girls Over Flowers

༺☆༻ 彡 Straykids everywhere all around the world 彡 19

[iovecb97]

୨⎯ "about me " ⎯୧

my name is Jackie. I’m 19 yrs old

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Class of 2025 🎀 ׂׂૢ

ׂׂૢOt8

⑅୨୧⑅୨୧⑅୨୧⑅୨୧⑅୨୧ ⑅୨୧⑅୨୧⑅୨୧⑅୨୧⑅୨୧ ⑅୨୧⑅୨୧⑅୨୧⑅

blog mainly consists of stray kids fanfic and maybe so other good stuff

⁞ ‘✎ I don’t write js read these amazing stories ⁞ ‘✎

ׂׂ ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡ * ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡ * ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡ *

[joonam]

(not) his wife - part 1 | jjk

Pairing: non-idol!Jungkook x Reader (f)

Genre: arranged marriage, forced proximity, one-sided love, angst, childhood friends

Summary: Jungkook is your husband who believes he lost his chance with your sister because of you. Now you're married to him, and revenge was the only reason he said yes to this marriage.

Warnings: jungkook is a walking red flag and oc is a dumb girl in love so read at your own risk? again, neither of their brains is fully developed here. toxic relationship, angst.

Word count: 11k

check out my: masterlist

a/n: nine days in the making and here we are.... anon, i hope i did your request justice!! there will be a part two because yall i genuinely don't even know where to begin with this man’s redemption arc.... at this point, i fear the redemption arc alone is going to take over 10k words (lmk if you have any ideas, lend me ur creativity bbgs). all I can say is: please do not date men who do not kiss the ground you walk on!!!

taglist: @jiwikiwi @scriptved

You remembered the first time you saw him.

Your sister, Suji, was two years older than you and ever since you were ten, she brought her friends home nearly every weekend.

There were four of them: Jimin, Yejin, Taehyung, and Jungkook.

They were inseparable and exactly the kind of friendship you only ever read about in books or watched in movies. On weekends, your house was always filled with their voices and you never minded it, especially since two-years was not much of an age gap, hence you were included in almost everything they did.

That only changed after they graduated from high school and scattered across the country. Even then, the distance never truly separated them. They would stay in touch, called regularly, and planned a holiday together at least once a year.

As a child, being included in their group made you feel important. There was something exciting and cool about being ten and spending most of your time with older kids.

It did not take long for you to realise that Suji was the one holding them all together and her friends always orbited around her without noticing they were doing it. That never surprised you because Suji has always been the main character wherever she went, both at home and everywhere else.

You never resented her for it because she was the kindest sister you could have asked for. She never made you feel smaller than her, she invited you to parties you were too young to attend, defended you when Taehyung teased you about your missing front tooth, and let you borrow her clothes without ever complaining about it.

Her friends were kind to you too.

Jimin and Yejin were the first ones you met. You remembered them sitting beside you at the kitchen table, patiently helping you with your maths homework. Now they were married, with a daughter who was as cheerful as the two of them.

Then there was Taehyung, around whom fourteen-year-old Suji started acting differently. She became shy in his presence, more careful with her words, and she would glance at him now and then whenever she thought no one was looking. They were married now and, as far as you could tell, still having the time of their lives together.

And then there was Jungkook.

You, Suji, and the rest of her friends had been playing hide-and-seek throughout the house one Saturday afternoon, and Jungkook was the seeker. You hid behind the living-room curtain, holding your breath as you listened for his footsteps.

You were certain you would be caught first, because you barely had time to find a proper hiding place.

And you were right, Jungkook did find you first.

He pulled the curtain aside just enough to see you. But instead of dragging you out and gloating the way Taehyung or Jimin would have done, he merely smiled at you and ruffled your hair.

Then he let the curtain fall back into place and walked away to find the others.

You stayed behind the curtain for another full minute, your heart beating so loud that you considered asking your mom to call an ambulance.

At ten years old, what was that if not a knight in shining armour?

You have been in love with him ever since.

By fourteen, you assumed the feeling would have disappeared. It was supposed to be puppy love; something harmless and embarrassing that you would laugh about with Suji over wine in ten years time. But it did not just disappear like you thought it would. 

In high school, Jungkook became one of the popular boys. His face made insecure boys resent him and hopeful girls imagine they had a chance with him. Yet he never seemed interested in any of it, he only cared about being around Suji and the rest of their friends, and he never seemed to mind having you around either.

Well, mostly because you were his best friend’s little sister.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

At fifteen, you finally told Suji about your little embarrassing crush. 

She was not surprised when you confessed that you had a crush on one of her best friends. Jungkook was handsome too so it wasn’t really weird. You learned much later that she had known for years, but that night, she only laughed softly and said, “I’ll help you get together with him when you’re a little older, okay?”

Not long after you told her, Jungkook stopped coming to the house.

The rest of the group continued gathering in your living room every weekend as loud and inseparable as ever, but his usual seat was always empty. You still caught glimpses of him in the school hallways. He never said hello, though that wasn’t really strange since he rarely greeted you at school even before he stopped coming around your house.

Then you noticed that Jungkook started spending time with a different crowd. And it happened around the same time Suji and Taehyung finally started dating. These two quickly became the school’s “it” couple, with every photograph of them posted online always accompanied with the same ‘#CoupleGoals’. 

But them getting together never surprised you.

What surprised you was that the moment Suji and Taehyung got together, Jungkook noticed you again, but not the way you wanted him to. The time your paths crossed again, he spat onto the ground in front of you and looked at you as if the sight of you disgusted him.

You didn’t understand it. You’ve adored him for five years by then, and you had no idea what you did to deserve that kind of hatred.

When you asked Jimin whether you somehow offended Jungkook, he only sighed and told you not to take it personally. And that Jungkook started spending time with wealthy, arrogant boys, and he has changed. 

To you, it made sense for him to hang out with a different crowd, especially since he came from a different tax bracket than you did.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

You were twenty-two when you received the phone call from your mother. 

By this time, Jungkook was somewhere not in your life; he was just a name that came up at your school reunion and nowhere else. You’ve heard things about him; that he helped his father ran their family’s company, then him eventually becoming the CEO. 

Your mother has been a single mother almost your whole life, and she has never once, in twenty-two years, called you sounding like she was preparing for you to leave her life.

"Can you come home?" she asked, "tonight, if you can. I need to talk to you about something and I don't want to do it over the phone."

You asked if everything was okay, and she said she'll explain when you were there, which is somehow worse than any answer she could have given you, and you spent the whole drive over with your stomach tightened in knots.

Your mom was waiting at the kitchen table when you arrived, two cups of tea already going cold in front of her like she made them an hour ago and forgot they existed the moment she poured them. 

“Mom?” you asked as you sat down in front of her, “this is reminding me of horror movies,” you chuckled. 

"I need to tell you something," she said, "and I need you to not hate me."

You immediately became silent and didn’t even dare to say anything. So you let her say whatever she wanted to say in her own time, because she seemed as if she was going to burst into tears.

"I owe some family a great deal of money," she said, finally opening up after what felt like fifteen minutes, "forty million dollars. It's to the Jeon's family. Jeon Jungkook, do you remember him? From when you were kids, Suji's friend.."

You couldn’t help the gasp that followed, "How?" was all you could manage to respond with. 

forty million dollars was more money than you have ever seen in your life. Your mother was an investment banker at a small firm, so your family has never been poor, but you were nowhere near forty-million-dollars rich. But then, compared to the Jeon family, you might as well have been poor.

“I’d been at the firm for three years by then,” your mother said, her eyes fixed on the table, “I was young enough to be desperate for a win. I wanted to prove myself, especially in rooms full of men who called me sweetheart and honey during meetings and constantly tease me.”

She paused, playing with her fingers in her lap, “One of my colleagues brought me a deal. It was a startup that was supposedly going to be bought out within eighteen months. It was the kind of tip that could make someone’s career if it worked.”

“And you believed him?” you asked.

“I believed in the startup,” she corrected, “enough to pass it on to a client I’d been trying to win over for months. Jungkook’s parents. I told them it was a sure thing,” your mother said, her voice slightly breaking on the word sure, “I wasn’t lying to them. I believed it too.”

She looked down at her hands, “That’s the part that still keeps me awake. I didn’t do it because I wanted to hurt anyone. I did it because I wanted them to trust me. I wanted it so badly.”

“And it failed?”

“Not at first. For a few months, everything looked promising, then the company’s lead investor pulled out after a fraud investigation. None of us saw it coming and the entire company collapsed within six weeks.”

She paused before continuing, “Jungkook’s parents lost almost everything they invested. And because I was the one who brought them the deal and told them their money would be safe, they came to me. forty million dollars was what they believed they would have earned if the deal had succeeded, added to everything they had lost.”

“They expected you to pay all of that?” you asked in disbelief.

“They said I could take as long as I needed and I could repay it at whatever pace I could manage, and they would never tell anyone what happened,” she said, before finally looking up at you.

"How much have you paid so far?" you ask, though some part of you already knows the answer will hurt you.

"Five hundred thousand. A little more, actually, slowly but steadily I was paying it off, but it has been years since the deal, ____," she said, her eyes filled with tears. 

You have never seen her crying this much, not even at your father's funeral where she held back her tears for her children, "I didn't want you or Suji to know. It’s a debt I don’t want the two of you to carry.”

"And the rest of it?" you finally asked, "you wouldn't have called me here just to tell me about the debt or the amount. There's something else, right?"

Your mother's hands tighten in her lap, "They want to erase the whole forty million debt, if.. "

"If what?" you asked nervously.

"If you marry their son, Jungkook."

You laughed at your mother, because what she just said sounded like an opening line of a story or a cringe fan fiction you read on Wattpad years ago. 

Then you looked at her face and understood she wasn’t trying to fool you at all.

“Mom,” you quietly said, your voice shaking out of anger, confusion, and sadness, you couldn’t really tell. 

“I barely know him anymore. We haven’t spoken in years, and he’s not the boy from my childhood anymore. I don’t even know who he is now.”

“I know,” she said, and she sounded as if she dreaded saying the idea aloud, for even thinking of asking you to do this, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for even considering asking this of you,” her voice trembled, “I’ve thought it over in my head for weeks, and I feel so bad as a mother, it feels as if I’m selling you to fix my own mistake.”

She drew in a breath, “It’s fine, you don’t need to do this. I’ll find another way. I will not make you responsible for a debt that belongs to me.”

“Jungkook is a good-looking man, Mom. He’s rich too and he could have anyone he wanted,” you hesitated before asking further, “so why would he agree to this? Why me?”

“He’s refused everyone his parents have introduced him to,” she said quietly, “for years, apparently he has refused half a dozen women. From what I understand, he turned every one of them down.”

She paused before adding, “But this time, his parents told me it was his idea,” her eyes lifted to yours, “he chose you.”

You thought it was bullshit, why would Jungkook choose you out of all people? It was clear as days that his eyes were never on yours, and all of the sudden he has chosen you? 

Jungkook was an old friend you spent years hoping never to see again. What could someone like him possibly want from you now?

You couldn’t help but wonder if being chosen meant being wanted by Jungkook, or if you were simply the easiest answer to him; something he agreed to because saying yes was easier than arguing with his parents over a marriage he did not care enough to refuse.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

You said yes.

Because when you did the math more than once that week, lying awake in the dark, trying to picture your mom at seventy still working even during the weekends to pay down a debt that is almost impossible to pay off. 

You just couldn’t make yourself accept a future that looks like that when you have the power to end it with a single word.

You said yes because you have spent your whole life being the person who helps everyone around you. The little sister who never made anyone feel lacking in anything, the daughter who learned early not to add her own weight to a household already struggling with just one income. You were always the person who takes care of others when they are sick and never asks anyone to do the same for you.

It is the only thing you have ever known what to do. And some part of you just does not know how to look at someone who needs you and say no, even when the person who needs you most is yourself.

Then there is the other reason.

 That small part of you that is still ten years old, still standing behind a curtain while Jungkook smiled at you, has never fully stopped hoping there might be a version of this where Jungkook looks at you without hatred.

You know how ridiculous that sounded.

You know it is not the kind of reason anyone sensible enough should agree to a marriage. But you were ten when you fell for him, and somehow, despite everything, a part of that girl never really went away. When your mother said Jungkook had chosen you, that little girl came rushing back.

You understand, even as you agreed to the marriage, that this is a stupid reason to ruin your life. Yet you said yes anyway, because you have never been as rational as you would like to believe when it comes to Jungkook.

Because some part of you would rather walk willingly into the fire than spend the rest of your life wondering what might have happened if you had turned away.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Two weeks later you were standing in a hotel lobby, your hands were trembling despite the summer heat outside, because his mother suggested or insisted, really, that the two of you meet before anything was finalized. 

You spent forty minutes deciding what to wear and hated yourself for even caring about it.

Jungkook was already there when you arrived, sitting at a corner table with his jacket off and his sleeves pushed up, and his phone in his hand. He didn't stand up when you sat down.

Up close, he still looked familiar, only older now. He had tattoos all over his right arm and there was very little left of the boy who used to smile at you like the two of you shared a secret.

"You're late," Jungkook said, not even looking up to look at you.

"By only four minutes," you answered.

"Four minutes I didn't have."

"Then you should've told your mother not to schedule this in the first place," you scoffed.

That finally made him look up from his phone. Something changed across his face, you could tell that Jungkook was surprised that you answered back at him instead of backing down like he seemed to expect you to do.

You remembered, vaguely, a boy who was gentle to you. There was very little of him left in the man frowning at you now, and you hated that some part of you still mourned the loss of someone you barely knew anymore.

"You don't remember me, do you?" Jungkook asked. 

"Oh, I remember you," you said, “though you used to be nicer."

"You used to be shorter," Jungkook said, rolling his eyes at you.

You ordered coffee neither of you touched and spent the next forty minutes arguing about the wedding neither of you wanted. 

And some small, foolish part of you enjoyed that meeting because arguing with Jungkook meant he was looking at you. It meant you mattered enough to annoy him. 

It meant, for those forty minutes at least, you managed to take up space in his mind.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

You married him six weeks later, on a bright Saturday in August, in a dress that cost more than your mother's monthly salary, in a ballroom filled with flowers your mother-in-law chose without consulting you.

The man standing in front of you was not the boy who once found you behind a curtain during a hide-and-seek game. 

Jungkook shook your hand instead of kissing you when the officiant told him he could. He even came up with a charming joke about how shaking hands was an inside joke between the two of you, which made the room laugh.

When you told Suji and Taehyung that you were marrying Jungkook, neither of them believed you. It happened too quickly, you have never told them you were in a relationship, there was no engagement or anything that might have explained how the two of you have gone from never speaking to planning a wedding.

You could not tell them about the debt. You didn’t want them to be angry with your mom, so you insisted it was a long time coming. You told them you have always loved Jungkook and that, somewhere along the way, he secretly started to feel the same way. 

Suji and Taehyung did not believe that either, of course they didn’t, they knew Jungkook has always liked Suji. They just didn’t want you to know it, that was what they have been protecting you from since you were ten. So, at the wedding, neither of them cried. Even Jimin and Yejin didn’t bother to congratulate you either. 

Suji only held your hands for a moment, while Taehyung stood beside her with an expression you couldn’t bring yourself to read.

“We’re here for you,” Suji said.

“Anytime,” Taehyung added.

You couldn’t tell whether that was a warning, but you knew then that they knew something you didn’t. 

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Jungkook’s hand on your waist during the first dance felt cold, because he was touching you only because the event expected him to. He never pulled you closer or whispered something sweet in between of the dance. His eyes stayed fixed somewhere over your shoulder, while you moved together with the applause of people who believed they were watching two people in love.

Later, in a hotel suite far too large for two people who had nothing to say to each other, you and Jungkook sat at opposite ends of the couch, still dressed in your wedding clothes.

Jungkook's tie had been pulled loose and the top buttons of his shirt were undone. Your veil was folded beside you and the hand bouquet of flowers were placed right between the two of you.

“Just so we’re clear, we’re only married on paper,” Jungkook eventually said. 

Jungkook didn’t think he was being cruel to you. If anything, he believed he was doing you a kindness by being honest from the beginning. 

“I won’t cheat on you. I can’t afford to have my company being caught up in a scandal,” he continued, “but I’m not going to treat you like a wife. As far as I’m concerned, you’re just my roommate.”

“Okay,” you said.

It was the only word you could utter at that moment. 

You did not know how to explain how his words made you feel. You only knew that you already decided Jungkook would never see you cry over something he clearly would never think was worth grieving.

You changed out of your wedding dress in the bathroom because it felt strange to do it in front of a husband who barely looked at you since the ceremony.

That night, you slept on opposite sides of the same bed, with a pillow placed between the two of you like a line neither of you was meant to cross. 

By the time you woke up the next morning, Jungkook was already gone. 

At the very least, Jungkook had the decency to leave a note on the counter with his flight time. Much later in the marriage, you would realize it was the first of countless mornings that started the same way:

waking up to find out that Jungkook already left.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

first year of marriage

Jungkook moved into the guest room during the very first day you started living together. That first night, you lay awake in the enormous bed you were apparently meant to have all to yourself, listening to the faint sounds of Jungkook moving around the apartment. 

Then during the first year of your marriage, you found yourself keeping track of everything Jungkook never did.

You stupidly believed that if you counted the nights he came home, the meals you shared, and the times he looked at you like he cared about you, then you might be able to prove that things were getting better. And when they did not, the numbers became proof that you had not imagined how lonely the marriage made you feel.

You hated that you cared enough to count it all and you hated yourself even more for still waiting for Jungkook to change.

Pathetic did not feel like a strong enough word for measuring your marriage by how little your husband gave you, only to find yourself disappointed each time the answer was almost nothing.

You counted the nights he came home before midnight: 11 out of 365 days. 

You counted the meals you ate at the same table: 4, and two of those were during the week his grandmother visited. To Jungkook, keeping up appearances to his family mattered more than whatever existed between the two of you.

You counted the number of times he asked how your day was: 0.

Well, what did you really expect? 

This was an arranged marriage, and Jungkook chose you because he knew you would be easy to please without ever having to worry that you might leave the marriage. At some point, you realized maybe Jungkook had always known how you felt about him. Perhaps that was why he had chosen you as his wife in the first place.

Yet what some stupid part of you wanted was to know undoubtedly that he cared for you, even just a little. 

Whenever you were out with friends and thought of him, you would bring something home and leave it on the counter with a note telling him it was his to eat or drink.

By morning, the food was always still sitting there on the counter, clearly untouched.

Jungkook never ate any of the food you brought home for him, not once that entire year. So eventually, you stopped being surprised and then, sometime near the end of the first year, you stopped bringing anything home at all.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Family holidays were the worst because Jungkook never bothered to show up. So you had to act and lie to everyone around you that the marriage was fine and Jungkook is just one busy businessman. 

“He’s on a business trip,” you told your mother at Chuseok, “the company’s expanding into three new markets this quarter. He barely has time to sleep.”

“He’s swamped with work,” you told Suji at your father’s memorial dinner. That was the one day you truly wanted him there. Just once, you wanted your fake husband to stand beside you at your father’s grave, so you didn't have to lie when you were already drowning in grief and sadness. “Jungkook sends his condolences,” you added.

He did not.

You made it up, the way you always did. He did not come because he did not want to, because you were not worth giving up even a single hour of his life for. You could not say any of that to the people who loved you, not yet and maybe not ever.

Besides, you had no one to blame but yourself. 

No one had forced you to say yes. Your mother would have been fine if she had to keep paying the debt, even if it took the rest of her life, and you could have helped her without marrying Jungkook. There were always other choices you could have picked, harder ones perhaps, but they always existed.

Yet you chose this route.

You walked into the marriage willingly because some foolish part of you wanted an answer to the question you’ve always had since you were ten: what would happen if Jungkook chose you to be his partner? 

Well, now, the adult version of you know.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

What you didn't know that first year was that Jungkook noticed all the empty containers more than he let on, he noticed all the food you brought home for him to consume.

Jungkook would come home late most nights, and sometimes later than he actually needed to, because coming home early meant having to sit in the same room as you, and Jungkook never knew what to say to you.

He would see the food you left for him on the counter with a small note on top of it. And every time he saw it, something in his chest felt weird. Jungkook told himself what he felt had to be guilt, there was no other reason for him to care about you.

A few times, Jungkook found himself standing in the kitchen in the middle of the night, holding the food you brought home and he would just stare at it for a while before putting it back exactly where you left it. Because he didn’t want you to know he had even looked or noticed the effort you put in for him.

To Jungkook, the whole point of this marriage was revenge.

You ruined his life, so he was ruining yours. 

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

second year of marrtiage

By the second year of your arranged marriage, you were used to the coldness between you and Jungkook. You stopped hoping for him to change his ways, you stopped waiting for him at dinner and setting out a second plate.

You started going to Suji's for girls’ nights and coming home late on purpose, just to see if Jungkook would notice and he never did. Thankfully, it didn't hurt you as much as it would have in the first year. Most nights, he was either still out or locked inside his study. Sometimes the light under the door was the only sign that he was even home.

The apartment stayed exactly the same whether you were there or not.

At New Year, your aunt cornered you before dinner, “Where’s your husband? We’ve only met him twice in two years, and one of those times was at your wedding.”

“He’s closing a deal in Singapore,” you answered easily as lying about Jungkook was almost natural by now, “it’s a big one, so he had to be there.”

What she did not know was that you cried in your car before coming upstairs. You gave yourself exactly ten minutes to cry, sitting in the dark parking lot with the engine off and your forehead pressed against the steering wheel. Once ten minutes were over, you went upstairs to greet your family and smiled as if nothing was wrong.

It was also during the second year that you flew to Jeju for the wedding of one of Jungkook’s business partners.

You assumed you would sit together since it was still a public appearance. It felt stupid now, standing at the gate of priority passengers with your boarding pass in hand, but you didn’t think to check your tickets until Jungkook told you.

“I’m flying first class,” he said, “you’re in economy.”

“Oh,” you forced a small laugh, trying to sound as if it didn’t bother you, “I thought you would’ve booked us seats next to each other.”

“Economy seat should be fine for you. It’s only three hours.”

You spent the flight in a middle seat between two strangers, leaning past the person beside you whenever you wanted to look out the window. 

Years ago, you believed being noticed by Jungkook would feel like winning something.

Now you were his wife, and he couldn’t even be bothered to sit beside you.

When the plane landed, he was not waiting for you, just as you expected. You had to book a taxi to the hotel alone and texted him to say you have arrived. And his only reply was the number of the room you had to share together since most of his colleagues and friends are staying in the same hotel. 

When you let yourself into the room, he was on a call, feet up on the balcony railing as he sat on the balcony couch. It was thankfully an ensuite room with 2 separate beds, so you didn’t have to share a bed with him. Your only interaction with Jungkook then was when he lifted his finger in front of his mouth to tell you to be silent as he was talking on the phone.  

At the wedding reception, you sat at a table full of his friends, who happened to be the group he used to hang out with at school, and you smiled throughout a dinner where no one asked you a single question about yourself, because to them you were simply "Jungkook's wife.”

You weren’t paying much attention to the conversation until one of the women at the table turned to you, “Is that even a real Van Cleef?” she asked, nodding at your bracelet, “it doesn’t look like it.”

“It isn’t,” you said, “it was handmade by a small business.”

“Huh,” she looked at it again, her mouth twisting slightly in disgust.

Another woman leaned closer, “Don’t you think you should make more of an effort with Jungkook’s friends? You never come to any of our gatherings. We barely know anything about you besides the fact that you’re Suji’s younger sister.”

Jungkook has never invited you to any of those gatherings, but you couldn’t tell them that, it would only give them something else to laugh about, “I’ve been busy,” you said.

“Jungkook is much busier than you,” one of the men cut in.

The first woman looked at you again, “You should be more careful about how you dress too, wearing cheap jewellery makes your husband look bad.”

It was not as if Jungkook has ever given you money to buy anything, not that you would have taken it even if he had.

 “I see,” you muttered.

You stared at her bracelet before standing up from your seat, “Well, at least mine was made responsibly by someone who was paid fairly,” you said, “can you say the same about yours? Or do you just not care about the children who had to mine the diamond and stones as long as your jewellery came in an expensive box?”

Then you picked up your bag and walked away before any of them could answer.

Later, near the bar, you overheard your husband's name.

"Jungkook, honestly, I always thought you would end up with the sister. Suji, right? The one who's married to Taehyung now? She would've made more sense since you had always fancied Suji too. I mean, no offense, your wife seemed sweet, I guess, but.."

"She doesn't really fit in with us, does she?" someone else said, finishing the sentence the other couldn’t.

You turned away before you could hear Jungkook’s response, already heading back towards a table where you felt just as out of place, then his voice stopped you mid-step.

“Yeah,” Jungkook answered, sounding almost bored, “I guess Suji would’ve made more sense for me.”

That was the day you found out Jungkook fancied your sister.

You waited until you were in the hotel bathroom to cry. You locked the door, sat on the closed toilet lid, and pressed both hands over your mouth because Jungkook was somewhere on the other side of the wall and you could not let him hear you.

It should not have hurt as much as it did, you knew he did not love you. Jungkook made that clear from the first night of your marriage.

But knowing he did not want you was different from finding out he liked your own sister.

Suddenly, everything made sense to you.

The way Taehyung and Suji looked at each other when you announced the marriage to them and the way they never congratulated you. They knew, everyone knew except you.

And the worst part was remembering that you told them you have always loved Jungkook, and that he secretly liked you too.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

A few weeks later, back home, you went to dinner at one of Jungkook’s business partner’s houses. You wore the nicest outfit you owned, but you knew the second you walked in that it still was not enough for them. 

One of the wives looked you up and down before smiling, “Cute,” she said.

And you knew it was not a compliment.

“No ring upgrade yet?” another woman asked during dessert, nodding at the plain band on your finger, “Jungkook usually doesn’t do anything halfway. I guess he’s saving the good jewellery for later.”

“She likes simple things,” Jungkook said without looking at you and then he continued, “Suji always said less is more too.”

You quickly excused yourself and went to the bathroom before your face gave you away. When you came back, they were talking about Suji, about how smart and impressive she was. 

“You know,” one of his friends said to you as he refilled his glass, “we always thought Jungkook would end up with your sister. You seem sweet, but Suji and Jungkook would’ve made much more sense together.”

“None taken,” you said. This was a conversation you have heard before, so you didn’t really care much of it, at least that was what you thought. 

You looked at Jungkook across the table and waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. Jungkook could have told them to stop. He could have done anything that made you feel like you were not just the wrong sister sitting in Suji’s place. But instead, he looked away and didn’t even bother to correct them.

You didn’t speak during the entire drive home, Jungkook didn’t ask what was wrong or maybe he didn’t even notice how your silence was different, or maybe every silence with you sounded the same to him.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

The next morning, you tried to talk to him about it, because some stubborn, hopeful part of you still believed that if you just explained it clearly enough, he would understand how you felt.

"You compared me to my sister in front of your friends," you said, over coffee he was drinking standing up, already half way out the door. 

"It wasn't a big deal," he said, checking his watch, “it was a joke."

"It didn't feel like a joke."

"I don't have time for this right now," he said, "can we talk about it tonight?"

You knew, even as you nodded, that tonight would turn into tomorrow, and tomorrow would become some vague promise of “later”. By then, you already knew what later meant with Jungkook, it meant never.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

What you did not know was that Jungkook kept thinking about what he said in Jeju.

“Suji would’ve made more sense.”

The words came back to him at random times; in the shower, in the elevator, during meetings when he was supposed to be listening, and he kept telling himself it was true. Suji was always the one he wanted and everyone knew that.

Still, he could not understand why saying it had made him feel so bad.

Jungkook should not have felt guilty. You were the reason he lost Suji in the first place. You were the reason she had chosen Taehyung and left him behind. 

So if anyone deserved to feel guilty, it was you.

Later that year, on a night you were out, he opened the cabinet and took out two plates without thinking. He stared at them for a few seconds before putting one back.

You stopped setting a place for him months ago, but he watched you do it so many times during the first year that the habit had somehow stayed with him. He stood there longer than he needed to, wondering why he reached for two plates when he knew you were not coming home.

For years, Suji had been the person Jungkook believed he wanted. His friends still mentioned her like she was some great love he lost, and he let himself believe that was true because it gave him a reason to stay angry.

But whenever Jungkook tried to remember her, his mind kept going somewhere else. He remembered sitting at your family’s kitchen table, helping you finish a puzzle because no one else wanted to. Jungkook remembered finding you behind the curtain during hide-and-seek, and he remembered how easily you used to laugh around him.

Jungkook has not heard your laugh in a long time and that bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

One night, while you were out celebrating a friend’s birthday, he sat alone in the living room with a drink in his hand. He remembered you mentioning the party, though he couldn’t remember whether you told him directly or if he saw the birthday card on the counter.

Jungkook looked around the apartment and thought that you were probably happier when he was not there.

And Jungkook did not like that thought. He did not like knowing that you could leave the apartment and become a completely different person around everyone else; someone happier. 

He poured his drink into the sink and went to bed early.

Jungkook told himself what he was feeling towards you was guilt that would pass if he ignored it long enough.

It did not.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

third year of marriage

By the third year of marriage, you stopped hoping at all.

Whatever hope you carried into the marriage was nowhere to be found. You could not remember the exact moment it happened, you only knew that one day, you stopped expecting anything from Jungkook.

The two of you have been living separate lives under the same roof.

You paid for half of everything, the groceries, bills, and all the other small expenses neither of you ever discussed. 

You have also gotten even better at lying during family gatherings; “he’s travelling,” “he’s busy,” or “the company is going through an important season.” You said the same excuses so often that the lies came out without any effort nowadays, even Suji stopped asking you questions about Jungkook. 

“You know you don’t have to keep covering for him,” Suji said quietly at your mother’s birthday after you finished explaining Jungkook’s empty chair for the hundredth time, “we’re not going to think less of you if you tell us the truth.”

“I know,” you said.

You just didn’t have the energy to say it out loud. Once you told them, they would worry, they would ask what you planned to do, they would want you to leave him, and then you would have to explain why you even stayed for so long.

Some nights, you sat alone in the apartment and thought about how long it has been. Three whole years; you have spent three years living with someone who barely knew you.

You counted everything during the first year, but eventually, you stopped doing so. The amount of things Jungkook has done for you has become too embarrassing. There was no point keeping track of shared meals when there were barely any to count.

You feel like a different person now, sometimes, you almost feel sorry for yourself.

You waited so long for your knight to choose you, never knowing that when he finally did, it would be the very thing that broke you apart.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Sometime during the third year of the marriage, Jungkook finally began to understand something he spent most of his life getting wrong.

It has never really been Suji.

For years, he has been so sure she was the one he wanted. Suji was beautiful, confident, and always at the centre of everything. Everyone liked her, so wanting her had always made sense to Jungkook, especially when everyone around him seemed to expect it.

But when Jungkook thought back to the years he spent at your family's house as a kid, the memories that stayed with him were never really about Suji. 

It was you sitting beside him at the kitchen table, asking for help with a puzzle even though you were too shy to look directly at him. It was you hiding behind the curtain during hide-and-seek and him trying not to laugh when he found you. It was the way you used to save him a seat at lunch, the way you followed him around when you were younger, the way your face lit up whenever he paid attention to you, as if he'd done something far kinder than he actually did.

Somehow, Jungkook took all of those memories and put Suji's name all over them instead. Maybe it was because Suji was his age, and she fit so easily into the rest of his life. You have only ever been Suji's little sister, or at least that was what he always told himself. And the truth came to him slowly, then all at once.

It would have been easier if Jungkook could have kept blaming you.

Jungkook was sixteen when he finally found the courage to tell Suji how he felt, he was certain she felt the same way, only for her to turn him down. Suji told him she liked Taehyung, not him. Then she told him that even if she felt differently, she could never be with him. She told him that she couldn't bear the thought of you finding out that the boy you adored since you were ten had fallen for your own sister instead.

That was the day Jungkook decided you were the reason he lost Suji. He never could decide who he was angrier at; you for telling her first or Suji for choosing you over him. 

And Jungkook found it easier to be angry at you.

He told himself for years that marrying you was a way of taking back what he lost, except somewhere in the second year of your marriage, the plan stopped feeling like justice and started feeling like something he will regret his whole life.

Because somewhere in that same year, without meaning to, Jungkook started noticing you.

He noticed that he memorised the sound of your keys in the door. He noticed he wasn't surprised your mug was blue, because he remembered you telling him back when you were still a kid that blue was your favourite colour. 

Jungkook started noticing the shows you watched in the living room that he could hear from his room, the nights you came home late and laughed quietly on the phone before disappearing into your bedroom, and the way the apartment felt different when you were gone.

He noticed you took your coffee black in the mornings but liked your tea with milk at night. Jungkook noticed the light under your door usually went out around midnight, and on the nights it didn't, he found himself lying awake wondering what was keeping you up. 

Jungkook noticed how you would go still for a second before answering your mother's calls, then soften your voice the moment you picked up. He noticed you still bit the inside of your cheek when you were concentrating, exactly the way you did at ten years old.

He spent years insisting he had no interest in getting to know you, and somewhere along the way, he memorised you completely.

He even started coming home earlier on the nights he knew you would be there; early enough that he could hear you moving around in the kitchen, or catch a glimpse of you before you went to bed.

Jungkook remembered that night in Jeju more clearly than he wanted to. He watched you leave the table after his friends made fun of your bracelet, and for a second, he almost went after you. Yet he did nothing instead and later at the bar, he told someone that Suji would have made more sense for him. It was just easy to say because he has been telling himself the same thing for years. 

It was easier to believe he lost Suji than to admit he was ruining whatever chance he had with you.

The night he finally realised it, he tried to think about Suji, tried to search for whatever he spent years insisting was still there and there was nothing. Whatever he felt for Suji disappeared a long time ago. Jungkook only kept holding onto it because it felt familiar, because blaming you was easier than admitting he was the one in the wrong.

He knew more about you than he ever bothered to learn about Suji, and that was when he finally understood that all along, the person he has been thinking about was you.

Somewhere in the middle of an arranged marriage he agreed to as a revenge, Jungkook had fallen for the person he was punishing, and he only realised it after you had already stopped caring whether he came home.

The only question left was whether Jungkook had realised he witnessed your devotion too late.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

You didn’t come home that night, instead you called your sister for an emergency meeting at your mom’s place, "Come by mom’s house tonight," you pleaded, "please."

Suji and Taehyung were already there when you arrived. 

You sat down at the kitchen table where you grew up doing homework, "I need to tell you guys something," you said.

So you told them about how he treated you, you told them the reason behind the empty chair at every holiday, and every single thing that happened during your marriage. 

The moment you stopped talking, your mother went to her knees in the middle of the kitchen. You have never, in twenty-six years, seen your mother on her knees for anything, not even at your father's funeral where she stood so straight and so still you worried she had forgotten how to bend her knees

"I did this to you," your mother cried out, and she was frantic in a way you have never once witnessed, her hands were shaking as she reached for yours, "I owe them the money, not you. I sold you to fix my own mistake and I have watched you smile through three years of a marriage that's been eating you alive and I told myself it was fine because you never once complained, because you're so good at never complaining, and I am so sorry, I am so sorry, please forgive me."

You dropped to your knees and held her, and you cried the way you haven’t let yourself cry in years. You cried until your throat was hurting, until Suji came around the table and wrapped her arms around both of you, until Taehyung stood a few feet away with his jaw tight and his hands curled into fists.

"It's okay," you said, when you could speak again,"I'll always help you, Mom. I mean that, I’ll help you pay that debt. But this time, I want a divorce."

Suji was already standing next to you, and the look on her face was one you'd never seen there before, "I am going to kill him," she said, “I’m sorry, ____. I never.. I should have known. I should have asked you harder. I should have protected you."

"Don't," you said, “please. I don't want any of you doing anything. I don't want him in my life anymore, and I don't want to spend one more minute of my energy on him. I just want it to be over. I want to be done."

They didn't like it. 

You could see in all of their faces that it was hurting them not to do anything in your stead. But they loved you enough to hear you out. 

For the first time in three years you slept in your childhood bedroom, and that night, you slept better than you have in a long, long time.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

At first, Jungkook didn’t think much of it when you weren’t home. You went out sometimes. Three years of marriage taught him your routine; Tuesdays with your girlfriends; the occasional weekend at your mother’s. 

Jungkook came home the first night to an empty apartment, ordered food, and ate it standing at the kitchen counter. Your disappearance didn’t seem unusual enough for him to question it.

By the second day, the apartment felt different and he couldn’t immediately work out why. The coffee maker hadn’t been used, there was no bitter smell in the kitchen when he walked in that morning and the mug you always used for tea was still sitting where he left it two days ago.

Jungkook looked at it for longer than he should have, then he checked the entryway for your shoes and they weren’t there. An hour later, Jungkook checked again, and still you weren’t back home.

By the third day, he texted you.

Jungkook: You okay?

No message came back. He stared at the screen until it dimmed in his hand again, and when Jungkook unlocked it, there was still nothing.

By the fourth day, the uneasiness became too loud for him to ignore. It followed him into the shower, the car, and the office. Jungkook sat through meetings without taking in a word. Jungkook asked his assistant to repeat what they just said three times, and afterwards Jungkook still couldn’t remember what they were even discussing.

Jungkook called you once in the afternoon, then again on the drive home, but both calls went to voicemail.

Jungkook wasn’t used to this. 

Jungkook is used to handling problems, hell, he has built companies and sat across from men twice his age and made them agree to terms they had sworn they would never accept. Jungkook knew how to remain calm when everyone else in the room was losing their mind. 

But that night, at two in the morning, Jungkook lay awake thinking about one unanswered text, thinking about where you were, if you were eating well, if you were sleeping soundly, if you will ever come back home to him.

When did he become like this? 

By the fifth day, Jungkook drove past your mother’s street twice. 

The first time, he told himself he had taken the wrong turn. The second time, he slowed down near your house and looked for a light in the windows. Jungkook wanted proof that you were there, that you were somewhere and you didn’t simply disappear beyond his reach.

Jungkook hated how badly he needed you. He opened your contact on his phone again and again but never pressed call, his thumb only hovered over your name until the screen went dark again.

The past three years of marriage have been made up of small things he never should have done. The meals you prepared that he barely touched, the questions he answered without looking at you, the evenings when you sat beside him and eventually stopped trying to start a conversation.

You tried to make a life with him, yet Jungkook treated every attempt as an inconvenience.

For years, he told himself that he was the victim, that Suji was the person he should have been married to. But when Jungkook forced himself to remember exactly why he liked Suji, he felt nothing.

What Jungkook remembered was always you and everything the two of you had done together. He remembered a girl half his size sitting across from him, looking up at him like he was her world. He remembered playing hide-and-seek with you and he remembered pretending not to see you.

Jungkook always said Suji was the person he was the happiest with, but all the memories that felt warm to him, belonged to you.

Admitting the truth would have meant admitting that Jungkook spent years hurting the wrong person. And tonight, Jungkook sat alone in the living room and finally clearly admitted the one he always wanted was you.

Jungkook didn’t want a divorce and he did not want you to leave him.

When he imagined the apartment being empty of your things, Jungkook’s chest started hurting. When he imagined another man hearing you laugh, learning what food you liked, being invited to your mother’s house, he felt something pressing against his chest that it was hard for him to breathe.

Jungkook wanted you to remain his wife and the thought made him feel ashamed of all the things he had done to you the past three years.

“My wife,” Jungkook said to his empty apartment.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Jungkook tried to call Suji, but she didn’t answer. So, the next morning, he called Taehyung and to his surprise, Taehyung answered on the second ring.

“Stay away from my family,” was all Taehyung said when he picked up.

“I knew you had feelings for my wife,” Taehyung continued, “I have known for years, I knew since we were children, Jungkook. I didn’t say anything because I thought you would get over it. I thought it was some pathetic thing from when we were younger that would eventually die out.”

“Taehyung,” Jungkook tried to cut him off, but Taehyung wouldn’t let him.

“No. You don’t get to say shit. It’s been years,” Taehyung said, “and while you were busy feeling sorry for yourself, you destroyed her sister. Three years, Jungkook. She carried your marriage alone for three years and still smiled through every family dinner because she didn’t want anyone worrying about her. We recently found out it was an arranged marriage, fine, you didn’t have to love her, but you could have treated her decently.”

“You knew she didn’t deserve it,” Taehyung continued, “that’s the part I can’t understand. You knew exactly who she was, and you still treated her like she was responsible for everything you hated about your life.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” Taehyung let out a short and bitter laugh, “But I hope you do now. I hope you finally understand what you’ve done, and I hope you feel every second of it.”

Then the call ended.

Jungkook spent years blaming you for a decision neither of you had made. Every humiliation, disappointment, and every bit of grief he carried since he was seventeen, he somehow found a way to make it yours.

It was easier than looking at you, who stayed beside him and asked for so little, and realising he had still given you even less than that.

Now you were gone and there was no one left for him to blame but himself.

Jungkook was not the man he always imagined himself to be. He was pathetic, petty, cowardly, and far smaller than the woman he spent three years treating like nobody.

Jungkook has been nothing but a pathetic, petty and frightened boy wearing a man’s face.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

The next day, Jungkook went to your mother's house.

She opened the door and just looked at Jungkook with disappointment across her face. It was the same look she gave him when he didn’t kiss you at the altar.  

"I'm not here to see her," Jungkook quickly said, before your mom could close the door, "I know she doesn't want to see me yet. I'm here because I need to say something to you, and I need you to hear me out."

She didn’t say anything, yet she opened the door wide enough to let him in. Unlike the other guests who have visited her home, your mother did not offer Jungkook tea. There was no need to treat him like an acquaintance, soon Jungkook will be her ex son-in-law and someone whom she’ll never ever meet in her life again. 

She sat him at the same kitchen table where you cried just a few nights before.

"I owe your family a lot of money," she said, folding her hands in front of her, "I understand that. I understand this was an arranged marriage none of you asked for or wanted, and that you were as much a pawn in it as my daughter was.”

She drew in a small breath before continuing, “What I do not understand, Jungkook, is how you could treat another human being, my daughter, the kindest person I have ever raised and the one who never once in her life made anyone feel small… How could you have treated her the way you have done the past three years? I am in as much pain watching what this did to her as she is living it, maybe even more, because I was the one who put her in this situation with you in the first place. So tell me, why should I forgive you? Why should I let you anywhere near her again? What exactly do you intend to do?"

Jungkook has never been shaken by anything in his life, not until tonight, sitting in front of your mother.

"I don't have a clear answer," he said, "I wish I did. I spent years being angry at _____ for something that was never even her fault, something I won't even go into right now, because it's mine to explain to her first. And then I spent three more years married to her and still treating her like she was the one who wronged me. I'm not asking you to forgive me." 

Jungkook looked at her, and he looked so broken your mother couldn’t help pitying him, "I'm asking for the chance to keep showing up until it means something to her. I'll beg for her forgiveness, I'll keep coming back even when she tells me not to, even when she has every right to slam the door in my face. But we'll talk, we'll argue, we'll probably fight, more than once, because I don't think she's going to make this easy for me, and she shouldn't and I wouldn’t want her to. I just know I can't bring myself to just let this end without actually trying for the first time in this whole marriage. I want to be someone worth her time. Without knowing it, I realised that the small things she has done throughout our marriage was never small at all. She loved me despite the ugly things I have done. I was just too busy being furious at my past to notice I was standing next to the person I actually wanted."

Your mother stared at him for a long moment, long enough that Jungkook thought she might ask him to leave without another word.

Her marriage to your father hadn’t always been easy. There were years of arguments over parenting, finance, and many more. There were years where she wondered if she married too young.

But when he died, something in her broke apart and it never quite put itself back together.

She remembered how you used to climb into their bed on Sunday mornings, how your father would let you win at cards, how you cried at his funeral so quietly like you were trying not to take up too much space even in your own grief.

you see, your mother knew about your crush on Jungkook. She watched you for sixteen years, she saw the way your face changed whenever Jungkook's name came up at the dinner table, and pretended not to notice the way you used to volunteer to answer the door whenever Suji’s group of friends came around, just in case it was Jungkook. She knew, long before you ever confessed to it, that you had loved him since you were a child. 

And when she told you about the arranged marriage, some small, guilty part of her had let herself believe that maybe this could help. Maybe if she was going to ruin your life with her mistake, it could at least be with the one person you had always wanted to have a relationship with.

She was wrong. 

She watched that hope change into something else these past three years, watching you get smaller in ways you thought she hadn't noticed, watching you repeating lies about a man who could not even be bothered to accompany you for your own father’s death anniversaries.

She was, is, a bad mother for that. 

But she also knew you. She knew that if she asked you right now, whether some part of you still wanted to know if he was willing to try, you wouldn’t say no.

"Sit up straight," she finally said, and Jungkook blinked at her, caught off guard.

"I'm sorry?"

"You heard me," your mother’s voice was firm and steady, "If you're going to sit in my kitchen and tell me you intend to fight for my daughter, you're not going to do it slouched over like a boy waiting to be punished. Fighting for her means showing up like you mean it, every time, starting now."

Jungkook immediately straightened his posture.

"I'm not telling you this because I forgive you," she continued, "I will not forgive you for a long time, and that will be my right to decide, just as it will be hers." 

She took a deep breath, before continuing, "But I have spent three years watching my daughter lie to the people who love her because she didn't want anyone to know how badly you have hurt her. If you're serious, then you do not need to convince me. You show her, you keep showing it to her, and you need to accept that she may never let you back in, and you don't get to be angry about it, not after all the years you've taken from her already."

"She was ten years old the first time she talked to me about you," she said quietly, "I used to think it was sweet. I didn't know I was watching the beginning of something that would be a long time pain for her. So if she gives you a second chance, you do not waste whatever time she gives you, Jungkook. She has given enough of it away for free, do you understand me?"

"I understand," he said.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

You came home from a work trip three days later and found Jungkook sitting at your family home’s dining table, his laptop open and a stack of papers beside him like it was any other weekday.

He was sitting there as if it wasn’t your first time seeing him since you walked out of the home you shared with him.

"What the fuck are you doing here?” you sneered.

Your keys were clenched in your hand, and your entire body went rigid at the sight of him sitting in a chair at your family home.

"I'm here to date you," he said, slowly looking up at you.

You stared at him in disbelief, "You are here to what?"

“Date you,” Jungkook said as he closed his laptop, “I want to date you properly this time.”

For a second, all you could do was look at him. 

"I know what I did,” Jungkook continued, “I know what three years of this marriage to me did to you. I'm not asking you to forget it. I just.. I want the chance to earn what I should’ve earned before we ever got married.”

You let out a dry and humourless laugh, before asking, “What the fuck?!”

You dropped your keys onto the counter, and they hit harder than you intended it to be, “You think you can just show up here and ask to start over?”

“No matter what you do, my heart is not going to change, Jungkook. I'm not a child anymore. I know better than to give you a second chance, hell, I gave you a hundred chances over the last three years and you didn't take a single one.”

“You are beneath me now,” you said quietly, “do you understand that?”

“Then give me one last chance,” Jungkook said, almost pleading.

“Let me court you,” he continued, “let me date you the way I should have the past three years.”

You didn’t answer.

You just walked past him and went to get changed.

You were meeting your friends that night, and had no intention of spending another minute in that kitchen listening to Jungkook act like he could fix three years with a few words.

He stayed where he was while you moved around the house, but you could feel his eyes on you. It shouldn’t have felt unfamiliar, he was your husband. Still, you couldn’t remember the last time he actually noticed you. 

but you hated that your body enjoyed the feeling of being noticed by him, hated that some part of you still wanted to be seen by him.

"Can I come?" he asked, from the living room, he sounded quieter than you have ever heard him speak, “I would love to get to know your friends.” 

You scoffed out loud in response and left without answering him.

When the door shut behind you, something in your body felt at ease because for the first time in years, your life felt like it belonged entirely to you again. 

[rockpaperskzers]

✦ FOREVER X FENDI ✦ ch 6 (18+ MDNI)

✦ Non-Idol AU: Chan x y/n ✦ Summary: When you and fellow Fendi ambassador Bang Chan are photographed on a reckless night out, your employer proposes a way to contain the scandal--a contract marriage. Matters are only made worse due to your aversion to marriage and Chan's longing to one day be a husband for real. ✦ Genre: Romance, contract marriage, slow burn, smut ✦ Warnings: Brat taming, soft dom chan. Choosing not to disclose to maintain the element of surprise but this chapter kicks off the smut! 😉 ✦ a/n: are you ready to fall in love with Chan again? if so, read on my lovelies!

[ fic master list ]

Chapter Six: More x Fendi

After removing yourself off Chan’s thigh and changing clothes, you contemplate spending the rest of the night in the suite. Surely Seungmin, Felix and Hyunjin can manage on their own. And, most importantly, it would give you the opportunity to figure out how to make something like that happen again. Preferably with less clothes in the way.  

You exit your room and cross the suite, stopping in the open doorway of Chan’s room. His back is to you as he pulls a t-shirt over his head, offering you only the briefest glimpse of his broad shoulders before they’re covered.

You knock lightly against the doorframe.

He turns, eyebrows lifting in surprise.

“How long have you been there?”

“Not long enough,” you tease, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

He opens a dresser drawer, pulls out a pair of socks, and sits on the edge of the bed.

You watch as he pulls them on, fighting the urge to ask why he’s fully unpacked his suitcase if you’re only here for three days. It’s just another thing to add to his list of peculiarities.

 “You ready?” he asks, standing to retrieve his cologne and spritz himself.

“Yeah . . . but I was just thinking we could stay in tonight.”

“And do what?”

“I’m sure we could think of something.” You sit on the bed, leaning back on your hands. “This mattress is quite nice, don’t you think?”  

He holds back a smile, as if your cheeky persistence is amusing.

You don’t want it to amuse him, though. You want it to sway him.

Unfortunately, Chan is annoyingly staunch in his desire to have a mental and emotional connection before he’ll actually fuck you.

“I think we have different ideas about how we’d spend a night in together, right now.”

So maybe nothing actually changed, even after all of that.

He would probably choose to order dinner and talk about your MBTI results or some shit.

But what drove him to appease you earlier?

You had challenged him.

Tested him.

Pushed him until he finally met you exactly where you wanted him to.

“Maybe we can meet each other in the middle,” you suggest.

He cocks his head, as if contemplating whether or not to play into your shenanigans.

“How so?” he asks.

You shift onto your knees until you’re eye level with him, then reach for his arms to bring him to you.

He lets himself be pulled.

You’re close enough to see the warmth already creeping across his cheeks as your arms settle loosely around his neck, and that gives you some hope. You wrap your arms around his neck.

“I tell you my birthday, you remove your shirt. Least favorite food, pants.”

He laughs, though he shakes his head.

“That’s all superficial.”

“It’s still getting to know me.”

“It’s learning facts. Not learning you.”

He really is the ideal man most women have wet dreams about.

“Anyways,” he continues, “we already said we’d meet them.”

“You’re no fun,” you mumble, letting your arms fall away.

The corner of his mouth twitches as his hands find your waist.

“What happened on the couch wasn’t fun?”

“It was.” You purse your lips. “But it felt like a sample.”

“And you’d like to do something like that again, yeah?”

Your heartbeat stumbles at the offer. You’re tempted to scream ‘Yes, please!’ at the top of your lungs, but that might be too abrasive. You have to tread carefully.

“Yes,” you admit quietly, brushing your lips against his.

Although you’re certain he already knew the answer.

“Then you should mind the things you say.”

He doesn’t raise his voice. His words are soft and certain—much like how he sounded on the couch when he told you to use him.

You lean back, blinking.

Is this a challenge?

Or a warning?

Would you be completely delusional to believe it’s both?

Up until tonight you’d always seen him as Bashful Bang. The man whose cheeks flush when you’re being forward. Not a man capable of turning you on so much that you’d be willing to get yourself off on his thigh like a horny teenager.

The realization sends an unexpected shiver through you.

You like this version of him.

You’ve known him to be stern and sensible in all business and public matters but if this is how he really is behind closed doors, you want to uncover more.

“How do you go from blushing one minute, then telling me to watch my mouth the next?”

A laugh rumbles in his chest.

“Trust me, y/n. If I’m blushing it’s only because I’m trying very hard not to act on what I’m thinking.”

Your own smile fades into something softer.

You’d give anything to know exactly what he’s thinking about doing to you.

“Why do you keep stopping yourself, then?” you ask.

For a moment, he simply looks at you.

Then, he cups your face and presses his lips to yours.  

The kiss is slow and careful. His lips brush your once, then again, lingering just enough to make you want more. You instinctively lean into him, and he answers with another slow kiss that makes the world fade into the background.

When he finally pulls away, he doesn’t go far.

Your foreheads nearly touch and his eyes never leave yours.

“Because if we fuck,” he says quietly, “I’m all in. And that’s not something you want, is it?”

Your lips part.

Then close again.

He knows the answer to that, too.

He gives you one final searching look before taking a small step back.

He keeps leaving a damn deflated ball in your court that you have no chance of playing with.

“I have to give Seungmin his clothes back anyway,” you say, breaking eye contact. “Let’s go to the damn pub.”

The photographer positions you and Chan at the top of Greystone Mansion’s sweeping staircase for another round of engagement pictures. Chan is clad in a dark blue suit, and it really is a mystery how every suit they put him in manages to look better than the last. And you’re wearing a white, knee-length fitted dress.

You knew immediately upon arrival that Fendi is sparing no expense, booking a permit for a place like this. It would have easily cost them several thousand dollars.

You can only imagine what’s in store for the wedding.

“Now look at each other,” Lucia says.

You’d almost managed to forget she was here. But she chimes in every so often to remind you that you’re currently living your worst nightmare.

You turn and hold Chan’s gaze.

“Perfect,” the photographer remarks, lowering his camera to snap a quick picture.

The corners of Chan’s mouth lift as he gently squeezes your intertwined hands.

Him being adamant about no casual intimacy has grown increasingly frustrating over the last few days, mainly because he’d be really fucking good at it.

Your last night in London, and even the past few days you’ve been back home, he hasn’t treated you any differently. No snide remarks about the couch incident. He doesn’t judge you or make you feel less than for what he probably considers your peculiarities.

But he also hasn’t let anything beyond kissing happen again. The moment your hips start moving a little too much or your hands wander toward his pants, he stops it.

Every.

Single.

Fucking.

Time.

He never even touches you beneath your clothes.

And it’s driving you insane.

Leaving you to feel like a needy slut.

In the best way, of course.

“Your eyes seem particularly bright today,” you say, staring into his espresso brown orbs, offset by the afternoon sun pouring through the window.

“Because I’m looking at you.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help but smile.

“That’s it,” Lucia says excitedly. “Don’t fake it.”

“Oh, the irony,” you mumble.

Chan laughs.

“More of that,” Lucia grins. “Let’s a get a kiss, too.”

Chan doesn’t hesitate before leaning forward and gently pressing his lips to yours. You’re both in work mode—posing in front of a camera and doing as instructed. But even now, you still want more.

“Belissimo,” Lucia comments as the camera shutters sound off around you.

“I think she’s enjoying this,” you say.

“Far too much.”

“I might be too,” you mutter, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull his lips back to yours.

“Let’s just make sure these pants stay clean today,” he mumbles against your mouth.

You throw your head back, covering your laugh with one hand and slapping him on the arm with the other.

The photographer and Lucia eat up the interaction.

When they’re satisfied with the shots, the crew begin to move all of the equipment to gardens for the outdoor shots. Lucia pulls you and Chan aside for a chat.

“Either you’re both exceptional actors,” she looks between the two of you, “or something changed.”

Neither of you answer.

Lucia seems to notice that, too. She smiles, lowering her glasses down the bridge of her nose as she swipes through the photos on her tablet.

“These are so good. They’re going to be everywhere.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“That’s good,” she corrects you with a pointed look over her shades. “These could land you your first Vogue cover.”

An accomplishment, to be sure, but it’s not necessarily of your own merit.

“You both will have some down time over the next month,” she continues. “Fendi is going silent on the engagement news until these photos are published. To build the anticipation.”

“Should we keep posting on socials?” Chan asks.

“Yes, but sporadically. y/n, I’ll be sending a few specific things for you to post for wedding planning content.”

“Okay,” you nod. “I don’t actually need to pick décor and cakes and stuff do I?”

“We’ll handle everything,” she assures you. “But I do need both of you to send me your guest lists—names and addresses for the invitations. And for your immediate family members we’re flying out, we’ll need birthdates and passport information.”

You swallow, glancing awkwardly at Chan.

“You’ve met each other’s families, si?”

Literal crickets.

Lucia slowly looks up from her tablet.

“…No?”

Chan scratches the back of his neck. “Not yet.”

Lucia blinks.

“You’re engaged.”

“We’re aware,” you reply tightly.

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “We need everyone on board for this. You cannot plan on meeting each other’s parents on the day of the wedding. That has to happen. Soon.”

Your stomach sinks. 

You haven’t spoken to your mother since the day of the announcement. In fact, you’ve been dodging her calls and ignoring her texts . . . and now you need to bring Chan home?

And meet his parents in turn?

The walls of this decadent mansion are starting to close in around you. Lucia’s mouth is moving, but you’re not picking up on anything she’s saying anymore. You’ve worked very hard to keep your professional life separate from your family life, and now they’re going to collide.

“Make it happen this month,” she adds, taking off her glasses and snapping her fingers at her assistant.

He appears at her side, taking the glasses and handing her a pair of shades.

“We need you outside in ten.”

She dons the shades and heads toward the exit, assistant hot on her heels.

Chan’s attention zeroes in on you immediately.

It’s like you can feel it—that he knows something is wrong. And it bothers you more than it should.

“I need a second,” you mumble. “Bathroom break.”’

You turn and walk down the hall without a clue as to where the bathroom is. You test the handle of the first door you approach, and it opens. You quickly duck inside what appears to be a private lounge. Bookshelves line the walls, a large desk is in front of the window, and four leather armchairs are placed across from each other.

You most definitely shouldn’t be in here.

You plop down in one of the armchairs anyway, willing yourself to sink into it and vanish.

It’s only been three weeks since you signed this damned contract and this feels like too much, too soon. It’s like you’re standing still, trying to grasp things that make you feel like yourself, but everything around you is moving a mile a minute and you can’t catch anything.

A knock sounds out at the door.

You don’t say anything.

“y/n?” comes Chan’s voice from the other side.

Silence is still your chosen response.

“The public bathroom is outside.”

Again, you don’t respond, hoping he’ll take the hint and just leave.

“Can you at least let me know if I need to go find a bucket and mop?”

He waits a second longer before opening the door and peeking inside.

He takes one look at you—immediately taking note of your slouched posture and overall look of defeat—before stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

You can’t tell him that picturing him and your mother under the same room is giving you heart palpitations. That the thought of them discussing their proclivity for cleanliness and organization makes you want to vomit. That you’re anticipating your mother telling you at least ten different wrong with your appearance, and it has you spiraling.

No, you can’t say that to him.

“Nothing.” You answer after a beat, sitting up in the chair. “I’m fine. There’s just a lot going on today with the shoot.”

“That’s not it,” he shakes his head, taking a seat in the armchair across from you. “You’ve done more photoshoots than you can count.”

“Never for a fake yet legal marriage,” you snap.

“True. Me neither,” he says softly. “But we’re here now and it is what it is.”

“Easy for you to say,” you mutter.

He scoffs. “It really isn’t, y/n. Whether I look at this from a personal or business standpoint, I’m going through this with someone that won’t open up to me. How can that ever work in the long run?”

You’ve considered that, too.

There’s no way you can live with him for the next three years without inadvertently revealing bits and pieces about yourself. But there are just certain things you’d prefer to keep private. Certain things you’d rather jump off a cliff than reveal to anyone.

But, of course, you can’t say that to him either.

It might get you sent to a psych ward for an evaluation.

So, instead, you push back.

“Why don’t you just end the contract then?”

“I won’t do that,” he answers quickly, shaking his head.

“Too much on the line?” you taunt. “Worried about your collab not happening next year?”

It’s an undeserved punch below the belt.

You know the collab is something he has been working hard towards and this contract marriage put a huge dent in his plans.

“It’s on my mind, yeah,” he shrugs. “But right now, I’m wondering why you started acting weird at the mention of meeting each other’s parents.”

You stiffen.

He’s too observant. Too intuitive.

“I’ve never met anyone’s parents, Chan.” You say, eyes trained on the floor. “Or introduced anyone to mine. Not even my friends have met them. So, sorry if I’m a little hesitant about bringing home a fake fiancé.”

“I’ve never brought a woman home either,” he admits. “I always wanted to wait until I was sure she’s the woman I’m marrying.”

You slowly lift your gaze to his. “Is that supposed to be helpful? Because it’s actually adding a lot more pressure and overall guilt that I got us in this situation.”

He frowns at that.

You can see it written all over his face—he wants to ask a follow up question. Perhaps to probe more and get you to reveal more than you already have. But that would be a gamble for him.

He does know a surefire way to bring you back from the ledge, though.

“Will you come here for a second?” he asks.

“Why?”

“Because I’m asking you to.”

You lean back in the armchair, crossing your arms.

“I’m fine right here.”

He studies you for a beat before standing and taking two long strides to close the distance between you.

He places his hands on either side of the armchair and leans forward, catching your gaze.

“What?” you ask, hoping your expression doesn’t give away just how surprised you are at this sudden closeness.

You’re not in the right state to analyze that you’ve managed to organically draw out this reaction from him. You’d tried to manufacture it since leaving London, but he always seemed to see right through it.  

“You suggested meeting in the middle,” he says, dropping a hand to your bare thigh. “Are you too stubborn to see that I’ve been trying to do just that?”

You’re beyond excited about his hand placement—pussy clenching in anticipation. However, your thoughts have snagged on his words.

“You can choose not to deal with it,” you say softly, looking away from him.

He’s not deterred by that.

His fingers trace light patterns along the inside of your thighs, making your skin prickle. And when he grabs the hem of your dress, your eyes snap back to him.

But you don’t stop him.

Why the fuck would you?

This is what you want from him.

Not conversation.

You lift your hips, allowing him to pull the dress all the way up, leaving it bunched around your stomach.

His eyes catch on the white lace thong, and you find yourself stepping your legs further apart.

“I can’t get to know you, but I can do this?”

He resumes trailing patterns across your thighs.

He places a knee on the chair and leans forward until you’re forced to back against the chair. All the while, his hand moves further and further up your thigh.

Your breath hitches as you squirm in the chair.

He’s never touched you there before.

“I asked a question,” he gently reminds you, pausing his movements.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you whisper.

The back of his fingers ghost across your panties. Your hips jerk in response.

“Shall I just listen to what your body is saying instead, then?”

He cups your pussy firmly with his right hand, the heel of his palm resting right against your clit. He uses his left to cup your chin, keeping your face angled at his eyes.

“You get ten grinds,” he says, voice low and even.

Your eyes widen in disbelief, mouth parting as you start to protest. “What the hell—”

Before you can finish, he presses the heel of his palm harder against your clit, effectively cutting off the rest of your sentence. The pressure is firm and steady, sending a spark straight through you. Your hips twitch forward on instinct.

A million thoughts are running through your mind. How did you get here? What must this man think of you? Completely unwilling to talk about anything remotely personal, but fully willing to rub your pussy against whatever body part he chooses to offer up? And, most importantly, why only ten?

You roll your hips forward, dragging your clit across the heel of his palm.

“One.” He counts, before proceeding to interpret what your body is telling him. “Meeting each other’s parents scares you.”

You thrust upwards again, harder this time. Partially in annoyance, but also because it feels good.

“Two—enough to make you hide in a clearly restricted section of this mansion.”

You try to focus on what you’re feeling and not the fact that this man literally has you in the palm of his hand while he reads you like a book.

“Three—you’d rather pick a fight than tell me you’re overwhelmed.”

You grip his arm with both hands in an attempt to press it against your clit harder. But when he starts to pull his hand away, you panic and release him.

You’re getting this much, you don’t want it to stop.

You rest your hands on his shoulders instead, each roll of your hip staying controlled as the friction steadily builds—but never enough to tip you over. When you try to chase more, he simply lifts his hand a fraction, denying you until you settle back down. His commentary dwindles for a beat as he keeps your head in place, ensuring your eyes remain locked on his.

After the seventh grind, find yourself pleading through deep breaths, “I want more.”

He doesn’t say anything to that—he just keeps counting, keeps telling you about yourself.

“Eight—you test me to see if I’ll leave.”

You repeat your plea on the next one, a little more desperate now. “Chan, I want more.”

He answers with a gentle squeeze of your chin and a single kiss to your lips.

“Nine—but you don’t actually want me to.”

You bite your bottom lip and still your hips.

One more lift and you know it won’t be enough.

Still, that’s not enough to stop you from taking it.

You give one final, slow roll of your hips against his hand, dragging out the friction for as long as you can.

“Ten.” He concludes, letting his fingers tease your folds through your underwear. “You always have one foot out the door.”

He removes his hand completely, stepping back just far enough that you can’t reach him.

You’re flushed, the ache between your legs left angry and unsatisfied.

“I said I want more,” you glare at him, pressing your thighs together.

When it becomes clear he isn’t going to give you more, you stand from the chair with an exasperated sigh. You move to pull the dress back down but he stops you.

“Take those off.”

“What?”

“Your underwear. I want them.”

You quirk a brow.

“I thought we were just stating the things we want?”

You slip your thumbs through the side of the thong and pull them down, placing a hand on his chest to steady yourself as you step out of them. You grab his hand and place the damp material in his palm.

“We can’t risk messing up these clothes,” he tells you, giving the thong a twirl around his finger before shoving it into his pocket. “Let’s finish the shoot and then talk about ‘more’ at home.”

“It shouldn’t require much talking,” you mumble.

He holds out the crook of his arm for you.

You look at his arm, then his face, then proceed to step around him and exit the room.

You try to push what happened to the back of your mind for the rest of the shoot, but every time a breeze finds its way to your uncovered pussy, your mind goes straight back to it. To the thought of him having your underwear in his pocket.

To the hope of more at home.

More. More. More.

It’s such a greedy, all-consuming word when you stop to think about it.

And you have done just that because you’ve been home for over an hour now and Chan hasn’t brought it up. You're hesitant to do it yourself. You know the end result you’d be aiming for by doing so, but don’t want to open the door for his version of talking through more tonight. Or ever, if you had your way.

You separate to shower, then meet back up in the kitchen. You’re scrolling through delivery options on your phone as you enter. Chan already has the refrigerator door wide open.

“I thought we were ordering in?”

“I decided we should cook,” he announces, setting various veggies on the counter.

You set your phone down on the island and look at the spread he’s taking out.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

“Because I’m pretty confident I’ll butcher whatever it is.”

“Come on, it can’t be that bad.”

You glance at the tofu, mushrooms, onions, green onions, and kimchi laid out in front of you.

“If we’re having mac and cheese, I got it covered. Anything outside of that and you’re tempting fate that this place doesn’t go up in flames.”

You’ve never been a fan of cooking. Too many variables. Too many things that could go wrong. It’s best just to steer clear of it altogether.

He slides you a cutting board. “Cut the onions.”

You could object.

You really could return to your room and order delivery for yourself.

But you don’t.

He then hands you a knife.

You grab the handle and immediately angle the sharp end toward your chest.  

“Like this?”

“Knock it off,” he says, jaw firmly set.

You give an exaggerated pout and set the knife down to wash your hands before proceeding with your assigned task. Chan bring another cutting board in front of himself and grabs the tofu.

“What are we making?”

“Kimchi jjigae.”

“ . . . and that is?” you ask, holding the onion steady to cut it straight down the middle.

“A stew,” he tells you, glancing over at your work. “Usually, you want to peel it first.”

You stare at the onion and frown.

“That would’ve been helpful information thirty seconds ago.”

“You can always ask if you aren’t sure.”

You set down the knife and peel away the papery skin before trying again.

Chan busies himself slicing the tofu. Every piece nearly identical in size.

You glance between his cutting board and yours.

“Is this some sort of humiliation ritual? I’m terrible at this.”

He looks at the onion you’ve mutilated. His brows come together momentarily before they flatten out.

“You’re holding the knife wrong, for starters.”

He sets down his knife and steps behind you.

Your shoulders stiffen.

His hand settles around your wrist, guiding your grip on the handle. His fingers are warm against yours and the contact is gentle . . . patient, in a way you aren’t used to. And also strange in a way you hadn’t expected. You’ve been far closer than this already—pressed together for cameras, tangled together on couches. But this feels different.

There’s no audience.

You’re not arguing.

He is simply teaching you how to cut an onion.

So why the hell does it feel so intimate?

You become acutely aware that he’s close enough for you to catch the clean scent of his body wash.

His voice is quiet beside your ear when he says, “Like this.”

You stiffen again to hide the shiver that runs down your spine.

“It gives you more control,” he continues, “and angle the knife slightly inward so it follows the curve of the onion.”

You didn’t know onions had curves.

He lets go of your hand on the knife, then places his hands on your hips.

“Now, curl your fingertips on the onion.”

“You think I’ll chop them off?”

“I don’t know how you got through the first half without doing that already, to be honest.”

You shove an elbow against his stomach playfully before concentrating and carefully slicing the onion.

He doesn’t step away immediately.

You can feel his attention more than his touch now, watching each careful slice until he’s satisfied you’re not about to lose your fingertips.

Only then does he retreat to the stove, preparing a large pot with water for the stew.

When you’re done, the pieces are still slightly uneven but much better than what you did on your own.

“Good,” he says.

You hide a smile at the praise.

“Should I fix the others?”

He looks pointedly at them.

“I don’t think that’s possible . . . ”

“But they’re, like, six different sizes.”

“They’ll all end up in the same stew,” he shrugs.

“But they’ll cook at different speeds, no?”

“I thought you didn’t know anything about cooking?”

You press your lips into a firm line at that.

“I just know I’m not good at it.”

“You’re learning. You have to start somewhere.”

He takes the cutting board and dumps them into the pan where the pork belly is simmering.

“Will your parents be disappointed that I don’t know how to cook?”

His hand pauses for only a fraction of a second before stirring again.

The fact that you even asked that question almost catches you off guard, too.

“No. They’ll probably be more concerned with feeding you until you can’t move.”

“So we can blame them if I don’t fit into the wedding dress?”

“Absolutely,” he nods. “Alright, make the rice next.”

“Yes, chef!”

The dynamic between you feels easier in this setting.

He tends to the stew as he patiently guides you through making rice using the knuckle method as a unit of official measurement. It seems suspicious to you, but he swears it works every time.

And he’s right. It comes out light and fluffy.

“Come here,” he says when the stew is done.

You move toward him without hesitation—no defiance like this afternoon.

He scoops up the broth in the ladle, blows on it, then holds it toward your mouth, hand cupped beneath it.

You take a sip and nod your approval.

“That’s actually really good.”

He grins. “You did that.”

“Well, we haven’t tried the onions yet,” you remind him playfully.

Once the meal is plated—or bowled in this instance—you eat together at the table.

More still isn’t brought up once.

Dinner finishes and you clean up together. He wipes down the dishes and you put them in the dishwasher.

After that, the two of you wander onto the balcony. The city is alive at night below—cars creeping in traffic, distant sirens.

You lean your elbows against the railing.

“Where do your parents live?” you ask.

“Sydney. You?”

“Seattle.”

“Should we go to yours first?”

“No. Let’s do your first.”

He pauses. “Really?”

“Yeah . . . ” you shrug, “. . . I think it’ll be easier.”

“Okay.”

He doesn’t press for more information and a comfortable silence settles between you.

You can’t remember the last time silence with another person you’ve been intimate with didn’t feel like something that needed filling.

Chan watches the skyline a moment before speaking.

“So.”

“So?”

He glances sideways at you.

“Was staying in tonight fun?”

Your lips twitch. “It was.”

“Yeah?”

His smile widens.

“Don’t ruin this,” you say.

“I distinctly remember someone insisting there was only one way to have fun on a night in.”

“I don’t recall phrasing it like that.”

The breeze catches a strand of your hair, blowing it across your face. Before you can brush it away, Chan reaches over and tucks it behind your ear.

His fingers linger for a second before he closes the small distance between you.

The kiss is unexpected, but welcome.

Possibly the first you’ve shared without any teasing, pushing boundaries or trying to get a reaction.

Just warm lips and the quiet certainty of someone choosing to be close.

And that someone is you.

His mouth moves slowly against yours, as if he has nowhere else he’d rather be and that makes your chest tighten.

When he finally breaks the kiss, he pulls back a bit, but you can still feel his breath brushing lightly against your skin. He looks at you like he’s waiting to see what you do with this.

And for once, you don’t have anything clever to say.

You just kiss him again.

a/n: i pinky promise this slow burn shit kills me as much as it kills you. i have to remind myself the buildup is just as exciting. tbh i could use a brat tamer in my life 😂 thank you for reading! ALSO HOW ARE WE FEELING ABOUT CHAN'S RED LOCKS? i was hoping for black after his bubble message but this looks good on him, too! like sir please sit down and offer your fucking thigh to me right now. or hand, after this chapter hehehe

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[hanopium]

Dirty Secret

pairing: h.hyunjin x 9thmember!f!reader

genre: smut, fwb

synopsis: hyunjin fucks you in a pool while the other members wander around...

warnings: exhibitionism, slight voyeurism, dom!hyunjin, sub!reader, fingering, tongue kissing, marking, saliva, piv, unprotected sex(wrap it up), cocky hyunjin

wc: 1.5k

a/n: yeah this had to happen after he STRIPPED ON CAMERA UNPROVOKED??? i got the image above from a blog, i cant find it anymore but ty to the person<3

didnt proofread more than once. this is lowkey a filler bc im writing something else rn and want to post

His breath fans on your skin. Warm. Teeth dig into the curve of your neck, his palms soothing the dip of your waist.

“Hyune…” you hitch at the sting of his canines sinking deeper into the flesh, pushing his shoulders in a poor attempt of creating some brief distance.

To knock some sense into him.

“Should we be doing this here–,” you blurt out, wet lashes fluttering to shake the water off them. The boys had just moved inside, leaving you and Hyunjin on your own, giving him the opportunity to pounce on what was his.

That is, you.

Hyunjin's lips press against the mark swelling red, plump lips gliding to your collarbone in light pampers. He hushes your whines, drinking where water had splashed on the smooth skin. “Who cares?”

You huff.

Who cares?

He should. Considering that no one is aware of this thing you two have going on — especially after they each promised to keep their dicks tucked in their pants, only for Hyunjin to break the oath the second you decided to look at him with those pleading eyes. How could a man refuse such an offer? You did this to him.

“They won't know if you keep it down,” his gaze drifts, meeting yours amidst the heat of his tongue grazing the curve of your breast. He grins, cocky. “Can you at least do that?”

Your eyes roll, pinching his arm with a flush creeping up your neck. He winces, kicking the bottom of the pool to lift himself up. “Don't be stupid… if they catch us then–”

“Then what?” he interrupts, tone challenging. “They find out that you're mine? Good, they were starting to piss me off.” he says and you blink, a question dying in your throat when he steps closer, forcing a proximity where his forehead bumps into yours. “Don't tell me you haven't noticed?” He hooks a finger around the loop attaching your bottom, watching the confidence in your body morph into compliance the closer he gets to taking what he's been craving all night. “You're denser than I thought.”

“What–”

“I thought,” he says, blown out pupils staring right into yours. “That you would be able to tell when a man wants to fuck you…” his palms stroke your thighs, parting them further. 

“When he wants to keep you wide open for him.” Hyunjin guides you towards the edge of the pool with his words and your back curves to the shape of it. “Making you arch for him… hand pressed to your spine.”

You yelp when he abruptly pivots you, maneuvering your body with practiced ease. His mouth makes contact with your ear, voice unbearably hot in a whisper, “Bending you over to split your tiny cunt on his cock. Dripping and cum oozing out after he's done.”

“Hyunjin…” you beg, fingers clamping down on the hard border.

“That's how they look at you,” his hand runs lower, teasing the edge of your bikini. “Don't you think it's my right to take you right now, right here. Let them find out, I don’t give a fuck.” He doesn't wait for a definite answer, because your silence speaks louder than simple words, quietly offering yourself to him just how he loves it. “Hm, that's what I thought.” he coos, hand finally gliding underneath the bottom. His fingers find your slit, drawing the cutest gasp from your throat.

“Easy now,” he inches lower, feeling the dampness that isn’t from the ripples crashing against your bodies. Cursing under his breath, he rolls his middle finger over your clit. Teasing, tempting you to whine into the movement. You do, shamefully so, encouraging him to do more. Give you more.

Insatiable.

He holds a laugh, lips wrapping onto your earlobe while his other hand holds your jaw tight, urging soft sighs from you. “Come on, show me how badly you want it,” his words goad you, meek hands gripping his arm, diving him deeper towards your heat. He hums in approval when your hand snakes above his, showing him the spot of your desire.

Hyunjin spreads your folds with two fingers, movement fluid against your wetness. He wastes no time in giving you what you're begging him for, hearing the plates in the kitchen clank and chairs scraping. There's scarcely any time left before you're interrupted. “Arch for me,” he instructs. You obey, perking your rear onto him, grinding onto his erection. He sucks in a breath, the intrusion of his fingers has you biting your bottom lip, two thick digits rubbing against your walls in slick ease. “God,” he slaps a palm over your mouth, muffling your growing moans as he hits the spot that melts the rigidity in your body.

“Hyunjin…” you mumble onto his skin, thighs wrapping themselves around him. He licks your flesh, the sweat cracking at your back sweet on his tongue, sucking the area just above the strap of your bikini. Paying you no mind, the water engulfs the otherwise loud squelches of his fingers ramming inside of your pussy. “Hyun–,” you try to warn, a knot coiling embarrassingly fast. Every simple touch is enough to have your stomach contracting, muscles spasming, beginning to tremble underneath him.

He notices, attention perked. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing small circles and it sends you to the edge. Biting onto his thumb, he pushes it past your lips, amused with the drool that spills past the bruised tissues. “You good?” The smirk is evident in his tone.

You wish you had the strength to punch the smugness out of him. However, he flips you to face him and his dark expression folds you. Heart squeezing almost immediately. The strain in his swim shorts brushes your knee, leg purposely grinding on him. He groans, forehead creasing into a pleasured frown. He brings you closer, nose ghosting on yours, “Open.”

You do. God, you do.

Lips parting just for him, a high pitched noise leaves him, tongue darting out to dance with yours. Obscene. The kiss is lewd and full of need. Throwing your arms around his neck, his fingers entangle in your wet hair, pinning you to the edge of the pool. He takes what he wants, rolling his pants to free himself, he eggs your bottom to the side. “Don't make a sound,” he warns, grinning into the kiss, “–unless you want everyone to know about our dirty secret.”

There's nothing delicate in the way he steadies your hips, grasping you with a barely controlled touch as he forces you down on his cock. Fully bottoming out in one go, stretched beyond limit in a wet burn. Your cry is swallowed by his searing mouth, sharing your moans with your tongues. You're hardly kissing back, mouth wide and open for him to use while he jerks his hips towards you, tip probing at your cervix from how big he is. “s' big…” you sob, tears swelling up your eyes.

Hyunjin gentles you, pampering kisses alongside your cheek, a deep contrast to the harsh pace of his cock into your poor pussy. “Baby don't cry…” he soothes. An act. Mockery hidden underneath the sweet words he reassures you with, great satisfaction filling him the second your teeth bite into his shoulder, trying your best to keep quiet. How endearing.

The door cracks open, a voice emerging from it. “Hey guys, dinner's ready–,” Felix informs, pausing as he realises the strange proximity between you two. “What's going on?” he asks and you freeze. Big eyes lifting to meet Hyunjin's in a panicked daze, ears flushed. Hyunjin blinks, way too slowly for someone in his current position, muscle nudging at the inside of his cheek.

Cock still pulsating inside of your cunt.

He doesn't bother to pull out, merely opting to cradle your cheek in fake concern. “She had something in her eye. I was blowing it out, look at her poor tears.” he says, smiling wide and innocently. “Isn't that right, yn-ah?”

“Huh–” your vision drifts to Felix who is staring, then back to Hyunjin's unbothered expression, involuntarily clenching on him as he decides to pinch your sensitive nub, face contorting to one of brief pleasure before you can catch yourself. “Yes!” you hitch. “My lashes flew into my eye… we'll come soon– ah…” the last syllable fades into a distant moan, praying that Felix doesn't pick up on what is going on underwater.

“Right…” he replies, nodding in a skeptical glance but he doesn't push further. “Hurry up or it'll run cold.” The door clicks shut and you exhale. A huge one, an expression of displeasure washing over you as you hit an amused Hyunjin.

“Are you serious–?!” you scold and he shrugs.

“With what?” he jokes, rolling his hips into yours. “This?”

“Hyunjin, fuck– don't do that again…” you hope to sound threatening. You really do but it's futile, the sentence comes off as a plea. A plea that opposes the threat.

“It sure seemed like you liked it though,” he replies, bumping your clit. “You were clenching down on me like crazy. Think I couldn't feel you getting wetter?” he tilts his head, lifting your chin in a search for your abashed expression. “Don't act coy now, let's finish this upstairs yeah?”

Where he's got you to himself. Uninterrupted.

—

permanent: @zombunnie69 @shortcake-whoops @forgetfulsmols @simplyangelixa @enhaskz-0310 @bxngchxns3bigbxlls @cassie264 @smuttaburger @vinn1ee @minniesserafim @soonie1010 @lilmissfergy @onlyforhanji @xoshana @slippinthrumyfingers

[kurapikaenia]

Hate sex is still sex. — part 3 | ᴊᴇᴏɴ ᴊᴜɴɢᴋᴏᴏᴋ

You just got dumped. The one behind it? your boyfriend’s best friend Jungkook who’s hated you from day one. You hate him. He hates you. One thing’s for sure: when hate turns into desire, it gets messy, it gets reckless… and yes, hate sex is still sex.

3’—Somewhere between anger and desire, things with Jungkook stopped being simple. And lately, his coldness only seems to make it worse.

⎯⎯ pairing: Grumpy Jungkook x Mean girl reader

🧷Genre: enemies with benefits

🧷Warnings: 18+ content, explicit content, slight angst, commitment issues!reader, spoiled rich brat reader, pussydrunk!jk, dom!jk x sub!y/n mdni

🧷wc: 10k+

| one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten |

<>series m.list

You’d think that after getting dumped over a three-line text message, the absolute last thing you’d want is to show your face in public.

Most people would go into total isolation, saving themselves the grueling embarrassment and the suffocating awkwardness that comes with a high profile campus split. But your situation was different.

You didn’t actually care about running into Minho. You wouldn’t mind walking right past him on the quad, and you wouldn’t even blink if you heard his voice somewhere in the background of a packed lecture hall. What actually made your blood boil was the aftermath.

Somehow, your private breakup had turned into public entertainment for the entire student body. People who had never even spoken to you suddenly felt entitled to every single detail of your relationship—down to your sex life, which was a horrifying realization.

They were aggressively digging for information, cornering friends of friends, cross-examining random classmates, and whispering about it in entirely different departments. Everyone was trying to piece together the wreckage.

Normally, attention didn’t faze you. You loved being the center of a room, just not when it chipped away at the image you’d spent a year building. And definitely not when the campus rumor mill was claiming you’d gone missing for three days straight because you were heartbroken, depressed, and locked in your room crying over a sophomore engineering major.

The last thing you would ever do is lose sleep over Minho. Were you furious about being dumped? Obviously. Getting discarded over text, a few sloppy sentences ending in a neat, indifferent period tends to damage a person’s pride. But that wasn’t the real reason you’d been treating your bedroom like a bunker. At least, that’s the lie you kept telling yourself.

The truth was, there was someone else you were terrified of running into.

Jungkook.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t play dead forever. Not when you were the executive face of your sorority chapter, and certainly not when people expected you to actually show up and do the job you’d campaigned for.

So, you finally forced yourself out of bed and back onto the grid. You made a conscious effort to ditch the bright, pastel colors you usually wore, settling on an oversized, muted black sweater in a pathetic attempt to blend into the background.

You were hiding from your own sisters, the same people currently busy entertaining rumors about your love life over iced coffees in the dining hall.

The heavy, black-rimmed glasses you threw on were self explanatory. You never wore them, strictly sticking to contacts, and you were almost positive no one on campus had ever seen you in them before. But today they served as a literal shield; they made you look sharper, and more serious. You refused to be perceived as a joke the second the news officially broke that Minho was the one who walked away.

So far, though, no one actually knew the exact details of the text; which explained why the campus was in a frantic, speculative frenzy, trying to invent their own version of the story.

The second you stepped through the heavy front doors of the sorority house, you regretted leaving your apartment.

“Finally!”

Lina practically launched herself across the foyer before you could even clear the entryway mat, her hands clamping onto your shoulders like she was checking you for broken bones. “Where the hell have you been?” she demanded, her eyes scanning your face with detective-level scrutiny.

“Are you okay? Did you seriously cry for three days straight? Did you eat anything? Wait...are those glasses?” Of course that’s what she zeroed in on.

You let out a heavy sigh, peeling her fingers off your jacket and pushing past her toward the back reading room. “I’ve always had glasses, Lina.”

“Yeah, but you never wear them,” she shot back, her boots clicking right behind yours as she trailed you into the lounge. “You literally told me last semester that glasses make you look like a boring librarian. You refuse to be seen in them.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you grabbed a random stack of philanthropy event papers off the mahogany table, snapping the folder open and pretending to analyze the spreadsheets.

Lina wasn’t buying the performance for a second. “So?” she pressed, dropping her voice into a whisper as she leaned over the table. “What actually happened with Minho? Everyone is saying something different. Half the house thinks you dumped him because he was boring, some people think he cheated, and a guy in Sig Chi literally claimed you slapped him in public outside the library.”

Well, thank God the general consensus was that you were the one holding the knife. Even the campus gossips knew it was structurally impossible for someone to dump you, even though that was exactly what had happened, in the most clinical and humiliating way possible.

“So you’re not depressed?” Lina asked, squinting at you through your new frames. You flipped a page in the folder with an aggressive snap. “Do I look depressed?”

Lina opened her mouth to argue, then gestured vaguely at your dark sweater. “You’re wearing solid black.”

“Since when is black a symptom of depression?”

“Since you started wearing it, that’s for sure,” Lina countered immediately, eyeing your muted outfit with deep suspicion. “And the glasses? Seriously? Who are you trying to hide from?”

You rolled your eyes, refusing to break character. She stared at you. You stared right back through the lenses until her shoulders slumped. Eventually, Lina let out a sigh, realizing she wasn’t going to extract a confession out of you today.

“Fine,” she muttered, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You never tell me anything anyway. But we have a much bigger problem to deal with right now.”

You kept your eyes trained on the papers. “What problem?”

“The frat.”

Of course. Your house was co-sponsoring the entire upcoming spring calendar with them, which meant you were contractually obligated to deal with a group of boys who collectively shared a single functioning brain cell.

“They’re completely refusing to cooperate,” Lina continued, already snatching her tote bag off the sofa. “They won’t show up to the meetings here, they’re ghosting our emails, and apparently the only way to get their president to sign off on the budget is to physically drag ourselves over to the engineering faculty.”

You froze at the words; engineering faculty. The literal nest. You were already irritated just remembering how much diplomatic hell they’d put you through the last time you had to negotiate with them.

Your jaw tightened into a rigid line as you slammed the folder shut. “Fine,” you muttered. “Let’s get it over with.”

Ten minutes later, you already hated every single choice that had led you to this moment.

The mechanical engineering building was exactly how you remembered it: loud, brutalist, and overwhelmingly male. The exact second you and Lina walked through the electronic sliding doors, the entire atmosphere shifted in a way that made your skin prickle.

Eyes followed you down the main corridor like you were an anomaly. Conversations abruptly dipped into low murmurs before restarting as you passed. Someone near the vending machines let out a low, quiet whistle under his breath.

You locked your knees, ensuring your heels made a llethal click-clack against the polished concrete floor. If these idiots were going to stare, you were going to make them feel thoroughly stupid for doing it.

“The lounge meeting is on the top floor,” Lina muttered quietly beside you, checking her phone. Great.

The elevator ride felt three times longer than it actually was. By the time the metal doors chimed open, your stomach had twisted into an uneasy knot that you absolutely refused to acknowledge. Because somewhere on this exact floor… Jungkook was breathing.

It was almost comical, really. The one person you were losing your mind over running into wasn’t your ex-boyfriend; It was his best friend.

But you couldn’t even blame yourself for the panic; not after the unmitigated disaster of your last encounter.

Your mind involuntarily flashed back to that night—Jungkook pulling his car into the dark, underground garage of your penthouse building. The vehicle you’d aggressively keyed weeks prior. The air inside the cabin had still been thick and smelling faintly of sex from what you’d done. The silence between you had been unbearable, and you’d been swaddled in his oversized denim jacket like a makeshift walk-of-shame disguise.

Your dad’s ring camera would have alerted his phone the second the car cleared the sensor, and your father; currently doing business abroad and painfully overprotective would have had structural questions you had no intention of answering. So, Jungkook had stayed idling in the driver’s seat while you unbuckled and made the humiliating, stiff walk from the iron gate to the elevator lobby.

Every single step you took had been sore and painfully tight; a physical, visceral reminder of exactly how thoroughly he had split you open. The memory alone made your stomach turn over now. He had probably sat there in the dark, watching you limp away, his ego inflated enough to last him a lifetime. The thought of him feeling smug about your body made you feel physically sick.

You stepped out of the elevator anyway, ignoring the cold sweat creeping up the back of your neck as you marched down the hallway toward the designated frat lounge. Your heels echoed like gunshots in the narrow corridor. Lina was still talking rapidly beside you, something about the event budget, how they were trying to shortchange the sorority on the catering costs, and how you were going to have to “put them in their place.”

The moment you crossed the threshold into the lounge, the sheer volume of voices and the smell of stale coffee hit you all at once.

A dozen guys were scattered across the mismatched leather couches like they owned the square footage. A few of them looked like actual fraternity officers; others just looked like regulars hiding out to skip their afternoon labs, laptops open while their attention drifted everywhere except their screens.

Your eyes scanned the room automatically, looking for the president. And then your lungs completely emptied.

Jungkook; He was sitting a few cushions apart from the main cluster of frat officers, his laptop balanced on his thighs, a thick pair of black headphones clamped over his ears. His dark brows were tightly knitted together, completely checked out of the room as his eyes tracked whatever lines of text or code were running across his monitor.

You blinked behind your new lenses. Was he seriously skipping his afternoon engineering labs just to sit in a chaotic frat lounge and study by himself? The thought barely had time to form before a violent, deeply unwelcome knot twisted directly in your stomach.

Your anatomy fired off a warning shot, lighting up at the sheer proximity of him before your rational brain could even attempt to construct a defense. At this point, your nervous system had mapped out a dangerous, reflexive association. The mere sight of Jungkook’s frame meant one thing, and one thing only: sex.

It was a ridiculous, infuriating reaction, made ten times worse by the suffocating level of sexual frustration you’d been harboring over the last three days of isolation. You hadn’t texted him. You hadn’t dialed his number. You hadn’t given him the satisfaction of a single late-night ping.

Instead, you’d stayed locked in your penthouse like a stubborn idiot, suffering through the restless heat entirely on your own.

You kept your chin high, marching toward the center of the lounge with Lina, forcing your posture into something resembling corporate composure while your eyes did a fast, defensive scan of the room; Minho was nowhere to be seen.

At the rhythmic sound of heels cutting through the ambient noise of the lounge, Jungkook’s head lifted from his screen. He would have told himself it was just a reflex to someone entering the space, but deep down, he’d long since memorized the exact weight and cadence of the way your heels bit into a floor.

The moment you stepped into his line of sight, his dark eyes locked onto you, and you were instantly hit with a wave of hyper-awareness. You felt every inch of the armor you’d put on that morning; the heavy frames perched on the bridge of your nose, the oversized black sweater, the entire low-profile, “don't look at me” idiocy you’d tried to pull off.

He’d never seen you in glasses before. His gaze lingered on the frames for a fraction of a second, his pupils tracking the unfamiliar lines of your face before he abruptly dropped his chin, his eyes sliding right back down to his laptop.

Yeah. That was his new routine. He acted like you were just another body taking up oxygen in the room. Not like before; before you’d stood in front of that exit door and accused him of fabricating a connection just to get between your legs.

Despite the cold shoulder, your attention drifted back to him like a magnet. You took in the details of his outfit; a simple grey hoodie and matching sweatpants and a familiar prickle of irritation sparked under your skin at how unfairly good his physique looked in something so basic.

His eyebrows remained drawn together as he studied his screen, a deep, concentrated line appearing between his eyes. Your brain, entirely unhelpful, instantly connected that specific expression to the way he looked when his mouth was buried between your thighs. Your cheeks burned with an immediate, furious heat, and you had to physically swallow to force the image back down into the dark.

The ambient chatter in the lounge died out with comical speed the second Lina let out a loud, highly theatrical fake cough. It was impressive, really, how your presence could derail a room of twenty guys without you even opening your mouth. One second the space was a mess of overlapping voices and chairs scraping against the floor; the next, every single neck snapped in your direction.

Your stride slowed slightly under the collective weight of their stares. You weren’t used to them looking at you with this much confusion.

Usually, you walked into their house in bright colors, your hair perfectly blown out, looking an unapproachable prize. Today, you were drowning in black fabric and wearing glasses they didn’t recognize.

A few of the guys on the main sofa actually squinted, leaning forward to inspect you. “Hold on,” one of them said slowly, setting his red cup down. “Is that actually…?”

“No way,” another cut in, pointing at your face like a toddler. “Are you wearing glasses?”

A wave of lazy, amused laughter rippled through the couches. “And solid black?” someone added, leaning back dramatically. “Since when do you wear black? Who died?”

You stopped right in front of the central table, crossing your arms loosely over your chest, keeping your expression entirely deadpan despite your patience wearing paper thin. “I didn’t realize my wardrobe choices required a committee approval.”

That only made their grins widen. “Relax,” one of the older guys said, lifting his palms in a mocking gesture of surrender. “We’re just saying. This is like… a historic campus event. We’ve literally never seen your eyes without contacts.”

“Yeah,” another piped up. “Or your body without a designer dress.”

“Wait,” a guy near the back dragged the syllable out, his eyes glinting with gossip. “Is this like… a mourning thing? A breakup ritual?”

Lina immediately let out a loud groan, slapping a hand over her forehead. “Oh my God. Can we please not do this right now?”

But the guys were already far too entertained to stop. To be fair, you’d vanished from campus for three days straight, and given the massive, lingering question mark over why you and Minho were suddenly finished, your disappearance had been treated like a crime scene.

Especially since Lina had been the one forced to march over here and handle these idiots alone all week, a realization that made a tiny pang of guilt hit your stomach.

“Yeah, she completely abandoned me,” Lina complained loudly, throwing an accusatory finger in your direction. “Left me here to deal with these toddlers by myself for seventy-two hours.”

“Hey,” one of the guys protested with a grin. Another smirked, crossing his arms. “You say that like we didn’t give you the best week of your life, Lina.”

Lina rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful. “You literally refused to sign off on a single line-item budget.”

“That’s slander,” someone argued lazily from the depth of the couch. “We cooperated… emotionally.”

“That is literally not a legally binding concept,” Lina snapped.

The room broke into another round of loud, chaotic laughter. You let out a slow breath through your nose, forcing your muscles not to twitch toward the one corner of the room whose reaction you were desperate to avoid checking.

Before you could open your mouth to cut through the noise and start bossing them around, the heavy wooden door to the lounge bathroom swung open, and someone stepped out into the light. You glanced over. Yikes. Minho.

He froze the second he saw you, his posture turning incredibly stiff. His eyes locked onto yours for one long, agonizing second, and you could practically feel every single gaze in the room zoom in on the two of you like a magnifying glass. The guys were practically leaning out of their seats, hovering, waiting for a scream, a tear, or a public execution.

It was thoroughly embarrassing.

And ironically, your mind immediately skipped past the boy who had just dumped you and landed right back on his best friend. It was wild, really—your whatever-the-hell-this-was with Jungkook had more layers and more progression than your entire year-and-a-half-long relationship with Minho ever did.

With Minho, everything had been a scripted, predictable routine. With Jungkook… it was a violent storm.

You’d gone through cycles you couldn’t even explain to yourself: burning attraction, absolute disgust, sleeping together until your knees shook, hating his guts, letting him back between your legs, and repeating the whole toxic loop all over again. The border between pure hatred and physical desire had been rubbed so thin it didn’t even exist anymore.

And trying to read Jungkook lately? Completely impossible. He’d gone stone-cold. He carried himself with a clinical distance, like he’d permanently switched off the part of him that ever looked at you like a human being, the exact part you’d smashed when you told him he was just a pathetic fuckboy trying to clear a hurdle.

You actually regretted saying it, far more than you’d ever admit to his face, but your pride was a fortress. You’d never apologized. Not that he’d given you the chance anyway; he only used his mouth to argue with you or to destroy you on a mattress.

Minho shifted his weight awkwardly, realizing there wasn’t going to be a dramatic, cinematic confrontation in the middle of the engineering block. You were just staring back at him like he was a minor, annoying delay in your schedule.

He cleared his throat, muttered a low sentence to one of his fraternity brothers, and walked right past you, exiting the lounge without looking back.

The second the heavy door clicked shut behind him, you let out a tiny, imperceptible sigh. The room stayed weirdly quiet for a few. The guys, who were usually grating and insufferable, were actually watching you with an irritating level of caution; like you were a piece of fine china that might shatter if they spoke too quickly.

The implication pissed you off instantly. You squared your shoulders, setting your jaw. But what made your blood run hot with genuine fury was when your eyes inadvertently drifted back to the corner of the room.

Jungkook hadn’t looked up once during the entire interaction. He was still sitting there in his hoodie, his headphones clamped tight, staring at his spreadsheet like the drama didn’t even register on his radar. Like you weren’t even standing there. And for some godforsaken reason, his absolute indifference annoyed you ten times more than the actual breakup.

Exactly one hour later, you were fully convinced that fraternity men shared the collective attention span of a golden retriever.

Trying to keep them focused on an event layout for longer than thirty seconds was a form of psychological torture. Every single time you started breaking down the venue map, someone would interrupt with a joke, a side conversation would break out about a party from three weeks ago, or two guys would start a heated debate over the official rules of beer pong.

Fraternities, you realized, were only operationally efficient when it came to importing alcohol or blindly following a leader into a bad decision. For anything involving logistical coordination? Utterly useless.

By the time the meeting finally staggered to a halt, your patience was hanging by a single thread.

“So basically,” Lina groaned, rubbing her temples as she packed her folders, “that was an absolute waste of carbon footprint.”

You snapped your laptop closed with a definitive click. “Pretty much.”

Half the guys had already checked out mentally the second you started talking about fire codes, scrambling off the couches and snatching up their backpacks like they’d just survived a deployment.

You looked down at the messy, half-finished notes on the table. Nothing real was going to get done in this building. “We’re finishing the layout spreadsheet at Lina’s house tonight,” you announced to the remaining officers. “Be there by eight.”

A few of the guys immediately perked up, their ears tuning in at the word house. Lina pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s a working meeting, idiots. Not a mixer,” she muttered, though none of them were actually listening.

You hated how easily your eyes wandered when you were irritated. Before you could walk out, your gaze caught Jungkook. His long fingers were flying across his keyboard with total precision. Your eyes lingered on the faint, calloused red tinge across his knuckles, tracking the way the thick veins along the back of his hands shifted every time he hit a key.

Your thighs pressed together, a tight, involuntary reaction that made you curse yourself internally. Great. You tore your eyes away before you could lose your mind.

This was exactly why you needed to get back to your apartment. Your brain was entirely unstable, and the last thing your body needed was a visual reminder of exactly what those heavy hands could do when they were pressed into your skin.

You swung your leather bag over your shoulder and headed straight for the exit, refusing to linger in the hallway while the frat boys crowded the elevator.

By the time you cleared the electronic doors of the engineering faculty, the late afternoon air felt humid. Your mind was a wreck, replaying memories you’d spent seventy-two hours trying to incinerate. On the long walk toward the campus gate, you stopped by a convenience store out of sheer habit, grabbing a cold onigiri from the open fridge, hoping the salty flavor might distract you from the dull, throbbing ache low in your pelvis.

When you stepped back onto the pavement, your driver was already idling at the curb. You slid into the leather backseat, taking a small bite of the rice as the car pulled into traffic, focusing entirely on the food so you wouldn’t have to face the restless, unrewarded heat pooling behind your underwear.

The second you unlocked your penthouse door, you shed your clothes and stepped straight into the shower, turning the nozzle until the water was scalding, letting the steam fill the glass stall. It helped clear the campus grease, but by the time you dried off and pulled on a pair of loose cotton shorts and a thin tank top, your skin was clean, but your head was still entirely chaotic.

You dropped onto the mattress with a heavy sigh, reaching for your phone. You had an hour to kill before you had to drive over to Lina’s place, so you figured a nap might reset your system.

Instead, you found yourself scrolling aimlessly through social media, your thumb moving through your feed without registering a single video or caption. Eventually, without your permission, your finger drifted over to your photo gallery.

During your three days of isolation, you’d made a point to delete every single trace of Minho from your cloud. But to ensure the purge was complete, you started scanning through your older folders, checking the backgrounds.

Then, your thumb froze over a thumbnail you’d completely forgotten about. It was a candid photo you’d snapped of Lina a few months ago during a late-night house party. She was completely hammered, half-collapsed into a mountain of velvet couch cushions, laughing hysterically at something out of frame.

You’d taken it to blackmail her later. But Lina wasn’t the detail that caught your eye now. In the background of the shot, slightly blurred by the camera’s depth of field, Jungkook was there.

He was sprawled on the opposite end of the sectionals, his long legs spread lazily across the rug, head tipped back against the leather frame like he’d fallen asleep right in the middle of a sentence. His eyes were shut, his dark hair falling messily across his forehead, one heavy arm draped loosely over the top of the backrest.

You stared at the pixels on your screen for far too long. Something in your chest plummeted into your stomach, a slow, liquid heat spreading through your lower abdomen before you could stop it.

So annoying.

You locked the screen, tossing the phone face down on the sheet, then immediately picked it back up and unlocked it again, as if a second look would change the image. It didn’t. Your eyes went straight back to his body.

You remembered that night vaguely. The house had been deafeningly loud, Lina had been slurring her words, and Jungkook had disappeared into the kitchen to handle the ice situation, only to reappear an hour later looking completely drained. You hadn’t noticed him crashing out in the background when you took the picture. Now, you couldn’t look anywhere else.

With an irritated swipe, you hit the trash icon and permanently deleted it, throwing the phone onto the mattress beside you. You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling with a frustrated groan. You weren’t thinking about him. You were absolutely not going to think about him.

You closed your eyes, determined to force yourself into a nap. But your muscles refused to settle. You shifted once, twisting the sheets around your ankles, then turned onto your side, then back onto your stomach; restless and hyper-aware of the friction of the fabric against your skin.

It was deeply uncomfortable. The warmth pooling between your thighs was getting heavier by the minute. Your brain, completely defying your orders, went right back to the composition of that deleted photo. To Jungkook.

The way his frame had been sprawled across that sofa. His thighs spread wide, completely unbothered by the space he was taking up. His arm over the backrest, the short sleeve of his tee pulled back just enough to expose the thick, flexed curve of his bicep under the weight of his limb. Your imagination started aggressively filling in the rest of the canvas.

His jawline. His knuckles. His mouth.

Before you could stop the slide, you weren’t thinking about a digital image anymore—you were thinking about the man. You thought about the dangerous way his jaw ticked whenever you pushed his buttons too hard during an argument. A dark, lethal stare he gave you right before he decided he was entirely done talking.

Your thighs clamped together automatically. The tight pressure relieved the throb for a split second, but your mind kept racing, diving deeper into the memory of his heavy hands locking onto your hip bones to control your movements, flipping your weight around on that lounge couch like you weighed nothing at all. The low, raspy gravel of his voice when he told you to shut up.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your breath hitching. This was pathetic.

You shifted against the mattress, desperate to calm the electric twitching through your nerves. It worked for maybe two seconds. Then the heat flared out, spreading through your stomach until your skin felt tight.

You remembered how he would lean over you during a fight, invading your personal space until you were forced to breathe in his cologne, making your pulse jump before he even laid a finger on you.

You rolled onto your stomach, burying your face in the plush pillow to stifle a frustrated sound, but the darkness behind your eyelids only made the images sharper. Everything kept leading right back to him.

Before your pride could stage a comeback, your fingers hooked under the waistband of your cotton shorts, pushing the fabric down your hips. You kicked them off until they tumbled over the edge of the bed, leaving you in nothing but your thin silk underwear. The gusset was already damp, clinging to your heat.

This wasn’t unfamiliar territory. You knew your own body; it wasn’t like you’d never handled things yourself before. It was just… it had been months since you’d needed to. Mostly because whenever Jungkook was within arm’s reach, you never had to.

The thought made you let out a low groan into the pillow. Before he’d ruined your expectations, you’d honestly thought sex was an overrated, largely boring chore. You’d never understood why your sorority sisters spent hours analyzing it when every encounter you’d had left you entirely underwhelming.

Your mind used to wander whenever you tried to finger yourself; you’d get bored halfway through, distracted by your to-do list, and eventually just give up and go to sleep.

That was before Jungkook had completely rewired your nervous system. Now, your brain was a broken record, playing every single obscene detail of his touch on a loop.

You rolled onto your back with a furious huff, staring blindly at the white ceiling, your legs shifting restlessly against the sheets. You closed your eyes, reaching down until your hand was cupping your own heat through the silk. Unable to take the agonizing frustration for another second, you hooked your fingers into the waistband of your panties, sliding them down your legs in one swift motion before tossing them aside.

The throbbing low in your pelvis refused to break until you finally brought your bare fingers down, stroking your clitoris back and forth in a slow, steady rhythm. You carefully parted your own folds, your skin slippery and hot, your thoughts entirely fixed on his face. Your fingers slid through the moisture, circling the sensitive entrance before you finally drove a finger inside, your muscles clenching tightly around the intrusion with a small hiss.

You squeezed your thighs around your own hand, throwing your head back against the pillow as you imagined his heavy, calloused fingers replacing yours. You could practically feel the way he would split you open, driving two fingers deep inside you and curling them against your g-spot while he muttered filthy, degrading things against your ear.

You pictured your thighs pinned against his cheeks while his tongue traced wet, burning patterns up your skin, destroying your composure until you were fisting his dark hair and surrendering every ounce of your control to him.

You thought about the way he folded your body like plastic when he got intense, dominating your weight completely while you took every single hard inch he gave you.

Your fingers started working through your wetness frantically now, the sheer, blinding speed of your thoughts driving you closer and closer to the edge.

You thought about the very first night you’d met him at that mixer, before the venom had taken over, when he’d gently tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear and looked down at you like you hung the stars. You remembered his eyes in the low light—the tiny, golden flecks in his brown irises and how you’d looked right back.

And then... your spine went rigid. Your entire body convulsed as the orgasm slammed into your pelvis like a physical blow.

A wrecked, keening cry cut through the quiet bedroom, his name echoing behind your teeth as the contractions pulled through your muscles for long, breathless seconds.

Your chest heaved, your face buried back into the mattress as the final, tingling aftershocks rolled through your thighs. By the time your breathing finally slowed, you were a shaky, sweating mess, your skin hot against the sheets and suddenly, violently aware of your surroundings.

You glanced around the empty room, and a cold wave of realization hit you. You weren’t satisfied at all. If anything, the self-induced climax had only highlighted the absence of his weight, leaving your sexual frustration burning twice as hot.

The silence of the penthouse felt suffocatingly loud now. You stared at the ceiling for a long, miserable beat before letting out a furious groan and dragging a pillow directly over your face. “Great,” you muttered into the fabric, your voice muffled and cracked. “Completely pathetic.”

Eventually, the sheer exhaustion of the embarrassment caught up to you, and before you could overthink it any further, your eyelids grew heavy, and you drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

You woke to the violent, jarring vibration of your phone buzzing against the mattress right next to your ear. For a second, you were entirely disoriented, blinking heavily against the dark amber light of the late evening filtering through your drapes. It took your brain a moment to realize you’d slept right through the sunset.

Your hair was a static mess, your cheek indented from the pillowcase when the phone started vibrating again. You groaned, blindly reaching into the sheets until your fingers closed around the metal casing. Lina is FaceTime-ing you.

You frowned, your thumb sliding across the screen to accept. “What?” you muttered, your voice hoarse from sleep.

Lina’s face immediately filled the screen, her phone held way too close to her eyes. Her hair was slightly crazed, and she looked like she’d been pacing. “Finally,” she whispered harshly into her mic.

“Why the hell are you whispering?” you asked, rubbing your eyes.

Instead of answering, Lina flipped the camera view. Your eyes instantly widened, the last remnants of sleep vanishing from your system. Her living room had been transformed into your absolute worst nightmare.

Fraternity guys were everywhere. Someone was sitting casually on the armrest of her mother’s expensive sofa, another guy was digging through a family sized bag of chips as though he paid rent, and loud bass heavy music was pulsing from a speaker hidden somewhere near the television.

You sat up straight in bed, the sheet falling to your waist. Right. The “working meeting.”

“…Lina,” you said, your tone dropping into a warning register.

“I know!” she whisper-yelled back, flipping the camera back to her face.

In the background, someone shouted something incomprehensible over the music, followed by a loud crash of a plastic cup hitting the floor. Lina pinched the bridge of her nose, her shoulders slumped. “Minho brought people,” she muttered quickly. “And then those people texted more people. And now my house is apparently an unofficial satellite frat house.”

You dragged a hand over your face, your head thropping. But something she said suddenly caught in your throat. “…Wait.” You narrowed your eyes at the screen. “Did you just say Minho is there?”

Minho wasn’t even an officer on the event committee.

Lina hesitated, her eyes darting away from the lens for a fraction of a second. “…Yeah.”

“Why the fuck is he at your house, Lina?” you asked slowly.

“He showed up with the president’s car pool,” she muttered, glancing over her shoulder as another burst of laughter erupted behind her. You could hear someone screaming about a shot glass. “Look, I tried to stop them at the door, but it just happened.”

“This was supposed to be a strict logistics review,” you said, your teeth grinding.

“I know,” she whispered miserably. “And now it’s… whatever the hell this is.”

You swung your legs out of bed, standing up. Lina suddenly looked back at the screen, her expression tightening. “Oh, also… Jungkook is here.”

You sat right back down on the edge of the mattress.

Your stomach dropped before you could stop the physical reaction. “Why is he—”

But Lina had already panned the camera around the room again to prove her point. The lens swept across the crowded living room—guys scattered across the furniture, drinks lining the marble counters, the usual frat chaos. And then the camera centered on him.

Jungkook was sitting on the far end of the couch, his long legs spread slightly, the sleeves of his grey hoodie pushed up past his forearms while he listened to one of his brothers ramble next to him. He looked completely, aggravatingly relaxed despite the absolute circus surrounding him.

As Lina held the phone up, Jungkook’s dark eyes abruptly lifted, tracking the angle of her camera until he was looking directly through the screen, right at you. A split second later, Lina flipped the lens back to herself.

“So,” she said, her voice frantic. “Are you coming over or not?”

You stared at the dark screen for a frivolous second. As if your day couldn’t possibly get any more structurally unstable.

You were still vibrating with leftover sexual frustration, and now you were expected to march into a house occupied by the boy who had dumped you over text and the best friend you’d been secretly riding for months.

You let out a low, ragged groan into your hand. “Give me fifteen minutes,” you muttered.

“Make it ten,” Lina said before snapping the call shut.

You sat on the edge of the bed for another thirty seconds, staring at your blank phone before forcing yourself to stand up. How bad could it actually be?

After the total disaster of your low-profile outfit on campus earlier, you decided to scrap the camouflage.

If you were going to walk into an ambush, you were going to look untouchable. You swapped your shorts for a tight black skirt that hit mid thigh and a simple cream knit top, throwing on a lightweight jacket before grabbing your leather bag and heading downstairs to your driver.

Lina’s family home sat at the cul-de-sac of a quiet, wealthy street. Her parents were international corporate lawyers who were almost never in the country, meaning Lina essentially had a five-bedroom house to herself most semesters. And tonight, half the engineering faculty was treating it like a playground.

Your driver pulled into the long driveway, and the second you cracked the car door, the muffled thump of bass vibrations rattled through the brick walls, silhouettes moving across the glass windows as you approached the porch.

You let out a heavy breath and marched up the steps. The front door wasn’t even latched. The moment you stepped into the foyer, the full volume of the music and the smell of cheap gin hit you like a wall.

The house had a massive, open-concept layout with vaulted ceilings that made every voice echo. The main living room flowed right into a state-of-the-art kitchen, separated only by a wide white marble island.

Normally, the place looked like an architectural digest spread. Right now, it looked like a high-end tailgate.

You spotted Lina standing near the refrigerator, her face a perfect mixture of intense stress and absolute disbelief. The second her eyes caught yours, she let out a breath. “Finally.”

You dropped your leather bag onto the marble island, your eyes instantly judging three guys who were currently tossing a lime between them. “What happened to the layout review, Lina?”

“I don’t know,” she groaned, throwing her hands in the air. “They just kept multiplying at the door.”

For the next ten minutes, the two of you attempted to restore some semblance of order. Attempted being the operational word.

You ordered a group of sophomores to clear off the dining table so you could set up your papers, while Lina tried to locate the bluetooth speaker to turn the volume down. The fraternity president promised to help line everyone up, then immediately got distracted by a text message and walked into the backyard.

Eventually, you gave up entirely. With a sharp sigh, you pulled your laptop from your bag, propped it open on the kitchen island, and opened the event draft anyway. If these idiots weren’t going to cooperate, you were at least going to finish the layout draft before the midnight deadline your professor had set.

Behind your back, the noise continued to swell. You hammered away at your keyboard, trying to block out the environment. Lina was currently arguing with a guy near the pantry about where she kept the extra cups, and another guy kept asking where the downstairs bathroom was like it was a riddle. Your fingers hovered over the keys, stalling out. You glanced up, and you immediately regretted it.

Across the expanse of the living room, Jungkook was leaning his weight back against the sofa, watching the room like the entire party had absolutely nothing to do with him.

Your jaw clenched in pure annoyance. Of course he looked perfect. His dark hair looked slightly damp at the temples, pushed back messily as if he’d been running his fingers through it all evening. The house was running warm from the sheer number of bodies, and there was a faint, glistening sheen of sweat along the side of his neck that caught the low light every time he turned his head.

Your brain, acting entirely against your best interests, cataloged every single detail; The way his hoodie sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, exposing the thick flex of his forearms every time he lifted his beer bottle. The casual, wide spread of his thighs as he sat back, one heavy arm thrown over the leather ridge of the couch.

It infuriated you how entirely unbothered he looked, like your entry into the house hadn’t even registered on his radar.

You snapped your eyes back down to your screen before your thoughts could drift down to your pelvis again. You tried to type a sentence, anything coherent but every five seconds, your eyes cut back up against your will.

Someone told a joke, and Jungkook let out a low, lazy laugh. Your stomach twisted into a knot, your fingers tapping a restless, chaotic rhythm against the marble counter. God, you loathed how hyper-aware you were of his breathing. It was like your nervous system was on strike, refusing to settle until he gave you some form of acknowledgment.

When he shifted his weight forward to set his beer down, his fingers raking briefly through his messy hair, you had to physically force your head down.

A deeply inconvenient thought flashed through your mind; remembering how it felt to have your own fingers tangled in those exact dark strands while he was buried between your legs. You snapped your gaze back to the monitor, your teeth biting into the inside of your lip.

This was ridiculous. You felt restless, irritable, and entirely pushed to the edge, but what was driving you genuinely insane was how Jungkook was sitting right there, acting like your entire existence meant absolutely nothing to him.

And then there was Minho. You noticed him a second later, leaning casually against the far counter near the liquor cabinet, talking smoothly to Lina. He looked perfectly comfortable, entirely unaffected by the text message he’d sent you three days ago, which only added fuel to the fire burning under your skin.

Perfect. Just beautiful. Your ex-boyfriend and his best friend, taking up the exact same square footage while you tried not to lose your godforsaken mind over a laptop.

Lina appeared beside you a moment later, cracking open a silver can of beer with a sharp hiss. She leaned her elbow on the island, peering over your shoulder at your spreadsheet, an apologetic look on her face. You just gave her a small, indifferent shrug.

She took a slow sip. “Maybe we should just call it a night and do this over zoom tomorrow,” she muttered, looking out at the living room. “They’re clearly not going to look at a budget. It’s pointless. We can just tell the department advisor that the frat ghosted.”

“And let the advisor think we can’t handle a bunch of engineering majors?” you scoffed, rolling your eyes as you typed another line. “No way. I’d rather do the entire layout by myself before I let them think I failed a project.”

Across the room, Jungkook’s eyes finally drifted over. He’d been half listening to a story from the guy next to him, his beer bottle hanging loosely from his index finger, but his attention shifted the exact second he noticed you hunched over the marble island. His dark eyes traced the silhouette of your shoulders, tracking the line of your neck for a long, quiet second before he took a slow sip of his drink.

A faint smirk touched the corner of his mouth. He set his bottle down and pushed his weight off the cushions. There was a dangerous amusement in his stride as he started walking straight toward the kitchen.

Behind you, Lina finished her can and glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, Minho needs help finding the cooler keys,” she muttered, already stepping away from the island. “I’ll be right back.”

The second she left, your fingers stalled on the keyboard. You stared at the glowing pixels, your posture locked.

Minho and Lina seemed oddly synchronized tonight, a realization that made you wonder if he’d already given her his manufactured version of why the two of you broke up. If he had, you could easily guess how he’d painted it. He’d probably made you out to be the cold, demanding bitch who expected too much.

But Lina had been strangely attentive to you all day, which didn’t make structural sense if she knew the truth. Then again, you didn’t even know the real catalyst behind the split yourself. All you knew for certain was that Jungkook’s mouth had been involved somewhere along the line.

Your fingers hovered over the home row.

“Working hard?”

Your shoulders locked instantly at the gravelly depth of that voice hitting your ear from right beside your shoulder. Your anatomy reacted before your brain could even process a defense; every single muscle along your spine went rigid, as if he’d just brushed a block of ice down your bare skin.

You hadn’t even heard his sneakers cross the tile. You slowly turned your chin.

Jungkook was leaning one heavy hip against the edge of the marble island, close enough that the radiating heat of his torso brushed against your arm. One of his large hands rested lazily on the white counter right next to your laptop casing, his beer bottle swinging loosely from his knuckles. Up close, the sharp symmetry of his face was completely unfair.

You forced your eyes back down to the screen, your jaw tightening until it ached. “Yes,” you said, your voice a razor sharp line. “Someone in this house has to be.”

Jungkook leaned a fraction closer, his chest nearly brushing your shoulder as he looked down at the document. Your entire frame went stone still; you could feel him deliberately invading your perimeter, filling your senses with the heavy scent of his cologne mixed with the warmth of his skin. It was suffocating.

Your fingers pressed harder into the keys, making a loud clicking sound.

Jungkook let out a low, quiet hum. “You’re actually trying to run a budget review in the middle of an annex party?” he asked, gesturing lazily with his free hand toward the roaring living room behind him.

You slammed the laptop screen down with a sharp, aggressive click. “What do you want, Jungkook?”

He raised his dark brows slightly, his expression perfectly innocent. “Oh, nothing.” He paused, his lips pulling into a mocking slant. “Just thought you looked like you were drowning out here.”

You stared right into his eyes. “You?” you scoffed, your voice dripping with venom. “Helping me?”

Jungkook took a slow swallow of his beer, his eyes never breaking contact with yours. Watching the thick muscle of his throat shift as he gulped the alcohol made a sudden, liquid prickle travel straight down your spine.

“Relax,” he said softly, “You look like you’re about to combust.”

You glared at him, knowing your cheeks were probably turning a deep, telltale crimson from pure irritation. Oh, if he only knew the half of it.

Refusing to let him win, you snapped the laptop open again, ignoring his presence entirely as you focused back on the grid. Jungkook didn’t move. His dark eyes scrolled lazily through the paragraphs on your screen, his expression returning to the indifferent mask he’d been wearing all week; as if you were a minor chore he didn’t want to waste his energy on.

You tried to block him out, typing another sentence with aggressive force. Beside you, Jungkook reached out without asking, his long index finger brushing the trackpad of your laptop to scroll down the page. The uninvited intrusion into your space made your jaw lock. “You could try asking,” you muttered through your teeth.

He didn’t look at you. “Didn’t need to.” The answer was an established fact.

You glared at the profile of his face, but he remained focused on the monitor, his posture perfectly loose as he rested one solid forearm against the marble. A stray, dark strand of hair fell across his brow as he tilted his head, scanning the next block of text. He clicked his tongue softly against his teeth. “This entire section is redundant.”

You whirled your head toward him. “Excuse me?”

Jungkook finally cut his eyes to yours, the sheer distance in his gaze making your pulse stutter. Then he looked back at the screen. “You already stated the venue capacity requirements three lines up.” He scrolled back up with the trackpad to prove it.

Your lips pressed into a tight line. “You’re not even on this committee, Jungkook.”

“Didn’t say I was.”

“Then why are you reading my project?” you snapped.

Jungkook merely leaned his weight further against the island, settling in like he had all the time in the world. “You left it wide open.”

You let out a sharp sigh, turning back to the keyboard and deleting the sentence with a few vicious strikes. For a moment, the only sound between you was the frantic clicking of the keys and the muffled bass from the living room. “Don’t look so incredibly pleased with yourself,” you broke the silence, unable to handle the quiet.

“I’m not,” he said calmly.

“You are.”

He gave a loose, single-shoulder shrug, taking another sip of his beer. “Maybe a little.”

You rolled your eyes, your fingers moving rapidly across the board now, trying to outrun his commentary. For another twenty seconds, neither of you said a word. Then, his voice cut through again. “You’re taking this pretty seriously.”

You didn’t look up from the cursor. “It’s called having an actual sense of responsibility.”

“Or just being incredibly stubborn.”

That made your fingers stall. Slowly, you turned your head to face him fully. “Do you mind?”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression perfectly blank. “Mind what?”

“You hovering over my shoulder.”

“I’m contributing,” he said flatly. “You’re really not,” you shot back.

Jungkook leaned back slightly against a barstool, his dark eyes tracking the tension in your shoulders. “You’re completely wound up,” he noted. You let out a dry, bitter scoff. “Gee, I wonder what could possibly be causing that.”

From across the living room, someone yelled Jungkook’s name, waving a bottle and asking about the extra ice. He ignored the shout entirely, keeping his gaze locked on your face, then down to the screen, then back to your eyes.

“You know,” he said, his voice dropping a casual drawl, “you’d probably finish that layout a lot faster if you stopped glaring at the pixels like they insulted you.”

Your grip tightened around the edges of your aluminum laptop case. “Then maybe stop giving me an incentive to glare.”

His dark eyes flickered, a gleam of interest breaking through his cold exterior. Before he could formulate a response, a drunk sophomore accidentally crashed backward into the opposite side of the kitchen island, sending a spray of lukewarm beer sloshing across the white marble.

“Shit! Sorry, my bad—” the guy mumbled, stumbling back into the living room crowd.

You closed your eyes, letting out a ragged breath. “This is completely hopeless.”

“I thought you wanted quiet,” Jungkook said, his voice right next to your ear.

You opened your eyes and looked up at him, entirely unimpressed. “You are not quiet.”

Jungkook rested his elbow on the counter, his knuckles lazily brushing against the sharp edge of his jawline as he studied the flush on your neck. The low, recessed lighting of the kitchen made the hard angles of his face look entirely too pronounced.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, then his hand reached forward, his fingers slowly turning your laptop a few inches toward his torso. Your hands stopped instantly. You stared him down. “Touch that case one more time, and I will throw it at your head.”

Jungkook didn’t even blink at the threat. His eyes scanned the paragraph you’d just finished before he leaned back against the counter, perfectly loose. “You missed a comma after the clause.”

You stared at him for three long seconds before violently slamming the laptop lid closed. He only settled deeper into his space, his arms resting loosely across his chest.

“You’re welcome,” he said flatly.

“For what?”

“Fixing your draft.”

Your eye literally twitched behind your frames. “You didn’t fix a single thing.”

He lifted one shoulder again. “Sure, princess.”

Your head snapped up, your posture going completely rigid. “What did you just call me?”

Jungkook’s expression didn’t even shift. “Princess.” He said it casually, as though it was the only accurate description available in the language, and a sudden, violent flash of heat traveled straight up your spine.

“Am I wrong?” he asked as he tracked the way your breath hitched. “You walk around this campus acting like everyone was put here to follow your itinerary.”

You pushed your stool back with a loud scrape. “At least I’m actually attempting to produce something instead of sitting around in sweatpants, drinking beer, and criticizing people who do real work.”

Jungkook’s gaze flicked down to your closed laptop, then slowly rose back to your eyes. “You’re not trying to get work done.”

Your brows knitted together. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re just trying to maintain control over a room,” he said simply. You let out a disbelieving laugh at the sheer audacity. “You don’t know the first thing about me, Jungkook.”

His dark eyes lingered on your mouth for a fraction of a second. “You’re right,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, turning significantly colder. “But I do know exactly what you’re looking for tonight.”

Your stomach twisted into a tight knot. “And what’s that?”

He studied the pulse points on your neck before leaning across the marble island, his face inches from yours. “Attention.”

Your jaw tightened until it clicked. “Oh, please.”

“And when you don’t get it,” he continued in a low, raspy murmur, “you get mean.”

You stared at him, blood boiling at the sheer nerve of him. “You’re the one who walked across this kitchen,” you hissed. “No one invited you over here.”

The absolute corner of his mouth twitched upward at your fury. “You’re trying to prove a point.”

You yanked your stool back harder this time, the metal legs groaning against the tile as you snatched your laptop off the counter. “I am entirely done with this conversation.”

Jungkook didn’t move an inch to clear your path, his eyes gleaming with clear mockery. “Running away already?” he asked. You shot him a look. “I’m going upstairs to find a room that doesn’t have you in it.”

You turned on your heel, but paused right at the threshold of the kitchen hallway, your fingers digging into the edge of your laptop. “God, you are such a fucking asshole.”

He didn’t argue the point; just watching your retreat like he’d already scripted your next three moves.

You marched toward the staircase, trying desperately to ignore the way your skin was vibrating from the friction of the argument and the even more infuriating realization that a pathetic, weak part of your body wanted him to drop his bottle and follow you up the steps.

Jungkook stayed perfectly still by the counter, watching the bounce of your skirt as you climbed the stairs. He finished the last of his beer in one heavy swallow, then set the empty bottle down on the marble with a dull, heavy thud. His gaze lingered on the dark staircase for three seconds. Then he stood up straight and followed you.

You stormed up the carpeted stairs, your head buzzing with a dangerous combination of pure irritation and adrenaline. You moved quickly down the second-floor hallway, looking for any door that didn’t have light bleeding under the frame until you found a dark guest room.

You stepped inside, ready to slam the door behind you, though, you didn’t even get the chance to reach for the wall switch before the heavy oak door shut with a muffled click.

A sharp gasp left your throat as a large palm suddenly clamped down hard over your mouth, your back hitting the drywall with a thud that rattled your spine. Your heart leapt violently into your throat.

For half a second, your survival instincts kicked in and you raised your hands to fight, but then the familiar scent of his cologne filled your nose, and your muscles instantly recognized him. Your brows knitted together in pure fury as you twisted under his weight, your fingers locking around his thick wrist to wrench his hand away from your lips.

“Are you out of your mind?” you hissed the second you managed to shove his palm down. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

The room was pitch black. You could barely make out the sharp outline of his torso in front of you; just the massive presence of his chest blocking the exit, trapping you against the wall.

Your spine was pressed flat against the plaster as his forearm braced right next to your ear, sealing you in. You pushed against his chest with both hands. “Move, Jungkook.”

Jungkook let out a quiet breath, a sound somewhere between a scoff and a dark laugh. “You’re the one who ran up the stairs,” he said, his voice a vibrating rumble in the dark.

“Yeah, to get away from your annoying mouth,” you snapped back instantly.

“Doesn’t look like you barred the door very hard.”

Your jaw clenched. “You followed me into a dark guest room and pinned me to a wall,” you muttered, your voice shaking slightly. “That’s not exactly subtle behavior, even for you.”

He shifted his weight, the movement dragging the rough denim of his jeans against your bare knees, and the sudden heat of his body made your pulse spike in the most aggravating way possible.

Then, out of absolutely nowhere, “Since when do you wear glasses?”

You blinked behind the lenses. “What?”

The question was so entirely random it derailed your anger for a split second. You squinted up at him in the shadows. “What the hell are you even talking about?”

Something faintly reflective glinted on the carpet near your feet, drawing both of your eyes down. Ah. Your frames. They must have slipped out of your tote bag when he shoved you against the wall.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath, already bending your knees to reach for them, but Jungkook was faster. He anticipated the movement, blocking your descent.

Your back pressed even flatter against the drywall as he slowly dropped down, lowering himself all the way to his knees right in front of your legs, causing your breath to catch completely. “What are you doing?” you asked quickly, suspicion sharpening your tone.

He didn't give you a verbal answer. Instead, his large, warm hands reached out, fingers wrapping around your bare ankle. His thumb brushed over the leather strap of your heel, adjusting the buckle as if it actually required maintenance. Your lungs completely emptied at the burning contact of his skin against your bare leg.

His palm rested heavy against your ankle bone, and your brain, entirely unhelpful, instantly generated three different possibilities as to why he was currently on his knees between your spread legs in a dark room. Your hand lifted automatically, your fingers hovering over his dark hair, ready to grip it before you could catch yourself.

And then he stood up. The fragile moment snapped instantly, and your hand froze awkwardly mid-air before you dropped it back to your side, cursing your own weakness.

Jungkook straightened his spine, rising to his full height in front of you. The black-rimmed glasses were now hooked loosely between two of his fingers. And instead of just lifting them up to your face, he dragged the plastic frames upward, letting the edge glide lightly along the bare skin of your outside calf.

Your breath staggered as the plastic slid over your knee, his fingers gently skimming your skin, causing your thighs to tense up instantly. He took his sweet time, fully aware of the electric reaction he was drawing out of your nerves.

When the frame glided along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, you instinctively tried to clamp your knees together to trap his hand before it could reach your underwear. But he was too quick, slipping the glasses away just before your thighs could lock around his wrist.

By the time you looked back up at his face, he was standing tall in front of you again, his expression perfectly blank, as if nothing had happened.

You stared at him, a hot wave of irritation flaring in your chest. “You could have just picked them up normally,” you said.

Jungkook reached forward, his large fingers carefully sliding the arms of the glasses over your ears, positioning them back on the bridge of your nose clinically. Your jaw clenched behind the frames.

He tilted his head slightly, studying your eyes through the lenses now that they were back in place. “You dropped them,” he said flatly.

“That doesn't give you the right to—” You cut yourself off before you could finish the thought. His dark gaze flicked briefly down to the trembling tension in your thighs before returning to your eyes. By the sheer look in his eyes, you knew he was fully aware of exactly how close you were to breaking. And the fact that he still hadn't kissed you or properly touched your skin made the frustration coil deeper into your pelvis.

“Are you done yet?” you asked sharply.

“Done with what?”

“With whatever psychological game this is.”

Jungkook considered your expression, then said in a quiet, dangerous murmur, “You’re the one who looks like she’s begging for something.”

You glared through your frames. “You’re playing with me.” His gaze flicked down to your mouth for half a second before rising. “Am I?”

He slid his heavy thigh forward, wedging it directly between yours and pressing up against your crotch. A broken gasp slipped from your lips before you could stop, a wave of heat flooding your face instantly.

Pure embarrassment raced through your veins as you forced your muscles to stay still, refusing to give him the satisfied reaction he was clearly digging for. Your fingers curled against the drywall behind your hips as you struggled to keep your breathing intact.

“Move,” you muttered, though the command came out weak. He didn't move an inch. If anything, the solid pressure of his thigh shifted slightly, a tiny adjustment of his weight that made your breath catch in your throat. You tried your absolute best not to give him the satisfaction of total control, because the second you shifted even a fraction of an inch, it would look like you were grinding yourself against his leg which was exactly what your body was fighting not to do.

Jungkook’s voice was a low gravel when he spoke again. “You were saying something downstairs.”

Your eyes narrowed behind your glasses. Your thighs tensed involuntarily around his denim-clad leg, your muscles fighting to relax while he held you pinned right where he wanted you. The absolute corner of his mouth twitched before he pressed his thigh further up into your heat, causing you to clench against him with a sharp hiss. It didn't help at all that your short skirt had bunched up around your hips, leaving your thin silk panties damp with your own arousal and pressed directly against the rough fabric of his jeans.

Your irritation and need spiked through your chest simultaneously. “You’re doing this on purpose,” you accused, your voice raspy.

He didn't even bother to deny it. “Doing what?” His mouth was right next to your ear now, the proximity making his thigh press even deeper between your legs. The friction filled movement pulled a humiliating whimper from your throat before you could clamp your teeth shut.

“You know exactly what, Jungkook.”

Another heavy second ticked by, then he leaned just a fraction closer, his chest anchoring your weight to the wall, though his hands remained flat against the plaster. “If I knew exactly what you wanted,” he murmured against your skin, “you wouldn't still be standing here talking.”

Your breath stuttered as you tried to lean back, flattening your palms against his broad chest to force some distance between you, but he only crowded closer, taking up every available inch of oxygen. Your skirt bunched even higher on your thighs, making every tiny adjustment of his weight drag a wave of delicious, maddening heat through your nerves.

Your fingers clutched the cotton of his shirt. “Move,” you whispered, completely wrecked.

He didn't comply, his face lowering until his lips were barely a breath away from yours. You could feel the intense warmth of his mouth against your skin. Before your pride could interfere, you leaned forward to close the distance and kiss him... And Jungkook instantly stepped back.

His heavy thigh slid out from between your legs, the friction vanishing in a split second. You almost stumbled forward from the sudden, jarring loss of contact. Your hands gripped his shirt tighter, your fingers curling into the fabric as if you could physically pull his weight back into place.

But Jungkook just stood there, his hands sliding casually into his hoodie pockets as he watched your chest heave. Your fingers trembled slightly where they were holding him. Before you could lash out, the wall switch clicked, and the bright overhead bedroom light flicked on.

The sudden illumination made you blink rapidly, your pupils contracting. Jungkook finally got a clear, unobstructed look at you; your flushed cheeks, your messy hair, and your black-rimmed glasses sitting slightly askew on your nose.

His dark eyes lingered on your face for a quiet moment, then he tilted his head faintly. “Huh,” he said softly.

You stared at him, your chest rising and falling violently. “What?”

His eyes flicked briefly back to the frames. “They actually suit you.”

You couldn't tell if that was a genuine compliment or just another layer of his game. Before you could formulate a response, he turned on his heel toward the door, preparing to just walk right out after what he’d just done to your body.

Your hands fell to your sides, shaking with leftover adrenaline and unspent friction. Jungkook didn’t say another word; he just opened the door, stepped into the hallway, and let it click shut behind him.

You stared at the wood for a quiet second, your entire lower half still buzzing with a heavy tension that had absolutely nowhere to go. You smoothed down the hem of your skirt, though that did nothing to calm the restless heat under your skin. You were supposed to be upstairs working, and instead, you’d spent ten minutes letting him dismantle your composure, only for him to walk away.

You fixed your hair in the vanity mirror, adjusted your glasses, and finally forced yourself to leave the room.

By the time you made it back downstairs, the party had swelled, more bodies crowding into the living room. Your eyes scanned the clusters of people automatically, looking for a grey hoodie. No sign of him anywhere.

Fine. If he wanted to vanish into the night, he could go to hell.

You turned toward the kitchen counter instead. A cold drink sounded necessary right now. Actually, three of them sounded better.

You pushed your way through the dense crowd, reaching for the edge of the marble island just as a senior turned around too quickly right next to your shoulder, his red cup tilting.

A cold, heavy splash hit your chest.

Lukewarm beer soaked straight through the cream knit of your top, the wet fabric immediately clinging to your skin. You froze in place.

“Oh, shit—” The guy holding the cup looked absolutely horrified, his jaw dropping. “I am so sorry, holy shit, I didn't see you right there—”

You looked down slowly at your expensive knit top, completely ruined by a dark puddle. You looked back up, ready to absolutely incinerate him where he stood, but the frat boy looked like he was about to faint from pure panic. “I swear to God I didn't mean to, hang on—”

He grabbed a white dish towel from the counter and hurriedly stepped into your space, reaching out to wipe the liquid off your chest before abruptly freezing mid motion. His face turned a bright, violent red as he realized where his hand was heading. “Uh, sorry. Sorry—”

He shoved the towel into your hands instead. You stared at his terrified expression, then let out a humorless laugh. “Great,” you muttered, grabbing the cloth and dabbing uselessly at the stain. “Perfect. Exactly how I wanted this evening to go.”

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he stammered, pointing at your shirt. “I swear. Whatever the tag says.”

You glanced at his worn sneakers. “You probably don't want to hear that number.”

He winced. “Yeah… probably not.”

You glared at him for a second longer, the frustration from upstairs still humming under your nerves, but his expression was so genuinely pathetic that it took the bite out of your anger. It was obviously an accident. And judging by the way he looked like he might throw up if you handed him an invoice, you were pretty sure he couldn't afford to replace it anyway. So you just let out a heavy sigh.

The beer had soaked completely through the knit, leaving a damp, sheer patch across your front. The material was cold and sticky against your skin. You grimaced, feeling thoroughly uncomfortable. The guy hovered awkwardly for another second before scrambling to grab an unopened beer from the ice bucket.

He handed it to you like a peace offering. “Here. Uh... sorry again.”

​You noticed how he was still bracing for an explosion. That pulled a small, bitter laugh out of your throat. “Relax,” you said, taking the cold can. “I’m not going to execute you in the kitchen.”

​He let out a massive breath of relief. You cracked the tab and took a long swallow, the cold bitterness hitting your tongue. ​“Thanks for the total chaos, Jake,” you added dryly, tilting your head.​ “You guys throw these ragers every single weekend, but the one time we expect actual focus for a department deadline, you turn the house into an annex.”​ That shut him up instantly.​

Across the room, you suddenly felt the distinct weight of a gaze locking onto your skin.​Jungkook had just walked back through the front door. He hadn’t planned on staying inside long, but the exact second his sneakers cleared the threshold, his eyes went straight to the kitchen island. He took in the sight of your damp shirt clinging to your chest, the sophomore standing too close to your perimeter, the can in your hand, and the small laugh that had just left your mouth.​

Jungkook stopped moving entirely near the living room entrance. He watched the entire interaction play out. His tongue pressed hard against the inside of his cheek as his dark eyes stayed glued to your wet top.​

Jake muttered another quick apology before drifting back toward the couches, clearly relieved to escape with his life.​ You stayed by the island for another second, dabbing the towel against the fabric, but it was useless; the knit was thoroughly wet.

You took another long sip of your drink, deliberately avoiding eye contact with the front door, but your pulse fluttered when you saw his grey silhouette shift and start moving toward the kitchen.

You immediately turned toward the hallway bathroom, pretending you hadn’t seen him watching you.​

The heavy bathroom door shut behind you, instantly muffling the thump of the bass.

You set your can on the porcelain sink and leaned over the glass to inspect the damage. The cream fabric was nearly translucent now, sticking to your skin.​ “Perfect,” you muttered, ripping off a handful of paper towels and blotting the knit, but it only made the material look wrinkled and ruined.​ There was no fixing it.

You straightened up, staring at your reflection; your cheeks were still flushed from upstairs, and your glasses were slightly crooked. Your only real option was to walk back out there looking like a mess.​

You reached for the brass handle, twisting it open, and the second the door cracked, you were violently pushed right back inside by a heavy weight.​ His large hand caught your wrist, pulling you backward into the small bathroom before the door slammed shut behind him loudly. You stumbled over your heels, catching your balance against the edge of the sink.

“What the hell?!” You whirled on him instantly, your voice dropping into a furious whisper. “Are you completely insane?”​

Jungkook was standing directly between you and the exit, his broad shoulders locked, dark eyes burning with an intensity that made your chest tighten.​

“Someone could have easily seen you,” you hissed, stepping right into his space. “You just marched into a single-occupancy bathroom right after me.”

​His jaw tightened. “And?” he said flatly.​

“And?” you repeated, your voice rising in anger. “The house is full of people we know, Jungkook. If someone saw you follow me in here—”

​“Then what?” he cut you off.

Your mouth snapped shut. You hated that question, mostly because you didn’t have a logical answer to give him. You crossed your arms over your chest instead, partly out of defense and to hide the sheer fabric of your shirt. “You’re being completely reckless tonight.”​

His dark eyes dropped immediately to your chest, tracking the way the wet knit plastered against your skin. He stared at the outline of your body for one heavy second before his gaze snapped back up to your eyes.

​“Seriously,” you muttered, trying to maintain your glare though the sudden heat in your stomach betrayed you. “What is your problem?” ​There was something dangerous in his expression now. “You looked pretty occupied out there,” he said calmly, taking a heavy step forward that forced you to step back against the porcelain.​

You caught his tone instantly, letting out a sharp scoff. “With Jake? He spilled his drink all over my top.”​

Jungkook’s face didn’t soften. You couldn’t tell if he was furious or just entirely done with the night. “You seemed perfectly comfortable letting him handle the towel.”​

Your eyebrows shot up behind your frames. “Oh my God,” you laughed under your breath, your voice thick with sarcasm. “Yeah, Jungkook. I deliberately spilled alcohol all over myself because I was dying for attention. Clearly, it’s all part of my master plan to get a sophomore to look at me.” You gestured aggressively down at the ruin of your top.​

“That’s not what I said.”​

“Really?” you fired right back. “Because twenty minutes ago upstairs, you seemed pretty convinced I was desperate for it.”​

Jungkook just stood there, crowding your space, his eyes drilling into yours until your irritation flared back into pure, hot need.​ “God, what is your issue tonight?” you snapped, your hands trembling. “You follow me into a dark room, pin me against the wall, tease my body for ten minutes, and then just walk out.” Your voice dropped into a raspy whisper. “And now you’re acting like a lunatic because a guy handed me a napkin?”​

His eyes narrowed to slits at your outburst. “Is that why you’re so frustrated right now?” he asked. You crossed your arms tighter. “Maybe it is.”​

Jungkook tilted his head, taking one final step until his torso was nearly pinning yours against the sink basin. “Or maybe,” he said, his voice dropping into a brutal gravel, “it’s because I haven’t fucked you in a week.”

​His raw words hit like an open flame, and your mouth dropped open. “Are you serious right now?”

​“You’re the one who drew the blueprint,” he continued, his face inches from yours. “No strings attached. Just sex.”​

Your eyes flashed. “That doesn’t mean you get to treat me like—”

​“Like what?”​You glared up at him. “Like you can just turn me on and walk away whenever you feel like pulling a power move.”​

The air in the small bathroom turned thick and suffocating before he opened his mouth again. “You just hate not getting exactly what you want, when you want it.”​

Your temper dissolved into pure, defensive rage at his attempt to analyze you. “Again, you don’t know the first thing about me, Jungkook.”​

He stepped closer, obliterating the last remaining inch of space between your bodies. His face lowered until his breath hit your cheek. “No,” he murmured. “You don’t know the first thing about yourself.”​

Your breath caught in your throat. “You are so full of shit,” you whispered.​

Jungkook let out a slow, heavy exhale. “You’re the one talking entirely too much tonight.”

​Your pulse leaped as his hand suddenly snapped out, locking onto your waist and yanking your body forward until your pelvis hit his.

His face dropped into the crook of your neck, his lips pressing against your bare skin in a rough, biting kiss that sent a violent shock of relief straight down to your knees. You sucked in a sharp breath, your hands instantly flying up to fist the fabric of his grey hoodie. “Jungkook—”

But he didn’t give you a verbal response. His mouth moved aggressively along your jawline, his lips punishing your skin like he was trying to prove a point you’d both been denying all day.​

Your fingers tightened in his dark hair despite the anger blooming under your ribs. He bit down on your collarbone, drawing a soft, broken gasp from your throat before his heavy hands hooked into the rounded collar of your shirt. With one impatient, downward yank, he pulled both the knit and the lace of your bra down to your waist, exposing your bare breasts to the cool air of the bathroom.​

“You are such an idiot,” you breathed heavily, your fingers digging into his scalp as his mouth closed over your nipple, sucking hard.​

He let out a low, muffled grunt against your skin that sounded almost like a humorless laugh, his teeth grazing the sensitive tip until a soft whimper cut from your lips.

​A second later, he broke the contact, his head lifting for a split second before he abruptly dropped down to his knees on the tiled floor in front of you.​Your lungs completely emptied as his head disappeared beneath the hem of your short skirt. The sudden, violent shift in control made your head spin with a mix of fear and intense desperation. You were still furious with him, but your anatomy was completely ruled by the starvation of the last three days.

The tension coiled in your pelvis was unbearable.​ Your fingers hesitated for half a second over his shoulders, embarrassed by how badly your body was craving his mouth, but the second his warm lips traced a line of wet kisses up the inside of your thighs, you gave up completely. Your fingers locked into his dark hair, guiding his head closer with frantic impatience.​

You threw your head back against the mirror, a wrecked sound escaping you as the wet texture of his tongue hit your clitoris right through the thin silk of your panties. Your legs started shaking violently from the sheer sensitivity of the contact.

Jungkook reached up, grabbing your right thigh and hoisting it over his broad shoulder to lock your pelvis in place beneath his mouth.​

Soft, broken whimpers left your lips as his tongue worked through the wet fabric, every lick so heavy it made you gasp loud enough to echo off the bathroom tiles. Your thighs tried to clamp around his head, your spine arching completely off the porcelain counter.

“Jungkook, oh my god—”​ He shut his eyes tightly in the dark of your skirt, inhaling the deep, musky scent of your arousal before letting out a low groan against your skin.

His mouth opened completely against you, tasting your slick through the silk with a frantic, hungry desperation that bled through his cold mask.​ You bit down hard on your own knuckles to stop yourself from letting out high-pitched, loud sounds that would carry right through the wood.

The terrifying possibility of someone walking past the door made your heart slam against your ribs like a hammer.​ “No... someone’s going to hear us,” you protested weakly, getting entirely overwhelmed by the speed of the friction, trying to push his shoulders away even though your hips were subconsciously bucking into his mouth.​

But Jungkook only tightened his grip on your thighs, pinning your weight to the porcelain and dragging your hips closer until you had absolutely nowhere to slide.​ “You’re not going anywhere,” he rasped against your skin, completely raw and muffled between heavy, wet licks.​

Your breath hitched as you writhed against his mouth, entirely overstimulated now. “Kook, I can’t... I can’t do this here—” your voice trembled, on the absolute verge of tears from the sheer volume of the sensation.​

Your thighs were shaking too hard to hold their position on his shoulders, but his iron grip kept you anchored while you squirmed, terrified of being discovered by Lina or your ex-boyfriend just ten feet away.​

A sharp, loud moan slipped past your teeth, and you immediately slapped your palm over your mouth, your eyes wide with panic.​

You were still trying to catch your breath when he abruptly stopped. Following your frantic pleas and the way your hands were pushing at his head, he let go of your legs, leaving your thighs to snap shut instinctively.​He stood up to his full height, his dark eyes fixed on your trembling frame, his breathing heavy but his expression tight. He was forcing his own body to halt before he lost his grip on the room.

You were left completely shaky, unfulfilled, and hovering right on the edge of a cliff for the first time in your life.​

While you wheezed for air, his large hand lifted toward your face, his fingers gently sliding your black-rimmed glasses off your nose.​ Before you could react to the loss of your armor, his other hand hooked hard behind the back of your neck, yanking your face forward into a rough, deep, crushing kiss that tasted like your own slick.​

Your fingers immediately clutched the front of his hoodie, your lips parting to deepen the contact in pure desperation but just as quickly as it had started, he ripped his mouth away from yours, ignoring your low sound of protest.

​The look in his dark eyes was steel cold, his jaw locked tight. He looked down at your doe eyes, his chest heaving. ​“Don’t start something you don’t have the stomach to finish next time,” he sajd quietly before turning on his heel.

He grabbed the brass handle, and walked straight out into the hallway, slamming the bathroom door shut behind him.​ You were left completely alone in the small room, your heart hammering against your ribs.

What the hell was his issue tonight?

You genuinely had no operational theory as to why he was suddenly so furious, or why he’d just abandoned you on the sink like that.

You had pushed him away, sure, but it was purely because you were terrified of getting caught by twenty people in a crowded house.

And why did he look like he wanted to murder Jake over a dish towel?​ You couldn’t figure him out at all. It was like he’d surgically removed the part of himself that used to look at you with warmth after you’d called him pathetic in his car.

And you loathed admitting it to yourself, but you deeply missed the version of him that wasn’t so vicious and rude.​

Not that you were ever going to apologize; because he’d never actually given you an indication that he wanted anything more than a secret arrangement anyway. And the absolute hell he’d put you through while you were dating Minho, constantly picking at your relationship, calling you a prudish rich girl who liked playing house justified your armor.​ So no. You were absolutely not apologizing. Even if your fights with him lately felt way too personal and way too heavy to just be casual bickering.

​And you definitely weren’t frustrated because he hadn’t slept with you in days.

You weren’t.​ You were just... maybe a little humiliated that he had the power to look at you and say it out loud like that. He knew the exact psychological button to press just to watch you unravel.​

You stayed by the sink for another full minute with your thoughts, staring into the glass with your glasses clutched loosely in your fingers.

The heat sitting low in your abdomen only burned hotter now that he’d left you stranded on the edge. Technically, you’d ordered him to stop.​

You shoved your glasses back over your ears, turned the brass faucet, and ran freezing water over your wrists to bring your pulse down. You grabbed a paper towel, dabbing uselessly at the beer stain on your top before giving up on the fabric entirely.​

With a heavy sigh, you pushed the door open and stepped back into the corridor. The noise of the annex party hit you instantly.

You made it halfway down the narrow hall before a hand clamped onto your forearm.​“Whoa, what the hell happened to you?” ​Lina looked you up and down, her eyes immediately zeroing in on the damp, sheer patch across your chest. “Oh my God,” she said, her expression turning to horror as she dragged you toward the kitchen. “Did someone dump a drink on you?”​

“Yes,” you said, your voice entirely deadpan. ​She frowned, looking around. “Why didn't you shout for me?”

​“Because it’s just cheap beer, Lina. It’s not a national emergency.”​ Lina stopped by a kitchen stool, squinting at your face. “Who are you and what have you done with my best friend? Usually, you’d be threatening to sue their parents for the price of the silk by now.”​

She walked over to a nearby armchair where a mountain of guests' jackets had been dumped earlier, rummaging through the fabric. “Take this,” she said, pulling out an oversized, faded vintage sweatshirt. “My brother left it in my car last weekend.”​

You hesitated for a fraction of a second before snatching the thick cotton and pulling it over your head. You were grateful to hide the sheer cream fabric, though the soggy feeling of the wet knit sticking to your skin beneath the sweatshirt made you grimace.​

Lina watched you carefully as you adjusted the long sleeves. “You are in a thoroughly foul mood,” she noted.​

You shot her a venomous look through your frames. “I’m always in a foul mood, Lina.” ​You reached onto the counter, grabbed a random unopened can someone had left behind, and took a long, burning sip.

Lina leaned her weight closer to your shoulder, her voice dropping. “...Is this about Minho being here?”

​Your neck snapped toward her instantly. “What?”​

“You’ve been completely weird all night,” she said, her eyes tracking your expression carefully. “And you keep vanishing into the back hallways.”​

You let out a harsh scoff. “Please. Don't flatter him.”

​But Lina didn't look convinced. Her eyes narrowed into tiny slits as she inspected your posture. “...Is it because he and I have been hanging out a lot lately?”​

You blinked behind your glasses, entirely caught off guard. “What the hell are you talking about?”​

She shrugged her shoulders, her expression turning slightly awkward as she looked down at her fingernails. “Minho and me,” she said softly. “We’ve been helping each other with some department stuff over the last week. I just... I thought maybe you felt weird seeing him around my house.”​

Oh. You awkwardly twirled a strand of your hair between your fingers, forcing your facial muscles into an unbothered expression so she wouldn’t see you calculating the timeline.

You took another slow swallow of your drink instead. “Why on earth would I care who you hang out with?” you said probably the single closest thing to an honest statement you’d made all evening.

​Lina paused for half a second, and then her entire face lit up with a massive wave of visible relief. “Right,” she said quickly, a smile breaking across her mouth. “Of course. I knew you wouldn’t.”​

You narrowed your eyes slightly at how fast her relief had surfaced, but you chose not to comment on the shift. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, suddenly looking far more cheerful than she had since you walked through the door. “Okay, good. That’s really good to know.”

​You raised a singular brow. “You’re being incredibly weird, Lina.”

​“I’m not,” she said smoothly, already backing away toward the living room archway. “I just... it’s good to clear the air. Anyway, we still have to wrap this entire event layout up somehow,” she added, clapping her hands together as if remembering her job. “Don’t forget to submit that email draft to the professor tonight.”​

“I’ll send it from my desktop the second I get home,” you replied flatly.​

Lina let out a highly dramatic sigh, her shoulders dropping. “Thank you. Seriously.”

She looked out at the absolute disaster of her living room. “And now I have the joy of trying to evict thirty drunk engineering majors before my mother’s flight lands tomorrow morning.”​

You let out a quiet snort. “Good luck with that project.”

​“Yeah,” she muttered grimly, turning toward the center of the noise. “I’m going to need security.”​

A second later, her voice echoed through the high ceilings sharply. “Alright! The keg is tapped out, boys! Party’s officially over! Everybody out of the house!”

​A collective chorus of groans and complaints followed the announcement immediately. You leaned your weight back against the kitchen counter, quietly finishing the rest of your can as you watched the agonizingly slow process of guys gathering their keys and stumbling toward the front door.​

The house gradually cleared out, the volume fading down to zero as groups spilled out onto the dark driveway. Lina stood right at the threshold of the foyer, practically herding bodies out the door while laughing and apologizing to her neighbors at the same time.

You stepped onto the front porch to get away from the smell of stale liquor while she handled the final wave of departures.​

Lina leaned out the front door, shouting down the driveway. “Text me when you get to your apartment!” she called after a group of girls, laughing as she finally clicked the heavy deadbolt into place.​

You stood near the concrete curb with your arms folded tightly over the oversized sweatshirt, waiting for your driver, who was late yet again. You tapped your phone screen.

​Driver status — 7 minutes away.

​Behind your back, the front window cracked open briefly, and Lina poked her head through the screen. “Hey! I’m going to lock the porch lights and start bleaching the kitchen before my parents get back tomorrow. Are you good out there?”

​“I’m fine,” you called back.​

“Text me when you get in!”​

“Yeah.”​

Her head disappeared back inside, and the window slid shut, leaving you entirely alone on the quiet, dark street.​ A split second later, the distinct sound of heavy footsteps crunched on the gravel behind your heels. You didn’t even bother turning your head.​

“Your ride still hasn’t materialized?” Jungkook’s voice cut through the quiet, making you let out a heavy sigh. ​“Nope.”

​He stopped a few feet away from your shoulder, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets. “My car is parked right there at the curb,” he said, nodding toward the dark sedan. “Need a ride?”​

You finally cut your eyes toward him, knowing exactly what kind of ride he meant by that. “I am not getting into a car with you tonight, Jungkook.”

​He gave a loose, indifferent shrug, as if he’d fully anticipated the refusal. “Suit yourself.”

​A heavy silence settled over the asphalt between you. Then, his dark eyes flicked toward the front of Lina’s dark house. “She always just leaves you standing on a curb alone like that?” he asked, his voice dropping critically.​

You frowned up at him through your glasses. “Like what?”​

“In a yard after a house party,” he said flatly. “While she’s busy closing up.”​

Your head snapped toward him fully at the critique. “She’s not just closing up, Jungkook. She has a family crisis to clean up before her parents land.”​

Jungkook tilted his chin down, his eyes dark behind his bangs. “No?”​

“She just has other things to occupy her mind,” you snapped, your defensiveness flaring. “Unlike your friends.”

​The corner of his mouth twitched faintly. “What kind of best friend leaves you standing in the dark on a public street while she takes care of everyone else inside?”

​Your irritation boiled over instantly. “You do not get to lecture me about the dynamics of friendship, Jungkook. Not after your track record.”

​His dark eyes narrowed into thin slits. “Oh?”​

You let out a short, biting laugh. “Yeah. Oh.”​

For three long seconds, neither of you said another word. Then, he let out a quiet sigh, cutting his gaze down the empty road. “Your driver is taking his sweet time.”

​You glared at the side of his neck. “Thanks for the traffic update.”​

Another car passed the intersection, its headlights sweeping over your frames, but it wasn’t your ride. Jungkook pushed his weight off the curb after a moment, his hands remaining in his pockets as his eyes did one final, heavy sweep over your oversized sweatshirt. “Try not to trip over that massive attitude before your car actually gets here,” his voice dropped into an aggravating tease.​

He turned on his heel and walked back toward his sedan, hitting his key fob with a quiet beep.​You assumed he was going to pull out of the driveway and leave you there, but he didn’t.

Jungkook leaned his hips against the driver’s side door instead, crossing his heavy arms over his chest as he stared down the empty cul-de-sac like he was waiting out a timer.​

Your phone suddenly buzzed with a notification—your driver had finally arrived, two bright headlights appearing at the edge of the street.

You stepped off the curb as the car pulled up to the line, pulling the comically large sweatshirt tighter around your waist to shield your skin from the midnight wind.​

As you opened the rear door, you couldn’t stop yourself from casting one final look back over your shoulder; ​He hadn’t shifted an inch.

Jungkook was still leaning against the metal of his door, silently tracking every single move you made in the dark. Only when you slid onto the leather seat and the door shut with a heavy thud did his head finally turn away.

Your driver hit the gas, and as the car pulled away from the curb, Jungkook’s sedan remained exactly where you’d left him, holding his ground in the dark.

note; hi my loves <3 im not going to have much free time anymore so hopefully, i’ll try updating this every tuesday as keeping a deadline will probably help wrap it up faster. And, i would feel super unsatisfied if i can’t write all of it in hecking detail; hence the long word counts so please bear with me lol :s thankyou for reading!! ^^

🖇tags!!<33 @magicalnachocreator @jungkookgoodlookin @cherricherryy @cookysstuff

lmk if yall wanna be tagged when i post next!!

[kurapikaenia]

Hate sex is still sex. — part two | ᴊᴇᴏɴ ᴊᴜɴɢᴋᴏᴏᴋ

You just got dumped. The one behind it? your boyfriend’s best friend Jungkook who’s hated you from day one. You hate him. He hates you. One thing’s for sure: when hate turns into desire, it gets messy, it gets reckless… and yes, hate sex is still sex.

’2 — But how did it all start? Why does Jungkook hate you– and why is he the only one capable of making you lose control?

🧷Pairing: Jungkook x Brat!reader

🧷Genre: enemies with benefits

🧷Warnings: 18+ content, nastyyyy smut, angry sex, incredibly erotic, slight angst, commitment issues!reader, spoiled rich brat reader, pussydrunk!jk, dom!jk x sub!y/n mdni

🧷wc: 8k+

| one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten |

<>series m.list

The first time you met Minho, you had absolutely no intention of dating him, or even remembering his name past that day.

Your first year of college left little room for distractions. Between classes and campaigning for sorority president, your schedule was already full. And you weren’t about to jump into having a boyfriend before you made a few girl friends at least.

Trying to befriend any girl from your sorority however deemed nearly impossible when majority of them considered you nothing more than just a pissy rich mean girl. It’s not like you bought your way into your campaigns and leadership, even though, much to many’s dismay, your dad tried to anyways.

But he didn’t have to with you, as you were pretty smart and earned your spot as president through nothing but hard work. You didn’t play dirty. Especially not when you planned on becoming a lawyer one day.

Reputation mattered, and you wanted to protect yours carefully.

“Hi.” You turn your head at the voice.

It was Halloween, and you’d made an appearance at the campus party mostly because your sorority expected it. Not that you minded, you actually loved dressing up.

And so you had dressed up, as Chanel Oberlin from Scream Queens with your pastel tweed skirt set, knee high socks and a corset top, oversized sunglasses perched up high. The messy blonde wig tied it all together.

It was a little on-the-nose actually, with you being perceived as rich, mean, and pissy by most. People would assume you fit the costume too well, but you were surprisingly decent, making it difficult for anyone to truly hate you.

“Hi,” Minho repeated, a little louder this time, clearly gathering courage.

Lina - your only friend, appeared at your side with a grin that fairly meant trouble.

“This is Minho,” she said, tugging him forward slightly. “Second year engineering. His building’s literally two blocks from the law and pre-law complex, so if you ever need someone to carry your books...”

“Lina,” you warned lightly. She ignored you, her eyes set on Minho as she noticed the hearts forming in his eyes whilst he eyed you.

“...aaand he may or may not have a crush on you.”

Minho went rigid. “I do not...”

Lina raised a brow at that. He exhaled. “Okay. Maybe.”

You blinked slowly, unimpressed but not in a rude way. He was cute, objectively. Not really your type but okay.

You and Minho talked for a while after that, about engineering, about Lina, about how he’d seen your campaign posters around campus. He complimented your speech from earlier that week. You offered composed responses, laughing here and there at his silly jokes. But ultimately your mind was somewhere else, bored.

Eventually, you excused yourself to “check on something,” which really meant you needed air.

The music was muffled outside, bass vibrating faintly through the walls as you made your way toward the quieter side of the house near the pool while most people were still inside.

That’s when you spotted Jungkook, leaning against the fence, smoking.

You slowed slightly, examining him. Tall, dressed entirely in black, no costume, nor any efforts to stand out.

Seriously? It was Halloween.

You rolled your eyes. How painfully lame do you have to be, to not dress up for halloween. Still, he looked good. Unbothered and detached mainly, as though he just happened to be some guy hanging out in some halloween party having a smoke break.

Aand you needed a smoke too, so you approached him anyway.

He didn’t move when you approached, just glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his gaze dragging over you slowly…the blonde wig, the corset, the short skirt, the heels, taking you in without shame.

“You got a spare?” you asked, like you were asking for the time.

His brows lifted slightly. He looked at you slowly, eyes dragging up and down your costume once before settling on your face. “I didn’t know girls like you smoked.”

You tilted your head. “Girls like me?”

He shrugged faintly, pulling the pack from his pocket. “You look expensive,” he says after a second.

“And?”

“And expensive things don’t usually smell like nicotine.”

You slipped the glasses down your nose just enough to look at him properly. “Well,” you said calmly, holding his gaze, “you don’t know me at all, now do you?”

A small pause, offering the cigarette to you. “Guess not.”

You placed the cigarette between your lips and leaned in slightly so he could light it. He flicked the lighter, eyes dipping for half a second to the way your tight corset emphasised your cleavage before he forced them back up to your face.

The flame caught and you inhaled, the smoke curled between you. Standing there like that, it almost looked ridiculous… you in soft pink, him in all black. Complete opposites, and yet, neither of you moved away, letting the smoke cloud the air around you.

You exhaled slowly, eyes scanning his figure properly this time. “You always this festive?” your tone obviously laced with sarcasm.

His mouth twitched. “You always this judgmental?”

“Yes.” you responded immediately.

He turned his head slightly, exhaling smoke into the night air, almost smiling to himself at that. The movement drew your attention back to his figure, the sharp line of his jaw under the dim light, the sharp bridge of his nose.

You realized, somewhat irritably, that you hadn’t studied Minho this closely in the ten minutes he’d been trying to impress you. And strange enough, you were rather more drawn towards getting to know this stranger you had just met and had a weird encounter with.

You were standing opposite each other, the narrow stretch between the pool fence and the wall forcing you closer than strangers usually stood. You could feel the warmth radiating from his body despite the cool night air.

He was taller than you by a long shot, causing you to tilt your chin up slightly just to look at him properly. Something you weren’t particularly used to doing.

“What’s your name?” you asked.

“Jungkook,” he said simply. You held his gaze, then let your eyes wander, just a little, catching the way the sleeve of his shirt stretched across his bicep when he ran a hand through his hair. You immediately looked back at his face.

“Do you… have a girlfriend?” you asked, just to make sure you aren’t checking out or talking to a man with a girlfriend; and you needed to know, before deciding how far you’re willing to stand from him.

Jungkook glances at you, slightly surprised by the directness. “No.”

You nod once. “Okay.” He doesn’t push for why you asked. That, for some reason, you appreciate.

The wind picks up again and this time it goes straight through the thin fabric of your skirt. You shift your weight, trying not to react, but your legs are bare and it’s late October.

“You’re cold.” He notices.

“I’m fine.” You answer quickly though the wind chooses that exact second to cut through the backyard again, sharp enough to slip beneath the hem of your skirt and up bare skin. Your knees pull in just slightly, pressing your thighs together.

His gaze drops briefly, just registering the way your bare legs contrast against the dark, the way the cold has tinted your skin slightly pink. He looks back up at you without commenting on it, but something in his expression softens, and that makes you more self conscious than if he’d stared.

You’re about to say something cocky, to reset the balance between you two when your phone rings. The sound makes you glance down, and in that split second before you answer, your entire posture changes. The irritation drains from your face, in it’s place something more fragile.

You turn slightly away from him as you swipe to answer. “Hi.” Your voice is softer now. “No, I know.” Your shoulders tense as your gaze remains fixed down at the ground, heel digging into the grass.

“I’m not taking sides,” you say under your breath. “I just don’t want to be in the middle again.” you exhale slowly, closing your eyes for a second. “Just don’t text her tonight, okay? Please.”

Your voice slips out softly and you hang up quickly, like you don’t want to think about what you just revealed. When you turn back, Jungkook has already flicked his cigarette to the ground, the ashes dying out beneath the sole of his shoe. He tells himself it’s because the smoke was getting in your face.

“Everything okay?” he asks. You hesitate. For half a second, you consider brushing it off like you usually do, not being used to telling people things you consider to be private. But something about his eyes, and the way he looks at you, makes you want to tell him either way.

“It’s just my parents,” you say finally. “They’ve been divorced forever but somehow I’m still the referee.” There’s a humorless smile plastered on your lips. “I just…I don’t wanna talk about it.”

His gaze softens at that revelation; He’s looking at you differently now.

Five minutes ago, you were just a wealthy, arrogant girl in an expensive skirt, someone untouchable and probably spoiled. Now, the polished exterior had cracked, leaving you looking entirely vulnerable.

He stepped a little closer, almost instinctively, and you didn’t pull away. Your bare leg brushed his, but you didn’t even realize it. “You wanna go inside?” he asked, breaking the silence ever so softly.

You looked at him, realizing just how close he was, and how different this felt from everyone else at the party. The music thumped faintly through the walls, laughter drifting out from inside, but it all felt irrelevant.

“Yeah,” you said. As you passed him toward the house, your shoulder grazed his chest. He didn’t step back.

Inside, the sudden rush of heat hit your skin, though the chill from the backyard still lingered. Jungkook’s eyes flicked down to your legs. “Still freezing?” he peered.

You pressed your arms closer to your sides, forcing the shiver down. “I told you, I’m fine.” Your defensive tone returned, accompanied by the slightest roll of your eyes.

He stepped a little closer, crowding your space. “You know, I could help with that,” he said, his voice dropping as his eyes locked onto yours. “Warm you up.”

You tilted your chin, smirking back to maintain your composure. “I don’t really need warming up, thanks.” But your pulse betrayed a sudden warmth rushing to your cheeks. Still, you didn’t step away.

The noise of the party faded into background static. In this small space between you, the tension was suddenly overwhelming. Finally, you turned and began walking down the dimly lit hallway. As expected, he followed right behind you, close enough that you could feel his presence at your back. You glanced over your shoulder, your eyes meeting his, and neither of you pretended to misunderstand what was happening.

You led him into an empty bathroom, the lock clicking shut behind you. Before you could even draw a full breath, he closed the distance, pinning your back against the counter. Your heart battered against your ribs. Everything was moving too fast, the friction between you exploding in seconds.

“Relax,” he murmured near your ear, his voice low and slightly amused as his hands gripped your waist. “You’re the one who walked in here first.”

You exhaled sharply, staring at him. “You’re the one who followed me.”

“Did I?” His grip tightened, pulling you firmly against his frame. “Looked like an invitation to me.”

You scoffed softly, trying to sound unimpressed. “You’re entirely too full of yourself.” A low gasp escaped your lips as his weight pressed fully into you, the heat of his body searing right through the thin fabric of your clothes.

You expected him to be reckless, to pull your underwear aside and take you right then and there, but he caught you completely off guard. Jungkook sank down to his knees in front of you. His large, rough palms slid up your calves to the bare skin of your thighs, his touch heavy as he began to warm you up just like he said he would.

The sheer intimacy of it made your breath hitch, your hands instantly flying to his shoulders for balance as he spread your legs wider.

“W-what are you doing?” you choked out, your face burning red.

You tried to instinctively bring your knees back together, completely unaccustomed to this level of exposure, but his grip on your thighs was unyielding. He shifted your underwear out of the way, his warm breath brushing against your skin, sending a violent shock straight down your spine. You could feel your heart racing frantically.

Jungkook watched your reaction, noticing how desperately you were squirming, how every small touch seemed to overwhelm you. Testing your limits, he leaned in and let the tip of his tongue graze your clit.

A sharp cry left your throat as your whole body shuddered. He didn’t stop there. Holding your thighs firmly apart despite your breathless protests, he pressed his mouth completely against you. You let out a broken whimper as a wave of intense pleasure rushed through you, your heart hammering wildly against your chest.

You could barely stand. Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes from the sheer, overwhelming sensation of being held down and utterly consumed. You didn’t want him to stop, you just couldn’t handle the sheer intensity of it.

Jungkook trailed his tongue up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh before returning to your core, his mouth working over you with an unhurried, devastating focus.

“Too much…” you sobbed softly, your fingers burying into his hair, trying to push him away while simultaneously pulling him closer.

He pulled back for a fraction of a second, his gaze dark and heavy as his fingers traced your damp skin, exploring how slick and responsive you were. He looked entirely captivated by the sight of you completely undone.

“Yeah, baby? Is it too much?” he murmured, his voice thick.

You were trembling, entirely caught between wanting to escape the intensity and begging for more. As he paused, you unconsciously arched your hips forward, a soft whimper escaping your lips, hoping he would understand.

He did. Jungkook immediately dived back in, his tongue moving deeply against you, driving you to the absolute brink. He used his thumb to circle your clit in a ruthless, steady rhythm that matched the pace of his mouth. Your fingernails dug into the wooden edges of the counter as you struggled to keep your balance, entirely dominated by his hold. You couldn't think, let alone breathe.

You ground yourself against his face, desperate for friction, completely overstimulated. Before you could even process how close you were, your body tightened into a sudden, violent release. A loud, unraveled cry ripped from your chest as you came entirely undone against his mouth.

Jungkook didn’t pull away, catching every drop of your release until your breathing turned into ragged, shallow gasps and you weakly pushed at his shoulders to make him stop.

The room felt entirely too small. You remained leaned against the counter, your fingertips pressing hard into the surface as if it were the only thing keeping you upright. Then, the reality of the situation slammed into you.

You caught your reflection in the dark glass of the window across the room. Flushed cheeks, swollen lips, hair completely disheveled, and eyes glassy with tears. You looked utterly vulnerable. You looked affected. And you absolutely hated it.

Slowly, you straightened your spine, forcing your shoulders back as you tried to regain control over your breathing. No one had ever seen you like this. People liked you perfect, and untouchable. You had just completely unraveled in front of someone who, an hour ago, was a total stranger. A hot flush of humiliation pooled in your chest.

Your fingers trembled slightly, so you curled them into fists to ground yourself. You quickly wiped beneath your eyes, pretending it was just sweat from the heat of the room.

Jungkook rose to his feet, his hands reaching down to help adjust your clothes, his fingers brushing your hips. Your pulse spiked all over again at the contact. You actively avoided his gaze, staring somewhere over his shoulder while his eyes remained locked on your face, noting your damp lashes and flushed skin.

He reached forward, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. Your heart stuttered. Through the heavy bathroom door, the distant, muffled bass of a song vibrated through the floorboards.

The closeness, the sheer intimacy of the moment made your knees feel weak. You wanted to run, but part of you wanted to stay.

Jungkook leaned in slightly, closing the distance between your faces. Overwhelmed by the proximity, you took a sharp step back. If you met his eyes right now, he would see exactly how shaken you were.

“There,” he said quietly, smoothing down the edge of your skirt. Before he could say anything else, loud voices echoed down the hallway outside, laughter and heavy footsteps approaching. Reality broke the spell.

Your posture instantly stiffened, and you put significant distance between your bodies. “I should go,” you said, your voice quickly recovering its usual sharpness.

He frowned slightly, caught off guard by how rapidly you retreated. “Hey—”

But you were already adjusting your hair, wiping your face, and rebuilding your walls brick by brick. By the time you unlocked the door and the noise of the party flooded in, you looked perfectly composed again. Your mask was firmly back in place.

You slipped past him into the hallway without another word, pretending like nothing had happened. Behind you, Jungkook stood in the empty room, his jaw tightening.

The weeks following Halloween were relentless. Midterms arrived in a brutal wave of presentations and exams. Sorority executive meetings ran late into the night, forcing you into a cycle of endless, sleepless nights just to keep up. You remained prepared, but the exhaustion was draining, and a tiny dip in your grades blinked like a warning light.

​Lina was technically always around, linking her arm through yours as you walked across the quad. You shared the same lectures and the same campus routes, but she was completely glued to her new boyfriend lately. You didn’t blame her as honestly, it gave you more quiet time to study anyway.​

One freezing evening, the two of you were walking toward the engineering quad to meet with a potential fraternity partner about co-sponsoring an upcoming charity event. You didn’t know much about frat boys, but your general impression was that they were aggressively sexist, so you were already dreading having to ask them for anything.​

As the heavy glass doors of the building slid open, Lina immediately scrunched her nose.​“Ugh, I hate this building.” She pulled her scarf higher. “It genuinely terrifies me. None of the people who willingly major in engineering are normal in any capacity.”

​You let out a soft snort, pulling your coat tighter. “Be nice. We need their budget.”​

Before Lina could fire back, her eyes locked onto someone across the lobby. “Oh my god! Minho!”​ You went entirely stiff at the name, your eyes scanning the crowded lobby until you found him.

He turned at the sound of his name, a bright smile spreading across his face when he saw Lina, which immediately softened into something nervous when his eyes landed on you.​ “Hey,” he greeted, jogging over to meet you both by the directory.​

“Perfect timing,” Lina said, skipping the small talk. “We’re here to talk to some of the guys about the fundraiser thing. Do you know if they’re upstairs?”​

“Yeah, most of them are hanging out in the lounge,” Minho replied, his hands jammed into his pockets. “I can walk you guys up.” His eyes drifted back to you, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Hi.”

​You offered him a polite, perfectly curated smile. “Hi, Minho.”​

Lina’s phone suddenly buzzed violently in her hand. She glanced down at the screen and groaned loudly. “Wait, I have to take this, it’s my advisor. You guys go ahead, I’ll meet you up there in a second.”

​And before you could grab her sleeve, she spun around and darted back out the glass doors.​

You and Minho stood there for an awkward second in the center of the bustling lobby. He cleared his throat and started walking, gesturing for you to follow him toward the elevators.​

Surprisingly, the conversation came a little easier this time. He asked how your campaign wrap-up went, and you asked how his midterms had treated him. He was actually kind of funny when he wasn’t trying so hard to impress you.

You found yourself actually paying attention to what he was saying.​ Then, you caught a movement out of the corner of your eye.​

Jungkook.

​He was walking toward the elevators from the opposite corridor, hands shoved deep into his pockets, tall and completely unreadable. You froze mid step, the air turning to ice in your lungs. A sudden, violent flutter twisted your stomach.​

Minho spotted him too. “Oh, yo, Jungkook!” he called out, waving his hand.​

Your heart skipped a beat, then began to thud frantically against your ribs. You froze completely, your eyes fixed on the floor.​

Jungkook, on the other hand, didn’t falter. He stopped a few feet away, his expression entirely calm, then, he adjusted his course and fell into step right beside Minho.​

Your chest tightened, the spacious lobby suddenly feeling microscopic. You were forced to look at both of them now, standing there pretending you didn't want to sprint out of the building and never look back. Your stomach churned as you fought with everything you had to project absolute normalcy.​

Up until this exact second, you had done an incredible job pretending that whatever had happened in that dark bathroom on Halloween had never occurred. But now you were backed into a corner, forced to face it. Forced to face him.​

Minho, completely oblivious to the sudden shift in the air, tilted his head between the two of you. “So... have you guys actually met each other before?”​

You blinked once, your voice appearing smooth and cold. “No.”

​Jungkook’s eyes flicked over to you. An almost imperceptible glimmer of amusement passed through them, his mouth twitching just enough to let you know he was silently daring you to keep lying.​

“Well, this is my best bro, Jungkook,” Minho said, nudging him with an elbow. “Same year, mechanical engineering. You sure you haven’t seen him around at all? Not even at the Halloween party?”​

You swallowed hard at the mention of the party, the taste of smoke and cold air flashing through your mind. You didn’t dare look at Jungkook’s face, silently praying for the floor to open up and swallow you whole.​

“Yep,” you said smoothly, tilting your head up just enough to look past them, batting your eyelashes with innocence. “Never seen him before in my life.” ​You tacked on a faint, chilly smile, making your expression a perfect, unreadable brick wall, even though every nerve in your body was screaming.

​Jungkook’s gaze lingered on your face for one long second before he looked back at Minho, not a single word leaving his mouth. Good. Because if he mentioned that night to a single soul on this campus, you would hunt him down and make sure it was the last thing he ever did.

And you weren’t playing around. Not even a little bit.

The days following that trainwreck of an encounter passed in a blur of morning lectures, endless executive board meetings, and the suffocating weight of sorority obligations. In the middle of it all, you and Minho got closer.

Your phone buzzed constantly with his texts, joking about the campus dining hall, trading dull anecdotes about professors, occasionally sliding into a comfortable, easy sort of flirting.

You didn’t particularly feel a spark, but you went through the motions and reciprocated anyway. You looked for a flame, some kind of genuine heat, but the pilot light was completely out.

But every single time Jungkook entered your peripheral vision, sometimes walking beside Minho, sometimes looming down a hallway entirely on his own, your lungs fundamentally seized. Your chest tightened until it ached.

You had absolutely zero intention of unboxing whatever those reactions meant anytime soon, or ever. Losing to him? Giving him the satisfaction of knowing he held that kind of real estate in your head? Not a chance in hell. That beef remained entirely one sided. For now.

Then, on a Tuesday afternoon, Minho texted you a simple: Want to go grab coffee this weekend? For the first time in weeks, you didn’t overthink it. You’d never been opposed to the idea of a boyfriend. It was college; literally everyone had someone to walk to the library with. And besides, Minho was sweet, he was safe, and incredibly convenient.

You texted back a yes. From that afternoon on, you were official. The first three months were easy enough to coast through. You got used to his presence, his predictable jokes, his little quirks. But Jungkook? Jungkook didn’t get easier. He didn’t fade into the background.

As Minho grew comfortable in the relationship, the way most guys do once they think they’ve secured a prize, the effort evaporated. The small, thoughtful gestures that actually mattered to you stopped completely. And the arguments started.

For someone built like you, it was impossible to connect with a person who treated you like background noise. You were more than a pretty face, a tailored skirt set, or a massive family trust fund. You had sharp opinions, and real, heavy emotions. But with Minho, it felt like your only job was to look flawless and dolled up at his side.

His ego had absolutely skyrocketed the second he started dating “the hottest, richest girl on campus” , the one every guy in his fraternity wanted to bring to formal. And whenever he felt remotely challenged or outsmarted by you? He lashed out.

You called him out on his casual, messed up views constantly, and the second he realized he couldn’t win the debate, he turned mean. Once, in a massive group chat filled with his fraternity brothers, he actually referred to you as a bitch. Right out in the open, where everyone could see it.

The most logical, self respecting move would have been to twist his ballsack into a knot and dump his clothes on the lawn. But you didn’t break up with him. Not yet.

He always standard-issued a pathetic apology, and frankly, you couldn’t stomach the campus wide drama of a messy breakup. So you held on, gritting your teeth.

Jungkook, meanwhile, shifted from making your stomach flip to purely driving you insane. He’d been an absolute prick from the exact moment you and Minho became a thing.

He acted like an unmitigated asswipe, unnecessarily rude, razor-tongued, and possessing a terrifying knack for saying the exact phrase required to make your blood boil.

Every single interaction with him was a hostile, exhausting dance of irritation and latent attraction, and you despised how easily he managed to get under your skin.

It started with small things; a passing comment, a loaded question. Jungkook always seemed to materialize at the exact wrong, or maybe the exact right moment.

You and Minho would be in the middle of a tense whisper-fight by the campus library, and suddenly there he was, leaning against a concrete pillar. “You sure dating her is really what you want, man?” Jungkook asked once, his voice dropping into a low conversational register, completely unbothered by the fact that he was invading a private conversation. “I mean... she seems a little complicated.”

You felt the venom hidden in the word, your jaw clenching so hard your teeth clicked. Minho blinked, looking up. “Complicated?”

Jungkook shrugged, his eyes narrowing as his gaze swept over you, entirely mocking. “I don’t know. Just saying. She’s smart, she’s ambitious... but she doesn’t really listen, does she? Like, really hear what you need?” Your chest went completely tight. This absolute asshole.

You had never let anyone talk down to you, let alone a third party trying to actively poison your boyfriend’s mind. “Are you seriously doing this right now?” you snapped, crossing your arms tightly over your chest.

The corner of Jungkook’s mouth twitched, the ghost of a smirk pulling at his lips. “Just making an observation, princess. For his own good.”

You let out a ragged breath, doing everything in your power to hide how deep the knife had gone. Every word out of his mouth felt perfectly engineered to make Minho doubt you. And every time Minho looked at you with even a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, your fury tripled.

It wasn’t fair. Jungkook had no right to interfere, yet he did it constantly, and Minho, idiot that he was, actually listened.

It was a recurring nightmare. Another night, another argument outside a house party. “You really think she’s serious about you?” Jungkook asked, seemingly casual though sharp enough to draw blood. “Or is she just playing along? Keeping you on a leash while she does her own thing behind closed doors?”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to shatter something against his heavy jaw. But you held back, grinding your molars together. Minho’s face dropped for a second before he shook his head, looking thoroughly pathetic. “I... I don’t know, man.” And there it was. Exactly what Jungkook wanted.

Honestly, you had no fucking idea what Jungkook actually wanted, so scratch that.

All you knew was that he knew exactly which buttons to press, how to twist every minor insecurity into a weapon aimed directly at your relationship. Every single day he grew more insufferable, and your hatred for him grew right alongside it.

Then came the worst one. “You know,” Jungkook drawled during a fight on the frat house porch, ensuring his voice carried enough for Minho to catch every syllable, “she’s probably just going to sprint the second things get emotional. Or, you know, intense. She looks exactly like the type to pull a disappearing act.” Your lungs emptied.

That wasn’t just a dig, that was a direct, targeted slap to the face. He was throwing your avoidant, fragile tendencies right back at you, completely weaponizing the raw confession you’d given him on Halloween. Clenching your fists, you shot him a glare that should have incinerated him on the spot. Jungkook didn’t even flinch, holding your gaze, deadpan and brutal.

Minho frowned, looking between you two. “What do you mean by that?” You opened your mouth to cut the knees out from under him, to defend yourself, but Jungkook leaned in closer to Minho, his smirk practically begging you to finally lose your goddamn mind.

“I’m just saying,” he said, like he was explaining a basic math problem, “some people can’t handle it when things get real. They freak out and push you away instead. Don’t take it personally, man.”

“Are you finished?” you snapped, your voice dropping to an absolute sub zero chill as you fought to keep your exterior from shattering. “Or do you want to keep handing out unsolicited psychological profiles about me?”

Jungkook’s eyes lit up, thoroughly entertained by the fire he’d started. “Just looking out,” he stated simply, mockingly innocent. “For his own good, obviously.”

God, you hated him. You loathed every syllable that left his mouth. It genuinely horrified you to remember that the exact same mouth had been buried between your legs three months ago.

And speaking of your sex life, with Minho, it was... mediocre? Boring? Horrifyingly, aggressively average?

He cared infinitely more about his own finish line than actually taking the time to learn what made your body tick. He thought being “good in bed” just meant memorizing positions and technical maneuvers he’d probably seen online, but he never bothered to look at you.

Naturally, you faked every single orgasm you had ever had with him. Every single one.

You still weren’t entirely sure if Jungkook had ever dropped hints to Minho about what happened in that bathroom on Halloween, but Minho’s absolute, blissful ignorance was enough to guess the answer was no. If he ever found out, the fallout would be catastrophic.

From every angle, the dynamic was glaringly obvious: Minho desperately wanted to be better than Jungkook. Jungkook was effortlessly smarter, more charming, and more attractive to literally everyone. But Jungkook didn’t have a gorgeous, wealthy high status girlfriend. Minho did.

That singular fact was the only thing soothing Minho’s bruised ego whenever they were in the same room.

Somewhere in the middle of those brutal months, bloated with tension and stupid arguments piled with Minho’s suffocating jealousy — you finally hit your breaking point.

It happened on a Friday night that felt like it would never end. By 2:00 AM, everyone was completely blasted. Lina, her boyfriend, Minho, and some mutual friend who had tagged along were all laughing hysterically, stumbling over their own feet, too drunk to stand up straight, let alone operate a vehicle.

You, on the other hand, hadn’t touched a single drop of alcohol. Purely out of spite.

Jungkook wasn’t exactly sober either, but he was calm, and entirely in control of his faculties. Eventually, he had to take charge of the keys, dragging everyone into his car and dropping them off one by one like a designated chauffeur. Lina went first, then the mutual friend, and finally, a completely unconscious Minho.

Finally, the passenger door clicked shut, and it was just the two of you.

You sat rigidly in the passenger seat, kicking your heels up onto the leather dashboard and crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “Drop me off near the compound,” you demanded, utterly uninviting and bossy.

He glanced at you from the driver’s seat, one dark eyebrow ticking upward as he shifted the car into drive. “Near the compound? You sure you don’t want me to walk you all the way to the door?”

You let out a harsh, venomous scoff. “Don’t push your luck.” He smirked, the glow of the dashboard lights catching the sharp line of his jaw. In the quiet hum of the car, he leaned just a fraction of an inch closer to your side of the console.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low and nearly scraping against your nerves, “for someone who acts like she completely despises me, you sure make it easy to get right under your skin.”

Your chest seized, a furious, burning flush rushing straight up your neck to your cheeks. Your jaw locked. That was it. That was the absolute final straw.

“What the fuck is your problem?” you snapped, slamming your palm against the leather dashboard. You leaned into his space, the sheer, suffocating volume of your frustration rolling off you in waves. “Why do you always have to—why do you say shit like that? Do you get some kind of sick thrill out of making me look crazy?”

Jungkook’s foot tensed on the gas pedal, a brief flicker of surprise passing over his face at the sudden harshness of your voice. Then, a familiar, aggravating smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, “Oh, I don’t know,” he said, his voice dropping into a syrupy drawl. he was tasting every syllable. “Maybe I just like seeing you unravel.”

Your fingernails bit directly into the dashboard material. Your chest heaved as the hidden weight behind that sentence dropped into your stomach. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was throwing the bathroom in your face.

And right there, in the quiet of the console, the friction you’d spent months denying finally caught fire. It was a miserable, burning tension, threatening to swallow the car whole.

“I hate you,” you spat, your eyes blazing in the dark. Jungkook tilted his head, his expression completely unbothered. “Do you? Or do you just hate that Minho has no idea how to give you what you actually want?”

A sharp, disbelieving laugh cut from your throat. “Shut up!” You could hear your pulse clicking in your ears, furious because he’d read the exact truth hidden beneath your ribs. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I promise you, Jungkook. You love acting like you have everyone on this campus figured out.”

He let out a quiet scoff. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure him out.”

Your jaw clenched. “You’re supposed to be his best friend.”

“Exactly.” he stated, a strange sort of bitterness in his tone.

“Then you don’t get to sit there and judge my relationship when you’re the one constantly poisoning it,” you fired back, your voice rising. “Maybe if you weren’t whispering in his ear every single time we have a disagreement—”

“I wasn’t whispering anything,” Jungkook cut in, the lazy amusement instantly draining from his voice. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I told him the truth.”

“Oh, please.”

“You think he ever actually listens to a word you say?” he pressed, cutting his eyes toward you. “Or does he just like having you on his arm?”

Your shoulders tensed. “He cares about me.”

“Does he?” Jungkook challenged. “Because from where I’ve been sitting, he likes the concept of you. He likes the status that comes with dating the girl everyone envies, and he loves the way people look at him when you walk into a room. The second you aren’t perfect, the second you argue back or don’t just smile and look pretty, he panics.” The interior of the car grew suffocatingly quiet.

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” he said, his voice losing its mocking edge entirely. “He doesn’t know what to do with a girl who has actual teeth.”

Your throat tightened, a dry lump forming. “You don’t know the first thing about us.”

“I know you,” he shot back. Silence dropped like a stone between the seats. You shook your head, letting out a bitter, defensive laugh. “You know nothing about me.”

His eyes darkened. “I know you don’t let anyone see when something actually gets to you. I know you play dead so people think you don’t care. And I know you stayed with that idiot even after he called you a bitch in front of his entire fraternity.”

You let out another breathless laugh, shaking your head against the headrest. “Oh my God. Are you serious right now?”

His jaw ticked. “What?”

“You think this is about you understanding me?” you snapped, coming out vicious and defensive. Anything to stop the exposure. “You think you’re some kind of exception to the rule? Some savior who sees right through me?”

“That’s not what I...”

“No,” you cut him off, your voice turning to absolute ice. “You’re only saying all this deep, psychological bullshit because you want to sleep with me.” Total silence.

Jungkook’s face didn’t move, but something behind his eyes froze completely.

“You’ve been obsessed with proving Minho isn’t good enough from day one,” you went on, the anger blinding you now, driving you to hurt him before he could look at you too closely. “You hate that I chose him over you. And now you’re trying to twist it into some profound connection so you don’t have to look pathetic.”

His knuckles turned white against the steering wheel, the leather groaning under his grip. “You think I’d go this far,” he said, dangerously calm, “just to get you into bed?”

You shrugged, looking out the side window, feigning absolute indifference. “Wouldn’t be the first time a guy invented a soul connection to get his dick wet.”

You saw the exact second Jungkook’s gaze went completely flat, draining of any leftover emotion. “Right,” he muttered. Every ounce of warmth evaporated from the car.

“Forget it,” he stated, staring straight at the road. “You’re right.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden drop. “What?”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night,” he replied evenly.

The unbotheredness in his tone made your stomach drop worse than if he’d screamed at you. A horrible, prickling realization hit that you’d gone too far. But your pride refused to let you back down.

You doubled down instead. “Good,” you said, crossing your arms. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

He killed the engine the second the car rolled into the compound lot.

The heavy security gates slid shut behind the bumper, sealing the quiet in. You reached for the door handle immediately. But he was already out, rounding the hood before you could even pop the latch.

Even after all of that, the air completely toxic between you... he still walked you to the entrance. You wanted to tell him to go to hell, but the quad was pitch black, so you let him.

The walk toward the building was stiff, both of your shoulders locked, the distance between your bodies pulled as tight as a wire under tension. You punched the access code into the wall aggressively, stepping into the empty lobby.

Because of your family’s funding, you basically owned the lower lounge space, it was completely deserted at this hour.

You walked toward the center of the room without looking back, your heels making a loud, lonely sound against the flooring. You should have just gone upstairs to your room. That was the logical choice. Instead, you stopped and turned around.

He was already halfway back to the glass doors, his back to you, posture cold and rigid. Something in your chest pulled.

In all the months you’d known him, you’d never seen him look this distant. “Of course,” you muttered to the empty room. “That’s it? You just walk away?”

Jungkook didn’t stop his stride. “There’s nothing left to say.”

“You’re really just going to leave it like that?” your voice echoed slightly.

“Like what?” he asked, finally stopping, turning his face to look at you with total, unreadable indifference.

“That.”

“There’s nothing to leave,” he said flatly. The sheer lack of anything in his voice scraped against something desperate inside you.

“God, you are completely insufferable,” you muttered, crossing the distance between you. He let out a humorless laugh. “And you’re entirely predictable.”

That did it. You stepped right into his space, your hand coming up to push his shoulder, hard. “Stop acting like you have me figured out.” He barely budged against the impact. “I don’t have to act.”

You hit his chest again, more out of pure frustration than actual violence. “Shut up.”

His hand snapped out, his fingers locking around your wrist this time, firm enough to halt your arm mid air. “Are you done?” he asked.

The utter boredom in his voice made you feel sick, knowing you were the only one losing your mind.

You wrenched your wrist free, stepping past him to block the exit. Your back hit the heavy wood of the lounge door, sealing him inside with you. “You don’t get to walk away like you don’t care,” you breathed.

“I don’t,” he replied. An ugly panic flared in your chest; not because you needed his approval, but because you realized you couldn’t stand the thought of him actually hating you.

Before your brain could register the mistake, you reached out, fisted the collar of his black shirt, and yanked him down into a hard, impulsive kiss, anything to drown out his voice.

He didn’t move. His lips remained flat against yours into a horrible, rigid hesitation that almost made you pull back in total humiliation. But then his palm slammed against your waist, grip tightening until it bruised, and he fired back.

It wasn’t gentle; it was a kiss laced with pure, unadulterated anger. He’d decided giving in was easier than fighting your mouth.

“See?” you murmured against his lips, your breath hitched. “That’s all this is.”

His jaw clenched against your mouth. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself,” he rasped. You lost your temper completely, leaning into him with more force, the kiss turning messy, months of starvation, and sheer desperation interwoven.

You were pushing him away and pulling him close in the same frantic breath. The adrenaline was dizzying.

Jungkook responded by taking over entirely. His hands locked onto your hips, lifting you effortlessly off the floor until your legs instinctively tangled around his waist. A small, wrecked sound escaped your throat, and that was all the permission he needed. “...mphmm the door,” you wheezed against his throat.

Without breaking the contact for more than a second, his arm reached behind your back, turning the heavy iron key in the lounge lock with an echoey click. No more distractions, no safety net.

He carried you over to the leather couch, dropping you onto the cushions, but you didn’t give him a single second to take control. The moment your back hit the leather, you shoved his chest, hard.

He stumbled back, and before he could reset his weight, you scrambled up into his lap, straddling his thighs. Your fingers gripped his collar again, your chin tilted high as you forced him to look up at you. You didn’t look away this time. Your heart was knocking so hard against your ribs you knew he could feel it through his shirt.

“You think you know me so well,” you panted, your voice trembling. “You don’t know anything.”

Your hands were shaking against his throat from the sheer proximity. Your mouth was inches from his, tasting the heat of his breath. He just stared up at you, his dark eyes wide, tracking every micro movement of your face.

“If I didn’t know you,” he said, his voice dropping into a lethal register, “you wouldn’t be shaking right now.”

Each word completely dried the air in your throat. Before you could scramble for a comeback, his hands came up, wrapping firmly around your wrists. In one heavy shift of his weight, the world tilted.

He completely overpowered you, flipping your body until your back slammed against his chest, trapping you between his torso and the deep cushions of the couch.He gathered both of your wrists in one of his large hands, securing them easily behind your back. His other palm settled heavy on your waist, anchoring you down.

The total shift in dominance made your pulse track double time. His breath brushed the hot skin of your neck, and a violent tremor hit your legs, one you tried desperately to ignore.

You squirmed against him, testing the boundaries of his grip, but his hold was iron.

Jungkook leaned down, biting the sensitive junction where your neck met your shoulder, his fingers dragging your skirt down and away in one rough, impatient motion.

Then he manspread his legs completely, forcing your thighs—which were resting over his, to follow the movement, leaving you entirely exposed in your underwear.

A sudden, sharp wave of embarrassment hit you, and you tried to snap your knees shut, but his weight held you open. He reached down, hooking the edge of your panties and sliding them completely to the side.

You dug your fingernails into the thick muscle of his thighs, scratching through his jeans as two of his fingers pressed against your clit, rubbing in a heavy, merciless circle. He didn't slide inside yet; just watched you in the mirror across the room, your head fallen back against his shoulder, your mouth open. His free hand climbed up your torso, cupping your breast through your shirt and squeezing so hard a sharp whimpering sound cut through the quiet room.

It was too much. You wanted the friction inside you immediately. You forced your eyes open, looking back at him over your shoulder, your lips pulled into a miserable, frustrated pout, your cheeks dark red and your eyes wet with tears, begging him without words.Jungkook’s jaw tightened, his cock going rock hard against your lower back at the sheer sight of your desperate face.

Without a word of warning, he drove two fingers deep into you. You let out a broken gasp as he tilted your chin back, burying his mouth in yours for a wet, dirty kiss, his saliva smearing against your cheek as he worked his hand.

His fingers moved in a slow, agonizingly deep pace at first, hooking against the exact spots that made your hips twitch. You hated it, loathed the fact that he had your anatomy completely mapped out, that he knew how to make your body respond better than you did.

The wet, loud sounds of his fingers moving inside you filled the empty room, making your brain go completely fuzzy with heat. You tried to clamp your thighs around his hand to slow him down, knowing you were already hovering right at the cliff.

Jungkook reached around, twisting your nipple through the fabric, pulling at it as he leaned his head down, watching his fingers disappear into you with a dark focus.

You broke down faster than you ever had, with a loud, ruined cry that was swallowed by the room as you squirted over his knuckles, your thighs shaking violently.

You tried to close your legs to hide the mess. He didn’t let you, keeping you pinned until the last contraction faded. Slowly, he dragged his wet, coated fingers up the length of your stomach, bringing them right up to his own mouth. You let out a small, horrified whimper as you watched him lazily suck your own arousal off his skin, the sheer lewdness of it making you soak through the cushions all over again.

He shifted your body around until you were facing him, straddling his lap properly. He reached under the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head in one movement before reaching back to unclasp your bra. Your hands were fumbling just as frantically, ripping the buttons of his shirt apart and tearing at his belt, pulling his thick, heavy cock free into the cool air of the room.

You hoisted your hips, positioning yourself directly over him, the blunt head of his length rubbing against your wet, swollen folds. Impatient, you lined it up and sank down.

A sharp hiss left your lips as your muscles stretched around him, your body struggling to take the full length all at once. Before you could panic and back off, Jungkook reached up, grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you down into a heavy, suffocating kiss to stop your brain from working.

His large hands locked onto your hip bones, his grip bruising as he guided your body down firmly, bottoming out inside you. The sudden, deep stretch made your entire frame go rigid, your fingers digging into the meat of his shoulders as you tried to find your breath.

The second you started moving, the pace turned brutal. It was rough and frantic, like a race you were both desperately trying to outrun. And the entire time, Jungkook kept his face completely neutral.

He kept it entirely physical, refusing to lock eyes with you for more than a second. Because if this was just a unhinged, meaningless hookup... then he didn’t have to acknowledge how deeply your insults had actually cut him.

That was the first, and the last time you let him touch you for a very long time.

The next morning, you went right back to Minho’s apartment, and Jungkook went right back to treating you like dirt. Or, at least, pretending to.

After that night in the lounge, you rebuilt your distance with meticulous, terrifying care, brick by brick. You avoided being left alone in a room with him at all costs. If Jungkook walked into a house party, you found an immediate excuse to check your phone and walk outside. If he spoke directly to you, you answered only in flat, one word syllables.

Your face remained a perfect, unreadable sheet of ice, treating him like a minor inconvenience, and Jungkook adapted to the routine instantly.

If anything, his edges got sharper. He still inserted himself into your conversations with Minho, sitting just an inch too close on the fraternity couches during group outings, interrupting your arguments under the exact same guise of “helping his bro.”

And ofcourse, every single time you and Minho fought, Jungkook managed to subtly pivot the narrative until you looked completely unreasonable to everyone else in the room, painting you as too high-maintenance, like you were the problem.

You tried your best to stay unbothered; you told yourself it didn’t affect you, that he was just bitter because you’d called him pathetic in his car.

Neither of you ever mentioned that night in the lounge, or the night of the Halloween party. You never addressed the argument you’d left half finished. It was safer to leave it in the dark.

Sometimes, though, the guilt would catch you off guard. Usually, it hit when Minho laced his fingers through yours while walking across the quad, or when he introduced you to his parents over a lazy, proud grin. But every single time Minho turned around and disrespected you, or ran his mouth in front of his friends to save his own ego, the guilt shrank into nothing. And before you could stop, you’d find yourself right back in Jungkook’s bed.

It shouldn’t have kept happening. Every single time, you left his apartment telling yourself it was a massive, final mistake.

Until Minho dumped you over a three line text message on a random Thursday, which brought you right back to where you were currently sitting, shoved into the passenger seat of Jungkook’s car, making the exact same reckless, self destructive choices, driven by a hollow ache that only his hands knew how to fill.

The fire between you two flared up all over again, only this time, too big to ignore.

Slowly, you turned your head against the leather headrest to look at him, tracking the clean sharpness of his jaw, the focus in his eyes as he kept his gaze locked on the dark road ahead; you didn’t look away this time.

You were openly craving his touch in a way you always had, in the exact, ruinous way you knew you shouldn’t.

You were poised to repeat the exact same mistake all over again, and looking at his profile in the dashboard light, you weren’t even sure you wanted to stop it.

[kurapikaenia]

Hate sex is still sex. — part one | ᴊᴇᴏɴ ᴊᴜɴɢᴋᴏᴏᴋ

You just got dumped. The one behind it? your boyfriend’s best friend Jungkook who’s hated you from day one. You hate him. He hates you. One thing’s for sure: when hate turns into desire, it gets messy, it gets reckless… and yes, hate sex is still sex.

⎯⎯ pairing: Grumpy Jungkook x Mean girl reader

🧷Genre: enemies with benefits

🧷Warnings: smutty, spoiled rich brat reader, car sex, dom!jk x sub!y/n, sloww burn, enemies to lovers, angst, college au, rich,girl!oc, oc is uptight, meandom!jk

🧷wc: 7k+

| one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten |

<>series m.list

enjoy!!<33

You knew exactly who was behind this. You knew it the second your phone lit up.

i don’t think this is working out anymore. We should break up.

Your brain reread the message once, then again, trying to process how casually eighteen months could be reduced to two sentences. Someone bumped your shoulder in the campus courtyard and muttered a quick apology, but you barely registered it. Your hands were shaking as you stared at the screen, a hot wave of rage turning into pure disbelief.

This didn’t sound like Minho. He could be clueless, painfully average at emotional conversations, and thoroughly disappointing in bed, but he would never break up with you over a text. If anything, he would’ve dragged the relationship out for another semester just to avoid this exact moment.

Minho didn’t make executive decisions like this on his own. To be frank, you’d been planning to break up with his ass before graduation anyway; what was supposed to be a two-week situationship had somehow stretched into a year and a half of total stagnation.

It was the method that irked you. The cowardice of it. No explanation, no conversation, no respect for the time you’d spent together. Just a clean exit, like deleting an app he didn’t use anymore. And there was only one person you knew who specialized in being that condescending, and arrogant.

Jeon. Fucking. Jungkook.

You couldn’t think of a single milestone where Jungkook hadn’t inserted himself into your relationship. Every disagreement between you and Minho had somehow become his business.

“You two don't seem compatible.”

“Are you sure this is healthy?”

“Maybe you’re ignoring red flags.”

He had spent months playing the role of the concerned best friend, subtly poisoning the well until Minho finally let him hold the shovel.

According to Jungkook, anything you did counted as suspicious behavior. You had endured months of it. the constant criticism disguised as concern, the subtle comments, the way he’d interrupt a moment that was almost romantic until the mood died completely. At one point, you’d genuinely wondered if Jungkook was secretly in love with Minho.

Whatever his problem was, you were about to make it personal.

You dragged your key across the side of his car with a furious, steady hand. Not Minho’s car... Jungkook’s.

The metallic scrape cut through the quiet parking lot, sharp and incredibly satisfying. You didn’t rush. You took your time, carving a long, messy line across the paint before stepping back to admire the damage. Your initials were deeply, violently etched right into the housing of his rearview mirror.

Petty? Absolutely. Deserved? Also yes.

You tugged at the strap of your bag and tampered with whatever else you could reach, nothing dramatic, just enough inconvenience to match your mood. Getting dumped over text had a way of humbling a person, but you weren’t about to take it lying down.

Exhaling through clenched teeth, you turned and started walking toward the narrow gravel path behind the engineering building. Every step was faster than the last, carrying you closer to where you knew they’d be. By the time you rounded the corner, you already knew the layout.

Minho and his friends were huddled near the chain link fence, smoking and laughing. The rest of the guys noticed you first. Their laughter died mid sentence as their eyes met yours, and they slipped away quietly, shuffling down the alley before a single word could be exchanged.

Jungkook didn’t move. He stayed at the edge of the group, leaning casually against the brick wall, hands stuffed into his pockets. He didn’t even bother hiding that he was enjoying this.

You stopped right in front of Minho, your jaw set. His eyes widened the moment he saw the coldness in your expression.

“Really, Minho?” your voice was loud and loaded. “Eighteen months, and you end it over text? Did it even occur to you to say it to my face?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, shifting uncomfortably. “Look, Y/n—”

“Don’t.” You cut him off before he could stumble through an excuse. “I already know who pushed you into this. Jungkook.”

His name barely left your lips before Jungkook’s shadow shifted. A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t step forward yet; he just let the accusation hang there like smoke.

“No, it’s not Jungkook,” Minho said, his voice tight and defensive. “I made that call.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Really? Was this your decision, or a group project between you and your keeper?”

Jungkook stepped forward then, his movements relaxed. “Or maybe,” he said, dragging out the words like they were honey, “I’m just trying to help him break off an obviously toxic relationship.”

You whirled on him, fire in your eyes. “And who the hell are you to decide whether it was toxic or not?”

He tilted his head, faintly amused, stepping closer until he invaded your space. “Oh, right,” he said, clicking his tongue. “I forgot nobody’s ever broken up with you before. Must be rough. Probably the first time you didn’t get exactly what you wanted, right, princess?”

The urge to wipe that smirk off Jungkook’s face was nearly overwhelming. You weren’t naive; you knew how the world worked for you. You were used to deference, used to getting your way, and being the one who dictated the terms of a relationship. Being dumped via text didn’t just hurt, it was a massive glitch in your reality. Minho had looked you in the eye yesterday. To coward out behind a screen today was pathetic.

Somehow, what hurt more than Jungkook running his mouth was Minho just standing there, saying nothing. Not defending you. Not even looking at you.

And honestly, what else could you expect from a boyfriend who called you crazy over any small dispute? Ironically, even Jungkook, who openly disliked everything about you, had never crossed that line.

“Fine,” you said flatly, shaking your head. “I don’t even care anymore, if I’m being honest. You can’t hold a real conversation without acting like my feelings are an inconvenience. This relationship was dead anyway.”

Minho blinked, caught off guard by how quickly you dismissed him.

“And for the record,” you added, pausing just long enough for both of them to look at you, “I faked every single orgasm.”

​Minho’s mouth dropped open. Jungkook let out a sharp, genuine laugh, surprised, before catching himself. You didn’t give them the satisfaction of a lingering exit; you turned on your heel and walked out into the street.

The image lingered in Jungkook’s head long after you disappeared down the street. It stayed funny right up until later that night, when he walked back to his car.

Jungkook stared at the deep scratches running across the paint, his eyes pausing on the violently etched initials on his mirror. He let out a quiet sigh, somewhere between disbelief and admiration.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, though, if anything, he looked impressed. Most people talked big when they were mad, but you actually followed through.

He leaned back against the car, eyes narrowing slightly. For someone he’d spent months calling unbearable, you were dangerous when you were angry. This had never been some petty little rivalry; you’d been at each other’s throats since day one, constant tension, both of you refusing to back down first. He hated spoiled, rich girls like you, but tonight crossed a line. Now it was personal.

And the best part? Minho wasn’t there to stand between you two anymore. Not that he ever actually had. What a fucking coward. Jungkook had known from the start Minho didn’t have it in him to handle someone loud, high maintenance like you. Minho was too insecure, too eager to please, and way too selfish when it mattered.

The breakup had been inevitable. Jungkook had just sped things up.

But was he going to let you get away with ruining his car? Absolutely not. He pulled out his phone, searching for your contact, still saved from the old group chats.

Jungkook: Nice work on the paint job. Jungkook: Didn’t know you did custom metalwork.

You pulled your phone out when you heard the notification, obviously displeased upon peeking at the screen.

​Jungkook: We need to talk about the mirror. Y/N: Find a cliff and drive off it.

Jungkook: Cute. I’m looking at my rearview mirror right now, and you’re paying for the paint job. Y/N: Send the bill to Minho. He’s the one who relies on you to handle his business.

Jungkook: Minho didn’t key my car. You did.

Jungkook: Where are you? Let’s settle this.

Y/N: I’m not doing this with you. Jungkook: You were bold enough to scream at us an hour ago. Don’t go quiet now. Jungkook: Unless you’re scared. Y/N: Of you? Never. You’re just a parasite who couldn’t stay out of my relationship. Jungkook: It wasn’t a relationship. It was a hostage situation. I did him a favor. Y/N: Go tell him that then. Leave me out of it. Jungkook: Too late. You made it personal the second you touched my car.

You stared at your phone, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Not a chance you’re giving him the satisfaction of the final laugh, you thought, as you shut it off.

After walking for what felt like ages, you finally reached a late night convenience store. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly as you slouched against the counter, your designer bag slung over one shoulder. You tried to look casual, though it was impossible to blend in given your silk blouse, fitted trousers, and pointed heels.

Frowning deeply, you tore open an onigiri, eating it in moody silence. You weren’t upset over Minho, that was laughable. but your pride took a massive hit. Worst of all, Jungkook had won.

A movement caught your eye outside the glass doors. A familiar black car slid into the lot. Your stomach tightened. How the hell did he figure out you were here?

You froze, hoping he’d just drive past, but the engine cut, the door opened, and there he was.

Jungkook walked in, hands shoved into his jacket, his eyes locked onto yours with that same maddening expression. “Fancy seeing you here,” he said, his voice teasing.

You didn’t answer, letting the snack wrapper crackle in your fingers.

“I take it the day hasn’t gone exactly how you planned?” he asked, tilting his head.

“And I take it you’ve been stalking me?” your voice was sharp, moody.

“Stalking?” he repeated, like the idea was absurd. “Hardly. Just observant. And lucky, I guess.”

Your eyes narrowed as a sudden realization hit you. Your location. You’d left it turned on in the old group chat settings. Fuck.

He took a step closer. “Get in the car, Y/n.”

“Excuse me?”

“I want you in my car. Right now.” You only glared at him. “Oh, so you have no problem with scratching my car from the outside, but you draw the line at this?”

“Absolutely not,” you said, crossing your arms.

Jungkook’s mouth pulled into a slight grin. “Not like it’s your first time in my car, now is it? Besides, you don’t have a ride home. Come on. Let me take you.”

His face was completely calm, giving no hint of what he was actually thinking. What if he drove you off a cliff? What if he decided tonight was the night he murdered you? Then again, getting murdered might actually be preferable to the humiliation of today. And he knew exactly how trapped you were.

You stepped out of the store, and he followed close behind. You stopped just short of the passenger door, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the deep scratches you’d carved into his mirror earlier. He caught the movement but didn’t comment.

Taking a deep breath, you swung the door open and slid into the seat. The car smelled heavily of his cologne. Jungkook started the engine, the low rumble vibrating through the frame. He didn’t say a word at first, letting the tension build, letting you squirm as you fought the muscle memory of wanting to slide your legs up onto the dashboard.

“Relax,” he finally said, his voice dropping. “It’s just a drive. For now.”

You scoffed, looking out the window at the empty, flickering streetlights. “You’re acting like I had a choice.”

“You always have a choice,” Jungkook replied easily, one hand resting loose on the wheel. “You just hate picking the option where you’re not in control.”

Your eyes snapped back to him. “I am in control.”

A small, irritatingly amused laugh escaped him. “Sure.”

The silence stretched again, thick and heavy. Your legs twitched slightly against the floorboards. His gaze flicked down, catching the movement instantly. “You’re being unusually well behaved tonight,” he noted.

“Don’t get used to it.”

“…You gonna sit like that the whole ride? Like you’re in a taxi?” His eyes stayed on the road. “Put your legs up.”

You blinked. “That’s weird.”

He let out a quiet scoff, his jaw tightening slightly. “Oh, now it’s weird? Wasn’t weird when you were dating Minho.”

Your glare was sharp enough to kill. Shut the fuck up.

Almost out of pure spite, you lifted your legs and rested your feet firmly on the dashboard, settling back as if you owned his space. Jungkook’s mouth twitched faintly, satisfied.

“You don’t even know where I live,” you muttered, crossing your arms.

He didn’t answer, just kept driving. Then, entirely too casually, he asked, “So… you faked all of them?”

Your stomach dropped. “Don’t start.”

A low chuckle left him. “That’s rough.”

“You seem to be enjoying the fact that he never made me finish a little too much,” you snapped, turning toward him.

“Minho’s gonna need therapy after that announcement,” Jungkook continued, thoroughly entertained. “Outing him like that in front of me, the guy he’s basically been in competition with our entire friendship? That’s tough.”

You turned slowly toward him. “Really?”

He glanced at you briefly. “Yeah.”

“Was he in competition with you,” you asked coolly, “or were you in competition with him?”

His brows pulled together, confused. “What?”

“You were weirdly invested in our relationship,” you continued, shrugging lightly. “Always criticizing it. Always around and watching.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “Honestly? You sounded bitter half the time.” A pause. “Maybe you were jealous.”

You leaned back, your bruised ego finding comfort in the thought. Maybe that explained it. Maybe all that attitude came from knowing he didn’t measure up to his best friend.

“Yeah, no,” Jungkook said slowly. “Fuck.” His grip tightened slightly on the steering wheel, a dark sort of amusement creeping into his voice. “It actually makes me feel fucking awesome, if we’re being honest.”

You frowned. “What does?”

He glanced at you then, the teasing gone, replaced by absolute certainty. “Knowing I’m apparently the only guy who didn’t have to hear you fake it.”

The cabin went dead quiet. Your stomach plummeted. He looked back at the road like he hadn’t just detonated a bomb between you.

“And before you start,” he added casually, a faint smirk returning, “you were very clear about that at the time.”

Refusing to let him control the narrative, you scoffed and looked back out the window. “What makes you think you’re the only one who’s ever made me finish?” you shot back. “How are you so sure?”

Jungkook didn’t answer immediately. He just gave you one slow, knowing glance, and the words died in your throat. You hated that look. You hated him.

“It was one time,” you said quickly, forcing the defense out. “I told you it was a mistake. Honestly, it shouldn’t have happened at all. You’ve always been horrible to me. You hated me dating Minho, and we were arguing and it just… got out of hand.” You exhaled sharply. “It somehow ended up with...”

“...with you riding it out on my cock.”

Your face flushed a furious, humiliated red. “Oh my god—”

“And you were very convincing about how much you hated me,” he added.

“Stop the car,” you demanded. He didn’t. “Jungkook, stop the car! Drop me off right here.”

He glanced at your frantic expression, entirely unimpressed. “You don’t actually want me to do that.” Instead of slowing down near the main road, he turned sharply into a quieter street. The buildings grew sparse until the car rolled into an almost empty parking lot beside a dark apartment complex. He parked the car, but he didn’t unlock the doors.

You stared at him, irritated. “This is not my house.”

“No,” he agreed calmly, leaning back in his seat. “It’s mine.”

Your chest rose and fell quickly, anger and frustration boiling under your skin. “If you don’t unlock this door right now, I swear I’ll start screaming.”

He didn’t move. He just leaned back further into his seat, spreading his legs comfortably, one arm resting lazily against the door panel. “Go ahead.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Your throat tightened, anger mixing with embarrassment because he knew you wouldn’t actually do it. He could read you so easily. Your breaths became uneven, and your eyes flicked down to the way he was sitting, completely relaxed, manspreading right next to you. Something low and heavy pooled in your stomach.

“Fine,” you snapped suddenly. “You want honesty?” His brow lifted slightly.

“You’re the only one,” you admitted, words forced out through clenched teeth. “You’re the only one who’s ever made me finish. Happy?”

A quiet hum left him. “Mm.”

That was it? No shock? No massive ego trip? Just a nonchalant sound as his eyes flicked back to the windshield. It irritated you instantly. You wanted his focus. You wanted to be looked at the way he had looked at you that night, like you were the center of gravity itself.

Before you could overthink it, you pulled your legs off the dashboard and shifted across the center console, climbing squarely onto his lap. The movement startled him just enough for his hands to come up automatically, gripping your waist to steady you.

A low chuckle slipped from him despite. “Careful,” he murmured. “You’re gonna pretend this was an accident too?”

You glared down at him, straddling his lap, reclaiming your control the only way you knew how.

“You done threatening to scream?” he asked, his eyes turning intense despite his bored tone, his hands firm on your hips.

You leaned closer, glaring down at him. “You look way too comfortable for someone whose car I destroyed.”

“Yeah?” he said quietly. “And you look way too comfortable for someone who supposedly hates me.”

Your breath hitched. The space between you shrank to nothing. He let his thumbs brush lazily against your hips, achingly slow, “You’re ridiculous,” he murmured.

“You’re infuriating.” Before you could push back, he leaned up and pressed a soft, teasing kiss against your flushed cheek.

You froze for a fraction of a second, and then completely exploded.

Your hands shoved against his chest as you pressed your lips to his in a wild, reckless kiss, all your anger, pride, and desire rolling into one desperate, wet collision.

He didn’t resist, letting you storm over him, enjoying how desperate you seemed. Slowly, his hands moved up your sides, taking control, tilting your face to deepen the kiss. Every roll of his tongue against yours caused an embarrassingly hot ache between your legs.

Consequences didn’t matter. He didn’t care, why would he? You were hot, bratty, and currently grinding against his lap.

You shifted against him, hands trailing up his chest to bite at his neck, humming at the taste of his skin. He leaned back a little into the cramped space, pressing you closer until the tightness of the cabin made it hotter.

He practically tore at your coat, the fabric giving way under his hands, and you didn’t even flinch when his fingers snagged on the pink blouse beneath.

As he shifted you toward the wider space of the backseat, your body folded halfway, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He hovered over you, sweaty and dark eyed, and you let out a low moan, pulling him down by the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Arms up,” he commanded, his voice rough. You complied immediately, letting him take over. His fingers tugged your blouse over your head, your bra quickly following, forgotten somewhere on the floorboards.

He shifted your weight, his hands lingering over the curves of your thighs, his eyes fixed on your skin. The faint red tinge of your plush thighs was making him lose his mind.

Impulsively, you guided his head down. He obeyed instantly, his lips pressing along your skin with a agonizing patience. A sharp moan ripped from your throat when his teeth grazed your inner thigh, your legs twitching, spreading wider for him. Your nails dug into the leather seat when he hitched your legs up over his shoulders.

When he looked up at you from between your knees, his gaze was ravenous. You whimpered, your thighs clenching around his neck as if to lock him there. He gripped your designer panties and ripped them apart, tossing the scraps aside.

Jungkook’s dick hardened painfully against his zipper at the sight of how wet you already were. He ran his index finger across your slick folds, parting you meanly while you looked down at him, your breath heavy.

“Fuck. Look at this pretty pussy,” he muttered, shoving his face between your legs to inhale your scent, groaning when his nose brushed your clit.

The first flick of his tongue sent your eyes rolling back. Minho had never cared about anything but his own pleasure, leaving you completely deprived, but Jungkook knew exactly how to dismantle you. He disconnected his mouth for a split second, blowing softly on your hyper sensitive nerves making your back arch, before delivering one long, slow lick from bottom to top.

You let out a loud moan, your fingers gripping his hair as your hips bucked off the seat, chasing his mouth. He ate you out like he was starving, sucking your clit hard to make you squirm, thrusting his tongue inside you roughly. Your thighs locked around his head, the sheer pleasure blinding you until you forgot you were supposed to hate him. But it still wasn’t fast enough.

Impatience flared. You tapped sharply at the back of his neck, tugging his hair to pull him up. He looked at you, his eyebrows furrowed in dark frustration at being removed from his meal.

“I...I want to sit on your face,” you whimpered, pushing his shoulders until he gave in, lying back against the cramped seat. You climbed over him, settling your weight right over his mouth.

The windows were completely fogged now, the air thick and warm. Jungkook’s hands gripped your thighs, pulling you down properly as you cried out from the raw ecstasy of rubbing your clit against his lips and nose.

He darted his tongue out, letting you ride his face while you held onto his hair for leverage. You were probably suffocating him, but he didn’t care, his hands gripping your ass to help you move.

Your soft moans broke completely. You hated how powerless you felt under his control, but you craved it. Jungkook pinched your thighs as he felt you nearing an edge. He wasn’t going to let you cum without fucking you first.

You wanted him inside you. Hurriedly, you unzipped his pants, pulling his boxers down while he leaned up to suck on your breasts, his teeth tugging at your nipples. You moaned aloud at the sight of his erect penis, long, thick, and heavy.

He helped position himself at your entrance, holding your hips to stabilize you since your legs were shaking. You leaned forward, burying his face between your breasts as you sat down on his length, struggling to take all of him at once because of how thick he was.

Jungkook held your waist, pushing you down completely until you took every single inch. His mouth stayed occupied, sucking and biting your skin, leaving it sore and red, before he switched to squeezing your breasts while his tongue traced up your neck. His hands settled firmly on your hips, guiding your movements.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your ear, his voice gravelly. “Just like that… let it out. Ride it out. All that anger… all those feelings.” A faint smirk returned to his lips. “You hate me that much, don’t you?”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, your mind short circuiting as you moved up and down on him. He threw his head back with a heavy groan, exposing the veins in his neck, which you leaned forward to bite and lick.

“Fuck… I...I’m…” you couldn’t even form words as your climax rushed up on you, your thighs trembling.

Jungkook took one look at your tearing eyes and understood. He knew the effect he had on you, knew no one had ever unraveled you quite he did and yeah, it fed his ego more than he’d ever admit out loud.

But instead of teasing, his expression softened just slightly. He shifted beneath you, hands rising to cup your face, thumbs brushing along your cheeks as if grounding you.

Then he pulled you down, closing the distance between you, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was slower this time, reassuring, to distract you as he held your hips with his hands, thrusting into you brutally.

You screamed into his mouth, completely unprepared for how unforgivably rough he became, ramming deep to reach his own release while his index finger rapidly stimulated your clit.

Tears ran down your face in time with the fluid spewing from your heat, your mascara smudging as you reached a shattering climax with a loud cry.

He kept thrusting hard through your release, overstimulating you instantly, his movements becoming heavy and sloppy as he neared his own edge.

“I...Inside… please…” you begged against his neck.

Hearing your plea, he bucked into you one last time, spilling his seed deep inside you while you moaned and cried out from the sheer satisfaction of being filled to the brim.

He took a moment to enjoy the sight of his cum dripping down your thighs after he pulled out, while you cowered beside him, pressing your legs together and whining from the exhaustion.

Jungkook leaned back, reaching out to spread your legs to inspect his work, but you immediately swatted his hand away.

“Don’t,” you snapped weakly, pressing your hand protectively over yourself and shooting him an exhausted death glare.

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Tired?”

You rolled your eyes, too drained to argue, your chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Every muscle felt loose and overstimulated, and you hated that he looked perfectly fine while you could barely sit upright.

Jungkook adjusted his clothes casually, zipping his jeans like nothing monumental had just happened. Irritation returned back quickly as it always did, making you shoot him another glare, lips pressed into a stubborn line, already giving him attitude again even though he fucked it out of you seconds ago.

Jungkook huffed a laugh. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, helping you back into your underwear and bra with surprising efficiency. Instead of looking for your ruined coat, he shrugged off his own heavy jacket and draped it over your shoulders. It swallowed you whole.

Before you could protest, he slid an arm under your knees and lifted you effortlessly.

“Put me down—”

“You can barely walk,” he stated simply. You hated that he was right.

Jungkook carried you back to the passenger seat, setting you down carefully before leaning in to buckle your seatbelt. The gesture felt oddly intimate, which annoyed you more than anything else. He walked around the car and slid back into the driver’s seat.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The silence was thick as reality crept back in, the fogged windows blurring the outside world into soft gradients of light. You stared at your reflection in the glass, hair messy, lips swollen, wrapped in his jacket.

Your ego screamed at you to say something bratty. “…You’re cleaning my coat if it’s wrinkled,” you muttered finally, your voice hoarse. You adjusted his jacket around your shoulders like it belonged to you.

Jungkook only laughed, shaking his head as he started the car.

“Don’t get any ideas,” you added right after, your voice quiet though harboring a sharp edge to it. “This changes absolutely nothing. You’re still insufferable.”

Jungkook hummed softly, shifting into drive. “Okay.”

Just that. simple, unbothered.

You didn’t look at him, pretending not to notice the way his gaze lingered on you for a heartbeat too long, before he finally started the car. The engine purred to life, and soon the city lights were moving again.

Chin resting on your hand, you watched the blur of lights, cheeks warm and lips twitching. Blame it on the sex, on literally anything but him.

[suvvra]

# co-op coincidence

SKZ SMAU # bangchanxf!reader

────── y/n has been playing genshin with “Chris” who she met one day on the game. They’ve been voice chatting and playing together everyday. She’s an open book but chris.. she doesnt actually know anything about him.

sc: 4 + written part !! from suvvra guys can I still call this a smau even if there’s so much written? And sorry for any mistakes in the written part, English isn't my first language!

Previous (part 04.) <- part 05. -> next (part 06.)

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It’s been a few days. Your phone is much more silent than usual. It isn’t gnawing at you anymore, just a silent wonder if you’ll get that happiness and comfort back.

You open genshin, out of habit.. or maybe because you miss him.

Wolf97. Offline: last online 6 days ago

You close the game. Not bothering to play anyway.

You pick up when he calls, but not before hesitating a bit.. it feels different.

“Hi..” you say quietly

“Hey you.. it’s been awhile”

“Yeah..”

The tension is there.. no doubt. But after a bit, something funny happens, and you both end up laughing and after, the conversation feels like everything is okay again.

You play for hours, just like you used to. The tension has now eased into a familiar comfort you both recognize.

The friendship is still there, it’s not lost- it never was.. it’s just.. different now..

But in the end, it’s still you and Chris playing like always.

After hours of playing, it comes to the goodnights and promises to call soon again, and keep talking.

Before you can hang up Chris interrupts.

“Hey- can I tell you something quickly?”

“Yeah.. sure”

You wait for him to continue

“You know.. when I first joined you I never thought it would end up like this”

“…”

“But then suddenly, one coincidental game turned into every night.”

He lets out a long sigh, as if he’s been holding it all in for a while.

“And the longer we talked, the harder it became to tell you who I really was.. I was scared that if you knew, I’d lose being Chris to you.”

You stay quiet for a bit before saying

“But you didn’t.. you’re always gonna be Chris to me.”

The call ends. You both understand eachother, and it’s difficult but all ur worry has eased a bit after this call. It’s what you needed..

You’ve turned off the game, and just as you’re about to go to bed, your phone lights up with a message. From Chris

“I’m still in your city for a couple days”

You smile, settling into bed and opening you and Chris’ texts up in your phone. You wont answer yet.. maybe tomorrow. Unsure of how to approach that text. But it’s definitely an invitation to meet.. right..?

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©SUVVRA comment if u want me to remind u for the next part - I’ll just reply to ur comment and let u know when it’s posted! (No more space on taglist)

taglist: @straykidsfein143 @hvlplvss @emotional-zebra @ughyeka @ramyeonz2 @blxksun @bubblegum-seob @7sunny07 @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @emeraldgem22 @whydolife @written-by-music @dina-10s-blog @ts-smelliott2010 @testingspider @csb-87 @wolfchan4life234 @moonstruckstay @aneldritchentity @hoe4yunhoooo @applesrpeak @hands-off-my-dinosaur @lamentingweaver @starmybtw @yasingly @cherrybb-ily @sogsoulzz @barbie-girl84 @fanaticstay @2minnieverse @sabrina1022 @hudhudje @someonenamedkathrineee @wooyonyangatiny @ivrriin @wonyyzcherry @smuttaburger @clairementsolo @asp3ntr33 @mistyblossomz @lovelyyari43 @s1mpf0rda1k1 @tenmaabnesti @ihrtlix @mysticaal-vee @kimberlydynamite @clarasstuffz @oscarquokka @court-of-fairytales @existentialdread-mademedoit @yourqueenlady

I’m sorry to everyone I couldn’t tag who commented on my last post, I didn’t realize there was a limit

[suvvra]

# co-op coincidence

SKZ SMAU # bangchanxf!reader

────── y/n has been playing genshin with “Chris” who she met one day on the game. They’ve been voice chatting and playing together everyday. She’s an open book but chris.. she doesnt actually know anything about him.

sc: 12 + written part !! from suvvra guys tysm for the love on this series, ur all so sweet. Sorry this part took so long I've been really busy and the next part might take longer too cause of that. And sorry for any mistakes in the written part, English isn't my first language!

Previous (part 02.) <- part 03. -> next (part 04.)

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You’re sitting with Jen, at her apartment infront of the mirror. Both in your outfits and finishing up your makeup and hair.

“You’re really texting your mystery man before a stray kids concert?” She asks you while finishing her curls

“He’s not my mystery man” you mumble

While putting the curling iron down she glances at you- serious. “Baby, what’s his last name?”

“It’s not important-“ she cuts you off

“Where does he live?” You groan “Jen-“ you get cut off again

“You don’t even know what he does”

You point a makeup brush at her

“He works.”

She scoffs and goes back to looking in the mirror “mhm that narrows it down”

At the venue - in line

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. A text from Chris. He’s been checking up on you a lot, it’s weird. Not like his usual self.

Jen peeks over at your phone and rolls her eyes “oh my god not Chris again, just have fun!”

“He keeps texting me, it’s weird” you tell her.

She shrugs her shoulders “he’s always been weird, I told you from the start.”

You sigh, putting your phone back in your pocket and move forward with the line. You can’t get it out of your head. His texts are so unusual for him.. “long line?”, “don’t use all ur money haha”, “I hope you get the best view”.

You frown, looking at Jen “maybe he’s just being sweet?”

“Or a stalker” she crosses her arms. Stopping the conversation about him.

—

After long hours of waiting, you’ve both finally made it to your places right at barricade.

“Ugh, what’s with him? He hasn’t texted me back for so long now” you check you and Chris’ chats.

Jen groans dramatically, snatching your phone and shoving it into her pocket “forget him! Just have fun. I told you! He’s busy”

—

The concert starts, and of course you’re having the time of your lives.

When it ends you’re both squealing with excitement, exiting the venue. Jumping excitedly, you hold her hand as you both head out

“It was so fun! I swear they looked over multiple times they got so close to us!”

Jen chuckles, holding your hand as you vibrate with excitement “they definitly looked over a lot. Guess they just know pretty girls when they see them” she pokes ur arm and you squeak and chuckle.

—

Back at Jen’s apartment, which was only a forty minute drive from the venue. The second you step inside you both collapse onto the bed, exhausted but buzzing with excitement.

“I swear chan kept looking at us during maniac!” You laugh

“Yeah, at your pretty face. I would too” she says back and you nudge her shoulder, rolling your eyes.

Your phone chimes. A message from Chris.

Chris: “Hope you enjoyed your concert. Just got off work. It was a long day, but worth it :)”

Attached is a blurry photo

You frown, zooming in to see it properly. It isn’t a desk, or an office.. it looks like a hallway. Black curtains, cables running across the floor and multiple water bottles.

“What is this?” You mumble. Jen leans over immediately to look. “Let me see.”

You hand her the phone and she stares at it for a few seconds before her expression slowly changes.

“Y/N..”

“What?”

“This isn’t just any ordinary workplace”

“It could be”

She zooms in

“No no cmon look.. this is definitly backstage at a concert! I’ve seen a ton of videoes of idols backstage this is exactly it!!” She sits up excitedly

You sigh “But that would be weird.. who could he even be..?”

“Isn’t Chans name also Chris..? Maybe this is why he never said anything about himself!!”

“Jen that’s a stupid idea it couldn’t be…” you take your phone back, doubting your own words.

You look back at the photo. The time he sent it.. what he said.. when he stopped texting… it all does add up.. but no it couldn’t be, could it?

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©SUVVRA guys lmk if the reveal is too fast im just weak and couldn't do slow burn but just say if u want me to drag it out a bit!

taglist: @straykidsfein143 @hvlplvss @emotional-zebra @ughyeka @ramyeonz2 @blxksun @bubblegum-seob @7sunny07 @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @emeraldgem22 @whydolife @written-by-music @dina-10s-blog @ts-smelliott2010 @testingspider @csb-87 @wolfchan4life234 @moonstruckstay @aneldritchentity @hoe4yunhoooo @applesrpeak @hands-off-my-dinosaur @lamentingweaver @starmybtw @yasingly @cherrybb-ily @sogsoulzz @barbie-girl84 @fanaticstay @2minnieverse @sabrina1022 @hudhudje @someonenamedkathrineee @wooyonyangatiny @ivrriin @wonyyzcherry @smuttaburger @clairementsolo @asp3ntr33 @mistyblossomz @lovelyyari43 @s1mpf0rda1k1

lmk if u wanna be added!

[pickyour-poison]

GHOST FACE | JEON JUNGKOOK

Pairing : idol bf jungkook x gf reader

Summary: All you wanted was to try a Ghostface trend but forgot that Jeon Jungkook never does anything halfway.

Word count : 3k ( almost ig)

warnings: :This is a consensual roleplay story with themes, chase & hide kink, mask kink and pretend predator/prey dynamics, scary & eerie Jungkook, mean & menacing dirty talk, heavy degradation, rough sex on the floor, choking, spitting, creampie, messy oral (face-fucking), squirting and morally questionable dirty talk during the scene. Reader is extremely into it trust me and nothing is without consent, later bombarded you guys with soft aftercare, fluff and loving Jungkook

A/N : Don't. Just don't come at me asking about my sense of morality because I'm done. I'm counting my days at this point. Inspo 🙀

Enjoy!!!────۶ৎ────────۶ৎ────────۶ৎ────────۶ৎ────

You were sprawled across the bed..facing your husband's feet and hugging one of his legs while mindlessly scrolling through TikTok. Yet another video popped up of girls screaming and running around while their men chased them wearing nothing but a Ghostface mask.

To be honest...you'd been kind of intrigued by the trend ever since it started blowing up.

Lowering your phone..you glanced at your boyfriend. He was lying comfortably beside you one hand tucked behind his head and your leg draped across his torso while he scrolled through his own phone. Probably reblogging something or posting another Instagram story that would give army mini heart attacks.

"Gguk," you called...your eyes shining with mischief.  "Mmh?" he hummed without looking up..still scrolling.

You suddenly sat up..making him fumble and nearly drop his phone. "I have an idea."

"You couldn't be any less subtle about it, baby?" he laughed shaking his head..sitting up as well.

"Don't laugh first." You shoved your phone right in front of his face. He leaned back slightly before squinting at the screen..watching the video.

"We should try this trend, baby. Remember those Ghostface masks we bought last to last year for Halloween? I think We still have them."

"The Ghostface thing?" he asked, eyebrows knitting together as he replayed the clip.

You nodded eagerly."Yeah. You know... the mask... chasing and... well... you know."

You awkwardly gestured with your hands getting flustered...trying to explain.

A teasing smirk slowly spread across his face. "So... you're saying you want me to chase you then fuck you? "

You snatched your phone back almost instantly and smacked the back of his head. "Yah! Don't say it like that."

"...But yes."

Your cheeks were already warming.

The thing about Jungkook was that he was just as weird as you. He'd happily entertain almost any ridiculous idea if it sounded exciting enough..especially if it made you smile. That didn't mean he wasn't soft. If anything...it was one of the things you loved most about him. He could go from being an absolute menace to the gentlest person you'd ever known in a heartbeat.

He laughed and pulled you closer by the waist and pressed a quick kiss to your lips.."Yeah...its hot" he murmured with a grin. "I can see why people are into it. Let's do it."

You immediately slipped off the bed..standing there in nothing but one of his oversized T-shirts.

"Okay... when do we start?" you asked..folding your arms across your chest..pretending the idea itself wasn't already making you wet.

Jungkook stood up too..suddenly looking much more serious than before. "Go hide somewhere, baby," he said. "Give me a few minutes." His unexpectedly committed expression made you burst into laughter. "You're taking this way too seriously."

"You asked for the full experience." He raised his eyebrows as if slipping into the character right away.

Still giggling but now a little nervou....you opened the dresser drawer and grabbed the old Ghostface mask and tossed it toward him.

"Call my name when you're done?." You said while walking out of the room and he nodded while catching the mask effortlessly.

The door clicked shut behind you.

_

You disappeared into the bathroom near the kitchen and stared at yourself in the mirror. Your heartbeat was already racing.

You checked the time on your phone, then shut it off. You fixed your hair and splashed cold water on your face and took a deep breath before stepping back into the hallway.

The apartment was quiet. Most lights were off and only the dim red light strips Jungkook had installed the ones he said looked better in his lives cast a low and eerie glow. Jungkook was nowhere to be seen.

You walked forward slowly. “Babe?” No answer.

The apartment felt unsettling quiet..making your throat go dry. As you looked around your phone suddenly rang...the sound making you jump.

"Unknown number"

You answered the call with shaky fingers. Only heavy breathing came through the other side, “Hello?” you said, still No answer, “Hello? Who’s this?” you tried again then his voice came through low and rough. “Shouldn’t have answered the call, dove.” He breathed heavily into the phone.

Your stomach flipped. “B-baby, what—?” You laughed, scared shitless. “What’s with the number??”

“Tsk tsk.”

“Who-who are you?” You played along catching his subtle warning.

“Have patience, darling. Maybe turn around and see me yourself?” He said it calmly and instantly disconnected the call. You spun arounsd but no one was there you're heart was pounding loudly by now abd then you turned back to your original position and there he was...standing near the balcony.

You shrieked. “God!”

You stumbled back a few steps. He was wearing nothing but his jeans...his toned abs on full display...hand tattoos glowing under the red lights and that Ghostface mask… it made you cunt throb because you're boyfriend looked so damn unreal.

“You’re so obedient, my love,” the masked man said...walking slowly toward you like he had all the time in the world. “Following my orders like a good fucking girl.”

“Who-how? Who are you?” you asked...fully committed to the act even though you were very terrified. “You should keep your windows locked, dove. Anyone could come inside.” He tsked, mocking you.

Before you could answer him he said, “Run…”

“Gguk, come on-” he cut you off mid sentence,“Run.” His voice was calm this time..a pause and he continued, “If I catch you… I kill you.” he started walking towards you with larger steps now.

You shrieked and bolted...your bare feet slapped against the wooden floor as you sprinted into the living room...almost slipping while dodging around the couch. Heavy footsteps came after you.

As if he already knew you weren’t getting away..

You didn’t dare look back. You could hear his breathing through the mask..slightly muffled but very real...another slow footstep..then another..yhen suddenly… nothing...his footsteps stopped.

You kept running anyway...ducking behind the kitchen counter. Your chest rose and fell hard. You strained to hear any sound but there was just Silence.

Only the soft sound refrigerator humming and your own frantic heartbeat could be heard. “…Babe?” you whispered...trying not to laugh at how scared you sounded.

No answer came so you peeked around the corner....it was empty.

So you got up and checked the guest room but it was also empty. The bathroom and the balcony was empty too so you called him out.

“Jungkook?”

The apartment suddenly felt much bigger than it actually was because every shadow looked wrong and every doorway felt like someone was standing just out of sight.

You slowly walked back into the hallway, hugging your own arms. “This isn’t funny anymore…”

You took another step. The floor creaked beneath your feet...You froze.

“…Baby?”

Silence....

“Okay… I give up.”

Just as you let out a nervous laugh and turned toward the bedroom......Someone was standing in the doorway...Perfectly still as if waiting for the perfect moment to pounce on you.

You didn’t even know how long he’d been there...but his head slowly tilted to one side and not a word he said but those hollow black eyes locked onto you.

A scream tore out of your throat and stumbled backward on instinct before turning to run again.

The moment you moved…He moved too..and this time his arm snapped around your waist strongly...yanking you back hard against his bare...burning-hot chest.

You shrieked so loudly that you were sure tomorrow someone will definitely make a complaint about it.

The cold mask pressed against the side of your neck and you felt his hot breath through the fabric as he growled low.

"Got you. "

His voice came out as a lowand distorted growl through the Ghostface mask and before you could even breathe...Jungkook spun you around and shoved you down onto the hardwood floor. Your knees hit first..then your palms...the cold wood made you gasp. He was on you instantly...heavy and terrifying. The mask hovered right behind your ear as he pinned your chest down with one hand between your shoulder blades...forcing your ass up.

“Too much?” he rasped, already yanking the oversized t-shirt up over your hips. “Tap my bicep twice and I’ll stop.” You nodded frantically against the floor.

He laughed darkly the sound sending chills down your spine...,“But that’s useless, isn’t it, dove?” He shoved two thick fingers into your soaked pussy without warning...curling them viciously. “I’m going to fuck you too dumb to even remember how to tap.”

You cried out..already drooling on the floor as he finger-fucked you hard and fast...the wet and obscene squelching sounds filling the room. He added a third finger...stretching you open while his thumb rubbed rough circles on your clit.

“Say it,” he growled..pumping faster. “Tell me why your windows were unlocked.”

You sobbed...hips jerking back against his hand..,“B-because… I wanted you to come in…”

“Louder, darling.” he cut you off... “I wanted you to creep in and ruin me!” you cried..tears spilling down your cheeks.

“Good girl.” He pulled his fingers out with a filthy wet sound and slapped your pussy once...making you jolt. Then he freed his thick and heavy cock and slammed into you in one brutal thrust

You screamed...nails scratching against the hardwood as he started pounding you mercilessly on the floor.

Every deep stroke made your tits drag against the wood...your cheek pressed to the cold surface while the Ghostface mask stayed locked in place above you.

“Does your boyfriend know?” he taunted...voice menacing through the mask as he railed you..,“Does he know his sweet little girlfriend is on the floor getting fucked stupid by a stranger’s cock?”

“N-no-ahh!” you sobbed...pleasure ripping through you so hard your vision blurred. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back...forcing you to arch deeper.

“Say it. Tell me what a filthy little dove you are.”

“I’m a filth-!” you wailed, drooling and crying as he destroyed your pussy. “I’m getting fucked stupid on someone else’s dick!”

“That’s right.” His hips snapped harder...the sound of skin slapping skin loud and wet...,“Making such a fucking mess on the floor like a desperate little dove. Look at you dripping everywhere baby.”

He suddenly pulled out...leaving you clenching around nothing.

You whined pathetically until he sat back against the bed frame and dragged you forward by the hair,“Open your mouth.”

The mask loomed over you as he pushed his cock past your lips and straight into your throat. You gagged hard...tears pouring down your face while he fucked your mouth with deep and controlled thrusts.

“Eyes up,” he ordered and you looked up at the terrifying white mask...choking and moaning around his thick length. Spit dripped down your chin onto your chest and the floor.

“Messy fucking girl,” he groaned...voice distorted. “Crying on my cock while your boyfriend is somewhere out there. Does he know you love being used like this?”

You shook your head weakly...sobbing around his cock. He pulled out suddenly...strings of spit connecting your swollen lips to his glistening length.

“Beg for it.” jungkook said, “Please… please fuck me,” you cried, voice hoarse and broken. “Please just ruin-me-”

He flipped you onto your back on the cold floor..spread your legs wide and slammed back inside your dripping cunt. The new angle made you scream...back arching as he pounded you mercilessly. His hand wrapped around your throat not squeezing hard...just holding you in place while the mask stared down at your tear-streaked and ruined face.

“Gonna cum all over a stranger’s cock, aren’t you?” he snarled. “Say it.”

“I’m gonna cum-I’m cumming-!” you sobbed...body convulsing violently as your orgasm crashed through you.

You squirted messily all over his cock and the floor...shaking and crying from the intensity.

Jungkook growled deep in his chest and buried himself into you deep...flooding your pussy with thick..hot cum. He stayed deep inside you..grinding slowly...letting you milk every last drop while you twitched and whimpered beneath him

._

You lay trembling and ruined on the cold hardwood floor...thighs shaking..tears still slipping down your flushed cheeks. Your pussy throbbed and leaking a messy mix of both your releases onto the wood beneath you. You could barely think straight..mind fuzzy...body buzzing.

The Ghostface mask hovered above you for a few more seconds… then Jungkook finally reached up and pulled it off.

His face was flushed..hair messy and damp with sweat and eyes soft and full of love the moment they met yours. The terrifying ghost face was gone replacing with your boyfriend now.

“Baby…” he breathed, voice hoarse but incredibly gentle.

He tossed the mask aside and immediately gathered you into his arms...lifting you off the messy floor and onto the bed like you weighed nothing. He pulled you against his chest...wrapping you up completely in his warm and strong embrace. His skin was hot and slightly sticky...heart still racing under your cheek.

“You okay, my love?” he whispered..pressing soft kisses to your forehead...your wet cheeks and uour swollen lips. His fingers stroked slow...soothing circles up and down your spine. “Was it too much baby? Be honest..im sorry if it was.”

You shook your head weakly...still sniffling and trembling in his arms. “It was… so much. Scary… but so good. I loved it.”

He let out a relieved chuckle and held you tighter....one hand gently brushing your messy hair out of your face. “You were so perfect, baby. So fucking good for me.” He kissed the top of your head again and again...rocking you gently. “My strong, brave girl.”

You curled deeper into his chest....feeling safe and small in his arms after everything he’d just done to you. He reached down and gently wiped the tears from your cheeks with his thumb, then kissed where they had been.

“I made such a mess on the floor,” you mumbled shylyand embarrassed now that the heat had faded.

Jungkook laughed softly...the sound warm and fond. “I’ll clean it later..don't think about it. ” He pulled the blanket over both of you and tucked you closer and his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your hip. “You were crying so pretty… taking everything I gave you like my perfect little dove.”

You blushed hard and hid your face in his neck. He smiled and kept kissing you...soft andbloving kisses everywhere he could reach.

After a few quiet minutes...he tilted your chin up so you could see his eyes.

“We should do this shit way more often,” he murmured...voice low and sincere. “Maybe next time I’ll chase you with the lights completely off… or tie you up first so you really can’t run.” He smirked...but his eyes stayed soft with a hint of mischief. “Only if you want to baby, of course.”

You shivered at the promise but nodded...feeling warm and loved in his arms.

“I love you,” he whispered...pressing one last gentle kiss to your lips. “So much. You did amazing, baby.”

He held you like that for a long time...stroking your hair and rubbing your back...whispering sweet praises until your breathing evened out and lulled you into a warm...safe haze in his arms.

────۶ৎ────────۶ৎ────────۶ৎ────────۶ৎ────

[wintrbears]

The Wife Trap: Part II | JJK

Summary: Jungkook's been living as his twin for three months without too many hiccups or blunders, but he can't keep you waiting to be intimate again for much longer. Not to mention all the other obstacles which keep constantly appearing in his path.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader, Jungkook’s Twin x Reader, (Slight) Jungkook x Jennie

Genre: Twins AU, Unrequited Love, Brother-in-Law/Friends to Lovers?, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Slow-Burn, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 31.8k

Warnings: intense grief, depression, manipulation, lying, betrayal, violation, gaslighting, crying, panic attack(?), unwanted advances, unrequited love, self-hatred, yearning, depression inner-monologue, bars, drinking, jealousy, accusations, mild arguments, business jargon, technology, the corporate world 😩, public speaking, twins, trading places, tricking people, mentions of death. SMUT: dub-con (she consents to the acts but is unaware of his real identity), kissing, shower sex, drying humping, fingering, oral sex (both receiving), missionary, vaginal sex, crying during sex 🥲, titty play, spitting, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, car sex, sex on a counter, dirty talk, subspace, creampie, alrighty that’s all!

Author’s Note: wow, you guys, I don’t know how to put into words how grateful I am for all the love I’ve received for this story so far. not just the amazing reviews and comments, but the thoughtful theories and ideas in my inbox. when I wrote this story I genuinely believed no one would wanna read something so sad and it would just be for me 🫣 I truly can’t thank everyone enough!! this part is WAY less dark than the first part, so hopefully it’s an easier read. also, I know what you’re all gonna say after this chapter: “how can she not tell it’s JK?” and to that I’ll just say I promise everything will be answered in due time! I can’t wait to hear everyone’s thoughts and predictions once you finish so please let me know either by commenting or sending in an ask! love you all sooo much. I hope you enjoy this one ☺️

-> The Wife Trap Masterpost

Jungkook’s grown accustomed to waking up to the smell of baked goods wafting up the stairs from the kitchen. He’s even gained the ability to distinguish the different scents depending on which recipe you’re following. 

This morning smells like chocolate chip cookies, one of your signature recipes and his personal favorite. Although, he isn’t able to tell you that since Jaehyun’s favorite was your blueberry scones. 

It’s been just over three months since Jungkook buried his brother, and therefore living as him, too. He has a fairly steady routine now, especially after returning to work as CEO of Jeon Industries last month. 

That’s been the hardest assimilation of all because he never witnessed that side of his twin’s life. Thankfully, a common symptom of major grief and depression is memory loss. So, no one questions why he can’t recall certain projects or statistics. Jaehyun was also an avid note taker, giving Jungkook a starting point to pick up where he left off without too many issues. 

In addition, he and his family have finished handling all his belongings and significant possessions. 

Jennie is still running Kookie’s using money from the business account. But the funds are finite and Jungkook’s been brainstorming about where to go from here. He would be more than happy to finance it using Jaehyun’s salary, but Jennie didn’t sign up to be an owner and he refuses to force more responsibility on her than she might want. 

After sorting through and cleaning out his apartment, including putting any sentimental or valuable items in storage, they placed it on the market and it sold within a couple weeks. 

His motorcycle’s currently parked in your garage. You and him have discussed what to do a few times and it takes all of Jungkook’s willpower to pretend it wouldn’t kill him to see it sold.

Living as your husband is the easiest task of all and also the only reason he’s even managing to cope with Jaehyun’s death. You’re thoughtful, considerate, understanding, and loving twenty four freaking hours a day and he’ll never be able to properly thank you for being his saving grace these last three months. 

When he descends the stairs, he sees you lying horizontally on the couch with a new baking tips book. You clearly notice him enter the room because although your eyes don’t leave the page, a small smile appears. 

Just that hint of happiness on your face is enough to make Jungkook’s whole day, maybe even his week. His feelings for you have grown exponentially and honestly, if they got any bigger, love would start bursting right out of him. 

As he rounds the couch, he places one knee between your legs before plucking the book from your hands and laying it flat on the coffee table so you don’t lose your place. 

“Hey!”

“Hey, yourself,” he drawls while one hand loops around your waist and the other finds the armrest behind you.

You squeal as Jungkook effortlessly tugs you closer until he can dip his head to kiss up the side of your throat. The air around you both floods with giggles while he paints you in saliva by trailing his lips anywhere they can reach. When he’s decidedly done, he fake growls and bites the soft spot just below your ear.

“Jae!” You laugh and kick your legs that are sandwiched between his own. 

He lifts his head up with a bright, joyous grin and then steals a quick peck from your lips. 

“Good morning, beautiful.” 

“Nuh uh, get back here,” you demand. 

Your fingers clutch his shirt to pull him completely on top of you, causing Jungkook to chuckle. But he still seamlessly follows the wordless command by kissing you again. While his grip tightens until your bodies are flush, your arms circle his neck so you can sink your digits into his hair. 

The two of you lazily make out, with little care for the pace or precision of your mouths. Your teeth clink together every so often, you both accidentally tug on the other’s bottom lip too hard, and your tongues clash in awkward ways, but neither of you care in the slightest. 

Jungkook’s other hand eventually traces down your curves until he reaches your hip, where he tilts your leg to hook it around him. The new angle makes you moan into his mouth and yank on his hair, a sure sign of how badly you crave him.

The problem is Jungkook can’t give you what you want, or at least, he isn’t ready to. For the last three months, this is as far as you two have gone sexually. It’s the one line he hasn’t been able to cross and he’s thankful you’ve been so understanding. Of course, you believe it's because of grief, rather than him being unable wrap his mind around betraying his brother to that extent.

Sure, maybe it’s hypocritical when his tongue’s already down your throat and his cock’s brushing against your clit through your clothes, but it feels like an entirely different category. 

“Shit, baby,” he rasps once his mental fortitude starts to wane. The heat of the moment is burning him alive and he simply can’t continue no matter how much he wants to. “I’m sorry, I —”

“It’s okay,” you instantly reassure him.

“It isn’t, and I know that, and I promise I’m trying, I just...” He inhales through his nose to slow his racing heartbeat. “I can’t… yet.”

One of your hands slides down to cup his cheek. 

“It is okay, baby.” You smile at him before sitting up just enough to kiss the tip of his nose. “I don’t mind waiting.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“I genuinely don’t care, Jae. We’ve been having sex for a decade and a half. I think I can handle a little dry spell.”

He knows he can’t keep you waiting forever and he’ll eventually have to bite the bullet, but he has no clue when his guilt will allow him to do so.

“Okay,” he concedes.

“Can I ask you something, though?” After nodding his head, Jungkook moves away while guiding your upper body into a sitting position so you’re facing one another on the couch. “What’s holding you back? I mean, it’s not like Kookie would be upset with you for having sex so soon after his death.”

“No, he wouldn’t. It isn’t that.” Jungkook runs his fingers through his hair as he conjures up an adequate reason. “I just don’t think I would be able to focus enough to give you what you deserve. My mind constantly wonders between the grief, sorrow, anger, and whatever other emotions might be plaguing me that day. And if I’m going to make love to my wife, I want it to be all I’m thinking about.”

It isn’t a complete lie. Jungkook truly can’t set his mind on a single track for more than a few minutes no matter how hard he tries. 

In response, you thoughtfully hum while nibbling on your lower lip.

“Well, what if we started small? You know, just a little handiwork here and there or some oral every once in a while. Short bursts of intimacy where you wouldn’t have to focus for too long.”

Dammit, your intelligence will be the fucking death of him. 

Although, perhaps your approach would help solve the actual issue as well. He wouldn’t have to dive headfirst into the deep end and could slowly get acquainted with the notion until he’s ready. 

“I think that’s a great idea, sweetheart.”

“Really?” 

The sight of your eyes lighting up is the only push Jungkook needs. He would do anything to keep a smile on your face. 

That’s the very source of his problems in the first place. 

“Absolutely. Maybe we can, uh, give it a shot over the next couple weeks or so.” 

“I’ll follow your lead.”

“Thank you.” Jungkook leans in for one last kiss. “I love you.”

You giggle as if he doesn’t tell you at least a hundred times a day.

“I love you, too, baby.” There’s a brief pause before you gasp in realization and shoot up from the couch. “You have to try the cookies!”

Jungkook’s hand is immediately commandeered when you yank him off the couch and guide him into the kitchen where two dozen chocolate chip cookies are resting on cooling racks. Beside them is a ceramic cake platter you made with a small sign labeling it “Kookie’s Treats.” It’s where you leave the six extra desserts you bake with every recipe in honor of him. The treats always go uneaten and straight into the trash once you bake something else, but the comfort it brings you is worth the waste. 

“Haven’t I already tried this recipe?” 

“You tried the old one,” you explain. “This one uses brown butter.”

“What makes the butter brown?” 

“Heating it up.”

“Ah.”

With an eager grin, you delicately remove one of the cookies from the rack and pass it to him. Jungkook smiles prior to taking a liberal bite and per usual, it’s one of the best goddamn things he’s ever tasted. 

He moans in delight and his whole face scrunches as he nods to convey its deliciousness to you. After he swallows the last crumb, he shakes his head in awe and disbelief.

“Those taste unbelievable, sweetheart.” When his eyes meet yours again, he finds you looking like a heartbroken deer in headlights and there are even unshed tears along your waterline. “What’s wrong?”

You sniffle and shake your head to stop the droplets from actually falling.

“Nothing, it’s just… sometimes I swear it’s like Jungkook possesses you for a second.” 

Jungkook’s heart drops and almost drowns in his stomach acid. 

“What do you mean?”

“You just made his good food face,” you state.

Shit.

He always tries his best to refrain from doing anything that’s too him, but clearly your cookies were so good it caused him to momentarily forget his responsibilities. 

Thankfully, the idea that he isn’t Jaehyun is so ludicrous you land on spiritual possession first. Naturally. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook mumbles with his eyes tilted down. “I feel that way too sometimes.”

“It’s a good thing.” His eyebrows rise with intrigue. “Makes me miss him a little less when pieces of him come out through you.” 

He sighs in relief along with a sweet smile.

“Me, too.”

You end up offering Jungkook one more treat before separating the spare half dozen and storing the remainder in one of your many cookie jars. 

It’s Saturday so he doesn't have to run off to the office like he does during the week. Although he still has errands, including stopping by the bar to have a conversation with Jennie. 

He’s dreading it, if he’s being totally honest, but he also can’t put it off any longer. There’s less than a month of money left to sustain the bar at full capacity, so it’s now or never.

The problem is she’s his kryptonite. Not only because she’s his best friend who knows him better than anyone with Jaehyun gone, but because she’s his biggest sacrifice in becoming his brother. 

Jennie’s the only person in his life who wasn’t also connected to Jaehyun. So, unlike his parents, family, and other loved ones who he can still maintain a relationship with as Jaehyun, he had to let her go entirely. It kills him not being able to see her or have one of their long conversations about everything and nothing. He misses her more than he can even put into words. Which is why he’s hoping his solution for Kookie’s will lead to them building a new friendship. 

After giving you a lengthy goodbye kiss, Jungkook tells you he’ll see you later and heads to the car. Kookie’s is a bit farther from the house than his apartment was, but at least it gives him more time to rethink his plan over and over. 

He hasn’t told anyone his idea yet since without Jennie’s approval, there’s no point. It’s been rolling around in his head for a couple months and although he believes it’s a great idea, he might be a little biased. 

Upon arriving at the bar, he can see Jennie inside by herself since opening isn’t for another few hours. He takes a deep breath before crossing the street, but by the time he reaches the door she’s already in the back. Rather than waiting and no doubt scaring the shit out of her when she spots him through the glass, he uses the spare key to let himself inside. 

The bell rings overhead as he enters, so he knows it’ll only be a few seconds before Jennie appears from the kitchen. He uses the time to admire the familiar decor and furniture. Nothing’s changed since he was last here, which was also the last night he ever lived as himself. Well, there is one difference: a framed picture of him hanging behind the bar. It was taken by none other than Jennie the day he bought the building. He’s absolutely cheesing next to the sold sign with the keys dangling from his pointer finger. 

The sound of footsteps pulls his attention away and it’s just in time to lock eyes with his former best friend. 

Jennie stops in her tracks with possibly the widest eyes he’s ever seen on her face. He waves and chuckles in an attempt to dispel the awkward energy, but it still takes her a moment to recover.

“I, uh, I’m sorry. I know you’re identical but I guess I just… forgot how much you look like him,” she explains. 

“It’s alright. I hear it all the time.” Her eyes are watery and it shatters Jungkook’s heart. He wants to comfort her like he used to or tell a stupid joke to make her laugh, but all he can do is stand there. “How are you?”

She humorlessly chuckles like that’s the most ridiculous question he could’ve asked.

“Oh, you know.”

Jungkook grimaces.

“Yeah. I know.”

“I’m sorry. This is obviously way harder for you than it is for me and —” 

“No. No it isn’t,” he interrupts her. “There’s no comparison in grief.” 

His assurance seems to help, even if just a little, because a faint smile forms on her lips as she nods.

“You’re right. Sometimes it just feels like I’m, I don’t know, overreacting?”

“Overreacting?” On muscle memory alone, Jungkook steps forward before remembering he shouldn’t and digging his heels into the ground. “Jennie, he was your best friend.”

She clicks her tongue while her gaze drops to the floor.

“He was more than that,” she mutters under her breath.

“Sorry?”

“Nothing, um, it isn’t important.” Whatever melancholia was hanging over her seems to be gone once she lifts her head again and crosses her arms over her chest. “So, what’s up? I mean, I know you technically own the place now, but I wasn’t expecting a visit.”

“Oh, right.” Jungkook has to give himself a quick head shake to refocus on the task at hand. “I came to talk to you, actually.”

“About what?”

He gestures to the space around them.

“The future of Kookie’s.”

They decide to sit down in a booth to chat and Jennie even pours them both a beer. Once they’re comfortably across from each other with a couple drinks in front of them, Jungkook clears his throat.

“So, Kook had about four months worth of savings in the business account. Obviously, it’s been three already. That means you and I have to decide where we want to go from here,” he announces.

Jennie’s brow scrunches.

“You and I? Isn’t it just up to you?”

“Maybe legally, but that’s certainly not what he would want. And I would never ice you out like that.” Jungkook sighs as he watches the foam float at the top of his beer. “Jennie, he…” He inhales. “Jungkook loved you.” After a moment, he realizes his statement needs clarification. “I don’t mean like that, I just…” His eyes flicker up to meet hers. “You meant the world to him.”

To me.

Sharing those sentiments might’ve been a mistake because Jennie immediately tears up again and her bottom lip starts to tremble.

“I know,” she whimpers. “I just wish I’d gotten the chance to tell him how much he meant to me.”

It’s his turn for a confused expression.

“He knew, Jen. I know he did.” 

“No. At least, not the full extent.” Jungkook’s head tilts and he’s about to ask for more information until she continues all on her own. “I loved him so fucking much. I was in love with him. I had been for almost our entire friendship.”

The world suddenly halts like a record scratching on a turnstile. Never once in the ten years he’s known Jennie did he ever suspect her to have romantic feelings for him. He thinks through all their memories together and it makes him wanna be sick. The late nights, weekend adventures, movie marathons, and study sessions. Not to mention the handful of times Jungkook used her body as a stress release without knowing it meant something entirely different to her. 

He wants to lay his head on the table and sob or maybe take Jennie’s hands so he can apologize for being such an ignorant asshole. Her confession kills him because he knows what unrequited love is like and to think he was putting his best friend through it is gut wrenching. If only he could just tell her he’s sorry and that if things were different, if he wasn’t a degenerate in love with his brother’s girl, he would’ve reciprocated without a second thought. 

The problem is he can’t do any of that because he isn’t Jungkook anymore. He can’t even let her see the guilt flood his eyes or his face fall in despair. So, he holds everything in and clears his throat again to mask the pain.

“Why didn’t you ever tell him?” Jungkook asks.

Jennie shrugs while drying her eyes with her sleeve.

“It wouldn’t have mattered. He was already in love with someone else when we met.”

His blood runs cold.

“Did you… do you know who?” When she shakes her head, Jungkook hides his massive sigh of relief. “He never mentioned anyone to me.”

“No, he probably wouldn’t have. He always kept that particular secret close to his chest,” she states before a brief awkward pause. “But, um, back to Kookie’s?”

“Right! Right. Sorry.” Jungkook forces his emotions back into the container where they reside so he can continue the conversation. He’ll sort through them afterwards when he’s alone. “Basically, I’m more than willing to finance the bar, but I can’t commit to the time and resources needed to run it. Now, if you want to, I would be happy to do that. But I also know you never signed up to be an owner and I don’t want to pressure you into staying.” He claps his hands while inhaling through his nose to prepare for the actual proposal. “So, in case you aren’t willing to run this place, I was wondering what you think about me offering it to Y/N to turn into a bakery.”

Jennie’s eyes go wide as soon as he’s done talking and Jungkook’s nerves stand at attention, but then her shocked expression gradually morphs into delight.

“Jaehyun, that’s a wonderful idea!”

“Re — really?”

She enthusiastically nods.

“It’s exactly what Kook would want.”

“You think so?” What a stupid fucking question. Like he isn’t the literal person they’re referring to. “I wasn’t sure if you would think I’m overstepping or something.”

“No, absolutely not. He adored Y/N. Seeing her dream finally come true would’ve made him so fucking happy. I mean, this place was literally named after her nickname for him.”

Jungkook allows his sigh to escape this time as a smile overtakes his lips. 

“I’m so glad you agree,” he admits. “But are you sure you’re alright with not running the bar yourself?” 

“Are you kidding? All this responsibility’s making me go prematurely grey,” she exclaims. “But if I could ask for one favor?” He nods and gestures for her to continue. “Could you ask Y/N if she’ll need help? Just because I don’t want to be in charge doesn’t mean I wanna leave this place behind, you know? And I obviously know the register and how to handle customers.”

As if this conversation could get any better. 

“Absolutely!” In fact, he was already planning on asking if she would want that. He figures if she sticks around to manage the bakery, perhaps they can grow close again as Jaehyun and Jennie. “She’s going to need all the help she can get since it’ll be impossible to bake everything and manage the storefront.”

“Have you spoken to her about this yet?” 

“No,” Jungkook answers. “I wanted to hear your opinion first.” 

Jennie smiles and for the first time today, it reaches her eyes the way it usually does. 

“I really appreciate that.”

The two of them discuss logistics for a while before Jungkook eventually excuses himself so she can finish preparing for the evening. She gives him a quick goodbye hug at the door and he has to refrain from holding her too tight, like how he used to. 

After they part, Jennie steps back and he salutes her with his two first fingers before exiting. He makes it about halfway to the crosswalk until the sound of quick footsteps coming from behind stops him and causes his eyebrows to rise.

“Wait!” 

When he turns around, Jennie’s a couple feet away and although she didn’t have to jog far to reach him, she appears winded.

“What’s up?” He casually questions.

Jennie takes in a massive influx of air while her hands shake at her sides.

“You’re not Jaehyun. Are you?”

Jungkook swears all the action around him ceases like a still life photograph. How come he made it through hours of conversation without her suspecting anything only to fail at the last second? And what the hell did he do to give her that impression?

“Wh… what?”

“You just saluted me.” She does the action herself. “The same way Kook did every time he left this place for the last three years.” 

Fuckkk. 

Goddamn muscle memory and stupid, permanently ingrained instincts. Who knew a single instant in time could possibly unravel everything. 

Honestly, there’s a piece of him that wishes he could just say yes so he can have his best friend back. But even one person knowing his secret could lead to disaster. 

So, lying through his teeth it is.

He chuckles and scoffs like her accusation’s borderline unbelievable.

“We both do it.” Jungkook repeats the salute, but this time slightly different from how he normally moves his hand. “Learned it from our grandfather.” When Jennie still looks skeptical, he throws his arms up in surrender. “I swear, Jennie. Scout’s honor.”

His oxygen remains trapped in his throat until her face finally relaxes and she shakes her head.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. You probably think I’m crazy now,” she laments.

“I don’t.” She sends him a disbelieving glance. “I promise, I don’t. Sometimes I look in the mirror and I can’t even tell who’s staring back at me.”

Her eyes sympathetically wilt, but Jungkook waves the emotion away with his hand. Albeit a little more awkwardly, they wish each other farewell again prior to him leaving for good. 

Once home, he remains in the garage so he can let his mind come to terms with the events of the evening. From Jennie’s confession to her almost figuring him out; the weight of it all is too much to bear. Before he can stop himself, his head drops to the steering wheel as he begins sobbing into the leather. 

He just wishes everything were different. In a perfect world he never would’ve fallen for you, then he and Jennie could be together and Jaehyun might still be alive. Instead, he lives in the universe where the only way he can be with the woman he loves is by pretending to be his dead twin and leaving his best friend all alone with a broken heart. 

As if he didn’t already hate himself enough for having feelings for you. Jennie deserves so much fucking better and he wonders if she’d be better off having never met him. At least then she would be spared from the pain she’s going through now and endured over the last decade. 

Jungkook has no idea how long he stays in the car bawling his eyes out, but it must be a suspicious amount of time because all of the sudden the driver’s side door flies open. 

“Jae?” When Jungkook lifts his head to face you, your eyes expand in concern and you instantly reach out to hug him. “Oh, honey.” 

He has other plans, and as soon as you’re close enough, his arms encapsulate your waist so he can tug you right into the car with him. Your back presses on the steering wheel and causes the horn to honk while your knees land on either side of his hips. But neither of you care; too preoccupied with holding one another so close you can feel the other’s heartbeat. 

As your arms wind around his neck and your fingers comb through his hair, he explores the length of your back like he’s trying to remind himself you’re real. 

“It’s okay, baby,” you whisper with your lips on the shell of his ear. “I’ve got you.” His cries only grow louder at the sound of your voice, because your endless compassion makes his own sins look so much darker in comparison. “I’m right here.”

The two of you stay like that for quite some time, but you don’t rush him in letting out all his emotions. When his cries do subside, you gently guide his head up until you can see his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks. 

“What for?”

“I don’t… I don’t know. Manhandling you, I guess.” 

You smile at him with such adoration it almost halts his heart.

“You can manhandle me anytime, any place,” you assure him. 

A hint of a smile forms before Jungkook buries his face in your neck to inhale your familiar scent. It reminds him of everything good in the world, of everything he loves, and grounds him to reality. 

“I love you, Y/N.” His voice is muffled by your skin, but you still hum in acknowledgment. “I love you so much I don’t think my heart can carry it all.”

“Mmm. Maybe I can crochet you a backpack or something to put the excess in.” 

Jungkook laughs and kisses your throat before gazing at you again.

“No, I don’t think that’ll work.” 

“No?”

He shakes his head.

“I think I have to return it to you somehow,” he claims.

“Yeah? And how do you plan to do that?” 

It’s obvious you’re both on the same page, because by the time Jungkook laces his fingers through your hair to pull your face down, you’re already leaning in. Your lips meet for a messy, passionate kiss that’s all tongue and soft moans. It’s different from the other kisses you’ve shared so far and even the air around you feels charged with a new tension.

Almost immediately, you begin rolling your hips across his lap and grinding down against the tent in his pants. It causes Jungkook’s head to spin and after the day he’s had, he doesn’t have the wherewithal to stop you. 

His arm loops around your waist to assist your movements while you rest your hands on his shoulders to give yourself more leverage. The two of you continue kissing like you need it to breathe, although you’re really just panting and whimpering into each other’s mouths. 

As you pick up the pace, Jungkook’s grasp on your hair turns bruising and he starts bucking his hips up to match your rhythm. 

“Jae,” you whine between smooches. 

“Baby, I…” He groans when all the sensations become both too much and yet not enough. “I don’t wanna fuck you again for the first time in a car.”

“Then just let me make you feel good.” Jungkook tries to shake his head, but you stop him by caressing his jaw. “It’ll help, right? With whatever’s weighing you down?”

You’re staring at him too intensely to hide how much he wants this and despite his better judgement, he nods.

Without another word, you bend over to kiss his neck at the same time your hips regain their momentum. 

Jungkook’s fully aware he’s going to cream his pants embarrassingly fast. You’ve been his dream girl since he was sixteen and now you’re dry humping him in a fucking Mercedes. The thing is he can’t bring himself to care. Not when he needs some sort of release or his brain might genuinely explode. 

The feeling of your lips on his throat and your cunt rubbing against his bulge is driving him insane and it takes all his willpower not to carry you inside the house so he can fuck you like you deserve. By the time he’s done with you, you won’t remember your own name let alone which twin you’re married to. 

Alas, for now all he can do is synchronize his hips with your own so his cock catches your clit every time you press yourself into him. 

While Jungkook’s fingertips dig into your spine and scalp because he’s trying to salvage whatever’s left of his sanity, your mouth trails up his neck until you can nibble and lick along his jawline. The wet sensation elicits a moan from deep within his chest before he uses his grip on your hair to force your lips back to his. 

The kiss is sloppy enough to leave drool all over the bottom halves of your faces. But if anything, it just makes the moment that much hotter. It’s so scorching even the air feels suffocating despite the door still being wide open. 

“Fuck, I’m — I’m close, baby,” Jungkook grunts. “But I need you to come with me.”

You break the lip lock with a mischievous giggle.

“Then you better make me, Jeon.” 

Jungkook almost comes right then and there. He’s never heard you refer to Jaehyun by their surname, but shit, if it isn’t the hottest thing you’ve ever uttered. 

He manages to resist the pressure in his gut before attacking your neck with an onslaught of fiery kisses. He begins thrusting up into you as well, turning you into a whiny, wanton mess while you tug on the hair at his nape and grind down harder.  

It’s clear you’re nearing an orgasm when Jungkook feels your abdomen clench where your bodies are pressed together. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever imagine having the opportunity to make you come, but if he thinks about it too much he’ll finish before you do. 

In all honesty, every muscle and vein in his body is working together to prevent him from letting go too soon. Even outside the physical friction you’re providing, just the idea of finally having you like this is enough to make him bust. 

Not to mention you’re moaning in his ear and Jungkook swears it’s like taking a hard drug. It makes his mind feel hazy from all the lust and pure, unadulterated need. His body’s practically acting on its own at this point because his brain is going haywire.

“Baby, please,” you whimper with a firm yank on his hair. 

He certainly doesn’t need to be told twice, and immediately licks along the side of your throat before biting down on your earlobe.

“Come for me,” he growls. 

You gasp and bury your face in his neck when your orgasm hits you. Then he topples right over the edge a second later, the movement of your body spasming in his lap sending straight into the depths of euphoria with a loud, enthusiastic moan. 

The two of you carelessly grind against one another throughout your highs as the friction from your bodies prolongs the sensation.

It might very well be the nastiest thing Jungkook’s ever done, considering the humiliating amount of cum in his boxers that gets pushed around each time you hump his lap. Yet he can’t get enough of you shaking above him as your own essence soaks through your underwear onto your pants.

By the time you both calm down, it’s as if your energy’s been sucked out by some mystical force.

“Fuck,” you chuckle, prompting him to join you. “Been a while, huh?”

Jungkook laughs again while lifting his head up to look at you.

“You could definitely say that.”

Seeing your responding smile almost recoups all his lost energy in a single instant.

“You remember the first time we did that? Back when I was still in high school?” 

Obviously not, but by god, does he wish he did. 

“Vividly,” he answers.

Your hands slide down from his shoulders to his chest as you lean in to give him another kiss. 

“We should go inside and get cleaned up. I’ll make us dinner after.” Jungkook nods. “Maybe then you can tell me why you were so upset?”

He will once he thinks of a reasonable explanation. It’s not as though he can tell you the truth about his emotions. 

“How about tomorrow? I just want to enjoy my time with you tonight.”

It’s not even remotely a lie. He craves nothing more than to take a nice, hot shower and cuddle with you on the couch. 

“Of course,” you assure him. 

You peel yourselves apart as deftly as possible in the cramped space of the front seat before you head upstairs to change while Jungkook hops in the shower. 

He avoids sparing himself a glance in the mirror afterwards, for fear he’ll see his brother glaring back at him in disgust. Sure, he didn’t actually touch you, but that doesn’t mean a line not previously crossed wasn’t just obliterated beyond repair.

When the sun rises the following day, you roll straight into his arms wearing a blissful smile. It’s easily one of the most beautiful sights Jungkook’s ever seen and it encourages him to kiss the expression right off your pretty, pink lips.

“Morning,” you whisper.

Jungkook’s too busy kissing you to reply. He’s already got a hand in your hair and the other cradles your knee so he can hook your leg around his waist. You two often wake up like this and spend the early morning hours smooching and touching each other to your heart’s content. 

It feels different today, on behalf of your behavior from the night before, but even after taking that leap yesterday, your Sunday morning make out doesn’t lead anywhere. 

“Morning, sweetheart,” he mumbles while traveling one peck at a time across your cheek. “Sleep well?”

“Mmhm.”

You giggle once Jungkook reaches your neck and begins aggressively nuzzling his face into your skin. 

After cuddling and sharing more absentminded kisses for a while, you both leave the comfort of your bed to start the day. You naturally seize the kitchen to cook breakfast while Jungkook takes care of some chores like laundry and vacuuming. 

Ironically, Jungkook’s a great cook because he lived alone for so long, but Jaehyun would burn water if he even attempted a single recipe. Meaning Jungkook has to let you tackle every meal alone to avoid raising suspicion. He’s debated on asking you to “teach” him or pretend to take cooking classes to remedy the situation. 

Following the delicious meal, you plop on the couch together with your legs resting on Jungkook’s. His hand lazily caresses your bare thigh while your fingers fiddle with his own. It’s soft and domestic, and he absolutely adores the small, mundane moments like this.

“Are you feeling better this morning?” You ask him.

“Yeah, definitely.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Jungkook inhales and nods as his eyes focus on the repetitive movement of his hand brushing against your skin.

“It actually went great. Jennie was really excited about my idea and we worked through most of the logistics before I left,” he explains.

“So, then…”

He grins and pinches your leg, to which you squeak and slap his bicep.

“I’m getting there, nosey!” You merely throw your hands up in surrender. “Jennie told me something while I was there and it just… broke me, I guess.” 

“What was it?”

“She said she was in love with Kook, and had been for almost their entire friendship. And I don’t know, it just shattered my fucking heart. Because Kook never got to have what we have, but Jennie wanted him all this time. And now they’ll never get a chance.” 

When Jungkook glances up to see your reaction, you look like a confused puppy with your head tilted.

“Wait, you didn’t know Jennie was in love with Jungkook?”

His eyes go wide. 

“You knew?”

“Well, duh. It was obvious!” 

“To whom?” 

You giggle and roll your eyes. 

“Only the women, apparently,” you comment. “You never noticed how she looked at him? Like he was the center of her freaking universe?” 

“N — no.” 

Jennie looked at him differently? He never once registered that. Maybe because he was always too busy envying how you looked at Jaehyun. 

The fact you realized her feelings and he didn’t, despite not knowing her nearly as well, makes him want to be sick. She’s his best friend. He should’ve been paying more attention. 

“I honestly thought they were either together and for some reason Kookie didn’t want to tell us or he was just extremely obtuse. Now it’s clear it was the latter.”

All of a sudden your exemplary perception skills cause his stomach to sink. Because if you noticed Jennie’s feelings for Jungkook, is it possible you also picked up on his feelings for you? 

“She claimed she never confessed because he was in love with someone else,” Jungkook adds. “Do you know who that might’ve been?”

“Huh?” The confusion on your face eases his mind. “Kookie? In love with someone?” You shake your head. “No. Who would that even be? He never dated anyone the entire time I knew him.”

“That’s what I thought, too.”

“Wait, doesn’t that imply whoever this mystery person is didn’t love him back?”

Jungkook shrugs.

“I suppose so.”

“That makes even less sense. Jungkook was amazing and unbelievably handsome. I would know, seeing as I married someone with the same face. If he was in love with someone, I can’t see how they didn’t reciprocate,” you explain. “Besides, we know everyone in his life.”

The sheer irony of your logic almost makes Jungkook burst into hysterical laughter, or maybe bawl his eyes out. 

“Maybe Jennie was wrong?”

“That, or the person he was in love with was her and they both just danced around one another all these years.”

“That would be… tragic.”

You nod in agreement. 

“It all is, regardless of anyone’s feelings,” you lament with your eyes towards the ground. 

Jungkook spots the change in your demeanor and places two fingers under your chin to gently lift your head up.

“You know what made me feel better after I thought about it some more?” He waits for you to hum before finishing his statement. “Whether or not Kook knew, or felt the same, he was loved. By us, by Jennie, and by everyone who knew him.”

His proclamation turns your eyes into somber, sparkling oases, but there’s also a contradictory smile on your lips.

“You’re right.” Your hand rises to swipe at the corner of your eye so no tears actually fall. “He was so, so fucking loved.”

After you sniffle a couple times, Jungkook moves his hand to cradle your face and run his thumb across your cheekbone.

“Speaking of people Jungkook loved, I should probably tell you what Jennie and I talked about yesterday,” he states.

“What do you mean?” 

He clears his throat before dropping his hand and encasing one of your own. He rolls your fingers around while mentally hyping himself up, his anxiety about your reaction deterring him from speaking just yet.

“My brother adored you more than he could ever put into words. You were never just my girlfriend or wife to him, but a best friend and confidant. And he believed in you more than anyone else in the world. It was actually one of the last things we spoke about.” He takes a deep breath in preparation for his proposal. “So, because Jennie isn’t comfortable running Kookie’s alone with my financial backing, she and I agreed what Jungkook would want is for you to turn it into your very own bakery.”

Your eyes nearly pop out of your skull, and Jungkook initially takes it as a positive sign, but then you begin vehemently shaking your head.

“No, no, no. I couldn’t. Kookie’s was his baby, I could never just… no. Absolutely not.”

“Y/N —”

“No, Jae.” 

The next thing he knows, you’re standing up and rushing towards the kitchen. 

“Baby, where are you going?”

“What if I fuck it up, huh? What if I do that and it’s a total disaster and I sully the name of Kookie’s forever?” You run your fingers through your hair with a humorless laugh. “Jungkook put his everything into that place. He worked harder than anyone I know to make it what it is. Who the hell am I to step in and turn it into something else?”

He can’t tell you the truth; that you’re who he loves most in the world, second only to his twin. 

“You’re the one person he would want to do exactly that,” Jungkook counters.

“Why don’t I just help Jennie with the bar? Then she won’t be all by herself,” you suggest.

“Sweetheart, you’re a baker, not a manager.” 

“And Kookie’s is a bar, not a bakery.” 

Your steadfast refusals make Jungkook groan and rake his hands down his face. 

“Why don’t you believe me when I say this is what Kook would want? Me and Jennie both think so!”

“Because it’s one of the last things left of him in the world, Jae!” The tears from before quickly return as your voice breaks. “We sold his apartment. His motorcycle’s under a sheet in our garage. He’s buried six feet in the ground. But that building was his and it meant everything to him. I can’t… I can’t lose any more pieces of him.” 

Jungkook’s heart breaks at the sight of you crying over him yet again. You’ve been doing so well lately, but now you’re shaking and helplessly wiping away your tears.

“Baby,” he coos while closing the gap between you. “Can’t you see this is how we prevent that from happening?” When you glance up, Jungkook cups your face in his hands. “Jennie’s running herself ragged trying to handle everything. I can’t possibly manage a massive corporation and a dive bar. But if you breathe new life into it, Kookie’s will flourish into something even more extraordinary than it already is.” 

“But what if I let him down?” 

He reassuringly smiles and shakes his head.

“That’s not possible. Even if it crashes and burns, Jungkook will be so fucking proud of you.”

“Yeah?” 

The slight hint of belief in your voice brings him more joy than he can even express, but it manifests as him pressing his forehead against your own. 

“Without a doubt,” he whispers. 

You reply with a watery giggle before rising to your tiptoes for a hug. Jungkook automatically reciprocates, enveloping your waist and tugging you as close as possible while your cheek falls onto his shoulder.

“Thank you.” After pulling away, you trail your hands down his arms until you can slot your fingers together. “But I want to ask your parents first. It wouldn’t feel right moving forward without their permission.” 

“‘Course, I think they’ll appreciate that.”

Not only is Jungkook right, but his mom begins hysterically crying because she’s so thrilled about the idea. Of course, there are still plenty of administrative details to be sorted out before moving forward. But at least everyone’s on board now, and since Kookie’s is already registered as a food establishment, switching the business license and other legal documents should be easy. 

Him and Jennie agree to permanently close Kookie’s bar in thirty days and from there the three of you will work on transforming it into Kookie’s bakery instead.  

With such a big hurdle off Jungkook’s plate, he can finally focus entirely on his new role as CEO of Jeon Industries. It’s hard to believe he’s going into his second month already. Although he’s gotten a hang of it for the most part, there’s still plenty to learn. 

It certainly doesn’t help when everyone walks on eggshells around him because they know about the recent tragedy he experienced. He appreciates people’s sympathy, but it’s hard to adjust to his new career when most employees run in the opposite direction or dance around certain questions. 

Except for one person.

For whatever reason, a young administrative assistant has gotten the bright idea that a grieving man is more prone to cheat than one who isn’t. 

She isn’t his assistant, although she works on a team of direct reports, so Jungkook can’t necessarily avoid her. He’s spoken to his actual assistant about the issue, but is still hesitant to make a big fuss when he doesn’t know the company culture yet. Since discussing it with Mr. Park, she’s been kept at an arms length by only assigning her to group projects so he can avoid one-on-one interactions. 

It’s not like she outright flirts with him or gropes him in the employee lounge, but Jungkook knows when someone’s eyeing him. Between bringing him coffee and purposely leaning across his desk to incessantly peering inside his office to ask if he needs anything, her crush on him is more than obvious. 

He knows the behavior only began after he took over because he asked Mr. Park if it was normal, under the guise of not having noticed it before, and his assistant vehemently assured him it isn’t. Not to mention, Jaehyun wrote detailed notes about his on and off the clock life and none of them mention her. 

Jungkook’s yet to broach the topic with you because he doesn’t want you to worry or overreact. There’s nothing on earth that could ever make him look at anyone but you, and he’s also hoping the situation will diffuse on its own. 

If that were his only problem, he’d honestly have a lot less headaches. Alas, he has to pretend to know what he’s doing when he’s quite literally flying by the seat of his pants. 

Thankfully, Mr. Park is brilliant and totally understands his situation. Albeit, he believes it’s because of grief and not Jungkook’s complete lack of knowledge about the corporate world. 

The only silver lining is Jungkook’s a business owner himself; he knows all about profit margins, budget cuts, and enterprise risk management. The difference is Jeon Industries is a tech company, so he’s probably the least qualified person on the planet to be running the show. Hell, the computer at his apartment was still from 2009. 

Today’s a tough one in particular. Jungkook’s already been to three meetings and the clock hasn’t even struck noon. Plus, his first quarterly board meeting is this afternoon and one of the members is his very own father. If anyone’s going to see through him, it’ll be him. 

His dad personally trained Jaehyun to follow in his footsteps. So if Jungkook isn’t the absolute pinnacle of professionalism during this meeting, it could ruin everything. 

“Mr. Park,” Jungkook calls for him with a wave about an hour before showtime. 

His assistant saunters in with practiced elegance and it immediately lifts some weight off Jungkook’s shoulders. At least if he’s off his game today, Mr. Park can step up to the plate.  

“Mr. Jeon,” he greets him.

“As I’m sure you can tell, I’m not as prepared as I normally am for this. So, if you could ensure I don’t make a complete fool of myself, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

Mr. Park smiles and bows his head. 

“Of course. That’s what I’m here for, Mr. Jeon.” There’s a moment of silence before he clears his throat. “Actually, there’s something I’d like to add. If I may?” Jungkook nods. “Well, you’ve been back for just over a month, and I know it’s been quite hectic following your absence. Hence why I didn’t mention this before. But… you know you don’t have to call me Mr. Park, right? At least, not when we’re in private.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen in surprise, but he quickly recovers with a head shake and soft chuckle. 

“Right. I’m so sorry, Jimin. I think I’ve been overcompensating so much these last few weeks that I completely forgot about our usual decorum.” 

Jaehyun always referred to his assistant by his surname, so Jungkook had no idea they dropped the formality when alone together.

“It’s not a problem, Jaehyun. Just figured I would let you know.” 

Honestly, the sound of his first name, well, not his original one, puts his mind at ease even more. Jungkook isn’t used to strict corporate lingo, so this is much more comfortable and familiar in comparison. 

He and Jimin go over the meeting agenda together so Jungkook feels as prepared as possible before the receptionist calls to inform him the board members have arrived. 

After entering the conference room with Jimin hot on his tail, he pauses to take a few deep breaths. His eyes scan the room until he finds the only familiar face, who smiles back at him like the proudest man in the world. 

“Long time, no see, son,” his dad greets him with a warm hug. 

“Always a pleasure, Mr. Jeon,” Jungkook responds through a lighthearted laugh. 

He proceeds to shake hands with the remaining board members prior to everyone sitting around the large table. 

The first half goes even better than expected and Jungkook believes, for maybe the first time, that he might actually pull this off. But that changes when one of the board members pipes up during a transition between topics. 

“Jaehyun, I think we should take some time to discuss your brief hiatus from the position,” they state. 

Jungkook has to control his face, since his initial thought is how that has anything to do with the meeting.

“Discuss what, exactly?” 

His eyes flash towards his father, who appears equally confused.

“Well, given the circumstances, of which deeply affected not just one, but two members of this board, I believe it’s about time we talk about business continuity.”

“Business continuity?” 

It takes a lot of freaking willpower to keep his annoyance from sneaking into the question.

“Yes. It isn’t exactly conducive to progress if we lose our CEO and head of the board for an extended period of time,” the man explains. 

Jungkook slides his hands below the table before anyone sees him ball them into fists. The sheer audacity of this man to talk about his brother’s death like it’s something impeding their business is outrageous.

“Well, chairman, I don’t believe we have to worry about that considering I don’t have any more twin brothers to lose,” Jungkook sneers, as professionally as he can. 

“Jaehyun —”

“That’s Mr. Jeon… to you.” That sure shuts him up and after an unbearably awkward silence, Jungkook clears his throat. “Shall we proceed, gentleman?”

Everyone nods and although the room is filled with tension for the remainder of the meeting, it continues without any more hiccups. 

Afterwards, while Jungkook mingles with other board members, he notices his dad pulling the problem child aside. He excuses himself to join them, but before he’s able to reach the two men, he sees his dad dig his pointer finger into the man’s lapel.

“If you ever attempt to use my son’s death as a means of furthering your own agenda again, I will see that you never work another day in this industry. Are we clear?” His father threatens. 

“That’s not —”

“No? That wasn’t a soft launch for your family taking over this company if mine were suddenly incapable?” Jungkook’s dad scoffs. “I built this place from the ground up and it will remain in my name, and my name only, until the day it goes under. I’d sooner entrust it to my brilliant daughter-in-law than the likes of you.” He takes a single, daunting step closer to the board member. “Do I make myself clear, chairman?”

“Crystal,” the man flatly replies.

He rushes past Jungkook once the conversation ends as his dad steps closer to him.

“Thank you,” Jungkook says.

“No need, son.” His dad affectionately clasps his shoulder. “You handled it perfectly. I’m very proud of you.”

Following a deep sigh, Jungkook smiles before they decide to divide and conquer the rest of the board members. 

When he arrives home later that evening, you’re still at Kookie’s drawing up floor plans for the new layout with Jennie. It’s been about two weeks since the decision, but you’ve been cruising full speed ahead to transform it into your dream business. 

Jungkook heads straight to the home office beside the master bedroom so he can finish some leftover tasks before you come home. He hates working when you’re around, since he would much rather be spending time with you. Unfortunately, he isn’t even close to being done by the time he hears the door click shut. 

“Honey?” You holler from the first floor.

You appear in the doorway of the office soon after, but Jungkook only greets you with a quick glance and a wave. 

“Sorry, baby, I was hoping to be finished already,” he explains. 

The next thing he knows, your arms are around his neck and your head’s resting atop his. It’s almost comical how much comfort it brings him, as though a physical weight ascends off his shoulders just because you’re near. 

“That’s okay.” Your hands slide down until you can grab his own and hold them to his chest. “I just hope you aren’t stressing out about everything again.”

He chuckles. 

“When do I not?”

Jungkook hears you softly hum in his ear before you drop his hands to turn his head towards you. Your lips immediately land on his and it sets his entire body alight. He pulls you into his lap as his fingers sink into your hair, giving him complete control over the kiss. 

It isn’t heated or rushed, and yet there's more passion behind this lip lock than some of your steamier make outs. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” You whisper. 

He shakes his head.

“Just this.”

His mouth conquers yours again, causing you to whimper as his tongue traces the seam of your lips before pushing inside. 

You two continue to kiss for some time, neither of you paying attention to the ticking clock on the wall. Not even Jungkook, who really should be considering he has so much still left to do. 

Eventually, his looming tasks weigh down on his brain enough to pull back and rest his forehead against your own. 

“Fuck, I could do that all night long,” he tells you through a smile. “But I gotta get this done first.” 

“What is it?” 

Jungkook faces his desk again and moves the various papers around so you can see. In turn, you lay your head on his shoulder while surveying all the different files. 

“Budget approvals, board notes, project management,” he lists. “You know, the usual.”

“That’s a lot, baby,” you counter. 

“Yeah, but it could be worse.”

“Are you sure you don’t need something to help you destress? I mean, you could be at this all night.” 

“What do you have in mind?” He thinks it’s a completely innocuous question, but rather than responding, you slide off his lap and onto your knees in front of him. “Woah, woah, wait.”

His eyes almost bulge out of his head as he grabs your forearms to stop you.

“What’s wrong?” 

You’re glancing up at him with the prettiest, shiniest eyes he’s ever seen and he swears his dick’s already rock hard just by looking at you. 

“Baby, you… you don’t have to do that.”

Your face of confusion tells him everything he needs to know before you even reply.

“But I want to,” you argue. “I haven’t tasted you in months. It’s killing me, to be honest.” 

Jungkook damn near whines out loud. He even has to let go of your arms so you don’t feel his hands shaking. He’s dreamed of having you in this exact position for well over a decade and he knows he isn’t strong enough to resist when you’re practically begging him.

This is also the moment of truth, because although he’s seen you naked plenty of times now, he’s been careful to only let you see him shirtless. Therefore, if for whatever reason he isn’t an exact match to Jaehyun, shit will genuinely hit the fan. 

“I know, but I don’t know if I’m ready to reciprocate just yet,” he claims. 

“That’s fine. It’s not a tit for tat thing.” Your hands slide up his legs and Jungkook automatically shutters. “Besides, that mouth of yours is always worth the wait.”

Shit, it’s good to know his brother was a munch. Then you won’t be suspicious when Jungkook eats you out for hours on end like he plans to the first time he gets a chance. 

The feeling of your fingers running up and down his inners thighs is like medieval torture. You look so damn pretty with those plush lips and rosy cheeks, and he doesn’t know how to say no to that face. He doesn’t want to say no.

There’s no reason to, right? For all intents and purposes, he is Jaehyun, and if this is going to last a lifetime, he has to stop being such a coward about intimacy.

He takes a deep breath while observing your seductive expression in order to memorize the sight. It’d be a crime if he weren’t able to recall exactly how you looked before he felt your lips around him for the first time. 

“Okay.”

His approval makes your eyes flicker alive and Jungkook naturally holds his breath as your hands roam to undo his belt. He lifts his hips so you can roll his slacks down, but the sound of his belt buckle meeting the floor sets off his entire nervous system. 

The problem is you’ve been giving Jaehyun head since you were a teenager, but this is a novel experience for Jungkook and he’s terrified his reaction will give him away. Especially considering he probably won’t last more than a couple minutes, if that. Not when it’s you who’ll be sucking him off. 

Clearly, he isn’t doing very well at shielding his anxiety because you pause and glance up just before your fingers graze his bulge.

“Honey, you're shaking.”

“Ye… yeah.”

“I don’t have to do this,” you note. “It’s supposed to help you relax, not the opposite.”

Jungkook mindlessly nods while racking his brain for a reasonable response. In truth, his head feels completely empty at the moment.

“I know, baby. And I really, really want you to. I just, I don’t know…” 

“Look, just take a nice, deep breath.” You inhale so he’ll follow suit. “And don’t focus on anything but me, okay?”

Unfortunately, that’s the problem. 

He takes your advice in part, though, and decides to focus on the sensations instead; how your hands feel on his legs and the way your breath tickles his skin. 

“As if I could ever think about anything else,” he teases to lighten the mood. 

His comment elicits a show stopping smile, but Jungkook doesn’t get to witness it for long because you quickly bend over to place a kiss on his twitching cock. Even through the fabric it feels like a lightning bolt down his spine and he nearly jumps from his seat as his hands ball into fists. 

You snicker while continuing to kiss him over his boxers. It turns Jungkook into a whiny mess, but his temperament seems to be encouraging because you lay your tongue out and glide it along the outline of his shaft. 

“Oh, fu — fuck, baby.” 

Jungkook’s head tips back in ecstasy, which is pretty embarrassing when you haven’t even touched him yet. He could honestly come from this alone, and he’s sure you can tell. So, he implements every ounce of strength he has to keep himself in check. 

Your mouth’s already driving him crazy, but nothing could prepare him for you hooking your fingers into his waistband and tugging his boxers to the floor. 

He sucks in a sharp breath of anticipation as he awaits your possible negative reaction, but you simply hum and slide your hands back up his legs, allowing him to exhale in relief. 

“God, I missed you,” you mumble under your breath before wrapping your fingers around his cock. 

Jungkook almost loses his goddamn marbles from that single touch alone. The sensation of your soft, delicate digits on his skin is incomprehensible and he can only imagine how amazing your mouth will feel. 

He doesn’t have to wait much longer to find out because following a couple languid strokes, you begin kissing and licking his tip. 

You moan over the taste of his precum while circling your tongue across his head. He’s been leaking since you two first kissed and you’re making quick work of swallowing it all. 

Jungkook doesn’t dare lift his head to watch in fear of busting right then and there. Just knowing you’re tasting him for the first time is enough to send his mind spiraling, not to mention actually feeling your tongue on his skin. 

After some time of you slowly jacking him off and teasing his tip, you start suckling on his head with feather light pressure. It’s worse than a death by a thousand cuts, and Jungkook whimpers as one of his hands encapsulates your own on his thigh.

“Sweetheart, pl — please.”

When you giggle, the vibrations shoot down his dick and make him groan like you’ve mortally wounded him.

“If you want me to suck your dick, you gotta watch me do it,” you taunt. 

Lord have mercy.

Jungkook obeys regardless of the danger, and of course, seeing you mere centimeters away from his cock with your hand wrapped around his base almost stops his heart. 

“Oh, my baby,” he sighs. 

On instinct, his opposite hand rises to pet your hair and tuck some behind your ear, letting him fully admire your pretty face and swollen lips. 

You innocently blink up at him like you aren’t holding his sanity in your palm. He wishes he had a camera to capture the moment forever, but he settles on maintaining eye contact until you sever it by licking his shaft from base to tip. 

The wet friction causes him to brutally cry out and he’s forced to squeeze his eyes shut to stay calm. You don’t stop, either, despite your warning about him watching you work. Instead, you repeat the same motion over and over until his whole cock is shiny with saliva. 

“You taste so good, Jae.”

“Fuck.” His chest is rising and falling like he just took a shot of pure adrenaline. “Keep… keep going. Please.”

Jungkook can’t stop his thighs or hands from trembling, but he manages to open his eyes in time to witness you taking his head inside your mouth again. Unlike before, you don’t spend time teasing him and immediately guide him deeper down your throat. 

With every inch you swallow, Jungkook feels his rational slipping further away and his nonsensical noises of pleasure grow even louder. His grip on your scalp also tightens to the point your hair naturally knots around his fingers.

You hum at the sensation as your head continues to descend until your nose is buried in his pubic hair. Once there, you hold still and swallow a couple times so your throat constricts around him. Jungkook gasps and yanks on your hair in response, all while his neck cranes back yet again. 

“Shit, that feels so fucking good.”

His praises must be good motivation because before Jungkook can even wrap his mind around you actually doing this, you begin bobbing at an ambitious pace. 

Gone is any playfulness as you hollow your cheeks and repeatedly envelope his length with expert precision. Each time you complete a lap, you make sure his entire shaft sinks down your throat. You’re also still humming with your tongue pressed against the underside of his dick so it’s perfectly wet and sloppy. 

Speaking of, the sound of his cock moving in and out of your mouth is obscene, especially in combination with his endless panting and moaning. But it doesn’t seem to phase you in the slightest while you breathe through your nose and continue without reprieve. 

Jungkook’s been given his fair share of blowjobs, and even without considering this is something he’s yearned for since he was a teenager, it’s easily the best one he’s ever received. 

Not only is your mouth unbelievably warm and soft, but you know exactly how to keep your lips in a taught circle. Couple that with the tightness of your throat and friction from your tongue, and he’s already a goner. 

This must just be the skillset one acquires after sucking the same dick for fifteen years. 

“Y/N… sweetheart… holy fucking shit.” 

His words may be aimless and partially slurred from how drunk he is off the euphoria you’re providing, but it spurs you on. As soon as he finishes rambling, your head speeds up and you start swirling your tongue around the ridge of his cock every time you reach his tip. 

The new wave of effort sends Jungkook into a tailspin. Both his hands ferociously clench and his teeth grind together with a strained grunt. It feels so amazing he can’t comprehend reality anymore and he knows if he glances down at you, he’ll bust. 

“God — ah, fuck.” 

He’s not even sure how long you’ve been sucking him off; time seems to be simultaneously moving at light speed and standing totally still.

An intense vibration rolls down his shaft when you moan over his senseless praises. Afterwards, you slow down by using the tip of your tongue to trace his thick, pulsing veins and lap up the precum on his slit. 

“Come for me, baby,” you beg between licks. “Make me choke.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus.”

Alright. Time to hold a seance with his brother so he can explain how his sweet, lovely wife ended up with such a filthy fucking mouth. 

Not that Jungkook minds, but his poor balls that are unbearably heavy from how badly he needs to come are demanding an answer. 

You bring him between your lips again with a snicker, sheathing his entire cock deep inside your esophagus. When the action makes you gag and choke, Jungkook whines as his fingernails scratch your scalp. Besides the sound itself turning him on, the sensation of your throat tightening is ethereal. 

It certainly doesn’t take him long to heed your demand. Not when you’re harmoniously bobbing and sucking like your only job all these years was giving head. 

“Y/N, I’m gonna…” The mere hint that he’s close makes you work even harder to break him off, nearly shattering his subconscious in the process. “Holy shit, baby!” 

He squeezes his eyes shut again while using your hair to ground himself. As if anything could possibly save him now. 

When he comes, it’s with an exuberant, broken scream as his thighs shake and his balls pump semen into your mouth. His dick twitches erratically where it’s buried down your throat, but you stay still so you can swallow every last drop. 

Jungkook practically wails in ecstasy while you suck and lick along his shaft until he’s completely spent. In fact, he’s so delirious by the time his orgasm ends he doesn’t even register you pulling back with a wet pop. 

“Jae?” You call when he doesn’t budge for a full thirty seconds.

“I’m… okay…”

His current state causes you to giggle.

“Wow, you really know how to make a girl feel like she did a good job.”

He chuckles, although it’s weak.

“I’m not even trying, sweetheart. I just can’t fucking think right now.”

You rise from your knees before gently tugging his chin down so your eyes meet. 

“That good, huh?” Jungkook slowly nods with a glassy, faraway gleam. “I’m pleasantly surprised. Most of the time I can’t make you come from oral alone.” 

Damn, Jae, didn’t realize you had the stamina of a fucking ox. 

Then again, maybe Jungkook would have the same ability if he’d been getting his dick sucked like that since he was sixteen. Lucky bastard.

“It’s been a while,” he defends.

“Worth the wait?”

Jungkook enthusiastically nods.

“You have no fucking idea.”

His response produces another laugh from you as you bend down to kiss him. 

With him obviously less stressed post-orgasm, you leave him alone with his work so you can start dinner. It takes Jungkook a few minutes to get his head back in the right place for completing all his tasks, but after another hour or so, he files the paperwork away in his briefcase.

Once his work’s done, he spends some time digesting what actually happened. He still can't quite grasp the reality of your lips wrapping around his cock or you swallowing his cum like your favorite drink. Logically, he knows you believe you’ve done so countless times as his wife, but that doesn’t make it any easier for him to compute. 

He also feels a little sick to his stomach, because every time his eyes close he pictures his twin looking at him in disgust. 

Jungkook understands how wrong this all is, but he can’t bring himself to regret his decision. Not when he can see how happy you are. If he hadn’t taken Jaehyun’s place, there’s no possibility of that being true today. 

He just has to remind himself he didn’t do this to get you on your knees. He did it to protect you; to keep you from experiencing the utter torture of losing the man you love. That’s not to say Jungkook isn’t also reaping the benefits of his choices, but whatever positive consequences there are, they aren’t purposeful.

Said benefits only escalate following that evening. Not only because Jungkook’s gradually becoming more comfortable being intimate with you, but due to the increased difficulty of resisting you.

Like this morning, when he wakes up to find you in the skimpiest tank top and short-shorts known to man. At the exact moment he reaches the kitchen, you happen to bend over to pull your treats out of the oven, giving him a perfect view of the light pink, silky fabric riding up and showing off your ass. 

Jungkook genuinely has to bite his fist to keep himself from moaning aloud, but it doesn’t prevent his eyes from rolling back. If he had less moral fortitude, he would slam the oven shut and take you right here and now. Alas, he isn’t an animal, no matter how much you make him feel like one sometimes. 

“Morning, baby,” you chirp after setting the tray down and turning in his direction. “Sleep well?” 

“Mmhm,” he responds through tight lips. When your eyebrows rise in evident suspicion, he fakes a cough. “Sorry, uh, you’re just…” After a second, he decides to simply concede with a laugh and disbelieving head shake. “You’re just so goddamn sexy, baby.” 

“Oh? You don’t say?”

You’re sporting a sly smirk which tells Jungkook you were expecting that reaction and he suddenly gawks at your trickery

“Wait a second. Is this little ensemble on purpose?” 

You shrug and giggle to yourself before turning around to place the freshly baked desserts on a cooling rack so you can move the second batch into the oven. 

The realization you’re actually trying to seduce him almost knocks him onto his ass. For starters, it’s not even remotely necessary, but secondly, you should never feel a need to do so. He’s supposed to be your husband, and if you’re unaware of exactly how much he craves you, then it’s his job to show you.

Hence him stepping forward so when you face him again, he can snatch your waist and effortlessly lift you onto the counter. 

“Woah!” His actions leave you giggling with a faint pink blush on your cheeks. “What do you think you’re doing, Mr. Jeon?”

Jungkook snickers while kissing along your neck and exposed shoulder.

“Well, Mrs. Jeon, I’m putting this pretty outfit of yours to good use.”

As his lips travel across your skin, his hands trail up your inner thighs so he can pry your legs apart and stand in the open space. From there, he inches his fingers upwards until he can feel the heat radiating from your core. 

“And how do you plan to — mmph.”

He silences you with a searing, messy kiss; his tongue slipping inside your mouth and swirling around until you whimper.

“Like this,” he whispers against your lips.

Not even a second later, he thrusts his two middle fingers into your cunt before silencing your zealous moan with his mouth. 

One would assume you’re who will receive the most pleasure from his behavior, but Jungkook’s moan is almost louder than yours. He can’t help it when he’s finally feeling the inside of your pussy for the first time. You’re just as warm, soft, and tight as he always imagined and the sensation of your walls clamping down on his digits is already driving him insane. 

“Fuck, sweetheart.” Jungkook begins curling his fingers so he can explore all of you, and especially find the spots that make you tick. “I almost forgot how amazing you feel.”

You hum between smooches.

“Then maybe don’t wait so long next time,” you tease.

When he smirks at your remark, it momentarily severs your kiss. 

“Oh, it won’t ever happen again. I promise you.”

With that, he forces his fingers deeper inside you and starts pumping them at a rapid pace. The change in tempo makes you gasp and whine as your head drops to his shoulder. Your hands also rise from the countertop so you can hold onto his biceps for dear life. 

You’re not the only one slowly losing it, because Jungkook can barely think straight. Of course, he can’t. Your walls are relentlessly pulsing and every inch of you feels like heaven to touch. Not to mention how reactive you are. Every time he pushes his digits in and makes a come hither motion, you moan directly into his ear. 

If it’s this amazing with his fingers inside you, he doesn’t even wanna think about how wonderful it’ll feel to have your velvety cunt wrapped around his cock. 

Jungkook isn’t the type to focus on his own pleasure, so as much as he wants to stay buried in you forever, he pulls his hand back to massage your clit instead. You immediately cry out and dig your nails into his skin, the taught circles he’s drawing leaving you desperate for an anchor. 

You’re so wet it’s almost too easy, but he still glides his fingers through your folds every so often to gather your arousal. 

“Ja… Jae,” you whimper when he applies more pressure.

“That feel good, baby?” Rather than answering, you keen. “You like it when I stretch you apart with my fingers, huh?” 

“Please.”

“Please, what?” 

His opposite hand tips your chin up so he can see your eyes, which are watery from the intense pleasure he’s providing. 

“Don’t stop.” 

A sinister smile appears as he mocks you with a head tilt.

“What was that, sweetheart?” He instantly retracts his hand and you whine even louder. “Tell me what you want.”

“Jae —”

“Nuh uh. I didn’t ask what my name was.” Jungkook squishes your cheeks to purse your lips. “Tell. Me. What. You. Want.”

When he releases your face, your mouth ends up forming a natural pout. He has no idea if Jaehyun ever teased you during sex, but he loves how cute you look when you beg. 

“Please, baby, I want you to fuck me.”

Jungkook doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to hearing such dirty words fall from your mouth. 

“Yeah? You mean like this?” 

Only his fingertips return to your core as he teases you by lightly tracing your slit, causing you to arch into him and whimper.

“No.” You melodramatically shake your head. “I need more.”

“More?” When his thumb just barely grazes your clit, your whole body lurches forward. “You’re so sensitive, baby.”

“That’s because I need you so fucking bad.”

It genuinely seems like you’ll start crying if he continues, so as much as Jungkook’s enjoying this, he wants you to feel good more than anything else. 

“You need my fingers?” 

He thrusts his middle digits back inside while keeping his thumb on your clit to give you multiple points of friction. 

“Mmhm.”

“And what do you want me to do with them?” Before you can answer, he spreads them apart to stretch your hole even more. “Something like this?” You aggressively nod and it makes Jungkook snicker in satisfaction. “Alright. I’ll take care of my pretty little wife.”

After alternating a couple times between slowly curling and scissoring again, he adds a third finger and marries the pace with his thumb. 

Each time he pushes into you, both a wet squelch and breathy moan floods the air between your faces. Jungkook eventually kisses you so he can drink up every noise you make, but he could listen to you whimper and pant forever if you let him.

It’s hard to focus on the dual movements of his hand and mouth, not necessarily because of the multitasking aspect, but because his brain always goes blank when he touches you. 

He still can’t get over how soft your pussy feels or how warm your mouth is against his own. You’re a real life dream wrapped up in pretty, pink silk that he wants to shred with his bare hands. But this is enough for now; watching you writhe on the counter because of what he's doing to you. 

Just then, the oven timer goes off and you immediately attempt to pull back. 

“Baby,” you mumble into the kiss. “The cookies.” 

“Not until you come for me,” he orders while gripping your face tighter to keep you still. 

His fingers move with even more fervor, causing your moans to grow in volume and pitch. You’re practically yelping into his mouth and it makes Jungkook’s head spin with desire. 

“Fuck, right there.”

“Go on, baby. Make a mess for me.”

You enthusiastically whine when your body tenses and your pussy releases all over his fingers. It’s immaculate, to say the very least, experiencing your walls constrict before totally relaxing again. They become even more swollen and slick after, sending Jungkook’s eyes into his cranium. He honestly believes he could come just from feeling you do so.

“Jae,” you cry as your entire frame shakes against him.

“I know, I know.” 

He continues to fuck you through the orgasm while gently nipping at your lips. His soft kisses are the complete opposite from how he’s spooning essence out of you and using it to rub your clit. It’s the perfect dichotomy between love and lust that he’s certain is only prolonging your euphoria.

Just before pulling his hand away from your core, he lets go of your face so he can fumble around the counter for the pot holder. Once found, he uses one hand to open the oven and yank the treats out so they don’t burn. He then kicks the door shut and flips the heat off in one smooth motion.

As soon as he leaves your cunt empty, you grumble in disappointment while another pout appears on your lips. 

Jungkook giggles at the adorable sight before giving you a quick peck and lifting his hand so he can lick his digits clean. The very instant he experiences his initial taste of you, he groans so loud it vibrates his chest and his eyes close out of pure bliss. 

“Fuck,” he grunts around his fingers. “S’fucking delicious.”

He isn’t even close to being done enjoying your sweetness when you tug his hand towards your own mouth and wrap your lips around his first three fingers. Jungkook’s eyes fly open because of your sudden boldness, but they quickly turn heavy as he watches you suck your cum off him. 

“Like what you see?” You ask after releasing his digits so you can lick his palm instead. 

“Christ, Y/N. You’re gonna make me bust without even touching me.”

You giggle and drop his hand with a final swirl of your tongue around his thumb. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Ah, so he and his twin were both entirely helpless before you. 

Jungkook kisses you again in lieu of a response, mostly because he doesn’t know another way to express how utterly obsessed with you he is. You two proceed to make out for a gluttonous amount of time; far too enamored with one another to stop despite the smell of fresh baked goods wafting in the air. 

Eventually, you manage to separate long enough for Jungkook to help you off the counter so you can check on your creations. 

“Not too burnt, I hope?”

“Nope! All thanks to your little trick.” You wink at him before flipping over the macarons to inspect them. “Little crispy, but nothing I can’t fix. I’m just recipe testing, anyway.”

“How’s the menu coming along?” 

You rest your back against the opposite counter so you’re facing each other.

“Pretty good. I’ll have all my staples down once I nail this recipe.” Without looking, you twist one arm behind you to grab a treat. “I also decided to name each one after our friends and family.”

“Oh?” 

“They’re based on everyone’s favorite recipe of mine. So I’ve got Jungkook’s chocolate chip cookies, Jaehyun’s blueberry scones, Jennie’s banana cream tarts, Y/N’s vanilla cupcakes, my mom’s dark chocolate fudge brownies, my dad’s coffee cake, your dad’s strawberry strudel, and these are your mom’s red velvet macarons.” 

“Wow, sweetheart,” Jungkook cheers. “You’re moving right along.” 

“Oh, yeah. This bakery’s going to be legendary!” You toss a cookie at Jungkook this time. “And I’ll be taste testing so many desserts I’ll probably double in size before the new year.” 

He snorts.

“Yeah. Sure you will, Cupcake.” Jungkook turns around to grab a drink from the fridge following his comment, so he doesn’t witness all your features expanding in shock. It isn’t until he faces you again that he sees your expression. “What’s with the face?”

“You just called me Cupcake, Jae.”

Although Jungkook’s heart sinks into his stomach, he plays pretend by scrunching up his face.

“No, I didn’t.” 

“Yes, you did.”

“You probably just heard me wrong. Sweetheart sounds pretty similar.”

No, it doesn’t, you flippin’ idiot.

As expected, you disagreeably shake your head. 

“No way. I know what I heard. I’ll never forget what that sounds like.”

Alright, onto plan B. Play dumb. 

“Well… maybe I did? I don’t know. I can’t remember. But it must have been a Freudian slip or something.” 

That makes sense, right? You just mentioned the word a moment prior so it would still be fresh in his head. 

Thankfully, you nod.

“For sure. It just surprised me, that's all,” you explain. “I miss hearing it so much. I found this video from our vacation to the States a few years ago and you hear Kookie call me that a couple times. I watch it on bad days.”

“You still have bad days?” You nod again, albeit much more solemnly. It’s a silly question considering he still has them, too. Both of you probably always will, but that’s why having one another to lean on is so important. “Will you show me?” 

With utmost enthusiasm, you whip out your phone and join him on the opposite side of the kitchen. You turn the device horizontally after finding the video in question, which has a little star to show it’s one of your favorites. 

When the video initially begins, you and Jaehyun are staring into the camera while setting it up. Then his face turns towards you with a soft, adoring smile because you’re still obsessively tweaking the angle until it’s just right. 

“Why are we doing this again?” He asks without ever breaking his ardent gaze.

You twist your head to answer him.

“So we can take photos together. We’ll pose in front of this and then screenshot the ones we like,” you explain. 

Jaehyun’s mouth forms an O of realization before he steals a smooch just as Jungkook walks into frame.

“And what are the lovebirds up to?” He calls from the kitchen behind you and Jaehyun.

It feels weird seeing him and his brother on screen together. Sometimes he forgets there were originally two of them. He wasn’t always alone. There was a time not too long ago when he was truly happy and whole. 

“Setting up the camera,” Jaehyun answers him in the video. “Also Y/N made pancakes, but someone slept through breakfast.”

On screen, Jungkook’s mouth drops open before he scurries over to you both.

“You’re kidding,” he huffs. “Cupcake! How could you betray me like this?”

Your eyes crinkle in the corners when you giggle at his antics and even through the phone, Jungkook can feel your joy.

“Well, I know how you love your sleep,” you defend yourself.

He scoffs and theatrically crosses his arms. 

“Yeah, well, I love you and you’re baking much more.” You send him an affectionate eye roll as Jaehyun strolls out of frame, but you can still see your interconnected hands refusing to part until the very last moment. “Will you make some for me?”

“What? It’s almost lunchtime.”

“Please, Cupcake?” Jungkook’s sporting both the biggest puppy eyes imaginable and a deep pout. “For your favorite brother-in-law in the whole wide world?”

“You’re my only —”

“Oop! Still your favorite.”

A good ten seconds passes with Jungkook’s past self waiting in eager anticipation for you to fold. Which you do following an adorable giggle.

“Fine, fine,” you concede. “Because you’re my favorite, I suppose I must.”

Jungkook’s bellowing, proud laugh echoes through the phone as he follows you into the kitchen right before the video ends. 

Once the screen goes dark, a tandem sniffle breaks the silence. You and Jungkook each turn your heads and unsurprisingly, find matching bittersweet expressions that you chuckle over together. 

“He was such a little shit,” Jungkook states while swiping at a stray tear. 

“Yeah, but he was my little shit.” You dry your eyes as well before pocketing your phone and facing him. “Not a single day goes by that I don’t think of him.”

He warmly smiles and tucks some hair behind your ear.

“Me, too.” His fingers trail down until he can cup your jaw. “You wanna talk to him? He’s getting antsy in here.”

Hearing you giggle at his question makes everything feel worth it. Jungkook could listen to your laugh on repeat and still never get sick of it. 

“No, just tell him to keep his voice down. I don’t need any more surprise ‘Cupcakes’ breaking my heart without warning.” 

Jungkook nods and bends down to give you a brief peck. 

“I’ll let him know,” he tells you. 

You proceed to finish up your recipe testing while Jungkook works on the administrative paperwork involved in changing the bar into a bakery. Next month renovations begin, so you two will be a lot busier overseeing everything.

He’s still busy at work, too. Following the board meeting, even more projects and approvals land on his desk until he's practically drowning in files. Being at home smelling whatever dessert you’re currently perfecting would be so much nicer. Alas, he’ll be stuck in this stuffy office for the next thirty or so years. 

At least there’s good coffee in the employee lounge and he can escape his duties to pour himself a cup. He’s only just set his Jeon Industries mug on the counter to grab a snack from the staff pile when he hears someone filling their own cup behind him. 

His head whips around in an instant because he knows there wasn’t enough left for more than one cup. Sure, he was going to start another pot after, but now he’ll have to wait. 

Except once he faces the fellow employee, he realizes it’s the last person he ever wants to encounter. The young admin assistant who’s borderline obsessed with him is standing barely a foot away and she steps even closer to offer him the full mug.

“Here you go, Mr. Jeon,” she chirps. “I figured you could use a hand since you’re so busy all the time.” 

“That’s not necessary, Mrs. Kim,” he flatly responds.

“Ms.” 

Jungkook knows this, but he purposely uses the wrong honorific in hopes it’ll pose as a reminder that he has a missus himself.

“Right.” As smoothly as possible, he side steps around her to create some distance. “I appreciate the gesture, but I’m more than capable of pouring my own coffee.”

“Oh, I know.” Unfortunately, she follows him over to the counter where he’s readying another pot. “But you have so much on your plate already. It’s the least any of us can do to help out.” His blood runs cold when he feels her fingers on his bicep. “Especially considering what you’ve been through.”

He shakes her hand off like it burns before sliding away towards the fridge, and luckily, she doesn’t encroach this time.

“I’m doing just fine, Ms. Kim,” he declares. 

She’s sporting an over exaggerated frown now and although she probably believes she looks adorable, Jungkook wants to yack.

“Well, the whole team is always available if you need anything, even just someone to listen.”

The whole team. Right. 

“I’m very blessed to have a wife who listens to me whenever I need it.” The young woman’s face contorts with deep green envy and it actually makes him feel a little better. She could use a good knock down a couple pegs. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Wait, what about the coffee?” 

The drink still lies in her hands which are outstretched between them and Jungkook’s almost tempted to accept it so he doesn’t have to wait another fifteen minutes. But he also refuses to give off the impression he enjoys her advances.

“No need. I’ll just have Mr. Park bring me one.” 

With that, he bolts from the room as professionally as possible.

He breathes a sigh of relief upon removing himself from the situation. It’s been a while since he’s had to deal with her one-on-one because of Jimin’s clever workarounds, so he isn’t used to fending her off. 

She seems to be growing bolder, and he wonders if it’s about time to tell you about the situation. It would be disastrous if something happens and then it seems as though he was hiding it from you.  

When Jungkook arrives home for the evening, you’re in the kitchen with a romcom on in the background like usual. It’s clear you hear him enter because you throw out a, “Hi, honey!” without looking away from the dough you’re rolling.

Unfortunately for you, Jungkook refuses to be without your attention for even a single second. So, he strolls up behind you so he can engulf your waist and tug you into his chest. 

He immediately begins peppering your neck and profile with kisses while you giggle and squeal in delight.

“Baby!” 

“Oh, I love you so much,” he growls into your skin. “My beautiful, beautiful wife.”

“My hands are covered in dough, Jae,” you warn him.

Jungkook merely snickers and trails his lips back down your throat. 

“Then cover me in it, too, while you’re at it.” He doesn’t know what he’s expecting following that comment, but it isn’t you spinning around in his arms to push your hands into his face. “Ack!”

You cackle relentlessly as you spread the sticky ingredient all over, including getting plenty inside his mouth. 

“You mean like this?”

“Jesus… baby… I concede! Have mercy!” 

Once your hands fall away, Jungkook seizes the opportunity to snatch your waist again and rub his face against your own to transfer some dough onto you. You quickly screech and shove him away, but he’s already mirroring your mischievous laughter from a moment ago.

“Meanie,” you pout while wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand.

“You started it!”

Like the mature adult you are, you stick your tongue out at him. Yet you also hand over a rag so he can clean up his own face. 

“Did it at least taste good?”

Jungkook snickers at your priorities.

“Delicious as ever, sweetheart,” he assures you.

A comfortable silence moves through the room after Jungkook tosses the towel beside the sink and you return to your creation. 

It’s honestly fantastic witnessing your magic. You always look so calm and content when you’re baking. Sometimes he’ll just sit across from you on one of the bar stools with a lovesick grin on his face. 

In fact, Jungkook gets so lost in admiring you he misses the start of your next sentence.

“… so we should go this weekend.” 

Upon realizing he zoned out, he shakes his head. 

“Sorry?” 

You chuckle.

“I said, with renovations starting soon we won’t have much free time, and we haven’t gone ice skating yet this year. So, we should go this weekend,” you explain. 

Ice skating, also known as your and Jaehyun’s favorite winter pastime. You’re both excellent at the sport, since you learned as a child and proceeded to teach Jaehyun. Jungkook was offered lessons multiple times, but never accepted for fear of falling for you even more during your one-on-one time. 

Now the decision’s biting him in the ass because his lack of skill will instantly give him away. He could decline with the excuse of not feeling it this year, given the circumstances, but he knows you’d benefit from some normalcy. Plus, ice skating in particular always makes you happy. 

He’ll just have to find a solution this time and then get private lessons so he’s ready for next year. 

“Sure, baby. Sounds like a plan.”

Now all that’s left is to actually think of a plan.

By Saturday morning, he decides to fake an injury once you arrive at the ice skating rink. That way you can still partake in your favorite activity while he watches safe and sound from the sidelines. 

His acting debut begins the moment you two kiss goodbye so you can each change into your skates in the gendered locker rooms. Jungkook waits with one skate on until he receives a text stating you’re ready. From there, he limps into the arena, aided by the disproportionate weight of the single skate. 

When you spot him exiting the locker room, your eyes widen and you scurry over as fast as you can in skates.

“Honey! What happened?” 

You look so distraught over him being in pain he almost forgets the whole thing in lieu of some lame excuse for the loss of his previously honed skills. 

“I took a tumble trying to walk and chew gum at the same time,” he jokes. 

A half scoff, half chuckle leaves you while guiding him into a seat.

“Are you alright?”

“It hurts, but it’s nothing some rest won’t fix. I twisted it, that’s all.” 

“Well, we should go home and —” 

“What? No. You should still go out there. We came all this way, you’re already wearing your skates, and it’s your favorite sport.” He cradles your cheek with a reassuring smile. “I’m fine, baby. I’ll have just as much fun admiring you from right here.”

“Jae,” you whine.

“Nuh uh. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

He kisses away your pout before you reluctantly agree and help him elevate his “bad” leg. You attempt to stay a little longer, but he gives your ass a nice, firm spank and demands you go have fun already. 

You do as he says, but not without teasing him about staying put on your way into the rink. 

Jungkook’s never actually witnessed you skate, but boy, is it a sight to behold. As you are with everything, the second your blades hit the ice, you look so graceful you could be a professional. And besides your evident talent, you’re sporting the most gorgeous, joyful grin he’s seen on your face in a long time. 

You steal his attention with an endearing wave during your first lap and he eagerly returns the gesture. 

There’s nothing he cherishes more than seeing you like this, and it’s a reminder of why he chose to live out the rest of his life as his brother. To keep that beautiful smile right where it belongs. 

After about an hour of skating in your own little world, along with multiple visits to the railing near Jungkook, you exit the ice with a winded, but content expression.

“Woo, I might be out of practice,” you claim.

“Look who’s talking,” Jungkook counters while pointing at his ankle.

You laugh and bend down to remove your skates before offering your hands to help him stand. He’s already taken off his singular skate, but continues the ruse by limping alongside you en route to the car. 

“I hope you still had fun, even from the sidelines,” you tell him during your walk through the parking lot.

“Of course, I did, sweetheart. I love watching you enjoy yourself.” He disappointedly clicks his tongue. “I am sorry I wasn’t out there with you, though. I know it’s our thing, but I hope you still managed to have a good time.”

Before you’re able to answer, an interruption in the form of someone calling for him ceases the conversation. 

“Mr. Jeon!” 

Even without turning around, Jungkook knows who’s hollering, and his stomach sinks. 

Your hands are currently intertwined, so when you pivot to locate the source, it forces him to follow suit even though that’s the last thing he wants. If he were alone, he would just pretend he didn’t hear anything.

“Hi, Mr. Jeon,” Ms. Kim repeats once she’s closer. “Fancing meeting you here.” 

Jungkook chuckles awkwardly, which causes you to glance in his direction with an arched eyebrow. 

“That it is,” he cordially responds. “Sweetheart, this is one of our admins, Mrs. Kim, and —” 

“Oh, it’s Ms.”

The unnecessary interruption leaves Jungkook gritting his teeth as your second brow rises to meet the other. 

“Right. Ms. Kim, this is my wife, Y/N.”

You outstretch your hand and open your mouth to greet her, but she beats you to the punch with an aggressive hand shake. 

“It’s so lovely to meet you, Mrs. Jeon. I’ve only heard wonderful things.”

“Well, I sure hope so,” you chuckle, although it’s hollower than normal. 

“What brings you two here?” 

He would do literally anything to end this conversation, but not if it’ll make you any more suspicious. 

“Uh, it’s kind of our thing,” he answers. 

“Really? It’s my sister and I’s as well. We come every year.”

“That’s so sweet,” you interject. 

In an act so obvious Jungkook’s eyes almost bulge from his head, she completely ignores your statement by pivoting her body so she’s directly facing him and him alone.

“You know, maybe we could do a work event here. You and I could teach everyone else how to skate,” she proposes. 

If he could hop in Jaehyun’s casket six feet under at this very moment, he would. In what world does this woman believe that's an appropriate thing to suggest at all, let alone in front of his wife?

“The company usually prioritizes events where everyone can participate without needing to be taught.” 

“Oh, right. Well, maybe just you and I could come then. Like, while we’re on our lunch break or something.”

His brain short circuits. Because did she really just ask him out in front of his wife?

It’s clear you also realize how blatantly audacious she is when you scoff and shake your head in disbelief. 

“No, I don’t think so,” he firmly rejects her. “I’ve only got one skating partner, Ms. Kim, and she’s right here.”

Jungkook throws his arm around you, but he feels you shy away from the touch. It sets his nerves on fire and he looks down to check your reaction, but all he finds is a blank, annoyed expression.

“Of course, so silly of me to even ask,” she rambles in embarrassment. “Well, uh, it was nice seeing you, Mr. Jeon, and nice meeting you, Mrs. Jeon.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you reply through a clenched jaw. 

Following an irritatingly cheerful wave, she leaves you two alone to enter the arena. 

The very second she’s out of sight, you turn on your heel and stomp towards the car. At which point Jungkook scrambles after you so he can remedy the situation. 

“Baby —” 

“What the fuck was that, Jaehyun?”

Jungkook blinks a couple times in shock.

“Okay, woah. No need to use the government name.”

“This isn’t funny,” you sneer.

“Sweetheart, she’s just some young, dumb admin assistant with a crush on me. It’s not a big deal. Especially when I think I make it very clear I’m not interested,” he explains.

“Wait.” You throw your hands up while your brain decodes his words. “That sounds like you’ve dealt with her before.” When Jungkook doesn’t deny the claim, your jaw drops. “I’m sorry, are you telling me this wasn’t the first time?”

He has to be extremely careful moving forward. He’s never been in a relationship, so this is technically his first real fight. 

“Yes, but nothing to this extent.” You immediately open your mouth to respond, but he stops you with his hand. “Listen, all she ever does is bring me coffee and spark up surface level conversations, but I already spoke to Jimin. He keeps her far, far away from me most of the time so we only interact in group settings.” 

 You scoff and cross your arms.

“Oh, so you’ve got some pretty young thing hand-delivering you coffee now?” 

Jungkook gawks at the accusation.

“I never accept it!” 

“But it happens enough that you had to talk to Jimin about it? I mean, why does she even still work for you?” 

“Because she may be annoying and naive, but I don’t want her to lose her job. I mean, who knows what her situation is like,” he tells you his reasoning. “She’s harmless, Y/N.”

A head shake is your initial reply.

“No. That was not harmless, it was infuriating.” 

“That was out of the norm, alright?” 

“I don’t care, Jae!” He’s hopeful you’ll present an actual resolution, but you just question him again. “How long has this been going on, anyway?” 

He gnaws on his lower lip, but not because the answer is bad, it’s just painful.

“Since Jungkook died.” Just like his own, your face falls a little. “I think she has this strange idea that a grieving man is more likely to cheat than one who isn’t.”

“Is he?” 

His train of thought comes to a steaming halt as his eyes widen and a deep frown overtakes his face.

“How can you ask me that?” Not only does your question sting, but he feels offended on behalf of his twin. Because the idea of Jaehyun, who loved you more than life itself, ever cheating, is downright preposterous. “I’ve been in love with you since I was sixteen, and you think there’s even a chance I would stray for some little corporate girl who uses wedding rings like dating apps?”

When you simply shrug, it breaks his heart.

“It would explain why we haven’t had sex in months. They always say if your man isn’t sleeping with you, it’s because he’s getting it from somewhere else,” you accuse him.

He can’t even begin to comprehend you reaching that conclusion. Isn’t his utter devotion to you as transparent as the sky? Then again, it’s his own fault for not being able to meet your needs and therefore making you think he doesn’t want you.

“Is that really what you believe?” You shrug again. “Y/N, you know why we’ve been slow to start again after everything. I explained why I’m not ready and I thought you understood. I’m trying, baby. I swear, I am, but I just can’t yet.”

The sincerity in his tone in combination with his somber, guilty expression causes your anger to completely melt away. 

“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.” Hope soars in his chest when you step closer until you’re only inches apart. “You’re right, that wasn’t fair.” Your hand rises to comb the front pieces of his hair back. “I trust you, okay? I think that little altercation just got the better of me.”

Jungkook sighs in relief while cupping your face in both hands. 

“I’m sorry, too. I should’ve told you what was happening, but I didn’t want to stress you out when you’re working so hard on the bakery,” he claims. “You must know by now I’ve only had eyes for one woman my entire life. And no one could ever pull my attention away from her.”

Despite not being your actual husband, the statement still stands. 

“I know,” you whisper. The two of you exchange matching grins before Jungkook leans in for a kiss. “I love you, Jae. And I’m sorry again.”

He shakes his head.

“No need.” Your lips meet once more like it’s just second nature. “But I love you, too, Y/N.”

An hour or so later, you two stumble into the house with both your lips and limbs intertwined. 

Since Jungkook’s never had a real relationship, he’s also never experienced make up sex, but he always pictured it being like this.

As soon as the front door slams shut, he pushes you against the nearest wall and traces your curves. Upon reaching your hips, he hooks his arms beneath your thighs so he can force you to koala him. Then he pins you in place with his pelvis before grinding into you.

You moan into his mouth and tug on his hair when his semi-hard cock teases your cunt. But neither action is necessary to understand what you need; even through the layers of clothing separating you, he can feel the heat between your legs calling to him.  

Jungkook leaves your lips alone to kiss your neck instead, causing you to whimper and pant something reminiscent of his name. Or at least, the name you believe is his.

“We don’t… we don’t have to do anything you aren’t ready for,” you reassure him.

“I know,” he grunts between the hot, sloppy kisses he’s painting on your throat. “Just wanna make you come. You need to know how fucking badly I want you.”

His lips soon descend towards your collarbones while he clutches the collar of your sweater and yanks it wide open to expose your bra. It has a zipper, so he doesn’t actually ruin it, but he absolutely would’ve without any hesitation. 

One hand travels up from your waist to cup your breast as the other shoves your bra down so his mouth can latch onto your exposed nipple. It elicits a desperate whine from the back of your throat and you even begin bucking your hips to gain more friction.

In return, Jungkook’s ravenous with your tits; squishing and squeezing one while sucking on the other until your nipple’s almost painfully hard. He then scrapes the pebbled skin with his teeth before using his tongue to soothe the ache. 

Your enjoyment is obvious and Jungkook’s soul lights up with pride every time he hears a breathy moan above him. Hell, if it weren’t for bills needing to be paid, he would dedicate all his time, even his entire life, to pleasuring you. 

In a perfect world, he’d have the time to fuck you so good and so often your body would react to him solely on instinct. He’d be able to make you come on his hands, mouth, or cock with only a single touch because you would be habituated to the sensation. 

But it’s fun having to work for it, too. He’d love to spends hours, days, and weeks exploring every inch of your body in order to discover what makes your back arch and toes curl. 

Hence why he’s kissing and licking across the swell of your breasts so he can switch sides. His mouth repeats the previous process while he twists your opposite nipple between his thumb and forefinger to keep it erect. Once both nubs are swollen and covered in his saliva, he pulls back to admire his handiwork. 

“God fucking damn,” he curses under his breath. 

Your chest’s heaving from all the adrenaline and it makes you look even more delectable. 

“Honey, please.”

Jungkook’s eyes flicker up to meet your own which are silently begging for more. So, he grants your wish by smashing your lips together as he engulfs one of your tits in his big hand. 

“You think you can come just from this, baby?” 

You enthusiastically nod mid-kiss.

“Yes. Fuck, yes. Please make me come.” 

He doesn’t need any further instructions. 

His free hand glides down your thigh so he can tighten your leg around him, bringing your bodies close enough for you to feel his dick pressing against your core. Once he finds the perfect spot, he starts feverishly rolling his hips as though he were actually fucking you.

It turns your moans into high pitched shrieks of ecstasy as he animalistically devours your mouth and massages each of your breasts.  

In the meantime, you scratch down his back and rake your fingers through his hair like it’ll keep you from drowning in the heat of the moment. To your benefit, even though your mind’s clearly frazzled, you’re still grinding into him at a harmonious pace. 

Jungkook’s going to come soon, that’s for sure, and he can’t believe this will be the second pair of boxers he creams in. Perhaps a younger version of himself would be embarrassed, but today he’d willingly ruin every article of clothing he owns to be with you like this.

“Shit. Just don’t stop and I swear, I’ll fucking bust any second,” he tells you.

You don’t reply besides a noise of acknowledgment he silences with more passionate kisses. 

True to his word, Jungkook’s abs clench, his heavy balls contract, and his hips falter before all his muscles relent and he groans against your mouth. You follow just a second behind with a loud whine while your legs shake around his waist. 

The tandem highs last for quite some time before you slowly stop humping one another. After another minute or so passes, your bodies finally stall and you’re both left panting into the small space between your faces.

Jungkook laughs after catching his breath, a sanguine smile on his lips.

“We didn’t even make it three feet into the house.”

You giggle.

“Eh, that’s par for the course, right?”

Damn, his brother really was the luckiest man in the world. He can’t even imagine all the mind blowing sex you two had over the last decade and a half if this is considered normal. 

“I promise, it won’t be like this forever. I’m sorry it’s taking me so long,” Jungkook states.

“Take as much time as you need, baby.” With a doting grin, you reach up to brush back the hair that fell out of place during your endeavors. “I know it’ll be nothing but pure magic when it finally happens.”

You can certainly say that again. Six months may be a long time, but Jungkook’s waited his whole life to be with you. He’s actually terrified he’ll give himself away if he can’t control his reaction to being inside you for the first time. 

The following Monday, Jungkook tells Jimin to let Ms. Kim go, or at the very least, move her to another team. As much as he doesn’t want to ruin her career with Jeon Industries, he refuses to allow anyone to disrespect you. Plus, if she’s that bold when you’re there, he doesn’t want to consider what she might do if she gets him alone again. 

There isn’t much drama at either work or home after that. Which is great because renovations have begun on the bar and you’re both putting all your effort into finishing the project.

The menu’s complete at this point, although you’re still testing seasonal recipes. Most of the time you work on designing the new interior layout and decor. You’ve already tackled the marketing materials, setting up the business spending account, and filing taxes.

You don’t want to change too much because the whole point is for it to still feel like Kookie’s bar, but there are some necessary adjustments for the business to flow properly. The first obstacle was the massive neon sign on the front of the building. You’re keeping the Kookie’s logo the same, but adding the words “Family Bakery” just below it in a complimentary font. 

It feels fitting because you always saw Jungkook as family, and he legally was. Plus, it highlights the passing of the establishment from one family member to the next. You tell Jungkook you think he’d like the choice since it means both Kookie’s and Jeon Industries will officially be Jeon family businesses. 

Jungkook assures you that you’re right while hiding how misty his eyes are because of your explanation.

You two are heading there today to paint the back office. Everything else is brick due to the building’s age, but Jungkook previously tore down a wall to create a place for all the paperwork and financials. As with most of his personal design choices, he painted the room black. It’s obviously not your vibe, so you’re going with a light, neutral color instead. Since it’s a relatively small space, you didn’t see a need to hire real painters. 

After arriving around noon, you hold the door open while Jungkook lugs the supplies in from the car. Once everything’s set up in the back room, including taping all the moldings and laying a tarp on the floor, he pops open the paint can. 

The light shade of pinkish beige practically screams your name, and it’ll look beautiful with the aesthetic of the rest of the bakery. Even if the room’s only for your use, Jungkook wants it to be nice and most importantly, for you to be happy. 

He stirs the paint with the stick before pouring a liberal amount in the paint tray. After he stands up, you pass him a matching edging brush to the one in your hand. 

“You ready, partner?” Jungkook asks with a gentle slap on the bill of the hat you’re wearing. 

“Let’s do this,” you cheer. 

You focus on the lower part of the room while Jungkook tackles the upper half. It’s an easy decision to make considering you’re rather terrified of ladders and heights in general. 

It takes just over an hour to cover all the edges, at which point you break for a quick snack before starting on the main surface area. Since the walls are currently black, it gives the neutral color some depth you weren’t expecting. You debated on painting it all white first as a base, but the man at the paint store assured you it would be alright. 

“Do you like it so far, baby?” 

Jungkook kneels again to add more paint to the tray so you can coat the large paint rollers you’ll be using for the remainder of the project.

“I do! It looks really pretty.” He stands at the same time you hand him one of the tools. “Thank you for helping, honey.”

With a wave, he rejects your gratitude. 

“Oh, please. We’re in this together.”

“Damn right!” 

You both lean in for a smooch before facing away from each other to begin painting your respective walls. It’s much easier when you’re covering a large area, and you end up meeting in the center of the final wall only twenty minutes later.

Following the final stroke of Jungkook’s roller, you harmoniously sigh while stepping back to admire the job well done. 

“Fuck yeah,” he shouts. 

Your head turns in his direction as you giggle. 

“Easier than expected, huh?” 

“Yeah. In fact, I’m kinda sad it ended so fast.”

“Why? Do you find this kind of activity enjoyable?” 

Jungkook clicks his tongue before gazing at you with a lovesick smile.

“Anything’s enjoyable with you around, my sweetheart.” Cue an adoring eye roll. “But I don’t know. I guess I just thought there would be more opportunities to tease you or mess around.”

“While painting?”

“Mmhm.”

His reasoning makes you chuckle, but Jungkook’s deep in thought. He observes you for a moment while his brain churns for an idea. When it settles on something fun that also won’t be too destructive, his eyes come alive. 

Without you noticing because you’re still staring at the walls, Jungkook bends down and dips his palm in the leftover paint. He then slowly rises to his full height again so you don’t suspect anything. 

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

As soon as you turn, he clutches your face with his paint-soaked hand and slides it over so your nose, brow, and opposite cheek also get smothered in the color.

Your jaw drops with a sharp gasp, contrary to your eyes squeezing shut in clear annoyance. 

“What. The. Fuck.”

Jungkook’s too preoccupied laughing and cradling his stomach with his clean arm to respond. You honestly look adorable despite the massive, pink hand print and smear marks. Especially when he focuses on all your scrunched up, angry features. 

“You look so damn cute, baby,” he giggles.

“Cute? This is cute to you?” 

“Fucking precious.”

You thoughtfully hum while bending down to coat your own palm in paint. 

“Well, I wanna see you looking cute, too.” 

Unlike his approach, which was relatively gentle, you smack your hand right on the apple of his cheek and totally squish his face when you spread the paint around. Jungkook yelps and attempts to shove you away, but you’re merciless. Eventually, he gives up on trying to stop you in lieu of simply returning the favor. 

He grasps your chin again and starts moving his hand everywhere in reach while you do the same to him. The reciprocal antics cause you both to break out into hysterical laughter, but you still manage to continue painting one another. 

Somewhere between the giggles and shrieks, Jungkook gets the bright idea to expand his expedition. While still pushing on your face, he uses his free hand to scoop up more paint. This time, he splatters the side of your neck before dragging the color down your collarbones and chest. 

“Jae!” 

He squeezes your tit for good measure, leaving a perfect handprint on your shirt. 

His opposite arm follows suit to create streaks of pink along your torso and he even travels to your back so he can grab your ass with both hands. By now, you’ve gotten the memo, and choose to dip your other hand in the paint as well. You smear the liquid all across his abs until deciding to coat his throat and shoulders.  

You two are cackling like hyenas as you ceaselessly mark each other. Thankfully, you both wore old clothes for the job, so nothing of importance is getting ruined. 

After who knows how long, there’s a silent, unanimous truce and you slowly back away from one another while your chests rise and fall with adrenaline. 

Jungkook surveys your current state before glancing down at his own body and chuckling at how truly insane you each look. 

“See, wasn’t that so much more fun than just finishing the room?”

Your eyes flicker up with a theatrical glare.

“Oh, yeah. It was a total blast,” you flatly remark.

He knows you genuinely did enjoy yourself, so he taunts you with a playful head tilt and cheshire grin while approaching you one step at a time. 

“C’mon, sweetheart, just admit you had fun.”

“No.”

You cross your arms over your chest, but there’s a hint of a smile on your face that reveals your true emotions.

Once Jungkook’s close enough, he captures your waist and nuzzles his head against your neck. It automatically elicits a bellowing laugh as you return his embrace by rising to your tiptoes.

“I had fun,” you whisper. 

Jungkook smiles and presses a couple soft kisses to your skin before standing up straight. 

“I knew it.”

“But now we have to figure out how we’re getting home like this.”

“Oh… I didn’t think about that.”

“You don’t say?”

Your classic sarcasm makes him roll his eyes, but he also gazes around the room for a solution. He locates one in the form of the extra tarps you brought just in case, which he steals from the floor to present to you. 

“Tada!”

It’s your turn for an eye roll as you snatch the bright, blue plastic from Jungkook’s hands and head towards the exit. 

“You can make up for your shenanigans by cleaning all this up,” you holler from the bar. 

Jungkook doesn’t argue, especially when he was planning on telling you to relax while he takes care of everything, anyway. Once the paint can and tools are all stored away, he leaves the office with the second tarp tucked under his arm.

You two decide the best option is to cover the car seats with the tarp, as opposed to wrapping the plastic around yourselves. It works well enough, and by the time you arrive at home, you and your clothes are still the only things doused in paint. 

The front door clicks shut behind Jungkook as you each carefully remove your shoes and travel towards the bedroom to clean up. 

“We should probably hop straight into the shower,” Jungkook suggests. 

“Agreed. You wanna go first?” 

It takes him a second to answer because he has to work up the courage first. 

“Why don’t we just shower together?”

Your eyes broaden in surprise, but they very quickly become crescents when you smile at the proposal.

“Really?”

Jungkook nods.

“Really. C’mon.” 

He takes your hand to lead you into the en-suite where he instructs you to strip and drop the tainted clothes in the bathtub since it’ll be easier to clean. Meanwhile, he twists the faucet to start the water before stepping out of his clothes himself. 

This is actually the first time you’ll be seeing him fully naked. But even though you’re unaware of that, he feels nervous about turning to face you after placing his shirt and jeans in the tub. 

Of course, there’s no reason to be. Your eyes light up once you see him as a knowing smirk forms on your lips.

“Well, hello, handsome,” you drawl. 

Jungkook attempts to hide the blush spreading across his cheeks by looking away, but it’s absolutely useless. 

“Yeah, yeah. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

It’s the truth by a technicality, since he and Jaehyun are identical. 

“And yet I never get tired of it.”

All he wants is the attention off of him, so he uses your wrist to tug you closer until you’re chest to chest.

“Ditto.”

“You wanna prove it?” 

You send him a challenging eyebrow raise and Jungkook can’t resist smirking in response. 

Rather than answering, he wraps his arm around your waist and begins walking you both backwards into the steam. He uses his free hand to slide the glass door open before guiding the two of you under the water. Once his back hits the marble tile, he cradles your cheek so he can pull you in for a kiss. 

His tongue immediately presses against the seam of your lips and you part them without hesitation. As he licks inside your mouth, you whine and drive your nails into his shoulder muscles. It’s difficult to hear much over the rapid stream from the faucet, but Jungkook soon joins you in zealously moaning the longer you lock lips.

Between the paint, hot water, and undeniable sexual tension, it’s easily the sloppiest kiss you’ve shared as of yet. Streaks of light pink are running down your naked bodies before swirling around the drain and the shower water’s mixing with your spit while your tongues chase one another.

Jungkook’s hands choose to explore your back and neck, but yours seem to be everywhere all at once. He feels your fingertips on his pecs, down his abs, and dancing up his spine. Every single touch gives him goosebumps, although his brain isn’t powerful enough to focus on the different sensations. 

Ironically, it’s easier making out when there’s water involved. It not only allows your lips to effortlessly mold together, but your bodies as well. Your every curve is aligned with Jungkook’s without any room in between and he can practically feel your heart thumping beside his own. 

“I love you,” Jungkook professes when you break for air. His hands return to your face so he can tilt your head up and admire you. There’s still some paint around your nose and eyebrows, but it doesn’t stop you from being the most beautiful view in existence. “So fucking much, Y/N.”

You flash him an infectious smile despite the mundane nature of the phrase. 

“I love you, Jaehyun.”

“You wanna prove it?”

The callback to your earlier comment makes you giggle as you stretch up on your tiptoes for another kiss. 

“And how would you propose I do that?” You playfully inquire. 

Jungkook holds off on verbally replying to grab your waist again and spin you around until you’re the one against the tile. Then he sinks to his knees without ever breaking eye contact. 

“Just don’t ask me to stop,” he instructs. 

Your eyes fly wide open when he hooks his arms around each of your legs and hoists you unto his shoulders. The sudden movement causes you to gasp and clutch his hair for support, but he certainly doesn’t mind the ache. 

He waits a couple seconds but when you don’t protest, he finally glances down at your pretty cunt. 

It’s his first glimpse of you up close, and the sight elicits multiple nonsensical curses as he admires your swollen, wet folds. He’s encountered plenty of pussies in his day, and none of them even come close to you. 

“God, I am gonna fucking eat you alive.” 

That’s the last thing he says before shoving his face between your thighs and dragging his tongue up your slit. His initial taste of you is magical, idyllic, and goddamn mind numbing. He groans so loud you feel the vibrations in your core, evident by how you shiver in his arms. 

After that, he repeats the same motion relentlessly; over and over again so he can swallow every last drop of arousal you’re producing just for him. You’re so sweet it’s like eating candy, or more appropriately, the desserts you create. 

Jungkook can tell the difference between the liquid pouring down around your bodies and your cum. Unlike the shower water, your essence is slick and sticks to his tongue until he’s able to curl it into his mouth. That’s how he knows you’re already soaking wet and it isn’t just from you standing beneath the faucet. 

The amount of essence leaking from your hole fills him with pride and encourages him to keep going so he can swallow more. Honestly, he could just eat you out for the rest of his life and be satisfied. 

Your thighs are shaking on either side of his head and he knows it isn’t from physical weakness, but what he’s doing to you. Especially because he’s got his arms firmly wrapped around your thighs and is even supporting your hips with both hands. 

He loves that he has such a debilitating effect on you. All he ever wants is to make you feel good, writhe in pleasure, and scream so loud your voice becomes hoarse. Although, he plans on going until he’s too spent to continue, regardless of when you surpass those goals. 

“Fuck, baby,” you whine while latching on tighter to his hair. 

Feeling your fingers scratch his scalp makes him moan into your cunt, especially in combination with the sound of your breathless voice. 

Jungkook decides to switch tactics by circling your clit with the tip of his tongue. The change prompts you to yank on his hair and aggressively moan, which is precisely what he was hoping for. He alternates between figure eights, ovals, and short flicks so he can stimulate your nerve endings in multiple different ways. Each one produces a new response, although it’s clear when he flattens his tongue and starts sucking he’s found a winner. 

Your hole clenches around nothing as more cum drips down your folds and coats his chin. The satisfaction it brings him is undeniable, and he continues without restraint while you cry out and mindlessly string curses together. 

“Honey, I’m… holy shit, I’m gonna come.”

He shakes his head when he moves back down so he can thrust his tongue directly into your cunt.

“You don’t have to tell me every time. I assure you, it won’t be your last,” he tells you. 

Your pussy flutters around his tongue as he pushes it deep inside you to lick along your inner walls. You’re gushing at this point, so much that he has to pause every once in a while or else he might literally drown in you. 

Even without your warning, Jungkook knows the exact moment you come. Not only does he feel your muscles clench, but all of a sudden the whole bottom half of his face gets covered in arousal. 

He happily drinks up every last drop while holding you tight so you don’t fall over from the intense orgasm. Your whole body convulses in his arms as you grasp his hair like you wanna rip it right out of his scalp. You’re also endlessly whimpering and it’s music to Jungkook’s ears, both literally and figuratively. 

It’s apparent when your high begins to ebb, and even more obvious how sensitive you are afterwards. So Jungkook stays away from your clit to give your body some time to settle. In the meantime, he lazily makes out with your pussy. Both his lips and your folds are puffy from all the friction, but it only makes the act more enjoyable. He adores how soft and warm you feel against his mouth. 

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he praises while glancing up from between your legs. You look completely fucked out; flushed red from all the adrenaline with watery eyes and parted, dry lips. “Does it feel good?”

You aimlessly nod.

“So, so good.”

“Yeah?” Jungkook twists his head to kiss your inner thigh. “You want more?”

“I want you,” you declare. “Just keep fucking me ‘til the water runs cold.”

His chuckle meets your wet skin as he continues trailing his lips back to your core. 

“The water doesn't have anything to do with it, baby. I’m going until I’m finished with you. Not a second sooner.”

The conversation ends there when he wraps his lips around your clit again. You gasp and instinctively force his face closer to your center, encouraging him to suck harder and flick his tongue over the swollen nerve endings. 

“Fuck,” you sob before muffling yourself with your hand which was previously gripping the wall. 

For the most part, Jungkook just repeats all his tricks but at different speeds and out of order from the first go around. He does try a couple other strategies, like spitting into your hole and then fucking his saliva into you. 

Once his greed surpasses what his mouth can accomplish, he reaches up with one hand to grope your breast. The new sensation causes you to exuberantly moan and arch your back, so he takes it as a green light to continue squeezing and massaging you as well as tweaking your nipple. 

A second orgasm approaches even quicker than your first and before the water temperature even begins to change, you’ve already come a third, fourth, and fifth time. Jungkook isn’t even tired yet, either. He could keep you here all night, but he knows your body won’t allow that.

Following your last climax, you’re nothing more than a ragdoll in his arms. He can’t see your tear stains due to the water, but he can tell you’ve been crying because your eyes are swollen and red. Your hold on his hair is barely existent anymore and your legs haven’t stopped trembling since orgasm number three. 

Jungkook’s currently giving you another break by kissing and nipping at your inner thighs. He definitely doesn’t want to be done with you yet, but if you can’t continue he’ll have to save his insatiable hunger for another day. 

“Can you give me one more, sweetheart?”

“Jae,” you groan like you’re in a trance. “Please.”

“Is that a yes?”

Your hazy, unfocused eyes flit down to connect with his own.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

The last thing he ever wants is to push you past your limit, but he also trusts you to listen to your own body. 

When you nod assuredly, he doesn’t question you and gives your skin one last kiss before diving in again. 

It’s no surprise you come barely a minute later. Your cunt is so overstimulated and sensitive by now almost anything would set you off. 

Knowing this is the end, Jungkook makes sure to swallow everything your body has to offer with lackadaisical kisses and licks through your folds. You taste better than he could ever imagine, and he’s already looking forward to his next feast. 

After he’s satisfied and you’re no longer twitching from all the consecutive releases, he gently returns your feet to the floor and rises to his full height. 

As soon as you two are standing nose to nose again, you collapse into him to lean your head on his shoulder. But he adjusts so your entire body weight can rest against him as he rubs your back and plants chaste kisses in your hair. 

With his free hand, he shuts off the water before enveloping you so you’re safe and sound in the cocoon of his arms. 

“You alright?” He whispers while resting his head on your crown.

“Mmhm,” you hum. “Thank you.”

Jungkook chuckles.

“No, thank you.” His lips find your temple for another smooch. “For the meal, that is.” Despite how weak you are, you giggle at the remark. “C’mon, baby. Let’s get you to bed.”

“It’s not even dinnertime yet.”

“I know, but you need to rest after all that.”

You don’t protest and let Jungkook guide you out of the shower into the main bathroom. He dries your body with a nice, fluffy towel, including wringing out your hair so it isn’t dripping wet anymore. Then he helps you step into a soft pair of pajamas. 

Once you look adorably cozy, he scoops you up bridal style to carry you to bed. You lay your head on his shoulder during the short trek and even though it’s a tiny gesture, Jungkook’s heart flutters all the same. 

He tucks you under the blankets and fixes your hair so it’s on the pillow rather than getting your back wet before stepping away to admire you. 

“Comfy?” You nod and snuggle deeper into the warmth of the bed. “I’ll wake you when dinner’s ready if you aren’t up before then.”

“Hmm? How are you gonna make dinner?”

“I’ll order in.”

All you do is hum in response while your eyes close and your lips part as you drift off into dreamland. 

Unlike the previous sexual encounters you two have had, Jungkook doesn’t find himself disappearing into his own head about everything. You, him, Jaehyun, all of it. For the first time, he just enjoys the experience for what it is and goes about his day. 

He hopes that means he’s one step closer to being able to give you all of him, but he isn’t planning on rushing into it, either. The most important thing is for him to be totally present in the moment with you when you make love for the first time.

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[wintrbears]

The Wife Trap: Part I | JJK

Summary: There are two boys but only one girl, leaving Jungkook hopelessly in love with someone he can never have, and doesn't want to have, because that would mean taking you away from the person he loves most. Then suddenly there’s only one boy and one girl, but it's the wrong one.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader, Jungkook’s Twin x Reader, (Slight) Jungkook x Jennie

Genre: Twins AU, Unrequited Love, Brother-in-Law/Friends to Lovers?, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Slow-Burn, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 28.9k

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. I’M SERIOUS. major character death, intense grief, depression, suicidal ideation, vehicular accident, dead body, injuries, medical jargon, self-harm (not by definition — he gives himself a cut for appearances), hospital, nurses, doctors, fear, anxiety, panic attack, crying, funeral, mention of burial, planning funeral arrangements, mention of morgue, funeral home, casket, headstone, obituary, unrequited love, self-hatred, unhealthy coping mechanisms, drinking, bars, business jargon, mentions of wealth, jealousy, secrets, wedding, high school and college, exams, work, public speaking, insecurity, lying, manipulating, betrayal, violation, misogyny 😔, twins, trading places, tricking people, drunkenness, rudeness, depressive inner monologue, yearning, dub-con (I’m not sure if this counts — she consents to the acts but is unaware of his real identity), kissing, touching, titty fondling, cuddling, and that’s all!

Author's Note: guys I don’t know what demon possessed me when I wrote this but I worry I might be a sadist. this shit is SO sad and so dark. I really caution you to read all the warnings if there are topics which can easily trigger you. you might need therapy after this one, lord knows Jungkook needs some. and a lot of it!! he does not make good decisions in this fic and I don’t condone any of his actions. he’s the definition of morally ambiguous so hopefully you all vibe with that. also I know nothing about science or physics so if there are any inaccuracies, mind ya business lmao. I personally love this story despite it being so heavy, because it’s got so much heart, and I hope you all will too. ILY :)

-> The Wife Trap Masterpost

Jungkook and Jaehyun trade places often, which is coincidentally how Jungkook ends up meeting you for the first time. 

Junior year of high school’s been a slog so far. Between his parents pressuring him to keep his grades up so he’ll be accepted to a nice university and assimilating with the teenage social scene, he’s mentally drained. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to further his education or hang out with his peers, but he’s got plenty of other interests besides those two. 

He wants to draw and paint more, listen to new music, or even practice photography. None of which can happen if he’s stuck in his room studying all night. 

Hence the main reason he and his identical twin brother sometimes pull switcheroos on their teachers and classmates. 

This time around it’s because Jungkook has a chemistry exam tomorrow worth a quarter of his grade. While he personally excels at the liberal arts, STEM classes are a whole different story. Jaehyun, on the other hand, can’t recall historical facts to save his life, but doesn’t even flinch at balancing atoms. 

Knowing this, Jungkook politely knocks on his brother’s door just before sundown. Jaehyun immediately grants him entry and after peeking his head inside, Jungkook finds Jaehyun sitting at his desk with a notebook and his laptop laid out before him. 

“Hey,” Jaehyun greets him while setting his pen down. 

“I need a favor,” Jungkook matter-of-factly declares as he flops onto his brother’s bed. 

Jaehyun chuckles at his twin’s familiar antics before spinning around to face him.

“Like what?” 

“Chemistry exam. Twenty-five percent of my grade. I’ll do your chores for a week.” 

There’s no need for further explanation because the two boys understand each other without words. Jungkook probably could’ve just held up a chemistry book and waited for Jaehyun to give him a thumbs up or down to achieve the same result.

Jaehyun purses his lips and leans back in his desk chair to ponder the quid pro quo, but it’s pretty rare for either of them to deny one another. He’s more likely debating on whether or not it’s a fair deal. 

“No need for chores. I have a better idea,” Jaehyun poses.

“Oh? Pray tell.”

Jaehyun chuckles and to Jungkook’s surprise, a blush appears on his brother’s cheeks.

“So, there’s this girl…”

“No shit!” 

Jungkook shoots up from the bed with a boisterous, eager laugh while his twin throws his hands up to stop him from overreacting. 

“Aish, it’s not like that.” Despite Jaehyun’s protests, Jungkook remains on his feet to await more details. “She’s just, like, the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen and we talk all the time because we’re lab partners, but I have no idea if she likes me back.” 

“And?” Jungkook excitedly elongates the syllable. “What do you want me to do?” 

“Well, if we swap places tomorrow, maybe you could give me an unbiased opinion. You know, see how she acts with you and report back whether or not you think she feels the same.”

Jungkook’s eyes light up at the notion of being an undercover wingman. Plus, he gets what he wants without having to do twice the housework for a week. 

“Oh, you’re on.”

Jaehyun can’t resist affectionately rolling his eyes at his brother’s enthusiasm. 

It only makes sense considering Jaehyun’s always chosen school over any sort of love life. To be fair, Jungkook hasn’t had much luck with the ladies himself, but at least he tries instead of keeping his nose in the books.

All Jungkook wants is for Jaehyun to find someone who’ll love him just as much as he does. Despite only being eleven minutes younger, Jungkook looks up to his twin more than anyone else in the world. He knows the sentiment is shared; that Jaehyun wholeheartedly admires all the traits Jungkook possesses which he himself does not. Nevertheless, Jungkook views Jaehyun as his better half and if he can lead someone else towards the same belief, he will. 

“Just grab some clothes for me and lay them on the bed, will you? I’ll do the same once I’m done with this,” Jaehyun requests as Jungkook strolls out of the room. 

“Got it!”

The following morning, Jungkook spends a couple extra minutes styling his hair away from his forehead to appear more like his twin. Jaehyun does the same, only the opposite, by applying some gel so his bangs fall down nicely at his browbone. 

When the two meet outside their respective bedrooms, they both chuckle at the uncanny resemblance to the other’s signature style. Although Jungkook does tsk at his brother upon surveying his outfit. 

“Nuh uh.” He faces Jaehyun to fix the collar of his leather jacket, popping it up how he normally wears it. “There we go.” 

Jaehyun rolls his eyes.

“Well, if we’re being picky.” To return the favor, Jaehyun undoes the top two buttons of Jungkook’s polo so it looks more casual. “I may be a nerd, but I’m not that bad.” 

“If you say so,” Jungkook teases, prompting Jaehyun to nudge his shoulder while the former giggles. 

They head downstairs together and follow their usual routine of grabbing their book bags and wishing their folks farewell. Neither of their parents register the switch as the four of them circle each other in the kitchen before scurrying off in separate directions to leave for work and school. 

Their mom, who works from home as an interior designer, catches Jaehyun’s attention at the last second with a call of his name. 

“Jae, sweetie, you have an appointment this afternoon. Remember?”

Jaehyun peers around the corner with a doting grin. 

“I know, mom. Thank you.”

The only issue is Jaehyun doesn’t look like himself, and when she notices his appearance, she blanches. 

“What — huh?”

“Bye!”

Jungkook smacks his twin’s chest once he returns to his side; a hint of a laugh still on his lips. 

“You doofus. You’re gonna give the poor woman a heart attack.” 

“I forgot, I forgot,” Jaehyun defends himself. 

Once they make it to Jaehyun’s car, which is the vehicle they’re driving this month because they always switch off for fairnesses sake, Jungkook hops in the driver’s side to maintain their ruse. 

A Jeep is Jungkook’s choice of ride and the car he was gifted by his parents for their sixteenth birthday, whereas Jaehyun drives a Mercedes given to him for the same occasion. Even though Jungkook enjoys being high off the road when he drives, he certainly doesn’t mind cruising around in his twin’s sleek sports car every so often. 

Their family is more than well-off, on behalf of their dad being the founder and CEO of a fortune five hundred company in the center of Seoul. Jungkook has no interest in joining the conglomerate after college, whereas Jaehyun’s already preparing to be their father’s successor. 

Thankfully, their dad doesn’t mind that Jungkook wants something different for himself and neither of their parents ever push them towards a certain career path. As long as they both receive a good education and find jobs to keep themselves off the street, they’re satisfied. 

“So, what’s your girl’s name?” 

“She’s not my girl,” Jaehyun corrects him, although there’s a pink hue splattered all over his cheeks. “But her name’s Y/N.”

“Cute,” Jungkook notes with a smirk. 

“You have no idea.”

Jaehyun’s right, per usual, because when Jungkook steps foot in the biology classroom later that day and spots a girl sitting precisely where his brother said she would be, his eyes blow wide and he clenches his jaw to prevent his mouth from dropping open.  

You aren’t just cute. No, cute is how he would describe Jiwoo from second period or Yoona on the cheerleading squad. You’re goddamn ethereal. 

Your hair is falling down your back in pretty waves, although the front pieces are tucked behind your ear. Your pink, plump lips are wrapped around the end of your pencil as you focus on whatever you’re reading. You’re wearing an oversized sweater and loose-fitting jeans which, despite seemingly being for comfort, make you look like a model straight out of a magazine. 

Jungkook and Jaehyun have never shared the same taste in women. It’s just another topic they happen to fall on opposite sides of the spectrum about. So him finding you so attractive is completely unexpected. Yet here he is, paralyzed in the doorway like he’s never seen a woman before in his life. 

He manages to snap out of the trance quickly, but not before a couple classmates shoot him confused glances from across the room. After maneuvering around the labyrinth of chairs and backpacks between him and Jaehyun’s desk, he slugs his bag off his shoulder and sits down beside you.

You don’t look up, which is to be expected when this is an ordinary occurrence for you. Plus, you’re busy scribbling in your notebook after finishing the page you were reading. Once you’re done, you place your pencil down and blow air out of your mouth before shaking your hair loose from behind your ear and flicking the short pieces aside.

“You must be Jungkook,” you nonchalantly profess.

Jungkook’s brow scrunches. 

“Sorry?”

A smile graces your lips as you finally look in his direction. 

“Jaehyun doesn’t have a scar on his cheek.” 

When you gesture to the small mark on Jungkook’s left cheekbone, he lifts his own hand to trace the indentation. No one’s ever been able to distinguish them by that before, not even their parents. Even though Jungkook’s had the scar since first grade after he and Jaehyun fought over who got to use the computer first. 

“There’s no way you noticed something so small that fast,” Jungkook accuses.

You shrug following a short, prideful giggle. 

“Maybe I’m just a genius.” 

Or you have a big fat crush on my brother.

“You must be Y/N, then.” 

It’s your turn in the hot seat and you face Jungkook directly so you can interrogate him. 

“And how do you know that?” 

Jungkook mirrors how you shrugged your shoulders a moment ago. 

“Because Jae told me his lab partner’s super smart and the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. Obviously you’re smart if you clocked our scheme so fast and… well.” 

He gestures to you with both hands, causing a bright pink blush to overtake your cheeks. 

“He really said that?” You ask in a higher pitch with a massive smile on your face. 

“Does that surprise you?”

“Not… exactly. It’s just that Jae’s so smart and sweet. Not to mention considerate, funny, stupidly handsome —”

“You think I’m handsome?” 

“That’s not what I…”

Your voice trails off when you look over to find a shit-eating grin staring back. 

“Gotcha,” he cheers while pointing to his head. “Same face.”

As you roll your eyes and chuckle, Jungkook swears his heart starts pounding faster inside his ribcage. He would do anything to make you do it again; hear you laugh at his jokes or pretend to be annoyed when he teases you. 

“Anyway,” you redirect the conversation. “What’s with the switcheroo?”

“I have a chem exam today and Jaehyun got the brain cell in the divorce.”

You cackle so loud you have to cover your mouth with your hand to avoid getting in trouble with the teacher. Meanwhile, the pride Jungkook feels for prompting such a reaction almost makes him burst right out of his skin. 

Despite your best efforts, the teacher shoots you both a warning glare before beginning his lecture. You and Jungkook attempt to quiet your laughter and focus, but there are still some residual giggles by the time your teacher starts. 

After about twenty minutes, the teacher releases everyone to continue working on your current research project, but since your actual partner is somewhere across the school, you and Jungkook just chit chat until the end of class. 

“So, considering how highly you spoke about my brother, I imagine you like him back?”

His words must pique your interest because you stop writing in your planner and glance up with cartoonishly wide eyes. 

“Back?” You parrot. “As in…”

“Oh, yeah. Jae’s down bad.” 

Your blush from earlier returns with a vengeance and you even cover your mouth with your sweater cuffs to hide the broad smile you’re sporting. 

It gives Jungkook goddamn cuteness aggression and he has to refrain from kicking his feet underneath the desk. 

This situation is uniquely strange for Jungkook. Because on one hand, there’s nothing more important to him than Jaehyun’s happiness, and you’re both clearly smitten. Yet in the opposing corner lies his heart that’s suddenly beating to a new rhythm; one that sounds suspiciously similar to the syllables of your name. 

He can’t deny how badly he wants you for himself, but he would never make a move unless Jaehyun told him it was alright. If he can’t have you, he supposes the next best thing is for his brother to be the one who does. 

“I had my suspicions, but I just… I didn’t wanna get my hopes up. You know?” 

Your cheeks are still a dull pink and you have lovesick stars in your eyes as you talk about your crush. 

“I get it,” Jungkook replies. “But you don’t have anything to worry about. You two are on the same page.” 

“Is he planning on asking me out?” 

“He better be. If he doesn’t, I will.” His sudden candor causes your eyes to widen again until Jungkook raises his hands in surrender. “I’m kidding.” 

I’m not.

You sigh in relief upon hearing his rebuttal and Jungkook refuses to admit how much his heart shatters.

“Well, if he asks, you’re more than welcome to assure him I’ll say yes,” you state. 

Jungkook genuinely smiles at that. 

The thought of Jaehyun finding someone who makes him happy and will keep him laughing is enough to soothe any ache Jungkook may feel because of you. 

“Duly noted.”

“So, Jungkook —”

“Kook,” he corrects you.

“Huh?”

The man in question chuckles.

“Everyone calls me Kook.”

You tilt your head like that’s a foreign concept before disagreeably clicking your tongue.

“That just won’t do. I don’t wanna call you what everyone else does. I should get a special nickname,” you explain.

“You don’t say?” 

The two of you share another laugh while you tap your pencil against your notebook in thought. 

“What about Kookie?”

“Kookie?” Jungkook shakes his head, but it’s mostly to hide the smile and accompanying blush creeping in. “What am I? Willy Wonka?” 

“Oh, c’mon. It’s cute!” 

It is cute, and therein lies the problem. 

Nevertheless, Jungkook purses his lips as he ponders a fitting response. 

“Fine, but I want one for you.” You shrug and show him your palms as though to yield the nicknaming power. “How about…” After aimlessly gazing around the room, Jungkook’s eyes soon land on a doodle in your planner of a sweet treat that feels just right. “What about Cupcake?” 

“Cupcake?” 

“Mmhm. Cupcake,” he repeats while motioning at you before doing the same for himself. “And Kookie.” 

You giggle at his suggestion, but nod your head in agreement a moment later. 

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Kookie.” 

With a charming smile, Jungkook extends his hand towards you. 

“Pleasure doing business with you, Cupcake.”

When you two melodramatically shake on it, Jungkook doesn’t think about the long term consequences. He has no idea how this single conversation will alter the course of his life forever. 

Because Jaehyun does ask you out about a week later, forcing Jungkook to witness you two fall in love and remain utterly devoted to each other for years to come. 

Including standing beside his parents when Jaehyun proposes at your college graduation. You’re a year younger than them, so his twin’s had time to save for a beautiful diamond ring using the paycheck he receives from their father’s company. 

You obviously accept, but not before screaming your head off and nearly tackling your poor boyfriend, now fiancé, to the ground. Jaehyun catches you by the waist before you’re able to take him down and Jungkook doesn’t believe he’s ever seen his brother so happy as he spins you around a couple times before kissing you senseless. 

“I love you,” Jaehyun whispers once your lips part while your foreheads remain pressed together. 

Despite it being the thousandth time you’ve heard the proclamation, you still beam brighter than the sun. 

“I love you, Jeon Jaehyun.”

“Enough to marry me, huh?” 

An infectious giggle fills the air between your faces and makes Jungkook’s heart constrict where it lies dormant in his chest. He even instinctively looks away when you clamp Jaehyun’s head between your hands to emphasize your response. 

“Enough to marry the shit out of you!”

It sucks because it’s not like Jungkook isn’t happy for you two. Quite the contrary. He couldn't be more ecstatic about his favorite people finding their dream come true. But he also can’t help the debilitating, insistent ache he feels inside. 

He never meant to fall in love with you and for a while after you met he hoped his feelings would fade into oblivion. Months went by, then years, but rather than disappearing, his devotion to you only grew stronger until it became a part of his very soul. Something so innate he believes it must transcend this world and bleed into the next. His love for Jaehyun is the same; just as deep and even more integral to his being. 

Which is why it doesn’t matter how much he adores you. You and Jaehyun are perfect for each other, and more importantly, you make one another irrevocably happy. Jungkook would sooner die before he took any part in destroying that. 

He doesn’t want you for himself despite his feelings, but that doesn’t make reality any less painful. 

His attention is yanked from the reverie by his brother’s joyous holler and he refocuses on the present just in time for Jaehyun to throw his arms around him. 

“Fucking nailed it,” Jaehyun cheers while giving Jungkook an excited, brotherly pat on his shoulder. 

“‘Course, you did.” Jungkook returns the affection by resting his chin on Jaehyun’s shoulder. “Congratulations, bro. I’m glad you didn’t choke.” 

Jaehyun scoffs and steps back to reclaim your hand. 

“I never choke,” he argues.

“Um, there was the time you were so nervous about asking me to prom you put the jumbo letters in the wrong order,” you counter. “But I had a wonderful time at ‘rpom’ with you, baby.” 

Your fiancé rolls his eyes at the memory, but there’s a huge grin on his face when he bends down to kiss your cheek. 

“Congratulations to you, too, Cupcake,” Jungkook interjects. “You scored yourself the second best looking, second funniest, and second most lovable man around.” 

“Gosh, I wonder who could possibly be the first?” 

Jungkook sarcastically shrugs with his hands up, but your sweet laugh shatters the act when you lean in to hug him with your free arm. 

“Seriously, though, I couldn’t be happier for you.”

“Thanks, Kookie.” After unwrapping yourself from the embrace, you rest your weight on Jaehyun next to you and he naturally wraps his other arm around your waist. “So, should I start calling you big brother now or…”

The aggressive grimace that contorts Jungkook’s face causes both you and Jaehyun to relentlessly cackle. 

“Fuck, no. Never. I beg you.”

Despite genuinely feeling like he might throw up at the thought of you ever referring to him as that, he joins in the laughter once his expression of disgust fades. 

You and Jaehyun wait almost a full three years to wed so you’re both at least twenty five. Meaning it’s been just over a decade since you first started dating; longer than some marriages even last.

The years following your engagement have been easier for Jungkook to stomach compared to when you were all in school. You two live together now just a few blocks from Jungkook’s apartment and the three of you hang out fairly often. 

One would think it would make the situation worse, but spending more time with you as a couple actually lessens the weight. It gives him a chance to witness the people he cares about most at their happiest, and even though he still yearns for you in ways he shouldn’t, seeing you smile or hearing you laugh is enough. 

On the morning of your wedding, in which Jungkook has the honor of being the best man, things are a little hectic. Jaehyun’s an objectively intelligent, organized, and calm person, but whenever he’s nervous those traits fly right out the window.

Hence why Jungkook’s on his way to your bridal suite across the venue to ask you where Jaehyun’s cufflinks are. His twin swears he put them in the same bag as his suit, but they’re nowhere to be found. The men tried calling you first, but your phone must be tucked away on silent because it repeatedly went to voicemail.

Jungkook knocks first before creaking the door open and calling your name. He peeks his head in to ensure no one’s getting dressed and once he deems the coast clear, he steps inside and lets the door shut behind him.

You stroll out from a separate room soon after his arrival, but before Jungkook has a chance to talk, you shriek and jump behind a floor length mirror.

“What the fuck, Jae! You can’t see me before the ceremony!”

“Relax, it’s just me! It’s Jungkook!”

After a long pause, you peer out from around the furniture to confirm his identity. When you find he isn’t wearing what your groom should be, you sigh in relief and step further into the room.

“Jesus, Kookie, don’t scare me like that,” you scold him. “You trying to give me a heart attack on my wedding day?”

Jungkook doesn’t respond right away, or more like he can’t. Seeing you in your wedding dress with your hair beautifully styled and makeup done to highlight all your best features stuns him into complete silence. He didn’t even realize it was possible for you to look any more gorgeous than you normally do, but by god, have you proven him wrong.

You notice his lack of communication rather quickly and give him a once over to discern the possible reason. Unfortunately for Jungkook, it’s glaringly obvious why he’s standing as still as a statue with his mouth half open.

“What? Cat got your tongue?”

You’re being playful, but Jungkook’s far too awestruck to volley your banter.

“No,” he whispers. “Just the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.”

The compliment brings a warm smile to your face, but you still shake your head in disagreement while strutting across the room to him.

“You’re only saying that because you haven’t met yours yet.”

He wants to argue, but he can’t explain why that isn’t true without revealing his deepest, darkest secret.

You force him back to reality when your fingers graze his lapel, causing him to shoot you an inquisitive look.

“Your bowtie’s crooked,” you answer his silent question as you adjust the fabric.

“Thanks, Cupcake.”

There’s an earth-shatteringly gorgeous smile on your lips that gives Jungkook actual heart palpitations, especially with you standing so close. He even holds his breath so you don’t hear how wildly the muscle is thumping.

“What are you doing here, anyway?”

Once you finally step back, Jungkook inhales for what feels like the first time in minutes.

“Jae can’t find his cufflinks.”

You affectionately roll your eyes.

“Of course, he can’t,” you chuckle. “That man would be lost without me.”

“Yes, he would,” Jungkook agrees. “He knows it, too.”

“He better.” The two of you share a laugh before you leave his side to find your phone where you have a list of today’s necessities and their respective locations. “The inner breast pocket of his suit coat,” you read out loud from your notes.

“Seriously? I could’ve sworn we checked there.”

“And I know you both well enough to know you definitely didn’t.”

It’s Jungkook’s turn for an eye roll as he grabs the doorknob.

“Well, thank you. I promise I’ll have him in tip-top shape in time for the ceremony,” he assures you.

“Wait,” you request before scurrying back over. Upon reaching him again, you throw your arms around his neck and rise to your tiptoes for a heartfelt embrace. Jungkook’s brain momentarily short circuits despite this being a regular occurrence, but he eventually recovers and returns the affection by enveloping your waist. “I love you so much, Kookie. I can’t wait to finally be family.”

It takes all his willpower to hold back the tears encroaching on his waterline. They’re predominantly on behalf of his deep platonic love for you as opposed to his unrequited feelings. No matter what his heart wants, you’re one of his best friends and someone he can’t imagine living without. It isn’t just because of your connection to him through Jaehyun, either, but the bond you two have built over the last decade.

“I love you, too, Cupcake. Always and forever.” Ironically, once you part, you’re the one with watery eyes that you have to carefully dry. “Hey, hey, no tears. You’ll ruin your makeup.”

“I know,” you sniffle. “I’m just really happy.”

Jungkook smiles.

“Me, too.”

He returns to the groom’s suite after wishing you farewell and of course, you’re spot on. Jaehyun’s lost cufflinks were on his body the entire time, causing Jungkook to lovingly tease his brother as he finishes the final touches to his ensemble. 

The two of them are currently standing side by side in front of the mirror and Jaehyun’s spent the last five minutes fiddling with pieces of his suit that are already perfect. Jungkook chuckles at the familiar behavior before clasping him on the shoulder.

“Jae, I don’t understand why you’re nervous when you’re marrying the love of your life.”

Jaehyun shakes his head while slowly releasing the air from his lungs.

“I just want today to be perfect. She deserves nothing less than that.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue.

“But Y/N’s gonna think it’s perfect simply because she’s marrying you. Don’t you know that?” 

His assurance causes Jaehyun to smile and sigh in relief.

“You’re right,” he concedes. “I guess the problem is being a boyfriend and fiancé is one thing, but being a husband is another entirely.” He glances down to tug on his sleeve. “I have to take care of her, you know? I never wanna let her down or leave her wanting for anything.”

Only someone as magnanimous as Jaehyun, who’s never disappointed you even once in a whole decade, would worry like this moments before walking down the aisle.

“She loves you. You love her. You two have a long life together ahead of you. Both of you are bound to get upset or wish things were different every once in a while, but none of that matters as long as the love is still there,” Jungkook asserts.

Jaehyun’s smile returns prior to him glancing up to meet Jungkook’s gaze through the mirror.

“I thought I was supposed to be the wise one?”

Jungkook shrugs along with a lighthearted chuckle.

“Someone’s gotta pick up the slack whenever your usual characteristics go on leave.”

The twins share another laugh, but then Jaehyun clears his throat and turns to face his brother.

“You make a good point, about picking up my slack,” Jaehyun notes. “Will you promise me something?”

“Yeah, always.”

Jaehyun’s teeth sink into his bottom lip.

“Promise to look after Y/N for me. If, I don’t know, for whatever reason I’m not able to anymore.”

“Jae —”

“Just promise me, Kook.”

Jungkook knows how much this means to his brother, even if he can’t ever envision a world where you two aren’t together. 

“Of course, I will,” he responds assuredly. “I promise.”

It’s obvious a weight lifts off Jaehyun’s shoulders and he immediately pulls Jungkook in for a hug to convey his gratitude. After stepping back, the groom appears much more at ease and even claps his hands together while turning towards the door.

“Okay! You got the rings?”

“Yup.”

“Time to get hitched, then.”

Contrary to moments ago, the pair exit the room lighthearted and laughing as they make their way to the main hall. 

The ceremony is beautiful. Perfect, even, just as Jaehyun hoped. From the moment the doors open to reveal you and your dad, to Jaehyun blubbering like a baby throughout your entire walk down the aisle, to the heartfelt, sentimental vows you and him share, up until your groom dramatically dips you across his body for your first kiss as husband and wife. 

There isn’t a dry in the room and Jungkook’s heart nearly explodes with love for you both. Seeing you two so joyful and knowing you’ll always have each other is all he needs to die without a single regret. 

Cocktail hour, plenty of photos, and a grand entrance into the reception follow soon after and in the middle of all the guests enjoying their meal, the DJ hands Jungkook a microphone for his best man speech. 

He’s rewritten the damn thing at least a hundred times, including a version that went something like, “Fuck it. I’m in love with the bride. I don’t know what to do about it. Have a good evening.” 

The final product doesn’t contain any of those words except the last four, but even without a confession, he’s unbearably nervous. 

“Good evening, everyone,” he announces from his place at the end of the head table. “If it wasn’t obvious already, I’m Jaehyun’s identical twin brother, Jungkook. Being a twin has its pros and cons, as does everything, but no other twin has the perks that I do by having Jaehyun as a brother. Jae is the most kind, considerate, loving, and genuine person I’ve ever met. He’s the best brother in the world and I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he’ll be the best husband, too. We’ve done everything together up until now, so marriage is the first adventure he’s going on without me. But I know I have nothing to worry about because the person he’s venturing into it with is the best of the best. Ironically, I first met Y/N while pretending to be Jaehyun. I’ve never told her this before, but while Jae’s end of the deal was to take a test for me, I was running reconnaissance on her. Jae had a big, fat crush on Y/N, but he didn’t know if his feelings were reciprocated, so he asked me to go undercover and report back. Our carefully laid plan was immediately thwarted, though, because Y/N clocked that I wasn’t Jae only seconds after I sat down. I knew then that she was going to be around for a long time, and more importantly, that my brother’s heart would always be safe in her hands.” Jungkook takes a deep breath before his final paragraph. “I adore you guys more than I’ll ever be able to properly explain and I couldn’t be happier that you two will have each other for a lifetime to come. I wish you nothing but everlasting love, health, and good fortune. And I love you both so very much.” 

Once he concludes his speech, everyone loudly applauds for a job well done, but Jungkook’s focus is solely on your and Jaehyun’s reactions. Except when his eyes land on the center of the long table, only you’re sitting there. 

An explanation arrives soon enough when his twin forces him into a bone-crushing embrace. Jungkook laughs while happily returning the affection as tightly as he can. 

“Do you have any fucking idea how much I love you?” Jaehyun asks through a sniffle. 

“Of course, I do,” Jungkook sighs. “About half as much as I love you.”

When the two break apart, the sound of heels rapidly clicking along the floor steals their attention. Before they can process what’s happening, you barrel right into them with a gleeful cheer. 

“I didn’t wanna feel left out,” you explain where your head rests between their own. Both men chuckle at your antics prior to you stepping back to face them. “That was perfect, Kookie. Thank you.”

Jungkook bashfully shrugs.

“It was nothing, Cupcake. Just another Tuesday for me, public speaker extraordinaire.” 

“Aish, can you believe he’s drunk already? He thinks it’s Tuesday!” Jaehyun turns towards you to joke. 

You giggle and glance at your husband with the entire galaxy in your eyes. As always, Jaehyun’s sporting a matching expression and it’s only once Jungkook clears his throat that you two snap out of the daze and join him in returning to the head table.

Jungkook passes the microphone to his brother, who’s set to deliver the next speech. It isn’t necessarily common for the groom to talk at the reception, but his father did so in order to honor their mother at their wedding and he urged Jaehyun to do the same. 

“Hello,” Jaehyun cheers from where he’s standing next to your chair. “I’d like to take this time to thank everyone for being here to celebrate our marriage with us. Y/N and I are overjoyed to be surrounded by you all on our special day and we’re frankly overwhelmed by the vast amount of love we’ve received.” Like it’s second nature, he reaches for you and you automatically lace your fingers together. “I also want to spend a moment talking about my beautiful wife sitting here beside me.” Even though he’s technically giving a speech to the whole room, he pivots so he’s staring directly into your eyes. “Y/N, I’ve been hopelessly in love with you since the day we met when I was only sixteen years old. And to this day I still can’t believe you feel the same. You’re radiant, spellbinding, and magnificent, and I’m nothing but a humble admirer. But what’s truly wonderful about you as a partner is that you don’t view me in that light. You see right through me; all my faults and failures, but also my strengths and virtues. And you love me regardless of all of them. So I consider myself the luckiest man alive because I’ll never deserve someone as warm, caring, and compassionate as you are. It’s been ten years since we became a couple and I’ve yet to even come close. But I promise to keep trying, baby, because that’s what you deserve. I’ve loved you for an entire decade and I’ll continue to do so for a thousand more, even though I know the universe isn’t gracious enough to give us that much time together. But with the time we do have, I plan to cherish and worship you every single second of every single day. Thank you for choosing me ten years ago and even more importantly, for choosing me today. I love you so much, my bride.”

You and Jaehyun haven’t broken eye contact once throughout his whole speech, but yours are shimmering and flooded with tears which are slowly cascading down your pink cheeks.

“J — Jae,” you cry, at a complete loss for words. 

Jaehyun doesn’t verbally respond. He just lifts your intertwined hands up to his lips for a kiss before resting them against his cheek. 

Following his lead, you forgo trying to produce sound and tug him into his seat by the hand before grabbing his face so you can kiss the daylights out of him. He squeaks and giggles at the abrupt movements, but it soon becomes a content hum as you ardently slot your mouths together as if you’re the only ones in the room. 

Your foreheads remain together even once you part as a pair of gleaming smiles appear. 

“I didn’t prepare anything to say back,” you complain as your voice cracks.

Jaehyun shakes his head.

“You don’t need to.”

“I love you so fucking much.”

He chuckles and steals another quick smooch.

Everyone else’s been clapping since the moment Jaehyun stopped talking, but you two stay in your own little world until he kisses the tip of your nose and pulls back.

Jungkook’s always known Jaehyun to have a way with words, and he’s spoken about his unconditional love for you at least a million times over the years, but even he’s taken aback by his twin’s profound candor. 

It’s a blaring reminder why Jaehyun’s the one sitting beside you today. His brother’s an amazing person, and only someone as noble as him should have the honor of calling himself your husband.

The remainder of the evening all goes according to plan and everyone seems to be having a great time. Even Jungkook, because despite his heart slowly withering and dying in his chest, he always enjoys spending time and goofing around with you and Jaehyun. 

A couple hours into the reception, he feels a tug on his arm while he’s standing at the bar and upon turning around, he finds you eagerly pulling him towards the dance floor. 

“C’mon. You owe me a dance, big brother.”

“Yuck,” Jungkook overdramatically shouts, but he still allows you to lead him away. 

An early 2000s ballad is playing that Jungkook faintly recognizes as you place one hand on his shoulder and he steals your other so you can sway chest to chest to the beat of the music. Neither of you speak for about a minute or so, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable or awkward. Nothing ever is with you two. 

“Is tonight everything you were hoping for?” Jungkook asks you. 

When you glance up to meet his eyes, your effervescent smile reveals the answer before you verbalize it.

“It’s a dream come true,” you proclaim. “I’ve never been happier in my whole life.”

Jungkook can’t resist mirroring your grin. 

“I’m really glad, Cupcake.”

“I mean, it was basically impossible for today to be anything but the best day ever.” Before you continue, Jungkook drops his hand from the small of your back so he can twirl you around. “I’m surrounded by all my favorite people in the world. I can’t ask for anything more than that.” 

“Let’s see… your mom, dad, Jae, best friend, cousin —”

“You.”

Your interruption isn’t necessarily surprising, but it still mentally stops Jungkook in his tracks, and he has to fight to hide all the emotions swimming in his irises. 

“I don’t know if I’m worthy of such an honor.”

“Of course, you are,” you argue. “You’ve never been just Jae’s brother to me. You know that, don’t you?” Jungkook softly nods. “You’re… my Kookie.”

The idea of being your anything lights Jungkook’s heart on fire. 

“Now that is my greatest honor,” Jungkook sincerely declares.

You two exchange matching smiles at the same time the first song ends and fades into the next. 

“Sweetheart, I’m over here!” Jaehyun calls from across the room, causing you and Jungkook to turn in his direction. Your groom’s sporting a playful grin while posing with his hands on his hips. “Did you get us mixed up again?”

Without missing a beat, you theatrically gasp and clap your hand over your mouth before looking between him and Jungkook.

“Dammit, not again!” You stomp your foot like a child and cross your arms over your chest. “You would think after a decade I’d be better at this.” 

Jaehyun clicks his tongue a couple times along with a disappointed head shake. 

“What am I gonna do with you, huh?” 

His gag comes to an end when he simply can’t resist sending you an affectionate smile that turns his eyes into crescents and paints his ears red.  

You look at Jungkook to ask if it’s alright to conclude your dance so soon, but he’s already nodding towards his brother to give you permission. 

“You sure?”

“‘Course. Go celebrate with your husband,” he tells you.

“Well, thank you for the dance.” As you’re strolling away, you turn around to continue speaking. “You know, most of my bridesmaids are single.” Jungkook’s eyes almost roll out of his skull. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll see.”

He watches you collide with Jaehyun, who immediately grabs your waist to lift you a few inches off the ground while you both squeal in excitement. 

In truth, Jungkook could use a good fuck right about now. He’s sure one of the single women here tonight would be more than willing to go home with him or at the very least sneak off to the bathroom, but he just can’t bring himself to try. 

Back in college, after accepting his feelings for you were here to stay, he threw himself into the bed of any woman who would pull the sheets back for him. He used sex as an outlet for all his pent up emotions. 

It didn’t work. Even when he was balls deep in someone else, all he could think about and picture was you. To his benefit, he still tried time and time again. His body count reached triple digits before he finally came to the conclusion he needs healthier coping skills. 

He still uses sex to let off steam every now and then, but it isn’t always because of you anymore. Life just gets stressful sometimes and they don’t call it a release for no reason. 

Jungkook’s smarter about his hook ups these days. Rather than fucking to forget you, he hits it from the back while shoving the woman’s face into his pillows so he can pretend she is you. He knows it isn’t right, and that he should probably see a damn therapist, but it helps. 

Ironically, and maybe disturbingly, thinking about you and Jaehyun having sex eases his mind a little. Because what you and his twin look like in the bedroom is exactly what he and you would look like, down to the last DNA molecule. 

It might seem contradictory to others, but his heart’s a convoluted, fucked up labyrinth. 

The last time he sees you and Jaehyun that evening is right before last call. You two are sitting at the head table with your knees touching as you giggle over a shared slice of cake. 

Jaehyun spots Jungkook from across the room, where he’s strolling away from the uncle he’s been reminiscing with for the last twenty minutes or so.

“Kook!” He calls with a wave. 

Jungkook quickly changes directions to greet you both and upon reaching the table, he pulls a chair out to sit opposite you. 

“What’s up, Mr. and Mrs?”

“Night’s almost over. Wanted to make sure you had fun,” Jaehyun states before taking another bite. 

“You kidding?” Jungkook scoffs. “I got to watch my twin brother marry the greatest girl in the world. It was the best day ever.” 

Sentiments aren’t usually Jungkook’s forte. Even his speech earlier was tough to utter out loud. Him and Jaehyun never vocalize their love for each other because they don’t need words to communicate. So, although it couldn’t be more true, it tastes foreign rolling off his tongue. 

“Okay, but besides that,” you interject. “Did you like the cake?”

You point to the dessert with your fork while playfully raising an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, it was great. Why?” 

“Because I made it,” you proudly chirp. 

Jungkook gawks.

“You made your own wedding cake? Isn’t that against the rules or something?”

When his comment makes you laugh, Jungkook does his best to ignore the butterflies fluttering in his stomach. 

“Well, I’m the best baker I know! Plus it gave me something to focus on besides my nerves right before the wedding.”

If there’s one thing Jungkook knows, it’s that you’re absolutely the best baker. You have been since he met you a decade ago, hence where the inspiring sketch for his nickname for you comes from. Every recipe you create features a little doodle of that particular treat. 

You have a business degree, just like him and Jaehyun, so one day you can achieve your lifelong dream of owning a bakery. For now, you work from your household kitchen and accept orders from friends, family, or people who find you through social media. Since Jaehyun’s now the youngest executive at their father’s company, his salary’s more than enough to cover all the expenses until you’re ready. 

One of Jungkook’s favorite things about visiting your house is the sweet treats always lying around. Not to mention you often use him and Jaehyun as taste testers. 

“Well, shit. No wonder it was so fucking delicious,” Jungkook declares. 

Jaehyun takes that as a cue to pass him an extra slice and Jungkook gladly accepts, eliciting a proud snicker from you. 

Before digging in, Jungkook scoops up a sizable piece and lifts his fork. 

“To the Jeons?” 

You and Jaehyun both flash blinding smiles in his direction before raising your own forks in the air. 

“Jeon Jaehyun, Jeon Jungkook, and Jeon Y/N,” Jaehyun recites. “I sure like the sound of that.”

“Me, too,” you agree while gazing at your husband like he hung the stars in the sky.

The three of you clink your utensils together and eat in perfect sync, prompting a unanimous moan of delight over the taste.

“Fuck, that’s so good,” Jaehyun mumbles with a mouthful of cake.  

Jungkook concurs by aggressively nodding his head along with the signature expression you call his “good food face.”

The familiar sight almost makes you choke when you start laughing prior to finishing the bite. You tell him all the time there’s just something about his forehead scrunching up and his eyebrows pinching together like he’s furious that tickles your funny bone. Especially considering it’s the exact opposite emotion of how he’s actually feeling. 

“You’re lucky, Jae. You get to eat the best desserts in Seoul free of charge for the rest of your life,” Jungkook tells his brother. 

You snort.

“Oh, and I’ll make you pay for them?” 

“You never know!” Jungkook has to dodge when you gingerly chuck a napkin at him. “Listen, when you own some big shot bakery in the city you won’t have time to bake for small fry like me.” 

“Kookie, I literally bake an extra half dozen of everything I make to account for how many you’ll steal,” you retort.

He smiles so big his eyes disappear, making it impossible to continue arguing his point because his heart’s doing backflips and somersaults. The thought of you doing something specifically for him is enough to heal almost all the scars of his unrequited love. 

Almost. 

Because five years later as he’s sneaking into a large banquet hall so no one realizes he’s ten minutes late, his heart still skips a beat when he spots you standing alone near the back. 

As always, you look utterly showstopping in a shimmery, navy gown with your hair styled up in an elegant ponytail. 

You don’t notice him at first because you’re focused on the introduction of your beloved husband for his big speech tonight. Jungkook uses the opportunity to admire you for a moment without any interruptions. You’re not doing anything special or particularly interesting, but your radiant smile and sparkling eyes alone are a better sight than he could ever pay for. 

In the midst of his shameless gawking, you turn your head and discover him by the door. Your face lights up with a wide, toothy grin while you enthusiastically wave him over. 

Jungkook can’t help but mirror the expression as he swiftly traverses the room to reach you near the long tables of refreshments. 

“Hey, Cupcake,” he whispers before paying attention to the stage just in time for Jaehyun to step out from behind the wings. 

Your friendly smile totally shifts when Jaehyun appears; becoming what can only be described as the glow of someone still profoundly in love even after fifteen years together. 

“Hi, Kookie.” 

Despite returning his greeting, you don’t look away from where Jaehyun’s shaking hands with the event organizer and getting comfortable behind the podium. 

His brother then clears his throat and flashes the crowd a cordial, humble grin. 

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he begins. “This is a very new experience for me, so I ask that you hold any hysterical laughter at my expense until the end of the speech.” 

A harmonious chuckle rolls through the room and it’s clear the audience is already charmed by Jaehyun. 

Jungkook can’t blame them. Ever since his twin took over as CEO following their dad’s retirement four years ago, he’s naturally come into his own and become a shining star of the corporate world. He couldn’t be prouder of Jaehyun and that’s the sole reason he’s attending an event like this. 

It’s a fundraiser for a new non-profit organization Jeon Industries is partnering with and even though Jaehyun repeatedly claimed he didn’t need to come to hear his speech, Jungkook wouldn’t miss one of his brother’s achievements for the world, no matter how insignificant. 

“Jae was so nervous beforehand he almost walked out of the house with two left shoes,” you lean over to inform Jungkook. 

The familiar behavior of his twin whenever he’s nervous produces a knowing, affectionate smile.

“Of course, he did.” 

You finally glance over after his reply and even warmly squeeze his bicep. 

“Thank you for coming.” Jaehyun’s speech falls to the back of his mind once it ventures into administrative mumbo-jumbo. “He loves to downplay his accomplishments and the more loved ones I shove in his face, the less he’s able to get away with it.” 

Jungkook chuckles.

“Anytime.” 

After reaching behind him to snag a dessert from the table, he casually pops the pastry into his mouth. Except it ends up tasting so damn delicious he almost moans out loud. 

He settles on just a quiet grunt while rolling his eyes and pointing at his mouth so you understand what’s causing such a response. But once he swallows, he faces you to demand an explanation.

“Holy shit. Where did the company get these?” 

One corner of your mouth twitches upwards. 

“Where do you think?”

Jungkook’s lips instantly form a shocked O as his eyes flicker between you and all the baked goods. 

“No!” You respond with a proud, avid nod. “Oh, Cupcake. That’s amazing!”

“The one you tried is my newest recipe.” 

“Wait, there’s no way you baked all these in your kitchen. Did you?”

The table is drowning in sweet treats and although you and Jaehyun now live in a rather grand estate, all this would demand no less than an industrial-sized kitchen.

“No, the company rented a space for me,” you explain. “I still had to prepare everything myself, though. It was insane.”

Jungkook’s positively beaming while you talk about the process because baking on a large scale is your dream and he can’t believe it’s finally coming true.

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” 

When you meet his gaze again, he notices a light pink blush on your cheeks. 

“Thanks, Kookie.”

You both revert your full attention back to Jaehyun as the end of his speech approaches. At least until Jungkook leans over to whisper another comment.

“I should really wear burgundy more often,” he ponders aloud. “Jae looks like a fucking model.” 

As if you haven’t been staring at your husband all night long, your eyes slowly rake over his figure before you lick your lips and nod in agreement. 

Jaehyun’s sporting a sleek, burgundy suit with a navy dress shirt underneath, presumably to match your dress. He certainly fits the appearance of a CEO from the lavish clothes down to his hair that’s expertly styled without a single strand out of place. 

“He got it tailor made.” 

“So you’re saying I’ll still look like a schmuck regardless of what color I wear?” 

You make a noise that’s a perfect mixture of a huff and a chuckle.

“Kookie, you’re the only dive bar owner I know with a face like that. Give me a break.” Another scoff pushes past your lips. “Schmuck,” you tsk. 

He knows his nerves shouldn’t light up like fireworks over you complimenting his features. You’re married to someone with the exact same face, for Christ’s sake. Obviously you find him attractive. It would be slightly concerning if you didn’t.

Alas, no amount of logic can stop his body’s reaction to your comment. 

Just then, roaring applause from the conclusion of Jaehyun’s speech diverts his focus as you both join everyone in clapping for him. 

“Thank you all,” Jaehyun announces. “I hope that wasn’t too painful.” With his formal speech over and done, he visibly relaxes behind the podium. “I also hope you enjoy the remainder of the evening we have planned for you. Please take some time to mingle and help yourself to the wonderful spread of food and drinks available in the back. I especially recommend trying the delicious desserts made by my beautiful wife, Y/N.” 

Your jaw drops at the unexpected shout out, but you quickly force a smile when Jaehyun points at you and half the room turns over their shoulders to look. 

“I told him not to mention me,” you sing-song once the crowd’s attention is off you. 

Jungkook snickers.

“Cupcake, how long have you known him? Has Jae ever missed an opportunity to brag about you?” 

Lo and behold, Jaehyun continues after a moment.

“And if you need somewhere to go after, the best bar in town is only a couple blocks away and owned by my twin brother,” he proclaims. “Say hi, Jungkook!” While you burst into hysterical laughter that you muffle with your palm, Jungkook turns beet red and shoots daggers at his twin, but he still waves to the room so no one notices his ire. “I’m aware it can be confusing. So if you think we’re chatting, but it seems like I have no clue what you’re talking about, it might not be me.” 

Thankfully, Jaehyun’s humor pulls everyone’s eyes away so Jungkook can exhale a massive sigh of relief. 

You’re still giggling at his expense, but he can’t resist smiling despite wanting to throttle his darling brother. He should’ve known better, just as he told you, since Jaehyun always supports his loved ones regardless of time and place. 

By the time your laughter dies down, Jaehyun’s exiting the stage and weaving through the crowd in your direction. He’s stopped by multiple people along his path, but proceeds like a man on a mission by politely excusing himself to all of them. 

Once he’s close enough, he jogs over to you while you place your hands on your hips and shake your head.

“That was some stunt you pulled up there,” you teasingly scold him.

Jaehyun ignores your faux indignation with an adoring smile.

“C’mon, baby, you know I can barely go ten minutes without talking about you.”

He effortlessly scoops you up by the waist and your act falls away in an instant as you giggle and rest your forehead on his shoulder, your own arms circling his neck. 

“I’m so proud of you, honey,” you whisper while running your fingers through the short hair at his nape.

Jaehyun’s smile grows before he nuzzles his face against your throat to make you laugh again. 

“Couldn’t have done it without you, sweetheart.” Your feet soon return to the ground, but Jaehyun still keeps you in his embrace. “Was it alright?”

“It was perfect, Jae.” 

“Yeah? I didn’t talk too fast or anything?” 

One of your hands travels from his shoulder to his cheek.

“Not at all. It was the speech to end all speeches.”

Your reassurance, however playful, causes Jaehyun to breathe a sigh of relief. 

He steals a quick kiss and lets you go, but you two instinctively lace your fingers together so you’re still connected. You both turn towards Jungkook next, who immediately opens his arms for a congratulatory hug.

“You did great, bro,” Jungkook assures Jaehyun with a pat on the back.

After they part, Jaehyun returns to your side and rests his hand on your lower back. 

“Thanks, Kook. I really appreciate you coming out. You didn’t need to.” 

“Like I would ever want to miss all this?” Jungkook gestures to the massive crowd of blue and black suits standing around chit chatting. “You know I just adore the corporate world.” Jaehyun laughs at his brother’s signature sarcasm. “In all seriousness, I couldn’t not be here.” 

“Well, I hope you stay a while and indulge in all the food. There’s no chance the people here will finish everything.”  

“Oh, no worries, I’m about to clean you out of desserts.”

“No, you will not.” You cross your arms over your chest for dramatic effect even though it’s impossible for you to appear intimidating. “I made those for the guests. If you want some, I’ll bake you a separate batch.” 

Jungkook melodramatically clutches his heart.

“You would do that? For me?” 

You roll your eyes. 

“If it keeps you from demolishing my pastries.” 

Before you two can prolong your little skit, Jaehyun grabs your attention.

“Are you ready to schmooze with me?” You nod assuredly and he turns to Jungkook next. “Will we see you once we’re done or do you have to dip?” 

“Nah, I gotta get to the bar,” he answers. “It’s restock night so I need to do inventory.” 

Jaehyun frowns while closing the distance between them for another hug.

“That’s too bad, but thank you again for being here. And please take some food to go. Grab some for Jennie, too.”

“You got it,” Jungkook replies. “We’re still on for lunch tomorrow, right? Same time as usual?”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course. I’ll pick you up at your place,” Jaehyun confirms. 

Following their farewell, you step forward to hug Jungkook as well. 

“Love you. I’ll see you soon,” you tell him, as always.

“Love you, too, Cupcake.” 

After you unwind yourself from the embrace, you rejoin Jaehyun who’s already reaching out for you to take his hand. He kisses your knuckles once you're beside him again before you stroll away together to interact with all the guests. 

A deep sigh leaves Jungkook’s lungs as he surveys the table of expensive food and beverages. He knows he should listen to his brother and take some with him, especially considering he didn’t eat much earlier because he was too busy ordering new supplies for the bar. Alas, something inside always puts up resistance to the idea of mooching off Jaehyun, or more so his business. 

Perhaps it’s silly, but ever since becoming a business owner himself he feels the need to constantly stand on his own two feet. Even when what’s being offered is just some hors d’oeuvres from a fundraiser. Although, Jungkook does steal a couple more desserts before exiting the hall straight into the cold night air. 

His motorcycle’s currently in the shop for a tune up, hence why Jaehyun’s picking him up tomorrow for their monthly lunch. So, until further notice, he’s stuck traversing the five long blocks between him and his dive bar, Kookie’s. 

Jungkook never really dreamed of running a bar or even owning a business. He only chose to get a business degree in college because it’s the most versatile and he wasn’t sure what he wanted. But after seeing an ad three years ago for a bar going into foreclosure, something just kept nudging him until he finally applied for a loan to purchase the building. 

Now it’s practically his baby, and he does everything within his power to make it the best establishment it can be. He adores his staff, loves the location, and even enjoys mingling with regulars whenever he visits during business hours. 

The doorbell dings overhead as he strolls in from the street and the patrons surrounding the entrance all glance over to see who’s entering. Upon realizing it’s none other than Jungkook, they begin hollering and cheering while some raise their bottles in his direction. 

“Jeon! Didn’t know you were coming in tonight,” a frequent flyer, Felix, declares.

He successfully maintains his composure even though the warm welcome turns the tips of his ears pink. 

As he passes by to reach the counter, he pats Felix on the shoulder.

“I own the place, bro.” 

“True,” Felix chuckles. “But most nights it’s just Jennie running things.”

Jennie’s the bar manager, and also Jungkook’s best friend besides you and Jaehyun. Ironically, they met on Tinder, but when their only date ended in Jungkook drunkenly wailing about being in love with someone he can never have, Jennie unilaterally decided being just friends was the right approach. 

They have hooked up a fair amount of times over the years, though. Usually after a late night at the bar when their decision making skills wane too much to resist, but it never makes anything awkward between them. Jungkook can not only trust Jennie to run his business, but to keep him grounded and lend a shoulder to cry on whenever he needs it. 

He strives to do the same in return and seeing as they’ve been friends for close to ten years, he believes he’s doing an okay job. 

She’s currently at the register counting cash so she can add some to the bartender’s tip jar. It’s a well-known fact people tip more when there’s already money in there. 

Jungkook raps his knuckles against the wood to force her eyes up, which she does with a lighthearted chuckle.

“Whatcha doing here, boss? Thought you had Jaehyun’s event tonight.” 

“I did, but I left after his speech,” Jungkook explains. 

“I told you I can do inventory myself,” she argues.

The register slams shut before she raises a challenging eyebrow at him. Jungkook decides to play cute; pursing his lips, tilting his head, and leaning his body on the bar. 

“Can’t I just miss you?” 

“Ha!” Jennie rounds the counter and shoves his shoulder so he stands up straight again. “If you’re here, then you better get to work.” 

She tosses him the keys to the office and he stumbles back a bit in an effort to catch them. 

Jennie’s objectively gorgeous. Anyone with eyes will come to that conclusion after just a single glance. He’s also certain they’d be great together and could easily make each other happy for the rest of their lives. The only issue is Jungkook can’t bring himself to cross that divide. He cares about her too much to do so when his feelings for you are impermeable.

Even though he’ll never have a chance to be with you, Jennie doesn’t deserve to be anyone’s second choice. 

“Damn, Jen, you’re feisty tonight,” he teases. 

Her feet are already carrying her in the opposite direction, towards the kitchen behind the bar, but she still tosses a reply over her shoulder.  

“You would be too after the night I’ve had.”

Jungkook’s brow scrunches and he immediately forgoes the playful attitude to follow her.

“Hey, wait!” Upon catching up, he gently grabs her elbow to halt her steps. “What does that mean? What happened?”

Jennie’s chewing on her lower lip and Jungkook knows her well enough to understand she doesn’t want to answer, but he’s not about to let up.

“It was this guy. A newbie I’ve never seen before,” she explains. “Let’s just say he didn’t respect me very much as the manager. Or at all.”

“Excuse me?” A flame sparks in Jungkook’s chest. “What did he do? Are you hurt?”

On instinct, the hand on her elbow slides up to her shoulder as his eyes frantically inspect her for injuries. 

She’s plenty used to Jungkook being protective. A female manager in the bar scene isn’t exactly common and it can cause issues when drunk, belligerent men are involved. So, she reaches across her body to push his arm off while sending him a reassuring smile.

“He didn’t touch me, Kook,” she clarifies. “Just acted like a complete asshole.” A grateful sigh passes through his lips. “But his card was already on file so I flagged him in the system.”

“Good.” Jungkook sucks in air between his teeth and pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s good.” 

“Don’t —” 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

“— apologize.”

“Jen, I’m your boss. Whether you like it or not, it’s my responsibility if you get harassed at work.”

“Yeah, well, whether you like it or not I’m a big girl who can handle herself.” She sighs and crosses her arms. “You don’t have to treat me like I’m fragile.”

That causes him to hesitate because he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing. She’s right, and they both know it, but nothing will ever stop Jungkook from worrying about someone he cares about. 

“It’s not about you being fragile,” he counters. “I would just never forgive myself if something happened to you.” There’s a brief pause before he pivots tactics. “I mean, you’re my best friend. Pardon me for giving a shit.” 

Jennie laughs and her tense features soften a little.

“I appreciate it, Kook. You know I do. But some faith in me would be nice.”

Jungkook disagreeably shakes his head. 

“I believe in you more than anyone, Jen.”

This is a common debate between them. When Jungkook first opened Kookie’s, he asked Jennie to be the bartender since she’d worked as one in college. But once the bar became something more substantial, he needed help with the administrative tasks as opposed to pouring drinks. 

Jungkook wanted to hire someone externally, but Jennie begged him to give her the job instead. She claimed she knew the place front to back and anyone else wouldn’t be as efficient as her, which he truly couldn’t deny. 

He wasn’t hesitant because of a lack of trust in her to run things in his absence, but due to situations like this. Her safety and wellbeing are far more important to him than his business. 

Obviously, he eventually relented, and Jennie’s been the manager for over two years now. She does an outstanding job, but Jungkook still hovers and it makes her feel like he doesn’t find her capable enough for the role. 

But since they’re best friends above all else, they can argue about the same topic over and over again without any love lost. 

“If that’s true, then go home and let me finish the inventory,” she suggests. 

The idea causes Jungkook to click his tongue and rest his hands on his hips, but he knows she’ll throttle him if he doesn’t agree. 

“Alright. You take care of inventory, but I’ll run the front. Just in case that asshole decides to come back.”

“Deal.” They both relax following the consensus, each of them leaning against one of the steel counters in the kitchen. “So, why did you actually leave your brother’s thing early?” 

Jungkook pretends to be clueless by gently shaking his head.

“There wasn't one.”

“Uh huh.”

Although Jennie isn’t aware of Jungkook’s affection for you specifically, she knows something, or someone, in his life leaves him with an unrelenting ache. 

“Whatever. Get to work, subordinate.” 

Jennie gawks and chucks a dish towel at him that he seamlessly catches and uses to give her a noogie. She shrieks in response while pushing his chest, but Jungkook doesn’t stop until her hair looks like she was electrocuted. 

She huffs in frustration while Jungkook merely strolls out of the kitchen with a lingering laugh trailing behind him. 

The night concludes without a hitch, which gives Jennie bragging rights about Jungkook having nothing to worry about. She’s still working on the inventory when he locks the door and flips off the neon “OPEN” sign in the window, but she manages to convince him to go home. 

“You sure you’ll be alright here alone?” Jungkook asks a couple feet from the door. 

“If you ask me that one more time, you won’t be alright,” she threatens with a faux cordial smile. 

He knows she means it, so he sighs in defeat and does his signature two-finger salute before turning on his heel to leave.  

Less than twelve hours later, Jungkook’s waiting for Jaehyun outside his apartment for their monthly lunch. It’s a tradition they erected soon after college once they both entered the workforce. Unlike school, there’s no guarantee of seeing one another so they grab a meal together at least once a month. 

Of course, regardless of their plans, they usually hang out a couple times a week. 

Being a twin has a lot of perks, but the biggest one is having a built-in best friend. 

When a long black sedan pulls up in front of him, he doesn’t bat an eye since Jaehyun drives a sleek Mercedes just as he always has. But then the back window rolls down to reveal none other than his twin sporting a proud smirk.

“Hop in, broski,” Jaehyun chuckles.

Alternatively, Jungkook’s face drops into an incredulous glare.

“You’re kidding.”

Despite being a CEO, Jaehyun doesn’t really conform to the lifestyle of a filthy rich 30-something. For instance, he allows a driver to bring him from place to place for work purposes, but insists on using his own car for everything else. 

“Look, my meeting ran long and I didn’t have time to switch cars.”

“You’re making me look bad, you know. I’m a small business owner. I can’t be seen fraternizing with the enemy,” Jungkook complains. 

Jaehyun laughs again with an affectionate head shake.

“I’ll make my driver park around the block. C’mon.”

Jungkook relents following an overdramatic huff, but he still ducks behind a nearby pole to prolong the ruse that they shouldn’t be seen together. After quickly gazing in both directions and putting his hands up in a gun shape, he scurries over to the car before throwing the door open and front-rolling inside as fast as he can. 

Meanwhile, poor Jaehyun’s nearly in tears from the hysterical laughter overtaking him. 

“You’re such a fucking idiot,” he manages to comment between giggles.

The driver pulls away from the curb while Jaehyun’s busy drying the corners of his eyes and Jungkook’s settling in his seat. 

Even though Jaehyun’s been CEO of Jeon Industries for years at this point, Jungkook’s never ridden in the company car. At least not since childhood when they’d occasionally join their parents for an event. 

He observes the lush interior with wide, curious eyes while running his hands along the leather and buttons. When he presses down on the one right below the lock, a thick piece of black glass rises from between the two front seats and severs their connection with the driver.

“Damn! Even a partition?” He cheers. 

Jaehyun nods and leans back against the corner seat so he can face his brother. 

“Hell yeah. I told you being a company man isn’t the worst thing in the world.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jungkook flicks the glass and the sound echoes, telling him it really is as soundproof as they claim. “Huh. So how many times have you and Y/N…”

His hands gesture towards the partition and then the backseat, and Jaehyun immediately understands what’s being asked. He rolls his eyes like it’s a ridiculous question, but Jungkook just sends him a straight-faced, disbelieving look and soon enough Jaehyun smirks because he knows he’s been caught red handed. 

“About half a dozen. Give or take,” he answers. 

Jungkook snorts.

“Freaks.”

“Yah, you’re the one asking about your brother’s sex life.” The two share a laugh before Jaehyun changes topics. “Did you enjoy the fundraiser?”

“Ehhhhh.”

“Alright, alright,” Jaehyun graciously concedes.

“I mean, you know that’s not my scene. But I loved hearing your speech and Y/N’s desserts were out of this world.”

The mere mention of you pulls an endeared, lovesick sigh out of Jaehyun.

“Weren’t they? She worked so fucking hard and I’m just… in complete awe of her. As always.” 

A bright smile naturally spreads across Jungkook’s face. Whenever he hears Jaehyun rave about you he can’t help but feel cheerful. At least if he can’t have you, the best man in the entire world does. Plus, his twin’s happiness means more to him than both his own or anyone else’s. 

“She’s going to be a big name baker in no time,” Jungkook predicts. 

Jaehyun agreeably nods before a thought causes his head to tick to the side.

“Wait, did you try anything else? You know, the actual food?” Jungkook realizes he’s been discovered and attempts to cover his tracks with a cough, but his brother knows better. “Kook,” he scolds him.

“Listen —” 

“No, you listen.” Jaehyun fully turns towards him by bending one knee and resting it on the seat. “I know you don’t jive with this world.” He points around the car for emphasis. “And I know you equate taking anything from it with accepting charity, but that’s bullshit.” Jaehyun inhales to collect his thoughts before continuing. “We’re both business owners, yeah?” Jungkook nods. “Then it doesn’t matter how much profit our respective places make or that I run a corporation and you own a bar. You’ve worked just as hard as I have regardless of the industry you’re in. In fact, you probably worked harder than me to achieve everything you have now. Sure, I paid my dues at the company, but I was always going to take over as CEO after dad retired. You chased a dream; built something from the ground up that’s absolutely thriving. So there's no shame in possibly needing my or anybody’s help, business related or not.” 

Obviously, this conversation has nothing to do with food. This is something that’s been building for years because of Jungkook’s refusal to accept anything from Jaehyun, their parents, or anybody else since the moment they graduated from university. 

At first, it was because Jungkook felt like he had something to prove. Right after school, Jaehyun joined Jeon Industries while Jungkook floated from one well-meaning job to another. So, he thought he needed to show everyone, or maybe just himself, that he can stand on his own without his family’s wealth. 

Purchasing Kookie’s changed his perspective since there was no longer any doubt, self imposed or otherwise, that he could succeed by himself. But Jaehyun was already CEO by then and so his resistance shifted into something more akin to insecurity. Because while he had to take out a sizable loan to kickstart the business, a single paycheck of Jaehyun’s could’ve covered both the building and renovations. 

Which he offered to do without an ounce of hesitation when Jungkook originally told him his plan. 

Although he knows his brother meant well and he always appreciates Jaehyun’s support, he left the conversation feeling like he would never be enough. It’s not as though Kookie’s will ever bring in even a quarter of the profit Jeon Industries does, and that reignited his determination to prove he doesn’t need anyone but himself.  

Jaehyun doesn’t view the situation like Jungkook does and that’s where this grandstand’s coming from. He believes in both Jungkook’s choices and abilities as a businessman more than anyone and finds it ridiculous to compare two polar opposite careers. He also knows if the roles were reversed Jungkook would never shy away from helping him out.

“You just don’t get it, Jae,” he argues. 

“But I do, Kook. I understand putting your pride first and I’m not asking you to accept any handouts. I just want you to give yourself some grace, okay?” Jaehyun lays a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. “You’re a goddamn bona fide success story if I’ve ever seen one and leaning on the people around you will never erase that.” 

Jungkook sighs while fiddling with his fingers in his lap, but soon enough his lips pull upwards into a smile. 

“Thanks, Jae. That means a lot coming from you.”

When he glances up again, Jaehyun’s wearing an identical grin. 

“It shouldn’t. I’m just some new money nepo baby,” he counters. 

The clever deflection leaves them both laughing as Jaehyun pats Jungkook’s shoulder again before retracting his hand. 

Jaehyun’s words resonate with Jungkook despite his prior stubbornness about the topic. He isn’t sure what it is about this specific conversation, but the weight he constantly carries on his shoulders feels a little lighter.

“You know I love you, right?” Jungkook asks. 

His twin smiles so wide his eyes become little crescents and Jungkook instantly mirrors the expression. 

“Always,” he assures him. “And I love you.” 

The two men happily giggle together, but after a moment Jaehyun’s face falls and his eyes grow cartoonishly wide. Jungkook notices the abrupt change right away, causing his eyebrows to kiss with confusion.

“Wha —” 

“Kook, get down!” 

Everything happens too fast to distinguish the proper order of events. All Jungkook registers is Jaehyun tackling him straight to the floor, an ear-piercing crash and the sound of metal scraping, and an unbelievable amount of pressure surrounding him. 

After that it’s just pitch black nothingness. 

A blinding, fluorescent light is what returns to Jungkook’s field of vision first. The bright white color overheard forces him to gradually blink his eyes open in order to accommodate the stark difference. 

There’s also a steady beep and low hum coming from somewhere in the room, but he’s still too disoriented to make sense of left or right, up and down. 

He groans and tries twisting his head, but his neck, and quite frankly, his entire body, feels stiff. When he finally manages to accomplish the task, he notices Jaehyun lying in a bed parallel to his own. 

On sheer instinct, his hand stretches out towards his twin. 

“Ja —” 

“Oh, you’re awake,” someone exclaims. 

Jungkook turns to locate the owner of the unfamiliar voice and finds a young nurse standing at the foot of his bed. 

“Where am I?” 

“You’re at Seoul National Hospital,” she calmly explains. “Do you know why you're here?” 

The fleeting, vivid memory of Jaehyun shouting his name flashes across his mind, but there isn’t much else. 

“Not really,” he answers. 

“You were in a car accident earlier and the paramedics brought you in.” 

“Oh.” That certainly tracks with the sounds and sensations he felt before passing out. “What about my —”

“Sir, I apologize, but there’s something else.” Jungkook looks at her expectantly, but she seems too nervous to speak as her fingers cling to the edges of her clipboard. “Your…” She gulps. “Sir, I’m so very sorry to tell you this, but… but your brother didn’t survive the crash.” 

For a singular moment in time, Jungkook’s mind, the world, and maybe even the heavens go hauntingly silent. 

Then all at once everything becomes total and utter chaos. 

Sirens, warning bells, screaming, alarms, whatever torturous noises may exist in this world all blare inside his skull until he believes it’ll explode from the pressure. He can’t think, hear, or see straight and somehow his body feels both weightless and heavier than a skyscraper. 

“What… what did you… you just say?” He stutters in fear.

“Sir —” 

“No, no. That’s not possible.” An extreme sense of panic is beginning to overtake him to the point he doesn’t even feel like he’s inside his own skin anymore. “That can’t be. He can’t be.”

It isn’t possible because that would mean he’s alone. That his other half, the matching piece of him which makes him whole, the person he shares a soul with… is gone. 

How could he ever survive in that condition? He doesn’t even know who he is without his twin. 

Nothing is the only answer that comes to mind.

“Sir, just try to stay calm. Why don’t you tell me your name?” 

The question completely catches him off guard.

“My name?” 

He’s having difficulty breathing and the room seems to be twisting and turning in different directions all around him, but she’s concerned with administrative details?

“Yes, focusing on something will help,” she claims. “Plus, we need to know for identification purposes. You and your brother’s wallets got thrown around during the crash so we haven’t been able to tell you apart.”

A contradicting mixture of confusion and enlightenment breaks through the black cloud hovering above him as he slowly discerns what that means.

So far he’s the only person who knows what happened. His parents, family, and friends have no idea which twin survived. At this very moment, he exists only in a limbo outside the real world where both he and Jaehyun are simultaneously alive and dead. 

Once he utters his name, the glass will shatter, and he’ll have to face reality. Not just him, though, but everyone. Which means…

Oh, god. You. 

A horrifying vision of you crumbling into a heap on the ground while you scream as loud as your lungs will let you whirls around his mind until it’s all he can imagine. He can picture exactly how your face will contort in agony as salty tears stain your cheeks and suddenly only one notion crosses his mind. 

That he would do anything to ensure that never happens.

“Jaehyun,” he whispers without a second thought. “I’m Jaehyun.”

It’s the stupidest, most reckless, and unhinged decision he’s ever made, but he doesn’t have any other choice. Not when he refuses to let his premonition come true. He has to protect you; shield you from the truth so you won’t ever have to feel the emotions he’s experiencing right now.

“Jaehyun,” the nurse repeats. “So, this is Jungkook?” 

She gestures to the other bed and Jungkook turns to see his brother for the first time since she told him. He honestly just looks to be sleeping, but after focusing more on Jaehyun’s appearance, he notices the cuts and bruises all over his face and exposed arm. 

It almost feels like she’s asking to give him one last chance to correct his original answer; to right the wrong before it’s solidified. But Jungkook doesn’t falter.

“Yes, that’s Jungkook.”

The nurse sighs deeply.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Loss?

No, that doesn’t sound right. The word is far too small to hold the weight of his twin. Then again, no word will ever be enough to describe everything that Jaehyun was. 

“What, um, happens now?” Jungkook tentatively asks.

She offers him a soft smile while stepping closer to his bedside. 

“I’ll go notify your family and they’ll contact a funeral home who will escort your brother to the morgue.” Jungkook grimaces at the thought of Jaehyun in such a cold, lifeless place. He doesn’t belong at a morgue. He belongs with him, you, and their parents. He’s meant to be somewhere warm and inviting just like he is. Or was. “You’re medically cleared so once you’re ready, you can join your family outside. You and your brother’s belongings are in those bags there so please take them with you.”

“What are my injuries? I don’t feel anything but sore.”

“That’s normal. You only suffered some minor bruising and superficial cuts,” she announces. 

That doesn’t compute with Jungkook and he begins shaking his head like it’ll somehow make sense of what she said.

“How is it possible for me to walk away almost entirely unscathed when Jungkook didn’t even survive the crash?” 

The sentence tastes weird coming out of his mouth. 

Her face falls and she starts chewing on her lower lip and flipping through the pages on her clipboard like she’s dreading the explanation. Finally, after a couple seconds, she sighs again and offers him a sympathetic look. 

“According to the paramedics, when they found you…” She pauses to inhale. “It appears your brother shielded you with his body. Between the floorboard and him covering you, it created a pocket of space that kept you safe from the effects of the crash. If he hadn’t, it’s highly unlikely either of you would’ve survived.” 

A harsh, violent sob rips through Jungkook’s chest and causes him to choke. He clasps his hand over his mouth when tears begin to endlessly cascade down his face. His heart feels like it’s being forcibly torn from his body and thrown into an incinerator, leaving behind just a shallow husk that’s drowning in red hot blood from the inside out. 

All he can think of is Jaehyun using his final moments to do the thing he always did best; protecting him. He suddenly remembers his brother’s eyes widening upon noticing something over Jungkook’s shoulder and how he didn’t hesitate for a second before springing into action. 

Jaehyun is only dead because Jungkook is alive. 

But that isn’t right. Jungkook refuses to accept it because Jaehyun’s the one who deserves to live. He has a wife, a massive company where people rely on him, and most of all, a heart full of pure gold. 

After a few minutes of crying so hard his throat hurts, he manages to take some deep breaths and slow the constant flow of tears from his eyes. 

“So, then,” he sniffles. “Am I the only person to survive?”

“That’s right,” she answers. “Your vehicle was hit by a semi-truck while stopped at a red light. The collision caused your car to roll three times before a telephone pole stopped its momentum. Due to the truck’s high speed, it slammed into a nearby building and the driver was killed on impact. No passersby were hurt, though.”

“Then what killed Jungkook was…”

“Blunt force trauma to the head and internal bleeding.”

He’s thankful he and Jaehyun traded places so often growing up or else this conversation would be close to impossible without tripping up. 

“Can I… can I stay here with him before I go?” 

“Of course. Take all the time you need,” she assures him. “When you’re ready, your family will be waiting for you right outside the double doors at the end of the hall.”

Jungkook mindlessly nods before thanking her as she turns to leave. Once she’s gone and the door shuts with a soft click, he attempts to sit up for the first time. 

His equilibrium is still skewed and an intense wave of vertigo gives him pause for a moment, but he eventually manages to swing his legs over the edge of the mattress and straighten his spine. 

His eyes remain fixed on the floor tiles while his mind filters through millions of different thoughts like a jukebox of misery. He starts to wonder if his loved ones know yet and if so, how they reacted. His heart shatters all over again at the idea of his mother and father finding out one of them is gone. They loved him and Jaehyun more than life itself and he can’t even begin to fathom the anguish they’ll be in. 

For a fleeting moment, an ugly, twisted thought occurs to him. 

Will people be relieved? Not necessarily that he died, but that Jaehyun’s the one who survived. 

Will you be relieved? 

You have to be, right? When you found out they were in an accident and one of them didn’t make it, you must’ve breathed a sigh of relief after hearing your beloved husband is alive. 

He certainly wouldn’t blame you if you did.

What Jungkook doesn’t know is that although he’s correct about his parents, he couldn’t be more wrong about your reaction. 

As soon as the nurse uttered the syllables of his name, their poor mother let out a horrific shriek and collapsed into her husband, who was too shocked to do anything but catch her with a face entirely devoid of emotion. Similarly, you screamed bloody murder into your palms before dropping into a chair and pulling your knees to your chest so you could hysterically wail into your jeans. 

It never occurred to you to feel even an ounce of relief because it wasn’t about which twin survived; losing either of them was too much to bear. 

Back in the hospital room, Jungkook finally lifts his eyes up until they land on Jaehyun. His brother still looks perfectly at peace tucked under the soft, white sheet. 

A piece of him wishes he could just remain here forever and convince himself Jaehyun’s only sleeping. In all honesty, he’d rather stay until his twin’s body is nothing but bones than live in the outside world without him. 

But he can’t do that because people out there need him. Well, they need Jaehyun. That’s the reason he’s going to live on as him.

His eyes water again as he observes his precious brother lying just ahead of him and soon enough his chest begins shaking from the intensity of his cries. 

“You’re such an idiot, Jae,” he croaks. “Why the fuck would you do that? Why would you… why would you save me?” Jungkook shakes his head in disbelief. “You have so many people who rely on you. You have Y/N, for Christ’s sake. Why would you protect me when they need you?” His words are coming out muffled due to his forceful sobs, but it doesn’t matter because no one else can hear him. “My life isn’t worth yours, Jae. Not even close.” He methodically swipes at his eyes, but the tears are unrelenting. “You should’ve been the one to survive, not me… never me.” Before Jungkook can even register his body moving, he drops to his knees beside Jaehyun’s bed and grabs his hand. It’s involuntary; like they’re a pair of magnets always meant to attract each other. Jungkook presses his forehead to his twin’s knuckles as he continues to gasp for air. “You. Can’t. Leave. Me.” His vocal chords are rubbed raw and each word escapes between hoarse hiccups. “Please, Jae,” he weeps. “Please, I can’t do this without you. I don’t know how. I’m not… I’m nothing without you. I’m not even a full person.” He switches to resting his cheek against the back of Jaehyun’s hand so he can see his face. “We were supposed to live this life together,” Jungkook whimpers. “It’s meant to be you and me until the end. And… and Y/N. Cheers to the Jeons, remember?” His tears are gradually subsiding, allowing him to finally inhale as his thoughts start to organize themselves. “That’s why I’m doing this. Because you should be here, Jae, and if the universe got it wrong, then I’ll make it right. I’ll let myself die and be the one who gets buried underground, so you can live on through me.” He reaches out to gently push the hair out of Jaehyun’s closed eyes. “I promise to take care of everyone. I’ll look after mom and dad and keep the company running. As for Y/N… I’ll make sure she never feels this. She won’t ever lose you, Jae.” Following a deep sigh, Jungkook rises from his knees and leans over to kiss Jaehyun’s forehead before adjusting his blanket to a more comfortable position. “You won’t be alone for long, okay? I’ll come to the funeral home as soon as I can.” His eyes fill up with tears again, but none fall. “I love you, big brother.”

Jaehyun always teased Jungkook about being eleven minutes older and often claimed he should be respectfully referred to as such. So, he figures he’ll give his twin the satisfaction at least once in this lifetime. 

Once his thoughts and emotions settle into just a dull hum in his ears, he takes another deep breath and gets ready to leave. He dresses himself in Jaehyun’s clothes and slips his belongings into his pockets until there’s none left. His next stop is the mirror, where he observes his own appearance for the first time. 

Frankly, he looks like hell even without extensive injuries. His face is sullen and devoid of light, his eyes have massive bags under them, and his hair is in knots all over his head. But at least he looks like Jaehyun, and that’s what matters. 

It’s a good thing he got a hair cut last week since prior to then the length was about three or four inches longer than his brother’s. 

There’s still one thing, though. 

Jungkook gasps when he remembers the distinct feature only he possesses while running his fingertips across his cheek. The infamous scar which will no doubt instantly give him away is a major problem. Luckily, the accident itself provides a perfect cover story. 

He quickly turns around to rummage through his own possessions for his pocket knife and upon locating it, he grabs an alcohol wipe from a bin of supplies in the room and sterilizes the blade. 

Once in front of the mirror again, he cranes his neck so he can see what he’s doing before placing the tip of the knife at the start of the small scar. 

“Just go slow, not too deep, and do not fuck up your face,” he instructs himself. 

Following a long inhale, he applies pressure and slowly glides the blade down his cheek until there’s a slightly longer, fresh cut hiding the old one. The metal stings as it slices his skin open and he hisses afterwards because of the ache on the left side of his face. 

Jungkook surveys the new mark to ensure it’s sufficient before snagging a bandage to cover the injury. Then he slings the hospital bag over his shoulder and turns towards his brother again.

“I’ll see you soon. Okay, Jae?”

He exits the room and closes the door behind him so no one disturbs his twin and heads for the double doors the nurse spoke of. When he reaches them, he stops to spend a moment counting his inhales and exhales as a means of calming himself down. 

Beyond this point, his whole world changes forever. Not only is it one where his brother doesn’t exist, but once he steps through the doors, Jungkook is dead. 

The life he knew is over and done, but losing his own identity is more than worth it to keep Jaehyun alive. 

After smacking the automatic button, he anxiously waits while the two doors swing open. His eyes flit around the waiting room for someone he recognizes and as if by fate, the first person his sights land on is you standing with his aunt near some chairs. He starts to open his mouth to call for you, but your head naturally turns in his direction first. 

The world seems to slow like a movie effect when you catch one another’s gaze. Your eyes open wider and your mouth forms a soft O, but soon enough all your features wilt as tears begin to pool along your waterline. 

“Jae,” you quietly gasp. 

Jungkook watches you place one foot in front of the other until you’re full-on running to him. He automatically follows your lead by rushing ahead and once you reach each other, he lifts you right off the ground while one hand circles your waist and the other cradles the back of your head. 

You’re already crying into his shirt where your face is hidden and Jungkook instinctively shushes you and pets your hair.

“I was so scared,” you whimper against his skin. 

“I know, baby, I know.” Jungkook twists his head so he can kiss your temple, where he whispers his next phrase. “But it’s all over now.”

A sorrowful, pained whine leaves your lips when you nuzzle yourself deeper into his neck. Jungkook echoes the action, resting his forehead on your shoulder while his fingers slide along your scalp. 

After what feels like both too long and not enough time, Jungkook returns you to the ground and pulls back so you can see each other. As soon as he does, he notices a wave of confusion cross your face. It makes him momentarily panic about the possibility of already being caught, but then the expression disappears just as quickly as it came. 

It’s replaced with the familiar look of devotion you always have around Jaehyun while your hands rise to cup his face. 

“Are you okay?” 

Your fingers delicately graze the bandage on his left cheek and he covers your hand with his own as a wordless reassurance. 

“It’s my only injury,” he answers. 

“What?” 

Based on your expression, it seems you’re experiencing the same puzzlement he did.

“Jungkook…” He pauses both for the sake of his emotions and to ensure he doesn’t mess up. “The nurse told me he protected me during the crash. And I remember him tackling me to the ground right before everything went black. That’s why I’m totally unharmed while he…” His voice trails off when fresh tears start blurring his vision. “It’s all my fault,” he cries.

Jungkook’s already shaking again by the time you force him into another embrace so he can sob into your neck. Just as he did with you, one of your hands slinks up into his hair while the other creates soothing circles along his spine. 

“That’s not true, baby,” you profess in his ear. “And he wouldn’t want you to think like that.” 

The comfort of your voice ironically just makes him wail louder as he clings to your shirt like a lifeline. He’s certain if you weren’t holding him he’d already be on his knees. His grief is inconceivable and the only reason he isn’t drowning is because your arms are around him. 

When he lifts his head again, you immediately wipe away the remaining tears on his cheeks.

“We should be with your family,” you suggest. 

He nods despite dreading the idea of seeing his parent’s faces right now, but before you can lead him across the room by his hand, a new thought occurs.

“Wait,” he calls while grabbing your arm to stop you. “The bar. Does anyone there know yet?”

An image of Jennie flashes in his mind and causes his heart to clench. 

He hasn’t had time to consider all the consequences of throwing his own life away just yet. Including how it’ll affect everyone he loves, because while he’ll get to see all of them again, they’ll never see him. 

His last moments with Jennie will forever be her playfully threatening him if he didn’t stop being so damn protective. It was such a mundane and familiar scene, but now it bears the weight of their entire friendship. 

“No, we’ve only called family so far,” you respond.

Jungkook grimaces. 

“We need to tell them. Jennie, at the very least.”

“I’ll do it.”

“What? No —”

“You should be with your family and she deserves to hear it in person,” you argue.

He can’t refute that, no matter how much he wants you to stay by his side. 

“Okay,” he relents. 

You steal the hand resting on your elbow so you can encompass it between your own and plant a gentle kiss on his knuckles. 

“We’ll meet back at home?” 

Jungkook nods and you leave soon after for Kookie’s, hopefully arriving before the bar opens. In the meantime, he tries to regulate his nervous system and emotions so he can greet his family. He knows it’s technically pointless since he’s going to break down again as soon as he sees his parents, but he has to at least try holding it together. 

Once he rounds the corner from the hallway, he notices a small group of his loved ones gathered together. Most of his aunts, uncles, and cousins are present and thankfully, everyone seems to be okay at the moment. 

His eyes land on his mom and dad near the back of the crowd and the thought of interacting with them for the first time as an only child makes him want to vomit. Alas, he can’t put it off forever.

“Mom,” he softly calls for her. 

Her head instantly whips in the direction of his voice and Jungkook holds his breath in anticipation. 

“Oh, Jae!” 

She scurries over to him like a bullet and Jungkook helps close the gap before throwing his arms around her. His mom hugs him so tight he worries she might crack his ribs, but he doesn’t mind. This is precisely what he needs. 

As expected, he’s already crying again and he can hear his mom sniffling in his ear. It causes all his horrible, overwhelming thoughts and feelings to come roaring back stronger than ever despite her comforting embrace. 

“I’m so happy you’re okay,” she whispers. 

His heart cracks right down the middle and suddenly the deep sobs from earlier return to haunt him.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Shh. You have nothing to be sorry about, sweetie.” 

“He should be here.” Jungkook gasps and chokes on nothing but his crushing guilt. “He’s supposed to be here.” His mom gently tugs him upright so she can caress his face and swipe at his tears. “I’m not meant to be alone. We’re two for a reason. I’m… I’m only half a person. How am I supposed to survive with half of me missing?”

“But you’re not alone,” she assures him. “You’ve got us. You’ve got Y/N. We’re here, my darling.” 

He doesn’t know how to explain what someone else will never be able to understand. No one but him and Jaehyun, and perhaps all the other identical twins in the world, can comprehend what this feels like. It’s like being slowly ripped in half with a dull knife; his very soul stretching across an incomprehensible divide. 

“It isn’t the same, mom.” His tears are finally beginning to wane again and allowing him to speak clearer. “You have no idea. It isn’t possible for you to.” 

She frowns and drops her hands from his face to hold both of his instead. 

“Maybe not, but I think I can come pretty close.” Her voice breaks at the end of her sentence. “I gave birth to two beautiful boys. But now only one’s standing in front of me.” Jungkook’s stomach drops while she inhales to prevent more tears from falling. “You claim you’re cut in half, but I’m in thirds.”

“Mom,” Jungkook cries.

“I’m not telling you that to make you feel bad, sweetie.” She squeezes his hands a few times with a soft smile on her lips. It’s an expression only a mother could manage at a time like this. “It’s so you know we’re in this together.” 

He has to briefly close his eyes to keep his emotions in check, especially when his mom reaches up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. His dad approaches them soon after, causing a similar cycle of tears and tight hugs to repeat. 

By the time Jungkook’s spoken to everyone at least once, he’s so mentally and physically drained he can barely stand up straight. His parents drive him home, Jaehyun’s home, and your car’s already there when they pull into the driveway. 

“I’ll come over tomorrow,” he declares. “So we can talk about… stuff.” 

“Alright, darling,” his mom responds, turning around to rest her hand atop his own. 

Jungkook exits the car after a quick goodbye and fishes through Jaehyun’s coat pocket for the house keys as he walks towards the front door. He manages to locate them, but his brother’s key ring has at least ten others dangling from the small, metal loop. 

“Jesus Christ, Jae,” he mumbles to himself while attempting each one. 

Once he succeeds in opening the door, he peers inside before entering the house and turning the lock behind him. 

It’s almost eerily silent in the home. Of all the times he’s been here, there's almost always music playing or a kitchen timer going off. He supposes it’s fitting, though. Without Jaehyun, the world is simply duller.

“Sweetheart?” He calls as he slips off his shoes and hangs his coat on the rack. 

He doesn’t hear a single peep until he nears the master bedroom. 

The door’s slightly cracked, but enough for Jungkook to spot you sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed. You’re crying so hard your breath is skipping every couple seconds as your upper body rattles. It’s heartbreaking to witness, and even more so when he realizes you’re also clutching a picture frame to your chest. 

Jungkook inhales in preparation and then lifts his hand to rap his knuckles against the wood. Your head rises at the unexpected sound and it turns out seeing your somber, tearful expression is even worse than watching you sob. 

“Hi,” you rasp. 

“Hi, baby.” You use your shirtsleeve to dry the tears on your cheeks while Jungkook walks further into the bedroom. He sits down once he’s close enough before sliding over until your shoulders brush. Like its muscle memory, you melt into his side while your body releases all the built-up tension. “Whatcha got there?”

Your eyes drop to the object in your hands and you tentatively pull it away from your chest to rest it on your knees so Jungkook can see. 

It’s a photo from your wedding, one of you and Jungkook taken after the ceremony by your photographer. Besides the bride and groom portraits, you had them capture quite a few pictures of Jungkook and Jaehyun, the three of you, and finally you and Jungkook. 

In this particular image, Jungkook’s hugging you from behind, but he’d tickled you right as the photographer snapped the picture, resulting in an adorable still shot of you two laughing. Just like you always do whenever you’re together. 

Did. Since he’s effectively dead now. 

Jungkook hasn’t seen the photo in a while, even though it’s framed in his office amongst other photos from your wedding day. It’s hung up on the opposite wall to his desk, so he has to make a point of gazing at them when he isn’t working.

The framed photograph automatically produces fresh tears, although they feel happier than his previous ones. 

“I love that photo,” he chuckles while using his thumb to dry his cheek. 

“Mmhm,” you hum with a hint of a grin. “Me, too.” Jungkook watches your fingers run down the glass so you can trace his face in the image. You hiccup and sniffle, but it isn’t enough, and you begin softly crying a second later. “I can’t…” You inhale deeply. “I just can’t believe he’s gone.” 

You’re sobbing again before you can stop yourself and automatically cling to Jungkook by slinging your arms around his neck and burying your face in his shirt. His hands slide around your waist to hold you tight and he even tugs you across his lap so he can gently rock you back and forth. 

He won’t lie and say it doesn’t satisfy something malignant inside him that this is your reaction. His worst fear was that you'd be too happy about Jaehyun being alive to care about Jungkook being dead. But it’s a miniscule piece of him. For the most part, his heart aches at the mere thought of you being sad or in pain.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper. “I’m trying to be strong for you.” 

Jungkook’s face immediately scrunches in disapproval.

“I don’t want that, baby.” He trails a hand up your back to lift your head as his mom’s words from earlier echo in his mind. “We’re in this together.” 

You shake your head.

“It isn’t the same for me as it is for you. I’m your wife, I need to be there for you.”

“You are,” Jungkook interjects. “Just by being here in my arms and looking at me like you always do. It’s more than enough.”

Instead of replying, you collapse back into him while tightening your hold. Jungkook follows suit just as vehemently until you two can’t possibly get any closer. 

After a few minutes, you both naturally unwind from the embrace, although you stay in his lap and draw absentminded shapes along his collarbone with your fingernail. 

“How did it go? Is Jennie alright?” He eventually asks. 

“Not even close.” When Jungkook’s eyes tilt down in concern, you elaborate. “I don’t know if I’ve ever heard such a horrible sound before. She screamed like… like I’d plunged my hand into her chest and suffocated her heart. Then she just started chanting ‘no, no, no’ until it mixed in with the shrieking to become this gut wrenching… prayer, almost. I had to catch her, too, because she instantly started dropping to her knees. But she clung to me so tight it brought us straight down to the floor. And that’s where we stayed while she sobbed and whimpered his name until her voice was gone.” 

As you speak, Jungkook has to drive his nails into his palms to keep it together. Because Jaehyun wouldn’t react to that news like he would. 

For him, every word you utter stomps on his lungs with the weight of an elephant. Not only because the vision you’re painting is downright agonizing to imagine, but because it’s all his fault.

In saving you from the heartache of losing Jaehyun, he condemned Jennie to that fate instead. Sure, it isn’t exactly the same since their relationship’s platonic, but she’s still his best friend of a decade.

“She’s not still there, is she? All alone?” 

“Oh, god, no,” you confirm. “Once she calmed down, I helped her hang a sign on the door stating Kookie’s would be closed until further notice and drove her home. I also told her to call me if she needs anything.” 

Jungkook nods along with a sigh of relief before allowing his head to rest on your shoulder. It's becoming increasingly difficult to even hold it up, but it helps when you start combing through his hair and kissing his crown. The sensation of your fingertips on his scalp elicits an appreciative hum and soon enough his entire body relaxes against you. 

“You should get some sleep, honey.”

He shakes his head while lifting it again to meet your gaze. 

“I don’t think I’ll be able to,” he admits. 

“Well, let’s at least get you out of these clothes.” 

After standing up, you offer him your hands and he takes them without a second thought so you can help pull him to his feet. You begin to lead him towards the en-suite, but suddenly Jungkook’s paralyzed with a completely new fear. He halts fast, causing you to get tugged back in his direction. 

“Jae?”

“I can’t…” 

“What’s wrong?” You attempt to survey his expression, but he’s staring straight past you into the large bathroom. “Honey?”

“I can’t… um… can’t…” He exhales a shaky breath. “I don’t wanna look in the mirror.” 

Earlier when he was ensuring his appearance would exactly match Jaehyun’s, his adrenaline and determination were guiding him and he didn’t think much about it. But now that his body and mind have had time to settle, the idea of looking in the mirror and seeing his twin’s face staring back is terrifying. 

Luckily, you steal his attention by gently pulling his face down so he’s looking at you instead, freeing him from the anxious reverie.  

“That’s alright. You don’t have to,” you reassure him. 

“How? I mean, there’s one in every bathroom.”

You thoughtfully purse your lips and glance back over your shoulder at the room in question. 

“Give me a minute?” 

Jungkook nods despite not knowing what you’re thinking and sits on the edge of the bed once you leave the room. 

When you return, you have a roll of parchment paper, tape, scissors, and a couple other miscellaneous household items. You hurry into the en-suite before Jungkook can question you and close the door behind you, but he still hears the various noises coming from inside.

You emerge about ten minutes later with a prideful grin and steal his hand to bring him into the bathroom with you. Jungkook’s just about to object in case he accidentally catches sight of himself, but the realization of what you did stops him in his tracks. 

The massive mirrors which hang above the double sinks are completely covered by multiple layers of parchment paper and taped down around the entire perimeter so they won’t budge. Best of all, there’s a small note in the bottom corner that reads “I love you” followed by an adorable smiley face. 

“I’ll take care of the other bathrooms save for one tomorrow,” you state. 

Jungkook can barely hear you because he's too focused on what you’ve done for him. His eyes flicker back and forth across the mirrors as if it’ll all disappear if he looks away. But it won’t, because you’ll make sure it doesn’t until the moment he’s ready to meet his reflection again. 

Tears flood his eyes and cause him to sniffle the longer he admires your work. When you hear the sound, you look at him in concern. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jungkook mumbles between hiccups. “I just don’t deserve you.” 

Your expression melts into one of nothing but love as you reach out to push his hair back.

“You can say that all you want, baby, but it’ll never make it true.”

He shakes his head. For what, he isn’t sure. Perhaps because he disagrees with your statement or maybe he’s just in complete disbelief over how truly wonderful you are.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

You simply shrug with a soft, gorgeous smile.

“There’s no need.”

The two of you proceed to complete your nightly routines side by side. Other than when you head to a different bathroom so you can see what you’re doing while you wash your face and apply products. 

Jungkook finishes first and decides to change clothes prior to you returning. It just feels like the right move, all things considered. Thankfully, he’s spent enough time here to know where Jaehyun keeps his things, such as pajamas.

He’s already in bed by the time you come back and you affectionately grin over how cute he looks snuggled up beneath the sheets. 

“Comfy?” 

The question encourages Jungkook to run his fingers along the edge of the blankets. They’re much softer than the ones back at his apartment. Which certainly tracks considering Jaehyun made well over six figures and Jungkook doesn’t even budget a salary for himself among the expenses for the bar.

“Yeah.”

His meek reply produces a wave of sadness on your face, but you don’t comment on it and head straight towards your closet to find something for bed. When you return, you’re holding your pajamas. Jungkook quickly realizes what that means and looks down to avoid seeing you change. 

He knows he can’t do so forever, but he really doesn’t want tonight to be the first time he sees you naked after being helplessly in love with you for fifteen years. 

The mattress dips as you climb in beside him and Jungkook glances up again now that he knows the coast is clear. You make yourself comfortable by sliding beneath the sheets and lying on your side so you’re facing him. He quickly mirrors you, leaving you two only a couple inches apart in the large bed. 

“Is it a stupid question to ask how you’re doing?” He shakes his head. “Alright. How are you doing?”

Despite everything, including that he’s doing absolutely terrible, he can’t help but faintly smile at you. 

“Honestly?” 

“Mmhm.”

After a deep sigh, Jungkook’s hand finds your own under the blanket so he can lace your fingers together. 

“I don’t know how I would’ve survived without you,” he confesses. 

You squeeze his hand and he swears it’s like someone removing a one hundred pound weight from his back. 

“And that’s exactly how we’re gonna get through this,” you claim. “You just lean on me and I’ll see that you make it out safely.” 

Jungkook genuinely doesn’t know how much more his heart can take. You’re an angel amongst humans, and he feels woefully unprepared to experience being loved by you. 

“I’m kinda heavy, we might need to take a lot of breaks,” Jungkook teases. 

The beautiful, melodic laugh he adores so much passes through your lips and prompts him to join in. 

“That’s alright. No matter how long it takes, I’ll carry you the whole way.” 

More tears prick the corners of Jungkook’s eyes, but you reach out to stop them in their tracks before he can do so himself. 

“You’re… you’re the best thing to ever happen to me, Y/N,” he cries. 

It’s true. Even though you’ve only ever had a platonic relationship before tonight, he can’t imagine his life without you. 

“Me, too,” you whisper while caressing his cheek. “I love you, Jaehyun.”

Jungkook forces his eyes shut while willing himself not to cry anymore, but it's difficult to combat the raging whirlpool of emotions coursing through him. One being the profound sadness of hearing you say Jaehyun’s name. His twin who’s currently lying on a cold, steel slab at a funeral home across town. But that’s the precise reason he’s doing this, because you love Jaehyun, and Jungkook loves you. Enough to throw his whole life away just so you’ll never know the pain of losing the person you love. 

On the flip side, there’s also the guilt slowly eating away at him. Even though his motives are benign, it doesn’t change him lying in bed with his brother’s wife on the evening of his death. 

The worst part is Jungkook never wanted this. No matter how much he loves you, he never once wished you would be with him instead of Jaehyun. You two were a match made in heaven, and Jungkook’s devotion to you both vastly outweighed his desire. Hence his determination to make sure your love lives on. 

But now he’s left with no choice but to end his fifteen years of yearning, with this being the defining moment. 

For the first time, whether you’re aware it’s him or not, he’s able to tell you he loves you. He’s uttered the infamous phrase to you a million times over the years, but only platonically. Tonight he’s allowed to mean it. 

“I love you,” he declares, clear and simple; without an ounce of hesitation. Except once his adoration’s finally out in the open, suddenly it’s all Jungkook wants to say. “I love you, Y/N.” Entirely on instinct, he closes the gap between you by grabbing your waist and tugging you into him. “I love you.” Your arms circle his neck as your body naturally molds to the shape of his own. “I love you.” His opposite hand rises to push your hair back and cradle your jaw. “I love you.” He doesn’t know who moves first, but your foreheads meet in the middle, causing your noses to brush. “Y/N, I love you.”

You’re crying again and he doesn’t realize he is too until your hand slides up his cheek to wipe away the fresh tears. He returns the favor, but it’s useless against the endless raindrops falling from your eyes. 

“I thought I was gonna lose you today,” you confess. “None of the doctors or nurses would tell us anything. But the news was reporting multiple people dead at the scene.” You hiccup. “And I was so fucking terrified, Jae.”

Jungkook shakes his head while soothingly running his thumb back and forth along your cheekbone.

“I’ll never let that happen. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“But I… I still lost him.” Even through the tears, you manage a small, nostalgic smile. “My Kookie.”

He hasn’t heard you refer to him like that since your wedding and it's just as heart stopping as the first time. 

“No,” he disagrees. “Jungkook will always be with us. Him and I were one soul in two bodies. Now we’re just together in this one.” 

The irony is so potent he can practically taste it. 

“Then will you give him a message for me?” 

His eyebrows rise, not expecting your response in the slightest, but he still nods. 

Both your eyes and hand drop to his chest where you trace along the stripes on his shirt. Jungkook can’t tell if you’re simply thinking about what you want to say or are hesitant to vocalize it. 

“Kookie,” you softly exhale. “I’m really thankful you protected the person we both love most today.” A belated tear escapes from your waterline. “But I’m also really fucking angry at you for leaving us.”

It takes Jungkook a minute to process your declaration because his brain’s just one, big, jumbled mess of both him and Jaehyun. Once he manages to, he clears his throat and captures your gaze again. 

“Message received,” he tells you with a smile. 

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, baby.”

Surprisingly, Jungkook’s actually able to fall asleep. He imagines it’s because you remain in his arms all night and your comforting smell, warmth, and touch are enough to keep him in a deep slumber. 

Waking up in a world without Jaehyun for the first time is bizarre, to say the least. Especially considering the moment his eyes open, he’s thrust right back into his brother’s life. 

The scent of sweets is wafting through the house as he rises from bed and twists until his feet meet the floor. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and stretches his body that’s still sore from yesterday before glancing around the room. 

Everywhere he looks are pieces of Jaehyun, but rather than being a reminder of the horrors he faced yesterday, they soothe his scattered mind. Similar to what he told you last night, being in this room makes him feel like his brother’s still here with him. 

After gathering his bearings and changing into something comfortable to wear for the day, he goes downstairs to find you. 

As always, you’re standing in the kitchen sipping from a mug and flipping through a recipe book. He spots you before you notice him because the house’s open concept allows him to see the lower level before reaching the final step. He uses it to his advantage, giving himself a second to admire you uninterrupted.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he greets you while stepping down onto the first floor. 

You glance up at the sound and your entire face glows with adoration. Jungkook doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to that. You’re almost too radiant to look at head on. 

“Hi, honey,” you coo. 

The mug clinks on the countertop when you set it down and round the corner to reach him. As soon as you do, you slide your arms around his waist and place your ear to his chest. Jungkook hopes you can’t hear the jackrabbiting tempo of his heart; something your husband of five years shouldn’t have. 

Jungkook wraps his limbs around your neck in return, letting them lay limp on your shoulders while he bends down to kiss the top of your head. 

“Did you sleep well?” 

He feels you nod against his sternum and a smile immediately spreads across his face. You gaze up afterwards, taking a step back at the same time so you don’t have to crane your neck. 

“How are you doing?”

“I feel… weird,” he admits. “I don’t really know how to describe it.”

“That’s alright,” you assure him. “I’ll still do my best to understand, okay?” His grin grows as he acknowledges your pledge with a nod. “The bathroom mirrors are all covered now except for the half bath near the guest room. But I put a sign on the door so you don’t forget.” 

“Thank you so much.” 

“It’s the least I can do.” You turn on your heel to return to the kitchen while Jungkook follows like a lost puppy. Not only because this isn’t his normal morning routine, but because he just wants to be near you. “I made all your favorites for breakfast.” 

With a gesture at the dining room table, you show off the massive spread of both savory and sweet dishes. Honestly, Jungkook can’t believe what’s seeing. He’s always known you to be a doting, giving wife, but Jaehyun had it fucking made. 

“Baby, I don’t even know what to say.” His feet carry him to your side while his eyes keep surveying all the different foods. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

One of your hands gently tugs on his chin to turn his face back to you. 

“I know. I wanted to do this because I love you. Simple as that.”

“I love you,” he whispers, almost like an automatic, involuntary response. 

“Then will you please eat all the yummy food I made for you?”

He chuckles and nods before sitting at the table and beginning to dig in. A couple minutes later, you return with two mugs and set one down in front of him. His eyes grow with curiosity as he leans over to check the contents, but his face falters upon realizing what it is.

Hot chocolate with mini marshmallows. His brother’s favorite. 

Jungkook loves hot chocolate, too, but he hates when marshmallows are included. He swears they ruin the flavor and turn the entire drink into a lumpy mess. 

But Jungkook’s dead for all intents and purposes, so marshmallows it is for the rest of his life. 

“Thanks, sweetheart.” 

You hum in acknowledgment prior to turning around so you can grab something else. It’s a good thing because after Jungkook takes his first sip, he gags and lays his tongue out to try getting rid of the taste. 

“So, I talked to your mom this morning and she said we’re welcome to come over whenever we’re ready to start working through all the logistics,” you explain while strolling in from the kitchen. 

After coming back once again, you sit down in the seat next to him.

“Do you think we can go to the funeral home today? I promised Jungkook I wouldn’t leave him alone for too long.”

“Well, he might not be ready for visitors yet. If you know what I mean?” 

He really wishes he didn’t. The thought of his brother getting pumped with chemicals to slow the decaying of his body makes him sick to his stomach. 

“Right. Do you think they’ll tell us once he is?” 

“We can always call and ask,” you suggest. 

Jungkook hums before you both continue eating your breakfast in a comfortable silence. 

Following the meal, Jungkook asks you to help him look more presentable since he can’t use a mirror to do so himself. You’ve both already showered and gotten dressed, so all that’s left is to fix his hair and swap out the bandage on his cheek. 

You ask him to sit on the edge of the bed while you grab a hairbrush and the first aid kit. He waits patiently as instructed and once you come back, you stand between his open legs and place the items beside him on the mattress.

The first task you attempt is changing his bandage, which you begin by delicately removing the current one. Jungkook hisses when the tape pulls at his skin, but the pain is brief. 

Afterwards, he admires your face of determination as you clean the cut with an alcohol pad. He expects you to apply some ointment and the new bandage next, but instead you just stare at the small, red mark with a thoughtful expression.

“What is it?” He inquires.

You click your tongue and shake your head like you’re still debating on the answer yourself.

“Nothing. It's just… what are the odds you walk away with only a single injury and it happens to be in the exact spot your brother’s scar was?” 

Jungkook’s heart drops, but he soon realizes you aren’t accusing him of anything and are simply pointing out the coincidence. 

“I noticed that, too,” he responds. “I guess the universe just wanted to ensure I have a reminder every time I look in the mirror.” A hollow, dark chuckle escapes him. “As if my identical fucking face isn’t enough.”

“Oh, but it’s such a nice face.” Your fingers trail down his chin so you can tilt his head up. “So handsome god had to make two of them.”

His responding laugh is instantaneous and bright. He even squeezes his eyes shut as both rows of teeth make an appearance. It prompts you to parrot the sound while lovingly caressing his jaw. 

Once the delightful energy simmers, he ensnares your waist to pull you close and bury his face in your stomach. His hands glide up and down your back as he holds you and you reciprocate by carding your fingers through his hair. 

“Thank you. I needed that.” 

“Always, baby,” you reply with a kiss to his crown. 

You finish with the injury and brush his freshly washed hair before heading to his parents’ place about thirty minutes away. Jungkook drives, claiming the control of being behind the wheel will help with the anxiety of stepping into a vehicle only a day after a life altering accident. 

When you two arrive, your hand immediately finds his as you stroll towards the entrance together. He always saw the same thing happen with you and Jaehyun, but he never realized just how instinctual it is. Even though it’s been less than a day, he has an insatiable urge to touch you at all times. 

His mom meets you both at the door and everyone exchanges warm hugs before entering the house. It seems his folks had an early morning because there's already photo albums and legal paperwork strewn all over the kitchen table. 

“Alright,” his mom announces. “We’ve got a long to-do list, but we also need to make sure we’re checking in on each other. Yes?” You and Jungkook nod in sync. “So, funeral and burial comes first. We need to choose the date and time, casket, and headstone. Along with writing the obituary and sorting through photos. Afterwards, we need to discuss logistics regarding the apartment, the bar, his motorcycle, etc.”

“If you can’t tell, your mother’s coping by running this house like a drill sergeant,” his dad pipes up from behind her.

The lighthearted humor at the time like this is precisely what everyone needs and allows for the air to feel a little less suffocating. 

“I can start on the photos while you all focus on the burial arrangements,” you offer. 

“And I’m going to take care of the obituary,” his dad adds. 

Jungkook’s teeth sink into his lower lip as he observes the table’s contents representing everything that still has to be done. It’s overwhelming enough learning how to survive alone after thirty one years of being a pair, but now there’s a laundry list of other tasks, too. 

“That sounds… good,” he whispers. 

You comfortingly squeeze his hand and it leads him to glance over at you. You’re wearing a sweet, supportive smile and you also lift your eyebrows to silently ask if he’s alright. After he nods, you tug on his arm to pull you closer together. 

“Jae, sweetie,” his mom grabs his attention. “Can you run upstairs and grab the 2001 photo album? It’s the only one missing.”

“Yeah, sure.”

He lets go of your hand at the same time you step into the kitchen to begin sorting photos. It doesn’t really phase him to walk up the large staircase in his home, but once he reaches the top, his heart drops.

Him and Jaehyun’s rooms are directly across from another at the top of the steps, with a small landing separating them. Neither twin has changed the layout or decor since moving out, so they’re still perfectly preserved time capsules of their youth. 

He ventures into his own room first by gently pressing on the door until it swings open. It seems smaller than when he was young, but everything is identical otherwise. His feet carry him around the perimeter a couple times as he runs his hands along the furniture, trophies, books, and collectibles throughout the room. 

This is it, he supposes. Everything that makes him, him, will be buried along with his brother because he’ll never be Jungkook again in this lifetime. It makes his grief even more daunting and convoluted because while he’s mourning Jaehyun, a piece of him is also mourning himself. 

His fist taps the desk a few times as he inhales and lets the air gradually exit through his lips. 

“Goodbye, Jungkook.” A tiny smirk appears. “It’s been fun.”

While walking backwards, he admires the bedroom a little longer before closing the door. 

His next stop is Jaehyun’s bedroom and he has to take in another large gulp of oxygen just to prepare himself. With a push, he opens the door the same as he did his own room and crosses the threshold into the familiar space. 

He doesn’t recall the last time he was in here, but his memories with Jaehyun are present all around him.

Brief flashes and mirages of their time growing up together play on the walls and across the different pieces of furniture. Like the time they tried to pull an all-nighter at the ripe age of eight only to crash at four in the morning with a pile of candy and soda bottles between them. Or when they were chasing each other around at age eleven and ended up breaking the bed frame by jumping on the mattress too hard. And another one from when they were fourteen and play-wrestling on the floor until one of them accidentally kicked the dresser and shattered a lamp. 

They were rambunctious, devious, and fun-loving throughout their entire lives, up until their final moments together. 

Most of all, Jungkook remembers lying on his twin’s bed the night Jaehyun told him about you. It’s strange to think how different the last fifteen years would’ve been if that had never occurred. You’re such an integral part of their lives and as his mind replays the memory, he can’t help but smile. 

It isn’t for long, though, because the more images he sees, the harder he finds it to breathe. Soon enough, he feels the familiar prick of tears and his bottom lip begins to tremble.

His eyes flicker to the mattress and suddenly all he sees is Jaehyun lying still in a hospital bed. 

Jungkook whimpers aloud while trying to stop the influx of emotions before they get the better of him, but it's useless, and he ends up on his knees just like yesterday. 

He pushes his forehead into the sheets as harsh, erratic sobs surge through his body. His hands clutch the comforter like a vice grip, anything to provide some sort of stability. 

“Please,” he gasps. “Please come back to me.” His chest is shaking so much the words are barely audible. “I don’t wanna do this without you, Jae. I can’t be somewhere you don’t exist.” 

It’s uncertain how long Jungkook weeps into his twin’s old blankets, but by the time his body relaxes, he’s got a headache, a sore throat, and his eyes are swollen. 

He’s in a weakened, almost trance when he returns to the first floor with the photo album. It lands on the kitchen table with a loud thump and causes both you and his mom to jump because you didn’t hear him enter. 

When you notice his current state, your eyes widen. 

“Jae?” You call while standing up. 

The sudden sensation of your hand on his shoulder grounds him to reality and he slowly blinks back to normal before meeting your concerned gaze. 

“I’m okay,” he quietly assures you as his hand rises to cradle your cheek. 

You automatically relax into his touch, letting your head rest against his palm. 

“Are you sure?”

A hint of a smile spreads across his lips. 

“As long as I have you,” he whispers so only you hear it. 

Afterwards, his head dips so he can place a light kiss on your forehead. 

The doorbell rings, surprising everyone and pulling all your attention to the entrance. 

“Who could that be?” His dad ponders from the couch. 

“Shit, that must be Jennie,” you answer. 

“Jennie?” Jungkook squeaks in shock. 

His odd reaction earns him a quick, questioning glance from you, but you thankfully don’t pry any further. 

“Yeah. I told her yesterday if she has any photos she wants to include she can bring them here.” You squeeze Jungkook’s bicep before heading for the door. “I’ll go greet her.”

Jungkook’s only thought is that you cannot let her into this house. Jennie, of all people, is the one person who always sees right through him. Not only that, but he won’t be able to keep it together. The guilt of knowing what he’s putting her through is far too expansive. 

Spurred on by anxiety, Jungkook follows you to the entrance, but slips into the foyer nearby so he can witness your conversation without being seen. 

Once the door opens, you smile and wave your arm to usher Jennie inside before giving her a long hug.

“How are you doing?” You ask her.

Jennie tries to send you a reassuring smile, but it looks more like a tight-lipped frown.

“Oh, you know,” she faintly chuckles. “I’ve been better.”

You grimace and reach out to hold her hand. 

“Can I help at all? I mean, with anything.” 

“No, no. I just have to… survive my own subconscious.”

“Well, do you wanna come in?”

“Oh, no,” she objects while offering you the shoebox tucked beneath her arm. “I just came to give you these. Please don’t feel obligated to use them. I won’t be offended.”

“Of course, we will, Jen.” You open it enough to peek inside and whatever photos are in there, they make you grin. “You’re Jungkook’s best friend. You deserve to be included.”

Jennie graciously nods.

“It’s just so strange, you know? One moment he’s here and the next…”

“Yeah,” you concur.

“And now I’m just playing back the last time I saw him over and over again and trying not to regret every little thing.”

“What do you have to regret?” 

“I don’t know, honestly. Probably nothing, right? But that doesn’t stop me from agonizing over it.” She sighs and sniffles while using her coat sleeve to wipe her eyes. “I just thought we’d have more time. I thought I would hear his voice again, or his laugh. See those huge fucking eyes of his go wide because he got excited.”

You both break out into a fit of giggles and Jungkook’s suddenly smiling from ear to ear. Not necessarily because of your conversation, but the vision of his girls looking so happy together. Even if it’s only fleeting.

“God, he was such an enigma. Wasn’t he? Like he owns a dive bar, exclusively wears all black, and drives a motorcycle, but also owns multiple pairs of Iron Man socks and has a pink toiletry bag.”

“Oh, don’t forget the adorable little keychains he used to hang from his backpack in college,” Jennie adds. 

The two of you laugh again before you gesture towards the interior of the house.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come in?”

Jennie thoughtfully nibbles on her lower lip for a moment, but inevitably shakes her head. 

“No, I, uh, I don’t think I can handle seeing Jaehyun right now,” she confesses. “Not because of anything to do with him, of course. I just have no idea how I’ll react to seeing someone who looks just like Jungkook.”

You nod understandably.

“No worries.”

She sends you a warm smile that you mirror before giving one another a goodbye hug. 

Jungkook’s beyond thankful she didn’t want to come in because watching from the shadows is one thing, but actually interacting with Jennie would’ve been next to impossible. 

He watches you wave until the door shuts and then makes himself known by stepping into the main hallway. You jump a little when you spot him and Jungkook tosses his hands up in surrender.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I didn't mean to scare you. I was just curious to see how she’s doing for myself,” he explains. 

“Gosh, warn a woman first. Will you?”

Despite your retort, you’re smiling as he closes the gap between you. 

“I can help you go through photos, if you want,” he offers.

“No need, baby. I’ve got it handled. Besides, you need to help decide on everything.” 

Jungkook clicks his tongue and grimaces.

“Right. Except that’s kinda what I was trying to avoid.”

“I know,” you giggle. “You really think I don’t see through all your little tricks by now?” 

Well, there’s definitely one I know you can’t see through.

“I just…” He sighs. “Deciding on this stuff makes it real and I don’t want that. I don’t wanna pick out a casket because he shouldn’t be in a casket in the first place. He shouldn’t have a headstone or an obituary... all of this is just fucking wrong.” 

Clearly the anger stage of grief is beginning to set in because his hands clench into fists while he talks.

“It is.” Your bottom lip gets caught between your teeth as you debate on your next statement. “But if he were to need a casket or a headstone, he deserves the best ones. Doesn’t he?” 

Jungkook shakes his head with his eyes glued to the floor. 

“He deserves to be alive.”

After eliminating the space between your bodies, you cup his face with both hands and force him to meet your gaze. 

“You’re right. But if the universe won’t give him that, then this is the next best thing we can do for him,” you claim.

To this day it still shocks Jungkook every time you’re able to make everything feel okay again without even trying. Whether through words, touch, a smile, or merely your presence, you have a magical way of calming him down and allowing him to breathe freely.

“Yeah,” he whispers. 

“Yeah?”

Jungkook nods and paints a grin onto his face.

You two rejoin his parents in the kitchen and everyone gets to work on their respective tasks. When his dad finishes the obituary, he reads it out loud for a second opinion. Once that’s done, he helps Jungkook and his mom choose the most important details of the day. 

By the time the sun dips beneath the clouds, you’re all mentally drained and decide to call it a day. The funeral won’t be for another week, anyway, so there’s still time. Most of the issues yet to be tackled are what happens with the bar and Jungkook’s possessions, but thankfully, he’s here to help make those decisions himself. 

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「𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚜」

❝𝚆𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛.❞

➥ Chris(topher) x Reader (f) x Chris(tian) — 3.9k

➥ Twinsted, Double Trouble, Deranged Sexy

➥ Contains: "Gaslight, Gatekeep, Bangboss" a.k.a mindfuck galore, hotline bling action feat. Chris and his foul mouth, Avatar Sex™

➥ Reader discretion advised: See the masterlist for the full disclaimer about this project, general warnings, and request guidelines. By continuing, you accept to read at your own risk.

⚠ — (Non-exhaustive, full cw policy here): Threesome with twins, manipulation, yandere undertones

➥ You’ve never believed in evil twins until you met your boyfriend’s brother, and you’re about to learn that there is no such thing as a “good twin” in the first place.

“H–He’s gonna stay at our place?”

The logistics are a bit confusing to an outsider. The parents named their sons Chris-topher and Chris-tian, but no one ever calls them by their full names—they are both known as Chris in their respective circles, which seldom coincide anyway. And during the rare times they have to be in the same room, people discern the twins by shortening Christian into Chan. 

Because the older brother has asserted his dominance by being born one minute earlier, and claimed the exclusive rights to Chris.

“Yeah, but only for a few days until his apartment is repainted. It’ll be like I never left,” Chris launches his dimples at you. “I just didn’t want him to waste money on a hotel room, and he can keep you company until I return from my trip. Would that be okay?”

Goodie, WOULD IT?

It’s one of those “I swear it’s true, but I can’t prove it” things, which drives you fucking crazy. The younger one’s vibes are a bit… off, so to speak. He doesn’t smile; he just smirks. He doesn’t look; he eats you alive with his smoldering eyes, and it’s uncanny how it feels like he’s running his tongue all over your body when he just stares at you from across the room. 

And he stares at you a lot.

“Of course, baby. If that’s gonna put your mind at ease…” you reciprocate his sunset smile as if your chest isn’t actively tightening.

You don’t understand how these two men were wombmates raised by the very same family. It’s not like one was adopted, or the other was sent to a boarding school during his formative years. Same upbringing, same schools, same classrooms even, yet the blonde one is giving full Joe Goldberg whereas Christopher is literally the perfect guy you know. Kindest soul. An absolute gentleman. Rare species of a generous lover who makes you scream into the night.

Which is why you keep asking yourself, “What is life?” every time you cross paths with Chan at the Bang house on major holidays. 

To his credit, he’s not doing anything to warrant a formal complaint. At least not in front of people, so you spend half the time suspecting if things are happening for real or just in your head. It’s the way he looks at you that no one seems to notice. It’s the way he only ever talks to you when coincidentally no one is around you—running into you in the hallways, waiting to use the restroom after you, appearing in the kitchen when you’re picking up another bottle of wine to bring to the table.

And when he does…

“If I catch you looking at my lips one more time, I’m getting under that table and eating the shit out of your pussy. I’m warning you.”

Yet he whispers that lunacy so softly that your entire sense of reality distorts. He says it like he’s reciting a love poem about his soul-crushing longing for you, even punctuating it with a barely-there kiss on your ear. You hang onto that bottle of wine for dear life so as not to crash it into a million pieces and alert the household. They should stay blissfully unaware of the blasphemy taking place in the kitchen where the pleasant meal they are having was made with a lot of love.

And your mind has the hardest fucking time registering just how wrong this is because he looks exactly like the man you want to spend the rest of your life with!

Unfortunately for you, the confusion doesn’t stop at the Thanksgiving ambushes. He knows you like working during late a.m. hours, but he also knows damn well Chris might be sleeping right next to you.

Yet the texts he sends in the dead of the night…

Tian halfway through this gram of coke i remembered just how fucking beautiful you are and that im insanely in love with you

Of course you’ve thought about it. You’ve thought about talking to your boyfriend about his brother’s extremely inappropriate behavior that gives you extremely inappropriate butterflies, but seconds after your checkmarks go blue, the texts always disappear. No ‘Message deleted’ or anything; it’s like he’s never sent them in the first place. You’ve even tried screenshotting a few times as soon as you opened a text, just to prove to yourself that you’re not fucking hallucinating things, but all you’d get would be a black screen. 

HOW DOES HE EVEN DO THAT? 

What are you even going to say to Chris without solid evidence in your hands? Whatever you claim, Chan will just deny it, and you will look like the pick-me girl who thinks everyone in the room has the hots for her. 

Yet here you are, about to live under the same roof with the very man that makes you question everything you’ve ever known to be true.

At your boyfriend’s request!

“Welcome, Chr— I mean, Chan.”

“There’s only one of us here. You can call me Chris,” he faintly smirks as he enters through your front door. “That’s what everybody calls me anyway.”

“I think it would confuse me,” you politely smile at him, “so I’d rather stick to Chan if it’s okay.”

“You wouldn’t be confused if you just sat on my face,” he scoffs under his breath.

“What?”

“What?”

You’ve heard it. You’ve fucking heard it! Five seconds he’s been here, and it has already started. You might just have to walk around with a microphone to catch the shit he blurts out on tape, but you’re not even sure if the mic will actually record it. Fuck, he might just be a vampire of sorts, and maybe that’s why he cannot be captured on media in any shape or form!

You should definitely ask him to stand in front of a mirror just in case.

“What you said just now…” you point your finger at him with furrowed brows.

“I didn’t say anything,” he purses his lips, looking at you with slight concern as if to silently ask if you’re okay, then proceeds to carry his bag to the guest room. “Thank you for having me.”

And thus begins the unbearable heaviness of breathing the same air as Chan because it feels like you’re inhaling mercury.

You simply don’t know how to act around him. He looks so eerily identical to his brother that if he covers his hair under a beanie, you just cannot tell them apart. It really feels like you’re having dinner with Chris, and it makes you feel weirdly guilty. You should be able to discern your own boyfriend without leaning on a hair color. You share a bed with this man. You share a life with this man!

“Is there something on my face?” 

No, but you wish there were, and you wish it were something prominent. A freckle. A tattoo. Something. Maybe then you wouldn’t intensely stare at him while playing a spot-the-difference game all by yourself. 

“Nothing,” you shake your head as you chew on your last bite and reach for his empty plate. “If you’re finished with that…”

“I’ll help clear the table.”

All you do is stand next to each other while doing the dishes, and you just cannot figure out why you get this intense urge to touch yourself. Is it because he wears the same cologne as Chris? Is it because he wears the same chains as Chris? Is it because he dresses like his entire wardrobe is sponsored by Chrome Hearts?

Just… WHAT THE HELL IS IT?!

Thank fuck the phone rings before you could even think about doing something thoroughly and utterly stupid.

“Hey, baby! Just checking in,” Chris chirps on the phone. “How’s everything?”

“GREAT!” you uncontrollably scream into the receiver. “We just had dinner. How was the client meeting?” 

“Also great. Not to jinx it, but we’re sooo sealing the deal,” Chris brags, so much satisfaction dripping from his voice that you can practically see him grinning.

“Oh, we’re celebrating the shit out of it when you get back!” you congratulate him enthusiastically. “When are you coming home?” 

“In two days,” Chris responds, his voice suddenly coated with a different kind of contentment. “Did someone miss me?”

He wears that cheeky overcoat on his voice, but it still flares something in your loins. You head to your bedroom with fast steps and close the door, taking your clothes off lightning fast.

“I miss you a lot,” you put the call on speakerphone for full hand-ependence. “Like… miss you miss you.” 

“I miss you, too, angel,” he sighs longingly, his voice deliciously deeper. “God, I’d kill for a few licks from your pussy right now.”

THIS right there is fucking PROOF!

It doesn’t have anything to do with Chan. It never did in the first place because it’s just an optical illusion. If the man you’re in love with, the man whose children you want to have is projected right before your eyes, of course you’re going to react some type of way!

“And I’d kill to have you between my legs,” you sprawl on the bed more comfortably and start teasing your body. “God, it’s like you’ve been gone forever, baby. I need you bad.”

“Mm, how wet are you right now?”

“I’m soaking,” you breathily answer. “You’d slide right in.” 

“Oh fuck yeah, I would. Dip your fingers in there,” he starts listing his demands three. “Get your nipples wet for me, baby. Play with them.”

You close your eyes and do as he says, your fingers prodding your entrance to collect your slick. You slowly coat your nipples, lightly pinching them, imagining it’s Chris’ gentle bites.

“Are you touching yourself, too?” you ask.

“Uh huh…” 

“How hard are you, baby?” 

“Belly bulge-worthy. If I bent you over right now, no fucking way you’d be able to walk straight tomorrow,” he confesses through his heavy breathing. “But it doesn’t feel half as good as your pussy. God, how I wish you were on my lap right now.”

His voice carries a jillion kilowatts, but it’s so soothing. It really feels like he’s with you, whispering his unhinged desires into your ear in this bed that belongs to the two of you.

“What would you do to me?” 

“First, we make out. A lot,” he presses play on his imaginary sextape. “I kiss you deep, and you fucking drip all over me.”

“Mm, keep going,” you play with your breasts just like he wants. “Fuck, you should see this right now. My nipples are so hard, they are begging to be sucked on.” 

“Imagine me holding you. I kiss your neck first,” he speaks with a sultry smile tucked into his words. “The wet kind, just the way you like.”

And imagine, you do. You imagine his lips on your skin, covering you with his wetness. You imagine him being buried deep inside you. You imagine him making little love confessions in between his filthy words, making you giggle midfuck.

“Down to your collarbones… Then your tits… Kissing all over them first,” he lets out a big exhale. “Getting you so horny for me, you shudder when I take your nipples between my lips.”

“Fuck, Chris…”

It’s like you manifest him right next to you through sheer willpower. He paints you such vivid mental pictures that you actually shudder. You actually feel licked. It feels wet.

It feels… wet.

When you open your eyes, the blond demon stares at you like your government-assigned incubus, sucking on your nipples. You inadvertently gasp when you realize that wasn’t a figment of your imagination, and he immediately gestures shush, then keeps licking as if everything’s alright with the universe. And now you’re fucking losing it because it’s…

It’s technically Chris!

“This isn’t enough, baby,” he groans on the other end. “God, I need to fuck your face. I need to put your pussy in my mouth.”

Chan lets go of your breasts and slithers down, kissing his way down to your crotch. You hold your breath as you watch him wrap his arms around your thighs, and when he hits that first lick…

…you WHINE.

“Feels good, yeah? Getting your pretty cunt licked,” Chris speaks like he’s clenching his teeth. “Feel me slurping on that clit… Licking into your oozing hole… Let me fuck that tight little hole with my tongue…”

And that’s exactly what happens.

Chris declares his wishes, and they come true one by one. Chan slurps on your clit as quietly as possible, but you can still hear the wet sounds. He dips his tongue into your entrance, licking you like your arousal is his sole supply of water, then flattens his tongue and buries his face deeper into you. You cannot believe what you’re seeing. This just can’t be real. Nope, you fell asleep in front of the TV, and your confusions as of late are manifesting in your dreams as a porn clip under the “Cheating” category.

“Fuck I need you to ride my face,” Chris’ breathing turns labored on the phone. “Ride my face, baby. Use me. Get what you need from your man.”

Chan stops his relentless licking, extremely proud of how he covered half his face in your slick. He removes his shirt and climbs up right next to you, guiding you to get on your knees and straddle his face. It’s as if you have no willpower whatsoever. You blindly follow your lust, living Chris’ fantasies in live action despite the questionable means.

“Wish I could keep kissing you everywhere,” he sighs. “Hold you in my arms while drowning in your slick, but keep kissing you. Kiss your thighs. Kiss your chest. Kiss your neck…”

“Kiss my neck, Chris…” you moan, holding onto the headboard for dear life.

A shockwave passes through your body when the disconnection tone is followed by an actual kiss on your neck. When you turn around, Chris doesn’t give you a chance to question reality and takes your lips within his, kissing you deep, deep, deep…

But something feels… out of the ordinary. 

“You… kiss different,” you hazily speak when he pulls back.

“I do?” he smiles, pulling you off of Chan and closer to himself. “How so?”

“You never bite when you kiss,” you point out.

“Or,” Chan sneaks behind you, “that’s how he always kisses.”

He holds your chin and turns your face to himself, kissing you the deepest you’ve ever been kissed, and you’re entirely aghast. THIS is the pair of lips you are used to, but when you open your eyes, there is a severe mismatch between what you see and what you feel.

“Ch–Chris?” you hesitantly ask.

“You finally noticed,” he smiles.

“Wha—? Ho—? Y–Your hair…”

“Does it look good on me?” 

You turn and look at the dark-haired man. He looks like Chris, but feels entirely different. It’s as if your actual boyfriend is possessed by a certain demon because you can clearly see a drop of something sinister in those eyes.

“But… you were so convincing on the phone!” you protest.

“When are you going to get this?” Chan gently caresses your cheek. “We are one and the same.”

“Don’t think, baby,” Chris wraps his arms around your waist, quietly speaking into your ear. “Just let this happen.”

Chan moves closer and kisses you, but this time he doesn’t bite. He moves softer than the clouds, wetter than the ocean, and deeper than an abyss, exactly the way Chris normally moves. The intensity amplifies when your man starts composing an obscene love poem about his soul-crushing longing for you on your neck with his lips. Your entire sense of reality distorts. 

You can’t tell who is who or what anything is anymore.

“Tell me you love me, too,” Chan pleads, uncharacteristically sad eyes begging you. “For years I’ve been burning for you. Let me hear it just once.”

“Tell him, baby,” Chris encourages you, running his fingers through your hair. “He has suffered long enough.”

Suffered?

This has to be a dream, right? You look into Chan’s eyes, and one second traces of sinister are glowing neon crimson in there, and they are replaced with indescribable longing in the next. Then you look at your man, and his endlessly comforting eyes have the tiniest blotch of danger in them, something you’ve never ever seen before. When the confusion becomes too much, you say fuck it to everything. You don’t think.

You just let it happen.

“I love you, Chan,” you grant him his wish.

For the first time ever, he doesn’t smirk. He smiles at you so brightly that your chest sizzles. He dives in for another kiss as Chris lays you down, spreading your legs wide.

“Ready for your first taste?” he asks Chan, flashing the signature smirk bespoke to the younger one. He spreads your pussy for him, biting his lips hard at the sight. “Look at this. Sooo fucking wet, you could use it as sustenance for a week.”

Chan thickly gulps, his breathing suddenly stuttering. He slowly moves between your legs as if he’s scared, looking up at you with huge eyes like a puppy as if to ask ‘Can I please?’ The drastic change in demeanor gives you whiplash. It’s like they can swap their personalities on cue. And maybe the insanity has rubbed off on you along the way. 

Or maybe it was sexually transmitted all along, who knows?

“Have at it, fucking psycho,” you snicker.

He makes your chest sizzle again with that bright smile and traps your clit between his plush lips, happily munching away. Chris kisses all over your body, astral projecting just listening to your delightful sounds of pleasure. It makes him hungrier. It makes him greedier. He suddenly feels this intense urge to diminish you into a pile of whimpering mess, then snort the shit out of you to experience the highest high of his life.

“Go lower,” Chris urges Chan. “I want a taste, too.”

As Chan moves down to your entrance, Chris takes over clit duties, lovingly kissing and licking you. He puts one of your hands on Chan’s head and holds the other within his, tightly intertwining his fingers with yours like he wants to anchor you to himself. You look down, and it’s like you’re seeing double. The same voice that sounds like an echo. The same face that looks like a carbon copy. The same texture of skin under your fingertips. The heavy breathing. The relentless hunger. The wet sounds growing louder and louder and louder. 

The fire slowly smoldering within you is suddenly fueled by two tongues gliding on your most sensitive spots, turning it into a river of molten lava that demolishes everything standing in its path. 

“Oh, fuck, I’m— God, yes. Yes, just like that. Like that, oh my god I’m cumming!!!”

The finish line is located so high that it feels like a free fall from Everest. Your climax hits like a thousand car crashes, casualties everywhere like a doomsday cosplay, and you watch yourself get out of your own body. If there were a licensed medical practitioner around, they would pronounce you dead for at least about thirty seconds. 

The wetness reluctantly retreats when you start thrashing with overstimulation. You have ruined your sheets, and the two men seem to notice, judging by the extremely proud looks on their faces. Chan gets on his knees and gives his cock a few pumps, then carefully presses against your soaked entrance. 

“Fuck, I don’t think I’m gonna last,” he stupidly grins to himself, his eyes closed. 

You kinda hope that he doesn’t. It would give you some taunt material for everything he’s put you through over the years. As he slowly sinks in with deep breaths, Chris keeps softly kissing your clit, relishing the way you squirm.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, baby,” he kisses your wrist. “It’s going to feel really good in just a second.”

Your swollen walls swallow Chan whole, and his entire resolve goes out the window. He rams himself into you as hard as he can, incredulous how it can feel like you’re sucking his cock when he’s buried deep inside you. He knows he’s going to blow in maybe ten seconds if he keeps moving that fast, but he can’t help it. He can’t fucking help how incredible it feels inside you. He can’t help sinking his fingers deep into your flesh, moaning your name over and over again, surrendering his soul to you one clench at a time. 

But what’s interesting is that something about the way he fucks feels… 

…familiar. 

“Look at me.” 

He opens his eyes and looks at you when you grab onto his wrists, slowing way down to calm himself.

“This isn’t the first time we’re fucking, is it?” you ask with a lopsided grin. 

The brothers share a look that leaves no room for doubt that they are clearly busted. You expect a stern denial, but it never comes. 

If anything, you hear a direct confession instead. 

“N–No, but… fuck… but l–look how you’re stretching around my cock… See how it’s a perfect fit?” Chan pants. “We were made for each other.”

“We were made for each other. All of us,” Chris repeats, climbing right next to you, and lovingly looks into your eyes. “We love you, baby. Always have.”

“And always will,” Chan adds. 

Chris pulls you into a kiss as Chan runs faster to the finish line. You suddenly feel this huge wave of emotion wash over you. You don’t know what it is, but it sure as fuck isn’t just lust, and when Chan spills inside you with an “I love you” that rips from the depths of his throat, it cements what you’ve been suspecting all along but could never admit even to yourself.

Tonight, you find out you are indeed in love with two men.

“Tired, baby?” Chris plays with your hair, a fond smile on his face, while Chan catches his breath on your chest. 

“Overwhelmed,” you answer with your eyes closed, indeed tired but infinitely satisfied. “It’s… a lot to take in.” 

“It’s okay,” he kisses your forehead. “We always have tomorrow.”

“I just need a few minutes of shuteye,” you kiss his hand. “Then I’m sucking your soul out of you.” 

You let him bury his face in the crook of your neck and keep caressing Chan’s hair on your chest. A very pleasant fatigue envelops you as you listen to the soft breathing melting into heartbeats slowing down. You think about what Chan said to you earlier. You’ve always thought you know the man closest to you, mind and heart alike, but maybe you haven’t known him at all. Strangely enough, it doesn’t unsettle you. There are two bodies tangled up with you in this bed, but even though the suffixes may be different, they are one and the same.

They are just…

Chris.

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[cb97percent]

All twins variations 🤔 Oh fuck me, WHY WOULD YOU PUT THAT IDEA IN MY HEAD NOW???????

[channlust]

cyber-sēx!

or: oh great. your roommate bailed on you right before the new month's payment, and you need to find a new roommate asap. lucky for you, chan came (literally) to your rescue. he's charming enough, and more importantly, pays rent on time. you've agreed to split rent by half, but rent won't be the only thing getting split in half, because he's hiding a big secret. and no, not just the one in his pants.

warnings: MDNI!!! contains heavy sexual content, camboy!chris x roommate!reader, porn with some plot, perv!reader, masturbation, piv, mānhandling, spānkïng, hāirpulling, too many kinks , kinda switch!chan but he's mostly a dom daddy dwdw, I'm a cocky chan truther so yk what's coming, a sprinkle of fluff and banter.

wc: 11k

a/n: loosely based off this drabble

"You're fucking kidding me." You stare at the text message. Three sentences that might as well be a bomb dropped in the middle of your living room.

Hey, sorry for the short notice, but I’m moving in with my boyfriend at the end of the week.

I know rent’s due soon, but I kinda already spent my half on the security deposit for our new place.

Good luck finding someone else!

shit

Rent is due in nine days, and your bank account isn’t exactly overflowing.

You’ve never lived alone before. Couldn’t afford it even if you wanted to. And the thought of scrambling to find a new roommate in a week makes your stomach twist.

You're halfway through drafting a frantic "roommate needed ASAP" text to your groupchat when your phone buzzes.

it's one of your few friends who actually bothers to check in.

Heard about your roomie bailing. Absolute bullshit.

Anyway I know a guy. Chill as hell, works freelance, needs a place.

You'd vibe.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the keyboard. The last thing you want is some rando bringing chaos into your already crumbling life.

But then your landlord's terse "rent due on the 1st, no exceptions" text flashes in your mind.

Fine. Give him my number.

Chan texts you thirty minutes later. His messages are polite. Full sentences, proper punctuation, none of that monosyllabic grunting.

He suggests meeting at the apartment tomorrow afternoon to check the place out, and you agree.

The next day, you're scrubbing the bathroom sink when the doorbell rings. Chan stands in the hallway holding a paper bag that smells like garlic and herbs. "Figured we could talk over lunch," he says, smiling like this isn't weird at all.

Up close, he's so much cuter than you expected, blond hair, unfairly big broad shoulders, dressed in a blank tanktop that showed them off perfectly.

You blink at the take out bag, then at Chan’s easy grin.

There’s no nervous energy radiating off him, no awkward shuffling — just this unsettling calm, like he’s already decided he belongs here. “Uh,” you say, wiping your damp hands on your pants, “you didn’t have to—”

“I know,” he interrupts, already toeing off his sneakers without waiting for an invite. The scent of roasted garlic and rosemary spills into the apartment as he breezes past you toward the kitchen. “But food makes everything less weird, right?”

You trail after him, you don't know whether to be annoyed or charmed.

Chan unpacks the food containers, grilled chicken, some kind of herby rice, roasted vegetables that don’t look like the sad microwave steam bags you usually survive on.

He slides a plate toward you. “Eat first, then interrogation.”

“Interrogation?” You stab a piece of chicken, watching him warily.

Chan shrugs, mouth already full. “Standard roommate shit. ‘Do you snore?’ ‘Are you a serial killer?’ ‘Will you steal my leftovers?’” He swallows, grinning.

“The answer’s no, no, and only if you leave them unlabelled.”

The food is homemade stupidly good, and Chan’s presence is… unsettlingly comfortable.

By the time you’re scraping the last of the rice off your plate, you’ve learned he does something vague with digital marketing (“Basically, I convince people to buy shit they don’t need”), he actually enjoys doing laundry, and he likes to cook.

“So,” Chan says, stacking the empty containers, “you wanna show me around, or should I just start claiming drawers?”

The tour is quick — your apartment isn’t exactly sprawling — but Chan makes appreciative noises at the closet space and tests how sturdy the bed frame is (#whatdatmean).

When you hesitantly mention rent, he waves a hand. “Half’s fine. I’ll pay first and last upfront if you want.”

You stare. “You don’t even know the amount.”

Chan shrugs, leaning against the kitchen counter “Doesn’t matter. I’ve got it.” He pulls out his phone, taps a few times, and, before you can protest, your own phone buzzes with a notification.

It’s a Venmo payment for double what you were about to say rent costs.

Your mouth opens, then closes. “You—what? That’s too much.”

“Nah.” He pockets his phone, grinning at your baffled expression. “Consider it a ‘sorry for being weirdly pushy’. ”

You don’t argue. You can’t argue — not when your bank account is currently breathing its first sigh of relief in months.

A girls got priorities, and he doesn't really seem to mind. it's a win win scenario.

~

The first month was… strange. Not bad, just strange. he was genuinely nice, easy to talk to. it wasn't long till the initial awkwardness — if there was any — wore off. you'd become something sort of friends, and both of you settled into a quiet rhythm.

he'd left cash for rent in a neat stack on the kitchen counter on first of the month, slightly more than his half again.

When you tried to give him the extra back, he just waved you off.

You caught glimpses of his routine. disappearing into his room at odd hours, the low murmur of his voice through the walls late at night.

And then there was the day you came home early.

You weren’t supposed to be back until ten, but your shift ended early, and the bus was miraculously on time for once.

The apartment was quiet when you unlocked the door, just the hum of the fridge and the faint creak of the floorboards under your feet.

You’d barely set your bag down when you heard it — a low noise from Chan’s room.

Your fingers froze on the zipper of your jacket. The sound came again, breathier this time, followed by the slick, rhythmic sound of skin on skin.

you thought it was a girlfriend he never told you about.

The idea punched a weird, hollow ache into your ribs — which was stupid, because it’s not like you had any claim on him.

Still, you stood there frozen in the hallway, his door slightly ajar, listening to the sounds of his pleasure like some kind of creep.

You backed out of the apartment, easing the door shut with just the softest whisper of the latch catching. Your pulse hammered in your throat as you ducked into the stairwell, pressing your back against the cool concrete wall.

The rational part of your brain screamed at you to stop being weird, to just walk back in like a normal person. But the irrational part — the part currently in charge — was too busy replaying the sounds spilling from Chan’s room to listen.

You get out of the building and circle the block twice, three times, counting cracks in the sidewalk. The air smells like rain that hasn’t fallen yet, and you bask in that atmosphere till roughly an hour has passed.

When you finally drag yourself back inside, the apartment is quiet. Chan’s door is shut tight, the shower running, and no girlfriend in sight.

she must've left early.

You freeze halfway to your room when the shower shuts off. your feet are planted still go to your room, go to your room

but you weren't quick enough, and a few seconds later, Chan emerges with only a towel slung low on his hips.

He's startled when he sees you, droplets flicking off his hair as he jerks his head up. “oh hey—” His voice is casual before you cut him off, "shit—sorry!" your face heats up at the sight, your eyes wander, trailing down his toned chest that still had water droplets running down, before snapping your head in the other direction.

was he always this muscular?

and you can't help but notice that there are no hickeys on his neck, no marks on his arms, and surprisingly put together for someone who just had his girlfriend over less than an hour ago.

"no no— you're good." he reassures with a smile, "you're back early."

You swallow hard. “Yeah. Shift got cut."

Chan leans against the doorframe, his damp hair curling at the ends. You try not to stare at the way his towel clings precariously to his hips, but your gaze keeps flicking downward anyway, betraying you.

"Everything okay?" he asks, tilting his head slightly.

"Y-yeah," you stammer, fingers twisting in the hem of your jacket. "Just—uh. Busy day."

Chan hums, nodding. His eyes flick over your face, lingering a second too long on your flushed cheeks before he grins. "Cool. I was just gonna make some food if you’re hungry."

The casual offer throws you off. You were expecting — what? Awkward silence? Averted eyes? Not this easy warmth.

but you just nod dumbly. "Yeah. Food sounds good."

he pushes off the doorframe, padding toward the kitchen. The towel rides up slightly with each step, revealing the sharp cut of his hip bones, and you have to physically bite the inside of your cheek to keep from making a noise.

“You good?” he calls over his shoulder, like he can feel your stare burning into his back.

“Fine,” you squeak, following at a safe distance, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. The kitchen tile is cool under your socked feet, a welcome distraction from the heat crawling up your neck.

Chan hums again, rummaging through the fridge with one hand while the other keeps his towel secured. The muscles in his back flex as he leans forward, and you’re suddenly very interested in the color of your sponge bob socks.

“Leftover pasta okay?” he asks, pulling out a container with a rattle of plastic. You nod mutely, watching as he moves around the kitchen, his bare feet slapping against the tiles.

The stove clicks to life, the hiss of gas filling the silence between you. Chan leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, “So,” he starts, “how was work?”

You blink. “Uh. Fine. Boring.” The words tumble out too fast, your pulse jumping when Chan chuckles. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and suddenly you’re hyperaware of every inch of space between you.

he scrapes the leftover pasta into the pan, the sizzle of garlic and butter filling the silence between you. His towel shifts dangerously low with each stir, but he doesn’t seem to notice — or maybe he does.

The corner of his mouth twitches when he catches you staring, and you snap your gaze to the ceiling like it’s suddenly fascinating.

"You know," he says, voice light, "most roommates don’t freak out when they see each other half dressed." The wooden spoon clinks against the pan as he scrapes the edges.

"I wasn’t freaking out."

Chan laughs, "You literally yelped like I pulled a knife on you." He glances over his shoulder, eyes dragging down your body in a way that makes your knees weak. "Unless you’re into that."

The pasta sizzles loudly in the pan, drowning out the choked sound that escapes your throat at Chan’s words. "I—that’s not—"

Chan turns fully now, abandoning the stove, and the towel dips dangerously low. His smirk is infuriating, "Relax," he murmurs, stepping closer, "Just teasing."

You laugh nervously, the sound too high pitched, too obvious. "I'm just gonna—" You jerk your thumb toward your room, already backing away. "Change into something more... home-y."

Chan raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Home-y,"

"yea—!" your voice cracks "y'know comfortable....home clothes"

Then you gesture vaguely at his towel, your voice cracking slightly. "Are you— uh, gonna put on actual clothes before we eat? Because I'm pretty sure health code violations apply to apartments too."

Chan glances down at himself, then back up at you, "Why?" He grins, tilting his head. "Distracted?"

"Yes—no," you sputter, crossing your arms tightly over your chest like armor. "I just don’t want your—" You wave a hand wildly in the general direction of his hips. "That—near my dinner."

Chan laughs, a full blown laugh, and you take that chance to bolt for your room, shoulders hunched as if that’ll make you smaller, less noticeable.

The door clicks shut behind you with a click, and you press your forehead against the cool wood, exhaling sharply.

"And turn the heat down!" you call out, voice too high,"Unless you want to burn the house down!"

Another laugh, muffled through the door. "Yes, mom," Chan drawls, the playful lilt in his voice making your cheeks burn hotter.

The stove clicks as he adjusts the flame, the sound followed by the soft thud of his footsteps padding down the hall. You squeeze your eyes shut, listening to the creak of his bedroom door, the rustle of fabric as he presumably — finally — changes.

You peel yourself off the door, fingers fumbling at the jacket of your shirt. The fabric clings to your skin, damp with nervous sweat, and you wrestle it off.

Home-y. Right. who even says that?

Stupid stupid stupid.

Your dresser drawer sticks halfway open, You grab the first shirt your fingers brush against, soft from too many washes, and a pair of sweatpants with the elastic stretched out.

'He has a girlfriend,' you think, shimmying out of your jeans. The denim catches around your ankles, nearly causing you to trip.

'Probably. Maybe. Who the fuck knows.'

You yank the shirt over your head so hard the neckline stretches. The mirror across the room reflects your flushed face, your hair mussed from the fabric dragging through it.

You look and feel ridiculous.

You pull up your pants, then pause, fingers hovering at the waistband. Avoid him. Simple. Logical. You can do that.

but it wasn't that easy. after all there is only so much avoiding one could do to someone they live with.

The apartment isn’t big enough for elaborate evasion tactics, and Chan seems to have a sixth sense for popping up exactly where you don’t want him.

Leaning against the fridge when you’re raiding it at 2 am, or lounging on the couch just as you’re about to claim it for a late night tv binge.

So you just ended up being cooped in your room for most of the day.

But Chan isn’t stupid. eventually after days passed by, he’s leaning against your bedroom doorframe when you crack it open after what you thought was a safe half hour of silence.

“So,” he says, arms crossed, voice dripping with amusement, “you’re avoiding me.”

You freeze, one socked foot hovering mid step like a cartoon character caught mid sneak. “No,” you lie too quickly.

Chan raises an eyebrow. “You literally just ducked into the bathroom because you heard me coming down the hall.”

“I had to pee.”

“For the fourth time today?” His grin lopsided, “Either you’ve got a UTI, or you’re full of shit.”

You grit your teeth, fingers tightening around the doorknob. “Maybe both.”

he sighs out laugh, then steps closer, “Listen,” he murmurs, voice dropping to a serious tone, “if this is about the whole towel thing—”

“It’s not,” you answer quickly, too loud, too fast.

“So it is about the towel thing.”

“I’m not—” You exhale sharply through your nose, squeezing your eyes shut. “Can you just—” You gesture vaguely at the space between you. “Give me, like, a three foot radius?”

Chan tilts his head, considering. His gaze drags down your body, before settling back on your face. “Nah,” he says finally, “I like you flustered.”

You bite your lip, eyes darting around, then settle on his, before darting around again.

The silence stretches, until you finally crack under the weight of it. “you—don’t you have a girlfriend?” you blurt, the words stumbling out in a rushed, stuttering mess.

Chan blinks, his smirk faltering for half a second before dissolving into genuine confusion. “A what?” His laugh sounds startled, almost disbelieving.

You press your lips together, suddenly regretting every life choice that led you to this moment.

Chan's eyebrows climb toward his hairline, "A girlfriend?" He repeats, "What, like, some theoretical girl who sneaks in when you're not looking?"

You gesture vaguely at him — the tousled hair, the unfairly sculpted shoulders, the effortless charm that clings to him like a second skin.

"You just—seem like the type." The words tumble out half mumbled, your gaze darting anywhere but his face.

Chan’s laughter echoes through the hallway, loud enough that you flinch—not just from the sound, but from the way it makes your stomach flip.

"Oh my god," he wheezes, leaning against the doorframe like he needs the support. "You thought I had some secret girlfriend sneaking in here to—what, fuck me while you're at work?"

You cross your arms tightly, "It's not that ridiculous," you mutter, but even you hear how weak it sounds.

"First of all, if I had a girlfriend, you'd know. I'm not subtle." His smirk tilts into something teasing. "Second, I'm very single. And third—" He pauses, tilting his head. "Wait. Is that why you've been avoiding me? You thought I was getting laid in there and didn't invite you?"

Your face burns. "No—that's not—"

His grin softens slightly, but the teasing glint in his eyes doesn’t fade. "So," he murmurs, voice dropping lower, "what is it, then?"

You swallow hard, fingers gripping the edge of your shirt so tightly the fabric threatens to tear. "Nothing," you lie. "Just—roommate stuff. Boundaries."

Chan hums, "Boundaries," he echoes, Then, "You know you can just tell me if I’m doing something that makes you uncomfortable, right?"

You swallow hard, "Yeah," you mutter, gaze trailing to his eyes and holding his stare for the first time throughout this conversation "I know."

Chan pushes off the doorframe with a shrug, "Alright then," he says, clapping his hands together like he's wiping the whole conversation away. "Takeout time. You in?"

it's like all this man does is think about food...and make you weak in the knees.

You blink, "Uh. Yeah. Sure."

Chan pulls out his phone, already scrolling through delivery apps, "Thai? Or that new Italian place that opened down the street?" He glances up, eyebrows raised expectantly. "Unless you're feeling sushi again, but last time you complained about the wasbi being too strong."

The normalcy of it — the way he remembers your stupid, offhand complaints about condiments — makes something in your chest tighten.

You clear your throat. "Thai’s good."

~

The weirdness fades slowly, chan doesn’t mention the girlfriend comment again, and you stop bolting like a startled deer every time he walks into a room.

He starts leaving his door open when he’s working, the rhythmic tap of his keyboard drifting into the hallway. You catch yourself lingering in the doorway sometimes, watching the way his brow furrows when he’s concentrating, the way he bites his tongue when he’s stuck on something.

once, he catches you staring and pats the space beside him on the bed without looking up from his laptop. “Help me brainstorm this dumb tagline,”

You perch awkwardly at first, careful not to touch him, but Chan sprawls like he owns every inch of the mattress, his thigh pressing warm against yours. and before you know it, you’re leaning into him, pointing at the screen. “That one’s terrible,”

~

Movie nights become a thing.

The first movie night starts by accident — or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. You’re curled into the corner of the couch, knees tucked under your chin, scrolling through your phone while Chan sprawls across the other end, his laptop balanced precariously on his thighs.

Then the Wi-Fi cuts out.

Chan groans, tossing his head back against the cushions. “Fucking landlord,” he mutters, jabbing at his keyboard like it’ll magically fix the connection.

You snort, watching him glare at the screen like it’s personally offended him. “Guess we’re gonna have to talk to each other,”

“Horrifying,” he deadpans, then grabs the remote off the coffee table. “a movie it is.”

You end up with some terrible action movie Chan insists is a “classic,” but neither of you pay much attention. Halfway through, you catch him watching you instead of the screen, his head turning back to the movie when you caught him.

You brush it off, focusing on the screen, but your pulse jumps when Chan shifts closer, his thigh pressing against yours.

The credits roll, and he stretches. The couch creaks as he shifts, stretching his arms overhead with a groan that does things to your already frayed nerves.

"Well," he murmurs, voice rough around the edges, "that was a cinematic masterpiece."

You snort, grateful for the distraction. "Yeah, if you consider explosions and zero plot development masterful storytelling."

Chan’s chuckles “Plot is overrated,” he says, “Sometimes you just wanna watch things blow up.”

Chan then exhales heavily and stands. “Alright, I’m hitting the shower,” he says, stretching until his shirt rides up, revealing a sliver of toned stomach. You look away — too late — and Chan’s smirk is audible in his voice. “Try not to miss me too much.”

“In your dreams,” you mutter, but your pulse jumps when he pauses by the hallway, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says softly, almost to himself. “Exactly.”

You sit there, frozen, until the bathroom door clicks shut and the shower starts running. The sound of water hitting tile fills the apartment, and you press your palms to your overheated cheeks, exhaling sharply.

Stupid. You’re being stupid. That probably didn't mean anything.

But then your phone buzzes on the couch beside you, and Chan’s name lights up the screen.

forgot my towel. mind grabbing it?

You stare at the message, then at the hallway, Trap, your brain supplies helpfully.

type back,

Seriously?

he answers immediately

dead serious. i’m vulnerable here.

You groan, dragging a hand down your face, but you’re already standing. His towel hangs on the back of his bedroom door, You grab it, then walk out to the bathroom.

You knock once, then freeze when Chan calls out, “Just come in.”

Your throat goes dry. “Absolutely not.”

Chan’s laugh echoes off the tiles. “Relax, I’m decent.” A pause. “Mostly.”

you squeeze your eyes shut, then shove the towel through the gap in the door, arm outstretched as far as possible. “Here.”

Chan’s fingers brush yours as he takes the towel. His skin is warm, damp, and you jerk your hand back like you’ve been burned.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, voice closer than you expected. You can feel his smile through the door. “You’re a lifesaver.”

You bolt back to the living room, collapsing onto the couch with a groan.

too much for your first movie night.

~

just when things were getting normal, It happens again on a monday.

You’re home early again, the apartment is silent. You toe off your shoes, and you were about to shout a "I'm back" when you heard it again.

Low, breathy moans slipping through the crack in Chan’s door.

Your feet root to the floor, ears straining as the noise curls around you.

His voice, thick with pleasure, murmurs something you can’t quite catch — then a wet, rhythmic sound that sends heat flooding your cheeks.

apparently, this man takes his....alone time very seriously.

that's what it had to be right? you can't blame him — you've been there once or twice.

Your breath sticks in your throat, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. The sound— god, the sound — wraps around you, thick and heady, Chan's voice breaking on a moan that scrapes down your spine.

You should move. should bolt to your room, slam the door, drown it out with headphones. but your feet refuse to cooperate.

You tiptoe into the hallway, his door is cracked just enough, and your pulse hammers so loud its drowning out any other coherent thought in your brain.

A peak wouldn't hurt...

The door creaks faintly as it opens another inch, just enough for you to see.

Chan sits on the edge of his bed, but not like you thought. Not hidden, not private. No, this is something else entirely.

A ring light casts a glow over his bare skin, the camera propped on his desk angled perfectly to capture every inch of him. His laptop screen is open with a reflection of him and a rapid stream of comments too fast to read.

Oh.

Oh god.

Your stomach drops, then tightens all at once.

Chan’s head is tipped back, his throat working around a groan as his hand moves lazily between his thighs.

You press yourself against the hallway wall, pulse hammering, thoughts running a hundred miles per hour.

you did not expect this.

His breath hitches, a sharp, punched out sound, and your nails dig into your palms.

Chan’s fingers twist at the base of his cock, his thumb smearing precum in slow circles. The camera catches the way his abs flex as he arches into his own touch, his voice ragged when he murmurs, "Wish you were here." before he bites down on his lower lip. "Could use a mouth right now."

You watch, frozen in place, as his thighs tremble, his free hand fisting in the sheets beside him. The comments on his screen blur into a frenzy of emojis and a bunch of pinging donations. His breath stutters, his jaw clenching as his strokes turn erratic, desperate. “Yeah,” he gasps, voice breaking, “yeah, just like that—”

Then he comes with a choked moan, stripes of white painting his stomach as his back arches off the bed.

Gosh, he’s gorgeous — and you barely register the dampness between your own thighs until Chan slumps back against the pillows, chest heaving.

Chan exhales sharply, his fingers still lazily stroking his softening cock as he leans forward, just enough to tap something on his laptop.

he ends the stream with a wink and a low, raspy comment that you didn't quite catch. The screen goes black, and you barely have half a second to process the situation before your body kicks into motion.

You bolt down the hallway, socked feet silent against the hardwood.

Your bedroom door clicks shut behind you just as Chan gets up. You press your back against the door, lungs burning from holding your breath, and listen.

Water runs in the sink. A towel rustles. Then you hear footsteps.

They pause outside your door.

You purse your lips and hold your breath. Then Chan hums, before his footsteps retreat down the hall.

You slump against the door, exhaling shakily.

Holy shit.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you fumble to pull it out.

you home early?

You stare at the text, thumbs hovering over the screen. Lie, your brain screams. Tell him no. but then how would you fake going into the apartment if you're already inside the apartment?

Just got back

You hit send before you can second guess it.

Cool. Dinner soon?

Your fingers hover over the screen, the weight of his question pressing against your ribs like a stone. The air in your room feels — too thick — and suddenly the idea of sitting across from Chan at the kitchen table, pretending you didn’t just watch him get off on camera, makes your stomach twist.

Gonna shower first.

Your phone buzzes again before you can even set it down,

Can I join?

You nearly drop it, blood roaring in your ears. Then—

jk. don’t use up all the hot water.

You toss your phone onto your bed and drag a hand down your face with a sigh.

You're deeply fucked.

~

That night, you stayed up aggressively googling him till his page came up.

Onlychans? really?

you'd laugh at the username if it wasn't for the videos that popped up when you clicked on his profile.

Chan, shirtless, sprawled across what is unmistakably your living room couch, one hand lazily palming himself through his sweatpants.

Chan, biting his lip as he slicks lube down his cock, the camera angled to capture every twitch of his abs.

Chan, moaning, his head thrown back against the pillows of his bed —your apartment, your shared space — while his other hand works something thick and glistening into his—

You slam the laptop shut.

Your face burns. Your pulse thrums in your ears. The apartment is silent — Chan’s out for a run, or so he’d claimed when he’d left an hour ago.

You open the laptop again.

It’s Curiosity. That’s all.

It starts innocently enough — just checking his schedule, really. A quick glance at his calendar pinned to the fridge.

"For productivity purposes," Chan had joked when you asked.

Then, sure enough, it spiraled.

You memorize the time of his streams, monday nights, Friday nights, he'd timed them perfectly in sync with times he knew you wouldn't be home. that's why you've been blissfully unaware of him filming in different locations around your shared apartment for the past two and a half months.

And the occasional late night surprise session that leaves you fumbling for your earbuds at 1 am. You'd literally be home, but he'd go live anyway. was he into that?

you were into it too, admittedly, because you turned out to be just as shameful as him.

The notification pops up at 1:47 am on a Wednesday 'Chan is live!' (yes, you turned his notifs on) and your fingers freeze mid doom scroll through Instagram.

your room is dark except for the glow of your phone screen, you're supposed to be asleep.

You tap the notification.

Chan’s face fills the screen, his grin already in place as he adjusts the camera. He’s shirtless, propped against the headboard of his bed, one arm draped lazily over his bent knee. The ring light casts shadows along his abs, highlighting every dip and curve.

"Late night surprise," he murmurs, "*Miss me?*" aaaand heat is already pooling low in your stomach.

His fingers work on hinseld, slow and teasing at first, thumb smearing precum in lazy circles while he talks— god, he sure does talk, filthy praises and half formed fantasies spilling from his lips like he’s whispering them directly into your ear. You bite your lip to stifle a gasp, your other hand slipping under the waistband of your pajama shorts.

Chan arches his back on screen, his free hand gripping the sheets beside him. "Fuck, you guys are greedy tonight," he rasps, stroking himself slowly. His thumb presses against the head on every upstroke, just how you’ve learned he likes it — learned from watching, from nights spent with your phone hidden under your pillow, screen dimmed to its lowest setting.

"Fuck, m'close," Chan groans, your fingers moving between your thighs in time with his rhythm, matching the pace, hips shifting under the sheets, your breath coming shallow.

It’s not the first time you’ve watched him like this, but it’s the first time you’ve done it live, with the shaky thrill of knowing he has no idea you’re here.

A whimper almost escapes you when he swipes his thumb over the head of his cock, his breath hitching. You press your palm over your mouth, stifling the sound.

The last thing you need is him hearing you through the thin walls.

The thought alone, him catching you, realizing, sends a sharp jolt between your legs. You squeeze your thighs together, chasing the feeling before it slips away.

His hand speeds up, the wet sound of his skin moving over his cock muffled only slightly by the mic's noise suppression. "God, fuck—gonna come so hard for you," he grits out, his voice cracking on the last word.

You press your free hand harder against your mouth, fingers digging into your own cheek as you watch his stomach tense, the muscles there flexing under the sheen of sweat. Your own movements stutter when he lets out a low, punched out moan, his hips jerking up into his fist.

You’re so close you can’t think straight. The coil in your stomach winds tighter with every stroke of his hand, every filthy sound he makes, matching his rhythm like you’re desperate to prove something— like if you can just finish at the same time, it’ll mean something. Stupid. It’s stupid. But your hips jerk anyway, your breath coming in short, shaky bursts against your palm.

"Fuck, fuck—" His hand stills suddenly, fingers tightening around the base of his cock as he tips his head back, you watch as his body locks up for one second — and then he’s coming, stripes of white painting his stomach, his chest.

Your own climax crashes over you at the same time, so violently you nearly choke on the gasp you swallow down, your back arching off the bed as pleasure burns through you in hot, dizzying waves.

He’s still catching his breath, his free hand dragging lazily through the mess on his stomach, fingers tracing the lines of cum with a slow, absentminded swipe.

His lips curl into that stupid, effortless smirk you’ve seen a hundred times,

"Mmm, fuck," he murmurs, voice rough around the edges, still a little breathless. "You all got me good tonight."

He reaches for a towel off screen, the muscles in his arm flexing as he wipes himself clean. You watch, transfixed, as he tosses the towel aside and leans closer to the camera, cheeks are still flushed, his lashes low.

"Hope that was worth the wait," he says, eyes flickering to the chat before he grins. "gosh you guys are generous with the tips tonight." and you catch a few of the comments.

slave4u: how bout you come and give me that tip

sweetheartonline: gone broke just for you </3

Chan just chuckles, shaking his head. "Alright, alright, I’m done. You’re all insatiable." He stretches his arms above his head, his torso arching beautifully, "Next stream’s friday. Be good for me til then, yeah?"

With one last wink, he reaches forward, and the screen goes black.

You yank your earbuds out, Your chest heaves, your skin still buzzing, your thighs still sticky, and you press the heels of your palms against your closed eyelids until colors bloom behind them.

you find it ridiculous that you're actually enjoying this, perverted thoughts. Stupid. So stupid.

~

Two weeks pass after that. You're hyperaware of Chan’s presence in a way that makes your skin itch. Every casual touch sends sparks skittering up your spine.

You try to act normal, you really do.

But you catch yourself staring at his hands when he cooks, remembering the way they moved over himself on screen, and have to physically shake your head to clear the image.

Chan, for his part, seems to thrive on your discomfort. He leaves his bedroom door cracked just a little wider than necessary, and infuriatingly, he's rarely not shirtless.

it's okay. you're okay. at least you tell yourself that.

till it's Friday morning, marking the beginning of your third month.

the apartment is quiet, still bathed in the soft gold of early morning light filtering through the kitchen window. you hum under your breath as you flip pancakes.

then Chan emerges, shirtless, his sweatpants slung low on his hips, hair still messy from sleep.

He leans against the doorway, watching you with that lazy, knowing smirk. “Morning,” he rasps, voice still thick with sleep.

this feels too domestic for your liking.

“Morning,” you mumble, not turning around.

Chan pads closer, bare feet silent against the hardwood, until he’s right behind you. His warmth radiates against your back, “Smells good,” he murmurs, and you swear his lips brush the shell of your ear.

The spatula clatters against the pan. too domestic.

Chan chuckles, as he reaches around you to steal a piece of pancake from the prepared stack. His chest presses against your shoulder, his skin searing where it touches yours. “Careful,” he teases, popping the bite into his mouth. “You’ll burn them.”

The pancake batter sizzles violently as you stand there, frozen, Chan’s body heat scorching against your back.

His fingers brush your hip as he reaches for the syrup, and you nearly drop the spatula again.

"You’re jumpy this morning," Chan muses, leaning against the counter beside you. "Bad dreams?"

sure, if 'bad' and 'wet' are the same thing. "something like that."

Chan hums, tilting his head as he studies you. "Got plans today?"

You flip another pancake onto the growing stack. "Just groceries later." The words come out steadier than you feel.

His grin grows. "Mind if I tag along?"

You shrug, "It’s just errands."

Chan snags another pancake, leaning into your space until his bare shoulder presses against yours. "Exactly. Sounds thrilling." His fingers brush yours as he steals the spatula, flipping the last pancake with a flick of his wrist. "Come on. I’ll even push the cart."

You huff a laugh despite yourself. "You’ll get bored in five minutes."

"Bet?" He bumps your hip with his, "Loser buys ice cream."

~

The grocery store is exactly as mundane as you predicted, but Chan makes it unbearable in ways you didn’t anticipate — his fingers lingering when he passes you items, his chest pressing against your back in crowded aisles like it’s accidental. By the time you hit the freezer section, your nerves are frayed.

"Pick a flavor," Chan murmurs, chin hooked over your shoulder as he reaches past you to open the glass door. His breath ghosts across your cheek. "I’m feeling generous."

The freezer air hits your face, but it does nothing to cool the heat creeping up your neck. Chan’s arm brushes yours as he leans in, his fingers tracing the edge of a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream. "This one," he decides, plucking it from the shelf. "tastes like toothpaste sometimes, but eh" he said with a shrug.

You snort, grabbing a classic vanilla, but he plucks it from your hands and replaces it with something absurdly decadent, something with caramel swirls and chocolate chunks.

"Live a little," he grins, tossing it into the cart.

The checkout line is agony. Chan stands close enough that his knuckles keep brushing the small of your back, each touch sending sparks up your spine.

the cashier — an exhausted looking college student — scans everything, he pushed your hand aside when you tried to pay, and handed the cashier his card.

he caried all the groceries too, and swatted your hand away when you try to carry any.

it feels like he's your boyfriend.

The apartment door clicks shut behind you both, grocery bags rustling as Chan kicks off his shoes. You’re still fumbling with the laces of your sneakers when he brushes past you with the plastic bags.

You follow, already going to pull things out and putting them in their designated cupboards, Chan’s already rummaging through to find the ice cream, His grin is wide as he holds it up. "Scoops or straight from the tub?"

"freezer" you deadpan, "it's probably melted by now"

his shoulders slump a little, turning around to place the tubs in the freezer.

"and, scoops," you mutter, "We’re not animals."

he snickers, "Debatable."

Chan nudges the freezer door shut with his hip, the ice cream safely stowed away for later. "Movie night?" he suddenly asks, casual as anything, "Haven't done one in a while."

You nod, "Yeah. Okay."

You retreat to your room to change, fingers fumbling with the hem of your shirt before you even reach the door. The fabric sticks to your skin, too warm and you peel it off with a relieved sigh the second you’re alone.

The dresser drawer squeaks as you rummage for shorts and a tank top since its getting too hot, but your hands freeze mid reach when you hear Chan’s door creak open down the hall.

The unmistakable sound of fabric hitting the floor — jeans, probably — makes your throat go dry. You strain to listen, pulse hammering in your ears, as Chan hums under his breath. Something clatters, a belt buckle, and then the soft rustle of fresh clothes being pulled on.

You yank your own shorts up so fast you nearly trip, ears burning. Pathetic.

When you emerge, Chan’s already sprawled across the couch in loose joggers and that stupidly thin white tank top.

"You took forever," Chan drawls from the couch, already eating his way through a popcorn bucket.

"You're picking?" he scoffs, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. "After the garbage you called 'cinema' last time?"

You snatch the remote before he can lunge for it. "You picked Twilight unironically last time."

Chan clutches his chest like you've wounded him. "Bella Swan is a cultural icon."

You scoff, scrolling through the options, ignoring Chan's dramatic sigh as he flops back against the cushions. His knee bumps yours, but you don't pull away.

"Fine," he huffs. "But if it's another pretentious indie film where people whisper for two hours, I'm revoking your movie privileges."

"Fine," you grumble back, scrolling past a dozen of said pretentious indie films with moody black and white thumbnails. "But only because I pity your attention span."

Chan's grin is immediate as he stretches an arm along the back of the couch, fingers brushing your shoulder.

"pick something with action," then wiggles his eyebrows, "Or nudity."

You elbow him hard in the ribs.

"Ow—," Chan wheezes, but he's laughing, catching your wrist before you can retreat. His fingers are warm and rough against your pulse point, thumb pressing into the flutter there. "Violent and kinky," he muses, tugging you closer until your shoulders press together. "I like it."

You yank your wrist free and snatch up the remote again, scrolling through titles.

Chan's laughter vibrates through the couch cushions as you land on something, anything, just to shut him up. The movie starts with a car chase, tires screeching, glass shattering. Perfect. Loud enough to distract whenever Chan shifts beside you.

"Action and nudity," Chan murmurs, nodding approvingly at the screen where some actor's shirt rips open during a fight scene. "You do know me."

You sink lower into the couch, arms crossed. "Shut up and watch."

The first ten minutes of the movie blur into a haze of gunfire and badly timed one-liners, the volume turned up just loud enough to drown out the way Chan’s fingers keep tracing idle patterns against your shoulder.

You focus resolutely on the screen, but Chan’s warmth beside you is impossible to ignore. His knee presses into yours, his bare arm brushing against yours every time he reaches for more popcorn, and each touch sends a jolt of electricity down your spine.

Then, during a lull in the action, Chan shifts beside you, his hand sliding from your shoulder to the back of your neck. His fingers curl gently into your hair, thumb brushing the sensitive skin behind your ear.

"You’re not even watching," he mmurmur.

You swallow hard, refusing to look at him. "Am too."

Chan hums, unconvinced, his thumb stroking slow circles against your skin. "Liar."

His accusation hangs between you, thick and charged, and suddenly the movie feels like background noise.

His fingers tighten slightly in your hair, tipping your head back just enough that you have no choice but to meet his gaze.

His eyes are dark, there’s no teasing smirk now, no playful glint — just hunger.

Your breath hitches audibly.

Chan’s thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Tell me to stop."

You don’t.

His lips crash into yours before you can form a coherent thought, the remote clattering to the floor as your hands fist in his shirt.

Chan groans into your mouth, fingers tightening in your hair as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with so much desperation.

The movie drones on, but all you can feel is the way his hips jerk forward against yours as you press closer. His hands slide down to grip your waist, hauling you halfway into his lap without breaking the kissl.

"You’ve been driving me insane," Chan pants against your lips, one hand slipping under your shirt to trace the dip of your spine. "Watching me, pretending you weren’t—fuck—" His words dissolve into a groan when you grind down against him, the hard line of his cock pressing insistently against your thigh.

He knows you know. he has all this time. The realization makes your eyes widen slightly—but it doesn’t surprise you. Not really.

Not when Chan’s fingers tighten possessively around your hips, his teeth scraping your lower lip like he’s been waiting for this moment just as long as you have.

His palm slides up your ribcage, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through your thin tank top, and your breath stutters against his mouth.

Of course he knew. The cracked doors, the late night streams he timed too perfectly with your schedule. Those weren't just coincidences.

You pull back just enough to see his face, your eyes wide with the realization that just dawned on you.

his lips are swollen from your kisses, panting, “Surprise,” he rasps, voice wrecked.

Chan’s grip shifts, hauling you fully into his lap, and you gasp when his hardness presses against you. His chuckle vibrates through your chest as he rolls his hips up, slow and filthy. “Thought you’d never crack,” he murmurs, lips grazing your jaw.

Your hands fist in his tank top, the fabric damp with sweat where it clings to his chest. “You—asshole” you pant, hips jerking against his involuntarily. “All that teasing—”

Chan's grin widens "All what teasing?" he murmurs, pressing an open mouthed kisses to your neck. "You mean leaving my door open just a little too wide?"

His teeth scrape your skin, "Or maybe streaming at exactly the times I knew you'd be home?" His palm cups your breast through your shirt, thumb brushing over your nipple.

You gasp when he pinches lightly, hips jerking against his. "You're insane," you manage, though the words come out more breathless than angry.

Chan laughs against your throat, before his teeth sink into the tender skin just below your ear. Your nails dig into his shoulders as his hands slide down to grip your hips, guiding your movements as you grind against him. The friction is dizzying, the thin fabric of your shorts doing nothing to dull the heat of him pressed against you.

"Insane?" His breath is hot against your damp skin. "Baby, aren't the one who watched my streams every other night?" His fingers slip under the hem of your tank top, tracing the waistband of your shorts with maddening slowness.

You whine, the sound high and desperate in your throat, and nod before you can think better of it. The admission burns your cheeks, but the way Chan groans against your skin makes it worth it.

"yeah?" he rasps, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes.

Chan’s fingers flex against your waist, his breath hot against your lips. “Every fucking time,” he admits, voice rough “I’d pretend it was your hand on me,” His thumb presses into the dip of your hipbone, “Your mouth.” His gaze drops to your parted lips, then back up, heavy lidded. “You have no idea how many times I came thinking about you watching me.”

Chan exhales sharply, his nose brushing yours. “cancelled tonight’s stream,” he murmurs, lips grazing yours with every word. “would rather beg you to fuck me instead.” His palm slides up your ribcage, fingers tracing the edge of your bra through your tank top.

“You don’t have to beg,” you murmur, lips brushing his as you swing your leg off his lap. Chan exhales sharply, hands gripping your waist tighter like he’s afraid you’ll pull away entirely, but then you’re sliding to your knees between his legs, fingers hooking into the waistband of his joggers.

His breath catches when you tug them down just enough to free his cock, already hard and leaking against his stomach.

gosh he's even bigger than he looks on camera.

Chan's breath stutters when your fingers wrap around him, his hips jerking into your grip before he can stop himself. "Fuck—" His voice cracks, a hand flying to fist in your hair as you stroke him slow, watching the way his eyelids flutter.

He's hot and heavy in your palm, already slick at the tip, and the way his thighs tense when you swipe your thumb over the head is obscene.

Chan’s fingers tighten in your hair when your lips brush the head of his cock, his breath stuttering out in a ragged groan. “Fuck—fuck—” His hips jerk up instinctively, but you pull back just enough to tease, swirling your tongue over the tip without taking him deeper, and you can’t resist glancing up through your lashes to watch his face twist with pleasure.

“So loud,” you giggle, blowing a slow breath over the wetness you’ve left behind. Chan’s thighs tense under your palms. “All those streams,” you continue, stroking him lazily with one hand while the other traces the vein running along his length, “and you never moaned like this.”

Chan’s laugh comes out strained, his chest heaving. “it wasn't you,” he grits out, hips rolling up into your touch. His fingers tug at your hair, guiding you back to him with a quiet desperation that sends heat pooling low in your stomach. “Now stop teasing—”

You swallow him down before he can finish, humming around him just to feel the way his whole body jerks. His moan is filthy, unfiltered, his hips canting up into the wet heat of your mouth like he can’t help it.

You take him deeper, throat working around him, and Chan’s fingers tighten in your hair, not guiding, just holding on for dear life.

“god—” His voice cracks when you hollow your cheeks, tongue pressing flat against the underside of his cock. His other hand fists the couch cushion beside his thigh, knuckles going white. “So good—shit—you take me so fucking good—”

You pull off with a slick pop, lips brushing the flushed tip as you peer up at him, teasing, thumb swiping over the bead of precome gathered there.

Chan’s chest heaves, his abs flexing as he stares down at you, His grip in your hair tightens just enough to sting — a silent warning — but you just grin and duck back down, sucking him deep until his thighs tremble.

Chan curses, his hips lifting off the couch as you bob your head, the wet sounds obscenely loud even with the movie still playing forgotten in the background.

“Gonna—” He's cut off by his own gasp, “Gonna come if you keep—”

You pull off with a wet sound, lips slick and swollen, and replace your mouth with both hands, jerking him so fast his hips stutter off the couch, his breath coming in ragged, punched out gasps.

“Wait—fuck—” Chan chokes out, fingers scrambling at your shoulders, but it’s too late — his back arches off the cushions, muscles locking tight as he spills hot over your fingers and his own stomach.

His thighs shake under your palms, his cock twitching in your grip as you stroke him through it, slower now, milking every last drop until he’s whimpering and oversensitive, his hands weakly pushing at your wrists.

“Turn around,” Chan rasps, chest rising and falling rapidly. His fingers slide from your hair to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing your spit slick bottom lip. “Want you riding me.”

Your stomach flips at the command, but before you can move, Chan’s hands are gripping your waist, hauling you up onto the couch with surprising strength. He settles you over his lap in one smooth motion, your thighs bracketing his hips, and the sudden press of his bare skin against yours makes you gasp.

Chan groans, fingers digging into the meat of your thighs as he leans back to look at you, really look at you, his gaze dragging down your body with a hunger that makes your skin prickle.

he hooks a thumb into the waistband of your shorts and tugs, sliding them off, his breath hitching when he finds you already soaked through your panties.

"Fuck," he exhales, dragging the damp fabric aside with one finger, his touch featherlight as he traces your slit. His other hand cups the back of your neck, pulling you down until your foreheads touch, his breath mingling with yours. "You're so wet," he murmurs, voice rough with disbelief. "Just from sucking me off?"

You nod, hips canting into his touch shamelessly, his finger circles your clit —once, twice, before dipping lower, sliding into you, crooking just right to make your back arch. His free hand fists in your tank top, dragging you closer until your chest presses against his, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide the way your nipples harden against him.

His thumb pressing firm circles against your clit, and your vision whites out for a second — just long enough to miss the way his free hand fists in your tank top, yanking it up until the fabric bunches just above your chest. His mouth replaces his fingers, teeth scraping over your nipple through the lace of your bra, and you gasp, hips stuttering against his hand.

“Thought about this,” he pants against your skin, his tongue lapping at the wet spot he’s left behind. “Every goddamn stream—imagined you like this, wet and desperate for me.” His finger curls again, dragging a broken moan from your throat, and his grin is all teeth when he leans back to watch you unravel. “Knew you’d be prettier than I imagined.”

You grab his wrist, stilling his movements, and his brows furrow — confused, frustrated — until you swing your leg over him, straddling his lap properly this time. His cock, half hard again, twitches against your thigh as you grind down, the friction drawing a ragged groan from both of you.

Chan’s hands fly to your hips, guiding your movements as you rock against him, his breath hot against your collarbone.

“Wanna feel you,” you murmur, fingers fumbling between you to grip him, slicking him up with your own arousal. Chan’s head falls back against the couch, his Adam’s apple bobbing as you line him up, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

You sink down onto him with a choked gasp, thighs trembling as he stretches you open inch by agonizing inch. Chan’s hands clamp around your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, but he doesn’t rush you —just watches as you take him deeper.

"Fuck," you whimper, nails scraping his shoulders when he bottoms out, your body shuddering at the unfamiliar stretch. "You’re—god—you’re so big—"

Chan groans, hips twitching beneath you, fighting not to thrust up. "Yeah?" His voice is wrecked, breath hitching as you clench around him. "Feel good, baby? Stuffed full of me?" His fingers trail up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts while you adjust. "taking me so good."

You roll your hips experimentally, and Chan’s head thuds back against the couch, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. "That’s it," he rasps, hands sliding to grip your ass. "Use me—ride me just like you imagined."

The words send heat flaring up your neck, but you can’t deny them, can’t stop the way your body responds, hips rolling in slow circles. Chan hisses between his teeth when you clench around him, his fingers flexing against your skin.

"Christ—fuck—you’re so tight," he grits out, eyes locked on where you’re joined. "Bet you thought about this every night, hmm? Watching me stroke my cock on cam while you fucked yourself on your fingers?"

You whimper, thighs quivering as you lift yourself halfway up before sinking back down, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. his breath stutters, his hips jerking up to meet you halfway, and the sudden shift punches a ragged moan from your throat. "Oh fuck—Chan—"

"Say it," he demands, thumb brushing your clit as you bounce in his lap. His voice is rough, wrecked, his pupils blown wide, "Tell me how much you thought about this, how many times you came imagining me inside you."

You gasp when he pinches your clit lightly, your rhythm faltering, "Every—ah—every night," you admit, nails digging into his shoulders as you grind down harder. "Watched you—touched myself—god, wanted you—"

Chan groans, fingers tightening on your hips as he guides your movements, thrusting up to meet you. "Knew it," he pants, lips brushing yours with every ragged breath.

"Knew you were getting off to me—fuck—your little gasps when I’d look at the camera—" His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing your nipples through your bra. "Bet you came so pretty for me, huh? All quiet so I wouldn’t hear?"

You nod frantically, hips stuttering as his cock hits that spot inside you, the pleasure building dangerously fast. "Y-yes—*fuck*—Chan, please—"

"Please what?" he murmurs, lips curling into a smirk even as his own breathing falters. He slows your movements deliberately, dragging you through each excruciatingly slow roll of your hips. "Need me to fuck you harder, baby?"

You whine, fingers tangling in his hair as you try to chase your own rhythm, but his grip on your hips is unrelenting. "Yes—god, yes—"

he flips you onto your stomach before you can finish begging, his hands rough and sure as he shoves your knees apart against the couch cushions. The fabric burns against your bare thighs when he yanks your hips back, his cock sliding out of you with a slick sound that makes your face burn.

You barely have time to whimper before his fingers dig into your waist, lifting you on all fours with a sharp tug — his chest presses hot against your back, his breath ragged in your ear as he lines himself up again.

he doesn’t give you a second to adjust. He slams into you with one brutal thrust, punching the air from your lungs as your elbows buckle against the cushions. His cock stretches you open deeper than before, the angle hitting deeper, and you choke on a scream when his hips snap forward again, setting a punishing pace before you can catch your breath.

Hands clamp around your hips, fingers bruising as he drags you back onto him with every thrust. The couch creaks beneath you, the sound drowned out by chan’s ragged groans and the slick slap of skin on skin. His rhythm is merciless, no teasing now, just pure, desperate need as he fucks into you like he’s been starving for it.

Chan's grip on your hips shifts — one hand sliding up to fist in your hair, yanking your head back until your spine bows beautifully beneath him. "Fuck, look at you," he growls, his voice rough with something between awe and hunger as he takes in the sight of you spread out beneath him.

His fingers tighten, pulling just enough to make your scalp prickle, before his palm cracks down against your ass, the sound echoing through the room louder than the forgotten movie still playing in the background.

You gasp, thighs trembling as the heat blooms across your skin, but Chan doesn’t give you a second to recover. His hips snap forward, driving into you with a force that has your nails scrabbling against the couch cushions for purchase. "Take it," he orders, voice wrecked, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips hard enough to leave bruises. "God, you feel so good—clenching around me like—" His words dissolve into a groan as he picks up the pace, each thrust punching a ragged sound from your throat.

His free hand slides around your waist, pressing firm circles against your clit, and the dual sensation has your vision blurring at the edges. "That’s it," he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear as his rhythm falters for just a second, "Gonna make you come just like this—spread out, taking me so well—"

His thumb presses harder against your clit, and your back arches involuntarily, a broken moan tearing from your lips as the pleasure crests suddenly, violently.

Chan curses, his grip tightening as you clench around him, your body shuddering through the waves of it. "Yeah, there you go, gonna cum for me?"

You nod vigorously, your fingers twisting into the couch cushions as Chan’s thrusts turn erratic, his breath ragged against your ear. "Cum with me," he rasps, and it’s all you need.

Your body clenches around him like a vice, pleasure crashing over you in waves so intense your vision whites out for a second. Chan groans, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you with a broken gasp, his forehead dropping between your shoulder blades.

Chan pulls out slowly, hissing through his teeth when you clench around him reflexively, oversensitive.

The couch cushions are damp beneath your trembling thighs, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat as you collapse onto your stomach, chest heaving. Chan exhales sharply, running a hand down your spine, before flipping you onto your back, more gently this time.

The shift makes you wince, your body still thrumming with aftershocks, he slides off the couch onto his knees between your legs. His palms skate up your inner thighs, spreading them apart with slowly despite your weak protest. "Shh," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee. "Just wanna taste you."

You squirm when his breath ghosts over your sensitive skin, but Chan’s grip tightens, holding you open. "Chan—" His name comes out hoarse, your voice wrecked. "I’m—ah—too sensitive—"

Chan’s fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you open despite your squirming. His tongue flicks over your clit, just enough to make your hips jerk, oversensitive and trembling.

“You can take it,” he murmurs against your skin, “You’re a big girl, yeah?” His teeth graze your inner thigh, before his mouth closes over you again, and your back arches off the couch with a choked gasp.

You can take it. You do.

Every swipe of his tongue sends sparks shooting up your spine, your fingers twisting into his hair — not to pull him away, but to keep him right there, his mouth working you through the dizzying aftershocks of your orgasm.

Chan hums against you, the vibration making your toes curl, and his grip on your thighs tightens when you try to press them together instinctively. “None of that,” he chides, nipping at your skin before dragging his tongue up your slit again, “Just let me have you.”

You whine, hips caving into his mouth despite the oversensitivity, the pleasure tipping into something almost painful, but you don’t tell him to stop. Couldn’t if you wanted to.

"so sweet," he groans against you, the words vibrating through your oversensitive nerves. His fingers dig into your hips, pinning you down when you try to squirm away from the intensity. "No— stay still."

You whimper, but obey, letting him spread you wider as his tongue delves deeper, circling your entrance before dragging back up in one long, torturous lick.

"Chan—please—" you gasp, but you’re not even sure what you’re begging for — him to stop or never, ever stop.

His response is to hook your leg over his shoulder, angling you deeper into his mouth, and then he’s sucking you in, his tongue working you with precision. You sob his name, your hips jerking uncontrollably as the pressure builds again, too soon, too much—

You choke out his name, fingers scrambbling at his shoulders, a desperate attempt to ground yourself, before your hips jerk violently against his mouth.

“Chan, gonna—oh god—” The warning spills out brokenly, your thighs clamp around his head as you come with a shuddering gasp, your back bowing off the couch as pleasure rips through you.

he groans against you, the vibration wringing another broken sound from your throat, he doesn’t pull away, just laps at you greedily, his tongue dragging through the mess you’ve made of him with slow strokes.

“Fuck,” he rasps against your skin before pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “You’re perfect like this.” His thumb brushes your clit once, testing, and you jerk with a gasp, your body still thrumming with aftershocks.

Chan grins up at you, all dark eyes and swollen lips, before dragging his tongue up your slit one last time.

Chan rises from between your thighs with a groan, his lips slick and glistening with you, you realize with a jolt — before his mouth crashes into yours, the kiss filthy and possessive, his tongue licking into your mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair, sticky with sweat, and he moans into your mouth when you tug — sharp, just to feel him shudder.

You pull away eventually, both of you panting, sticky with sweat and other things, and collapse onto the couch in a tangle of limbs. Chan drags you half on top of him, your head resting against his chest where you can hear his heartbeat still racing beneath his skin.

His fingers trace idle patterns along your back, the movie’s credits roll, forgotten, casting flickering shadows across the ceiling.

You nuzzle into his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat slowing down, the rise and fall of his breath beneath your cheek. His skin is warm and slightly sticky, and you press a kiss to it without thinking, smiling when his fingers pause for a second before resuming their path along your spine.

"Quit staring," you murmur, tilting your head up just enough to catch him watching you with an expression that makes your stomach flip. soft, almost awed, Chan huffs a laugh, his thumb brushing your hipbone where he’d gripped hard enough to leave marks earlier.

"Can’t help it," he admits, voice rough with exhaustion "You’re kinda fucking gorgeous like this."

You snort, but your cheeks heat anyway, and Chan’s grin widens when he notices. He shifts beneath you, rolling just enough to tuck you more firmly against his side, his arm a solid weight across your waist.

The movement makes you wince, your thighs ache in a way that’s equal parts delicious and punishing, and Chan’s fingers tighten reflexively, his smirk turning smug.

"Sorry," he lies, and you bite on his shoulder just to hear him yelp.

his yelp dissolves into laughter, his fingers digging into your sides as he squirms away from your teeth. “Fuck, ow,” he complains, but his grin ruins the effect, “You bite hard—should’ve known you’d be a menace.”

You grin against his shoulder, pressing another kiss to the reddening mark you left behind. “Payback,” you murmur, tracing the outline with your tongue just to feel him shiver. Chan groans, his hips jerking reflexively beneath you, and you freeze when you feel him stirring against your thigh—already half hard again.

“Seriously?” you ask, incredulous, and Chan has the audacity to look proud, his smirk widening as he rolls his hips up against you.

“What?” he teases, voice dripping with false innocence. “Can’t help it—you’re right there, all warm and fucked out—” His hand slides down your back, fingers skimming the curve of your ass before squeezing lightly. “And you bit me. That’s basically foreplay.”

You press a hand to Chan’s chest when he tries to roll you beneath him again, your thighs still trembling from the last round. “Shower,” you mumble, and Chan makes a wounded noise against your collarbone in protest.

“Five more minutes,” he tries, lips trailing up your neck like he’s trying to convince you with his mouth.

You laugh, breathless, and squirm out of his grip before he can distract you properly. “No—shower,” you insist, swatting at his hands when they try to drag you back. “We’re disgusting.”

Chan pouts — actually pouts, like this big hunk of a man didn't just fuck the daylights out of you — and flops back against the couch with a dramatic sigh. “Fine,” he grumbles, but his eyes track your every movement as you stand, snickering when you wobble slightly on unsteady legs.

You stumble towards the bathroom, then you glance back at Chan, sprawled across the couch with his arms behind his head, watching you with that stupid, smug grin, and ask, "When’s your next stream again?"

his grin falters into confusion when your question registers. "Monday," he says automatically, his brows furrowing, "Why?"

You hum, "Just thinking," then you shrug, "maybe I’ll join you next time."

he's caught off guard when you leave him hanging and close the bathroom door behind you, "don't start something you can't finish!"

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[rockpaperskzers]

✦ FOREVER X FENDI ✦ ch 5 (18+ MDNI)

✦ AU: Chan x y/n ✦ Summary: When you and fellow Fendi ambassador Bang Chan are photographed on a reckless night out, your employer proposes a way to contain the scandal--a contract marriage. Matters are only made worse due to your aversion to marriage and Chan's longing to one day be a husband for real. ✦ Genre: Romance, contract marriage, slow burn, smut, brat taming ✦ Warnings: Choosing not to disclose to maintain the element of surprise but this chapter kicks off the smut! 😉 ✦ a/n: whaaaat a new chapter in a week!? ok so maybe i had this one written before chapter 4 and really struggled connecting the dots so that one took forever lol but so glad to finally publish this part. HAPPY READING <3

[ fic master list ]

Chapter Five: Use Me x Fendi

“Just the one date or . . . ?”

Chan shakes his head, smiling softly. “You’re too stubborn for your own good.”

An astute observation, sir.

You sigh with a little more sass than necessary and take a step back, causing his hands to fall from your hips.

“Roommates it is, then.” You extend your hand.

“Roommates.” He echoes, shaking your hand.

You go your separate ways amicably—you to finish unpacking and shower, Chan probably to alphabetize the spice cabinet or something.

The next time you see him, it’s approaching midnight. He’s seated on the couch, phone in hand. You walk around the kitchen, opening various cabinets in search of a snack.

“You’re still up?” you ask.

“Yeah. I’m creating a list of content we can make. I’ll share it with—” he stops when he finally looks up.

Your pajama set consists of a grey cropped tank and matching ribbed shorts with slits at either thigh.

It was a deliberate choice. Chan admitting he’s not immune to you means he’s susceptible to temptation. And that made this predicament exciting for you.

But in your defense this set is really comfortable. You have six other pairs because you like them so much. And you had a feeling Chan might, too.

His gaze lingers for another moment before snapping to your face, a sheepish smile pulling at his lips.

“You picked an interesting outfit to wear immediately after asking me if we’re going to be celibate throughout this.”

“Should I sleep in a straightjacket instead, roomie?”

“Do whatever makes you comfortable, y/n,” he smiles a little too sweetly.

“I will.” You grab a bag of veggie chips and take a seat on the opposite end of the couch. “No junk food made it on your grocery list?”

He looks pointedly at the bag in your hand.

“Veggie chips don’t really count as junk.”

He lifts his phone, waving it in his hand, “I’ll make a shared list for that too, then.”

“You’re too organized for your own good.” You roll your eyes, turning on the TV to set up your various streaming services.

The next few days are a learning curve as you navigate living together and acclimate to each other’s routines. It takes Chan exactly four days to realize you’re impossible to talk to before coffee. You quickly pick up on his neurotic neatness—like the mug handles all pointing in the exact same direction. One afternoon, out of pure curiosity, you turn a single mug backward before leaving. By the time you come home, it has mysteriously found its way back. Chan never mentions it. Neither do you.

He doesn’t comment on your pajamas again, either. But when the shared grocery list updates a few days later, one new item has been added: straightjacket.

London Fashion Week is the last big public appearance you and Chan have before the industry quiets down for a few months. The thought provided you with a glimmer of relief, but it didn’t last long. Preparing for your wedding is the next area of focus Lucia has been texting about.

It still feels far enough away that you don’t need to start hyperventilating about it just yet, but the more you stood and posed for pictures with Chan, the harder it was to shake.

“Engaged, huh?” Seungmin asks, the moment he is within earshot—not letting a second go by before bringing it up.

Your eyes flick toward Chan, currently doing a round of solo interviews with Korean based magazines. You’d much rather be off to the side instead of standing there nodding as if you have a clue what’s being said.

“Yep,” you say, showing the ring on your finger.

Seungmin studies you, not the ring.

“And you two have been seeing each other behind everyone’s back for a year?”

You knew the boys would have more questions. Seungmin in particular since you’re closest with him. He’s heard the way you talk about men and dating enough to know the math isn’t mathing.

“Have you seen Felix or Hyunjin?” you ask.

His eyes narrow.

“Felix is somewhere around here with Zendaya, probably,” he replies. “Hyunjin is in tomorrow. When’s the wedding?”

You don’t attempt to deflect again.

“In three months.”

“You pregnant or something?”

Your eyes fly around the room, making sure no one is close enough to hear.

His jaw goes slack, eyes widening.

“No—no!” You whisper harshly, bringing him back from that thought. “I’m not—” your eyes dart around again, “that. Look, it’s been a lot since the announcement. I could just use a normal night with my best friend right now.”

He studies you a moment longer before relenting.

“Okay. You hungry?”

“Starving, actually,” you say.

“Yeah, eating for two I bet.”

You slap his arm, mad that you walked right into that one. But it truly is the most normal, Seungmin-like thing he could have done in the moment, and you find yourself grinning.

He laughs. “Okay, okay. I’m done. We’ll grab dinner after.”

The remainder of the evening passes without a hitch. You slip back beside Chan, your hand naturally finding his whenever another photographer calls your names. By the time the last show wraps, your cheeks ache from smiling.

You exit the venue with Chan, Seungmin and Felix. The latter of which is trying to convince everyone to go to a Mediterranean restaurant.

“We’re in London, Felix.” You scrunch up your face. “That calls for a pub with fish and chips and draft beers.”

“There’s a pub near my hotel,” Seungmin suggests.

“I’d prefer something light tonight,” Chan adds his two cents.

Had this conversation been happening a month ago, there wouldn’t be a second thought to splitting up for the night with the possibility of meeting up later.

But now you’re engaged.

You had yet to discuss this aspect of the agreement. Surely you’re still permitted to hang out with your friends, whether they’re male or female, right?

“We can just go with them,” Seungmin says. “If you two are inseparable now.”

“No,” you say too quickly, glaring at him. “Seungmin and I will go to the pub. You guys go enjoy your Caprese salads or whatever.”

“Okay,” Chan responds easily. “I’ll see you back at the room, yeah?”

You nod.

Chan hesitates for a second before adding. “Don’t stay out too late.”

His tone leaves you unsure if that was meant to be a cute comment for the sake of being in public and needing to keep up pretenses or if he’s insinuating you have a curfew.

You plaster on a smile, “Don’t wait up.”

You take Seungmin by the arm and steer him toward the waiting taxis before anyone can change their minds.

You have your first round of drinks with dinner. That eventually turns into a second round while you insist you can beat Seungmin at darts (you don’t). By closing time, continuing the conversation at Seungmin’s suite with more beer is more enticing than saying goodnight.

You kick your shoes off the moment you step inside and immediately make yourself comfortable on the couch.

For the first time in a week your phone stays forgotten on the table. You’re not thinking about engagement notifications and you’re not pretending.

It’s just you and Seungmin.

“So . . . ” he says eventually.

You groan.

“No.”

“You knew I wasn’t going to let this go.”

“I did.”

“What happened?”

You stare into your drink. “I can’t tell you.”

His expression softens.

“Can’t?”

You nod.

“Not won’t?”

You shake your head.

He leans back in his seat, letting the silence sit.

Then he raises his glass.

“To whatever disaster you’ve gotten yourself into, then.”

You clink yours against his.

“Cheers.”

The swig of beer takes the uncomfortable moment away with it and you know Seungmin won’t ask about it again. And you love him for that.

You glance at your phone for the first time—it’s 2:17am.

“Shit,” you mutter.

He checks his too, yawning. “Want me to call you a cab?”

You consider the offer, looking toward the window.

You still aren’t ready to go back. This is the first night you’ve felt like yourself in two weeks.  

“Or you can stay here,” he suggests as he stands.

“You sure?”

He’s already walking into the bedroom.

“Yeah. Besides,” he speaks loudly so you can still hear him, “I don’t trust you to not get lost.”

“You have so little faith in me.”

“I have exactly the right amount, y/n.”

You laugh.

He returns and tosses you a blanket.

“You get the couch. Goodnight.”

“The couch? You’re the reason they say chivalry is dead, Kim Seungmin,” you call to his retreating back.

He laughs heartily. You can still hear it even after he’s closed the door to his room.

You pull the blanket over yourself, sinking farther into the couch. After setting an alarm for the morning, you toss your phone onto the coffee table.

Sleep comes almost immediately.

Your alarm wakes you at 9:00am.

You sit up on the couch and take a moment to orient yourself. You need to make it back to your hotel, shower and get ready in two hours and right now you feel like doing zero of those things.

You stand with a sigh and hurry to gather your belongings. Halfway to the door, you catch your reflection in the hallway mirror, and your PR training kicks in.

You’re still wearing last night’s outfit.

You can’t leave a hotel where you aren’t staying with your fiancé looking exactly as you did the night before. Add messy hair to the mix and it’s the kind of photo that weird guy from TMZ gets off to. You can imagine the headline now—UNFAITHFUL FENDI: Y/N’S CHEATING WALK OF SHAME.

Couldn’t be further from the truth, but they’d have a field day with it.

You turn around and knock on Seungmin’s door.

“I hope you have clothes on,” you say, turning the handle. “I’m coming in.”

He lifts his head slightly, body covered with the comforter, one eye cracked open.

“I need to borrow some of your clothes.”

He lazily waves you on.

You rummage through his suitcase and change in the bathroom. When you reemerge he lifts his head from the pillow again.  

He huffs a laugh at your appearance.

“Where you off to already, Adam Sandler?”

You glance down at the outfit you pulled together. Baggy sweats, a zip-up hoodie that’s two sizes too large, combined with a hat and sunglasses.

Fuck.

This is Adam Sandler chic.

And you need to borrow a pair of his slides, too.

“We’re attending two of the shows today, so we have to get there early,” you tell him. “I’ll return it all before I leave. Go back to sleep.”

You walk with your head down and don’t risk lifting it until the taxi takes off.

It’s 10:00am when you make it back to the room. Knowing your routine, that’s ample time to be 80% ready, you’ll just have to do your makeup in the car. You’ve become shockingly good at applying it in a moving vehicle since entering this industry.

You don’t see Chan as you pass the living room and enter your private room. You take a shower, allowing yourself a few more minutes than you really have. After, with your robe on, you dart back out to the living room to make a cup of coffee.  

You nearly stumble, seeing Chan on the couch.

He’s already primed for the red carpet. You can’t see much of his outfit, but it’s all black. It’s not much of a surprise that yours is, too, since they love having you match.

“I need coffee and twenty minutes.”

You grab a mug, ruffling the towel beneath it in a rush, and place it under the spout. You rifle through the bowl of flavors, knocking some over the edge before settling on caramel. At the last second, you swap out the mug for a to-go cup then finally start the machine.

You head back towards your room, but Chan stops you just as you reach your door.

“Why didn’t you come back last night?” he asks.

You glance over your shoulder, “I was tired.”

A beat passes.

“You could have text.”

The suggestion doesn’t land well.

It sounds so simple. So reasonable.

Yet somehow it feels much bigger than that.

“I didn’t know I was required to check in with you.”

You enter your room and close the door behind you.

You make quick work of your hair with dry shampoo and change into your outfit for the day. You grab your large black Fendi bag and toss your smaller makeup bag inside of it before exiting the room.

Chan is standing in front of the counter, pouring your preferred creamer flavor into the to-go cup. He’s also put everything back in its place. He pops a lid on it before turning around and offering it to you.

You get to fully appreciate his outfit for the first time—a long, knee-length overcoat paired with wide-legged black slacks. The icing on the cake is the sheer, black, floral button-up shirt, providing yet another teasing glimpse at his torso.

Perhaps he should be wearing straightjackets to these events. That’d make it easier to keep your thoughts in check.

You take the cup and mumble a thanks.

You’d been ready to tell him that cleaning up after you all the time isn’t necessary, but him prepping your coffee with his pecs on display has momentarily thrown you off.

Once in the car, you take a long sip of coffee before setting it down and pulling out your makeup bag. You pass the mirror to Chan.

“Can you hold this?”

He takes it without question and holds it in front of you.

You apply a light layer of foundation, then concealer before blending blush across your cheeks, grateful to have something else to focus on besides the silence hanging between you.

Next is eyeshadow, eyeliner, then mascara.

Still, neither of you say anything.

Only when you’re nearly done with your other eye does he finally speak.

“Did anyone see you going into his hotel or coming out of it?”

“I don’t think so,” you answer.

He lowers the mirror. Your gaze lifts to his face.

“y/n, we have to be mindful of how things like this look.”

“I know that, Chan. That’s why I changed before leaving.”

You grab his hand with the mirror and raise it again.

“Leaving in his clothes isn’t really a good look either.”

“It seemed the lesser of two evils at the time,” you retort. “What else could I have done?”

“Came back at a decent hour.”

You freeze, mascara brush hovering in front of your lashes.

“Nights staying out late or crashing with a friend after drinking aren’t unusual for me,” you tell him. “I don’t think that has to change because of this. I’d like to still have some autonomy.”

“I’m not trying to set a curfew for you. I’m just asking for you to consider how all of your actions impact us now.”

You don’t particularly like his emphasis on the word us.

You finish applying the mascara before taking the mirror from him and toss it in your bag.

“You could have both come back to our hotel and drank until you passed out and this wouldn’t have been an issue,” he continues.

“Wouldn’t it?”

He shakes his head.

“You would’ve been fine with me bringing Seungmin back to our suite?”

“Yes.”

“At midnight?”

“Yes.”

“And if we stayed up talking until sunrise?”

“Yes. The only problem is that you were nowhere to be found and we have somewhere to be for our jobs.”

Us. We. Our.

You sigh.

“So what’s the rule then?”

“Rule?”

“Do I have to clear my plans with you? Share my location?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It sure sounded like it,” you snip as the car rolls to a stop. “Look—you don’t need to keep tabs on me. I had an alarm set so that I could make it back in time. I’m an adult.”

The car door opens and Chan steps out first. He holds his hand out for you and gently guides you from the vehicle.

“We’re not just responsible for ourselves anymore, though,” he says quietly, holding your gaze. “That’s all I’m asking you to remember.”

You press your lips together and say nothing in response.

The conversation has to end there—cameras are already on you.

By the time you’re standing shoulder to shoulder on the red carpet, neither of you has said another word. It isn’t until you join Felix and Hyunjin that you both speak. It’s another rinse and repeat conversation about how well you two hid your relationship. You let Chan take the lead and answer Hyunjin’s questions, though. He seems to accept it as truth almost as easily as Felix did.

The four of you sit together, watching as Seungmin walks the runway in a tailored, charcoal look, giving away nothing of the late night and drinks you shared.

After the show ends, the topic shifts as usual to plans for the evening.

“We’re thinking drinks later,” Felix says.

“You two coming?” Hyunjin asks.

“We’ll head back to the hotel first,” Chan answers before you can. “We might meet up with you later.

You glance at him.

He doesn’t look your way.

It takes nearly everything in you not to retract his statement. But how would it look if you seemed to be fleeing your fiancés company two days in a row?

Back at the hotel, you enter the room first and take your shoes off. Chan closes the door behind you and quietly lines both of your shoes neatly beside his own.

You clench your jaw.

He’s always anticipating your needs. Always taking care of things before you can.

Including this.

“I can be responsible for my own shoes, Chan,” you huff. “Or do you think I’m incapable of that too?”

He furrows his brow, taking off his overcoat and hanging it in the hall closet before entering the living room.

“I don’t think you’re incapable of anything, y/n,” he says, taking a seat on the couch. There’s an earnestness to his tone that implores you to let your guard down, but you ignore it. “Except, maybe, communication.”

Your eyes narrow.

“If we have a work engagement, would a text kill you?” he asks.

“It might,” you mumble. “If I leave a coffee mug on the counter for five minutes, is it going to kill you?”

“No. But it bothers me. I don’t see it as cleaning up after you. I’m just doing it, and I don’t mind.”

You purse your lips, eyes locked on his.

“So no matter what I do, you’ll clean it up?”

You take off your jacket and toss it on the couch next to him.

His eyes flick to it, but he doesn’t answer.

“And why did we tell them we had to come back to the hotel first?”

You take off your bracelets and leave them on the coffee table.

“Really?” he asks, brow quirked.

You remove your earrings and place them next to the coffee maker before walking back to stand in front of him.

“You want to hear me say I’ll text you before I’m allowed out again? Is that it?”

You bring your hands together behind your neck, feeling for the clasp of your necklace.

He suddenly reaches out for your waist and pulls you closer.

You gasp at the unexpected movement, heart beating rapidly as you look down at him.

“Either you enjoy testing my patience,” he muses, “or you genuinely take everything I say as an attack.”

While both of those things may be true, you don’t enjoy him reading you so accurately.

You slide one knee up onto the couch, then the other so you’re straddling him, causing your dress to ride up your thighs.  

“Which would you prefer?” you ask softly.

He takes a moment too long to answer.

You remove your hands from your neck and let the necklace fall into his lap with a soft thud. His eyes drop to it. You hook a finger under his chin and lift his head back up.

A flicker of irritation flashes across his eyes. But instead of answering, he cups the back of your neck and pulls your mouth to his.

A sigh escapes you as your lips meet. You wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your body against him. His hand snakes into your hair as your hips begin to rock against his.

You want to stay in this moment, but even as a relief to the tension spreads through you, you can’t help but wonder how long it will last this time before he pulls away. Because, unfortunately for you, he’d probably be content to just kiss you to death if you don’t push further.

You slip a hand between you, cupping his cock as you gently tug his bottom lip with your teeth. You squeeze his, feeling him harden in your palm.

He groans, pressing his lips back to yours and claiming your tongue.

You keep your hand between you, rubbing him through his slacks. It’s also serving as a solid surface to press your clit against.

You moan, reaching for his other hand to bring it to your chest, wanting him to touch you, to feel you. You place his hand over your tit, guiding him to knead it.

And you immediately regret it.

He pulls away, leaning his head against the couch, but he doesn’t remove his hand.

“Tell me it would be deeper than just casual sex, y/n.”

You smack your lips before you can stop yourself.

“Why does it need to be?” you murmur, undoing the first button of his shirt as you continue rocking your hips against him.

“Casual sex is literally just using someone for their body,” he says. “To satisfy yourself.”

“Mutual satisfaction is often the goal, actually . . . ” you undo the next button.

“So you just wanna use me?”

“Respectfully.”

He grabs your hands and removes them from his shirt.

“Use me, then.”

He lifts you at your hips, adjusting you so you’re straddling his right thigh.

“What?”

He uses his hands on your hips to move them forward and backwards, getting the message across quite clearly.

“Use me.”

You bite your lower lip as his hands fall from your waist, stopping the movement.

This is not how you thought you’d reach a compromise on this.

But a sudden numbness spreads across your body at the loss of stimulation against your clit. You rock your hips tentatively to bring it back.

It feels good. And the way he’s looking at you—as if imagining what more he could be doing to you . . . if only you’d concede to a stupid fucking date—takes you to another level.

His hand moves toward your thighs, and your heart nearly skips a beat, getting your hopes up. Instead of touching you, he pushes your dress up higher.

“Move your underwear,” he says.

You lift up slightly and pull them aside before sitting back down on his thigh. You grind against him again. The direct friction of his slacks against your clit sends a jolt through your body, making your breath hitch.

You grind harder, your fingers digging into the thin lace of his shirt as you tilt your head back, eyes fluttering shut. His hands remain rooted on the couch and you want to plead for him to touch you, but you don’t want to make him come to his senses again. You moan, moving your hips faster, emboldened by this act that somehow feels filthy and liberating simultaneously.

Chan’s voice cuts through the haze of pleasure, rough and restrained.

“Fuck,” he murmurs. “You’re soaking wet, y/n.”

You can’t deny it. The sound of your arousal is obscene, a wet slicking noise every time you rock against him. His thigh is solid beneath you, the muscles flexing as you ride him, and you can feel the heat of him even through the fabric.

“Chan,” you whimper, lifting your head to look at him.

“You like that?” he asks, voice low.

You nod, eyes locked on his for a moment before he cups the back of your neck and brings your mouth to his again.

You all but melt into him. Your hands caress him frantically, wanting to touch any and every part of him while he lets you do this.

You hadn’t realized how bad you needed this until now.

How will he expect you to contain yourself after this sample?

A sharp gasp tears from your throat at the thought of actually fucking him, while you grind your pussy on his leg. You can see it so clearly. You can almost feel it. His cock sinking into you, his hands and mouth on every inch of your body.

“Yes,” he hisses against your lips. “Fuck my leg until you cum.”

You reach down to pull your underwear even more out of the way, grinding your clit against him with reckless abandon as your orgasm reaches its tipping point.

“Unggh, Chan,” you pant, breaking the kiss. “I’m gonna—I’m gonna—oh fuck.”

You arch your back, expletives flying from your mouth, hips circling with fervor as you cum on his Fendi slacks.

It’s a good thing they give you these outfits to keep.

Even as your body shakes, he still doesn’t touch you. You latch your lips back onto his as your orgasm subsides, moaning softly into his mouth with each jerk of your hips.

When they finally stop moving on their own, he gently tangles his hand in your hair and lifts your head, forcing you to look at him.

“Feel better?” he tilts his head.

You nod sheepishly.

“Good,” he kisses you once, twice, three times. “Now you won’t get mad at me if I pick up all the shit you dropped?”

You snort, trying to hold in your laugh as you look down at the necklace that’s fallen to his side.

“I can pick it up myself,” you mumble.

“I don’t mind.” He says softly.

He kisses you once more, deeper this time, and once again you can’t stop the sigh that passes through your lips.

You have no way of knowing it yet, but this is the man that’s going to teach you that you can unapologetically be yourself—emotional wounds, brattiness and all—and he’s not going to run from it.

The biggest obstacle will be allowing yourself to accept it . . . and opening up to him.

a/n: phew. took a minute to get here, thank you for sticking with me! i hope their dynamics (y/n not wanting to lose herself in a relationship, and chan wanting very much to be everything his partner needs) are clearer now and this first smut scene feels earned. i've not written brat taming extensively but am excited to dive deeper into it.

taglist: @crazyfangirl2020 / @elizalabs3 / @bunbunbl0gs / @unemployedcarat / @geni-627 / @magpir8629 / @firelordtsuki / @tsunderelino / @divineslautr / @anastarsia-00 / @divineslautr / @kaylovesskz / @compersian / @rayraymylove / @mirrorballbb / @lixiestaylovesstraykids / @wolfiesroom / @letstrippp / @victoriaaf / @skyearby

banners @cafekitsune

[rockpaperskzers]

✦ FOREVER X FENDI ✦ ch 4

✦ AU - Chan x y/n ✦ Summary: When you and fellow Fendi ambassador Bang Chan are photographed on a reckless night out, your employer proposes a way to contain the scandal--a contract marriage. Matters are only made worse due to your aversion to marriage and Chan's longing to one day be a husband for real. ✦ Genres: Romance, contract marriage, slow burn, smut, brat taming ✦ Warnings: I will not share an exhaustive list to avoid spoilers, but the smut picks up in chapter 5.

[ fic masterlist ]

Chapter Four: Compromise x Fendi

It felt like Lucia was never going to stop parading you around for pictures and interviews. Typically, these events are a breeze—just socializing and chatting about your favorite pieces from the show.  You’re accustomed to being stared at, but tonight everyone is literally gawking at you and Chan with your hands intertwined.

You anticipated feeling unusually nervous and perhaps even a bit uncomfortable. But what you hadn’t expected was having Chan at your side cancel those feelings out.

Correct.

His final word echoes in your head all night. You don’t know how or why he’s so sure of himself, but his confidence calms you. You figure the least you can do is try to match the effort he’s putting into this and that helps you get through the night.  

A whopping three hours of lies and fake smiles later, you’re both finally ushered outside the venue and into an awaiting car. Lucia stands next to the open door and hands your phones back. They’re both lighting up and vibrating like crazy.

“Trending already,” she beams.

You grab both phones since you’re closer and pass Chan his.

“Have you decided on Los Angeles or New York for your residence?” she asks, as if you’ve had ample time to consider your impending shared living arrangement and not just twenty-four hours.

“We haven’t talked about it yet,” you say, glancing at Chan.

“L.A. would make it easier to see my family.”

A pang of something you aren’t ready to deal with stabs at your chest.

His decision is based on family.

You were prepared to base your decision solely on weather.

“I’m good with that.”

“Perfect.” Lucia says. “We’ll send over a few options and schedule the engagement shoot there, too. Keep your phones close.”

She starts to close the door, then stops to add:

“And don’t forget to interact with some of the posts. Likes, comments—you know the drill.”

It isn’t until you and Chan verbally confirm you will that she closes the door.

You exhale heavily as the car takes off to the hotel, feeling absolutely drained from the evening. If it weren’t for this, you would have been on your way to the after-after party. But you can no longer attend such events on a whim by yourself without it being seen as trouble in paradise.

The shackles are already firmly in place.

And as your phone continues to ping with notification after notification, that fact really starts to sink in.

You’d much rather not acknowledge any of this right now, but you don’t have a choice. Maintaining this façade is now part of your job. So, you open Instagram and a video of you and Chan on Elle Magazine’s account is the first thing that greets you. The caption overhead reads: LOVE & FASHION IN THE AIR.

“You two left quite an impression on the runway. What was that moment?” the interviewer asks.

“I’d like to see anyone do better after turning around and seeing Chan in that outfit,” you answer with a small chuckle. “I was a little caught off guard, in the best way, and it doesn’t help that I had a lot on my mind . . . ”

You watch yourself step into Chan, pressing your side against him, and place your left-hand square on his chest.

You can still remember the rapid beating of his heart beneath your touch. How heat radiated from the spot on your waist where his hand rested.

She audibly gasps. “When did that happen? Unless I missed something, I didn’t even know you two were dating.”

“We worked hard to keep it between us until we were sure,” Chan answers. “The engagement was recent . . . I’m very lucky she said yes.”

You glance up at him.

He looks down at you and presses a quick kiss to your forehead.

It baffles you how natural it all comes off.

“When is the wedding?”

“All will be announced soon,” you smile coyly.

“Well, we look forward to hearing it. Congratulations,” the interviewer says. “Mind if we get another look at the ring?”

You pause the video there—you don’t need to see that part.

The damned thing is still on your finger.

You open the comments, wondering if the good or bad ones are having their turn at the top of the algorithm.

It turns out to be a mixture of everything.

OMG I'M SCREAMING 😭😭😭

Congratulations to her but I am currently in mourning

That forehead kiss was everything. Chan is so sweet. y/n is so lucky

THE RING?? HELLO??

Need somebody to explain this timeline to me

Their babies will be perfection

The way she smiles when he talks about her 🥰

Chan I'm free tomorrow if this doesn't work out

Y/N. GIRL. YOU WON.

If only they knew.

You double tap on the video out of pure obligation.

“It looks like you’ve got some backup options if this doesn’t work out,” you muse, setting your phone down, already over it.

Chan snorts, putting his phone down too.

You turn slightly to face him. This is the first time you’ve been alone since leaving the storage closet. The first time either of you have had a moment to think about all that’s coming next.

“Are we—”

“I know we—”

You both begin at the same time before pausing.

“You first,” you tell him.

“I know we have different reasons for not wanting this, but I think we should look at it as a business deal . . . a partnership with each other, if you will.”

Oh.

That’s not what you expected.

You wanted to ask how many rooms the apartment should have and call dibs on the master bedroom.

“There’s a lot of very real legal shit hanging over our heads and if we focus on that, we’ll be miserable,” he continues. “I don’t want that. We were friends before this and I’d like to say the same when this is over, yeah?”

You nod slowly, letting that sink in for a moment. The sentiment is certainly nice to hear after all that was said in his hotel room yesterday.

You probably wouldn’t have addressed it at all.

Chan clearly doesn’t have a problem expressing himself, though. And you can tell by the way he’s looking at you, he expects you to do the same.

“What are we telling our friends?” you ask instead.

He takes a beat before responding. “They get the same story as everyone else.”

“They wouldn’t tell anyone . . . ”

“I know, but we can’t risk them talking about it and someone overhearing. It’s easier to keep the narrative intact with fewer people knowing the truth.”

You can get away with lying to Seungmin via text, but you aren’t sure it will hold up in person.

“Okay,” you agree. “If they have follow up questions, I’m telling them to call you.”

Your phone vibrates again. Then again. And again.

Another article and a new round of commentary.  

“It’s a good thing, y/n,” Chan reminds you. “We keep them talking, we keep Fendi happy, and Lucia stays off our back.”

Thousands of strangers discussing your personal life, even if contrived, doesn’t feel like a good thing. In terms of your current predicament, though, he’s right.

Keeping Lucia at bay is probably the only thing you have any control over right now. You can at least use that as some sort of motivation.

Between traveling, packing, choosing a new apartment, and fielding texts about the engagement, you’ve hardly had a moment to just breathe in days. Everything feels like it’s moving at warp speed and you’re just being pulled along on the ride.

Seungmin already called bullshit on the whole ordeal. You promised you’d explain more in person to buy yourself some time, but you have no idea what you can tell your best friend to make him believe this.

Your mother, on the other hand, is just dying to know when she’ll meet her future son-in-law. It doesn’t shock you that she asks nothing at all about him. Her main concern is how this will elevate your platform and, in turn, her social status amongst the other moms in the neighborhood.

That’s all any of your accomplishments have ever meant to her.

By the time you arrive at the high-rise residential building in Los Angeles that will be your home for the duration of the contract, you’re running on fumes.

You head to the 25th floor and stop at the front door, hands poised in front of the keypad as dread fills the pit of your stomach.

When Lucia sent a list of fully furnished rental options, you didn’t think you and Chan would ever come to an agreement on one. He wanted a place with ample kitchen space—you’re a DoorDash kind of girl and didn’t care too much about it. You wanted something in the city, he was okay living on the outskirts of town.

It was your first test of compromise as a fake couple.

Picking the place was easy. Actually being here? Not so much.

This is where you will live with Chan.

You’ve lived with roommates before.

Never a fiancé.

This is a new kind of domestic cohabitation.

“You just gonna stand there or you comin’ in?”

You jump at the sound of Chan’s disembodied voice disrupting your thoughts. Your eyes dart to the Ring camera on the side of the door.

He’s already connected to it?

You squint at the camera.

He laughs. “Shoes off, yeah?”

 “Acting like you own the place already?”

You unlock the door and step inside, taking your shoes off as requested, before walking through the short hall and into the open living space. The afternoon light streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows. To your right is a couch, coffee table, and TV. And to your left, the kitchen.

Which is where Chan is.

“What are you doing?” you ask, bewildered.

He has all the cabinets open and every plate, cup, pot, pan on the island.  

He glances over his shoulder. “Putting away the dishes.”

“Weren’t they already in the cabinet?”

“Yeah . . . but not the right ones,” he explains, resuming his task.

You inwardly flinch. Your mother is the only other person you’ve known to believe that some cabinets might be more correct than others. Everything has a place, she had always said. She ran a strict program, and you do not want the next few years to feel like you’re living with her.

You walk to the refrigerator. “I can order some food—"

You open it to find it fully stocked.

“You bought groceries already?” you close it and lean against the island.

“My bad. I knew your flight was coming in later than mine,” he says, putting a stack of plates in a cabinet near the stove. “Your boxes came. I put them in your room.”

“You didn’t unpack them for me?” you tease, brow quirked.

“Nah, that’s all you. But I will make dinner.”

You know it’s not his intention, but within the first few minutes of being here, it feels like you’re moving into his home.

You leave him to his organizing and walk back down the hall, entering the master bedroom on the right.  All of your boxes are lined along the wall—a box cutter resting atop one of the stacks.

Of course he'd left one for you.

You slice through the tape on the nearest box and begin unpacking. Every so often you hear movement from the kitchen—cabinets closing, running water, the beeping of appliances.

By the time you’re halfway through the stacks, the smell of garlic and butter wafts into your room. Your stomach immediately growls.

To hell with unpacking. The boxes aren’t going anywhere.

You return to the kitchen. The island is now free of clutter and Chan is pan searing two steaks.

“Almost done,” he says. “Have a seat and I’ll bring it over.”

You opt for the seat facing the window and a few minutes later Chan is setting a plate down in front of you. The steak has already been sliced, with asparagus laid beside it.

The setting sun spilling through the windows is the kind of thing that would be romantic for a couple sharing their first night in their new apartment.

But the conversation over dinner is the opposite of that. It’s mundane and mechanical. You talk about household chores, preferred thermostat temperatures, your schedules, upcoming public appearances, and the type of content you can create for engagement.

On that note, he pushes his empty plate away and asks, “Where’s your ring?”

“In my room,” you answer. “We aren’t in public . . . ”

“Can you go grab it for a sec? We should probably take a picture.”

Your notifications had just started to quiet down.

You push away from the table reluctantly and go to your room. You find your purse and fish it out from the side pocket amidst bobby pins and gum wrappers. You slip the ring on as you return to the living room—stopping in the kitchen when you see Chan at the sink already rinsing your plates and putting them into the dishwasher.

He turns off the water and dries his hands before taking out his phone and walking to the window, motioning for you to join him. He takes your left hand in his, bringing you to his side. The gesture is smooth and feels natural, but that doesn’t stop a wave of heat from rolling through you at the contact.

He raises your hand, pointing the camera at it with the L.A. night sky as a backdrop. He then brings you to stand in front of him, hand still outstretched with the ring on your finger angled at the camera.

“Is my face in this?”

“Yeah, it’ll be out of focus, though.”

You both slip with ease into your professional personas. He snaps away, moving the camera around for higher and lower angles as you pose.

He airdrops you the photos when your mini photoshoot is over.

“We should probably talk about expectations and boundaries too,” he says.

“Like what?”

“Like how to make sure we’re both comfortable in public. Some level of PDA will be required.”

“You say that like you haven’t already shoved your tongue down my throat, Chan.”

“That was one time,” he flushes. “In private.”

You’ve been so caught up in packing for the move and lying to anyone who asked you about the engagement that you hadn’t thought about that aspect of shared living.

Okay, that’s not true.

You definitely thought about it a few times.

But what’s tripping you up is the way he said one time.

As if it won’t happen again.

“Will there be more of that in private?” you ask.

The question throws him. His flush deepens.

You weren’t sure if Bashful Bang had disappeared forever, but there he is.

You take a step closer as your preferred kind of tension fills the space between you.

“You do know what husbands and wives do, don’t you?” You take another step, wrapping your arms loosely around his shoulders before pushing up onto your tiptoes. “Or are you expecting us to remain celibate this entire time?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“You.”

You lay your feet flat on the ground.

“If we have sex, it can’t just be casual for me.”

Well fuck.

Casual is exactly what you were hoping for. It has rules and doesn’t require anything more of you.

“Isn’t that smarter since we know it won’t last?” you ask, stroking the nape of his neck.

He places his hands on your hips, holding you firmly.

“Wouldn’t it be better if it meant something either way?”

You shrug.

He pulls you to him, pressing your body flush against him. Your breath catches in your throat.

“Believe me, I know it would feel good, too,” he begins softly. “And I’m not immune to you, y/n. But if we start adding sex to this, it could get messy without some level of mutual respect and trust holding it together.”

“Is this a hard line for you?”

He doesn’t answer.

His hands remain on your hips, thumbs absentmindedly brushing against the fabric of your shirt.

You’re not sure if he’s thinking or reconsidering.

Either way, he’s taking too long.

You rise up onto your tiptoes again, letting your lips brush against the corner of his jaw.

“You said kissing was okay before, right?” you murmur against his skin.

A quiet laugh escapes him.

“I did.”

Emboldened, you trail another kiss just below his ear.

His grip tightens ever so slightly.

“Let me take you on a date," he whispers.

You pull away from him, eyes locking with his.

For you, if you start adding that to the mix is when it would get messy.

It appears you’ve reached your second test of compromise.

And this one won’t be as easy to get through.

[ forever x fendi photobook ]

[ read chapter five here ]

a/n: he wants it, she wants it, WE want it...ugh. sorry this is so short! we're going to push chans buttons and see seungmin in london for their fashion week next chapter. more coming soon :)

how are ya'll feeling with the world tour announcement? i'm so excited. i saved money this time around 😂

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[angel-writes-skz-here]

Justified

Bang Chan x Reader Synopsis: A club dancer. A Mysterious masked client. Warning: Suspense, slight tension/angst. SMUT in Future Parts! A/N: Comment to be tagged in the future parts! Also give me some grace, I've never attempted something like this so be gentle if it's not great throughout please! Xoxo💋🪽

Next Chapter

The bass thuds, the lights flash, the club is smokey, just like every Friday night when you work. Suddenly the lights go down, plunging the crowd into darkness before strobes of light cast onto the crowd and a man’s voice comes alive on the speakers. 

“Please welcome back to the stage…. Diamond!” He announces and you walk up, a picture of innocence and sex appeal combined in one; heels tall and hair done up.

The crowd is shaded in pinks and reds from the lights and dollars that start flying as your hips move when the music starts. The pole to the center is an anchor, both to dance and bend down to grab the cash. You look over the crowd, winking, smiling, blowing kisses. 

But what you don’t see is the man on the upper floor, towards the back. He’s sitting with a few people, but when his eyes find your scantily clad body, his breathing stops and his hand clenches the whiskey glass to the point that his knuckles turn pale white. 

Your top falls away, and immediately he sets the glass down with a hard click. He notices how guys and even a few ladies fawn all over you while you dance, throwing money at you. It grates on his nerves. 

You continue the dance, the lights harsh and warm against your skin. As you turn you get a view of each side of the stage, faces are blurry, only a few are distinguishable. Strangers with a look of lust.

You tease the strap of your underwear, pulling it down before letting it go back up on your hip with a flirty smile, biting your manicured nail. The whole time, Chan is up on the upper level, grinding his teeth, the muscle in his jaw jumping with every clench. He finally downs the rest of the drink and slams down the glass with a harsh clink. He goes to the bar down stairs, the whole time, his eyes are on you.

The song is coming to an end, and judging by the amount of bills on the stage floor, you made a decent amount. You end in a sexy pose once the music stops and applause erupts, more money being tossed as you smile innocent but flirty. You pick up your top, quickly tying it up in the back before collecting your bills. 

“And that was Diamond! Give her another round of applause!” The announcer smiles over at you and you wave sweetly with a wink. You give one last wave to the crowd as you finish collecting your money and head back to the dressing room. 

You put your stage money in your bag in your locker before you lock it up. Music continues to play and the lights flash still as you walk out onto the floor, a sea of strangers walking around along with other dancers. 

“Diamond!” 

You look in the direction of the voice, and you see the manager waving you over. A polite smile finds itself on your lips and your feet carry you over to him. 

“Hey, Zeke! What’s up?” 

“Baby girl, that was a great set. So good in fact, someone has requested you for an hour, paid in advance.” 

A wad of cash is flashed in front of you and your eyes light up. 

“What room?” You reach for the cash and Zeke points to the hallway with doors on each side. 

“Last door on the left.” He winks at you and once you’ve secured the cash you quickly lock it up in the back and walk down the hallway. The door opens under your hand, the room is bathed in dim warm lighting. You notice the mask on the guy's face. His eyes are visible, but his nose, mouth, and chin are covered. He sits on the plush couch, legs spread and eyes following you closely. 

“You shy, sweetheart? Don’t worry, I don’t bite,” you wink and he sits there, motionless. It’s almost eerie, but the $1,000 in your wallet causes you to push forward. His hair is done up nice and neat, the button up tight against his skin.

An odd feeling twists in your gut but you ignore it. The sultry music begins and you walk over, a pole sitting in the middle of the room. You start dancing, the silence is thick with tension. 

“So why do you do this?” His voice comes out gravelly as he pulls out his wallet. More cash is produced and your eyes raise.

“I need the money,” you say vaguely. 

“Why?” He pushes. 

“I uhm.. I just do.” You smile, politely. 

“Why you wearing that mask?” You get into his lap, making the dance more personal. 

“Because I need to.” he answers with the same vagueness you do. 

“Touche,” you smirk and grind. 

“Am I allowed to touch?” 

“Normally, no… But… you can hold my hips.” 

“I’m special then.” He says it like a statement, not a question. 

“Maybe you intrigue me.” You flirt as you press your chest into his face. His eyes flutter closed as the heat radiates from your body. 

You continue the dance and his hands find your hips. As you grind down you can feel the effect of your performance through his pants. You stifle a soft embarrassed giggle and continue dancing. 

The song comes to an end and he leaves a generous tip on the couch. 

“You work tomorrow night too?” 

“Why? Wanna come back and see me?” 

“Absolutely,” he admits. A furious blush pushes its way upon your cheeks.

“Yeah… I work tomorrow.” Your voice is now drained of confidence, it’s now a shy sweet tone. Something that makes his heart skip a beat.

“I’ll see you then.” He’s out the door before you can even say goodbye. 

-

That night you go home, your mind is consumed with the masked client who promised to show up tomorrow. His hair and eyes haunt you. His voice, deep, serious and sweet. The way he looked at you, you don’t know how, but it was different. 

Only time will tell if he shows up the next night. 

- 

The music pulses and while you try to forget about your masked client. Every time you see the front door open, you look hoping to see him, but you never do. Each time a twinge of disappointment courses through your gut.

The time comes for your stage dance, and the whole time you search for him, both on the 1st floor and the 2nd floor. 

The earlier part of the night went, no sign. You don’t let it affect your performance, especially when you see normal clients. You put on the same mask as every work night, the flirty smile, the sparkly eyes and sweet voice. 

The stage dance ends and you’re pulled left and right. Mostly regulars, but a few new people. 

Finally as the night is about to conclude, Zeke approaches you. 

“Diamond, you wanna take one last dance? He paid up front again.” Your stomach clenches as he flashes the same wad of cash from last night. You smile and take it, locking it away the same as last night. 

As you walk in, there he sits, in a black tank top and black pants, mask to match. Your eyes roam, seeing the definition in his arms.

“I didn’t think you’d show up.” 

“I told you I would.” His voice is so casual. 

“My shift is technically over. I’m staying over for this.” You inform him. 

“Let me make it worth your while.” He flashes double the amount he paid you. 

“You don’t have to-” 

“I know,’ he shrugs and throws it down on the table like it’s nothing. The music starts. 

“I want a lap dance.” His voice, his tone, the air around him tells you he’s not big on being told no. And he did pay… very well. 

“Alright darlin.” You give him a flirty wink.

“So, you wanna tell me what you do for work?” You ask as your hips move in his lap. His hands find their way back, like they belong there, and it feels strangely like they might. 

“I’m a business man.” His tone is short, but casual.

“What kind of business?” 

“Classified information, sweetheart.” 

“Mysterious.” you smirk but continue the dance.

“Did you have a good day before work?” Your movements falter for only a brief moment. He notices.

“Uhm, y-yeah. I did.” 

“What’s the matter?” 

“Nothing, just.. No one asks about my day. It… caught me off guard.” 

Something about that makes Chan’s blood boil. Anyone should count themselves lucky to even be in your presence. His hand goes up your back pulling you closer, forcing a small gasp from your lips. 

“Let me take you out to dinner, Diamond.” Your eyes widen slightly.

“I don’t date my clients, sweetheart. It muddies things. I’m paid to be a performer.” 

“So that’s a no?” 

“Unfortunately, handsome,” you nod slowly. He nods his head, but you can tell he’s thinking. 

“Then I guess I’ll settle for this.. For now.” he says. The rest of the dance is more tense. The music ends, but his fingers flex against your hips. 

“Dance is over, sweetheart-”

“Do you have to go?” his voice sounds strangely vulnerable.

“My shift is over.” 

“Just to talk.” 

“I should get home..” You get up off his lap with a polite smile. 

“Y/N,” you freeze, eyes wide. No one in this establishment knows your real name… So how does he?

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