KIROKAZE
YOU ARE THE REASON
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
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cherry valley forever
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Kiana Khansmith
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let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
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izzy's playlists!
Keni
The Bowery Presents
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2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Cookie Run:Kingdom Official!
Doug Jones
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@dearbambideer
MASTER POST
OT7 Series
ANACARDIA : Supernatural OT7 x Human Reader [ongoing]
MEMBERS:
KIM NAMJOON
1. The Last Sight
DRABBLES
Rrrrap Monsta~
KIM SEOKJIN
1. Avaritia (on hold) -
Summary | Seokjin is that prince charming that you never asked for. The only problem? He is the man who killed your husband. And now, he is after you. And you don’t know why.
MIN YOONGI
JUNG HOSEOK
PARK JIMIN
KIM TAEHYUNG
JEON JUNGKOOK
ctrl alt del | jjk
summary⇢ you graduated bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but, to your extreme disappointment, your big girl job isn't turning out to be nearly as exciting as you thought it would be. still, you're holding out hope that your talents will soon be recognized and your coworkers will stop trying to include you in their gossip sessions. enter jungkook, the quiet IT guy who's gradually making your days more bearable. (and if you find him easy on the eyes, that's nobody's business but yours.) pairing⇢ jungkook/reader word count⇢ 19.8k 🤭 genre⇢ smut | humor | office!au warnings⇢ sexual content, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, corporate nonsense, jk is a nerd but he's also really hot 😩 a/n⇢ omg, she's finally here 😭 this fic has been sitting in my drafts partially finished for literal YEARS lmfaoo. as in, jungkook didn't even have tattoos yet years ☠️ in fact, the whole plot for this was spawned from that time namjoon was on a live in his studio and jk visited in this yellow buttonup looking like a hot nerd and namjoon said he looked like he had an interview. it had to be 2018ish...i know my OGs know exactly what i'm talking about, but i'll put it below the cut for reference. ANYWAYS this was fun to imagine, but it's also entirely fiction so please don't attempt anything that happens in this fic lmao. mood for this fic is this. hope you enjoy~ 💜
When you graduated top of your class with a marketing degree and a job already lined up, you weren’t big-headed to assume you would be given a lot in the beginning. No, you knew that you were the new kid on the block and needed to prove yourself first, needed to work your way up from the bottom. But what you definitely didn’t anticipate was working up from thefigurative trenches, almost exclusively doing busywork—constantly making coffee runs, catering business lunches, printing out endless spreadsheets.
Eighty-thousand dollars in debt, and you are a glorified intern.
While you’re positively itching to hit the ground running and get your hands dirty, your job isn’t too bad. The people there are all nice and welcoming, the complimentary coffee in the break room is decent enough for your dwindling bank account, and every quarter the company sponsors an employee barbecue where everyone can fraternize and enjoy free food.
“Apparently it fosters unity and teamwork,” your coworker Joy informs you as you both stand in the food line. “Seokjin—that’s our CEO—is really big on unity and teamwork.”
Joy is also a member of your marketing team. Though friendly, she has zero filter and thus always has a lot to say about everything—which has helped you when it comes to learning the ropes about the company, but has also had you clutching your imaginary pearls in certain situations where you found her topic of choice inappropriate.
Despite only being a year older than you, her title of Marketing Associate instead of your measly Assistant means that she technically outranks you, though she doesn’t usually enforce that fact (unless there was something that needed to be copied or filed, of course). Still, she immediately took you under her wing when you first started and is the closest person to a friend you have at work (even though her daily coffee order is always so ridiculous, you are convinced that she has to be fucking with you—or at least engaging in some form of mild hazing).
“I think it’s nice,” you reply truthfully. “I’ll never say no to free food, and they let us out early and everything.”
“I mean, pretty sure you can get the hotdogs twelve in a pack at the dollar store,” Joy quips, raising her eyebrows at you pointedly. “But sometimes the boys from Sales take their shirts off and play soccer, so there’s that.”
Your eyes dart to said Sales Boys against your will, gaze drawn to Jung Hoseok as he chats animatedly with his teammates by the tables. You’ve only spoken to him once or twice, but his fiery red hair and even brighter smile caught your attention immediately, your heart rate accelerating at the sight of him in hallways mere days into starting your new position. Who better to have a mild work crush on than a sweet-talking salesman who winks at you sometimes in passing?
An appreciative noise has you turning back around, embarrassed at being caught ogling how shapely Hoseok’s butt looks in his dress pants today, but it’s just Wendy from Accounting, Joy’s best friend and thus a harmless, familiar face. Wendy has cut in front of a few editors to join you and Joy, and the way that she smiles at you lets you know she’s up to no good. “He’s cute, huh?” she asks, leaning towards you conspiratorially. “I would definitely give him the good ol’ suck behind the dumpsters over there, if you catch my drift.”
“Err…yeah, I do,” you reply awkwardly. She had been explicitly clear—keyword explicit—so there definitely isn’t any room for misunderstandings. Is this truly appropriate work function conversation? From the way the editors behind you are politely clearing their throats, you think not.
“Behind the dumpster?” Joy asks curiously. “That sounds unnecessarily smelly. He’s standing right next to some sturdy tables that I, for one, would take great advantage of—”
“I’m gonna go get us some drinks,” you announce loudly, your neck heating up. “Can you grab me a hot dog, Joy?”
“Sure,” she says dismissively, already distracted by her sudden debate with Wendy about the most convenient place to suck off salesman Jung.
The whole conversation is making you uncomfortable. You are not a prude—far from it—but there is a time and place for everything, and your coworkers’ blasé attitude towards inappropriate topics at company functions on company time rattles you a bit. So instead of engaging in the risqué discussion further, you make your way to the cluster of brightly-colored coolers that presumably hold beverages, sidling up to the only other person lingering the area.
“Anything good?” you ask cordially, making your coworker, who had apparently been deep in thought while considering his beverage options, startle a bit.
He’s tall, his large frame covered in the appropriate business casual attire of nice jeans and a powder-blue button-up. When he turns his head to look at you, you’re met with large, dark eyes blinking in surprise from behind wire-rimmed glasses. Said eyes dart around for a moment before determining that you were, in fact, speaking to him.
The man clears his throat. “Just the usual,” he says, voice soft. Timid.
“The usual?” you repeat. There are little hoops dangling from his earlobes, and you brush off your surprise at seeing them, returning your gaze to the coolers. Water, a clear soda, a cola. “The basics, you mean. Well, can’t really complain, right? Seeing as it’s all free. I think it’s really nice of them.”
Your companion seems surprised at your words. “It is,” he agrees softly, eyes meeting yours for a second before dropping back down to the cooler. “Um, are you...are you new?”
“Damn, I guess my cover’s blown.” You shoot him a wry smile. “Yeah, I just started a couple of weeks ago. What gave it away?”
“It’s just—no one else here really cares about these barbecues anymore,” he admits, looking at you, but not quite. More like, in your direction. “Everyone has forgotten to appreciate the little things.”
“Nothing is a given,” you shrug. “So you need to appreciate things when you can. And besides, those lots of little things can really add up without you realizing it.”
He finally seems to look at you properly, and the weight of his large, gentle brown eyes throws you off for a second. “They can,” he agrees, lips slowly drifting up.
“What do we have over here?” a loud voice interrupts, a hand falling to your shoulder. You look up, and are met with the brightness of salesman Jung.
“Ah,” Hoseok says with a wink, reaching into the cooler. “I love Sprite.”
“Me too,” you reply automatically, and then immediately want to smack yourself. Because you don’t—carbonated beverages make you break out. But your mouth had formed the lie without your permission.
Embarrassed, you reach into the cooler, grabbing three water bottles. “See you later,” you squeak, avoiding eye contact as you make your escape.
Joy and Wendy are already watching you when you return to where they have procured a table, and when you hand them their waters, Joy raises an eyebrow. “I was wondering how long you were going to talk to that IT guy.”
“Yeah, and why did you leave when Hoseok showed up?” Wendy pouted. “_____, the universe is only going to give you so many opportunities. If you don’t want the ball, then pass it to me! Goddamn.”
“IT guy?” you prompt, hoping to slide past that last remark.
“Yeah. His name is Jungkook, I think? Mostly works with the printers, started a couple months ago.” Joy shrugs, obviously disinterested by the topic. She reaches for the ketchup bottle in the center of the table and squirts some on her hot dog. “This is the first time I’ve seen him at a barbecue, though. Honestly, I’m surprised he even came out, because the IT dudes generally keep to themselves. They rarely leave their little tower,” she adds with a dismissive wave.
Wendy scoffs in disinterest. “Who cares about Jeremy! Hurry up and eat, I’m sure Sales is gonna start their soccer game soon.”
“Soccer game?” you ask distractedly. A glance back to the coolers shows Jungkook is gone, and you don’t see him in the immediate vicinity.
“The sales department likes to play soccer during these things,” Joy reminds you. Her expression brightens. “Hey, maybe Hoseok will take his shirt off again! Let us pray.”
To your coworkers’ disappointment, Hoseok did not take his shirt off. But they certainly had a good time watching his athletic display across the grass anyway.
Monday morning—the start of the workweek, but also, rather depressingly, the end of the weekend. Everyone tends to be more tired and grumpy on Mondays (yourself included), and this is why your team considers it essential that you always stop by their preferred coffeeshop and bring in their drinks for a morning pick-me-up. You’re the lowest on the ladder, so you weren’t exactly sure how to refuse when you were asked one day if you would mind picking up some drinks for everyone, and then, after that, people kept sending you their orders like it was expected of you. The café is technically on your way to work and everyone always pays you back, but it’s still pretty irritating to have to forgo those extra precious minutes of sleep just so you can beat the long lines and get to work on time.
Today, you’re lucky enough to get ahead of the morning rush, but that means that you end up trudging into the building much earlier than you anticipated. You hope the coffee’s insulated cups do their job properly, because you really don’t have the energy to listen to Joy huff and puff about having to reheat hers.
Your trek to your cubicle slows when you realize that someone is already there, sitting in your chair and typing away on your keyboard. Their back is to you, swathed in an olive button-up, and it’s not until you get close enough to curiously crane your head to see their face that you recognize him. The guy from the barbecue last week—the one by the coolers.
He startles a bit when he sees you approach in his peripheral vision, eyes darting up at you in surprise.
“Hi.” You raise the tray you’re holding in an awkward greeting. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to creep up on you.”
“That’s okay, _____,” he replies softly, wide eyes blinking a little from behind his round glasses. “I can get kind of spacey when I’m focused on something. I was just doing some updates on your machine and didn’t see you.”
“You…” Your head tilts curiously. “You know my name?”
A small smile touches his lips as he points to your computer. “I’m updating your machine,” he reminds you.
Not to mention the fact that he’s literally sitting in your cubicle, you name tag clearly posted on the frosted glass that separates your space from Joy’s. An embarrassed chuckle leaves you when you realize your dumbass mistake. “Oh. Duh. Wow, that was a stupid question. Let me just get out of your way.”
“No, no, I’m clearly the one in the way!” His head shakes apologetically. “I couldn’t do this update remotely and I thought you didn’t clock in for another half hour—sorry about that.”
“I don’t,” you confirm. “But I tend to get here a little early so I can sort out everyone’s coffee order.”
A brow raises in surprise. “Do they really have you making coffee runs?” he asks incredulously.
You hmm in confirmation, moving to set the coffee on everyone’s desks. “Rite of passage, I guess,” you call over the divider as you work. Joy’s order today isn’t as over the top as you know she can be, but you were still rather embarrassed to order it (vanilla latte with oatmilk—one and a half pumps cinnamon, one pump hazelnut, an extra espresso shot and extra foam with honey drizzle). The barista had looked at you tiredly but hadn’t voiced her obvious judgement when she rung you up.
“I guess,” you hear him say, but he doesn’t sound too convinced.
Coffee distributed and hands finally free, you return to lean against your cubicle, hovering as he continues to quickly type and click. You look at him pointedly, a small smile creeping across your face. “Speaking of grunt work, I hear you’re the printer guy.”
His lips quirk. “I’m also the expert at updating Microsoft Word, just so you know.”
You laugh, and his eyes crinkle in amused response. “Oh, well excuse me, sir.”
“I’ll let it slide this once. Since you’re new.”
“And so are you. That’s why you’re the printer guy.”
He just lets out a puff of air that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. This close, you can now see the tiny holes that are trailing up his earlobe—he clearly has multiple ear piercings, not just the ones you saw at the barbecue. There is no jewelry in them now, though.
“Jungkook, right?”
It’s his turn to look surprised, and you find yourself satisfied by the flush creeping up the back of his neck when he ducks his head in confirmation.
“Us newbies gotta stick together,” you stage whisper behind a conspiratorial hand before leaning decidedly away. “Anyway, let me stop bothering you and go make some coffee.”
His eyebrows scrunch in clear confusion. “Didn’t you just bring some?”
“…Yeah, I am only just now recognizing just how bizarre this must seem,” you say sheepishly. “But none of those were for me—fancy specialty drinks aren’t really in my budget, so I tend to just brew a cup here.”
“Did you say drinks?” a voice croaks, and when you turn your head, there’s Joy, walking towards the two of you. If her body’s sluggish movements weren’t enough to clue you in to the fact that she’s exhausted and possibly hungover, the designer sunglasses she’s wearing to tactfully hide half her face certainly do.
“On your desk,” you chirp as she walks past you without another glance. “Good morning!”
There is no response from the other side of the cubicle wall, and Jungkook frowns a bit, but you just give him a small shrug that translates to what can you do? before pushing off the wall to continue your trek to the kitchen. “You want one?” you offer. “I make a mean cafeteria coffee. Trial and error has taught me the exact temperature of tap water to use to make it taste less like sludge.”
His mouth smoothes back out at your joke, and though you wait for him to call you out on your ridiculous declaration, his gaze is already back on your computer. “No thank you,” comes his soft reply.
With a nod to yourself, you move to complete your task and leave Jungkook to work on his. When you return minutes later, newly-filled mug in hand, he’s already gone.
Today starts out pretty typically. After bringing everyone’s coffee, you settle into monitoring the company’s social media accounts. (When Joy first delegated this task to you, you were a bit confused, as social media is so vital to brands nowadays that handling it is technically a whole other full-time job. But it turns out you don’t have to do much above the intern level anyway—just answer customer questions and escalate issues if need be.)
Your manager has been out traveling for a week, but today she finally comes back to the office, and it makes for a nice change of pace when she hands you all of her scattered, hurriedly-scribbled notes and asks you to please transcribe them into something more cohesive and legible. Well, not nice, exactly (because at the end of the day, this is still busywork), but if you have to reply to one more Facebook comment with instructions that are clearly already on the product packaging, there is a pretty likely possibility you will scream.
This is at least slightly less mind-numbing. Instead of copy-pasting things from a prewritten script, you get to try to make sense of what your boss had been trying to say when she wrote turkey club in the corner of a page filled with random numbers and dates. Was this important? Was it simply her plans for lunch that day? You and your fancy college degree have the pleasure of trying to figure that out while Joy and Alan, the web manager, get to actually do important things that are in their job descriptions.
Still, like every day, you try to dampen your frustration, try to keep a positive attitude. Because ultimately, this is an opportunity to grow your boss’s confidence in you, and that’s exactly what you want. Though you’re a little disheartened by all the busywork, you remind yourself it will all be worth it in the end. Your hope is that if you put in the time, you’ll eventually be trusted with more of the nitty gritty stuff.
(You know…the stuff you actually got your degree for.)
But no matter how positive you are, things of course don’t go as smoothly as they should. After you’ve done a pretty fantastic job (if you say so yourself) of organizing and typing everything up, you send your manager the digital version. And, because you know the email may accidentally get buried in her inbox, you decide to print a physical copy for good measure.
You give the printer pretty simple, straightforward directions. One copy, double-sided (to do your part to save Mother Earth), the whole document typed in plain old black and white. But when you walk over, there’s nothing waiting for you in the printing tray. No humming to clue you in to the fact that the printer was working on your job. Nope. Instead, the admittedly ancient machine is quiet and still, and it stays that way for long enough for you to walk back to your computer to press the print button again, just in case you forgot to do so the first time. Still no dice. You frown, opening the paper tray to make sure it was full, then opening every other compartment that can possibly be opened to make sure there isn’t a paper jam somewhere.
Nothing.
Irritated, you stalk back to your desk, your first inclination to check with Joy and see if she has been having any of the same issues, but you find her chair empty. Probably got pulled into a meeting that they don’t find it necessary to loop you in on, even though it will ultimately be you who does all the grunt work for any action items the meeting produces.
Positive, you remind yourself, falling back into your chair and drumming your fingertips against your desk in thought. Maybe it’s not the printer at all. Maybe it’s your computer. You search your desk drawer for the introductory employee contact sheet HR had given you when you first started, and there he is—Jeon, Jungkook.
For a second, you consider sending him an email, but the green dot that displays he’s online has you shooting him a message instead. Much less formal, but likely quicker for the both of you.
You Hey Jungkook! Sorry to bother you, but I can’t print for some reason You The printer over here is ignoring me, and I don’t think I’m set up to print by the art directors
Despite what you originally assumed, he doesn’t answer immediately, obviously focused on something else. Still, you only have to wait a few minutes before you hear the soft ding you were waiting for.
Jungkook Jeon Hi, _____. You mean the large printer by the marketing department, correct? You Yes! I tried a couple times, but I don’t think the job even went through You Thought it best to just ask the printer guy 🙂
There’s a pause, one long enough that you worry that he’s forgotten about your lighthearted exchange from this morning. Shit. That was stupid of you. You’ve probably offended him. Fuck.
But if Jungkook is upset with you, he’s professional enough that it doesn’t come across at all in his next message. If anything, he just seems a little preoccupied.
Jungkook Jeon Hmmm, let me check it out for you. Mabel can be a little uncooperative. You Mabel?
Silence again, this time for a good five minutes. You answer some emails so you’re not just sitting there twiddling your thumbs.
Jungkook Jeon Sorry, was running some diagnostics in the background to see if I could find the problem IT kinda calls that printer Mabel because we’re pretty sure she’s worked for the company for longer than all of us combined. Seems fitting
You can’t help but snort at that. Cute, and likely not inaccurate. Mabel, it is.
Jungkook Jeon One of these days Mabel’ll finally retire, but it won’t be today—looks like she’s running fine. Do you mind checking for me and seeing if you can access the marketing server?
A few clicks, and when double clicking on the server icon doesn’t bring up the same list of folders it usually does, it confirms the conclusion the both of you have already come to—your computer is the problem, not Mabel.
You No dice 😕 Jungkook Jeon Got it. I think something went weird with your network connection after I updated your machine this morning. I can fix that for you! You Awesome! I appreciate it! Jungkook Jeon Of course! Can’t have my sparkling reputation as the Printer Guy tarnished so easily 😉 You LOL
You allow him remote access to your computer when a pop-up prompts you to, and he gets you up and running before your manager’s meeting is even over.
Lunch has always been an interesting—albeit potentially exhausting—part of your day. You learned early on that attempting to take the break you were legally entitled to at your desk did not stop anyone from continuing to ask you for things. Unfortunately, there weren’t many solutions to this problem—you didn’t get paid enough to be able to consistently eat your lunches out, and you lived too far away from the office to go home for lunch instead. So, you started taking your lunch break a little earlier than most of your other coworkers did, ensuring that the cafeteria was pretty empty and allowing you the space to decompress and eat your bagged lunch in peace.
And as things usually went with this company, it didn’t take long for that peace to be interrupted. Once she noticed you disappearing from your desk, curiosity had Joy tagging along one day, and after that, it only took a couple weeks before both she and Wendy joined you.
(Later, you would have the great idea to simply enjoy your bagged lunch in the park a few blocks away, but the weather wasn’t always great and at that point, the other two started to expect you to eat with them.)
So that’s exactly how you’re spending your lunch now—scarfing down the soup you made a few days ago that you’ll eat until it’s completely gone, while Joy and Wendy giggle and gossip to each other. As much as they apparently want to eat lunch with you, they tend to be pretty nonplussed by how you never contribute much to their inane conversations.
And you’re fine with that. In the time it’s taken them to get comfortable invading your zen time, you’ve learned how to properly tune their tittering out. You’re good at nodding at the right times, at throwing in perfectly placed hums that indicate you’re listening, even when you’re not.
Today, it’s a sudden, uncharacteristic pause in their chatter that prickles against your diverted attention. “That’s weird,” you hear Wendy mutter, and that officially throws you out of you mentally making your grocery list. The intrigued way she’s looking behind you makes you reflexively turn, and that’s when your eyes set on Jungkook.
He hadn’t been there when you first sat down for lunch, but he is now, sitting alone a couple tables away. He’s the only other person in the cafeteria, but from the AirPods in his ears and the way his eyes are focused on his phone screen, you doubt he’s even noticed this fact.
Joy’s lips downturn slightly into a puzzled frown. “Hmm. IT guys never come down voluntarily from their tower.”
Your head tilts as you mull over that. That isn’t exactly true. You have only seen Jungkook in passing a few times over the last couple weeks, but those few times prove IT aren’t exactly the antisocial specters the two women in front of you keep painting them as. You have even exchanged the short pleasantries with him that are socially expected when crossing paths at the coffeepot.
“Wonder what he’s doing here?” Wendy says, not nearly quietly enough in your opinion. Embarrassment flashes hot through you, inwardly chastising yourself for continuing to associate with such casually judgmental people. You’re already mentally preparing to apologize for your lunch mates when a covert glance out of the corner of your eye shows that Jungkook’s still paying your group no attention, taking distracted bites from his sandwich as his head bobs slightly to whatever is playing through his headphones.
“Whatever,” Joy says with a dismissive shrug, and then just that easily, the two are back gossiping about Cindy in HR.
From then on, you notice that Jungkook continues to eat lunch in the cafeteria at the same time as you. Sometimes, he beats you there, already at his designated table and munching on whatever he brought that day. If your eyes meet, he’ll send you a small smile in greeting before immediately dropping his focus back to his phone. If you’re there first and throw him a wave of acknowledgment, he always returns it, as is polite and expected of two coworkers who don’t know each other beyond their forced proximity.
And you think nothing of it, too busy being your department’s errand girl, the person who gets assigned all the tasks no one else wants to do. The amount of interaction you and Jungkook have is only marginally higher than what you have with Namjoon in Finance, who periodically reaches out to you for any missing receipts for charges on the Marketing department’s credit card.
This slowly starts changing as you begin to have more and more technical problems. You being assigned to put together multiple PowerPoints and research whatever market trends tickles your boss’s fancy means you constantly have an ungodly amount of tabs and applications open. This means you’re not really surprised when your computer—an older model that is definitely on its last leg—starts freezing and giving you pop up errors. A force restart seems to fix the problem, but a new one emerges—now, no matter how many times you hit the print button and walk over to your designated printer, nothing awaits for you to pick up. Even scrolling through the printer’s print history shows no record of your jobs being in the queue. It’s bizarre—you even make sure to confirm you’re connected to the servers, and that doesn’t seem to be the issue this time.
Frowning, you make your way back to your desk and scroll down your chat messages until a familiar face appears.
You Hey Jungkook! I can’t seem to print—think something weird is going on with my computer today
A soft sigh of frustration escapes your lips, fingers drumming irritably against your desk. It isn’t even noon, but the day is already looking to be a long one.
Resigned, you settle in to wait for him to answer you in the chat, but the little bubbles that indicate he’s typing never pop up. Instead, you’re surprised when movement in your peripheral produces Jungkook himself, slowing in approach of your desk, though his focus is still on his phone screen. He must have gotten your message in the midst of doing something else.
“Oh! Hi,” you greet him eagerly. “Just the person I was looking to see.”
He looks up at you from beneath the curtain of his bangs, a small smile touching his lips as he stuffs his phone back into the pocket of his slacks. “Just the person I was looking for,” he returns. “What seems to be the problem?”
“Mabel is being a bitch again,” you say with an irritated sigh. “Every time I try to print, nothing is happening.”
Jungkook snorts, amused, and it’s only then that your brain registers exactly what you just said. Swearing at work is unprofessional so you make it a point not do it, but that one slipped out so casually. “Oh—sorry.”
But if Jungkook is offended, it certainly doesn’t show in the responding chuckle he lets out. “That’s definitely on brand. I can fix that—let me take a look.”
You move to relinquish your seat, but he’s already leaning over you before you can do more than shift your weight. So you just let go of your mouse so he can control it instead, scooting to the side a bit and trying your best not to think too hard about how he’s close enough for your clothes to brush. Christ does he smell good.
Jungkook clicks around a bit, no doubt checking to make sure your computer is up to date and connected to everything it’s supposed to. “Is this what you’ve been trying to print?” he finally asks, brows furrowed in concentration.
You blink at the question, realizing with dawning horror that you were accidentally distracted by his proximity. You clear your throat, shaking your head a little at yourself in an attempt to clear it of all thoughts that aren’t solidly on the task at hand. “Yeah.”
He clicks the print button, just as you have done for the past ten minutes, then straightens with a shrug. “Let’s give our old girl a visit and see what her deal is.”
You stand, following him around the corner to the copy room, where Mabel has proudly taken residence for who knows how many years. The fact that you can already see she’s humming with activity as the two of you approach has your eyebrows knitting in confusion.
Jungkook seems equally confused, reaching in the tray for the stack of paper that was just spit out and turning it over to confirm both of your suspicions. The report you’ve been trying to print for the last twenty minutes sits in his hand, likely still warm from how quickly and easily Mabel completed Jungkook’s request. He holds it up for you to see, his big doe eyes peering at you quizzically through his glasses. “This printer was the one that wouldn’t work for you?” he asks.
“Yeah, I definitely sent it to this one. Repeatedly,” you insist. Embarrassment prickles across your skin. “I swear it wasn’t working two seconds ago!”
Jungkook smiles when he hands you the papers, and it somehow softens his naturally cherubic face even more. “You just wanted to say hi to me, huh?”
“Clearly Mabel likes you more than me,” you sniff at his teasing. “Sorry for wasting your time.”
“You didn’t,” he says simply. He hovers for a few more moments as you check to make sure all the pages are there. “Let me know if you have any more issues, okay?”
“Will do,” you agree, mind already back on your work as you both turn to part ways. “Thank you so much for your help!”
“Anytime.”
“Didn’t you have a date last night?” Joy asks.
It’s lunchtime again, early enough that the three of you are still the only ones in the cafeteria. While both Joy and Wendy are munching on some overpriced salads they had delivered from a restaurant a couple blocks away, you’re eating a boring ham and cheese sandwich that you haphazardly slapped together in your rush to get out the door this morning. Vaguely, you do remember Wendy mentioning something about an upcoming hot date, but she was always rambling about a hot date, and frankly, you don’t care enough to keep up with any details. Everything you know about her love life—and her, in all honesty—has been dumped onto you without you having any say in the matter.
“I did,” Wendy squeals, excited as always to have the opportunity to talk about herself. “His name was Miles. We’ve been talking on Tinder for the past week—he was really sweet and seemed to want to get to know me. Last night he took me to a nice restaurant, really wined and dined me.”
“Wow,” Joy says, eyebrows raised. “That sounds promising. When are you gonna see him again?”
“I’m not,” Wendy scoffed. “He was nice and all, but he’s only 5’7. It’ll never work out.”
“True.”
You’ve been trying your hardest to zone them out, but the longer Wendy prattles on, each sentence more baffling than the last, you can’t help but interject, “Doesn’t the app let you filter out height preferences?”
Wendy pauses, a raise of an eyebrow betraying her surprise at you finally participating in her lunchtime shenanigans. “Not on the free version.”
“So why did you even entertain him if you knew you would never consider him seriously?”
“..because I wanted to go to dinner?” Wendy replies flatly, the look on her face doing nothing to hide how stupid she thinks your question is. “Besides, he got what he wanted out of the deal. After dinner I took him home and let him fuck.”
The flippantly casual way she throws out the vulgar word feels like a record scratch, especially since the three of you are, in fact, still very much on company premises. Wendy doesn’t seem to notice just how much she’s scandalized you, continuing to prattle on at full volume about how the sex was pretty good for a Tinder date, even though he refused to eat her out.
At this point, you’ve long slowed in your chewing, now entirely too incredulous by the absurdity of the situation you’ve found yourself in to eat.
“You didn’t suck him, did you?” Joy asks.
Wendy scoffs. “Of course not! I’m not giving head to some random anyway, especially if he’s not gonna give me mine first.”
“Can we not talk about this?” you mumble.
They both turn to stare at you, judgement plain on their faces. Wendy snorts. “Wow, _____. I never took you to be a prude.”
“I did,” Joy slides in under her breath.
You let out an agitated huff. This is ridiculous. “I’m not a prude.”
The two of them share a look. After a pause, Wendy finally asks in a way that indicates that it doesn’t really matter what you say because her mind is already made up, “Then what’s the problem?”
Aside from this conversation being a massive HR violation?
Wendy continues smugly, as if she’s figured you out, “Talking about oral hit a nerve…interesting.”
Yes, Wendy! you think sarcastically, fighting the intense urge to roll your eyes. The whole rest of the convo was good and dandy—oral was definitely the line, though!
Joy just looks at you, her eyes narrowing the longer she does. Her scrutiny makes your skin prickle in irritation. “You have gotten head before, right?”
“Okay!” you say sharply, stuffing the uneaten half of your sandwich back into the bag. “One, that’s neither of your business, and two, this conversation is completely inappropriate. Let’s change the subject, please.”
It’s quiet for a moment, both of them visibly surprised by your response. Joy actually looks a tiny bit proud that you stood up for yourself, but Wendy just sniffs and mutters, “That obviously means no.” Ultimately, they both back off, choosing instead to chatter about the newest design of Joy’s nails.
You exhale a tiny sigh of relief. Wendy was hitting the nail too close to the head and you truly didn’t feel like explaining your life story to a nosy coworker who was nothing more than your acquaintance, at best. Now that they’ve finally let you out of the hot seat, you’re fully planning to spend the rest of your lunch hour zoning out in relative peace.
But before you can properly dissociate, you hear someone cough behind you.
Your blood runs cold. You already know who it is—no one else tends to eat lunch this early.
“How long has he been sitting there?” you whisper, already dreading the answer.
Joy waves an unbothered hand. “I don’t know, like five minutes?”
Five minutes. Long enough to have heard…
You’re immediately mortified, and it must show on your face, because Wendy just snorts and says way too loudly for your comfort, “Oh, relax, this is probably the most action he’s gotten in months. I’m doing him a favor.”
What the fuck. WHAT THE FUCK. “Are you serious right now?”
“Calm down,” Joy says, rolling her eyes. “Look, he’s not even listening to us.”
And a slow, discrete turn of your head confirms what she says—Jungkook, in an ugly salmon button-up today, has his earbuds in, eyes downcast to his phone screen, lips soundlessly forming the words to whatever song he’s listening to. You feel a tiny bit of relief, but embarrassment still roils deep in your belly, suddenly making your half-eaten sandwich completely unappetizing.
You stand, grabbing the brown paper bag that contains the remnants of your lunch and hoping against hope that you’ll be able to bolt without him noticing.
“Oh come on, don’t be like that,” Wendy sighs, annoyance bleeding into her tone. “I told you I didn’t realize you were a prude. We can talk about something else.”
You bristle, but tamp down the urge to defend yourself and point out again that you aren’t a prude, you just don’t want to be the office harlot either. “It’s not that,” you lie. The judgmental look in Joy’s eye only softens when you say, “I just remembered I forgot to print the printouts for the meeting this afternoon. I’ll see you guys later?”
“Sure,” Joy says dismissively, and Wendy says nothing at all. They’ve already moved on, no longer interested in your swift escape, attention eagerly back on the details of Wendy’s weekend. That’s works perfectly fine for you—you’ve had enough of being the center of attention for the day.
Blessedly, Jungkook doesn’t even look up when slink past him and out the door.
It’s hot.
Third quarter is well underway, which means that it’s time again for the quarterly company barbecue. That also means it’s hot as balls.
You suffer quietly, trying not to add to the stank atmosphere Joy and Wendy are already creating due to the heat. It’s an ambitious goal, especially since you’re already sweltering beneath your blouse—which was reasonable to wear within the chilled walls of the office, but feels rather ridiculous now, under the relentless beat of the sun. Despite being grateful for the free food and break from your maddeningly boring work, you can’t help but mentally yearn for the indoors, where there’s proper shade and air conditioning and decidedly less bitching.
“I don’t know why they don’t just cater something for us to eat inside,” Joy mopes, dabbing at her brow with what you already know from experience to be a cheap, scratchy napkin. “How is anyone supposed to enjoy themselves if we’re melting?”
“It’s probably a ploy,” Wendy quips. “The more uncomfortable we are, the more likely we are to get back to work.”
“The date’s been on the calendar for months,” you point out wearily. “They had no way of knowing there’d be a heat wave today. Besides, the company’s already paid for the food. I doubt they intended to purposely waste that money.”
Joy scoffs in retort. “The company also knows throwing an outdoor event in July is the same as throwing one in Satan’s asshole.”
Wendy sniggers, but you don’t answer, biting back your response that outdoor barbecues are common during summer, and at least they don’t have you out here in the snow. Because honestly? This is only your second quarter with the company, and who knows what the fourth quarter barbecue looks like.
All you can do is free some of the buttons on your blouse, undoing as many as you can while still being office-appropriate. As it is, you now have a little cleavage peeking out, but with how hot it is, you figure no one will say anything.
“Look,” Wendy says with an unsubtle tip of her head. “Looks like the soccer game is still on, at least.”
Fluttering the hem of your blouse in an attempt to get some circulation, you reflexively respond to her prompting, eyes following her line of sight. A few tables down, the Sales team has finished their meal and appears to be actively gauging coworker interest in joining their game. From the decently-sized group that’s starting to form by the open field, you think they’re pretty successful, despite the heat.
Joy groans, lifting her long hair with a hand in an effort to cool off the back of her neck. “I don’t know how they’re doing all that when it feels too hot to breathe.”
Inwardly, you agree with her, but Wendy just gives a lazy shrug and says, “Hey, if we’re gonna roast to death, at least we’ll be properly entertained.”
“True,” Joy muses. “And they’re gonna be sweatier than usual.”
Wendy’s eyes glaze over a bit at the thought. You grimace, amazed that these two always seem to have their heads in the gutter. That’s my cue. “I’ll be right back,” you say, brushing off the back of your slacks as you stand, but they pay you no mind when you walk away.
You’ve already finished your meal, but it can’t hurt to take another look at the coolers. It’s so hot that you’ve already downed your first beverage, so a new one is in order. When you arrive to the area, two people from Customer Service pass, nodding at you in acknowledgment as they make their way back to their table. You’ve only just started to reach for a cooler lid when you hear someone address you again.
“Hey,” a familiar voice says timidly behind you. “How’s it going?”
You reflexively turn your head, simultaneously surprised and not at all to find Jungkook standing there. He’s got on a long-sleeved button-up despite the heat—grey, checkered with a red and navy plaid—and you can’t help but wonder how he’s not sweltering. Though, the noticeable sheen on his face and the way his damp bangs are starting clump together tells you he just might be.
“I’ve had better days,” you answer honestly, swiping the back of your hand across your forehead. Before you can catch yourself, that same hand is vaguely gesturing at him, head to toe. “How are you not melting?”
His lips twitch, amused. “I definitely am,” he admits. “I actually hoped no one was over here so I could stuff some of the ice from these coolers down my shirt without being judged.”
You snort. “Hey, who’s judging? Certainly not me. Knock yourself out; just make sure you leave me some.”
He taps his chin, jokingly in thought, but to be honest, he does mildly look as if he’s actually considering it. “Well, we wouldn’t want the beverages to get cold…”
“Eh, there’s probably not that many in here anyway. They could probably consolidate coolers.” To prove your point, you bend over, cracking open one of the red ones next to you and peering inside. The expected assortment of generic sodas greets you, looking admittedly very refreshing floating in their ice bath. “See, this one isn’t even full.”
You angle your torso a bit so you can meet his eye properly over your shoulder, but as soon as you look up at him, his gaze hurriedly skirts away, color crawling up the back of his neck. You stand with a frown, confused by this, but ultimately brush off his weird behavior when you notice Namjoon from Accounting sidling up to the two of you.
"Hey guys," he greets you, a friendly smile dimpling his cheeks. "We're getting some people together for a soccer game. I know it's really hot, but would either of you want to join?"
You’ve often seen Namjoon chatting with Hoseok in passing, and twice have even seen them leave the building for lunch together, so it doesn’t surprise you that the accountant is helping recruit for the Sales team's traditional barbecue pastime. What does surprise you, however, is that when he casually claps a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, the younger man first responds by blinking owlishly at him behind his glasses, and then, a few seconds later, giving him a nod of assent.
Obviously you don't know Jungkook very well—not at all, really, outside of your ongoing feud with Mabel. But you didn't take him to be the type to be into playing outdoor sports, particularly in this weather, and you certainly didn't expect him to agree so easily. A smile from Namjoon and suddenly all thoughts of stealing cooler ice are gone.
Namjoon turns back to you, but you're already shaking your head. "Nope, no thank you! Y'all have fun. I'll just supervise from over there in the shade."
"Fair enough," he chuckles, and then he's leading Jungkook across the open field to meet up with the others.
Mildly more interested in the game now, you take this as your cue to grab the beverage you came for—a can of a Lipton knockoff and a bottle of water for good measure—and return to your table.
Joy and Wendy are still yapping when you approach, though in your absence, Joy has apparently decided to move to Wendy’s side of the table. It only takes you following their line of sight to quickly recognize why—that side of the table has an unobstructed view of the upcoming soccer game. Well, unobstructed, so long as you change your seat too. Awkward about intentionally getting in the way, you pause for only a moment before ultimately reaching for the end seat perpendicular to them instead.
When you lean over a little to pull your chair out from under the table, Joy finally deigns to acknowledge you, ticking an eyebrow. “I can see down your shirt,” she tells you offhandedly.
Your head snaps down, and you realize she’s right—undoing those few extra buttons has made the billowy fabric more susceptible to gravity, particularly when you leaned over. You yourself could see your whole chest and the basic bra that supported it, and at this angle, you doubt your blouse covered much of that from Joy’s gaze. A hand immediately snaps up to press the material back in place, but before you can even get properly embarrassed, her attention is ripped from you, eyes wide at something behind you.
“Holy—”
Wendy's jaw drops. Your head reflexively turns in the direction they're gawking at.
And before you can stop it, your jaw drops too.
Your tablemates have been known to be dramatic, and are certainly the type to stretch a fact or two. But it’s only now that you fully understand their fixation on these Sales soccer games, because yes, sometimes they do indeed take their shirts off. Like now.
Other than one girl from Compliance, all of the game’s recruits appear to be men, and as such, the group has chosen to distinguish teams by shirts vs. skins. And while the sudden appearance of skin naturally draws most people’s attention, your attention only gravitates towards one person. Cause what the fuck.
You almost don't recognize him, your brain rapidly shuffling through the information it's collected about him over the past few months and struggling to reconcile with what your eyes are actually seeing. Because the Jungkook you know wears glasses and long sleeves and has an unassuming hairstyle that looks suspiciously like a bowl may have been involved at some point.
But the person you're looking at now? Glasses have been discarded, apparently no longer needing optical assistance, and he’s ditched the button-up, sweat making the white sleeveless tank he has on underneath spottily transparent and divulging the dusk of his nipples. Now that you can properly see the taper of his slim waist, his shoulders are proportionally more broad than you realized. And, since he clearly has no regard for your rapidly rising blood pressure, Jungkook decides now is the perfect time to reach over said shoulders, grab fistfuls of damp fabric, and pull. The sight of him slipping the shirt over his head—the ink of his hair sinfully mussed, the muscles of his back rippling with the movement—has you reflexively swallowing, mouth dry.
He's absolutely ripped.
There's no other way to say it. A superior specimen, built and honed in a way that's only possible through years of hard work and discipline. He's still lean enough that you can rationalize how you’ve never picked up on that amount of muscle hiding beneath his unassuming dress shirts, but you're still gobsmacked.
Your mind spins, struggling to come to terms with the near impossible fact Jungkook actually pulled a Clark Kent on you. Well, pulled a Clark Kent if Clark Kent was also covered in gorgeous ink, pigment swirling up his right arm from wrist to shoulder. From this distance you can’t see the exact designs that make up his intricate sleeve, but you can tell it was composed with a purposeful eye.
Jungkook is absolutely ripped and tattooed. Jungkook. Printer guy Jungkook.
Flustered and trying not to be, you quickly look away, clanking your jaw shut and trying to focus on the plastic tabletop instead. Dear god, this is embarrassing. You really just gawked at your coworker! He was minding his own business and your jaw just reflexively unhinged like a degenerate. God, you hoped he didn't see that.
But any mortification you have is apparently not shared by the other two at your table.
“Is that Justin?!” Wendy demands rather shrilly, eyes wide, and the volume of her question would embarrass you even more if your brain could process any other reaction right now other than straight static. “Justin from IT?!”
You swallow thickly, your responding correction weak and delayed. “Jungkook.”
“Finally,” Joy groans, pushing her plate away dramatically. “Some good fucking food!”
You can’t help it then—your eyes drift back up, lured to the soccer players once more and zeroing in on him immediately. Seemingly unable to stray from his form, the heat already producing a sheen over his golden skin even though the game hasn’t started yet.
Surrounded by a few surprised male coworkers, Jungkook’s slightly hunched into himself, shy at the sudden attention. Even with the distance, you can see how Hoseok claps Jungkook on the back, just as animated over his newly revealed physique as the members of your table. But while everyone else is excited by this revelation…
Across the field, Jungkook innocuously turns his head in your direction. Like magnets, his eyes hone in on yours, your gaze locked for a few seconds until another loud What the fuck?! from Wendy frees you from the spell and you hurriedly look away again, a completely different kind of heat washing over you.
Jesus, you need to get ahold of yourself. There’s no way he was actually looking at you—it’s too sunny, and he’s not even wearing his glasses! He probably can’t even see that far.
But when you brave another peek in that direction and realize you can literally count his abs from here—
What the fuck, indeed.
Mutely, you watch the game unfold, not as self-conscious when it becomes clear that the whole office is doing the same. Though Joy and Wendy have been very salacious in their excitement for it, the soccer game is evidently a company barbecue highlight for others as well. And you’re sure Jungkook joining the fray has only added to the interest, as he’s a completely new addition to the equation.
And to your continued astonishment, Jungkook is good. He’s fast and lithe and brazen. He proves to you, again and again, that he can kick the ball with such ferocious accuracy that the other team’s goalie eventually stops trying to get in his way and simply resorts to trying to protect their vulnerable body parts instead. His intensity only entices reciprocal energy from everyone else, and what has traditionally been a lighthearted game between coworkers has now transformed into a group of competitive men who feel they now have something to prove.
Joy and Wendy are delighted by this development, squealing and cheering and tittering amongst themselves. You sit quietly, still trying to mentally process this new development, but when you start to feel embarrassed by just how much you’re staring, you decide to call it a day. No one really notices when you stand and gather your trash, and luckily the distraction of the game means you’re able to slip out without any fanfare.
This quarter’s barbecue being on a Friday means you’re blessed with a weekend to decompress and regroup. Unfortunately for you, the office doesn’t just…move on from the event like it has in the past. Instead, this particular barbecue was apparently such a success that you continue to hear chatter about it for the next week, mostly in passing. But while everyone else makes small talk about how much fun they had, Joy and Wendy choose to hone in on the only thing they truly consider worthy of discussion—Jungkook.
Today, just as they have every day for the past few months, they join your table when you take your early lunch. However, to their increasing irritation, the object of their current fixation isn’t here. In fact, Jungkook hasn’t showed up to the cafeteria during your lunch time since before the barbecue, and you inwardly have to admit it’s a little strange without him. You sat at different tables and the two of you never really said much to each other beyond the expected niceties, but you’ve gotten used to his presence all the same.
You actually have barely seen him at all, with Mabel on her best behavior this week and Jungkook seemingly busy with something that has kept him mostly out of common areas. Still, with your embarrassingly strong reaction to him at the barbecue, it’s probably for the best. You’re a little wary of what your first proper interaction is going to be like, and you’ve been mentally preparing yourself to be as normal as possible.
Your female lunchmates don’t seem to have that same mindset.
“Does he just not eat anymore?” Joy huffs. “I literally haven’t seen him all week!”
Wendy picks at her salad, lips twisted in a displeased grimace. “I actually saw him yesterday.”
Joy’s head snaps to her. “What?! You didn’t tell me that. What happened?”
“Since casually running into him doesn’t seem to be working, I figured I’d try getting him to come to me. So I unplugged my keyboard and messaged him, but he didn’t show up for like 40 minutes,” Wendy sighs irritably. “And when he did, he looked at me like I was a moron.”
Your lips twitch in amusement before you can stop them. Joy immediately says exactly what you’re thinking. “Well, you are a moron. You sat there for 40 minutes with your keyboard unplugged!”
Wendy soldiers on like she didn't hear her, undeterred from her gossiping. “So he came over in his ugly button-up and judged me! Plugged the keyboard back in and walked away without even saying anything.”
Despite not properly running into him all week, you actually did see Jungkook’s shirt in passing yesterday as he was turning down a hallway at the far end of the office. Wendy’s right—it had been an ugly puce. You found it endearing.
“He didn’t even roll up his sleeves,” Wendy mourned. “The least Jamal could have done was give me that.”
You pause in the chewing of the tuna sandwich you brought from home, exasperated. “Jamal,” you repeat flatly. “Really?”
Wendy waves her hand at you dismissively. “You know who I mean!”
“I mean, he’ll probably be more willing to talk to you if you treat him like an actual person.” Your quip is reflexive and indignant, and it kind of throws all three of you off guard. Joy raises an eyebrow at you and your sudden vexation, but you still add, though more subdued, “You know. Making an effort to remember his name is a good start.”
“Damn, who pissed in your Cheerios?” Wendy sniffs, though she doesn’t seem very offended by your callout. Over the months you’ve superficially gotten to know her, you’ve come to notice that she doesn’t really take much seriously—a simultaneously admirable and frustrating trait. “If you wanted dibs, you could have just said that.”
You feel heat flush up your neck, denial attempting to sputter from your lips, but true to form, Wendy has already moved on, tittering about how it’s about time the office had some proper excitement that wasn’t just meetings and spreadsheets.
“And speaking of meetings,” Joy pipes up, passing you a nonchalant look, “don’t forget to order those sandwiches for the client meeting tomorrow.”
“Sandwiches?” Your mind blanks. You knew your boss was hosting some clients in the office—had even been working on a lot of grunt work to prepare for it—but no one had mentioned anything to you about any sandwiches. “I thought she was wining and dining them?”
Joy let out a mildly irritated huff. “No, they have to catch an early flight home, so the plan has changed to a working lunch. Weren’t you listening in Monday’s meeting?”
No, you hadn’t been listening, because you weren’t invited to the Monday’s meeting. So it looks like a plan had been made and tasks assigned to you…without anyone bothering to communicate that. Typical.
You close your eyes for a second, jaw working as you attempt to tamp down your ever-brewing frustration. If they intend on you ordering from the usual place, it may be too late to cater for delivery, which means you’ll probably be stuck figuring out how to transport multiple giant platters from a restaurant five blocks away.
“Do you mind forwarding me the request you sent? I must have missed it,” you respond neutrally, knowing full well the original email had never been sent to you. You stand to leave, the rest of your lunch break instantly soured by the revelation that you apparently have time-sensitive action items that are encroaching dangerous territory. “Just want to make sure I get the order correct.”
Joy nods, attention already back on Wendy and only half-listening. In the meantime, you’ll have to research alternatives, just in case.
While you’re lucky enough to find an acceptable last-minute catering option that will also, blessedly, deliver, that doesn’t mean you’re free to take a breather.
It’s now the end of the day, and one by one, you see everyone around you log out and head for the elevator. Even Joy, who leaves right on time, despite knowing just how many tasks your small team still needs to complete for the big meeting tomorrow. What’s left is mostly grunt work, and while you are undoubtedly a grunt, it’s been clear for a while now that Joy no longer sees herself to be included in that category. So even though having more hands on deck would speed things along considerably, she still gathers her purse and gives you a cheeky finger wave on her way out.
At some point, the cleaning lady makes her rounds, scooting past you with a murmured apology to empty your trash can, but eventually even she disappears. Hell, even the sun abandons you, the soft glow fading from all the windows and stranding you with the cold fluorescent lighting that only remains on in your part of the office, because the lights have motion detectors.
And so it’s just you, kneeling on the carpet and surrounded by a gazillion binders. Ensuring relevant reports and Powerpoint presentations are accurate and sending digital copies to your boss for her to have on-hand. Attempting to print physical copies and assemble them into binder portfolios your clients will be able to follow along with during the meeting.
Attempting, because Mabel is, of course, choosing now to live up to her bitchy reputation. She won’t print on the right-sized paper. She won’t collate. She won’t be cooperative at all, and you’re too exhausted for this shit. Physically and mentally exhausted, trying your hardest to rein in the frustration that’s slowly expanding in your chest, crawling up your throat and triggering a familiar burning behind your eyes. It’s not fair.
An exasperated noise escapes you without thinking, a loud, guttural thing. None of this is fair.
“_____?”
Your head snaps over your shoulder in surprise, not at all expecting anyone else to still be in the building. It’s Jungkook, because of course it is. Brows knitted in confusion, a black leather jacket thrown over his marigold button-up for some reason. He’s standing near the doors that exit into the lobby, evidently about to begin his trek home before you unwittingly paused his endeavor.
“What are you still doing here?” he asks, but before you can even deign to answer, he’s already taken a few steps towards you and followed up with a clearly concerned, “Are you okay?”
You take a breath, struggling to calm the storm within you. None of this is his fault, nor his problem, and you should just force a smile on your face so he can be on his way and leave you to your self-pity. But you’re tired, so tired, and simply don’t have the capacity to pretend anymore. You swallow around the lump in your throat, and when you do speak, the thickness of your voice betrays the tears that you’re fighting to keep at bay. “No.”
This only seems to alarm him more. He’s standing next to you now, as close as he can get with the array of binders and papers you have scattered on the floor around you like a fortress not meant to keep anyone out, but rather, to keep you inside.
“What’s the matter?” he asks gently.
“Oh, nothing,” you snort derisively, blinking rapidly at the ceiling in an effort to try to stop the inevitable. “Nothing. It’s just well past 7pm and I’m still here in this godforsaken building attempting to print out and hole punch and assemble twenty copies of this presentation. I can’t even get the printer to do what I’m asking it to! And there’s no fucking reason I should still be here because the could have been done last week if my boss didn’t keep making nonsensical changes based solely on vibes. And tell me why there are six people on my team but no one thought to help me or take any sort of ownership of this at all—as per usual—or even buy me a fucking coffee for once! I haven’t eaten a proper meal all day but everybody just assumes they can go home because things will magically get done like they always do because they will! I will always make sure that they will! Every day it becomes increasingly clear that nobody in this fucking company gives a flying FUCK about me or my free time or my sanity—”
If he’s put off by your potty mouth, Jungkook certainly doesn’t show it. He just manages to catch your gaze from behind his glasses and simply replies, “I do.”
Your never-ending rant rapidly dissipates on your tongue, brain struggling to comprehend what he just said. “…What?”
“I care,” he repeats softly. “How can I help?”
The sincerity in his tone renders you mute, too stunned to do anything more than watch as Jungkook drops the backpack he’s had slung over a shoulder onto the floor, tossing his newly removed jacket on top of it without much thought. He’s unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves, the reemergence of an ink-covered forearm making your brain stutter even more. Now that there’s much less distance between you, you can more accurately make out the shape of a delicate tiger lily, the languid form of a snake.
Jungkook clears his throat, the noise snapping you out of your stupor and making you realize you were just staring at him in silence, for who knows how long. Dammit. “What do you need?” he tries again.
“Um, first we can start with Mabel,” you croak, mouth now embarrassingly dry. “No matter what I do, she refuses to collate.”
Jungkook shoots you a smile that softens his whole face. “Lucky for you, I’m the printer expert, remember? Don’t worry. We’ll get this fixed and be out of here in no time.”
He holds out a hand and you reflexively grab it, allowing him to guide you to your feet. Together, you make your way to the copy room, where Mabel has stubbornly been giving you hell all night. Jungkook gets right to work pushing buttons while you stand to the side, awkwardly shifting your weight a little from foot to foot.
“So why are you still here?” you ask, curiosity finally forcing you to voice the question that’s been looping in your mind since he first appeared. “It’s late.”
“It is,” he agrees, focus still on the printer. He kneels down, opening the paper tray. “There’s this huge system update that’s set to roll out next week. My whole team has been hunkering down and pulling late nights.”
Oh. That explains why you haven’t seen him around much since the barbecue. “That’s tough.”
“We’re finally almost done,” he shrugs. “And I’m clearly not the only one working overtime.”
You don’t say anything when he looks up at you pointedly, so he turns back to the printer, pulling a stack of paper out of one of the trays.
“I think this may be part of the problem. Someone put the wrong-sized paper in here. Or, at least, Mabel thinks it’s wrong. She’s confused.”
“Well, she can join the club,” you mutter, and he puffs out a laugh, shutting the drawer and pressing some more buttons.
“Come on, let’s try again.”
Something touches your elbow, and though it shocks through you like he electrocuted you, you have the good sense suppress any embarrassing reaction to what you quickly realize is just his hand. Instead, you let him guide you back to your desk, trying not to focus too intently on the heat of his skin on yours.
Jungkook waits for you to login to your computer, clicking around and changing some settings once you step back and allow him free rein. Then, you can hear a distant hum coming from the copier room, and you know immediately that he’s succeeded. Dutifully, he goes to check anyway, returning to you with a stack of perfectly collated paper.
“Thank god,” you groan. “Now let me just print fifty more of those so I can start organizing these binders.”
With the crisis averted and his job done, you fully expect him to gather his pile of stuff and hustle to the elevator before you can trap him into doing anything else. Instead, Jungkook goes to pick up the additional copies from the printer for you, and he actually gets down on the floor next to you to start putting everything together. He watches you assemble one binder for reference, but then he’s easily doing the same and doubling your completion speed.
And slowly, gradually, your nervous system calms. The two of you work like a well-oiled machine in what would be comfortable silence, if your brain wasn’t so loud. Now that you’re not actively panicking, a completely different feeling starts to seep into you—embarrassment. You can’t believe that Jungkook actually caught you on the cusp of a breakdown, during which you looked so pitiful, he felt morally obligated to stop what he was doing and help you.
“I’m sure you have somewhere to be,” you say after a while with a grimace. He’s way too nice and you’re way too pathetic. “I didn’t mean to ruin your night—I promise you don’t have to stay with me. Now that everything’s printed and organized, most of the work’s done. I should be out of here in no time.”
“Well, I promise you didn’t ruin anything. And with two of us, you can be out of here in less time than that.” He looks up with a soft smile from where he’s hole punching a stack of paper, the muffled ka-chunk of the device punctuating his point. “I don’t mind, _____. Really.”
“But I do,” you murmur, looking away. Unable to meet his eyes. “I really appreciate your help, but I feel bad taking up so much of your time.”
“Well, don’t. I didn’t really have plans tonight anyway, and I’ve been working so much that it’s probably better that I get in some socializing time.”
“Not that I’m very good company,” you snort derisively.
There’s a pause, one long enough that you wonder if he heard you. But then he’s moving a little closer to you, tipping slightly sideways to tap his shoulder against yours. Reflexively, you turn back to him, finding his eyes kind.
“We all have our off days, and that’s okay. But they’ll dull your shine if you let them. Don’t.” He bumps your shoulder again. “Besides, you and I have to stick together, remember? Or did you not really mean it when you told me that?”
You did tell him that, didn’t you? Months and months ago. You're surprised that he even remembers that.
There's an amused quirk to his lip, one that you can't help but feel yourself soften to, even as his focus turns back to the task at hand. And all at once, you feel yourself flooded with gratitude. You've been thankful for his help this whole time, of course, but now you almost sag with it, the relief at knowing someone is finally in your corner, the sudden sense of security and support visceral and a little overwhelming.
Before you fully realize what you're doing, it's you who leans closer, aiming to give a him a grateful kiss on the cheek. But your lips don't quite land on their intended target, because just before you succeed, Jungkook unconsciously senses your increasing proximity and reflexively turns his head back to you.
It's his lips yours coincidentally brush against, the accidental kiss timid due to his surprise and your chaste intentions. But the kiss is also soft, his lips plush and rather easily yielding to yours.
Quickly realizing your mistake, you pull back, eyes as big as saucers. You stare at him in stunned silence and he stares back, eyes all pupil.
A horrified apology is immediately crowding the back of your throat, but right before you set it free, Jungkook's Adam's apple bobs, an errant tongue absently swiping across his lips.
Huh. This isn’t exactly the reaction of someone repulsed by an unwanted kiss. He still hasn't said anything, but he hasn't moved away from you either. He's just watching you. Waiting.
...Waiting?
With caution but with clear intent, you lean back in, and to your surprise, he meets you halfway, noses bumping a little before he tilts his head and your lips slot perfectly together.
This kiss is immediately different from the last. Jungkook mindlessly drops he binder he's holding, body angling more solidly towards you so he can properly meet the rapidly rising intensity. Well, meet may be the wrong word, because he's the one whose hand quickly reaches up to cradle your chin, gentle pressure a silent request to for you to tilt your head a bit more. And when you comply with the change in angle, it's him who deepens the kiss, the slow lave of his tongue coaxing your lips to part, open and wet.
You pant hot into his mouth and he breathes you in, offering no resistance when you push even closer, hands wandering across his shoulders, fingers ghosting up the back of his neck before drifting to idly toy with the hair at his nape. He hums contentedly, not unlike a purring cat, and does it again when your tongue joins his in a slow glide.
You lose yourself in the sensation of it all, unable to notice anything beyond the heat that is rapidly building between you like fireworks ready to explode. Your head spins, swimming with endorphins and high off the smell of him. The taste.
A playful nibble of your lip unexpectedly has a rather desperate keen escaping your throat. You pause, making to pull back in your embarrassment, but the sound only seems to activate Jungkook, who follows you in your attempted retreat, mouth chasing yours in its reluctance to part. It's only when your back finally touches the floor that you realize he's slowly guided you there. You've been in a haze, too swept into the plot of the movie you've somehow found yourself in to do anything but be pulled along.
As naturally as breathing, your find your knees have parted, and Jungkook easily slips into the space you've created for him, almost trancelike. As if he doesn't even realize he's doing it, too focused on exploring the fever of your mouth. He's leaning most of his weight on the hands he has posted on either side of your head; even still, every single millimeter of you that does touch him is sparking like live wires, euphoric goosebumps rippling across your skin. You let out a shaky breath that fogs his glasses, but even that doesn't stop him, just makes him pull back from you just enough to be able to whip them off and toss them somewhere, wholly unconcerned.
Emboldened by this, you sling a leg over his hip, and he eagerly accepts your invitation, settling on you properly. You're covered in him now, pelvises properly flush, and now that he's caged you in, Jungkook takes the opportunity to glide his lips away from yours and trail across your jawline instead. You shiver, every atom of you buzzing at his touch, and his mouth continues its trek, sucking hot down the column of your throat with just enough pressure that you know color will bloom there later.
Your hips reflexively jump at his ministrations, your skirt riding further up your thighs, and the hard press of him against your panties has you swallowing down a moan. He freezes for a fraction of a second, but then his hips respond to the lure of yours with a more intentional roll. A contented sound rumbles in the back of his throat, tongue dipping to meander across your collarbone.
This is crazy. This is crazy. But you can't quite find it in yourself to care much as the two of you rut against each other on the office floor, your hand gliding up his back to root in the hair at his nape.
Your hips undulate restlessly, eager to meet the crest of his wave, and Jungkook matches your intensity, catching your earlobe between his teeth. Your shared grind is measured but deliberate, and even through his pants you can feel the hard shape of him pressing right against your aching core. A particularly pointed roll has Jungkook shuddering hot into the shell of your ear, and that is what finally tamps down the last of your restraint and triggers something much more primal.
Dizzy with want, your hands scrabble between you and aim for the button of his slacks, eager to be properly introduced to what’s underneath. But to your slow horror, Jungkook freezes at the touch, motionless for a few breathless seconds before he actually starts lifting off of you and pulling back. It’s only when he’s completely sat up and is staring at you that the full weight of what you’ve just done hits you like a freight train.
Holy shit. Holy shit.
You really were just dry humping. A coworker. And you were doing it on the premises of the place that pays your fucking bills! Making out, dry humping, and you were actively aiming to do much more if he hadn't stopped you.
What the fuck has gotten into you?
You scrabble upright, dizzy with the mortification rapidly seeping deep into your bones. Stupidly, you blink at him, paralyzed with embarrassment but unable to look away. A deer in headlights.
Jungkook stares right back, eyes dark and all pupil. Dazedly, you wonder if you look as fucked out as he does—there’s a smattering of red across his cheeks, and his hair has been thoroughly mussed by your own hands. A tongue dips out to swipe over kiss-swollen lips, stealing your attention away from the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
And suddenly, you’re able to kickstart into gear.
“I am so sorry,” you burst out, panic nearly choking you. “That was highly inappropriate and I seriously don’t know what came over me—”
It takes you a few moments to register that he’s moved back in, and that it’s the returned press of his lips that interrupts your babbling apology before it can properly catch its stride. You’re almost too afraid to respond in kind, as if you’ll somehow scare him away again, but the insistence in his kiss practically knocks the breath from your lungs. Patiently, he coaxes your rigid lips back pliant. And only when it’s clear you won’t try to run away does he lean back a second time, but only enough to see your eyes properly.
“No,” he murmurs, breath fanning hot over you. “That was very much appropriate.”
You’re not quite sure how to respond to that, too shell-shocked by this turn of events and actively battling your triggered fight or flight response. “Um. Then…then why did you…”
Jungkook’s eyes flutter closed, as if he’s gathering himself. “I want to,” he mumbles, seemingly to himself, but then he’s looking right at you again, gaze heavy with resolve. “It’s just…do you mind if I try something first?”
That throws you for a loop. Your jaw opens then shuts again while you contemplate his question, as well as your answer. “I mean, I guess? It depends on what it is.”
That you don't instantly reject him visibly unwinds a tension in his body that you only now realize was there. A rather feral look crosses his face, immediately inciting goosebumps to ripple across your skin in anticipation. But then the intensity of his expression dims, edged with something more contemplative. Jungkook gives you a pensive nod then stands, looking around curiously. “Hey, where does that viper sit?”
You blink, bewildered. “…The who?”
“The one who’s always with you at lunch.” He locks eyes with you, tongue poking through his cheek. “You know. The one who’s on your team but still had no second thoughts about leaving you here tonight by yourself.”
Joy. He’s talking about Joy.
The question makes you pause in suspicion, but you still hook a thumb towards the cubicle next to yours, on the other side of your shared wall. “There. Why?”
“No reason,” he says with a sly grin, holding out a hand to you. You take it without question and he easily helps you to your feet. But then before you can process it, he’s slid both hands around your waist and easily lifted you off the ground, already in route to the exact cubicle you called out. You yelp in surprise, your arms reflexively circling his neck—your legs, his middle—in your body’s scramble for balance. But Jungkook’s hold on you is secure, grip moving down to the back of your thighs instead, and now that your chests are once again flush, you can actually feel his chuckle. His amusement provokes yours, and you can’t help but giggle as he carries you over to Joy’s cube as easily as if you weigh nothing.
Clearly, his exercise routine is working out for him.
After using a hand to sweep some objects out of the way, Jungkook carefully sets you down on Joy’s desk, right next to her monitor. Your mirth only grows at the feeling of whatever printouts she left for later review crinkling under your weight, at the sight of displaced pens rolling off the edge and disappearing to the ether that is the floor.
Jungkook has set you down, but he doesn’t pull away, just leans down and recaptures your eager lips. He’s tall enough that he’s kind of hunching over to kiss you, neck really craned, but he doesn’t seem to care much about that, kissing you with the same ferocity as moments before, when the two of you were entangled on the carpet. And you can’t help but match his fervor, hands reaching to guide his slim hips even closer, into the widening gap you naturally create for him between your legs.
Time constricts and expands, an endless and meaningless concept. Because all that matters now is the tongue he slips past your lips to slide against yours, slowly, like he’s savoring the taste of you. All that matters is how fucking great he smells—like clean laundry and smoke and warm skin speckled with sweat—something you’ve always caught whiffs of, but now completely surrounds you, invading all your senses and sending your lust into overdrive.
“Is this what you wanted to try?” you pant hotly when your lips finally separate for a moment in your quest for air. “Defiling Joy’s desk?”
He’s leaning his forehead against yours while he also attempts to catch his breath, and he’s so close that it would be hard for you to miss his amused flash of teeth. “Sort of. I’d like to defile it more thoroughly, though. Starting with this.”
Jungkook leans in for one last kiss, one that starts at your mouth, moves to your neck, and to your surprise, continues down the line of your body. Over your collarbone, careful hands popping open a few buttons of your blouse so he can nestle more surely into the curve of your breasts, warm lips skating across eager skin. For a few moments, he actually nuzzles his face into your middle, a gesture you find rather sweet before he incites a shiver through your body by licking against your clothed navel. And before you can fully realize what’s happening, he’s slipped to his knees.
You look down at him in surprise, body still slotted between your legs, but this time more eye-level with the secret, needy part of you that has been thrumming excitedly with every beat of your heart. “What are you…”
“You’re always doing everything for everyone else,” comes his murmured reply. “Will you allow me to do something for you?”
Your brain is still so hazy from the spell of his mouth that it takes you a moment to recognize what’s happening. What he’s asking for. But when his large palms are hot against the naked skin of your thighs, gentle pressure urging them to part even more, it all hits you like a truck. Your eyes dart around, paranoid. “Jungkook,” you hiss. “…Here?”
“They’re too cheap to put cameras anywhere other than the lobby.” He turns his head, lips pressing reassurance into the side of your knee. “And no one’s here.” His reminder as gentle as the kisses he continues to adorn you with. “Just you.” Kiss. “And me.”
He’s right, you know. No one else is here to witness the series of bad decisions you’ve just made—to witness the ones you’re still seriously considering.
Still, you hesitate.
Jungkook’s staring intently at you, doe-eyed and cherry-lipped and deceptively innocent despite what he’s requesting of you. “Please?” he asks again, oh-so-sweetly. Reverently prostrating before your altar, praying for the blessing of an ambivalent goddess. You. “I just…I really want to. Ever since that day, I can’t stop thinking about it and I—please?”
Your brows furrow as you try to make sense of what he’s saying, still scrambling to keep up with this current turn of events. What day? Your mind whirrs, jumping around before finally settling on an embarrassing memory you’ve willed yourself to forget.
Lunch, where Wendy somehow got you to admit you’ve never gotten head, and Jungkook, purportedly oblivious, too busy on his phone to ever pay your table any attention.
…Except from what he’s saying right now, he had heard every word. Heard, and filed it away for safekeeping, only revealing to you now, when he can possibly do something about it.
Absently, your tongue dips out to swipe across your lips, and Jungkook’s attention visibly strays towards the action, thumbs rubbing slow circles into your thighs and sending electricity straight to your core. God, do you want to say yes. Even though you’ve never done this before, your inexperience is not at all the reason for your reluctance. It’s the optics. You’re at work.
Your head tilts as you try to accurately take stock of the situation. You’re at work. But technically, you should have clocked out hours ago. Technically, this job has been stealing a lot of time that should have been yours to choose what to do with. Case in point—you’re the only person on your team still within a five-mile radius of this godforsaken building. Because everyone else deserted you without a second thought, designating you to be the one who struggles to print presentations for a meeting that has been on the calendar for literal months.
But.
While it’s easy to assume they forced this fate upon you, Fate is not one easily compelled to do another’s bidding. And, trapped in the gaze of the sweet man still patiently awaiting permission to ruin you, you can’t help but wonder if this has been Her plan all along.
For months you’ve been doing everything for everyone else, so unhappy and stressed that each day in this place only wound you tighter and tighter. So…what if you finally just let yourself snap? Did what you wanted for once? Stopped following the rules that nobody else ever seemed to and just let go?
You exhale. Fuck it.
“Okay.”
Jungkook grins, boyishly innocuous at first, but rapidly morphing into something much more devilish as you watch. He turns to kiss your knee again, and you startle a little at the action, newly on edge. “Don’t be nervous,” he says, still holding your gaze. Making sure you can see his resolve. “I got you.”
“Okay,” you say again, but that’s easier said than done, especially when he takes the opportunity to gently push your knees even further apart. Naturally, your skirt rides further up, and you can’t help the apprehension that washes over you at your increasing lack of modesty. Still, you hold true to your word, aggressively tamping down the urge to scramble off the desk and pretend this all never happened. But though you brace yourself for what comes next…
Jungkook doesn’t move.
Long moments pass before you can’t help but say something. “Are you just gonna look?” Because that’s all he seems to be doing, laser-focused on the juncture of your thighs.
He visibly stirs at the sound of your voice, but still doesn’t do much more than tsk at you. “Don’t rush me,” comes his light reprimand, eyes still locked on what you’re sure at this point is a growing dark spot on your panties. “I don’t half-ass things and I definitely won’t rush this. No one’s here, so just relax and enjoy the ride.”
Your jittery nerves have you reflexively mouthy, but your retort swiftly dies on your tongue when his hand finally moves further up your skirt—further inward—and two fingers pointedly press right against that dark spot and glide over your clothed lips. You gasp, fighting against the urge to snap your legs shut when he slowly circles your clit and sends sparks dancing down your legs.
“Better?” he murmurs.
“Much,” you squeak.
“Good,” he says, eyebrows knitted in thought as he circles and circles. Your thighs twitch, and he leans forward like he can’t help himself, nose pressing solidly against you with a long, audible inhale.
A fascinated oh falls from your lips, heartbeat accelerating excitedly in your ears, but Jungkook only responds by nestling further against your pussy, tracing the length of your lips with a slow, wet swipe of his tongue through the fabric. He breathes hot against your clit and you inadvertently buck at the stimulation, only inciting the wicked curl of his lips. He looks up at you darkly through the curtain of his bangs, and something unexpected and primal simmers beneath your skin.
“Can I have these?” he asks huskily, lightly snapping the elastic of your panties against your skin.
You clear your throat, suddenly wishing you had the foresight to put on something more interesting today than your unassuming cotton undies. “Have as in you won’t give them back?”
He lets out an amused puff of air, tilts his head. “I haven’t decided yet.”
You nod your assent. You’re now impossibly invested in where he plans to take this, and it’s not like you don’t have more pairs at home. “Knock yourself out.”
Immediately, his hands are up your skirt. They’re big, but they’re also gentle, caressing your thighs and even taking a slight detour to the meat of your ass before continuing their mission to the band of your underwear. When he starts to pull, you help him, shifting your weight so he can slip the fabric over your hips and down your legs.
Jungkook’s Adam’s apple dips when his eyes are finally able to feast on you without a barrier. “So fucking hot,” he mutters, almost to himself, and then without further warning, his mouth seals around your sex.
You whimper in surprise, not at all used to the sensation of someone kissing you there. And kiss you he does, carefully at first, judging your reaction. But when you do nothing but grip the edge of the desk, biting your lip in an attempt to stifle the rather desperate sounds crawling up your throat, he swiftly devolves into kissing you with the same passion as he had the lips on your face. His tongue laps at you with sure, even strokes, dragging across the seam of you and then through it, making sure to slide along your clit on every upstroke.
Your breath quickens, jaw falling slack. You weren’t sure what you imagined oral sex to be like before this, but you never expected how easily your body submits to his ministrations. Almost without you realizing it, your thighs part even more, hips automatically canting down to meet his eager mouth. A hand reaches for him, fingers winding through his hair and rooting there, and Jungkook hums in approval, his own hands wrapping securely around your thighs, your ass. His fingers sinking into the yielding softness of you, gently holding you steady against his face while you start to gyrate and moan.
God, does he look good down there. He’s always looked good, even before you knew what he was hiding behind those shy smiles and nerdy glasses, but something about the sight of him, jaw working as he sucks on you, lashes fluttering in pleasure in his quest to please you—
Without warning, he detaches with an audible pop, and a disgruntled sound reflexively leaves you. Breathless, you start to ask him why he stopped, but the words die on your tongue when you realize he’s staring at you again. That he pulled back for a moment just so he can get a good look at the mess he’s making of you. So he can properly see how your pussy aches and drools for him.
“Good?” he asks, voice deep and thick.
“So fucking good,” you sigh. What you know he wants to hear, but also 1000% the truth. You’re starting to understand what Wendy has been blathering about, but is it always like this? Or is it Jungkook in particular who is making you so unbelievably aroused? Is your rapidly snowballing crush on him that strong, or does pussy eating simply rank high on his skillset?
As if he can hear your thoughts, Jungkook moves to slip a finger into you, and you can’t help but moan when he breaches you, the digit sliding in so easily that he quickly adds another, thumb pressing surely into your clit as he starts a slow drag in and out.
“Shit,” you shudder, eyes rolling back into your head. Hips sliding further off the desk, reflexively seeking the delicious stimulation. One of your hands scrabbles across the desk, unconsciously trying to root you, and you’re much too preoccupied with how good he’s making you feel to notice when you accidentally knock over a mug full of pens. A stapler clanks to the ground. “Fuck.”
“Look, baby,” he breathes, moaning along with you when the pet name immediately makes your pussy flutter. “Look.”
At his encouragement, you do. You watch the flex of his tattooed arm as his fingers continue to disappear within you, a lewd squelch coinciding with his movements. You watch as he adds another finger, the additional stretch immediately noticeable but even more delicious. You watch him watch you, eyes all pupil, lips swollen and slick with your desire.
“More,” you whine, frenzied and greedy. And Jungkook immediately heeds your call, leaning back in. He sucks on your clit with three fingers sunk in you, expertly crooked towards your pelvic bone, and you jolt, accidentally knocking something else off the desk. Neither of you pays the resulting clattering any attention, too wrapped up in the way you writhe at his ministrations. He hums in approval, the vibrations only intensifying your ecstasy. He flattens his tongue as your hips desperately circle, letting you control the stimulation. And when it’s clear you still need more, he changes tactics and rapidly laps at you instead, as if you’re a melting ice cream cone, while he beckons, beckons.
Your blood is volcanic, hot pressure bubbling beneath the prison of your skin, building and building within your core. The higher he takes you, the more the grip you have on his hair unintentionally tightens, but that only seems to urge him on, locking eyes with you as the thrust of his fingers turns harder and more calculated. Giving you no other choice but to finally erupt.
You cum with a loud groan, gasping through it while your cunt rhythmically clamps down on his digits, hard. Jungkook talks you through it, murmuring encouraging words your buzzing brain has trouble deciphering because his hand still doesn’t stop, pounding right into your g-spot and making your eyes cross and toes curl with the force of it. And when you finally can’t take anymore, jerking with oversensitivity, you grab him by the wrist in a wordless plea for mercy.
And Jungkook grants it. You can tell that he wants to play with you more—wants to guide you over and over to the precipice just see the look on your face when he shoves you off—but ever the gentleman, he reins in his enthusiasm and obediently slips his fingers out of you. He takes a few seconds to admire his handiwork, eyes shining with in reverence as he marvels in the dripping, throbbing, panting aftermath that is you.
“Wow,” you say, still dizzy with endorphins. Never in a million years did you think it would feel like that.
“Yeah,” he agrees, voice thick. “Wow.” He lifts his hand, remnants of you visibly slicking his fingers and webbing between the digits, and without a second thought, sticks them in his mouth and sucks. The resulting slurping of his errant tongue is nothing short of obscene, but your cunt flutters again anyway, interest clear despite being thoroughly satisfied only moments before. And when line of your essence starts to drip down your thigh, Jungkook makes sure to lean in and catch it with his tongue.
You shiver with the feeling of him on you again, mouth hot and wet, thighs still trembling. He’s taking his time, tongue dragging a slow path back up to the source, determined to feast upon the rewards of his efforts. But you can’t take it anymore. God, he’s so hot. He’s so fucking hot and you want him so fucking bad.
You need him. Biblically.
Near delirious, you reach for him, hands scrabbling across his shoulders, fingers trailing the back of his neck and guiding him to stand. Arms circling his waist and pulling him closer to you—close, close—Jungkook easily slotting into spread of your thighs.
He follows your unspoken commands easily and without question, looking down at you with a rather pleased smile that crinkles his eyes in the corners. Determined to steal the breath from his lungs, just as he just did to you, you lean in to lick that smile pliant and open. There’s a curious taste on his tongue that it doesn’t take long to deduce is you, and that’s only even more of an aphrodisiac, revving you up further.
Your hands continue to roam, sliding down a little to grope his backside, startling a laugh out of him. But when your fingers tease the waistband of his slacks, his delight visibly shutters away into something else entirely.
“You don’t have to do that,” he breathes, even as he reflexively bucks into the hand you’re using to palm him over his pants. “This was about you.”
“Then let it be about me,” you counter, a mischievous smile curling your lips. Even through his pants you can tell he's hard. That he wants this just as badly as you do. Still, when he gasps out a wait, you obediently stop your ministrations and move to take your hand back.
He doesn't let you get far, lacing his fingers through yours and visibly considering his next words for a few moments before settling on, “What do you need?”
It’s a simple enough question, but you can't help but be immediately reminded of him saying these exact words to you, a little over an hour ago. Now, however, they sit heavy on his tongue, heady and syrupy in hushed invitations.
The revelation hits you all at once, heart pounding excitedly in your ears.
You need only ask. You’ve only ever needed to ask.
And since all caution was thrown to the wind the moment you agreed to let him suck your soul out through your pussy...
“You said you’ve been thinking about me? Well, I’ve been thinking about you too. For a while, even though I’ve been trying not to.”
You’ve had his attention this whole time, but the way Jungkook's regarding you now, now that you’ve said that? He's hanging onto every word, so hyper-focused that it would unnerve you if this wasn’t exactly what you were looking for.
“So…” Adrenaline has your fingers restless against his, but you still dive headfirst. “What I need is for you to fuck me and finish what you started.”
A beat. One where he holds your gaze, the space between you so electrified that you’re surprised you don’t see sparks. But then he’s on you again, mouth meeting yours in a frenzied clash of lips and teeth, and this time he doesn’t stop you when your hands scrabble for his fly.
Jungkook wastes no time, smoothing his hands up your legs and pushing your skirt out of the way. He lets out a shuddered breath when you stroke him through his underwear, when you reach down the waistband and grip him properly.
He’s warm and thick in your hand, and the thought of him finally in your guts damn near has you vibrating. Just like you thought before, he’s already nice and hard, but you still pump him a few times just to revel in the proof of what you’ve done to him. Velvet over stone.
And despite having all the time in the world when the foreplay is for you, Jungkook doesn’t seem to have any patience for himself. You’re only able to enjoy the weight of him in your grip for a few passes before he’s surging into action. Strategically, he grabs you by the knees and lifts, maneuvering your legs into the crooks of his elbows. The move opens you up to him further and forces you more horizontal, leaning back on your forearms, nearly pressed against the cubicle wall.
The way he ate you out moments before ensured you’d be primed for him, your pussy soft and slick and just begging to be filled. When he finally lines himself up and begins the slow press in, your jaw immediately falls open, tongue going lax at the intense pleasure. “Oh my god,” you manage to whine, eyes threatening to roll shut.
The unhurried way he’s sinking into you is likely in effort not to unintentionally hurt you. Because after everything else, why not add another thing to the ever growing list of surprises you’re learning about your unassuming coworker—not only has he been tatted and muscular this whole time, but his dick is also fucking huge. Without even realizing it, you’ve stopped breathing, the pressure of him nudging your walls apart too much stimulation for your body to continue even subconscious functioning.
As if he can tell your brain is actively short-circuiting, Jungkook’s hands circle your thighs, thumbs kneading the flesh in mild distraction for when he finally bottoms out. It’s only now that you can properly notice the effect you’re having on him—hair starting to stick to his forehead from perspiration, teeth grit as he struggles to stay still for you. But you don’t want him to be still.
“Fuck me,” you whimper, wiggling in your impatience and making him suck in a breath. “Please. Give it to me.”
The resulting roll of his hips has him swearing and you seeing stars. “Fuck. You can have whatever you want,” he says, already making good on his promise with a slow grid. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll give you whatever you want.”
It’s good, so good, especially because Jungkook uses his grip on your thighs as leverage to ramp up his thrusts, easily maneuvering you over his cock in a way that has your toes curling. By the time he’s really fucking you—jaw set, brows furrowed in concentration—you’re crosseyed and mewling incoherently. You should be embarrassed by the sounds he’s pounding out of you, but you’re so focused on the overwhelming pleasure that you can’t find it in yourself to care very much.
Chasing the high you already feel him leading you towards, you lift one of your legs to change the angle, and he catches on immediately, helping guide your ankle to hook over his shoulder with a distracted kiss against the bone. And it’s deeper this way, the angle ensuring he brushes against your spongy nerves with every stroke, only making you spiral faster.
He notices, of course. Notices how quickly he’s taking you to your end and revels in it, sliding a hand inward and he thumbing your clit, fast and hard.
You jolt at the extra stimulation, gasping and overwhelmed. “Oh my goddd…”
“Come on,” he croons, his dulcet tone at odds with the wickedness of his hand. His dick. “Don’t you want to cum for me?”
“I…” you choke out, struggling to form any sort of coherent thought as you feel everything get tighter. “I…”
You see his lips moving as he presumably says something else. But you can’t understand anything other than your own moaning when your pussy finally locks down. This orgasm is somehow more intense than the last one, your thighs rippling with the force of it, your hands desperately scrabbling over the desk in an effort to find something to ground you.
And Jungkook fucks you through it, still talking, and it’s only when the whooshing in your ears starts to subside that you can finally decipher what he’s saying in between his own moaning. “There you go. Being so good for me. So good.”
Your only reply is your gasping breath as your orgasm slowly fades, replaced with oversensitivity. But you don’t want him to stop. You don’t want this to stop, reveling in the feel of him on you, in you. And Jungkook doesn’t, instead sliding your leg off his shoulder so he can grab you by the waist with both hands and properly yank you forward, moving you over his cock to his liking.
The desk creaks with your effort, a rhythmic cacophony with the harsh smacking of his balls against your ass. You mewl, needing him closer still, and curl your legs around his hips, locking your ankles. He’s now trapped against you, but he groans like that’s exactly what he wanted, both hands gliding up the length of your body to grasp the back of your neck instead, giving him even better leverage to plunge into you, deep, deep. He leans down and rests his forehead against yours, licks into your panting mouth.
At this point, his thrusts are turning manic, but you’re meeting every one of them, deliriously following him in his descent into madness. But when he catches your lower lip with his teeth, your breath hollows, and then, quicker than you can register it’s happening, you cum again, spasming around him with a long, high-pitched whine.
Jungkook lets you ride it out, but this time, his thrusts slow while you thrash. And it’s not until your soul finally floats back into your body that you realize he’s already pulled out of you and is bucking into his own fist instead.
You almost took him over the edge with you, you realize. Though he clearly has incredible stamina, you have finally brought him to his limit, and everything inside you glows at the knowledge that he’s here, roughly pumping himself, moans falling freely from his lips because of you.
Entranced, you reach for him, delighting in the whimper he lets out when your fingers wrap around his base. His own hand immediately falls to grip the edge of the desk instead, and you glide your fist up, finding his cock sticky with your juices. Jungkook just rests his head in the crook of your neck and lets you jack him off, whining through it when you match his previously punishing pace. And it doesn’t take long before he finally, finally splashes hot over your hand. Against your thigh.
Your hand slows, twisting your wrist and milking him for every drop. Intent on extending his pleasure, just like he made sure to do for you. And you only stop when he flinches away from your touch, twitchy and shivering as he leans against you.
Reluctantly, you let go. The two of you share the same balmy breath, struggling to calm your racing hearts. And when Jungkook finally backs away from you, unhurried in the way he gathers himself back into his slacks, there is a wildly satisfied grin on his face.
You’re satisfied too, though you try to have some sense of propriety and use a tissue from the box next to Joy’s monitor to wipe off the sticky evidence of his pleasure. Throwing away the evidence, you hop off the desk, locating your long-discarded panties and slipping them back on, smoothing down your skirt.
“So,” you tease lightly. Your head swims a little with the knowledge of what you just did, but you’re surprised to realize you feel zero guilt about it. “Is your plan to stick it to everyone who’s wronged me? If so, we should do it on Mabel next. That’ll show her.”
Jungkook laughs, a giddy, giggly thing. He’s now doing his best to pick up and replace everything that fell from Joy’s desk during your romp. “Nah, I could never disrespect her like that. That ol’ girl’s been such a great wingman these past few months.”
That’s a rather curious statement to make. You frown a little, shoot him an inquisitive sound.
“You always call me when Mabel’s not working,” he shrugs. “So when I wanted to see you, she was nice enough help.”
You can’t help it—a smile creeps across your face, equally bashful and flattered. He wanted to see you! For months, by his open admission. “And the printer knew exactly when you wanted to see me?" you joke. “Sounds like dark magic to me.”
Jungkook’s valiantly trying to straighten and smooth out some of the papers the two of you disturbed. “Deleted some print jobs,” he replies offhandedly, clearly distracted by the task at hand.
Record scratch.
There’s an extended silence as your brain shuffles through different iterations of his sentence, trying to decipher exactly he meant by that. Because there's no way he just admitted to what you think he just did. “Did…did you just say you've been deleting my print jobs?” you ask incredulously. Because there’s no way.
There’s no way, yet at your words, Jungkook immediately stiffens. His lips part, but he doesn't defend himself. Doesn't say anything at all—just drops the pen he’s holding and stares at you with wide eyes.
Holy shit. Holy shit. He really has been doing it! He obviously hadn't meant to tell you that, but the relaxation of afterglow has clearly removed the filter between his brain and his mouth.
The weight of his revelation hits you, seemingly happenstance events connecting in your mind and starting to fall into place. All the hassle and irritation that stupid printer has been giving you, and it turns out Mabel has been working just fine?!
“Please don't be mad,” he pleads, finally finding his voice.
“Are you seriously saying that all this time—”
“No! No, I only did it a few times,” he sheepishly rushes to correct you. “And I promise, I haven’t done it in weeks.”
“Seriously?”
“I just...wanted an excuse to talk to you!”
“Jungkook, you literally talk to me all the time!”
“About work! Not—” he averts his eyes, lets out an irritated breath. “It’s just. I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to ask you out.”
You blink, gaping slightly as your whirring mind tries to process what he’s just told you. “Ask me…out?”
“I didn’t mean to do…all this.” He waves a hand over the mess the two of you are still cleaning up, clearly embarrassed. “I mean, at least not before buying you dinner first.”
Moments pass as you stare at him in stunned, disbelieving silence. Then, like a volcano erupting, laughter bursts from you, loud and sudden. Because what the fuck? You can’t believe all of this is actually happening to you. In real life. “You jackass,” you cackle. “Do you have any idea how much grief that printer has been giving me? I’m over here stressed and you’ve been gaslighting me and doing it on purpose?”
“Just a few times,” he repeats, visibly confused by the juxtaposition of the mirth in your voice and the actual words you’re saying.
“And that doesn’t change the fact that you’re still a jackass,” you laugh. “But…” You clear your throat, suddenly somehow shy, despite everything that has occurred and been said. “…I suppose you can still take me out to dinner.”
“Yeah?” His lips stretch into a slow, hopeful smile.
“Yeah. Now, if you want. I think we’re pretty much done here.” You smile back, quickly taking stock of the binders still scattered across the floor. Most of them are completed, but whatever else you need to do can be done tomorrow morning. “Besides, I seem to have worked up an appetite.”
Jungkook looks nothing short of smug, but you suppose you can’t fault him that. “Well then,” he practically purrs, “Let’s hurry up and feed you.”
Moving in comfortable silence, the two of you finish putting everything you’ve disturbed back in their original spots, gathering the last of the binders and stacking them neatly on your desk. You reach for your purse while Jungkook goes to collect his hastily discarded belongings.
“So,” you start. “Where are you taking me? It’s kind of late.” This late on a weeknight, kitchens would be shutting down soon.
He pauses in sliding his leather jacket back on, frowning a little as he realizes you’re right. “Shit,” he mutters. “I wanted to take you somewhere nice.”
“You can,” you say with an unbothered wave of your hand. “That can be next time. Let’s just find something quick now.”
“So you’re saying I get a second date?” he grins.
Oh. That is what you just implied, isn’t it? You would be embarrassed by how forward you were being if Jungkook wasn’t visibly delighted by it. Wow, he really does like you. And since the feeling is mutual, you just look away coyly and say, “If you play your cards right.”
Jungkook hoists his backpack over a shoulder, and it’s only then that you see what else he happened to be carrying in his hands when he dropped everything for you. A helmet.
You gesture towards the object with a curious incline of your head. “What’s that for?”
“My bike,” comes his easy answer, but that’s not the kind of helmet that one wears for bicycle rides. No, this one is made for something much faster.
Now that you think about it, you’ve seen the motorcycle in the parking lot before—you’ve just never really given it a second thought. And now you can’t stop thinking about it, because the unassuming vehicle you’ve often passed on your way into the building has been Jungkook’s the whole time. Your mind is blown. How many more times is he going to surprise you tonight?
“…Do you always drive a motorcycle?” you ask incredulously.
“Depends on the day,” he shrugs with grin. “Sometimes I take the bus, but I like to ride my bike when the weather’s nice.” His eyes are bright with pride, visibly happy to have impressed you.
Your mouth opens and closes, thoughts racing so fast your tongue struggles to hold onto any of them. Before you realize you’re doing it, you blurt, “Alright. Are you even real?”
Jungkook blinks owlishly at you, clearly not expecting that question. “What?”
“I thought I’ve known you for months. But was any of that real?” you repeat. “Hell, do you even need glasses?”
“Of course,” he rushes to say. “It’s all me. I can just be a little shy, is all.” Wow, he actually said shy with a straight face, as if he didn’t just finish ravaging you over multiple surfaces. “And I like to be professional, so this place doesn’t get to have all facets of me. I know you can relate.”
You can. Your constant struggle to not complain? To be professional and work hard and hope you’ll be rewarded for your efforts? Obviously that’s a reason why the two of you ended up in this situation in the first place.
He ducks his head a little, tapping the glasses he picked up off the floor in petition for their validity. “And these really are prescription. I mean, I can mostly see without them, but since I stare at computer screens all day, it’s less strain on my eyes.”
“Oh,” you say quietly, feeling silly to have even asked. But who knew the quiet IT guy who kept mostly to himself was also this? Buff and tatted with a wicked tongue that you’re now intimately acquainted with.
Shyly, he holds his helmet out to you. He hesitates before speaking again, almost like he’s afraid of spooking you. “Wanna go for a ride?” And from the way color lightly blooms across his cheeks, you get the sense that he’s offering you more than just protective gear.
You take it without second thought.
The next day you and Jungkook get off the elevator together, a respectable distance between you, but arms still brushing too often to be casual. When you come to the hallway that will force you in separate directions, you pause.
“Have a good day,” you say. Jungkook grins, the delighted brightness of it baring too much teeth and crinkling his eyes in the corners.
“You too,” he winks. “Let me know if Mabel gives you any more issues.”
You snort at his brazenness, biting down a smile as you head to your cubicle. Your whole body buzzes, glowing from inside out.
You’re technically right on time, but you’ve definitely arrived later than usual, and that’s obvious when you head over to your department and find Joy already there waiting for you. She frowns as you approach, no doubt clocking your empty hands and wondering how she’s going to make it through the morning without her expected syrupy caffeine fix.
To her credit, she doesn’t call you out on it, but you don’t really care if she does. You’re done playing errand boy. From now on, everyone else will have to stop before work and get their own shit, if they want it so bad.
Because it’s all so clear to you now. You’re here, and you’re going to do your best, but you’re not going to let this place wear you down to jaded slivers. You’re going to work hard and learn all that you can, but you refuse to be anyone’s lapdog.
They will respect you. And your value will be recognized and rewarded—or you’ll simply find somewhere else where it will.
Joy must sense your new resolve, because she simply hovers by your desk and chirps, “Good morning.”
“Morning.”
“Did you have a good night?”
Your lips quirk. “You could say that. What about you?”
“Eh, it was okay,” she sighs. “Met a guy for dinner, but I don’t think that’s going anywhere.”
So while you were stuck here last night, having a grade-A meltdown, she was on a date. That tracks.
Joy chatters on while you put your things away, not seeming to notice or care that you’re not particularly interested in what she’s saying. And while this would normally irritate the living shit out of you, today, it doesn’t.
Today, your eyes can’t help but glaze over as your mind drifts back to how your night went. Today, you just hum agreeably until she gets bored with you and decides to go back to her own cubicle.
And when you hear her ask over the wall if you’ve seen her stapler, you just smile and smile.
⇢ my masterlist
WAVE 𝜗ৎ part 1/2
wave— your weekly anonymous psychoanalysis on cute boys with broad shoulders and pretty girls in tiny skirts. make sure to not miss any updates from campus’ favorite emotionally invasive blog!
jeon jungkook is a notorious lady pleaser with a weak spot for pretty girls with big vocabularies. so when he unexpectedly meets you, a journalism major who happens to be the prettiest girl he has ever seen, he terribly, miserably folds.
PAIRING: fuckboy!jk x journalist!reader
GENRE: college au, fluff, smut, angst
WC: 12.5k (for part 1)
WARNINGS/DETAILS: fem!reader, ie major!jk, secret identity reader, jk thinks she’s soo pretty :( forced proximity?, reader’s kinda selfish sometimes, jk’s so horny the entire time, jk briefly kisses another girl, very cheesy college vibes, jealousy, alcohol consumption, smut wise: titty sucking, he hits it from the back, cowgirl, fingering, big d jk always
NOTES: okay you see, i write everything with the entirety of my heart and soul but this one carries details that are a bit too special to me compared to anything i’ve shared with you before. of course it’s just another silly little fanfiction but i got a bit absorbed into the characters and world building. also it feels like i’ve been working on this for ages so i wanted to share it in two parts bcs i was gonna lose my mind if i didn’t post at least parts of it soon enough. i hope you guys feel and enjoy this the same way i did while writing <3
𑣲 banner by 𑣲 divider by
There's a specific kind of loneliness that exists exclusively in university boys who project their fear of intimacy onto women and ruin their perceptions of love solely to keep their fragile egos away from slipping through their fingertips and breaking down like blades of glass.
Not because they're incapable of being loved. I'd say the situation is quite the opposite, actually. People like them are usually loved too loudly, too quickly. They become socially unavoidable before they become emotionally available— having mastered the art of making people feel personally seen while remaining uniquely difficult to access in return.
And maybe, that's where the actual problem begins.
Charm is easier to preform than vulnerability, attention is more addicting when you've never experienced a form of raw intimacy, and a real conversation probably feels worse than a pair of red, glossy lips.
Every generation repackages the same socially gifted boy with commitment issues and calls him different names, swearing this one is different than the last.
But surprise, it's not.
This year's version just happens to wear leather jackets and lip rings to nine a.m lectures while also somehow possessing actual analytical skills in addition to social ones— perhaps the most alarming thing about Jeon Jungkook is that he isn't a business major.
Because boys like Jeon Jungkook learn early that if they remain entertaining enough, nobody will notice how carefully they avoid stillness; as though silence might physically harm them. Does an engineering major make him interesting? Maybe. But does it fuel his hedonistic lifestyle? Not exactly.
The bass is thudding loud enough to make the kitchen cabinets tremble with every beat, pulsing through the frat house in uneven waves that settle through your body like a second heartbeat. Alcohol that's cheap enough to poison you on an empty stomach spills over sticky counter tops, and the room reeks with the smell of warm beer mixed with something disgustingly similar to your ex boyfriend's cologne— you're going to throw up.
But you don't. Because, well, you can't.
So you keep holding a cup of cranberry vodka in your hand despite accommodating a strong dislike for the drink, you keep your smile warm and flirty even though deeply missing the comfort of your bed and wanting nothing more than to rewatch Mamma Mia for the third time this month. And you keep bobbing your head along to the music even though you swear any house beat without proper lyrics would be enough to kill a fly.
You keep your chin high and your posture straight because you need this. You need something tangible. A reaction, anything capable of sitting inside your palm until you can carry it home and pour into words later. Because you've already wasted at least three hours of your precious friday night here and you are not leaving unless you find something worth pocketing.
Luckily for you, said Jeon Jungkook is standing at the center of it all.
His back is pressed against the kitchen counter as a girl keeps on kissing him as if the birth and death of her universe lies somewhere between his lips. Her fists are tangled in the collar of his leather jacket, tugging his body closer and closer into her smaller frame like distance is completely unnecessary, like she needs his body to melt and mold with hers to embody the entirety of proximity itself.
A familiar voice shouts his name from the living room, but Jungkook doesn't budge until someone else reaches over to steal the drink straight out of his hand, laughing into her mouth unapologetically.
He pulls away just enough to see whoever it is that's calling him, hands firming up on the girl's waist to stabilize himself. "Give me thirty seconds!" He shouts back casually.
The response is immediate. "You said that twenty minutes ago!"
"Then clearly I'm busy."
The girl in front of him rolls her eyes, hands loosening on his collar before dropping down to his chest. "You're an asshole."
"Mhm, you think?" He asks with a smirk playing on his lips, looking down at her.
"Do you ever take a break or is your case of over sexuality a medical condition?" Mingyu complains, drinking the beer he has just taken from Jungkook's hand as their shoulders bump into each other.
Jungkook finally pulls away fully, shifting closer to Mingyu. "You're obsessed with me."
Mingyu scoffs. "Unfortunate for Seoul's female population."
"Guys," Yugyeom interrupts, looking up from his phone with a sudden delight on his face, as if the light from his phone's screen has traveled and bloomed again behind his pupils. "Wave posted."
The reaction arrives in less than a second, because Wave had long stopped being just another anonymous campus blog sometime during sophomore year. It became something students enthusiastically refreshed during lectures, sent feverish screenshots to group chats at ungodly hours. Because everyone somehow grew to love Wave— until they became the subject of it.
Jungkook closes his eyes briefly, sparing a fraction of a second to recollect the exasperation in his heartbeat, inhaling slowly. "I swear if this psychopath wrote about me again—"
Yugyeom's grin widens. "Bad news, superstar."
"For fuck's sake." Jungkook mutters, snatching the phone away from Yugyeom's hand while Mingyu's laugh echos loudly from besides.
The familiar layout of wave flashes straight into his eyes, light blue and dreamy and so fucking pretty for a blog this cruel. Well, cruel would be an exaggeration, if you weren't Jeon Jungkook.
"Oh my god." Mingyu gasps. "Second paragraph is crazy."
"Crazy accurate." Jaehyun corrects, reaching over Jungkook's shoulder to keep reading.
"This person needs psychiatric help." He says flatly.
"Mhm." Jaehyun hums, taking a sip of his drink. "You say that because you secretly agree with everything."
Okay, you see, that's the problem with Wave.
The issue had never really been the concept itself, because Wave has always been undeniably good. Jungkook can survive a day or two of public embarrassment. God knows he has spent the last two years of university building an almost concerning amount of immunity to people's uncalled opinions. The problem is that whoever it is that's sitting behind that stupid light blue website is unsettlingly gifted at noticing things they absolutely shouldn't. The tiny, quiet things people lock somewhere safe beneath their hearts and reveal only when they trust someone with their lives.
It suffocates him sometimes, not that he'd ever say it like that.
"I'd rather die than agree with this hypocrite." He says instead.
Jaehyun nods dismissively. "Right."
The girl beside Jungkook leans over his shoulder, eyes laced with curiosity. "Wait, keep reading."
"Use your damn phone." He shuts her off immediately, handing the phone back to Yugyeom.
Yugyeom grabs his phone in one hand while he shakes Jungkook's shoulder dramatically with the other. "Did you do something to this writer we don't know of?"
"Why are you acting like i personally asked to be publicly humiliated?"
Mingyu shrugs. "Because you clearly enjoy it a little.
"I actually don't." Jungkook argues.
Majority of the people around him dissolve slowly, disappearing into the crowd to find their own group of friends to gossip on the article that just got posted, leaving Jungkook with his own group of friends who unfortunately do not make up the IQ of a normal person even when merged together.
"Hey," Jungkook says like he suddenly remembered something so crucial, angling his body towards Jaehyun. "Have you seen Mark?"
Jaehyun's brows pull together. "Thought he was coming later."
"He texted me like an hour ago."
"Your secret little rendezvous?" Yugyeom asks knowingly, wiggling his eyebrows.
Jungkook scoffs lightly, rolling his eyes. "Shut the fuck up."
Mingyu gasps dramatically. "You're cheating on us with the music major?"
"None of you are funny." Jungkook says, shaking his head once before letting his gaze drift around the kitchen while Mingyu and Yugyeom start arguing about something else entirely.
Then he spots you.
Oh.
Jungkook knows you. Okay, he doesn't exactly know you, but he knows of you. Through Mark, through Yugyeom, through this and through that but never truly by heart.
You, with a face carefully designed by gods, standing there mindlessly as if you aren't the textbook definition of beauty itself. You, who'd without a doubt get his cock rock solid in mere seconds by rolling your eyes and laughing at how dumb he is. You, who'd pretend to not be fazed by him while very obviously blessing him with flirty smiles and inviting eyes.
You would be…mildly inconvenient for him.
"Why are you staring at her like that?" Jaehyun asks from besides him.
Jungkook tears his eyes away immediately. "You're seeing things."
Mingyu laughs loudly, chiming in a beat later. "You literally are."
"Shut up."
"You don't even know her like that." Yugyeom adds, grinning.
"I know enough."
Jaehyun lifts his brows accusingly. "That is?"
Jungkook opens his mouth, but closes it again in no time. Because somehow saying prettiest girl on campus who'd drop him to his knees by casually using words he has to mentally spell twice feels a little excessive for a girl he's never had a proper conversation with in his life.
"Mark's friends with her, right?" He asks instead.
Jaehyun nods slowly, a little suspicious. "Yeah."
"Cool." Jungkook replies. And before any of his friends can say another word, he's pushing himself away from the counter and walking towards you.
Mingyu gasps dramatically behind him. "Oh my god, he's approaching."
"Act natural!" Yugyeom shouts over the music.
Jungkook scoffs in exasperation, but he doesn't turn around, walking towards you as he flips them off by waving a hand behind.
You notice him coming over almost immediately. Because Jeon Jungkook isn't exactly one to go unnoticed by many, and that sadly seems to cover you too. There is something annoyingly conspicuous about him, visible even in places that are so crowded you lose your friend within the bare minute of getting there.
Maybe it's the broad shoulders, maybe it's the tattoos and the lip rings that usually wink at you before even he gets the chance to, or maybe it's the fact that everybody seems to orbit around him with a push and pull so heavy it feels like he's the center of gravity itself.
It's probably the shoulders.
Miyeon, your gorgeous best friend, notices him too as his steps get closer and closer to where you are standing. Her lips twitch knowingly around the rim of her cup. "Well," She murmurs into her drink. "This should be interesting."
Jungkook stops right in front of you before you can reply to your friend. "Hey." He greets easily. And annoyingly enough, his voice sounds exactly the way the rest of him looks.
You tilt your head slightly, half empty cup swaying between your fingers. "Hey yourself."
Jungkook blinks once before letting out a breathy laugh. "Oh, this is already going badly for me."
Miyeon snorts into her drink, but you quickly nudge her arm before she says something she shouldn't. "I'm looking for Mark." Jungkook continues, gaze shifting back towards you. "Have you seen him?"
"You're looking for Mark?" You repeat, cocking a brow.
And for some reason, Jungkook's smile widens. "We were supposed to meet."
The answer catches you a little off-guard. Not because Jungkook knowing Mark is strange. It's not, everybody knows Mark. But because there is something in the way he says it. He's saying it seriously, with intention. Like whatever they're meeting about actually matters to him and that's not something you can coherently place somewhere solid in your head.
"You sound committed to that." You say before you can stop yourself.
Jungkook squints his eyes. "I can commit to things."
You take a sip of your drink, taking your time with the action as your brows raise with something laced with accusation. "You sure?"
Jungkook's eyes widen just slightly as Miyeon turns away, trying to hide her laughter. But she cackles anyway. "That's crazy." He says, a loose grin forming on his face. "You know absolutely nothing about me."
"You don't exactly strike me as somebody mysterious."
"Yeah?" He breathes. "What do i strike you as?"
You roll your eyes, poking the inside of your cheek with your tongue. And whatever that happens in Jungkook's chest— it's deeply unfortunate.
This is exactly his type, horrifically so. Pretty has never been an issue for Jungkook, he has been surrounded with pretty all his life. Pretty and mean, on the other hand, is apparently where the problem in his pants begin.
But before either of you can continue, Jungkook's name is yelled from across the room. "There you are!" Mingyu shouts, throwing an arm around Jungkook's shoulders after he makes his way towards you. "Some girl is throwing up on Jaehyun's shoes because you disappeared."
Jungkook closes eyes briefly, inhaling a long breath. "See? What's commitment if not that?"
You laugh despite yourself, loud and real and so fucking pretty Jungkook thinks he might've forgotten how to breathe properly.
"I'll tell Mark you were looking for him." You say.
"Appreciate it." He says before stepping backward towards the kitchen, then pauses suddenly. "By the way," He starts, causing you to raise a brow. "You're prettier than your articles sound."
Your expression freezes for a beat, lips parted and head still tilted. A lazy smirk dances on Jungkook's features before disappearing back into the crowd behind Mingyu, leaving you standing there with your drink still halfway raised.
Miyeon slowly turns towards you. "What the fuck was that about?"
Your eyes linger on the hallway Jungkook disappeared into, gaze floating like you've just wandered into an ocean with no trace of the start and end. Because no, you don't have an idea on whatever the fuck that was either.
Your phone buzzes before your thoughts can swallow you up any further.
namjoon: still awake?
Your eyes flick between the small digital clock on the corner and the text in the middle of your screen before your fingers move over the keyboard.
you: i'm at yugyeom's party
namjoon: you posted during a frat party?
You roll your eyes even though he can't see you, though you're sure he feels it behind the screen.
you: it was queued
namjoon: ah
namjoon: coffee at mine?
namjoon: you can sleep over
You lift your head at something Miyeon says, nodding your head without really listening to what she's talking about. You tuck your bottom lip into your teeth, weighting your options before deciding to give in.
you: wow, the honor
you: on my way
The city feels different after midnight.
Maybe not quieter, because noise never really dies down on friday nights. People like to laugh, dance, live. Because modern time doesn't really allow love anymore. Because people spare friday nights for themselves and keep it tucked somewhere they know it belongs. Because people yearn to belong and time doesn't like to stretch and bend around desire. It just moves.
The city feels softer, as if somebody reached over and mellowed the space so that everyone could find a place for themselves. At least, that's exactly the way you feel when your uber drops you off outside of Namjoon's apartment building twenty minutes after you leave Yugyeom's place. The clock is ticking past two in the morning, and by the time you make your way upstairs, your feet are aching and your social battery has officially ran out.
When the door opens, Namjoon greets you with that same old warmth you've had memorized for nearly four years— almost the entirety of your college years. He gives you a hug before disappearing back into the hallway, informing you of how the coffee is almost done.
His place is dim except for the kitchen, where a warm light spills in and drapes over the entire apartment in a yellow hue. It always smells the same here. Not in a weird way, not at all. Just very…specific. It smells like books that have already been read at least twice and expensive coffee beans that are too niche for you to have any understanding of— because to the normal person, they all just taste the same.
Definitely not to Namjoon.
You slip your heels off by the door, following him into the kitchen after dropping your purse somewhere on the couch. "Do you want to lose all the sleep left in your system?" You ask, gaze dragging over the empty coffee mugs on the counter.
Namjoon stands in the kitchen with his back turned to you, dressed comfortably in some gray sweatpants and a dark colored hoodie. His glasses sit low on his nose, hair falling onto his forehead in messy strands. "I'm writing something." He says, a soft smile forming on his face as he pours in the hot liquid carefully. "How was the party?"
You climb onto the counter, plopping your body onto the marble as your legs dangle above the height. You unashamedly stare at him for a moment, taking in the sweats and the glasses and the fact that he somehow still looks put together despite the hour. Because Namjoon looks a little unfair like this— annoyingly intelligent and completely at home.
"It was loud."
Namjoon hums, handing you the mug. "The alcohol was terrible, i spent the whole night trying to keep Miyeon away from Yugyeom, and someone cried in the bathroom after throwing up on the floor."
"Sounds typical to me."
You take a sip of the coffee, then groan immediately because it's still too hot to drink, before setting it down with exaggerated annoyance dancing on your face. You trail behind him into the living room, pulling your legs beneath yourself as you sink into the couch while he settles right next to you with his laptop balanced over one knee.
"You're actually writing." You say, eyeing him over the rim of your mug.
"I told you." Namjoon says, giving you a brief glance before he turns his attention back onto the screen.
Your eyes absentmindedly drift towards the screen of his laptop, floating over the margins that are filled with notes, sections that are highlighted, pages filled with comments and edits that are all very Namjoon. And for a second, for the entirety of a thousand milliseconds that feel way longer than it actually is, your own laptop sitting abandoned inside the void of your apartment suddenly feels eccentrically heavier.
"My advisor hates me."
Namjoon doesn't look up. "Did he say that?"
You sink lower into the couch, sipping your coffee slowly without forgetting to blow onto it. You can not burn your mouth again, not a chance. "No, but he looked disappointed."
Namjoon sighs. "I know it sucks and you want to strangle him to the depths of death, but he just has high expectations from you."
You groan dramatically. "It's so annoying."
Namjoon hums, nodding along as his eyes scan through the screen. "How's the thesis going?"
That's when you gift him the pleasure of absolute silence. Because unfortunately, deeply unfortunately, somewhere along the way, your thesis and Wave started bleeding a little too much into each other and now everything feels way too personal and disgustingly intimate.
Not entirely, of course. Wave is still just a tool for you to learn and observe without tracing everything back to yourself. But lately, it has started to feel a little less objective and a little more on the edge.
You didn't lose the hang of it, not really. You're still the same girl writing with the same devotion for the same purpose. Just…there has been small slips here and there, noticeable only to people who know you well enough to search for them.
You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth. "It's progressing."
Namjoon's eyes drift towards you, and your gaze lifts until it catches his own in the air. "Why are you looking at me like that?" You ask when he stares at you for a second too long.
"You don't sound too truthful."
You scoff, then roll your eyes before grabbing the nearest pillow and throwing it in his face. But being the man he is, Namjoon catches it without looking. Damn him.
"You write about Jungkook a lot." He says suddenly.
You shrug. "He's easy material."
"You've written about him four times by now."
You pause, squinting your eyes as every piece of writing you've ever published in the last two years flashes through your eyes. Because there is no fucking way you've written about that tattooed excuse of sex on legs for four entire times. "Four?"
"Four." He repeats.
You drop your shoulders in defeat. "You're very unlikeable tonight."
"I'm just providing you with my opinions." He says, typing while speaking. "You can't ask for help if you aren't going to take my advice."
You pull your knees closer against your chest. "I don't ask for your opinions."
"You called me crying over an econ elective last year."
You sit up immediately, placing the mug onto the coffee table. "Okay, first of all, it wasn't entirely like that—"
"I distinctly remember you saying, and i quote, what do i do now, Joon, my future is over." He states dramatically, voice disgustingly sweet and high pitched as he mocks you.
You stare at him, frozen and absolutely horrified. "I was vulnerable."
Namjoon hums, and you let yourself fall backwards dramatically against the couch cushions, throwing an arm over your face as if that's enough to physically protect yourself from embarrassment and humiliation.
It doesn't, of course. Because nothing ever really preserves you from embarrassment when it's Kim Namjoon you're talking about.
A comfortable silence settles into the living room, allowing you drown yourself inside the small indicators of life around you. You can hear his keyboard clicking softly as he keeps working on something you have no idea about, the occasional scratch of the ceramic mug against the wood table, the faint jazz pieces playing from the speakers hidden somewhere further inside the apartment. And just as you were about to part your lips and make a comment on how his furniture is so outdated, he beats you to it.
"Oh."
Your arm slowly lowers from your face, eyes squinting and peaking above it. "What?"
"Are you still helping Mark with that project?"
Oh yourself.
Everything in you physically stills, slowly and painfully, like dread is begging to be felt properly until your bones ache and sizzle with the weight of it. Because you— catastrophically, miserably, terribly; had forgotten all about it. Not in a small, oops, i should probably text him back way either. No, you had forgotten in a way that bordered on a severe case of friendship betrayal and negligence.
You close your eyes, inhaling a long breath. "Hypothetically speaking…"
Namjoon finally looks up. "You forgot, didn't you?"
You did, and of course he notices. Because if Kim Namjoon has spent four years studying journalism, he has spent six studying you.
Namjoon had become one of those people that had entered your life quietly yet stayed just as loudly, making himself impossible to imagine a life without in absolutely no time. Just like wine or Wave or the concerning amount of mediocre sex you've been having since your last boyfriend.
You had met him during the first few weeks of your freshman year when he was already a junior and head editor of the university journal. Back then, he existed in your head less as a person and more as a terrifying academic urban legend you'd never admit looking up to. But you didn't have to admit it out loud, because even the older students spoke about him with an obnoxious amount of respect.
You hated him.
But obviously, that didn't last long. As you kept sharing nights filled with stories, words and worlds no one knew existed besides the two of you, he started to matter. He'd remembered your exam dates, bought you coffee during finals, edited your essays at three in the morning. He'd answer your phone calls involving emotional breakdowns over electives and boys and broken sink pipes, then solve whatever crisis you were having in little to no time.
So naturally, somewhere along the way, your editor had turned into an older brother and became annoyingly good at reading you— so much that you're sure he keeps a version of you that's all bare and vulnerable somewhere hidden in his furthest drawers.
Because he knows you. Good enough to notice the tiny moments where Wave feels a little too personal. To notice the way that sometimes, your thesis blurs into the rest of your life and you get caught up in the gravity of it all, so much that the project you'd promised to help with weeks ago somehow slips away from your mind despite Mark being one of your dearest friends.
Because Namjoon doesn't forget, and Mark will definitely kill you if you don't show up at his studio with breakfast and two cups coffee by tomorrow morning.
Musicians who are brave enough to lay their souls open between rhymes and harmonies have always felt intimate.
Music is vulnerable, always has been. Everyone knows that. But there is something utterly naked and personal beyond the in reach vulnerability of it all.
It's the little things.
The version of them that existed on a random Tuesday in October, the argument they never really recovered from yet still shaped them into whoever they are today. The person they almost loved, the one they did love…They leave pieces of themselves behind between late nights and early mornings, and it never matters whether it's accidental or not. Because everything they touch transitions into something that carries their traces and that's enough to feel their souls on top of your own.
And, i think, that truly sums up Mark Lee as a person.
Because Mark has always felt like someone composed of the little things. He'd attach songs to memories you won't realize matters until months later, respond to texts even if it wakes him up from his sweetest dreams. He'd turn feelings into poems and records then archive them in anything that's permanent.
In college, people tend to think popularity belongs to the loudest person in the room. But despite being loved through the depths of the ocean until the very end of Milky Way, Mark Lee has never really been loud.
Just unforgettable.
Three days later, you find yourself standing outside of Mark's studio with two iced coffees in one hand and a kind of resentment that's loud yet entirely unserious in the other. Because Mark has spent the last forty eight hours guilt tripping you through frantic phone calls and dramatic text messages. And you, for some reason, can not for the life of you bring yourself accept the fact that you've forgotten your promise and properly apologize.
At least you got the coffees.
You push the studio door open without knocking, because Mark has never once respected your privacy and therefore doesn't exactly deserve it in return. As the door falls unleashed and sunlight spills until it drapes over you in a golden glow, there are a few things you expect. A Justin Bieber song Justin Bieber himself has probably forgotten about, unfinished coffees and half empty beer bottles scattered around the room, maybe even his ex girlfriend lounging somewhere in the corner because you're almost entirely certain Mark would slip straight back into her heart if she ever left it even slightly open.
But Jeon Jungkook is not one of them.
He's sitting besides the mixing desk, leaned back comfortably in his chair wearing a black hoodie with headphones hanging around his neck, one leg bouncing lazily beneath the table while he scrolls through something on his phone.
He looks up from the screen when the weight of your presence becomes impossible to ignore. He blinks once, twice, then smiles.
Shit, he has dimples.
"Well," Jungkook says slowly, leaning back further into the chair as he drags his eyes over you. "This just got better than i expected."
Your reply comes immediately. "No."
Jungkook blinks, eyes widening just slightly. "I…didn't even say anything."
"You thought of it."
He cocks a brow. "Thought of what?"
You roll your eyes, dropping your purse onto the table before leaning your hip against it. "You know what." You say, and he silently stares at you for a second longer before the corner of his mouth starts twitching.
This doesn't make sense. Not at all.
Because certain people feel attached to certain places long before they step into them. Mark belongs in studios and beneath the stars and somewhere right in the middle of your heart. Namjoon belongs beneath the warmth of yellow kitchen lights and homes that silence everything else until it's quieter than the rest of the world. Miyeon belongs anywhere between flowers and pretty cafes that somehow never match up to her beauty.
And Jungkook…Jungkook belongs beneath flashing lights that paint his features in colors that would look good on nobody but him. He belongs in crowded spaces and with girls who lean in a little too close whenever he speaks. He belongs anywhere loud and alive.
Just not here. Because music feels too intimate for him somehow.
"You know." He says after a moment, still smiling. "I thought there was a chance i imagined you."
You let out a low chuckle, crossing your arms over your chest after placing the coffees onto the table. "That's a little dramatic."
"I'm being dead serious."
"Well, you approached me." You say, tilting your head slightly, letting your eyes drift over him before they return back to his face. "And you don't seem to have that strong of an imagination."
"You're mean."
You groan playfully, leaning your hip against the armrest of his chair. "That's so not true."
A small smirk plays out on his lips. "Good thing i like my girls with a little attitude."
Pardon? Your girls?
"You're being very brave today."
Jungkook stares at you for a second, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek in a way that's not rude, just playful enough to carry traces of something cocky beneath it. He lets the silence melt and sit right in the middle of your bodies for a beat too long, then speaks.
"You're flirting with me right now."
Your head snaps towards him immediately, and you almost choke on your own saliva. Not because you're shocked. How can you be when he has built a whole persona on candied words and pretty girls and an ego that's definitely bigger than what's between his legs. It's because he says it so easily, and you hate that.
So no, absolutely not. You, flirting with Jungkook? No way in hell.
You narrow your eyes. "No, I'm not."
"Mhm." He hums, swinging left and right in his seat with a growing grin on his face.
Okay, no. That's enough. You're not doing this any longer. You don't want Jeon fucking Jungkook to think he has a chance at having you naked and open and wide on his stupid iron man mattress. You don't want to demonstrate the size of his cock with your hands when Miyeon asks on girls night, and you most definitely don't want Mark walking in on you bickering like two horny teenagers with the self control of fucking rabbits in heat.
So you change the subject.
"You sing?" Brilliant.
And peculiarly, his smile softens a little at your question. Not drastically, not enough for the entire room to shift and bend around him until it's his breath only you're drowning inside. But it's enough. Enough for you to notice the way something gentler briefly peeks through before hiding again. And you, for some reason, find yourself reaching over and folding it carefully to hide somewhere safe amongst all the other precious details people accidentally leave behind. Somewhere only you carry the map of and know how to find again.
Jungkook glances up. "Sometimes."
Sometimes.
It's funny how he says it, like it matters too much that his tongue can not carry the weight of it, so he just shrugs it off like it's anything. Sometimes, he says. As if Mark would ever involve someone who does it just whenever. As if Mark would ever reach for something that's sitting right in middle of his soul and hand out a piece of it to just anyone.
"You look judgemental." He adds.
You shrug. "I'm just surprised."
Jungkook's eyebrows lift at your answer, like he knows there is another thought sitting beneath it, quietly waiting for the permission to exit. But before he can get the chance to ask about it further, the studio door suddenly swings open.
Mark walks into the room with an amount of rush that should be concerning for this time of the morning. His hair is messy, bag is tucked beneath his arm and an iced americano is trying to balance clumsily between his fingers as he tries finding a place to squeeze himself in.
"Okay, first of all. Traffic should be considered the worse case of masochism the human kind has done to itself." Mark rambles, barely waiting for the door to close behind him before speaking, words tumbling out of his mouth in consecutive complaints.
"And you," He kicks the door shut with his foot before continuing, pointing a finger at you. "After forty eight hours of emotional neglect, show up with iced lattes? I don't drink lattes. That's for pussies who don't understand coffee."
You roll your eyes. "I do something nice and you still complain."
"You completely forgot me and brought coffee out of guilt."
You pause, looking down at the table before speaking again. "It's still coffee."
Jungkook laughs quietly besides you before Mark cuts in again. "Okay, so basically," He breathes, gesturing around the room. "This is my senior project, the one I told you about three weeks ago and you forgot because you apparently don't care about me anymore. It's a short film of my album with a narrative concept." He turns to Jungkook. "He's singing."
Your eyes drift around in silence, taking in the headphones and the sheets filled with lyrics and the fucking sometimes he threw at you as if it meant nothing.
"And you," Mark angles his body towards you. "Are helping with the writing."
"Mark," You argue, because what can you possibly be writing? Music? You don't do music. You write people, you write anything between stories and analysis but not music.
"Don't Mark me right now. You agreed to this weeks ago." He says as he rolls his eyes, chugging down his coffee. "The story. You're writing the narrative and the emotional structure, obviously."
Oh. Right.
Because of course Mark wouldn't just make music. No, he has always been incapable of touching one art form without dragging five others to it. Because Mark Lee is a man of passion and he won't do anything without making it entirely his.
"Apparently you said music without context feels lonely to Yoongi's trap arrangement last week." Jungkook says without really looking at you, swinging mindlessly in his chair.
Your head snaps towards him. "How do you know that?"
Jungkook blinks once, like he hadn't expected to say that out loud yet did anyway. His eyes flicker between you and Mark before he collects himself back together and shrugs casually. "Mark talks about you."
That's…annoyingly sweet of him.
"You talk about me?" You coo with a voice disgustingly candied, head tilted as you reach for Mark's arm.
"Oh my god." Mark groans dramatically, but he doesn't pull his arm away. "No, because Jungkook, don't let her fool you. She acts all nice and sweet then suddenly you're buying her food and driving her to places."
You open your mouth immediately, ready to defend yourself. You turn towards Jungkook, response already on the tip of your tongue, ready to be spilled— only to stop.
Because Jungkook is already looking at you. Not in a weird way, not in the way boys usually look at pretty girls when they think nobody is noticing. Just…gentle. His smile is still there, only now it has grown and molded into something smaller. The kind that doesn't really ask for attention, the kind that simply stays there because it wants to. His eyes feel softer too, like's he's really listening, sitting through the spaces of your presence until he feels it permanently engraved into his mind.
It feels a little precarious.
And perhaps the most annoying thing about Jungkook is that the disappointment never really arrives.
Because eventually, the conversation shifts and folds itself until time starts passing in a kind of haziness where it melts into something thinner. Mark disappears into one of his passionate spirals regarding symbolism and the basics of music theory and you somehow find a way to contribute just as passionately despite not exactly having the qualifications to do so.
That's normal. That doesn't surprise you, it has happened enough times to not be the slightest of a deal. But Jungkook, Jungkook surprises you.
Maybe not dramatically, maybe not in ways worth writing Wave articles about. It's the little things, tiny things that somehow fill in the entire space and make their way into the dearest corners of your heart.
Like how he listens with his entire body, the way he turns towards whoever it is that's speaking and stays there, like he genuinely thinks people deserve to be heard all the way through. The way he never interrupts Mark despite the fact that Mark tends to over explain things as if he himself personally invented art and human emotion. The way he nods along quietly, asks questions at exactly the right moments without ever interjecting anyone and reaches over to hand you your drink when you start looking for it.
And somewhere in the middle of the complexity of it all, Jungkook sings.
Mark points towards the recording booth in the middle of his nth rant today, and Jungkook pushes himself up from the couch besides you with a small sigh before disappearing behind the glass doors of the booth. And for some reason, your eyes follow him through each passing second, because simply standing behind a microphone with overhead headphones should not look this different on somebody.
Because suddenly, he's stripped out of everything you've subconsciously built for him. And for some stupid, sick, twisted reason, Jungkook looks ridiculously hot like this.
He adjusts the headphones over his ears before leaning towards the microphone slightly, eyes lowering as Mark presses something on the screen.
His voice happens a beat of two after the music starts, and it happens big. Like waves crashing into rocks, like starts falling down the sky, like spring melting into summer and summer clashing against fall.
It's stupid.
He's not bad, god, you wish he was bad. No, not at all. Because Jungkook sings exactly the way the listens. Softly, fully, like he throws himself into it before realizing he's doing it. Like somewhere in the middle of every rhyme and every note and every breath, there are pieces of him patiently waiting to be discovered.
You understand why Mark chose him.
Jungkook drops beside you onto the couch with a tired groan after Mark decides he's poured enough of his soul for today, and you find your eyes grazing over him as he scrolls through something on his phone.
"You're staring." Jungkook says, not even looking up from his phone.
You blink. Fuck. "Excuse me?"
He hums, lips twitching beyond his control. "Mhm."
You angle your body a little more towards him. "I literally wasn't."
He nods, still not looking at you, but he's still smiling.
You stare at his profile for a little longer as Mark works over the keyboard in silence, then find the words escaping your mouth before you can hold them in. "You sound different when you sing." You say quietly.
Jungkook stills a little. Just a tiny, little falter that happens in his body. His eyes lift slowly from the screen, then catch yours before speaking. "Different?" He asks.
You shrug immediately, trying to fold the conversation into something drastically more casual. "Just less annoying."
Jungkook laughs, shoulders shaking beside you. "Less annoying." He repeats, grin growing.
You roll your eyes immediately. "Don't let it get to your head."
"You know," He says after letting a beat pass, and you turn your head back towards him. "You say very mean things for someone who can't seem to stop staring."
Your brows lift in offense. "I do not stare."
He blinks. "You do."
You scoff. "You're delusional."
Jungkook hums softly. "Earlier, when Mark was talking—"
You don't let him speak. At least, you try. "No."
"And then when i was recording—"
"Jeon."
He's fully smiling now, like he's getting the most ridiculous amount enjoyment he possibly can get from this. You stare at him in silence, lips parted and expression faltered. Jungkook stares right back at you, that stupid smile never really leaving from his lips. And for some sick and twisted reason, your stomach does a tiny little flip that irritates you through the entirety of your skin and bones.
Then, as if god has finally acknowledged the depths of your suffering, Mark cuts in exactly at the right time. "Oh my god." He gasps.
Jungkook blinks from next to you, gaze drifting onto him. "What?"
Mark doesn't respond for a moment, and that's deeply concerning for a man who'd speak even at the verge of death.
You slowly sit up. "Mark?"
His frozen state continues for a beat longer before he suddenly springs up from his chair. "No no no."
"What's wrong?" Jungkook asks as his brows pull together, leaning onto his knees.
"I," Mark starts, looking down at his feet before he slowly, dreadfully searches for your eyes. "I'm late."
Jungkook scrunches his nose. "You're late for what?"
Your eyes widen when the realization slowly stretches then breaks through you. "Oh my god." You breathe dramatically.
"Stop saying oh my god!" Jungkook snaps, thoroughly lost.
Mark closes his eyes, taking in a long, guilty breath. "I'm supposed to be meeting up with Yerin."
Jungkook's phone falls onto the couch. "You're meeting your ex?"
"You're late to meeting your ex." You correct. "And you're wearing that?"
Mark looks down, eyes taking in the gray sweatpants and the black hoodie he has worn so much it's practically another color now. "Oh my god."
He quickly gathers up his belongings, then slings his bag over his shoulder before making his way to the door. He's able to take approximately three steps before he suddenly stops, and slowly, very slowly, turns to you.
"Can i take your car?"
You blink a few times before responding. "Absolutely not."
"Please," He begs, bending above his knees with impatience. "Please, I'll do anything. Imagine if she thinks i stood her up. She's going to leave me for good this time and I'll be left to crumble and die in my own sorrow."
After two or five separate sequences of long inhales and deep consideration, you give in. "If you scratch it, I'll kill you."
He runs over to you fast. "Thank you, thank you. Oh my god, i love you."
"Okay, okay. Stop." Before you even get the chance to return his hug, he's already grabbing your keys and shoving it into his bag. Jungkook stares from besides you silently until the very last second of Mark's departure, then bursts into laughter the moment the door closes shut.
"Stop."
"I'm trying." Jungkook says between fractions of laughter.
You sigh. "No you're not."
"I'm literally trying my hardest."
Liar.
Because now, he's laughing properly and somehow it's the prettiest thing you've heard all week, minus his singing— which is a whole another problem of its own— and you feel yourself physically falter at the sound of it.
You stare at him for a minute longer before eventually drifting your eyes towards the studio doors instead. It's irritating how you're now painfully aware of everything else all over again. Spring air brushing softly against your skin through the window, the distant sound of laughter and conversation somewhere across campus, the way Jungkook is seated close enough that if you shift half an inch closer your shoulders would probably brush.
"So," Jungkook has finally, and thankfully, stopped laughing. Though the smile is still sitting there loosely. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his keys, swinging them around his finger. "Guess I'm driving you home."
You were about to mindlessly give into defeat when suddenly, you remember one, tiny little detail.
Jungkook doesn't have a car.
You breathe slowly. "You ride that stupid motorcycle."
His brows lift immediately. "That stupid motorcycle?"
Your lips part, then close again when he cuts you off, lips twitching cockily. "You remember."
You scoff loudly. "You spent like twenty minutes talking about it."
"Mhm."
"And your personality is unfortunately very loud."
"Mhm." He hums, tucking his phone into the back pocket of his jeans as he mindlessly collects his things. "You remember." He repeats with a growing grin.
"Stop saying that." You complain, following him behind through the door.
And ten minutes later, you hate yourself.
Genuinely.
Because now, you're standing outside beneath spring air and bright streetlights while Jungkook straddles his motorcycle like this isn't singlehandedly the worst thing that has ever happened to you.
Because suddenly you're surrounded by things you've never considered before. Like leather jackets and silver rings and tattooed biceps you want to suffocate and die inside.
You don't tell him that, of course.
He glances at you over his shoulder before slipping on his helmet. "You coming?"
There is a moment where he is met with a complete, utter silence. Because, first of all, you've never been on a motorcycle before. And second of all, there is a very physical, very obvious problem with motorcycles.
Where the fuck are your hands supposed to go?
Jungkook watches the way something between conflict and irritation flashes across your features, expression faltering slowly. He pauses along with you, then smiles knowingly. "You've never been on one."
And the way he says it is absolutely stupid. Because he doesn't ask, it's not a question. He has somehow read you devastatingly well and has made a statement about it. One that is entirely correct.
"I have not."
"And you're scared."
Excuse you?
You blink. "Scared?"
Jungkook says nothing, then places both of his legs on the sides of the vehicle as he patiently waits for you. You stare at him for long enough, then with the amount of dignity one can preserve in situations involving pussy clenching tattoos and massive biceps, you walk over.
"Need help?" Jungkook asks as you struggle deciding how to position yourself.
You shake your head immediately. "No."
Lies.
Because an entire thirty seconds later, you're still trying to figure out how people get on these things without publicly humiliating themselves.
"You know," He starts carefully, voice softer now." "I can help."
You look up slowly. "How?"
"Come here."
Your eyebrows pull together. "What kind of instruction is that?"
He sighs softly, calling your name. And for some stupid reason, the way your name rolls and falls out of his mouth does something irritating to your nervous system.
You hate that.
Because suddenly, the air feels warmer than it did thirty minutes ago. Because suddenly, he is patiently looking at you with those pretty brown eyes of his and the space between you feels so small that the lack of distance physically blows your breath away.
He holds a hand out towards you. "Come here." He repeats.
You stare at his hand, then at him, then back at his hand. And for reasons you will absolutely be denying later, you place your hand in his.
Jungkook's fingers close around yours immediately. Warm, firm and unreasonably effortless, as if he doesn't even think about the action twice.
He gently guides you forward and suddenly you're standing between his arms for one devastating second too long as he explains something about where to place your foot and how to balance and honestly—
Honestly, you don't hear a single fucking word.
Because Jungkook is standing too close. Because his voice is low and his presence is warm. Because somewhere above you, he quietly lets out that sweet laugh again and you think that's the exact moment you realize this might be becoming a bigger problem than you ever thought.
"You listening?" He asks.
No, you're not. Not even a little.
Some men are just plain irritating.
The kind of men who make you think you're special after two dates. The kind of men who act as if their love and desire for you is past the lethal dose, long sitting far away from what's acceptable after taking you out for one drink.
They start remembering your birthday, then your coffee order, and then the stories you tell absentmindedly. They pay attention in all the ways that matter until suddenly, they don't.
They start disappearing slowly. Late responses transition into cancelled dates and cancelled dates drag over white lies and empty promises. And before you know it— they're gone.
Some people become memories and some people insist on staying as habits. Unfortunately for Kim Yugyeom, habits are significantly harder to quit.
Campus looks a little prettier at night, with string lights tangled carelessly around trees to soften the sharp corners of concrete sidewalks and buildings that usually look painfully monotone and disgustingly gray beneath daylight. Music that's floating around blends into laughter and conversations until everything feels like it's dipped into something warmer, casting the green scenery in a dimly golden hue.
People become prettier at night too. Like darkness reaches over to soften and hide all the sharp edges daylight stubbornly insists on exposing. You think it has something to do with poor lighting and the desire to dress each other up in a way that's aligned with our own fucked up fantasies, but that doesn't change the fact that you'd much rather time stops at nine in the evening instead of morning.
Miyeon walks beside you with a cup of vodka and something fruity in her hand, complaining passionately about one of her professors as if he has something personal against her and is failing her out of spite. When, in reality, she has been way too caught up in toxic ex boyfriend drama and seasonal depression.
Anyone who says spring depression is not real is lying. Because your best friend has been going through one for the entirety of march and april and may and you're not sure if it'll pass by july.
But it's fine. You love her and Mark loves her and you're sure she will be fine. Yeah, maybe Yugyeom is six feet tall with a face carefully structured by the higher powers above us. But he's utterly stupid and completely undeserving of the crazy stupid love provided by your gorgeous best friend.
"No because explain to me why participation counts in my grade." Miyeon complains beside you, taking another sip of her drink as if she has the attendance and exam results to cover up the mess caused by her miserable participation grade.
You blink. "Because participating matters?"
Miyeon stops walking like you've offended her beyond all measure, then turns to you very slowly. "The institution has corrupted you."
You let out a laugh immediately, shoulder bumping against hers as the crowd thickens around you. "Maybe your GPA is a little important and passing isn't always enough." You add with a playful smile.
"You've changed."
"Okay." You drag out the word until she physically can not hear anything after the o.
"Namjoon did this to you. You were fun and sexy until junior year and now you're a disgusting hard copy of that man."
You scoff. "Leave Namjoon out of this."
Instead of responding to you, Miyeon narrows her eyes through the crowd before you can properly defend both yourself and Namjoon's imaginary honor. Your eyes follow her line of sight without thinking too much of it, and you still just a second after Miyeon does.
Because standing near one of the food trucks with drinks sat carelessly in their hands are Mingyu and Jaehyun. But that's not the point, Mingyu and Jaehyun are fine, you've actually shared that infamous econ elective with Jaehyun during junior year and he surprisingly turned out to be sweet and worth a couple hours of your precious time.
Jungkook, on the other hand, is not ideal. But not ideal is also fine, you can bear with non ideal to an extent. What's thoroughly, completely, utterly impossible, is Yugyeom.
God truly does not love you.
Miyeon physically freezes besides you. And, I repeat, she doesn't subtly falter. She stills.
Then, Jungkook looks up at exactly the wrong moment, finding your eyes and catching them in air before anyone else gets the chance to steal them away. His eyebrows lift slightly in amusement before a smile slowly spreads across his face, and it feels a little concerning the way he does it. Because Jungkook smiles like he means it. Like the smile happens to him before he can realize and reconsider.
His line of sight is followed before any of you can do anything about it. It starts with Mingyu, then Jaehyun. Which is fine, because we've already established that Mingyu and Jaehyun are harmless.
But Yugyeom? Not even close.
"Oh no." Mingyu says the moment he spots you. And honestly? Very fair reaction.
Because unfortunately, Kim Yugyeom has always had an exceptional talent for creating versions of Miyeon you hate.
Jaehyun lifts his drink awkwardly. "Hi?" Very brave of him. Very brave.
Miyeon smiles immediately, too animated and too polite, before you can even think of interfering and softening the impact of it all.
"Hi Jaehyun." She says, tone too normal despite the situation.
"Miyeon," Yugyeom greets, voice casual and light like her name belongs naturally inside his mouth. Fucking hypocrite.
"You cut your hair."
No.
No, you're not doing this right now. Absolutely not. Because, okay, first of all, what kind of thing is that to say to your ex girlfriend of two whole years? And the worse part of it all? Miyeon cut her hair three months ago. Three, entire, months.
Yugyeom blinks one whole minute after the words leave his mouth when no one responds to him, like the sentence leaves his mouth and arrives back to him sixty seconds later. But it's already late for realization. Too fucking late.
A long silence passes, and you feel it physically sizzle and slice right through the surface of your skin. "Right." Miyeon mutters a beat later, and you close your eyes with a long, suffering inhale.
Somewhere in the middle of the discomfort settling over everybody like a layer of second skin, you catch movement from the corner of your eye as if the situation isn't terrible enough.
Jungkook, of course, is already looking at you. Because he seems to have made it into a habit.
Miyeon laughs beside you. "Three months, by the way."
Yugyeom falters. "What?"
"My hair," She starts, letting her eyes drag over him. "I cut it three months ago."
It's a little funny now. You know, the entirety of the situation. You do everything in your power to not stare at the two of them, gaze drifting around your surroundings instead. And it turns out that you, as of right now, are not the smartest person in the room. Because across from you, Mingyu suddenly becomes deeply interested in the swirl of his drink, and Jaehyun seems to be counting the birds in the sky. Jungkook? That, you don't know. Because you're sure he's still looking at you and that's the second thing your eyes are trying to avoid.
"Right." Yugyeom says again, like saying right enough times might eventually make the situation right, even though it won't. Because none of you are stupid— well, except for Yugyeom himself, it seems.
Then, Mingyu suddenly claps his hands once, and the sound echoes so much louder than he intended it to. "Okay!" He exclaims with an amount of enthusiasm that should genuinely award him an Emmy. "Amazing! Love this energy. It's so deeply casual."
Miyeon laughs again, a little softer than the one she let escape minutes ago. It's not enough to bounce and spill and take over the atmosphere the way it usually does. But for now, it's enough to let you breathe.
"Sorry," She says through another laugh, shaking her head. "No because, you're unbelievable."
Yugyeom squints. "What did i even do?"
You scoff. Obviously, that's not surprising. Kim Yugyeom deserves a hundred more of those. But Mingyu and Jaehyun scoff along with you. And, oh, Jungkook too.
Maybe society has hope after all.
That's when you stop keeping up with their conversation, because their steps slowly get closer and closer to each other and farther and farther away from you until the volume of their voices lower down enough and exist only for the two of them.
Not that you're complaining. Not at all. You're thoroughly relieved and you do not want to hear another word of this pointless conversation.
Mingyu leans over and lowers his height next to you. "How traumatized are we?"
You laugh, relaxing a little. "A solid eight out of ten."
He places a hand over his chest dramatically. "Thank god." He exhales. "For a second i thought i was alone in this."
You laugh again, and peculiarly, somewhere in the middle of cheap drinks and Mingyu defending his dignity like his life depends on it, your shoulders begin dropping one by one.
Everything softens after that.
Mingyu gets distracted after spotting somebody from one of his classes and suddenly starts passionately discussing basketball statistics with Jaehyun. Miyeon and Yugyeom slowly become figurines in your peripheral vision— still there, still existing, but further now. And somehow, Jungkook ends up right besides you.
Maybe not intentionally, maybe not obviously— but he does. It happens in that natural way he seems to be very adamant on keeping recently.
You become aware of him in pieces. The warmth of his shoulder besides yours, the sound of his laugh whenever Mingyu says something ridiculous, the traces of alcohol and masculine cologne in his scent whenever wind shifts in your direction…Tiny, stupid things people leave behind accidentally.
And unfortunately, you've spent your entire life collecting them.
"You're less guarded tonight."
You blink, then turn around slowly, eyes locking with Jungkook who is looking at you over the rim of his drink, a smile sitting loosely against his mouth.
"I'm always like this."
Jungkook lets something between a breathy laugh and a scoff through his lips. "Liar."
You roll your eyes. "You think you've got me all figured out."
He shrugs. "I just pay attention to you sometimes."
Fucking flirt.
You're only half listening to Mingyu's latest spiral on getting cheated on with a girl when Jungkook's phone vibrates against the grass. Jungkook glances down, picks the phone up, then groans when he reads whatever text that has been sent to him.
"What?" You ask.
"Mark,"
Your brows pull together in confusion. "What did he do?"
Jungkook lets his head fall back slightly. "He forgot the hard drive at the studio."
Jungkook stares at his phone for a beat longer, exhales, then turns towards you. "Come with me."
And he is met with silence. Because for a moment, for a long, dreadful sixty seconds, silence surrounds you too. Music still continues behind you but it feels distant now. People laugh, lights glow, but all of it feels very far away. Solely because of the way he says it.
Because Jungkook doesn't ask. No do you want to come? No you can if you want. He just tells you to come with him as if he already knows the answer.
You narrow your eyes, trying to play it off. "Is that confidence i'm seizing?"
"No." He says, smile growing into something gentler. "I think it's hope."
Oh.
Jungkook pushes himself up from the grass, then extends his hand towards you. Not dramatically, not enough to create a whole deal out of it, but enough for your eyes to drop down to it automatically then back to him as if a hundred different scenarios have just flashed across your mind.
You take his hand.
By the time you reach the studio, you're a little warm. Not because of walking, not because of the weather, but because of something you absolutely can not say out loud.
Jungkook pushes the door open, then lets you walk in first. Warm light spills through the room and reaches straight into your pupils the moment you step in, and you physically have to tap your thigh twice to recollect yourself back together.
Space feels a little different when it's just the two of you.
Jungkook walks ahead towards the mixing desk, still looking through his phone. "Mark said he left his hard drive somewhere."
You hum, eyes drifting around. But it all feels absent, a little pointless. Because you're painfully aware of the tiny things all over again. Jungkook pushing his sleeves up, the way strands of hair falls into his eyes, how the sound of his voice fills in the empty room…
Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's exhaustion, or maybe it's the way spring nights make people a little delirious. Stupid pollens.
You let a quiet breath escape and turn away before your brain decides to become any more humiliating than it already has tonight. "How does a music major forget a hard drive?" You ask, voice bouncing a little too loudly through the empty studio.
Jungkook shrugs. "It's Mark."
Fair.
You snort quietly and drift towards the couch instead, letting yourself drop against the cushions while Jungkook continues opening drawers and moving papers around an unnecessary amount of concentration.
For a minute, for the short time being, neither of you says anything. And maybe that's your first mistake. Because lately, silence with Jungkook has become as dangerous as vodka on an empty stomach.
Your eyes lift before you can stop them. That's definitely your second mistake.
Because Jungkook had pushed his sleeves higher at some point and now his forearms are exposed beneath the dim lights of the studio and you miserably need those long, tattooed fingers curling inside your pussy.
He crouches beside the desk, pushing his hair back before another strand immediately falls over his forehead again. "Found it." He says, and your head snaps back up.
Jungkook, unfortunately, is already looking at you. Not at the hard drive, not at the desk, just you. And for a second, neither of you says anything. Because maybe this is one of those moments where silence becomes too delicate for words. Moments that sit so carefully between people that speaking feels like touching glass with bare hands.
Your stomach tightens embarrassingly beneath your ribs as Jungkook's eyes drag all over you before they settle and stay on your face. He takes a step closer, then another, and then speaks softly. "What?"
Your brows pull together despite yourself. "What what?"
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You keep staring." He says, voice lower now.
"And you don't?" You reply, voice barely above a whisper as you rise up to your feet.
"I do." Jungkook replies. There is barely an inch between your bodies now, his breath hot and heavy on your skin. "But i don't lie about it, pretty girl."
Your entire body stiffens at that. But it's not the pretty girl, not at all. It's the way he says it. Because Jungkook doesn't rush you, he never does. He doesn't smirk, doesn't tease. Just stays there looking and waiting. Like he is giving you room, like stepping away is still an option.
And the worst part is, you don't want to step away.
Silence stretches and stretches until it begins feeling alive. His eyes drop down to your lips, then lifts back up. For one devastating second, Jungkook looks at you like he is trying to memorize something. Like he's collecting little things too.
His hand lifts, thumb softly tracing over the line of your jaw. "I've been patient for so long." He speaks over your lips. "And i know you feel it too. But i need to hear your words if you really want this to happen."
Your breath catches and flips over halfway through your throat, chest rising and falling in a slow, heavy rhythm. "Jungkook,"
"Tell me," He starts, thumb stopping by the bottom of your lip. "If you want me as bad as i want you. Because— fuck, I've been good, i've been patient but i'm terribly desperate and i need to know if you are too."
"Please," You try, but you've already stopped thinking altogether.
"Please what, baby? I need you to use your words."
"Kiss me." You fit the entire weight of those words in a tiny little breath and Jungkook's lips are on yours in an instant.
The kiss starts out slow, his lips moving against yours gently as if he is savoring every ounce of its taste on the farthest corners of his tongue. Your hands find the nape of his neck, pulling and pressing him closer until distance can't bear existing anymore.
Jungkook's hands drop down to your waist, tugging you closer so that your hips clash against his. You whimper into his mouth, and he swallows it without wasting a single second.
Because Jungkook has been waiting.
This isn't what the does, not at all. Jungkook has never been a patient man. Not with desire, not with girls. He takes and gets taken in blinks and fractions and seconds— easy, casual, weightless.
But you, you've turned into something devastatingly different. Because for weeks now Jungkook has been wanting without touching, looking without taking— ever since you laughed and rolled your eyes prettily at Yugyeom's party that night. He has spent nights thinking about your lips, mornings replaying the sound of your laugh and entire conversations searching for traces of hidden meanings beneath your words like a man slowly losing his goddamn mind.
Jungkook doesn't wait. He doesn't ache over girls. He doesn't sit awake late at night remembering the way they looked at him beneath dim studio lights or think about the possibility of their hands touching his. But with you— fuck.
With you, he has become unbearably aware of himself. You've made him patient in the cruelest way possible. Because now he notices everything and god, the pretending has been killing him.
And now you're kissing him back as if you've been just as gone. And that thought alone is enough to fold and mold his brain into something disgustingly mushy and achingly dizzy.
"More," You moan between kisses, body practically begging for his touch.
Jungkook's stomach flips upside down. "Yeah? Want more, pretty? Want me to touch you?" He squeezes the plump meat of your ass through your jeans, and your hips jerk into his with the feeling.
His hands roam all over your body before stopping right at the hem of your top. His fingers fiddle with the fabric before he pulls away to look at you properly, and you give him your consent dressed up as a weak nod.
Jungkook pulls your tank top over your head, eyes stuck on the way your boobs bounce beneath the lace of your bra with the movement. He physically, loudly, groans at the sight before plastering wet, open mouthed kisses on the soft skin. Your head falls back in pleasure, hands tangling in his soft locks. Jungkook pushes his head further into your tits before he reaches over your back and unclasps your bra in one swift motion.
Your ass hits the armrest of the leather couch when he lowers himself to take a nipple into his mouth, fingers toying with the other. You moan in short, consecutive whimpers as his tongue laps and flickers over the hardened nub, the wetness in your panties growing and growing.
His cups your pussy over the your jeans, fingers pressing into your core over the fabric. The pressure is utterly mind blowing because the course denim stretches and digs into you further, causing you to cry out in pleasure.
"Touch me properly, Jungkook." You force out, desperate to feel him on your bare skin.
Jungkook scoffs between kisses. "Greedy, aren't you?"
He unbuttons your jeans, fondling with the zipper for a beat too long before he can unzip and get you out of it.
He pushes your panties aside with two fingers before sliding them into you. Your cunt sucks him in immediately, already way too wet and way too impatient for any form of foreplay.
Jungkook tilts his head to look at the way his fingers are slipping in and out of you. "Shit, pretty. Look at that. You're gripping me."
"Jungkook," You cry out, hands curling around his biceps for support. "Need— need your cock, please."
He lifts his eyes up to look at your face properly, then sketches and carves every line of your expression onto the deepest corners of his heart.
He slowly pulls out his fingers, then draws circles on your swollen clit before pulling away to take off his own clothes. His shirt flies away first, and you can't help but gawk at the bare sight of his chest. Arms, shoulders, abs— you're lucky if you don't cum right then and there.
He gives you a small, knowing chuckle before unbuckling his belt, tossing the jeans somewhere across the room along with his boxers. Your lips are parted beyond your knowledge, eyes stuck on the hardened sight of his length.
You've never seen a cock as pretty as that.
You're not sure if you'd ever even thought a cock was pretty— because usually, to you, they're far from that. But Jungkook, god, Jungkook is so fucking pretty with a tip so pink you think you want to suckle on it like a lollipop and a length so massive you desperately want it to choke you.
You wouldn't be mad if your cause of death had suffocated on cock written on it all uppercase in bold letters.
And Jungkook just laughs. He fucking laughs.
"Don't worry, pretty. It's all yours." He says, kissing your lips once more before motioning to turn over. "Now turn around and bend over for me." He adds, pushing your back lightly so that you're completely bent over with both hands gripping on the armrest of the couch.
Jungkook drags his tip across your folds, spreading your slick all over your cunt before he slowly pushes it in. You feel his tip first, letting you adjust to the stretch as he sucks in a sharp breath at the warmth of your walls. You moan loudly when he presses half of his cock into you, fingers firming around the cushion.
"Oh god," You breathe, uncontrollably pushing your ass higher into the air. He slams in the rest of his length at your movement, and your back arches even deeper. "Fuck, Jungkook. You're so— so big. I can't."
"You can, princess. I know you can. You'll take every inch like a good girl. Gonna make me proud, aren't you?"
He completely slides out out slowly, and before you can whine at the emptiness Jungkook slams himself back in. You moan loudly, head empty and thoroughly dizzy.
Jungkook starts fucking into you, one had gripping firmly onto your waist as the other toys with your nipple from the back. He is filling you up so good you're going to lose your goddamn mind. You feel so full, stretched and stuffed to the fucking brim. Your walls suck him in desperately, walls clenching and tightening around his fat cock as he pounds into you recklessly.
"Yes, fuck. Wanna be good for you." You mutter messily as his thrusts get deeper and deeper, cock twitching inside your wetness.
"I'm close." You breathe.
"I've got you." He says, and you hate how assuring the words sound.
You let yourself go just as he starts playing with your clit from behind, stimulating you as you milk your juices around his cock. He helps you ride out your high, chest pressing onto your back as he plasters small, reassuring kisses on your shoulder.
You feel physically nauseous at the domesticity.
"Switch with me." You say after coming down from your orgasm, straightening as his cock slides out of you.
Jungkook's body falters, brows pulling together. "What?"
You roll your eyes, pulling away. "Sit, Jungkook."
Jungkook somehow obeys without another word, dropping his body onto the couch beneath you. You hold his shoulders from above, placing your legs at both sides of his hips before reaching for his cock.
Jungkook's breath stutters when you take him into your hand, pumping him a few times before aligning him with your entrance. You slowly sink down onto his length, and you both moan simultaneously when you take every inch of his dick into your pussy.
"Shit," He moans, your name dancing prettily on his tongue. "You're so hot."
His fingertips dig into the soft skin of your hips, head thrown back lazily as he moans through parted lips. You bounce on his dick with every ounce of energy that's left in you, thighs aching as he twitches inside your walls.
Jungkook lifts his head a little to properly take in the sight of your bouncing tits, nearing his high.
"Where do you want me?" He asks, voice low and breathy. Your stomach churns at the question, nails scratching his broad shoulders.
"You can cum inside."
He's going to die. He is going to fucking die but at least he'll die a proud man with his cum stuffed inside you.
And just as Jungkook was about to close his eyes and release inside you, your phone rings.
His lips part to say something, but you beat him to it. "Just shut it off."
Jungkook's hand weakly finds your phone, pressing the close button twice without looking at it. Of course he doesn't look, he'd be insane to drift his eyes away from the way your soft, perky tits are bouncing up and down in his own hold. But the ecstasy lasts so long as fifteen seconds until your phone rings again.
Jungkook flips it over this time. The name on your phone's screen flashes right through his eyes and he feels his heart stumble and drop straight into the rock bottom of his stomach
joon <3
would love to hear what you think <3
Predator Universe - Namjoon Sneak Peek
A/N: Proof that I am alive and still writing when I can. We finally found someone to start the night shifts so I will have free nights to write again 😊 If anyone has ideas for short fics to get me back in the groove you are more than welcome to send me asks!
He bent down to the body, coming to a crouch beside it. “You will feed, whether you want to or not. But I won’t make you kill this one.” Namjoon moved with precision, executing a skill that had become second nature to him. In seconds his teeth ripped through the veins of each wrist of the man, thick streams of blood flowing down his skin in torrents. He had already lost so much blood, this was a fatal wound. Blood bags were one thing, but a warm human body with a beating heart and fresh blood? It was the sweetest temptation, no newborn vampire would be able to resist. “Feed.” He commanded. Her body moved on its own from the command and the siren call of the fresh blood. He watched in amusement as she scrambled over to the dying man, her limbs jerking like a marionette being strung along. She was rough with her new strength. Her hands grabbed the man’s wrist and jerked it up to her face so hard that a sick wet pop echoed through the room. His arm hung loosely from the dislocated socket. She lapped eagerly at the flowing blood despite the look of distress on her face. She was disgusted with her own actions but enamored by the taste. Namjoon came around to her side, easing her away from the open wounds on the wrists. “Right here,” He instructed - gesturing to the stretch of the man’s neck where his carotid artery would be beneath the skin. “This will end things quickly but will also give you the most blood. Arteries withstand the most pressure and carry blood directly from the heart. Always an artery when you're starving or in trouble, understand?” His voice was much kinder like this, when he was teaching. Especially when he was teaching the young ones. “Don’t just pierce it with your fangs, you want to drag a little to rip the artery open. Go on, give it a try.” As soon as his permission was given she tugged the man into her arms and sunk her teeth into his neck. A deep groan vibrated through her chest as the first spurts of blood sprayed over her tongue and dripped down her throat.
A feeling of pride began to swell in his chest. The first one was always the hardest for the soft hearted ones. But she was a quick learner. He watched as her jaw clenched tighter and the man’s heartbeat became softer and slower. There were tears running down her cheeks, mingling with the blood in her mouth. Her shoulders shook with sobs as she continued to feed.
He could see it, the pure euphoria that was running through her body from her first feed blending with the devastation of what she was doing. It was purgatory, the place between heaven and hell.
BTS pirate au recs⚓
(because I know we are all loosing our minds after the swim mv)
Washed ashore (Hoseok) by @alilbihh
Crocodile tears (Hoseok) by @jimlingss
Worshipers of the Sea by @/jimlingss
Gleaming silver (Jimin) by @crystaljins (this is the jimin i immediately thought of the moment I saw the mv)
Paralian (Jungkook) by @kpopfanfictrash
Gods of the sea by FireTiger8 (this is a vocal line x reader, choose your own ending fic on Wattpad and god was it good!! It's got a really great storyline with great characters.)
Apricity (Yoongi) by @junghelioseok (okay not a pirate fic but they do travel on water and its literally my favourite fic so I was just looking for an excuse to add this)
⚡︎MASTERLIST! ♆
Pairing: Greek God Pantheon!BTS x Reader
Genre: Dark Fantasy, Mythology AU, Romance, Smut
Themes: Divine Obsession, Immortality vs Mortality, Power Imbalance, Possessive Love, Fate, Sacred Corruption, Worship & Devotion, Eternal Desire, Mythic Horror, Godhood & Control, Free Will vs Divine Will
Warnings: Yandere Behavior, Dub-con/Non-con Elements, SMUT (18+), Coercion, Psychological Manipulation, Obsessive Love, Mild Violence, Sacred Bonding, Dark Romance
INTRO: ᴀʙᴏᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴛᴀʟ ᴠᴇɪʟ, ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴄᴏɪʟꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴛᴀʀꜱ ᴏʙᴇʏ, ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴ ɢᴏᴅꜱ ʀᴇɪɢɴ—ᴅɪᴠɪɴᴇ, ᴅᴇᴠᴏᴜʀɪɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴏᴜɴᴅ ʙʏ ᴅᴇꜱɪʀᴇ. ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ɢʀɪᴘ, ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇɴ. ɪᴛ ɪꜱ ꜱᴇɪᴢᴇᴅ. ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴄʜᴏꜱᴇɴ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜰʀᴇᴇ. ⚡︎
☪︎ ֶ֢࣪⋆𓄃 °˖➶➳
Plight of the War God: When the God of War sets his eyes on a mortal sworn to another, the battlefield is no longer land or sea—but her body, her vow, and how long she can withstand his obsession. a, s YANDERE! (On-Going)
The Lighthouse Girl: You were born with salt in your veins and wind in your hair, a lighthouse girl cradled by tides and raised by the hush of waves—unaware that from the depths, a god with storm-eyes watched you grow, and claimed you long before you knew what it meant to be wanted. a, s YANDERE! (On-Going)
Elysian: a Latibule Spinoff
Pairing: Doctor/Mafia!Kim Seokjin x Intern!Reader
Warnings: Yandere behavior, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.
A/N: How are you? April has been crazy. ALSO, OUR SEOKJIN IS GOING ON TOUR! I hope and pray and manifest that I can see him pls universe. Okay, other than that, I hope you enjoy this
Masterlist, Part VIII of __
Kim Seokjin entered his penthouse while whistling to himself.
He walked with lightness in his steps, cheerfulness emitting from him like the sun despite the darkness in his penthouse lit only by the distant glow of city lights streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He placed his briefcase and keys on the counter. He opened the fridge, the interior glow briefly lighting his face, and pulled out a chilled pitcher of water and poured water to his pink glass he imported from France.
His back was turned on the living room as he took a sip. With deliberate calm, Seokjin placed the glass on the counter with a soft thud. He turned.
“May I help you, Jungkook?”
There—casually sprawled across the living room couch like he paid the rent—sat Jeon Jungkook. Legs propped up on the coffee table, laptop perched on his thighs, the soft glow of the screen cast cool shadows across his face. He looked up slowly, blinking as if he were only now realizing he was, in fact, not in his own apartment.
“I’ve been here for hours and this is the welcome I get?” he said, feigning offense.
“I apologize for not being cheerful enough with your presence. After all, you broke into my house!”
“You gave me the code!”
“That doesn’t mean you can just barge in here! I gave that for emergency purposes, you idiot!”
“Hyung!” Jungkook’s voice cracked slightly in protest. “Your WiFi is faster!”
Seokjin stared at him, utterly baffled. “What the—you are literally the top IT expert in this country. Fix your own WiFi!”
Jungkook shrugged, eyes already drifting back to his laptop screen. “Too much effort. Yours works better. Plus, you have snacks.”
Seokjin ran a hand down his face, muttering, “I need to change the code.”
“Okay fine! You twisted my arm! Are you okay? You haven’t been annoying me for days and I’m starting to get worried.”
Seokjin rolled his eyes before plopping down on the sofa beside the maknae. “I’m fine, Kookie,” he said, his voice gentler now. “In fact… I’m happy.”
Jungkook turned his head slowly, watching him. Really watching him. There was a smile on Seokjin’s face—not the dramatic, exaggerated one he often wore for laughs, but something softer, truer. His eyes were calm, no longer clouded with restlessness or that quiet ache Jungkook had grown used to seeing over the years. For the first time, his hyung said that he was happy.
And it was all because of you.
Jungkook didn’t say anything right away. He just sat there, letting the moment settle like dust in golden light. A small smile tugged at his lips, one he didn’t bother hiding.
“Well,” he said quietly, tapping something random on his keyboard to give his hands something to do, “it’s about damn time.”
---
You had just finished cleaning your apartment, the satisfying scent of lemon-scented floor cleaner lingering faintly in the air. Every surface gleamed, the hum of accomplishment still buzzing in your chest as you padded toward the bathroom, towel in hand. A hot shower was well-earned, and you stood under the stream until the last bit of exhaustion melted off your shoulders.
Wrapped in a bathrobe, you began drying your hair with a towel, moving slowly, savoring the peace. That was when it started—the chime. Then another. And another.
Ding. Ding. Ding. Dingdingdingdingding.
Your brows knit. It wasn’t just one or two notifications. It was a flurry. A storm of alerts pouring in, chiming one after another like an alarm going haywire.
A sudden spike of concern shot through your chest. The hospital. Something must’ve happened. Heart thumping, you rushed across the room, nearly slipping on the wooden floor in your haste, and grabbed your phone from the charger.
Screen on. Lock screen glowing.
97 notifications.
All from Instagram.
You blinked, confused. Instagram?
Your thumb hovered for a second before unlocking your phone and opening the app.
And there it was.
Your feed, your likes, your DMs—completely flooded with interactions.
All from a certain @jin.
He had scrolled way back. Your content from the year you started your account to now was all filled with comments and likes from that person. He even commented on the selfie you took when you were in college with your friends.
@jin: I see you have always been beautiful…
“What the…”
There it was—your post from three years ago, a blurry shot of your now dearly departed cat, Muffin, lying upside down on your bed. You hadn’t thought about that picture in ages. But there, clear as day beneath it:
@jin: I think we should get a cat and a dog. What do you think?
Each unhinged comment left your mouth agape. Your jaw dropped.
You kept scrolling. Nothing was spared. Not even your throwback selfie holding a miniature Eiffel Tower souvenir from a college art exhibit, with your innocent little caption: “Someday, the real one!”
@jin: when do you want to go?
The following comments, however, were more unbelievable. Because suddenly, it wasn’t just him anymore.
@jungkook.97: ohmygod hyung is stalking noona!
@thv: So this is she…
@rkive: Hi. If you’re considering filing a restraining order against our hyung, I will be more than happy to represent you in court.
@jin: traitor! @rkive
@jin: get out of here, @thv
@jin: what’s wrong with appreciating my y/n? @jungkook.97? >:(
It wasn’t just the ridiculousness of the situation—it was the fact that they were all in on it. Your comments section had been hijacked by four of the most recognizable men in the country like it was some private group chat gone rogue. Even Taehyung… the Taehyung who literally just won the best actor award last night commented on your IG.
So you decided to do the next best thing. You blocked Kim Seokjin for your peace of mind.
---
Your day was busy. Yet, despite the flurry of activity, something felt off.
And weirdly enough, a certain someone was nowhere to be found. He was always there, wasn’t he? Kim Seokjin was always with you almost akin to a shadow. In fact, he was always with you that his secretary messaged you when she couldn’t reach him. You’d never thought about it much before, but there was always this... unspoken belief in the hospital that you and Seokjin were more than just colleagues. It wasn’t something anyone said outright, but the subtle glances, the half-smirks from nurses, the knowing looks from the doctors—it was all there. And, every time it happened, Seokjin would merely chuckle and give that signature grin of his, never denying anything.
You, on the other hand, always adamantly correct people.
His absence somehow displaced you. But wasn’t this what you wanted? A reprieve from the one-month that he imposed on you? You should’ve felt relief. You should’ve relished in the peace, the silence, the rare moment of freedom from his shadow.
Fine! You could even say that you somehow missed his way of annoying you. But you’d never, ever let him know that. He was annoying enough. You didn’t need to make things worse by missing his ridiculous presence.
So, you buried the discomfort down deep, as you always did. You focused on your work, tried to keep your mind on the task at hand. But each time you’d look at your phone or glance at the door, you couldn’t help but feel that gap where his presence should’ve been. You didn’t know if you could even try harder to not think of him.
But still, it had been two days since you last saw him or received these elaborate annoying yet endearing text messages from him.
Where was Kim Seokjin?
Perhaps, you got your answer one late night just as you were coming home from work, walking down your barely lit street. It was all too sudden. Something shifted in the darkness, but you were too lost on your thoughts that you barely sensed when someone from the dark was approaching you.
“Boo.”
Instinctively, your body froze like it always did when you were in danger. The same sharp twinge of fear that gripped you in the past when they came, when those men would show up, uninvited and unwelcome, to remind you of everything you wished to forget. You screamed and tried so hard to get away from what you perceived to be a danger that you almost landed to your knees had it not been for the strong hands that supported you.
You looked back in fear, in anticipation that he was one of those men who would occasionally pay you a visit. Your heart only calmed down when your widened eyes met Seokjin’s.
He was looking down on you, his arms around you as though he didn’t want to let go just yet. He had this pensive look in him like he was trying to figure something out. You blinked owlishly, too aware of the way he easily supported your weight and the way his hands found home in your waist.
You took a small, shaky step back, your body pulling away from him even as your mind screamed for you to stay calm. He’d noticed. He’d seen you react like that, like something was wrong, and now he was probably wondering what it meant.
That terrifying thought—what if he figured it out? What if he realized that beneath all the surface calm, there was something broken in you, something so much darker than you were willing to admit?
You couldn’t let him see that. Not Seokjin.
You couldn’t risk it.
“What the-”
“I was supposed to make you feel guilty for blocking me,” Seokjin started, his voice dripping with the kind of playful amusement you knew was his way of trying to disarm you. He scratched the back of his head sheepishly, eyes twinkling, but there was a hint of something else—something a little darker, maybe. “But now, I’m the one feeling guilty for scaring you.”
You took a good look at him. He looked tired, so opposite to how he usually held himself. His hair was tousled like he'd been running his hands through it for hours, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, as though he'd been up for too long and didn’t care about the details anymore. The most telling sign, though, was the bags under his eyes. Deep, dark rings that only came from several nights without sleep.
Just where had he been to look this weary?
“Are you okay?” you asked before you could even stop yourself.
Jin looked taken aback, his eyes widening just a fraction. It was a brief flicker of surprise, but it was enough for you to see. Rarely was he asked about his well-being—at least, not genuinely. He was groomed to be the strongest, and when he took over, he had to be a rock to his brothers. He couldn’t afford to show cracks, not with everything on his shoulders.
He liked that you worried about him, he realized. He liked that you noticed when he wasn’t the best, when the cracks in his perfect façade were starting to show.
Before he could even respond, you caught yourself, the next question spilling out of you almost like instinct.
“Have you eaten dinner?”
You thought that he looked like he lost a little weight.
When you were being this straightforward, Seokjin often did not know how to act. He surmised that he was always the one taking the lead that when you took the reins, he didn’t know what to do. Perhaps, it was why he ran away from you so hilariously back then. You made him lost control of his words that the only way he could answer you was by shaking his head.
You tsked, looking around the neighborhood. “It’s late and the stores are already close. I guess you will have to eat ramen,” you stated as you shook your head. You walked around him to your apartment on the second floor. You were almost halfway through the stairs when you noted that he wasn’t following.
“Do you not want free dinner?”
It was all the encouragement he needed. Without thinking, Seokjin found himself darting up the stairs after you, his feet taking the steps two at a time, the once-heavy weight in his chest lifting with each movement.
“You know,” he started as he slurped up his ramen. “Noodles are not good for your body.”
You rolled your eyes at him as you watched him devour the ramen with an enthusiasm that was almost… endearing. His large frame seemed to consume the space around him, making your small apartment feel even smaller. The simple kitchen, the modest furnishings, the cluttered shelves—it all felt so tight in his presence. But it was his sheer presence that made everything feel off-kilter. You thought that someone who was wealthy like him would judge your apartment. Instead, he glanced around and seemed... curious. But all he did when he entered your small apartment was to inspect the locks and shook his head at you in disappointment.
“Sure. It’s not like you devoured three-fourths of the noodles I cooked,” you teased, shaking your head as you wiped your hands on a towel. “Seriously, where have you been that you’re this hungry?”
Seokjin, mid-slurp, pouted dramatically, looking almost childlike in his expression. “I was looking for my bro—I mean, I was looking for my cat.”
“You have a cat,” you repeated, disbelief in your face. He didn’t look like a cat person.
He paused, swallowed his water with a careful gulp before answering, his voice a little too casual. “Yes. I have a cat. I have a koala bear, a rabbit, squirrel, tiger, and a chick.”
You stared at him, your eyebrows lifting in incredulity. “What are you, a zoo?”
Seokjin shrugged, his broad shoulders rising and falling as he leaned back in his chair casually twirling his chopsticks in his hand before diving them into the bowl of ramen. “I guess they came to me over the years and now won’t just leave me alone.”
“So, your cat, where is it?”
He sighed, the playful look leaving his face for a moment, replaced by a kind of soft nostalgia. “Eh, he found his mate. I left him there because he seemed happy, you know?” He paused, a faint, almost wistful smile tugging at his lips. “He was always scratching me and everything, but when I saw him with her, he looked at peace. I couldn’t just take him away from that.”
“So that’s where you’ve been for the past two days?”
He smiled, back to his annoying self again, as he tilted his head. “I knew it. You missed me.”
You rolled your eyes, exasperated. “Oh my God. You’re insane.”
He leaned forward slightly, raising a teasing eyebrow. “You’re a person of psychology. Shouldn’t you use that word wisely?” His tone was almost smug as he picked up his chopsticks again, dunking them back into the ramen. “And just to set things straight, I am not that insane.”
He didn’t leave.
He already finished eating and you had long cleaned the dishes and yet, he was still here.
“I fed you. Why are you still here?”
Seokjin as walking around the apartment, taking in every detail. If he noticed how bare your apartment was, he didn’t mention. The walls were mostly empty except for a few scattered prints. The furniture was minimal, just enough to get by, and the clutter wasn’t so much clutter as it was the absence of things. It was clear that you didn’t put down roots here—you were just using this space as a resting place. To you, he looked like he was simply observing the place, but the longer you watched him, the more you noticed the subtle ways his gaze shifted. It wasn’t just idle curiosity; it was sharp, analytical. His mind was working a mile a minute, absorbing every detail, every small lapse in the security of your home. Seokjin didn’t miss a thing.
He stopped in front of the entrance, his eyes locking onto the flickering light above the door. The bulb was barely hanging on, struggling to stay lit with every passing moment.
“Do you have a spare bulb, sunshine?” he asked, pointing at it with a raised eyebrow, his tone nonchalant but purposeful.
You blinked, a little surprised by the question. It wasn’t like you hadn’t noticed the light, but you had been meaning to get to it… eventually. You nodded. "Yeah, it’s in the drawer by the sink."
“Good. I’ll change that,” Seokjin said without missing a beat, moving toward the small kitchen area, his stride confident and purposeful. He was already opening the drawer, pulling out the spare bulb like he’d done this a hundred times before.
You watched, a little confused. "You know how to fix lights?" you asked, incredulous. Seokjin looked like the kind of guy who’d have someone else handle this for him.
He shot you a sly look over his shoulder, a grin spreading across his face. “I guess I’m a pretty handyman. Stop objectifying me by your female gaze. I’m more than just a pretty face.”
Before you could even comment on his arrogance, he had the old bulb out and the new one in, adjusting it with the precision of someone who had done this task a thousand times before. By his height alone, he didn’t have to step on a chair like you had been meaning to when you finally decide to change it. The flickering stopped, and the light above the door was back to normal.
“How long have you lived here?” he asked conversationally as he put the old bulb in the trash. He worded it as though he wasn’t fishing for information. He knew he could have asked his men to look you up. It wasn’t that Seokjin didn’t have the means to find out anything he wanted about anyone. He had access to resources that could easily pull up your history, your background, all the details of your life—if he wanted to. But for some reason, he hadn’t used them on you.
Seokjin was someone with almost no conscience. There were very few lines Seokjin hadn’t already crossed in his world. But something felt wrong, like he shouldn’t and couldn’t do that to you. He thought that you were the only one in his life that remained to be untainted by his dark world.
“Since I started working in the hospital. So…around two years now?”
Seokjin didn’t immediately respond. He was quiet for a moment, his eyes flickering over your apartment. His gaze swept over the space with a sharpness that made you feel like he was taking in more than just the physical layout. It was as if he was reading between the lines, seeing things you hadn’t even realized yourself.
Two years, he thought. And yet this place still looks like she moved in yesterday.
Moreover, he made sure to pay his people above the industry benchmark. He consistently only hired the best and the brightest. So why then were you living like this, he wondered. It didn’t add up.
“Sunshine,” he said, blinking at you with genuine concern, “are you poor?”
“Get out.”
---
Seokjin reached his car, the quiet hum of the night settling around him. The city was still alive in the distance, but here in your little street, it was almost too still. He opened the driver’s side door, but paused, his hand resting on the handle as he looked up toward your apartment window.
His face was unreadable—neutral, like a mask he’d perfected over the years. But behind his eyes, his thoughts were anything but calm.
Your reaction earlier, the way your body trembled from fear, the way you flinched and the way it took a moment for you to realize it was him…they were signs of something he just couldn’t quite put his finger onto just yet. Your reaction was too much for what he did. Yours was something that was conditioned. It was something that was familiar. And the worst part was how long it took you to realize it was him as though your mind took you somewhere far from him.
The state of your apartment definitely did not help where his mind was leaning into. The bareness of it pointed to one thing.
It was as though you were a flight risk.
Someone already halfway out the door, even while still standing inside.
With a quiet exhale, he stepped into his car, but his mind wasn’t on the road. Not yet. His jaw tightened slightly, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel.
Something happened. It made you want to leave…
He didn’t like the idea of you running. Not from a place, or a person, or a past.
Definitely not from him.
You, Namjoon and the crib: Attorney Kim Namjoon and his little love
Pairing: Attorney Kim Namjoon x Secretary! Reader
A/N: There's just something domestic and soft and warm about their story :( From their meeting to finding out that she's pregnant and him stepping up to be the father...This story will be a lot. I can already feel the
Masterlist, Full Preview on Kofi
Excerpt:
His gaze slid slowly down to your lips, the movement so subtle, so hypnotic, that you could feel the weight of his gaze like a physical pressure. His breath caught in his throat, and he swallowed hard, fighting a battle that only he seemed to understand. You had nothing to offer him. And he had such a promising future ahead of him.
You would only bring him down…
You should have pulled back. You knew that. This was dangerous territory, and you couldn’t let yourself lose control. You had nothing to offer him. You were just a complication in his otherwise perfect life, and he had such a bright future ahead of him. You would only drag him down. He deserved better than this.
But still, a part of you—the part that had always been drawn to him, the part that had always craved something more—wanted to give in.
With a shaky breath, you forced yourself to smile, but it felt too thin, too strained. You gently pushed him away, distancing yourself physically and emotionally. "Anyway," you said, the words tumbling out in a rush, trying to break the moment, "I was trying to hang this for the crib, but I must have slipped and—"
Namjoon stood frozen, watching you, his eyes still dark, still searching, as though he hadn’t fully understood what had just transpired between you. His body was taut, every muscle visibly coiled with restraint, and he was so close—too close—to doing something that could change everything.
Yet, before you could notice the darkness swirling in his eyes, he offered you his dimpled smile as though he was nothing but a soft, harmless man.
As though he wasn't someone who would do anything just to have you.
“Let me do it,” he said softly, his voice warm, and with a smooth ease, he stepped forward. “I’ll take care of it.”
Elysian: A Latibule Spinoff
Season 1: I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X
Season 2:
Tip Jar
Elysian: a Latibule Spinoff
Pairing: Doctor/Mafia!Kim Seokjin x Intern!Reader
Warnings: Yandere behavior, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.
A/N: I'm still not over not being able to buy Hoseok's ticket ˙ᵕ˙ but I hope you enjoy this! And please do leave comments/reblogs. Honestly, that's what keeps me going
Masterlist, Part VII of __
“I’m pretty sure this is a violation of workplace ethics or something.”
Kim Seokjin turned to look at you innocently, a hint of smile on his plump lips before he returned his gaze to the road. He didn’t even need to look at the road for too long before replying, his voice teasing and light.
“Driving you home is a violation of work ethics?” he asked in an innocent voice, raising his dark brows as though in puzzlement.
You huffed and sank deeper into the plush leather seat of his car, crossing your arms tighter. It was hard to keep the anger up when you were sitting in this ridiculously comfortable vehicle, the kind of car that practically sucked you in, making it feel like you could nap your way through the rest of the evening. And to make matters worse, it was hard to hold onto the frustration when Seokjin was treating you with such unsettling kindness after manipulating the situation to get you trapped in his presence for an entire month.
You wanted nothing more than to move on from the embarrassment you brought upon yourself. You shouldn’t have taken a liking on someone you couldn’t have. Why? Because well… they might turn out to be someone you couldn’t shake so easily. They might turn into someone who would latch onto you so hard you cannot just leave them that easily. They might turn into someone who would drag the HR department for this!
You wondered what you did wrong in your past life to have met such man who seemed to both make your life difficult and easy at the same time. You looked at him now in a different light. There was more to him than meets the eyes.
And perhaps you stared at him for too long because the corners of his lips lifted up. He looked extremely pleased as he turned to you when the light turned red. “I’m like a star, right? You just can’t help but to look at me. I understand,” he noted with a heavy and dramatic sigh as though his belief that he was just too handsome was starting to take a toll on him.
Blinking owlishly at his audacity, you couldn’t stop a laugh from releasing. This was the first time he’d outright admitted his beauty in front of you. It was just he used to runaway from you, literally, every time you flirted with him. So having him acknowledged his visual quite frankly shook you.
And he was enjoying seeing you speechless. He smiled at you, his eyes twinkling before he drove as soon as the light turned green.
"Are you seriously just saying that?" you asked, half amused, half annoyed.
Seokjin’s smile widened as he met your incredulous stare. "Well, yes," he said matter-of-factly. "I shine so bright, it’s only natural that you’re drawn to me."
“A sun is a star…” you trailed off, not willing to backdown from the man whose treatment of you gave you whiplash. “and it’s painful to look at.”
He chuckled, “Are you saying I’m a sun?”
“I’m just stating that a sun is a star…and you just likened yourself to a star,” you smirked at him, thinking that you have won.
“Because I shine so bright.”
“No,” you shot back. “Because you’re constantly radiating hot air and therefore, giving everyone around you a headache. Me specifically."
“And I’m a center of the solar system,” he replied with a self-satisfied smirk that made you want to hit and kick him out of the car. Your internal monologue screamed for escape. You were about to lose your mind—or maybe just throw yourself out of the car. It would be a form of self-preservation.
You groaned all the way home and he just laughed it off.
The moment you arrived, though, he looked at you, still grinning. "Don’t worry," he said, his voice almost too sweet for the situation. "You can stare at me more tomorrow."
“Good morning!”
You looked up at the sky, praying for patience you didn’t have before locking eyes with his overly cheerful gaze.
Kim Seokjin, as early as 5 in the morning, was standing in front of your small apartment building. He was leaning against his car, looking refreshed and practically glowing despite the early morning. He was wearing a crisp blue shirt that, though you hated to admit it, suited him and hugged him in all the right places.
The bastard looked good in everything.
“It’s too early, Doctor Kim,” you grumbled, trying to force a smile as you fought the urge to close your eyes and retreat back to the comfort of your bed. “The sun hasn’t even shine. Give it a chance to shine– please– before you annoy me.”
He chuckled, uncrossing his arms and effortlessly opening the passenger door for you. “What are you talking about? I’m already here.” He gestured to himself. “The sun is already shining.”
You shot him a fake smile, “No, thank you. My shift starts at 7. I have just about 2 hours left before I have to deal with your annoying face. Goodbye.”
The sweet taste of success and freedom was so near. You turned on your heel and started walking away, relieved to escape the early morning nonsense. The morning was still quiet, with only the distant sounds of neighbors waking up to their routines. The ten-minute walk to the bus stop was just enough time to clear your thoughts, to temporarily forget about the irritating, handsome man that just wouldn’t leave you alone.
When you reached the bus stop, you tapped your card and settled in the back, grateful for a few minutes of solitude. You closed your eyes, trying to enjoy the brief silence before the madness of the day started.
“Sir, you have to tap your card,” the driver berated someone, his voice sharp. “Sir, please. Your card doesn’t work here!”
You had just shut your eyes when you heard that all too familiar voice.
“Why not? This is a black card…”
Your eyes snapped open, watching in horror as Seokjin repeatedly tapped his card to no avail. He turned to you with a frown in his face before calling for you. “Sunshine! My card doesn’t work! Help!” He did it again for another measure as though showing you that his card was not working and the beeping sound of the machine’s rejection jolted you awake.
The other passengers were now all looking at you, some of them silently urging you to do something. You could practically feel their impatience radiating from their gazes.
You sighed, shaking your head in disbelief. You bowed your head to the other passengers before quickly rushing to the front of the bus to tap your own card. You gave Seokjin a pointed glare before yanking him toward the empty seat beside you.
Seokjin just smiled in return, like the entire situation was some sort of game. “What are you even doing here?” you asked, trying to suppress the mounting frustration.
“Going to the hospital.”
“What about your car!” you asked, still baffled by his presence.
“Left it there.”
You blinked at him, a disbelieving look crossing your face. “You know it’s a bad neighborhood, right? I can’t even assure you that your car would still have wheels when you get back. No, scratch that, I can guarantee it’ll be missing at least two of them.”
“Insurance will take care of it,” he replied, waiving your concern away in indifference before turning to you, his shoulder grazing yours. He thought you were so cute to worry about him when he was quite frankly the most dangerous of them all. “What do you want for breakfast?”
You squinted your eyes at his carefree attitude. “You know, when someone says goodbye to you, you know, like I did just moments ago, it usually means that they are leaving. So why are you here?”
He grinned, unbothered by your sarcasm. “I didn’t accept your goodbye.”
You groaned, exasperated. “Seokjin, that’s not how it works—”
He cut you off with a smile that sent an unreasonably warm shiver down your spine. “I like it when you say my name.”
You could feel your cheeks heating up from his nonchalant admittance and yes, he was too close for comfort.
“I…I think I’d call the HR and take the suspension instead.”
---
Your day was filled and you barely had time for yourself. From meetings to research to the therapies, you were feeling drained and it was only 2 pm.
You missed lunch again, you thought, as you bade goodbye to your patient. Despite the weariness, you felt accomplished and at peace knowing that you were helping people. The mind was a peculiar organ, one that barely showed outwardly symptoms when sick. Unlike other sickness in which patients only ever really needed medicine or in extreme cases, surgery to get better, people suffering from mental health needed more than those things. They needed courage to face them. They needed willingness to get better.
More often than not, these people get blamed for how they feel. Did they not realize that no one chose to feel that way?
You were craning your neck as you stepped out of your office, your mind wondering what to eat when you saw him in the waiting room, his eyes trained on the tablet he was reading. His long legs were crossed, his posture perfect as though he was someone regal.
The receptionist immediately neared you, “Doctor Kim has been waiting for you for two hours now.”
What?
Not knowing how to respond to that, you walked to him. You weren’t even within his line of sight but as though he was atuned to you, he looked up. He blinked, his beautiful eyes mesmerizing the fuck out of you like the first time you saw him in that lobby.
Kim Seokjin simply looked like the prince you inevitably fell in love with despite knowing that nothing good would come out of it.
“Hi, sunshine. You done?”
“H-have you been waiting for me?”
Kim Seokjin gave you a soft, almost teasing smile, the kind that always made your heart skip a beat. "You think I have anything better to do?" He gestured to the empty waiting room, a small smirk playing at his lips. "Besides, I like the view here. It's a good place to relax, especially when the company is... fascinating."
“Kim Seok-”
“Anyway, you haven’t eaten,” he announced as he stood up, gesturing to the takeouts you didn’t notice before. “Let’s eat. I’m starving,” he noted nonchalantly near your ear as though teasing you before sauntering to your office like he owned the place…which, in hindsight, he truly did.
He sat in front of you with that small smile in his face that made him look like a hamster with his cheeks puffed up. You, on the other hand, were astonished at the number of tupperwares in front of you. They were still warm and the aroma was enough for your stomach to announce that it had been starved.
“Tsk tsk,” Seokjin started piling your plate. “You know the consequences of starving yourself. You’re a doctor. You should be more careful. You’re the one taking care of patients. How will you take care of them if you get sick, huh? How? Our bodies need nutrients- you like this, right?” he placed kimchi on your plate, having remembered that you ate a lot of it in the dinner back when Jungkook invited you. “-to nourish us properly. You can’t just survive on caffeine and stubbornness. Seriously, how do you survive?” He continued chiding you,
“Oh my God, you’re a mom,” you realized as you slowly picked up your chopsticks. “When did you even have the time to cook all these?”
Seokjin smiled at your remark. Jungkook would have a field day hearing you tell him that. He already called him Eomma Jin every time he nagged his brothers.
“I woke up at 3 in the morning. No big deal.”
Your eyes widened as you stared at him in disbelief. “Three in the morning?” you echoed, chopsticks frozen midair.
Seokjin merely shrugged, chewing on his food like it was the most casual thing in the world. “Yeah. I had some free time.”
“You had free time at three in the morning?” you asked, voice laced with equal parts amusement and horror. “What kind of person just wakes up in the middle of the night and decides, ‘Oh, let me cook a whole feast’? I swear to God, rich people are just built differently. Do you have more than 24 hours a day or something?”
“I knew you were going to starve yourself just like you do everyday-”
“How do you know that?!”
“Am I wrong, though? Anyway. Eat. I have meeting in 10 minutes.”
You began eating. You would admit that if he wanted, he could be a chef. Seokjin, on the other hand, was quietly reading on his tablet as he ate. Throughout the meal, his phone would ring and he would answer them quietly, all while reading on his tablet. He would answer emails, read diagnosis and add food on your plate.
It was apparent that he was a busy man. You knew he was busy so how come he was here in front of you? How come he cooked at 3 in the morning to go to your house at 5 in the morning?
And when you were done eating, he looked up and smiled at you.
“See you later, sunshine.”
Day 7 of the slavery one-month contract with Kim Seokjin and it was starting to make you feel insane. It was gnawing on what was left of your sanity and control, and you still had 23 days left.
He had effectively taken control over your day. If he saw that your schedule was a bit tight, he would make adjustments. You did try to complain but all your complaints were met with indulgent smile and he would still end up doing what he thought was best for you.
But seriously, it was a Sunday. For heaven’s sake, it was a Sunday. A Lord’s day, if you will.
So why, in hell, was he waiting for you in front of the church when you clearly informed him that even assistants have day-offs and that it was Sunday and you had plans.
“You’re almost late, sunshine,” he chided you playfully as he waited for you to near him.
“How are you allowed here? This is a church. And I’m not entirely sure that you’re not the opposite of lightness,” you grumbled, stopping in front of him with narrowed eyes. “Shouldn’t you burst into flames the second you step on holy ground?”
Seokjin gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “Excuse me? Are you calling me unholy?”
“I’m calling you a morally questionable character. Unholy? I’m not yet a hundred percent sure,” you clarified, crossing your arms. “It’s Sunday, Seokjin. Sunday. What part of ‘day off’ do you not understand?”
“But I need your assistance to become holy. I mean, if you’re going to heaven, shouldn’t I follow you there, too?” he replied innocently, his lips in a pout as though he was seriously considering doing every holy thing to grant him entrance in heaven. He knew where he was going after this life, though. It didn’t mean that he would stop trying.
“What the fu-”
“Shhh!” Seokjin reprimanded you, his index finger on your lips. “God will hear you!”
You froze, eyes widening at the audacity of this man—this ridiculous, infuriating, entirely too smug man who had the nerve to shush you in front of an actual church.
And worse? He lingered.
Seokjin’s finger and eyes lingered for a moment before he pulled it away with a satisfied nod, as if he had successfully prevented you from committing some grave sin and saving you from eternal damnation. “There. That’s better,” he said approvingly.
You felt yourself blushed at his proximity. Not more than a month ago, you were crushing so hard on this fine specimen and then he had to open his mouth which made you realized that you the gap was just too wide. You were too messed up for someone as perfect as he was.
You thought that he was doing this now because he didn’t know the whole story yet. If he knew, you were sure that he was going to run to the hills and never look at you again.
“Seriously, Jin–”
He shook his head, tsking like you were the unreasonable one. Then, before you could react, his fingers curled around your wrist, tugging you forward. "Stop crushing my spiritual growth," he said, dragging you inside the church like a wayward disciple.
You barely had time to protest before—
"Oh, what a beautiful young couple," a voice cooed.
You turned to find an elderly woman smiling warmly at you both, her gaze kind and approving.
"Thank you!" Seokjin responded immediately, his face lighting up as if she'd just handed him a Nobel Prize.
You nearly choked.
"We’re not—"
“A good man will always lead his beloved to the right path,” She added.
Seokjin nodded solemnly. “That’s what I keep telling her.”
You nearly choked on air.
“I swear to God—”
Seokjin squeezed your hand again, this time in warning, before you could finish that particular phrase in front of the church altar. His grip was warm, firm, and entirely too familiar, and for a brief, horrifying moment, you were aware of just how natural it felt.
This man was going to be the death of you.
With a polite nod to the old woman, Seokjin tugged you along, leading you to a pew as if he actually planned on sitting through the service. You, on the other hand, were still trying to recover from the absolute nonsense that had just unfolded.
The second you both sat down, you leaned in, voice barely above a whisper. “What the hell was that?”
Seokjin shrugged, all too pleased with himself. “Just a little divine intervention.”
“You just lied to a sweet old lady in church.”
He gasped, affronted. “I did not lie.”
“You let her think we’re together!”
“I merely accepted her kind words.” He sighed, shaking his head dramatically. “You really need to work on your gratitude, sunshine.”
You clenched your fists, inhaled deeply, and stared straight ahead. You weren’t going to let him get to you. You weren’t.
But then, the next thing he said nearly sent you straight into the afterlife.
“So, should we pick a wedding date now, or—?”
You nearly fell out of the pew.
Before you could even finish that thought, you snapped your hands together in the most desperate prayer you’d ever uttered in your life. You looked up and begged.
Lord, please don’t let me fall for this man. Please.
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Eunoia // Ch. 26
eunoia (noun): beautiful thinking, the possession of a well-balanced mind, which exhibits goodwill and kindness
Pairings: Hybrid! BTS x reader
Summary: You are a world famous director and you have dedicated your life to your job.You have everything you could ever dream of; wealth, recognision, talent, your friends and family. But loneliness isn’t cured by success. So what happens when you somehow rescue seven hybrids? Can they fill the void?
Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, eventual smut
Word Count: 12.1k+
Warnings: past abuse, past sexual abuse, cursing, past violence,
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It was the second time Taehyung was in Jungkook’s atelier—only recently had Jungkook started thinking of it like that, before it was the atelier—but he was looking around him like it was a fairytale and everything was made of magic. Jungkook guessed he must have looked a little like that as well the first time you had shown him the room and told him it was his to do as he pleased. Athens and the Parthenon stretching on the wall never failed to inspire wonder and a deep respect in him, regardless of how long it had been since the first time he walked inside.
Everything else in the room was quite different from that first day. The once pristine and unused room was now splattered in paint. It was everywhere, on the floor and the cabinets and on the many newspapers that he used to cover everything. The first time he had stained the floor with paint, he had gone to you with teary eyes, lowered ears, and a hundred apologies on the tip of his tongue. You had simply laughed and told him that the room was his and he could paint the whole floor if he wanted to. The only thing you asked of him was to be careful of the wall painting. Jungkook would have never touched it in the first place.
Finished canvases were leaning against the cabinets and the walls. Most of them were of places Jungkook found beautiful, the Eiffel Tower, the Parthenon, a neighborhood in Amsterdam he had seen in one of your photos. There were also a few paintings of the pack, you and Seokjin cooking in the kitchen, Yoongi playing the piano, Namjoon and Hoseok under the large tree in the garden, Taehyung with Alice at the lake, and Jimin smiling so wide his eyes turned into crescent moons.
Jungkook longed for Jimin with an insatiable hunger. Now that he had gotten a taste of him once and Jimin told him he wanted it, now that there was no guilt and anguish, he couldn’t get enough of him. He wanted to always be touching him, holding him, and scenting him. His scent was like an aphrodisiac to him and he was addicted.
However, when Taehyung had shyly asked about his atelier, he was compelled to show it to him. It wasn’t often that Taehyung asked for anything and although he hadn’t specifically asked to see the room, Jungkook knew he would like it. Taehyung’s smile was also addicting and rare like a precious gem. So, he had left Jimin with Seokjin to cook in the kitchen and had taken Taehyung’s hand and climbed down the stairs. His hand was soft and he could still feel its ghost on his palm.
He was right, Taehyung’s smile was worth it. It was a tiny one, a small curve of his lips, but it was stunning.
His tiger ears twitched when his eyes landed on the painting of him. He approached slowly, taking it in. A hand reached out but he drew it back before it could touch the canvas.
In the painting, Alice was grinning brightly at Taehyung, one of her rainbow butterfly hair-clips clipped on his dark hair. But what Jungkook loved the most about it was Taehyung’s smile. For the first time, with Alice, Taehyung looked genuinely happy. The painting didn’t do the moment justice, he hadn’t managed to capture the tiger hybrid perfectly. He had taken a picture of the two of them and used it as reference but it was difficult, almost impossible, to immortalize Taehyung’s beauty in that moment.
“Do you like it?” Jungkook asked gently.
Taehyung startled as if the painting had enchanted him and Jungkook’s voice broke the spell. He hugged himself with one hand, almost like he wanted to stop himself from touching the painting. “It’s… beautiful.”
“It was a beautiful moment,” Jungkook agreed. “Alice is incredible, right?”
Taehyung nodded slowly. “I… have it. The butterfly. She doesn’t want back… it.”
They both looked at the painting. Jungkook wasn’t sure if they were seeing the same thing but maybe they were.
“Do you want to paint again?” he asked, breaking the silence. He took down the half-finished canvas of a beach from the easel and replaced it with a blank canvas.
Taehyung didn’t hesitate to agree this time. They picked up different brushes, chose a few tubes of oil paint and set themselves to work. Jungkook showed him how to paint a sunset—he had perfected the skill through a lot of observation and many YouTube videos. Taehyung seemed to have fun blending the colors and drawing the shapes of semi-transparent clouds.
They stayed in the atelier for a few hours until they were called for dinner by Hoseok, whose heart-shaped smile at seeing them together in their paint-splattered clothes rivaled the beauty of the sunset. After the meal, Jungkook asked if Taehyung would like to take the painting of him and Alice to his room. They hung it on the wall with Yoongi’s help and went back to the garden together.
♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩
You were filming at Monmouth Manufacturing for the day. They were the last couple of scenes you would be filming there for Season 1. Hopefully—and most probably—, you would see it again next year, or the year after that, filming for Season 2. First, you would have to finish Crooked Kingdom and then towards the end of the year, maybe you could work on the Raven Cycle. Your schedule was already crazy and you were troubled about what that meant for the next year.
A headache was brewing behind your temples and you were trying very hard to ignore it. You had been at the studios since 6 o’clock in the morning and you were going crazy. It would be one of those 15-16 hour days. You could see it coming. The executive producer of Paper Hearts had called to tell you that you were desperately needed for a board meeting for the next season. They had changed the time of the meeting to later in the afternoon to fit your schedule, which proved that it was important. You dreaded the drive to the other side of Los Angeles and what was sure to be a very long discussion.
During your lunch break, you texted Namjoon that you would be late again. He didn’t say anything but you knew he was disappointed. He had to be. You had barely spent any time with them in the past few days. There were also matters you still had to discuss. You hadn’t told the other hybrids about the thing between the three of you and they deserved to know. Your headache got worse just thinking about it.
You flipped through the script during a small break, sipping on your third cup of coffee of the day. It was making you jittery but the other option was falling asleep in your chair.
“Okay, I think we are good to move on to the next scene,” you told Will. “And then we’re done for the day.”
“Should I get someone to call the actors?”
“Yeah, see if they are done with makeup and send them in.” You rolled your neck and let out a heavy sigh. “All things considered it’s going pretty well.”
Will chuckled as he motioned for someone from the staff to come closer. “For someone who’s been here since six, you’re doing remarkably well.”
You waited for him to send the man to fetch the actors before speaking again. “We’ll see about that when we’re done with this scene. If I’m on my feet and awake by then, I deserve an award.”
Will shrugged, leaning back on his chair. “I’ve seen you do worse. Do you remember when we were filming ‘The Grand Masquerade’ in Prague? You were running on three hours of sleep a night for a week. I thought you would fall asleep during filming and wouldn’t wake up for a couple of days.”
“I was younger then,” you shrugged it off. You eyed the script again, focusing on your notes. “ I don’t have the same energy.”
“It was three years ago.”
“Three years can be a long time.”
You could understand that better than anyone, considering that this year sometimes seemed like a decade to you. In a year, your whole life had changed. You were different, everything was different from last year. Three years could be a very long time, indeed. But also the blink of an eye.
One of the actors arrived and you both greeted him. Soon, he was swept away by the movement director.
“I think you need another break,” Will declared in all of his dramatic glory.
You tapped your long nails on your plastic cup, the action was strangely soothing. “I think I need another coffee.”
“You certainly need a break,” Will insisted. “And you certainly don’t need another coffee.”
He had noticed your restlessness, then. “We just came back from a break. And there is no time for another one. After we are done here, promotions for Six of Crows begin then there is the premiere and the tour and they are getting everything ready to begin filming for Season 6 of Paper Hearts. And Crooked Kingdom is next year and I am very behind on that.”
Will’s face did that thing he did whenever he was done with you, his features slacking like he was bored and a little irritated. “You can’t be behind on something that hasn’t even started yet. Be serious.”
“I am. Deadly.”
Will rolled his eyes. “Break. You need a break.”
The rest of the actors arrived then and the subject was dropped in favor of going over the details of the scene with them. They took their places and filming began. There was a place where the scene kept being snagged and you had to go over it four times to get it right and five more to perfect it.
By the end, you were running like you were being hunted to find John and drive to the company building. The meeting as you had expected was long and tiring. At least, it was a productive one. You discussed the script, the new additions, and the schedule. You shared a few worries and disagreements you had and you mostly managed to find the middle ground. Another meeting would be held in a week before filming would officially start in a few weeks.
It was past eleven when you opened the door of the Castle. No one was in the living room, which was to be expected.
“I’m back!” you shouted, even though no one would hear you if they were in the garden. The night was warm and your skin felt stifling. Sweat dotted your forehead and the change of temperature, when you walked inside the air-conditioned Castle, sent a shock through your system. Your legs had turned to stones and you struggled to take off your shoes.
All you wanted was to fall asleep. You opened the balcony door and shouted again that you were back and that you would be in your room. You closed it before you could hear any replies.
In your room, you had to force yourself to change into your pajamas instead of falling face-first onto your bed in your dirty clothes. You didn’t have the energy to take a shower like you usually did at the end of the day. Your appetite had also disappeared. You hadn’t eaten dinner but you weren’t hungry. You were taking off your makeup in the bathroom when there was a knock on your door.
For a moment, you debated not answering but you dismissed the thought instantly.
“Come in,” you called. “I’m in the bathroom.”
You heard the door open and close again. You dragged the cotton pad roughly across your face, you didn’t have the patience to be gentle and it left your skin red. Some days it was just too sensitive.
“Are you alright?” The care in Seokjin’s voice tugged at the tight knot in your chest, loosened it. You glanced at the door but he wasn’t there.
Most of the makeup was gone from your face and you looked like a mess. You threw the cotton pads in the bin and washed your face quickly to get rid of the mascara under your eyes and any stubborn residues of makeup.
Seokjin was standing by your vanity, waiting for you. It wasn’t often that he came to your room. You weren’t used to seeing him there but it felt right.
“For someone who has been running around for more than sixteen hours, I am peachy,” you tried to joke but the delivery was lacking. It was confirmed by Seokjin’s frown.
“That’s too much, even for you. That isn’t healthy.”
“It is what it is,” you said, trying not to sound defensive. “It isn’t something I haven’t done before. And tomorrow’s schedule is easier so it’s alright.”
That didn’t seem to do anything to ease his mind. “Because you did it before, it doesn’t mean you should keep doing that.”
You rubbed your temples, your headache was getting worse. “There are things that need to get done. I can’t just stop because I’m tired. I get calls all day and my inbox is full of emails I haven’t answered yet. I have a million things on my plate, I can’t ignore them.”
“I know,” Seokjin said, his tone softer. He came closer to you and took your hand in his. The touch was grounding. You hadn’t realized you were spiraling until your feet were planted on the earth again. “We know how important your work is and how much effort you have put in to be where we are. It’s admirable and it’s incredible that you’ve managed to do all this. But your health is important too. You can’t keep running with an empty tank. You need to rest too.”
You heaved a sigh and let your head fall forward to rest on his chest. Your nose wasn’t as sensitive as a hybrid’s but breathing in the familiar sweetness calmed you. He hugged you and drew you closer to him, his hand kneading the tense muscles of your shoulders and the back of your neck.
“We missed you,” he said almost in a whisper.
“You always miss me.”
Seokjin stayed quiet but you both knew. They always missed you because you were always gone.
“You should eat something before you fall asleep. Yoongi and I made gnocchi with prosciutto and parmesan and garlic bread with mozzarella. I can bring it here but I think it would be best if you ate in the kitchen. Everyone wants to see you but they don’t want to bother you.”
The simple act of going to the kitchen sounded like climbing a mountain. Your bed looked too attractive, only a meter away and very very soft. Your eyelids were heavy with the need to sleep and yet…
“I’ll come to the kitchen,” you said. Having woken up at five, you hadn’t seen anyone before leaving. The thought of not seeing them at all today left a sour taste in your mouth. “But can we stay here? For a bit?”
Seokjin placed a tender kiss on the crown of your head. “Of course. For as long as you want.”
You lost track of time in his arms but no more than five minutes must have passed by the time you pulled back with a heavy heart. A temporary balm had been applied to the ailments of the day. You could hold yourself up for a few more minutes to eat a little, you had been doing it all day.
Your legs were as heavy as concrete walking to the kitchen. You had to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, otherwise, you might just collapse. There was noise coming from the kitchen but your tired mind couldn’t register what they were saying.
You were surprised to see that everyone was there waiting for you, even Taehyung. Yoongi placed the plates in front of your seat and Jimin added the cutlery. Everyone else was sitting around the table in their usual stools.
Their greetings were quieter than usual and you guessed that they were conscious of how tired you were. You gave them the warmest smile you could master and patted Hoseok’s hair as you passed by to take your seat. The aroma of the food made your stomach growl, you hadn’t realized how hungry you had been before. Your appetite was back. Everything looked incredible as always and you couldn’t wait to dig in.
“Are you all just going to look at me while I eat?” you asked, picking up your fork.
The hybrids looked sheepish at your question.
“We just wanted to see you,” Jungkook said. “You left too early in the morning.”
You had to compose yourself to pierce a couple of gnocchi with your fork and not sigh out loud. Yoongi’s eyes were heavy on you, they were the ones you could detect with the most ease. You were the most aware of him.
“I had too much to do today. They have been bugging me from the studios for days. If I didn’t start early, I would have never finished. And I prefer an early morning to a late night. I tend to work better in the morning.”
You forced the fork to your mouth. You were ravenous but the conversation stalled your appetite.
“I would think that this was considered a late night,” Namjoon pointed out.
The taste, as expected, was heavenly. The creaminess of the parmesan sauce was tied perfectly with the savory crispy prosciutto. In your condition, you felt like it was wasted on you. As hungry as you were, you just wanted to put your fork down and go to sleep. But you couldn’t do that. You were better than that, you could eat something and then you could go to sleep. You could do that, you had done this before. Hadn’t you?
“This isn’t a late night,” you said after you swallowed the delicious bite. You had to eat another one. And another one. “Late nights can be anything from three a.m. to the next morning. This doesn’t happen often but I really had too many things to do. This is just for a few weeks because we’re moving very fast with the Raven Boys and filming for Season 6 of Paper Hearts will start soon. There are a lot of meetings and things they need my opinion on, it will actually be better once filming starts. They don’t need me as much then.”
You pushed the gnocchi around and you could tell they didn’t believe you without looking at them. It was true that your workload was heavier these days but you couldn’t exactly guarantee that it would get better soon. Filming for the Raven Cycle had been going exceptionally well and it was moving faster than you had originally planned. It would be wrapping up by the end of September or by early October at the latest. Wrapping up was a lot of work, the beginning and the end were the busiest parts.
The rest of autumn was going to be very difficult too. There was the premier as well, which added to your workload greatly. It would take up all of November and the work for it would start from October. Maybe December would be calmer. Maybe.
You ate the rest of your meal in relative silence. They didn’t talk more about you leaving early and coming back late although you knew they wanted to. Their voices were quiet as they talked about anything from witches in cartoons to color theory. You let their words play in the background like the sound from a TV as you tried to eat as much as you could.
The result was a half-finished plate of gnocchi and one less garlic bread with mozzarella. Your eyes were closing involuntarily by then, staying closed for longer periods each time. If you didn’t go to sleep now, you would fall face-first into the gnocchi.
You slid off your seat and balanced yourself on numb legs. “Thank you for this, it was delicious. But I really need to go to sleep now.”
“It’s okay,” Seokjin said, glancing at half of the food still on the plate. “You should rest.”
“At what time do you start work tomorrow?” Yoongi asked. He had been silent during your dinner and his voice rang louder than the rest to your ears.
It must have taken a few seconds to navigate the fog in your mind before you could answer. “Filming starts around nine, so I should be there by eight. Half past eight at most.”
“That’s still too early,” Hoseok said, frowning.
You waved their worries off. They had better things to worry about than the job you had been doing for half of your life. “It isn’t too early. I can sleep for a decent number of hours before I have to get ready. It’s alright, really. Goodnight, everyone. Sweet dreams.”
With effort, you dragged your body to your bedroom. You didn’t bother turning on the lights and stumbled to your bed guided only by the moonlight. There wasn’t a point in closing the blinds when you would wake up around the time the sun was rising. The light of your phone was too bright in the darkness and it made your eyes sting as you set an alarm.
A few messages caught your attention but a knock stopped you before you could open them.
“Come in,” you called, setting your phone aside. The door opened and the light from the hallway slipped in, outlining the silhouettes of the two hybrids. “Is everything okay?”
They both nodded and Jimin took a few steps into the room. “Can we sleep here tonight?”
“Both of you?” you asked, half-suppressing a yawn. Unlike Jimin, Jungkook hadn’t slept in your room before and the only time you had shared a bed was in Virginia.
Jungkook’s bunny ears drooped. “I can go, I don’t mind. I just missed you.”
“Sorry, that isn’t how I meant it.” Your surroundings were a bit blurry, the minutes stretched but were also impossibly short. It felt a little like life was a dream when you were tired like this. “Come in, both of you. And close the door behind you. It is blinding me a bit.”
They hurried inside and did as you told them. You couldn’t see them well as they moved through the darkness. They surrounded you, lying on different sides. Jimin didn’t hesitate to draw closer, throwing an arm over your stomach. Jungkook was a little stiffer on your left like he didn’t know how to situate himself. You found his hand, intertwining your fingers, and a quiet sigh escaped his lips.
It felt right, lying between them. Like that was how it was meant to be. But maybe that was the exhaustion talking, the dream realm slipping into the waking world.
“I missed you too,” you whispered. “Now sleep. I have an alarm set for the morning.”
♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩
Summer bled seamlessly into autumn. The change wasn’t apparent in the Castle, autumn had only arrived in name. The heat was still there and would remain for some time. During the days, it still made sweat drip down your temples the few times you filmed outside the studios but the nights were comfortable and moon-bright.
You had a couple of hours free between takes and nothing to do so you got into your car (John had taken the day off to spend some time with Alice) and started the engine. “Nothing to do” was a relative term of course. There were many things you could be doing, countless extra little tasks that crowded your thoughts, but you disregarded all of them. You had been spending whole days away from home and you were beginning to feel guilty about it.
On your way back, you stopped by your favorite homemade gelato shop. In San Diego, you had gone for gelato the first day and the hybrids had loved it. You had made it a habit to get gelato at the beginning of each day during ComicCon, it was your little ritual. You had ordered gelato a couple of times to the Castle as well but with eight people, it didn’t last more than a day.
There were dozens of flavors behind the display case, all of them looking delectable. You got a wide variety, remembering the flavors they liked the most. You picked hazelnut, tiramisu, chocolate chip cookie, almond, caramel, coconut, cream and sour cherry, nutella, and vanilla and asked for 1 kilo of each to be delivered to your house. It was too hot and your house was too far to transport them in your car.
You didn’t have to wait more than a few minutes outside the gate before the delivery boy arrived. You got the bags full of gelato containers from him and sent him off with a hefty tip. The Castle was a long way from the heart of the city and anyone willing to make deliveries there deserved a nice tip.
Unlocking and opening the door was a struggle but you managed. You shouted you were back and fast-walked down the stairs, the plastic bags digging into your hands. On the second level, you were faced with Jungkook, who was also climbing the stairs to reach you. He looked as if he was ready to attack you with a hug before noticing the bags.
“A little help?” you asked, raising the bags a little higher. Your arms protested loudly.
Jungkook quickly took most of the bags from you and if you hadn’t been the one carrying them before, you would have believed they were light as a feather with the way he was holding them. “What are all these?” he asked, peeking into the bags. His eyes sparkled and his smile widened in realization when he spotted the containers. “Is that–?”
“Gelato,” you said, a little proud of yourself for thinking of making the stop on your way back.
Jungkook’s steps turned into little hops. “You are the best! How much did you get? Are these all different flavors?”
“You will see…”
Jungkook made a sound close to a petulant whine. “Come on,” he said, dragging the vowels. “What are they? Did you get hazelnut?”
“We’re almost there. You’ll see in a minute.” The garden was coming into view as you climbed down to the last level but Jungkook still turned back to pout at you. “Dramatic bunny,” you muttered lowly but not low enough for his enhanced hearing not to pick it up. You didn’t mind, his giggles were cute.
At the bottom of the stairs, Namjoon and Seokjin were waiting for you.
Seokjin squeezed your wrist in greeting before saying, “He is a very dramatic bunny.”
“Hey! You should be on my side!”
Seokjin raised his eyebrows. “And why is that?” And that set off a round of bickering as they walked to the table to set down the bags.
Despite your protests, Namjoon took the last bags from you. “You should accept a little help from time to time,” he said firmly. You knew that he meant it for more than this. You decided to ignore it for now, you would overthink this later.
“Everyone, gather around! I brought gelato!” you called.
In a few minutes, everyone was gathered around the table. Hoseok, upon seeing the many containers of gelato, had done a happy dance, kissed your cheek and ran upstairs with Seokjin to get bowls and spoons. Jimin had wrapped himself around your back and was licking his lips, which was highly distracting. You shouldn’t be thinking about this.
Taehyung was the quietest one, as he usually was. He was sitting next to Yoongi, looking at all the containers with parted lips.
“I got gelato for us,” you told him. “It is really good. I got a lot of flavors so you can try as many as you want.”
“Gelato,” Taehyung repeated softly, gazing at the containers spread over the table.
Hoseok and Seokjin arrived with eight bowls, too many spoons and three ice cream scoops—you didn’t even know you had that many—and set them down around the table. You busied yourself with opening all the containers. You already knew which flavors you wanted so you grabbed one of the scoops and served yourself three scoops of ice cream.
Jimin had hooked his chin over your shoulder and wasn’t making any move to serve himself. That was up to you then.
“Which flavor do you want?” you asked him, dipping the scoop into the cup of water.
He rubbed his cheek against your shoulder lazily. “Hmmm, I think I want to try a few before I decide.”
You decided to indulge him, you liked it when he got playful and joked with you. You preferred when he was confident and asked for what he wanted. It was beautiful to witness how much he had changed through the months. You dipped a spoon into the flavors in your bowl first and brought them to his mouth. He savored each spoonful, humming and licking his full lips. He was so close to you, if you turned completely your noses would touch. How did you always end up in these situations lately?
“I want that too,” Jungkook said, pouting and pointing at your spoon. He was sitting at the bench and he had his own bowl in front of him, filled with four scoops of gelato.
“You want almond?” you asked.
“No, I want to be fed too.”
“You really are a baby,” Seokjin said. “Is that what’s going to be happening now? Whatever one has the other wants too?”
Jungkook looked away, taking his spoon again disappointed. “No, it just looked nice. It felt nice to be cared for when we were at the lake. If you don’t want to, that’s okay. I just wanted to ask.”
At the lake, you had been feeding them strawberries dipped in chocolate and your mind had run too wild. You should stop thinking about that. “I want to, you are just a little far. I can’t really reach.”
Jimin was about to say something, probably offer a solution but before he could, Seokjin had picked up Jungkook and plopped him down in his lap.
“Here, I will feed you, you big baby. Is this alright?” he asked, ever caring.
Jungkook squirmed a little but seemed pleased, a light flush settling on his cheeks. “Yes, of course.” He was as tall as Seokjin but in his lap, he looked much smaller. He opened his mouth obediently when Seokjin brought the spoon to his lips.
Your eyes strayed to Taehyung, you were hyper-aware of him whenever you were in the same place. His eyes had that look that you couldn’t understand, it was there every time you interacted with the other hybrids lately. They were telling you that he was opening up more these days but to you, he remained a mystery.
In the end, Jimin ate most of your gelato and you scooped some chocolate chip cookie into your bowl because you knew how much he liked it. Hoseok and Namjoon closed the containers and carried them upstairs, they returned and went to sit by the pool. Yoongi finished quickly and lied down under the shade of the tree closest to them. Jungkook grew sleepy and turned to the side, laying his head on Seokjin’s shoulder. Jimin joined them, hugging Jungkook from the side.
Taehyung stayed at the bench like he wasn’t sure where he should go, his empty bowl in front of him.
“Did you like it?” you asked, gesturing to his bowl. Another reminder of your shortcomings, you didn’t even know how much he had progressed in English.
“Yes, thank you,” he replied. The low timbre of his voice surprised you each time. You heard it so rarely that you didn’t get the chance to get used to it.
You should make an effort to talk to him, avoiding him would only make matters worse. But you couldn’t find anything to say. What exactly could you say to him, who had lived most of his life like a caged animal, who you had bought at an illegal auction?
Suddenly, you had the equivalent of a light bulb lighting up next to your head in a cartoon.
“Hobi told me you liked the painting of the pomegranate in the gallery,” you said then realized that pomegranate was probably a word he couldn’t understand and proceeded to explain the painting. “It has glass around it and a hand is holding it. Am I making sense?”
Seokjin looked at you amused but Taehyung nodded in understanding. “It is beautiful.”
“Right, it is,” you agreed. “The artist, the one who made it, is holding an exhibition in LA. We could go if you would like.”
You had bought the painting from her long before her fame had grown and spread. There was a magic to the way Eliana Velasco painted, everything came alive under her brush strokes. The painting of the pomegranate had enchanted you and given your history, you had to have it.
“Go?” he repeated, clearly confused.
“Yeah, to a place that has many of her paintings. You can see them there. Would you like that?” Talking to him, you were more nervous than at any of the award shows you had attended the past few years, more nervous than during any contract negotiations.
Taehyung’s eyes widened a fraction before he nodded. “Can I… see them?”
“Of course,” you said.
Jungkook stirred against Seokjin’s shoulder. “Are we going to an exhibition?”
“If you want to.”
“Are you going to be there too?” he asked and that was harder to answer. Your schedule was the busiest it had been in months and you were drowning in deadlines and responsibilities. You were saved from answering him by a notification on your phone. The numbers displaying the time showed that you were late to leave. You pocketed your phone and with quick goodbyes, you disappeared.
You were so stupid. You had offered to take Taehyung to an exhibition when work was wrapped around you like a noose. But you had panicked. Eliana had sent you an invitation for the opening night, promising there would be French champagne and hors d’ oeuvres. You had attended plenty of her exhibitions and had many conversations about art and life and their inter-connected philosophy while drinking champagne or wine and staring at paintings.
Although Taehyung’s situation was solved and Amelia had let you know some time ago that legally you were safe, going to the opening night didn’t sound like a good idea. There would be many journalists there who would love to write a piece about you and your sudden decision to adopt so many hybrids. They could go without you another day, that wouldn’t be too bad. Taehyung looked so hopeful and now that you had said it, you couldn’t take it back. You could text Eliana and ask her if she could meet you there one day so you could introduce her to them.
You should try and get some time off.
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It was like a curse, to not be able to sleep in the very few hours you could afford to. Your bed was empty and cold and you couldn’t get comfortable regardless of how much you twisted and turned. Your limbs were too long and awkward and nothing felt right. All the wild thoughts you couldn’t be bothered with during the day showed up one after the other to be examined from every angle and set aside to pick up the next one. It was a losing battle and yet you insisted on fighting it every time before giving in, getting up and popping a pill into your mouth.
You returned the bottle to the cabinet and closed it. After Seoul, for some time it had returned to your bedside table but after a couple of weeks had passed it felt like you were admitting defeat by keeping it there. The image in the mirror was a far cry from the celebrity you were supposed to be. The darkness under your eyes formed bruises, getting worse by the day. Your skin had grown pale and your hair was a mess, you hadn’t had enough strength to braid it before attempting to fall asleep.
You considered going back to bed but the pills could take up to an hour to work when your insomnia reached its peak and you were craving a snack. Something small and sweet sounded nice.
Once again, you had returned late and eaten dinner alone. Your appetite was lacking although the food was delicious. Sometimes, it got like that when you were too tired. You had promised yourself to limit early mornings and late nights but that had changed when you had texted Eliana about the exhibition. She had offered to accompany you to the exhibition on one of the days it was closed to the public and you were more than thankful to her but that also meant that you would have to take half the day off.
The TV was on in the living room, subtitles displayed at the bottom of the screen with no sound. Namjoon was sitting on the couch, arms crossed and watching with distracted eyes. Everyone else had departed to their rooms for the night. His ears twitched as you took a few more steps and he turned to look at you.
You waved your hand, trying to offer him a smile. “Hey.”
He sat up straighter. “Hi. Why are you still awake? Do you need something?”
“Just some water. Maybe a snack.”
“You were really tired when you went to bed. Did you not fall asleep?” he asked, frowning.
You shrugged. “I couldn’t. It’s one of those nights. If I eat something, maybe I will fall asleep easier. A full stomach and all that.” You didn’t mention the pill, it was awkward to do that. “Don’t let me disturb you. I’ll just grab something and go back to bed.”
Namjoon got up and in a few strides, he was standing in front of you. He caressed your cheek, searching for something in your eyes. You weren’t sure what he could see there. “I’ll join you. Let’s sit together for a bit. I haven’t seen you properly in a few days.”
“But you must have stayed back to watch that,” you said. A documentary was playing on the TV, something about Egyptian history.
“It doesn’t matter. I would rather spend my time with you. Unless you don’t want to, then I’ll go back to the couch and be very quiet.”
You slid your hand in his, the touch grounding you in a night that felt both like you were wide awake and caught in a blurry dream. “I would like some company. I’ve missed you too. I’m–”
“Don’t say you’re sorry. There is no need for that.”
He leaned down, placing a sweet kiss on your forehead. His lips lingered for a few moments, warmth spreading inside you. You raised your head and captured his lips in a kiss. The worst part was that you couldn’t remember how long it had been since you had last shared a kiss. His lips were velvet as you remembered them. This was home. Running back and forth, you had forgotten what it felt like.
You pulled back and grabbed his hand. “Let’s go.”
In the kitchen, Namjoon stood next to you as you rummaged through the cupboards for something that looked appetizing to you. The cupboards were full and yet nothing was calling to you until Namjoon remembered that Seokjin had made ice cream sandwiches with the gelato you had bought and various kinds of cookies. That sounded like heaven so you opened the freezer and chose two of them.
You leaned against the counter, shoulder to shoulder with Namjoon, while you devoured them. Gelato might not have been the best idea to put you to sleep but they tasted heavenly. The pill would start working sooner or later.
“Is it worse today?” he asked. He didn’t elaborate further, he didn’t have to.
The ice cream sandwiches were gone and you were left holding the plate. You licked your fingers and placed it in the sink. “I have a lot of things on my mind. I should be too tired to think but apparently, I’m never too tired for that.”
“Anything in particular?”
“Everything, more or less.” You turned to the side, facing him. “There’s too much to think about and not enough time. Never enough time,” you muttered the last sentence to yourself. If you had all the time in the world it would still not be enough, you would find a way to fill it. “I’ve been putting everything off. Everything I don’t want to deal with or I don’t know how to deal with. And the longer I put it off, the worse it gets.”
He was quiet for a few seconds, taking in what you said and pondering how to reply. It was beautiful, how his mind worked and how attentive he was. “If there is any way we can help you, anything I–we can do, we will. Whatever you want to do, we will support you. Sometimes, in our head, we can make things look bigger, more scary than they are. Do you want to talk about them? Maybe if you talk about what you have to do or what you’re worried about, it will be easier to work out the best way to approach them.”
That was something your therapist used to tell you, that while things festered in your head, they would only get more tangled and more daunting. She had suggested writing them down or talking to her about them. She was right, you knew she was right and that it helped and yet you hadn’t stopped to do that.
You took a deep breath, debating if it would be better to find a notebook and figure out your mess on paper instead of dragging Namjoon into it. But there was a part of you that itched to confide in him and give in to the way you felt safe when you were together.
“I don’t even know where to start,” you confessed.
You started slowly, with your usual worries about Taehyung, how he was adjusting and how little time you were spending with him and if that was for the best. It was the same old spiralling, you had poked and prodded at it so many times and Namjoon must have been bored of listening to the same rehashed concerns, yet he didn’t interrupt you. You unravelled steadily, once you started speaking, you couldn’t stop. There was the filming for the Raven Cycle, the final touches of Six of Crows, the premiere and the weeks of promotions and the anticipation for the reviews of the critics and the audiences. The book you hadn’t finished and the deadline you couldn’t meet.
You rubbed your hands over your face. It had been so long since most of those problems had surfaced and you were ashamed that you hadn’t faced them yet. “And we haven’t told anyone about us. We said we would and I know you’re waiting for me but I’m never here. And I don’t know how.”
Namjoon caught your hand and brought it to his lips. Lowering it, his thumb rubbed soothing circles on your skin. “It doesn’t have to be complicated. They will understand and they will be happy for us. You shouldn’t let this keep you awake, everything will be alright. They are our pack, this won’t change anything.”
“But…” The anxiety that persisted. “Yoongi. What if his reaction is… bad. You know what he said.”
“That was before.” He sounded sure but there was a tightness at his jaw. “It is different now. He is different, you can see it. He is softer around the edges, he even helps Jin in the kitchen. He’s settling in.”
“Because he doesn’t know,” you said. “You remember what he said, right? That night? That I adopted you so I could take my pick and now there is Jin and it’s just too much like that, can’t you see it?”
“It’s nothing like that. We both–” Namjoon stiffened, his gaze locking somewhere towards the entrance. “Yoongi?”
Your heart rate sped up, a knot forming in your chest. Yoongi walked in, his socked feet not making a sound. How much had he heard? The last minutes of the conversation replayed in your mind in a panicked mess. What had you said? How long had he been there, listening to you, before Namjoon noticed him? What conclusions would he reach?
Instinctively, you tried to get away from Namjoon but his hold on your hand kept you there.
The panther’s face didn’t give anything away. You couldn’t read him regardless of how much you studied him. You didn’t know his tells, if he had any. His expression was a carefully curated mask of apathy and you couldn’t see past it. Or you didn’t dare to try. Maybe you were too afraid of what you would find.
“How did you know it was me?” he asked, voice missing some of its smoothness.
Namjoon held your hand tighter. “You are the only one who can sneak up on me.”
You swallowed down your anxiety and tried to think of him the way he was the past few months, when he helped you with rearranging your office, him playing the piano in the afternoons, your walk at the lake, the vague memory of him helping you up to your room when you were drunk in Virginia. But they were all pushed back by the memory of his snarl and his sharp teeth that night.
“How much did you hear?” you asked, forcing your voice to be steady. He was going to learn of it at some point and as scared as you were, you had to face this.
“Enough.” His tail curled behind him and stilled. “You are afraid of my reaction to something. Is that it?”
Your eyes locked with Namjoon’s and he nodded. This time you weren’t going to run. This time would be different. “Yes, there is something we wanted to tell you. Something we wanted to tell everyone. I didn’t know how to tell you, that’s all.”
“You can tell me now,” he said and it sounded almost like a dare. You weren’t sure if you were walking into a trap.
Namjoon spoke up before you could. “You remember that the two of us are… We are together, as humans would say, romantically.” Yoongi nodded. You couldn’t imagine how he could forget. “That extends to Jin now. We love him and he loves us.” It was almost like he was challenging him to say anything but Yoongi was quiet.
“We didn’t know how to tell everyone. And you…” You didn’t know how to finish.
He scoffed. “I was an asshole.” One side of his lips was twisted up but something about it hurt. “You didn’t want to tell me because I was an asshole when I found out about you two. Worse than an asshole.” He dropped his gaze to the floor, his shoulders were slumped as if in defeat. For a moment, you wished to reassure him but what he was saying was the truth. “I understand. I’m not– I’m happy for you. And I’m sorry.”
He turned to leave but, through your confusion, you knew you didn’t want him to go.
“Wait,” you called. He stopped but didn’t turn around. “Let’s talk. We need to talk.”
Yoongi looked at you over his shoulder. This time, you studied him without your heavy-duty lenses, without the fear of discovery. Like the expression of an actor, you picked apart the tiniest details to paint a picture. When your own barriers were gone, it was easier to see.
“What is there to talk about?” he asked.
“A lot. Things we should have talked about sooner.” Communication was a golden rule in your handbook and you used to be good at it, you tried to be good at it. The misunderstanding trope was overused and useless when the issue could be resolved with a simple conversation.
It was about time you stopped walking on eggshells.
“We never truly talked about it,” you started. “And I didn’t really want to because things were going so well. They are going well. But you are my family now.” His lips parted, only slightly but you caught it. “I can’t know how all of you see it, if it’s the same for you, but that’s the way I feel. And I want to be honest with you. I still think about what you said in the garden and sometimes it affects me more than I would like. However, I would like to put it behind us but I want to know what you think.”
His eyes were sharp but you weren’t fooled this time. “Can we? Can we really put it behind us?”
Namjoon was silent next to you, he was letting you handle it.
“I think we are already beginning to.” You took a deep breath in preparation. There was a question that could make or break this peace between you and you were both dreading and dying to ask. “Do you think that I’m taking advantage of them because I love them romantically?”
His eyes widened. “No,” he denied sharply. “No, of course I don’t.”
It was like a knot unravelling in your heart. Although there was a part of you that had known, the relief was still there. “Then we can move past it. We can try again. We are already trying again.”
“How?” Yoongi asked and he sounded smaller, much smaller than you were used to.
The pills were beginning to act, it was a light drowsiness at first. You had to do this quickly before you fell asleep and crumbled down on the floor.
“The same way we are doing now. By doing our best.”
“I am trying” His hands clenched into fists and loosened again. “I’m sorry. For everything.”
“You don’t need to be. Not anymore. As long as I know that we are fine.” Your eyes were growing heavier and the fog was slipping in. “I think we should go to bed now,” you said. It was getting more and more difficult to open your eyes.
You must have stumbled or something because you heard Yoongi ask, “Are you alright?” at the same time as Namjoon’s “Do you want help?”
You waved them both off. “I’m fine. It’s the pills.” It was easier to admit when you were almost asleep. One moment your feet were on the floor and the next you were up in the air. “Joon?”
“I’m taking you to your room. It’s time for sleep.” One of his arms was under your knees and the other was holding you close to his body.
“Namjoon, I can walk,” you protested weakly. Namjoon shushed you and you let it go. You were so incredibly sleepy and you were safe there. You relaxed in his arms and finally closed your eyes.
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Most of the flowers were drooping in the garden of the Castle. Namjoon and Jimin were attempting to keep them alive for as long as possible before fall swept them away. They cut off the dead leaves, watered the plants and applied the appropriate fertilisers. There were also varieties that lasted all year and the gardener had taught them how to take care of them too.
“These won’t last much longer,” Jimin said, running his fingers gently over the petals of a slowly wilting flower.
“They will bloom again in spring,” Namjoon reassured him. “Each season has its beauty and these belong to spring and summer. Autumn has its own colors too but they are different.”
Jimin pulled his hand back and grabbed the watering can. “I know, but I will miss them.”
Namjoon patted his head and Jimin preened under his touch, chasing his hand. He was too cute sometimes and Namjoon adored him. “It’s okay to miss it but you can also be happy about the new things that are coming. Miss Roberts said she will bring sunflowers and hydrangeas to plant next week, it will add some color. When something ends, something else begins.”
Jimin giggled, watering the flowers although they would be dead next week. “Nora has told you many times to call her by her name.”
Namjoon rubbed the back of his head. “I forgot. I’m trying.”
Yoongi came out of the house, a book in his hand. He had been visiting the library more lately. Namjoon had been wondering where he had been. The rest of the pack had holed up in the cinema room to watch a comedy and, like the two of them, Yoongi had opted out but they hadn’t seen him since.
“Yoongi!” Jimin called, waving with the hand that wasn’t holding the watering can. “Come here. Sit with us, we are almost done.”
Yoongi paused, glancing at the table and benches on the other side of the garden.
“Come on,” Namjoon called for him as well. That was enough to sway Yoongi’s decision, who made his way to them.
Jimin bounced up to him, grabbing his hand and dragging him to the flower bushes they were tending to. Yoongi grumbled about the rough treatment but Namjoon wasn’t fooled, the upturn of his lips was small but unmistakable.
Jimin explained to him what they had been doing so far and Yoongi listened to him attentively.
“They are beautiful. You have been doing a really good job. Both of you,” he said, his eyes darting to Namjoon.
He was tense, it wasn’t obvious but Namjoon could pick it up. He gave him a smile, hoping he would relax. Yoongi confused him but he thought he could understand him a little better now. “Thank you. What are you reading?”
“Oh, this?” Yoongi raised the book a little and shrugged. “I saw it and I thought it was interesting.”
“I haven’t seen that before,” Namjoon said.
The cover was painted in shades of yellow and orange, framing two pyramids. Without saying anything, Yoongi handed him the book. It was called The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho and it was a relatively short book. He turned it around to look at the synopsis and Jimin peeked at it over his shoulder. Namjoon wondered if you had read it or if it had been sitting there unread on your shelves for years. There were so many books in your library and you had admitted that you hadn’t read most of them, but you had also told them that once upon a time you used to read a hundred books a year.
“It does sound interesting,” Namjoon commented, passing back the book. “You should tell me if it is any good when you finish it.”
Yoongi looked down at the book’s cover. “I will.”
Jimin declared that they were done with gardening for the day and grabbed both of their hands, pulling them to the shade underneath one of the trees. They sat down and he situated himself with his head in Namjoon’s lap and his legs in Yoongi’s. Yoongi cracked open his book and began to read while Jimin talked about flowers.
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“And… CUT!” you called. It was repeated again by Will and the actors relaxed, the expressions of their characters wiped clean. “That will be it for today. Thank you everyone!”
The crew buzzed as the cameras and the sound systems were turned off. People were talking to their earpieces and others were giving pats on the back to each other for another successful day on set. Crew members passed by and offered their congratulations to you.
“What are you rushing for?” Will asked.
You continued throwing everything carelessly into your backpack. “I’m visiting the gallery today, remember?”
“Right, that’s today,” he said, snapping his fingers. Some things stuck with you in entertainment. For example, the overexaggerated gestures. “I thought you had a company meeting dressed like this. A very important one.”
In the morning, you had put more thought into your outfit compared to a simple filming day. You were wearing tan trousers and a form-fitting black top embellished by a crossover belt that wrapped around the body and was tied together with a golden Medusa head emblem. The heels, the golden earrings, bracelets, and rings confirmed that filming wasn’t the only thing on your schedule.
You slung your backpack over your shoulder (you would switch it later with a black Dior bag you had in your car). “No meetings for me today. I really have to go. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”
“Have a good time, boss!”
You greeted any familiar faces on your way to your car and sent a quick message to Namjoon that you would be picking them up soon. The 8-seater car was an impulse purchase at a time when you had a larger friend group. You hadn’t used it much, only for a couple of short trips to private beaches.
You checked your appearance in the visor mirror and reapplied some powder and lipstick. You looked good enough, there wasn’t much more you could do.
The hybrids were waiting by the fountain. They had dressed nicely for the occasion, wearing some of the more formal outfits you had bought for them. You could feel the excitement in the air as they climbed into the car. It had been a long time since you had gone to the city like this. Jimin was quick to slide into the passenger seat, followed by a little happy dance at his success.
The exhibition was taking place in Central Los Angeles, housed in a tall and wide building that appeared to be made up of several cubes that jutted out of the main structure. Jungkook and Hoseok had their phones out, taking photos of the strange building. Distantly, you remembered coming here before but you couldn’t place when or why.
Eliana was waiting for you inside wearing a simple flowing blue dress and a large smile. You greeted each other with a hug and proceeded to introduce the boys to her. She shook their hands enthusiastically and in a few seconds she had already engaged them in a conversation about art. Usually, she talked quickly like she was rushing to get everything out before she forgot but she was talking slowly now, using simpler words and waiting for Hoseok to translate whenever he deemed he should.
She guided you through the gallery, floating ahead of you. She gave explanations of some of her works while she let others speak for themselves. Taehyung’s eyes were sparkling while she talked, in a way you had never seen before. His smile stayed on during your whole visit, big and boxy, and you finally felt like you were doing something right.
The other hybrids seemed to be enjoying themselves as well. Namjoon was asking plenty of questions about the meaning behind the paintings and her inspiration and Jungkook was very interested in the more technical aspect of her work. She readily answered all of their questions and when you pointed out that Jungkook spent a lot of his time painting, she encouraged him to show her some of his work. Although he was shy, hiding behind his floppy ears at first, Eliana managed to convince him to show her a few of the paintings he had on his phone. She was stunned when you told her he had only been painting for a few months and Jungkook grew even shier when she showered him in compliments.
At the end of the tour, she let you wander the gallery by yourselves for some time and then suggested going to the gallery’s gardens to hang out. The gardens were of considerable size, about as large as the inside of the gallery. Neatly trimmed flower bushes lined the pathways and plenty of modern sculptures decorated the space. A large fountain stood proudly in the middle and there was an artfully made gazebo raised on a platform at a far corner, overlooking the gardens.
You offered to go get some coffee and some baked goods from a nearby bakery/coffee shop you had found on the internet. Eliana protested at first but she gave in quickly at the promise of an iced Spanish latte and muffins. Namjoon volunteered to accompany you, although what surprised you was Yoongi offering to come along.
“You need more than two people to carry everything,” was the only explanation you got. You couldn’t deny that he was right.
He hadn’t been acting any different towards you since you had let him know about the nature of your relationship with Seokjin, so you acted the same way you always did too. His quiet acceptance was more than enough for you and it was a great weight off your shoulders.
You were talking about the exhibition, not surprised that Yoongi had been paying close attention to the paintings as he recalled his favorites, when a call of your name surprised you. The voice was familiar and, for a few seconds, you couldn’t place it. Until you could. And the peace froze over.
You turned around to find Jacob waving at you in the quiet street. His hair was cut much shorter than the last time you had seen him and his white loose pants and half-unbuttoned shirt made him look like he had just stepped off a yacht party. Maybe he had. His thousand-watt smile, reminiscent of a politician, was fixed firmly on his face.
“Hey, I knew it was you,” he said when he caught up with you, like he had won a prize. He pulled you into a quick hug and you didn’t know what to do with your hands until he let you go. “Haven’t seen you in ages.”
You wiped invisible dust from your trousers. “Yeah, I’ve been very busy.”
“You were never one for rest, right? The woman always running, always working, never has time for anything else,” he joked and it shouldn’t bother you the way it did. He gestured to Yoongi and Namjoon, “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
Namjoon looked politely curious and Yoongi downright uninterested.
“Right,” you said. “This is Yoongi and Namjoon. And this is Jacob.”
Their eyes sharpened the moment you uttered the name.
“I’m just Jacob now?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “After three years? Not even a friend?”
“I don’t know. It isn’t like we’ve spoken since last year.”
Initially after your breakup, you used to imagine how your next meeting would go and how the two of you would act around each other. Three years was a long time to share your life with someone to then go back to being strangers. You hadn’t entertained the idea much since then, you had found yourself thinking about him less and less. Still, whenever you thought about meeting him, you hadn’t anticipated the bitterness that grazed your insides.
Jacob chuckled awkwardly. “Well, you said you were busy. I have been busy as well, I’m working with a few very big names, you know. I got my hands on some of the best songs of the year.”
“I’m sure they’re great.”
“Haven’t you listened to any of them? You must have heard a few of them. They were everywhere.” Jacob was talented enough and well-connected and he sure liked to brag about it. “I asked Zayn and he said you were doing well, working of course. And you got yourself some company too.”
You clenched your jaw to bite back the harshness burning on the tip of your tongue. You hated the way he said it and the way it reminded you of your mother.
“It was a bit of a surprise, I’ll admit. I don’t remember you ever talking about adopting, you didn’t seem a big fan of the idea. No offense of course,” he directed the last part to Namjoon and Yoongi.
“Things change,” you said dismissively. “We have to go. There are people waiting for us.”
Jacob’s smile didn’t falter but his eyes narrowed a fraction for only a second. He may only be part of your past but you could still read him well. Was it the same for him? Had he ever been able to read you in the first place?
“Of course,” he said. “I’ll see you around.”
“Sure.”
You turned around and started walking, Namjoon and Yoongi following you. Last year you loved him enough to move in with him and this year you couldn’t stand to be in his presence. You thought you would feel nothing when you’d see him again but the truth was that everything about him irritated you. His poised smile, his bragging, his nonchalance.
Why was he able to get under your skin like this? You were over him, you didn’t want anything to do with him. But you were supposed to be civil, uninterested like the heroines who didn’t raise more than an eyebrow in the direction of their exes. It irked you and the way he looked at Namjoon and Yoongi irked you more. You had defended him to everyone, he wasn’t a bad guy, he didn’t treat you badly but as time passed you were starting to realize some things you couldn’t see clearly before.
Yoongi was the first one to speak up when you had almost reached the coffee shop, “What an asshole.”
“He isn’t–” You stopped yourself and laughed. “You know what? He is, a little bit.”
“A little bit?” he repeated, doubtfully.
“I don’t want to judge but…” The way Namjoon paused told you everything you needed to know. “I had to try very hard to stop myself from growling at him.”
Yoongi smirked. “Down, wolf.” Namjoon ignored him.
“Thank you for not doing that, that wouldn’t have ended well. Please, don’t growl at people.”
“I don’t know if I can promise that.”
Well, you couldn’t say that you minded that much. You could admit to yourself that Namjoon growling was kind of hot. And if the situation called for it…
“I didn’t like the way he spoke to you,” Namjoon said. “It was weird. There was something about it that was wrong, almost demeaning.”
“He can be like that sometimes. Like he is above almost everyone else, like some things are beneath him. He would make those stupid comments and I would always try to ignore them,” He was always supportive of your career and proud of your success but he had never shown interest in any of your other hobbies and likes. Reading was boring, paintings were overrated and overpriced, drinking tea was pretentious. “I never thought I would be one of those shit-talking their exes unless they did something really bad.”
“I support this shit-talking,” Namjoon said.
“I do too,” Yoongi agreed.
It made a strangely pleasant feeling run up your spine. “We’re here,” you said, instead of continuing the conversation. According to Google Maps, you had arrived at the coffee shop.
As you walked inside, you might have heard Yoongi saying lowly to Namjoon, “I kind of wanted to punch him.”
♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩
You were sitting on the chair in front of your vanity, braiding your hair and stuck thinking of the same scene. Before going to his room for the night, Taehyung had approached you and thanked you for taking him to the exhibition. His expression was sincere and you finally felt like you were moving in the right direction.
When there was a knock at your door, you already knew who it was before you called for them to come in.
“Can we sleep here tonight?” Jimin asked, Jungkook draped over his back.
“When have I ever told you no?” you asked, finishing your braid and securing it in place with a silky scrunchy. “Go on.”
They both hopped on the bed, bouncing a little and sharing delightful smiles. You watched them through the mirror as they rolled around, holding each other.
Jimin looked up from where he was tangled with Jungkook, holding your gaze through his reflection. “Are you coming?”
“I am, I am,” you said, putting your brush back in the drawer.
You joined them on the bed, their hands quickly reaching for you and situating you between them like the last time. Jimin purred in contentment, rubbing his face in your collarbones. Jungkook held onto your arm and you could feel his breath caressing your neck with how close he was lying.
An unwanted echo of what Jacob had said entered your mind. Always working, never having time for anything else or anyone else, even the ones most important to you. You were gone most of the days and it made sense that they wanted to be close to you at least at night.
“Did you have fun today?” you asked them to distract yourself.
“I loved it! Eliana was so nice and her paintings were incredible,” Jimin said. “I took so many photos, my phone must be full of them.”
Jungkook nuzzled up closer to you. “I took many photos too. Can we print the one we took of us all together? I want to put it in our room.”
“Yes, please,” Jimin added cutely.
“Of course. You should print a couple more too, if you want, and choose some pretty frames for them. There is a lot of free space in your room.”
They cheered a little. You lied there in comfortable silence but you could detect a nervous energy in the air. It was in the way Jimin was fidgeting with the hem of your silk night shirt and how tightly Jungkook was gripping your arm. You waited until they were ready.
“We actually… we have something to tell you,” Jimin said.
“Anything you want, kitten,” you said, running your fingers through his hair. You could see how the use of the nickname affected him, squirming a little as his smile grew sweeter. “You know you can tell me anything.”
“I just–” He looked at Jungkook, who gave him an encouraging nod. “I kissed him, we kissed. And… it makes me very happy.”
Jungkook caught Jimin’s hand that was pulling at your shirt and intertwined their fingers, laying their joint hands on your stomach. “He makes me very happy too,” he said in a small voice.
The new knowledge was like a puzzle piece sliding into place. It felt natural to you that their relationship would progress like that. The way they looked at each other, the way they touched each other, was evidence of a deeply intimate connection. If the image your mind conjured of them kissing lit a spark in your chest, you hid it even from yourself.
“Thank you for telling me. If it makes you happy, then I am happy too. All I want for you is to be happy and know how loved you are. Come here.” You pulled them closer and placed lingering kisses on their foreheads. “I will always support you. Always.” You took a decision then. You couldn’t put it off any longer. “I have something to tell you too. Jimin already knows but Jungkook, I would like for you to know too. I don’t know how to say this exactly and I’m sorry we’ve kept this from you but I, Namjoon and Jin have been romantically involved. All of us. We have been kissing too.”
“Oh.” Jungkook paused. “That makes sense.” You couldn’t help but laugh at that, Jimin joining you. “I mean you’re very close and it just makes sense. We’re pack and I think that most packs are a little in love with each other, in one way or another,” he said. His cheeks felt hot against your shoulder.
In one way or another. He was right, it was such a special bond and you could imagine that for hybrids who felt the sense of pack deeper, the lines were easily blurred. A door opened in your mind but you closed it again forcefully.
Jimin fit his face in the crook of your neck. “I love you. I love you so much, all of you. Our pack. I don’t know how I got so lucky to have you. I don’t know if I deserve this.” His voice was wet.
“You do,” you stated. “You deserve everything and more. And we love you so much. So much.”
Jungkook squeezed his hand. “We love you, Jiminie. Our pack wouldn’t be complete without you. We need you to be whole. We need everyone.”
Their hands remained linked over your abdomen as you fell asleep.
Please comment and reblog it motivates me to keep writing
The Boy (II)
synopsis. All he ever wanted was someone to love.
pairing: yandere!brahms doll jungkook x fem!nanny reader. ft. Cha eunwoo.
genre: 18+ horror, smut, angst and yandere.
warnings. 18+ YÁNDÈRÈ, dàrk thèmès, dïstúrbíng thèmès, mèntïóns ôf à dàrk pàst, yn ïs só dàmn hórny, dóll, erríe thèmès, únsèttlíng thèmès, híghly sèxúàl thèmès, nèèdy, shàmlèss ýn, tsúndèrè èúnwòò.
wc: idek it’s long tho
fic note. Please keep in mind that this fanfiction is the exact copy of the movie from the same name “the boy” (2016) so if you find any similarities, that’s on purpose. Also viewer discretion is highly advised.
taglist. @tatumrileyslover @slut4jeon @strawberryberrygirl @starl0ver4 @darkcyclecreator @taekritimin123@erisuna @devilslittlehelper @introvertedsin @jadaocon1 @jungkooknippleanddicksucker @wowersblog@jincapableoflove @whothefuckisthishoe @avawants2havefun @sophipp1 @moonfloweronmars @crisle19 @ctrlsht@mrsjohnnysuh @ennvfv @kpopsmutty69 [open for more]
••••
The house is too quiet.
You didn’t notice it as much yesterday— not with Ji-seon’s perfectly manicured presence keeping you distracted or Jeong-hwan’s piercing gaze making sure you didn’t fuck up your answers.
Even though it had been a day, but you still got used to their presence and now that you’re all alone in this house…
You’re having some trouble
Especially now that they’re gone, it’s just you and this massive, eerily pristine house. You, a lifeless doll, and the suffocating silence pressing in on you like a weighted blanket.
Your second day begins with an unavoidable routine—the one they so kindly outlined in the rules. Rules that, frankly, feel absurd.
1. Wake JK up.
2. Get him dressed.
3. Prepare his meals.
4. Read to him.
5. Put him to bed.
You stare at the list on the old, slightly crinkled paper and sigh. “Jesus Christ.” You rub your temple, the lack of sleep from last night making your head feel like it’s stuffed with cotton.
I should be getting paid double for this shit.
And honestly, when you think about it, it’s kind of triggering because… of your history that you don’t really like to think about anymore.
But you’re getting paid a lot of ridiculous amount of money for this so you’re willing to play along even if it triggers the fuck out of you.
With an exhausted groan, you shuffle towards the grand living room, where JK sits in his usual spot on the couch, his dark beady eyes fixed on you in a way that feels entirely too alive.
“Alright, little prince,” you mutter, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.
“Time to start our day of make-believe.”
Nothing happens. Obviously. Because it’s a fucking doll.
Still, the weight of its stare makes you hesitate for a second too long before reaching for it.
The porcelain skin is cold under your fingers, smooth and unyielding.
You lift the doll carefully— half because you don’t want to break the weird rich people’s prized possession, and half because some irrational part of you thinks it might move on its own.
You carry him upstairs to the bedroom they set up for him, which looks far too elegant for a toy.
The furniture is handcrafted, the bed is neatly made with expensive silk sheets, and the air smells faintly of lavender.
This is insane.
Still, you press on.
Dressing JK is an experience you never thought you’d have. Buttoning up a tiny sweater on a lifeless doll is humiliating in ways you can’t fully articulate.
Fuck your life, even a doll has a better life than you.
“You know, I don’t even do this much for an actual man,” you scoff. “You should be grateful, JK.”
The doll, of course, says nothing. But as you move to fix his collar, you swear the corners of his lips seem… slightly upturned.
Your hands freeze. No. That’s ridiculous. I’m just sleep-deprived.
You shake the thought off and place him back in the chair by the window, as instructed.
This is your life now. Taking care of a doll.
It’s laughable.
The rules are just guidelines, anyways, and rules are always meant to be broken.
•••
By noon, you’re already getting restless.
You’ve done everything technically required— dressed the doll, made him breakfast (which was a complete waste of food), and even read a chapter from a dusty old children’s book you found on the shelf.
Now you’re sprawled on the couch, scrolling through your phone, but there’s no service.
No Wi-Fi. No contact with the outside world.
Frustration bubbles up in your chest. You sit up, stretching your sore muscles, and glance at JK, who sits stiffly in his chair.
“I doubt they’ll know if I take a little break.”
The doll stares.
You roll your eyes. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You’re lucky I even got up today.”
The doll should remain motionless. It should stay exactly where you left it.
But when you look back at it after getting up, something feels… different.
The head is tilted ever so slightly to the left.
Your breath catches in your throat. Was it like that before?
Slowly, you approach the chair, fingers curling into fists. “You’re really fucking with me now,” you whisper.
JK doesn’t respond.
You hesitate for a moment before reaching out and adjusting the head back into its original position. “There.”
Then you turn around—
clunk.
Your heart stops.
You whip back around.
JK’s head is tilted again.
Further this time.
A shiver runs down your spine.
No. No fucking way.
Your pulse thunders in your ears as you back away, refusing to take your eyes off him.
Your entire body is screaming at you to leave the room, to run, but you force yourself to breathe.
“This is just my imagination,” you whisper. “That’s it. I’m sleep-deprived, this house is fucking with me, and I need to get out of here for a bit.”
You don’t even bother “putting him down for a nap” like the rules say. Instead, you decide to explore.
•••
The house is massive.
You wander through the hallways, your footsteps echoing against the marble floors.
The architecture is grand, intricate details carved into the moldings, chandeliers hanging like ghosts in every room.
But it’s the paintings that unsettle you the most.
There are so many of them. And they’re all of the same little boy—dark-haired, round-cheeked, with a bright bunny smile. He looks… sweet. Innocent, even.
And yet, the more you stare at them, the more something feels off.
Some of the paintings have his eyes looking straight ahead. Others have them slightly to the side. And a few—you swear to God—have his gaze locked directly onto you.
A cold shudder runs through you.
Nope. Nope, we’re not doing this.
You turn to leave the room when—
“Pretty… stay.”
Your stomach drops.
You freeze, hands trembling as you whip around.
JK is nowhere in sight.
You left him upstairs.
Right?
You feel sick. Your hands grip the fabric of your sweater, the walls of the house suddenly feeling too close.
Something is wrong.
•••
You nearly jump out of your skin when you hear a firm knock on the front door.
You don’t even hesitate to answer it.
When you swing it open, Eunwoo is standing there, his hands in his coat pockets, his expression as unreadable as ever.
Your stomach clenches—but not just from fear.
Because of course even when you’re scared out of your mind, your body decides now is the perfect time to get turned on.
Eunwoo’s eyes sweep over you, taking in your disheveled appearance. “You look…” His gaze flicks down to your lips, then back up. “…tired.”
You lick your lips. “Tired isn’t the word I’d use.”
He steps inside, his presence commanding the space effortlessly. “Have you been following the rules?”
You huff, crossing your arms. “Why does it matter? It’s just a doll.”
Eunwoo’s jaw tenses. “It’s not just a doll.” His voice is low, cold. “You don’t understand what’s at stake.”
You raise a brow, shamelessly letting your eyes trail down his chest. God, he’s so fucking hot. “You really care about this thing, huh?” You take a step closer.
“Maybe you should care more about me.”
Eunwoo doesn’t budge. He doesn’t even react.
That pisses you off.
You tilt your head, voice dropping into something sultry. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little distraction.”
Eunwoo stares, his expression unreadable—until his eyes darken.
For a second, you think he might actually give in.
Then—
“Yn…”
Your body freezes.
That voice. That mechanical, eerie fucking voice.
You whip your head around.
JK is sitting on the couch.
You did not put him there.
Eunwoo doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he just exhales through his nose and adjusts his coat. “Follow the rules.”
And then— just like that— he turns to leave.
You’re left alone.
With him.
With JK.
And the second the door closes, you hear it again.
“Pretty… stay.”
A chill runs through your spine.
What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?
“Fuck this shit I’m hungry, let’s go check out the kitchen.”
•••
You are never eating in this kitchen again.
The ramen was fine. Actually, it was good, especially considering how you barely ate today. But the problem isn’t the food. The problem is the audience.
Because across the room, perched on the goddamn counter, watching you, sits JK.
You drop your chopsticks. “Nope.”
The word echoes in the quiet kitchen. You didn’t put him there. You didn’t put him there.
He was on the couch earlier. You remember because you kept side-eyeing him while eating your sad little meal, feeling his beady little stare drilling into your soul.
And now he’s here.
Perched. Looking. Waiting.
Your throat tightens, a nervous laugh bubbling up before you can stop it. “So this is it, huh? This is how I die? Starved, single, and haunted by a fucking toy?”
Silence.
Your stomach does an uncomfortable flip as the air shifts. It’s subtle, but you feel it—like the whole house just took a breath. The walls seem taller. The shadows stretch just a bit longer.
And then, soft and eerie, comes the whisper.
“Don’t forget…”
Your body locks up. A cold chill rolls down your spine, your skin breaking out in goosebumps.
Okay. That was new.
Your gaze snaps to JK, your heart hammering against your ribs. You heard it. Someone said that.
It wasn’t your imagination. It wasn’t your tired brain playing tricks. It was a fucking voice.
And yet, the doll remains the same—blank, expressionless, his tiny porcelain lips forever pressed into that neutral, unsettling almost-smile.
Fuck this.
You’re about to throw him in the oven. Maybe deep fry him. Maybe start a religion based on setting creepy dolls on fire.
But then, your eyes flicker to the list of rules pinned to the fridge.
6. Give JK a goodnight kiss.
7. Make sure JK is comfortable before bed.
Your entire body rejects the idea. Your soul leaves the chat.
Absolutely not.
A loud, frustrated groan leaves your lips. “Oh my God.”
This is beyond humiliating. This isn’t even a job anymore—it’s a prank. It’s gotta be. A weird, rich-people, fucked-up social experiment.
First the rules, then the mechanical voice, and now this?
You want to scream. You want to walk straight out of this house and never look back.
But the money.
The fucking money.
It’s ridiculous, the amount they’re paying you. It’s life-changing. And if all you have to do is follow some creepy-ass instructions to get it, then fine.
Fine.
You slam your hands on the counter, glaring at JK. “You win, you little shit.”
And then, you pick him up.
Instant regret.
His body is solid, heavier than it looks, and the second his cold porcelain presses against your fingers, your entire body reacts.
A strange heat pools in your stomach.
Your breath catches. Your thighs clench.
You freeze. Oh no.
Not this. Not now.
This job is already ruining your sanity—you can’t let it ruin your self-respect, too.
But your body doesn’t get the memo.
The feeling spreads, slow and insidious, like a slow-burning fever. It’s not because of JK, obviously.
But it’s him being here, the eerie tension in the house, the fact that you’ve been alone all day, untouched, unstimulated.
The thoughts you had earlier about Eunwoo don’t help.
His sharp eyes, his broad frame, the way he completely ignored your flirting like an unbothered, frustratingly hot statue.
I need to get laid.
Or at least, you need to do something about this overwhelming heat crawling under your skin.
But not now. Not while holding the fucking doll.
You shake yourself off, gripping JK tighter, storming upstairs like you’re on a personal mission.
Put him to bed. Get this over with.
But the whole time, the feeling of being watched doesn’t leave you. If anything, it gets worse.
•••
somehow, you have managed to convince yourself that you just need a shower to make yourself feel right
And by the time you make it to the bathroom, you’re two seconds away from losing your mind.
Not just because of the creepy ass doll or the fact that your entire body is covered in goosebumps that won’t go away—no, no. That would be normal.
The real problem?
You’re fucking horny.
It makes no sense.
You just had the most unsettling dinner of your life, spent way too much time arguing with a porcelain freak, and still—your body refuses to cooperate.
Your nerves are shot, your thighs press together every time you move, and worst of all—Eunwoo.
Eunwoo being an asshole should not make him hotter.
But goddamn, did he look good tonight.
That stupid cold expression, the way his jaw clenched whenever you spoke, the way his voice dropped when he scolded you like some strict, brooding villain straight out of a fantasy novel—
Ugh.
Maybe you should just throw yourself into the nearest well and be done with it.
With a deep breath, you rip off your clothes and step into the shower.
The second the water hits your skin, a soft sigh slips past your lips.
Oh, that’s nice.
Heat runs down your spine, melting every tense muscle. Steam curls around your body, thick and intoxicating.
You tilt your head back, letting the warmth sink into you, washing away everything from today— the exhaustion, the unease, the sheer insanity of this house.
It’s just you in here.
Alone.
Finally.
Your fingers drag slowly down your neck, your collarbone, heat pooling low in your stomach.
It’s fine. You deserve this.
It’s not like there’s a fucking ghost watching you, right?
You exhale, the steam making your skin tingle.
Your mind drifts immediately—
Eunwoo’s voice. Low, commanding.
“Follow the rules, yn.”
A shiver rolls down your spine.
You don’t want to follow the rules.
You want to break them.
You can practically see him, standing outside the shower, fully clothed, watching. That blank expression, that disapproving look. His lips parting just slightly as he takes you in, dark eyes flicking lower—
God.
Your fingers twitch, a slow press against your hipbone.
He’d be so strict with you. He wouldn’t just let you do whatever you wanted—no, he’d make you follow the rules. Wouldn’t even touch you unless you begged for it.
Your breath hitches.
You bite your lip, hand sliding lower, heat growing—
Click.
Your entire body freezes.
That— That sounded like the fucking door.
No. No, no, no.
Your breath stops. Your skin prickles.
Water pounds against the tiles, drowning everything else out.
You can’t even turn around.
Click.
Your stomach drops.
That wasn’t just the wind. That was—
That was inside the bathroom. A violent shudder rips down your spine.
Your hands shake as you peel the shower curtain back—
And your breath dies.
The bathroom door is open.
Just a few inches.
A sliver of darkness beyond it.
The air is too cold.
Your pulse pounds against your skin, your legs trembling under the hot water.
You swear you locked it.
Didn’t you?
Your heart is in your throat. Your body still aches, heat thrumming through your veins—but now, it’s laced with something else.
Something primal.
Fear.
You clutch the shower curtain, your mouth dry.
You are not alone.
You feel it.
Someone is watching.
And then—
“Pretty, pretty, stay… stay.”
The whisper is right there.
Behind the curtain. Inside the fucking bathroom.
Your body jerks. A choked gasp rips from your throat.
You don’t think. You don’t breathe.
You just grab a towel—
And run.
You don’t stop.
Your feet pound against the cold floor, water dripping from your skin as you clutch the towel around you. Your breath comes out in ragged gasps, your heart slamming against your ribs.
That voice. That fucking voice.
You don’t look back. You don’t even blink until you crash into your bedroom door.
Shit—
Your hand shakes as you grab the knob, your entire body screaming at you to move, to lock yourself inside.
And then—
Knock.
Your stomach drops.
The knock is slow, deliberate.
Right on the other side.
A violent shiver rips down your spine.
It’s not the wind. It’s not your imagination.
Something is there.
Your fingers clench around the towel, water still trickling down your thighs. Every inch of you is tense, skin burning with leftover heat—
Knock.
Okay. Okay, okay, okay.
You can’t just stand here like a fucking idiot.
You squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing down your fear.
And then, with a deep breath—
You open the door. Your entire body jerks.
It’s not a ghost.
It’s Eunwoo.
Holy shit.
He stands right there, dark eyes flickering over you, his expression unreadable. His face is blank—cold, unimpressed.
And you?
You completely forget about everything.
The fear? Gone.
The horror? What horror?
The fact that you were seconds away from pissing yourself? Irrelevant.
Because Eunwoo is here.
And you are barely wearing anything.
A wicked heat pools low in your stomach.
He looks good tonight. So good.
That stupid expensive coat, those broad shoulders, the way his jaw tenses as he looks down at you—
God.
If he wanted to take advantage of this moment, you would gladly let him.
Your lips part, your entire body still buzzing with adrenaline and… something else.
Use it.
You let out a slow breath, tilting your head just slightly, making sure the damp towel hugs every inch of you perfectly.
“Eunwoo,” you murmur, your voice just soft enough. “Did you come to check on me?”
His jaw tightens.
“No,” he says flatly.
Cold. Rude. Unfazed.
And you love it.
Your stomach twists, heat flaring in your chest.
He is so fun to mess with.
You take a slow step closer, just enough for the towel to shift over your thighs.
“Well,” you breathe, voice smooth, “I appreciate the concern.”
“I’m not concerned.”
He says it so fast, so deadpan, that you actually giggle.
The audacity of this man.
“Mm. If you say so,” you hum. “But you did show up at my door.”
Eunwoo just stares.
Like he’s debating whether to entertain this or just walk away.
His gaze flickers—just for a second.
And you see it.
The way his throat bobs, the way his fingers twitch at his sides.
Oh, he’s trying so hard to act like he’s not affected.
You almost feel bad for him.
But mostly?
You just want to see how far you can push.
Your hand loosens on the towel, your skin still damp, heat rolling off your body.
“You should come in,” you murmur.
Eunwoo exhales through his nose.
“No.”
“No?” You pout. “Not even for a drink?”
“No.”
You bite your lip.
“You’re really no fun.”
His eyes darken, but his face remains blank.
“I’m staying the night,” he says.
Your stomach flips.
Oh.
Oh, that’s interesting.
You blink up at him, trying so hard not to smirk.
“Staying?” you echo.
Eunwoo nods, still completely expressionless.
“Mr. and Mrs. Jeon asked me to.”
Right.
The Jeons. Your actual employers. The whole reason you’re here.
You totally forgot about them.
But honestly?
That’s not your problem.
Because now—
Now, Eunwoo is here.
And he is going to be so much fun.
•••
Eunwoo doesn’t wait. He just walks in.
No hello. No Can I come in? Just boom—he’s inside, like he pays rent.
Which he doesn’t.
You watch, still clutching your towel, as he scans the room with sharp eyes, looking for—what? A hidden crime scene? Your black-market organ-harvesting operation?
“Where’s JK?” His voice is flat, uninterested in anything that isn’t made of porcelain.
…Are you serious?
You blink. “I—I don’t know? Where he always is?”
Eunwoo finally looks at you.
Well, not at you. Past you. Through you.* Not even sparing you a glance below the neck, as if you aren’t standing there, soaking wet, in nothing but a towel.
Your jaw drops.
You just had the most terrifying, borderline supernatural shower experience of your life, you’re practically naked, and all this man can think about is—
“The doll is in his room?” He cuts through your internal crisis like a knife.
“Uh, yeah?”
“Did you follow the routine?”
…The routine.
The routine that consists of treating a doll like a human child.
You squint at him. “Why are you asking like it’s life or death?”
Eunwoo doesn’t even blink. “Because it is.”
You snort. “Right, of course. If I don’t brush his teeth, he’ll develop cavities.”
Eunwoo looks exhausted already. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Did you or did you not follow the rules?”
You shift on your feet, trying to suppress the absolutely ungodly urge to eye this man like a piece of prime steak.
Focus, yn. Focus.
“Listen,” you sigh dramatically, stepping closer—closer than necessary, really. “I tucked him in. I read him a nice bedtime story. I kissed his forehead.” You place a hand on your heart. “I’m the picture of maternal instinct.”
Eunwoo gives you the flattest look you’ve ever seen. “You forgot to change his clothes, didn’t you?”
You pause.
“…He has outfits?”
Eunwoo exhales through his nose like he’s regretting every life choice that led him here. “Yes. He has outfits.”
You resist the urge to laugh.
Barely.
“Wait, wait, let me get this straight,” you say, grinning. “You’re seriously telling me you came all the way here, in the middle of the night, to check if I changed the doll’s clothes?”
Eunwoo looks you dead in the eye.
“Yes.”
And that’s it. No hesitation. No shame. No realization that this is, in fact, a batshit insane thing to say out loud.
God, he’s so serious about this.
And it’s so hot.
You step even closer, tilting your head. “You know, for a guy who looks like he should be modeling for luxury cologne ads, you sure do care a lot about—” you gesture vaguely “—porcelain toddlers.”
Eunwoo doesn’t move. “Are you following the rules or not?”
You lick your lips. His gaze doesn’t drop once.
How rude.
“How about,” you say sweetly, “we stop talking about the doll and start talking about you staying the night?”
He raises a brow. “And why would I do that?”
You smirk. “Because I might be scared?”
“No, you’re not.”
Your smirk falters.
Okay, rude and perceptive.
You try again, biting your lip. “Maybe I just want some company?”
Eunwoo gives you the most deadpan look of all time.
And then—without a shred of hesitation—
“The doll is company enough.”
You gasp.
“Did you just compare me to a fucking doll?”
“Considering you’re both brainless? Yes.”
Your jaw drops.
Eunwoo just turns away, completely unbothered. “I’m staying the night to make sure you don’t mess up again. Go put on some actual clothes.”
You stand there, towel-clad, seething.
And so fucking turned on.
•••
I can smell you.
The damp heat of your skin. The soft, lingering scent of your shampoo. The faint traces of sweat where your body burns beneath that useless towel.
You’re flushed— your cheeks, your chest, your thighs. I see all of it.
And you don’t even realize what you’re doing to me.
How fucking obscene you look, standing there in front of him, teasing, tempting, like you’re offering yourself.
Like you’re waiting for someone to grab you, press you against the cold walls of this house, and take you apart.
But not him.
Never him.
He doesn’t deserve to look at you, to hear your breath hitch when he steps closer.
He doesn’t deserve the way your lips part, the way your fingers clutch that towel like you know what you’re doing.
But I do.
I deserve it. I deserve you.
And I will have you.
You’ve already given yourself to me, in ways you don’t even understand.
Every time you touch the doll, every time your fingers linger on his cheek, every time your voice dips into something soft, something affectionate..
You’re touching me. You’re speaking to me.
And you don’t even know it.
But you will.
I watch you now, legs shifting, thighs pressing together as if that will help. As if anything but me could ever give you what you need.
Your body is betraying you, isn’t it?
I know what you want. I know how badly you want it.
The frustration in your movements, the way your fingers tremble when you adjust your towel, the way your breath comes out in soft, shallow little pants.
You’re aching.
Dripping.
Begging.
You just don’t know who you’re begging for.
But soon.
Soon, you’ll understand.
And when you finally do, when you finally look at me, see me for what I am—
There will be no more teasing. No more waiting.
No more towels.
Strings Attached (to my heart)
→ PAIRING : Spider-Man!Jungkook x F!Reader
→ RATING: Explicit, 18+.
→ DATE POSTED: January 20, 2025.
→ SUMMARY : You were a journalist at Yonsei University when you started noticing the strange coincidences between your favorite bumbling freshman and Seoul's newest superhero. The way Spider-Man's voice cracks on 'noona' exactly like Jungkook's does. The way they both bring you the same snacks, have the same nervous energy, the same tendency to ramble when flustered. You tell yourself it's just a coincidence, because the alternative means admitting something you're absolutely not ready to deal with.
→ TAGS : second person perspective used, female pronouns used, college au, spider-man au, noona kink, slight age gap (he’s 21, she’s 24ish), dry humping, virgin jungkook, first time, inexperienced jk, creaming his pants, sexual content, explicit content, library smut, clothed getting off, breast play, grinding, praise kink, crying during sex, crying after sex, embarrassment kink, humiliation kink, slight dom reader x sub jungkook, size difference, pining, jungkook has a big fat crush on you, secret identity, touch starved, protective jungkook, closet sexual activities, desperate jungkook, gentle domming, aftercare, emotional intimacy, fluff and smut, Korean setting, university setting.
→ PLAYLIST: set the vibes.
→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 11.8k
→ A/N: Hi everyone! Welcome to my first attempt at a Spidey!JK AU, where he somehow manages to be an even bigger mess than Peter Parker 😭. This story is very close to my heart because it dives into the dynamic between a confident noona and her adorably flustered freshman—who just so happens to be Seoul’s clumsy new superhero. To be honest, this Spiderkook oneshot was heavily inspired by Tangie, aka @rpwprpwprpwprw (love you bb!!!). I’d been lowkey daydreaming about Spiderkook for ages but thought, “Nah, that’s too silly.” Then I discovered there’s an entire community sharing the same brain cell as me??? Like, you’re welcome for my service, I guess?? Originally, this was supposed to be a short, smutty 5k romp. But do you think I can write smut without plot? I CAN’T. IT’S A MEDICAL CONDITION. Now it’s a 12k beast with feelings, webs, and chaos. Sorry (but not really). If you enjoy this, I might turn it into a mini-series because, let’s be honest, spider powers in… certain scenarios… sound very intriguing. Hihihi. Hope you enjoy this mess I’ve unleashed on the world! 🕸️
Edit: also, yeah. Tae is older than Jimin and Jungkook here because my sleep deprived brain slapped a ‘hyung’ on Jimin’s mouth and I’m not editing again. (≖͞_≖̥)
The thing about Spider-Man is that he reminds you too much of a certain freshman.
A freshman named Jeon Jungkook who keeps hovering around the journalism building with his messy hair and his wide eyes and his endless supply of convenience store snacks.
You've been telling yourself it's just a coincidence. The way Spider-Man's voice cracks on 'noona' exactly like Jungkook's does. The way they both bring you the same snacks, have the same nervous energy, the same tendency to ramble when they're flustered. It's just a coincidence, because the alternative means admitting something you're absolutely not ready to deal with.
Maybe that's why you're hiding in August Coffee, your usual spot tucked away in one of Sinchon's winding side streets.
The late autumn breeze carries the scent of roasted coffee beans through the open window, and your laptop screen glows with half-finished articles and interview transcripts. Your notebook lies open beside a rapidly cooling americano while the café's jazz playlist provides a gentle backdrop to your furious typing. You're on a deadline for tomorrow's paper, and the last thing you need is—
A flash of red and blue swings past the window.
You pretend not to notice. Maybe if you focus hard enough on your screen, he'll take the hint and—
"Noona!"
—of course he doesn't.
There he is, hanging upside down outside the second-floor window, the eyes of his mask wide and eager. A plastic convenience store bag dangles from his hand, swaying in the autumn wind. Several patrons are already pulling out their phones, and you can feel your carefully cultivated productivity slipping away.
"No," you say firmly, not looking up from your laptop.
"But noona—" His voice cracks on the honorific, and you absolutely refuse to find it endearing. "I haven't even said anything yet!"
"I'm working." You take a pointed sip of your americano, grimacing when you realize it's gone cold. Perfect. "Some of us have actual responsibilities, Spider-Boy."
"I brought you snacks!" He awkwardly maneuvers through the window—you're not sure if the owner keeps it open for him specifically or if he's just that persistent. "You know, the ones you like with the matcha filling? The new ones from that fancy Japanese brand?"
You pause, fingers hovering over your keyboard. "How do you know I like the ones with matcha filling?"
"Uh—" Even through the mask, you can tell he's flustered. His hands fidget with the plastic bag. "Lucky guess? Not that I know you, noona. Uh, I mean, you look like a noona. Not that I know for a fact you're a noona—"
"Stop talking." You pinch the bridge of your nose, painfully aware of the phones still recording this interaction. This will definitely end up on some university Instagram page later. Again. "You're making it worse."
He deflates slightly, shoulders hunching in that familiar way that reminds you too much of a certain someone who keeps "accidentally" running into you at the journalism building. The same one who somehow always knows your coffee order and brings you snacks you oh so casually mention fancying—
No. You're not going there. You're not connecting those dots, because connecting those dots leads to complications you absolutely don't need in your final year.
"I can leave if you want," he offers, but he's already approaching, placing the snacks on your table with careful precision. "But you've been here for four hours, and you always forget to eat when you're working on a big story."
You stare at him. "How do you know how long I've been here?"
"I, uh—" His mask's eyes widen comically. "Spider-sense?"
"That's not how spider-sense works."
"You don't know how my spider-sense works! Maybe it's... hungry-noona-sense?"
A laugh escapes before you can stop it, and you quickly cover it with a cough. "That's the worst excuse you've come up with yet."
"Yet!" He perks up. "So you're keeping track?"
"Go away." You open the snack bag anyway, pretending not to notice how he straightens up eagerly when you do. "Don't you have a city to protect or something?"
"Seoul can handle itself for ten minutes while I make sure my favorite n—while I make sure hardworking journalists eat properly."
You raise an eyebrow at the slip, and he fidgets under your gaze. "Your favorite what?"
"Nothing! No one! Just, you know, doing my friendly neighborhood Spider-Man duties. Very friendly. Very neighborly. Nothing specific or personal about it at all."
You bite into one of the matcha-filled snacks—they're fresh, which means he must have bought them recently. Specifically for you. Just like how a certain freshman keeps bringing you fresh triangle kimbap from the convenience store near your morning lecture hall...
No. Stop it. You're not doing this.
"Sit down," you sigh, pushing the chair across from you out with your foot. "And stay quiet, or I’ll kick you out."
He practically collapses into the chair, bag already placed on the table. You notice his hands shaking slightly, and something in your chest tightens.
You shouldn't find it endearing. You really, really shouldn't.
But then again, you probably shouldn't find anything about this situation endearing — a masked vigilante bringing you sweets in the middle of your favorite cafe, stammering through excuses that sound exactly like the ones Jungkook uses when you catch him "accidentally" walking the same way as you after class.
You really need to stop noticing these things.
You try to refocus on your notes after that, but it's hard—mostly because Spider-Man is still sitting there. Quietly. Staring.
And not in a "just glancing around the cafe" kind of way, either. No, he's full-on watching you, eyes darting between the scribbles in your notebook, the crumbs on your plate, and, worst of all, your face. Like you're the most fascinating thing in the world. Like he's never seen someone drink a mediocre americano and type furiously into Google Docs before.
It goes on for five minutes. Five full, agonizing minutes of silence, punctuated only by the occasional click of your keyboard and the muted sounds of espresso machines in the background.
Finally, you sigh, your fingers pausing mid-typing. "Don't you have better stuff to do?"
"No." The response is immediate. Too immediate. His tone is absurdly casual, like the very idea that Spider-Man—the literal defender of Seoul—could have anything more important than sitting in August Coffee and bothering you is completely ridiculous.
You raise a brow, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. "No supervillains to fight? No cats stuck in trees? Nothing?"
"Nope," he says, popping the 'p' for emphasis. "Pretty quiet day."
You shake your head and turn your attention back to your laptop. "Must be nice."
There's a pause. You can feel him shifting in his seat, the chair creaking slightly under his weight, and when he speaks again, his voice is just shy of hesitant.
"How are the pastries? Do you like them?"
Your fingers freeze over your keyboard. Slowly, you turn to face him again, narrowing your eyes.
"You didn't spit in them, did you?"
"Wha—no!" he sputters, his whole posture stiffening in obvious horror. "Why—why would I—noona, I would never spit in your pastries!"
You let him sweat for a second longer, just to amuse yourself, before breaking into a small, satisfied smirk.
"Relax, Spider-Boy. I'm kidding." You reach for the bag of snacks he brought. "Yeah, they're good. Wanna try?"
His eyes widen a little—well, as much as they can through that mask—and he seems to hesitate, like he's not sure if you're serious or trying to bait him again. You wave one of the pastries in his direction. He glances at it, then back at you, before finally nodding.
"Okay. Yeah, sure."
You watch as he carefully rolls his mask up just to his nose, revealing his mouth for the first time. You don't know what you expected, but… it's a good mouth. Maybe annoyingly good, given how little you want to admit that very obvious fact to yourself. Full lips, slightly pink, with just the faintest hint of nervousness as he bites at his bottom lip before leaning forward.
He takes a bite of the pastry you're holding out to him, and the pleased groan he lets out immediately makes you regret offering him anything at all.
"God, that's delicious," he mumbles around his mouthful, crumbs falling onto his suit. He barely finishes chewing before continuing. "Now I know why you like them so much. I mean—why people say they're so good. Not you specifically. Just, you know, people."
You snort, shaking your head as you turn back to your laptop. "You're a terrible liar."
"And you're a terrible bossy noona," he mutters, mostly to himself, stuffing the rest of the pastry into his mouth before leaning back in his chair.
You're about to toss another sarcastic remark his way when something catches your eye. Or, more specifically, half of something. A small smudge of green—matcha filling, you realize—lingering on the corner of his mouth.
It's instinctive, the way your hand moves—completely unthinking, like muscle memory kicking in before your brain has a chance to catch up. One moment, you're perfectly stationary in your seat; the next, your thumb is brushing against his lip, swiping the smudge away with a gentle, practiced motion.
He startles at the touch, his whole body jerking slightly as his eyes snap to yours. And then, just like that, reality crashes back in.
Your hand freezes midair.
His mouth parts for half a second, like he's about to say something, but then his tongue darts out—slow, deliberate—to lick the exact spot your thumb had just brushed.
You snatch your hand back like you've been burned, your face heating despite yourself.
The silence that follows is awful. Deafening. Inescapable.
He shifts in his chair, his eyes flickering to the table, then back to you, then down again. He clears his throat—once, then twice—before adjusting the edge of his suit with what you can only describe as frantic energy.
"So… uh…" His voice is tight. Way tighter than usual, cracking slightly on the first syllable. "Thanks for that. The, uh. The whole… lip thing. That was. Uh. Cool."
You blink at him, deadpan. "Cool?"
"Yeah. Cool. Totally normal and cool. Happens all the time. Super casual."
If you weren't so flustered yourself, you'd have laughed at the way he's fidgeting in his seat, his hands gripping his thighs under the table like he's trying not to explode.
"Right," you say slowly, leaning back in your chair. "Casual."
"Exactly."
He nods a little too enthusiastically, and you notice his knees bumping against each other under the table before he quickly crosses his legs. His hands drop to his lap almost immediately after, like he's trying to adjust the spandex near his thighs.
Your gaze is momentarily drawn there before—
"Anyway!" The word comes out nearly an octave higher than it should. He's already standing—or, more accurately, bolting to his feet—his hands still awkwardly hovering in front of him. "I should, uh, get going! Supervillains don't wait, you know? Gotta, uh… save the people of Seoul. Yeah. Big hero stuff."
You stare at him, unblinking, as he starts inching toward the door. "Uh-huh."
"Thanks for the pastries, noona! Great talk, as always!" He clears his throat again, audibly struggling to keep his voice steady. "Okay! Bye!"
And then he's gone, practically sprinting out of the cafe before he can embarrass himself any further.
You sit there for a long moment, still frozen, your brain catching up to what just happened. Then, slowly, you reach for another pastry.
Whatever just happened? Definitely not your problem.
"I'm such a fucking idiot."
Jungkook's voice is muffled by his hands, currently covering his face in what can only be described as unrelenting shame. He's lying on Jimin's couch, legs splayed out haphazardly, the picture of a man defeated by his own existence.
Across the room, Jimin raises an eyebrow, lazily popping another chip into his mouth. The bag crinkles loudly, much to Jungkook's dismay. "It's not that bad, Kooks. She probably didn't even notice."
Jungkook groans, dragging his hands down his face until his eyes peek out dramatically between his fingers. "She 100% noticed. It was—like—a five-minute interaction. FIVE minutes, and I made it weird. Now she's gonna think I'm a fucking weirdo and a creep."
Jimin doesn't even try to hide the snort that escapes him, his expression somewhere between entertained and unimpressed. "Yeah, because stalking her as Spider-Man didn't have her thinking that already."
Jungkook bolts upright on the couch, eyes wide with panic. "She told you that?!"
Jimin chokes on his chip, wheezing as he waves his hand for Jungkook to calm down. "No! Shit, man, calm down. I'm just saying. Like, I guess? I mean, you do kind of… hover. A lot."
"I don't hover," Jungkook protests, indignant. But even as the words leave his mouth, he hesitates. "Do I hover?"
Jimin gives him a look.
Jungkook groans again, flopping back onto the couch like his limbs have given up on life. "Oh my god, you're right. I hover. I'm that guy. And now it's worse because who the fuck pops a boner from someone—" He pauses, embarrassingly aware of the words about to leave his mouth. "—touching their lip? What is wrong with me? I must be insane. She must think I'm insane."
Jimin, now thoroughly entertained, leans back in his chair with his bag of chips, one leg crossed over the other. "I mean... it's not great," he says unhelpfully, though there's a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Jungkook lets out a strangled noise, somewhere between a groan and a whimper, and buries his face back into his hands. "She's never gonna look at me the same. I probably freaked her out. GOD, she's gonna think I'm some kind of pervert. Or—worse—she's gonna avoid me completely now. And then I'll never see her again. And then—"
"Okay, okay," Jimin interrupts, holding up a hand to stop whatever spiral Jungkook's about to drag them into. "First of all, she offered to share her snack with you, so I don't think she's avoiding you anytime soon."
"But that was BEFORE—"
"Second of all," Jimin continues loudly, ignoring Jungkook's interjection, "maybe just... stop calling her 'noona' every chance you get? It's not helping your case."
Jungkook frowns, peeking out from behind his fingers again. "What's wrong with calling her noona? That's respectful!"
"Yeah, but it's also kinda... you know," Jimin winces, waving a hand vaguely. "Weird, coming from you. Like, you're already bumbling around her like a lost golden retriever. Adding 'noona' into the mix just makes you look—what's the word?"
"Adorable?" Jungkook tries hopefully.
"Pathetic," Jimin finishes, deadpan.
Jungkook groans for what feels like the millionth time, throwing his head against the couch cushion. "Why do I even talk to you? You're supposed to make me feel better, hyung. Not worse."
"Hey, I'm here for the truth," Jimin says, pointing at him with a chip in hand. "You want a cheerleader, go call Taehyung."
"Taehyung's just gonna laugh at me," Jungkook mutters into the cushion.
"And yet, you're shocked I'm doing it too."
Jungkook mumbles something unintelligible, his face half-smashed into the cushion now as he replays every excruciating detail of his interaction with you earlier. The way your thumb had brushed his lip. The way he'd immediately been unable to control the—well, reaction. The way he'd panicked like an idiot, stammered something incomprehensible, and practically bolted out of the cafe without even finishing his sentence.
"Kill me," he says dramatically, still face-down in the cushion. "Just end me. I can't show my face again."
Jimin laughs, leaning forward to pat Jungkook's shoulder in a way that's more mocking than comforting. "Relax, man. You'll survive. Just... maybe keep your hormones in check next time, yeah?"
Jungkook flips him off blindly, his hand waving somewhere above his head.
"Love you too, Spider-Menace," Jimin quips, taking another chip like this is the best entertainment he's had all week.
The crunching sound of Jimin biting into another chip is loud enough to make Jungkook groan into the couch again. "Do you ever stop eating?" Jungkook mutters, his voice muffled by the cushion.
Jimin raises an eyebrow, unbothered, and is about to throw a smartass reply back when his phone buzzes on the coffee table. He glances at the screen, sees Taehyung's name, and shrugs, casually placing the phone between his shoulder and ear as he picks up without pausing his snacking.
"What's up?" Jimin hums lazily, chips still in hand, completely ignoring Jungkook's existential crisis unfolding just feet away from him.
Jungkook's ears perk up despite himself—because why else would Taehyung be calling Jimin right now? He lifts his head just enough to peek over the cushion, his hair mussed and sticking up in odd directions.
Jimin's expression doesn't change at first, eyes still fixated on the bag of chips in his lap as he listens. "Yeah, he's with me," he says vaguely, gesturing aimlessly toward Jungkook, who frowns at being referred to like some stray dog Jimin found.
But then Jimin freezes. His chewing slows. His eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline as Taehyung says something that causes him to do a violent double take at Jungkook.
"What?" Jimin coughs, choking on the chip he was mid-swallow. He pounds his chest a little before leaning forward sharply. "He—what? What, what, what—? Tae, calm down—!"
"What's going on?" Jungkook asks, sitting up now, his stomach twisting uncomfortably at Jimin's sudden change in tone.
Jimin waves him off with a quick flick of his hand, signaling for him to shut up. "No, yeah. Yeah, no, I know," Jimin mumbles into the phone, his tone getting increasingly more exasperated as he listens. "Tae—okay? Can you just—okay?"
"What's wrong??" Jungkook asks again, panic creeping into his voice. He hates not knowing what's going on, especially when Jimin looks... concerned? Flustered? Whatever it is, it's not good.
Jimin twists his head toward Jungkook, eyes narrowing as he motions aggressively with his entire head for Jungkook to shut the hell up.
"Okay, let me— what? You wanna talk to him?" Jimin repeats, his voice pitching higher in disbelief. "Oh, now you wanna talk to him? Fine! Okay, okay, okay, here."
Before Jungkook can process what's happening, Jimin is all but shoving his phone into Jungkook's hands, plunking the bag of chips onto the bed with a dramatic sigh.
"Take it," Jimin mutters, irritation bleeding into his tone.
"Wait, why do I have to—"
"Take it," Jimin repeats, louder this time, his hand already retreating as he grabs another chip to munch on, clearly done with whatever chaos Taehyung just unloaded on him.
Jungkook swallows nervously, holding the phone to his ear as Taehyung's voice immediately fills it in a panicked rush.
"Jungkook! Oh my god, dude, you're not gonna believe this—" Taehyung starts, and Jungkook feels his entire stomach plummet before Taehyung can even finish his sentence.
"Believe what?" Jungkook half-yells into the phone, his voice cracking just slightly at the end, betraying the anxiety bubbling under his skin.
"Don't freak out," Taehyung begins, which, of course, makes Jungkook's blood pressure shoot straight through the roof. His knuckles grip Jimin's phone tightly, and he shares a panicked look with Jimin, who's now leaning against the coffee table with a chip halfway to his mouth, watching the scene unfold like it's prime-time drama.
"I'm already freaking out, hyung! Just tell me!" Jungkook demands, pacing the room like a caged animal.
"Okay, so," Taehyung starts again, and Jungkook can hear the smirk in his voice, which immediately makes him want to fling the phone out the window. "You know Y/N, yeah?"
"Do I—what do you mean, 'do I know Y/N'?! Of course I know—just get to the point!" Jungkook's frustration is mounting by the second. He's wound so tight he feels like a single flick might send him spiraling.
"Okay, Mr. Touchy," Taehyung says innocently, and Jungkook can practically see him holding back a laugh wherever he is. "So, uh… apparently, she's been asking questions."
Jungkook stops dead in his tracks. His heart lurches in a way that makes his hands clammy against the phone. "Questions?" he repeats, voice barely above a whisper.
"Yeah," Taehyung continues, tone far too blasé for Jungkook's liking. "You know, like... about Spider-Man."
Jungkook swears his brain short-circuits. For a second, all he hears is static, like every neuron in his head has collectively stopped firing.
"...What kind of questions?" he asks quietly, his voice taking on an edge that immediately grabs Jimin's attention.
"Oh, you know." Taehyung's voice is light, purposefully teasing. "Like, how he seems to always show up when she's around, or how he just happens to bring her favorite snacks, or—oh, this one's my favorite—how his voice cracks exactly like a certain freshman she knows at Yonsei."
Jungkook's knees buckle, and he collapses back onto the couch like his strings have been cut. Jimin is now openly laughing, clutching his stomach with one hand while pointing at Jungkook with the other.
"She—oh my god," Jungkook mutters into the phone, his free hand running through his hair in frantic tugs. "She knows. She knows, doesn't she? I'm so fucked."
"Hey, hey, calm down!" Taehyung says hurriedly, though his voice is still laced with amusement. "She doesn't know know. I mean, I don't think so. She's not like, accusing you or anything. Just... putting pieces together. Y'know, connecting dots."
"Connecting dots?!" Jungkook hisses, his chest tightening as his worst nightmare begins to unfold in real time. "Do you have any idea how many dots there ARE, hyung?! I'm like a walking... dot-factory!"
Jimin absolutely loses it, doubling over in laughter as crumbs from his chips scatter across the floor.
"Okay, Kook, you need to calm down," Taehyung says, though his tone suggests he's also suppressing a laugh. "She's just curious, that's all. You know how Y/N is. She's a journalist. She's always sniffing around for a good story, right?"
"She doesn't need THIS story!" Jungkook yells, his hand clenching into a fist against his thigh. "Oh my god, what if she writes about it? What if she—what if it ENDS UP IN THE SCHOOL PAPER?!"
"Relax, relax, relax," Taehyung says in quick succession, his voice almost soothing now. "She's not gonna write about it. I don't think she'd do that to you... unless, you know, you give her a reason to."
Jungkook groans, leaning forward to bury his face in his hands again. "I'm so dead. She's gonna out me. My life is over. My life is literally over."
"Hyung," Jimin finally pipes up, gasping for air as he wipes away a tear from laughing too hard. "Tell him to just confess already. At this rate, she'll figure it out before he ever grows the balls to tell her himself."
"Confess?" Jungkook sputters, jerking his head up to glare at Jimin. "Are you insane?! You want me to walk up to her and go, 'Hey, Y/N, funny thing—remember how you thought I was stalking you? Well, surprise! I was, but it's okay because I'm Spider-Man!' That's your plan?!"
Jimin shrugs, smirking as he tosses a chip into his mouth. "Worked for Andrew Garfield."
"THIS IS NOT A MOVIE!"
Taehyung's laugh echoes through the phone, loud and clear. "Oh man, I wish I was there to see this meltdown in person. Seriously, Kook, stop freaking out. Just... play it cool, okay? She doesn't know anything for sure. Yet."
"Yet?!" Jungkook exclaims, horror-struck.
"Gotta go!" Taehyung says way too quickly, the call disconnecting before Jungkook can yell at him further.
Jungkook stares at the phone in disbelief, his chest heaving as Jimin's smug laughter reverberates in the background.
"Cool," Jimin repeats mockingly, curving his lips. "Yeah, Kook, just play it cool. You're so good at that."
Jungkook groans, tossing the phone onto the couch and collapsing after it. "I need new friends."
"You love us," Jimin chirps, reaching for another chip.
Jungkook screams into the pillow.
You were expecting something, anything, really. A subtle slip-up. A sheepish confession. Hell, maybe even some stammering and nervous sweating.
But the moment you confronted Taehyung—cornered him, really, by the vending machine in the student lounge—and the words "Do you know if Jungkook's Spider-Man?" left your mouth, all he did was cackle. Loudly. Mockingly. Like a full-on villain in a Saturday morning cartoon.
"Spider-Man?" he wheezed, doubling over and clutching his stomach like you'd just told him the funniest joke in existence. "Jungkook? Jeon Jungkook? Noona, you're joking, right?"
You blinked, momentarily thrown off by how visceral his reaction was. "No. I'm not joking," you said stiffly, crossing your arms. "What's so funny about it?"
Taehyung straightened up, wiping a fake tear from the corner of his eye as he glanced at you with barely contained amusement. "Do you know Jungkook? Like, know him? Because that kid has two left feet. I've literally seen him trip over air. How would he even swing that gracefully?"
For a brief, fleeting moment, you felt the smallest hitch in your resolve. Because, well, the evidence did kind of contradict itself, didn't it? Jungkook is clumsy sometimes. That much is true. You've seen him knock over a whole stack of textbooks just trying to nod hello at you in the hallway. He once walked into a doorframe because he was too busy staring at his phone.
Spider-Man, by comparison, is supposed to be graceful. Quick. Precise. Not... whatever it is Jungkook embodies most of the time.
But then you think about the stupid coffee shop incident. The way Spider-Man stammered and fidgeted and tripped over his words like a nervous wreck. The way he dropped his entire cool superhero persona when he handed you those damn matcha pastries. He wasn't exactly graceful then, was he?
And okay, let's talk about those pastries for a second. Because the more you think about them, the more your brain starts spinning. You distinctly remember mentioning them once—to Eunjae, over lunch in the cafeteria, weeks ago. How the hell would Spider-Man know about them if he wasn't there to overhear?
You frown, chewing on the inside of your cheek as the pieces start stacking themselves again in your head. Jungkook might be clumsy, sure. But Spider-Man was clumsy too. At least, that day he was. And the matcha pastries aren't just a coincidence. They can't be.
Your inner spiral is abruptly interrupted by a bright, familiar voice calling out behind you.
"Noona!"
You whirl around at the sound like a guilty kid caught stealing candy, heart practically leaping into your throat because you know that voice anywhere. And there he is, the devil himself—Jeon Jungkook, all floppy hair and dumbly wide grin, bounding toward you like an overexcited golden retriever.
He sidesteps a couple of students in his path, his long legs moving with just a little too much energy. Honestly, it's a miracle he doesn't trip.
"I brought you these!" he announces, holding up a plastic bag like it's some kind of trophy. His grin stretches so wide it practically touches his ears, and you hate that your first thought is how stupidly adorable he looks.
Stupid, you think, swiping the bag from his hand. Not adorable. Definitely not adorable. You're sure of it.
Peeking inside, your brows furrow. "Hotteok?"
Jungkook presses his lips together, humming as he nods eagerly. "Yeah! You—" His smile falters just a touch. "You don't like it?"
The way his face drops shouldn't make you feel so guilty, but it does, and it's annoying. "No, uh, I mean…" You struggle for the right words, because… hotteok? Really? You'd been expecting the matcha pastries again. This feels almost purposeful—like he's playing dumb. Is he? Or is this proof that you've been completely off base this whole time?
You're overthinking again. Shaking your head, you wave off the thought entirely. "Yeah, thank you, Jungkook-ah," you mutter, tone softer than you mean it to be.
The banmal slips out without much thought, but the effect it has is immediate. His eyes go wide, and then his whole face lights up in the kind of beam that makes you want to smack yourself for fueling his enthusiasm.
"This is the first time you dropped honorifics with me," he says, looking downright gleeful.
You clench the bag a little tighter and wish you could hate him. Why is he so excited over something so small? Why does it make your chest feel weirdly tight? And why is it so hard to stay annoyed at him when he looks at you like that?
God, this kid.
"Don't get used to it," you mutter gruffly, turning away before the growing warmth in your cheeks betrays you completely.
"So," he begins, falling into step beside you as you start walking toward the journalism building. "What are your plans for today?"
You don't respond. Not out of spite or anything—you're just not in the mood to entertain whatever puppy-dog energy he's radiating right now.
"Writing notes?" he prompts, glancing sideways at you, his tone just a little too hopeful for your liking.
Still, you say nothing.
"Coffee?"
Nope.
"Gonna catch leads for Spider-Man's identity?"
That one makes you stop dead in your tracks. You whirl around so fast he nearly collides with you, blinking like a deer caught in headlights. "Huh?"
His eyes widen marginally, mouth opening and closing like he's trying to come up with a quick excuse. "Taehyung told me!" he blurts, the words tumbling out in a rush.
For a second, you just stare at him, blinking once, then twice. "Huh," you reply, eyebrows quirking upward.
"Yeah!" he adds, voice pitching slightly higher, probably in an effort to sound casual. "He said you were, uh, investigating? Like, Spider-Man and all that? You know, trying to figure out who he is?"
Your head tilts as you study him, arms crossing instinctively. "Did he now?"
"Uh-huh," he nods enthusiastically, though the way his hand rubs at the back of his neck gives him away almost immediately. "I mean, not that I think that's, like, bad or anything? It's cool! Totally cool! I mean, you're a journalist, so, like, it's your job, right? Investigating stuff and—"
"Jungkook."
He freezes, looking way too much like a kid caught sneaking cookies before dinner.
"Why," you ask, narrowing your eyes just slightly, "do you sound like you're trying to convince me not to?"
"I-I'm not! I'm not," he stammers, waving his hands frantically. "I was just, you know, saying! Like, uh, if anyone were trying to find his identity, it'd definitely be you because, uh… you're smart? And observant? And not at all easy to fool?"
Your brow arches higher, his stream of nervous compliments only fueling the suspicion building in your chest.
"Right," you say slowly, dragging out the word as you step closer, watching the way his Adam's apple bobs nervously when your gaze meets his. "So hypothetically…"
"H-Hypothetically," he squeaks, leaning back like he's mentally bracing himself for whatever's coming next.
"If I was trying to find out who Spider-Man is," you continue, voice calm and steady, "you wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that, now would you?"
The way he freezes, body rigid and eyes darting everywhere but at you, would be funny if it weren't so telling. The sheer panic written all over his face is practically criminal.
"I—uh—no? N-No. Definitely not," he stammers, the pitch of his voice betraying him entirely. "W-Why would I have anything to do with that? I'm just a freshman! I don't even know Spider-Man! I mean, who even is Spider-Man? Could be anyone, right? Crazy world we live in, haha…"
You take a moment to just stare at him, fighting the urge to roll your eyes so hard they might actually get stuck. "Right," you deadpan, turning on your heel to start walking again.
Jungkook exhales audibly behind you, feet scrambling to catch up. "Y-Yeah, right! That's what I thought too!" he says quickly, clearly desperate to steer the conversation in another direction. "Anyway, uh, where were we? Oh! Notes! Are you writing notes today, noona?"
You don't respond. Again. Mostly because you're too busy replaying his very suspicious reaction over and over in your head like a mental highlight reel.
Yeah… no way this kid isn't up to something.
You keep walking, your steps steady, purposeful. Jungkook, as always, trots along beside you like he's afraid you might disappear if he doesn't keep up. And unlike you, who values peace and quiet, Jungkook doesn't seem to understand the concept of shutting up.
"So, like, I was thinking," he starts, voice bright and eager. "If Spider-Man's around all the time, do you think he lives nearby? Like, maybe he's a uni student? Or—or maybe he's secretly a professor? Oh my god, imagine Professor Kim as Spider-Man—he'd probably web someone for being late to class, right? Oh, oh, or he'd use his powers to booby-trap the lecture hall if we don't submit our midterms on time! Haha—what do you think, noona?"
You don't answer.
"And have you noticed he wears, like, the same colors as Yonsei's? Like, blue and red? Do you think that's on purpose? Maybe he's trying to rep the school spirit! Or maybe he's trying to throw us off! Who knows, right? I mean, what's your theory? You must have a theory—you're always so smart about these things—"
"Jungkook," you interject, your voice flat as you stop abruptly in your tracks. He almost trips trying to halt beside you, blinking wide-eyed like he didn't expect you to actually respond.
"Yeah?"
"Don't you have class?" You ask, turning your head just enough for him to see the pointed look you're giving him.
He licks his lips, and you know he's about to lie before the words even leave his mouth. "No?"
"Liar," you deadpan, already turning back to face forward.
"You know my schedule?" he shoots back, voice teasing as he trails after you again.
You roll your eyes but don't give him the satisfaction of a retort. If you respond, he'll just milk it—probably tease you further, or worse, distract you with another string of nonsense questions about Spider-Man. No, you're better off ignoring him.
So, you keep walking. He keeps rambling.
And then—
The sound of a bus engine roaring down the street takes you off guard. You don't even register the rush of movement until it's too late.
Suddenly, there's a firm pressure against your shoulders, and you're stumbling—but not forward, no—backward. Stumbling directly into Jungkook's chest, his arms bracketing your body like they're the only thing stopping you from tumbling straight into the pavement.
Your breath catches, your heart pounding against your ribs. You freeze, blinking up at him in shock. "What the—"
He's close. Too close. His face hovers just inches from yours, his expression wide-eyed and… strained.
"Are you okay?" he blurts, his voice laced with breathless concern like he's just sprinted a marathon.
You don't answer. You can't answer. Because all you can think about is how the hell he even managed to grab you like that.
He was five meters away. Five meters away, Jungkook. There's no way he could've—
"What the fuck," you murmur under your breath, your mind racing a mile a minute as you shove yourself upright, still staring at him like he's grown a second head. "How—when—how the fuck did you just—"
"It was nothing!" he rushes out, cutting you off before you can finish your sentence. His voice cracks, and he's already letting go of you, stepping back like he's afraid of the scrutiny in your eyes. "I-I mean, reflexes? Adrenaline? Fight or flight? Haha…"
You narrow your eyes, suspicious once again. "…Right."
Jungkook scratches the back of his neck, the tips of his ears turning red. "Yeah, uh… it's all good. You're fine, right? Totally fine! So, uh… should we—keep walking? Yep, let's keep walking!"
He starts to turn away again, clearly desperate to move on, but you don't budge. You're too busy trying to piece together what just happened, trying to figure out how Jungkook keeps doing things that defy all logic and common sense.
And that's when it hits you.
Spider-Man. Fast reflexes. The ability to move like that without warning. You glance down at his feet, planted firmly on the ground, and then back up at his sheepish grin.
No fucking way.
"I'm leaving."
"No—come on, Tae, you promised!" Jungkook whines, clutching at Taehyung's shoulder like a child trying to stop his older sibling from walking out the door.
Taehyung stops mid-stride, turning to glare at him with an expression that's this close to murderous. "I promised you I'd study with you at the library," he hisses. "Not that we'd come here so you can sit there and drool all over her."
Jungkook freezes, eyes wide. "I—what?!"
"You heard me," Taehyung deadpans, shoving Jungkook's hand off his shoulder.
"I have no clue what you're talking about," Jungkook mumbles, feigning innocence as he suddenly averts his gaze.
Taehyung rolls his eyes so hard it's a miracle they don't get stuck. "Kook, you've been staring at her table since we walked in. Don't even try to deny it."
"I—have not!" Jungkook protests, voice pitching just slightly higher than normal. His head jerks around, and of course his eyes instinctively flicker to your table. The one three meters to the left. The one where you're currently sitting, completely engrossed in your notes, pencil moving methodically across the page like it's the only thing that matters in the world.
You're breathtaking. Ethereal. Like a beam of light in the dull, dusty gloom of the library.
And honestly, Jungkook's not even sure why he's into you. Okay, maybe he's a little sure. Or a lot. But that's not the point—the point is—he is definitely not staring. Not staring, not drooling. Definitely.
"You're doing it right now, man," Taehyung mutters, arms crossed.
"I'm not!"
"You are."
"I'm not! It's just—" Jungkook swallows, gesturing vaguely in your direction. "I was just… checking out the table. It's a nice table! Good wood quality, sturdy legs. The craftsmanship is—"
"Good wood quality?" Taehyung repeats, staring at him like he's lost his mind.
Jungkook groans, throwing his hands up in defeat. "Fine! Okay! Maybe I glanced at her for a second. It's not a crime, hyung!"
Taehyung lets out a long-suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose like he's already regretting his life choices. "I am so done with you," he mutters. But even as the words leave his mouth, he walks toward one of the tables anyway and plops his bag down into one of the vacant chairs.
"Sit," he grumbles, motioning vaguely to the chair across from him. "And don't make me regret this."
Jungkook doesn't need to be told twice. He practically trips over himself as he sits, trying to act cool and not-at-all-focused on the fact that you're sitting so close. So close that he can see the faint furrow in your brow as you concentrate, or the way you absentmindedly tap the end of your pencil against your notebook.
He's not staring. Definitely not staring. Probably.
"You're staring again," Taehyung says flatly, not even bothering to look up from his own notes.
"No, I'm not!" Jungkook hisses, slouching lower in his chair.
Taehyung snorts. "Okay, Mr. 'Good Wood Quality.' Sure."
Jungkook tries. He really does. He's here to study—or at least, he's here to pretend to study—and he's determined to do something productive. Something library-like. Something that doesn't involve spending the entire time sneaking glances at you like some lovesick idiot.
So, step one: grab a book. Easy. People in libraries read books, right? He can do that. Simple.
He meanders through the shelves, grabbing the first book that catches his eye. He doesn't even check the title. Doesn't matter. A book's a book.
Step two: sit down. Done. Chair, occupied. Book, open.
Step three: look at the book like he's actually reading it.
He squints at the text, hoping his brain will absorb something through sheer willpower because god knows his mind sure as hell isn't cooperating right now. Every five seconds, it drifts back to the table three meters away, where you're still sitting, still taking notes, still looking unfairly... breathtaking.
"Jungkook," Taehyung mutters, his voice barely above a grumble as he glances up from his own book. "Why the fuck are you reading that?"
"What?" Jungkook blinks, startled, then looks down at the book in his hands for the first time.
Advanced Theoretical Physics.
Oh.
"You don't even study physics," Taehyung points out flatly, his tone dripping with judgment.
Jungkook flushes, slamming the book shut and fumbling to shove it under the table. "I—uh—thought it looked interesting."
Taehyung stares at him. "Sure you did."
Before Jungkook can come up with anything to salvage what's left of his dignity, you—of all people—decide to stand up, and all the air in Jungkook's lungs promptly decides to leave with you.
Oh, god. You're moving. Why are you moving? Where are you going? Should he say something? Should he act casual? Should he—
You shift slightly, gathering your things, and suddenly Jungkook's heart is doing this weird thing where it's racing and stuttering and flipping over itself, and now his body is moving before his brain can even think to stop it.
"Gotta go," he blurts, practically tripping over his chair as he bolts to his feet. "To the bathroom. I have to—pee. Yeah, really super really need to pee right now. See you in a bit!"
Taehyung looks up, stunned, as Jungkook all but sprints toward the library exit. "What the—wait—"
But Jungkook's already halfway across the library, muttering curses under his breath as he tries not to make it obvious that he's absolutely not going to the bathroom.
Taehyung sighs deeply, dragging a hand down his face before muttering to himself, "He's gonna get us banned from this place, isn't he?"
Jungkook's halfway to the library exit, heart pounding, when he realizes something odd.
You're not heading to the exit.
You're not even walking toward the bathroom.
He skids to a stop, trying very hard to play it cool, to act like he's not absolutely clocking your every move. His hands find their way into his hoodie pocket as he leans against the nearest bookshelf, pretending to scan the titles like he's not also sneaking glances at you over his shoulder.
Okay, so you're not leaving. That's fine. Totally normal. You're just… heading deeper into the library. Toward some distant corner, weaving past tables and shelves like you've got some secret mission.
And Jungkook? Jungkook is absolutely not a stalker. He's not. He's just curious. That's it. Normal behavior. Normal library behavior for a normal freshman.
Totally not unhinged.
But then you disappear behind a bookshelf, and his feet are moving before his brain can step on the brakes.
He follows, not too fast—just casual-like. Normal person stuff. Nothing suspicious. His eyes dart between shelves as he tries to spot where you went, his stomach doing this weird twisty thing that's part nerves, part excitement, part oh-god-why-am-I-like-this anxiety.
And just when he thinks he's catching up, just when he rounds the corner of yet another shelf and is about to spot you—
Yank.
Jungkook barely has time to register what's happening before soft hands grab him by the hoodie and pull him into a small, cramped room. His back bumps into something solid—he thinks it's the door—and suddenly you're standing right there, close enough that he can see every detail of your face, from the faint line of concentration on your forehead to the subtle curl of your lips as you exhale sharply.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.
"You," you exhale, your voice sharp but quiet. "Have some explaining to do, young mister."
Jungkook's mouth opens, but nothing comes out. His brain is short-circuiting, sparking like a broken circuit board, because—how? Why? When? What?
"I—uh—I—what?" he stammers, blinking rapidly as his eyes dart around the tiny supply closet you've dragged him into. It's all brooms and cleaning supplies and the faint smell of lemon disinfectant, and holy fuck, it is too small in here. You're too close.
"Don't play dumb," you mutter, arms crossing as you lean back just slightly—not enough to give him actual breathing room, but enough to make him feel like he's being scrutinized under a microscope. "You've been acting… weird."
"Weird?" He squeaks, his voice cracking embarrassingly. "Me? Weird? No, I'm not weird! I'm—uh—normal! Super normal! The most normal person ever!"
Your brow arches, the skepticism written all over your face making his knees weak. "Normal people don't act like they've got something to hide," you reply evenly.
"I don't have anything to hide!" he says way too quickly, voice pitching high again.
You don't look convinced. Not one bit.
Jungkook swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry as he tries to come up with an excuse, a cover, a way to escape both this tiny-ass room and the weight of your accusing gaze.
But all he can think about is how close you are. How your voice sounds louder in this little space. How your shampoo smells faintly like citrus. How utterly and completely trapped he feels—not just against the door, but under the intensity of your stare.
And he's so screwed. So screwed.
"The bus thing," you say, and Jungkook feels his entire soul leave his body for approximately three seconds before crash-landing right back into his chest with a painful thud.
"What bus thing?" he asks, trying for innocent confusion, but his voice comes out more like a strangled whisper. "There are lots of bus things. Buses are everywhere. Seoul's public transport system is very efficient and—"
"Three days ago," you cut him off, eyes narrowing. "When I almost got hit."
Oh.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
The memory hits him like a freight train. Three days ago. That stupid bus driver who didn't see you crossing. The way his heart had stopped dead in his chest when he realized you were about to—and he'd just—without thinking—
He'd used his webs.
On you.
In broad daylight.
As Jungkook.
Not Spider-Man.
Just... regular freshman Jeon Jungkook, who definitely shouldn't have access to web-shooters or superhuman reflexes or the ability to yank someone out of harm's way from five meters away.
"I don't—" he starts, but his mouth is dry, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth. "That was just—"
"Just what?" you press, leaning closer. "Just adrenaline? Just reflexes? Just another totally normal thing that totally normal freshmen do?"
"Yes?" he squeaks, pressing himself further against the shelf on his back like he might somehow phase through it if he tries hard enough.
Your eyes narrow further. "Really."
"Really!" He nods frantically. "I mean, haven't you heard those stories? About moms lifting cars off their kids? Same thing! Totally the same thing. Chemistry major stuff. Very scientific. Fight or flight response. Cortisol. Adrenaline. Biology... things."
"You're not a chemistry major."
"I could be!"
"You're in communications."
"...Minor in chemistry?"
You stare at him for a long moment, and Jungkook swears he can feel sweat beginning to bead at the back of his neck. This closet is too small. The air is too thick. You're too close, and your eyes are too sharp, and oh god, he's really messed up this time hasn't he?
"Jungkook," you say, voice low and steady. "How exactly did you pull me away from that bus?"
"I... ran really fast?"
"You were five meters away."
"I'm... very athletic?"
"Five meters, Jungkook."
He swallows hard, adam's apple bobbing nervously. "Would you believe me if I said I've been working out?"
The look you give him could probably melt steel. "Try again."
"Yoga?"
"Jungkook."
"Pilates?"
You lean even closer, if that's possible, and Jungkook's pretty sure his heart is about to explode right out of his chest. "One more chance," you murmur. "Tell me the truth."
And god, he wants to. He really, really wants to. Because you're right there, looking at him with those eyes that see right through him, and he's tired of lying, tired of pretending, tired of—
"I just..." he starts, voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't let you get hurt."
Your expression softens, just slightly, but your gaze remains unwavering. "How did you do it?"
"I—"
Just as Jungkook's about to bolt, there's a distinct click that makes both of you freeze.
"What the—?" You whirl around, pushing past him to grab the handle. It doesn't budge. You try again, yanking harder this time. Nothing.
"You must be fucking kidding me," you mutter under your breath, jiggling the handle with increasing frustration.
And that's when Jungkook realizes several things at once:
1. Someone's locked you two in.
2. The closet is tiny.
3. You're pressed up against him trying to open the door.
4. Your ass is—
Oh god.
Oh god.
This cannot be happening. Not again. Not after the coffee shop incident. Not after he literally had to swing away to deal with his... situation.
"Fuck," he breathes, trying to press himself further into the piece of furniture behind him, but there's nowhere to go. The shelves dig into his back as he attempts to create even an inch of space between your bodies.
His hands hover awkwardly at his sides, not daring to touch you, not daring to move. His breath catches in his throat as you shift again, still wrestling with the door handle, completely oblivious to the way each movement sends sparks of electricity through his entire body.
"Hey!" you call out, banging on the door. "This isn't funny!"
Focus on something else, Jungkook tells himself desperately. Anything else. Math. Chemistry. Professor Kim's boring lectures. That time Jimin ate an entire jar of kimchi and—
You shift again, and Jungkook has to bite his lip to suppress a strangled noise.
"Seriously," you growl, hitting the door again. "Whoever's out there better unlock this right now or I swear to god—"
Think unsexy thoughts. Think unsexy thoughts. Dead puppies. Tax forms. Spidey suit chafing. Anything but how soft you feel against—
"Jungkook?" Your voice cuts through his desperate mental gymnastics. "You okay? You're breathing kind of weird."
"Fine!" he squeaks, voice way too high to be convincing. "Totally fine! Just, uh... claustrophobic! Very claustrophobic. Super claustrophobic. Did I mention I'm claustrophobic?"
You turn your head slightly, and even in the dim light, he can see your brow furrow. "Since when?"
"Since... right now?"
Another shift of your hips as you try the handle again, and Jungkook has to close his eyes, silently praying to whatever deity might be listening to either kill him now or get him out of this situation before he combusts from sheer embarrassment.
Because if you notice... if you realize... oh god, he'll never live it down. He'll have to transfer schools. Change his name. Move to a different country. Become a hermit in the mountains where no one will ever find him—
"Can you try pushing while I pull?" you ask, completely unaware of his internal crisis.
Jungkook makes a sound that might be agreement, might be distress, might be his soul leaving his body. He's not really sure anymore.
All he knows is that he's trapped in a closet with you, with your body pressed against his, and his spidey-sense is absolutely no help because apparently it doesn't warn him about situations that might kill him from pure mortification.
"Jungkook?" you prompt again, and he realizes he hasn't moved to help with the door.
"Right!" he says quickly, voice cracking. "Sorry! Just... give me a second to... uh... mentally prepare."
You snort. "For pushing a door?"
"Yes," he says weakly, because what else can he say? 'Sorry, I need a minute because you feel too good pressed against me and I'm trying very hard not to embarrass myself'?
Yeah, no. He'd rather die.
Jungkook does what you say. He really does. He plants his palms flat against the door, muscles tensing as he tries to push in time with your pulls. But it's too much. Too much to focus on, too close, too you.
His very healthy, very 21-year-old brain is absolutely screaming some unfortunate, very, very filthy thoughts right now, and no amount of silently yelling at himself to stop it, stop it, STOP IT seems to be working.
Push and pull. Yeah, he's thinking of that in an entirely different context, and honestly, sue him. He's a guy. A guy experiencing literal hell because your ass keeps brushing against him every time you shift, and it's doing things to him.
You move again, and Jungkook swears he's going to lose it. Like, right here. On the spot. His knees are weak, his palms are sweating, and his brain is running on some kind of autopilot loop of, "Abort mission! Shut it down! This is a disaster!"
Fuck him. Fuck his life. Just take him now, death. Send the reaper. Hell, send Taehyung to throw him into the Han River. Anything but this.
But then—just as his brain reaches critical overload—you stiffen.
Oh no.
You turn your head slightly, glancing at him over your shoulder, and the look in your eyes is... not great. In fact, it's terrifying.
"Jungkook," you say, his name an ominous warning.
His whole body seizes, every alarm in his mind blaring at full volume as sweat beads at the back of his neck. "Yeah?" he squeaks, his voice cracking so hard he wants to dig his own grave and lie in it.
"Are you hard?"
Oh, fuck.
Oh FUCK.
His brain short-circuits. His entire being freezes. His soul? Gone. It has left the building. His vision blurs at the edges as the words echo around the tiny closet, bouncing off every surface and hitting him square in the chest over and over again.
"I—uh—what?" he stammers, his voice so high-pitched it might as well be a dog whistle.
You straighten, still half-facing him, and your brow furrows with that look of realization that makes him want to throw himself into the sun.
"You are," you say, your tone shifting between disbelief and a growing edge of... amusement?
"I—I—no—what? No, I'm not! That's—no, that's ridiculous!" He tries to back away automatically, but there's nowhere to go, and his shoulders slam against the wood behind him.
You fully turn at this point, arms crossing as you raise a suspicious eyebrow. "Really, Jungkook?" Your eyes drift ever so slightly downward, and oh no oh no oh no don't look down don't look down don't look down.
He flails. Not physically, thankfully, but mentally? He's losing it. He's scrambling for something, anything, to salvage even a shred of dignity.
"It's—it's not what you think!" he blurts out, his hands flying up defensively. "It's—it's the—the door! Yeah! This stupid closet! I told you I was claustrophobic, right? That's gotta... do something... biologically... right?"
You stare at him, unimpressed. Completely, utterly unimpressed.
"It's not me," he continues, voice cracking again because his body is betraying him. "It's—it's like—science! Random reaction!"
"...Random reaction." Your expression is unreadable now, which somehow makes this worse.
"Totally random," he insists, nodding way too quickly. "You know, like... blood flow! Hormones! Human anatomy! It's a thing! You can look it up!"
"Oh, I'll look it up," you mutter, the corner of your mouth twitching like you're trying very hard not to laugh.
"Please don't," Jungkook whispers, his face burning so hot he's genuinely worried the fire alarm's going to go off.
And honestly? He doesn't even care if the fire alarm goes off at this point. He'd happily burn in this library right now if it meant escaping the absolute mortification of this moment.
Jungkook is fairly certain he's about to pass out, maybe die, and definitely disintegrate into dust when it happens. You turn around, shift again, just slightly, your body brushing against him in a way that feels… deliberate?
Or is his brain just playing tricks on him now?
Oh god. Oh fuck. Is this some cruel, sick hallucination brought on by his overactive imagination? Is his mind punishing him for thinking all those filthy, traitorous thoughts earlier? Why can't he have some kind of superpower to read minds right now? Be Professor X or some shit, because at this point, anything would be better than not knowing what the hell is going through your head right now.
Do you think he's a creep? A weirdo? A perverted little freshman who can't keep it together for five fucking minutes?
Or—
The thought makes his stomach flip violently, a spark of something hot—and definitely dangerous—shooting down his spine as you shift again.
Or do you find this… fun?
Amusing?
Arousing?
Because there's something about the way you're not stepping back, the way you're not recoiling in disgust, the way your breaths are just slightly heavier than before, that's making Jungkook's head spin.
And then you chuckle—low, quiet, but unmistakable.
"This is the first time this has ever happened to me," you mutter, the sound light but laced with something he can't quite name.
But he doesn't care what it's laced with. He doesn't even care what it means.
Because oh god, that chuckle—he'd bottle it if he could. He'd trap it in a jar and keep it with him forever, listen to it on repeat like a favorite playlist, let it echo in his head until he went insane from the sound of it alone.
His mouth opens, but no words come out. His body is frozen, his brain completely fried, every single one of his senses hyper-focused on the fact that you're still right there, pressed against him, closer than you've ever been before.
Say something, dumbass, his brain screams at him. Anything. Literally anything.
"I—it's not my fault?" he manages weakly, his voice cracking so pathetically he wants to punch himself.
You laugh again, and this time there's no mistaking it—there's something mischievous in it, like you're enjoying watching him squirm. And oh no, oh god, you're enjoying this.
"I didn't say it was," you reply, your voice smooth, calm, fucking deadly.
Jungkook swallows hard. His legs feel like they're about to give out any second now. His palms are clammy. His heart is doing that thing where it feels like it's both racing and stopping entirely at the same time.
"I—uh—should we try the door again?" he stammers, trying desperately to redirect the situation before his entire body spontaneously combusts from the sheer tension in the air.
You hum softly, not answering right away, and Jungkook feels every muscle in his body tense in response.
You keep moving, but now it's with purpose—up and down motions that are too deliberate to be anything but intentional. Like you're actually trying to... to get him off. Right here. In this tiny closet. In the fucking library.
Jungkook's mind is gone. Absolutely fucking gone. His consciousness has left his body, floating somewhere near the ceiling as he tries to process what's happening. He's honestly shocked he hasn't passed out yet, given how fast his blood is rushing south.
His hands hover awkwardly over your hips, trembling with the effort not to touch. His teeth dig into his bottom lip, desperate to hold back the embarrassing sounds threatening to escape. Because he refuses to pant like some desperate animal, even though that's exactly what you're reducing him to.
But then—oh fuck—you reach back, grabbing his hands. And before his brain can catch up, you're placing them firmly on your hips.
"It's okay," you murmur, your voice low and honey-sweet. "You can touch me."
The permission makes him shudder, a full-body tremor that he couldn't suppress if he tried. Your hand slides over his, guiding it upward, and his breath catches in his throat as you move it higher, and higher, and—
Oh god.
You press his palm against your breast, and Jungkook's brain completely flatlines.
A pathetic whimper escapes him before he can stop it. His fingers twitch against the soft swell under your shirt, and he's pretty sure he's died. This is death. This is heaven. This is some kind of fever dream his horny brain has cooked up.
"Is this really happening?" he whispers, his voice raw and desperate. "Like, actually happening? Not just another dream or—"
He cuts himself off, realizing what he just admitted, but it's too late. The words are already out there, hanging in the heated air between you.
"Another dream?" you repeat, and he can hear the smirk in your voice. "You dream about this often, Jungkook-ah?"
Fuck.
"Way too often," he confesses, the words spilling from his mouth before his brain can catch up. And yeah, that's definitely because his mind has completely checked out. Because normal Jungkook? Coherent Jungkook? Would rather die than admit something like that.
But normal Jungkook isn't here right now. Normal Jungkook left the building the moment you pressed his hand to your breast. Now there's just... this Jungkook. The one who can't think straight because you're letting him squeeze and touch and feel, and your ass is doing absolutely criminal things against his cock.
His forehead drops to your neck, breath coming in heavy pants that he can't control anymore. Fuck trying to be quiet. Fuck trying to be composed. His hips move on their own, grinding forward to match your rhythm.
Because you gave him permission, right? You said he could touch. You guided his hands. So this is okay. This is allowed. This isn't just another fevered fantasy his desperate brain cooked up at 3 AM.
"Noona," he breathes against your skin, the honorific slipping out again because his filter is completely gone. His fingers flex against your breast, testing, exploring, learning what makes your breath hitch. "Fuck."
You guide his movements with a confidence that makes his head spin, showing him exactly how to touch you. His fingers find your nipple through the fabric, and the way it peaks under his touch makes him dizzy with want. Your hand stays over his, encouraging him to squeeze, to explore, to learn.
And Jungkook? He's never been this hard in his entire fucking life.
He's pathetic, really. Getting this worked up from some dry humping and breast play like he's fifteen instead of twenty-one. Sure, they're absolutely amazing tits—perfect, actually, fitting in his palm like they were made for his touch—but still. He's broadcasting his virginity like a fucking neon sign, getting this desperate this fast.
But he can't help it. Can't stop the way his hips keep rolling against you, seeking more friction, more pressure, more. He knows he's close—can feel it building in his abdomen, that telltale tingling that makes his toes curl in his stupid mismatched socks.
"Noona," he whimpers against your shoulder, the sound muffled by your shirt. "Noona, I'm—fuck—"
His breath comes in sharp, desperate pants. He's making these absolutely embarrassing sounds—little whimpers and moans he has to muffle against your skin because if anyone heard him like this, he'd actually die on the spot.
The pressure builds, and builds, and builds, until he's grinding back helplessly, practically sobbing because it feels so good he can't stand it. His free hand grips your hip like a lifeline, probably too hard, definitely leaving marks, but he can't help it.
"Please," he chokes out, though he's not sure what he's begging for. "Please, I'm—I can't—"
He's going to come in his pants like a fucking teenager, and the worst part? He doesn't even care anymore.
"It's okay, Jungkook-ah," you murmur, voice honey-sweet and deadly. "Let go for noona."
And that's—that should be illegal. The way those words hit him is criminal, making his whole body seize up like he's been electrocuted. His hips stutter, losing rhythm as everything goes white-hot. He groans against your shoulder, embarrassingly loud even muffled against the fabric, as his orgasm hits him like a fucking freight train.
He came. He just—he actually just—came in his pants. Like some inexperienced kid who's never been touched before.
Mortifying. Absolutely fucking mortifying.
A hiccup escapes him, something between a sob and a whimper, and he wants to disappear. To evaporate. To cease existing entirely.
"Hey," you whisper, so soft it makes his chest ache. Your hand reaches back, fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck, and his skin erupts in goosebumps immediately at the gentle touch.
He wants to cry. Wants to apologize. Wants to explain that he's not usually this pathetic (lie), that he can last longer than three minutes (another lie), that he's not always this embarrassingly eager (the biggest lie of all).
But the words stick in his throat like clay, thick and suffocating. Because what can he possibly say? 'Sorry I just creamed my pants from some dry humping and titty grabbing?'
"It's okay," you murmur, and another hiccup escapes him.
No. No, don't do that. Don't pity him. Don't say those words like anything about this situation is remotely okay. Because it's not. It's the furthest thing from okay. He just—he literally just—
"I really liked that," you add, voice soft but sure.
Jungkook's head snaps up so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. "What?"
You… liked it? How could you possibly have liked that? He barely lasted three minutes. He came in his pants like a middle schooler. He probably squeezed your tit too hard and left bruises on your hip and made the most embarrassing sounds and—
"How?" he croaks out, voice raw and disbelieving. "How could you—that was so—I'm so—"
Pathetic. Desperate. Inexperienced. Embarrassing.
His brain supplies about fifty different self-deprecating adjectives, but none of them make it past his lips because he's still trying to process the fact that you said you liked it.
The dam breaks.
Jungkook is crying. Tears spill over his flushed cheeks, unbidden and hot with shame, and oh god, he's really lost it now. He's crying, actually fucking crying, because apparently, being mortified isn't enough. No, his body has to betray him in every possible way all at once.
His blurred vision catches you turning around to face him, and then your hands—soft, warm—reach up to gently brush the tears away from his eyelids. The gesture makes him hiccup, and he immediately wants to crawl under the floorboards and die.
"It was cute," you murmur, and your tone is soft but steady, like you actually mean it.
"Don't say that," he mumbles, voice cracking as he ducks his head, his tears threatening to spill faster. He can't handle this. He really, really can't.
You smile—a smile so kind it feels like a dagger to his chest. "Why? I'm not lying."
"You are."
"I'm not."
"It was so embarrassing!" he bursts out, the words tumbling from his mouth in one long, panicked string. "I made such embarrassing sounds and—and I—I came in my pants and—"
"It's what I wanted," you interrupt, your words cutting through his spiraling like a blade.
He freezes, the tears still clinging to his lashes. His breath catches, the air suddenly clammy.
"...What?" he croaks, the word so small and broken it barely makes it past his lips. His mind blanks, unable to process what he just heard. Surely he misheard you, right? Surely this is some kind of cruel, shame-induced hallucination because there's no way.
"It's what I wanted," you repeat, your voice unwavering as you look him straight in the eye, your gaze too steady, too certain.
His breathing stutters. His tears momentarily forgotten, he stares at you, wide-eyed and silent, like you've just flipped his entire world upside down.
Your hand is still on his cheek, thumb brushing away the lingering wetness under his eye, and Jungkook can't look away from your face. Can't process the way you're looking at him—soft but certain, like you actually meant what you just said.
"But—" he starts, voice wavering. "But why would you—I mean, I—" He swallows hard, his face burning. "I barely even touched you. I just... got off on you like some desperate—"
"Because," you cut him off, your other hand coming up to frame his face, holding him still when he tries to look away. "I liked making you fall apart like that. Liked knowing I could affect you that much."
His breath catches. "But—"
"And," you continue, your thumb trailing down to brush over his bottom lip, making him shiver. "I liked how honest you were. How you couldn't hide how much you wanted it."
Jungkook's brain short-circuits again. Because what the fuck? What the actual fuck? You liked that he was desperate? That he was pathetic and needy and—
"The sounds you made," you murmur, leaning closer, close enough that he can feel your breath against his lips. "Were fucking hot."
He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, caught somewhere between a whimper and a groan. Because this can't be real. This has to be some kind of fever dream. Some kind of post-orgasm hallucination.
"Noona," he breathes, his hands twitching at his sides, unsure if he's allowed to touch you again. "I—"
And then the door clicks.
Both of you freeze, heads snapping toward the sound. Light floods the closet as the door swings open, and there stands Taehyung, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"Time's up, lovebirds!" he announces cheerfully. "Did you two work out your... tension?"
Jungkook is going to kill him. He's actually going to murder his best friend. Right after he dies of embarrassment. Again.
"Hyung," he croaks out, face burning hotter than the sun. "Did you—was this—did you plan this?!"
Taehyung just grins, wiggling his eyebrows. "You're welcome!"
Yeah, Jungkook is definitely going to kill him.
Just... maybe after he changes his pants.
© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations
Sanctity - Chapter Two
Pairing(s); BTS OT7 x Reader
Genre/Themes; Vampire!AU, yandere!AU, horror, themes of the supernatural and mythology, historical topics, vampiric powers, religious themes, violence, romance
Rated; 18+ for swearing, violence/gore, toxic behavior including stalking, torture, and manipulation, future sexual themes. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
Word Count; 20.3k
Sanctity Masterlist
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WELCOME BACK! I love you all. I'd like to highlight some warnings here for this chapter straight off the bat: there are major dub-con moments in this chapter of sexual nature. Multiple character deaths, suicidal thoughts, abuse, and quite a bit of graphic gory scenes are included in this update. Please know this is a work of HORROR FICTION as well! This got especially macabre because it's like ice age in New England LMAO. I hope you all enjoy this update and kisses from yours truly, Dana <3
WARNING! There are instances of DEATH, gore and dubious consent. This work of fiction does not remotely reflect members of BTS in reality. The boys are written to be toxic in Sanctity (yandere). Please be warned if this is triggering to you.
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How much time passed, Y/N did not, nor would she ever, know. Bit by bit, the first thing that returned to her was her sense of smell– something thick and smoky filling her nostrils, maybe an offertory incense blend from the chapel. The second sense was her hearing, and still expecting the Sanctuary’s bell tower to wake her up, her body went stiff when she heard old-timey music and several different male voices. Shit– the next thing she was aware of was her recent memories.
Eyes flying open, she was laying down on some kind of upholstered settee, still wearing the velvet mini dress from dinner, which was almost hiked up around her hips. Horrified and woozy from both her blood being drained, multiple glasses of wine and liquor, and her state of exposure, she sat up abruptly. Staring down at her freshly polished toes, bare and lacking the fancy heels she was wearing earlier, Y/N froze at the sound of her name being called while she pulled her dress back down, her mind jumping to a conclusion that one of them actually touched her while she was unconscious.
“Finally awake? You’d think after that meal, you’d at least be able to stand on your feet once Seokjin bit you. He hardly took anything,” Jeongguk approached her first, holding a cue stick and staring down at her with a smirk. He had ditched his sports jacket, the first few buttons on his white shirt pulled free and his tie hanging limply around his neck.
Scrambling to a fully seated position, Y/N saw that her shoes were nowhere to be seen, and she had been carried by someone into the billiard’s room adjoining the space where they had dinner. Perhaps one of the vampires removed her shoes so she couldn’t use the stilettos as a pointed weapon. Sick to the back teeth of being teased and manipulated, especially when she felt her neck and wrist throbbing and saw how perfectly healthy Jeongguk had become after drinking her blood, her eyes narrowed nearly shut.
“I’m sure it was the fucking wine glass he slit my wrist into was what prevented me from having normal goddamn footing,” Y/N fumed as best she could with a completely dried-out throat, Jeongguk’s smirk widening and showing his teeth at the outburst.
“What a filthy mouth you’ve got, ma chérie,” Hoseok teased through laughter, all while leaning over a massive pool table and aiming his cue at a white ball. The new nickname from the ex-pirate, whatever language it came from, had her feeling belittled and repulsed– even if Hoseok’s drawl was soulful and spellbinding. It was as if in her slumber, she had managed to grow an even stronger spine.
“My name’s Y/N, not whatever you just called me. Not pet, not ‘little girl,’ not ‘dove’. If you’re all going to torture me, at least afford me the favor of not patronizing me,” Y/N stood, making sure to make pointed eye-contact with both Hoseok and Jimin; the latter of which was lazily draped on another settee across the room with a cordial glass and a lit cigar.
“Ah, true colors. I hoped you were as meek as you pretended to be yesterday afternoon, but it seems my initial suspicions were correct. How tiring,” Seokjin was by the fireplace, not sparing her a glance as the flames illuminated his side profile. He appeared to be the only one with his suit still flawlessly intact, one of his hands buried in the pocket of his slacks while the other braced his weight on the marble mantle.
“Who carried me in here?” Y/N ignored Seokjin, trying to find her shoes. For some reason, her bare feet on the marble had her feeling more vulnerable than her disheveled dress.
“No one violated you, girl,” Seokjin snapped, all while ignoring her request to remove pet names from his vocabulary. The fog of Jeongguk entering her mind and offering up her secret thoughts to the eldest vampire made Y/N wince, spurring her foolish outburst to go beyond the reach of her control.
“That wasn’t my question,” Y/N’s hands balled into fists, so blind with rage and the instinct to battle for her life that she snapped. “Stay out of my head, you!”
Y/N all but spat at Jeongguk while pointing at him, the young vampire still wearing that infuriating grin, Y/N storming past him with her feet slapping against the Italian marble to confront Seokjin. Again, a part of her was screaming that Jeongguk could be her kin as he watched, with his youthful appearance– the only thing that had her storming by was the demonic color of his irises.
At first, she was blasting by the youngest vampire and barreling towards Seokjin, however, a palm covered in buttery leather wrapped around the base of her throat that stopped her in her tracks effectively, harshly. Met with cold, glowing red eyes, Y/N could hardly crane her neck up at Namjoon towering over her, Seokjin sighing from behind Namjoon.
“If you must know, pest, I brought you in here. Watch your tongue and know your place,” Namjoon’s fingers flexed against the sides of her throat, dark hair in his eyes when Y/N felt the rush of blood in her arteries frantically trying to find a place to go. Paired with the sting of the leather rubbing against Seokjin’s earlier bite, Y/N heeded Namjoon’s warning and nodded as best she could just so he would let her go.
“Did you not see what Namjoon-ah could do during dinner? If his power can affect Jimin that strongly, what do you think it can do to you?” Seokjin cut in softly, snapping his fingers once. With the sharp sound that contrasted the vampire’s dulcet tone, Namjoon released Y/N’s throat immediately, leaving her to double over and gasp for breath. “Let’s make one thing clear. You can curse at us as much as you please, but do not think you are above being punished for rash actions. I can promise you, I am not a merciful man– Namjoon-ah even less so.”
Y/N felt defeat again, the spark of rebellion in her extinguished thoroughly. The shiny black shoes and pressed pants in front of her seemed blurry, Namjoon towering over her like a steel wall. When she could straighten up again, Y/N flinched at the vampire’s expression: hateful, but the mean smile on his face created sweet little dimples on his cheeks, which contradicted just about everything else about the vampire. His expression, in the best translation Y/N could come up with, was someone contemplating just how to tear another piece by piece with relish.
“Will you drain me dry like your last acolyte?” Y/N rasped, addressing Seokjin but still staring straight at Namjoon, as if one small movement from her would have him lunging.
Hearing Jimin’s light snickering from across the room did nothing but heighten Y/N’s humiliation about being put in her place once more. Glancing at him, she spotted Yoongi in the corner, a sketchbook in his lap and apparently not paying any attention to the spectacle. Also disinterested was Taehyung, leafing through a newspaper and puffing on a cigar he was sharing with Jimin.
“Maybe,” Seokjin hummed, letting Namjoon fall back into the shadows beside an old phonograph still playing age-weathered music. “Maybe not. Behave, and there’s no reason to fear for your life.”
“She wants to shorten her sentence, Seokjin,” Yoongi finally interjected, fingertips covered in inky charcoal. Darkly, Y/N thought that perhaps Yoongi might be the one with the most sense, and that wasn’t saying much.
“Ever play pool, Y/N?” Hoseok asked suddenly, injecting enough snark into the girl’s name rolling off of his tongue to have her grimacing.
“Doubt she’s ever even played checkers, Hoseok,” Jeongguk replied, yanking his tie dangling over his shoulder and tossing it on the floor. While leaning over the table to take his own shot, Y/N’s vision focused on the lean, hard-muscled frame Jeongguk had: the thin button-down he had on strained against his toned arms and his sides as he lined up the pool cue between his index and middle fingers. Namjoon aside– there would be no way she could ever be a match to Jeongguk alone.
“Is it permitted for me to retire now?” Y/N spoke through gritted teeth, muscles in her legs twitching when the petty side of her personality threatened to theatrically curtsy. Distantly, Jeongguk’s mouth corner curled up in amusement– catching the mental image she conjured.
“Say goodnight first, won’t you now?” Jimin trilled, voice curling seductively over the mosaic ceiling, and right when Y/N thought that she had recovered from Namjoon’s chokehold, Jimin was casting another deeply-rooted spell on her. “Taehyung has a question, don’t you?”
Taehyung. The one who so casually dared to impersonate someone close to her, to pretend to be Joseph. While she dreaded nothing more than even looking at the very vampire, Jimin’s roots were so quickly penetrating her bones she found with horror that she was no more than a puppet on a string for him.
Not even seconds later, Y/N was stumbling over her own bare feet to get to the seating area where the two young vampires were– Yoongi still off to the side, Taehyung lowering his newspaper and passing the lit cigar to Jimin. While hyper aware of Jimin’s hold on her, Y/N’s attention was conquered by Taehyung’s intense, stony expression. Clearing his throat, the shiny gel that was previously taming his midnight waves during dinner was cracking, leaving piecey curls hanging in his face.
“Tell me, now. Was my answer sufficient?” Taehyung began, tracing his pointer finger over his moistened lower lip, almost cherry red in color thanks to her blood affording him a complexion.
Y/N’s eyebrows knit in confusion, every nerve in her body pulsing with a dim throb the longer Jimin kept her docile and hypnotized.
“Huh?” Y/N’s eyelids were heavy, so she found herself batting her eyelashes more frequently than she normally did. “I didn’t ask you anything.”
“Master Taehyung was referring to his reply to you during dinner. Was his reply more or less something ‘Joseph’ would say? Was it enough, dove?”
Jimin was staring at his nails, one of his trim shoulders slipping out from under his loose shirt collar, and Y/N– to her mortification– immediately thought that the garment had become quite useless, so why was Jimin even bothering to keep it on at all? To deepen her mortification, an amused snicker coming from Jeongguk had her wishing the stained glass lamp above him would come loose and sever his head from his shoulders. Jeongguk’s laughter only became louder when reading her murderous thoughts, the sound of it lively and boyish– not the laughter of a lethal creature.
Y/N paused, rewinding her memory to dinner. At that time, she really believed that her friend Joseph had been permitted to visit her. Like a bucket of glacial water dumped over her head when realizing her own naivety, she also realized it wasn’t just Jeongguk who could reach into her mind– Jimin could do it, Seokjin could do it and share the way into her head with everyone else. Jeongguk wasn’t laughing anymore.
“Joe– oh. You, I suppose. You said something about never forgetting me and writing frequently, no?” Y/N, under the puppet strings Jimin was using to keep her steady, was able to study Taehyung’s face with rapt interest; her rational self locked away in some dark corner of her mind. “I think that’s when the coherent part of me sensed something wrong. Joseph hates writing letters, and he’d never talk so sentimentally. Yeah, we were close, but like cat-and-mouse siblings.”
“Still, hyung. Jeongguk mentioned he could not accurately understand the girl’s thoughts at that moment. It seems… peculiar,” Namjoon’s voice, all velvet, filled the room, addressing the eldest vampire still watching the flames in the fireplace.
“Peculiar? No. The most sound theory is that her thoughts were too animal and stupid for Jeongguk to hear, Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin wasn’t fond of entertaining mysteries or anything that required him to put time and energy into, particularly if the subject matter surrounded a human being. “Forget it. We always deal with issues promptly, and I’m not deeming the girl’s slow mind an issue yet.”
“I suppose I can’t blame myself for not knowing what your acquaintance would say word for word. Jeongguk only had time to go through a handful of memories.”
Y/N didn’t like Taehyung’s dry, holier-than-thou attitude. He had zero decency to look her in the eye, rather looking through her and down his nose. Y/N sensed he was the type of man who had never heard the word ‘no’ in regards to anything.
“Things have to happen in a timely manner, Y/N, you see? Everything is about timing– that is something I’ve learned again and again– Jeongguk had about half a second to comb through your mind before you would dissolve into complete hysterics. Complete hysteria from you, you’d have a drunk pirate giving you something worse to cry about,” Taehyung continued, giving Hoseok a deliberate, uninterested look when mentioning the ‘drunk pirate’. Hoseok wasn’t paying attention, too busy chalking up his pool cue to bother participating in the conversation.
For a moment, all that Y/N could hear was a whooshing in her ears as Jimin’s hypnosis began to withdraw, her body promptly trembling with exhaustion as she stood before Taehyung. His tan suit, perfectly pressed, complimented his skin tone now that it was darker, his complexion probably resembling the healthiest peak of his human life. The gray veins over his temples were gone, and there were moles here and there splattered across his face.
“That’s all… hmm, Jimin. Why don’t you call up to the second floor to make sure the human’s chambers are prepared for the night,” Taehyung gave Y/N one last cursory glance before plucking up his newspaper again.
Y/N didn’t even hear Jimin waltz his way to an old-fashioned intercom system, murmuring something seductive into the device while his shirt began to pool around his elbows and expose nearly his entire chest and back. She only tuned in when she felt bizarre about standing in front of Taehyung so clearly dismissing her, a spark of hope at the idea of the privacy of her bedroom making her abruptly turn on her bare heels.
“Awww, Juliana. That won’t do. Make sure her sheets are heated, too,” Jimin purred, Y/N getting the feeling that he was purposefully trying to prolong her time spent in the billiard’s room. “There will be a frost, come morning…”
Y/N separated herself from Taehyung’s proximity, trying to edge her way to the closest door, but unfortunately it was the one that was being watched by Namjoon still cloaked in the shadows. As she tried to look for an escape while hoping Jeongguk was distracted to notice her plotting, Y/N silently began to shuffle sideways.
Not that she got very far– as soon as Y/N reached a leather ottoman halfway to an unguarded door, she yelped when she lost feeling in her legs and promptly crumpled onto the piece of furniture. Her arms tried to brace her fall, but those limbs, too, were limp and refusing her brain’s command to move herself.
“Nngh, ow! W-what?! What’s happening to me?” Y/N panicked, voice shrill and bouncing around the lofty room. Her body was completely limp, unable to flinch away even when someone began to arrange her legs by parting them, her dress riding up the back of her thighs again.
Ascertaining who was touching her sans-permission was impossible, due to the fact that her cheek was squished against the ottoman and her line of sight was limited to a glass case filled with cigars. Humiliation licked Y/N’s skin with white-hot heat, no doubt in her mind the scrap of lace covering her modesty was somewhat on display as she was shaped to be bent over the ottoman.
“Stop, s-stop, please. I can’t move—”
“Silenzio,” a deep, gritty voice was mere inches from her ear, the foreign word close enough to silence for her to get the hint. The record that was playing on the gramophone began to crackle, the needle scratching the label and needing to be flipped. “Stay put.”
“Like she can help it. You’ve paralyzed her,” Hoseok scoffed, trying to hide the fact that he was getting off on beating Jeongguk at their game of pool. It was looking like Hoseok would be driving Jeongguk’s Mercedes around town come morning.
Paralyzed. Y/N had not a semblance of an idea of what she had done to cause offense to Yoongi, who was carding her hair over her shoulders methodically, but all she could do was lay there helplessly. His fingertips were warm on her forearm when he draped tresses over her waist in a sensual position, even going as far as to adjust how her fingers were splayed over her hip.
“Master… master Y-yoongi…?” Y/N’s breath came out choppy, her diaphragm somewhat crushed thanks to her awkward weight distribution against the ottoman.
“Noisy,” Yoongi murmured to himself, detached. Rolling his eyes, Hoseok set his cue down, approaching Yoongi and his current model with his hands on his hips.
“If she’s so noisy, paralyze her face. You’re a complainer who hates solutions,” Hoseok watched while Yoongi gingerly stretched one of the girl’s arms out so it was hanging off the furniture.
Yoongi would go on and on about how he was capturing ‘yearning’, but to a vampire (and former buccaneer) who stole art for value, the girl was being positioned to get fucked against the ottoman. Pushing a hand through his hair, Hoseok snorted to himself. Now that he had a sufficient, consistent nutrient source, he could visit the girls at the cabaret again. It had been far too long since a woman had been under him and his mercy.
“To paralyze the face would make the subject unworthy of being painted,” Yoongi replied plainly, like it was a practiced response, and with emphasis on his words the artist ever so slightly turned the girl’s head with a loose grip on her jaw. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and pretty crystalline tears gathered in her eyelashes, eyeliner smudging perfectly. It was like Yoongi’s lucky day.
“You’re an odd–”
“Hoseok. Let Yoongi be done with it so she can leave,” Seokjin cut Hoseok off before he could start a cock fight. Jimin was already shivering with excitement at the idea of a dramatic altercation, and Seokjin caught it before he’d have to discipline him again.
“You’re an odd immortal,” Hoseok ignored Seokjin, though physically, he retreated. That was good enough for Seokjin, who kept one eye on the younger vampire returning to his rum and billiard’s game.
All the while, Y/N locked herself away in her own head. Perhaps, if she could reach some kind of meditative state, she could compartmentalize. The best she could do was focus on keeping her eyes shut so she wouldn’t have to look at the vampires for a second longer, and the sensation of tears dripping down her cheeks.
“Are you resurrecting your proclivity for lewd portraiture, Yoongi?” Namjoon commented, straightening up at the sweet scent of hopeless tears, greedily soaking up the sight across the room. “That original collection of yours remains your finest work.”
From where he was, he could see the arch of the girl’s back jutting her hips backwards, and in consequence, and the fleshy curves of her ass cheeks were just exposed enough to reveal lace between her legs. Namjoon, with amusement, knew that if he got just a little closer, he’d be able to smell her.
“I wouldn’t coin that as lewd, Namjoon, just sloppy and lacking all of Yoongi’s former risk. It must have been some time since you have lain with a woman,” Jeongguk disagreed, aware that he was toeing a very thin line between a cold scoff from the elder vampire or experiencing his molten wrath.
Namjoon, in a rare moment of mercy, hardened his expression, tearing his gaze from the apex of the acolyte’s thighs. The leverage that Jeongguk caught a perverted thought coming from Namjoon was enough, apparently. On the other hand, the youngest vampire was enjoying a morsel of information he pried out of the girl’s mind seconds prior all to himself, just for that moment: the acolyte did not mirror dirty thoughts that the coven was having. In fact, the more Jeongguk sifted through her memories, he realized with delight that she didn’t know the feeling of her own arousal– yet. Maybe Yoongi had observed that, keenly taking it upon himself to milk her confused, humiliated response.
“Give Yoongi a month. He’ll have that acolyte stripped down completely and posing face down, ass up by then.”
Electric, enticing fear zapped through Y/N at the blithe, unflinching prediction that came from Seokjin out of the blue, and the scent of it triggered a heavy spill of lust to settle over the room. Jeongguk could feel it, and he knew his elders did too– though Seokjin was the picture of nonchalance. Jeongguk couldn’t think of a time when Seokjin preoccupied himself with pursuits of the flesh over the last century, therefore hearing him speak with plain vulgarity was jarring.
“I’ll have to sit in on that session,” Jimin purred, hanging up the intercom with a grin. By then, he was aggravated with his infernal top, letting it fall from his elbows and pool to the floor in a heap.
In a flash, he was behind Yoongi, eyes sweeping over the charcoal sketch the elder vampire was working on. Yoongi’s hand moved so quickly across the paper, it was almost impossible to track. In fact, Yoongi had already sketched four different versions of the scene in front of him and used up an entire box of charcoal. Yoongi, with aggravated sigh, set his sketchbook down and tossed the empty box of charcoal across the room and into the roaring fire. Jimin, slyly, leafed through the sketches, comparing each to the actual model, a flirtatious impressed hum leaving his chest.
“You should see these, dove. If you had wings, they’d be broken…” Jimin caught her eye, his posture stiffening at the tear her teeth made into her lower lip. He knew she was incredibly frightened, though he couldn’t help it, he wanted to up the intensity; the reward was far too tempting. Turning on the charm again, Jimin started to stalk towards her with one hand on his belt.
“N-no!” Y/N whimpered pathetically, immediately thinking the worst when Jimin began to get closer. No matter how hard she tried to squeeze her thighs together, she couldn’t curl in on herself like she wanted to. “Oh, please–”
“‘If you had wings, they’d be broken’. God, is that how you made your fortune in theater and movies?”
“Hoseok, you still haven’t read Jimin’s plays? Or seen one of his films at the cinema?” Jeongguk spoke through chortles, really starting to feel the nourishment of the acolyte’s blood in his body. He felt alive again.
“Usually sleep through ‘em, or I’m getting blow–”
“Yoongi, release her from Paralysis if you’re finished. Hoseok, head to the cabaret if you wish to keep drinking and whoring,” Seokjin finally moved away from the fire, his expensive loafers clicking against the floors.
Jimin was only a few feet from Y/N, the vampire half-clothed and eager to rile her up a bit more before Seokjin could spoil the fun. To Jimin’s surprise, however, Y/N’s fear spiked acutely when Seokjin appeared, the eldest vampire kneeling beside her and blocking her view of him. With Seokjin so close, so suddenly, and fearing his status, Y/N’s tears came faster.
“Please, just please! I just want to go upstairs! I d-don’t– I don’t want to…” Y/N broke down, and with Seokjin’s request to lift Paralysis, Yoongi watched as his power left her and the girl began to shake like a newborn fawn. Seokjin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Master S-seokjin, please, I want mmph–!”
Seokjin pressed his palm over the young acolyte’s mouth, half to shut her up, half to somewhat cover up the scent of her bloody lip. It was a charged situation– one he had complete control over, of course– but keeping the peace was important to Seokjin.
It was abhorrent to him that he needed that nuisance of a little girl, one causing so much unrest, as he scanned the ruined makeup running down her cheeks. Though, the vitality thrumming through him and the rest of the coven was undeniable, thanks to her. Seokjin was about to call for the acolyte’s maids, lips dropping open, when she made things infinitely more dangerous.
Since she had never been paralyzed by Yoongi, her body didn’t know how to come down from his influence. With her desperate pent up energy, unable to engage in fight or flight, once her shivering dissolved, Y/N’s limbs began jerking. With Seokjin’s hand still over her mouth, her back arched in order to get air to her crushed diaphragm, and instinctively, her thighs snapped shut.
However, something unexpected struck through her when her legs pressed together, something she could only describe as warm and aching, and it caught her so off-guard that a strangled, confused moan left her lips and was muffled against Seokjin’s palm. A primal and unfamiliar urge had her wanting to chase that feeling, Seokjin’s surprised, wide eyes in front of her had the throb return, if not for a second– her hips squirming against the ottoman eagerly.
Studying him through watery eyes, Y/N felt like she needed to light a candle to Seokjin’s beauty, the jitteriness that came with Yoongi releasing her from paralysis causing her to seek out stability. Her index finger curled around Seokjin’s blazer cuff as if to anchor herself. It felt like minutes, but it was likely seconds, where every vampire in the room froze completely, not a whisper of sound following her muffled mew.
“Astonishing,” Taehyung broke the silence, setting his newspaper down and getting to his feet. Things took an interesting turn, for once.
“Do not,” Seokjin commanded, but a breath though still firm. Y/N fidgeted, attempting to moisten her dry lips but only managing to give Seokjin’s palm an embarrassing kitten lick– which had him recoiling and pressing his hand more harshly against her face. “Control yourself, acolyte.”
Y/N didn’t know what that meant. Sure, the raw fear was still there, vehement hate flooding her body when Taehyung entered her line of sight, but the seductive drag of his fingertip tracing over her fragile shoulder blade elicited another unsure whimper.
“P-puh-mm,” Y/N switched to pleading again, wanting to jump off the great cliff where the mansion was settled beside more than ever. Seokjin’s gaze hardened, his throat bobbing.
“Seokjin, come on. Look at her!” Hoseok was positively delighted, spotting arousal pulsing between her legs from miles away– not to mention smelling it. “Moaning and crying like a bitch in heat.”
“Enough,” Seokjin barked, though the demand was strangled.
Do not speak a word.
The eldest vampire’s voice cut through the fog in Y/N’s head urgently, and at once, he removed his hand from her face. With absence, he wiped the blood from her torn lip on his pristine pant leg, Y/N breathing heavily from her mouth now that it was free.
One word from you and I’ll leave you here with the young ones.
That was a dark enough threat from Y/N, though with mortification, she thinly whined at the thought of Seokjin making good on his promise– mistake. Bonelessly, she started to lift her torso from the ottoman, her skin hot and tacky, all while each vampire in the room tracked her every movement.
“Is she going to get sick?” Yoongi remarked with disgust, tucking his sketchbook away. He was decidedly ready to paint; and yes, it would be something to toy with the flustered acolyte, but capturing her misery would end up being more erotic to him.
“She doesn’t know what she’s feeling,” Jeongguk revealed blandly, smugly, leaning one of his trim hips against the billiards table. “She wants– probably you, Seokjin, to touch her, but she’s too dim to know that.”
“So all of that ‘purity’ propaganda about Sanctuary acolytes is true? They’re clueless virgins?” Hoseok had to swallow a great laugh, almost pitying the mortals.
“Just like the old days… Most girls had not the slightest idea what happened in the bedroom,” Jimin contributed to the conversation, an unsettling edge to his voice that had Y/N sniffling.
Jeongguk began to fish around in her head more intensely, but Y/N felt her cheeks grow hot while her thighs squeezed together in pulses. Reading the acolyte’s thoughts, he hummed wickedly at the girl wondering what was so bad about being compared to the Virgin– the revered mother the Sanctuary worshipped.
“She’s untouched,” Jeongguk revealed, Hoseok’s interest piquing sevenfold. Eyes glowing, Hoseok was standing beside Taehyung in a flash, a forearm resting on the younger vampire’s shoulder. Venom was flooding Hoseok’s mouth as soon as he caught a whiff of the wetness beginning to seep into the acolyte’s underwear, and Taehyung was thinking about all of the ways he could break her.
Again, Y/N had no idea what the vampires were talking about. Nor did she know what was happening to her body, her skin sweaty and hyper-sensitive, and she couldn’t bear to look away from Seokjin. He looked like he was thinking very hard, red eyes sweeping over her body struggling to release what was building up inside of her. It took every ounce of strength she had left, but Y/N managed to struggle off of the ottoman, rocking backwards on her bare heels to a kneeling position. All the while, the finger curled around Seokjin’s jacket turned into a fistful of desperate fabric, the eldest vampire’s breath catching in shock over her sheer audacity.
“Help, it h-hurts,” Y/N whispered, throat dry. Beginning to come to the conclusion that coming down from Yoongi’s paralysis was what was making her feel so raw with nerves, she tried to plead with Seokjin despite his threat to leave her with the young vampires– the ones looking at her like she was dessert. “Master Seokj-jin, please, I want to–”
“Fuck?” Hoseok cut the acolyte off helpfully, filling in the blank that she was unaware existed. Things were spiraling out of control, and Hoseok was so entertained by Seokjin’s patience hanging by a thread that he decided to take things up a notch– perhaps finding out if he could elicit more of her slick to ruin her underwear. “A virgin begging for cock like a slut. Soaked pussy just from a few simple touches and words.”
The foreign, husky words from Hoseok had Y/N’s pulse quickening, humiliation licking her skin. To add to her mortification, she felt something wet rolling down one of her thighs, and when she looked down between her legs, she squeaked in alarm. With her free hand, shakily, her fingers swiped through the slick thinking it was sweat, but when she brought her hand up to take a closer look at filmy strings coating her digits, all hell broke loose. Seokjin cursed, sending out seven different mental commands– with additional forceful suggestions for staff that was still working– but even that wasn’t enough, so with a borderline bone-crushing embrace, Y/N was caged in his arms and as far away from the youngest vampires as possible. Jeongguk, Taehyung, and Jimin stared hungrily at the girl, trembling like a lamb, edible.
“Hoseok, I told you if you wanted to fuck like a rutting animal, go see your whores,” Seokjin’s voice was loud, furious, and Y/N couldn’t breathe in his arms. Despite her acute fear and dislike for Seokjin, Y/N’s body reacted on its own, pressing backwards against his strong chest for protection. “Leave, Hoseok. Yoongi, this is your doing and there will be consequences. Remove the fledglings from the room. Go.”
There was no space to argue with Seokjin. His covenmates hadn’t seen Seokjin so enraged, not for decades, and before Jimin could pout and add fuel to the flames (or sink his teeth into the delicious acolyte), he was torn from the room with Yoongi’s grip around his wrist. One by one, in a split second, Yoongi collected the youngest vampires, and Hoseok was long out the door with the cabaret set as his destination.
Once the immediate threats were gone, Seokjin all but shoved Y/N out of his reach, the girl caught by someone else before she could hit the floor. Nearly collapsing into his weight completely, leather gloves slipping over her dewy shoulders, Y/N at least knew who was touching her this time. That time, too, she realized she didn’t mind Namjoon touching her. After a prolonged period of time absorbed with Seokjin’s presence, Y/N was ashamed to admit that Namjoon could steal it effortlessly. Namjoon, like Seokjin, was infuriated; Y/N could tell by the way his jaw clenched dangerously.
“Get her out of my sight before I do something I’ll regret,” Seokjin spoke through his teeth, but the volume of his demand was deadly quiet. The sound of it had a tingle rolling down Y/N’s spine, her skull still throbbing from Jeongguk sifting through her past, and Y/N thought that she might faint again. “Exercise restraint, Namjoon-ah.”
Surprise flickered in Namjoon’s eyes. Seokjin, normally, would have had him using Pain Illusion on the acolyte for her little stunt– even if she couldn’t help it.
“Hyung?”
“I have calls to make. Take her upstairs,” Seokjin pushed a hand through his short choppy bangs, and he disappeared like he never was there in the first place.
Y/N winced when Namjoon tightened his hold on her with purpose, his expression turning rock-solid. The throb between her legs didn’t grow any weaker. Namjoon’s nostrils flaring, Y/N’s fear returned when a cold grin spread across the vampire’s face, his sharp fangs on display. However, if it weren’t for the fangs, Namjoon had one of the loveliest smiles in the world, and that broke Y/N’s heart, distantly. The vampire cocked his head and misread her train of thought.
“You’re absolutely terrified of me, aren’t you?”
Y/N’s head snapped up to make eye contact when Namjoon spoke, realizing her attention was lingering on the shape of his lips. Going rigid when the vampire stooped low, he got a firm hold of her naked calves. With one swift movement, Y/N was hoisted into the air and slung over Namjoon’s bulky shoulder. The immortal speed made her nauseous, a strangled sound coming from the back of her throat, one gloved hand squeezing the arm slung over his opposite shoulder, and the other cupped over the sensitive backs of her knees. Not allowing her to recover at all, Namjoon had the girl inside of her bedroom before she could take a breath.
“Do not make me ask again, woman,” Namjoon cruelly dropped the girl from his hold only to pin her to a nearby wall by her hip. She groaned, Namjoon noting that if he applied just the slightest additional force, he could shatter her hip bone.
“I need to s-sit down… where is N-nadia?” Y/N managed to get out, at war with how to answer him and praying furiously for someone to save her. She was having a primordial reaction to everything that had happened, and it was sapping the energy out of her. Namjoon snatched up one of her forearms in annoyance, the limb like a twig under his leather gloves. “No! Ow, no, I mean y-yes!”
Y/N could not take it anymore. She was hot, cold, contorting in pain and shivering with something else. She offered the truth. Sure, she was scared, but there was something else that was nameless to her. Was it… curiosity she felt?
“No? Let me offer you some advice,” Namjoon tsked, briefly wishing he could look into her mind like Jeongguk. “Don’t lie like that to Seokjin. Next time, he’ll have me skewer you.”
Y/N flinched, remembering the sword Namjoon had strapped to his back, and the fact that he was once commissioned to cut people down. His smile returned, scenting the dread pressing down on her.
“See? Though, didn’t the butler tell you not to reveal your fear?” Namjoon ignored the venom that was pooling on his tongue, swallowing it quickly so he could keep up the taunts. Seokjin didn’t want to punish the human, but Namjoon wanted to. “Now we know what fear does to you.”
The girl was blinking at him, which had the immortal pausing. She was fixated on his mouth again, which caused a snarl to rip from behind his teeth.
“What are you looking at? Are you so consumed by lust that your brain has melted?” Namjoon paired his words with a vicious yank of her arm, the hand on her hip moving to pinch her jaw. The back of her head hit the wall, Y/N crying out and completely powerless to self-preserve. “Tell me what you were staring at.”
“I don’t want to.”
Namjoon, in all his years of dealing with acolytes, had never encountered such a stubborn one. It had something dark possessing him, the thrum of her frightened pulse a stark contrast to the song her body was singing. Then, when he realized how close he had brought her wrist to his face, Namjoon caught the acolyte’s arousal still clinging to her fingers and acted on a baser desire that he hadn’t experienced in centuries. With one last pull, the acolyte’s fingers were in Namjoon’s mouth, the girl squealing in surprise.
“What are you doing?! That’s d-dirty,” Y/N cried, Namjoon’s wet tongue curling around her digits, his gaze still menacing and unfeeling. She dissolved on his palate, and with a quiet groan, Namjoon realized that her arousal tasted just as good as her blood. “I, hngh–”
Y/N focused back on Namjoon’s lips, which is what got her in that situation in the first place. Pursed around her soaked digits, she felt one of his fangs scrape against her index finger, and she pictured his smile in her mind again; the polar opposite to the demonic expression he was wearing at that moment. Perhaps, if she told him what she was looking at, he’d finally leave her alone.
“Please! I was just admiring your smile!”
Whatever Namjoon was expecting the acolyte to say with her fingers nearly down his throat, it wasn’t that. Almost as if she dumped water over him, Namjoon’s eyes glazed over, his grip growing just weak enough for Y/N to pull her hand away from his mouth and fangs. Catching her breath, Y/N used his distraction to slip away, ducking under his arm. She knew that she wouldn’t get very far; indeed, Namjoon was quick to grab her by the back of her dress, the material tearing slightly with the force.
“What did you just say to me?” Namjoon, for the first time to Y/N’s ears, spoke softly. The vampire, appearing to be unseeing, scanned her face, and Y/N almost got the feeling that he was seeing someone else in front of him.
“I-I mean, you scare me, but when you, um. Your smile? It’s–” Y/N gulped, relieved that whatever was making her body produce what Namjoon had sucked off of her fingers was beginning to subside, pure exhaustion and defeat gripping her instead. “Beautiful. It’s beautiful, makes you less s-scary. I’m sorry if that offends you! Master Namjoon, but please, can you let me go?”
Y/N’s pleas barely had effort behind them. Bone-deep fatigue and confusion had her bedroom fading in and out of view, and all she desired was the down quilt on her bed to sink into. Soaking in her response, Namjoon released the girl, ancient memories coming back to him and making him promptly turn on his heel. He needed to come to his senses– the dim acolyte was not the woman in those memories, no matter that those precise words had only been spoken to him only once before, under very different circumstances. He was at the door before the human could collapse onto her bed, still aroused and uncertain.
“One more piece of advice, acolyte,” Namjoon, still in the same, low tone, spoke. “Rather, a warning.”
A muffled, sad little moan came from Y/N, who was turned away on her side. She hadn’t even bothered to clean herself up, ignoring the uncomfortable sensation of the air hitting the damper areas of her body and the dull agony of her fresh wounds.
“Innocence is a dangerous thing to possess around a vampire. Wise up, or you’ll be swallowed whole.”
Y/N was sick of hearing things she didn’t understand paired with threats, so she offered no verbal acknowledgement to his stupid advice. Not that Namjoon stuck around, the door shutting and leaving Y/N finally, finally alone.
Her elation over that fact was temporary. A metal tinkling sound coming from where Namjoon was just standing had her eyebrows furrowing, something heavy sliding into place resolutely. That was when Y/N bolted upright with horror, the movement opening the punctures created by Seokjin’s earlier bite.
Namjoon had locked her into the bedroom from the outside.
“You reek of cum,” Taehyung, irritated that the elder strolling into the office was late, unbathed, and had a lace bralette hanging out of his suit pants. Taehyung, bitter venom filling his mouth, stuffed his pocket watch back into the pocket of his suit vest. “Abhorrent.”
“No showers at the cabaret. Let’s get this over with,” Hoseok shrugged, not as eager to prolong a dramatic meeting of the minds after he had fucked his way through the showgirls all night.
“Sit down. I’ll make this brief,” Seokjin was all business. He spent the better part of his morning jumping down Yoongi’s throat, the artist still literally licking his wounds– tongue swiping over a bloodied– thanks to the acolyte– and torn lip.
“Where’s Namjoon?” Hoseok interrupted Seokjin, realizing the immortal that filled any room with negative energy was absent. “You’re agonizing over my lateness, Taehyung, but not his?”
“Namjoon-ah and I will talk after,” Seokjin’s temple throbbed, using a handkerchief to clean the blood from one of his rings that cut into Yoongi’s lip.
It was a gloomy, dark morning. The sun had barely even risen, so the low sources of lighting in the already moody office came from lit sconces and the fireplace. Jeongguk, by the window, tracked droplets of water coasting down the glass plane. With immortal eyes, he could detect the warps and imperfections in the hundred year old glass. It was far more entertaining than getting chewed up by Seokjin. Absently, the youngest vampire rolled up the sleeves of his cream colored sweater, caught off guard by the healthy caramel glow to his skin in contrast. He must have been walking around like a specter for too long, without a good donor.
“Yoongi has been told to keep his work to his bedroom. From now on, if he wishes to have the acolyte model, it will be contained to that space,” Seokjin began, giving Yoongi a scathing glare. Yoongi’s mind was elsewhere, the front of his button down stained with blood and muted pigments of paint.
“Well, that doesn’t seem so bad, hm? You aren’t going soft, are you, Seokjin?” Jimin, a touch tipsy from the night before and dressed in nothing but a patterned silk robe, was leafing through a first-edition copy of one of his early plays– something Hoseok collected years ago, apparently. “Hoseok! Where did you get this? You don’t even have the decency to read my tragedies, but you are comfortable stealing valuable copies?”
“Ah. That was from some gout-ridden aristocrat’s collection when we docked in Jamaica–”
“Last night will not be repeated,” Seokjin cut through the idle, infuriating chit-chat, Taehyung appearing just as relieved that the eldest was moving things along in a timely manner. “I will not allow this coven to be reduced to a pack of animals simply because of a human. I do not care if she is a tempting muse to you, an entertaining plaything, or a virgin to defile. No one is to touch the girl unless to feed.”
The silence would be considered unsettling by anybody, mortal or otherwise. Yoongi was the only one who wasn’t absolutely bewildered by the strictness of Seokjin’s order, considering he had already been briefed during his beat down. Normally, the head of the coven would let the six younger vampires toy with their acolytes as they pleased, indifferent– but not that time around.
“How are we to feed without touching her, Seokjin? Are we koi in your royal garden, waiting for you to decide when our next meal is? You had the first bite. Before now, you didn’t take issue with us having our share of fun with the acolytes,” Taehyung frowned, hands in the pockets of his suit curling into fists. “Perhaps Seokjin has decided to return to how we fed when I first joined the coven,” Jeongguk offered softly, Seokjin nodding in the slightest. A dismayed harrumph came from Jimin, who was rolling his eyes and pulling a mother-of-pearl comb through his raven hair.
Jeongguk began to remember his early days as an immortal, head tilted, and tried to flick through Seokjin’s head in curiosity. He was met with the usual iron wall that surrounded it. Seokjin raised a manicured brow, Jeongguk’s gaze returning to the window.
“So… That’s all well and good. But why are there layers to this? Yoongi can arrange her into Kama Sutra positions but we aren’t to touch her point blank?” Hoseok wasn’t exactly broken up over the fact that he wasn’t to touch the acolyte, just annoyed with the special exceptions.
“You are being dull on purpose,” Seokjin sang blandly, leaning back in his leather chair. “I meant none of you are to engage in anything sexual with her. Fledglings– and immortals with no self control, such as yourself, Hoseok– do not do well entangling themselves with acolytes such as… Y/N.”
“Such as ‘Y/N’? Elaborate?” Taehyung politely requested, leaning against the door of the office. His office, really, the one he built for his summer holidays a century ago, he noted with mild bitterness, smoothing out his tweed suit with precise pats. At wit’s end, Seokjin put his head in his hands, so exasperated he cursed in his ancient native tongue.
“Her innocence and purity draws you in like a moth to a flame, I realize that, but I’m tired of applying for new acolytes. Two things are of greater importance that deserve my attention. First, I refuse to let you all revert yourselves into baser creatures thus tarnishing our reputation, which directly affects the second pressing matter. This week, the gala we are hosting with Berwind. Everything has to go smoothly.”
“... So, we can touch her. Just not–”
“Spare me, Hoseok,” Seokjin’s voice was hoarse, strained, and he had dealt with more tumor-inducing conversations in the past 24 hours than he had in decades. “Push her around if you want, I don’t give a shit. Do not try to seduce her.”
“But she thinks we’re all so handsome,” Jeongguk murmured, half amused, half kicking the hornet’s nest. “That’s like asking us to walk around with satchels over our heads.”
“All humans think we’re handsome,” Jimin countered, bored. He’d find it an insult worthy of death if the girl didn’t revere his beauty.
“Stop whining and do as I say. You all have work to do before the gala. Taehyung, have Edmund fetch Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin snapped, the scent of mortals filling the room and making him cover his nose and mouth with a delicate palm to block it.
“Alright, ‘boss’. Let’s see how long these new rules last,” Hoseok let his fangs drip with venom. He despised being ordered around, but the benefits of remaining in the coven and under Seokjin’s protection outweighed the cons. Seokjin usually came around, especially once the human would begin to get on Seokjin’s bad side. “I’m taking a bath until dinner.”
“That means he’ll be piss drunk again,” Jeongguk pointed out, once Hoseok had ditched the room, and Yoongi slowly rose from his seat.
Yoongi had been fiddling with a filbert paint brush during the entire conversation, mind solely focused on the painting he had spent the whole night working on. As he began to excuse himself from the room, Jimin caught a hold of the tail of Yoongi’s untucked button down. Often, he’d let Jimin watch him paint; Jimin wrote screenplays while Yoongi would stretch canvases in peaceful silence. Yoongi, paying no mind to his younger covenmate, used the filbert brush to pin up his shoulder-length paint-caked locks with a fledgling anchored to the back of his shirt.
The artist was rather grateful Seokjin hadn’t torn into him as much as he could have– Yoongi chalked it up to good behavior and keeping to himself for the better half of the last century. Sure, he was agitated that Seokjin warned him to keep the Paralysis to a minimum, which was a nuisance, but perhaps it would be an artistic challenge for him. With a melodic hum, Yoongi licked the last of the blood off of his lips, eyes glowing when he and Jimin both left the office quietly.
Though, Jimin was quiet for other reasons. Like Hoseok, Jimin was a spiteful vampire. The young acolyte already proved to be the brightest spark of entertainment he had seen from humanity since Old Hollywood, the excessive comparison floating around in Jimin’s lofty mind making Jeongguk dread the upcoming few days. With that, Taehyung and Jeongguk considered themselves dismissed, Seokjin only getting a moment to recover from the theatrics before launching into somewhat of a show himself.
“Namjoon-ah, come in, please,” Seokjin, hand still dragging over his face, hadn’t the slightest explanation for Namjoon’s lapse in judgement the previous night. The sting of betrayal from somebody who quite literally died for loyalty, sacrificing his very soul, was so strong it had even Seokjin’s chest tightening.
The doors swung open, Namjoon’s powerful strides bringing him into the office in less than three steps. Unfortunately, the human girl that was ushered into the room behind her had Namjoon freezing, carmine eyes narrowing.
Y/N, who had been scrubbed utterly raw by her maids that morning as per Seokjin’s request, was currently entirely under Seokjin’s influence. From the moment her eyes opened at dawn, Seokjin could sense her panic from the bedroom above her– and to prevent any further nonsense, he mentally Compelled her to be nothing but his temporary puppet. Namjoon, as if he sensed he’d be in some hot water that morning, had his sword strapped to his broad back, his large gloved hands settling over the leather belt strapped around his hips.
“Hyung. I felt you were too lenient on her,” Namjoon began, the picture of confidence. It elicited a low chuckle from Seokjin, torn between being too fond of Namjoon and ready to exact his punishment without mercy.
“Okay, little acolyte. You can sit now,” Seokjin released Y/N from his spell only after she absently perched on a seat on the opposite side of the mahogany desk. Sucking in a deep breath, he waited for the girl to start babbling stupidly.
“OH! You,” Y/N’s fingernails cut into the upholstered chair she sagged into, one hand shooting up to the back of her neck urgently, her outrage focused on her former mental captor. If Jeongguk’s power crushed her skull, and Jimin’s bruised her marrow; Seokjin melted her very spinal cord.
“You too, Namjoon-ah, sit.”
Namjoon’s jaw worked, Seokjin staring at him through his dark curtain of eyelashes and waiting for him to ultimately obey. He always did.
“I did what I thought had to be done. She’s completely unharmed,” Namjoon impulsively came up with a half-baked excuse, Seokjin pausing with a cocked head in his palms to remember that not so long ago, Namjoon was one of the fledglings too.
“What!? Not true! Y-you! He! He locked me into the room!” Y/N exploded, pointing angrily at Namjoon like an unruly child.
“I know.”
“You’re angry I locked her in? We do that to all of the acolytes,” Namjoon scoffed, suddenly wishing he had just shown the human to her early grave when she cursed at him under her breath.
“I’m angry that you went over my head. This is unlike you, Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin projected the scene of Namjoon taking the acolyte’s soaked fingers into his mouth into his mind, from Namjoon’s very own perspective. Namjoon swore, thinking Jeongguk deserved his neck wrung for daring to use his maddening mind-reading on him.
“Excuse me. Did you just say you lock in all of the acolytes?” Y/N spluttered, body sagging into the chair even further when she realized Seokjin didn’t care she was imprisoned overnight. She was ignored by both vampires coldly.
“You’re going to punish me.”
“No.”
“No?” Namjoon leaned back in his seat, settling an ankle over the opposite knee, again drilling holes into the side of the human woman’s face with a glare. None of the arousal that clung to her the night before was evident, just a cocktail of edginess and despair. “Then what, Seokjin? I’ve proved my loyalty. Perhaps I had too much to drink.”
“You’ve proved your loyalty,” Seokjin repeated in agreement, rising from his seat with his hands clasped behind his back. “Which is why I’m giving you a new task. Around the clock.”
“Okay,” Namjoon drew out the syllables of his response, Y/N wiggling in her seat like she wanted to bolt. Why was she even there? When Namjoon thought he knew Seokjin’s every move, he was proven otherwise time and time again. It must have been instinctual for an eternal crown prince to keep his subjects on their toes.
“The gala we’re hosting for Edmund Berwind is just the first of many this winter,” Seokjin began to slowly pace around the intimidatingly masculine office, Y/N comparing him to a lethal black snake circling its next meal. “Last night aside. Besides myself, Namjoon-ah, you hold the most power in the coven. This winter I have to play politics and I will not have time to make sure this acolyte stays alive in order to sustain us.”
Y/N shuddered, not needing to be a vampire to feel the electric tension steadily climbing to a fever pitch. Namjoon, pearly dust coating his tongue from grinding his teeth so intensely, fiddled with the hilt of his sword, eyes liquid red.
“What do you need from me, hyung?” Namjoon stared at Seokjin’s back, turned to him and the acolyte by a large bay window. Namjoon wondered if Seokjin was taking any pleasure in drawing things out.
“Namjoon-ah. Since you seem to take a particular interest in the little girl, I imagine that to a vampire with weaker restraint, she’s a duck sitting in a pot of potatoes and leeks,” Seokjin began, head turning slightly so Y/N could gape at his flawless side profile– his lips, nose, and long lashes were highlighted by early morning light.
“Particular interest–?”
“You’re to be her bodyguard.”
Again, there was a ghostly silence, one that Seokjin relished in. The girl was still somewhat loopy from him controlling her all morning, but Namjoon’s outright shock had Seokjin humming.
“Bodyguard? Seokjin hyung, you know I respect you. Jeongguk was a former bodyguard. He is more suited for the job. I do not want to be near this woman,” Namjoon protested sharply, unaware that that was the precise reason Seokjin selected playing bodyguard as punishment for Namjoon. Y/N, in similar fashion, recoiled and clutched her roiling gut.
“Jeongguk is the youngest fledgling,” Seokjin quickly replied, as if Namjoon was daft to even suggest such a thing. “Jeongguk also has the mind of a stunted teenager. He has tenderness that lingers. He cannot be tasked with something like this, not yet. You are to watch the acolyte and make sure she is not only protected from our guests, but the rest of the coven as well.”
“This is a test.”
“This is a warning, Namjoon!” Seokjin hissed, spinning around. “Remember yourself. Wake up, and do your job. Give me her bedroom key.”
Seokjin, in a blur, was standing above Namjoon, a palm dangling in front of the younger’s face. Namjoon’s fangs flashed, digging around in the pocket of his slacks, and offered up a gilded skeleton key with grave reluctance– almost like it was his death sentence. Smart enough to realize that she had absolutely no irons in the fire to protest, Y/N numbly watched Seokjin fashion a necklace for Namjoon out of a fine spool of wire produced from the desk, one with the key to her bedroom dangling as its grand pendant. Namjoon, still as ever, held his breath when Seokjin dropped the necklace over his head.
“Take her to the Sanctuary to pick out acolytes for Saturday evening. Bring Jeongguk to weed out the weak of mind,” Seokjin upped the ante by sending Namjoon on an errand with the acolyte, the addition of Jeongguk monitoring his thoughts no doubt sending Namjoon into murderous rage. “Keep your hands to yourself and your mouth shut, acolyte. Go.”
Dismissing the two, Namjoon’s power crackling like electricity over his knuckles, Seokjin leaned a hip on the desk, plucking up the landline receiver. Y/N’s mouth was agape at the mention of the Sanctuary– the run-down Gothic cathedral a place she never knew she could miss, but did, desperately.
While processing the possibility that she might get to see her friends once more, even if it was just to give them a proper goodbye, Y/N was yanked upwards by the back of her sweater. Namjoon had a fistful of her wool collar in his glove-clad fist, the vampire so enraged by his newly appointed ‘job’ that he didn’t even have words of malice in his vocabulary to spit back at Seokjin that could encapsulate it.
“I can walk,” Y/N righted herself with a scoff, shockingly cognizant despite everything that had already happened the first hour she was awake. Namjoon let go of her sweater, his striking face twisted up in disgust, tearing from the office like his heels were on fire.
Y/N adjusted the fit of her sweater, swallowing down her trepidation. Many things became clear to her, as she eyed Seokjin speaking to someone on the phone in a lilting foreign language. First and foremost, she had just become the most well-protected acolyte in the nation with Namjoon as her bodyguard. Second, Seokjin had not only inadvertently confirmed how necessary her well-being and survival was to not only the entire coven, but to himself as well. Y/N accepted that fear would always be there, and she’d endure moments of humiliation like she had the night prior. She’d experience pain and psychological torment. But she’d survive.
“아니, 창덕궁은 아니고–” Seokjin’s eyes flashed, angry that the acolyte was gawking at him like a dolt and not following her newly appointed bodyguard. He lowered the phone from his lips slightly, snarling a threat. “Get going, little girl, before I bite you again.”
Scowling, Y/N cupped a palm over the punctures he left in her neck, barely covered by the cut of her sweater’s collar. The vampire was still barking into the phone when one of the staff members began to shut the office doors behind Y/N, his voice carrying into the hall.
“내 생각에는 경복궁이 우리의 필요에 더 잘 맞을 것 같아요–”
The grand wooden doors cut off Seokjin’s dulcet tones effectively with a hollow clang, and paired with it, three maids surrounded her in a flurry of winter hats and coats to bundle her up.
“Oh, Nadia–” Y/N gasped, a friendly face appearing before her at long last. Her maid fastened a pair of fur earmuffs over Y/N’s head securely. “Please tell me you’ll be coming along on this errand!”
“Afraid not, Miss. Typically, I would join you, but with the gala preparations this week, I must send you with a list to take to the market. The masters will accompany you on the way to the Sanctuary,” Nadia gestured to the large ballroom overlooking the sea, dozens of staff members on their hands and knees scrubbing the marble floors. “You’ll have a merry time at the market this time of year, Miss. I’m sure the masters will treat you to a hot drink.”
Y/N thought diamonds raining from the sky seemed more likely than Namjoon or Jeongguk willingly purchasing her a treat, the latter of the two vampires unfortunately coming into her view when Nadia led her to the mansion’s front door. Y/N hadn’t seen the youngest immortal since Yoongi escorted him from the billiard’s room the night prior. Y/N’s heart was doing something funny in her chest at the sight of him, like it was taking dips and tumbles in the cavity, Jeongguk’s cream-colored sweater giving the vampire an almost innocent appearance.
“Nadia, don’t you have a scarf for the acolyte?” Jeongguk ignored the desperate desire to use Telepathy on Y/N, who was reluctantly waddling over to him with a pout on her small mouth. “It’s important for human women to keep their thyroid warm in the winter.”
Y/N coughed back an incredulous laugh, not believing for a single second that Jeongguk truly gave a rat’s ass about her thyroid. If anything, the comment gave her the creeps, shattering the angelic image he was falsely projecting.
“Yes Master Jeongguk, I have this cashmere–”
“Give it to me, Nadia,” Jeongguk cut the maid off, crooking a finger at Y/N and beckoning her forward. He snatched an oversized scarf from Nadia with graceful finesse, wrapping the material around his palms.
Y/N was at the point, so early in the morning and already tired of games, that she simply slouched her way to the captor summoning her without putting up a fight. Besides, Namjoon was probably around the corner, and Y/N knew she was pretty much invincible with him as her ‘bodyguard’. She could endure some teasing from Jeongguk, she told herself, as she anxiously focused on the faint scar on one of his cheeks.
“Here you go,” Jeongguk was murmuring pleasantly, beginning to wind the scarf around Y/N’s neck. While stiff, she maintained her composure, not wanting Jeongguk to get the best of her when he started tucking the ends of the scarf into her coat’s collar. “All bundled up, there you go.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
Y/N’s cheeks burned, sincere words coming from Jeongguk tainted by a condescending cadence. Without thinking, she brushed his knuckles away from her jawline, Jeongguk snickering and limply dropping his hand to his side.
“Developing an attitude problem now that you’ve become Seokjin’s princess?” Jeongguk stooped, his large doe eyes sparkling with youthful mischief. It made Y/N’s heart act up again. “Even Namjoon’s to be waiting on your hand and foot. Pretty nice setup, huh?”
“Isn’t it too early for this?” Y/N squinted, backing up several paces so Jeongguk’s sweet breath wasn’t wafting over her face anymore. “Sure, I have an attitude. Wouldn’t you?”
“You know, you’d make a fairly interesting immortal,” Jeongguk crossed his arms over his chest, broad back resting against a solid pillar by the front door. Y/N couldn’t hear it, but Namjoon was tearing up a training room in the basement just below their feet, picturing the martial arts foam dummy down there was the acolyte he was eviscerating with his sword.
“That… sounds like a threat. Or a death sentence,” Y/N squeaked, never considering the possibility that she herself could be turned. Jeongguk’s face split into a grin, picturing the girl frozen in time forever, pure and skittish, her eyes like rubies.
“It’s two sides of the same coin, Y/N. It’s a threat, and it would be a death sentence,” Jeongguk, all but purring, watched the wheels turn in her head. She was confused once more, her weight shifting from foot to foot. While the fledgling enjoyed her nervous response to his presence, he realized, with a frown, that the acolyte seemed to find him the most approachable amongst the coven members. He’d have to change that, swiftly. “Don’t you know how vampires are made?”
“I don’t wish to know,” Y/N quickly shook her head, striding to the grand front door in order to get a move on with the dreaded errands. Besides, Jeongguk looked far too eager to describe something unpleasant.
“Well, to start. We’d have to drain you of almost all of your blood,” Jeongguk disregarded her, not that Y/N was surprised, her fingernails scraping against the front door when thunderous footsteps pounded up a stairwell just beyond Jeongguk’s shoulder. “You’d be dying. Before you’d take your last breath, however…”
“We’re going,” Namjoon stormed by Y/N and the taunting fledgling, Y/N gulping audibly when she saw the sweat rolling down his temples and the unsheathed sword in his grasp.
Finding it the perfect opportunity to leave Jeongguk and his gory stories in the dust, Y/N made haste after Namjoon, the length of her coat’s skirt collecting dust and moisture from the previous night’s storm.
“Get in the back,” Namjoon jutted his chin towards the cushy black sedan she remembered seeing the day she met the vampires, the car already running and filling the air with silky looking exhaust.
Clamming herself up, Y/N obediently slid into the back seat of the sedan when Namjoon yanked the door open for her, a mew of awe leaving her when she landed on the soft leather booth. Taking in the cabin, Y/N traced over the vents closest to her, the glossy wood buffed to a bright shine.
“Oof–” Y/N grunted, a heavy object tossed over her lap. With a shriek, she shoved Namjoon’s sword off of her and onto the floor, relieved that it was sheathed but horrified that she was anywhere near it. Namjoon slammed the door shut, cutting the chill that was coming from outside, the sheer force of the action jolting the car around.
“Put that on the seat next to you. If you had any idea how much that was worth, you’d be kneeling on a chapel floor until you bled,” Namjoon was suddenly in the seat directly in front of her, not even turning to make eye contact when he addressed her.
With trembling hands, she lifted the sword, the scabbard made of a black lacquered wood, urgently placing it as far away as she could. There was a blood red tassel hanging off it, the strings somewhat frayed with time, and engraved inscriptions along the sides of the scabbard that Y/N could not read.
“Hoseok fucked with my seat again,” Jeongguk dropped into the driver’s seat, his fast movements a blur as he adjusted his mirrors. “You never let me finish, either, Y/N.”
Y/N wished she could go back in time and smack herself for insisting on the vampires calling her by her actual name. Something about a deadly creature knowing and using that particular intimacy felt wrong, Y/N nervously biting her lip as Jeongguk turned to pull out of the carport. Flashing his fangs at her, Jeongguk paid no attention to Namjoon burying himself in some boring book about martial arts to distract himself, the girl shrinking into her scarf for feeble protection.
“When you’re drained, taking your last breath… one of us could either kill you or wait for you to die,” Jeongguk switched the radio on, quiet hip-hop pulsing through the expensive speakers in the cabin. “Then you have to be fed.”
“What are you even talking about? How can you feed me if I’ve been murdered?” Y/N narrowed her eyes, wondering if Jeongguk thought she was slow.
“One of us would feed you immortal blood, and it would revive you as an immortal yourself. A fledgling,” Jeongguk went on as if she hadn’t poked holes in his tale, the iron gates at the front of the property swinging open to a wintery, meticulously paved street.
“Why on earth would we ever turn that pest?” Namjoon murmured blandly, the sound of his leather gloves rustling against the pages of a book again sparking Y/N’s interest. It appeared that Namjoon never actually took those gloves off, for some elusive reason. “Can’t we carry out this task in silence?”
Jeongguk chuckled, but knew not to push his luck. Namjoon was one toe out of line from taking his frustrations out on bystanders at the market, which would be a pain to clean up. He settled into his seat and rolled down the windows, his skin sensitive to the elements with the acolyte’s blood nourishing it. As cool rain ran over his forearm, Jeongguk smirked to himself– it was only a matter of time until Jimin would be requesting pints of the acolyte’s blood to dump in his nightly bath. He was ripped from his thoughts of Jimin bathing in a marble pool of crimson when the girl actually dared to speak, almost mocking Namjoon’s final comment.
“Why on earth would I ever want to be turned? I’m already chained to you for the rest of my human life. To be trapped with you in immortality would be an eternal hell that I would have no escape from. Not even death would be kind to me.”
“Hosting parties here in the winter is something I never envisioned during construction,” Taehyung wound the silver chain to his pocket watch around his wrist, a line of maids brushing by with armfuls of holiday decorations. “It was intentionally designed for summer parties, keeping outsiders out.”
“You’ve mentioned that before, Master Taehyung. Especially during the winter holidays. You must detest them,” Edmund managed to keep up with his immortal employer by breaking into a near jog, scratching down a list of to-do’s as he went. The old butler had a weight lifted off his shoulder that morning, the acolyte off-property and out of the lion’s den, at least for a while.
“The loggias open to the lawn and gardens. They’re useless in the winter. We should be hosting in the New York townhouses,” Taehyung continued to complain, using the butler as a sounding board.
“Shall I order the evergreens today?”
Taehyung sighed, his delicate nose wrinkling up as he imagined the sappy, pungent smell of Christmas trees permeating through his estate. From where he was in the great hall, he could simply tilt his head just so, and with vampiric vision he could make out every brushstroke painted onto the ceiling fifty feet into the sky. Similarly, his hearing picked up every whisper from the servants in the hall, their heartbeats, and the continuous ticking of his pocket watch. Passing a hand over his gelled curls, Taehyung resumed his lap around the first floor.
“I suppose. I cannot believe Seokjin put me on decorating duty. He can be such a… prince,” Taehyung frowned deeply, mulling over how he had managed to get himself in that spot.
Sure, Taehyung was still a ‘fledgling’, but he was older than Jeongguk, who was actually permitted to take the acolyte on a trip to town with Namjoon. Classic Seokjin, showing favoritism for both the youngest vampire and the second-in-command. It made Taehyung want to spit venom onto the floor, but he always considered himself a gentleman, so he swallowed it down with a wince.
“Like the holidays, Master, you seem to detest town, too,” Edmund, with mild amusement, made sure to prioritize Taehyung’s preferences for the decor– if he didn’t follow the businessman's directions to the letter, there would be cruel and unusual punishments. “Perhaps he was sparing you from the throngs of people asking for your audience.”
“Do not kiss my ass, Edmund,” Taehyung peered down through his thick lashes, hands stuffed in his pockets. There was no bite to his words, Taehyung actually appreciating Edmund’s discreet and meticulous work over the years, but he still had to maintain his immortal authority. “Seokjin picks punishments that create a slow torture, ones that unravel a person. I didn’t do too much to offend this time, but I still have to handle ‘festivities’ when I’d rather focus on the business.”
“I heard…” Edmund’s cerulean eyes darted around the hall before he and the fledgling reached the secluded grotto beneath the marble staircase. “Namjoon has been appointed as a sort of bodyguard to the acolyte.”
“Wherever did you hear that, old friend?” Taehyung grinned maliciously, stooping to get a good look at the elderly human. After years of being worn down without losing his mind, Taehyung didn’t mind that Edmund possessed an agenda, as long as it wasn’t conflicting with his own. “Eavesdropping again?”
“Simply trying to get up to speed on how things will be working from now on,” Edmund, even with his years of service, always preferred to deal with the vampires when they had recently fed, their appearances closer to humans than the ghoulish, starving versions of themselves. Presently, Taehyung appeared like a healthy young man that stepped forward in time from the Gilded Age. “You don’t mind filling me in, do you?”
“Namjoon cannot tolerate humans, especially ones that lack the intelligence of the world. Being a bodyguard to one is the ultimate punishment for him, so he must have royally fucked up somehow. Jeongguk is the only one who knows how Namjoon fucked up other than Seokjin, which is why he’s driving Namjoon around. Insult to injury. That, and Seokjin is testing Jeongguk’s self-control, which will wear thin quickly.”
Taehyung knelt on one knee, dipping his hand into the chest pocket of his vest. Using a Prussian blue handkerchief, the silk slippery when he used it to polish a spot of marble making up the basin of the grotto beneath the main staircase.
“Forcing Yoongi to paint without Paralysis is torture for him. Being barred from playing his little games is no doubt leading up to a spell of hysteria from Jimin,” Taehyung folded the handkerchief with care, then tested the febrile water bubbling in the grotto with a satisfied hum. “As for Hoseok… Well, he escalated things with his vulgarities last night. Seokjin’s response was to send him to local churches to keep up on our donations.”
“Which leaves dealing with the cabaret to you,” Edmund, though considered to be ‘old’ for a human, was quite sharp. Taehyung hated many things: tardiness, interacting with extroverts, dealing with party planning, but most of all, Taehyung despised lowly human perversions.
“Come sundown I’ll be at a cattle auction hosted in a brothel,” Taehyung grunted, straightening up and trying to hide his surprise that his limbs moved so fluidly. “No use in fighting it. Seokjin is manipulative, but it is how we have stayed powerful for so long.”
“Manipulative? That is one of the kindest ways you have described me in decades, Taehyung,” Seokjin, melting into the crooks and nannies of the vast estate, made his presence known, the head chef cowering behind the eldest vampire. “You’ve hardly finished coordinating decorations. You wouldn’t have to traipse around the red-light district after sundown if you lit a fire under your ass.”
“Are you implying that I’m lazy?” Taehyung scoffed incredulously, Edmund excusing himself to ‘order the evergreens’. “The greatest businessman in history. Lazy?”
“The greatest businessman in American history. You still brag about your achievements like a petulant child of nepotism,” Seokjin glanced at the clipboard the head chef was holding with trembling hands, pointing at something and clicking his tongue. Taehyung felt his skin rippling, like Glamor was trying to turn him into a demon with leathery skin. “Leave the rest to Edmund and just go to the cabaret now.”
“Hoseok usually handles the cabaret. What am I even supposed to be negotiating in that cesspool?”
“You’re supposed to be picking out entertainment for the lecherous variety of guests that will be here this week. Must I spell it out for you?” Seokjin was out of sight as soon as he was in it, ordering the chef around again. “Has anyone unpacked the crates of liquor yet–”
Taehyung’s face split into a disbelieving grin, a rough chuckle tearing through his chest. There were days Taehyung longed for Seokjin’s power and influence, and moments where reality struck him. With his skin still threatening to take on the appearance of something otherworldly– beyond his control– could Taehyung even wield the power it took to head a vampiric coven properly?
Glancing around the grand summer home he painstakingly designed for himself a lifetime ago, Taehyung sighed as he began to transform himself into a man who no one would recognize in the streets. Not only a widely known vampire in town, but the businessman who put Newport, Rhode Island on the map many years ago, Taehyung morphed into the perfect replica of the young man handing him his car keys– who stumbled sideways in shock when he saw a clone of himself staring back.
Gentle, fuzzy orchestral music played loudly enough to have bottles of turpentine rattling against each other, Yoongi groaning from behind the wet canvas he was agonizing over. A pile of discarded palettes sat at his feet, unsatisfactory swatches of colors smeared all over the plastic heightening his aggravation. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the shade of the acolyte’s hair just right.
“On the average day, I admire your process. Judging by appearances, you’ve deviated from that process. Where am I to sit, your lap?” Jimin returned from his ‘break’ from writing in Yoongi’s bedroom to take a leisurely two-hour long bath, dressed in his typical satin attire.
Yoongi, out of pure frustration, launched a palette knife across the room and out of the half-cracked bay window. It was true: at least fifteen canvases in various sizes were tossed about the room, paint still tacky and smudged, the fabric tarp protecting the Oriental carpets caked was in pigments, and not even Yoongi’s bed– where Jimin typically lounged to pen down his screenplays– had a free spot where a box of supplies didn’t occupy. Yoongi himself looked like a trainwreck, long glossy hair gathered into a ragged knot at the back of his head, reeking of paint thinner, and clothes basically destroyed by the mediums he was using.
Jimin, slightly mournful that his silk pajamas were going to be ruined, dropped himself onto one of Yoongi’s thighs, raising an eyebrow at Yoongi’s agitated expression. Usually, he would have pushed Jimin off by then, too wrapped up in what he was painting to endure Jimin’s flirting. Blinking, Jimin turned his head, leaning forward on Yoongi’s thigh to get a look at the painting causing the older vampire so much grief.
His work was as fine as ever. In fact, Jimin had half a mind to smack Yoongi across the face. Of course, the painting was of the acolyte, but it portrayed her taking a sip from a champagne flute during the previous night’s dinner. The colors were vibrant and lifelike, and the acolyte was so well depicted that Jimin could imagine the girl stepping out of the canvas. Yoongi even managed to capture how beautiful the ruby necklace Jimin picked out for the acolyte was, which made Jimin spring up from his perch and place his hands on his hips.
“You’re being ridiculous. How could you possibly be unhappy with that portrait?” Jimin accused, the cloud over Yoongi’s head darkening. “The hair isn’t right,” Yoongi murmured, plucking up another tube of paint to lighten the tones on the top of the acolyte’s head, where the chandelier picked up on her natural highlights. “I can’t get it right without her here.”
“Well, she’s playing with others right now. It’s not your turn,” Jimin snarked, finding the notebook he was using for his latest screenplay under an old smock Yoongi only used to wipe paint from his hands. “Besides, is she Botticelli’s Venus? How complicated can her hair color possibly be?”
“You were too preoccupied with how her tits spilled out of the top of her dress to notice her hair,” Yoongi went for a petty low blow, which was unlike him. Jimin paused, clutching his notebook to his chest and studying his elder for a moment.
Jimin always thought Yoongi was beautiful, but when Yoongi found a new muse, he glowed and took on something angelic. However, that particular time his glow was dimmed, thanks to Seokjin’s restrictions on Yoongi’s access to his newfound muse, and stress brought on by perfectionism was extinguishing the light almost completely.
“You haven’t been this neurotic about details since the portraits you worked on for Marilyn Monroe, and that acolyte is nowhere near that level of femme fatale,” Jimin cocked his head, perturbed that Yoongi wasn’t giving him the time of day. He couldn’t have that. “Yoongi, put the blasted paint down.”
With practiced ease, Jimin used a stronger dose of Hypnosis on Yoongi than he did the acolyte. Yoongi, promptly, felt his filbert brush clatter to the ground, a gritty purr coming from the artist. He didn’t have the patience to entertain Jimin that day, but it seemed Jimin had other ideas, pushing the palette out of Yoongi’s grasp and using a crooked finger to tilt his chip up.
“Release me, Jimin,” Yoongi narrowed his eyes, his ancient bones aching from Hypnosis wrapping around them. “You do not need to Hypnotize me to gain my attention.”
“Clearly that’s not the case,” Jimin snapped, letting go of his elder covenmate and withdrawing his power slowly. “You’re completely consumed. She’s your latest muse.”
Jimin watched, with an almost human interest, blood pool in Yoongi’s cheeks. When a vampire has fed, within moments the mortal blood revives the stagnant vampiric blood– black in color– and the immortal’s body is restored to its height of health. Essentially, the mortal and vampiric blood become one; the blush across Yoongi’s cheeks was something Jimin had not seen in at least fifteen years. It was worse than he thought.
“I would not go that far… muse…” Yoongi looked away, out the window and towards the sea. “No. Just a new subject to paint.”
“Sure,” Jimin scoffed, bored suddenly. With a huff, he meanly pushed a stack of sketchbooks off of Yoongi’s bed with a bare foot, collapsing on his side and cracking open his leather bound manuscripts-in-progress. “I have no issues admitting the acolyte has inspired my work. You know I’ve suffered from a block lately. Your stubbornness vexes me.”
“If it ‘vexes’ you so much, go entertain yourself with the girl’s maids. Pick out her wardrobe for the week and leave me in peace,” Yoongi retrieved his paint brush from the floor, using featherlight pressure to diffuse the harsh lines making up a lock of hair on the acolyte’s head. “Turn down the music while you’re at it.”
“Cold,” Jimin grinned, one of his fangs piercing through the cap of his pen once he brought it to his mouth. “Turn the music down yourself. I’m comfortable now.”
It was diverting to bicker with Yoongi, who usually behaved like a mute hermit living in the mountains– the artist could stoop to a level of sarcasm that Jimin perfected before he even became immortal. Yoongi grunted noncommittally, only breaking away from his canvas for a moment in order to slam the radio off, built-up strength in his limbs due to Paralysis begging to be used.
Yoongi couldn’t remember what it was like to work without Paralysis. In the beginning, when Yoongi was a young, human man, he took any menial job he could to keep him off the streets of Tuscany. Not once, prior to meeting his mentor, did Yoongi allow himself the luxury of dream of being a fine artist. He was too busy exterminating vermin that often holed up in his ramshackle one-room thatched-roof mud hut while he was selling fruits in an open air market to have dreams. Yoongi shook out his arms and legs, the sounds of Jimin scrawling his loopy cursive over parchment grating on his delicate ears.
“Are you writing a play or a movie script?” Yoongi mumbled, jealous that Jimin’s creativity seemed to be flowing like a babbling brook. The jealousy spiked when Jimin flipped through his notebook, revealing that he had written what seemed to be two different productions already– Paralysis started to stiffen Yoongi’s own body spitefully.
“Actually, I wrote a ballet and a short horror film. Working on something more classical now, a novel… think Mary Shelley…”
“You wrote a ballet,” Yoongi confirmed flatly, Jimin giggling and setting his pen down to tease an obviously envious Yoongi. “When was the last time you even danced ballet, let alone create a show?”
“Just because you’ve stopped dropping by during my practice times, doesn’t mean I’ve quit, Yoongi,” Jimin, in a singsong voice, rolled over on his stomach to kick his legs in the air, already envisioning complicated choreography and elaborate, decadent costumes gracing worldwide stages. “Enough of this. Take a walk, you’re distracting me.”
Jimin, with glee, returned to his manuscript, loving that he could gloat. Sure, a part of him– a part the size of perhaps a grain of rice– that felt bad for Yoongi, but it was so overshadowed by centuries of immortal narcissism that Jimin didn’t even realize that part of him still existed.
“You’re the eldest fledgling, but you behave like the youngest. Disgraceful. Messy,” Yoongi changed the subject, kneeling to the floor by the bed. Face level with Jimin, Yoongi tilted his head. “Hedonistic.”
“I’m a vampire, Yoongi,” Jimin didn’t spare his elder a glance, and even though he was writing at a nearly impossible to see speed, no ink stained his sturdy fingertips. “Maybe you should lean into your nature like you used to, and you’ll paint something actually worth viewing.”
“You’re suggesting I ignore Seokjin’s orders.”
“Since when have you obeyed them? Seokjin gives you a rather long leash because you’re boring. He gave you an out. He doesn’t care if you Paralyze the acolyte, he just wants it contained to this bedroom. If anything, that should excite you,” Jimin put down his pen, fangs on display when his mischievous smile returned. With a manicured nail, he scraped umber pigment off of Yoongi’s cheek, directly below one of his eyes.
Yoongi considered this, letting the fledgling remove paint from his face and hair, something dark and twisted steeping into his system. Jimin was absolutely right, and it pained Yoongi to admit that to himself. Since when had he been so idle?
“Jeongguk accused me of lacking risk…”
“Normally, I’d tell you not to listen to that cretin. But the point remains,” Jimin curled his lip up in disgust, picturing the brute youngest fledgling, who had none of the artistic proclivities he and Yoongi shared.
Yoongi seemed to be processing things, his eyes almost wine-colored as he stared at Jimin. At one point, there was a time Yoongi couldn’t stop painting him; the round false innocence of his cheeks and lips, his graceful dancer’s figure. It then dawned on him, his entire expression brightening, which had Jimin halting his task of removing Yoongi’s turpentine-soaked oxford shirt.
“Sit in next time. Model with her,” Yoongi grasped onto one of Jimin’s wrists, his sharp nails cutting into the fledgling’s creamy skin. A trickle of blood, a shade of pinot noir, slid down his wrist bone: the shade of Jimin and the acolyte entwined.
“Oh?” Jimin’s grin only widened seductively. “There’s the risk that made your fortune.”
Reinvigorated, Yoongi let Jimin shrug off his grip, the playwright dragging his tongue over the crescent-shaped cuts marring his perfect skin. As Yoongi stood, his shirt dropped to the floor, his chest the only part of his body spared from paint splatters.
“After the gala, when Seokjin is less concerned with appearances to the outside world, we’ll see how a session goes,” Yoongi turned, raking a hand through his filthy hair. Under his nose, Jimin was slyly using the callbox to fetch a staff member to run another hot bath. “Just the three of us.”
Yoongi frowned at the idea of Jimin inviting Hoseok– who enjoyed partaking in some of Jimin’s twisted, sometimes perverted, games. Sniffing indignantly, Jimin got the message loud and clear.
“Well, Hoseok can–”
Jimin was swiftly shut down when Yoongi was hovering over him again, his wrist recaptured. Body loosening deliciously when Paralysis washed over him, Jimin watched Yoongi plant a large palm beside him on the bed, trapping the fledgling in place.
“Just the three of us.”
Yoongi repeated himself firmly, squeezing Jimin’s wrist enough to have his breath catch, and without a smart retort, Yoongi smirked at the blood flowing from his cuts. Almost like he was consummating a grave, corrupted promise, Yoongi wrapped his lips around the wounds he created, sampling both the fledgling and the human girl as if it was the fountain of youth. Outside, thunder cracked down over the glacial sea, disguising blissful, selfish sighs.
“Miss? You seem distracted this afternoon,” Juliana’s voice is what cut through the fog, Y/N absently gazing into the polished silver mirror.
Her cheeks had filled out with the consistent rich foods she was being fed around the clock. There was no attention paid by her to the butterfly needle sticking out of her arm, drawings now a daily– sometimes twice daily– occurrence. Y/N suspected that the blood bags were delivered bedroom to bedroom like room service, and though she hated needles, her maids drawing her blood was much better than teeth in her neck.
It had been a couple of days since her outing with the two vampires, and Y/N felt herself moving through her life like a mechanical part of something much larger. It was the afternoon of the great ‘gala’ that the coven was throwing, which meant Y/N was roused from her bed prior to sunrise for a hasty breakfast before being manicured to perfection.
It was a miracle, but the vampires had mostly left her alone after she had returned from the Sanctuary with Namjoon and Jeongguk. With convenient bags of her blood for them to feed on, it really wasn’t necessary for the coven to interact with her. In fact, other than Namjoon’s constant presence lurking in her shadow, the only other vampire she had to speak with was Seokjin, who gave her a detailed list of how to behave at the gala.
Y/N didn’t know why she even had to be present during the event. She would have much preferred holing up in her bedroom with perhaps a book all night. Wincing when Juliana pulled the needle from her arm, Y/N cleared her throat, eagerly spreading a soothing ointment over the injection site.
“Miss?”
“Hm?” Y/N shivered, fingers twisting into the fur blanket draped over her lap. Y/N had become intimately familiar with the vanity she was sitting in front of; sometimes, she swore she saw spirits in the silver mirror. “Sorry?”
“I mentioned that you seem distracted. Perhaps anticipation for the gala? The decorations look glorious,” Juliana was merry, all of the staff was, but it hardly rubbed off on Y/N. She had never been to any kind of party, and not knowing what to expect had her stomach turning.
“Oh… yes. Anticipation,” Y/N lied, drawing the corner of her mouth up into a half-smile. Dressed in only a silk nightgown, Y/N too consumed by her anxiety to bother covering up her nipples peeking through the fabric, she was spun around on her stool. Her bed was littered with gowns, all shades of cream or off-white. “What am I wearing?”
Another thing Y/N got used to, much like Namjoon keeping close tabs on her even if he wasn’t physically present, was Jimin picking out her clothes. Not just outfits for dinner, but her daily attire as well, down to the jewelry and shoes. Y/N no longer had much agency at all, and that was revealed to her when she was taken to the Sanctuary.
Two Days Prior to the Gala
Y/N had a lump forming in her throat when Jeongguk pulled his car into the Sanctuary’s gravel drive, the stone cathedral exactly how she remembered it just a week ago. Her legs were still cold from walking around the market, where she was treated like a ball-and-chain by the two vampires in the front seat. She was correct, earlier: there were several stands serving hot chocolate to the wealthy citizens of Newport, but neither Namjoon or Jeongguk offered to purchase one for her, even if it was to stop the chattering of her teeth.
Jeongguk was sent into various shops by Namjoon, who remained by Y/N’s side on the cobblestone sidewalks. At one point, while Jeongguk was inside a flower shop ordering centerpieces, Y/N strayed all but three feet away from Namjoon to take a look at a stall selling roasted chestnuts. It had been a mistake: Y/N was yanked backwards promptly, and the rest of the time spent at the market involved her being led around like a dog on a leash– Namjoon dragging her by the scarf around her neck.
In a blur she could hardly understand, Y/N was toted from the backseat and began to chase after Namjoon before he could choke her with her own scarf. The Sanctuary was unchanged, and though it had been just shy of a week, Y/N took in the sights of the front drive like it was brand new to her. Instinctively, when she spotted Mrs. Sloane at the entrance, Y/N flinched sharply into a solid body beside her– Jeongguk– and at that moment, she didn’t know who she’d rather be left alone with.
“I–I thought vampires could not come onto Sanctuary grounds,” Y/N breathed, thinking of Meredith and how horrified she’d be to know that two wolves were amongst the lambs.
“Quiet, AB-. I see you continue to flap your gums despite the honor you were bestowed,” Mrs. Sloane greeted Y/N in the only way the old woman probably knew how: nastily. While Namjoon simply copied the stone gargoyles beside the entrance, still, Jeongguk snickered at Y/N’s scolding. “Good day, Masters. It has been some time since we have had the pleasure.”
Y/N wanted to bust a gut like a rabid hyena. Jeongguk appeared increasingly smug, puffing out his chest importantly, while Namjoon simply adjusted the fit of his leather gloves.
“We’ve gathered a group of acolytes for you to choose from for your gala.”
Y/N’s friends and acquaintances. With a wobbly lower lip, she and the two vampires were led to a detached office building beside the Sanctuary, where only wardens were permitted to enter.
“You believe that moronic propaganda? Did you think we’d burst into flames stepping foot on sacred ground?” Jeongguk leaned forward, his voice floating over Y/N’s shoulder, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. Promptly ignoring him, Y/N edged closer to Mrs. Sloane of all people. Though Mrs. Sloane had treated her like livestock, she still had her humanity.
The room the three of them were led to was quite large, perhaps the size of a gymnasium, and it was apparently treated like a storage room. There were boxes of incense and votive candles stacked everywhere, as well as phlebotomy equipment. Jeongguk, with amusement, rifled through a box of tourniquets.
“Bring them in,” Mrs. Sloane barked towards an open door, the acid in Y/N’s stomach steadily climbing up her throat when she heard shuffling.
A handful of acolytes, mostly from the AB+ group, were pushed into the room hastily in a rush of white linens. The sight of the bleached and starched clothing Y/N used to wear day in and day out had her feeling dizzy, and if things couldn’t get any worse, an acolyte no older than seven was part of the group as well.
“The acolyte beside you is the only one in the area with AB- blood. We’ve brought in all of our AB+ and B- typed acolytes, for your choosing. The head of your coven requested how many–?”
“Fifteen.”
Just one word was the first thing Namjoon uttered since they arrived, and the sharpness of his tone had even Mrs. Sloane stiffening. Y/N, helpless, squirmed in place as the acolytes she had lived with for years stared at her like a Hollywood star. She must have been something to behold; dressed in a fine designer coat, matching cashmere mittens and scarf, and well groomed and fed. Y/N didn’t realize how starved for nutrients she truly was, as she noticed the lack of color in the other acolyte’s complexions, the thinness of their cheeks.
“Remove the children from the room,” Namjoon crossed his arms over his chest, his sword tucked into the crook of his elbow. “Feeding on children is a waste of time and energy.”
“Yes, Master,” Mrs. Sloane snapped her fingers, and Y/N sagged in relief when four acolytes under the age of eighteen were escorted back to safety. “Now… how will you select the group of fifteen?”
Namjoon’s jaw clenched, lips pursing, as he scanned the line of humans cowering in fear and awe. None of them had the same perfume-scented blood Y/N had, but Namjoon was expecting that. He really didn’t care either way which acolytes were picked, it wasn’t like Namjoon himself was going to be feeding from them.
“I have an idea,” Jeongguk, who Y/N temporarily forgot was even present, dropped a pack of blood tubes onto the concrete floor and stepped forward. Trying not to budge, Y/N’s breath caught when Jeongguk hummed and looked her way. “Y/N, you go ahead and pick them out of us.”
Y/N’s mouth fell open. Jeongguk wanted her to select people she grew up with for hordes of vampires to feed on at a party? Once aware that the coven she was placed with held little humanity, it was revealed that they had none. Jeongguk’s expression was positively delighted, taking in Y/N’s abject horror.
“Go ahead, AB-,” Mrs. Sloane encouraged, her tone dripping with either jealousy or spite. Y/N thought if Mrs. Sloane wanted to serve vampires so badly, perhaps she should have taken her career to the cabaret. “Make haste. These acolytes have work to do, unlike yourself.”
“I cannot choose,” Y/N breathed, the twinkle in Jeongguk’s eyes brightening when she shrunk backwards. The acolytes in front of her began to murmur, as disobeying orders from a vampire was a serious offense. “Please, don’t make me…”
“Very well,” Jeongguk grabbed her by the shoulder, making her look directly into his soulless eyes. Y/N knew what was coming before Jeongguk even entered her mind, her skull starting to pound as he sorted through memories. “Warden. We’ll take the thirteen healthiest in this room.”
Y/N’s lower lip was wobbling again, noises all around of people being shuffled to and fro.
“That’s two short–”
“Find me the acolyte Joseph. Y/N will be pleased to see him at the gala, no? And…” Jeongguk held up his hand to cut Mrs. Sloane off, eyes narrowing playfully when he found what he was looking for. Y/N frantically began to shake her head and chant ‘no’, but it was far too late. “The pretty blonde girl with the princess curls. Meredith.”
The memory had Y/N’s anxiety spiking acutely. Agonizing for days over the fact that her inability to fulfill Jeongguk’s request resulted in putting her friends in danger, she hardly got much sleep. Juliana meticulously hid her dark circles behind a skin tone matched concealer, and despite the inner wars she was fighting, Y/N’s appearance was sparkly and flawless.
Skimming a hand over one of the gossamer dresses laying on the bed, nausea reared its ugly head. The cream color of the garment had her thinking about the uniforms of the acolytes. While Juliana was busy comparing the gowns to one another, Y/N began to pace slowly, trying to come up with some elaborate scheme to save her friends. When contemplating escape routes and disguises, Y/N got a whiff of sea salt and cedarwood. A pleasant smell, yes, but one Y/N had just begun to associate with a particular immortal.
“Are you trying to pace your way through the floor, ma chérie?” Hoseok was in her doorframe once more, and apparently Seokjin had managed to convince him to wear a suit. It was the most dressed up Y/N had ever seen him, and she hated to admit to herself that he looked good in pressed black pants. “Why aren’t you dressed?”
Y/N looked down, her silk nightgown skimming her thighs and hugging parts of her body too closely. Swiftly, she wrapped her arms around herself to shield from Hoseok’s greedy roaming eyes. Hoseok loved to act falsely concerned about Y/N and her well being, but Y/N quickly found out that all Hoseok was was a drunken lech. In fact, once Y/N got over the size of the watch on his slim wrist, she saw the bottle of rum he was taking swigs from.
“Do you not like the dresses Jimin picked out for you? How rude,” Hoseok tore his gaze from the swell of the girl’s hips to get a look at the gaudy gowns littered around the room. Turning up his nose, he scoffed at the selection. “It’s like he’s trying to turn you into Dracula’s bride.”
“I hate the color white,” Y/N blurted out, her maids all stopping what they were doing to gape at her. During the handful of incidents when Y/N dared to complain to the vampires, staff was not around. “The acolytes. We always had to wear white linens. I never wish to wear the color again.”
“Do you?” Hoseok purred, setting his rum onto one of her nightstands. Running his tongue over his fangs, Hoseok found the human girl’s terrible filter entertaining. “Then don’t wear white. Simple as that.”
“What?” Y/N stopped pacing, gawking at Hoseok like he grew a second head. He couldn’t be serious, Y/N’s brief astonishment washing away into suspicion at a hat’s drop.
“Don’t wear white, chérie. There’s a storage room in the basement stuffed with gowns flown in from every fashion capital in the world, all tailored to your size. What color do you want to wear?” Hoseok liked to play with his food, and the sickly-sweet tablespoon of hope directed towards him from the human girl was enough to keep up the ‘nice guy’ act.
“Are you toying with me?” Y/N saw through the act, drinking in his sharp jawline and alcohol reddened cheeks. “Won’t… Master Jimin be upset?”
“Jimin will survive. He’ll pout, but he can’t help his melodramatic tendencies. So pick a color, Y/N,” Hoseok grew impatient, the friendly act starting to become forced.
Y/N, still processing the unnatural consideration from Hoseok, studied the vampire. He was just as handsome as all the others, in an almost elvish way, his features angular. Truly, he was a vision– even down to his sun-weathered hands. Her mind then went to colors, but all the vibrant hues dancing through her mind made her frown.
“Black.”
“Fitting,” Hoseok shook his head, snapping his fingers. “Juliana, fetch the girl her black dresses. The rest of you, get rid of anything remotely off-white in her closet. Happy, chérie?”
“Why do you talk like that?” Y/N spoke through the flurry of her maids tripping over their feet to fulfill Hoseok’s request, the vampire’s drawl odd to Y/N’s ears.
“Are you referring to my accent?” Hoseok raised a brow, plucking up his bottle of rum again. “I’ve spent centuries in New Orleans, pet. I believe humans call it a Southern drawl.”
Y/N nodded without understanding. The furthest south Y/N ever went was Little Compton, which was still in the state of Rhode Island. Taking a swig of his rum, Hoseok smirked as the beginnings of trust in him began to form in the acolyte’s head. Before she could go completely schoolgirl on him, Hoseok began to take his leave with a threat filling the air.
“By the way, chérie. I believe you’ve forgotten I can predict your every move. You will not successfully take yourself and your friends away from here tonight. I can Track you to the ends of the Earth.”
Despite the fact that it was November, Y/N ended up selecting a sleeveless, short floaty dress made of chiffon. The garment was unlike anything she had ever seen, rippled fabric attachments slipping over her elbows, and it displayed some of the parts of her body she was growing fond of: her legs and chest. After Hoseok’s reminder that she was trapped, instead of cowering in fear, Y/N decided to play the game.
It was futile to try and escape. It was dangerous to try and help her friends. What Y/N could do was exploit some of the weaknesses of the coven– hence the sultry dress– and keep one eye on her friends during the gala, if possible. Wrapping her hand around the banister she was guided to by Juliana, Y/N took a moment to look down at the bustling, decked-out great hall.
Pine trees studded with multicolored lights outlined the hall, and the empty room was transformed into a festive holiday party. Cocktail tables were placed, candles and trays of libations placed on top, and there was an orchestra clumped in one corner of the room playing lively music. The fires roaring had the room feeling quite toasty, but the sight of dozens of vampires milling around in finery has a shiver rolling down her spine. With the cursory glance, Y/N did not spot Sanctuary whites, which had her heart sinking. Clearing her throat, Y/N rolled her shoulders back and began her descent down the red carpeted staircase.
Mingle, but do not say anything moronic. Eat, drink, dance. Do not cause any kind of scene. Do not let vampires touch you outside of the coven. You are here as an accessory. Do not embarrass us.
Seokjin’s voice entered her mind, Y/N miraculously not tripping down the stairs in her stilettos, turning her chin to the side. Near the center of the room, Seokjin was speaking to a vampire that physically appeared to be in his late forties. His short hair was swept off his forehead, and he was in a fine tuxedo that Y/N had no doubt cost a small fortune. A strong hand pinching a champagne glass, Y/N watched him actually smile at the vampire he was talking to, but the grin never quite reached his carmine eyes.
“Oh! Thank you,” Y/N was approached by a staff member almost as soon as she reached the bottom of the stairs, handing her a glass of bubbly. In one go, Y/N drained the flute, and it was replaced with a fresh one straight away. Glossed lips wrapping around the glass, her eyes narrowed when Jimin started slinking towards her. “Here we fucking go…”
“Dove, that’s not what I chose for you,” Jimin cocked his head, the buttons on his shirt loose and revealing his jutting collar bones. “Though… this is quite the choice, too.”
Jimin dragged his eyes up and down the girl’s figure, which was softer and curvier than it was just a week ago. Mouth filled with venom, Jimin giggled and threaded an arm through the girl’s, reveling in her stiffness when he started to pull her through the crowd.
“That there is Sarah Berwind. She’s the guest of honor’s wife,” Jimin pointed to an elegant female vampire, dressed in a midnight blue gown. Her silvery blonde hair reminded her of Meredith, though when the vampire turned her head, there were kohl-lined red eyes giving her a reality check. “Over there, a few artists Yoongi invited. Yuki, the lovely woman in gold, she made her fortune in jewelry…”
Y/N didn’t particularly care about any of the vampires Jimin was pointing out. Her focus was solely on finding her friends, to somehow protect them from excessive harm. She knew Meredith was probably beside herself. Her attention was stolen when Jimin came to a stop, near the edge of the room. Jimin had led her straight to Yoongi at the edge of the cleared dancefloor. Y/N blamed Yoongi entirely for Seokjin assigning Namjoon to her as a bodyguard. The artist was listening to a gangly looking vampire, Yoongi’s long hair glossy under all of the lights.
“So this is your newest source of inspiration. Bellissima,” the gangly vampire drank her in, Y/N’s skin crawling as his eyes lingered over her breasts. “I hear you are to begin modeling with Mr. Park here.”
Y/N was lucky she had been practicing her poker face all night. She had not a semblance of an idea of what the vampire was talking about, but the thought of sitting with Jimin for hours in various poses made her want to vomit into a passing by champagne bucket. Yoongi’s expression was stormy when she didn’t reply right away, Y/N translating the look into a warning.
“Yes, sir. I can hardly wait,” Y/N lied, her voice high and sweet. Yoongi, stone faced, thought the girl was laying it on too thickly, but the dolt of an immortal beside him bought the lie instantly. Fledglings. “When are we to start modeling, again, Master Yoongi?”
“Wow. Your coven still has acolytes using titles?”
“Our coven is old-school, and that’s the way it should be. That’s all, Damien,” Yoongi waved a hand, the vampire Damien sucking his teeth but getting the hint. He disappeared into the crowd. “You do not have to be a sarcastic little bitch, acolyte.”
“Excuse me?” Y/N squeaked like she was slapped, Jimin laughing and stroking the back of her head.
“Your behavior tonight is being watched. I suggest you hold your honeyed tongue,” Yoongi’s voice was gruff and low, and Y/N could feel it in her chest. Before she could respond, the music cut off, and someone was clinking a knife against a glass.
“Welcome to The Breakers. The orchestra has composed a waltz for tonight, and I’d like to invite you all to the dance floor,” Seokjin, the perfect picture of geniality, addressed the partygoers. “As the designer of this estate, Taehyung Kim will be leading the dance, accompanied by our coven’s acolyte.”
Y/N’s head swiveled like a barn owl’s, dozens of pairs of vampiric eyes were on her. Seokjin’s wicked smile finally reached his eyes, knowing Y/N would be mortified by the spectacle. The silence deafening, Jimin’s arm was replaced, that time by an arm clad in familiar tweed. Taehyung, with his shiny gelled waves, peered down at her impassively.
“I do not know how to dance the waltz,” Y/N panicked, knowing that every immortal in the room could hear her strained whisper into Taehyung’s ear.
“You will,” Taehyung murmured darkly, and Y/N’s spine went rigid when a new skill was downloaded into her head from Seokjin. If Seokjin could simply Compell knowledge into her head on a moment’s notice, what else could he make her believe?
In the center of the dance floor, Y/N knew exactly how to stand, effortlessly collecting Taehyung’s broad palm, her free hand sliding up the lapel of his grey jacket and resting over his sluggishly beating heart. Like he had done thousands of times before, Taehyung slung his forearm around the small of Y/N’s back. Without further ado, the orchestra struck up a swelling, vibrant tune, and they were off. Y/N didn’t even have to think as her feet moved in time with her partner, maintaining eye-contact as they danced across the floor. In mere seconds, couples of vampires joined the two of them, so at the very least, Y/N wasn’t the complete center of attention.
Taehyung was one of the most elusive vampires, aside from Yoongi. In fact, she had spoken to Taehyung the least during the week she had spent at The Breakers, mostly because he was often away on business or walking the grounds of the estate by himself. Though undead, his palm was warm against hers, and Y/N slotted her fingers between his just to feel how her blood brought him back to life. He moved gracefully, leading them around the dance floor, all while drinking in every inch of her face.
“Where are my friends?” Y/N asked after a few moments, on edge that she hadn’t seen a single human aside from staff since the evening began. For all she knew, Meredith or Joseph could have four vampires latched onto them while she danced with the devil.
“What’s the point in telling you? Nothing you do can change their fate,” Taehyung’s baritone voice was flat, punctuating his point by dipping Y/N low to the ground. He was so close to her face, Y/N could see that his eyelids were different from one another.
“Then there’s no harm in telling me where they are. I simply want to say goodbye,” Y/N argued, slightly breathless when Taehyung pulled her back up. One of her long, pointed nails traced along the handkerchief tucked into his breast pocket.
“I thought you were told not to weave fallacies. You continue to believe you can outsmart us,” Taehyung spat back quietly, the fact that they were quite close to the wind section of the orchestra disguising his words from other guests. The set of the human girl’s mouth was firm and unbudging, Taehyung somewhat respecting her for digging her heels in. She might look meek and mild, but the acolyte had a strong moral compass– a death sentence. He decided to throw her a bone. “The acolytes are in the library, the cabaret girls were placed in the music room. Seokjin doesn’t want you near either of those rooms tonight.”
“He seems preoccupied schmoozing with the ‘guest of honor’,” Y/N couldn’t even see Seokjin, but the last time she did, he was still chatting away with the graying vampire named ‘Berwind’. “If there’s nothing I can do to protect them, afford me the decency to apologize to them.”
“Apologize? Isn’t it a great honor for you holy rollers to even be in the presence of vampires? With that logic, they should be kissing your feet for the opportunity to be here.”
“Obviously, that’s not the case. While I might still hold onto the hope that I can outsmart one of you, you hold onto the belief that acolytes end up at Sanctuaries on their own volition.”
There was a count of eight where Taehyung and Y/N stared each other down, flawlessly in sync as they waltzed. She spoke no more, nor did Taehyung, for the remainder of the song, dewy sweat coating her skin from both the undivided attention and exertion from dancing. When a final note of a viola rang out into the air, Y/N held her breath as they bowed to each other, Taehyung brushing his lips over the back of the girl’s hand reluctantly.
“Do what you want, but reap what you sow.”
Taehyung evaporated like smoke. His duties were carried out, he played the game. Decorated, played nice, and danced with the human girl. Whatever happened after that, Taehyung couldn’t find it in him to care.
Meanwhile, arms still extended and molded to Taehyung’s shape, Y/N was left entirely by herself, by the grace of God. It was comical, really, how she was able to scamper from the dance floor, clinging to the walls and feeling her way to the library. Another song was already beginning, mortal vital fluid and liquor intoxicated vampires elegantly swaying in throngs. Peripheral vision caught Jeongguk pouring his champagne flute over the décolletage of a short, dark skinned vampire woman, his fingers tangled in her silken braids and his tongue dragging down the skin of her throat.
Jittery, Y/N was halfway to the library when she heard something quite queer. A muffled, high-pitched sound coming from the front entrance of the mansion had her freezing. The foyer had twin doors on the right and left: the ladies’ reception room, and the male counterpart directly across. Ice crystals formed in her gut, the sounds growing more agonized. It was a chorus of voices wailing, Y/N ducking into a hallway that connected to the foyer in order to find the source of the sounds. Not a soul was in the foyer, not even the human boys that handled valet, Y/N’s knees knocking together when a particularly horrendous female scream pierced her ears.
“HELP, PLEASE! OH GOD, PLEASE! DON’T KILL ME!”
Y/N’s skin flashed ice cold. Of course, she stupidly sprung into action, her stilettos falling off in the process, darting towards the gentleman’s reception room. She was human, after all. A desperate cry for help could not be ignored.
“N-NO! NO, NO, YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED T-TO, YOU! YOU, YOU–”
Y/N pushed the heavy door open, bewildered, not understanding the sight in front of her at all. It was like the most horrific nightmare her brain could conjure, but it was real, it had to be. Her subconscious never considered something so evil.
There was a young woman dressed in a fringed flapper dress, crouched and cornered on the floor and trembling so hard Y/N thought she was seizing. That, and she was nearly doused in crimson blood, shielding herself from the vampire standing over her, his foot crushing her ankle bone with a sickening crunch. The woman shrieked horribly, the whole floor covered in streaks of crimson. That wasn’t even the worst of it. Not even three paces away was a messy heap of limbs, limp and useless.
Delicate, white-blonde curls matted with blood. A dimpled smile ironed out into a slack-jawed scream of desperation. White linens now permanently stained with clots of gore, motionless and skin nearly blue. Tossed in a pile, mangled and drained, were Meredith and Joseph, open-eyed and dead.
The scream that came from Y/N was molten core in origin. It pierced through the merriment of the holiday party like banshee’s wail, the last piece of Y/N’s heart exploding into pieces. Joseph’s beautiful amber eyes were glassy and unseeing. Meredith’s hand was weakly curled around Joseph’s stained shirt sleeve. Nothing but the sound of her own screams registered to Y/N.
What happened next, Y/N would never be able to get out of her mind. By the time her howling brought the orchestra rooms over to a startling halt, the vampire tormenting the young cabaret worker had Y/N pinned to the wall by her throat. It was Edmund Berwind, the moustached ‘guest of honor’ who had drained her two closest friends dry, stinking of liquor and death. Crushing her vocal chords, Y/N’s screams turned into choked barks, her nails scraping fabric wallpaper from behind her.
“Aren’t you sweet, honey? I’ve heard–”
Y/N didn’t get the chance to hear what else Berwind was about to taunt her with. While the cabaret girl sobbed in agony, cradling her flattened ankle, Berwin was torn from her and Y/N could only collapse beside the corpses of her friends.
He entered the room like the Grim Reaper. Whooshing through the air with precision was a metallic sound followed by wet, repulsive squelching. Namjoon, in one fell swoop, unsheathed his sword and slashed forward, severing Berwind’s top half from the bottom. Arterial spurts of blackened immortal blood sprayed the entire reception room, as well as dowsing Y/N completely, the viscous hot fluid running down her face.
The body fell directly next to Y/N. Desiccated intestines spilled from both cavities of the bodies, followed by other equally ancient organs, Y/N’s skin coated with the blood of her former friends and the gore of a slain vampire. Berwind’s body was still twitching, the severed lower half contorting grotesquely while the top gushed liters of blood, gore, and tissue. Y/N was still screaming, soaking in gore, waiting for the angel of death. She hadn’t been able to spare her friends in time, and she was sure to meet her end considering how furious her ‘bodyguard’ seemed. It was all over.
Namjoon found a spare pillow set on a cushy chair, using it to mop the filthy mess Berwind made on his sword. With disgust, he used the wallpaper to clean his gloves, large streaky prints staining the walls. Weeping hollowly, Y/N stroked Meredith’s lifeless curls from her face, anticipating her momentary death. One hand slipping over one of Berwind’s eviscerated kidneys spilling onto the floor, Y/N glanced at Namjoon one last time.
“I Compelled her to avoid being touched.”
Namjoon didn’t answer Seokjin, who promptly locked the door to the reception room. Namjoon kicked the top half of Berwind’s hemorrhaging corpse, fat with too much blood, off to the corner of the room. Using his jacket sleeve to remove eviscerated organs from his face, Namjoon sheathed his sword and laughed at his elder.
“I’ll leave you to clean up the mess this time, hyung.”
Please do not repost or translate my work. Thank you!
@ gaurav
Predator (Jungkook x Reader) Part II - Prey
Pairing: Vampire Jungkook x Reader
Word Count: 5.2k
Series: Predator Universe
Warnings: 18+, Yandere, Vampire Jungkook, Obsession, Manipulation, Forced Relationships, Blood (So much of it), Fear (Copious amounts), Panic/Anxiety Attacks, Mind Games, Tormenting the MCs, Discussions about dead bodies, Jungkook and his unblinking stare, Self Injury (Non Mental Health Related), Forced Feeding, Isolation
I do not condone the acts displayed in this story nor do I believe any members of BTS would actually engage in this type of behavior. This is simply written for entertainment purposes and should not be taken as a reflection of my own values, opinions, or morals.
Preview: The worst part was that you never tried to run. Jungkook never tied you down to anything or bound your wrists or feet. He simply knew that you would never try. It would be idiotic for you to try and run, you knew he was a talented tracker - he would be able to find you within minutes of your escape. There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide from him, he would always be able to find you.
A/N: I am alive! This was entirely inspired by an ask that was sent to me so the entire reason this exists is because of the wonderful anons who have asked be about what has happened since the end of Predator and who have asked to see what a more lucid Jungkook would look like. I haven't had this much fun writing in such a long time. I'm sorry it's so short, I hope you can forgive me 💜
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It was dark and quiet, the only sound being the steady, slow, drip of water hitting the dusty floorboards and the harsh chatter of your teeth as they clashed together.
You were freezing, your body trembling despite your best attempts to collect yourself. It was no use, no matter what you did you were never able to warm up anymore. You knew it wasn’t all that cold outside, but that didn’t really matter. Despite the chills that wracked your body there was a fine sheen of sweat that coated your skin.
You were unsure as to how much time had really passed since you had found yourself here. All of the days had begun to blend together like some horrible fever dream you simply couldn’t wake up from. The only constant in your life has become him.
If you didn’t know any better, you would think he was trying to kill you.
What was truly likely, was that this was a side effect of his treatment of you. It was very likely that he just didn’t know how to take care of a human. And despite your incessant pleading, he had told you that he would not kill you. So really, it was his own ineptitude that had you knocking on death’s door.
Your skin felt grimey, not entirely from lack of hygiene, but from the film of blood that coated your skin. It was all over you but it mostly dominated your cheeks, lips, throat, chest, and fingers. He was not violent when he claimed his feeds, but he was not necessarily gentle either. You hadn’t looked in a mirror for quite some time, but you were certain no amount of vampire blood would be able to seal your wounds with how often they were readily reopened.
This wasn’t a life, it was a slow and painful trek to the afterlife.
Your trembling increased as the front porch creaked, he was already back. Your head lolled backwards and hit the wall behind you in defeat. You couldn’t do this again, you couldn’t give him another part of yourself - this time you were certain that it would kill you.
Every time he fed from you, there was a horrible, delightful, exhilarating rush that followed. Whatever it was that he was doing to you, it was forcing you to enjoy the very thing that was killing you. It was perverse. It was disgusting. It was addicting.
It was hard to hate him in the throes of ecstasy, there was this horrible thrill that came the second before his fangs pierced his limb of choice as you knew you would be rewarded with bliss in the moments that followed. It was easier to hate him when he wasn’t there, his lack of presence giving your mind the briefest of reprieves to remind yourself of the horrible situation you were truly in.
The distance, however, didn’t seem to allow him the same clarity. If anything, it made him grow more needy, more irritated, and more clingy.
The door creaked open, and your time to yourself disappeared. Your body shook tenfold as his presence filled the room. He still looked the same as he did the first time you had come face to face with him. His clothes were worse for wear, even more blood stained and shredded than they had been before. There was a permanent coppery scent that surrounded him, the dried blood being the prime suspect.
You were certain that you didn’t smell that much better. Although, to a vampire, you probably would smell all that more enticing.
His gaze was immediately drawn to you, your eyes locking with one another, bridging the fifteen foot gap between you. His eyes often fluctuated in vibrancy depending on how hungry he was. The days where they were near black were the most difficult for you, but today they were a bright crimson red. He had fed on someone, someone who luckily wasn’t you.
“Hello little mouse,” He greeted, his voice low and surprisingly soft, devoid of the almost manic tone you had been familiar with for the longest time.
He began to close the distance between the two of you, his gait smooth as he approached you. The way he moved was unnaturally perfect, the silent power of a predator imbued in every muscle of his body.
He wordlessly dropped a bag in your lap as he sank down to the ground beside you, his wide, red, unblinking eyes staring at you, waiting for you to make a move. No matter how much time you have spent with him, his stare was still unnerving.
It took you longer than it should have to open it, your fingers trembling beyond your control. But Jungkook was patient, he has all of the time in the world to wait.
The scent of food hit your nose, your mouth watering and your stomach growling eagerly in response. From the color of his eyes and what he had brought you, you assumed he had decided to have his fill of a hiker instead of you.
Jungkook didn’t know how to take care of a human, that much was obvious. He had, however, been keenly aware of how much blood he was draining from your body on a daily basis. You had become so weak, anything but sitting felt like a herculean task nowadays. And the lack of consistent meals was weighing heavy on your body.
You didn’t care that he was watching you eat, your mannerisms ravenous and most likely off putting. But you no longer complained when he took his fill of you, and for some reason he remained silent and returned that courtesy.
You had noticed a shift in his behavior when that other vampire had found the two of you not that long ago. He knew Jungkook, from the way they spoke it appeared he knew him very well. This other vampire, despite how he appeared more human than Jungkook, frightened you just as much. You could tell from the curl of his smile to his confident gait that he was just as bad, if not worse, as Jungkook.
You had nearly fainted on the spot when he suggested the two of them share you, you were already tapped out as it was, Jungkook had fed on you that morning. The two of them, together, would kill you for sure.
To your surprise, Jungkook had not responded enthusiastically. He responded like an animal defending its territory - baring his fangs and growling in just barely contained rage. And that reaction had set off the other vampire and before you knew it they were a blur of limbs.
They moved so fast your human eyes could barely keep up with them. You were only able to focus when one of them threw the other giving you just enough time to watch them separate before they came back together again. The sound their bodies made when they clashed together was like thunder from what you could only assume was the pure force and strength they possessed. And, much like animals, they ripped and tore into one another with their teeth and nails.
By the time the two of them had finally separated for good, it was because of how much they had injured one another. The both of them were covered in wounds oozing black blood, some of which was their own, and some belonging to the other.
The other vampire, whom you had briefly heard Jungkook address as Hoseok, was tired but still enraged.
“Are you fucking serious? All of this for what, a pathetic little human?!” He yelled, his nostrils flaring in anger. “It’s food, Jungkook! I’m your brother!”
Your body flinched out of habit at the snarl that left Jungkook.
“With the rate that you’re going you’ll kill her anyways! Why does it even matter?!”
“She’s my human,” Jungkook replied, his voice low with warning.
“This isn’t even supposed to be about her! She’s nothing! Namjoon sent me to come and find you but you know what, I think I’ll let you deal with the consequences of your actions. It’s only a matter of time before he comes for you and when that happens, you're on your own!”
He disappeared quickly after that, it was like he was there one moment and then vanished the next. Once he was gone, Jungkook’s once sturdy stance softened, his shoulders bending forward from the strain of his own weight. He was hurt, badly.
He slowly turned to look at you, the red of his eyes and his dark mop of hair just visible over the curve of his shoulder. You knew that look, it usually didn’t end well for you.
“No, no, no, Jungkook, please!” You whimpered, scrambling backwards.
But it was no use, he never listened to you anyways. He always took what he wanted, even when you had nothing left to give.
He stumbled when he moved but he quickly regained his footing, his black blood stained hands grabbing you by the shins and pulling your retreating form towards him. You fought as hard as you could but you were already weak to begin with.
“Stop it, please!” You begged, but he didn’t listen. He wrapped his arms around you, his grip too tight and utterly uncomfortable.
“Jungkook-”
“Shut up,” He grunted before yanking your head roughly to the side and sinking his teeth back into the scarred skin of your neck. The shriek that left you was borderline inhuman, the building scar tissue made the intrusion all the more painful and Jungkook was not gentle.
And he had already taken so much blood the day before. It wasn’t long before your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you went limp in his iron hold.
That was the first time that Jungkook had given you vampire blood. You had almost died that day, you had gotten so close to finally being free of him and still he wouldn’t let you go. Even death wasn’t a great enough adversary for him.
When you had woken up after that attack, shocked that you managed to survive, you were met with those big, red, frightening eyes. The look on his face was the most serious you had ever seen it before, an odd clarity in his eyes that you were seeing for the first time.
He had been dreadfully quiet since then, speaking even less and shorter sentences than he normally did. You wouldn’t say he felt bad for what he did, but he had become increasingly aware of the inherent fragility that came with being human. He never apologized, but he had fed from you a lot less after that.
You froze mid bite as you felt his icy fingers graze your flesh, the coolness biting your skin and seeping into your veins. His touch was feather light, just barely there, but you went still beneath it anyways. You were incredibly aware of the strength that was concealed in that touch. He appeared unbothered by your response, his thumb smoothing over the curve of your jaw as he leaned in unbearably close.
You flinched at the feeling of cold metal being draped around your throat, his fingers clasping the material at the nape of your neck. It was a necklace. Your chest felt tighter, the food in your stomach quickly souring.
He was doing it again.
You were well aware of Jungkook’s strange and disturbing habit of taking mementos from his victims. His ears, wrists, neck, and practically every inch of his body were adorned with items he had stolen. You noticed he had an affinity for jewelry, but his jacket and boots had been taken from someone’s corpse as well. And, recently, he started bringing them back for you as well.
Your bloody fingers were littered with several rings, a bracelet on your right wrist, and your ears decorated in earrings - some of which he had pierced himself. And now, the necklace.
It left your stomach in knots when he did this, you couldn’t help but think about the bodies abandoned in the woods that he had slaughtered every time the metal glinted back at you. Each piece felt like another shackle keeping you at his side.
The worst part was that you never tried to run. Jungkook never tied you down to anything or bound your wrists or feet. He simply knew that you would never try. It would be idiotic for you to try and run, you knew he was a talented tracker - he would be able to find you within minutes of your escape. There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide from him, he would always be able to find you.
And so, you had become his plaything. His dinner and now his doll, a weak body that he could play with and decorate to his greatest desires whether that be with a corpse's jewelry, or a litany of scars.
“Pretty,” He said, his voice deceptively soft as he grazed the skin of your neck, his fingers moving from the clasp of the necklace to trace over the scarred imprints of his fangs and teeth.
You were thankful that he wasn’t hungry.
The odd, calm atmosphere between the two of you was quickly dissipating. Jungkook shifted away, agitation clear on his face as an annoyed growl parted his lips. You flinched back against the wall, scooting away to stay out of his path.
This wasn’t unusual - he had been having rapid mood swings lately.
The few moments of peace the two of you would share were often interrupted by the sudden pained twist of his features - his eyebrows drawing together and his nose scrunching in a snarl. It almost looked like he was in physical pain despite there being no signs of any injury.
And then, the pacing would start. It was like watching a caged lion sweep the perimeter of their enclosure. Back and forth, slow and menacing steps. It was like he was looking for something, or trying to guard the two of you from someone else. You hadn’t dared to ask what he was doing, to be entirely honest you tried your best to avoid initiating any interaction or conversation with him at all. The few times you did speak to him, it was usually to beg for him to leave you alone, pleas that often fell on deaf ears.
You didn’t know what to do with this. When you first “met” him, he had been sadistic, like a zealous child with more power than they knew what to do with. He had wanted to play his sick and twisted games with you and the plan had always been to gorge himself on your blood and leave your mangled corpse deep in the forest to wither and return to the earth. That was what was familiar to you, that was what you were expecting.
You were never supposed to live, that had been an unfortunate circumstance, a split decision he made to prolong your torture and pain. You didn’t know what you were supposed to do with this suddenly quiet, confused, and barely human creature in front of you. One that would rip open your flesh to feed just as soon as he would leave bruising kisses on your lips and throat, painting the flesh a rich red that was left to rust.
You were waiting for him to snap, waiting for it to all finally be over. But that would be luck, luck that you didn’t have. He had promised you, so long ago, that you would never be alone again, that he would keep you. And you have suffered the consequences ever since.
When he said your name you felt your blood freeze over. He had never said your name before, you didn’t even know that he knew it. He had always called you that horrific pet name, his little mouse.
You wrapped your arms around your legs, pulling them into your chest in an attempt to feel some sense of security as he continued to speak.
“We’re leaving soon.” He said, the words simple but the expression on his face ever so complex. Reluctance, frustration, pain, anxiety.
You swallowed, but did not move. The silence was deafening. But, by the look on his face, you knew that he was waiting for your response. You would have to break the stalemate.
“Are you…taking me home?” You dared to ask, your heart thundering in your chest as that predatory gleam returned to those red eyes.
“No,” He growled, his jaw clenched as his fangs ground against his lower set of teeth, “You’re not going back there, ever.”
Your heart shattered.
“I’m being called back to my home.”
His home? This was the first that you were hearing of it, you never stopped to ask yourself if he had a home. You couldn’t picture it even if you tried, it was a puzzle piece that simply didn’t fit. You had always assumed he was simply a nomadic creature that moved as he hunted. And, due to his supernatural nature, it seemed that he never needed the typical human necessities and comforts such as four walls and a roof.
You knew he had some sort of family at the very least. You had, after all, had the displeasure of meeting Hoseok who had referred to himself as his brother. And he had mentioned the name Namjoon, the phrasing suggesting a hierarchical structure. But even the notion that he had a family felt just as mismatched. And how ironic it was that he was returning home to a family he didn’t even want, and he wouldn’t let you go home to the family that you missed so much.
“And that’s bad?” You hesitantly asked, flinching as he growled in frustration.
“It’s worse than bad!” He yelled, his hands sliding through his hair in stress, “It was difficult enough fending Hoseok off, but all six of them? You’re as good as dead.”
Hope.
“Then…don’t go?” You said, although it sounded more like a question. By the way he was acting, it was like returning was not a choice.
“If only it were that easy,” He laughed, the sound bordering on being unhinged. “I can’t ignore it, if I’m called I have to answer. If I don’t it becomes more and more persistent. It feels like a cord that grows tighter and tighter until it pulls and my body moves on its own and takes me back.”
That explained the pacing, the restlessness his body had been experiencing. He had been trying to redirect it by walking the perimeter of the decrepit cottage but it had been a temporary fix to the problem. You could only assume that he was getting to the point now where his body was ready to return against his will.
How horrible it was, to be someone’s unwilling puppet. You knew that feeling all too well.
You didn’t know what you were supposed to tell him. There were no choices to be made by the two of you. He would have to return, and he wouldn’t leave you here on your own as he knew you would be given the greatest opportunity you have ever had to leave him. So, he would have to take you with him right into the lion’s den where you would undoubtedly be consumed.
He was mumbling to himself now, his pacing becoming more frantic and much faster, your human eyes struggling to keep track of him. You were sure that he was moving so fast he would wear down the old floorboards beneath him and the soles of his beat up boots.
You could only assume that meant the call was becoming even stronger. Before - it was asking, now it was commanding.
You had never seen him so frantic before, those wide blood red eyes unblinking and shifting back and forth faster and faster as his thoughts raced. It was borderline demonic, like something you would see during a paranormal movie or an exorcism. It was terrifying.
You began to scoot back as far away as you could until your spine was flush with the wall behind you. You felt better with some part of you concealed from the open, but that did little to calm your racing heart and the creature that raged in front of you.
What was he so afraid of, so panicked by? You couldn’t imagine anything scaring him, not with how terrifying he was on his own. What could be so bad, so scary, that it frightened a monster? You weren't sure you wanted to find out, even if it meant you could finally feel the sweet embrace of death and escape him once and for all.
Jungkook finally came to a stop, his body still but his eyes continued to move erratically. And then they too settled, and a look of deadly calm settled over them. He had decided something, and you were certain that whatever his decision was it wouldn’t be good for you.
“They wouldn’t,” You heard him mutter to himself, “Not if I put a fail safe if place.”
A fail safe?
Before you could even blink he had moved across the room, faster than your eyes could track. Your body had been ripped away from the wall and set in between his legs, your spine pressed against his chest, the both of you seated on the ground.
An uncontrollable wail shook your body, the sound emanating a feeling of pure hopelessness. You had been surprised it came out of you, but you knew why. You were terrified he was going to feed from you again.
His one arm was wrapped around your ribs, his legs tensed and forcing your own to squeeze together. He had immobilized you, there was nowhere else you could go and no way to escape him.
Your entire body shook and heaved with hysterical breaths as you writhed in his grip. “Please, please don’t do it again I can’t take anymore of this!”
He hushed you, his free hand brushing over your hair in a surprisingly gentle manner. It was more like someone who was trying to calm a startled stray animal than anything else. His touch moved to your chin, lightly taking hold of the point where your neck and jaw bone met.
He didn’t say anything, instead he forced you to look at him, turning your face so that he could look directly into your eyes. And then, to your shock and horror, he plunged his fangs into his own wrist and ripped the flesh wide open. A torrent of thick, viscous, black blood rolled down the pale flesh of his forearm. And before you could do or say anything he grabbed you by your hair and jerked your head back before pressing his open wound to your mouth.
You gagged at the smell and taste, tears blurring your vision as you tried to move your head away but he did not budge. His arm around your ribs finally moved but only to help him pry your jaw open and force the blood flow down your throat. He continued to hush you as he forced you to drink, gently rocking your body in stark contrast to the harsh and violent hold he had you in.
“Just relax,” He whispered against the shell of your ear, “The more you struggle, the longer I’ll keep you here. We need to get as much of my blood as possible into your system.”
You were crying even harder now, the salt of your tears slipping between his wrist and your lips and mingling with his blood in your mouth. What had you ever done to deserve this? What horrible thing had you done in some past life to deserve this kind of punishment?
You just wanted to go home. You wanted your mom and dad, your grandparents, and the gentle comfort of your bed in your childhood room. You wanted that life back, and you were never going to have it again.
His harsh grip on your jaw loosened as you went limp in his arms, resigning yourself to your inescapable fate. His hand returned to those soothing strokes against your hair, a low hum in his chest vibrating against your back as he watched you feed from him with a curious gaze. You were such a weak little thing, you needed him more than you would ever understand.
You hiccupped pathetically when he finally removed his wrist from your mouth after what felt like hours. Your lips and chin were stained black from the blood he spilled when you had struggled. He stared at you again, curiosity evident in his gaze, as he leaned forward and licked the flesh of your lips, tasting his own blood.
You shivered as he made a soft hum, cocking his head to the side before doing it once more, stroking over the bitten and chapped skin with his tongue as he transitioned into kissing your battered lips in a grotesque act of intimacy. He laughed against your mouth as you weakly pushed against his chest, he was amused by your pathetic attempts to push him away. It only encouraged him to kiss you harder and deeper, sampling the taste of his own blood straight from your mouth.
Once he was satisfied he finally allowed you to breathe, a devious gleam in his eyes that you had not seen in a long time.
“They won’t be able to kill you for a while now, not unless they want another vampire to worry about.” He said. He was gloating, reveling in the win his family had no idea he had already achieved.
Your blood ran cold, your body freezing at his revelation. The very thing you craved, your own death and by association freedom from him, would be the very thing that would trap you with him for the rest of eternity. If you were killed with his blood in your system, you would become one of them. He truly had taken everything from you, even the dignity of your own death. Your life was his and his alone.
He really was a monster.
His features suddenly twisted in pain, his head jerking to the side as he released a low and threatening growl. The call was becoming even stronger, the most intense it had ever been. There was no more delaying it. They had to go, and they had to right now.
He quickly lifted you into his arms as his body began to move on its own, forcing him to begin to move in the direction of his home. There was nothing more that you could do, all you could do was remain limp in his arms. It was over, there was point in fighting anymore.
He had finally broken you.
When he stepped outside you were shocked by the fresh air and the cold weather. Then again, you always feel cold now. The clouds were thick today, the sun hidden behind their cover. It had been so long since you were outside, and even longer since you had been in the sun - that wouldn’t change in the near future. But what truly shocked you, was that the world went on without you. The seasons continued to change, the flora continued to flourish and then decay. The cycles continued while you were stored away. How cruel the world was to keep going on as you withered away.
You leaned your head against his shoulder, shielding your face from the harsh wind as he began to move faster, running at his impossibly fast pace that no human could ever wish to match. How had so much changed? When did you go from human being to a play thing for a monster like him. You had a life, but now it had become inconsequential, toyed with and thrown away like it never even mattered.
What were you supposed to do now? At the end of the day, it didn’t really matter. He had won, he had played his sadistic stupid games with you, and he had won. He had broken you. You tucked your chin into your chest and like the pathetic creature that you were you whimpered.
You cared about what was going to happen next. If Jungkook had been wrong, then the two of you walking into the proverbial lion's den would end with you turning into one of them, a fate worse than any other that you could imagine. To be tied to him for all of eternity would be your personal hell on earth.
What would they do to you when you got there? Would your death before your next life be slow and torturous, or quick and merciful? Would it be planned and intentional, or accidental?
Jungkook began to slow, his fast pace relaxing into a natural walk. The tension that previously rested in his body had begun to dissipate. You could only speculate this was the relief of obeying the command to return home. His control over his own body was slowly but surely coming back to him the closer the two of you came to his home.
He stopped for a moment, placing you down on your own two feet before he took hold of your wrist and forced you to follow after him. Your knees wobbled beneath your weight, unaccustomed to you standing after being curled up in a ball in that abandoned shack for the longest time. You looked more like a baby fawn learning to walk than you did that meek little mouse Jungkook always thought you were. He, however, paid little attention to you at that moment. He was tense, his body in a state of alert as subtly surveyed the area as you continued on.
He could sense something that your dull human senses weren’t entirely picking up on. However, the hair on the back of your neck prickled and your gut twisted as you felt phantom eyes digging into your body.
Someone, somewhere, was watching you.
A building began to break through the cluster of trees. A modern, contemporary house in the middle of the forest was coming into view. This was the last place you thought of when Jungkook had mentioned his home. In all honesty, you would have been less surprised by a crypt and a row of coffins.
In front of the house, stood a man. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, his eyes that familiar shade of deep burgundy, the same shade the monster’s eyes were when he was hungry. This sent chills throughout your body, your entire being sensing the danger in the vampire that stood across from you.
Those burgundy eyes swept towards you, a look of shock and confusion discoloring their once calm gaze that you speculated was rarely rattled. His features twisted as he took in the state of you, the dried human and vampire blood that coated your body in thick layers, the dirt that was caked into your clothing, your hair that needed to be washed, and the smattering of scars that decorated your body and glistened in the cloudy daylight.
You were barely human anymore, you were a walking corpse.
“You called me home, Namjoon.” Jungkook simply said, his body moving to shield you from the other vampire's gaze.
“Jungkook,” Namjoon said, utter disbelief tinging his words, “What are you doing to her?”
In every possible scenario you had conjured in your mind, this had not been one of them.
Sympathy.
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