warnings : This contains explicit 18+ sexual content, dubcon/noncon elements due to drugging and intoxication, heavy dark yandere Jungkook, cheating, breeding kink, rough sex, recording without consent, sending explicit material, manipulation and implied violence. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
summary : Your loyal best friend Jungkook has always been there for you but his obsession finally wins. Guilt-ridden yet unhinged and he takes what heās always wanted...even if it meant ruining your relationship and claiming you in the most sinful way possible.
"Iām done pretending I can let you go."
author's note : if you're here expecting healthy communication...then y'all should prolly exit....but if you're here to watch fictional men make ridiculous bad decisions, welcome home...and also please remember that therapy exists and none of this should. enjoy <3
You sit across from him in the dimly lit corner of that viral restaurant he insisted on taking you to...again. The kind of place where the bill alone could cover your rent for months.
Jungkook sits comfortably across from you, dressed in a fitted black designer shirt that clings perfectly to his broad shoulders. His sleeves are folded neatly to his forearms..exposing the colourful tattoos decorating his skin..while a thick gold chain catches the warm glow of the lights every time he moves.
He's always like this...humble and ridiculously down to earth...but..only with you.
No flashy attitude or unnecessary displays of wealth like he usually puts on around his friends. It was just quiet luxury and genuine generosity...and those dark eyes that linger a little too long whenever they think you've stopped looking.
Your long-distance boyfriend had called earlier.
His voice was warm and gentle...overflowing with the kind of love people spend their whole lives searching for. He promised he'd visit soon. He loved you with everything he had and you never once questioned that love.
But here you were...laughing at something your best friend said as he reached across the table to pass you the wine glass.
His fingers brushed yours for barely a second and Goosebumps raced up his arm. You noticed it...like you always did and quietly withdrew your hand before the moment could become something else. Carefully.....like never giving him a reason to mistake your kindness for permission or let those feelings grow roots again.
You had worked too hard to rebuild this friendship. Two years ago, he'd made the mistake of confessing.
Then came the argument...the silence...and two long years where neither of you spoke. He said he needed time to reflect on his mistakes.
But when Jungkook returned, it wasn't with excuses...it was with an apology. A genuine one...or at least one convincing enough to make you believe him.
You'd been skeptical at first because losing your best friend once had hurt enough...But with time..he proved himself.
He stopped prying into your personal life like before and respected your boundaries. He stayed available whenever you truly needed him without asking for anything in return and Little by little...he became the friend you'd lost.
Or at least...the version of him you wanted to believe still existed.
"I shouldn't have another glass," you murmur..nudging the half-filled wine away.
Jungkook chuckles quietly...lifting the bottle before you can stop him. Ruby-red wine swirls into your glass.
"Come on," he says with that soft...disarming smile that had talked you into far too many things over the years. "You deserve it. I know this week's been cruel to you."
You hesitate for only a second before giving in...Because he wasn't wrong. This week had been absolute hell and You'd worked your ass off.
So..maybe you deserved one night to breathe.
_
The drive back to your apartment is filled with laughter and your best friend's absolute nonsense.
Bruno Mars' Locked Out of Heaven blasts through the speakers while the two of you scream every lyric.
It's a really good thing Jungkook's car is soundproof and heavily tinted because the people outside are spared the absolute disaster happening inside.
You snort halfway through the chorus because of his high pitched tone.
To be honest..You missed Jungkook because of this. You could be whoever you wanted around him and say the dumbest things imaginable...embarrass yourself beyond imagination and he'd never judge you for it.
Your boyfriend's messages sit unread inside your purse..the screen glowing faintly through the dark fabric...completely forgotten for the moment.
Jungkook kills the engine in the underground garage before turning to look at you.
"You good?" he asks, voice low..wearing that familiar half-smile.
You nod, offering a sleepy little grin,"A little tipsy."
Nodding he said, "come on. Let's get you upstairs. I'll make you some tea."
He gets out first...circling the car to open your door like he always does. His hand steadies your elbow as you step out...warm and careful and gone the second you're balanced.
Always the perfect gentleman with you...The elevator ride is comfortable..wrapped in familiar silence.
When you finally push open your apartment door, you kick your heels off with a long and relieved sigh,"Finally." Jungkook chuckles softly behind you, locking the door before setting your purse on the kitchen island.
"I'm changing," you mumble...already padding down the hallway.
"Take your time." He replied. A few minutes later..you return wearing an oversized T-shirt and loose pajama shorts...your hair slightly damp after splashing water on your face and towel still hangs around your shoulders.
"I think I'm done drinking tonight." Jungkook looks up from the kitchen counter, the wine bottle still resting in his hand. "Really?" he asks, eyebrows lifting. "Mhm." You nodded
" But You promised me a fun night," he says...tilting the bottle with a small...coaxing grin. "Besides...tomorrow's Sunday and One last glass won't kill you."
You hesitate, biting your lip, "...That's true, but..." A second passes before you sigh dramatically and hold your glass out anyway,"You're terrible, Gguk."
"Not guilty." He chuckled as the ruby liquid swirls into your glass.
You settle onto the couch beside him, tucking one leg beneath yourself as you scroll through the streaming apps. Jungkook watches you from the corner of his eye..the half-empty wine bottle still in his hand. His thumb brushes over the label...once...twice...like heās weighing something.
His other hand slips into his pocket with ease. The small packet is already open...and a pinch of fine white powder falls silently into your glass..dissolving instantly into the ruby liquid with a few casual swirls of the bottle. Not a trace left behind.
His fingers tighten around the neck of the bottle for a heartbeat. You've been overwhelmed for days, he tells himself. Barely sleeping or eating. This will help you relax...Just this once. For your own good.
He sets the bottle down like nothing happened.
āHarry Potter?ā he suggests, voice warm and easy...already reaching for the remote and you nodded agreeing with him. Later conversation flows easily...work drama...old college stories and that one professor you both hated with a passion.
Halfway through your glass...you're laughing so hard your stomach hurts. "You still have that picture?" you gasp. "Yes?" he replies, narrowing his eyes in fake suspicion. "You said you deleted it!" You raised your voice.
"I lied." He shrugged his shoulders.
"You asshole." Your voice grows louder with every word, making him laugh even harder. Every time you take another sip, Jungkookās gaze lingers on the way your throat moves.
His eyes remain soft though...quietly watching the way your laughter slowly melts into sleepy contentment.
The warmth settling through your body feels heavier now...Your limbs sink deeper into the couch. "So sleepy..." you mumble, blinking slower.
"The wine finally caught up to you, I guess." He commented.
"Mhm..."
His phone vibrates on the coffee table and Jungkook glances at the screen before standing, "Give me a second." You wave him off lazily.
He steps onto the balcony...answering the call with short and distracted replies. Even then...his gaze drifts back through the glass every few moments.
When he returns a few minutes later...you've slipped lower into the couch and your glass sits forgotten on the coffee table.
One arm drapes lazily over the cushion..your eyes half-closed as you fight a losing battle against sleep. "Who was it...?" you murmur, voice soft and hazy.
"Business." He kneels in front of you..reaching for the throw blanket before draping it carefully over your legs.
"You'll get cold." A tiny, content hum leaves your lips as you curl further into it and Your breathing slows...Deepens...You don't notice the way his fingers pause for just a heartbeat while tucking the blanket around you.
Jungkook stays where he is...Watching and listening to every slow, steady breath.
Making sure you're comfortable...Just until you fall asleep...That's all...Or at least...that's what he keeps telling himself.
But your soft and sleepy sighs and the way your body melts so trustingly under the blanket slowly breaks him.
āIām so tired of pretending, baby,ā Jungkook finally sighs, voice barely above a whisper, as if scared that even breathing too loud might wake you. āThe thought of you being someone elseāsā¦ it eats me alive, doll.ā
His hand trembles as he strokes your hair....his mask slowly slipping and then as if he can't control himself...he slowly trails down your left arm softly....then he leans in..pressing a soft and lingering kiss near the corner of your lips hesitantly.
āForgive me for what Iām about to do,ā he murmurs, eyes glassy, ābut I think I need this....I need you.ā
He cups your small face in his shaking hands and leans in again...pressing hot and open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck. You stir faintly.
āGgukā¦?ā you mumble hazily...voice thick and confused..barely able to open your eyes.
āMmh, my sweet girl,ā Jungkook whispers, already unbuttoning his shirt with shaky fingers. The fabric slides off his shoulders..revealing his toned chest..the thick gold chain resting against his skin and the full expanse of his tattoos running from his shoulder down his arm and across his back.
He stands there for a few seconds...staring at your sleeping form...still contemplating whether he should stop. But you look so fragile..so breakableā¦ and the ache in his chest is unbearable.
You manage to crack your eyes open just a little. āWhā¦ youā¦ Gguk?ā Your voice is so small, so trusting.
āItās okay, doll. Iām here. Youāre safe with me,ā he says softly even as his hands move to his jeans. He kicks them off along with his boxers in one motion...freeing his thick and leaking cock. He wraps a hand around himself and strokes slowly...eyes fixed on you.
He swears he could cum just like this...just from looking at you. But he forces his hand away..crouches down and pushes your oversized shirt up. He drags your pajama shorts and panties down your legs...tossing them aside. You were beautiful. No one....no human...deserved even an ounce of you...not in his eyes.
He gently spreads your legs apart and groans low in his throat. āGodā¦ look at you.ā
He makes himself comfortable between your thighs...still hazy with desperation..lazily pumping his cock as he leans in and kisses your cunt. He closes his eyes...savoring your scent like itās the only thing keeping him sane..but then he goes all in.
He drags his tongue through your folds with a broken sound. You stir...hips twitching weakly at the sudden wet heat.
Jungkook eats you out like a man who had been starving for years....messy..wet and desperate. Long and filthy licks...suckling hard on your clit..tongue fucking into you while his hand works his own cock faster. The obscene sounds of him stroking himself mix with the wet noises of his mouth on you...echoing loudly in your quiet apartment.
Your hips twitch again. āAh-Ggukā¦ whyā¦ what are you doingā¦?ā your voice groggy.
āShhh, princess,ā he groans against your pussy, voice dark and ragged. āJust let me have you. Iāve wanted this for so longā¦ Iām so tired of being good for you. I canāt anymore. Iām sorryā¦please..forgive me.ā
Your boyfriendās name lights up your phone again..and the screen flashes brightly in the dim room.
Jungkookās head snaps up. A low and angry groan rumbles from his chest...almost a growl, āFucking persistent, isnāt he?ā he snaps under his breath...eyes wild. He silences the call with one aggressive swipe and then grabs his phone..props it up on the coffee table and hits record. The red light blinks on...capturing everything.
By now he looks completely gone...eyes dark and unhinged...pupils blown wide and expression of someone far beyond redemption. No conscience left it was just raw and that sick need.
He climbs over you..completely naked..tattoos glistening with a light sheen of sweat. His gold chain swings as he lines up his thick cock and pushes in raw...one deep and brutal thrust that stretches you open. You cry out softly...tears slipping from the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure and pressure.
āGg-ggukā¦ā you sob...voice slurred and broken..deep in intoxication. You donāt understand whatās happening. It just feels so good. So full. āpleas-..more..ā¦ā
āThatās my good girl,ā Jungkook breathes..voice soft and tender even as he starts fucking you hard and dirty. His hips snap against you with frustration heās held back for years. āYou feel so fucking good, baby. So tight and so perfect for me.ā
He pounds into you relentlessly..the couch creaking loudly beneath you. Every thrust is deep and raw...his balls slapping against you. āIām done waiting, princess...Done pretending I can let you go....Itās time you settle with me....Time you become mine completely.ā
Tears keep falling as pleasure crashes through your hazy mind. You beg incoherently, āGgukā¦ donāt ruin usā¦pleaseā¦ā
āI wonāt, my sweet girl,ā he coos softly, voice tender even as he starts fucking you even harder...hips snapping brutally. āIām sorry, babyā¦ Iām so sorry.ā He pounds into you raw and filthy...taking out years of frustration while whispering sweet words. āYouāre taking me so well. Look at you crying for my cockā¦ so beautiful.ā
His expression is terrifying....lost and obsessive..almost manic but his voice stays gentle. āYou feel incredible, doll. So warm and wet for me. This pussy was made for me.ā
You whimper and cry, begging brokenly, āDonāt stop, Ggukā¦ pleaseā¦ā
He keeps going...deep and relentless, " Should breed you fuck-..so youāll never leave.ā
With a guttural...broken groan he buries himself to the hilt and cums hard...thick and hot ropes flooding deep inside you. He keeps thrusting through it...pushing his load as deep as possible.
He doesnāt pull out right away...still breathing raggedly and covered in sweat...he grabs the phone closer and records himself slowly pulling out. His cum leaks from your pussy but he pushes two fingers inside you...scooping it deeper...fucking it back in with lazy thrusts.
āStay inside her,ā he mutters darkly to the camera...voice low and possessive.
A few seconds later..he trims the video....keeping the worst parts ( you crying and begging āDonāt stop, Ggukā¦ moreā¦ā while heās buried inside you ) and sends it to your boyfriend with no caption.
Then he dials another number still breathing hard. āYeahā¦ Iām done,ā he says calmly into the phone...eyes never leaving your form. āTake care of it.ā
He ends the call and tosses the phone aside and looks down at you with a soft...almost peaceful smile. The madness in his eyes slowly fades into something gentler as he caresses your feet...lifting one to his lips and kissing it tenderly.
āYouāre finally mine...my sweet girl,ā he whispers...voice full of dark promise. āIāll take care of you forever baby...no one else will ever have you again. I promise it.ā
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 š
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.Ā "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. āBabe?ā 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, āHello?ā you said, still No answer, āHello? Whoās this?ā you tried again then his voice came through low and rough. āShouldnāt have answered the call, dove.ā He breathed heavily into the phone.
Your stomach flipped. āB-baby, whatā?ā You laughed, scared shitless. āWhatās with the number??ā
āTsk tsk.ā
āWho-who are you?ā You played along catching his subtle warning.
āHave patience, darling. Maybe turn around and see me yourself?ā 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. āGod!ā
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 maskā¦ it made you cunt throb because you're boyfriend looked so damn unreal.
āYouāre so obedient, my love,ā the masked man said...walking slowly toward you like he had all the time in the world. āFollowing my orders like a good fucking girl.ā
āWho-how? Who are you?ā you asked...fully committed to the act even though you were very terrified. āYou should keep your windows locked, dove. Anyone could come inside.ā He tsked, mocking you.
Before you could answer him he said, āRunā¦ā
āGguk, come on-ā he cut you off mid sentence,āRun.ā His voice was calm this time..a pause and he continued, āIf I catch youā¦ I kill you.ā 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 werenāt getting away..
You didnāt dare look back. You could hear his breathing through the mask..slightly muffled but very real...another slow footstep..then another..yhen suddenlyā¦ 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. āā¦Babe?ā 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.
āJungkook?ā
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. āThis isnāt funny anymoreā¦ā
You took another step. The floor creaked beneath your feet...You froze.
āā¦Baby?ā
Silence....
āOkayā¦ I give up.ā
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 didnāt even know how long heād 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 movedā¦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.
āToo much?ā he rasped, already yanking the oversized t-shirt up over your hips. āTap my bicep twice and Iāll stop.ā You nodded frantically against the floor.
He laughed darkly the sound sending chills down your spine...,āBut thatās useless, isnāt it, dove?ā He shoved two thick fingers into your soaked pussy without warning...curling them viciously. āIām going to fuck you too dumb to even remember how to tap.ā
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.
āSay it,ā he growled..pumping faster. āTell me why your windows were unlocked.ā
You sobbed...hips jerking back against his hand..,āB-becauseā¦ I wanted you to come inā¦ā
āLouder, darling.ā he cut you off... āI wanted you to creep in and ruin me!ā you cried..tears spilling down your cheeks.
āGood girl.ā 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.
āDoes your boyfriend know?ā he taunted...voice menacing through the mask as he railed you..,āDoes he know his sweet little girlfriend is on the floor getting fucked stupid by a strangerās cock?ā
āN-no-ahh!ā 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.
āSay it. Tell me what a filthy little dove you are.ā
āIām a filth-!ā you wailed, drooling and crying as he destroyed your pussy. āIām getting fucked stupid on someone elseās dick!ā
āThatās right.ā His hips snapped harder...the sound of skin slapping skin loud and wet...,āMaking such a fucking mess on the floor like a desperate little dove. Look at you dripping everywhere baby.ā
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,āOpen your mouth.ā
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.
āEyes up,ā 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.
āMessy fucking girl,ā he groaned...voice distorted. āCrying on my cock while your boyfriend is somewhere out there. Does he know you love being used like this?ā
You shook your head weakly...sobbing around his cock. He pulled out suddenly...strings of spit connecting your swollen lips to his glistening length.
āBeg for it.ā jungkook said, āPleaseā¦ please fuck me,ā you cried, voice hoarse and broken. āPlease just ruin-me-ā
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.
āGonna cum all over a strangerās cock, arenāt you?ā he snarled. āSay it.ā
āIām gonna cum-Iām cumming-!ā 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 secondsā¦ 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.
āBabyā¦ā 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.
āYou okay, my love?ā 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. āWas it too much baby? Be honest..im sorry if it was.ā
You shook your head weakly...still sniffling and trembling in his arms. āIt wasā¦ so much. Scaryā¦ but so good. I loved it.ā
He let out a relieved chuckle and held you tighter....one hand gently brushing your messy hair out of your face. āYou were so perfect, baby. So fucking good for me.ā He kissed the top of your head again and again...rocking you gently. āMy strong, brave girl.ā
You curled deeper into his chest....feeling safe and small in his arms after everything heād just done to you. He reached down and gently wiped the tears from your cheeks with his thumb, then kissed where they had been.
āI made such a mess on the floor,ā you mumbled shylyand embarrassed now that the heat had faded.
Jungkook laughed softly...the sound warm and fond. āIāll clean it later..don't think about it. ā He pulled the blanket over both of you and tucked you closer and his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your hip. āYou were crying so prettyā¦ taking everything I gave you like my perfect little dove.ā
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.
āWe should do this shit way more often,ā he murmured...voice low and sincere. āMaybe next time Iāll chase you with the lights completely offā¦ or tie you up first so you really canāt run.ā He smirked...but his eyes stayed soft with a hint of mischief. āOnly if you want to baby, of course.ā
You shivered at the promise but nodded...feeling warm and loved in his arms.
āI love you,ā he whispered...pressing one last gentle kiss to your lips. āSo much. You did amazing, baby.ā
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.
Summary: Jeongguk needs help mastering a skill heās certain Seokjin excels at, but his oldest hyung has rather unique, hands-on teaching methods.
Pairing: Seokjin x Reader, Jungkook x Reader
Genre: Slice of Life AU, Cuckolding, Established Relationship, Boyfriendās Best Friend, Fluff, Smut, Crack (if you squint)
Word Count: 4.6k
Warnings: unedited writing (!), awkward conversations, stuttering, anxiety, embarrassment, korean honorifics (aka alyssaās barely concealed noona kink), boundary pushing. SMUT: kissing, cuckolding, mention of masturbation (m), oral sex (f receiving), voyeurism, fingering, spitting, hair pulling, orgasm denial, edging, lack of control, following instructions, cum eating, thatās it!
Authorās Note: hellooooo everyone!! itās about time I post something for jinkook aka my favorite duo š„¹ this is pure filth and came to me one night in bed and wouldnāt leave my mind until I wrote it down. it isnāt very long but it doesnāt need to be to give you everything you could want from a smutty little one-shot involving two gorgeous men. enjoy, my friends!! oh and please excuse any errors hehe!
Jeongguk isnāt lacking in the experience department. Heās had many hookups, one night stands, booty calls, and even a situationship or two. The issue lies in the fact that amongst all those interactions, heās never once taken his time. There might be brief foreplay, but he always finds himself rushing into the main event. Heās a busy man, after all, and the women he chooses are often fellow idols who have the same packed schedule.Ā
So a year after completing his mandatory military service and in the middle of a world tour, heās realizing he doesnāt have all the skills he needs. Heās never been in a real relationship for a multitude of reasons, but heās thinking about it more as he nears his thirties. Meaning itās time to learn all the tips and tricks for when the sex isnāt just a quickie backstage.Ā
He knows exactly who to ask for advice. Who else but his oldest hyung, the one in a relationship lasting over half a decade.Ā
You and Seokjin met while on vacation in Europe, even though you both hail from Korea. It was a fairytale meet-cute. You both stumbled into a bookshop to escape a sudden downpour and upon finding out you speak the same language, chatted for hours until the owner kicked you two out.Ā
The rest is history, and youāve become a staple in all their lives ever since Seokjin brought you to rehearsal for a formal introduction.Ā
Jeongguk adores you. Not only because of your own kindness, generosity, and compassion, but because you make Seokjin undeniably happy. His hyung was going through a tough time when you met and Jeonggukās sure youāre the reason he was able to recover.Ā
Heās especially protective of his oldest brother. Theyāre extremely close, so Jeongguk knows firsthand that sometimes he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders without telling anyone. But he feels better knowing Seokjin has someone like you.Ā
You donāt see one another too often anymore, unless you come to visit Seokjin or everyone gets together on a day off. But itās always a good time whenever youāre around.Ā
Heād never admit to his hyung, but youāre easily one of the most gorgeous women heās ever seen. Of course, you are, because Seokjinās breathtakingly handsome himself. Thatās not to say Jeongguk has a crush on you, but he has thought about you with his hand around his cock a couple times.Ā
Itās hardly his fault when his hotel roomās usually next door and he can hear your whines and moans through the wall. And based on the noises you make, itās clear Seokjin knows what heās doing in the bedroom.
Thus Jeonggukās reason for sending a text at eleven in the evening asking him to swing by his room.Ā
Seokjin arrives only moments later by ceremoniously throwing the door open and strutting inside. Jeongguk chuckles at the familiar behavior as his hyung crosses the room before plopping into the chair opposite his bed.Ā
āWhatās up, ya punk?ā
Even when Seokjinās teasing him, thereās always a lick of affection for the younger man in his tone. Everyone knows how much they care about each other; thatās why Jeongguk trusts him enough to ask for help in this department.Ā
He practically raised him since he was a teenager, so it just makes sense for him to be the one to teach Jeongguk the ropes.Ā
āI need your help,ā Jeongguk admits from his spot on the edge of the mattress.Ā
āWith what?āĀ
Seokjin relaxes into the lavish hotel chair, spreading his legs and resting his back against the cushions.Ā
āWell, uhā¦ā A nervous chuckle escapes while Jeongguk decides how to approach this. āI mean, you always satisfy Y/N, right?āĀ
āIām sorry?āĀ
His hyung immediately sits up again with a furrowed brow.Ā Ā
āI donātā¦ I didnāt ā ugh.āĀ
Jeongguk rakes his fingers through his hair out of frustration with himself.Ā
āSpit it out, kid, or Iāll smack it out of you,ā he threatens, although still with a hint of fondness.Ā
āI want you to teach me how to eat pussy.ā
The silence that follows is so loud it could break glass.Ā
Seokjinās staring at him in utter disbelief; his eyebrows almost kissing and his mouth agape. Except only a second later, he bursts into hysterical laughter.Ā
āOh my fucking god!ā He bellows while clutching his stomach.Ā
āHyung,ā Jeongguk whines.Ā
It takes some time, but the sound eventually slows to merely punctuated giggles.
āIām notā¦ laughing at you. Iām justā¦ soā¦ shocked.āĀ
āWell, who else would I ask? Like I said, I know you take care of Y/N.āĀ
āNo, I know. I just never expected you to come to me for that kind of advice.āĀ
He shrugs.
āIf you wanna get better at something, you need a good teacher.ā
Seokjin sighs and swipes at the corners of his eyes once the laughter finally leaves his system.Ā
āSo, youāre just trying to hone your skills or what?ā
āYeah. Iāve done it plenty of times, but never for that long and all without focusing on any technique,ā Jeongguk explains.Ā
His hyung thoughtfully nods as his gaze shifts towards the door.Ā
āYou know, itās quite the coincidence you're bringing this up now,ā he states.Ā
āHow so?ā
The smile forming on Seokjinās lips is eerily mischievous.Ā
āBecause Y/N just arrived an hour ago to visit for the month.ā
Jeonggukās face scrunches. He racks his brain for the reason youād have anything to do with his request, but comes up short.Ā
āWhy does that matter?ā
Seokjin chuckles like a sly, criminal mastermind.
āWhat better way to learn than by doing?ā His blood runs cold, but before he can register his hyungās movements, his phoneās already in his hand. āAngel?ā He asks into the receptor. āCan you come next door to Jeonggukieās room?āĀ
āHyung,ā Jeongguk snaps through gritted teeth. āWhat are you doing?ā
All he does is wave him off.Ā Ā
āNope, doorās open. See you in a sec.āĀ
The line cuts and Seokjin smirks while leaning back in his seat again. It leaves Jeongguk even more confused about whatās happening. His older brother canāt possibly be alluding toā¦ that, can he?Ā
āHyung āā
āRelax, Jeonggukie. Itās not like her and I havenāt done something like this before.ā
āWhat?ā
Seokjin rolls his eyes.
āLook, when youāve been in a relationship as long as we have, thereās a level of trust that allows for experimentation without worrying about the consequences,ā he answers. āWe both know no matter what, weāll always choose each other. So, why not have some fun while weāre at it?ā
Jeongguk genuinely canāt believe what heās hearing. Seokjinās really just going to let him practice oral sex on you? Itās mind boggling because he could never share the person he loves with someone else. But his hyungās always been far more gracious than he is.Ā
Thereās a quiet knock before you peer inside with a wave. Your boyfriend beckons you, leading you to sneak in and shut the door before waltzing over to him.
āHello, gorgeous,ā Seokjin greets you as you bend down to kiss him.
āHi, handsome,ā you chirp. āHi, Jeonggukie!ā
He gulps and tries his hardest not to choke while waving at you.
āHey, noona.āĀ
āSo, whatās up?āĀ
As if itās the most natural act in the world, you sit on Seokjinās lap and his hands curl around your body to rest on your hip and thigh, respectively.Ā
āWell, Jeonggukie here was asking for advice and I think you can help me teach him some stuff.āĀ
āWhat stuff?āĀ
You chuckle as your eyes flit between the two men, your eyebrows high in curiosity.Ā
āDo you wanna explain it, kid?ā Seokjin asks.Ā
His mouth goes completely dry and his brain feels like itās about to explode. How will he ever look you in the eye again after this?
āUm, you seeā¦ uh, wellā¦āĀ
When you notice how uncomfortable he seems, you send him a warm smile and reach out to pat his knee.
āItās alright, Ggukie. I wonāt judge,ā you assure him.Ā
āI think you might, actually.āĀ
Itās becoming increasingly clear poor Jeongguk wonāt be able to voice his own needs aloud, so Seokjin leans over to whisper in your ear.Ā
Jeongguk watches your face for a reaction, but it certainly isnāt as grand as he was expecting. After your eyes momentarily widen, you start giggling and stand up.Ā
āOh, Jeongguk, thatās nothing.āĀ
His own eyes expand into massive saucers when you slip your hands under your denim skirt and pull your panties off. You shimmy the lace down your legs before kicking them off onto the floor, all while he nearly passes out from how fast his heartās beating.Ā
āNoona, you donāt have to do this,ā he protests.Ā
āHave to?ā The confident smirk youāre sporting only makes you look sexier. As if that were possible. āWho says I donāt want to?āĀ
āWell, I just āā
āKid, I promise itās fine,ā Seokjin interrupts. āBut we do need to lay down some ground rules.ā Jeongguk nods assuredly. āAlright. You asked for my help, which means youāre going to follow my orders. But you also need to watch Y/Nās reactions to know what works and what doesnāt. So, your eyes will be on her and her eyes will be on me. Clear?ā
After he nods again, your boyfriend looks to you for affirmation as well. Prompting your smile to grow as your eyes affectionately roll into your skull.Ā
āOh, please. Like I can ever look anywhere but at you.āĀ
Seokjin smiles and gives your ass a liberal smack.
āThatās what I thought.āĀ
This all still feels too surreal for Jeongguk. Heās known Seokjin since he was thirteen and you since his early twenties. Then again, maybe thatās why you both trust him with such a delicate situation.Ā
āAre you sure about this?ā He questions you two. āI donāt want to push anyoneās boundaries just for the sake of knowledge. I mean, I could just go out and practice with a stranger instead.āĀ
Your eyes soften while his hyungās smirk becomes incredibly fond.Ā
āGgukie, you know that wouldnāt be smart. What if they tell someone? A standard NDAās only enforceable for five years,ā you reply.
Youāre an attorney, so you obviously know the ins and outs of these things.Ā
He sighs, despite knowing youāre right. Itās just hard to shake the fear that doing this could damage something precious to him.Ā
āHyung.ā Seokjin meets his gaze and gestures for him to continue. āThis wonāt come between us, right?ā
Ironically, the older man is usually the more anxious one. Jeongguk often throws caution to the wind while Seokjin forces him to stop and think everything through. The role reversal does ease his mind a little. Because if his hyungās so calm about this, he must be confident itāll all turn out fine.Ā
āCāmon, you know nothing could ever come between us.ā He leans forward to rest a hand on his little brotherās shoulder. āItās gonna be fun. Youāll see.ā Before Jeongguk can burrow any deeper inside his own head, Seokjin turns to you. āLay down on the bed, angel.ā
You two share another quick peck before you sit on the mattress and scoot back until youāre right in the center. Jeonggukās still at the foot of the bed, but he only has enough courage to watch you out of the corner of his eye.
He canāt see much yet since youāre resting on your elbows with your legs together. That is, until Seokjin moves his chair closer and makes himself comfortable.Ā
āSpread āem, baby,ā he instructs.Ā
It actually shocks Jeongguk how quickly you heed the command. Whenever heās around you and Seokjin, itās always abundantly clear no one rules over the other. But it seems his older brother likes being in charge behind closed doors.Ā
The less surprising thing is how fucking delectable you look laid out on his bed with your legs wide open. He initially tries to be a decent human by averting his eyes, but the temptationās simply too much.Ā
His throat feels like sandpaper as his eyes roam over your entire body. Even though youāre practically fully clothed, you look like the epitome of sin. Your pussyās on display just inches from him, although he canāt see everything yet due to your skirt. But he can certainly tell how pretty and pink you are.Ā
āShit,ā he sighs under his breath.
āIsnāt she perfect, Jeonggukie?ā
Jeongguk nods as though in a trance and it causes you to giggle.Ā
āYou can come closer, Jeongguk.ā His focus shifts to your face. āI wonāt bite,ā you tease.
As if your cunt isnāt enticing enough, your features are so fucking ethereal he genuinely worries this is all a dream.Ā
āHyung?āĀ
He looks at Seokjin over his shoulder, silently asking for permission, to which your boyfriend replies with a curt nod.Ā
Thereās no reason to waste time. And truthfully, if Jeongguk doesnāt have his face between your legs within the next five seconds, he might go insane.Ā
Alas, he doesnāt bury his nose in your pussy just yet. His first move is to turn around and crawl until heās close enough to lie in the center of your thighs. He glances up to check for any signs of discomfort or protest, but you couldnāt look more content as you observe him inching closer.Ā
āCan I touch you?ā Jeongguk asks.Ā
āAsk him.ā
You gesture at Seokjin and thatās when Jeongguk realizes why his hyungās so relaxed about the scene playing out. Because heās the director of it with complete creative control.Ā
āGo ahead.ā
Jeonggukās nervous as hell, but he doesnāt let it deter him from reaching out to shove your skirt past your hips before yanking you down the bed towards his awaiting mouth.Ā
He doesnāt dive in right away, just begins with featherlight kisses along your inner thighs. Your skinās so warm and soft it elicits a deep groan from his chest. Not to mention he can already smell your sweet arousal.Ā
āFirst lesson is to go slow. Itās easy to make a woman come if you push the right buttons, but itās all about how you push them,ā Seokjin explains from behind him.Ā
His lips are almost at your core, so he inhales in preparation.Ā
āFuck, you smell sānice.ā
Itās so quiet he doubts you hear him, especially when your attentionās on your boyfriend lounging in his chair across from you.Ā
Jeongguk still canāt believe heās about to taste you. His heartās pounding like a drum and his mind is shrouded by lust and desire. But the excitement is short lived because Seokjin speaks again before heās able to put his mouth on you.Ā
āTouch her first.ā A disapproving growl almost makes it past Jeonggukās lips, but he manages to control himself. āYouāll be able to do a lot more with your tongue if you know the landscape.āĀ
Thereās a lot of willpower involved in following Seokjinās order. All he wants is to lap at your cunt until heās drowning in you, but he asked for help for a reason and disobeying would make it pointless.Ā
His hand moves from your hip to your folds, spreading you open with two fingers so he can see your hole. Jeongguk doesnāt know if heās ever seen such a gorgeous pussy before and watching your essence slowly leak out onto his fingers makes his cock strain against his pants.Ā
He glides upwards to touch your clit next and your body jolts in response. It fills him with pride, even if he knows itās just a natural reaction to stimulation. Your nubās already swelling because of his exploration, so he pushes your hood back to get a closer look. A breathless moan accompanies the act and Jeongguk smirks when your cunt automatically produces more arousal.Ā
āDonāt forget to tell her how pretty she is, Jeongguk,ā Seokjin adds.
āYouāreā¦ fucking unreal,ā he whispers in awe.
You chuckle following another soft whine.Ā
āWhat you make a woman feel internally is almost as important as externally.ā Jeongguk hums, only half listening because heās too enamored by how your body responds to his touch. āOkay, you can use your mouth now.ā
Without any hesitation, he replaces his hand with his mouth by wrapping his lips around your clit and gently sucking.Ā
A loud, amorous whimper floods the air as your back arcs off the bed. Jeongguk has to tighten his grasp to keep you still, his fingertips digging into your hips and ass. Behind him, he hears Seokjin groan in pleasure and suddenly realizes his hyungās getting something out of this as well.Ā
āOh, my god,ā you mumble while lacing your fingers through Jeonggukās hair.Ā
He grunts at the pressure, sending a vibration straight into your sensitive nerve endings.Ā
āIs Jeonggukie doing a good job, baby?ā
Even though your handās in his hair and his face is stuffed between your thighs, your eyes are locked on Seokjin. Itās like there are two separate sexual encounters happening at once. A physical one between you and Jeongguk, and a psychological one between you and your boyfriend.Ā
āMmhm. Really good.ā
Your answer encourages him to explore more of you, so he releases your clit before dragging his tongue up the entirety of your slit. The action makes your legs twitch on either side of his head as you moan again and tug on his scalp.Ā
Jeongguk goes full throttle after that, enthusiastically slurping up your cum while soaking you with his saliva. He licks you with the flat of his tongue to cover as much surface area as possible, but eventually uses just the tip to fuck your hole.Ā
Once his wet muscle sinks inside you, your noises double in volume and raspiness. He can also feel your thighs shaking beside his ears and knowing he has you in such a vulnerable state is driving him insane.Ā
āWhenever youāre focusing on her cunt, use your nose to keep friction on her clit.ā
Damn, heās never even considered that before. He knew choosing Seokjin as a teacher would be worthwhile.Ā
Following the instruction, Jeongguk begins moving his head up and down at the same pace as his tongue and you immediately whine over the new sensation.Ā
You have one of the most sensitive pussies heās ever touched. Everything he does causes your walls to pulse around his tongue and youāre only getting wetter by the minute. He absolutely loves it; thrives on how reactive your body is. Jeongguk himself adores praise and compliments, so youāre more than he could ever ask for.Ā
Along those same lines, you seem to be pretty close to finishing. Your endless whimpers, trembling limbs, and creamy cunt all tell him it wonāt be long now before you come on his face.Ā
Except Seokjin must have a better idea, because as soon as your moans turn high-pitched, he throws out another command.Ā
āDonāt let her come yet, Jeongguk. Itāll be so much better if you make her wait.ā
āJinie,ā you whine.Ā
When Jeongguk gazes up from between your legs, he finds you pouting at Seokjin, who clicks his tongue at your protest.Ā
āCāmon, angel, I canāt teach if the lesson ends so soon.ā
In order to do as his hyung says, Jeongguk removes his tongue from your cunt. But he stays close by gently kissing along your slit while wrapping his arms around your thighs to give himself more leverage.Ā
He canāt get enough of feeling your soft skin beneath his fingertips. Seeing his hands splayed out across your legs, including the divots he creates from holding onto you, is beyond heavenly.Ā
āNoona,ā Jeongguk calls to grab your attention. Your eyes shift down in response and a small smile appears when you notice how shiny the bottom half of his face is. āYou taste amazing.ā Another kiss, right on your puffy clit. āI donāt think I ever wanna stop.ā
You giggle.
āYouāre such a sweetie, Ggukie.ā
Itās embarrassing how bright he blushes over your compliment, but at least he can bury his face in your pussy again to conceal his reaction.Ā
He quickly returns to his previous endeavor without worrying about disobeying Seokjin since youāve had a minute to fall back from the precipice. But rather than continuing to lick you, he sucks on your clit as his tongue flicks back and forth.Ā
Your body lurches and you cry out in pleasure, eliciting a low, eager groan from Jeongguk. His grip on your legs doesnāt allow you to move an inch other than squirming. Providing him with the perfect view of you trapped by his biceps while your chest erratically rises and falls. Youāve stopped looking at Seokjin as well, your head dropping down onto the pillows instead.Ā
āIf you want to make her last long, just keep switching between her clit and her cunt. Bring her close with one, then pull back and move to the other,ā Seokjin narrates. āAnd when youāre playing with her clit, try different things. Flatten and swirl your tongue, draw shapes with the tip, spit, you can even use your teeth if you're gentle enough. But you hurt her and Iāll kick your ass.ā
The craziest thing about his hyung giving orders is that despite speaking eloquently, his voice is strained because the sight of his girlfriend being eaten out by another man is turning him on.Ā
Jeongguk canāt blame him, the sight of you lying on the mattress with your legs spread and head thrown back is probably sublime. Not to mention how erotic the visual of you shoving his face deeper into your pussy must be.Ā
āFuck, right there,ā you moan.
Seokjinās advice works wonders because youāre clearly enjoying the way Jeongguk alternates tactics with his tongue. Heās focusing solely on your clit at the moment, utilizing all the aforementioned movements to bring you right back to the edge. He rotates the order to keep you stimulated and you seem to especially like whenever he spits on your nub before circling it.Ā
Itās obvious your orgasmās approaching again, so Jeongguk waits until the very last moment to retreat towards your hole so he can deny you a release.Ā
You whimper and yank on his hair, but youāre not the one in charge and Seokjin gave him specific instructions.Ā
He edges you three more times by following his teacherās wisdom. Every time you come close to a climax, he swaps from lapping at and fucking your cunt to wetting and teasing your nerve endings. By the time youāre nearing a high for the sixth time, you have tears streaming down your face as you ceaselessly pant.Ā
āGod, you look so stunning like this, baby,ā Seokjin comments. āDoesnāt she, kid?ā
Jeonggukās been watching you the entire time and couldnāt agree more. Seeing you nearly fall apart on his tongue over and over again is making his dick twitch inside his pants. All he wants is to finish you off, but heās staying patient for his brotherās signal.Ā Ā
Rather than stopping to reply, he merely groans and nods his head, causing his nose to brush against your swollen, oversensitive clit.Ā
You loudly sob from the intense pleasure while your thighs quiver where theyāre flanking Jeonggukās ears.Ā
āPlease, baby, please,ā you beg.
It's uncertain how long you three have been doing this. Jeonggukās jaw is growing sore, so it must be a decent amount of time. He canāt imagine the overstimulation youāre feeling from being repeatedly denied an orgasm.
āAw, you wanna come, angel?ā
āJinieā¦ā
Thereās a rustling sound and suddenly Jeongguk senses his friend moving closer. The next thing he knows, the bed dips and Seokjin appears in his line of sight beside you.
āYou think Jeongguk can make you come?ā You nod. āYeah?ā He glances down at the man in question, whoās still avidly swiping his tongue through your folds. āYou know what to do?āĀ
When Jeongguk hums, you wail and a fresh flood of arousal drips from your hole.Ā
āSeokjin, I canāt.ā
āI know, baby,ā he pacifies you before turning his attention back to his younger brother. āYou can break her off now. And donāt hold back.āĀ
Those magic words are all heās been wanting to hear since the moment he first tasted you.Ā
He enthusiastically heeds the command by driving his fingertips into your hips and licking you with newfound fervor. His head bobs as his tongue pushes in and out of your cunt at an obscene pace. As much as Jeongguk doesnāt want this experience to end, feeling your entire body shake because of what heās doing to you is so worth it.Ā
You come only seconds later with a high-pitched, muffled, cry while your thighs lock around his head and your fingernails scratch his scalp. Jeonggukās busy ensuring you meet a satisfying end, but when he gazes up again, he sees Seokjin zealously kissing you. His hands are cradling your face and itās obvious his tongueās far down your throat.Ā
Perhaps thatās why you absolutely drown Jeongguk in cum that doesnāt stop even as your body begins to relax in his grasp.Ā
Jeongguk takes advantage of your lengthy climax by swallowing every ounce of you he can, all while moaning over how amazing you taste.
The magical experience comes to an end when a new hand lands on his head and forces his face away.Ā He could honestly cry at the thought of never getting to have you again, but he canāt let either of you know that.Ā
āYou enjoy yourself, kid?āĀ
All he can do in his mystified state is aimlessly nod. It causes you to giggle, clawing Jeonggukās attention back in an instant.
āHere, sweetie, letās clean you up.āĀ
You maneuver your leg around his body so you can hop off the bed and grab something before returning to clutch his face. Thereās something soft and purple in your hand that you use to wipe away the essence staining his cheeks, mouth, and chin. Jeongguk doesnāt realize what it is until you shove the fabric into his palm and curl his fingers around it.Ā
āWhatā¦ youāre giving these to me?āĀ
The lace underwearās staring at him like heās undeserving.Ā
āSo you have something to remember me by,ā you explain with a wink.Ā
Jeongguk scoffs in sheer disbelief.
āI donāt think I could forget you if I tried,ā he counters.Ā
āYou better,ā Seokjin sneers, but heās smirking.Ā
Your boyfriend helps you stand again and adjusts your skirt into a presentable position while you affectionately comb his hair back. You two then turn back to Jeongguk with intertwined hands.Ā
āThis was fun, Ggukie! We should do it again sometime.ā
He genuinely canāt comprehend that heās hearing you correctly.Ā
āYeah, just let us know if you need another lesson,ā his hyung tells him.
āUh, well āā
āAlright, alright! No need to be greedy, you little shit.āĀ
You cackle at Seokjinās familiar teasing as he pulls you towards the exit.Ā
āBye!ā You shout between giggles.
āBye,ā Jeongguk whispers, his hand waving at you of its own accord due to his current lack of brainpower.Ā
He flops backwards onto the mattress once youāre both gone while his mind reels over what just occurred. Itās almost impossible to believe, but the images replaying behind his eyelids arenāt just his imagination. Your flavorās still lingering on his tongue and he can hear your whimpers ringing in his ear.Ā
Maybe it was a terrible idea considering heāll probably never not see you and want to shove his face into your pussy again, but he canāt bring himself to regret anything. He learned multiple valuable lessons and got to make a gorgeous woman come, so who is he to complain?Ā
Heās a total koala in bed, no exceptions. Likes to sleep naked or in just boxers, bcuz he wants maximum skin contact. If ur wearing clothes, heāll gently tug at the hem of ur shirt until u take it off so he can press his whole chest against ur back.
Actually gets a bit sulky if uāre on ur phone in bed. Heāll take it from ur hands, put it on the nightstand, and replace it with his head on ur lap or his hands pulling u back down to cuddle. āYouāre developing bad habits thatās really offensive to me, you think the phone gonna cuddle with you?.ā
Heās ridiculously handsy in a non-sexual, domestic way. Walking past u in the hallway, his hand will brush the small of ur back. Sitting at the table, his foot will find ur foot under it. Standing in line, his fingers will hook into ur belt loop or the back pocket of ur jeans, squeezing ur butt in the meantime.
Does NOT like closed doors between u. If uāre in the bathroom showering, heāll come in to brush his teeth or just sit on the toilet lid and talk to u through the steam. The visual barrier of a curtain is fine, but a locked door hurts his feelings.
If ur doing chores, heāll follow u from room to room like a shadow, talking about his day or just watching u fold laundry. He finds comfort in ur mundane presence. Heāll sit on the bed and hand u clothes to fold just to be involved.
He will literally get on his knees begging u to cook for him. Yep, heās dramatic like that. He knows u wonāt say no to him, u never do, especially for food. He just loves begging u for anything, and getting on his knees for u.
Gets genuinely sad if u have separate plans. He wonāt throw a fit, but heāll give u the biggest, most mournful puppy eyes and say, āOkay... have fun without me,ā in a tone that implies heāll be counting the minutes.
Heās hyper-aware of ur energy. If uāre stressed, he comes up behind u and just rests his forehead between ur shoulder blades, silent, sharing the weight. He doesnāt always need to fix it; he just needs to feel it with u.
Taehyung turns into a sad kicked puppy if he feels neglected. If uāre focused on something else for too long, heāll eventually come over and lay his head on ur desk or book, blocking ur view, saying nothing. Just existing obtrusively until u pay attention to him.
Loves sharing everything. āHere, taste my drink.ā Bites of his food. Even if he has his own blanket, heāll want to share urs so he can be under the same fabric as u.
His ideal day off is literally just being in the same space as u, doing parallel play. Him editing photos on his phone while u read, legs tangled together on the couch, with occasional breaks where he shows u a picture or gets up to kiss ur temple for no reason.
The clinginess intensifies if heās tired or sick. He turns into a giant, whiny baby who just wants to be held. Heāll drag u to bed at 3 PM on a Saturday because he wants a nap and āit doesnāt count if youāre not napping too.ā
He finds reasons to come find u. āDo we have more coffee?" (He knows u do). āWhat do you think of this song?ā (Heās played it for u five times). Itās never about the question; itās about the three minutes of interaction it buys him.
Heās the type to stare, openly and without shame. If he thinks you look hot in an outfit, heāll just stand there, eyes raking over you from head to toe, and say, āYeah. Nope. Weāre staying in.ā Dead serious. Then heāll walk over, pick you up, and carry you back to the bedroom, no arguments accepted.
When he wakes up in the middle of the night, feeling cold and the bed beside him empty, heāll stand up looking for u, finding u in the bathroom. Heāll shuffle in, hair a mess, eyes squinting against the light, lean against the doorframe, and just watch you pee. Both of u looking at eo, āwhy didnāt u wake me?ā He whispers, and ure too tired to reply to him so He just waits for u. When youāre done, he hands u toilet paper after u wash ur hand; takes your hand and leads you, half-asleep, back to bed, tucking you in before collapsing back onto his pillow. āWake me up next time.ā He murmured on the pillow, āokayā u say, not arguing with him cuz yk u will never win.
Taehyung loves taking care of u, but he loves it just as much when u take care of him. He gets all soft when u wash his hair or gently scrub his back, smiling to himself the whole time. Heāll mumble a quiet āur spoiling meā¦ā but he secretly hopes u never stop. By the end, hes always hugging u under the warm water for a few extra mins cuz he just loves feeling close to u.
He doesnāt understand the concept of āpersonal spaceā during private moments. You could be on a private work call, and heāll walk in, kneel in front of you, and start mouthing at your stomach all the way to the small of ur back, because heās bored. He sees no conflict between your meeting and his need for attention.
Taehyungās face is ALWAYS on ur face. Doesnāt matter if u talking to him or just randomly press his cheek against yours, rub his nose against yours, or rest his forehead against yours just because he loves being that close. half the photos on his phone are pretty selfies with both of your faces squished together because the second heās cuddled up against you, heās already reaching for his camera to capture it.
If heās upset with you, his form of protest is exaggerated, silent clinginess. Heāll follow you from room to room and sit right next to you, but with his arms crossed, lips pursed, staring ahead. Heās giving you the silent treatment while physically glued to your side. You have to coax the problem out of him while heās literally in your lap.
Never shy asking for what he wants, physically. āScratch my head.ā āPlay with my hair.ā āHold my hand.ā āKiss.ā He points to his lips or his cheek. He says it like heās reminding you of a scheduled appointment.
Heāll wear your perfume or your lotion. Not a little. Heāll douse himself in it. When his members or friends say, āYou smell like y/n,ā heāll just nod proudly. āI know. Itās better than my cologne.ā
Hes a spoiler also, his gifts r not ordinary. Hes rich, pls take his money, he will buy u a car and all the bags and makeup u ask for. Expect long lovely vacations everywhere ur heart desires.
Taehyung is always quietly paying attention to you even if u dont rlly realize it. He notices the tiniest changes in ur mood, like the way ur smile isnt the same or how ur voice gets a little quieter, and heāll just naturally pull u closer, hold ur hand, or wrap an arm around u without making it a big deal. Hes super careful with his words cuz the last thing he wants is to accidentally hurt ur feelings or make u uncomfy. If he can tell somethings bothering u he wont make it abt himself, heāll just be like ābabyā¦ what can i do to make it better?ā Hes clingy in the sweetest way cuz he just wants to be ur comfort person, the one who notices youāre not okay before u even have to say anything. ć ¤ā”ą¾ą½²
NSFW
Taehyung has this terrifyingly hot duality; he can go from kissing ur forehead with pure devotion to pinning ur wrists above ur head with one hand, his grip tight enough to leave a mark.
his hands r huge. like unfairly big. and he knows it. one palm on the back of ur skull, fingers threaded through ur hair, and u just stop moving. he doesn't even have to say anything.
Another thing why u love his hands playing with u, is his fingers reaches ur everything. Not as deep as his cock, but they r skillful. His favorite place to finger u is in his car. Squirting on his backseat is his ultimate goal.
Taehyung loves pinning u down from behind, pressing his chest flat against ur back and locking your wrists together with one hand while he drives into you.
He loves having sex where itās risky. in the middle of the night where the others are asleep, fucking u from behind and pressing his hand on ur mouth keeping ur voice down. His thrusts purposely getting faster, just to hear ur whimpers slipping out. āKeep your voice down.ā He whispers, making it so hard for u intensionally, āyou want them to hear you, donāt you?ā
His dirty talk half of the time is him begging and praising u, even when he's the one in control. ālook at u. taking me so good. shitādont stop, baby, don't stop, right thereāā
he loves eye contact. like loves it. hand wrapped around ur throat, thumb brushing ur jaw, and he's staring straight into ur soul while he fucks into u slow. āYour eyes so pretty. Donāt look away. Good girl.ā
He has a habit of manhandling you, especially after he came back from the military, taehyung wonāt sit u down. flipping you onto your stomach or pulling you across the bed by your hips without warning, just to see you gasp.
Taehyung finds a strange, erotic pleasure in slapping ur faceānot to hurt u, but to shock uāand the second he does, he leans in with that boxy, devastating smile, watching ur eyes glaze over.
When heās really lost in it his accent slips heavier, words coming out breathy and broken as he tells you how perfect you feel.
He will teach u dirty talk in his language, and when u accidentally slip a word during sex, he will fucking lose it.
Cockwarming. Ofc.
He is obsessed with your expressions; if u smile at him while heās fucking u hard, he goes feral. thrusting deeper and faster bcuz ur smile is his biggest turn-on.
he whimpers. lowkey his biggest tell. when he's close, when u do something that hits just right, that deep little sound escapes and he hates how much it gives him away. so he'll try to cover it by kissing u harder.
hair pulling. his hair, not urs. he loves when u grab a fistful of it while he's going down on u. groans against u and it sends vibrations through ur whole body.
he's loud. not like screaming but constant. moans, groans, murmured praises, broken sentences. ābabyāfuckāpleaseāā like he cant help it. like it's all spilling out of him.
he laughs during sex. like genuinely laughs. if something funny happens, if one of u trips over clothes, if a joke slips out ā he'll throw his head back and laugh, still inside u, and then kiss u while he's still smiling. it's the most disarming thing.
he likes when u sit on his lap facing him. not just for sex ā for making out, for talking, for existing together. but when it does lead to sex, he loves the closeness. foreheads pressed together, breathing each other's air, slow and deep.
He got a sex tape of u. Always makes u take sexy poses naked and keep it in his folder. Itās sometimes not even in sexual way, he genuinely gets mesmerized by ur body and how u make every pic/vid look so good.
he says ur name. a lot. He whispers it, groans it, breathes it, moan it. It makes u go crazy.
he makes u cum first. always. always. it's not negotiable. making u cum multiple times, u hardly remember where u had only one orgasm with him, itās always multiple. And he will edge himself for ages until ure exhausted, fast asleep and satisfied. ć ¤ā”ą¾ą½²
A/N: this is for my taehyung girlies on my inboxš hope it was to ur expectations, and dw! Im currently writing a one shot for taetae so stay tuned! Im not done with him yet š
Genre: Sci-Fi, Action, Adventure, Thriller, Suspense, LOTS of Angst, Third Person POV, 18+ Only
Word Count: 26k+
Summary: After surviving the Hunter-Gratzner crash, Audrey crosses systems under different names, carrying the ghosts of everyone she has lost and the memory of the man who left her behind.
Warnings: Strong Language, Side Character Death, Main Character Death, Violence, Blood, Child Death, Graphic Death Scenes, Religious Themes (I mean no harm and do not want to offend anyone), Bad Character Choices, Attempted Murder of a Child, enslavement, murder, bounty hunters, prisons, implied SA, trauma, nightmares, grief, obsession, nightmares, let me know if i missed anything...
A/N: Seeing as Audrey is one of my favorite PB characters, I thought I'd give her a story of her own. If you haven't read Pitch Black, I'd highly recommend it as it all takes place within this universe, but it's not really necessary in order to enjoy this story. Just might make it a bit more interesting. I hope you enjoy!
masterlist
New Mecca looked too bright from the air. The city lay cupped in the desert, all pale stone and golden domes trembling beneath the heat, while water flashed in hidden courtyards and the call to prayer rose through the engine noise, first as a single human voice and then as many woven together.
Leo pressed her face to the viewport and stared. She had been quiet since they broke atmosphere, and Jungkook noticed because he noticed everything, especially the things he pretended not to. For most of the journey, she had pestered him with questions about port authorities, bounty hunters, gangs, prisons, anything with teeth. She spoke like someone already planning her escape from a place she had not yet reached.
Now she only watched the city.
Namjoon sat behind her with his prayer beads wrapped around one hand. In daylight, his grief had shape: his wife, his children, the people who had trusted him, the boy he had failed to save. All of it rested quietly in his face as he looked down at New Mecca.
Leo glanced back. āWhatād you say?ā
Namjoon gave her a tired smile. āI said weāre home.ā
āYour home.ā
āYes,ā he said. āAnd for a time, yours too.ā
Leo looked toward Jungkook. He stood near the rear hatch with his goggles over his eyes and his arms folded, silent as a loaded gun. Her attention had carried weight since the crash. At first, she watched him because she feared him, then because she was fascinated. Lately, she had begun measuring herself against him.
That was worse.
She had cut her hair, lowered her voice, and buried anything the universe might mistake for softness. She believed being hard meant becoming impossible to hurt.
Jungkook knew better. Being hard only meant the hurting had started early.
The ship struck the landing pad with a metallic shudder. Leo stumbled, caught herself, and immediately glared at Jungkook for having seen it. A faint smile touched his mouth.
āWhat?ā she demanded.
āNothing.ā
āThen donāt look at me.ā
Namjoonās expression softened. āYou argue like family.ā
Leo stiffened, and Jungkook went still.
Family was how people got careless. They turned their backs. They started believing there were rooms in the universe where nothing terrible could enter.
The hatch opened, and New Mecca rushed in all at once: heat, dust, spice, hot metal, sweat, incense, and hundreds of overlapping voices. Leo stepped onto the landing pad as though she expected the ground to bite.
A thin, bearded man waited beyond the port. The moment he saw Namjoon, his face broke open.
āNamjoon?ā
Namjoon stopped. The man rushed forward and embraced him, and Namjoon held on with a sound too small to be called a sob.
Leo looked away. Jungkook watched the crowd instead.
Hassan led them through the city to a blue-doored house built around a small courtyard. A fig tree twisted from the center and cast broken shade across the tiles. When Hassan opened a hidden valve, water spilled into a stone basin in a thin silver thread.
Leo stared at it. After the dead planet, water running for beauty looked obscene.
Namjoonās relatives poured from the house. An older woman reached him first, took his face between her hands, and spoke his name as though addressing a ghost. Others followed, cousins, neighbors, an old uncle with a cane. They touched his shoulders, sleeves, and face, proving to themselves that grief had returned something instead of taking again.
Leo retreated into the shadow beside the door. A little girl peered at her from behind a womanās skirt, and Leo stared back until the child hid herself again.
Leo swallowed.
By dusk, the courtyard had filled with food: bread wrapped in cloth, lentils heavy with spice, dates, roasted meat, and bitter coffee. Leo ate too quickly, caught herself, and forced her hands to slow. Jungkook barely touched his plate.
Namjoon watched him over the rim of his cup. āYou will stay tonight.ā
āThat right?ā
āMy house is open to you.ā
āBad idea.ā
āYou brought me home.ā
āI was headed this way regardless.ā Jungkook shrugged.
The older woman placed another piece of bread beside his hand. āThen stay one night. One night canāt hurt anyone.ā
Jungkook nearly laughed. One night could burn down a world.
Still, he stayed. Not because Namjoon asked, and not because of the bed waiting upstairs, the clean blankets, or the food pressed upon him by people who believed hospitality could tame danger.
He stayed because Leo looked relieved when he agreed.
That was how he knew he had to leave.
Night settled over the courtyard. Lamps burned softly in niches along the walls while the fountain whispered endlessly into its basin. Leo sat beneath the fig tree, turning a stolen kitchen knife between her hands. Jungkook watched from the upper gallery until she finally looked up.
āYou gonna lurk all night?ā she called.
He descended the stairs.
She held up the knife. āItās nice.ā
āKnifeās cheap.ā
āI wasnāt talking about the knife.ā
āYou should give it back.ā
āYou giving advice now?ā She lowered her gaze to the blade and ran her thumb along the blunt edge of the handle. āNamjoon says there are schools here. People who take in kids.ā
āYouāre not a kid, remember?ā
Her mouth tightened. āDonāt do that.ā
āDo what?ā
āUse my words against me.ā
āNot my fault you talk too much.ā
She glared at him, but something younger sat beneath it tonight, something the roughness in her voice could not quite hide. āIām not staying forever.ā
āDidnāt say you were.ā
āI can learn things. Get work on a ship. Iām not going to sit in some room learning prayers and table manners.ā
āCould learn worse.ā
āFrom who? You?ā
He gave her nothing. With his eyes hidden behind the goggles, there was little in his face for her to read.
Leo stood. āWhat happens now? You got a plan?ā
āAlways.ā
āDoes it include us?ā
āUs?ā
She hated the word as soon as he repeated it. āMe and Namjoon,ā she corrected.
The smart thing would have been cruelty, quick and clean. He could have told her she slowed him down, that he did not collect strays. Pride might have cauterized the wound before she felt it.
But the universe had already told her those things, and he had no interest in repeating its work.
So he said nothing.
Her face changed before she could stop it, hurt slipping through the cracks in her expression. āOh.ā
Namjoon appeared in the doorway behind them. āLeo, a room has been prepared for you.ā
āThatās not my name.ā
He paused. āWhat is your name, then?ā
She lifted her chin, reaching for the armor she wore whenever anyone came too close. Jungkook waited, but after a moment her gaze dropped to the knife in her hand.
āForget it.ā
She pushed past them and disappeared into the house. The fountain filled the silence she left behind, water whispering steadily into the stone basin.
āShe follows you with her eyes,ā Namjoon said. āShe sees something in you, Mr. Jeon.ā
Jungkook looked toward the doorway where Leo had disappeared. āThatās what Iām afraid of.ā
āYou think leaving will save her?ā Namjoon studied him for a moment. āYou are not responsible for what she becomes.ā
āThat supposed to make me feel better?ā
āI didnāt think you cared how you felt.ā Namjoonās eyes narrowed slightly. āI was under the impression you felt nothing at all, Mr. Jeon. Thatās what you said, isnāt it?ā
A floorboard creaked inside the house.
Leo was listening.
Jungkook lowered his voice. āShe needs to hate me.ā
āShe already has enough hatred.ā Namjoon stepped closer, speaking quietly now. āWhat she needs is someone who stays. She has lost a great deal, Jungkook.ā
āSo have a lot of people.ā
āYes, and some of them become cruel because no one teaches them anything else.ā Namjoon held his gaze. āYou could teach her something different.ā
āYou donāt know me very well.ā
āI know enough. Our time together has shown me that you have morals, however strangely you choose to arrange them. You kill when it serves you, but I do not believe you enjoy it nearly as much as you pretend.ā
Jungkookās mouth hardened, but Namjoon continued before he could answer.
āYou are not beyond saving. Neither is she.ā
For a moment, Jungkook saw another world: a mining colony beneath three suns, a childās cage, blood drying black against iron. He remembered hands teaching him lessons before he was old enough to understand what they were making of him, how pain had become instruction and survival a language no child should have learned so fluently.
āNo,ā he said at last. āI couldnāt.ā
Later, after the house had fallen asleep, Jungkook gathered his goggles, blade, and pack. The clean blanket on the bed remained untouched. When he opened the door, he found Leo sitting against the wall outside his room, her knees drawn to her chest and the stolen knife hanging loosely from one hand.
She appeared to be asleep, but when he crouched in front of her, her breathing changed so slightly that anyone else might have missed it.
He eased the knife from her fingers and placed it on the floor beside her, not close enough for her to seize quickly, but near enough that she would know he had left it there. Her eyelids trembled, though she did not open them. Jungkook rose without speaking.
Namjoon waited in the darkness at the far end of the hall.
āYouāre leaving,ā he said.
āAlready gone.ā
āAre you going where you said you would?ā
āYes.ā
Namjoon reached into his robe and drew out a small bundle wrapped in cloth. āFood.ā
Jungkook looked at it but made no move to take it.
āDonāt insult me by refusing.ā
He accepted the bundle. Namjoonās fingers closed briefly around his wrist, perhaps in blessing, though Jungkook had never trusted blessings. They made promises the universe had no intention of keeping.
āJungkook,ā Namjoon said, āyou may run from her, from me, and from this house, but you will not outrun what you have done for us. For that, I will always consider you a friend.ā
āCareful. That almost sounded like gratitude.ā
āIt is.ā
āDangerous thing.ā
āSo is mercy.ā
āWouldnāt know.ā
āYes,ā Namjoon said. āYou would.ā
Jungkook had no answer. Words were doors, and once opened, they let things through that could not always be forced back.
He descended the stairs and crossed the courtyard beneath the fig tree, where the fountain whispered steadily into its basin. The house held its borrowed peace around him in the quiet breathing of sleeping relatives, the scent of cooling bread and lamp oil, and the clean linen folded in rooms that had been offered without suspicion.
It was not his peace.
He reached the blue door just as bare feet touched the stairs behind him. He did not turn, but he knew Leo was there. He could feel the force of her silence, the fury she was holding in place, while the entire house seemed to wait for him to become something better than he was.
He could have told her he was leaving for her sake. He could have asked for her real name, whatever it was, or warned her not to follow because she still had a chance to become something he had never been. But saying any of it would have turned abandonment into love, and if he gave her even that much, she would follow him.
He could not allow it.
Jungkook opened the door. Leo made no sound, and somehow that silence hurt more than any curse she might have thrown after him. He stepped into the lane and closed the door between them.
By the time the first call before dawn rose over New Mecca, he had reached the edge of the port. He did not look back at Namjoonās house or at the girl who would find a cheap knife beside her and an empty hallway ahead.
Morning touched the city behind him, and Jungkook walked into the dark before it could reach him too.
Leo left before dawn. Night made it easier. It hid faces and tears, and it softened the sight of a girl standing at a blue door with a stolen pack slung over one shoulder, trying not to listen to the house breathing behind her.
Namjoonās home was never truly silent. Water whispered in the courtyard fountain, the beams creaked as the air cooled, and behind one closed door, Samara shifted in her sleep. Leo knew every sound by now: which tiles clicked beneath bare feet, which latches complained, and which windows could be opened without waking anyone. She had learned the house the way she learned every place, not so she could live in it, but so she could leave it.
Her hand rested on the door. The pack contained little beyond clothes, bread, dried fruit, water, a knife, and several coins taken from Namjoonās drawer. The coins troubled her most. He would know she had stolen them, and worse, he would understand why.
That was what made him dangerous. Namjoon understood. He forgave. He kept making room for her, and kindness like that was a trap. It made you stop moving. It made you sleep beneath clean blankets and believe the hand feeding you would never close into a fist. It made you soft enough to become Audrey again.
Leo closed her eyes, and her motherās voice rose from somewhere long buried.
Audrey, te o aratte.
Audrey, soko kara orinasai.
Audrey, otÅsan wa neteru yo.
Audrey had scraped knees and hair that fell into her face. She had a favorite cup, a bed, and parents who smelled of soap, sunlight, and engine grease. Then the universe had opened its mouth and swallowed all of it.
Leoās eyes snapped open.
Audrey was dead. She had died with her parents, during the years spent drifting between worlds, in the crash, and beneath the black sky where creatures hunted by sound. She had died so many times that Leo had finally crawled out of what remained, yet Namjoonās house kept trying to resurrect her. It did so with bread cooling beneath a cloth, with Samara asking whether she wanted mint in her tea, with errands to the market and neighbors who smiled whenever they saw her.
Now it was trying again with a baby.
Namjoon had told her that afternoon after finding her on the roof at sunset, watching ships rise from the port.
āI have news,ā he said, and the warmth and fear in his voice warned her before the words came. āMari is with child.ā
Leo kept her gaze on the lights gathering along the horizon. āOh.ā
āIt is early still.ā
āGood for you.ā
The words came out harsher than she intended, but Namjoon only nodded.
āYouāre part of this household, Leo. Youāre not being replaced.ā
She laughed without humor. āIām not part of anything.ā
āLeoāā
āIām not your child.ā She stood so quickly that her heel scraped across the stone. āAnd Iām not some charity case.ā
āI have never thought of you that way.ā
āBullshit.ā
His face tightened, but he let her continue, and somehow his patience only made her angrier.
āIām happy for you,ā she said, twisting the words until they sounded like an accusation. Then she left him there with his happiness and everything she had done to poison it.
Now she stood at the door while the house slept. She should have said goodbye. Namjoon deserved that much, and Samara deserved an apology, but seeing either of them would have been dangerous. Namjoon might put a hand on her shoulder and tell her she still belonged there, and some exhausted part of her might believe him.
One more night would become a week, then a month. The baby would arrive red-faced and furious, and everyone would gather around it as though the universe could still create something untouched. Leo would stand in the doorway remembering her motherās hands, remembering Audrey, and she could not survive becoming that girl again.
She opened the door.
The lane outside lay blue beneath the moon. Leo eased the latch shut behind her until it clicked, and with that small sound, an entire life closed. She remained there long enough to hate herself, then started walking.
The route to the port already lived inside her. She had mapped the guards, alleys, rooftops, and walls weeks ago, telling herself it was only habit when, in truth, she had begun planning her escape the moment the house started feeling like home.
Anger carried her through the sleeping city. She was angry with Namjoon for his kindness, with Samara for her patience, and with the unborn baby for having a place waiting before it had even taken its first breath. Most of all, she was angry with Jungkook for leaving her.
That was the anger she could use.
She wanted to find him, not because she expected comfort or an apology. Jungkook would give her neither. He would look at her as though she were stupid for following him, and perhaps she needed that. He had never tried to soften her or asked her to belong. He had shown her exactly what the universe was and walked away before she could mistake survival for love.
Somewhere beyond New Mecca, he was still breathing, and Leo intended to find him.
The port glowed beyond the warehouses, where ships crouched beneath white work lamps and crews hauled cargo while cursing over broken equipment and leaking fuel lines. Leo watched from the shadows until she found a battered freighter with its cargo ramp still open. There were no scanners or armed guards, only a handful of workers arguing beside a stack of crates, far more interested in a faulty fuel coupling than in the thin figure slipping along the wall.
It would do.
She moved behind a loader and made for the ramp, but before she reached it, a hand closed around her shoulder. Leo twisted hard, drove her elbow backward, and brought the knife up beneath the manās ribs before he could recover.
The port worker stumbled away with one hand pressed to his chest. āCrazy little shit.ā
Leo backed toward the freighter with the blade raised.
āYou donāt belong here,ā he said.
She almost laughed. āNo kidding.ā
His gaze moved from the knife to her face, and whatever he found there made him raise both hands. āFine. Get spaced for all I care.ā
He retreated, but Leo remained where she was, trembling with something brighter and sharper than fear. She had wanted him to fight. The realization should have frightened her. Instead, it felt like proof that she was becoming exactly what she needed to be.
She boarded the freighter while the crew continued arguing outside. The cargo hold smelled of oil, dust, and unwashed bodies. Leo crawled behind a row of water drums and folded herself into the narrow space between them and the wall, knees drawn tight to her chest.
A moment later, the ramp began to rise. The port lights narrowed to a thin white line before disappearing completely, and the locks struck into place one after another, sealing her inside.
Only then did regret come.
It wore Namjoonās face, not angry, because he was never angry. She saw him standing on the roof with one hand against his chest, protecting the joy she had tried to wound. She saw Samara peeling fruit at the kitchen table, glancing up whenever Leo entered as though still hoping she might finally sit down. She saw the blue door, the fig tree, and water spilling in a silver thread into the courtyard basin.
The baby would have all of it. The child could grow beneath Namjoonās kindness without Leoās shadow falling across the house. It could belong without ever learning what belonging cost.
Leo would have the dark.
The engines rumbled beneath her, sending vibrations through the floor and into her bones. āIām sorry,ā she whispered, though she did not know whether she meant Namjoon, Samara, the baby, Audrey, or herself.
Then the freighter lifted, and New Mecca fell away beneath them: the city of gold and prayer, the house that had offered her a life, and the people who had nearly convinced her to stay.
Leo closed her eyes and clung to her anger, willing it to burn Audrey out of her. She wanted it to silence her motherās voice, erase the memory of her fatherās hands, and destroy the girl who had once believed a home could remain standing simply because people loved one another inside it.
She was not Audrey anymore. She was not Namjoonās daughter or some abandoned child still waiting for someone to choose her.
She was Leo.
Leo stepped off the freighter with a stiff neck, an empty stomach, and the taste of rust in her mouth. Two days wedged behind water drums and medical scrap had left one side of her body bruised and her throat dry enough that she had spent the last several hours licking condensation from the pipes. Hunger had stopped hurting somewhere along the way. Now it sat quietly inside her, conserving what little strength remained.
No one stopped her or looked twice. The port was little more than a scar of burned concrete and sinking metal carved into the side of a refinery settlement. Smoke dragged itself beneath a yellow-gray sky, floodlights buzzed through the false morning, and chemical rain had left an oily sheen across the ground. Everything smelled of fuel, hot wiring, and too many bodies breathing the same poisoned air.
Good. Lupus 5 was ugly, and it knew it.
Pretty places had begun to make Leo sick. New Mecca had been too golden and too clean, too full of running water and women who touched her sleeve to ask whether she had eaten. It had been crowded with prayers, warm bread, and the promise of a baby born into a house that had nearly convinced her there might still be room for her.
Lupus 5 offered nothing, which made it easier to trust.
She adjusted the stolen pack on her shoulder and joined the workers leaving the freighter. Her gaze stayed lowered, though never harmlessly. She watched hands, belts, weapons, loose credits, and the routes people took whenever guards appeared. She was careful not to look anyone in the face long enough for them to notice she was alone.
The thought struck harder than she expected, and anger rose immediately to meet it. She had chosen this. She had left Namjoonās house before dawn, taken his money, and hidden aboard the first ship with an open cargo ramp. No one had forced her here.
Jungkook had still left first, and that mattered no matter how often she turned the memory over and tried to sharpen it into something else. He had walked through the blue door without looking back while she stood at the top of the stairs, and he had known she was there.
Of course he had known. Jungkook knew when men lied, when darkness hid teeth, and when a girl pretended to sleep outside his room because asking him to stay would have been worse than watching him leave.
He had known, and he had gone anyway.
Leo hated Jungkook for leaving, but she loved him too, and that made the hatred feel diseased. She loved him for pulling her from the wreck, for never speaking to her as though she might shatter, and for recognizing the knife in her without insisting it was something softer. After her parents died, he had been the first person to make the universe feel understandable. There were monsters outside and monsters within, and you survived both or you did not.
She wanted to find him and hit him until her knuckles split. She wanted to demand an explanation and force him to admit he had left because she mattered too much to ruin. Other times, she wanted him to say she had never mattered at all, because either answer would hurt less than silence.
Worse than any of it, she wanted him to be her father, and the thought turned her stomach because she had already had one. She wanted him to be her brother, her teacher, the thing that stood between her and the dark. Some part of her wanted to crawl beneath his arm and sleep without listening for footsteps, while another wanted never to need anyone that badly again.
A horn blared across the docking yard. Leo flinched, then hated herself for it. Her hand slipped into her jacket pocket and closed around the kitchen knife she had stolen from Namjoonās house. Once, it had been ordinary, meant for bread, fruit, and meat. Leo had made it into a weapon.
That was what she did now.
She slipped through the port exit behind a mechanic carrying engine parts. Beyond the scanners, narrow streets twisted between lodging blocks and refinery pipes while chemical rain pattered against patched awnings. Men lingered in doorways with their hands near their belts, and children moved quickly through the alleys, their eyes too old for their faces.
One boy noticed her pack. Leo touched the knife, and he smiled, not kindly but knowingly, before disappearing between two stalls. She understood the message well enough.
Youāre alone. So am I. Letās see which of us eats.
Her stomach cramped at the smell of meat blistering over a coil burner, and she stopped before she meant to. The vendor was a broad woman with burn scars running down one arm and metal caps over several teeth.
āCredits,ā she said.
Leo pulled one of Namjoonās coins from her pocket.
The woman laughed. āThatāll buy you smoke.ā
Heat climbed into Leoās face. āHow much?ā
āFor you?ā The woman looked over the bad haircut, thin wrists, and stolen pack. āMore.ā
Anger came quickly. Leo pictured driving the knife through the womanās hand, not killing her, only pinning it to the counter long enough to take the food and run while everyone watched. The image arrived too easily, so clear that for one terrible second she could almost feel the resistance of flesh beneath the blade.
Then the street vanished, and Youngblood stood before her again. That elegant mouth. Those bright, merciless eyes. The weapon heavy in Leoās hands. The instant before she fired, followed by the silence afterward, when Youngblood could no longer threaten anyone.
Leo remembered the blood. Worse, she remembered the relief.
At night, Youngblood returned to whisper what Leo already knew.
You wanted to.
The vendorās smile faded. āYou buying?ā
Leo realized her grip had tightened around the knife. She stepped back, and the woman dismissed her with a snort before turning away. Leo kept walking before the rage could make the choice for her, chemical rain gathering in her hair and slipping cold beneath her collar. Her hands had begun to shake, so she shoved them beneath her arms and forced herself onward.
She had killed before, but that truth belonged to the crash, to terror, and to survival. Here, hungry on an ordinary street, it felt different. The vendor had not been a monster. She had only been cruel, and Leo had still wanted to hurt her.
Jungkook would have understood, though the thought offered no comfort. Maybe he had left because he had seen this waiting inside her, recognized the direction of the road, and known exactly where it ended. Or perhaps he had planted it there himself.
The anger swelled again, but it no longer belonged only to him. It belonged to Namjoon and his endless forgiveness, to Samara, whose gentleness had made Leo remember what it felt like to be someoneās daughter, and to the unborn child who would arrive already belonging. It belonged to her parents for dying and to Audrey for still existing somewhere inside her, frightened, soft, and impossible to bury.
It belonged to Bindi for being dead.
Bindi had been loud and bright and alive in a way Leo had not known adults could be. She had made danger look embarrassing. Had she lived, perhaps she would have taught Leo that strength could laugh, swear, and swagger without becoming cruel.
And Y/N...
Leo stopped beneath a broken awning.
Y/N was harder to remember, not because the memories had faded, but because they hurt too precisely. Leo could imagine her taking her aboard some practical little ship, rolling her eyes at the haircut, and telling her to stop pretending she did not care. Bindi would be nearby, laughing. They were women who knew how to survive without turning survival into worship, and perhaps Leo could have learned another way from them. Perhaps she could have become hard without becoming hollow.
The possibility opened inside her like a wound. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.
Bindi was dead. Y/N was dead. Her parents were dead. Audrey was dead. Jungkook had left, and Leo was hungry.
Those were facts, and facts did not ask to be mourned.
Behind a locked service gate, she found a refuse bin belonging to one of the food stalls. She stared down at vegetable skins, burned bread, stripped bones, and grease-soaked paper while Namjoonās table rose treacherously in her mind: warm bread wrapped in cloth, food pressed toward her without payment, and Samara pretending not to notice when Leo took a second helping.
Leo climbed the gate and searched through the refuse until she found a piece of bread, wet on one side and reeking of old oil. She tore away the worst of it, swallowed the rest, and felt her body wake ravenous at the first taste of food.
A dog appeared at the mouth of the alley, its ribs sharp beneath its mangy coat. It fixed its eyes on the bone in Leoās hand and growled. She drew the knife, and the animal lowered its head.
For a moment, they faced one another across the garbage, each thin enough to be desperate and frightened enough to attack. Leo saw herself in the dog and hated it for making her look, so she threw the bone past its head. The animal bolted after it without hesitation.
āRun while you can,ā she muttered, but her voice broke on the words.
Leo crouched beside the bin with grease on her fingers and rain dripping from her hair. She wanted Namjoonās house so badly that the longing nearly folded her in half. She wanted the fountain and the fig tree, Samaraās tea, and the blue door standing unlocked when she returned. She wanted Namjoon to see the stolen coins and forgive her before she could even give them back.
At the same time, she wanted him not to forgive her. She wanted him furious enough to make leaving necessary.
That was what kindness had done to her. It had given her something to betray and nowhere to put the guilt afterward.
She scrubbed roughly at her face and found shelter behind a shuttered machine shop, where warm air leaked from a vent low in the wall. The space beside it was narrow, damp, and hidden from the street, but it was enough. Leo curled there with the pack beneath her head and the knife clenched in one fist while Lupus 5 moved around her. Boots splashed through dirty water, music thudded behind thin walls, and somewhere nearby, someone screamed.
No one answered.
The planet was cruel, indifferent, and honest. Leo told herself she preferred it.
As her eyes grew heavy, the dead gathered around her. Bindi laughed. Y/N turned toward the dark. Youngblood smiled with blood in her teeth, and her mother called Audrey home. Then Jungkook appeared at the end of the corridor with his goggles shining, and as always, he turned away when Leo tried to reach him.
Dad, she never called him. Brother, she never called him. Please, she never said.
Even in dreams, pride kept its teeth buried in her throat.
Leo tightened her grip on the knife. She would find him. She would make him look at her and see what had happened after he left: the hunger, the garbage, and the violence that came too easily. She would force him to tell her whether he had abandoned her to prevent this or because he had known it was inevitable. If he had no answer, she would hate him. If he did, she might hate him more.
Sleep dragged her under before she could decide which would be worse.
The last thing she saw was Y/N disappearing into the dark, brave and doomed, while Leo reached after her too late. This time, just before the dream closed, Y/N turned, and for one impossible second, Leo thought she might come back.
Then her face became Jungkookās, and he left her all over again.
By the fourth day, Leo woke behind the machine shop curled around a cramp, her cheek stuck to her sleeve while rainwater dripped from a pipe overhead in slow, maddening intervals. Lupus 5 brightened by degrees, the darkness thinning into a dirty yellow beneath the refinery smoke until the whole settlement looked diseased.
Good, she thought. Let it rot.
Her stomach twisted again and forced a small sound from her throat. She hated the weakness of it. It had been nearly a day since she had eaten half a protein square stolen from a drunk, and he had caught her wrist and driven her into a wall before she managed to escape. Before that, there had been bread pulled from a refuse bin and water from a cracked pipe that tasted of rust.
She had thought surviving the creatures meant she knew how to live. Monsters had been simpler. They came screaming out of the dark, all teeth and wings, and you ran or you died. Lupus 5 was slower and crueler. It let her destroy herself by degrees, choosing pride over food until her body began devouring the pride too.
āHis fault,ā she whispered.
The words sounded weak, so she said them again with more force. āHis fault.ā
Jungkook had left her in a house full of clean sheets and kind people after teaching her to want something from him that she did not know how to name. He had walked through the blue door without turning around, though she had been awake and he had known it. That was what she could not forgive. Jungkook knew when people lied, when darkness hid teeth, and when a girl sat outside his room with a knife because asking him to stay would have hurt more than watching him leave.
He had known, and he had gone anyway. Had he taken her with him, she would not be here. Had he explained himself, perhaps she would not have followed. Had he looked at her even once as though she mattered enough to warn, she might have been able to hate him cleanly.
Instead, she loved him too.
She loved him for saving her, for never speaking to her as though she were fragile, and for recognizing the ugly things inside her without pretending they were anything else. She wanted to find him and break his nose, then have him put an arm around her and tell her she had done well surviving without him.
She wanted him to be proud of her, and that was the most humiliating hunger of all.
Leo pushed herself upright, but the alley tilted beneath her and she had to brace one hand against the wall to keep from falling. Anger steadied her. It usually did.
The main strip outside the port had already filled with refinery workers and mercenaries. Food stalls steamed beneath patched awnings, filling the wet air with the smell of fried grain, broth, and roasting meat. Leo stopped across from a bakery cart where blistered golden loaves sat stacked in wire trays.
The owner was arguing with two customers while a boy near the corner watched the manās belt instead of the bread. Another thief. Leo noticed him at the same moment he noticed her, but before either of them could move, a mercenary drinking at the next stall looked up and caught them both.
The boy disappeared into the crowd. Leo stayed where she was, staring at the bread until the mercenary smiled into his cup. Only then did she turn away.
Jungkook would have told her she had waited too long.
āShut up,ā she muttered.
By evening, her hands would not stop shaking. She found herself outside a bar called the Broken Lung, watching plates pass through the open doorway: bowls of stew, black bread, and strips of greasy meat. Still, she could not make herself go inside. The place was crowded with mercenaries, people who made their living dragging others home in chains. No matter how straight she stood, they would see the hungry child beneath the bad haircut and stolen jacket.
Then another thought struck her. Mercenaries knew bounty boards, prison routes, and outlaw names. One of them might know where Jungkook had gone.
For one clean second, Leo forgot her hunger and stepped toward the bar.
A hand caught the back of her jacket and dragged her into the alley beside it. She spun with the knife already raised, only to find three mercenaries surrounding her.
The woman who had grabbed her was tall and lean, with her hair braided close to her scalp and a silver implant gleaming where one eye should have been. A rifle hung across her back. Beside her stood a broad man with a scar disappearing beneath his collar, while the youngest of the three held a steaming bowl of stew.
Leo stared at it before she could stop herself.
The woman noticed. āWell,ā she said. āLook at that.ā
āBack off.ā Leo held the knife between them, though the blade trembled in her hand.
The scarred man laughed. āSheās got teeth.ā
āYouāve been working this strip all week,ā the woman said.
āI donāt know what you mean.ā
āYou hungry?ā
āNo.ā
The scarred manās grin widened. āMust be why sheās shaking.ā
Leo wanted to stab him. Not kill him, only open his cheek and make the smile disappear. The thought came so easily that it frightened her.
The woman glanced at the younger man. āGive her the bowl.ā
He pulled it closer to his chest. āI just bought this.ā
āGive it to her.ā
His expression soured, but he held the stew out. Leo did not move. Food was never only food, not when it came from strangers and certainly not from people carrying weapons.
āThink itās poisoned?ā the woman asked. āIf we wanted you dead, youād already be dead.ā
Leoās stomach cramped loudly enough for all three of them to hear. The scarred man laughed again, and humiliation burned through her, nearly strong enough to make her refuse the food. Then the smell reached her, rich, hot, and impossible to ignore, and she snatched the bowl from the younger manās hands.
Keeping the knife in one hand, she ate with the other. The first mouthful burned her tongue, but she swallowed without chewing and immediately took another. Her stomach seized around the food after days of almost nothing, yet she kept going, scraping the thick sauce from the sides with her fingers as tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away before anyone could mistake them for gratitude.
āSlow down,ā the woman said.
Leo ate faster.
When the bowl was nearly empty, the woman asked, āWhatās your name?ā
āWhy?ā
āYouāre eating my crewmanās dinner.ā
āDidnāt ask for it.ā
āNo,ā the woman said. āYou didnāt.ā
There was no pity in her voice, only calculation, and Leo understood calculation. She studied their armor, the ship patches sewn into the fabric, and the worn weapons and scuffed equipment that had clearly been used rather than carried for show.
A crew meant a ship, and a ship meant information.
āWhat are you doing here?ā the woman asked.
āPassing through.ā
āWith what money?ā
Leo scraped the bottom of the bowl and said nothing.
āRunaway,ā the scarred man said.
She looked up. āYou bounty hunters?ā
āWhen the moneyās right.ā
Jungkookās name rose behind her teeth, but saying it felt dangerous. If they laughed, she might use the knife. If they knew him, then the search would become real.
āIām looking for someone,ā she said.
The womanās silver eye clicked as it focused. āWho?ā
āA convict. Jeon.ā
The change in them was slight but immediate. The younger man stopped smirking, and the scarred one straightened while Leoās heart struck hard against her ribs.
The woman studied her more carefully. āFirst name?ā
āJungkook.ā
The scarred man let out a low whistle.
āYou know him,ā Leo said.
āEverybody knows of him.ā
āWhere is he?ā
āIf we knew that,ā the man replied, āwe wouldnāt be eating stew on Lupus 5.ā
āHeās worth a lot,ā the younger mercenary added, but the woman silenced him with a look.
Leo stepped forward, and suddenly the alley no longer swayed beneath her feet. āHow much?ā
āMore than youāll ever see.ā
āWhoās after him?ā
āAnyone stupid enough to believe they can bring him in.ā The woman glanced at the knife in Leoās hand. āYou know Jeon?ā
Leo tightened her fingers around the empty bowl.
Did she know him? She knew the sound of his voice in the dark and the stillness that came over people when he smiled. She knew he could kill with less effort than most men used to light a cigarette. She knew he had saved her, and she knew he had left her.
āI was with him,ā she said.
āWhen?ā
āAfter the Hunter-Gratzner crashed. I survived with him.ā
āThought only Jeon and some holy man made it back,ā the younger mercenary said.
āAnd me.ā
The woman looked at her differently after that, no longer seeing only a starving child but something that might contain value. Leo straightened beneath the scrutiny, hating how good it felt to be regarded that way.
āWhatās your name?ā the woman asked.
āLeo.ā
āBit young to be chasing Jungkook Jeon.ā
Leo had no answer she was willing to give them. She was following the wound he had left behind, searching for the only person who might understand what she had become because he had helped make her that way.
Instead, she lifted her chin. āLet me join you.ā
The mercenaries exchanged glances.
āI can work,ā Leo continued. āCarry cargo, watch doors, steal. I know how he thinks.ā
The womanās expression hardened. āDo you?ā
Leo knew he would avoid the obvious entrance, that he listened more than he spoke, and that he abandoned any place the moment it began to matter. Most of all, she knew he would leave before anyone could ask him not to.
āBetter than you do.ā
The scarred man laughed. āI like her.ā
Leo stepped closer. āIāll earn the food.ā
There it was, the truth she had been trying not to say, and the woman heard it. For a moment, she examined Leo with the cold attention of someone considering a damaged tool. It should have been insulting, but instead it felt safe. Tools were fed because they were useful, not because anyone loved them.
The woman held out her hand. āWilde.ā
Leo looked at Wildeās hand but did not take it. After a moment, Wilde lowered it without comment.
āWe have a table inside,ā she said. āSit with us, answer a few questions, and you can have another bowl.ā
Leo should have walked away. Food was a hook, and a place aboard their ship would be a deeper one. Mercenaries did not give without expecting payment, and whatever they wanted from her would cost more than stew.
But they knew Jungkookās name. They were the first proof she had found that he was more than a shadow she had invented to keep herself moving.
Leo set the empty bowl on a nearby crate. āFine. But Iām not stupid.ā
Wilde turned toward the bar. āGood. I donāt like stupid people.ā
Leo followed them inside, where heat and smoke closed around her. Mercenaries crowded the tables beneath flickering bounty screens, their weapons resting within easy reach. She scanned every face, every exit, and every hand hovering near a holster before a scrolling line of text caught her eye.
JEON, J ā STATUS UNKNOWN.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. He was real, and he was alive, or alive enough that no one had managed to prove otherwise.
Wilde called to her from a booth, and Leo forced herself to move. A second bowl arrived moments later, and she wrapped both hands around it, drawing the heat into her aching fingers.
She had accepted their food. Soon, she might accept their ship, their work, and whatever ugliness came with them. None of that mattered.
For the first time since Jungkook had closed the blue door between them, Leo knew where to put all that hunger.
Leo stood on the wrong side of a heavy metallic door with her hands cuffed in front of her, unable to understand what was happening. Not at first. The seal drew itself into place with a hydraulic sigh, followed by the dead, final clunk of the locks engaging, but her mind refused to accept the shape of it.
Wilde had told her to wait there. Dario had told her to keep her mouth shut. Gallant had not looked at her.
That was the part she remembered most clearly. Not the cuffs, the Rykengoll guards in their dark helmets, or the blunt shock-rifles held across their chests. Not even the stale, animal stink of the transfer bay. Gallant had stood near the cargo lift with one hand on his belt and his eyes turned away, as though shame had finally found him but far too late to be useful.
Leo stared at Wilde. āWhat is this?ā
Her voice did not sound frightened, and for half a second, she was proud of that.
Wilde looked back at her, the silver implant in her eye clicking softly as it read Leoās face the way a scanner read cargo. āBusiness.ā
Leo laughed once because the answer was too stupid to be real. āNo.ā
Dario shifted behind Wilde. āDonāt make it ugly, kid.ā
The word struck something raw. Leo stepped forward, and one of the Rykengoll guards immediately raised his rifle. Wilde lifted a hand, stopping him before he burned Leo down to the floor like refuse.
āYou said I could join you,ā Leo said. āYou bought me food. You saidāā
āI said you could sit and talk.ā Wildeās expression remained almost gentle, which made it worse. āAnd you talked plenty.ā
Cold spread through Leoās stomach. She had told them about Jungkook, the crash, the dark planet, the creatures, Youngblood, and Namjoon. Not everything. Not the softest parts, or the names that still hurt too much to touch, but enough.
More than enough.
She had thought she was proving herself useful. She had believed every answer brought her closer to Jungkook. It had never occurred to her that useful things could be sold.
āYou bitch.ā
Wilde did not flinch. Dario did, though only slightly, and Leo hated him for having a conscience too weak to matter.
āI can work,ā she said quickly, hating the panic beginning to creep into her voice. āI can help you find him. I told you, I know him. I know what he does and how he thinksāā
āShut the fuck up, kid,ā Wilde snapped. āYou donāt know shit, or we wouldāve had him by now.ā
The first guard seized her arm, and Leo fought.
She drove her heel into his shin, twisted hard enough to nearly wrench her own wrist apart, and slammed her shoulder into his chest. Someone cursed. Dario reached for her, and she bit him, sinking her teeth into the flesh of his hand until blood touched her tongue.
He shouted and backhanded her so hard the transfer bay flashed white. Leo dropped to one knee, and then the muzzle of a shock-rifle pressed against the back of her neck.
Pain became the whole universe.
It was nothing like being struck or falling. It was light beneath her skin, white and blue and furious, every muscle in her body seizing until she could no longer tell whether she was screaming or choking. Her teeth cracked together, and her cuffed hands clawed uselessly at the metal floor.
For a few seconds, she was not Leo or Audrey or anything with a name. She was only a body electricity had found.
When it stopped, she lay curled on the grating, shaking. Wilde crouched in front of her, and Leo tried to spit at her but managed only blood.
Wildeās mouth tightened. āYouāll live longer if you learn to be quiet.ā
Leo dragged air back into her lungs. āJungkook will kill you.ā
The name changed the air. It always did.
Wilde leaned closer. āMaybe. But heād have to come looking first.ā
Leo had no answer for that. The door closed behind Wilde with a quiet, final sound, and from that moment on, she belonged to the Rykengolls.
They did not call her Leo. That was the second thing she learned.
Names were among the first things they took, though there was no ceremony to it. No speech, no solemn declaration that her old life was over. The Rykengolls were too efficient for poetry. They processed her in a long gray room that smelled of disinfectant, sweat, and old fear, stripping away her pack, the stolen knife, and the coins she had taken from Namjoonās drawer.
Then they found the strip of cloth tied around her wrist. Samara had once wrapped bread in it on New Mecca and smiled when Leo pretended not to notice.
When a guard reached for it, Leo lunged.
He caught her by the hair and slammed her face against the metal counter. āStill.ā
Blood spilled from her nose and gathered beneath her cheek. Behind the counter, a woman with dull blond hair scraped into a knot scrolled through a screen, wearing the vacant expression of someone who had decided long ago not to see what passed in front of her.
āSex?ā she asked.
Leoās head rang. āWhat?ā
āSex.ā
āGo to hell.ā
The guard twisted her arm until a sound slipped through her teeth.
The woman did not look up. āFemale. Approximate age?ā
āShe says she ran with Jungkook,ā another guard said, and several of them laughed.
Leo hated them so much she could barely breathe.
āFourteen,ā one guessed.
āMaybe fifteen.ā
āOld enough to bite,ā Dario muttered somewhere behind her.
Leo tried to turn toward his voice, but the guard pressed harder until her cheek ground painfully against the counter.
āDesignation?ā the woman asked.
āShe gave one,ā said the guard holding her. āLeo.ā
The woman paused, and for some reason, that frightened Leo more than the laughter had. At last, her pale, empty eyes lifted.
āNo.ā
Leoās chest tightened. āNo?ā
āToo common in the male block. Causes errors.ā The woman returned her attention to the screen. āTrinity.ā
Leo went still while the room continued moving around her. Trinity meant nothing, and that was what frightened her. Leo had meant something, even when she pretended otherwise. It was the name she had chosen like a blade, the name Jungkook had known. Leo was the girl who had survived the dark with Namjoon, stolen food on Lupus 5, and stood on a roof in New Mecca telling herself Audrey was dead.
Trinity was blank, nothing more than a tag fastened to a cage, something the Rykengolls could enter into a system, write down, and own.
The guard lifted her head by the hair just far enough for her to see the womanās bored face. āNo,ā Leo said again, though the word came out weaker this time.
The woman finally looked annoyed. āQuiet, girl.ā
Leoās throat closed. The name mattered because there was almost nothing else left.
The guard shoved her forward, and someone snapped a band around her wrist, dark metal wrapped over a strip of embedded code. It tightened until it bit into her skin. Leo tried to pull away, but a shock-rifle touched her ribs, and her body remembered the pain before her pride could answer. She froze.
āTrinity,ā the woman said as she passed a scanner over the band. It blinked green. āLabor intake. Rykengoll property. Transfer grade pending.ā
Leo looked toward Dario. He stood near the exit with a bandage wrapped around the hand she had bitten, refusing to meet her eyes.
āPlease,ā she said.
He looked up then, and for one second, something human crossed his face. Leo hated herself more for seeing it than she hated him. She had begged. Not loudly or well, barely at all, but she had done it, and now the sound would live inside her forever as one more thing to wake from.
Dario looked away.
The guards took her through another door, and after that, everything dissolved into movement: corridors, gates, hands, orders, numbers. They shoved her into a narrow transport that stank of bodies, then carried her down into a compound carved partly from rock and partly from the remains of some old industrial ruin.
Rykengoll territory was not a city. It was a throat, and everything went down.
They descended through processing, past holding pens, and into the work levels, where heat breathed from the vents and chains rattled overhead. Mineral damp sweated from the walls, lights flickered behind wire cages, and people in gray uniforms moved beneath them with bands around their wrists and eyes that never rose unless someone forced them to.
Leo kept waiting for an opening: a guard glancing away, a door left ajar, a hand loosening around her arm. None came.
The Rykengolls were not stupid. That was the third thing she learned, and perhaps the worst. Cruel people were supposed to be stupid. In stories, arrogance made them careless, but the Rykengolls had done this too many times. They knew where fear became resistance and where resistance gave way to collapse. They knew exactly how far to push before a body broke in ways that stopped being profitable.
At last, they put Leo in a holding cell with six others and no window. The door closed behind her with the same final sound as before, metal deciding the course of her life.
She stood in the middle of the cell with her arms wrapped around herself, staring at the sealed door until the other prisoners slowly came into focus. A woman with bruises circling both wrists sat against the wall, rocking faintly. An old man lay on his side with his eyes open, while two boys whispered in one corner, their voices dry and quick. Someone younger than Leo slept with their face turned toward the wall.
The sixth prisoner was a broad-shouldered girl with a shaved head and a split eyebrow. She watched Leo the way one dog watched another near a bone.
āWhatād they call you?ā she asked.
Leo said nothing.
The girlās mouth twisted. āFine.ā
Leo crossed to the far wall and slid down it, drawing her knees against her chest. Her whole body hurt. Her jaw throbbed where Dario had struck her, her wrist burned beneath the metal band, and her ribs still ached where the shock-rifle had touched her. Beneath all of it ran a deeper trembling that no amount of clenching could hide.
She was afraid. The realization humiliated her so badly that she nearly gagged. Leo pressed a fist to her mouth and bit down on her knuckle until the pain gave her something smaller to hold.
Jungkook would know what to do.
The thought came before she could stop it, and the hatred followed close behind. Jungkook had done this. Not Wilde, Dario, or the Rykengolls with their records, bands, and shock-rifles. Not really. They were only the hands the universe had used. Jungkook had left her hungry enough to trust a bowl of stew, lonely enough to speak his name to strangers, and desperate enough for him that anyone who had heard of him could lead her by the throat.
It was his fault. All of it.
She closed her eyes and saw him at the blue door in New Mecca, walking away without turning around. āYou son of a bitch,ā she whispered.
The shaved-headed girl snorted. āTalking to yourself already?ā
Leo opened her eyes. The girl nodded toward the metal band around her wrist. āNew name?ā
Leoās lips felt numb, but before she could answer, a guard called from the corridor.
āTrinity.ā
No one moved. Something metal struck the door with a sharp clang, and the shaved-headed girl looked at Leo. One by one, the others followed her gaze. Leo sat perfectly still, barely breathing, until the door opened and a guard filled the frame.
āTrinity.ā
āThatās not my name,ā Leo said.
The guard glanced down at his screen. āIt is here.ā
He looked bored, and Leo had already begun to fear that expression more than hatred or amusement. Bored men did not see people. They saw tasks.
āStand.ā
Leo stayed where she was until the guard raised his shock-rifle. Then her body obeyed before her mind could agree, hauling her upright so quickly that her knees nearly buckled. The shaved-headed girl looked away, and Leo was grateful for the small mercy of not being watched.
They fed her in a room lined with long tables bolted to the floor. Gray mash, hard bread, and water with a chemical bite. It was not enough, but hunger had stripped away what little pride she had left, so Leo ate. Around her, the others did the same, quickly and in silence. No one spoke unless they had already learned who was safe, and no one looked at the guards.
Leo did.
There were six in the room: two stationed near the door, one on the upper catwalk, and three moving between the tables. They carried batons, shock-rifles, and sidearms. One had a ring of keys hanging from his belt, though they were probably useless without the proper codes. Cameras watched from the corners, the vents were too narrow to crawl through, and there were no windows.
Her hands shook around the bread. One of the guards noticed and smiled faintly, so Leo lowered her eyes before he could see how much she hated him, or how much more she hated herself for being afraid.
That night, or what passed for night underground, they returned her to the cell. The lights dimmed but never went out. The compound allowed no true darkness, perhaps because the Rykengolls thought it kinder, though Leo doubted kindness had anything to do with it. More likely, they understood that half-light was worse, leaving every shape unfinished and every movement possible.
Leo curled on the floor with her pack gone, her knife gone, and her name gone. Sleep came in pieces, and the nightmares had changed.
Before, they had chased her. Creatures on wings. Youngblood with blood on her mouth. Y/N turning toward the dark again and again, always too far away to save. Leo knew those dreams. She hated them, but at least they belonged to her.
Now the nightmares wore new hands. Wilde offered her food. Dario told her not to make things ugly. Gallant looked away while Namjoon stood on the roof with disappointment and love mixed painfully across his face. Jungkook waited behind him, silent and already leaving.
The Hunter-Gratznerās cargo hold became the transfer bay, and the creatures circling above wore Rykengoll helmets, their wings clicking like scanner implants. Youngblood sat behind the intake counter stamping forms, her elegant fingers clean and white while Leoās blood spread across the metal.
Designation? Youngblood asked.
Leo tried to answer, but her mouth filled with black sand.
Designation?
The creatures screamed overhead, and at the end of the corridor stood Y/N, not as she had died but as Leo had always wanted her to be: alive, breathless, and fierce, with one hand outstretched.
āCome on, Leo.ā
Leo reached for her, but the band around her wrist tightened. Y/Nās face shifted, becoming Wildeās and then her motherās.
No. No, no.
āAudrey,ā her mother said.
Leo screamed in her sleep and woke with someoneās hand clamped over her mouth. For one blind second, she fought as though the creatures had found her, clawing at the wrist, kicking, twisting, and trying to bite.
The hand held firm. āQuiet,ā a voice hissed. āQuiet, you idiot.ā
It was the shaved-headed girl.
Leo stopped fighting, her chest heaving, and the girl withdrew her hand before crouching beside her. āYou want them coming in here?ā
Leo stared around the cell, unable at first to understand where she was. Slowly, the half-light returned, followed by the damp walls, the bodies scattered across the floor, and the smell of fear and unwashed skin.
Not the dark planet. Not Youngbloodās ship. Not New Mecca.
Not home.
She almost laughed. There was no home left.
The girl sat back. āYou were screaming.ā
Leo wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. āNo, I wasnāt.ā
The girl gave her a flat look, and from the corner, one of the boys muttered, āYes, you were.ā
āShut up,ā Leo snapped, but her voice cracked, and silence settled over the cell again.
The shaved-headed girl studied her for a moment, then leaned against the wall nearby instead of returning to her place. She stayed far enough away that it could not be mistaken for comfort. She did not speak or touch Leo again. She was simply there, and somehow that made it worse.
Leo hated that she noticed.
āWhatās your name?ā the girl asked quietly.
Leo turned away. āYou heard them.ā
Her throat tightened. The girl waited while Leo pressed her wrist against her chest, hiding the band as though that might make it disappear.
She wanted to say Leo. She wanted to spit the name like blood and dare the room to take it from her. Part of her even wanted to say Audrey once, just to learn whether it still belonged to something living.
But Leo had been sold, and Audrey was dead. The band around her wrist blinked softly in the half-light, patient as a verdict.
āTrinity,ā she whispered.
The girl nodded once, as though that settled something. Leo wanted to take the name back, to tear it from the air before it could touch her skin, but it was already there, already heard and already easier than fighting every guard, every door, every form, and every voice.
She lay down facing the wall, and the girl said nothing more. Leo stared at the damp stone until the shapes in it began to shift, becoming teeth and wings, her motherās hand, Y/Nās eyes, and Jungkookās goggles catching a light that was not there.
She was terrified in a way anger could not fix. No one had ever told her that anger was fire, but fear was stone. It filled her limbs, settled across her chest, and made her feel small inside her own body. She could hate Jungkook until her bones cracked with it, blame him, curse him, and promise herself she would spit in his face if she ever saw him again, but none of it opened the door, returned her knife, loosened the band around her wrist, or changed the sound of guards moving through the corridor.
When the footsteps stopped outside the cell, Leo went rigid.
The viewing slot snapped open, and a guard looked inside, his face hidden behind smoked glass. His gaze moved over the bodies on the floor before settling on her.
āTrinity.ā
Leo did not move. Across from her, the shaved-headed girl opened her eyes.
The guard tapped his baton against the door. āTrinity.ā
Leoās heart hammered hard enough to split her ribs. For a moment, she was the girl outside Jungkookās room with a knife in her hand, pretending to sleep. She was Audrey in her motherās kitchen. She was Leo on a dead planet, staring up at a black sky and realizing the darkness was full of mouths.
Then all those girls fell away. She was only a body on the floor, a band around her wrist, and a name she had not chosen.
The shaved-headed girl watched without judgment, and somehow that made the surrender hurt more. Leo looked toward the guard.
āIām coming,ā she whispered.
He stepped away from the slot. Leo rose in the half-light and waited for the door to open, telling herself that answering did not make the name hers, that they had not taken Leo from her.
But when the lock released, it was Trinity who walked toward the door.
Trinity woke with one hand clamped over her mouth and, for several seconds, did not understand that it belonged to her. The dream still occupied the room, clinging to the damp stone behind her bunk and the low red maintenance light that made everything look skinned. Her heart battered against her ribs, and her breath came hot against her palm while every muscle remained braced for something that had already happened.
No. Nothing here was ever truly over. It only changed shape and waited.
She lowered her hand slowly as the cell returned around her: the cracked ceiling stained with mineral runoff, the pipe ticking above her bunk, and the smell of iron, bodies, old smoke, and the sour chemical wash the Rykengolls used to pretend filth could be controlled. Somewhere beyond the door, a cart rattled over uneven flooring. Farther down the corridor, someone coughed until the sound turned wet.
Trinity lay still and listened. Before moving, listen. Before speaking, listen. Before trusting silence, listen harder.
There were no footsteps outside, no keys turning, no low laughter drawing closer. No guard leaned toward the viewing slot to call her designation. There was only the compound and the sound of her own breathing.
She sat up too quickly, and pain moved through her, dull and intimate, buried deep in muscle and skin. Closing her eyes, she waited for it to pass.
She did not cry. She had not cried in front of anyone in years, and crying alone did not count because no one was ever truly alone here. The walls listened, cameras watched, vents carried sound, and someone was always pretending to sleep.
Sixteen. That was what the clerk had entered into her file the week before: approximate age, sixteen. As though she were cargo being weighed and marked, as though her age mattered only because buyers had begun requesting her by Trinity.
The favorite.
The others used the word when they wanted to hurt her, sometimes with envy, sometimes with pity, and sometimes with the particular cruelty of people who had been broken long enough to resent someone elseās shape of suffering.
She was a favorite because she was pretty now, and that was the joke the universe had saved for her. Hunger had carved the softness from her face, but time had returned some of it differently. Her cheekbones had sharpened, her mouth had filled out, and her eyes looked older than everything around them. Her hair had grown past her shoulders, thick, dark, and curling no matter how badly she treated it.
In another life, someone might have brushed it beside a window and called it beautiful. Here, beauty was inventory, and curls only gave hands something easier to catch.
Trinity gathered the hair at the nape of her neck and twisted until her scalp hurt. Once, she had hacked it short with a stolen shard of metal while crouched behind a waste processor. She had liked herself better afterward, sharp, unfinished, and difficult to hold. The Rykengolls had punished her for it, not because they cared about the hair, but because she had made a decision about her own body without permission.
Now she kept it long because long hair made certain days easier, and favors here were often nothing more than the absence of something worse. Defiance had a price, and survival was an account that was always running low. She hated every calculation and made them anyway.
The nightmare still shifted behind her eyes. Wildeās silver implant clicked in the dark. The transfer-bay door sealed. Youngblood smiled with blood on her teeth. Y/N reached for her, only for that hand to become a guardās closing around Trinityās wrist. Namjoon called her child, and Jungkook turned away at the blue door.
Then the dream descended into the room she refused to remember directly, into the weight of being chosen and the voices outside pretending not to hear.
Trinity bent forward and pressed her forehead to her knees. No details. She would not give her mind details.
Details were hooks: a smell, a voice, the scrape of a chair, fingers against her jaw. Whenever memory came, she built a wall against it brick by brick, anger by anger, until only a blank red place remained where the thing had been. Tonight, however, the wall had cracked, and her body remembered what her mind would not.
For three years, the Rykengolls had taught her the language of ownership. They taught it through locked doors and metal bands, through food withheld and food offered, through work no one asked whether she wanted and men who spoke her name as though they had purchased the right to soften it.
Come here, Trinity. Smile, Trinity. Good girl, Trinity.
There was no good left in her. Once, she had believed that meant they had ruined her, but she knew better now. Ruined meant useless, and Trinity was not useless.
She was alive.
She could still count exits. She remembered which guards drank, which carried their keys on the left side, and which cameras lagged when the power dipped. She knew which doors opened during shift change and which smiles made men careless. She could lower her eyes without surrendering, let them believe they had won, and hold on to her hatred when nothing else remained. Some nights, it was the only part of her that still stood upright.
Across the cell, her reflection waited in the warped sheet of metal bolted beside the washbasin. It was not meant to be a mirror, but the Rykengolls liked their property presentable.
Trinity lifted her head and studied the stranger the red light had made of her. Tangled curls hung over one shoulder, her split lip had nearly healed, and a bruise at her collarbone had begun yellowing around the edges. Years underground had leached the color from her skin except where heat, labor, or hands had marked it.
Sixteen, the file said, though she looked older and felt ancient. Somehow, she also felt small.
That was what she despised most. Not the pain or shame, or even the fear that returned no matter how often she tried to kill it, but the smallness afterward. The hollow place where she withdrew from herself and watched from far away while Trinity moved, Trinity obeyed, Trinity survived.
Audrey would have cried, and Leo would have run. Trinity stayed.
The thought should have sounded like defeat, but it did not. Staying was not the same as surrendering, just as obedience was not always submission. Sometimes survival meant bending low enough for the blade to pass overhead and waiting until it was safe to stand again.
She had not escaped yet.
The truth settled heavily against her spine. Three years beneath Rykengoll stone. Three years of waking, working, being selected, and being returned. Three years of believing she had reached the bottom of what she could endure, only to discover another level waiting beneath it.
There were mornings when breathing felt like labor she had never agreed to perform and days when standing seemed impossible. She understood the prisoners whose eyes had emptied, who answered to any name and moved wherever the guards directed them. She understood them, and she feared becoming them, so she refused.
It was not because she still believed someone would rescue her. Hope was a bright, foolish thing, and the Rykengolls had crushed it early. She no longer imagined Namjoon arriving with mercy in his hands, Y/N walking out of the dark, or Jungkook finally coming for her. She had learned better.
Sometimes she wondered whether he was dead, though the thought hurt in ways she refused to examine. If Jungkook was dead, then all her anger had nowhere to go. He would never learn what his leaving had made possible, never see the band around her wrist or hear the name they had forced over hers. But if he was alive, then he had remained gone, and somehow that was worse.
Trinityās fingers curled around the edge of the bunk. Some part of her had stayed alive for the chance to stand before him again.
Look, she would tell him. Look what happened after you left. Look what they called me. Look what I survived without you.
A sound caught in her throat, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. She pressed her fist to her mouth until it passed.
The corridor lights brightened with the morning cycle. Doors clanged open farther down the block, a guard shouted for labor intake, and somewhere nearby one prisoner cursed while another retched. The compound resumed around her, indifferent to whatever the night had done.
Trinity rose, her legs trembling once before they steadied beneath her, and crossed to the basin to splash cold water over her face. Pain that served a purpose was almost clean. She scrubbed at her mouth and neck until the motion began to feel desperate, as though she were trying to erase evidence from skin that no longer belonged to her.
But it did belong to her.
It was hers even if they touched it, marked it, and entered it into a file as property. It was hers despite the band around her wrist blinking green. Her body had carried her through every room and survived every hand. Whatever the Rykengolls believed they owned, they had not taken that from her.
She gripped the basin and leaned toward her warped reflection. The girl in the metal looked exhausted, bruised, and frightened, but she was still there. Beneath the fear and the gray weight settled into her bones, anger remained in all its forms: old anger, young anger, Rykengoll anger, Jungkook anger, and perhaps even Audreyās anger, if Audrey had not turned entirely to dust.
It stirred inside her now, stretching awake and refusing the grave they kept digging.
A guard stopped outside, and the viewing slot snapped open. His gaze moved over her hair, her face, and the bruises he did not care enough to name.
āReady?ā
Trinity wiped the water from her chin and smiled. It was not a pleasant smile, but it belonged entirely to her.
āYeah.ā
Her voice was hoarse from nightmares and from all the screaming she had swallowed. The lock disengaged, the door opened, and Trinity stepped into the corridor with her head raised and the wristband cold against her pulse.
Trinity had not planned to escape that night. Later, if anyone asked, if anyone dragged the story from her with threats, knives, or the awful false gentleness people used when they wanted pain wrapped neatly in words, she would not know how to explain the truth of it. There had been no perfect moment, no signal, and no grand decision made with her back straight and her eyes dry. There had only been a door left unlatched, a guard who thought she was too tired to notice, a keycard hanging from his belt, a knife resting on a tray, and three years of rage rising so quickly inside her that it drowned out fear.
The night cycle had sunk the Rykengoll compound into its usual half-dark. Never true darkness, because they knew what darkness did to prisoners. They knew what people whispered into it and what hope might become if no camera could see. Instead, they kept the corridors narrow and washed in red light, the cells dim but visible, and the workrooms bruised by emergency lamps. There was enough light to remind everyone they were being watched, but never enough to make anyone feel human.
Trinity stood in the washroom off the east corridor with one hand braced against the cracked basin, breathing through her mouth. Her lip had split again, though not badly enough to warrant treatment or count as damage by anyoneās measure but her own. Blood had dried at the corner of her mouth and tracked down her chin, while the band around her wrist blinked green in the warped mirror plate, patient as ever.
She stared at her reflection. The girl in the metal looked half-feral, with long curls tangled around her shoulders, one eye shadowed by an older bruise, and a fresh mark darkening near her throat. Her gray work tunic hung crookedly from one shoulder, torn where someone had grabbed too hard.
Donāt think about it, she told herself. Donāt go back there.
But the room came anyway. The hands. The laughter beyond the door. The rust-colored stain on the wall she had stared at while counting her breaths because leaving her body had been the only door they could not lock.
She turned on the tap and splashed cold water over her face once, then twice, then again until the dried blood loosened and ran in thin pink threads down the drain. Her hands were shaking, so she pressed them flat against the basin and willed them to stop.
Behind her, a guard laughed. Not at her, exactly. He leaned in the doorway with his helmet tucked beneath one arm, talking to another guard in the corridor with the careless ease of a man at the end of his shift, already thinking about food, sleep, and whatever passed for pleasure in a place like this.
A dull black keycard hung from his belt, fastened to a steel clip.
Trinity saw it in the mirror and looked away too quickly. The guard noticed.
āWhat?ā he asked.
She lowered her head. āNothing.ā
He stepped into the washroom, and the air changed.
Her body recognized him before her mind allowed his face to sharpen. He belonged to the night crew and carried Rykengoll blood, not merely the uniform. She knew because the others used his family name like a shield. Dain Rykengoll, cousin to someone important and brother to someone worse, a man raised with keys in his hand and the belief that cruelty was a family tradition.
He moved closer, and Trinityās breathing shortened.
āI asked you a question.ā
āNo, you didnāt.ā
The words escaped before she could stop them. Silence tightened around the room, and the second guard in the corridor stopped speaking.
Dain smiled at her reflection. āThat mouth,ā he said softly. āAlways that mouth.ā
Trinity closed her eyes. Fear came first, as it always did, no matter how deeply she despised it. Cold, bright, and humiliating, it slipped beneath her skin and hollowed out her bones, making her feel small while the room stretched too wide and every exit seemed farther away than it was.
Dain stepped close enough for his chest to brush her shoulder. āTurn around.ā
When Trinity opened her eyes, the keycard was still swinging at his hip. Beside the basin, a short maintenance blade rested on a narrow metal tray. It was not a weapon, at least not officially, but a flat utility knife used to scrape sealant from pipes. Someone had left it behind, perhaps a careless worker or the universe itself, bored at last and curious to see what she would do with a gift.
Her gaze moved from the blade to the keycard, then to the girl reflected in the warped metal.
āTrinity,ā Dain said.
She turned, and her hand closed around the knife before Dain understood what she was doing. There was no grace in the movement and no training worth naming, only panic, rage, and the memory of every hand that had ever held her down. She drove the blade upward into the soft place beneath his ribs.
His eyes widened. For one suspended second, they looked equally surprised. Then he made a wet, offended sound, and Trinity froze with the knife still buried in him.
She had imagined killing countless times, in bunks and corridors, in half-sleep and dreams where she tore the compound open with her teeth, but none of it had prepared her for the warmth of blood spilling over her fingers or the terrible intimacy of standing close enough to feel his breath fail against her cheek.
Dain seized her by the hair, and pain ripped across her scalp. Trinity screamed, not from fear this time but fury, and drove the blade deeper. His grip loosened. She tore the keycard from his belt as he collapsed against the basin, knocking his helmet to the floor with a hollow clang.
The second guard shouted from the corridor, and Trinity ran. Her legs nearly failed beneath her, the keycard slick in her hand, while the blade remained buried in Dain because she had forgotten to pull it free.
Stupid. She needed a weapon.
The guard raised his rifle. Trinity threw herself sideways as he fired, and the shot struck the wall where her head had been, bursting sparks from a conduit. The red lights flickered, but no alarm followed. Not yet. Perhaps he had missed the panic switch, or the blast had damaged something important. Perhaps luck, ugly and late, had finally noticed her.
She drove into him low and shoulder-first, the way she had seen workers strike jammed cargo doors. He was larger, armored, and prepared for a prisoner to cower, not to hit him like something hurled from a machine. They struck the floor hard, and the rifle skidded out of reach.
His hand closed around her throat.
Trinity clawed at his face, her nails catching skin. He cursed and slammed the back of her head against the floor, sending white light across her vision as his fingers tightened and her lungs seized.
Not here. Not beneath him. Not again. She would not die on a Rykengoll floor while somewhere nearby a door stood open.
Her searching hand found his belt and then the baton. She tore it free and hit the trigger more by accident than skill. Electricity cracked blue-white as she drove it into his side. The guard convulsed, his grip spasming around her throat, and Trinity struck him again.
She kept going long after his body stopped fighting, after the smell of scorched fabric and skin filled the corridor, and after she knew he was dead. She held the trigger until the baton finally died in her hand.
Only then did she shove him away and crawl backward, gagging. She could not breathe. Her throat burned beneath the bruises his fingers had left, blood from her scalp ran warm behind one ear, and her knees shook so violently that she had to brace herself against the wall before she could stand.
Footsteps echoed from the far corridor.
Trinity snatched up the rifle. It was too heavy, and she had no idea how to hold it properly, but that no longer mattered. She had watched enough guards use one to understand the basics: point, pull the trigger, brace for the kick.
The keycard flashed green at the first junction door, and the lock released. Trinity slipped through and nearly collided with a woman in gray technicianās coveralls. For half a second, they simply stared at one another.
The woman was not a guard, nor was she armed, but that did not make her innocent. No one who wore the Rykengoll crest by choice was innocent. The hooked black emblem stitched onto her shoulder marked her as house personnel, perhaps a cousin, clerk, or handler, one of the people who moved papers and bodies while pretending distance kept their hands clean.
The woman looked past Trinity, saw the blood and the rifle, and opened her mouth. Trinity struck her with the butt of the weapon, knocking her to one knee with a cry. She could have run. She should have run.
Then the woman reached for the alarm panel.
Trinity fired.
The shot was enormous in the narrow corridor. The woman slammed against the wall and slid down it, leaving a dark smear behind. Trinity remained frozen with the rifle trembling between both hands until her stomach heaved. She turned and vomited against the wall, though nothing came up but bile and water.
Her body wanted to collapse, and her mind wanted to crawl into some dark corner and shake until the guards found her. Anger dragged her upright by the throat, and she moved.
The alarm began as a low pulse through the walls, something felt more than heard. Then the lights snapped from red to white, blinding after so long in dimness. Doors slammed throughout the corridor grid while men shouted codes somewhere beyond them.
Trinity ran harder, her boots slipping in blood and striking metal as she took the service stairs two at a time. She had memorized the route in fragments over three years without ever truly believing she would use it, because belief had always hurt too much. East washroom to junction, junction to lower service stair, stair to processing level, processing to cargo lift, and from there to the exterior docking ring where Rykengoll ships and hired haulers came and went beneath the shielded rock. She had no complete map, only scraps, but scraps would have to be enough.
At the processing door, Dainās keycard blinked red. Trinity swiped it again, then a third time, and each failure threw the same small light back at her while footsteps echoed somewhere above.
āNo,ā she whispered, her voice cracking. āNo.ā
Through the reinforced window, she could see the room beyond: counters, screens, cabinets, and the desk where they had named her. It was the place where Leo had died because a bored clerk needed something easier to enter into a file.
Trinity backed away and fired into the lock. The first shot ricocheted with a metallic scream, making her flinch so violently that she nearly dropped the rifle. The second struck deep inside the panel and sent sparks spilling across the floor. She kicked the door, pain flashing through her foot, then kicked it again with a scream until the damaged lock finally gave way in a grinding shriek.
She stumbled into processing and found the room occupied. Of course it was.
A clerk sat behind the central counter, staring at her with wide eyes. She looked older than the woman who had named Trinity, though perhaps she was the same person and Trinity had simply stopped noticing age in those who hurt her. At the far end of the room, a guard stood beside a cabinet with his helmet off and a cup in one hand. His gaze dropped to the rifle.
Trinity fired first and missed. The shot destroyed a screen behind him, scattering glass and sparks across the counter. The guard dropped his cup and lunged for his sidearm, but she fired again. The rifle kicked into her shoulder hard enough to bruise bone, and the guard spun into the cabinet before sliding down with a shocked grunt.
He was not dead. Not yet.
When he tried to raise the pistol, Trinity crossed the room and fired at close range.
The clerk was screaming now, crouched behind the counter with both hands over her head. Trinity turned the rifle toward her, and the sound stopped.
For one suspended second, she wanted to pull the trigger. Not because she had to or because the woman stood between her and the door, but because she remembered the intake screen.
Female. Approximate age. Designation. Trinity.
She remembered her blood on the metal counter and the casual theft of the last thing that had belonged to her.
The clerk stared up at her, trembling. āPlease.ā
Trinityās finger tightened around the trigger. She had said that once to Dario, and the memory struck hard enough to make her sway. Slowly, she lowered the barrel half an inch.
āOpen the exterior lift,ā she said, her voice ragged.
āI canāt.ā
The rifle rose again.
āI can. I can,ā the clerk sobbed. āDonāt shoot. Please.ā
āDo it.ā
The woman moved to the console with shaking hands while Trinity kept the rifle trained on her, though her arms were beginning to weaken. Her shoulder screamed, blood ran from her scalp, and her throat felt crushed beneath every breath. Every sound in the compound had become a threat: boots pounding against metal, alarms pulsing through the walls, distant voices shouting, doors slamming, and power humming behind the panels.
The clerk entered a code. A moment later, the screen flashed.
LIFT ACCESS: OPEN.
Trinity backed toward the exit.
āTheyāll find you,ā the clerk whispered.
She stopped. For a moment, she was no longer standing in processing. She was in an alley on Lupus 5 with a bowl of stew in her hands, believing she had found a way forward. She was in Namjoonās house with one hand resting on a blue door. She was aboard the Hunter-Gratzner with the dark alive above her. She was every girl she had ever been, each one furious with the next for surviving.
Trinity looked at the clerk. āLet them try.ā
The cargo lift had already begun to rise when Trinity reached it. She threw herself through the narrowing gap, scraping her hip against the metal frame before hitting the floor inside. The doors slammed shut behind her, and the lift jolted upward, trapping her in a metal box while alarms pulsed through the shaft.
She pressed herself into a corner with the rifle raised, every breath tearing through her bruised throat. Fear had sunk its teeth into her hands, knees, and lungs. It told her she was already dead, that guards would be waiting when the doors opened, and that Dain Rykengoll would rise from the washroom floor and follow her with blood in his mouth. It told her Jungkook had never been afraid like this because Jungkook was not weak, and she was.
Trinity tightened her grip on the rifle.
The doors opened onto chaos. The exterior docking ring was a cavern carved into black rock, half hangar and half open wound. Ships crouched beneath hanging work lamps while fuel lines twisted across the floor. Workers scattered as alarm strobes washed everything in alternating white and red, and guards ran toward the compound entrance rather than away from it. None of them had expected a bleeding girl with a rifle to emerge from the cargo lift.
Trinity stepped out and fired into the ceiling. The shot cracked through the cavern, sending workers screaming to the floor, and she ran toward the smallest ship she could see: an ugly utility shuttle with its ramp lowered and its engine panels hanging open. It looked like a two-seater, perhaps short-range, but she neither knew nor cared. Its nose pointed toward the launch tunnel, and that was enough.
A mechanic rose from beside the landing strut with his hands raised. āHeyāā
āMove.ā
āYou donāt know how to fly that.ā
Trinity almost laughed. Her mouth tasted of blood. āNo shit.ā
The mechanic glanced past Trinity toward the approaching guards, and she swung the rifle at his head. He ducked just enough for the stock to glance off his temple instead of cracking his skull, but the blow still sent him down cursing. When he caught her ankle, she kicked him hard in the face, tore herself free, and scrambled up the ramp.
Inside, the shuttle smelled of oil, heated plastic, and stale smoke. Controls glowed across the cramped cockpit in patterns that meant nothing to her: too many switches, too many screens, and a pilotās harness hanging loose beside a cracked navigation display. Warning lights flashed everywhere because the ramp was still down, the engine panels were open, and the ship had not been cleared for launch. It was not ready, and it certainly was not hers.
Trinity dropped into the pilotās seat and stared.
She had watched pilots before. She had listened. Y/Nās hands moved through her memory, confident, quick, and alive. The Hunter-Gratznerās cockpit had been all noise and terror, but Y/N had made machines answer her. Leo had watched from doorways while pretending not to care. Later, in New Mecca, she had questioned mechanics passing through the port, and aboard Wildeās ship, she had listened whenever the crew discussed fuel, vectors, or docking clamps.
She had only pieces, but pieces would have to be enough.
āCome on,ā she whispered.
She found the ramp control by its shape rather than its label and struck it. The ramp began to rise just as a shot punched through the rear bulkhead. Trinity screamed and ducked, fumbling for the hatch seal while another round cracked the cockpit glass without breaking through. Guards shouted outside, and the mechanic rolled beneath the shuttle seconds before the ramp locked into place.
Now she needed the engines.
Her fingers flew over the switches. One killed the cabin lights. Another opened a comm channel crowded with shouting voices. A third set off an alarm directly above her head, and she silenced it with her fist. Then the floor began to vibrate, and the first engine woke with a rough cough.
A broken sound escaped her, somewhere between laughter and a sob. āOkay. Okay. Okay.ā
The second engine refused to start. She hit the switch again, but nothing happened. Then a guard appeared in front of the shuttle with his rifle raised, and Trinity seized the control yoke and shoved it forward.
The shuttle lurched sideways instead of ahead. Metal screamed as the landing gear scraped across the hangar floor, forcing the guard to dive clear. Trinity overcorrected and slammed into a stack of cargo crates, sending them tumbling across the dock. Something exploded behind her, small but bright, and the cockpit erupted in warning tones.
āShut up!ā she shouted at the ship.
Her hand struck the throttle by accident.
The shuttle shot forward so violently that her head snapped against the seat. The launch tunnel rushed toward her, narrow, low, and impossible. Trinity hauled on the yoke, clipped the left wall, and sent a sheet of sparks across the cockpit glass. The ship shuddered from nose to tail, but she clenched her teeth and kept the throttle open.
Gunfire erupted behind her. Ahead, the tunnel opened into night, and the shuttle burst from the rock like a badly fired bullet.
Atmosphere caught the ship and hurled it sideways. Clouds swallowed the cockpit while lightning flashed somewhere to her left. The navigation display screamed warnings in a language of blinking red that she could not understand, so she climbed because down meant the Rykengolls, and anything above them had to be better.
āUp,ā she gasped. āCome on. Up.ā
The shuttle climbed in ugly, uneven bursts, fighting her every second. One engine burned erratically while the other sputtered, caught, died, and caught again. The controls trembled beneath her hands, blood from her scalp ran down the back of her neck and into her collar, and the pain in her injured shoulder had faded into a dangerous numbness.
Then the ship broke through the clouds. The planet dropped away beneath her, and the stars appeared.
Trinity froze.
For the first time in three years, there was nothing above her head. No rock, no ceiling, no pipes or red lights, only blackness stretching vast and endless in every direction.
Her breath stopped. The void looked too much like the dead planet, too much like all those mouths waiting beyond the reach of light. For one mindless second, she expected wings to blot out the stars, shrieks to scrape across the hull, and claws to strike the cockpit glass. She nearly turned back, not because she wanted to, but because terror had no sense of direction.
Then the comm crackled.
āUnidentified shuttle, return to dock immediately. You are carrying Rykengoll property. Repeat, return to dockāā
Trinity struck buttons until the voice disappeared. She stared through the cracked glass at the stars and laughed once, low, shaking, and half-mad.
āNo.ā
The shuttle drifted while alarms continued blinking around her. She did not know how to set a course and barely understood how to keep the nose from dipping. The navigation computer waited for an input, a destination, coordinates, a route, but she could not turn any of those words into safety.
Where could she go?
Jungkook came to mind first because he always did, but Jungkook was smoke, rumor, and a wound without coordinates. She had chased him once and ended in chains. She could not do it again, not while bleeding and barely conscious in a stolen shuttle she might crash before reaching the next moon.
Then she thought of New Mecca.
The memory hurt so sharply that she nearly rejected it: Namjoonās house, the blue door, the fig tree, water spilling into the courtyard basin, and his wife standing with one hand over her belly. Three years had passed. The baby would have been born by now, perhaps old enough to walk and speak, a child who did not know Trinity existed. A child who had taken a place she had never truly accepted and had no right to resent.
Could she return after stealing from Namjoon and leaving without a word? Could she stand at that blue door after everything the Rykengolls had made of her and ask to be let inside?
Trinity looked down at her hands. Blood had dried in the creases of her fingers, some of it hers, most of it not. Four people were dead behind her, including a Rykengoll, a family name with power, influence, and enough reach to hunt her across systems. Namjoon would be safer if she stayed away. Everyone was safer when she stayed away.
But she was terrified.
The truth rose naked and humiliating, untouched by all the anger she had spent years sharpening. She was afraid of the ship, of the dark, of being found, and of what might happen if she fell asleep. Most of all, she feared that if she stopped moving, she would break apart into every name she had tried to bury.
Audrey. Leo. Trinity.
She pressed a bloodstained hand over her mouth. Namjoon had once told her his house was open, but perhaps he had meant Leo, or the girl she had been before any of this. Perhaps he would look at Trinity and see only what the Rykengolls had made of her. Worse, he would look too long and understand too much, and that frightened her almost as badly as the people pursuing her.
The navigation computer chimed impatiently. Trinity wiped her hand on her trousers and leaned over the controls, searching through the stored routes with trembling fingers. The shuttle had been built for short hauls, not mercy, and most of its destinations meant nothing to her: moons, depots, refinery stations, transfer yards. Then she found an old commercial route, and the bright line of text made her throat close.
HELION PRIME / NEW MECCA ā ARCHIVED ROUTE
Her vision blurred. She blinked hard until the letters sharpened again.
āDonāt cry,ā she whispered. āDonāt you dare.ā
She selected the route, and the computer asked for confirmation. Trinity stared at the screen while the compound seemed to rise behind her in pieces: the cells, the washroom, the bodies cooling beneath the alarm lights, everything she had survived and everything she had done in order to survive it. Ahead lay Namjoon, if he would still have her. Ahead lay shame, confession, and the terrible possibility of a door opening.
She hated how badly she wanted it. She hated Jungkook for not being the place she could return to, for making Namjoon feel like retreat, and for leaving a wound so deep that she had filled it with blood and anger without ever finding the bottom. But anger could not pilot the shuttle, stitch her wounds, or hold her together while she shook.
Her finger hovered over the screen just as a warning flashed across it.
PURSUIT SIGNAL DETECTED.
Trinity struck confirm.
The stars shifted as the shuttle turned and the course locked, placing New Mecca somewhere ahead along a line she could not see but had chosen anyway. She strapped herself into the seat with clumsy hands, then curled over the controls as though she could keep the ship together by force.
The engines whined, the hull trembled, and somewhere behind her, Rykengoll ships would already be waking while crews loaded weapons and shouted her name across the comms.
Let them come.
Helion Prime rose out of the black like a promise Trinity had no right to believe in. She watched it through cracked cockpit glass and a smear of dried blood, one hand locked around the shuttleās controls while the other pressed against her side, where an old wound had reopened sometime during the last jump. The ship shuddered around her as though it hated her nearly as much as everything else did, while red and amber warnings blinked across the console: low fuel, damaged port stabilizer, uncertain navigation, compromised hull integrity.
Everything was compromised.
Trinity laughed under her breath, though the sound came out wrong. āYeah,ā she rasped. āGet in line.ā
The planet swelled across the viewport, bright with city glow and orbital traffic. It was not New Mecca yet, not Namjoonās district with its blue door and quiet courtyard, but it was close enough to tighten something in her chest that she refused to name. Helion Prime was a civilized world, a holy world, a place where people still bothered with laws, prayer, public water, and clean sheets.
Then she looked down at herself. Blood had dried beneath her nails, bruises striped her arms, and an oversized coat hung from her shoulders, stolen from a mercenary who no longer needed it. Her hair had been tied back with wire since she lost the last strip of cloth several days ago. She was seventeen now, at least according to a miserable date she had barely noticed, a birthday passed inside the belly of a stolen ship while its engine coughed and pursuit signals blinked behind her.
Seventeen felt absurd. She had been older than that for years.
The comm crackled. āUnregistered shuttle, identify yourself and prepare for inspection.ā
Trinity killed the channel.
The shuttle dropped hard into the atmosphere. Heat screamed across the hull, and the cockpit rattled so violently that her teeth clicked together. Below, the cloud cover split open to reveal the night side of Helion Prime in vast grids of light: towers, roads, port beacons, and patrol lanes.
Too many patrol lanes. Too much order. Too much sky watched by people who cared about regulations and ship signatures.
Her bounty would already be in the system. It had followed her like a curse, beginning as rumor before becoming a number on a screen, then a face pulled from Rykengoll intake records and scattered across every mercenary channel between the compound and Helion Prime.
TRINITY. RYKENGOLL ESCAPEE. ARMED AND DANGEROUS. BOUNTY: 700,000 UD. CHARGES: FOUR COUNTS MANSLAUGHTER. THREE COUNTS FIRST-DEGREE MURDER. DELIVER ALIVE PREFERRED.
The first time Trinity saw the notice, she had been hiding in the service crawlspace of a refueling dock two systems back while mercenaries argued nearby over whether she was worth more whole or merely breathing. Her own face had stared back from the screen, grainy and pale, her eyes too dark and her curls hiding half of one cheek. Beneath it, Trinity had been printed like a verdict.
She had almost corrected it aloud, but the words stopped before they reached her mouth.
Not Trinity. Not Leo. Not Audrey.
The trouble was that she no longer knew which name she would have given them.
That happened more often now. Audrey felt like a story someone else had told her while she was sick, a little girl with parents, a motherās voice, and a fatherās laugh. She was too soft to seem real and too impossible to hate properly. Leo felt closer, but worse. Leo was hunger and need. She had stood at Namjoonās door with a stolen pack and believed that finding Jungkook would explain the pain. She had believed in things while pretending she believed in nothing, then spoken his name to mercenaries over a bowl of stew.
Most days, Trinity hated her for that.
Leo had been a trick, a name worn like armor so the world would look elsewhere. She belonged to cropped hair, a lowered voice, and the desperate performance of being untouchable. She had been a door built from lies.
Now all three names felt distant. Even Trinity sat wrong against her skin sometimes, though it fit better than the others. Trinity had blood on her hands and knew better than to pretend it would wash clean.
The shuttle bucked, and a proximity alarm shrieked through the cockpit. Trinity snapped back to the controls just in time to see a patrol skiff cutting across her descent.
āShit.ā
She yanked the yoke. The shuttle rolled too far, tilted sickeningly, and dropped between two traffic lanes while horns blared over the open comms. Something large and official flashed overhead, close enough for its wake to rock her ship. Trinity fought the controls with both hands as her shoulder burned and the wound in her side tore open again.
She did not know how she was still alive, and that was not modesty. It was arithmetic.
She should have died escaping the Rykengoll compound. She should have died in the launch tunnel or when the first mercenary crew caught up with her at Pell Station and tried to smoke her out of an airlock corridor. She had killed one of them by accident, if accident meant grabbing a loose cable and driving it into his exposed throat because he was choking her and she could not reach her knife.
Manslaughter, perhaps.
She had killed another on Vesper Dock after he followed her into a waste-processing bay and called her sweetheart as though he already owned the payout. That one had not been an accident. He recognized her and raised his weapon, so Trinity hurled a bottle of solvent into his face and kicked him into the grinder feed before she had time to think long enough to become afraid.
First-degree murder, according to the notice.
Trinity sometimes wondered who decided such things. Someone clean, probably, sitting behind a desk and reading reports written by people who had never heard a man scream into machinery. More hunters came after Vesper Dock: a woman carrying a stun net, two brothers with Rykengoll tattoos hidden beneath their collars, and a bounty runner who saw Trinity limp and told his partner, āEasy money.ā
None of it had been easy, not for them and certainly not for her.
Every death remained. People liked to imagine that killing made you lighter if you hated someone enough, but it did not. It only added weight in places no one else could see. Trinity carried all of them now: Dain Rykengoll in the washroom, the guard with the baton, the woman reaching for the alarm, the man in processing, and the mercenaries who had found her along the way. Some had deserved worse than death. Others had simply stood between her and the next open door.
She had stopped sorting them. Sorting required time, and hesitation got people caught.
āUnregistered shuttle, alter course immediately. You are entering restricted approach.ā
The comm had reactivated itself, or perhaps she had struck the wrong control. Trinity snarled and slammed her fist into the panel until the voice disappeared again.
She only had to reach Namjoon. The thought held her together more securely than the harness.
He would know what to do. Namjoon always seemed to know, even when he did not, and that had once been one of the things she hated most about him: his calm, his endless patience, and the way he could stand in the middle of disaster and still find somewhere useful to place his hands. He would take her in, hide her, send her somewhere safer, or call someone who could help. He might pray over her, though she might bite him for that, but he would not hand her over. He would not look at the bounty and see money, and he would never call her property.
She pictured his house and realized, with a shock, that she missed him.
The feeling was so strange that for a moment she forgot to be angry. She did not merely need him or intend to use him because she had nowhere else to go, though both were true. She missed his voice carrying through the courtyard, his tired smile, and the way he called her child even when she snapped at him for it. He had never once demanded that she soften before offering kindness.
Who had he been before all of that, before the robes and prayers, before New Mecca, the crash, the dead planet, and the blue door? Had he ever been young and foolish? Had he ever hated someone so much that he built himself around it, or stared at his own hands and wondered when they had stopped feeling like his?
It was difficult to imagine. Namjoon seemed as though he had been born already forgiving people.
Trinityās mouth twisted at the thought. That was unfair. He had lost people too. He had grieved, carried ghosts back into his house, and still found room for her. Perhaps kindness had never been softness in him. Perhaps it was discipline, something he chose as deliberately as she chose knives.
She pushed the thought away. Thinking about Namjoon made something inside her ache, and aching was dangerous. It slowed the hand and made her remember doors that might still open.
She needed to land, but the shuttle was coming in far too fast. Trinity realized it when the port towers rose before her without seeming to slow, their landing lights smearing into bright streaks while alarms screamed over one another. She grabbed for the controls, struck the wrong switch, then found the right one almost by accident.
The shuttleās nose pitched upward, and its underside clipped something below, perhaps an antenna, a lighting rig, or the edge of the pad itself. Metal shrieked across metal, and the impact hurled Trinity against the harness hard enough to send fresh pain through her side.
The shuttle struck the landing pad and skidded across it in a storm of sparks, shedding pieces of itself while cargo crews scattered. A fuel cart overturned and erupted in pale flame. The ship spun once, smashed into a barrier, and stopped so violently that darkness crowded the edges of her vision.
Trinity hung in the harness, gasping. For one suspended moment, the world went silent. Then everything returned at once: suppression foam hissing across the pad, men shouting, sirens rising, metal groaning as it cooled, and her own breathing, too loud and wet at the back of her throat.
Move.
She fought with the harness, but the release had jammed. āCome on.ā Her fingers slipped against the buckle, slick with blood. The cockpit glass was webbed with cracks but remained intact, and through it she could see figures running toward the shuttle. Port emergency crews came first, with security close behind and perhaps mercenaries or law officers among them.
The buckle finally gave. Trinity fell sideways out of the seat and bit back a cry as the wound in her side pulled open farther, spreading heat beneath her coat. She grabbed the rifle beside the copilotās chair, then stopped. It was too large and too obvious, so she left it behind and took the smaller pistol instead, the one stolen from the last man who had tried to collect her. It fit her hand, and she knew how it behaved.
Knowing mattered.
The hatch refused to open. Trinity kicked it once, then again, pain shooting up her leg. Outside, someone climbed onto the shuttleās nose and shouted through the fractured glass.
āStay where you are!ā
She fired into the hatch panel. The shot deafened her inside the cramped cockpit, and sparks burst from the damaged frame. With a scream, Trinity kicked it again until the warped hatch opened just wide enough for her to force herself through.
Foam and smoke swallowed her. She struck the landing pad on one knee, and the world pitched sharply around her, but she shoved herself upright and ran.
āStop!ā
A shot struck the pad near her boot. Trinity spun and fired back without aiming, sending people diving for cover, then turned again before she could see whether she had hit anyone.
The port was a maze of light and alarms, perfect and terrible. Ships stood in orderly rows across the pads, cargo containers rose in stacked lanes, and maintenance vehicles broke the sightlines between them. Trinity ran through the confusion with one hand clamped against her side and the pistol held low against her leg. Every step hurt, and every breath hurt worse.
She had to get out of the port. Namjoonās district lay across the city, probably too far to reach on foot, but perhaps she could steal transport, reach the public lanes, find water and bandages, or at least somewhere to change her clothes.
There were too many conditions, too many things that had to go right.
Behind her, a security announcement thundered across the port. āAttention. Fugitive on pad seven. Armed suspect. Female, approximately seventeen. Bounty warrant active. Use caution.ā
The words rolled through the night, reducing her once again to a list other people could act upon. Female. Seventeen. Bounty warrant.
Trinity ducked behind a cargo container and pressed her forehead against the cold metal, forcing herself to breathe. Her body wanted to collapse, and her hands shook badly enough that the pistol rattled softly against the wall. Boots struck pavement nearby, engines roared, and voices crackled over comms as security teams began sealing lanes and locking exits.
Mercenaries would be coming too. Seven hundred thousand UD was enough to wake every carrion bird in the city.
She looked down at her wrist. The Rykengoll band was gone, cut away weeks ago with a plasma torch by a drunken mechanic she had paid at gunpoint, but sometimes she could still feel it against her pulse, cold metal blinking green as though she remained their property. Trinity dug her thumb into the scar it had left.
The container door beside her opened, and a man stepped out carrying a cargo hook. Surprise crossed his face as they stared at one another. Then he noticed the blood, the pistol, and the face from the bounty feeds, and his mouth began to open.
Trinity raised the gun. āDonāt.ā
His gaze dropped to the weapon, then shifted past her shoulder. He was no longer looking at her.
Trinity turned.
Three bounty hunters stood at the mouth of the lane. They were not port security or Rykengoll soldiers, but independent mercenaries who had smelled profit before the official cordon could close. One wore a helmet with a cracked visor, another carried a net launcher, and the third, a broad woman with a white scar cutting across her cheek, held a pistol steady at Trinityās chest.
āEasy,ā the woman said. āAlive pays better.ā
Trinity almost smiled. There it was again.
Preferred.
āWalk away,ā she said, though her voice came out hoarse, young, and badly hurt.
The scarred woman studied the wound in her side, the trembling pistol, and the effort it took for her to remain upright. āYouāre done, sweetheart.ā
Something inside Trinity turned cold and bright. She fired, not at the woman but at the net launcher. The shot struck its housing, and the weapon discharged early with a metallic crack. The weighted net burst sideways and wrapped around the helmeted man instead. He screamed as the charge activated and his body convulsed.
Trinity ran before the others could recover.
The scarred woman fired, and pain sliced across Trinityās upper arm, hot and immediate. She stumbled into a maintenance cart and rolled across its hood as another shot cracked behind her. The pistol nearly flew from her hand, but she caught it by the trigger guard and kept moving.
The port exit was ahead, and the barred security gate was already descending.
It ground down from above while guards shouted from the public side. Trinity forced herself faster, though the wound in her arm screamed and dark spots spread across her vision. She knew before she reached it that she was not going to make it.
Still, she threw herself into a slide beneath the falling gate. For one wild second, she thought she had timed it perfectly, but the bars slammed down across the hem of her stolen coat and pinned her to the ground.
Trinity landed hard on the public side, half through the gate and half trapped beneath it. She twisted onto her back and clawed at the coat, but the fabric refused to tear. Boots pounded behind her as the scarred mercenary approached. Port security waited ahead, and people along the street had stopped to stare because civilized people loved horror as long as it happened on the pavement and not inside their own kitchens.
She yanked at the coat again, then shoved the pistol through the bars and fired blindly behind her. Someone shouted. A boot struck her trapped leg, and she kicked back, missed, then kicked again.
Hands seized her from the public side, not to help but to restrain her. Two security officers dragged at her arms, and then a third joined them as Trinity twisted, bit, and drove her elbow into the nearest face. Someone cursed. A baton struck her shoulder, another crashed into her ribs, and pain folded her nearly in half, but she continued to fight. She tore one hand free and clawed toward a guardās eye until he caught her wrist and slammed it against the pavement hard enough to send the pistol skittering away.
āHold her!ā
āWatch her hands!ā
āSedative!ā
āNo,ā Trinity snarled. āNo, noāā
A knee drove between Trinityās shoulder blades and forced her face against the pavement. For one suspended second, she smelled rain on stone, hot fuel, and blood. Beneath it all came the impossible memory of mint tea in Namjoonās house.
She had been so close. Not close enough to see the blue door or raise her hand to knock, but close enough to know she had almost reached him.
A needle punched into the side of her neck. Trinity screamed and bucked hard enough to break one guardās grip, but the world had already begun to blur at the edges. She dragged air into her lungs and tried to stay conscious through hatred alone.
āMultiple counts of manslaughter and murder. Escaped Rykengoll property.ā
āDestination order?ā
There was a brief pause. Trinity tried to lift her head, but the pavement rolled beneath her.
āTemporary holding,ā the voice answered. āThen transport to Butcher Bay.ā
The name cut cleanly through the sedative haze.
Everyone knew Butcher Bay. Even in the Rykengoll dark, prisoners had whispered about it: a triple-maximum-security prison buried beneath rock and steel, a place where people vanished and exits existed only as rumors. It had been built for monsters, or perhaps merely for those the universe found it convenient to call monsters because paperwork required less effort than mercy.
Trinity tried to laugh, but the sound came out as a broken breath against the pavement. Butcher Bay. Not Namjoon, not New Mecca, not the blue door, and certainly not safety, if safety had ever been real.
Hard cuffs closed around her wrists behind her back. They were not the old Rykengoll band, but they were close enough that panic surged through the drugs. She jerked once, weakly.
āStill got fight,ā a guard muttered.
āNot for long.ā
They hauled her upright, and the city swam around her in streaks of Helion light, port towers, and onlookers whose faces blurred beyond recognition. Somewhere past them was Namjoon. Somewhere on this same world, perhaps across the city, he sat in his courtyard with his child sleeping nearby, breathing and praying, completely unaware that she had almost reached him.
Trinity tried to say his name, but her mouth would not obey. She wanted to tell them she had somewhere to go, someone waiting who would know what to do. A holy man who had once called her child and meant it without asking for anything in return.
The sedative dragged her lower, and her head fell forward.
The scarred bounty hunter appeared near the gate, breathing hard with one hand pressed against the bleeding cut at her temple. She looked furious until a security officer mentioned reward jurisdiction. Then she began arguing, because of course she did. Everyone wanted a piece of Trinity now.
Seven hundred thousand UD. She was worth more hunted than she had ever been safe.
A faint smile touched her mouth. Jungkook might have found that funny.
No. Jungkook would not find anything. He was gone and had remained gone. He had left, and every road she had taken while trying to find him had carried her farther from the girl who once waited outside his door.
His fault, the old voice whispered, but Trinity was too tired to hold on to the thought.
As they dragged her toward the transport, her gaze found the horizon beyond the port walls. Dawn had begun there, pale and gold, touching the towers of Helion Prime one by one. Somewhere in a district she could not reach, morning would be arriving at Namjoonās house. His child would wake, his wife would move through the rooms, and water might still be whispering into the courtyard fountain.
Trinity allowed herself to see it for one second before crushing the image flat.
No maybes. No doors. No home.
The transport opened its black mouth, and the guards shoved her inside. As the doors sealed, Trinity heard the same sound she had heard three years earlier in the Rykengoll transfer bay: a door closing quietly, finally, almost politely.
This time, however, the girl trapped on the wrong side of it was not Leo. Audrey might have prayed, and Leo might have lied or cried, but Trinity only leaned her head against the cold wall, tasted blood in her mouth, and clung to her anger with both hands as Helion Prime carried her away from the one person she had almost allowed herself to miss.
Butcher Bay had a sound, though it was not any one thing. It was ventilation groaning through stone, chains knocking softly in distant shafts, boots striking metal grates, men speaking through their teeth, doors opening and closing, and power humming behind walls thick enough to bury screams before they reached anywhere useful. Layered together for long enough, it became the same low mechanical breath.
Audrey moved through it with blood drying beneath her nails.
She had not begun thinking of herself as Audrey again all at once. The name had returned in pieces, as everything did now: broken thoughts, half-formed memories, rage followed by fear, and then some sudden, absurd fragment from years ago, like the smell of her motherās hair when she bent to kiss her goodnight. The mind did strange things after too much violence. It dragged softness into the open at the worst possible moments.
For now, there was only the corridor, a stolen access card clenched in her left hand, a shiv in her right, and two dead men behind her.
The first had been a guard near the waste lift, older and thick-necked, bored enough to come close when she pretended to be sick. He seized her arm with the weary carelessness of a man tired of touching inmates and tired of denying himself the pleasure of it. Audrey drove the shiv beneath his jaw before either of them could decide which was more surprised. He made a wet, choking sound and sagged against her, nearly dragging her down with him.
The second had been another prisoner, which was worse, though not because he was innocent. He saw the access card and the blood, smiled through three broken teeth, and said, āYouāre taking me with you, sweetheart.ā
When he reached for her, she killed him in the service tunnel with a length of broken pipe. It was messy, frightened, and loud enough that she knew the escape might have died there with him. Even after he fell, she stood over his body for a moment too long, panting with the pipe still raised and waiting for him to move.
He did not.
Butcher Bay reduced people to numbers: prisoner numbers, cell blocks, body counts, years, sentences, reward figures, and levels underground. Audrey hated how easily her own mind had learned the same arithmetic. Two here. Four in the compound. More between there and Helion Prime. She no longer added them together. Totals felt too much like confession, and confession required someone willing to care about the difference between murder and survival.
No one here cared. Butcher Bay had not been built for caring. It had been built to keep things buried.
She moved with one palm against the wall, her fingertips skimming cold metal while she counted junctions by touch. The lights flickered, and her vision blurred whenever she breathed too deeply. Her ribs still ached from the arrest on Helion Prime, sometimes sharpening without warning as though the security gate had only just slammed onto her coat or the baton had only just found bone.
She shoved the thought of Namjoon away so violently that she nearly stumbled. There was no room for him here, no blue door or courtyard fountain, no child who would be three or four years old by now if the dates in her head could still be trusted. There was no holy man waiting to look at her with grief, kindness, and far too much understanding. Butcher Bay had swallowed all of that and given her something else in return.
Nakamura, Audrey.
That was what the intake record had said. She had seen it by accident two weeks after arriving, when a clerk opened the wrong line on a screen and left it glowing long enough for her to read.
NAKAMURA, AUDREY.
The sight of it struck harder than any guard. For a moment, she was no longer standing in the intake cage. She was small again, inside a room that no longer existed, hearing her mother say Audrey as though it meant come here, as though it meant you are mine. It had meant there would be dinner and morning, that someone would remember the shape of her before fear got to her.
She waited for the disgust to come, but it never did.
That was the strange part. Audrey did not feel like a wound anymore, not exactly. The name still hurt, but the pain was clean in a way Trinity had never been.
Trinity was a slave name. It belonged to the metal band around her wrist, to long hair twisted in a guardās fist, to property written on a screen and favorite whispered in a room. Trinity was the face attached to a bounty worth seven hundred thousand UD, the girl who had survived because survival was the only thing left to her. Audrey hated her for it, even while owing her everything.
Leo was worse in a different way because Leo belonged to Jungkook, though he had never chosen the name or asked her to become that person. Perhaps that was what made it worse. Leo was the lie she had built so she could walk beside him: the lowered voice, the cropped hair, and the desperate imitation of hardness she had mistaken for freedom. She had been a child wearing someone elseās shadow as armor, looking at Jungkook Jeon and believing that if she became enough like him, nothing would ever touch her again.
Stupid. Sweet. Already dead.
Audrey could hate Leo and pity her. She could barely think about Trinity without wanting to claw her own skin open. Audrey, however, felt like something else. Not home or safety or innocence. Those things were gone, and pretending otherwise would have been its own kind of sickness. But Audrey was a door, a name that had not been given to her by Jungkook, stamped into a file by Rykengoll clerks, or shouted through a cell slot by guards.
It was hers, and she wanted it now. The wanting frightened her because wanting anything always had.
At the next junction, Audrey stopped and listened. Boots moved somewhere above her, distant but drawing closer. A voice crackled over the prison speakers and died before forming words, while far below men roared over a fight. Butcher Bay always sounded as though it were eating itself.
She glanced left, then right, and realized she was no longer certain which corridor led to the medical wing. The thought nearly made her laugh.
The medical wing.
She had come here half-hating and half-believing the old story Jungkook had told her. Not sweetly, of course. Jungkook never told stories sweetly. He had offered it like a fact or a warning, one more ugly joke the universe had played on him: a slam doctor, twenty menthol Kools, a surgical shine job, eyes made for the dark.
For years, she had carried that story as proof that Jungkook had been made here. Somewhere beneath Butcher Bayās stone and steel, she had believed there must be a room where a man could be opened and changed, where some doctor could turn eyes into mirrors and darkness into an advantage. She had imagined finding that room and forcing the doctorās hand, emerging with the same shine that made Jungkook look like something the night had claimed.
Worse, she had imagined him seeing her afterward.
That was the shameful part. She had pictured Jungkook looking at her and recognizing what she had done, what she had become. She would no longer be Leo, no longer a child waiting to be abandoned, but someone with darkness built into her body. Someone who had earned it.
But Butcher Bay had no such doctor, not now and perhaps never. There were only med techs with filthy gloves and bad tempers, prison surgeons who patched stab wounds quickly enough to send men back to their cells, drug dispensers, restraints, and rusting equipment. Twice a week, screams travelled through the walls from the dental station. There was no secret miracle waiting beneath the prison, no hidden rite of smoke and pain, no passage into Jungkookās world.
There was nothing. The story had been a lie, or worse, a myth Jungkook had allowed to live because it sounded better than the truth.
Audreyās anger rose so violently that she had to brace one hand against the wall. It had been eating her alive lately, though not like fire. Fire had direction. It consumed whatever fed it and eventually burned itself out. This was something with teeth behind her ribs, chewing steadily and refusing to finish the job.
It had taken her sleep first, then her appetite, then the thin remains of patience that might once have stopped her from killing men who came too close. Now it fed on her memory in uneven bites, leaving some things painfully vivid while smearing others beyond use.
She remembered Y/Nās eyes but could no longer clearly summon her fatherās face. She remembered Jungkook closing the blue door, but not whether her mother had worn her hair loose or tied back on the morning everything changed. She remembered Dain Rykengollās blood warming her hand, but not the sound of her own laughter before M6-117.
Audrey pressed her knuckles to her mouth. She would not fall apart in a service corridor with alarms waiting to sound and two bodies cooling behind her. Instead, she forced herself forward and took the right-hand passage because movement was better than standing still.
The stolen card opened one gate and then another, each green blink feeling less like luck and more like a countdown. Sooner or later, someone would find the guard, deactivate the card, seal the corridors, and discover that the prisoner listed in their database was no longer where she belonged.
She found herself holding her name behind her teeth without speaking it.
It was strange how the official record made Audrey feel both real and unreal. A database knew her. A prison had preserved what she had spent years trying to bury. Butcher Bay, in its blunt and merciless way, had returned the one thing everyone else had stripped from her or forgotten.
The corridor narrowed ahead and sloped toward a maintenance hatch framed by yellow hazard lines. Beyond it, if her memory could still be trusted, lay a ventilation shaft leading to an exterior service platform. Three days earlier, she had watched two workers disappear through the hatch, timed how long they were gone, and noticed the colder light clinging to their clothes when they returned.
It might lead outside.
Audrey quickened her pace as her thoughts scattered. Jungkook had lied, or perhaps the doctor had died and the story had once been true. Perhaps nothing about him had ever been true. Maybe Jungkook had always been exactly what he appeared to be: a man who survived and allowed frightened children to turn him into prophecy because they needed something larger than their grief.
She hated him, and some part of her still loved him.
No. Not love. Not anymore.
That word belonged to Leo, and Leo embarrassed her. Leo had wanted a father, a brother, a protector, some monster who might turn around and explain that the universe made sense if only she learned to see through the proper kind of darkness.
Audrey wanted none of that now. She wanted herself, whatever remained of her and whatever that might mean.
The hatch was locked, and the stolen card blinked red in her hand.
Audrey stared at it. āNo.ā
She swiped again, but the same red light answered her.
āNo, no, no.ā
A speaker crackled somewhere behind her. āSecurity alert. Block C service corridor. All personnel respond.ā
Her stomach dropped. The card had gone dead in her hand, and for one terrible second she stood motionless, the useless piece of plastic pinched between bloody fingers while all of Butcher Bay seemed to turn its head toward her.
Then she drove her shoulder into the hatch.
Pain burst white across her vision, but the metal did not move. She struck it again, then a third time, until her legs nearly folded beneath her. Gripping the frame, Audrey dragged air through her teeth while tears sprang to her eyes from pain and fury, never sorrow. Not here.
Boots thundered through the corridor behind her.
She turned as three guards rounded the corner, with two more close behind them, all five raising their rifles.
āOn the ground!ā
Audrey lifted the shiv.
It was ridiculous, and she knew it. A sharpened piece of scrap against rifles, armor, shock batons, and the full crushing machinery of the prison. Her arm trembled, and blood from her knuckles made the handle slick.
āOn the ground, Nakamura!ā
The first shock round struck her in the chest. Her body locked and dropped before her mind understood what had happened. The floor rushed up hard, and the shiv skittered away to strike the wall. Electricity tore through her muscles in bright, merciless waves, leaving her unable to breathe, move, or properly scream. Only a broken sound escaped through her clenched teeth.
Footsteps closed around her, and someone kicked the shiv beyond reach.
āStupid little bitch,ā one guard muttered.
Audrey tried to spit at him, but her mouth would not obey. A boot rolled her onto her stomach, her arms were wrenched behind her, and restraints snapped around her wrists tightly enough to grind bone. As the shock began to recede, she convulsed once and sucked in air with a ragged, humiliating gasp.
āTwo dead confirmed,ā someone said above her.
āWaste lift and service tunnel?ā
āYeah.ā
āJesus.ā
āKeep her down. She bites.ā
Audrey closed her eyes, then forced them open again. She would not disappear inside herself or leave her body behind to survive whatever came next. She had done that often enough in Rykengoll rooms.
This time, she made herself remain present. The cold floor pressed against her cheek. Blood coated her tongue. Her hands were trapped behind her, and five guards surrounded her. One breathed too hard. Another sounded frightened.
Good. Let them be frightened.
A knee settled against her spine. āWhereād you think you were going?ā
Audrey smiled into the floor, not because anything was funny, but because the anger had found her again. It crawled through the lingering electricity, wounded but alive.
āOut,ā she whispered.
The guard bent closer. āWhat?ā
She turned her face just far enough for him to hear. āOut.ā
His expression twisted. He seized her by the hair and dragged her head back, sending pain flashing across her scalp, but Audrey kept smiling.
For the first time in years, she liked her name. Perhaps that was madness. Perhaps it was simply all she had left. But if she could still be Audrey here, cuffed and bleeding on a prison floor, then Trinity had not consumed everything. The Rykengolls had not kept everything, and Jungkook had not defined the shape of her life before walking away with the only key.
Audrey remained beneath it all. She was meaner now, bloodier, and damaged in places that might never heal, but she was still there.
Still here.
A siren began pulsing overhead.
āWarden wants her transferred,ā another guard said. āImmediate.ā
āTo where?ā
āHubble Bay.ā
Audreyās smile vanished.
She knew the name, though not as well as Butcher Bay. Prisoners traded prison names the way children traded stories about monsters, except these monsters had coordinates. Some said Hubble Bay was colder. Others said it was cleaner, and therefore worse, because clean cruelty carried sharper edges. Whatever the truth, it meant another hole, another transport, and another series of locks. Another place that would file her name, strip her, feed her, punish her, and wait to see what shape she broke into next.
Despair opened beneath her so suddenly that she nearly fell into it.
Not again. Not another cage, another transport, another door closing.
She thrashed, but the guards barely shifted. They hauled her upright with one man gripping each arm. Her legs dragged for several steps before remembering how to hold her, and the corridor tilted around her.
The hatch framed in yellow stood only a few feet away now, a stupid little square of possibility. Maybe it led outside. Maybe there was open air beyond it, a service platform beneath the sky.
Audrey stared at it until a guard shoved her forward. āMove.ā
She moved because they made her, and that was the part she hated most. Not defeat itself, but the way her body obeyed because pain had taught it speed. Her feet found the floor without instruction. Her shoulders hunched before the next blow came, and her head lowered whenever a rifle stock passed too close. Survival lived in her bones now, older and quicker than pride.
Anger lived there too.
As the guards marched her back through Butcher Bay, men crowded their cell doors to watch. Some laughed, some shouted filth, and others went quiet when they saw the blood on her and the number of guards required to hold her.
āNakamura,ā someone called from the dark. āHell of a try.ā
Audrey did not turn.
āTheyāll bury you at Hubble!ā another voice shouted.
Maybe they would. She had been buried before.
Audrey raised her head, and the guards tightened their grips, mistaking the motion for resistance. It was not. Not yet.
She was thinking about Jungkook again, though she did not want to. Jungkook and his lies. The shine in his eyes. The stories that transformed prisons into legends and pain into something chosen, meaningful, and wearable as armor.
Perhaps that was the cruelest lie of all.
Pain did not make anyone special. It simply hurt. Sometimes it taught, sometimes it sharpened, and sometimes it hollowed a person out until anger settled into the empty space like a king upon a stolen throne. Audrey was tired of being ruled by it, but she did not yet know what else could keep her standing.
At the transport bay, the guards stopped while a clerk confirmed her identity. A screen beside the door flickered to life.
NAKAMURA, AUDREY. TRANSFER ORDER: HUBBLE BAY. SECURITY LEVEL: EXTREME. RESTRAINTS: FULL. NOTES: MULTIPLE HOMICIDES. ESCAPE ATTEMPT. HIGH RISK.
Audrey looked only at the name.
For one strange second, everything else fell away: the murders, the restraints, and the guards holding her between them. There was only Audrey, bright and official on the screen, undeniable because even the prison had written it down.
She was still angry and afraid. Her mind remained crowded with Jungkook, Namjoon, the Rykengolls, Y/N, Bindi, Leo, Trinity, and all the other ghosts reaching for her, accusing her, and vanishing before she could decide which of them she was supposed to be. Yet the name steadied her a little, and for now, a little was enough.
The transport doors opened and released a breath of cold air. A guard shoved her toward them, but Audrey stepped inside before he could do it again. The restraints cut into her wrists, and blood had dried stiffly across her skin. Behind her, Butcher Bay continued its endless song of vents, chains, and closing doors. Somewhere ahead, Hubble Bay waited with another mouth open.
They forced her into a seat and secured the locks. When they snapped into place, she flinched despite herself. Then the doors closed behind her with the same quiet, final, almost courteous sound she had heard too many times before.
Audrey leaned her head against the metal wall and closed her eyes. Trinity had survived the Rykengolls, and Leo had survived the dark. Now Audrey would have to discover what she could survive.
If she ever saw Jungkook again, if the universe proved cruel enough or perhaps kind enough to place him before her one more time, she would ask him about the shine in his eyes, about Butcher Bay, and why every story he had ever given her seemed to end in another cage.
By the time they put Audrey Nakamura on the transport to Crematoria, they had stopped pretending ordinary restraints would be enough. They chained her anyway, wrists, ankles, waist, and throat. A restraint collar rested cold against her pulse, linked to the guardsā rifles and the shipās security grid. Her hands were cuffed in front of her and secured to a metal bar that locked into the floor whenever she sat, while the shackles around her ankles were short enough to ruin her stride. Two guards stood behind her seat, one on either side, close enough to strike but careful not to come within reach.
They had learned.
Hubble Bay had learned after she broke a womanās jaw with the heel of her hand and bit through another guardās glove deeply enough to take flesh with it. Slam City had learned after the riot in Block Twelve, when three men came for her in the showers and only one crawled back out. The transport crew had learned before she ever stepped aboard because her file had arrived ahead of her, warnings flashing red across every page.
NAKAMURA, AUDREY. ALIAS: TRINITY. AGE: NINETEEN. EXTREME FLIGHT RISK. EXTREME VIOLENCE RISK. DO NOT ISOLATE WITHOUT RESTRAINT. DO NOT APPROACH WITHOUT TWO ARMED PERSONNEL.
Audrey sat with her back straight, her dark curls falling wild around her shoulders, and watched the guard across from her try not to stare. He was young, too young to have mastered the vacant boredom of someone who had done this too long, and his fingers kept shifting against the grip of his rifle in a nervous rhythm.
Audrey listened and imagined breaking them one at a time.
The thought came without heat, and that was new. At sixteen, rage had been fire, consuming her sleep, her appetite, and whatever softness had survived the Rykengolls. At seventeen, it became a road, carrying her through ships, stations, prison corridors, and blood-slick mistakes. By eighteen, rage had become a language she spoke more fluently than any name she had ever worn.
Now, at nineteen, it was weather. It was always present, surrounding her, settled into her lungs, the walls, and the light. She no longer had to summon it because she lived inside it.
The transport shuddered as it broke orbit, and the restraints tightened around her wrists, not enough to injure, only enough to remind her they were there. Audrey looked down at her hands. Her knuckles had split too many times to heal smoothly, and one finger remained crooked from a bad break in Slam City. A pale scar circled the wrist where the Rykengoll band had rested for three years, faint now but never gone. Crude prison ink crawled along the inside of her forearm, made with burned wire and stolen pigment. The marks were not decorative or sentimental. They were warnings, counts, and names she had crossed out after deciding names were too generous.
The sweet girl from Taurus 1 was gone. She had been gone for so long that Audrey sometimes wondered whether she had invented her, a child with parents, a real bed, a mother who might have brushed her hair, and a father who might have laughed when she ran too quickly through the house. That girl belonged to another species, something domestic and soft-handed.
Leo was gone too.
Poor little Leo, lowering his voice, cutting his hair, and believing a name could become armor. Leo had belonged to Jungkook long before she understood what belonging meant. He had looked at a murderer and seen a map, following the shadow because it seemed safer than the light. Leo had been hunger in an alley and hope disguised as spite, a child with too many knives and too little sense. He had still wanted to be found. He had still believed someone might turn around.
Trinity had nearly survived.
She had been made beneath Rykengoll stone, hammered into shape by hands that should have been severed at the wrist. Trinity learned how to smile without meaning it, count guards without seeming to look, and wield fear like a second blade. She had been property, fugitive, bounty, prisoner, and finally rumor.
Audrey had returned after all of that, but never as the girl she had once been. This Audrey was a new animal, one who had found herself inside cages and discovered she possessed enough teeth for all of them.
Across from her, the young guard stopped tapping. Audrey raised her eyes, and he quickly looked away.
Smart.
The older guard beside him noticed and gave a thin laugh. āDonāt make friends with that one.ā
āI wasnāt.ā
āGood. She eats friends.ā
Audrey smiled, and the young guard went pale. Good. Let him be frightened. Fear was honest. It did not pretend she could be rehabilitated, prayed clean, hidden away, forgiven, or loved back into a shape that fit inside a house with a blue door. Fear looked at her and understood what kindness had taken too long to learn.
She was dangerous, though not in the polished way bounty notices claimed. She was dangerous like an open wound gone septic, like a dog raised in a pit that had finally realized the gate was only wood. Dangerous like a girl who no longer believed freedom would repair anything.
That was the strangest part. She had escaped Hubble Bay and Slam City, twice reaching open air with a stolen weapon in her hand and blood cooling on her sleeve, only to discover that freedom was merely a larger room full of people who wanted something from her. Bounty hunters, prison trackers, mercenaries, men with old grudges, women with newer ones, entire systems carrying her face in their databases and rewards attached to her breathing.
Freedom was a joke people told themselves when the lock was on someone elseās door. Joy was worse, because joy belonged to people who expected mornings, while Audrey expected ambushes.
She had stopped wanting anything clean. There were no more dreams of water whispering in a courtyard or of a life beyond the next fight, the next transport, or the next fool who tried to put hands on her. There was only the game now, and the question at the center of it was always the same.
Who was the better killer?
Prisons understood it. Mercenary crews understood it. Men in cages understood it best of all, though they dressed it up as rank, respect, territory, or survival. Strip away the stories, and it always became the same choice: you or me?
Audrey had become very good at answering.
The shipās lights dimmed as it entered long-haul burn, and the other prisoners shifted in their seats with the restless unease of men who hated being contained but were not yet brave enough to test the locks. There were six of them in the hold, each separated by restraint bars and watched by armed guards. Two kept glancing toward Audrey as though trying to decide whether the stories were true, but one man had been staring since launch.
He was broad, with shaved brows and prison muscle packed across his shoulders, carrying the bored confidence of someone accustomed to being the worst thing in any room. Audrey watched him as steadily as he watched her. There it was again, the game.
He smiled first. She did not.
Leaning forward as far as his restraints allowed, he said, āYouāre Jeonās girl?ā
The name went through her like a blade beneath the ribs. It no longer wounded her the way it once had, but it still made every part of her wake. The guards stiffened slightly. They knew the name. Everyone did. Jungkook Jeon had been gone for five years and remained threaded through the ugliest parts of her life like rot through wood.
Audrey turned her head slowly. āWhat did you say?ā
His smile widened. He mistook the softness of her voice for weakness, which meant he was already dead in at least one possible future.
āI said youāre Jeonās girl. That what they call you? His little death-planet pet?ā
The collar at Audreyās throat hummed as her pulse quickened, and the guards raised their rifles a fraction. She saw everything at once: the angles, the distance, the floor lock, the cuffs, the manās restraints, and the placement of the guardsā hands. The younger one was still nervous. The older one was meaner but slower. An emergency panel sat behind the left bulkhead, and beneath Audreyās seat, one bolt had nearly rusted through.
That was what anger gave her when it was pure enough. Not blindness, but clarity.
She could not reach the man yet, so she smiled. It was small, but it was enough to make his grin falter.
āNo,ā Audrey said. āIām the thing he shouldāve killed when he had the chance.ā
The hold fell quiet, leaving only the low vibration of the engines and the rush of blood in her ears.
If Audrey ever saw Jungkook again, she was going to kill him. She had decided that in Slam City after waking from a fever dream with his name in her mouth and another manās blood beneath her nails. Not because his death would repair anything, since she had stopped believing in repair, but because the desire had become part of her, as ordinary as hunger.
She wanted to put him on the floor and watch surprise break through that smug stillness. She wanted him to understand that leaving had consequences beyond a childās wounded feelings. He had not merely abandoned Leo. He had left a spark in a dry room and walked away as though the fire had nothing to do with him.
Whatever he had spent the last five years doing, whether running, hiding, killing, or breathing free air while she learned the architecture of cages, no longer mattered. His reasons, his silence, his myth, the shine in his eyes, and the way men spoke of him as though he were deathās favorite son could all remain his.
Audrey wanted the rest.
She would become more infamous, more vicious, and more difficult to cage. She would make enough noise in the underworld that even Jungkook, wherever he had disappeared to, would be forced to hear it. Let bounty boards carry her face. Let prison blocks trade her name. Let mercenaries spit before saying Audrey Nakamura because she had cost them brothers, crews, money, and pride. One day, Jungkook would look up and realize that the little girl he had abandoned had become a rival ghost.
Then he could come find her.
The thought warmed her more than any blanket until another memory rose with it: Namjoonās face.
Audrey lowered her eyes before he could fully take shape. She could not bring Namjoon into this hold or let him exist in the same breath as chains, metal, armed men, and bloodlust. He belonged to a courtyard beneath kinder stars, to water and prayer, to a wife who had once fed a feral girl without making her feel watched. He belonged to a child who must be older now, perhaps old enough to ask about the strange girl who had lived in their house and vanished before morning.
She hoped he was well, and the gentleness of the thought made her angry. She hoped his wife had survived childbirth and that their child was healthy. She hoped the blue door still opened onto peace. Most of all, she hoped no one had ever carried one of her bounty notices to his house or forced him to see the names Trinity, Audrey, and Nakamura beneath the words armed and dangerous.
Audrey tried to close the thought down, but Y/N slipped through the crack it left.
Y/N walking into the dark. Y/N turning back. Y/N, selfish and frightened and human, then brave when bravery mattered. That was the part Audrey could not forgive, because bravery placed a burden on the living. It said: be worth what was spent.
Audrey had not been worth it.
Had Y/N lived, would she have taken her in? The thought was childish, but it came anyway. Perhaps Y/N would have cut her hair evenly instead of leaving Leo to butcher it with trembling hands. Perhaps she would have taught Audrey to fly properly rather than forcing her to learn through frantic guesses in stolen cockpits. She might have recognized the anger early and called it grief before it curdled into something harder.
Maybe she would have loved her, not perfectly or gently all the time, because Y/N had been too sharp for that, but honestly and practically, with irritated sighs, food pressed into her hands, and orders to sleep before she collapsed. Bindi might have been there too, loud, bright, and impossible to frighten. There could have been a ship, a crew, and women who knew how to survive without turning every room into a killing floor.
Maybe life could have been different.
Audrey clenched her hands until the cuffs bit into her skin.
That road was poison, every imagined life another blade turned inward. Y/N was dead, Bindi was dead, Namjoon was far away, and Jungkook was somewhere beyond her reach, still breathing air she had not yet poisoned. There was no mother, no father, no house, and no untouched version of Audrey waiting beneath the ruin with clean hands.
There was only this: chains, transport, Crematoria. A prison planet so hot by day and so cold by night that even murderers spoke its name carefully. Another cage, another set of walls, another place convinced it could hold her because every place before it had managed for a while.
Audrey leaned back as far as the restraint bar allowed. The transport hummed around her, and beyond the hull, the stars stretched cold and indifferent. Somewhere ahead waited Crematoriaās impossible heat, its underground prison, its guards, inmates, and rumors. Somewhere beyond that, perhaps, waited Jungkook.
Or perhaps he did not. Maybe she would never see him again. Maybe she could drown whole worlds in blood and still fail to drag his shadow close enough to cut.
What then? What was the point of living?
The question opened beneath her without warning. It was neither sad nor dramatic, only empty. She had outlived every version of herself that might once have answered. The Audrey of Taurus 1 would have said family. Leo might have said survival, though in his weakest moments he would have said Jungkook and hated himself for it. Trinity would have chosen revenge because revenge was easier to carry than despair.
This Audrey had no answer. She knew only that she was not finished, and perhaps that was enough. Perhaps the point was to make the universe regret ever putting teeth in her mouth, to keep breathing out of spite until everyone who had mistaken her for prey learned better.
Perhaps the point was murder.
Not because killing was holy, healing, or righteous. It was none of those things. It was ugly. It clung to the skin and returned in dreams wearing familiar faces. But murder was a language the world had taught her first, and Audrey intended to become fluent.
She closed her eyes without sleeping. Sleep belonged to people who trusted the dark, and Audrey trusted nothing. At nineteen, chained to the floor of a prison transport and hollowed out by rage, she let the ship carry her toward Crematoria.
The world had made an animal of her. Fine. Animals did not ask to be understood. They did not beg fathers to turn around, brothers to come back, or dead women to rise from the darkness and lead them somewhere safe. Animals bit, survived, and killed when the cage opened.
Audrey breathed slowly through her nose and imagined Jungkook Jeon finally hearing her name. Not Leo. Not Trinity. Not some abandoned girl left behind in a holy manās house, but Audrey Nakamura, a new breed of evil with a reputation full of teeth, a storm rising from every prison that had failed to keep her buried.
Let him hear it. Let him wonder. Let him come close.
Sometimes love isn't grand gestures or dramatic reunions. Sometimes it's a clingy Jeongguk wrapped around you in the bar, soft laughter over a bottle of soju, and the comforting realization that home is simply wherever the two of you happen to be.
WARNINGS ā¦ sfw content ā¦ talks about adhd and anxiety symptoms ā¦ mention of adhd pills ā¦ soft!jk agenda ā¦ clingy jk ā¦ established relationship
The reserved karaoke room smelled like leftover barbeque from the diner earlier and the faint sweetness of soju bottles sweating on the low table. It was one of those mid-tour family things, Arirang Korean leg giving everyone a precious four-day breather before flying back to North America. Jeongguk had insisted on showing up for his older brotherās small gig celebration, even jet-lagged as hell and in the middle of switching his ADHD meds.
Jeongguk was sitting beside you on the long couch, one arm draped casually behind your shoulders like always. He was still smiling, chuckling at his brotherās friendās dumb joke about military stories, even throwing in a short comment that landed perfectly. But you caught it, the way his thumb kept tapping a restless rhythm on your shoulder, the slight delay before his eyes focused again, the way he was fighting not to space out. Jet lag and the med transition were hitting him sideways tonight. His brain was loud in there, you could tell, but he was powering through because this mattered to him.
You leaned into his side, casual as ever. āMy glass is empty. Go fill it for me please?ā You wiggled the soju glass at him with a small smirk, giving him the perfect excuse without making it a thing.
He blinked once, then nodded, that familiar soft look flickering across his face. āYeah, sure.ā He stood up smoothly, taking your glass, and headed toward the small bar counter in the corner of the private room. You waited maybe thirty seconds before getting up too, slipping out quietly like you were just stretching your legs.
At the bar he was standing with both hands on the counter, shoulders a little rounded, staring at the bottles like they held answers. You slid up beside him, bumping your hip against his gently.
Jeongguk immediately leaned into you, heavy and familiar, his arm sliding around your waist like it belonged there. āYaā¦ took you long enough,ā he whined under his breath, forehead dropping to your shoulder for a second. His voice was low, a little pouty in that way only you ever got to hear. āThese new meds are making me feel nauseous as fuck. My stomachās been flipping since we got here. I hate it.ā
You rubbed his side once, casual, the same way youād done a hundred times before. āI figured. You want to head home? We can make an excuse easy.ā
He shook his head, still glued to your side, fingers bunching the back of your shirt. āNoā¦ I donāt wanna be that bum who ditches his brotherās thing after showing up. Hyung would understand but Iād feel like shit.ā He lifted his head just enough to look at you, eyes tired but clingy as hell. āJustā¦ stay with me a bit? Fill the glasses slow or something. I need a minute where nothingās moving.ā
āFine, you big baby,ā you teased lightly, reaching for the soju bottle so it looked like you were actually doing something. He didnāt let go, just shifted so his chin rested on your shoulder while you poured, his body warm and heavy against your back. You could feel the tension in him slowly easing the longer he stayed attached to you.
āLove you,ā he mumbled against your neck, half-whiny, half-sincere. āEven when my brain and stomach are teaming up to ruin my night.ā
You bumped your head lightly against his. āLove you too, guk. Weāll stay a little longer, then go home and crash. Deal?ā
He nodded, arms tightening around you for another second before he finally straightened up, still standing way too close, one hand lingering on your hip like he couldnāt quite let go yet. Same old Jeongguk. Same old you, knowing exactly how to ride these nights out together.
author's note ā super short but made with love xx
summary: after some time apart, jungkook makes the suggestion of a date between the two of you. (see request here)
word count: 4,296
content warnings: fluffy fluff, y/n is a cisgender female who uses she/her pronouns, no y/n usage, y/n and jungkook drink responsibly, shadow boxing jk, mention of sensual choreography, very mild dirty joke, a kiss <3
authorās note: i really like this but i fear i didnāt write it as well as i couldāve š¤š¾ anyway, does anyone remember we got married? š¤ definitely had to throw it back to solar and eric namās marriage with the first song xo
taglist: none yet! pls fill out the request form š«£
Color theory; how humans perceive color and the visual effects of specific color mixtures or contrasts. As a makeup artist, there was no lecture you had to bore yourself to death with to understand this concept. Ever since you were a child, you self taught this fact by playing with your motherās makeup and soon toying with your own plastic containers of colored balm specially from the kidās section in the store. In adult years, it meant you knowing how to color the waterline of an idol or how to choose the undertone of their glitter according to a concept or how to compliment their overall look ā but, despite this, you were surprisingly close to ripping your hair out at the root from sheer frustration because you could not manage to figure out if your bag was the correct shade of brown like you had aimed for with your makeup look that night.
Your hair fell perfectly just below your shoulders, curled inwardly at its ends to frame your face. Your body was clothed with a simple white bandeau top with lace detailing along its hem, washed denim jeans which clung to your legs and widened slightly at your calves and short beige heels. Your area of contention fell with your bag ā a beige leather saddle bag with a chocolate handle and gold detailing. Like a woman demented, you held the bag up to your eye in the mirror and stared intensely. Your makeup was simple and understated, little to medium coverage, lashes coated with dark mascara, deep brown eyelids which blended into caramel and a light dusting of highlighter for a sparkle which was only caught momentarily under certain light angles. Your lip of choice was even further understated; opting for a very sheer pink lipgloss to coat them as a finishing touch. On any other day, this wasnāt even something youād offer a second glance.
However, a date with Jeon Jungkook required a little more of your attention than normal.
You had been BTSā makeup artist for years, working under HYBE. You were exceptional at your job, able to touch up a member in six minutes flat. Jungkook managed to stretch his specific slot to a solid ten, between his fidgeting, him cracking jokes which adequately distracted you and making blending products an uphill battle. Truly, he shouldāve been close to being considered a nuisance for it, especially in the beginning when you kindly attempted to redirect him into focusing for those few minutes, but there was something about his distractions that you found wholly endearing. A few years into working with them and it was commonplace to let your guard down around him, similarly throwing jokes his way. You had banter with the other members, of course, but they seemed to have a knack for remaining on the status quo simultaneously. You were unsure if it was a skill Jungkook had failed to master or he just didnāt bother with it, but the moments the two of you shared with a lingered gaze or a touch that remained a second too long informed you that it was most likely the latter. Those moments with him were treasured more than you realised, as you looked forward to those few minutes in your hectic days.
However, apparently you failed to treasure them sufficiently as you were reassigned to ENHYPEN shortly after the BTS members gradually trickled into military service. The news came as an unpleasant surprise to you; ENHYPEN were sweethearts on the occasions that you had bumped into them previously, but it felt like a fall from grace. Not only were you losing the group you had closely worked with for years, but more importantly Jungkook was leaving. It wasnāt like you hadnāt already played the scenario over and over in your head, however you couldnāt have prepared yourself for just how emotional it felt. If Jungkook was upset he failed to show it; his simple āweāll meet again :)ā message prior to enlistment informed you of such. It shockingly took you a while to truly come to terms with the news, but what with getting into the swing of forming a new professional relationship with ENHYPEN and supporting their activities, leaving BTS soon didnāt carry such a heavy sting to your heart. The thought went from lingering to fleeting on the most random of days.
It was an unassuming Wednesday morning on your off day when you saw the headline; āBTSā Jimin, Jungkook released from military serviceā. You had a rough idea as to when he was due to be discharged, but not down to the exact date: it was no wonder how you managed to choke on your coffee as soon as the headline drop down in your notification center. Pictures of him flooded the internet; clothed in classic military camouflage and cradling a white colored bouquet of flowers in hand with Jimin in tow similarly nursing a pink bundle. They somehow appeared more stoic yet still maintained their charming nature from the stills you had come across. It suddenly seemed like the BTS you knew too well was suddenly so far out of reach, their military service placing barriers of knowingness between you and them. You made a habit of texting your well wishes to the guys as they trickled out of their enlistments one by one, but you took an embarrassingly long time to text Jungkook. You entered and erased the words too many times to count, overthought possible greetings to the point of near mania. As fate would have it, however, a text that popped up on your screen on a random evening eradicated your irrational fear almost instantly, from Jungkook: āthis is random, but do you want to hang out at mine sometime?ā
Now, you werenāt crazy ā through further back and forth chats, Jungkook confirmed that it was a date he intended on taking you on; you wouldnāt have induced this close call of a crazy episode over mere delusion. You were a little more sensible than that (at least, youād like to think so), thankfully. The soft glow of your phone screen coming to life was what drew your attention from the corner of your eye and allowed you to finally set your tortured bag down on your lap. Placing your thumb and pointer finger on either side of the screen, you tilted the screen towards your face to see a text message notification from the driver, notifying you of his presence. It would be easy to give him cookie points for being such a gentleman for sending a driver for you, but in reality it was the norm for an idol with the amount of popularity that Jungkook held ā a regular taxi was a rumor waiting to happen and your own car was out of the question. With a small huff, you placed your makeup brush down in your vanity and offered your body another lucky few sprits of perfume, before making your way out of your place.
In the nick of time, you were before his apartment door. Wet spots adorned the bottom of your jeans where the evening rain had intruded, but luckily you were largely unscathed due to the driverās stashed umbrella. On bated breath, you raised a finger to press against the doorbell, hearing the familiar jingle echo within its walls. The thirty or so seconds that followed stretched longer than what you would seem necessary, your heart pounding in your throat as you fumbled with the few bracelets hanging off your wrists. Soon, though, a few clicks of the lock turning was heard and suddenly you stood up straight.
There he was; hair recently messed with, a dark smart shirt rolled up haphazardly around the sleeves to reveal the roll of the inked artwork which blend onto his hands (which were notably wet) and dark color slacks his outfit was partially covered by a black and white striped apron hanging on his waist. As you bowed slightly to greet him, his mouth spread into a welcoming smile. āAh, Iād give you a hug but my hands are allā¦ā he gestured to the water dripping from his digits. āDonāt worry, Iām not holding a hug against you,ā you quipped, a small giggle hiding behind your words. He too mirrored your small laugh, opening the door wider and stepping aside to allow space for you to step in. As you do, you expected him to return to whatever he was busying himself with in the kitchen, but he seemingly watched you as you slid out of your heels and into a pair of house slippers at the door. āAre you gonna keep watching me like one of your stalkers?ā you spoke as you stepped onto the floorboards of his apartment. Unlike what you were expecting, he seemed bashful at the mention of him watching your move. He let out a cough into his fist and redirected his gaze to the floor briefly as if it was the most interesting view in the world. āN-No, itās just- been a long time and - ahem - you look so pretty so,ā he uttered softly. It was worlds apart from the mischievous, quick young man that you once knew. When did he become so bashful? Was it the new environment or did your worst nightmare come true ā the military did change Jungkook as you knew him?
The latter choice may have been a slight overreaction on your end, admittedly.
Only a mere 30 minutes later, you were seated at his small dining table weaving pasta strands between the metal prongs of your fork while he told tales of his days in military. On both of your plates was truffle cream pasta with steak and asparagus on the side. Having heard all the members enthuse about his culinary expertise for years, it felt like a full circle moment to finally have the chance to taste his cooking after years of repeated promises ā and it didnāt disappoint either. āI donāt think I want to peel another carrot or potato for years now, they mustāve been punishing me for a past life sin,ā Jungkook muttered, feigning disgust. His complaint made you laugh, while also sympathising. It was enough of a chore to peel vegetables for personal use, but for military soldiers was a different ball game entirely. āHow many do you think you peeled while you were there? Ballpark figure,ā you queried as you speared a piece a steak on your fork. His eyebrow piercing glinted under the spotlights in the kitchen as he thought, then turned his face towards his phone which laid by his side on the table. āHey Siri, how many carrots and potatoes does any one person peel in their lifetime?ā he suddenly spoke, face etched as stone as if it was the most serious conversation he had ever held in his life. As if Siri was as similarly puzzled as you at the question, it took her longer than usual to respond. āOver an average lifetime, a person consumes roughly 10,800 carrots and eats approximately 15,000 to 16,000 potatoes,ā the virtual assistant chirped out steadily. āEasily twice that amount,ā Jungkook responded without missing a beat. With the exaggerated number and his deadpan nature, you laughed heartily at his response.
āāKook, you cannot be serious,ā you spoke in the midst of giggles, almost choking on what remained of your food. His expression was what you could only describe as incredulous, although you knew from prior years of banter, it was all in jest. āI swear to whatever deity I can swear to, I started seeing them in my dreams.ā He pointed to his temple in emphasis, as if it were possible to see the unassuming vegetables wreck havoc buried within the wrinkles of his brain if you concentrated enough. Shaking your head in disbelief at the sheer drama of it all, you gripped both empty plates before you and stood to your feet to wash the dishes. However, a strong hand wrapped around your wrist stopped you in your tracks. āDonāt,ā Jungkook instructed gently, similarly raising to his feet. Between his gentle yet grounding grip and you suddenly looking up to meet his gaze, your mouth suddenly went dry. Your head scrambled to simply agree to his request, when he seemingly came to realise what had happened. He chuckled to alleviate what tension had suddenly mounted between the two of you, but anyone could objectively see that he had broken the proverbial touch barrier ā a fact that you werenāt opposed to. āI invited you, you shouldnāt do anything. Just relax,ā the young man urged, his facial expression remaining soft and pliable. With a grin you never were able to resist, the hand holding your wrist instead patted the back of your hand. Flustered from the sudden contact, you slowly sink back down into your seat with a shy smile, letting go of the dirtied plates and cutlery. As soon as you relinquished control, Jungkook stacked the porcelain bowls and metal cutlery before carrying them to the sink.
In the few minutes that were consumed with the young man scrubbing their shared dishes, there was a silence ā a comforting one. It was the type of silence that could only be appreciated and held by those who already tasted shared companionship, one that could only be desirable by those who knew each other well enough to savor each otherās presence with no words spoken. Bringing your chilled wine glass to your lips, your fingers lightly jabbed your phone screen as you made quick work of scrolling through Instagram stories; not exactly absorbing anything, but just busying your mind and fingers with a familiar task. In between stories, an advert popped up. It was for a nondescript brand of mango ice cream, but the familiar jingle had both you and Jungkook start singing along at the same time without really thinking. However, after a few bars, the penny seemed to drop at the same time as the two of you met each otherās eyes grinning from ear to ear. Only a few years prior, you two were tormented by the same song for a whole summer of promotions, hearing it on any device in your vicinity at any given moment. In that moment in Jungkookās apartment, it favored more closely to a long lost melody heard so many lifetimes ago.
āNo way!ā Jungkook exclaimed, boyish charm shining through. You threw your head back and laughed at the distant memory of heavy rye bags further ladened by its ever chirpy tune, how everyone within earshot of the commercial was willing to commit property damage in order to make it cease. āOh my God, I feel myself losing my mind all over again,ā you groaned, scrunching your hair into your fists as a demonstration of near insanity. Your date continually chuckled as he set the dripping porcelain aside and haphazardly dried his hands on his apron which he quickly untied and hung over the edge of the kitchen counter. āPlease wait before you lose your mind, I have an idea,ā he chortled, setting off in a slow jog towards the other end of his apartment. Naturally, you raised your body from the confines of his dining table chair and gravitated towards his couch which sat a short distance from the kitchen.
It wasnāt long until you heard the subtle thuds of his steps approach closer and he rounded the corner with two play-microphones in hand, also equipped with possibly the widest grin you had ever seen. āJungkook, what the hell is this?ā you directed, tossing your eyes over the plastic microphones while holding back another fit of laughter. āKaraoke, duh!ā he answered giddily, as if there wasnāt a thing in the world that could possibly break his stride at that moment in time. In sheer disbelief, you watched him as he plucked a small remote from a rectangular coffee table at your feet and navigated to YouTube, still muttering the melody under his breath while offering a small jig to the melody his voice provided. You couldnāt quite believe that he was able to spin an activity that quickly on the spot, but you were far from complaining when you were that tickled. āCover your eyes,ā he demanded, threateningly pointing a plastic pink microphone in your direction. Without protest, you threw your hands up in surrender before placing them over your closed eyes. You felt a few sharp tufts of air hit the back of your hands, and you couldnāt help but sigh. āMy eyes are closed, stop testing me.ā The pause in his shuffling informed you that you were right in your assumption that he was, in fact, shadow boxing, before he could even confirm it from his own mouth. āI was just making sureā¦ā he finally confessed, his voice adjacent to the whine of a child that had been scolded (though he remained equally as jovial as before). After some moments, a familiar instrumental blared through his speakers. It was unmistakable; My Earās Candy by Baek Jiyoung and Ok Taecyeon. An iconic anthem that only the foolish ones of the K-Pop industry would fail to mention.
āIntroducing, the iconic duo back again for one night only!ā Jungkook announced it with great theatrics. It was then that you dropped your hands to see him holding one of the microphones towards you (now, less threatening). Notably, the handheld portion of the mic now held an impish colorful glow. Shaking your head but grinning all the same, you wrapped your fingers delicately around the prop as you similarly stood to your feet and assumed your position. You didnāt exactly remember much of the choreography, not much more than the regular person, but following Jungkookās lead ensured a more than satisfactory performance for the proverbial audience. Your voice was also not the cause of applause in normal everyday life; this performance was no different. However, with the way Jungkook put in extra effort to appear impressed, you could have been fooled. In any case, it was encouraging. You could almost hear the roaring of fans when the two of you replicated the songās iconic move; your back pressed flush against his chest, his grip firm on your waist as the two of you moved your hips together, even going as far as holding the microphone up to his mouth when it was his turn to replicate his lines. Every time the two of you shared skinship, you two were unabashedly shy, Jungkookās ears dusted a clear shade of pink and your face growing warm under your foundation. Still, you two were clearly committed to a stellar performance and nothing less. Judging from the imaginary crowdās reaction, you two did just that.
āYou really killed that, I think you should be an idol,ā Jungkook spoke pointedly as he sank down on the couch behind you. While he was only slightly breathless, you were contrarily a few short steps away from wheezing. You plopped your breathless figure down beside him, taking a long minute to simply catch your breath before you spoke. āYou see how long itās taking me to recover? I donāt think so,ā you responded with a grimace as if to be appalled by your own actions. He simply shrugged as he navigated to the search bar to look for another song. āThat can easily be worked on.ā At his words, you simply blinked and regarded him with a deadpan expression. You simply couldnāt resist the temptation. āYou want me to work onā¦ my stamina?ā you drawled slowly. He finally broke his attention from the TV to furrow his eyebrows and turn to you, almost bewildered at how slowly you were speaking as if to not understand the point you were trying to make, but you could visibly see when the penny dropped in his brain. The small smile playing on his lips dropped almost instantaneously and the heat rose in his face like he was a boiling kettle. āI didnāt mean it like that- I just meant you could work out- Please donāt do this to me,ā he whined pathetically as his hands shot up to cover his face in sheer humiliation. You, on the other hand, were just short of crying from laughter.
Then ensued the legendary concert performed by the two of you in the most confused discography known to man. You were serenaded to Paul Kim and Charlie Puth, you performed SZA and some of Jungkookās solo work, the two of you did your best rendition of Megan Thee Stallionās most popular songs along with Super Juniorās. By the end of it all, you werenāt even sure what the target audience would be and if the hypothetical arena would still have attendees by the second song. The skinship never ceased; him taking his hand into yours when singing a particularly heartfelt lyric, you pulling him up to dance with you while you gave your all in front of the TV. Despite everything you shared over the course of the evening, you two never failed to show signs of timidity after every touch. It was uncharted territory, understandably, and the two of you were doing your level best to navigate it to the best of your ability. Youād like to think you were doing an okay job.
As the evening grew around you, so did the comfortability. It had ended in you sitting on the couch. legs crossed, and a Jungkook laying his head on your thigh, lazily singing along to a long forgotten ballad you could not recall the name of. Jungkook had been putting in some level of effort into his dancing and singing all evening, but with that particular song it was not unlike an actual performance. You were well and truly serenaded, if it could not be shown by how shy you were of meeting his gaze. You simply followed the lyrics on the screen while swaying slightly to the guitarās chords. Jungkook, on the other hand, remained staring straight up at you. He was admiring every single little detail about you, the ones you took in every day and the others you usually forgot about. It was so easy to do, given that you werenāt looking at him. He was truly smitten. āYouā¦ you look so pretty,ā he suddenly spoke in the middle of verses. His words quickly snapped your concentration in half, you slowly moving down to meet his gaze. There he was; eyes half lidded, microphone still posed at his chin, cheeks flooded with rouge yet eyes steadily on yours. You gulped, trying to find words to say, but he quickly cut you off. āIāve had a really nice night and I want to do this again before we start recording again,ā He murmured. āIām not sure how we can make it work, butā¦ I just needed you to know and I hope you feel the same way.ā
You were rendered speechless, unable to communicate all the racing thoughts through your head. However, you understood that sitting there with unspoken words wasnāt fair for Jungkook who had spilled his guts to you. āI, uhā¦ā you began, gulping down to lubricate your suddenly dry throat. āI really like you- like this, and Iād love to do it again,ā you spoke lowly, face growing warm once again at the Freudian slip from your lips. Of course you liked him, but it was much too early to let him know ā wasnāt it? You eyed briefly flicked up to the TV that still incessantly displayed words, and a small smile spread across your lips. āYou know, the fans are gonna cancel us over this,ā you giggled softly. After all, the two of you had failed to exit stage left prior to this vulnerable exchange; you were pouring your hearts out to each other with no regard for the poor āfansā in attendance. However, Jungkook was too preoccupied by your previous confession, holding onto your mistake in speech a little longer than you wouldāve liked.
āI like you too.ā His voice was barely above a whisper, thoughtful and quiet. You fell speechless once again as his tattooed hand raised to cup your cheek. āIf weāre gonna get canceled, letās give them something to cancel us for,ā his voice mumbled. Stroking his thumb over your cheek, he leaned slightly upwards while pulling you down. Your lips met slowly, passionately and unhurried. Your heart leapt in your chest, heat raising in your ears as your hand moved to rake through his hair. It was the simplest kiss you had ever shared with another person, a prolonged peck, but it held all the weight of a heated makeout. It wasnāt necessary; it was an unspoken statement of your feelings towards one another. There was no amount of heavy petting or breathless kisses required to communicate it. You broke it soon enough, but not without leaning down quickly to steal another peck from his lips without his immediate knowledge. You leaned back against the backrest of the couch with the widest smile on your mouth, yet your hand remained in his hair, idly drawing shapes into his scalp with the tip of your fingernail. Jungkookās hand dropped from your face as soon as you leaned away, but still kept his eyes trained on you. He had a grin on his face, but it was worlds apart from the other smiles he had offered you; this one carried unadulterated relief. You couldnāt be happier, and you were sure that he felt the same. He cleared his throat and fumbled around his body for the remote. āWe should probably round this concert up before they throw more tomatoes,ā he joked. That coaxed a small laugh from you.
A drunk live with fans leads to your boyfriend fucking you behind the camera.
rough & slow sex. code switching. smut. smau. use of nicknames. established relationship. praise kink. mentions of beer. penetration. sloppy kisses. dirty talk. backshots (oh yeah). slight aftercare. creampie (is this what they call cumming?). wc 2k
slow down ā± chase atlantic
āā š° first drabble! or rather .. first official drabble cause yeahh! also got inspired by jkās drunk life that he did ā bro kept teasing us with that jacket š¤¤
oneshot tag ā± @chwrrybby @mn1jungkook
LIKES & REBLOGS APPRECIATED
The live had been going on for almost 4 hours now ā the hotel's internet wasn't exactly great but it wasn't bad either.
It definitely was horrible, Jungkook had to restart his live 3 whole times which back in korea he usually doesn't have too but every tour won't be perfect.
A long day is spent especially when Jungkook gave his all up on stage with the rest of his members. He didn't even change when he got back to his hotel room ā he just went live and did whatever, as long as he was with ARMY that's all that mattered to him in that moment.
Luckily for you, Jungkook begged you to go on tour with them. He couldn't stand to be away from you for so long. Reluctantly you agreed simply because your boyfriend gave you his sad puppy eyes and you can never resist those ā especially because he has doe eyes.
While Jungkook was talking to his fans ā he picked up his phone and started to text you.
A knock at the door interrupted Jungkook's thoughts ā he stands up and walks towards the door, āWho is it?ā
āWho else would it be?ā
Jungkook opens the door and before you could get a word in he hugs you, wrapping his arms around you tightly, ābaby you're here!ā his words stir slightly but his smile is very bright.
He stumbled a little again and smiles at you, āWe have to keep it on the down low okay?"
hiccup
āARMY canāt see you!ā
hiccup
āI missed you ..ā, Jungkook spoke quietly as he led into his room and t hen stumbled back into his bedroom ā mumbling something incoherent and turned the camera away from the bed.
You looked around before walking towards the bedroom ā peeking in slightly, āyou still live?ā
Jungkook giggled like a little kid receiving candy, āYeah I am! don't worry though, I turned the camera around so āā
hiccup
ābaby maybe you should sleep.ā
Jungkook slowly walked towards you and hugged you ā breathing in your scent, āI really missed you.ā
āKoo Iām literally a couple doors down from you, we see each other almost everyday.ā
āI know I know but .. I can't help but miss you when you aren't around me!ā
āWhat's next you're gonna say that you need my aura to survive?ā
āYes!ā
āJungkook!ā
āWhat?? It's true baby! your aura helps me!ā
āOh really? in what way?ā
āIn every way!ā
āmhmm sure it does.ā
āI can even name a few!ā
You put your phone down on the table and cross your arms, āIāll be waiting then.ā
He giggled again ā that giggle does things to you in ways you can't explain, it's so cute.
āYou know wrapping me up like this is basically kidnapping right?ā
āeh? me kidnapping you?? not in a million years honey ā Iād never!ā
āmhm sure you wouldn't!ā
āIām serious!ā, Jungkook pulls back from the hug slightly and walks towards the bedroom ā sitting down on the bed he kicked his shoes off.
He then looked at you and patted the spot next to him, ācome and sit yeah?ā
āalways want me to be close to you hm?ā
āobviously!ā, he giggled and plopped back on the bed and pulled you down with him as soon as you sat down.
āDid you know that youāre really drunk right now?ā
āMe? drunk? noooooooo! I am not āā
hiccup
āā drunkā
āthose hiccups tell a different story.ā
Jungkook groaned and wrapped one of his legs around your waist, āplease stay ā it's boring without you here ..ā
āIt will not be boring!ā
āyes it will beeee!ā
āJungkook āā
You couldn't even get another word in as Jungkook kissed you. The kiss was a bit sloppy and slow but you didn't mind it one bit.
Whenever Jungkook was this drunk it would always lead to him fucking you senseless and then pouring his heart out to you afterwards or both happening at the same time.
ābaby āā
Jungkook groaned against your lips softly before reluctantly pulling away, āhm?ā
āDon't forget your live ..ā
āARMY āā
He kisses you.
āwill āā
He kisses you again.
ābe āā
A third kiss to your soft lips.
āfine āā
Jungkook kisses you for a fourth and final time causing your head to spin a little by how intense the kisses were ā they were infact not intense and very soft.
ākoo āā
Another soft kiss to your lips made you giggle which made him giggle ā you both were on the bed giggling like teenagers who just witnessed something funny hours prior and still finds it funny now.
āYouāre so silly!ā
āyeah? I consider myself more of a charmer ..ā
āreally huh?ā
āyeah ..ā
ācare to prove it?ā
Jungkook giggled once more before locking his lips with yours yet again. This time he slipped his tongue inside of your mouth ā both of your tongues dancing together.
You could even taste the few beers he had throughout the night.
Your eyes were closed and so were his but you opened yours for a brief moment and glanced over to where the live was still going and tapped Jungkookās arm twice ā that's been the signal since you both started seeing each other, whenever one of you felt uncomfortable or wanted to stop, all you had to do was tap twice, doesn't matter where or how, just tap twice and everything stops.
Jungkook opened his eyes ā looking at you he briefly pulled his lips away to focus all of his attention on you, āyes baby?ā
āthe live is still going koo ..ā
āIt's not like ARMY can hear anything ā we're all the way over here and the camera is all the way over there.ā he smirked slightly and glanced over to the camera then back at you, āunless ..ā
You look at him ā that damn look gets you every time, āWhat are you plotting now?ā
āme? plotting something? nooooo baby I wouldn't do that to you, not now at least ..ā
āyeah so you're almost always up to something and you're making that face again so what are you planning hm?ā
ādon't get mad at me but āā
āI normally always get mad whenever you say something like that.ā
Jungkook smirks grew slightly wider, āWhat if we .. fucked behind the camera?ā
You sat up ā one of your elbows rested on the bed as you looked over to the camera and then back at Jungkook and then watched as he took his denim jacket off revealing his bare skin and then walking over behind the camera and grabbing it.
He grabbed the camera a bit firmly and lifted it up ā walking back over to the bed he placed the camera a few feet away from the bed and sat it on the chair he was previously sitting on, āI'm gonna be a few more minutes ARMY ā wait for me yeah?ā
āIām pretty sure the camera will pickup the noise koo ..ā
He looked at you and ran his fingers through his hair and he grinned, ānot if we're quiet.ā
Jungkook kicked off his boots and socks ā looking at you he starts to unbuckle his pants, throwing his belt onto the floor and unzipping his pants.
Once his pants were finally off he climed onto the bed and hovered over you ā his phone started to ding but he ignored it. His phone continued to ding so he picked it up and answered whoever was texting him.
A few minutes later he finally put his phone back down and silenced it, ānow where were we?ā
āpretty sure you were going to sleepā
āhah .. nice try babyā
āit was worth a sh āā
Jungkook had kissed you to shut you up ā god he really knows how to push all of your buttons just right.
You try to speak but it turns into a gasp as Jungkook slips his tongue inside of your mouth. He snickered slightly and continued to kiss you ā each moment that passes by things get more heated.
ābaby āā
āshh āā
The kiss got even more heated ā his hands romaing over your body, lifting and tugging at things ā first your shirt went, then your shoes and socks ā followed by your pants and finally your underwear.
āshit āā, you couldn't help but shiver the closer his fingers got to your pretty pussy.
Jungkookās eyes were half-lidded as he looked up at you, āYou like that huh?ā
You closed your eyes and leaned your head back, ādo it again.ā
Jungkook snickered, āI have a better idea.ā
āand that is?ā
Jungkook hooked one of his fingers onto his boxers and slid them off his eyes never left yours, āturn over onto your stomach.ā
You looked up at him and tilted your head, ālike right now?ā
āyes.ā
āokay okay!ā, You sat up on the bed and then flipped your body over so that your stomach was on the bed.
ālift your hips for me yeah?ā
You simply nodded and lifted your hips.
āsweetheart ..ā
āhm?ā
āI need you to do me a favor ..ā
āwhat is it?ā
ātry to stay quiet for me?ā
Before you could say anything Jungkook ligned up his cock towards your ass crack and slowly pushed in.
āfuuuuuckkk .. you're so tightt ..ā, he let out a breathy groan and leaned his head back briefly.
He shut his eyes before opening them back up again ā pushing his cock all the way inside of you and then pulling back out only to slam back in was driving you mad.
āyou're doing so good sweetheart ..ā
The next few moments began to blur ā the fans couldn't hear anything aside from a few of rustling sheets and occasional gasps which Jungkook was taking care of.
Occasionally a few moans and lewd noises would escape hear and there but that just made Jungkook more determined ā every moan, every gasp, every lewd noise that the camera would pick up Jungkook would pick up the pace and move faster, whispering filthy praises such as, ābe a good girl and take it all yeah?ā or other words like ātake it all .. you can do it ..ā and a few more filthy praises followed.
Jungkookās stamina was insane, he could go all night if he really wanted to and pushed himself but he knew youād be worn out after a few rounds much less the first round, not everyoneās body is like his and that's fine.
Just as you were about to cum ā he pulls out and flips you over onto your back, looking down at you āspread your legs for me pretty ..ā you nodded and spread your legs and with a slow thrust inside of you he groaned.
Your pretty pussy started to clench around Jungkookās cock sinking him in deeper, ās - shit ā ..ā
His groans and your moans grew louder and eventually Jungkook got so drunk off of your pussy that his words slurred even more and it was worst this time.
āsāgood honey .. cum fāme yeah? don't be s- shy ..ā
Jungkook started to sloppily kiss you while picking up the pace.
āo- oh ā .. baby please ..ā
āplease sāwhat hm?ā
āplease .. oh please let me cum please ..ā
āyou know I can't say no when you beg ..ā
Jungkook groaned and his already fast pace became animalistic ā he was getting so lost while being inside of you. He was so deep inside of you and so drunk off of you that he hadn't realized you made a mess.
Jungkook's eyes were drooping but he still managed to stand up and put his underwear on along with carrying you to the bathroom sink.
He grabbed a washcloth and wet it with warm water ā wringing it out he started to clean your thighs, and then working his way up to your inner thighs and then your most sensitive part, being extra careful at where to wipe.
After cleaning you up he picks you up and walks back over to the bed and sets you down, āgonna get one of my shirts fāyou to wear mkay?ā you could only nod barely as your eyes were drooping as well.
Jungkook stumbled over to his open suitcase and grabbed a random shirt of his ā walking back over to you he lifted the shirt up, ācāmon baby .. you need a shirt on .. don't want you getting a cold ..ā you reluctantly sat up and lifted up your arms as high as your sleepy state would allow.
Jungkook gently pulled your arms through the sleeves and put the shirt on over you and then climbed into bed ā wrapping his arms around you and pulling the blanket out from underneath them to cover them both.
He then kissed your forehead, ācomfy?ā all you did was nod and drifted off into sleep. He stayed awake a few minutes after you fell asleep but then it got to him as well.
Warnings : none.! Just pocket sized min boongi woongi. Solely based on this. šššš gif the gifs are posted by them. @yoongikook š
You scrolled through your feed for the third time, every social media platform flooded with screenshots and gifs from the San Francisco vlog. Instagram. X. Reddit. Everywhere you looked...people were talking about that angle.
Armys were absolutely losing their minds.!!!
"BAAABBBEEEE!" you hollered from the couch, waving your phone like evidence in court. "ARMYs are going crazy! Babe........they think you're officially pocket-sized and they're fighting over who gets to carry around Min Boongi!"
Yoongi..ever so nonchalant, wandered out of the kitchen with his hair still damp from his shower. He quirked an eyebrow the moment he heard your pitch. By now...he'd learned that this particular tone usually meant one thing.
Something had gone viral.
Again.
"...Boongi what?"
You jumped off the couch, still dressed in his oversized T-shirt and your Spider-Man socks...hair frizzed in every direction and your glasses sliding down your nose. You looked borderline homeless. Standing next to you...Yoongi looked like he'd just stepped out of a magazine shoot.
You shoved the phone into his hands before he could protest.
"See yourself."
He skimmed through the screenshots...the comments..the reposts. As expected, his face barely changed. You genuinely didn't understand how someone could read absolute nonsense about himself and still look like he was checking tomorrow's weather.
"They took screenshots from the vlog," he said simply, still scrolling.
"Yes, baby, but this isn't just a screenshot. That's Boongi right there. Pocket-sized Min Boongi!" You pointed dramatically at the screen. "Oh my God, look at your eyes! Your little nose! You look exactly like those babies whose parents strap GoPros to their heads and let them wander around!"
Your voice climbed an octave with every sentence.
Yoongi winced.
"Stop screaming, woman. I can hear you just fine."
He handed your phone back before continuing.
"Besides..." he gestured vaguely at himself, "...I'm a grown-ass man, babe. And what the hell is Boongi?"
He shook his head, looking at you with quiet disbelief. "You and ARMY... I swear."
Yoongi took one slow step forward...then another...backing you toward the corner between the couch and the wall with that signature Agust D smirk.
Oh no, you knew where this was heading. Did he really think acting all sexy would make him less pocket-sized?
He closed the distance. He thought he had you trapped..arms braced on either side of you, close enough that you could smell his shampoo and feel the warmth radiating off his chest. His eyes narrowed...playful but trying so hard to look intimidating.
"Princess, if I were you I wouldn't challenge me," he murmured, voice low and victorious. "You're smarter than that. No?"
Oh damn. How could a person like him look so pocket-sized and devastating at the same time?
You tilted your head like you were folding...all sweet and compliant...stepping just a tiny bit closer until your lips hovered right by his ear. You felt his breath pick up a heavier note.
Your lips slightly touched his ear and then you whispered, "Pocket-sized Boongi Woongi."
His eyes widened as you ducked under his arm like a greased raccoon...cackling as you bolted across the living room..Spider-Man socks slipping on the floor.
"YAH!" Yoongi laugh-yelled...immediately giving chase. His damp hair flopped into his eyes as he rounded the couch..nearly knocking over a lamp in the process. "Min Y/N, get back here!"
You ran around the other side as he chased you. "Come on, grandpa? This slow? Show some energy, old man!" You laughed out loud...rage-baiting your husband even more.
He widened his eyes and feigned fake hurt as he sped up and came up behind you. You squealed as you felt his hands reach up your shirt. He finally caught you by the waist near the kitchen...both of you stumbling into the corner of the marble..laughing and cackling like crazy. He buried his burning face in your neck..grumbling against your skin.
"You're a menace, baby... the worst."
You shook with laughter...melting into his touch. "Oh, you absolutely love that," you stated confidently.
Summary: As an agent you must remain anonymous. No names, no pseudonyms, nothing that can identify you as an individual rather than a cog in the machine called Epoch. When the violence starts to get to you, the reputation of a good agent slips through your fingers. You burn through handler after handler, until you're given one last opportunity to live up to the agency's expectations. What should be a simple task becomes near impossible when you are met by the deep voice of your new handler. You find yourselves divulging detail after detail, until unknowing becomes impossible and living becomes an inconvenience to the agency that built you.
Tags and Warnings (To Be Updated): Spy AU, Angst, Slow Burn, Potential Smut, Yearning, Major and Minor Character Death, Violence, Descriptions of PTSD and PTSD Episodes, Depersonalization, Derealization, Forced Anonymity, Crisis of Identity, Memory Distrust, Sociopolitical Conflicts, Systemic Control
Chapter Specific Warnings: Blood and Gore, Violence, Gun Violence, Minor Character Death, Life or Death Situations, Child Death, Derealization, Dissociation, Descriptions of a PTSD Episode, Hallucinations, Breaks From Reality, Suicidal Ideation
Author's Note: Ok welcome to the first fic I have ever posted, be nice to me pls and thank u!! This chapter functions as the prologue so you will not meet Yoongi in this one, but I promise he will be introduced in chapter 2. This is giving you a look at our main character and the events that lead her to getting assigned to Yoongi as her handler. And please look at the warnings, this chapter is very violent and quite a heavy read. I had to give a look at the reality these agents face and how uncaring their handlers typically are. I'll be holding your hand through the screen during the rough parts. Enjoy!
You had done this job long enough to know when a mission was about to go to shit.Ā
You woke up that morning to the buzzing of your ear piece on the bedside table. Its bright red glow pulsing, scattering crimson hues across the back of your eyeballs. You groaned, turning to bury your face into the pillow beneath you. Shielding your sleeping self from the constant flash of light. It wasn't the first time you were woken up like this, and in your sleep-addled mind you still knew exactly what it meant. A mission given to you directly from your handler. No job boards, no scrambling to get good pay with a low risk to your personal well-being. A mission picked out specifically for you. Orders coming straight from the top.Ā
And that had a tendency to never go well.Ā
You sigh into your pillow, vision still obscured by your face plant into the cushion. One deep breath. In and out. You could do this. You had to do this.Ā
Bracing your palms flat against the mattress you rise slowly. Squinting and blinking rapidly as your eyes try to adjust to the darknessĀ and the constant strobe at your side. You just barely make out the digits on the clock by your bed. 0200.Ā
Too fucking early. That's points off the "mission go well" counter.Ā
You swing your legs off the side of the bed, already reaching down to move loose floorboards out of the way. To those who wouldn't know what to look for, the sight underneath the wood would be largely underwhelming. A dusty book, an old tea tin and a biscuit package that was starting to grow mildew.Ā
You slide down to the floor and swipe the ear piece from the table on your way down. Arranging yourself to sit criss-cross you grab the items out of the floorboards and hook the blinking device into your right ear. Your fingers fumble with the dial, turning until the feedback goes from a high pitched screech to a dull hum. When you find it, you flick a small notch at the top of the device.Ā
"Agent reporting", you say and begin to open the filthy items.Ā
A crackly voice echoes in your ear. Old and creaky, making the feedback of your earpiece sound that much worse.Ā
"Extraction. 44 degrees North, 26 degrees West".Ā
You furrow your brows and hook a finger into the dusty old book. Flipping to a practiced location, halfway into it, a hollowed out section holding an old 9mm. "The old boarding schools? What's the target?".Ā
"Female, Straad. Civilian".Ā
You freeze, halting in your twisting of a silencer onto the end of your gun. "A person? Am I transporting, what's my time line?".Ā
"no transportation, other agents will handle that. Deliver the target to the west bay of the complex, there is an old loading dock. Transfer of goods will occur there. You have an hour".Ā
You fly through assembling your weapon and pocket extra magazines from the old tea tin. You swear, clumsily knocking the containers back into the floor and kicking the wood back into place. "Shit, you could have led with that you know? It's going to take 20 minutes to get there! Target description", you bark out. Flinging clothes off of your body and throwing on tactical gear with frantic urgency.Ā
You are midway through lacing your boots when the crackling voice returns. "You have your description".Ā
You halt in your task once more, laces hooked around your thumbs. "Oh, you're fucking kidding".Ā
"Female, Straad, Civilian", the handler repeats.Ā
Delightful, what a clear statement. Like that gives you a lick of sense. You are in Lekestraad for gods sake. It would take you all of 5 minutes to bump into "female, straad, civilian".Ā
"What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? Did you feel like narrowing it down to a city, rather than the entire country?".Ā
"I'm sorry, but further information is classified".Ā
"Classified?", you let out a shocked laugh and finish lacing up your boots. You reach for your bullet proof vest, pulling it over your head and then strapping a knife to the side of your thigh. "Did the council want me to succeed in this mission, or is this some incredibly late hazing?".Ā
"The target will be the only civilian, no further information is necessary".Ā
"The only civilian?", you repeat. "just who exactly is in the building?", but you already knew the answer before it came.Ā
Classified.Ā
Said in that crackly voice you were beginning to fear would lead you into a very painful and arduous mission. You look to your pistol hanging at your side, the knife on the other. The standard weapons issued to all agents. The only weapons they were allowed to keep on their person. It was built for stealth, simple in and out missions. Anything requiring combat was to be issued on a mission by mission basis.Ā
"Do I need a different weapon?", you ask incredulously.Ā
"No time for a supply center, pistol only. You will be fine agent".Ā
You fume to yourself, not quite ready to get into with the old man when you just woke up 5 minutes ago. If the issuers didn't move, you would just ignore him and go get properly supplied yourself. But you needed direction, guidance. The only one who knew where supply would be is in your ear telling you to figure it out. Do with what you have. And with your recent history with Epoch, you could not afford to risk a mission. Especially not by disobeying direct orders.
Ā So with a slow, creeping sense of dread, you watch the mental "mission go well" counter spin triple digits into a casino jack-pot. But instead of money, you know you are awarded an absolute fucking shit show.Ā Ā
"Fine, ok", you whisper to yourself. It was just extraction, those were relatively easy missions. No blood, no violence justā¦ get the target and move her somewhere else. You could do that.Ā
You take one deep steadying breath, pulling your mask over your face, letting the fabric mold to the contours and curves of it. The one barrier between you and the person the agency molded you into. All you had to do was survive.
"Agent on the move".Ā
At any other point in the year, you would have to put far more energy into stealthing. Any other location even. As it was, your objective put you right in the middle of the old boarding schools. A remnant from the time of unification. Cultural erasure under the guise of education and peace. It was like misery rolled off from the concrete in waves. The towering prison architecture sloping over you, casting you in shadow as the snowfall quieted your footsteps. It felt every bit as oppressive as you were sure it did when the schools were open. And you could taste it in the air, the syllables mothers spoke that their children forgot.Ā
Histories of the old war, the current war. Memories from a time many would like to ignore, boarded up and abandoned. A new city built over the scars, so nobody else could see them.Ā
In short, no one was just walking around the neighborhood. The few that were here were ah- indisposed. So to speak.Ā
Thus, instead of darting around back alleys and taking quadruple the time it would take to reach your assignment, today you were able to waltz right up the sidewalk.Ā
"Status?", the handler asks in your ear.Ā
"I can see it up ahead, 5 minutes", you say low and slow. Voice hushed to match the quiet serenity of the snowfall around you.Ā
"Good, enter in from the northeastern corner. There is an old service door which should be left unguarded. Observations of the location indicate that the target is being held on the 5th floor. There will be a stairwell in the same hall that the basement leads you out of".Ā
You hum your affirmation. Ducking around foliage to keep in shadow for your journey up to the building. The streetlights were old, and mostly defunct. Many flickered in and out, long bursts of darkness before sputtering into life again. It offered you a convenient path right up to the service door, dark combat gear matching the shadows perfectly.Ā
The door itself is just a well in the ground. The entrance to an old cellar or basement. You slink down the stairs with practiced movements, minimizing your risk of potential sighting. You reach the iron door, rusted and red with age. Chains are piled up in the corners of the cellar, broken with an even split. A cut, and there is an old keypad which is so aged that the oils of previous fingers have melted through the plastic.Ā
Ā "The chains have been cut", you say in a hushed voice.Ā
"By us", says your handler. "Observations indicate that the service door has remained unused".Ā
"And you left the chains out for them to find?", you ask, trying to shake off the odd feeling this assignment keeps giving you. The whole thing just felt tooā¦ rushed. Not to mention sloppy, but that was a whole separate issue. It wasn't exactly uncommon either, for a handler to get a slapdash poorly put together mission. Then, instead of tying up loose ends themselves just leaving it to the agent to pick up the slack.Ā
"Not by me", he responds.Ā
You huff, rolling your eyes and turning to rest against the door. "The recon team then".Ā
"I'm not their handler".Ā
"Yeah? Then file a formal complaint, I don't intend to get shot today because someone else did their job shitty. What's the code?", you bark.Ā
"0-8-4-7", the handler says, voice starting to have a twinge of annoyance to it.Ā
Turning to the keypad you punch in the numbers, as best you can with the buttons nearly melted away. "How did you even figure this out?", you mutter to yourself as you slide open the door. "Have some poor greenie punch in all possible combos until they found the right one?".Ā
"Agent, focus on the mission".Ā
You roll your eyes and reach into one of your pouches to pull out a flashlight. "You are absolutely exhausting, you know that?". You give the end of the flashlight a couple of good whacks. The force of it flickering the light to life as you scan the dark room the door puts you in.Ā
It seemed to be just an old storage room. An old water heater, furnace. Old desks and chairs stacked precariously on top of each other, turned grey with years worth of dust settling over them. You move slowly around the room, pistol held out in front of you. Spending a couple of moments, you do a slow perimeter and catalogue the lack of footsteps in the dirt on the floor. "Basement is clear, proceeding". You move forward slowly, coming upon a large stairway. The steps were wooden, beat up. A few odd nails sticking up from the wood bent at an angle, like whoever built it just slapped random wood together and called it good. Gently, you press down on the step, not allowing your full weight to settle onto it. Testing the dips and bends, seeing which sections would cause any creaks and groans. You traverse them quickly, but cautiously.Ā
"I've reached the main floor entrance", you say, pausing to test the door handle. It moves a couple inches before reaching an invisible barrier, which prevents you from fully twisting it. "It's locked".Ā
"Tools, agent", the old man grunts in your ear impatiently.Ā
You scoff quietly to yourself, pulling out a lock pick kit. "Thought you had recon run this path", you say, inserting needles into the lock and begin to feel around the inner mechanisms.Ā
"Current occupants must have locked it".Ā
"Righhhht", you drawl and mutter to yourself. "These mysterious non-civilian occupants". Your brows furrow as you concentrate on moving the pieces inside the lock. You just catch on a small sliding piece when your thoughts are interrupted by the far away sound of something sharp. Something launched with velocity, repeated, a loud and aggressive sound. Bullets. You drop the needles, and turn to press your ear to the door. Counting to yourself there's 1, 2ā¦ 3? Alternating shots, hard to discern with them layering over each other. Several gun men, a full fire fight by the sounds of it. But the sounds are softened, not as loud as a typical shot would be. Silencers, they were using silencers.Ā
"Gunfire, lots of it", you whisper. "transportation team?". It is silent for a couple of moments.Ā
"No, transportation was directed specifically to only transfer goods. They should be armed no more than you. They shouldn't even be here yet. Pick up is at 0300".Ā
You swallow. "Friendly fire?"
The handler makes a noise of disagreement. "the only non-civilians in location should be hirelings. Protection for the target".Ā
"then who the hell is firing?".Ā
The question bears down on you both, implications heavy and dread growing.Ā
"Updated objective agent. The end goal remains extraction but nowā¦ for now it's extermination".Ā
The word dawns on you slowly, fuzzy like the static in your ears. When it processes you feel your breath pick up speed, and you flex your fingers against your gun, the tips of them starting to go a little numb. You gasp quietly to yourself, system shocked like you had just been plunged into ice cold water.Ā
"No", you say firmly.Ā
"This is not up for negotiation, you have your new objective", the words come out steely.Ā
"You can't-", and you gulp down the shouts that want to come screaming from your vocal chords. He can't ask you to do this, you won't do this. Not this many people, not all at once. Not by your gun. "What do you expect me to do? I have one pistol, I can tell-", you pause to listen to the gunfire again. "These have to at least be semi-automatic, if not fully. My Kevlar is not built to withstand those shots. I only have 41 bullets, I would have to get a one shot kill for everybody and I'm fucked if there's anymore targets than that!".Ā
"Then take down a target and use their weapon".Ā
You imagine operating a militarized weapon and shudder to yourself. You had seen what they could do to bodies. Turn them unrecognizable, vaporize them into nothing but a bloody heap. The thought of it turns you a little sick. "No", you repeat firmly. "Call for back-up, this is not a one agent mission".Ā
"I was specifically instructed to minimize agent contact with the target. I will call for no one else. Your objective is extermination".Ā
"You were given instructions with old information. This is the new information, the parameters need changed-".
You are interrupted by a snarling, angry voice in your ear. "I am your superior, you do not give me orders, I give them to you. That is an order, agent".Ā
You flinch, head drooping into your hands. You feel the cold harsh lines of the pistol digging into your cheek. So much bloodā¦ it was going to be so much blood. You saw different outcomes spastically rushing through your mind. All ending with a violent and bloody death. But the ones where you succeed- you knew it was going to be up close and personal. You were going to have to get past those weapons, look them in the eye as youā¦Ā
"Please don't make me do this", you whisper to the uncaring voice in your ear.Ā
"You've killed before", says the handler, pausing to wait for your answer. It's a prompt that unlocks some part of you. The old uncaring agent that you used to be. Who was able to wash blood from her fingernails without thinking of the face it came from. Some part of you leaves itself as you are once again faced with the choices Epoch makes for you.Ā
"And I will do so again", you breathe. Finally, you wrench yourself from the floor, finish the picking of the lock and push past the door that will lead you to gods' know where.Ā
"All of them agent, no extraction until not a single one is left".Ā
In other words, figure it out.Ā
"Understood", you say, leaning into the hallway. You do a brief check of the area, no targets visible. Shots still sounding far away. You would have to delve deeper to find the fight.Ā
Darting out into the hallway you lead with your gun, prepared to fire at the slightest sign of movement. It's how you were going to get through. To survive what you were beginning to believe was just an elaborate scheme to kill you off. You knew your handler didn't care for you. Not that any handler ever cared for the agents they threw into missions. Your last 4 certainly didn't. But this one, you swore this guy hated your guts. Possibly even more than you hated him. Did he choose an impossible mission just to get rid of you? So he didn't have to take the reputation hit of requesting a transfer? I mean, none of this made any sense. A target you had to capture, to identify on sight, but any knowledge of her was classified. That meant she was someone important, key to protecting the creed. That should result in more agents, not less. Which means logically, there was something being hidden from you. Information so important that if you were to learn moreā¦ well. It would be easier to handle a couple agents rather than a whole squadron who knew too much. And these orders given to you, not getting proper supply, and choosing to exterminate an entire building of people.Ā
Your handler was going rogue, you knew it. No sane person would make these orders, no leadership would risk a target on the slim chance one agent could accomplish this task. He was desperate, and you had no idea why.Ā
You turn a corner, hallway widening into what looked to be a play room. There were decaying plushies everywhere, old circular rugs and toys scattered about the area. Small kitchens and other things for young girls to play grown-up. Set out and left in their spots like every kid who used to go here all got up and left at the same time. The sounds of bullets spraying were steadily getting louder and louder. There was a second entrance on the other side of the room, opposite of where you entered. Whoever was in here, the sounds were coming from that direction. They would have to walk right through here to make it to the stairs that led to other floors. The area you came from. You quickly scan the room, locating a desk in the southwest corner. It was the perfect spot to sit and wait. There was a wooden board in the front so they wouldn't see you as they entered, and it provided cover for whatever weapons they had on them. You snatch a toy compact mirror off one of the faux vanity desks, the mirror is small and warped. But it was reflective enough to allow you to see behind the desk. You slide underneath it, pushing an old office chair out of the way and place the old compact on its surface. Pointed so you could watch the back entrance, and prepare for whatever was coming to you.Ā
It took several minutes for them to reach the play room. Their scuffle slows their pace significantly. You see two vague figures on the mirror's surface, armored but in clothing similar to you. Not military then, maybe mercenaries. They were shuffling back slowly, shooting in front of them and occasionally looking around the room.Ā
"Cover!", one of them shouts. "Get cover!".Ā
"On it!", the other one shouts back, turning and sprinting through the room. You watch as his path leads straight towards the desk, your muscles tensing and preparing to launch from your hiding spot. Before you can take a full breath, the man has traversed the room and launched himself over it. You hear the sounds of him skidding along the surface as he knocks your mirror to the side. He collapses down to the floor in front of you, weapon held at an awkward angle, tip of the barrel brushing against the floor. As he falls, he makes eye contact with you, eyes widening slightly as he tries to adjust his weapon that is too big for the space. Too late, too slow. Your gun is pointed and with a sharp, quiet bang, you paint the walls with a fresh coat it has not seen in decades.Ā
You rush forward, trying to untangle the weapon from the body before his partner turns and starts shooting at you. Your eyes pointedly look away from his face, away from the walls. The only type of thought in your head is mission objectives. Target down, several approaching. Fire imminent behind you. Retrieve the weapon, take down the second target. Cold clinical analysis. You didn't have time to feel afraid.Ā Ā Ā Ā
As you wrench the strap of the rifle off of the body, you hear the sound of thundering footsteps in the distance. The man in the room takes another volley of shots in their direction. He's yelling, shouting for his partner. The pitch of it growing more frantic the longer he and the approaching group trade shots.Ā
"I said get cover! I need back-up Cas-".Ā
No. Don't think about it. You don't want to know.Ā
You continue patting down the uniform of the body in front of you. Finding extra rounds and pocketing them. You press against the drawers of the desk, turning slightly while you wait for the other team to arrive. Rifle pressed into your chest, hands on the trigger, prepared to launch an assault.Ā
You hear it when it happens, all the violent bloody details of it. The panicked sounds of the man. The brief fight he puts up, the sounds he makes as he chokes on his own blood. And you sit there the whole time, pressed up against the body he called his partner, and let them hurt each other before you finish the job.Ā
Quiet, unnervingly quiet. Your breath shakes, your fingers slip against the trigger as the sweat of your own hands turns the metal slick.Ā
"Wasn't there another one?", the new target asks. And in that brief moment where they realize there is a danger they have not accounted for, you are roaring up from the desk to place a bullet between their eyes.Ā
You crouch, head barely visible above the surface of the desk and brace the rifle onto it. Eyes cataloguing the number of targets in a second, 3. 3 who have all seen you and are preparing to take shots. You take several before their fingers can even twitch along a trigger. The first, a one shot kill, right in the head, between the only space his helmet did not cover. The outcome is repulsive, an explosion of-Ā
It distracts the second target long enough for you to down him, shot fired into a shoulder, and then another in his Kevlar padded abdomen. The force of the shots wind him, the velocity stumbling as he trips over dusty old toys. You duck behind the desk once more, preparing for the incoming shots from the 3rd target who remains standing.Ā
You barely have enough time to tuck behind the drawers of the desk rather than the thin padded front, when bullets are ripping holes in the old particle board. Embedding themselves into the wall and body Ā in front of you. The heat of them brushes by your side, a pressure uncomfortably close to the vulnerable tissue of your ribs. They whizz by, just narrowly missing your own Kevlar padded side.Ā
Crouching, you start to turn and come around the edge of the desk, rather than poking your head over. You expected their guns to be trained right at the spot you popped up and you were not going to give them a 2nd chance to try to shoot faster than you.
Ā As you just peak out from the edge, you see the uninjured one pulling a walkie-talkie affixed to his shoulder close to his mouth. Buttons pressed down he shouts into the device "new assailant!, female to the north. It's gotta be Ep-". You hold down the trigger, gun ripping a trail of carnage across him. He falls, body going limp and twitching in a growing pool around him. The other flinches, trying to operate the large rifle one handed, as you rendered the other one useless with a shot to the shoulder. Too slow, almost laughably so. In a pitying way. The third is quiet before he even gets the chance to properly point his gun.Ā
Your eyes flick across the room once more, making sure there are no other targets hiding in the corners. When you see nothing but empty space you sprint forward, snatching the walkie-talkie off of the body and pocketing it.Ā
Breathless and panting you turn tail and run straight back the way you came. To the old stairwell that will lead you to other floors. Pushing yourself to go faster, trying to get there before any squadrons could meet you head on in an open hallway. There is chatter coming from the walkie.Ā
"Alek, status? We will send a group down to your area".Ā
You fly past old tattered posters, sliding your way through corners and barreling forward. "Target alerted other squadrons of my presence. It sounded like-", you gasp. The pace turns your words into a stuttered mess. "They know I'm with Epoch!".Ā
"Objective remains the same, exterminate all targets-".Ā
You interrupt him, yelling into the receiver. "God dammit, if you're not going to say anything helpful I would rather you just shut the hell up!". You turn on your heel, boots screeching as the plastic slides across the linoleum floor. You skid in front of the stairwell, launching yourself up the first flight of stairs without pause. You can feel the stairs vibrate as dozens of feet pound down them to meet you.Ā
It was not a good location to fight in at all. Tight, close quarters, nowhere to take cover and it wasn't easy to run away if you had to. The way stairwells are built, turning corner after corner, it significantly reduces your speed and running up an incline expends far more energy. You were going to be packed like rats, crunched up in the staircase together.Ā However, at the same time, whoever was coming down the stairs was going to be limited by the same factors you were.Ā
You are just about to crest the platform to the 3rd level when you encounter your first target on the stairs. Taking the steps two at a time he traverses them quickly, a second hireling just behind him. Their weapons are raised, one shouts "assailant spotted!", up the stairs.Ā
You hold down the rifle trigger, one long press and let the bullets spray haphazardly in the stairwell. The bodies fall and roll down the stairs, limbs twisted at odd angles. You leave bloody footprints along the stairs as you continue your path of violence. Trigger held down, letting the bullets catch wherever. Not conserving ammo, just concerned about getting targets down before they could get you.Ā
In the attention you could manage to give them, you saw that not every target had the same weapon. The same armor even. Some were strapped with Kevlar, rifles held at the ready like the targets you killed downstairs. Othersā¦ others just had pistols, hand guns. Small weapons that couldn't hold a candle to this massacre dressed in metal clothing.Ā
Your weapon clicks repeatedly, interrupting your thoughts. You press down on the trigger harder click click click. No bullets leave the barrel.Ā
"Fuck!", you swear. Hands fumbling in panic, trying to reach the place you pocketed those extra mags. The target in front of you takes the opportunity to strike. Shooting a couple times he places a few bullets in your chest. The pistol ammo is crunched against your vest and the pain of the shots stumbles you a little. You reach for your pistol, the one strapped to your belt, but he is shockingly fast for a man of his size. Huge and lumbering, arms the size of tree trunks. You scramble backwards as you see massive hands reaching for you. Hand to hand combat with this guy was sure to end in disaster. But he catches you around your belt, heaving you into the air as your rifle goes clattering down the stairs. You feel your heart launch itself into your throat as he throws you down the stairs. Butterflies scream around your stomach as you enter free-fall.Ā
You attempt to twist yourself in the air, optimize your landing as best you can. All you can really do is tuck your arms around your head, protect your skull from the painful landing you were about to take down concrete stairs.Ā
You connect with the edge of the steps on your left shoulder. You let out a choked noise, yelping in pain as the sensation fires down your nerves. The impact of the blow is felt throughout your entire arm. You careen down the stairs, tumbling and rolling. Body taking a beating even through the padded vest you have on. Your descent is stopped only by your back slamming into the railing of the stairwell. The force of it rips the air from your lungs, gasping and heaving as you try to shake off the pain.Ā
There is no time to gather yourself before the man is upon you again. Gripping your forearm in one hand he wrenches you up, shoulder screaming in protest as your arm is forced straight in the air. Blinking through the dark spots in your vision you rip a knife from the strap near your thigh. You thrust upward, towards the arm that held you aloft, and stab right into the underside of his elbow. He screams as you meet resistance, but you lean up with your body weight, serrated edges designed to slice through ligaments and bone. With a pop, you cut through the resistance and you pull backwards on the knife until you feel the joint dislocate from its socket.Ā
The man is screaming in agony, as you are instantly released from his grasp. You rush forward, knife gripped in your palm, and you strike right at his throat. The fabric of his shirt sliced in an instant, and a long gash of red opening in the tissue. You are doused in blood. Hands slipping and sliding on the grip of the knife from the gap you cut in his arm, and mask uncomfortably wet from the slash in his throat.Ā
You gasp for breath as you kick him away from you, let him tumble down the stairs. Adrenaline pumping from the encounter, sending your muscles twitchy. Prepared to spring and run, tensed for survival. You turn and scramble up the stairs, pulling your mask tighter to your face as you work to get up from your knees. Turn away from him, from the target. So you didn't have to look him in the eyes as he bled out alone among the bodies of his comrades.Ā You run, boots slipping on the gore. Fleeing up the steps until you reach the 5th floor.Ā
You pause to catch your breath, and listen to the shots fired on the other side of the door. Groups of people mowing each other down for who knows what. An endless scene of violence, of carnage. Your eye twitches at the slick feeling of your blood soaked mask.Ā Ā
"The target", you gasp. "Where is she?".Ā
"Have you exterminated all others?".Ā
"No, I'm on the 5th floor-".
"Extraction will not occur until you have eliminated-".Ā
"The target will die!", you shout. "The target might already be dead! There are two groups here all fighting and taking shots at each other. If the other isn't here to take her, then she might get caught in the crossfire. There is too much fighting, I need to locate her and pull her out!".Ā
"Your job as an agent is to make sure the objective is completed despite all obstacles-".Ā
"I am doing that!", you seethe. "My objective is to deliver goods to the extraction team! I can sweep after they're out. If they're armed with pistols, they're going to die before they can get her out of here!".Ā
"With the updated parameters-", you nearly slam your head into a wall as you hear him start ranting about the updated objective again.Ā
"God dammit, if you don't know where the target is just say that!"
There is a brief silence, before he is back in your ear spouting bullshit once more.Ā
"The observations of the complex did occur several days-".Ā
You nearly scream out loud. "Holy shit, so you actually have no idea what you're doing. I have a fucking moron in my ear hellbent on making sure I reach my demise tonight!". The statement is emphasized by you sending a kick into the 5th floor door. It swings open, hinges swiveling as you send it flying into the other side of the wall.Ā
The sight you are met with, is nothing less than a blood bath. Dozens of bodies, scattered in the hallways. All of them in different uniforms. New hirelings make it into the hallway, but they are dropped as fast as they arrive. People dressed in all black, various clothing that didn't exactly match their counterparts. Others dressed in militarized uniforms. Armored and padded, expensive weapons in their hands and at their hips. Armbands are tied around them, with a symbol stitched into it. Whoever these groups were, one of them was clearly organized. Not to mention well funded.Ā
You dart forward, sliding onto your knees to search one of the bodies. You grab at his arm, ripping at the band tied around his bicep. Four circles, all intertwined with each other, S curves leaving one and forming the other. It looked like some sort of complex knot. You stuff the cloth into your boot. If your handler didn't have any idea what was going on here, you were going to make damn sure you could see these guys coming in the future.Ā
You continue on, opening old doors, checking classrooms for a woman. Someone who would supposedly look distinctly civilian. You trade shots with targets you encounter, ammo dwindling and energy waning. You feel your moves get more and more sluggish as the number of fights you find yourself in keeps increasing.Ā
"Shit", you mutter to yourself. "There's no way I'm not past extraction time". You swing open another classroom door, leading with your gun and checking for any active targets. All you are met with is an, admittedly, alarming amount of bodies. From what you can tell they look to be the hirelings, dark mismatched clothing, no arm bands to be seen. You close the door, barring it with a chair propped up underneath the handle. A quick break, that's all you needed. Time to rest your limbs, search these guys for any extra ammo and continue with the mission.Ā
You press your back to the wall, slowly sliding down as you face the pile of bodies. The exhaustion takes you straight to the floor, legs spread out in front of you, head resting back on the brick work. You pant quietly, listening for any targets who might be creeping close to the classroom door.Ā
At first it seems like a good idea, taking a rest. Allowing your body to adjust before you launch yourself back into the fray. But as you sit there, your heart stops pounding, your breath returns to normal and your adrenalineā¦ it flat-lines.Ā
You feel nothing as you sit there, other than the dull throb ofĀ your shoulder. Then all at once there is a searing white hot pain in your side as your body allows you to feel it in full once more. It was burning, but aching like someone had cracked the side of your ribs with a bat. All the unbearable lingering sensitive ache of blunt force trauma. If you didn't know any better, if you weren't familiar with how adrenaline could mask the severity of injuries, maybe you could have been fooled into thinking that's all this is. You had been tossed around a couple of times in the mission, you could've easily broken some bones. But that burnā¦ you are violently familiar with it. This kind of pain. A sneaking sensation. Dull at first, and then all at once hitting you like a freight train. It's a slow enough feeling that it often convinces plenty of green agents to just ignore it. To just finish their mission. Press on until they notice their gear is damp with their own blood, bleeding out for the money. For the cause that chewed them up and spit them out as fast as it put a gun in their hands.Ā
Shot. You've been shot.Ā Ā Ā
You hiss, and suck in air through your teeth. A pained whistled breath. You press the butt of your heel into the bullet wound, applying pressure that makes stars burst across your vision. As you pant through the pain, the intake of air presses the damp cloth of your mask to your nose. Each breath pastes it to your skin and blood restricts the flow of air through cotton. Impatiently you set your gun on your thigh, and rip the wet fabric from your face. It falls to the ground with a sickening wet smack, staining the concrete a deep red.Ā
You begin to unbuckle your tactical gear with practiced movements. Fingers working quickly to snap off the individual pieces of your armor. Pouches and outer layers are removed, until you're left in just your undershirt. Gently, you peel it back and unstick the fabric from the bullet hole. Your fingers reach blindly into the pack that you know has emergency gauze, rummaging around blindly as you focus on the gaping hole sat in your ribs.Ā
"Extraction", you say. The word shatters the silence. A disruption to the unsettling peace of the bodies around you.Ā
"Come again?", comes a crackling voice in your ear. You wince at the fizzing and popping.Ā
"I need extraction", you repeat. "I've been shot". Your fingers finally snag on the familiar texture of gauze. Grabbing it you produce a very small roll, well used in the past. It was just enough to properly wrap the wound, but not enough to reapply.Ā
You hear a snort in your ear. "We don't extract for bullet wounds, you are trained in first aid for a reason, agent".Ā
"Yes, and I'm also trained with enough medical knowledge to tell you when I need extraction. I was shot in the ribs, send a team to secure the area and get me out of here", you bark at the handler.Ā
"I will search for the nearest hospital to your location and guide you-"
You interrupt him, fuming and swearing. "I'm sorry are you a fucking moron? What makes you think I can walk anywhere with a god damn hole in my ribs? Who knows what the hell the bullet nicked, I'd bleed out before I could even get to the damn lobby!".Ā
"You cannot afford extraction, we cannot afford extraction. The target is essential. If we wait for a team, enforcements will come and we will lose the opportunity to take her today. You and I both know that you are walking on thin ice as it is. Anything less than absolute success is unacceptable, agent".Ā
You snarl at him, absolutely infuriated by his idiocy, and fueled by a fierce refusal to die at the inept direction of this fucking handler. A person who sits in their chair and listens to the violence you inflict without having even a drop of blood stain them. Scott free of the consequences they throw you in daily.Ā
"I refuse to die because a coward behind a microphone commanded me to."Ā
His reply is cold and steely. Every bit the reflection of the organization you now find yourself trapped under. "You signed up because you were willing to die and kill for the creed".Ā
"No", you sneer. Just as cold, just as fierce. "I signed up to protect the creed, what good am I to it dead?".Ā
"That is for the agency to decide".Ā Ā
You nearly rip out your earpiece in your instinct to shout down the line. Almost jump to yell so loud in his ear that the vibrato would make his ears bleed. Maybe then he'd understand the toll and expectations of an agent. Instead your eyes narrow into slits, words hissed at him. This faceless man who demands you bleed and break because he decides it's necessary. A man who wouldn't so much as sneeze over your absence from the world. "The agency can decide after I'm out, for now, I choose to live".Ā
In a tense moment of anger between you, the atmosphere is punctured by the sound of a click. Something intimately familiar to you. The sound of a rotating chamber, a bullet spinning slowly, until it locks into place. Primed to take a shot. One well aimed on a distracted target and it could be lights out. Permanently.
It is instinct that moves your hand. It is survival. Something deeply seeded in the recesses of your mind, a command that sounds like "eat or be eaten".Ā
You don't even have time to properly direct the muscles to grab your gun. To face the threat before it can get you, you are moving with the propensity of a trained killer.Ā
Not a chance in hell. Before anybody can move a finger along a trigger, a gun is in your hand and you are once more the architect of someone's end.Ā
The kickback barely moves your hand, the sharp sound of the bullet fleeing its chamber. A sharp crack, reverberating across your eardrums. When the body slumps, when you return to yourself once more, it is with a deep sense of horror. The cold plunge of anxiety as if your head had been dunked underwater.Ā
A girl, younger than you. Certainly no older than 18, and the unfurling of a crimson flower. Petals blooming and spreading across her chest. Growing larger and larger until it stains the entirety of her white shirt. The clattering of a gun as it fell from limp fingers, sliding across the concrete away from her. And eyesā¦. eyes that were looking directly at you.Ā
Your hand trembles, fingers shake as they gently touch your cheek. You flinch when you feel the confirmation. No mask, face bare and fingers touching skin.Ā
The sounds of the world around you fizzle out as you and she look at each other. As she drifts further and further away from you. The sounds of pounding footsteps in the hallway all fall on deaf ears, as slowly the only thing you can hear in them; a high pitched ringing. Breaths come in sharp and fast. Vision hazy and arms suddenly feel as if they weigh 20 pounds.Ā
As you sit in your haze, shaking, unable to tear your eyes away from her, you process that the ringing in your ears isn't thatā¦ rather it was screaming. Someone is screaming. An angry voice is yelling right against your ear drum, it's a familiar frustration. You parse the sounds together, syllabus repeated to yourself individually.Ā
a-gentā¦.. a-gent.Ā
You take the buzzing thing from your ear, and slowly place it on the concrete by your boot. You rise slowly, braced along the wall for support. Numb, all numb. Can't feel your feet, can't tell where they are in relation to your body. If you have a body. Fingers fumble with the weapon, nearly dropping it in your trembling.Ā
The small object is still buzzing, still vibrating next to you as you catch your breath. Get a somewhat normal pace, less gasping and wheezing.Ā
agent
You cock your head slightly. Ear tilted down towards the offending device.Ā
"My name is not agent", and the statement is punctured by the crack of something being crushed beneath steel-toed boots.Ā
There is a droning sound in your ears, a long buzz. Something, someone is trying to get your attention. You absently trail your hand up to your ear, looking for something to turn off. To quiet the buzz.Ā
You slide along nothing. Just empty space. There's nothing to stop the drone.Ā
There is no device in your ear.Ā
As the thought processes, you slowly return to yourself. Vision becomes less hazy, a little less dark. You feel lighter, thin fabric rustles across your shoulders as warm air disturbs it. A mechanical sound, a whirring above you. A counter. There is gum, lightersā¦ cigarettes in the back. In front of them? A personā¦ a boy. His brows are furrowed, pinched together. Eyes dart over you, they bounce from your eyes, to your face and back again. Concerned, you decide. He's concerned. You squint your eyes as you take him in, trying to reduce the strain his- quite frankly, visually assaulting red t-shirt puts on them.Ā
"Miss", he says tentatively.Ā
You blink at him. "I'm sorry?".Ā
"It's-", his eyes dart down to your hand. "for 2 bags of ice it'sā¦ 6 keping".Ā Ā Ā
Your thumb rubs across your palm, coming into contact with something thin and papery. It crinkles as your hand moves. You try to parse together your own thoughts and memories, as old knowledge struggles to rise through the murky surface that is your current level of functioning. Your mouth feels dry as you peel your tongue from the roof of it.Ā
"It's always 5 keping", you manage to spit out.Ā
The cashier shuffles around nervously. You see sweat start to form on his brow. "The owner- he changed the prices recently. It's 3 keping a bag now". He looks at you a little pleadingly, like he's begging for you to just drop it. How long had he been trying to get your attention?
You nod slowly, wincing a little as you reach back to look for your wallet. You test various pockets, each pat down compounding the nervous energy of the service worker in front of you. Finally, you locate it in the pocket by your calf. Pulling it out you fumble around until you find the proper change and drop one keping coin into his hand along with the bill.Ā
He visibly deflates as you hand him the change. Letting out a long and audible breath. "You shouldā¦ uh-", his eyes flicker to your face again. "You should ahā¦ drink some water when you get back to your room".Ā
You quirk a brow at him. He jumps in response, rushing to bag up your ice. "Straad liquor you know its- strong! Always puts tourists on their ass".Ā
Your spine straightens in response, a chill running the length of it. "Do I look like a tourist to you?", it comes out harsher than you like. Syllables jumping wildly as you try to emphasize those trained neutral tones. It doesn't hit the right marks, makes you sound more out of place than you already did.Ā
He smiles kindly, and perhaps a little pityingly. He looks pointedly down at your clothes, "only someone who is used to cold sea air could stand to walk around in short sleeves during a straad winter".Ā
You gnash your teeth in response, his comment sending a wanting tremble through you. You lean forward and snatch the bag from his hands. "I have not smelled the sea in decades", you grind out and turn to stalk angrily towards the door. The bell above dings harshly as you push it open with more force than necessary. When you take the first step out he calls out to you again.Ā
"Miss!", he shouts. "Are youā¦ are you alright?".Ā
You freeze, foot suspended in the air. You see flashes of red, crimson on a bright white background. A face that lookedā¦Ā
Stop it.
You turn towards him, trying to smile but end up just grimacing.Ā
"I'm alright, kid", and how you wished that statement was true.Ā
When you next come to, you are watching yourself dump ice into a bathtub. There is a comically small amount of it when compared to the volume of water.Ā
What are you doing?
You brush a hand along your side, coming into contact with rough and raised scars. You run your thumb across skin you know holds a wound. You feel it there, delicate little threads are holding you together. You look down to see your skin clear of blood, but it is painted with fresh bruises. You examine the gap in your flesh closely. Clean, and definitely staunched before being stitched up. Whoever did it was trained, knew what they were doing.Ā
When did you do that?
You take a deep steadying breath and shake your head to get it clear. Leaning down you grip the edge of the tub and stretch your leg to get over the side. You wince as your muscles scream in protest, not wanting to be used after-Ā
After what?
After nothing.Ā
You lower yourself into the water and fuck- it's freezing. But the ice feels good on your bruises, on your inflamed shoulder. You press your fingers into the joint, rubbing deep circles as you whimper through the pain.Ā
Ok think, think. You turn to take in your environment, looking at the cracked and checkered tile. The old water damaged and peeling wallpaper. This is familiar. This is your bathroom. That means you're safe, home. Your wound is stitched up. You aren't bleeding and there are bandages sprawled across your sink. There is a bucket in the corner of the room, empty bottles of peroxide are scattered around it. That's used to clean-
Blood.
You flinch. Clasping your hands underneath your knees, you pull them close to your chest and press your forehead into the bone. "Please stop", you mutter. Eyes squeezed tight. "Please stop, please stop, please stop", repeated over and over to yourself like a mantra.Ā
Are you ignoring me?
You squeeze your eyes tighter, willing the thoughts away, but it is banging on your cerebral walls. A crimson flower on a bright white background. A face that you can't escape, that you just want to stop looking at it. But here it is, with such clarity. Floating around like a virus in your mind, making you look at her. At the expression when you-Ā
Does she remind you of anything?
The smell of sea air. Laughter drenched in sunlight. Hands smaller than yours, feet trailing after you. Pressed together under the covers during a storm. A name whispered in your ears, the sound of raindrops pattering on the ground.Ā
"Stop it!", you shout, voice cracking at the end.Ā
But it won't.Ā
Knobbly knees pressed together, trembling hands held in your own. Eyes wide and frightened. A card in your hand, nameless with just a number. "We could change the world", said with absolute wonder. Pinkies held up and tied to each other with a seaweed rope. "Together".Ā
Your heart is thundering in your chest. The pace of it shaking your collarbone. You launch yourself out of the tub, feet slipping as you almost send yourself careening into the ground. Just focus on the wounds. The wound, they still need bandaged. You left them on the sink.Ā
You watch your hands tremble along the basin, trying to pick up the gauze but you drop it repeatedly. You shake, wheeze, try to catch your breath. Try to just be normal.Ā
You tilt your head up, eyes catching the reflective surface of your bathroom mirror. And she is right there. Fingers gripping the edge, peaking out from it. Face leaned forward, teeth bared and looking at you with absolute disdain. Your heart stops in your chest before kicking itself into a higher gear. The velocity of it is painful, and your knees feel weak as you start to droop to the ground.Ā
The specter opens her mouth, blood running out of the corners of it. "Maybe you should just die". It sneers and tosses you a gun. A 9mm, with its rounds still loaded. The contours of it are memorized as you find your fingers naturally sliding into place. Your index finger flicks the safety off without thinking, without conscious movement. The click of it is enough to shock you back into yourself.Ā
You punch the mirror with the butt of your gun in fear. Shattering the glass and the creature before you. Shards spraying outward and catching on your hand.Ā
You don't want this.Ā
You were going to survive.Ā
But the want isn't enough. Burying it underneath old floor boards isn't enough. The tempting call of gun metal between your fingers. Whispering to you. The sounds of ocean waves and the smell of sea air.Ā
Your hands are shaking, they can barely hold the gun straight as you turn to run into the living room. You bump into walls and knock down pinned up papers as you focus on unloading the magazine from the gun. It unlocks with a distinct click and you let the pistol plummet to the floor.Ā
Trembling, you reach the only window in your shoebox apartment. The paint on the sills splitting and peeling, wood aged and grey. You unlock the latch, destroying the cobwebs that had been built around it, and start to press up on frame to open it. It slides up slowly, with a screechy groan. The wood grains rub together and make a grating noise. The cool winter air floods your lungs as you wrench it open. Small pinpricks of cold needles across your lungs and goosebumps rise on your wet skin.Ā
You push the bullets out of the magazine one by one. Your thumb presses down as you slide them out individually. Your hands shake so bad that you drop a few and have to go scrambling onto the ground to retrieve them. You get each one popped out of the magazine, palm overloaded with the amount of rounds, and you stare at the lead resting in the center of it. The breeze from the window rustles your hair. You turn gasping, chest heaving, bracing your opposite arm along the frame of your window. You lean forward, fling your hand out and let the bullets scatter in the air. The sleek shape of the casings catch the streetlamps. Brief flickers of light that quickly vanish as they tumble one by one to the ground. Clattering across the bricks, making a musical note out of each bounce and roll.Ā
Your breaths even out slightly, eyelids droop in relief as you watch them roll away. You close the window gently, rolling it shut with far more grace than you did when you were wrenching it open. The danger is reduced, but not enough to feel safe. You catch the reflection of your abandoned gun on the surface of the window.Ā
You needed to get rid of it.Ā
You could find somewhere to get more bullets. If you looked long enough, hard enough. If you were pushed hard enough. You flinch as you catch the broken shards scattered across the bathroom floor out of the corner of your eye.Ā
Somewhere you wouldn't be able to find it.Ā
You have enough wherewithal to at least pull on a shirt before you are sprinting out of your apartment. Sprinting out into the moonlight with an empty gun clutched tight in-between your fingers and the bottom of your feet stinging and numb from the snow. You dash behind apartment complexes, running through the icy grass, shuddering as the cold seeps itself into your bones. You dart through underbrush, the branches of dormant trees scrape against your exposed skin. Tripping your way through the flora until you arrive at the edge of a bank. You gasp, breaths heaving from the effort it took you to run here. You pad your way closer to the edge of the bank, watching the rushing of the river before you. It was wide, deep. Water turned brown and muddy from the rush of melting snow. The winter precipitation increased its volume drastically. The current is strong and it tears loose roots from the banks, ripping branches as it drags them deep beneath the surface of the water.Ā Ā
You look at the gun held in your hand. Eyes trace its lines, a shape you are intimately familiar with. Memories you wish would just drown. It would be carried a mile away before you could even think about jumping in after it.Ā
With as much strength as you can muster in your overworked limbs, you cock your arm back and chuck the gun into the air. It whirls across the sky, spinning across stars, and lands with a deeply satisfying plunk. Sinking down into the murky water, never to be seen again.Ā
As you watch it disappear you feel all the strength- all the fight leave you. Collapsing onto the ground, you clench reed grass between your fists, nearly crying out in relief. You shake, teeth chattering, knees stinging as you rest in the snow and ice.Ā
"There's no need to cry, my love". Hands pull you deeper into the water, small footprints dissolve with the push and pull of the tide. "Let the ocean take those memories, let the water wash them away".Ā
And you want to follow it. Deep underneath the waves.Ā
warnings: This story contains dark yandere themes, heavy infidelity and cheating, extreme power imbalance, manipulation, coercion, and subtle forcing. It includes graphic gun threats, violence, raw and explicit hate sex, degradation, humiliation, creampie, breeding kink, and child trapping elements.
summary : In a toxic arranged marriage, you are bound to the ruthless Kim Taehyung, the violent head of Kaelum Enterprises. When you catch him with his secretary late one night..the mutual hatred between you explodes into raw and angry hate sex filled with jealousy, power play and dark possession.
Author's note : I seriously advise you to only read this if youāre into extremely toxic, unhinged and morally questionable vibes. This is pure fiction / I do not promote this behavior in real life (please donāt try to recreate any of this, you will end up in jail or therapy). Strictly 21+ only. If youāre easily triggered by dark yandere chaos, close this now and go touch some grass instead. Enjoy the ride~ š
The marriage was never about love. This sham of a marriage was always about the goddamn business...fragile male egos and the violence that cursed everything it touched.
You never had a say in any of it though. Your father arranged your life like a chess piece. You were born into the kind of dirt you hated with every fiber of your being but maybe continuing to live in it was entirely your faultā¦ you never mustered the courage to leave it all behind. Even though you despised where the money came from.....you still thrived on it. The expensive clothes.. the lavish meals.. the glittering accessories... the lifestyle had you hooked.
You couldnāt imagine going a single day without it all.
So you did what cowards do.. stayed silent and took whatever your father threw at you without making a noise. Nevertheless...youād always thought heād arrange you to a decent man. Someone less violentā¦ someone more like you and less like him but he chose this darker and crueler version of everything you feared.
Lately, youād been trying desperately to forget the ring on your finger because it bound you to the man you hated more than your own father... Kim Taehyung.
He wasnāt just your husband but was the one who built Kaelum Enterprises from the ground up.. dragging it to the top through blood.. deals and violence. You despised the kind of business he did because the underground violence followed him like a shadow.... it still gave you the luxury you couldnāt live without.
Taehyung always kept the mess away from you. He never came into the spaces you shared bloodied or disheveled. He kept you clean but that didnāt mean he was nice.
Kim Taehyung hated you down to your guts. He hated everything that threatened to snatch his free will. You were convinced that if he ever got the real chance.. heād kill you without a second thought. The only thing stopping him was your fatherās invisible leash... something you still couldnāt understand. Your father wasnāt the type of man who could overpower someone like your husbandā¦ but whatever it was, it had Taehyung right where your father wanted him.
_
You got home later than usual.. around past nine. The black strappy silk dress still looked flawless on you... clinging in all the right places. People always stared when you went out... sometimes because of how you looked and sometimes because of the guards who followed you everywhere because your husband told them to.
Dinner with your friends had been nice. You were tipsy.. just that warm buzz that made everything feel a little easier.
You stepped into the penthouse and kicked your heels off in the foyer not caring where they landed because the staff would fix it later.
The whole place was quiet and for a moment you thought maybe Taehyung wasnāt home yet.
Your mom had called earlier... asking again about the progress regarding the pregnancy. You gave her the usual excuses.
Six months married and still nothing. In their world an heir was basically requiredā¦ but you barely let him touch you. How could you? You hated him too much. The only time anything had happened between you two was on your wedding night when you were both wasted....and you barely remembered it the next day.
You started walking up the stairs and thatās when you saw the light coming from his office. The door was cracked open.
Low... wet sounds were spilling out....Your stomach dropped hard.
You donāt even know why you pushed the door open... normally you wouldāve just gone to your room and pretended you heard nothing... but the alcohol made you reckless.
Taehyung was sprawled back in that big leather chair like he owned the whole damn world. His black shirt was unbuttoned.. thick thighs spread. His secretary was on her knees between them.. lips wrapped around his cock.. sucking him like she was trying to win an award. The wet and filthy sounds she made churned your stomach.
For a second your chest got tight... Disgust.. anger and something you really didnāt want to name all mixed together.
Taehyungās eyes opened slowly... sensing your presence. That lazy... lopsided smirk appeared the second he saw you standing there.
āHad a great night, wife?ā he asked, voice low and rough... thick with pleasure. He didnāt stop her instead his fingers slid into her hair and pushed her down deeper as she gagged around him.
The question sounded so fucking normal.. but in this moment it made you sick. Hate burned hot in your chest and you let out a shaky and bitter laugh.
āAt least have the fucking decency to close the door, you bastard,ā you said, voice trembling.
āWhy should I?ā he shot back... head falling back against the chair like he was enjoying this way too much.
āBecause people arenāt interested in seeing what a manwhore you are kim taehyung,ā you snapped.. fuming.
Taehyungās smirk didnāt drop but something flashed in his eyes. āAh, is that any way to talk to your dear husband, kim Y/N?ā he asked, voice mocking. āHasnāt your mother taught you better?ā taunting you.
āHavenāt you been taught to stop wetting your dick in every easy hole you find?ā you snapped right back.. voice rising and anger visible in your eyes and posture.
You turned and pointed straight at his secretary. āAnd you- Ji-eun! Or Junhee! Whatever the fuck your name is..!! if even a single squeak gets out about this... I swear Iāll make sure youāre dead.ā
Then the room went dead silent for a beat.
āBold of you to threaten my people right in front of meā¦ in my house, baby,ā Taehyung said.. almost amused. His fingers flexed tighter in the secretaryās hair as he added, āDonāt forget your place.. dear wife. Trust me, Iād be more than happy to remind you.ā
His voice had turned mean and dangerous.
Anger.. jealousy and frustration got the best of you. The words burst out before you could stop them. āI know my place very well, dear husband. Maybe you should remember yours too. Thereās no fucking way Iām carrying the child of a bastard like you. You deserve to be back on the dirty streets where you crawled out from.ā
The second the words left your mouth... even the secretary gasped... indicating that youād crossed a line.
Taehyungās expression darkened instantly. He shoved the secretary off him roughly. She scrambled to get up, trying to scurry away.. but he snapped, āSit the fuck down.ā He pointed at the leather sofa in the corner. She obeyed immediately... looking terrified like a kicked puppy.
He was already moving.. patience gone. In two strides he was right in front of you...his hand shooting out to grab your throat firmly.. making you gasp sharply.
āThe moment I find something real against your family,ā he growled.. face inches from yours, āyouāre all fucking dead.ā
You glared up at him...heart hammering still defiant. āYou canāt do shit! Daddy has a tight leash on you...husband. Better remember your place.ā
His grip tightened just a little more... thumb pressing under your jaw. His eyes were burning.
āYou think so?ā he said, voice dangerously soft. āYour father might have a leash on me right nowā¦ but Iāve got one on you too, baby. And Iāll gladly take it out on you whenever the fuck I want.ā
The grip on your throat wasnāt choking youĀ but it was more than enough to make your pulse race wildly under his fingers. Taehyungās face was so close you could smell his cologne mixed with the expensive whiskey he mustāve been drinking earlier. He was pissed....really fucking pissed.
āYou talk a lot of shit for someone who barely lets me touch her,ā he muttered, thumb stroking the side of your neck almost mockingly. āWhatās wrong, baby? Scared that if I touch you too much youāll actually start liking it? That youāll stop pretending youāre too good for my cock?ā
His words hit hard...and yiu felt your eyes sting with unwanted tears...blinking rapidly so they wouldnāt fall. You werenāt about to cry in front of him...qtleast not like this.
You tried to shove his chest but he didnāt budge an inch...the room suddenly felt way too small and suffocating.
āDonāt touch me, you bastard. Get off,ā you hissed but your voice came out breathier than you wanted...all shaky and weak.
Taehyung leaned in even closer...lips brushing your ear as he breathed, āYou barged into my office without knocking, interrupting my personal time like you own the fucking place. and now youāre acting all high and mighty?ā
āSo now youāre gonna be a good little wife and pick up right where she left off,ā he said, voice low and dangerous. āIām your husband after all. Itās your duty to please me, right?ā
āI will not,ā you seethed, glaring up at him through blurry eyes. āIāll bite it off. Donāt fucking test me.ā
Taehyungās laugh was low and ugly. His grip on your throat tightened just enough to make your pulse thunder under his thumb. āTry that and Iāll make sure the only thing youāre sucking for the next month is my cock until you learn obedience.ā
You glared up at him with pure disgust burning in your eyes. āIād rather die than put my mouth on your disgusting cock.ā
His expression turned ice-cold in an instant..without a word...he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a sleek black pistol..aiming it straight at his secretaryās head. The girl broke instantly...sobbing in terror as she looked at you with desperate..tear filled eyes.
āPleaseā¦ I donāt want to die,ā she begged, voice shaking. āPlease j-just do itā¦ Iāll do anyhing, just s- suck him, please-ā
The raw fear in her voice made your stomach twist..you hated him more than ever but you couldnāt let him pull the trigger just because you refused. She wasn't at fault overall.
āFine,ā you spat bitterly..humiliation burning through you. āIāll do it. Jus-just let her go.ā
Taehyungās lips curved into a cruel..satisfied smile but he didnāt lower the gun. āNo...She stays right there,ā he said, voice dangerously soft. āShe already saw too much tonightā¦ let her at least have the full show, hm? Consider it a lesson for her on how a real wife pleases her husband..it'll help her in future.ā
The secretary whimpered but didnāt dare move and You swallowed hard..pride shattering as you dropped to your knees in front of him. He had you where he wanted you...your hands were shaking when you wrapped your fingers around his thick cock and took him into your mouth...sucking angrily at first...rough and half heartedly.
At one point you bared your teeth..letting them scrape threateningly along his shaft.
Taehyung hissed in warning and yanked your hair back hard forcing your head up as he pressed the cold barrel of the gun briefly against your forehead. āTry that shit again,ā he growled, low and deadly, āand Iāll paint the wall with your brains instead while she watches. Now suck it like you fucking mean it..wife.ā
Terrified and seething with rage you obeyed. You relaxed your jaw and took him deeper..sucking him properly this time with wet..sloppy sounds your tongue pressing against the underside of his cock as you bobbed your head. Spit dripped down your chin while you worked him hating every second but too scared and turned on to stop. It was sick...he made you sick.
Taehyung groaned deeply his fingers tight in your hair as he guided your movements. āThatās itā¦ good girl. This is exactly how you serve your husband.ā
He kept you like that for several long..humiliating moments..enjoying your reluctant but obedient mouth and the terrified audience on the sofa before he finally yanked you off his cock with a wet pop..breathing hard. āYou still need a lot of practice, darling, but donāt worry. Iāll train you for it later,ā he commented...as if you were some broken toy that needed fixing.
He spun you around and bent you over the desk in one violent motion. Your cheek slammed against the scattered papers and spilled whiskey. The cold wet wood made you gasp. He kicked your legs wider yanking the silk dress up to your waist and tearing your panties off with a sharp rip.
You twisted...trying to push back against him even as he pinned your wrists behind your back with one large hand. āGet your filthy hands off me, you cheating piece of shitāā
His palm cracked against your ass hard enough to sting. āFilthy? Says the one whoās dripping down her thighs while calling me names.ā Two thick fingers shoved inside you without mercy..curling cruelly. He took his time..pumping them slowly and deliberately stretching you open while his thumb circled your clit with lazy pressure. The filthy sounds of his fingers working in and out of your soaked cunt filled the office.
You hated how good it feltā¦ absolutely hated the way your hips started rocking back against his hand despite yourself.
āYou think youāre better than me?ā he growled..scissoring his fingers deeper..stroking that sensitive spot inside you with infuriating precision. āParading around in that dress, letting other men stare at whatās mine, then coming home to throw a tantrum because my secretary was warming my cock? At least she knows her fucking place.ā
You laughed bitterly..breath hitching as another slow curl of his fingers made your toes curl. āYour place is in the gutter where you belong. Go finish in her mouth if youāre so desperate.ā
Taehyung pulled his fingers out leaving you clenching around nothing. He glanced over at his secretary, still frozen on the sofa, wide-eyed and trembling. āYou. Watch how a real wife takes whatās hers.ā The girl was sobbing quietly as if too scared to make a noise and just nodded pathetically.
He pressed the thick head of his cock against your entrance and pushed in slowly..inch by inch, letting you feel every thick ridge as he stretched you open. When he finally bottomed out..hips flush against your ass he stayed there..grinding deep and lazy..letting you adjust to the fullness while his hand stroked down your spine almost mockingly.
āFuck-ā you hissed, nails scraping the desk as you tried to stay rigid and defiant.
He started moving then...deep and rolling thrusts that dragged against every sensitive nerve inside you. He fucked you like he had all night to ruin you pulling out almost completely before sinking back in with deliberate force. The slow drag made your eyes roll back. Your breaths came in shaky gasps.
āFeel that?ā he murmured against your ear..leaning over you. One hand kept your wrists pinned and the other reached around to tease your clit with slow..slick circles. āThis pussy was made for me. So fucking tightā¦ greedy even when youāre spitting hate.ā
You pushed back against him harder..meeting his thrusts with your own anger. āIs this all youāve got? Pathetic. No wonder you need easy whores on their kneesāā
He snarled and fisted your hair..yanking your head back so he could bite the side of your neck..sucking a dark mark into your skin. His pace picked up gradually and hips snapping harder the wet slap of skin on skin growing louder. āCareful, Y/N. Keep running that mouth and Iāll put a baby in you just to shut you up.ā
You laughed through a moan...breathless and venomous even as pleasure coiled tighter in your belly. āYouād love that, wouldnāt you? Getting me pregnant so you can have some sort of control?ā
Taehyungās control slipped. He released your wrists and grabbed your hips with both hands and started fucking you deeper and harder..the desk creaking under the force. But you still fought twisting and desperately clawing at him...nails digging into his thigh hard enough to draw blood. He groaned at the pain..thrusting punishingly in response.
āUnfortunate for you, wife,ā he growled against your ear, voice rough and dark, ābut you will bear this bastardās child. Iām done playing games.ā His hand slid around to press possessively over your lower belly. āFrom now on this cunt is the only one getting filled...No more distractionsā¦ every last drop goes inside you until youāre swollen with my child.ā
The sick promise hit you like a drug and you clenched hard around him a broken moan escaping despite your best efforts. Your body was bending..hips pushing back to meet every thrust..back arching as pleasure overrode some of your defiance. Tears of frustration and overwhelming sensation pricked your eyes.
āFuck youāā you gasped, but the words dissolved into a whimper when he angled his hips just right and hit that perfect spot over and over.
Taehyung felt it...the way you were starting to give in. He smiled against your neck. āThatās itā¦ let go, baby. Hate me all you want, but your body knows who it belongs to.ā
He reached around again...rubbing your clit faster and perfectly in sync with his deep thrusts. The pressure built unbearably slow and intense. Your thighs trembled and your moans grew louder..less controlled. The secretaryās presence only made it more humiliating and strangely hotter.
When your orgasm finally hit..it tore through you like fire. Your walls clamped down around his cock...thighs shaking violently as you cried out. You came hard..soaking his length and body surrendering completely for those long shuddering moments while he fucked you through it...drawing it out.
Only then did Taehyung let himself go. With a guttural groan he buried himself to the hilt and came deep inside you..thick pulses of heat flooding your womb. He stayed buried...grinding lazily making sure it took.
When he finally pulled out his cum leaked slowly down your thighs. He turned you around..gripping your jaw firmly so you had to meet his eyes.
āRemember thisā¦ wife,ā he said, voice low and dangerously soft. āMy cock, my cum and my child..it's only you from now onā¦whether you like it or notā¦ youāre mine.ā
You stared back... chest heaving...legs still weak.. eyes blazing with the same toxic fire even after youād bent under his touch. A twisted feeling settled over you... from now on.. maybe your marriage wouldnāt be so boring.
"life is a party that one day ends, and you were my unforgettable dance"
title: baile inolvidable (explicit)
pairing: ex!yoongi x reader
rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; exes to lovers au
summary: thereās only one person that youāre better off never running into again. but when fate decides itās time for you to face him, you prepare yourself for complete destruction. because he never told you what you wanted, and you never told him goodbye.
note: literally nothing redeeming to say i wrote this in two days all bc of a guy wearing a jersey lol barely edited so pls excuse any typos!
note 2: also tell me why i wrote all of this and then looked for a title, only to fucking weep when this song matched perfectly. anyway, here we go, first new fic in years! enjoy and iām so sorry if it hurts a bit.
warnings: language, explicit scenes, an unforgettable dance, pining, angst but truly who is shocked anymore, men that give The Ick, exes, yoongi in that gd madrid jersey, chains (hi hello itās me), hoseok also needs his own warning, tension, more angst, kissing as a warning, guilt, yearning, yoongi hands, the ending is worth it<3
disclaimer: all characters are my own and just happen to look like members of bts! purely a work of fiction. just had a lot of feelings.
mood: baile inolvidable - bad bunny ; qlona - karol g, peso pluma
explicit warnings: under the cut!
drop date: june 30th, 2026, 7pm est
word count: 13k have mercy!
explicit warnings: manhandling, public sex, rough sex, hair/head pulling, oral (m rec), choking, cowgirl, spitting, reverse cowgirl, unprotected sex, breast play, fucking an ex lol yes thatās a warning, multiple orgasms, the chains stay on, hella backshots, emotional sex, creampie OOP, club sex reader is bad, yoongi loses his gd mind, couch sex, wall sex, chair sex, umm yeah alexa play like animals thanks
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āWhatās taking you so long!āĀ
Groaning, you concentrate on getting your lashes just right. āTold you itād be just a minute!āĀ
āI know.ā Hoseok pops into your hotel bathroom, deep neckline and even deeper scent of cologne almost making you jab yourself right in the socket. āBut itās been ten.āĀ
Itāll end up being a lot longer than that if he keeps cocking that perfect brow. Shouldnāt he know the rule of getting ready already?Ā
Done with your current task, you blink and inspect yourself in the wide mirror spanning the master bath. āYeah, a minute means twenty. So I have ten to spare, right?āĀ
Bright teeth shine as he shakes his head. And you know itās because youāre both slated to be super early anyway.Ā
Everythingās going according to schedule. All your old friends flew in yesterday, and the plan for today is to head to dinner to watch the night game with everyone. After that, youāll walk straight to the club a few blocks down that youāve heard to be the best in town.Ā
Well. Best in town for absolute eye candy. Taehyung warned that everyone thatās been to Lo Prohibito knows the dress code is simple but effective: luxurious. Unless your face card is so lethal you get in on that alone, or you happen to have celebrity status.Ā
And your confidence can only take you so far. You look fucking good, but you arenāt risking being turned away just because you were lax getting ready.Ā
So ten more minutes it is. Hobi will just have to deal with it.Ā
Goddamn, he could get in without a single issue, though. Honestly, he could be wearing a linen shirt and shorts with sandals and theyād mistake him for a millionaire. āIāll be ready before you know it,ā you say over your bare, perfumed shoulder. āYouāll be able to see your lover soon enough.āĀ
Hoseok shoots you a grin before huffing out, āGot me, huh.āĀ
āYouāre the easiest person in the world to read.ā Leaning over your makeup bag, you rummage through your brushes. āWhatever youāre thinking is always written all over your face."Ā
Quick laughter coats the bathroom in more light. āI canāt help it, okay! Itās always been that way.ā When you focus in the mirror and pat your face, he suddenly drops two pitches in tone. āSorry about yours.āĀ
Here you go again. You know exactly what heās talking about.Ā
āHobi,ā you sigh. āI donāt care anymore, okay? Itās been a month.āĀ
āI know, butā¦ā Expelling a heavy, sympathetic breath of his own, he leans against the double door entryway. That dulcet yet gravelly tone of his rolls across marble floors as he says exactly what you donāt want him to, āYou seemed pretty happy with them.āĀ
You were. In fact, you were more than happy.Ā
But something just didnāt feel right. Sure, the days you spent with your most recent fling were perfect. You felt comfortable with them, you admired how thoughtful they were and how attentive.Ā
It was the nights that made you more than hesitant.Ā
Because no matter how many times you slept together, you never felt truly understood. What you wanted, what you needed? They would get so close to getting it right, only to never reach that level of intensity and passion you were looking for.Ā
So you broke it off one quiet, cherry-red sunset on the beach weeks ago.Ā
Only to find out that they were seeing someone else the whole time anyway.Ā
Fuck love. To hell with happiness. Why do all your relationships end up this way? Why do you always attract the people that seem perfect on the surface but hide so many flaws underneath? Itās starting to fucking annoy you and you may damn well swear to the single life forever.Ā
Though. There was one relationship that didnāt exactly end this way.Ā
But youāre never thinking about that one again, so no point in shuffling through those beautiful, tragic, regretful memories now.Ā
āAnd now Iām happy without them,ā you finally respond to Hoseok, who tears his gaze from the white floors to see you staring in the mirror. āProbably happy without anyone else, actually.āĀ
What a fucking lie.Ā
āI mean, thereās time to find someone you...ā Your friend pockets a hand while adjusting his loose top, shadows naturally accenting his abdomen. āNever mind. See you out there. Love the red.āĀ
You swish the silken floor-length material of your gaudy, quite revealing dress. āThank you. This is my favorite part, look.āĀ
Hoseok watches as you stomp your leg out of the thigh-high slit so comically it catches him off guard, cackling before a lighthearted, āCareful with that!āĀ
āSays the man whoās practically naked.āĀ
All you get is a shameless shrug before your friend spins on this heel to leave, no doubt checking the texts on his phone.Ā
At least he's excited about seeing his gorgeous pull after so long. And you do not blame him one bit. The way he looks at her? She may as well be a goddess because his gaze turns almost reverent every time.Ā
A blurry memory consumes your mind like a haze, and you see completely different eyes with just as much fervor. They watch as you mount slow, chests slick with sweat and breathing deep from hours ofā
Manicured hands grip the sink as your brush skitters onto granite counters.Ā
Fuck. Never again.Ā
Never, ever, ever again.
Pull yourself together. Youāre a whole different person with a whole different future. That version of you is one you left far behind, as well as the life that came with it.Ā
You extend ten minutes into fifteen.Ā
And Hoseokās outright whistle at your emergence lets you know the extra time was worth it.Ā
ā
ā
Dinner is loud and vibrant, with the whole restaurant locked in on the game and erupting in cheers when the home team scores. Or at least, the team that the majority of fans want to win scores.Ā
You arenāt completely sure, because there are jerseys of every country everywhere you look. Itās the one time you feel a sense of togetherness, with everyone giving each other friendly jabs and your group doing and saying anything to rile each other up.Ā
Hoseok is downright lethal with his date, the two of them showing off jawlines that can kill as they watch the nearest screen. But theyāre on the other end of the long wooden table, so you have to find other people to converse with.Ā
Unfortunately, you find that the person sitting in front of you is a stranger, seemingly knowing someone else in the group and just happened to tag along. He quickly offered small talk when you all started ordering, which you already found a little awkward because you were trying to focus on what to get.Ā
Now, he keeps giving you more and more information about his achievements and endeavors, not once asking for your name. Figures.
Both the friends youāre sitting next to are no help, either.Ā
To your left, Jeonggukās checking his phone for the fiftieth time this hour, scrolling through videos to avoid having to speak to anyone.Ā
And to your right, Taehyung cheers and stands when another goal is scored, locking elbows with the stranger behind him and drinking from his glass mug. Apparently he had been making fast friends while you were entertaining the guy that keeps staring at you. How cool. Happy for him. Can you both switch seats?Ā
Your wish doesnāt get granted for another hour. So that means youāre still talking to and giving polite encouragement to this gentleman. Though the term gentleman is very, very generous. It became more than obvious he just wants to fuck from the way he's been shamelessly ogling your plunging neckline.Ā
Mercifully, Jeongguk finally saves you, leaning in and pretending to show you a reel or tiktok or whatever the fuck heās scrolling through. Instead, a text he typed into your message thread is all you see.Ā
Wanna go outside?
Going along and laughing at his fake share, you give him a grateful smile and nod. Turning to the man watching you with curiosityāand is that really jealousy?āyou excuse yourself,Ā
āWeāre gonna check out the second floor! Be right back.āĀ
Not even waiting to see nor hear his reaction.Ā Ā
ā
ā
Outside the restaurant and not on the second floor, you can finally breathe again, watching the city come alive with its vehicle rush and streetlight hum.Ā
Next to you, your tattooed savior takes a long hit of his vape, and you run a hand across the thin gold chain around your neck.Ā
Without your permission, another memory slips through your defenses. And this one proves sharper, astonishingly clearer than the first.
Hands grab a string of gold from a nightstand, and you instantly ache because you remember what comes right after. As soon as itās clipped onto a slim neck, you watch the necklace lower, and lower, right before you angle your mouth up to take it between yourā
āFuck.āĀ
Jeongguk whips his head right as your eyes snap open. āYou okay? Whatās wrong?āĀ
No. There are a thousand things wrong. You didnāt even fucking realize your vision went dark until light flooded out your unwanted nostalgia.Ā
Fuck, you hadnāt thought of that summer afternoon in years. Your reaction was visceral enough to spurn an oncoming headache. āNothing,ā you whoosh out. āWhat time is it?āĀ
āAlmost time to head over to Lo Prohibido.ā Gripping his phone, the man asks with concern, āYou sure youāre good to go?āĀ
Head pulsing, you nod. āYeah, Iām fine, just dehydrated. Can you pick a city that won't try to burn me out next time? I'm down for traveling but it's been hell here.āĀ
Unconvinced and unfazed, Jeongguk cocks his head to the door. āLetās go back in. I know your favorite person is waiting, but you gotta drink water.āĀ
āDonāt,ā you groan. āHeās cute, but I got the biggest ick like halfway in.āĀ
Your amused friend giggles as he holds the door open, āYou lasted a lot longer than I thought you would.āĀ
Laughing when more cheers erupt from inside, you give his jacketed arm a playful shove as you look down the street. āIām nice, okay? Donātāā
Your heart.Ā
It booms.Ā
In an instant, the whole world blurs, lights and bodies making solid, serpentine lines and even sound itself rolling to a deep, dull hum.
The only one you can see. The only person you can make out with perfect clarity.Ā
Is the one youāve been trying your fucking hardest to not remember.Ā
Staring right at you with eyes youāll never, ever forget.Ā
Yoongi.Ā
Heās just down the way, standing amongst a group with a striped jersey, dark hair swept so perfectly your chest pangs. Even though everyone around him is animated and laughing, the look on his face makes it undeniable heās not focused on anything else.
And with a stopped heart, neither are you.
Until your lower back is held, tugging you out of the dream as Jeonggukās question is laden with worry,Ā
āSeriously, whatās going on? Do you need to go back to the hotel?āĀ
You jolt away from his touch, but the action isnāt warranted. For fuckās sake, heās a friend youāve known just as long as you've known the spectre down the street. Why did you feel the need to escape his worrisome hand? He isn't like the guy you just met. Ā
If that dude had been the one to touch you, though, you wouldāve fucking decked him. You are not letting him feel an inch of your skin, and that includes the majority of it youāre baring at the back.Ā
āNo, IāmāIām fine,ā you manage to get out. āJust thought I saw.. Never mind. Water.āĀ
Yoongi wouldāve damn near murdered that creep, too.Ā
Shit.Ā
Right before stepping back in, you turn to peer back down the sidewalk, brain concluding that what you saw was your imagination and your heart adamantly disagreeing.Ā
However, thereās no sign of Yoongi anywhere. That same group of people continues to chitter away outside, but heās nowhere to be seen.Ā
So your logic is sound. It was just a dream. Thereās no way heād be here, and he looked way too fucking handsome to be real anyway. Maybe your mind is just playing tricks on you as an act of revenge for making it remember him this much today.Ā
Because youāre remembering everything. The way he knew exactly how to get under your skin. The times he proved so patient. The way he absolutely knew how to act under your sheets.Ā
And his. And elsewhere. Anywhere the two of you decided to make love.Ā
And that singular word is exactly why your flame burned its brightest before choking out.Ā
You were ready.Ā
He wasnāt.Ā
And you regret your decision to leave more than anything else in your entire life.Ā
Because you couldāve fought harder. You couldāve given him more time. But when you confessed under a blanket of stars and didnāt hear those three words reciprocated, every single celestial plummeted from the sky, plunging you headfirst into a deep, dark ocean of insecurity and bubbling self-loathing.Ā
The night you left, you left everything. You left your room, your apartment, the city you called home your entire life. Like a coward that couldnāt face rejection.Ā
Because you didnāt even tell Yoongi goodbye.Ā
And thatās the last damning reminder you hurl at yourself before rejoining your friends inside.Ā
ā
ā
You readily down two glasses of water.Ā
Inwardly laughing at the fact that the same dude straight up left to āmeet up with his brochachos.āĀ
ā
ā
Lo Prohibito is decibels louder than the restaurant, and that includes the moments everyone cheered to the max.
A dazzling laser show beams from behind the raised DJ booth, and machines shoot out air to provide much needed circulation and boost the spread of confetti.Ā
To your delight, everyone here is just as pretty as you imagined. Youāre thanking all your lucky clovers that you were accepted inside, strutting in on your heels with chin held high.Ā
Maybe not as high as it could go.Ā
But you refuse to let anything else bring you down tonight. Youāre supposed to be having another great outing, spending it with your friends and enjoying the nightlife while youāre still able.Ā
Bright colors span across every surface as a thumping bass shakes your toes, and you wait for the rest of your group to trickle in to find a good dancing spotāand a much needed drink because you are desperate for one.Ā
At this point, youāll pay any price to forget whatever the fuck you saw earlier.Ā
Be it a figment of your imagination, or a devilishly attractive ghost, you just need to wipe that achingly handsome face from your mind.Ā
Thereās no way heās here. And even if who you saw was real? It wasnāt the man you loved.Ā
Because thereās no way Yoongi would even look your way again.Ā
Not like you want him to anyway. Forget him. He gave you everything except the one thing you ultimately wanted, and you couldnāt live in his moonlight without your stars slowly burning out.
Breathe. Focus on the present. Stay in the now.Ā
āCome on,ā he instructs, holding your fingers before grabbing your waist. āStay with me.āĀ
āSorry,ā you whisper to your stumbling feet. āI just keep messing up that damn step and itās annoying.āĀ
āI know.ā He grips your hand, turning so that you land against his chest, comforting tone soothing your burning ear, āBut you got a lot more chances to get it. We got time. Stay in the now.āĀ
āOkay.āĀ
āThatās my girl.āĀ
āCome on!āĀ
Your past whisks away with the club fog, and you follow Hoseok and the rest off the crowded floor. āWhere are we going!āĀ
Hand on the nearest winding staircase, he turns with a smile. āGot us VIP! Weāre up here.āĀ
āNo fucking way?ā How the hell did Hobi manage to do that? Wasnāt this place booked up the last time you both checked yesterday? āHow!āĀ
Cheekily, the man simply plucks at his undone overshirt and wiggles, smirking as his date doubles over in a laugh.Ā
āOh, youāre a freak,ā you call out behind him with praise. āThank you for your service.āĀ
Thank Jung Hoseok and those abs indeed because the VIP booth is a godsend. Sure, itās still crowded on the second floor, but at least you donāt have to worry about standing shoulder to shoulder the whole night. You have somewhere to retreat to when you need a breather.Ā
Which Jeongguk is already taking the most advantage of, settling into the middle of the booth and planting elbows on the long table stretching end to end. Music blares while people shout all throughout the club, but he seems quite zeroed in on his phone.Ā
Maybe you can both use each other as a scapegoat again if you need to leave. Heās been enjoying himself for the most part, but you can tell heās extremely ready to go home and the night just started. If you werenāt desperate to let loose and forget years of your life tonight, you wouldāve offered to get shitty fast food with him and walk around the city instead.Ā
Mm. That still sounds like a backup option.Ā
āWho wants drinks!ā Taehyung calls out from the far end of the booth, standing to wave someone down and glancing at everyone giving him their orders all at once. āLetās just get bottles!āĀ
Perfect. He knows exactly what to do, so you let him drive and settle into the booth to wait for the liquid ailment to your problems.Ā
This club has it all, you muse as you take everything in. From endless bottles and extravagant cocktails sailing over the crowd, to sparkler shows and pops of streamers raining down from above, itās a paradise of a getaway.Ā
But the outfits? To your surprise, you feel slightly out of place, even arguably overdressed wearing the most expensive thing you own. Yes, there are loads of tens walking around, even some elevens and twelves if youāre honest. But you do see quite a few people in outfits as casual as Jeonggukās leather.
Either way, almost everyone is dripped in the most lavish jewelry and clothing, from designer to exclusive to wait someone got in wearing a jersey?Ā
How the hell? Despite the outfits you saw there hasnāt been anyone in here with a jersey, is he famous? It's the same one you saw on the sidewalk when youā
Fuck. Thatās not him, is it? You canāt quite see his face, but that back is soā¦Ā
No. No no no. Youāre staying here for awhile so that better have been another mind trick or you're taking that backup plan with Jeongguk immediatelyā
āHere,ā Taehyung catches your attention while hastily holding out a glass. āThis is what you wanted, right?āĀ
You take it with shaky fingers. āYes, itās perfect, thank you.āĀ
When you turn back, the red and white stripes are gone.Ā
And you release a breath you didnāt even know you were holding.Ā
āYou okay?ā
Turning, you notice that Taeās eyes are extremely focused on yours. You nod as you down your shot in one go. āYeah, Iām good.ā
His honey rasp slows on the way out, āYou sure..?ā
āYeah.ā When you push more of the stinging, sweet alcohol down, you decide to start telling him what you saw. āI justā¦ I thought I sawā¦ā
Taehyung is one of the only ones that never questioned why you left town. Which youāre grateful for, because you couldnāt handle all your other friends sending you text after text after call. It was fucking overwhelming, but you had one person that just allowed you to make decisions and live with them.Ā
āSaw who?ā He asks, cutting through your vision with long fingers in a wave and calling you back to reality.Ā
āNo one.ā You donāt even wanna say his name. It carries the weight of the world. āForget it! Iāll be good as soon as we start.ā
Unconvinced but letting you have space, Tae doesnāt pry.Ā
āIf you say so.āĀ Ā
ā
ā
For the next hour, everything is great. You play stupid drinking games with your friends, cheer for the most random shit the house emcee yells, and you start to slowly wash the unwanted memories from your mind.Ā
At one point, Jeongguk stuns the section by dancing on booth cushions and swinging his jacket, revealing he only had a thin tank underneath. Many people stare slackjawed at his physique and understated choice of outfit, but you can only cackle with your friends because you all know heās gonna go right back to his phone in seconds. He just really, really likes the song playing.Ā
And youāre enjoying the DJ set, too. As long as they donāt play specific songs, you can enjoy the rest of the night in absolute peace.Ā
Especially the one song that haunts your every waking moment. The first time you heard it, in a club somewhere along pink lemonade sand, you trudged knee deep into the crashing tide and didnāt leave until the sun dipped under the horizon.Ā
Because it hit too close to home. And your deluge of tears gave back infinite saltwater to the sea.Ā
Relax. Donāt throw any possibilities into the atmosphere, especially when your mind is fucked up tonight. Your friends are heading down to the dance floor, so go with them and forget everyone else.Ā
Making sure your drink is finished, you feel ice hit your lips before clinking it down, rushing to join your group at the top of the staircase.Ā
Only to stutter so close to the edge your heart leaps out of your chest.
It keeps falling, and falling. Because thereās no mistaking this time. That man you saw wearing the outfit thatās starting to haunt you? Heās talking animatedly to someone across the second floor, dusty pink elbow perched on the railing with a drink in his still so veiny hand.Ā
And your mouth turns sour at the way his shoulder is tapped by pretty nails, tongue hot and darkly spiced when Yoongi just laughs into his cup.
God. Heās here. Heās devastating without even trying.
And, as your blasphemous logic reminds you, that beautiful smile will never be yours anymore.
But that doesnāt stop you from staring. Because while on the street, you couldāve argued he was a hallucination birthed from dehydration. Right here, in this moment, youāve sobered up in a snap and you know for a fact what youāre seeing is real.
Maybe it was better when you assumed he wasnāt.Ā
At least then, you didnāt have to entertain any worse outcomes than just seeing him. You didnāt have to think about how youād feel seeing him so close to someone else.
Looks like the universe is giving you the final consequences of your escape. Yoongi has your fate in the warm, rough palm of his hand, and you know heāll do nothing but let it fall to the rumbling floor below. Just to watch with unblinking eyes.
āHey, you gonna go down or what?ā
Turning, you start to move to the side, embarrassment heating the skin of your back that was just lightly grazed, āShit, sorryāā
A strong arm pushes you sideways into hard metal as a duo of guys head down the stairs. You figure itās an accident, but that doesnāt stop your face from contorting in pain and a curse to fling from your mouth. Because damn that fucking hurt.Ā
āDude, watch it!ā The one behind looks back at you to apologize, āSorry about myāā
Ohā¦ Reallyā¦Ā
The guy from dinner halts in his apology, and your brow lifts right before he waves you off.Ā
Waves you off.Ā
At least your intuition is always spot on. Good riddance, you were completely valid to ditch his brochacho ass earlier.Ā
Rolling your eyes skyward and even aiming a petulant tongue at his retreating back, you scoff before leaning on chilled metal, letting a moment pass before heading down to Taehyung and the rest of them.Ā
Where are they anyway? If you donāt spot them from here itās gonna be hard to find them on the.. ground..Ā
Your heart looks up before you do.Ā Ā
And you catch your ex watching intently from across the way, phone sliding from his ear before he straightens to start walking.Ā
ā¦Towards you?Ā
Fuck.Ā
Itās been bad enough catching glimpses of Yoongi and seeing him entertain someone else. If he gets one foot right in front of you? Everything youāve worked so hard to build up against him and the haunting memories of your relationship will collapse into dust. You canāt bear him seeing how you havenāt changed your fucking mind.Ā
To your utmost pain, all roads have always led back to him. No matter how deep you relate to or click with someone, no matter how happy another person makes you, no one has come close to how Yoongi made you feel.Ā
Because heās the only one that understood even the darkest parts of you. And heās the only light in your life you ran away from.Ā
Thereās a reason you watch every sunset. Thereās a reason you stand on the beach back home and donāt move your sandswept legs until the last rays give way to the ocean line.Ā
Itās because of the guilt. The guilt of turning away from the warmth you held in your hands and the warmth you left behind.Ā
Your eyes stay tethered as your ex makes his way down the long side of the upstairs balcony, partiers smushing together and bottles roving over his head as ladies take them to VIP tables.Ā
Based on the heat in his eyes? Yoongiās on the universeās side. Thereās no way heās seeking anything else other than revenge.Ā
Shit, shit shit. This isnāt good for you. Literally nothing great nor healthy can come out of this if he ends up in your orbit. One word, two words, and even worse, three words from those unforgettable lips would destroy you and never let you recover.Ā
But your hands stay tight on the warming railing. And they wonāt fucking let go.Ā
Downstairs. Go down the stairs. Go.Ā
Yoongiās almost here. All he has to do is round the corner. He's close enough for you to notice the silver chains adorning his neck.
And the last thing you think with a withering heart is how devastatingly handsome heās become.Ā
With a tight breath, you pelt high heels downward one hasty step at a time. Winding, winding, spiraling like the thoughts storming your mind. The further down you go, the farther away he is.Ā
Your heel catches on your dress before you stumble, but you donāt look back to see if Yoongiās even still behind you.Ā
Chill the fuck out and donāt fucking trip. You already had nasty falls before with scars to prove it and a sticky club floor is the worst place to sprawl onto.Ā
Keep going. Disappear into the crowd. Go find your friends.Ā
And deal with the unmoving, gaping hole in your chest later.Ā
ā
ā
It takes you awhile to find them, but soon enough, you're back to having the time of your life. The lineup of DJs is all stellar, with only a few misses here and there, even getting Jeongguk to stay on the dance floor longer than you expect.
What's even better? There's no sign of Yoongi. Surrounded by sweaty bodies and flashy grins, you don't catch a single glimpse of him in the crowd.
Good. That's good, right? You wanted this. You wanted to avoid him and run, just like you did the last time.
Your group starts to split up in the commotion of lights and confetti and streamers, but you're fine dancing on your own. With each ebb and flow of music, you lose yourself, letting your heart get swept away by stories of love and loss. Every song holds a piece you understand. Every verse carries the same message.
You aren't alone in being alone.
So embrace it. Let the hurt come later. Smiling wide, you await the next song up, arms thrown in the air with everyone in beautiful togetherness around you.
Then it starts.
The one song you knew you'd hear at some point but sure as fuck didnāt want to.
While people around roar at the familiar opening, you feel like disappearing entirely. Whereās the nearest coastline? You need a rising tide.Ā
As the melancholic notes buzz up your chest, you slowly, quietly, lower both arms to your sides. Around you, the floor moves in sensuous circles and dips, and you envy everyone for not feeling how you feel. This glowing, searing pain setting your chest ablaze until itās nothing but a pile of cinders, only to be washed away with the waves crashing against your knees.
With each scathing line, your heart cries, remembering exactly why it hit too deep. All those lessons you took that started on a whim. All those sunny afternoons practicing and stumbling about your living room. All those times you were held close and knew thereād be no one else.
Your heart isn't strong enough to stay in the now. It doesnāt want to. It will always remain in the past, on a rooftop gazing into a sea of stars and hoping for a different outcome.Ā
Night, after night, after night.Ā
Suddenly, youāre back in the past, too.
Because a hand, so sure and so steady, settles onto your hip from behind, and your eyes burn when another slides along your bare shoulder. Heat from a body you can sense from anywhere in the fucking universe warms the skin at your back, and you shake as lips touch the shell of your ear to whisper three words that shatter whatās left of your soul,Ā
āOne last time.āĀ
You aren't in the past. You're here. And so is he.
Breath whooshing out in a hitch, your throat is in absolute flames as your eyes slide shut. Then you nod, because you canāt think of doing anything else, and you allow him to lead.
And he feels so perfect against you it hurts.Ā
You feel how strong heās gotten, how sturdy and lean. And yet, you also feel the same soft give you used to feel all those years ago. You know how pliant he could become under your mercy, just like all those times he gave you complete control. If you faced him, you could run your hands along that stomach youāve kissed every inch of a thousand times over.Ā
But youāre too much of a pathetic coward to turn around.Ā
When you back into him, his quick hiss into that groan you miss so fucking much flips every warning light in your body. But you canāt help it. You know this dance, this connection, this reunion will be the last you will ever have.Ā
He never loved you. You never said goodbye.Ā
Everything thatās left unsaid swirls around you as you move in perfect sync, both your hips moving as one and your hand snaking up and back to grip his neck fuck he feels just like home.Ā
Yoongiā¦ Still feels like home.Ā
A single, hot tear leaks from your eye as you sway, burning a path down your cheek as your other hand closes tight around fingers holding your side. When he grips you even tighter, another tear betrays you, and you feel his lips so close to your neck you expect him to kiss there if he wanted to.Ā
But he doesnāt.Ā
Of course he doesnāt.Ā
So you take what youāre given. A dance. Just one. One last unforgettable dance before your life changes all over again.Ā
Knowing this song by heart, you know itās approaching the end. The bittersweet last chorus clues you in, and you tense around his neck just a little tighter, hoping Yoongi didnāt catch the need in your fingers for this moment to never end.Ā
Mother Earth can swallow you whole as soon as the last word is sung. You give her your express permission.Ā
Because you feel so hopelessly in love all over again, and you canāt bear your affection to be unreciprocated a second time.Ā
Just like that. Against your deepest, sincerest wishes.Ā
The song dies.Ā
And immediately after, as if your world hasnāt just been upheaved and tossed to the wayside, the next number booms. Everyone on the dance floor cheers again when itās extremely familiar and a faster tempo. Even more people fill the floor because they need to feel this one in their bones.Ā
And you need nothing else but to leave.Ā
Get out. Go. Yoongi said so, right? One last time. Itās over. This tension between you needed an outlet and that song was the one out you both could use to set it free.Ā
And itās done. So you start your brisk walk away.
Only for your wrist to be held and your heart to fall out of your ribcage.Ā
Fuck.
When you turn, you forget youāre tear-streaked and full of painful regrets.Ā
And the look on Yoongiās face heats your soul all the way through.Ā
Because his eyes are unwavering, brows cut deep and mouth completely shut. Over his forehead, tendrils of mussed bangs sweep slow, and his chest rises and falls with every hard, wordless breath he takes.Ā
And you finally get the courage to whisper his name.Ā
Without a word, he slowly pulls you in, not stopping until your hands softly push into his strong chest and your face is inches from his. All heavy bass and bright beats of music fall away. All lights shift until you can only see him.Ā
Time. All that time apart vanishes when you finally feel this close again, his steady expression watching you with an emotion you canāt place but feel ripping at your walls to destroy them.Ā
What is happening? Whatās he doing?Ā
Does he know he has the power to hurt you in ten million different ways?
Fingers rise to wipe the sadness from your face, only inviting more to pour from your eyes. āYoongi,ā you whisper again, breaking the dam youāve been building block by block this whole time, just like you were afraid of. And you canāt fucking stop. āYoongiā¦ā
Then, when his eyes slide shut, you think heāll let you go. Why can you only say his name? Why the fuck are you ruining this singular moment that youāve only dreamed of having wait wait why is he resting his forehead against yours fuck waitā
āYou know how long,ā he breathes out, āIāve been waiting to hear you say that again.āĀ
Have mercy.
Your soul finally snaps in two.Ā
You can only say it once more, broken and chipped, before Yoongi grips your jaw and kisses you like itās his last minute on earth.Ā
And you push back with a ferocity thatās been dormant for years, a magnificent flame never awakened by anyone else. Nothing else. Just him. Only him.Ā
Rivers stream from your eyes as his arms circle you, hands gripping the skin of your back as your nails rake down his. Around you, people dance and bump into your bodies, but neither of you seem to fucking care. No one else exists. The only music you hear is every deep breath Yoongi takes and itās your favorite, favorite, favorite.
You shouldnāt be doing this. Thereās no possible way this doesnāt leave you without a broken heart and a shell of whatever intact spirit you have left.Ā
But goddamn if you donāt stay in the now more than ever.Ā
āI donāt give a shit,ā you tumble into his mouth, waiting until he pulls away enough for you to spill every forbidden thought youāve harbored in your beating chest. āI donāt care if you never loved me. I donāt care if you moved on. I justājust tonight, Yoongi, I need youāā
Your plea is engulfed by another soulshaking push of his lips, and you think thatās the end of it until he tugs away from you before swerving his head around the floor.Ā
āCome here,ā he orders, gripping your hand and reminding you just how perfect his fingers slot with yours.Ā
Time. Youāre getting more time? Your tears and the burning in your chest donāt quell as youāre led through the crowd. When you get strange or pitied looks, you donāt care. All these perfectly dressed people can fuck off.Ā
When they stare at the man guiding you, thatās what gets your stomach flaring. They can have him. Just after you get one last time to carry you through the rest of your loveless life.Ā
Yoongi suddenly turns to look at you trailing behind, and he waits to bring you in front of his side, now leading you both together through the rest of the packed floor.Ā
Ah. This is the man you remember.Ā
And that just makes everything hurt even more.Ā
Soon, youāre led off the dance floor and through a series of turns, Yoongi heading up a long back staircase before rounding into a hallway of doors before he checks each one.Ā
What are these? Karaoke rooms? Party rooms? You donāt know, but the ache in your body hunches you over, and it takes everything to not crumble before he finally stops and yanks open a door.Ā
āYoongi, what are youā?ā
A dim, neon-lit room is what you come to, and you hear a faint click while noticing the long window looking out into the club below.Ā Different lounge chairs and couches fill the space, and you can see just enough out the glass to know youāre even high above the VIP tables. The room feels exclusive but you donāt get to observe anything else as youāre being pushed into the nearest wall to be liplocked again.Ā
Fuck, heās gotten even better at this.Ā
Just like you have.Ā
As your dress is gripped tight, your thoughts all blur together in a lustful slurry. How many has he taken to bed after you? Do you remember your own count? Has anyone else made him feel like you do? With a searing green flare, you remember that no one has come close to him. How awfully one-sided would that be if he found someone that completed him.
A veiny hand grips the side of your neck before sliding to your head. āFuck,ā Yoongi grits out. āIā¦ I canāt.āĀ
...What?Ā
No. No no no.Ā
Your heart begins its fast descent. Because if Yoongi doesnāt want this, you have to respect that. As much as you will scream into the night, youāre not gonna stop him if he gets up and leaves.Ā
Because you did. So why shouldnāt he get that same chance to destroy you?Ā
āI get it,ā you hitch out, holding his strong wrist with shaky fingers. Itās only fair. This felt too good to be true anyway. āI know.āĀ
āItās not that.ā Yoongi slides his free hand on the wall, holding it at your shoulder. āI justā¦ Fuck, if we do this, I canāt promise Iāll hold back.āĀ
Oh. Fuck that.Ā
You tug the warm silver around his neck. āThen donāt,ā you urge to his grunt. āIf this is all we get? I donāt fucking care.āĀ
āEven if I tāā
āDo it, Yoongi,ā you plead with a gritted cry. āYou can do anything to me, whatever it is just do it.āĀ
āFuck.āĀ
All doubt flees from his eyes as your back gets smushed into the wall, your lips puffed and parting when he places hot, open mouthed kisses down your column.Ā
Hands keep their quest in gathering up your dress. And you make quick work of his belt before pulling, tugging, yanking it out of its holster.Ā
āThe fuck,ā he shoots out. āWho the fuck taught you that?ā
Your eyes flicker to his as you grip the hem of his jeans. āYou really wanna know?ā
āNo.ā He switches up on a dime. āDonāt tell me.ā
Your lips collide again before he rips his mouth down to attack your chest, nipping at a spot that has you flinching and hand sliding between your legs. When he runs a finger along your underwear, his eyes practically burn out as he growls, āYouāre this fucking wet already?ā
āI told you,ā you gasp out. āI need you.āĀ
Your hand is yanked to the front of his jeans, and shock and emotion completely cover the expanse of your face feeling how unbelievably hard he is.
Unfazed, Yoongi continues kissing up to your shoulder, leaving hot saliva trails all over your skin and bunching your silk in his hands.Ā āSeeing you in this? Lost my shit.ā
āYou're lying.ā
āAll fuckin' night."
āLiar.ā
Liar, liar. A bold faced lie. You saw him talking to other people. You saw his anger piercing across the club.Ā But you watch as his look levels, and your cheeks sizzle at the way he shifts his jaw,Ā
āIād never lie to you.āĀ
Shit. Your heart bats eyelashes before you shove it out of frame.Ā
The organ in your chest is a walking liability, especially when itās connected to your mouth. So there are many, many things you might reveal tonight in the throes of agony and passion. Things you will regret come morning waking to an empty bed.Ā
The best way to not say anything that could potentially do more harm than good? Keep your lips occupied. And thatās exactly what you intend to do.Ā
āWeāll see,ā you grit out, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down. When Yoongi lets you twist to shove him back against the wall, his eyes flare in dark need when he hisses,Ā
āYou donāt have toāā
āI want to.āĀ
To show him how youāve grown in the years you separated, to show him what he couldāve fucking had.Ā
To show him that you arenāt taking a single bit of this last, serendipitous night for granted.Ā
Kneeling slow, you slide your hands along his clothed chest, kissing his chains exactly how you used to and smearing lipstick all the way down his jersey.
āFuckā¦ā
Balancing on your heels, you wince at the tight bend in your knees, but you arenāt going down completely because your kneecaps arenāt what they used to be. Fuck that. You can do plenty in a low squat anyway, and heās seen you look a hell of a lot more awkward many times. āShit,ā you still whisper. āYouāre lucky I canāt wait to swallow you.ā
A curse flings out of his mouth. āGet up, babe.ā
Heart ringing at the name, you reject his order with a harsh, āShut up.āĀ
You want this, and you know for a fact he does, too. When Yoongi tries to bend, you pull down his underwear, springing his cock free and almost salivating at the sight.Ā
Just like you remember. Everything about him is just how you remember, and yet his body has only gotten stronger and filled out in all the perfect places. Yoongiās a man now. A real, grown man.Ā
If you both just met tonight, you know he wouldāve asked for your name before anything else.
Cut the shit. You are not getting into that now, not when you have him with hands trembling against a wall before you take him in your palm. As soon as you touch, Yoongi expels a deep groan, kicking his head back and gripping the wall with a large hand.
Whatās going on? You havenāt even done anything yet. Why does your chest constrict at how sensitive he is? This isnāt the time to relax, but you really canāt help but soften at his complete and utter unravelling.Ā
Itās almost as if nothingās changed.Ā
Yoongi lowers his gaze, and you lock glistening eyes before you take him in your mouth, slow on the tip and swirling to get it coated and prepped just right. Your hand expertly glides along his solid, slick length, squeezing at the spot you know makes him fold.Ā
āHoly fuck,ā he gasps out, hand hesitating to palm your head before balling in a fist against plaster. āShit, babe..ā
Again? Does he even realize what heās saying? Is he trying to hurt you because if thatās his goal itās fucking working.Ā
Anger, regret, painful nostalgia drives you forward, sinking his velvety ridges inside your throat and proving to him how much better youāve gotten. With every plunge, you hollow your cheeks, already feeling the telltale searing at your eyes and spiraling up your throat. His endless stream of sounds and praise tumble down your skin, and you keep sucking mercilessly even when his hips buck and his eyes squeeze tight.
Releasing with a loud pop, you feel a huge strain on your soaked legs as you adjust, tilting your drenched chin to bury your face in his sack to lick and take it in.
āBaby..ā
At this new, old nickname, you grip his cock tighter, swallowing him whole again just to hide your real tears behind the ones streaming from taking him in so deep.Ā
More. You give more, and more, and more. Time will take away everything else so what you can give is all you got.
Hands grip your head in desperation, and you let Yoongi push you onto his length until your airway is closed tight, nose and cheeks flush against the skin of his thighs. His scent is heady and just like you remember, if only slightly different due to the new musky cologne heās probably sticking with nowadays. Not like you can focus on it too long because your airway is screaming to be freed again.Ā
Tears leak over your lashes as want slicks your cunt, and you hear syllables that could be words before you finally give his legs a telltale tap.
Oxygen floods your lungs as more tears stream from your eyes, lips sopping wet and saliva leaving your chin in strings. Gulping, you go right back to it, taking him in again and pumping his slick ridges quick.
āGet up,ā he commands with a rasp so deep it rumbles your chest. āGet the fuck up.āĀ
Youāre pulled upward so fast your legs cry at the bends, and youāre spun so quick the wall hits your shoulderblade and you cry out into a furious mouth.Ā
Pleasure and pain intertwine as you match his intensity, raking at his shoulders and clawing into his hair. With each kiss, he reaches deeper into your throat, and you know he can taste himself on your tongue with the way he claims it in waves.
For a moment, thereās no one else in the world. You arenāt in a dimly lit lounge in a club away from home. Youāre right here in his bedroom, getting slung and dragged along his wall and knocking every one of his plaques and posters off-kilter.Ā
āYoongi, Iāā
āI know.ā
Without further prompt, Yoongi wrenches at your dress to shove it up to your hip, burning a path along your leg with expert fingers. As you hook itover his smooth forearm, your lips part when his other hand slides between your thighs.Ā
You know your underwear is soaked all the way through.Ā
And now, so does he. āGoddamn.ā
āI canāt take it anymore,ā you gasp out. āJustāā
āAre you still on theāā
āYes.ā
Shifting the sodden material to the side, Yoongi wastes no time, angling himself to rub over your folds and moaning in tandem with you because holy fuck this already feels soā
āThis fucking pussy,ā Yoongi grits out, sliding in perfectly and so smoothly itās like neither of you ever left each other's sides. Your high moan cuts into the cherry ceiling when he sounds like heās just struck gold, āShit, youāre gonna be the death of me.ā
āYoongi, pleaseāā
Heās talking absolute nonsense. Gonna be? How is that possible when you wonāt see him again?Ā
All questions vaporize when Yoongiās hips snap up, launching you up the wall again, and again, and again. Pops of need and lust zoom straight to your head, sparkling out of your eyes when you feel his lips smothering your neck.Ā
Youāre in heaven. Youāre in hell. It feels so good it hurts. Caught in a flurry of need and anguish, your nails rake down his shoulders before scratching at his arms, shivering at his outright growl,Ā
āDonāt do that.ā
āOh, Iāā
āDo that shit again and Iāll come.āĀ
Shit. You donāt understand how he could be so shameless. Youāre trying your hardest to keep it together and here he is saying whatever the fuck he wants? If you let your mouth just as loose as he has thereās no telling what youād be shouting out.Ā
But you settle for an apology for now, just in case you actually hurt him, āSorry.. My nails are super long right now.ā
āI noticed.ā Another thrust launches you into the sky. āThey look good but they hurt like hell.ā
āOh.. Sorry again.ā A moan escapes when he shoves into you, mind hazy because heās still placating you.Ā
āIām not saying thatās a bad thing.ā Devilish, he breaks into a slow smirk you havenāt seen in ages, and your ribcage folds inward and inward. āIām just not fucking done with you yet.āĀ
Oh. He doesnāt want this to end, either.Ā
Now that changes every fucking cog in your brain.Ā
You keep yourself upright as long as you can, arms slung around his neck as you both move together, dip and lean together, breathe so hard it scorches your chest together. Every muscle in your planted leg burns, but itās nothing compared to the stare you have connected to his eyes. With each deep thrust, his brows furrow and his teeth peek from his lips, and every groan you hear goes right into a chest for safe keeping. Right next to all the other memories you want to lock away.
Yoongiās pace starts to quicken the more your mewls encourage him. What was sensuous is now unbearable and, as your dress threatens to shift, you know your breasts will be on full display soon, and Yoongi bites his lip with a grunt with his next hard thrusts.
Soon enough, you feel a chill on your nipples as theyāre freed, moaning to the ceiling when Yoongi immediately heats one whole with his tongue. āBaby!ā
Goddamn it. You werenāt supposed to address him like that, too. But maybe itās better than saying his name because every time you do thereās a charge sparking the air.Ā
So you decide to switch, moaning the same word over and over as he licks and sucks, dragging his teeth along your exposed chest and littering it with heavy proof of his lips. Just like the lipstick on his jersey, you know heās claimed his own marks on your skin.Ā
And neither of you will be able to hide them when you part.
Expelled tension flits about in light streaks as you move with him, slick with exertion and tight with muscles working in double time. You both know this is the last time and youāre acting like it. And you send a prayer to the heavens to let time stop just to keep holding him in your arms.Ā
Suddenly, your heel slips, and you yelp before strong arms keep you upright. āShit, sorry.ā
āI got you.ā
Summer sunsets smother your vision as you let him guide you from the wall, gently placing your leg down and leading you to a sofa. Everything simmers to a lull, and you have a moment to catch your breath and steady your racing, racing heartbeat.Ā
When Yoongi sits on vibrant cushions, you admire the way his biceps fill those sleeves right as he tugs his jersey clean off. And you have to fight to not teeter over, continuing to stare in awe at him, so perfectly filled in some placed and chiseled in others that you start to wonder how you even left in the first place.
Of course you know why you did. So why bring it up now when youāre right here? Why agonize over the past when youāre standing right between his legs?Ā Ā
āBaby.āĀ
You flick your gaze back up to his.Ā
āStay with me.ā
Tears zing up your eyes as you nod, heart plugging your throat as you mount his toned thighs. When you feebly place hands on his searing shoulders, you hate the way your words shake on the way out, āStay in the now. I know.ā
Yoongiās eyes shine with a light in them you werenāt sure was there before. But you canāt wait long enough for confirmation because your heart is keeling over with ache.Ā
He remembers. He remembers. Does that mean heās thought about you, too?Ā
Focus on something else. No time to think about the past, nor the future. No time to notice that the way Yoongi looks at you now is so heartbreakingly similar to how he worshipped you before. Back when things were perfectly imperfect. Back when you were sure he loved you before he proved to you that he didnāt.Ā
āStill so beautiful.ā
Liquid fire fills your eyes as your breath hitches, guiding his length to your entrance before sinking onto him with no issue. When you both groan, you let your glittery vision watch the ceiling instead of him when you admit,Ā
āYou look so fucking good in red.ā
Thereās no response as you breathe, angling yourself to feel him deep and moving in a slow push and pull along his legs. Your thin chain tightens as your neck strains above Yoongiās head, and you wish you had the guts to look down at the ones around his neck. Theyāre already deadly resting on his clothes, but rocking against the flush of his skin is how you love them the most.
Still, you canāt bear to look. You know youāll lose yourself in those eyes if you dare stare long enough. Because what you saw earlier looked too close to longing, which would be impossible because that only exists in yours.Ā
āAnd,ā you whoosh out in tired breaths, gripping your fingers on him a little tighter, āLooks like you.. finally hit the gym.. like I kept fucking saying.āĀ
A puff of warm laughter hits your chest before sweaty hands grip your waist. āAlways said I would.ā
āBut you never did,ā you huff out, grinding on him harder and melting at his little sounds. One thing you will keep giving this man credit for: he isnāt ashamed to be just as vocal as you are. The more people you ended up meeting? The rarer and rarer you realized that bedroom quality was.Ā
āI did eventually,ā he grits, holding you in place and surging into you so hard you yelp to the stars. āDidnāt I.ā
āFuck you,ā you bite, moaning when your argument dies the moment his tongue swirls around a nipple again. Whatās left comes out a garbled mess of a groan, and you hate, hate, hate the dark chuckle against your breast. Partly because heās a constant problem, and partly because you yearn to see his smile again.Ā
āWhat else is new about you,ā Yoongi suddenly rasps, hands lowering to rest on your hips as you ride him. āAside from clearly getting better at this.ā
Lost in lust and surprised at his question, you finally peer down to see him looking up already. āNo thanks to you.ā
And your world stills as he doesnāt respond right away, any hint of sunlight fading from his features. āNo thanks to me,ā he slowly agrees.Ā
Fuck. You didnāt mean to do that.Ā
Slowly slipping hands from his body, you rise from his length and mourn the disconnect before standing. When Yoongi only regards you with eyes on fire, you slowly turn and rest on his thighs.Ā
Heās not gonna like this. But he asked.
You turn your head before slowly sliding one side of your dress completely down, revealing a rough scar on your back a little lower than your shoulder.
And your soul immediately clenches when Yoongi heats your back with his body heat. āThe fuck?ā His fingers feel so light, so protective as they caress your mark. Itās confusing, and you abhor it as much as you need it. āWhat happened?ā
āI fell,ā you whisper. āPretty hard.āĀ
Details of how and when it happened donāt matter. But he wanted to know what was new, and the scar on your heart isnāt exactly readily available to show.Ā
āI did, too.āĀ
What? At his voice over your shoulder, you strain your neck to see him. āWhen?ā
Why is he kissing your scar? Exes donāt do that. Exes donāt do anything youāre doing right now.Ā
āBefore you left.ā
Now you feel worse. When the hell did that happen? Why didnāt you know about it? āSorry,ā you breathe out with sorrow. āI didnāt know.ā
Another slow, calm graze of his mouth tightens your throat. Because heās since moved across your back, lips now touching where your shoulderblade hit the wall.Ā
āI know,ā Yoongi sighs. āI never told you.āĀ
He never told you many things.
Stepping into dangerous territory is making you regret showing him your worst moment. So you shift your ass to push over his cock, feeling it throb against you when you wisp out the worst reminder, āWe donāt have much time.ā
āMm.ā
When you feel his hands shift your dress, you lift up and allow you both to effortlessly situate you back where you wanna be. Your back hits his chest as he guides himself up into your folds, and your head kicks back to lie across his shoulder like the red silk flowing over your thigh.Ā
āJust like you said,ā you start to whisper, eyes already welling with oncoming regret, āOne last time.ā Every syllable just as melancholic as the notes of your favorite song.Ā
When Yoongi starts, your heart weeps at the pace. Because it reminds you of better times, sensuous and intentional and convincing you to confess all over again. It takes everything not to speak, your moans escaping in weak puffs and your hips swelling in a calm wave.Ā
This is too much. This is way too fucking much and you finally break when his name leaves you like a prayer. āHarder,ā you beg. āPlease, please goāā
Youāre cut off as soon as his hips jolt up, flinging you to life before going at a menacing pace. Yes yes yes this is the one you need. The one you crave. The one that leaves no room for feelings and decisions. Your dress threatens to slip off your sides with each pound, slowly rolling and accentuating your chest in seconds. āShit, holy shit!ā
āFuck, youāre so tightāā
āSo fucking bigāā
As if knowing exactly what you want, your arms are held back, locked into place as youāre under the absolute mercy of his dick slamming up into you over and over, skin slapping obscene and thighs burning from the stretch across his lap.Ā
Yoongi knows you better than anyone else. A frustrated growl tears from your lips as you arch so far back you connect clouds, and a strong forearm wraps across your stomach to pin you so fucking close you may as well mold right into him. Passion streaks down your limbs as sweat beads along your skin, the heady scent of sex and forbidden fruit swirling into your nose.Ā
More. More more more heās giving you everything. As your arms are freed, you can only grip the other forearm slinging over your upper chest, nails digging into creamy skin and leaving angry, cherry red lines.
Words, praise, everything under the sun is being spewed onto your slick shoulders as you mash your teeth and eyes tight. You even hear a word youāve been wanting to hear for years, but that canāt possibly be true because thereās no way Yoongi would everā
A hand closes around your throat, and your eyes fly back into your head.
Youāre so close. Fucking hell, your thighs are singing and your throat is burning and your abdomen strains from the arch but you need this release. You need this tidal wave to consume you. If only to forget for a split second that Yoongi isnātā
āāyours.ā
What?
Another fierce round of thrusts almost topples the two of you over, and white hot pressure paints the edges of your eyes as you strain for breath. Youāre so close. So fucking close itās right within reach.
But it all vanishes in a snap as Yoongi stops, and you cry with a teary rasp, āNo, please, babyāā
āNot yet.ā He hauls you up, making you sit straight and facing away yet again. āYou know what to do.āĀ
Fuck. Thereās no way he remembers this, too. You flinch at the slap to your breast before shakily getting up, legs wobbly but positioning yourself on his cock perfectly before sliding down.Ā
Both heels planted on the ground, you brace his strong knees and work his slick length, eyes rolling at his breathy groans and curses leaving his mouth in spurts.Ā
You know exactly what to do to make him lose his goddamn mind. So you do it all, swirling and swerving your hips while flicking off your silk, showing him the best view of your ass as it bounces. Your legs tire, but you donāt, and you use the music leaking into the room to set your sickening, aggravating pace.Ā
āFuck, baby..ā
āYou asked for it.ā
āDonāt regret a goddamn thing.āĀ
You can tell heās on the brink of madness, and you can only picture the way his head thumps back on the couch, mouth torn by his teeth and brows furrowed to hell. His muscles are probably contracting in waves, including the ones in his perfect, bulging arms.Ā
āYou shouldnāt,ā you hum. āSince this is all you get.āĀ
Without a word, hands reach out and tug you backward, and youāre up on your feet and tripping before your hands slap the firm cushions of the next chair over. āWhat the fuāā
To your absolute delight, Yoongi plants a foot on the chair before gripping the pliant dip of your hips, pushing tears from your eyes with each quick, deep thrust he rams forward. Stars dance along your vision as drool leaks endlessly from your mouth. āBabyā! Fuck!ā
āThis pussyās so.. Fuck.ā Youāre shoved so far down that your moist cheek smushes into firm cushion. āSay my name.ā
āBabeāā
āAs much as I wanna hear that every fucking dayāāYoongi shoves into you again and keeps his cock thrumming inside your cuntāāRight now, Iām gonna hear my name. So say it.ā
āYoongiāā
His deep, gritted command makes you snap, āLouder.ā
āYoongiā!āĀ
You feel it. Youāre at the brink again. With every snap of his skin pounding against yours, youāre inching closer and closer and closer to the edge, waiting for the fall that will end you. āBaby, Iām gonnaāā
Firm arms haul you upward and youāre both travelling the room again, legs skittering until you hit back first into the nearest wall fuck that took your breath out.
Yoongiās breath catches as he slams a hand against the plaster to steady, face burrowed in your neck and hair brushing harsh against your ear as he buries inside of you again. Fire spews from his mouth as you feel his cock squeeze up into your cunt, and his arm tenses tight behind your knee as he commands,
āCome for me, love.ā
You donāt know what the fuck you just heard but you know he didnāt just sayā
āI said come.ā
Instinct. Pure, animalistic instinct surges your orgasm forward in a high crest, breaking onto shore in hot, white waves as you tremble around him. Your cunt squeezes and tugs, your poor leg threatening collapse as Yoongi roughly hums so deep against your chest. Pleasure, starlight, the warmth of an afternoon faraway heats your body just right, and one crash leads into the next so effortlessly that tears zip down your cheeks.
Your name rips from Yoongiās throat.Ā
And itās enough to send you right over the edge again.
How the fuck is this possible how the hell can someone break you with your own name how can Yoongi have this much of a hold on you when itās been literal years? It doesnāt make any sense and the cries into his neck as he holds you close are akin to sobs. Maybe they are. Maybe theyāre your way of mourning everything that couldāve been. Everything that will never be.Ā
But at least you were able to have him, shaking in your grasp and pulsing in your core. One more night. One last time.Ā
āFuck it, come here.āĀ
Your sobs are yanked from the wall again, and you donāt know up from left as you're thrown onto a sofa, back curling as Yoongi tugs your head upright. Your tears slide down your neck, wetting your necklace as he breathes out,Ā
āAgain.āĀ
Fuck! Your cunt tightens around him as you gasp out, āI canātā¦ I canātāā
āDonāt lie to me,ā Yoongi growls, clutching your chin and flinging hot spit onto your face that catapults you into another level of need youāve never been to holy fuck. Smothering it against your cheeks, he taps you once and it brings destruction. āI said again.āĀ
All your limbs lock at the bends as you throw your head in a strained cry, a release that overpowers all the others flushing through your veins and igniting beams out of your sweaty chest. Wave upon wave crashes into your soul and your ears ring so loud you can barely hear or see Yoongi watching from above. You canāt. Youāre too caught in chaos. You canāt see the way he looks at you.Ā
āCome for me, Yoongi,ā you suddenly plead, āLet go.ā
āLet me pullāā
āDo it now,ā you hitch out. āCome inside.ā
A prolonged moan leaves his mouth as he launches into a pace that has you screaming, teeth gritted to hell and fingers gripping you so hard you know theyāre going to bruise. But who cares when your skin will match your heart? Who gives a fuck about anything else anymore?
Beautiful weight crushes your chest as Yoongiās body turns erratic, jolting and seizing up. And you know heās racing to his own cliff to dive and youāre gonna be right there to catch him. Slinging your arms around his drenched back and fisting the wet base of his hair, youāre already ready and waiting with harsh harsh breaths, because you're about to break him.
āThatās it, baby,ā you whisper to his ear, ravaging his slick neck with your lips and scraping teeth over his ear just how he likes, hearts beating as one when you stop just to connect your forehead to his. With a singular, throaty gasp, you plead,
āOne last time.ā
Yoongiās sudden release sends a pulse through the air, and your core beats and beats with each pump of essence he spews inside. Heaven and earth collide with stars as you hold tight, and your thighs shake as he finishes filling you with the longest orgasm you have ever, ever seen him endure.Ā
The float down doesnāt come quick, both of you softly suspended in time and air. Steam radiates from your skin and flows from your mouths with each breath, and beads of sweat slip down his jewelry as he stares with a deep vastness in his eyes.Ā
Why is he so quiet?Ā
Why are you so quiet?Ā
Why do you feel like crying again?Ā
With one more shaken breath, Yoongi swallows, chest heaving right after as he struggles to gather himself. His shoulders are so broad when he moves under your hands, closing his eyes as soon as your brows touch,
āI know itās over.ā
Your heart flares.
āBut I need you to know.ā
Stars light the night sky.
āI love you. And I always will.ā
A sob breaks your silence, hand flying to cup your mouth before you hunch forward into his trembling chest. Days and days of pent up anger and sadness spill out all at once, and you weep into his chest because you canāt bear to let go.Ā
āI know youāve moved on,ā Yoongi continues with a shake to his words, not pausing at the way you choke and weep. āBut Iāve regretted never saying it back then. And Iām not gonna get another chance.ā
What the fuck is happening. What does he mean? What does he mean? Your body canāt stop as it locks and locks, sobs wracking your chest because this is fucked up and confusing and everything youāve been wanting for the longest time. This is all you wanted. And you only get it at the very end.Ā
āI didnāt even say goodbye,ā you shake out. When you lift your trembling head, his lips are already so achingly close to yours and his hand moves to steady your neck. āI left and never came back.ā
When his eyes are the only ones that speak, you start to spill everything out, words tumbling into one another and pinging to the floors around your tired feet,
āI tried so hard to forget you. Tried so, so hard to stop loving you. Every day, Iād wake up wanting nothing to do with you, only to see you in my dreams and remember how it felt toātoāāĀ
Bright red flares across Yoongiās eyes as he keeps listening, jaw pulsing and brows so tense.Ā
āAt first, I was so angry. At you, at myself, at the world for letting me love you when you never loved me back. But now, I know what I did was wrong. And I regret it every day that I live.āĀ
When your face contorts in sorrow, Yoongi brings a hand up to wipe your cheek, thumb brushing away your tears. āI did, babe.ā Your breath stops and your eyes splay wide. āJust never had the guts to say it first.āĀ
First.Ā
Yoongi loved you all the way back then? Before that starry night thatās kept your heart captive for so long? It pulses against your chest, ramming and ramming into your ribcage to get to his.Ā
Only one question barrels through your mind. āā¦Why?ā
Yoongi looks from one eye to the next. āBecause I didnāt think I deserved to.ā
Everything clicks into place and you suddenly feel so, so upset. You are going to fight this man to the moon and back. Or, better yet, youāre gonna fight him to the moon and leave him there. āYou think I thought that way?ā
āNo.ā He sighs, chains shaking over your chest. āAnd I replay that night over, and over. Knowing that Iād do anything to go back and tell you how I felt.āĀ
Yoongi never lived in the past. He was always adamant about staying in the present. So knowing heād been stuck there right next to you makes your chest collapse before slipping down into the deep sea.Ā
āWhen I saw you today? Every day I told myself Iād get over you didnāt matter. Every reason I told myself I couldnāt be with you was bullshit.āĀ
Your throat constricts again.
āBut when you kept running.. I knew you were done with me for good.ā Yoongiās hand falls. āAnd there was nothing I could do to change your mind.ā
āYoongiā¦ā
All this time, you both had your own reasons for avoiding each other. Everything you fed into your logical side was just a ploy to project your feelings, and it turns out Yoongi did the exact same thing.Ā
He said he wouldnāt be able to hold back if you did this tonight. And now, youāre blessed to know exactly what he meant.Ā
So you also let everything go.Ā
āI was never done with you,ā you choke out, seeing a swath of emotion brush across his face. āBecause Iām still in love with you, and I will be even if you walk out of here without me.ā
Musk and heaven consumes you in a hug, and you cry into a bare shoulder as you hear Yoongi vow something so full of longing and conviction you hold him tighter,Ā
āIām not going anywhere else without you.āĀ
Music continues to pulse outside, lasers continue to dance around the room. But you see nothing but the light in your lover's eyes.Ā
And itās a beautiful, beautiful sunrise.Ā
ā
ā
When you both finally part, itās only to let him get dressed and for you to use the nearest restroom. In the quiet wake of your emotional storm, Yoongi walks you to the window spanning the far wall of the lounge, and you both watch the club floors move and sway from above. And itās only now that you feel shy. Itās only now that you feel nervous seeing everyone below.Ā
But a thought occurs to you that dashes all others away,Ā
āHow did you know to come up here?āĀ
Yoongi gives you a look that you raise a brow at. āIā¦ā He sighs. āLetās just say I know my way around this place.ā
Ah. Of course. āCome here often?ā
āNot for the reasons you think.ā
Your brows are fully bent now. āā¦Huh?ā
āI own the building.ā Hands busy, he adjusts his jersey as if he didnāt drop the biggest shock of the century on your toes. āAnd a couple others in the city.ā
What.Ā
Pause pause pause hold the fucking phone.Ā
Yoongi lives in this city? He owns what? This is a little too much to take in, but you have time. And youāre gonna hound him for every single detail of his life that youāve missed.Ā
You have time. Your prayer had been answered tenfold. And you send endless gratitude to the sky.Ā
But suddenly, a second realization pierces your mind and you lightly shove him. When Yoongi looks at you in shock, you yell out, āYou asked whatās new and I showed you a scar! Now you tell me you own a fucking building?āĀ
Your lover laughs, and the sun rises even higher over your horizon. Ducking your next swipe, heās already back to irritating you again as he clarifies, āI said more than oneāā
āOh, fuck you!āĀ
He rushes forward and gathers you in his arms, not caring if anyone sees your embrace in the window. āYou wanna go again?āĀ
Your face heats as your eyes roll heavenward, exactly where you feel like you are in this moment. āI have a pretty big hotel room,ā you divulge. āAnd no one to share that bedroom with unless someone else catches my eye tonight, soā¦ā
Yoongiās eyes crease as he kisses your forehead. āFuck that. Take me home.āĀ
Your giggles into his chin bubble out in pink, poppable spheres.Ā
As magnificent and dreamlike all of this has been, you're starting to find logic again. Because more than one question badgers into your mind.
How long have you been gone? Have your friends not even checked on you? Did they try? Did they leave do they even still have the... tableā¦
Wait.
Everything else clicks into place.Ā
The random city everyone flew to that Jeongguk picked. The infamous club and dress code you heard about from Taehyung. The table that Hoseok bragged about gettingā¦
ā...You're the one that got us VIP.āĀ
That stupid, annoying, ridiculous grin. Of course this is how you'd be reminded of how much you love to hate it.
āNow come dance with me,ā he says with teeth still flashing wide. āLetās see if you ever got that step.āĀ
Eyes sparkling, you let him lead you down and onto the dance floor, moving through until youāre suddenly next to your friends that shout and holler at your arrival together.Ā
āAll of you are crazy!ā You yell out, tears in your smile as they burst into laughter. āWhy didnāt you just tell me!ā
Yoongi grabs hold of you before chuckling into your ear. āI told them not to.āĀ
āWhy?ā
āDidnāt know if you were really done.ā He grips you tight, face falling into seriousness. āBut I heard you broke up with someone a month ago. This was my only chance and I took it.āĀ
Holy fucking shit.
āThank you.ā You kiss his cheek with purpose. āI love you.ā
Yoongiās cheeks rise high, dimples prominent and eyes carrying the light of the universe. Lips close, he responds how he wanted to the first time.
And you seal your devotion with a kiss full of starlight.Ā
āUgh, here we go.ā
āAlready at it again, huh.ā
"Figures. Didn't you see his jersey?"
āGet another roomā!ā
Suddenly, the same song that used to haunt you comes on once more, but this time, you welcome it with a swell of freedom in your chest. The waves of your mind calm, washing onto an empty beach and fading into a mesmerizing valley of blue.
Yoongi grins as he holds your hand, and you can't help but stretch your mouth wide as you both immerse into the crowd, moving and spinning and stepping perfectly together on every beat. Laughter and joy fills the space between your hearts as you all cheer, sharing this infinite moment together as fate intended.Ā Ā
In a beautiful, unforgettable dance.Ā
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fin :)
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hi lovelies what did we think !! | main masterlist
a/n: so don't ask how i managed to write all of this in a single day (now two) lol i think this madrid yoongi broke me. anyways, here's the sidequest that became the main quest for a bit! i'm back to writing three tangerines so 3tan13 will be finished here real soon :D thank you all for reading and i hope you enjoyed this irresistible ex turned lover yoongiiiii :DD did i cry? yes. can you prove it? no!!!!
a/n 2: as always, reblogs and comments and asks are always super appreciated! i love sharing things with you guys and a big part of that is getting to hear what you all liked and what you're excited about. happy to chat, and thank you for reading!
++ feedback box:
ā„ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated!
ā„Ā for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message,Ā i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think!
ā„ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. itās literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as youād like!
ā„ here!
Summary: Separated by an apartment wall, you and your arrogant, heavily-inked neighbour, Jeon Jungkook, are locked in a petty war. But when a confrontation sparks something between you two, the line between mutual hatred and pure obsession begins to blur.
Genre: neighbours to enemies to lovers, tattoo artist!jungkook, workaholic!y/n
Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, toxic/possessive dynamics, dom!jungkook, jealousy, rough sex, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, mirror sex (?), kinda public sex, creampie (wrap before you tap!!), orgasm denial, crying from overstimulation, choking, hair pulling, face slapping, degradation, praise, female receiving oral, jungkook is a player, usage of the pet name princess, they genuinely hate each other at first, eventual fluff!
wc: 11.9k
A/N: Guys, this one was crazy to write, and I love it!! I hope you enjoy reading!
The drywall separating apartment 4A and 4B wasn't just thin; it was practically non-existent. It was a structural joke, a cheap architectural oversight that ensured your personal life was entirely intertwined with the man living on the other side.
You knew his schedule by heart, not because you wanted to, but because you had no choice.
On Monday afternoons, it was the heavy, dragging sound of his combat boots hitting the hardwood floor around 1 PM, signalling he was finally awake. On Wednesdays, it was the low, rhythmic hum of his television playing old films until dawn. But the weekends were the worst. The weekends belonged to the bass, a deep, thumping vibration that rattled the framed prints on your living room wall, and the sharp, buzzing whir of a rotary tattoo machine.
Jeon Jungkook was a nuisance. He was also your neighbour, and you despised him.
To you, he was an arrogant, over-inked asshole who treated the apartment complex like his personal, twenty-four-hour playground. He dressed entirely in oversized black streetwear, smelled like a combination of raw tobacco and expensive leather, and also possessed a smirk that made you want to commit violence.
To him, you were a hyper-organized, stuck-up brat. Heād told you as much during your first real interaction three months ago, when you had politely, then not so politely, asked him to turn down his music at 3 AM.
"You need to unclench, Princess," he had drawled, leaning against his doorframe with a silver hoop piercing glinting in his lower lip. "Life is too short to spend it being a stuck-up brat."
Since then, it had been a war. You left precise, passive-aggressive notes on his door about tenant regulations. He responded by using those exact notes as coasters, leaving ring stains on the paper before taping them back to your door. If you glared at him in the hallway, he would just give you a lazy wave in return.
Tonight, however, was pushing you past your limit.
It was a Friday, hitting a miserable 1:45 AM. You had a gruelling performance review at work at nine o'clock that same morning, and your brain was fried. You had tried earplugs. You had tried white noise machines. You had tried burying your head beneath three different pillows.
But the noise from 4B was relentless. It wasn't the tattoo machine tonight. It was music, some R&B track that felt like it was pumping directly into your cerebral cortex, accompanied by the distinct, high-pitched moaning of a girl.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Your eyes snapped open in the dark. Your jaw clenched so hard it ached. The moaning echoed through the wall again, followed by the low rumble of Jungkookās laugh.
That was it, that was the final straw before your sanity snapped. Throwing your blankets aside, you slid out of bed. You didn't care that you were wearing an oversized, faded college t-shirt that hung loosely off one shoulder and a pair of grey sleep shorts. You didn't care that your hair was a chaotic, unruly nest. You were driven entirely by sleep deprivation and pure, unadulterated fury.
You stormed across your dark living room, yanked your front door open, and stepped out into the chilly, fluorescent-lit hallway. You found out that the music was even louder out here. You marched over to the door and raised your fist, slamming it against the wood with a force that threatened to splinter it.
"Jungkook!" you shouted over the bass. "Open the damn door!"
For a minute or two, nothing happened. Then, the music abruptly cut out, dropping the hallway into a ringing silence. You stood there, breathing heavily, your hands curled into tight fists at your sides.
Then the lock clicked, and the wooden door swung open.
Jungkook stood there, and the sight of him only fuelled your irritation. He was shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that hung very low on his hip bones. His torso was a breathtaking, intimidating canvas of dark, intricate ink that wrapped around his ribs, a sprawling pattern that climbed his left side, and a sleeve that covered every inch of his right arm down to his knuckles. A few stray strands of damp, dark hair fell over his eyes.
He looked completely unbothered, his dark eyes raking over you, scanning your messy hair, your bare legs, and the angry flush creeping up your neck.
"Well, look who it is," Jungkook murmured, his voice raspy with a sleepiness that didn't match the hour. He leaned his heavy shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his tattooed arms over his chest. "The midnight inspector. Am I using too much oxygen in my apartment, Y/N?"
"Turn it off," you breathed, your voice shaking with the effort to keep from screaming. "Turn the music off, Jungkook. Shut the girl up. Shut yourself up. It is almost two in the morning."
Jungkook let out a mocking chuckle, tilting his head. "It's Friday. Some people actually enjoy their lives. You should try it sometime. Might help with..." He gestured vaguely to your rigid posture. "...whatever it is you have going on."
"I have a career going on!" you snapped, taking a sharp step forward, invading his space. The scent of him, that heavy cologne, hit your senses instantly, making your stomach do a strange flip. "Some of us don't make a living by stabbing people with ink and sleeping until noon. I have an actual life to attend to tomorrow, and your complete lack of basic human decency is ruining it."
Jungkookās smile vanished. The playful, mocking glint in his eyes hardened into something sharp. He straightened up from the doorframe, instantly towering over you. He took a step out into the hallway, forcing you to back up half a step until the heel of your foot hit the opposite wall.
"A basic lack of human decency?" he repeated, his voice dropping an octave. He stepped closer, completely eclipsing you in his shadow. "You've been looking down your nose at me since the day you moved in, Princess. You think because you wear a blazer and work in an office that you're better than me?"
"I know that Iām better than you," you shot back, refusing to break eye contact even as your heart began to beat frantically against your ribs. You could feel the heat radiating off his bare chest. You could see the subtle rise and fall of his collarbone, the small scar on his cheek, the absolute intensity in his big eyes.
"You're a brat," he whispered, leaning down just enough that his minty breath fanned across your forehead. "A spoiled little brat who likes to complain because she has nothing better to do. You love this. You love coming out here and picking fights with me."
"I hate you," you hissed, your nails digging into the palms of your hands. "I hate everything about you. I hate your music, I hate your stupid tattoo machine, and I hate the fact that I can hear your revolving door of guests through my wall."
Jungkookās eyes darkened, his gaze dropping down to your lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back to your eyes. A tension dropped over the hallway, friction that had nothing to do with noise complaints and everything to do with the fact that you were both hyper-aware of how little clothing the other was wearing.
"Hey, Kook? Everything okay out there?"
A soft, feminine voice called out from inside his apartment. A pretty girl with brunette hair, wearing one of Jungkook's oversized black t-shirts, peeked her head around the corner of his entryway.
The spell broke.
Jungkook didn't look back at her. His eyes remained locked on yours, his jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. The intensity in his gaze was almost bruising, a silent, furious challenge.
"Yeah," Jungkook said, his voice rough and strained as he finally took a step back, breaking the suffocating bubble of space between you. "Everything's fine. My neighbour was just leaving."
"Turn it down," you said one last time, though the fire in your voice had died down into a shaky whisper.
Jungkook didn't answer, he just gave you one long, unreadable look, one that made your skin prickle with a chill, before backing into his apartment and shutting the door hard enough to rattle the frame. A second later, the hallway fell into absolute, dead silence. You stood against the wall for a full minute, your knees trembling slightly. You breathed in the lingering scent of his cologne, your chest was tight and your mind was racing.Ā
You hated him. You absolutely hated him with every single bone in your body.Ā
But as you walked back into your dark, silent apartment and crawled back into bed, you couldnāt help but feel your stomach drop as you thought about the girl he was with. With a furious mind, you eventually fall back asleep, hoping to never see anything like that again.
You wondered how much lack of sleep the human body could survive off of without going clinically insane.
Your performance review at nine o'clock had been an exercise in acting. You had smiled, nodded, and talked about your quarterly goals through exhaustion, all while a pounding headache stabbed at your skull. Every time your boss praised your "attention to detail," your mind flashed to a pair of unreadable eyes and a heavy tattoo sleeve illuminated by the flickering hallway light.
By the time you unlocked the main entrance to the apartment complex at 5:45 PM, you were running on pure survival instinct. Your feet ached from your stupid heels, your shoulders were tense, and all you wanted was a hot shower, a bowl of instant ramen, and to watch Love Island.
The universe, unfortunately, had other plans.
When you stepped off the elevator onto the fourth floor, your path was entirely obstructed. Right in front of your door, not 4B, but your door, 4A, were three massive, heavy-duty cardboard boxes. They were bound in rough packing tape and stamped with a bold logo.
You stopped dead in your tracks, your purse dragging against your thigh. Your eyes dropped to the shipping label.
Recipient: Jeon Jungkook / Ink & Iron Studio
Address: 402 Genevieve Lane, Apt 4B
"Are you kidding me?" you muttered to the empty hallway.
The delivery driver had carelessly put the packages at the wrong door. You looked over at door 4B. You doubted that Jungkook was even home, assuming he was out doing annoying, reckless things.
With a frustrated sigh, you dropped your purse. You couldn't just leave them out here; the building management was notoriously strict about hallway obstructions, and if anyone got fined, it would likely be you since they were stacked against your door. Crouching down in your pencil skirt, you gripped the sides of the top box and hoisted it. It was incredibly heavy, filled with what felt like solid metal components, likely tattoo machines, power supplies, or heavy jars of ink.
Groaning under the weight, you unlocked your door, pushed it open with your foot, and began the agonizing process of dragging Jeon Jungkookās packages into your entryway just to clear the walkway. By the time all three boxes were sitting inside your pristine, minimalist apartment, your hair was falling out of its neat clip and a fine sheen of sweat coated your forehead.
You slammed your door shut with a loud sigh, locked it, and promised yourself you would make him beg for them later.
An hour later, the hot shower had done little to soothe your frayed nerves. You were dressed in a pair of silk pajamas, ones that made you feel slightly put together, and were just waiting for your water to boil on the stove when a knock rattled your front door.
It was a firm, demanding sequence that echoed through your quiet living room, and you instantly knew who it was. You walked over to the door, pulling the silk lapels of your shirt a little higher, and swung it open.
Jungkook stood under the hallway light, but he didn't look like the chaotic, shirtless disruptor from the night before. He wore a crisp, black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the intricate details of his forearms, and a pair of reading glasses was pushed up into his messy dark hair. He smelled like rain and the distinct, expensive scent of fresh leather.
He had his phone out, but his head snapped up the moment the door opened. His dark eyes instantly raked over you, taking in the smooth silk of your pyjamas, and the bare skin of your legs. A subtle shift occurred in his expression, the irritation fading into something heavy and focused.
"My tracking email says my shipment has arrived," Jungkook said, "And considering my doorstep is completely empty, I figured my favourite brat took them hostage."
You decided to completely ignore that last part, even if the sound of him calling you his made your stomach swirl with butterflies. Leaning against your doorframe, you crossed your arms, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingered on the exposed skin of your legs. "They were dropped off at the wrong door, Jungkook. But because I actually care about building regulations, I dragged them inside so we wouldn't get flagged by management."
Jungkookās eyes flicked past your shoulder, spotting the three large cardboard boxes sitting stacked neatly in your entryway. A slow, infuriating smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Look at you," he drawled, stepping closer, completely ignoring the unspoken boundary of your threshold. "A good Samaritan. And here I thought you hated me."
"I do hate you," you shot back quickly, your voice perhaps a bit too breathless. "I dragged them in because I didn't want your garbage associated with my apartment number. Take them and get out."
Jungkook took another step forward, crossing the threshold entirely. He entered your apartment without an invitation, his heavy combat boots clicking against your polished hardwood floors. The sheer size of him suddenly made your entryway feel microscopic. He was too large, too loud, too much for the quiet, curated space you kept.
"Nice place," he murmured, his eyes scanning your neat living room, the perfectly aligned throw pillows, the single candle burning on the coffee table. He looked entirely out of place, like a dark ink stain on a white canvas. He turned back to you, leaning his hip against your entryway table, "A little sterile, don't you think? Iām not surprised though, it matches your personality."
"Get out of my apartment, Jungkook," you scoffed, your hand gripping the edge of your shorts. He was barely six inches away from you. You could see the faint shadow of stubble along his sharp jawline, and just how plump his bottom lip is.
"Make me," he countered softly.
The words weren't a threat; they were a direct challenge. The air between you turned heavy, filled with the unresolved situation from the previous night. The memory of him looming over you in the hallway, his bare chest inches from your face, flared to life in your mind, making your hands twitch.
Jungkook noticed. His gaze dropped to your chest, watching the rapid rise and fall of your breathing beneath the silk, before travelling back up to lock onto your eyes. He tilted his head down, his voice dropping into a quiet whisper that sent a shiver straight down your spine.
"You're shaking, Y/N."
"I'm angry that youāre violating my space," you lied, your jaw tightening as you stared back at him, refusing to let him see how much his presence was rattling you. "Just take your boxes and leave."
Jungkook didn't move. He reached out, his large, tattooed hand hovering just inches away from your face. For a terrifying, exhilarating second, you thought he was going to touch you, that his fingers were going to slide against your skin, possibly caressing you. Your eyes widened slightly, your body freezing in anticipation, your core pulsing with a spike of heat.
But he didn't touch you. Instead, his fingers brushed against the stray strands of hair that were clinging to your cheek, gently tucking them behind your ear without his skin ever actually making contact with yours. The sheer restraint of the gesture was agonizing, a physical tease that made your pulse skyrocket so much that you thought you were going to have a heart attack.
"You're all talk," he whispered, his eyes staring into yours with a terrifying amount of certainty. "You pretend you can't stand the sight of me, but you're hyper-aware of every single thing I do. You like me, baby. It's the only time you actually let yourself feel something."
"You don't know anything about me," you hissed, your hands curling into tight fists against your sides to keep from reaching out and shoving him, or pulling him closer.
"I know you've been thinking about last night," he murmured, his face coming so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips. He smelled so good it was dizzying, an intoxicating pull that was corrupting your common sense by the second. "Just like I have."
Before you could process the confession, before you could fire back a retort or even question him about his words, Jungkook abruptly straightened up. The intensity broke instantly as he stepped away from you, reaching down to grab the heaviest box from the stack.
He lifted it effortlessly, his biceps flexing against the fabric of his shirt, the tattoos shifting dynamically with the movement. You prayed in that moment that he didnāt just catch you ogling his biceps.
"I'll take the rest of these off your hands," he said, his tone shifting back to that lazy, casual tone, though his eyes still held a lingering heat. He walked out into the hallway, setting the first box down by his door before returning for the second.
You stood frozen by your open door, your skin practically vibrating from the near-miss of his touch. You watched him silently as he moved the remaining boxes, his broad back shifting under the crisp black fabric of his shirt.
When the last box was cleared, he stood in his own doorway, looking back at you across the narrow expanse of the hallway. He pushed his reading glasses down onto the bridge of his nose, the frames casting a sharp shadow over his dark eyes.
"Thanks for holding onto my package, Y/N," he said, a slow, wicked smirk spreading across his face as he emphasized the last word. "Have a good night. Try to get some sleep."
He stepped into apartment and shut the door, the click of his lock echoing in the quiet hallway.
You stood there for a long moment, staring at the blank wood of his door. Your heart was hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird, and your lower stomach was tight with an unfulfilled ache. You walked back into your apartment, slamming the door shut and locking it with a trembling hand.
The water on your stove was boiling over, but you didn't even notice. You leaned your back against the door, closing your eyes, completely consumed by the realization that the war between you was no longer about noise, and it was spiralling out of your control.
Jealousy was an ugly emotion. It didn't slip into your life quietly; it tore through your chest, making a mockery of you.
What made it entirely unbearable was its absurdity. You had no right to feel jealous. Jeon Jungkook was not yours. He was a chaotic, frustrating man who lived on the other side of a paper-thin wall, and was a man you actively claimed to despise to anyone who would listen. Yet, over the last forty-eight hours, the unwanted emotion had taken up permanently in the pit of your stomach, intensifying every time you heard his door click open or caught the distant sound of a feminine laugh.
The tipping point arrived on Saturday evening.
You had given up on trying to relax in your apartment. The silence felt less like peace and more like an interrogation, something that left you entirely too much time to think about the weight of his gaze, the sound of his voice, and the agonizing restraint of his fingers tucking your hair behind your ear. Driven by a restless need to escape your own thoughts, you had left the building around 9 PM to walk to the 24-hour market down the street, buying things you didn't need just to kill the time.
When you pushed through the glass doors of the apartment lobby to return, the universe decided to test the last small bits of your sanity.
Jungkook was standing by the mailboxes. He wasn't alone.
She was beautiful, painfully, effortlessly so. She wore a cropped leather jacket that matched his dark denim and possessed a confidence that shouted she belonged in his world. She was laughing, her head tilted back, her hand resting casually against the broad expanse of Jungkookās chest. Her manicured fingers traced the fabric of his shirt, right over the spot where his heart beat, and Jungkook was looking down at her with an expression that you had never seen before.
Your footsteps halted on the polished tile floor. For a single, irritating second, the breath was completely knocked from your lungs. The surge of jealousy that hit you was so violent it made you dizzy. You wanted to march over there, rip her hand off his chest, and kiss him right in front of her.
Instead, your fingers tightened around the plastic handles of your grocery bag until your knuckles turned white. You forced your chin up, your expression hardening into a mask of pure ice, and began walking toward the elevators.
The sound of your sneakers against the tile cut through the quiet lobby.
Jungkookās head snapped up instantly. The relaxed, easy smile vanished from his face the moment he looked at you. The shift in his demeanour was instantaneous; his shoulders squaring as his gaze tracked your movement across the room. He didn't look at the woman anymore. He didn't listen to whatever she was saying. His focus was entirely pinned to you.
But, you didn't look back. You stared straight ahead at the metallic doors of the elevator, pressing the button with a sharp jab.
Through the reflection in the polished steel doors, you watched the woman say something to him, pouting slightly as she noticed his detachment. Jungkook didn't even glance at her. He muttered a brief response, his eyes still burning a hole into the back of your head from across the lobby.
When the elevator doors finally opened, you stepped inside and turned around. For a fraction of a second, your eyes clashed with his across the expanse of the lobby. Then, the doors slid shut, leaving you alone in the quiet metal box.
The retaliation came less than twenty-four hours later.
On Sunday evening, a male colleague from your work, Eun-woo, offered to drop you off after a grueling, multi-hour project. Eun-woo was everything Jungkook was not. He was polished, predictable, and exceptionally polite. He parked his sleek sedan directly in front of your apartment building, killing the engine to turn and smile at you.
"You look exhausted, Y/N," Eun-woo said softly, reaching across the console to gently pat your forearm. "You've been working too hard. Let me take you out for dinner tonight. No talk about quarterly projections, I promise."
You opened your mouth to politely decline, but before the words could leave your lips, a sensation washed over you. It was that familiar, prickling heat on your skin, the unmistakable feeling of being watched.
Your eyes naturally drifted past Eun-wooās shoulder, looking toward the concrete steps of the building entrance.
Jungkook was standing there.
He was wearing an oversized black hoodie with the hood pulled down, his dark hair messy and windswept. He had an unlit cigarette resting between his lips, and his hands were shoved deep into the front pocket of his sweatshirt. He wasn't moving. He looked like a statue carved from stone, his head tilted slightly downward, his eyes completely cold, and fixed entirely on Eun-wooās hand resting against your forearm.
The look on his face was one you had never seen before. It wasn't the teasing, arrogant smirk of your neighbour. It was the glare of a man watching someone touch something that belonged exclusively to him. The animosity radiating off his frame was so strong it seemed to warp the very air around the car.
Eun-woo, entirely oblivious to the guy staring at him through the glass, smiled warmly. "What do you say?"
"I... I can't tonight, Eun-woo," you stammered, your voice breathless as you kept your eyes locked on Jungkook. "But thank you for the ride. I'll see you in the office tomorrow."
You practically scrambled out of the passenger seat, grabbing your purse and stepping onto the curb. The moment the car door slammed shut and Eun-woo pulled away, the space between you and Jungkook shrunk.
You walked up the concrete steps, your heart in your throat. Jungkook didn't move an inch to let you pass. He stood directly in the center of the double doors, forcing you to stop a mere foot away from him.
The scent of him, wrapped around you instantly, suffocating your anger and replacing it with a dizzying tension.
"Step aside, Jungkook," you said, your voice tight, though you hated the slight tremor that betrayed your composure.
He didn't move. He slowly took the unlit cigarette from his lips, holding it between two ink-stained fingers, his jaw clenching so hard you thought you saw a muscle twitch beneath his perfect skin.Ā
"Who the hell was that?"
The sheer audacity of the question sparked a defensive fire in your veins. You glared back at him, scoffing loud while your chest rose and fell heavily. "None of your business. Move."
"It becomes my business when I have to watch some boring, predictable suit touch you," he hissed, taking a step forward, his massive frame completely blocking the entrance to the building. "Is that your type, Y/N? Safe? Predictable? Someone who asks permission before they even look at you?"
"At least he has manners," you spat back, your hands curling into fists against your thighs as you fought the overwhelming urge to press your palms against his chest just to feel the thud of his heart. "At least he doesn't treat his apartment like a revolving door for whatever girl that happens to breathe in his direction. Go back inside, Jungkook. I'm sure your friend from last night is waiting for a call back."
Jungkookās eyes flared, satisfaction flickering through the anger in his gaze. He let out a breathless laugh that sounded entirely devoid of joy.
"Oh," he whispered, stepping so close his chest brushed against yours, trapping you against the cold metal railing of the steps. "So that's what this is. Youāre jealous."
"Iām not jealous!" you lied, your voice rising slightly under the weight of the suffocating proximity.
"You are," he corrected, his voice dropping into a whisper that felt like a physical touch against your skin. He leaned in, his lips close to the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your cold skin. "You were practically burning a hole in the back of my head last night, baby. I could feel you from across the room. You hated seeing her hand on me. Admit it."
"You're so delusional," you gasped out, your head tilting back against the railing, your eyes widening as you stared up at his sharp profile. The urge to reach out, to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down into a kiss, was so overwhelming your entire body ached with it. Your skin was screaming for the contact he was withholding.
"Tell me I'm lying," Jungkook commanded, his gaze dropping to your mouth, his own breathing heavy and ragged. His hand twitched at his side, his fingers flexing as if he were fighting every instinct he possessed to keep from grabbing your waist. "Tell me you don't want to rip my shirt off every time you see me. Tell me you don't think about me when you're lying in your bed alone, touching yourself."
He whispered that last part, like he knew that he caught you red handed. Your face instantly burned, a stupid blush filling your cheeks. "I hate you," you whispered, the words losing all their venom, sounding more like a desperate plea for mercy.
"Good," Jungkook growled, his eyes locking back onto yours with a terrifying amount of intent. "Keep hating me. Because the moment you stop, Y/N, I'm not going to let you walk back into that apartment alone."
Then, he moved away. His chest heaving as he stared down at you for one last, agonizing second. The restraint between you was a thin wire, vibrating so violently it threatened to snap both of you in half.
Without another word, Jungkook turned, shoved the glass doors open, and walked into the building, leaving you standing on the concrete steps in the freezing air, gasping for breath, completely consumed by a fire that you never signed up for.
You had lost the argument the moment your friends showed up at your apartment door carrying a garment bag and a bottle of cheap prosecco. Driven by what they called a "mandatory intervention for a workaholic," they had stripped you of your comfortable sweatpants, forced you into a sleek black dress that clung to your curves like a second skin, and dragged you out into the weekend night.
Now, standing in the middle of Prism, one of the cityās exclusive, packed clubs, you regretted every single life choice that had led you here.
The environment was definitely an assault on the senses. Neon blue and magenta strobe lights cut through a haze of smoke, flashing in sync with an industrial beat that vibrated through the soles of your strapped heels. The bass was a physical force, thumping against your heart.
Spitefully, your brain immediately made the connection. It felt exactly like apartment 4B on a Saturday night.
"Come on, Y/N! Take a sip!" your friend shouted over the roar of the crowd, shoving a vodka cranberry into your hand. "Youāve been a ghost all week. Live a little!"
You managed a smile, taking a swallow of the bittersweet alcohol. The drink burned its way down your throat, doing absolutely nothing to soothe the restlessness that had been clawing at your insides since your conversation with Jungkook on the building steps. You felt entirely out of place among the sea of hot bodies. Your mind was a long loop of dark irises, the smell of cigarettes, and the memory of his broad chest brushing against your own.
Desperate for a moment of peace, you stepped back from the edge of the pulsating dance floor, leaning your shoulder against a cold, mirrored pillar near the VIP lounge. You took another slow sip of your drink, your eyes aimlessly roaming the layout of the club.
And then, your heart completely stopped.
Situated in a semi-private leather booth was a group that looked like they had crawled straight out of a high-fashion editorial. They were effortlessly cool, heavily tatted, and radiating an aura of untouchable arrogance.
Sitting right in the centre of them, a glass of amber whiskey held loosely between his fingers, was Jungkook.
The breath caught in your throat, a violent surge of shock rushing to your face. He was stripped of the oversized streetwear and the studio gear. He was wearing a midnight-black silk button-down shirt, the top three buttons casually undone to expose the sharp lines of his collarbones and the ink that climbed up the side of his shoulder. A silver chain caught the flashing neon lights, glinting against his chest. His dark hair was styled as a mullet, exposing the brutal symmetry of his jawline.
He was surrounded by his friends, likely the other artists he hung out with, but your eyes didn't linger on them. They snapped instantly to the woman sitting on the armrest of his booth. She was a striking beauty in an incredibly short silver dress, leaning down to whisper something into his ear, her hand resting casually on the back of his neck.
Dread bloomed in the pit of your stomach, so intense it made your hand tremble against your glass. The same toxic, nauseating jealousy from the lobby bloomed to life, hotter and more dangerous than before. You watched, your jaw clenching, as Jungkook took a slow sip of his drink, his face expressionless as the woman laughed at something his friend said.
As if he somehow sensed the weight of your gaze, Jungkookās head turned. His dark eyes cut through the flashing strobe lights, scanning the crowded floor below with a lazy, bored detachment, until they hit the mirrored pillar.
Until they hit you.
The shift in his demeanour was instantaneous. The bored, relaxed slouch vanished as his posture went straight. He didn't blink, only because his gaze locked onto you with the force of a vice grip, his eyes that were almost terrifying under the flashing blue lights. He raked his eyes down your body, tracking the sharp line of your collarbone, the tight fit of the black dress, and the bare skin along your legs.
The woman in the silver dress reached down, trying to draw his attention back to her, her fingers brushing his jaw. But, Jungkook didn't even look at her. With a cold, dismissive flick of his wrist, he brushed her hand away, his focus entirely on you.
The silent, cross-room standoff was constricting. The music roared around you, and you were sure that your friends were already on the dance floor, but the space between your pillar and his booth felt completely devoid of air. You raised your chin, giving him a cold, defiant glare, refusing to look away first.
āHey, beautiful. You look like youāre having a miserable time.ā
The unfamiliar voice shattered the connection. A tall, well-dressed man in a fitted grey shirt had materialized in your space, leaning against the pillar beside you with a confident, practiced smile. He held a fresh drink out toward you. "Can I buy you something better than whatever that is?"
You blinked, trying to clear the fog of Jungkookās gaze from your brain. "No, thank you. I'm okay with this drink" you said, your tone polite but icy.
The man didn't take the hint. He took a step closer, invading your personal space, his hand coming up to rest on the mirror just above your shoulder. "Come on, just one drink. A girl like you shouldn't be standing alone in a dark corner."
Before you could fire back a sharp rejection, a shift occurred in the atmosphere.
"She said no."
The man in the grey shirt froze, looking up slowly. Jungkook was standing there. He had somehow left the VIP section with a terrifying amount of speed, and the look on his face was enough to make the other man visibly pale. Jungkook loomed over you, his chest expanding with an angry breath, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dark trousers.Ā
"You got a problem, man?" the guy stammered, trying to maintain his bravado but failing miserably under Jungkookās presence.
"Yeah," Jungkook replied, taking a slow step forward that forced the man back a foot. "I have a problem with you breathing my air. Walk away. Right now."
There was no negotiation in his tone. The man in the grey shirt looked between Jungkookās ink-covered hands and the look in his eyes, swallowed hard, and retreated into the crowd without another word.
The moment he was gone, Jungkook turned on you.
The anger radiating off him was so strong it made your skin prickle with a terrifying sensation. Before you could speak, his large hand shot out, his ink-stained fingers gripping your wrist. His grip wasn't painful, but it was stubborn, completely unmoving as he dragged you away from the pillar, pulling you through the crowded venue toward the corridor that led to the private restrooms and emergency exits.
"Jungkook, let go of me!" you gasped, your heels clicking frantically against the floor as you tried to pull back, but it was like trying to move a mountain.
He didn't answer until he had dragged you into a secluded part of the hallway, away from the prying eyes of the club-goers. He shoved open a door, pulling you into a quiet stairwell where the music was reduced to a muffled heartbeat through the walls.
He released your wrist, turning around to face you, his chest lifting under the black shirt. He slammed his hand against the concrete wall beside your head, leaning down until his face was a mere inch from yours, trapping you entirely within the shadow of his body.
"What do you think you're doing?" he hissed, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticked violently beneath his skin. "You wear a dress like this out in public? You let random bastards back you into a corner?"
The hypocrisy of his anger made your own frustration explode. You pressed your palms against his chest, feeling the thud of his heart beneath the silk, trying to shove him back, but he didn't move an inch.
"I can wear whatever I want, Jungkook!" you shouted back, your eyes flashing with a mix of anger and desire. "I don't belong to you! Why don't you go back to your VIP booth? I'm sure the girl in the silver dress is missing her hand on your neck!"
Jungkook let out a scoff, his eyes dropping to your mouth before snapping back to your eyes, a possessive satisfaction flickering through the fury in his gaze.
"You were watching me," he whispered, his voice dropping into a rough tone that made your core pulse with heat. He stepped closer, his thighs brushing against the thin fabric of your dress, pinning you against the cold concrete wall. "You hated it. You hated seeing her touch me."
"I don't care about you," you lied, your breathing ragged, your fingers curling into the silk of his shirt. "I donāt care about the girls youāre always with.ā
"You're a liar, Y/N," he growled, his hand leaving the wall to cup the side of your jaw, his rough, calloused thumb pressing firmly against your chin, tilting your head up. The contact was electric, a blinding rush that made your knees tremble. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his hot breath sending a violent shiver down your spine. "You've been losing your mind over me all these months, just like I've been losing my mind over you. I look at you in this dress, and all I can think about is ripping it off your body."
"Then do it," the words slipped from your lips before your pride could stop them, a challenge born from months of agonizing restraint.
Jungkook froze, his breath hitching against your skin. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his pupils completely dilated. He was waiting for consent, something that gave him the permission to touch you however he wanted. In response, you gave him an eyebrow raise, challenging him.
Jungkook didnāt answer with words. The last thread of his restraint snapped with a beautiful finality. Before you could even inhale, his mouth crashed down onto yours.
It was a violent claim, a collision of months of frustration and denial. He tasted like expensive whiskey and cigarettes, his tongue forcing its way past your mouth with a bruising hunger that made your head spin. His hand clamped around your throat, with a firm pressure that anchored your head against the wall, forcing you to take the absolute depth of his mouth.
You groaned into the kiss, your hands flying up to his chest, your fingers clawing desperately at the midnight-black silk of his shirt. You ripped at the other buttons, wanting the barrier gone, wanting the tattooed reality of his skin against yours. A few buttons scattered across the concrete floor with a sharp, clicking echo, exposing the hard, carved lines of his chest.
Jungkook tore his mouth away from yours, his breathing a ragged, broken wheeze. "You asked for this," he growled, whispering against your skin. "Iām not going to hold back now.ā
He didn't even touch the zipper of your dress. His fingers hooked into the hem of the sleek black fabric and yanked it upward with a brutal, impatient force, gathering the material around your waist and leaving your bare legs completely exposed to the chilly air of the stairwell. His large hands, rough and searing hot, slid up the inside of your thighs, his palms scraping against your sensitive skin with a friction that made you shiver.
When his hand hit the centre of your lace underwear, he let out a satisfied chuckle. You were already dripping, the thin fabric completely soaked through.
"Look at you," Jungkook muttered, his thumb rubbing heavily over your swollen core through the wet lace, your hips arching off the wall automatically. "Wet for me in a dirty stairwell. Tell me how much you hate me now, Y/N. Say it while you're shaking in my hands."
"Jungkookāfuck, please," you gasped, your fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and ripped them down your legs, discarding them carelessly on the concrete steps.
He stepped between your knees, his massive, denim-clad thighs forcing your legs wide apart. He fumbled with the belt of his trousers, the metal buckle clinking loudly in the quiet space. He shoved his pants down just enough to free his length, and the sight of his thick cock already leaking with pre-cum sent adrenaline through your body.
Jungkook didn't ease you into it. He grabbed your right thigh, hoisting it up over his hip, anchoring you against his broad frame. He guided his tip to your dripping entrance, paused for a fraction of a second to lock his eyes onto yours, and pushed himself inside you.
The fullness of him stretched you open so fast that a breathless cry tore from your throat. Your eyes widened in temporary shock, your walls clamping around him, desperately trying to accommodate the size of him. Jungkook froze, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as a shudder wracked his entire body. His jaw clenched so hard the muscles in his face ticked, a deep, guttural groan vibrating right against your collarbone.
"Fuck," he panted, his voice a strained, broken sound. "You're so tight... Wrap your other leg around me. Now."
You obeyed blindly, your pride entirely incinerated by the blinding rush of pleasure. You hooked your left leg around his waist, lifting yourself completely off the floor. Jungkook caught you effortlessly, his large hands locking onto the undersides of your thighs, fingers digging into your flesh with a bruising touch that you were sure were going to leave dark marks on your skin.
With your legs wrapped around him, Jungkook began to move.
The pace was frenzied, driven by a rawness that had everything to do with possession. He pulled back until his tip was nearly sliding out, only to pound himself back into you with a slamming force that made the breath hitch in your chest. Every single thrust was deep, hitting your G-spot with brutal precision that made your vision blur into white spots.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The sound of your skin slapping against his filled the isolated stairwell, competing with the muffled, distant heartbeat of the clubās bass through the heavy service door.
"Jungkook, waitāit's too much," you sobbed out, your head tossing back against the concrete wall as your orgasm began to build. Your core was pulsing, the stretch of his big cock pushing you to the absolute brink of sanity.
"I'm not stopping," he growled, his pace quickening, his thrusts becoming harder and more accelerated. He leaned forward, crushing his bare chest against your sensitive nipples through the ruined fabric of your dress. He grabbed your jaw with his one hand, forcing your face up, his eyes burning into yours. "Look at me. Don't close your eyes. I want to see you come."
You held his gaze, your mind completely shattered. He was consuming you, erasing every single boundary you had spent months building.
The orgasm started deep within your core, a sudden tightening that clamped around his length like a fist.
"JungkookāI'm comingāI'm going toā"
"Do it," he commanded, his voice breathless, his lips twisting into a smirk, as he delivered more desperate slams, driving his pelvis flush against yours. "Come for me, Y/N. Take all of it."
Your orgasm crashed over you with the violence of a physical blow. You screamed his name into the empty stairwell, your body convulsing, your walls rippling around him in intense waves. The sensation of your release was the exact breaking point Jungkook needed. With a moan, he drove himself into you one last time, pushing his cock as deeply as possible. His cock pulsed within your heat as he filled you, his head dropping onto your shoulder as he gasped for air like a drowning man.
The silence that followed was broken only by the loud, echoing sound of your tangled, ragged breathing.
Jungkook didn't let you down immediately. He remained buried deep inside you, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his skin slick with sweat, his heart hammering. His hands slowly relaxed their bruising grip on your thighs, his fingers gently tracing the marks he had left behind on your skin.
Slowly, the haze of lust began to leave, leaving behind a hyper-aware intimacy that felt completely foreign.
He pulled out with a soft, wet sound, a breathy sigh escaping his lips as he adjusted his clothing, his movements uncharacteristically quiet. He reached down, picking up your ruined underwear from the steps and sliding them into his pocket before turning back to look at you.
You were leaning against the wall, your dress still bunched around your waist, your chest heaving, your legs trembling so badly you could barely stand.
Jungkook didn't say a word. He reached out, his hands gently grasping the hem of your black dress and pulling it back down, smoothing the fabric over your hips with a tenderness that completely contrasted the violence of the last ten minutes. He reached up, a thumb gently wiping away a stray tear of overstimulation from your cheek, then he kissed your lips softly.
"Come on," Jungkook whispered, his voice still raspy, his fingers tangling with yours as he pulled you toward the exit door. "We're going home. And you're staying in my bed tonight."
The taxi ride back to the apartment was pure agony. His large palm was wedged between your thighs, his fingers damp with your own fluids, pressing hard against your swollen core every time the car hit a bump in the asphalt.
You had to bite the collar of his shirt to keep from crying out in the back seat, while Jungkook stared out the window, his jaw clenched so tight the wire of his jawline looked sharp enough to cut.
āJungkookā¦ I canātāā you whispered against his collarbone, drool leaking out of your mouth. His fingers kept teasing your clit, ruthlessly edging you. You were convinced he just wanted to see you cry.
But before he could let you finish, the taxi stopped to a halt, right outside your apartment complex. The moment his apartment door slammed shut behind you, his restraint snapped again.
There was no walk to the bedroom. Jungkook grabbed your shoulders and spun you around, shoving you face-first against the matte-black kitchen island. Your palms slapped against the cold stone counter to catch your weight, your breath hitching as he immediately crowded your back, his massive, solid chest flattening against your spine.
"Jungkookā"
"Quiet," he growled, his voice a quiet rasp.
He didn't waste a single second. His hands hooked into the waist of your black dress, pulling the fabric up until it sat bunched around your ribs, leaving your lower body completely bare to his gaze. He reached down, grabbing your hips with a bruising grip, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh.
You heard the sharp snap of his belt loosening, the zipper of his trousers tearing open. He guided his cock right against your dripping pussy, rubbing his swollen tip against you twice until you were sobbing into the stone countertop, begging for the impact. With a tilt of his hips, Jungkook drove himself into you from behind.
He buried his entire length into your pussy in one deep thrust. The force of the entry rattled you, a loud, broken wail tearing from your throat. Your hips buckled under the weight, but his hands locked onto your waist like iron bands, holding you perfectly in place, forcing your body to take every single inch.
"Fuck, this pussy is so tight for me, my dirty slut," he whispered against the back of your neck, his breath scalding hot.
He began to pound into you with a brutal emphasis. Every stroke was a clapping impact of his pelvis against your ass, the sound echoing loudly in the kitchen. He pulled out until only his tip remained inside your slick walls, then slammed back in, bottoming out against you with a force.
Your hands slid wildly on the smooth kitchen island, unable to find traction as his relentless pace drove you forward with every thrust. Jungkook reached forward, his large hand tangling ruthlessly in your messy hair, pulling your head back so your spine arched painfully, beautifully into him.
"Look at the mirror," he commanded, his voice filled with lust, nodding toward the reflective glass of his studio across the room. "Look at what I'm doing to you."
Through your blurred, tear-filled vision, you saw the silhouette of his body looming over yours, his heavily tattooed right arm flexing as he pinned you down, the contrast of his dark ink against your pale, flushed skin. He thrusted harder, his cock rubbing against your internal sweet spot with every shallow strike until your brain short-circuited.
Before you could reach the precipice of an orgasm, Jungkook pulled out with a wet sound. You gasped at the emptiness, your body shivering from the loss of heat, but he wasn't done.
He grabbed your arm, dragging you off the counter and pulling you backward into his adjoining tattoo studio. The room was illuminated by the glow of his lights. He shoved you back against the floor-to-ceiling mirror that lined the wall, the cold glass sending a shockwave through your overheating skin.
Jungkook dropped to his knees before you.
Your breath caught as his hands clamped around your thighs, forcing them wide apart. He buried his face straight into your dripping core, lapping up your wetness with an aggression that made your head toss back against the glass. He sucked your swollen clit into his mouth, his licking at the sensitive nub until you were screaming his name, your fingers clawing at his dark hair to pull him away before you lost your mind.
"Jungkook, pleaseāno more, I can'tā"
He ignored your pleas. He rose to his feet, his lips slick with your wetness. He looked completely unhinged, like someone else had taken over him. He grabbed your right leg, hoisting it up and draping your knee over his broad shoulder, opening you up completely.
He aligned himself and drove back inside you, using the wall to pin you completely.
This position allowed him to go even deeper. Every thrust was a severe plunge that filled you to the absolute brim. The cold glass of the mirror rattled behind your back with every slam of his hips. Jungkookās hand locked around your throat again, his thumb pressing hard against your pulse point, just barely cutting off your air.
"You think you can look down on me?" he panted, his face inches from yours. "You think because you're stuck-up and perfect I wouldn't do this to you? You're mine, Y/N. Every single part of you."
"Yesāfuck, yesāJungkookā"
The friction was blinding. You began to squeeze around him in uncontrollable spasms. Realizing you were about to come again, Jungkook pulled out at the last second, refusing to let you finish. You let out a frustrated, angry cry, but he grabbed your waist, throwing you onto his low, leather tattoo table.
He crawled over you like a shadow, forcing you onto your back. He grabbed both of your ankles, shoving your knees all the way back to your chest, folding you completely in half. It was a position of vulnerability, leaving you entirely exposed to him. He looked down at you, his chest glistening with sweat, his tattoos shifting dynamically as he braced his weight over you. He lined his tip up with your soaking, convulsing entrance and slammed down with the entire weight of his torso.
The depth was staggering. A loud sob tore from your throat as he filled you, his cock stretching you past your limits.
"Look at me," he growled, his voice a raw, broken rasp.
He began to move in devastating strokes. He wasn't pulling out anymore; he was grinding his pelvis against yours, his thumb slipping against your clit with every drive. You locked your fingers into the leather edges of the table, your head rolling side to side as your entire body vibrated with a white-hot, blinding pleasure.
"Jungkookā please. Please, let me come!ā
āApologize first. Apologize for being a brat to me all these months. Tell me how badly you wanted my cock inside you.ā he rasped, slapping your cheek.
Your head snapped to the side, the pain adding more intensity to your pleasure. āIām sorry! Iām sorry, Jungkook! I wanted your cock so badly,ā you cried out, tears cascading down your cheeks
"Good girl. Now come for me," he ordered, his pace getting faster, a sprint toward his orgasm. "Take it, baby. Take my cum."
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling his lips down to yours as your second orgasm crashed over you with the force of a tsunami. Your walls clamped around him, dragging him over the edge with you.
With a moan, Jungkook delivered more thrusts, before his cum flooded your pussy, filling you to the brim as he pulsed inside you over and over again, his forehead dropping against yours as you both collapsed into the ruined, sweat-soaked darkness of the studio.
The thuds of your hearts were the only sound left in the studio, a stark contrast to the music that usually filled the space. The heat radiating between your bodies was prominent as the initial shock of the orgasm began to leave. Jungkook remained above you for several long minutes, his forehead still pressed against yours, his breathing a ragged, trembling rattle that gradually slowed down.
When he finally shifted, pulling out of you with a soft, wet sound, a cold shiver immediately raced across your skin. You let out a small, involuntary whimper at the loss of warmth, your overstimulated muscles twitching.
Jungkook didn't say a word. The intensity that had consumed him moments ago seemed to evaporate, replaced by a stillness. He slid off the leather tattoo table, his bare feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. Through the dim light, you watched his silhouette move across the room. He looked entirely different now; the sharp edges of his posture had softened.
You heard the rustle of fabric, followed by the sound of running water from the small sink in the corner of his studio. You lay there, completely paralyzed by pleasure and exhaustion, your legs still trembling slightly against the leather surface. The reality of what had just happened began to settle into the marrow of your bones, leaving you feeling entirely exposed.
When Jungkook returned, he was holding a dark towel soaked in warm water. He knelt down beside the low table, his dark eyes fixed entirely on your face, searching your expression with an intensity that made your breath hitch. There was no smirk on his face. The arrogant, untouchable exterior he wore like armour was entirely gone.
"Hey," he whispered, his voice incredibly hoarse, "Let me clean you up."
Before you could even think to protest or hide yourself, he gently caught your ankles, straightening your legs out with a soft touch. He began to wipe away the sweat and the messy aftermath of his cum from your inner thighs. His hands, the same ones that had pinned you down, were now incredibly careful, moving with a light precision as if he were afraid you might break under his touch.
Every stroke of the warm towel sent a completely different kind of shiver through your body. It wasn't the white-hot spike of lust, but a deep, aching warmth that made your chest tighten.
"Does it hurt?" he asked quietly, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. His thumb brushed against the soft skin of your hip, right over the faint red marks where his grip had been bruisingly tight. "I went too hard."
"I'm fine," you breathed out, your voice small and raspy from all the moaning you had done. "I'm not glass, Jungkook."
A small, genuine breath of a laugh escaped his lips, though it looked more like a sigh of relief. He finished cleaning you, tossing the towel aside onto a nearby stool. Instead of stepping away, he reached down, sliding his arms beneath your back and knees, and lifted you effortlessly into his chest.
You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face into the crook of his collarbone. He smelled like sweat, but you secretly didn't mind. He carried you out of the studio, walking past the cold kitchen island where the war had officially begun, and carried you into his bedroom.
His bedroom was a surprise. Given his chaotic lifestyle, you had expected a disaster zone of discarded clothes and empty takeout containers. Instead, it was tidy, dominated by a massive bed covered in charcoal-grey silk sheets. The only light came from a lamp on the nightstand, casting a warm, golden glow across the room.
He laid you down onto the mattress with immense care, immediately pulling the duvet over your exposed, shivering skin. You curled into the bed, your eyes tracking him as he walked over to his dresser. He pulled out an oversized, faded black cotton t-shirt and returned to the bedside.
"Here," he murmured, pulling the blanket back just enough to help you slide your arms through the sleeves. The fabric was massive on you, hanging past your thighs and swallowing your frame, completely soaked with his scent.
Jungkook disappeared into his bathroom for a brief moment, returning after a quick second. He was wearing nothing but a loose pair of soft sweatpants, his dark hair damp and messy against his forehead. He didn't look like the menacing guy from apartment 4B anymore; he looked completely human, stripped of the bravado and the spite that had defined your entire relationship.
He slid into the bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. For a moment, a lingering tension hung in the air. You were both so used to fighting, so used to using words as weapons across the threshold of your doors, that the quiet intimacy of a shared bed felt foreign and dangerous.
You lay on your side, staring at him. He laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling, his jaw working as if he were trying to swallow a mountain of unspoken words.
"Y/N," he started, his voice cracking slightly in the quiet room. He turned his head to look at you, his dark eyes wide and completely unmasked under the amber light. "I need to say something."
You didn't interrupt. You just pulled the blanket higher up on your chin, watching him.
"I'm sorry," he said, the words coming out in a rush. He reached out under the covers, his large hand finding yours and wrapping his fingers securely around your smaller ones. "I'm sorry for the things I said, and everything else I've done. I was... I was entirely out of my mind."
He let out a long, ragged breath, his grip on your hand tightening.
"I've been losing my mind since the day I met you," Jungkook confessed, his gaze dropping to your intertwined fingers before rising back to your eyes. "You thought I was trying to annoy you with the music and the girls, and at first, I was just being a complete asshole. But after that first night you knocked on my door, when you were standing there looking so furious and so completely out of my league, everything changed. I didn't know how to get your attention.ā
A soft smile touched his lips, though his eyes remained entirely serious. "I just wanted an excuse to see you come back to my door and yell at me again. Because any attention from you was better than you looking right through me."
Your heart did a violent flip in your chest. The honesty of his words was breaking down every defence mechanism you had spent months building.
"You called me a brat," you whispered softly, your voice completely devoid of the old malice. "You told me I was stuck-up."
"Because youāre so perfect, and it terrified me," Jungkook replied instantly, leaning closer until his face was only inches from yours on the pillow. "You have your life together. You have the career, the structure. I convinced myself that you looked down on me because it was easier than admitting that I was completely beneath you."
He reached his free hand out from beneath the covers, his fingertips gently brushing against your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw with a tenderness that made your eyes prickle with tears.
"But I don't want to fight with you anymore, Princess," he murmured, his voice dropping into a soft, vulnerable register that felt like a direct caress to your soul. "I don't want to hear you through a wall anymore. I love you. I think Iāve loved you since the second you told me to shut the hell up months ago."
The confession hung in the quiet space between you, heavy and beautiful. You stared at him, taking in the softness of his eyes, the absolute sincerity in his features, and the slight tremor in his hand as it rested against your face. He was completely exposed, giving you all the power to crush him if you wanted to.
But you didn't want to.
"I'm sorry too," you whispered, a small, tearful laugh escaping your lips as you moved your head to press your cheek firmly into his palm. "I was stuck-up. I looked down on your world because I was jealous of how free you were. I spent so much time hiding behind my schedules and work because admitting that I wanted something would mean admitting that I didn't have everything under control."
You reached up, your fingers tangling into the damp strands of his dark hair, pulling him just a fraction closer.
"I don't hate anything about you,ā you confessed softly. "I love you too. Iāve been entirely miserable without you."
The relief that washed over Jungkookās face was instantaneous and breathtaking. A massive, brilliant smile broke across his face, the boyish, dazzling smile he usually hid behind his arrogant smirks. He let out a joyous sigh , immediately throwing himself at you, covering your body with his.
"Say it again," he demanded, his voice thick with happiness as he buried his face into your neck, peppering your skin with soft, fluttering kisses.
"I love you, you idiot," you laughed, your hands gripping his shoulders as he rolled over, pulling you with him until you were lying flush against his chest, your heads resting on the same pillow.
"Good. Because you're stuck with me now," he muttered against your lips, before pulling you into a kiss. It was sweet, and incredibly deep, a gentle sealing of a contract you had both been waiting to sign for months.
When he finally pulled away, he wrapped his massive arms securely around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest in a tight, protective cocoon. His long legs tangled with yours under the silk sheets, his chin resting comfortably on the top of your head.
"The wall has to go," Jungkook murmured sleepily into your hair, his large hand gently stroking your stomach over the cotton of his t-shirt. "First thing Monday morning. I'm calling a contractor to knock the drywall down between 4A and 4B."
"We'll get evicted, Jungkook," you mumbled back, a soft, exhausted smile spreading across your face as your sleep deprivation finally caught up to you.
"Let them evict us," he whispered, his breathing slowing down as he fell into a deep, peaceful sleep, his heart beating a steady, reassuring rhythm against your shoulder blades. "We'll just buy the whole damn building."
The wall didnāt come down on Monday morning, mostly because the building management threatened legal action at the mere mention of a sledgehammer, but the physical barrier between apartment 4A and 4B was entirely gone anyway.
Within a week, the deadbolt on your front door remained permanently unlocked. Within three, your living room began to acquire a few distinct artifacts, such as a stray sketch pad filled with intricate charcoal drawings of you resting on your glass coffee table, a pair of combat boots left neatly by your shoe rack, and a continuous, subtle scent of raw tobacco and expensive leather that no longer felt like an invasion, but more like a safety net.
On a hazy evening in July, the heat outside was horrible, but inside apartment 4A, the air conditioning was humming a quiet tune. You were sitting cross-legged on your sofa, a laptop resting on your thighs as you meticulously reviewed the upcoming budget projections. Your glasses were pushed up onto the bridge of your nose, your focus entirely ironclad.
Or, at least, it was supposed to be.
From the other side of the apartment, the door clicked open. You didn't even look up, your fingers continuing to fly across the keyboard, but your heart rate gave a familiar, stupid little skip.
A moment later, Jungkook stepped into your living room. He had just finished an eight-hour tattooing session, and he looked beautifully, completely wrecked. He had shed his shirt, wearing only a loose, sleeveless white tank top that exposed the sprawling canvas of his right arm and the blackwork wrapping around his ribs.
He didn't say a word. He didn't need to. He walked straight toward the couch, his heavy footsteps silent on your plush rug, and dropped his massive frame directly behind you.
"Jungkook, Iām working," you murmured in a breathless, soft tone.
"Don't care," he grumbled, his voice a gravelly vibration that resonated right through your spine.
His large, tattooed arms wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you backward until your spine was pressed flush against his warm, solid torso. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his nose nuzzling against your pulse point, inhaling deeply. His breath was hot against your skin, sending a delicate flush up your throat.
"You smell like vanilla," he muttered, his lips brushing against your collarbone as he spoke. "It's driving me crazy."
"It's just perfume, you dramatic idiot," you laughed softly, tilting your head to the side to give him better access, your fingers finally halting over the laptop keys. "And I really need to finish this report. My boss isā"
"Your boss can wait," Jungkook interrupted, his hand moving beneath the hem of your oversized sweatshirt, his palm resting against the bare skin of your stomach. His thumb traced slow, soothing circles over your skin, his touch so incredibly gentle it made your chest ache. "Youāve been staring at that screen for hours. Let me take care of you."
You let out a long, defeated sigh, closing the laptop and setting it aside on the cushion. The moment the screen went dark, you turned around in his embrace, shifting until you were sitting face-to-face in his lap, your knees framing his hips.
Jungkookās eyes instantly locked onto yours, the light from your lamp reflecting in his pupils. The lazy, arrogant smirk he used to wear like armor was completely gone, replaced by an expression of pure, unadulterated adoration that still made you feel entirely exposed. He reached up, his thumb gently pushing your reading glasses down the bridge of your nose before sliding them off entirely, setting them on the sofa arm.
"There you are," he whispered, his rough fingers cupping your jawline, his thumb smoothing over your cheekbone. "I missed you today."
"I was right next door," you pointed out, a small smile tugging at your lips as you reached up to tangle your fingers in the soft, damp strands of his hair. "I could literally hear your tattoo machine vibrating through the drywall at 2 PM."
"Yeah, well, hearing you through a wall isn't the same as holding you," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips. "I kept thinking about how much I wanted to walk out of the apartment, and drag you into my bed. Iām completely ruined, Y/N. You've completely ruined me."
"Good," you whispered, leaning in until your lips were a mere breath away from his. "You deserve it for making my life a living hell for months."
Jungkook let out a low, breathless chuckle against your mouth before he closed the distance. The kiss was filled with a domestic warmth that belonged entirely to the two of you. There was no rush, no desperate battle for dominance, just the steady pull of two people. His hands slid down to your lower back, pressing you closer until there was no space left between you, his heart beating a strong, steady rhythm against your chest.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing a little shallow.
"I bought dinner," he murmured, his eyes still closed as his thumbs traced the line of your jaw. "That little noodle place you like down the street. Itās sitting on my kitchen counter."
"You remembered?" you teased, shifting your weight slightly in his lap.
"I remember everything about you," he corrected softly, opening his eyes to look at you with a terrifying amount of certainty. "I know you take your coffee with too much milk, I know you organize your closet by colour, and I know that when you're stressed, you bite the inside of your lip until it bleeds. I'm paying attention, baby. I'm always paying attention."
His words made your throat tight, warmth expanding in your chest. You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, burying your face into his shoulder, holding onto him as if he were the only solid thing left in the universe.
"Come on," Jungkook whispered, shifting under you as he easily hoisted your body into his arms, keeping you tucked securely against his chest as he stood up from the sofa. "Let's go eat. And then Iām dragging you to bed, and you're going to let me sleep for twelve hours straight."
"Only if you promise not to play music at 3 AM," you mumbled into his neck as he carried you across the threshold into his apartment.
Jungkook kicked his front door shut behind him, the click of the lock echoing in the quiet hallway. He looked down at you, his bunny teeth showing as he smiled.
"Deal, Princess," he murmured, kissing your temple softly. "From now on, the only noise in this apartment is going to be you."
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