…she really loves you.”
“You’d know.” Dash snickers.
Jungkook supposed he deserves the jabs.
“I thought she was hurt and I forgot about it all.” Dash crosses his arms. “I forgot the disdain I had for her. The betrayal.”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.” Jungkook blurts out. “I-”
“What?” Dash scoffs. “You were going to tell me over lunch that you were fucking my mom?”
Jungkook sighs. He falls onto his own bed, head hanging. “No…” he murmurs. “...I don’t know how I was going to tell you. She…”
Prior to all of this, Jungkook didn’t have an issue with speaking with Dash about any relationships or hookups he had. You were different, of course, as no one wants to hear the personal details about their mother’s sexual life.
“...she didn’t want you to know.” Jungkook murmurs. “I don’t even think she took me seriously. She told me all the time that we couldn’t,”
Jungkook stops to take a deep breath. Dash hasn’t stopped him yet, so he continues.
“be together. It was me who kept pursuing her time and time again.” Jungkook runs a hand through his hair.
“So…you’re telling me that you have feelings for my mother?” Dash tilts his head, dark eyes staring intently at Jungkook. He wants to laugh at the circumstances. For years it’s just been him and his mom and now she had someone who loved her, but it was someone he brought into her life.
“Yes.” Jungkook nods, now lifting his head to look at Dash. “I do.”
“How long?” questions Dash hastily.
“H-How long what?”
“How long have you loved her?”
Jungkook exhales. “A few years,” he murmurs.
“You’ve been fucking my mom-”
“No!” Jungkook shakes his head. “It started a few months ago!”
Dash scoffs.
“I,” Jungkook feels like ripping his hair out. “she was nice. She treated me kindly. She cooked for me just as she did for you and-”
“You have mommy issues.” Dash blurt out, his eyebrows knitted together. “She was just being motherly, Kook, seriously.”
Dash takes a deep breath, shaking his head in disbelief. This entire time he considered Jungkook a brother to him, one he always told his mother he wanted - even if he was fine with just the two of them. Instead, someone so close to him had looked at his mother differently.
With warm cheeks, Jungkook nods a bit. “I know,” he mumbles. “my cousin tells me all the time.”
“Your cousin knows you’re fucking someones mom?”
Jungkook ponders if things would change if Dash knew just who his cousin was.
“Unfortunately.” sighs Jungkook. “She…wasn’t supposed to find out, either.” he murmurs, a warmth returning to his cheeks at just how embarrassing it all was witnessing Sumi that night with Dash.
“What was your plan?”
Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, an action he did often while nervous. “I don’t know,” he admits. It wasn’t a total lie. He had every intention of courting you, he thinks. Though, it wasn’t supposed to all end up like this. Dash wasn’t supposed to find out in such a way, you weren’t supposed to cut him out. Now, everything had to be done differently and day by day, he was working overtime. “I wanted to tell you-”
“That you were fucking my mom.” Dash deadpans.
“No!” Jungkook hisses. “I mean, that I loved her! You…I thought I had time. I thought…after graduation-”
“That you’d run in the sunset with my mother?” Dash snickers, this time the corner of his lips curves upwards by how hilarious that sounds. “You’re a man in college just as I am. She’s out of your league.”
Jungkook would argue that he was more than deserving, but then that would be to admit who he was and what he was doing here. It’s no secret that Dash isn’t fond of his paternal family and how “snobbish” they were to those they deemed unworthy. The Jeon family were far beyond that of the Lee and admitting that he was, in the words of his cousins, pretending to be lesser than, he’d surely despise him even more.
“I know she is.” Jungkook murmurs a response. “But I was working on it all. I was going to prove myself.”
The more Jungkook speaks, he realizes how foolish he may have sounded each time he told you. He had nothing to show to you how serious he was besides promises he wouldn’t reveal until college was over.
“And then what?” Dash questions. “You and her would tell me over dinner?”
“Well I haven’t made it that far yet, Dash.” Jungkook retorts. “I was going to tell you as soon as-”
Dash raises his brows.
“-she agreed. She…she didn’t take me seriously, either.” Jungkook’s shoulders falter as he speaks it aloud. He admits, though Dash obviously is holding himself back from attacking him further, it felt good to speak with him about this.
Quietly, Dash roams his eyes away from Jungkook and towards the ground. It’s obvious neither of them know what to say next. What he’s gathered from speaking to his mother and Jungkook, that there were feelings developed along the way. She could try to hide it, but he knows his mother well enough.
“You remember what you told me?” Jungkook speaks first this time. “When your father came into town, that is.”
Dash shakes his head.
In a way, Jungkook knew he wouldn’t. It isn’t something that Dash said entirely too serious, but he had.
“Do you care for him?”
Dash snorts. “Is that actually a question you’re asking me?” he asks. He’s sure he couldn't care less for his father, especially knowing that he was planning on selling the same house he bought for them. However, he supposed it was just a matter of time before Lee Dae came and took everything from them.
Jungkook shrugs one shoulder. “Just making sure,” he murmurs. “You’re already upset with me about getting involved with one parent.”
Dash tilts his head. “How could you be involved with him?”
Sooner or later, Dash would know who he was, Jungkook thinks.
“What if I told you that I’m the reason he was arrested?” Jungkook begins, slowly speaking each word as he examines Dash’s expression.
“Go on.”
So Jungkook does. He leaves a few details out, but he’s said enough. He admit that it was him who called in the domestic dispute, and when asked if he was there with his mother, Jungkook had to assure he didn’t put you under the bus. After all, Dash is under the impression that you cut Jungkook off, and in a way you did, but not fully like you should’ve. “I was there that day.” Jungkook admits, swallowing a lump in his throat. “I saw your dad leave, hurling out insults after the next. She…wouldn’t let me in to talk to her.”
So what if Jungkook bent the truth in his favor?
“I saw the mess in the background, the look on her face.” Jungkook shrugs once more. “Then I remembered what you told me that day before we had dinner with them.”
Dash is intrigued, dare he say. He didn’t think Jungkook would be the reason Lee Dae had been arrested and the start of a downfall for the Lee family. It revealed the bankruptcy which soon spiraled to his cousins being exposed for their own doings.
“If there was a way for her to get rid of him for good, she’d take it.” Jungkook repeats those words Dash spoke, the same one that he took as bond. “The public image of a wealthy family is everything, right? Lee Dae is not only a deadbeat father, but is a broke abuser.”
For a moment, Dash is quiet to process it all. His face is unreadable and Jungkook begins to think that maybe he’s spoken too soon.
Then Dash laughs. His head falls back and he releases it, his chest rising and falling. Jungkook hadn’t heard that same laugh in so long, he thinks. He recalls the nights the two of them had together at the dorm, eating greasy pizza after a night out. He enjoyed listening to Dash ramble on about everything and nothing all at once, moments he took for granted.
“This life is new to me.”
Jungkook watches as Dash lays down, his hands behind his head and eyes upwards the ceiling.
“Having cousins and grandparents.” Dash continues. “My grandmother keeps inviting me over for dinners. My grandfather said I could inherit his company. It doesn’t seem real.”
Jungkook stands to his feet. “That’s great, isn’t it?!”
Dash shrugs.
“It is.” Jungkook assures, far more excited than Dash was, but that was because he wasn’t from this life. He and Sumi weren’t doing things behind the scenes for nothing. “It doesn’t seem real because you’re different from them. You actually know what it’s like to work for the things you want. I’ve heard about your…cousins.”
Dash snorts. “I’m sure everyone has.”
“That means you’re,” Jungkook states. “next in line. Big inheritance and a company-”
“That I have no idea how to run.” Dash deadpans. “Seems like a never ending headache to me.”
“It’s not going to happen overnight.” Jungkook states. “You have time, that is. But this isn’t the point now.”
“And what is the point?” Dash asks, glancing at Jungkook.
Taking a deep breath, Jungkook responds. “To beg for forgiveness.”
You felt like you were living life backwards. As soon as you realized you were pregnant by that man, you were forced to grow up faster than the rest of your friends. While they went to college, you found yourself a job that was flexible enough for you to raise Dash until he started school.
You worked what felt like nonstop, not taking any unnecessary breaks and in your eyes, it worked out. Dash life could only go up from here.
Yours, however, you aren’t so sure. You were living backwards because while you’re sure your friends lived their own lives in college - dating or sleeping around - you were raising a child. Now, you were experiencing something you could have experienced in your early twenties.
You told yourself that you were done entertaining whatever it was you had with Jungkook. Your reality check should’ve come that night when Dash found you and Jungkook together, but of course it hadn’t - living life backwards. You allowed Jungkook right back into your home yet again while he was drunk and highly emotional that led to a night of intense passionate sex that you constantly think about.
Which also led you here with a positive pregnancy test sitting on your bathroom counter. You stare at it intensely, hoping that maybe you were just illiterate. That the 8 letter word clearly written on the test didn’t mean what it actually did. However, the other 4 you took and promptly threw away couldn’t be lying, either.
You close your eyes, inhaling deeply through your nose. All these years, you were careful. Sure, you had hookups, but they led nowhere - and definitely not to a pregnancy.
You’ve gotten careless. Dash being out of the home caused you to live the life you didn’t in your youth. Only, you weren’t young anymore - you were a mother to a soon to be college graduate; one you just got back into good graces with.
You do what you do best, however. Throw away the test and do what you were planning on doing this morning.
You haven’t heard from Dae in nearly a month, something you were grateful for. But you knew the man well and if he said he was coming for your home, he meant it. Packing up everything you owned was a hassle, but you managed well with Dash coming and assisting. You and he spoke little and at the end of it, you both ate.
“I’m having dinner with them tonight.” Dash murmurs, shoving nearly half of the sandwich into his mouth.
You stop chewing. “Hm?”
“My…grandparents?” Dash swallows. It doesn’t sound less weird the more he says it aloud. “It’s a family dinner, apparently. They want me to,” he shrugs his shoulders. “grow accustomed to the family.”
Slowly, you nod your head. “That’s good.” It sounds more like a question than a statement. “You call me if that asshole tries anything.” your mood shifts instantly once you remember that Lee Dae is indeed family. “What changed your mind?”
Dash takes another few bites of his sandwich before responding. “Jungkook.”
Your ears perk at the name. You try your best not to react too much, afraid that maybe Dash was looking for a reaction out of you. Instead, you take a sip of your water.
“He apologized.” Dash continues. “Over and over again.”
Your stomach churns. You’ve managed to avoid Jungkook - how, you weren’t sure yourself - since that time you fell into temptation. Phone sex with the very man you told yourself you’d stay away from - living backwards.
“Are you two friends again?” you couldn’t help but ask. It weighs on you that you could have ruined something great for Dash and Jungkook.
Dash’s chewing slows a bit, contemplating the question. He tilts his head, voice a bit muffled. “Do you love him?” he questions.
Your stomach churns once more. “W-Why do you ask?” you shake your head. You haven’t given him a direct response the last time he asked.
“He told me he loves you.” Dash swallows, picking up the bottled water and downing the majority of it. “Said he has for a while now.”
Your mouth salivates and you attempt to swallow the uncomfortable feeling in your throat.
“Dash,” you exhale. You run a hand through your forehead. “it’s complicated.”
“To know if you love someone or if it was just sexual?” Dash knits his brows together. “I know I didn’t love Hana.”
Hana, you think.You remember the girl you’ve seen for dinner and never again. Definitely not the girl you’ve witnessed with him the night he found you with Jungkook.
“I know I like Sumi.” Dash continues. “I’m not sure if it’s love yet but…” he trails off, humming to himself just a bit “...I know it could come to that. She’s also the one that encouraged me to accept my inheritance and eventually the company.”
You widen your eyes. “Su…mi…” you say the name slowly. You want to ask questions as any mother would, but you’re unsure if it’s safe as of yet. You’re unsure if you could even show your face to her without feeling like an utter embarrassment of a mother. “I’m happy you have her.”
And it’s words that you mean. Dash is young and he has a long life to live. You’ll be happy whatever path he goes down that leads him into a life of succession.
Dash hums, watching you for a bit. You’re back to cleaning up, washing a few dishes and drying them by hand. Then, you proceed to wrap it in several newspapers before placing them inside a labeled box. He exhales through his nose. “I want you to have someone, too.”
You look up from the box you were now taping up. Again, your stomach churns.
“You’ve been alone-”
“Oh, wow.” you scrunch your brows together, only a bit offended. “I’m glad that you think I’ll be nothing but an old cat lady.” you joke.
Dash’s lips curl upwards. “You’d have about 5 if I wasn’t allergic.” he says, and for a split moment he recalls his skin reddening and his eyes watering at just being in the presence of one for far too long. 10 minutes to be exact. “What I mean is…” Dash takes a deep breath. “...I want you to be happy, too.”
“I am happy.” you murmur, voice low. You push the box aside. “Why do you think I’m not?”
“You put your life on hold to raise me alone. You didn’t have many friends or partners that lasted.”
This time, your heart jolts along with your churning stomach.
“And…I liked it when it was just the two of us at times. But,” Dash feels weird speaking so sentimentally with you. “I want you to have someone, too. Someone you love.”
Dash blinks his gaze to you. You notice the look on his face, one of uncertainty. Uncomfortableness.
“Dash-”
“Jungkook loves you.” Dash blurts out, his cheeks warm. He inhaled deeply, mentally counting for a few seconds before exhaling.
Oh, you think, and of course your stomach does more than churns. It rumbles loudly.
“I don’t understand it-”
Oh, you think once more. You nearly forgot that though Jungkook had something for older women, that your son didn’t. He thought women your age had to be nearing a nursing home.
“-but I can tell it’s more than something sexual. I started to think back to all the times when we’ve all been together. The way Jungkook would act when you weren’t around.”
You lean against the counter, staring intently at Dash as he rambles on. Your mouth continues to salivate but you swallow it back.
“And…I…love the two of you. A lot.” Dash looks away, his cheeks continue to warm. “So if…y-you don’t need my permission to date, of course, but…if you want to be with Jungkook,”
You feel it in the back of your throat now. You place a hand onto your mouth and attempt to keep it back.
“then I’ll respect it. As long as he makes you happy then I can move past it.”
Dash flinches when he hears you heave, and suddenly vomit all over the newly clean sink. He pushes himself back, the stool scraping against the floor. “M-Ma, are you okay?” he gasps.
You nod your head, wiping your mouth. You turn on the sink quickly. “I-I’m fine.” you lie. “J-Just wasn’t expecting that.”
Dash sighs, his shoulders slumping. You clean your mouth with the water. “You threw up because I gave you my blessing?” he deadpans.
No, you think, you vomited because you were obviously pregnant and the morning sickness was now getting to you. But, you would admit that Dash’s words did cause your heart to swell and your mind to swirl.
“Mommy~”
There’s a bouquet of roses in your face just as you open your front door. The breeze from outside runs through your home and seemingly echos off of the walls, having little furniture to dance through.
“Jungkook…” you trail off, your eyes glancing from the large bouquet to the man holding them behind them.
Jungkook’s sporting a wide grin, dark round eyes sparkling.
“...what are you doing here?” you question, taking the roses from the man.
“I came to see you, of course.” Jungkook responds. “I want to take you out.”
You snicker. “Take me out?”
Jungkook doesn’t find anything he said amusing. You on the other hand do.
Last week was when you spoke to Dash about, in his words, having his blessing to pursue Jungkook if you desired. It was the last time you and he spoke about it at all, you recall, as it was awkward for the both of you to.
You’re sure Dash has given the same speech to Jungkook himself as since that day, a new set of roses has ended up on your doorstep. Only this time, it was accompanied by Jungkook himself.
“Yes.” Jungkook nods. “I want to take you out on a date.”
Jungkook’s dressed casually, you note, a dark denim jacket that matches his jeans perfectly. “And where do you suggest we go?”
Jungkook’s smile widens. “Well, of course I want to show you off to the world as mine, but we know you wouldn’t do it.” he starts, and you roll your eyes. “So I was thinking a movie! It’ll be something easy to start with since we don’t have to hide anymore.”
“I see.” you hum. You turn around and step inside your home. Jungkook follows you, closing the door behind him. His eyes trail around the semi-empty home, labeled boxes neatly stacked on one another. “I’m sure Dash has spoken to you…about us?”
You were running out of space to fit the flowers. Most of your counters were already taking up previous bouquets.
“Yes.” Jungkook leans against the island as you round it to find room for the new set of roses. “I’m not going to lie, I didn’t think it’d ever happen,” he admits.
Jungkook remembers the night Dash had returned back late one night. The conversation began smoothly at first, with him asking subtle questions, that then led on to his childhood and how you always prioritized him over anything else. It made it easier for Dash to speak to him without looking in his eyes in the dark room, stating that he wouldn’t come in the way of whatever relationship he and you had.
“You wasted no time.” you tease, glancing up at the older man. “I was actually on my way out.”
“I noticed. I came to surprise you.” Jungkook hums. “Where were you going?”
You remain silent, pondering on Jungkook’s question.
You couldn’t tell the younger man where you were going. Nor could you tell him about the positive pregnancy tests you took - or the doctor visit that confirmed it.
“An appointment.” you respond coolly. “Just a check up.” you shrug your shoulders, but Jungkook notices the way your eyes glance away from his. “Have you been feeling sick? Dash told me you weren’t feeling well last week.”
You can feel your stomach churning right now just thinking about it all.
“What movie did you want to see?” you ask. You needed to change the subject entirely. You could always reschedule for tomorrow, you think. You had enough time.
“Whatever movie you’d want to see.” Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. “I heard Attack of the Killer Space-”
“You have to be joking.” you scoff. “Of all the movies, you would want to see that.”
“I heard that it was so bad, that it’s good!” Jungkook laughs, his hair bouncing as tosses his head back. “I don’t care what we watch, mommy, as long as we’re together.”
“You’re so corny.” you murmur. “Attack of the Killer Space Beetles it is, then.”
The theater was empty upon arrival and it was something both you and Jungkook expected. The seats are at the very top, the leather making noise as you and Jungkook sit down. The lights were already off and the movie had just begun when you and Jungkook arrived.
“I have our new five dates planned out.” Jungkook murmurs to you. He places his slushie in the cup holder to his right and opposite of you.
“Who says I’m going to keep going out with you?” you tease. “People are going to think I’m your mom.”
“I think you overestimate your appearance.” Jungkook lifts the arm rest that divides the two of you. “Besides, I call you mommy all the time.”
It’s embarrassing how quickly it took for Jungkook to be on you in the dark theater. Both of your seats are declined and his lips trail kisses along your neck, his tattooed hand holding you close.
“Kook-”
“Stop, no one’s coming in.” Jungkook interrupts, sinking his teeth teasingingly into your neck. “They don’t get paid enough to check on us, either.”
Your mind tells you that maybe this was Jungkook’s plan. Choose a bullshit movie that no one would see just so he could get you alone - something he could’ve done in the household, yet that wasn’t fun for a man his age, right? Especially not when he could freely hold your hand in public now.
“I missed you, mommy.”
Jungkook’s tongue trails upwards.
“I missed you, too.” you admit. Jungkook captures your lips on his own, his tongue sliding into your mouth to dance along yours.
There’s a familiar ache between your legs that only Jungkook is able to cause. You aren’t sure why you’re allowing this as if you’re his age, but it’s fun. It’s different - it’s new to you. You couldn’t ever resist Jungkook when it’s just the two of you and this only proves that he still has it wrapped around his finger.
“I should have known you didn’t have good intentions bringing me here.”
Even in the dark theater, you can still see Jungkook’s smirk. The shadows from the screen dance off his handsome face.
“You haven’t told me to stop yet.”
Jungkook’s hands are warm as they reach underneath your shirt, cupping your breast.
“I wanted to make our first official date memorable.” Jungkook squeezes your breast tightly. “Making you cum right here while Attack of the Killer Space Beetles play in the background.”
“You’re not fucking me here.” you say sternly.
“Of course not.” Jungkook nods. “That doesn’t mean you can’t cum.”
Jungkook tugs at your bra enough so your breast pops out. His free hand shoves your shirt up. Immediately, your eyes glance down towards the entrance.
“It’s too dark in here for anyone to even see what we’re doing.” Jungkook assures. “I don’t wanna wait any longer to taste them again.”
Jungkook wraps his greedy lips around your nipple, groaning against it. His free hand roughly shoves your shirt up and your bra down to release the other breast. He grips it in his palm, resulting in a surprised gasp from you. Your back arches a bit at the action, but sensations shoot right between your legs.
Jungkook pops your nipple from his lips, wet and hard. He goes towards the other one, his tongue circling the bed teasingly.
“Ah!” you moan, your eyes fluttering.
“Such pretty tits you have, mommy. I can’t believe I’ve gone so long without sucking them.” Jungkook grunts. “Now I don’t have to anymore~”
Jungkook’s fingers twist the free nipple between his thumb and index finger, tugging on it in a way that makes you moan even louder. This only makes you wetter and wetter, the pounding between your legs growing by the second.
“You suck them so good, Kookie.” you couldn’t help but praise him. You were just a woman, yourself, who craved him just as much as he craved you. “You must’ve really missed me, huh?”
“Fuck,” Jungkook captures the nipple entirely now, and between suckles he says, “so much, mommy. Missed you so fucking much.”
The theater is loud, dramatic music booming off of the walls along with screaming people running on the screen. Whatever is happening in the movie, you’re unaware. You’re far too enthralled in Jungkook and the way he suckles on your breast as if his life depended on it. Even in the dark, you can see just how captivated he is by it all - popping the bud from his lips just to circle it with the tip of his tongue teasingly.
“I bet you’re so wet right now.” Jungkook murmurs, eyes flickering up to meet yours. Your expression is one he missed experiencing. “You’re so pretty, mommy~”
Jungook doesn’t hesitate. He’s got you right where he wants you; all to himself. His hand reaches down to your jeans and swiftly undones the button. His hands sneak their way through while your thighs widen to allow him.
“I knew I was right!” Jungkook grunts, greedy fingers making their way through your panties to touch your clit. It’s puffy and throbbing - and soaked. “Pussy missed being played with, huh?”
“Y-Yes!” you nod, warmth filling your cheeks. Jungkook’s dynamic always catches you off guard - for the better . In an instant, he could go from the sweet, submissive cutie who suckled on your breast like it was his life force, to a dominant man that spoke so vulgar to you.
If Jungkook could, he’d have you right here. He’d pull your jeans right off, push your panties aside and fuck you until you were full of him. But he understands that he couldn’t go that far - not here at least.
Jungkook’s finger trails along your clit, not even bothering on starting off softly. No, he knows you. He knows just how you want it.
Jungkook often thinks back to the first time he’s approached you right in the kitchen of your home. He’s found your profile, the flashing “There’s HOT MILFS in your area waiting for YOU to FUCK THEM!” right above the picture of your naked body. Any other time Jungkook would’ve ignored it, but he knew that face. It was you, of all people. The same woman he’s silently pinned after and in his mind, it was a sign.
Your pussy is messy and leaking. Your hand reaches out to wrap around Jungkook’s wrist for support. “K-Kook!” you mewl out, thighs trembling.
“You like that, mommy?” Jungkook snickers. Your breast bounces just a bit and it captivates Jungkook back towards your hardened nipples once more. Again, his lips wrap around it, suckling on it until it’s swollen and glistening. “Let’s see,”
You gasp out, eyes widening a bit when Jungkook’s twirling fingers slide down - quite easily due to how soaked you are - to your clenching hole. He dips in two fingers easily until they’re knuckles deep.
Your head falls back against the leather seat, your stomach churning. Jungkook’s finger thrusts in and out of you, screams now erupting throughout the theater. A week prior Jungkook had seen this same movie just to see how ridiculous it was. The main actress, he’d admit, was attractive, but that was all. The cgi was terrible and he’s unsure why it was showing in theaters at all.
“Fuck, Kookie, it feels so good!” you groan, your lower back arching so you could feel more of Jungkook’s thrusting fingers. Your eyes squeeze shut, mind going blank. You hadn’t realized just how much you missed Jungkook - his tongue, his fingers; just him. Your own fingers or vibrator wasn’t a match for the man that is Jeon Jungkook.
“I want you to cum all over my fingers, mommy.” Jungkook’s teeth graze into the skin of your breast, adding enough pressure to assure that he leaves his mark. “You’re so wet. I can’t wait to taste you later.”
You bite your lip, but somehow a moan slips through. The thought of Jungkook between your legs again has your stomach churning again, the throbbing only intensifying.
“You’re gripping my fingers, mommy. You want my tongue, don’t you?” Jungkook asks smugly. “I’ll eat this pussy all night. Gotta make up for the times you took away from me~”
“I-I’m gonna cum!” you hiss, your legs closing around Jungkook’s hand. “You always make mommy feel so good, baby.”
Jungkook groans, his cock throbbing in his pants. And like that, the switch flips and he changes. He goes back to the whimpering, submissive Kookie you knew, the one that would beg so sweetly in your ear.
“Fuck, mommy, I need you.” Jungkook sighs, pounding his fingers inside your gummy walls. His fingertips slam against that sweetspot. “I need to feel this sweet pussy around me again.”
You’re cumming, hard and fast. Your moaning is drowned out by the sound of the CGI Space Beetles being blown to pieces. Your grip on Jungkook’s wrist loosens, your chest rising and falling as you pant.
Whenever you were with Jungkook, your mind always failed to act right. You’ve done things you’d never thought about doing - like being in a cramped cinema stall with the younger man. You're lucky that said cinema is nearly empty with even younger employees that could care less about roaming the halls.
The restrooms are located at the far end of the cinema, so quiet that you could hear pieces of another movie from theater 16 right across from the rest room.
“Fuuuuck,” Jungkook groans as he enters you, his cock sliding deep inside of you. “so wet and so tight.”
Jungkook’s hands are tight around your waist, his cock plunging in and out of you so needily. Your pussy is squelching only loud enough to echo off of the quiet restroom walls. Your body is pressed against the cool stall door, your breast bouncing against it with each thrust.
“You g-gotta slow down, Kookie.” you pant, but the way your cunt squeezes around his cock tells him otherwise.
“No one’s here, mommy.” Jungkook’s thrusts are hard and quick, your ass slamming against his groin. “I don’t think I could hold back from fucking this pussy. It’s been too long.”
Jungkook isn’t wrong, you think. It’s been far too long and you’re far too weak to fight for silence - so you don’t. Instead, you moan even louder, your mind blurring until all you could focus on was the cock you’d miss inside of you. Your thighs are soaked with both cum and your juices, his cock messy with creamy white arousal.
“Then don’t hold back, baby.” you choke out, widening your thighs. The sane part of you - the one who would think about this moment with slight regret and judgment - is screaming. This is the exact reason why you, a grown woman with a grown son the same age as the man you’re fucking, was pregnant. “Show mommy how much you missed her pussy.”
And show you Jungkook does, over and over again. His nails dig into your soft, hot skin, angry cock pounding into your cervix so aggressively, stretching you so obscenely. He’s merciless, leaving you utterly sloppy and begging for more.
A hand reaches around your neck to bring you back against his chest. Jungkook’s tongue licks up from your neck, to your ear before forcing its way towards your mouth. You open your mouth wider to invite him into a messy kiss, your whimpers now suffocating in his mouth.
“Gonna fuck this pussy all night, mommy. Make up all the time I had lost.” Jungkook says against your wet mouth. “This pussy was made for me, mommy. It’s finally all mine to claim.”
Your hip is let go, but that doesn’t mean Jungkook takes his hands off of you. No, he has to torture you even more. He finds your puffy clit, his fingers twirling the bud aggressively, your cunt squeezing his cock even tighter - just how he likes it.
“All yours, Kookie.” you mewl out, tongue sliding against his sloppily. There’s a trail of saliva pooling from your lips, but neither of you care. It’s messy and completely obscene, but both of you are far too fucked out to give a damn. “Want you to fill me up aaalll night.”
You prided yourself on being a responsible adult for over two decades and now you’re throwing everything out for amazing dick. This, you remind yourself, was why you were pregnant. You cancelled your appointment to fix this very problem - a problem you told yourself you would keep to yourself and take with you to your grave - for this very dick.
“You’re so dirty.” Jungkook gasps, but he’s just as determined as you are to cum in you. His thrusts become sloppy, fingers circling erratically against your clit, juices coating your thighs.
You cum hard, your eyes squeezed shut tightly that you’re seeing nothing but stars. You’re panting, chest rising and falling and you’re a trembling mess of overstimulation.
Jungkook isn’t far behind you. His thrusts are sloppy, yet still deep and passionate. He doesn’t care about being quiet as with each thrust, he’s groaning loudly, spewing out - “shit, shit, shit” until he himself is cumming deep inside of you, so much that the seed spews out and down your thighs.
It takes five minutes for the both of you to come down from the high and another five minutes for you to get cleaned up. You’re grateful that you and Jungkook weren’t caught, the adrenaline you felt while doing the do now dies down and like you knew you would, you regret every decision you’ve made. However, you would be lying if you said you didn’t think it was fun - and entirely hot, especially with the way Jungkook looks at you through the restroom mirror. You finish washing your hands and you turn to face him.
“I’m hungry.” Jungkook says, coming closer to you. He leans down a bit to capture your lips. “I want steak.” he murmurs against your lips.
“I bet you are.” you say back, your body moving before your mind could and you wrap your arms around his neck and bring him into another kiss. “I have steak at home. I was planning on cooking in case Dash was coming over.”
“He’s with Sumi tonight.” Jungkook responds, pressing another kiss onto your lips. He missed kissing you. “How about I cook for us tonight? Then, I’ll fuck you into the mattress-”
You push at his chest gently and roll your eyes. “You have a dirty mouth.” you joke, but the words do have you swallowing at the possibilities of the night to come. “You’re wasting no time, huh?”
Jungkook leans away. “Of course not. What I say even during sex, I mean.” Jungkook responds. “I plan on courting you the right way. No more sneaking around.”
Jungkook looks at you, his eyes serious.
“And I plan on having a future with you.”
You break eye contact first. You round Jungkook and go towards the restroom door. You open in slowly, your eyes scanning to see if anyone was near. When you see no one, you exit, Jungkook close behind you.
“I’m serious,” Jungkook captures your shoulder to stop you from going further. “about everything I said.”
You exhale, unaware that you’d been holding your breath this long.
“Kook-”
“No.” Jungkook interrupts. “We don’t have to talk about it here. Or now.” he murmurs. He didn’t want to scare you away. Everything was still new. It would take time for you to get back out there publicly and not hide behind closed doors anymore. He didn’t want to rush anything, but he wanted you to know that he wanted you.
“I want you to know that-”
Your phone rings in your pockets. Jungkook stops his speech. He watches the way you seemingly pale, your eyes zoning in on the number on your screen. “I gotta take this.” you murmur. “How about you go to the car? I’ll meet you out there.”
Jungkook blinks. “O…Okay?”
You offer a smile - a strained one - before entering the restroom. Jungkook lingers for a few moments. He doesn’t listen. Instead, he presses his hands gently onto the door and cracks it open.
Your voice is low and muffled, but the restroom is so quiet that he can hear you.
“Yes, I had to reschedule the appointment.” you say. “No…I’m not having second thoughts. I need the procedure done.” There’s a few more seconds of silence. “Yes, I’ll get on birth control. I think that’ll be best after.”
Jungkook shuts the restroom door. He turns on his heels and makes his way down the hall. His mind swirls with what little he’s heard.
Reschedule the appointment.
Second thoughts.
Procedure.Birth control after.
trivia-yandere: okay so like what are we thinking??
years after leaving home to chase stardom in america, you return to korea with a grammy in your hand and unfinished feelings in your chest. the last person you expect to run into is jeon jungkook, your childhood best friend and the one person you never quite stopped loving, so when past regrets, new desires, and the glare of fame collide, you'll have to decide if love is worth staying.
pairing: mechanic!jungkook x (fem) popstar!reader, side pairing: jungkook x oc
genre: angst, smut, fluff, friends to enemies to lovers, slow burn, slight love triangle
rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !
w/c: 850 (teaser)
warnings: none for teaser.
a/n: veeeeeery excited news my babies !!!!!!! i've been working long and hard on this series and i'm super excited for you guys to read it because i think it's gonna be a BANGER if i do say so myself 😭😭😭 i've wanted to explore this genre for some time now so i really hope i do it justice lol please enjoy this little teaser and i'll be back soon with part 1 !! i love you all sm and thank you to my sweet angel ana for my gorgeous banner @voyter 🫶🏼
main masterlist moodboards spotify playlist
"Two days, Aesun," your mother sighs for what feels like the hundredth time this week, her voice carrying that strange mix of pride and disbelief she's worn ever since your acceptance letter arrived. "I still can't believe it. New York. Juilliard!" She shakes her head, smiling to herself as she passes another plate to Mrs. Jeon. "My daughter."
Mrs. Jeon beams beside her. "You should be proud, Haewon. We all are." Then she glances at you, her eyes going soft as they always do whenever she looks at you for too long. "You've worked so hard for this, sweetheart."
Heat creeps into your cheeks, and you duck your head with a grin, pretending to be very focused on drying a soup spoon. "I just graduated and you're all getting mushy already."
Mrs. Jeon laughs, light and bright, while your mother waves you off for being so nonchalant about it.
Across from you, seated at the kitchen island with one elbow propped beside an empty glass of cola, Jungkook watches the whole exchange in silence.
He's been quiet all evening.
Not in a way anyone else would notice, probably. Jungkook has always been quieter than most people—never one to fill the room with noise unless he has something worth saying, but you know him well enough to feel the difference. Usually, when your families get together like this, he sits close enough to be part of whatever conversation you're having, even if he mostly lets you do the talking. He'll mumble a comment here and there, roll his eyes when you get dramatic, or kick your shin lightly under the table when you start exaggerating a story for effect.
Tonight, he's barely looked at you.
He's sitting there in a plain black t-shirt and grey sweatpants, fresh from changing out of the suit he wore to graduation earlier, his dark hair still a little messy from the quick shower he took before dinner. One of his long legs is stretched out beneath the island stool, his fingers tapping idly against the condensation on his glass. Every now and then, Mrs. Jeon tries to pull him into the conversation, and every time he just gives a small shrug or a short answer before retreating back into himself.
You notice it because you always notice him. That's how it has been since the sixth grade.
Back then, when your family first moved into the neighbourhood, you were loud in every possible way. Loud voice, loud laugh, loud opinions, loud dreams. You showed up on the Jeons' doorstep wearing a crooked ponytail and grass-stained knees because your mother dragged you over to "meet the neighbours properly," and before the adults even finished introductions, you'd already wandered into their backyard and found a quiet, wide-eyed boy crouched beside a flowerbed, trying to coax a ladybug onto his finger.
Jungkook blinked up at you with solemn, startled eyes.
You planted your hands on your hips and asked, "Do you wanna play?"
He stared at you for a second like he wasn't sure whether you were real, then nodded once.
And that had been that.
Your mothers became best friends almost as naturally as you and Jungkook did. Playdates turned into sleepovers, afternoons at the park turned into evenings spent doing homework side by side at the Jeons' dining table, and somewhere between scraped knees, shared snacks, and long summers spent racing bicycles up and down the street, his house became your second home.
You had always been the one in front, dragging him toward the next thing, the next game, the next adventure. And Jungkook, shy and soft-spoken and so painfully easy to fluster, had always followed a step behind you like he belonged there.
Like he belonged to you.
Even now, years later, there are pieces of your childhood tucked into this house. A faded scratch on the hallway wall from when the two of you tried to bring your scooters inside during a thunderstorm. A tiny burn mark on the patio table from the time you convinced him sparklers were safe to wave around if you were "being careful." A whole shelf in his bedroom probably still crowded with things you'd left behind and never taken back.
You've changed a lot since then, and so did Jungkook.
He shot up sometime in ninth grade, all awkward limbs and broad shoulders that he didn't quite know what to do with. His voice dropped. His eyes got darker somehow, sparklier. He stopped trailing behind you so much, though he still looked for you first in every room.
And in the eighth grade—though he never had the balls to tell you to your face—he started carrying something fragile and dangerous in his chest whenever it came to you.
An embarrassing, pesky crush.
The kind that made his ears burn whenever you leaned too close. The kind that had him lying awake at night replaying every time you laughed at one of his jokes. The kind he buried deep because the thought of ruining your precious friendship was worse than the ache of wanting more.
a collection of drabbles where you and jungkook explore sexual intimacy after his twenty years of being a virgin.
⭒ pairings. jeon jungkook x female reader
⭒ tags & warnings. explicit smut + tooth rotting fluff, domestic love, sub and switch koo (tags will b specified in each blurb)
notes. i already have so many cute fun and nasty ideas for this, and i thank the girlies who egged me on to do this mimimimi<3 will add to this collection when i get bored. also, this is mostly written from jungkook’s perspective, just like the first chapter.
and as always, banner creds go to the loveliest of them all @voyter
— INDEX
Ⅰ. have you ever tried this one? taking his virginity.
Ⅱ. have you ever tried this one? road-head.
Ⅲ. have you ever tried this one? fucking on the first date.
Ⅳ. have you ever tried this one? face-sitting.
Ⅴ. have you ever tried this one? wrong hole, baby.
adding more to the index when i have a spark of inspiration !
ellievsbear
prguitarman
izzy806
theartofmadeline
blakekathryn
gracieabrams
turnnoffyourmind
2087
andulkaphoto
