“Yoongi returns home as the man by your side and has to come to terms with his new role as your ruling partner. It turns out to be quite the difficult task as half of the court still sees him as the unruly warrior with the ugly face. His new Queen and lover however is willing to fight the world for him and She is hellbound to show him and everyone around them just how beautiful he is.”
Pairing: Warrior!Yoongi x Queen!Reader
Genre: Fantasy, Romance, Smut
Warnings: subby!Yoongi, Domish!Reader, slurs, the court being judgemental, but she is there to stand up for her man, casual nudity, sharing a bath together, handjobs, grinding, oral (m. & f.receiving), multiple orgasms (m. & f. receiving), edging, it’s sensual love making, he kneels for her in a sexy way, some hairplay, blonde Daechwita!Yoongi because he still haunts my mind
Wordcount: 13.5k
a/n: You guys wanted a second part to A Tiger’s Judgement and quite honestly warrior!Yoongi didn’t want to leave my mind either so I decided to spoil you guys! I didn’t think that the second part could ruin me more than the first one, but it did and I am ruined. 🤧💜
~ Go to Index ~
They welcomed her with cheers and happy singing. It seemed that they had waited for her return. Yoongi watched as they hugged her and as she hugged them back with a smile on her face. Yoongi listened as they welcomed her with praises to the goddesses and how she told them that she missed them.
She told him that she was worried about their reactions. She worried that they wouldn’t accept her back, that another ruler had already taken the castle and that she would be sent away and damned to a life of nothingness.
Yoongi felt glad that none of her worries became reality. His warriors reclaimed the castle in her name and the people were safe and healthy. They welcomed her back gladly and just one night later a big coronation ceremony was held. They all came, the court, her remaining family, his warriors, the people. They all came and celebrated the return of the princess and her new role as the Queen. Food and drink was plenty and the music was lively.
Her siblings are with them. Her younger brother sits with his little sister as they are playing war with wooden toys. Her younger sister was dancing with her lover and just this moment the last of her siblings turns away from her after finishing the conversation.
She turns to him then.
“How are you liking the food?” you ask him.
“It’s good, I was really hungry”, he says, taking a bite of his pork ribs. They had a rich flavour and the meat was juicy. Yoongi had missed the taste quite a lot.
You watch him chew with fondness in your eyes, “I’m glad you enjoy it, eat a lot Sire. I want you leaving the festivities with your stomach aching from too much food.”
He nods his head in obedience, “I will try.”
You give him a quick smile and touch his thigh under the table. Yoongi feels himself shiver at the touch, but attempts not to let it show.
“My Queen”, one of the court’s members steals your attention from him.
title credit: night crawlers - kids in glass houses
pairing: drugrunner!jungkook x sugarbaby!reader, college au
synopsis:
jungkook’s always been good at running. track, field, red lights, shit outta luck. drugs, now, too.
but he doesn’t expect to run into you.
in your shared lecture halls, sure. maybe. but not down the back alleys of daerim at ass o’clock in the morning.
there are only three types of women he ever sees in daerim: hookers, sugar-babies and addicts. you aren't any of those; you're a trust-fund baby who can get percocet on private repeat prescription, if you really want it. he's sure of it.
so it then further begs the question: why the fuck are you here?
warnings: jungkook and o/c are polar opposites, but y’know what they say, opposites attract and all that jazz, jk is a college student but also a drug runner, mentions of gang dynamics and hierarchy, oc is a sugar baby, mentions of consensual but uncomfortable sexual encounters as a result of this (proceed with caution), drugs, violence, blood, motorbikes, hurt/comfort, all the good stuff, smut – fingering, tittie sucking (wow pretend to be shocked!), unprotected sex, jk has the hugest cawk in the whole entire world, jk is a lil aggressive but in a sexy way, he accidentally says something mean during sex (not sexy mean, actually mean (he makes up for it tho!)), jk on top, oc on top, mentions of his pubes (yummy), tummy pressing, kissy kissy kissy koo, creampie, post-coitus nap, they’re literally in love idk what to tell you, ambiguous ending!!
wordcount: 26K
note from holly: originally published to wattpad in 2021 and also briefly uploaded to tumblr, too. It’s just hit 100k reads over on wattpad so I thought I’d put it here too!! There are two additional chapters on wattpad, connecting the story another fic of mine and also showing us jk + oc four years on from the events of NC!! If you’re interested, you can find it here (x).
i write in british english!! both in spelling and dialect!!
minors dni // cross posted to wattpad
IT'S BEEN SAID that with great notoriety, comes great responsibility to uphold the expectations of those who presume the worst about you.
Okay, so that's a lie. No one's ever said that - but Jeon Jungkook has never been one for sticking to traditions, and so he likes to live his life as if that's his motto.
That, and 'rather be dead than cool.'
Which is ironic, because it's only the heteropatriarchal bores - the ones from upper-class families, who want a white picket fence and 2.4 kids - that actually think he's lame.
And he doesn't particularly give a shit about their opinions.
Black nails, black cargo pants, black hair that waves loosely over his sharp features. An air of command as he walks, a swagger in his step that lingers in stranger's heads like the silage of his aftershave.
Yeah, Jungkook is cool, and he fucking knows it.
A rucksack is perpetually slung over his shoulder, the top concaved slightly to indicate there's very little in there, not much more than a tatty notepad and a few loose pens - or so you assume.
You've never actually spoken to him. Why would you?
Daddy's little princess, glossy lips, manicured nails. The kind of girl who gives him a second look, but only to sneer. He doesn't think of you often, but when he does, it's never nice.
Jungkook doesn't have time for you, and you don't have time for him. Your paths rarely cross.
At least they barely crossed. Past tense.
Now that you're taking a few of the same classes as him, he sees you a lot more than he likes. Hair always up in that stupid fucking ponytail that he can't see past, perpetually on your phone. Attention seeking little bitch.
He'd ranted a little to Jimin about it, told him that you really must have been a dumb bitch to swap from an economics major to a film studies major with only a single semester left.
Jimin hadn't said much in return. Unlike Jungkook and his insatiable hate-boner for you, Jimin really doesn't give a shit about you. Barely knows your name, let alone the fact that you studied economics before switching over. Was kind of curious as to how Jungkook knew that. Not enough to bother with asking, though.
Jungkook thinks it's normal to scope out the competition. A little Facebook look-up, Naver search, Instagram scroll. Surely it's rational to do that? Check out their LinkedIn, cross-reference their Twitter history to see what they've said about the course.
It absolutely isn't normal, but then again, nor is Jungkook.
He's exactly as he appears to be; the rogue look isn't a front.
But beneath the exterior, there are a few more traditions he's subverting.
He's the first in his family to attend college, and he needs to ace this class to keep his scholarship.
It's all just projection, the way he despises you.
You've got everything he wants. A well-to-do family, money, prosperity, financial security. He's never known that. And while he shits on you for having parents that have provided for you, all he wants in life is to be able to do the same for his own children one day.
"I've matched you all with students of a similar grade level, so no one is at an unfair advantage," your professor calls out, tearing Jungkook from his thoughts. "Not a single one of you will experience the city in the same way. From shortcuts to your favourite coffee spots, your lives here will have been different to those of your peers."
Jungkook smirks, leaning back on his chair. He knows this city better than most; its dark corners, where the monsters lurk... how to hide and where to run.
Again, the rogue look isn't a front.
But he also knows how to work a camera better than anyone in that room, how to time his shots, how to frame them, too. Top of the class, though modestly quiet about it (he's got a reputation to uphold, after all), he's curious to see who would be considered an even match for him.
"That being said, your experiences are also shared with those around you. For this assignment, with your partner, I want you to create a unique piece of film that captures what the city means to you. Think outside the box. Create something that excites, that invokes. You've got eight weeks. The partner list is on the noticeboard at the back of the hall. Dismissed."
Footsteps echo around the lecture hall as everyone trundles out of the room. You wait back, having already seen the list before you entered the class.
Instead, you pull out a pen - one of the ones that Jungkook hates, with a ridiculous fluffy pink pom-pom on top - and jot down your number. You aren't aware of his insatiable hatred, and either way, you don't really care.
He ignores you as you approach his desk, eyes only drifting upwards when you slide the torn-out piece of paper towards him.
"Mhmm?"
He's rude, you notice. Brows raised, expression flat, he's fed up with you before you've even said a word. Kinda hot, admittedly, but rude.
"We're partners," you say with an ambivalent shrug. Jungkook's jaw seems to tense, head tilting as he breathes out a short smirk.
Partners?
"You haven't even gone out to check the board."
"So what?" You scoff a little. He doesn't like your tone. The feeling is mutual. "I just made it up?"
It's his turn to shrug, now. "Dunno. You tell me."
His hair waves around his features, and you wonder how long it takes him to make it look so natural. The girls around campus swoon over his hair, like he's some kind of God. Other boys try to emulate it, but they can never quite pull it off like he does.
Another thing that all the girls giggle about are his doe-like eyes, but they're hard, now. Narrow, almost. Less of a doe, more like a dragon. Maybe if you get his nostrils flaring, he'll breathe fire, too.
Yeah, he's hot, you want to laugh to yourself, but not that hot.
"I checked before I came in. Didn't take a genius to work out what it was for."
He takes a moment before he nods. "Right. Well, you should probably know that I work better alone. Just let me handle the assignment, a'right? You can put your name on it, whatever, I don't care. Just let me handle it."
A control freak, you note. Nice.
You didn't transfer majors in your last semester, and face all the hardships that came with such a decision, just to sit back and let someone else do the hard work for you.
"With all due respect, it's a joint assignment. I'm not putting my name on work I didn't actually do."
A stickler for the rules, he assesses. Fucking fastastic.
"Look," he sighs, adjusting his body so that he's practically leaning halfway over his desk. As much as it sounds like he doesn't want to be a part of this conversation, his body language is oddly engaged. "I need to ace this class. You've been here, what? All of three minutes? Film what you wanna film, send it over to me for editing."
"I'm very much capable of editing-"
"And if you could do me a favour and keep the nail salon footage to a minimum, that would be much appreciated. Everyone's seen that shit. It's not interesting. Gangnam underground shopping centre B-roll, too."
It's a thinly veiled insult. Assumptions he's making about you based on the clothes you wear and the company you keep. He doesn't explicitly say it, but you know what he means: you're not interesting.
Jungkook doesn't mean to be an asshole. Not really. He's just got a lot riding on this course, and doesn't want to risk it all for the sake of keeping the peace with someone he doesn't particularly like in the first place.
"Like our Professor said, we all experience the city differently," you plaster a smile on your face, the plastic kind that Jungkook hates. "You might just be surprised at what I can offer."
Private tennis clubs and shopping sprees worth more than a second-hand car? Yeah, no. He'll pass, thanks.
"Whatever," he reclines back, giving your number the once over before tearing a strip of empty paper from the bottom of the note. His hand moves quickly, scrawling his own number onto it. He doesn't hand it to you, but instead tosses it down onto the desk as he stands. "As I said, I work best alone. Don't bombard me with messages about the project. I'll have it under control."
He vacates his desk with an air of arrogance that you don't think he's yet earnt. Sure, he's hot, and from what you've seen of his work, he's pretty talented, too. But no one likes working with assholes, and the whole point of being at college was to make yourself a desirable candidate for jobs.
Or at least that's what your parents had always said.
When they were still talking to you, that was.
Before they decided that you're a disgrace to the family name, all for the simple desire of not wanting to spend your life slaving over finances and spreadsheets.
Like inheritance and a slightly crooked nose (straightened out for your high school graduation gift), econ majors ran in your family - and just like you'd cut off your parents' dream of watching you become an economist, they'd cut you off. Full stop.
So as far as you were concerned, Jungkook could take his arrogant whining about your financial situation, and the hobbies you might have enjoyed as a result of your upbringing, and shove it up his ass.
You really wish he would. Shove it up his ass, that is. Might relieve him of the pent up tension he seems to have going on.
Swiping up his number, you tuck it into your back pocket, ruing the day you'll actually have to text it.
It comes as a surprise to both of you when, a week later, Jungkook is the first to type a message into your fledgeling chat window.
I'm filming tonight. Could use a Grip, if you're free. Dongdaemun Design Plaza, 7pm.
You wonder how much pride he must have had to swallow in order to send you that.
On occasion, during the past week, you've caught him looking at you in that slightly menacing way he always likes to do.
Part of you thinks he's unaware that he's doing it, just zoning out in your direction, but then you see him shake sense into himself - quite literally, a bunny with an itch behind its ear kind of shake - before he averts his gaze.
He does a similar shake of his head when your response pings through to his phone.
Can't do Tuesdays or Thursdays. Sorry. Maybe another time.
He doesn't reply.
REJECTION HAS NEVER been something Jungkook has taken well. It's why he works so hard, fearful of being told that he isn't good enough.
He'd only sent that text because he genuinely did need a Grip.
Well, no.
That's not quite right.
He needed a muse; a subject of his shots, a pair of eyes to catch the confetti of night market lights in. Someone's hand to film as they exchanged money with a hotteok stand server, another human to get lost and found all within the same shot.
But that felt awkward to ask, especially after his insistence that he could do it all alone, so he'd settled for pretending he'd needed a grip. Just someone to hold his gear while he took tricky shots. That's all.
Given your rejection, he was pleased with his choice.
"Familiar," Yoongi nods over lunch the next day, following Jungkook's gaze. "Yeah, I've definitely seen her around. Dunno where, though."
"Campus, maybe?" Jimin rolls his eyes, confused at the fixation Jungkook seems to have on you.
Yoongi shakes his head. "Nah... She looks like-" he glances over to Jungkook conscious of Jimin's listening ears.
"Like?"
"Just like a girl I see occasionally," Yoongi pauses again, making sure Jungkook's focus on him. "At work."
Jimin laughs. "So yeah, on campus. You work in the campus cafe, Yoongs."
It was the only legitimate place that would hire him. Dumb choices as a kid - and a questionable nickname that's now etched into his knuckles - prevents most places from seeing him as a viable candidate.
Yoongi laughs along with Jimin, but Jungkook knows Yoongi isn't talking about the once a week shift that he picked up as a form of extra credit.
Jungkook knows, because on paper, he doesn't have a job either.
On paper, he manages to survive on his scholarship bursary, The Holangi Honour, awarded to gifted students from underprivileged backgrounds.
On paper, Jungkook is the Korean dream of hard work and perseverance.
His reality isn't so pristine, but it never has been. He comes from a long line of high school dropouts with dubious morals and criminally reckless career choices. It was naive to have thought attending university would help him escape it.
Scholarship funds dried up pretty quickly, rent and t-money cards eating away at it, until Jungkook had no choice but to revisit old haunts.
Yoongi had told Jungkook that he didn't need to worry, that he could help him out if he needed money, but Jungkook was no leech, much to his older friend's despair. He didn't want the kid getting into the same trouble that he was in.
One meeting with Yoongi's old school friend, Hoseok and Jungkook was in the rat race again, delivering people's come ups for when the sun went down.
He'd always been good at running. Track, field, red lights, out of luck. Drugs, now, too.
Jungkook had managed a good year and a half on the straight and narrow. For that, he was proud. And sad.
But he's also determined.
Top grades mean top jobs in the future, which means never having to traipse around Daerim at ass o'clock in the morning.
He hates this part of town, but it's where business is currently booming.
Hobi texts him a drop-off list each morning, ensuring his nights are almost exclusively spent in Daerim.
This is how Jungkook sees the city: grotty back allies, groups of men huddled around a pack of cards and dice on the floor, cigarettes hanging out of their mouths, phlegm spat onto the foor. He sees the women of the night in the early hours of the morning, and the sadness in the smiles they give to the men who approach them on street corners.
There's only one club of any worthwhile note in the area, and between jobs, Jungkook likes to sit up on the fire exit that rests above the back entrance.
It's where Hobi works, assisting some other reprobate that Jungkook doesn't care to learn the name of. Nasty piece of work, or so he's heard. The son of some powerful motherfucker that Jungkook knows to stay away from. He isn't interested in joining any stupid fucking gang. He just wants to get his money, get through university, and forget about this place.
That's the big dream at least.
His current wish, which feels much more immediate, is to outrun the fucker who has been on his tail for the past half a mile. Jungkook's pretty fast on his feet, and he gives a mean left-hook, but the guy chasing him has a pocket knife and that doesn't really feel like a fair fight.
It's his fault, and he knows it.
As per usual, Hobi had texted Jungkook his drop off list. Six of them, all in Daerim. He had no business being down by Jungang Market, especially not on a Thursday evening.
He couldn't even explain why he was; he was just curious about what life could be like if he ended up flunking out of college. He wanted to see where the monsters liked to lurk, or if they hid in the shadows like boogeymen.
But reprobate recognises reprobate, and drug runner recognises drug runner.
So now Jungkook really is running, out of territory that he shouldn't have infringed upon.
He's not out of breath yet, but he is conscious that his heartbeat feels like it's in his throat. A few streets over, his motorbike is parked behind an industrial-sized trash can, and he prays that no thieving cunt has tried to make a get away with it. They wouldn't have managed it - it's his prized possession and he never leaves it unprotected.
When he spots it a few minutes later, he laughs, relieved. "You beauty," he praises the engine, pulling his key from the pocket of his leather jacket.
The fucker chasing him is nowhere to be seen, probably nursing a stitch or panting down a different back alley. Jungkook doesn't want to risk it, eyes darting all over the place as he unbuckles the chain on his bike wheel with muscle memory alone. The metal clangs through the iron bars that protect the banjihas down the alley from break-ins. He always feels a little bit of guilt for chaining his bike up to the only source of natural light for the half-basement dwellings, but it's quarter past two in the morning. Not exactly sunshine hours.
And yet his eye is drawn to the light pouring down from a street lamp at the entrance of the narrow lane.
Usually, you ignore the noises you hear on your walk home - but, as strange as it sounded for Jungkook's voice to issue a compliment, you're almost positive that it is his voice.
Dark hair, dark eyes, he doesn't recognise you at first. You're wearing black, and your hair is down, but your lips still have that stupid fucking pink lipstick on, the one he'd seen you blot away onto a tissue in the middle of a lecture a few days prior.
His eyes linger, the lights flickering in his glossy dark irises as if there are fireworks inside that pretty little skull of his. For a moment, he thinks you must have been filming for the assignment.
The lack of a camera proves otherwise.
"Get on the bike," he yells over to you, tugging on the sleeve of his leather jacket, pulling it down. Cognitive thoughts aren't something Jungkook's really working with, the adrenaline speaking for him.
That, and the fact that he's acutely aware of what men like the motherfucker who was chasing him down did to girls like you. Might not like you, but he doesn't want that on his conscience.
Plus, he needs your signature on the coursework documents, too. You're no use to him if you end up chopped into little squares and scattered in the river.
"Damnit, just get on the fucking bike!" He continues, noticing that you haven't moved a muscle. His jacket is off now, held out for you to take. He's impatient, eyes darting down the alleyway, as if he's scared of the rain that's pouring down around you. "Look, I ain't asking again. Just get on the bike, or I'll fuckin' leave you here. Some nasty fuckers about tonight."
And while you may not trust Jungkook, you don't trust the alleyways of downtown Seoul even more. You've seen the horrors. You know the dangers. Your mother didn’t raise a fool.
She also didn't raise you to bow to the commands of assholes like him either.
You ignore his jacket, hiking up your skirt, revealing far more of your thigh than most get to see. He doesn't make a comment, but you know he sees a flash of your underwear as you do so.
For once, sex seems to be the last thing on his mind.
Rain pools in the gutter by the drainpipes, trickling down, collecting in the ducts. A puddle sits on top, a tell-tale sign that the street is going to flood soon, but Jungkook also doesn't give a shit about that. Not right now - but he does make a mental note to check that the drains are unblocked by his place when he gets home.
He's a fellow basement dweller, dependent on the cheap rent. A banjiha boy with big dreams of getting out.
You hoist your leg over, ignoring the droplets of water on the leather seat, as your hand wraps around his waist. The front of his white shirt is damp from the rain, elevating the scent of his laundry detergent. You don't hate it. Quite like it, actually.
"Wet conditions," he rasps, voice still hurrying out of his mouth. "So take the jacket. If I slide, the tarmac will rip your skin off." He turns, wrapping the jacket around your shoulders. "I'm not your father. Dress yourself."
"I'd be a bit concerned if my father was trying to dress me at the ripe old age of 21," you bite back, as if the fabric of his jacket doesn't feel like it's melting into your skin on account of how bloody warm he is. You push your arms through the material, shaking it ever so slightly as Jungkook begins to rev the engine.
"Thanks would have sufficed," he bites back a scoff, not wanting to waste time arguing. "Try not to fall off, a'right?" He gruffs.
Some would have considered his concern endearing. You know it's just because he doesn't want to spend his evening scraping your flesh off the sidewalk. Not because he gives a single flying fuck about you.
"Hold on."
He doesn't wait for longer than a second, just enough time for you to wrap your arms around his waist, before he pulls down on the accelerator. His exhaust chortles, spitting out petrol as he goes, water from the ground splashing up against your bare leg. You can feel goosebumps forming, and yet your arms are completely warm.
Of course they are. Jungkook's chest is a fucking furnace, heart pumping blood through him faster than the speed of light. Forward, forward, forward, he pushes his bike on, away from the downtown area he found you in, and away from the demons who were hunting him.
The vibration of the bike is a welcome disguise. Beneath the motor's veil, you're shaking. Partly terrified, partly the victim of an adrenaline surge.
Hardly a surprise. You've never been on a bike like his before.
There weren't many men on motorbikes around your neighbourhood as a child, only Old Jinyeon, who had a Harley that he only rode on the weekends, or when his wife was away at that spa retreat that everyone knew was really code for 'rehab'. Prescription medication was her poison, mostly. There were whispers that alcohol was a bit of a problem, too.
It was a shame, really. She was a nice lady - she'd just married into a lifestyle that didn't suit hers.
Old Jinyeon's father had also been called Old Jinyeon, and his father before that, regardless of their age. The name wasn't the only thing inherited, but a fortune too. Old by name, old by money.
He'd met his wife at a gentleman's bar; gambled all of his chips away just so that he could keep talking to her as she worked.
But the good is rarely easy, and the easy never good. Women like her weren't supposed to be with men like him.
And girls like you aren't supposed to be on the back of boys like Jungkook's motorcycle.
But here you are, hurtling through the city at a speed you're pretty sure isn't legal, clinging onto him for dear life. Your eyes are shut, streaming with tears from the wind, mascara blotting onto his back.
"Left turn," he calls over his shoulder to brace you. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, stomach losing all stability as he rounds the corner. You've never suffered from travel sickness before, but now seems like the prime time to develop it.
The lights of the city all bleed into one kaleidoscope of colour. Your sense of direction has been rendered useless, only opening your eyes once every few seconds to make sure that this is real. And every single time, you're surprised to find that it is.
You expect it to be like a dream where you fall, only to wake up at the last second - but you've never had one of those dreams. You've only seen them in movies. You're not even sure they actually exist in real life. Perhaps this would be the closest you'd get to one. A main character moment - though this felt more like a crime-thriller than the rom-com you would have liked.
The feeling of damp wind in your hair like this is new, and exciting, but all you can think about is the fact that you're pretty sure one of your fake lashes just flew off. You pull your hand back to stroke at your lashes, just to check, but it's caught by Jungkook grabbing for it.
"I told you to hold on," he shouts, though he doesn't need to. The vibrations of his vibrato can be felt through his back. "So hold the fuck on, a'right?! I don't say shit like that for fun."
Jesus, you think. Who pissed in his cornflakes?
But he's right. You do need to hold on. He proves it by not warning you the next time he turns, the bike leaning so close to the tarmac that you're convinced you can feel rubber burn. He eases as soon as he hears you shriek, the grip you have on his chest so hard he swears you might puncture his skin. Reaching back, he cups your knee with his palm, checking for any sign of blood or broken skin. Negative. And yet his hand lingers before he retracts it. He's just making sure. Double-checking. Over-indulging.
"The fuck was that, asshole?" You all but scream.
"I told you to hold on, didn't I?!"
He did. And if you weren't doing so now, tighter than before, you'd have hit him so hard in the balls that he'd have no choice but to adopt in later life.
"You could have fucking killed me!"
"Oh, boo-hoo," he sneers, catching his tongue before he says something he'll grow to regret.
Jungkook would never have killed you. He knows these streets like the back of his hand, and how to ride his bike almost as well as he knows how to get himself off. It's second nature. Innate. A gift.
But before you can argue back, he draws to a stop, his exhaust rattling, the motor purring. As much as he'd like to tell you to get the fuck off his bike, he can feel you trembling now. A part of him - a very slim, deeply hidden part - feels guilty for being so hard on you.
He's grown up with bikes. Trusts them. Lives, breathes gasoline.
He doesn't imagine you know how to change a bicycle tyre, let alone anything with a motor.
The hand that had checked you for damage earlier returns, his fingertips warm against your goosebumps skin. He strokes lightly, once, twice, quickly. "You're fine," he tells you, and you want to believe him.
"Never said I wasn't."
He snorts a small laugh, then taps your knee, encouraging you off of the bike. His hand remains close as you do so, conscious of the fact that you'll most likely be unsteady on your feet - feet that he now notices are clad in the strappiest pair of heels he's ever seen in his life. Perhaps he doesn't need to worry about your stability at all. If you can walk in those, then you can surely handle a pair of wobbly knees.
Without much thought, you take his offer of assistance, his jacket dwarfing you as you stand, hand clasped in his.
"Where are we?"
The alleyway you're down is unlike the previous one he stole* you from (*rescued). It's cobbled and damp, yes, but the doors down here lead to dwellings, garages too. Not an industrial-sized trash cart in sight. And it doesn't smell like fermented piss either, which is a surprise. You thought that was just the standard for side-streets around these parts.
"Doesn't matter," Jungkook shrugs ambivalently as he unhooks his leg over the bike.
He wants to ask why you're wearing such stupid shoes.
That's a lie.
He doesn't think they're stupid.
He actually quite likes them. You've nice ankles. They look good.
What he really wants to ask is why you're wearing them on a school night. The pair of you might be in college, but it wasn't student night at the clubs, and he hadn't picked you up from a particularly nice part of town.
There are only three types of women he ever sees in Daerim: hookers, sugar-babies and addicts. You aren't any of those; you're a trust-fund baby who can get Percocet on private repeat prescription, if you really want it. He's sure of it.
So it then further begs the question: why the fuck were you there?
Sliding off his jacket, you offer him a small smile. It's the least you can do, you suppose.
It's funny, because you only ever see three kinds of men in Daerim: drunks, gamblers, and dealers. Jungkook isn't any of those. You might not know that much about him, but you know he's a scholarship kid, and that he won the winter film festival on campus for his documentary on back-alley gambling.
"We're not too far from campus," he eventually states. Few blocks over. He assumes you live on campus. Got the money for it.
"Cool," you nod, sure that you'll be able to find your bearings from here. You don't live on campus. Not anymore. No money for it. "Thanks for the lift, I guess."
The atmosphere is awkward, dewy mist in the air dampening both of you. He nods back, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
He knows he should invite you in, offer you somewhere to wait while you call a cab or something, but he's embarrassed. Of himself. His living situation. The fact that he doubts you've ever even been in a basement that isn't a wine cellar.
"Look I-"
"So-"
Jungkooks nose scrunches, cringing at the awkwardness. You glance down, self-conscious.
"What were you doing over in Daerim?" he asks rather out of the blue. He doesn't even process that he's asked until it's too late.
You clear your throat a little. "Just had some errands to run."
"At two in the morning?"
You nod.
"Right," he doesn't believe you, but can't think of a better explanation.
"Well, what were you doing there?" You ask, albeit a little more confrontational than intended. You were on the defensive.
His mouth is flat as he speaks, a narrowness to his eyes that makes your lips purse to suppress a smirk. "Running errands."
So you're both dirty little liars. Who'd've thought?
"Fairplay," you say with a smile. "Look, I still appreciate the ride. I'd have been fine," you add."But yeah, appreciate it nonetheless."
"Was nothing. I was headed in this direction anyway. If you take a left at the end of the street and follow the road down, there's usually a bunch of taxis waiting for the university cleaners to finish their night shifts. I'm sure you'll be able to get one."
"Take a left," you hum. "Cool. Will do." Bracing yourself to leave, Jungkook wonders if he should offer you a lift to your place too. "See you tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow?"
"Yeah, tomorrow. Class? That thing we attend during daylight hours?"
"Oh right. Yeah. See you tomorrow."
Bizarrely enough, if this is how awkward Jungkook is when he's being nice, you think you prefer him being an asshole. At least he has a little spark in him then.
Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook feels overloaded with fucking sparks, like someone's holding an axe grinder against the metal of his earrings, deafening him. The reality of his evening is kicking in, and the knowledge that he came a few metres from having a hole in his abdomen becomes overwhelming. He doesn't let it show, though.
"Thanks, again."
You make a promise to punch yourself in the face if you say thank you one more fucking time.
"It's fine, again," he smiles, with a small laugh, before focusing those eyes of his on the floor.
And so you leave, walking straight past the taxi rank and taking a shortcut to your apartment, which is a lot closer than you had realised.
Seven steps below street level, you jog down to your front door, petting the neighbourhood calico stray on your way down. The door closes with a slam, but you don't give a shit because the people in the apartment above never seem to give a shit when they stumble home at four in the morning.
Before he sleeps that evening, Jungkook wonders how much of the skyline you get to indulge in. Your dad works in the accounting side of one of the largest law firms in the city, he knows that much from his research. Knows that your immediate family has more money than probably all of his relatives combined. Alive and dead.
He just isn't aware that you're not seeing a single dime of it. Not since you dropped out of the economics and business side of school to focus on the creative arts. All that money your parents had 'wasted' on your education? Well, they weren't wasting any more.
Because you're a commodity, to be bought and sold, apparently. Not their daughter, who they should have just wanted to be happy.
So now you spend your Tuesday and Thursday evenings down in Daerim.
Because you are a commodity; and if anyone's gonna be selling you, then it may as well be your fucking self.
A stack of yellow 50,000 won bills sit on your desk. Twelve of them. 600,000 won. Not bad for a week's work. 6 hours.
Might have been cut off from your Dad's money, but your replacement 'daddy' wasn't a bad substitute.
The bluntness of such a statement usually makes you laugh, but not today.
If Jungkook knows the Daerim area like you think he does, then he'll be able to work it out soon enough. A bitterness fills your chest, like coffee dripping through a filter, forgotten about and left to go cold. You've been so good at playing pretend.
Secrets are so much easier to keep when they're not shared.
Perhaps that should be your project piece.
Secrets of Seoul: The Seedy Underbelly of The City.
After all, that was your unique view of the city; the side you saw that you were pretty sure no-one else did.
At least, no one else except Jungkook. Go figure.
"SEVEN WEEKS LEFT!" Your professor reminds the class as they dismiss you from your lecture. There's a little chatter, partners sharing ideas and friends discussing what to have for lunch - and then there's you and Jungkook.
He waits by the end of his row for you to walk to meet him, an inconspicuous look on his face.
The girl who he's watching neatly put a fluffy pen into her handbag looks a lot like you, but a hell of a lot different from the girl he gave a lift to last night.
Who the fuck are you?
Jungkook has always liked a little mystery. Seen the romanticism in the unknown. Still doesn't like you - but you've gotten him curious.
"You haven't sent anything over yet," he notes, keeping a slight distance from you as you walk together up the stairs.
"You told me not to bombard you," you remind him.
"Sending me video files once in a blue moon is fine."
"Once in a blue moon. Gotcha."
It's Friday, so he knows it's not one of your pre-determined days of having prior engagements.
It's only now that he realises that must have been why you were in Daerim last night; that your 'errands' are actually scheduled into your routine. It doesn't bode well for his 'not a hooker, an addict or a sugar-baby' theory.
"I was thinking of heading over to Dongdaemun this evening, seeing as you weren't free on Tuesday," he starts a little awkwardly, but the more he speaks, the easier it becomes. Being nice, that is. "I could still use a hand, if you're free? If you're serious about helping out, I mean. It would be good to make a start on things."
Relief washes over you. You've been fearing a conversation about the night before, but Jungkook doesn't want to talk about it just as much as you don't.
You meet him at seven o'clock that evening at Dongdaemun Design Plaza. You've always loved the green roof, how organic the landscaping looks above such a futuristic building. He listens as you explain this, eyes wide and in awe of the sloping pathways and curved walls, showing him your favourite of all the trees in the park.
Jungkook looks at you for a second, observes your hands, how they delicately move a few leaves to frame the shot you're taking. You've a Midas touch, and Jungkook wonders if your fingers would turn him to gold, too.
It's a silly, fleeting thought, but it doesn't stop him from focusing the camera on you as you roam Dongdaemun night market later that evening, lights cascading over you like glitter.
He thinks you're pretty in this light. Pretty when it's just him and you. No distractions.
Except there's hustle and bustle everywhere, a vendor chasing a thief, groups of high schoolers laughing on their way home from Hagwons, food sizzling, vapours making his stomach rumble. Perhaps you're the distraction, instead.
The pair of you spend the next week traipsing the city together.
Somehow, you only ever come together when the sun goes down, but it's fitting. You're a pair of nightcrawlers, swarming through the city when traffic sounds like a melody and destinations are unknown.
He learns that you drink your coffee black, no sugar, lukewarm. You learn that he'd rather rub coffee granules into his eyes than drink it.
And despite your preference for no sugar, he always tosses a little white sachet towards you whenever you order a coffee. He finds it funny. Insists that you have to be a sugar baby. It's the only way he can explain that night he saw you Daerim.
He's just joking. And you pretend not to, but you find it hysterical.
Mainly because he doesn't realise how bang on the money he is.
But also because you can't help but laugh whenever he does.
There's a comfort that grows between the pair of you, a familiarity. A casual ease that doesn't feel dangerous, not even when he's pulsing through the city on his bike, you holding onto him, his leather jacket wrapped around your body. You begin to like the way that the wind feels in your hair, and you stop wearing fake lashes. Jungkook doesn't tell you, but he likes you better with a few freckles showing, dewy highlighter and a little mascara being the only makeup you wear for the midnight city roams.
It's only because you can't be wasting resources reserved for clients on a boy from your film studies class. Times are tough, money is tight. No point in pouring funds into a boy you won't make revenue from. It's a bad business decision.
A few months ago, you did your makeup multiple times a day just for fun. Now you have to ration it. Life... life isn't what it used to be.
But Jungkook is ignorant to that, and you quite like it. Escaping from your reality. Becoming the version of yourself that he thinks you are.
He isn't sure which version of you he wants to spend time with the most; the too-good for him daddy's girl who dresses in Celine and comes with a pout, the enigma who lurks in the shadows that he thought he had a monopoly over, or the master director who seems to rival his talents for capturing moments of life in 4K.
As he watches your brows furrow while you turn your phone upside down, trying to understand a map, he decides that he doesn't care which version he gets.
Jungkook wants what he wants.
There's an impulsion to his desires and subsequent actions that he takes to obtain them. He's driven by gratification, and little else.
On the days he wants to feel wanted, he'll go to a bar. He never whispers false promises or pretends like he's after anything more than what can be achieved in a single night. The girls he goes for tend to see that as a challenge. They think they can convince him otherwise. It's not his fault when they can't. It's not his fault that they end up falling for him regardless. It's not his fault that he never has any intention of loving them back.
He tells them this. They ignore him. It isn't his fault.
On the days he wants to feel accomplished, he'll stay on campus until the cleaners usher him out of the room so that they can prepare it for the next day. Their insistence is lost on him - no amount of Cif can polish the dirt out of the walls. Once a shithole, always a shithole. He'll offer his apologies for getting in their way, and they'll coo over him like he's their own grandson. It's all very sweet.
They tell him not to overwork himself. He lies and says he won't.
On the days he wants to eat more than a single cup of ramyeon - which is most days, given his absolutely mammoth appetite - he'll send Hobi a text and request more drop-offs for that evening. Yoongi will give Jungkook a subtle look whenever a message from Hobi pings through, knowing it mustn't be good news. It never is.
Jungkook tells Yoongi to mind his business - but with a grin and a glint in his eye that eases his friends worry ever so slightly.
Disapproval never stops Jungkook from doing what he wants, regardless.
Not from his friends, from the cleaning ajummas, and especially not from you.
So he ignores the look in your eye, as he encourages you to follow him through a gap in the chainlink fence, which surrounds a disused water tower on the outskirts of the city.
Jungkook wants what he wants.
And right now, he wants to get a shot of the midnight city from his favourite vantage point.
"You said you've taken thousands of shots here," You hiss as a twig snaps beneath your foot. He smirks as you utter out a curse. "Surely you can just reuse one of those?!"
He guides you round, ignoring the ground level rubble, until you get to a ladder that definitely isn't safe for use. It's rusting by the bolts, and has a few vines trailing up it, undisturbed for months. Remnants of paint are flaking from the structure, collecting like ashes on the ground below.
"I have," he shrugs, unhooking your camera bag from your shoulder, popping it into his rucksack for safe keeping. He crouches, putting his palms upwards to offer you a leg up. "You haven't, though. You see the city differently to me, remember?"
He's taunting you. Reusing the phrase from your Professor that you had quoted to him on the first day of the project. Asshole.
Asshole with a smirk that suggests he's only teasing. Suggests that he's fond. Words that suggest he remembers the things you say to him. Memorises them, even.
Curious.
"Can't we just pretend like we see it the same way?"
"No can do, sugar."
"Oh my god, stop calling me that."
You're thankful for the midnight sky and the way it disguises your blush.
As if throwing packets of the white stuff at your face in coffee shops isn't enough, he's taken to calling you 'sugar', too.
"Give me a reason not to," he says as he tilts his head, encouraging you to accept his leg up. You check your feet for mud, then put your trust in his grip.
"I've already told you, I was just running errands," you defend yourself for the thousandth time. A short yelp escapes your lips as he boosts you up, your hands gripping onto the flaking bars beside the ladder.
He doesn't believe you for a second. He also doesn't believe that you're actually a sugar baby. It's just fun to fuck with you a little.
Once you're up, he waits for you to safely sit on the ledge, and then he makes the climb too. He's up a lot quicker than you, coming to sit beside you with his legs dangling over the ledge of the railings.
"Tell me it isn't worth it," Jungkook says a little airily, enamoured with the view.
And he's right. It is worth it.
A maze of city lights twinkle like the Carina nebula, interstellar, yet entirely of this earth. Bright whites, reds and greens speckle the horizon, and for a moment, it's easy to forget that you're looking at Seoul. There's a magic that can only be appreciated from a distance, far away from the scent of alleyways and the void nothingness of grey brick buildings. Skyscrapers tower above the skyline, but still look small from where you and Jungkook sit, silently, in awe.
"Look over there," he points across the vast expanse. You follow his trajectory, but you have no idea if you're picking out the right spot. "Daerim. Can always tell. Know the street layout too well."
"You're gonna get me thinking you're a sugar baby," you nudge your shoulder into his, and he laughs.
Reaching into his rucksack, you expect him to pull out your camera. Instead, his hand comes back into vision holding a pair of chopsticks and a tub of instant ramyeon. Uncooked.
He pulls the seal back, stabs at it with the chopsticks and offers you the small chunk he's broken off.
"It's good," he promises.
You know what dried ramyeon tastes like. You know it's good. You just can't understand what the fuck is wrong with him.
"Are you broken?"
He grins as he tosses the chunk of dried noodles into his own mouth. "Absolutely - but ramyeon is ramyeon."
You tell him he's weird, and he continues to smile, not resisting as you take the tub from him and break off a chunk with your fingers.
It's one of his favourite snacks. He's impatient and impulsive at the best of times. Waiting for it to cook? Too much effort. Cooking it at the convenience store and carrying it up the tower with him? Disaster waiting to happen. It's just easier this way.
And so the pair of you sit, not really saying much, watching the city roll by. Every now and again, he offers you a chunk from his chopsticks.
By the end of the night, neither of you have gotten any footage of the city.
And neither of you really care.
AS YOU SPRINT home after yet another spree around the city with Jungkook, running late for your Thursday evening appointment, you curse your inability to send his calls to voicemail.
You should really be working more. You need to be working more - but for the past four weeks now, you've answered every single one of his calls.
His messages? Yeah, you ignore those. He's learnt this, though. He messages you regardless, because... well, because he wants to, quite frankly. He doesn't give a shit if you respond.
He knows you read them.
He knows you saw that picture he sent of a flyer detailing a live art event last week. He knows that you noticed the veins on his arms.
You don't know that he'd spent a couple of minutes tensing his arm before he took the picture. Deliberately.
It's been said before that Jungkook wants what he wants - and what he wants more than anything, frustratingly, is your attention.
The way you study his arms the next time you see him proves that he's gotten it.
If anything, the delayed gratification makes it so much more worthwhile.
You have been thinking about him.
So as far as Jungkook is concerned, you can ignore his messages all you like, because you still always answer his calls with an airy 'hi,' as if talking to him takes your breath away.
The only time you don't answer is between the hours of eleven and two on Tuesday and Thursday evenings.
Chances are, if he just so happens to be in the area - which he always is - he'll catch you down on the wrong side of the tracks at just gone quarter past two.
He still calls you 'sugar', teasing you for the reputation of the area. You just roll your eyes and grin, then banter with him about how even if you were a sugar baby, he wouldn't be able to afford your prices.
He argues that he'd pay in ways that didn't include monetary value.
You don't ask him to expand.
But as you wipe your watery lash line in the bathroom of a shitty rental apartment in Daerim, you think about what he could have meant. If he actually meant it.
The TV blares from the living room, faint vapours of a mango e-cigarette wafting through the gap beneath the door. You've always thought mango smells like cat piss. Rancid.
Whatever Jungkook could have meant didn't matter. His flirty tone and angel eyes didn't pay the bills. The cash tossed down on the bathroom counter did - or more specifically, the widower, who occasionally wanted company from a pretty young girl, did.
A hundred thousand won for an hour, three hundred thousand total. It takes you just a week, two appointments, to make up the month's rent - but you still need to eat, to study, survive.
And so you return, every week.
It's not his actual apartment. He lives over in Gangnam, close to his kids' schools. More money than sense. He doesn't tell you much about his personal life. You think a lot of his small claims are lies, anyway - but you smile and flutter your lashes as if he's reciting bible verses.
Some nights are better than others. Sometimes, he genuinely makes you laugh. Occasionally, he'll ask you what you want to do. Takes you to museums. Fancy dinners. Theatre shows.
But he has a nasty streak, and in those three hours, you're his. He owns you. There's no sex, that's not the arrangement, but his hands have been known to roam, and the disparity of equality within your working relationship becomes apparent. You brush it off, tell yourself that it's natural for a man engaging with you in a romantic capacity to forget the rules. You tell yourself that it's okay.
The churning in your stomach and dis-ease of such a situation tells you that no, it isn't okay. But if you laugh at his painfully unfunny jokes loud enough, you're able to drown out the noise in your head.
The worst nights are the ones where he pays you extra.
There's no discussion anymore. The stack of notes is just thicker than usual upon arrival, and you know that at some point during the night, you'll have to sit in silence and watch as he sinks his hand down into his pants.
It's easy to forget the way it looks. Your eyes glaze over, and the discomfort, the slight disgust, indicated in your features gets him hard. He thinks it's taboo. Thinks you enjoy it too. That your panties look a lot like his hand by the time he's finished.
The snort-like grunts are what you find hard to forget. The wail of a moan that comes when he does. You hear that shit in your nightmares.
But it earns you an extra two hundred thousand, so you endure it because you don't have much of an option at this point.
Come 2 AM, cash stuffed down your bra, you don't have to think about it anymore. The fresh air of the city, a little smoggy and polluted, hits you like a freight train. You thank it.
When Jungkook enters Daerim that evening, he expects to find you. He normally does. You never look particularly happy - in fact, he often tells you that you've got a face like a slapped arse - but it's more so today.
He whistles from across the street, clad in black, a thick hoodie keeping him warm beneath his leather jacket. "Oi, Sugar," he calls, that boyish grin on his lips. Teeth so pretty you wonder how much novocaine it would take for you to be numb to the way it makes your stomach flip.
Eyes dancing up and down your body, he likes what you're wearing. Black tights, black dress that cuts off at your mid-thigh, a sweetheart neckline and chiffon sleeves that puff around your slender arms. He decides your boots are far more sensible than the heels you're usually in.
"That'll be twenty thousand, Jeon," you call back, arms folded over your chest as you change direction to walk towards him.
"Per hour?"
"Per every time you call me that stupid fucking name."
"What would you rather?" he goads, leaning against a window ledge on the back of a restaurant building. There's nothing down the alleyway, just trashbags and the distinct scent of fermenting piss. "Shugs? SB? Baby?"
You smirk, walking to the wall opposite him, mirroring his position, hands resting beside you on the ledge. There's a safe distance between the pair of you. A look, but don't touch type of vibe - but this time, unlike earlier on in your evening, you actually enjoy it.
"You really gotta make your mind up," your eyes roll, lips rising into a crescent. "One minute I'm a trust-fund princess with Daddy's money on tap, the next I'm a sugar baby with a different type of Daddy altogether."
Jungkook shrugs. "Just don't see why you waste your evenings roaming fucking Daerim of all places."
"Best dandanmian in the city," you say, referencing the abundance of traditional Chinese restaurants in the area. "Can't get the authentic stuff in Itaewon."
"Can't get hookers in Itaewon like you can in Daerim, either," he taunts you.
He doesn't really think you're a hooker, but he likes the way you grin whenever your eyes roll.
"Ah, so that's why you're here."
He holds his hands up to playfully admit defeat. "Guilty."
You laugh, knowing that there's no way in hell Jungkook will ever have to resort to hookers. Not when he looks like that. All doe-eyed and charming, floppy hair just begging for a pair of hands to run through it.
The pair of you let the moment simmer, droplets of water dripping from the drainpipe and into the sewer. He's lit by the neon light of a restaurant sign, red and yellow painting him like an impressionist masterpiece.
"You look cold," he acknowledges, but you shake your head and insist you're fine. Your hair is a little damp from the small shower you'd been caught in a little while previously, mascara smudged around your eyes. You looked like that before the rain, mind you. He shakes his jacket off and tosses it across to you, snorting quietly as it hits your face and crumples over your feet. "C'mon. I'm now about to ride home. I'll give you a lift."
He asks for your address, and you tell him that you'll just get a taxi from his place like you normally do. There's no need for him to go out of his way.
"The princess doesn't want the pauper to see her castle, huh?" he teases, always talking in bloody riddles.
"See!" you protest. "Always changing your mind! A minute ago I was a sugar baby, and now I'm a rich bitch again. Which is it, Jeon?"
"I dunno," he reaches behind himself, adjusting your legs and pulling you a little closer into his back, tapping your side to make sure you've got the jacket on. "You tell me, sugar."
He doesn't see you roll your eyes, but he knows you do it. You always do. Even when your pretty pink nails are clutching the fabric of his shirt, you pretend like you don't enjoy his company.
You've gotten good at playing pretend.
Jungkook only jokes about you being a sugar baby.
He doesn't fathom that you actually are one.
His engine begins to purr, and Jungkook kicks up the stand, setting off into the night.
The way you hold onto his waist is different tonight.
Physically, it's the same.
But it feels different.
And it is, because you're not just holding onto him; you're hugging him. Comfort in an old routine. You adjust your arms, keeping tight against his back, and he pretends like he doesn't notice the shift in dynamic.
He pretends as if he didn't notice your sad eyes earlier, too, and as if he can't feel the stutter in your chest as if you're trying not to cry.
Jungkook isn't a knight on a white horse, and nor does he want to be - but he doesn't mind being your rogue bandit who steals you away from the things that make you sad.
He's just an arc in your fairytale, not your happy ending.
But you've always been a sucker for a bit of a plot twist.
When you arrive at his, he wants to ask you to stay. He doesn't want an orange taxi cab to appear at the end of his lane and act like your actual knight in shining armour. He doesn't want you to ride into the sunrise with anyone but him.
And as luck would have it, your phone shares his desires.
Well, no. It doesn't. It's a mobile phone. It doesn't have cognitive thoughts - but it is out of charge.
"Different charging ports," he grits his teeth as he holds up his Samsung after you ask if he's got an iPhone charger. "I'm pretty sure I have an apple cable lying about though. You can come in for a second, get a little bit of charge just so that you're not stranded in a taxi without a way to contact anyone."
You nod appreciatively. "You sure?"
He doesn't answer, instead holding his door open and ushering you inside.
Jungkook cares in strange ways. He's practical, forward-thinking, trying to find solutions to problems that you'd normally shrug your shoulders at.
He's never told anyone that he loves them before, but he did once swap the hinges on his ex-girlfriend's bathroom door to the other side, so that it would stop hitting the sink basin every time she opened it. He shows his affections in meaningful ways, often without being asked or expecting anything in return.
Neither of you realise it yet, but this is one of those occasions.
It's not until you're perched on the worktop bench in his kitchen that he realises he let you in without hesitation. No longer embarrassed of where he lived, he kind of likes having you here.
You look out of place, silver pendant round your neck, expensive, and hair professionally coloured, nails done, toes, too. Not that he can see them. He just remembers a conversation you had once over chicken and a beer about the fact your toes always matched your nails.
Small details like that are what he thinks about when he's alone; like the way you blink a little faster when you're confused, and how you sprinkle Cheeto dust back into the bag off of your fingers instead of licking them like he does. He thinks about the way you laugh in his company, and how he's never heard you laugh like that with anyone else. And he tries to stop, but dammit, he thinks about how sexed up you look on those Daerim nights.
You're dressing like that for someone else, he knows that much.
But he gets to indulge in it too, when your body is pressed against his back as he takes you home.
He's stopped asking what you do in Daerim. He doesn't want to know.
For a few minutes a night, when he's alone, he likes to pretend what it would be like if he was the one you were dressed like that for. Only ever a minute or so. Gets him too hot. Finishes him off too quickly. Absolute sin.
"Kook?"
He doesn't even realise he's halted his movements until your voice breaks him from his thoughts. His jeans tonight are tight, and do a pretty good job of hiding the swelling between his legs. Fucking uncomfortable, though.
"Sorry," he doesn't turn to face you. "Was just trying to remember where I last had the cable."
"I was just saying that it's fine. It's really not that far. Don't wanna be a bother."
"Why'd you say shit like that?" he turns to face you, face twisted a little. He's annoyed.
"Like what?"
"Call yourself a bother. You do it a lot."
"I don't."
"You do," he insists, and you can't work out why he's so annoyed by it. You want to apologise all over again. "You just-" he takes a moment to find the right words. "I dunno who's conditioned you into thinking everything you do is bothersome, but it really isn't. If I didn't wanna help, then I wouldn't. It's not a bother. You're not a bother."
And you don't know why, but for some reason, you choke up a little. It's not like he said anything particularly groundbreaking, it's just for the last few months, your entire existence has felt like a drain on those around you.
The money you can live without, but you miss family dinners on Sundays, and face timing your little sister, more than you can even begin to explain.
And while no, you didn't want your parents' money, you didn't want to keep seeing a perverted old man just to be able to afford to eat, either. The flat rate was 500,000 now. Every single time. Without fail. You hadn't put the price up. He was just always paying extra. Always touching his prick. Always jerking himself off over your repulsion.
Earlier that evening, he had queried how much it would cost him to finish on your chest. You told him a million. He asked if you accepted bank transfers. You told him no. He offered 1.2 mil.
Part of you considered it. It's a lot of money. Not something to be taken lightly.
But when you ran into Jungkook, just like you knew you would, you were adamant you had made the right choice. He had scanned your body, getting a read on your mood, assessing what you needed, what you wanted, and then had offered up his jacket. All doe-eyed and sparkling. You finally got what all the girls swooned over, 'cause you were doing it too.
"Hey," he says softly, noticing the way your eyes are reddening. "Hey, hey, no. Don't cry, sugar."
You laugh through the first couple of tears. Stupid fucking nickname.
"I meant it," you sniff, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hands. He's standing closer now, hesitant to touch, hands hovering around you. "20 thousand won, Jeon. Pay up."
His fingers tenderly wrap around your wrists, keeping them from rubbing at your face again. He's smiling, eyes ever encompassing, cheeks so appled that you bet you could get drunk off the cider he'd produce.
"Can we do it on an I.O.U. basis?" he speaks quietly, playfully. "I get paid on Monday."
It's a lie. He gets his commission cut straight from his sales figures. There's 2 million won in his rucksack. He only gets ten percent. 200K. His job's not nearly half as lucrative as yours, but it's still nothing to be laughed at. He's making bank.
"Nuh-uh," you sniff again, letting out a little laugh. He laughs too. "Told you that you couldn't afford me."
And then it's silent. You can hear your heartbeat. He moves a little closer.
"Told you I'd just pay in other ways."
His voice is hoarse, as if he's scared.
As if he fears the consequences of his claim.
Your eyes drop to his lips. They're trembling slightly. Preparing.
The grip he has on your wrists loosens. He's giving you freedom. He's giving you the chance to back out, to run away.
But you don't.
"Pay up, then," you all-but whisper, lips closing on his.
Jungkook doesn't stall, no, but it takes him a second to respond. To realise.
And once he does, his brows furrow into the kiss, demanding that you know just how much he wants this. Wants you. Has done for weeks, now.
He pulls your body into his, needing you close. Your body curves, his arm hooked behind your back to keep you balanced.
A surge of intensity washes over you like crimson paint. It'll stain you, and everyone will know: That's her. That's the girl who let Jeon Jungkook kiss her like he actually meant it.
He kisses, and he kisses, and he kisses, and he doesn't stop, as if he knows his first with you will also be his last - and when he finally does stop, forehead on yours, the pair of you are breathing so heavily into each other's mouths that it's as if you're sharing oxygen. Keeping each other alive. Both capable of first-degree murder.
And so neither of you pull away. There's no way he's doing time for you. There's no way you're doing time for him. Looks like you'll just have to kiss forever. Shame. Such a hardship. However will you cope?
"I-" he begins, before cutting himself off, easing his grip on your waist. One of his hands lingers, while the other pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes wincing. "Shit-" he finally lets you go. "I don't know what that was. I'm sorry."
You want to tell him that it's okay, that you didn't mind, that he could do it again - but it's clear he doesn't agree.
"Just adrenaline," you offer, sinking down to perch on the worktop bench. Your defeated posture is hidden well like this. "Don't sweat it."
He stays silent as he turns around to resume his rummaging, looking for a charger that will fit your phone. He knows there's one in there, he just can't for the life of him remember when he last had it.
Everything feels a little awkward. You half think that you should fill the void with something, that you should break the ice, but what was the point? You'll be out of his hair soon.
And you are, home twenty minutes later. You had only charged your phone for ten minutes at his, just enough to get you home. It's about to die again. Not before Jungkook pings you a message, though.
He doesn't expect a response, but he lies awake until he sees your read receipt confirm that you've seen it.
Sadness doesn't suit you, sugar. I'm not gonna pry, but if you ever need a ride earlier than normal out of Daerim, give me a call.
He spent a good six minutes debating whether or not to end his message with a kiss, eventually deciding against it. No need to make the message any softer than it already was.
To his surprise, a bubble pops up on your side of the chat thread.
His heart twinges, your response saying everything he wished he had with just one simple letter:
x
JUNGKOOK HAS A terrible habit of taking out his stress on the people around him; the ones that he holds closest.
"I just don't see why it's such a big issue," Jimin says through a mouthful of salad greens. His teeth chomp so loudly that Jungkook thinks they'll have to swing by the dentistry labs later that afternoon. Which Jimin'll probably like, considering he won't stop fucking rambling on about a dentistry student at the moment. "She's hot, she's got guys practically falling at her feet and she's interested in you. It's one party. Stop being so fucking boring."
Yoongi casts Jungkook a sympathetic look. He doesn't work so much at the moment, what with his chemistry finals coming up, and especially not in the Daerim area.
That's Jungkook's market now - but he did happen to have a drop-off for a last-minute order a couple of weeks back. Territory isn't an issue between the friends, with Jungkook respecting Yoongi far too much to ever tell him to back off, or to not take deals in that area.
He had been about to approach Jungkook that night, when he noticed you crossing the street, a smile plastered on your face. He couldn't see Jungkook's face from the angle he was at, but he could see how raised his cheeks were. And so he left the pair of you to it, knowing better than to stick his nose where it wasn't wanted.
Unlike Jimin, apparently.
"Not boring," Jungkook retorts, tossing the wrapper his chopsticks came in at Jimin's face. "Got a bunch of assignments due in."
"Dude, you've been MIA for weeks. If we didn't have classes together, I'd have sent out a search party by now."
"You're being dramatic."
"You're being boring."
"Kids, settle down," Yoongi interjects, and wonders why he doesn't just find friends his own age. Logistics, he decides. The perils of having to save up for university before he could actually attend.
Jimin, being Jimin, then proceeds to bicker with Yoongi, leaving Jungkook free to find your face amongst the canteen crowd. You're sat with friends, none of whom he's ever met.
Your hair is up, like it always is during school, but you've let your grown out bangs frame your face. Pretty, he thinks. Prettiest girl here.
But then you stand up, and Jungkook turns caveman. Head empty. No thoughts. Just nonsense. Jesus Christ. Who gave you the right? God damn.
A few months ago, he would have looked at you in that outfit - a silky sage green playsuit over a white tee, sunglasses resting on your head like an alice band and a pair of white converse on your feet - and he probably would have scoffed. Wouldda said some bullshit about the fact you're dressed like a child, or that the weather isn't good enough to warrant such an outfit.
A few months ago, he was a fucking idiot.
You feel his gaze on you, just like you always do.
And you ignore it.
You've been getting good at that. Pretending as if you don't feel his eyes. As if you're unaffected, unbothered by the simplest form of intimacy: a single look.
He knows you've been keeping your distance. Watching from afar is all he can do when you slink out of class before he can catch your attention. He tells himself that he doesn't care.
Jungkook mutes the audio track of the editing software he uses when he stitches together your footage, so he doesn't have to relive your conversations or hear you laugh, or worse, hear himself laugh.
It's all a bit nauseating.
Maybe a party would actually be a good distraction.
"Tonight, did you say?" Jungkook pipes up out of nowhere, only dragging his eyes away from you when he sees you pull your phone out to send a text.
He pouts. You never text him. Not once since last Thursday.
And you were nowhere to be seen on Tuesday.
He had called you, and for once, you didn't pick up. He didn't try again. Decided that it was on you just as much as it was on him.
That being said, he didn't get home till four in the morning, two and half hours after his last deal. Spaffed away an entire tank of petrol. Rode in fucking circles. Just in case.
"Now we're talking!" Jimin grins. "Tonight. It's her birthday, she's rented a bar in Itaewon - Dad knows the landlord or something."
Jungkook didn't know who 'she' was. Hadn't been listening to that part of the conversation.
"Well, you kids enjoy yourselves," Yoongi sighs as he gets to his feet. "Can't risk my finals over a few crappy drinks in a shitty bar."
"Oh boo-hoo!" Jimin pouts. "Spoilsport."
When Jungkook enters the bar that evening, he's greeted with everything he expects. E-cigarette vapours cloud the air, a cocktail of flavours violating his senses as he heads to the bar, shitty EDM pumping through the speakers. It's been a while since he let his hair down, so to speak.
There's something about him that commands attention. People gravitate towards him, even through the smoke clouds and sweaty bodies. Girls buy him drinks. Guys buy him drinks, too. Anything just to spend time in his presence. Like leeches, they hope to share some of Jungkook's aura.
It's impossible, though. It's Jungkook's authenticity that gives him such charisma. Trying to emulate it only ever comes off as tacky - like the guy towards the back of the room who's permed his hair to look like Jungkook's. Pierced his eyebrow, too. Looks like shit. Jungkook doesn't want to judge him, but he's a few drinks deep, and being kind is what got him into that mess with you in the first place.
No good ever comes from being nice.
He takes a shot. Tequila. Chases it down with lemonade. The girl next to him is playing with the bracelets on his wrist. Her nails scratch a little bit, and he quite likes it, so he doesn't resist when pulls him onto the dancefloor. He observes the way she moves first, and isn't disappointed. She knows how to move her hips, and seems to like it when he puts his hands on them. He can't really feel the sensation when she kisses him. The alcohol has numbed his lips. Maybe Jimin was right to force him into this.
By the time he goes to the bar for another drink, he's faded. Off his tits. Helped himself to some of Hobi's stash that he was supposed to be distributing that evening. A little bit of coke never does him any harm. He knows his limits. Tastes like shit down the back of his throat, but he kind of enjoys it.
At first, he thinks he must be seeing things when he catches you with an espresso martini in hand, laughing with people he doesn't know.
You've this whole life that he's no part of. A whole entire world. He really is an outsider looking in.
You're one of the elite; an old-money heiress. The type to own a miniature dog breed and only fly business class. It was stupid of him to think your interest in him had been anything more than entertainment. A 'little bit of rough.' Excitement away from the confines of the life he's sure your parents must have planned out for you.
It might just be because he's coked up, but he doesn't care about any of that.
All he can think about is the fact he's pretty sure you've never looked more beautiful.
He feels so lost looking at you like this, as if he needs to be closer, for fear of losing sight of you entirely.
And so he sits beside you at the bar, orders his drink, waits for you to notice him. Which you do.
You'd spotted him the very second you walked into the bar, his hands all over some girl you don't know.
In all fairness, you didn't realise he would be there. Sohyun, the girl whose birthday it was and an old friend from high school, has been fawning over Jungkook for months. Just superficial drawling, comments about his thighs and the fact she'd quite like to be suffocated by them. Harmless, really. You know she's never actually made a move.
Sohyun doesn't know you're working on a project together. You avoid the topic of him altogether, especially with her.
But she does notice the way Jungkook is looking at you like he's seen a ghost; haunted and comforted all in the same expression.
"You're here," he finally says, and it feels as if your chest is about to cave in.
Turning to face him, you're casual in your posture. Unbothered. Completely unaffected by him, and the lipstick that's painting those lips of his that you like so much.
You raise your thumb and swipe it across his bottom lip. He's silent as you do so, watching you, holding his breath. His lip moves like rubber beneath your touch, soft and supple, springing back into position once you release it.
You raise your thumb to study the lipstick you've collected from him. "Plum's really not your colour, Jungkook."
He doesn't say anything, a little transfixed. It's barely ticked past midnight. You should be in Daerim.
In all fairness, so should he. Hobi had some choice words for Jungkook when he told him that he wasn't working that evening at such short notice.
You swipe open your phone and repeat the step, filming your thumb as Jungkook becomes captive to your touch. You want to look, to see how wide his dark eyes are, but you're too busy feigning disinterest.
"There," you smile, forwarding the video along before you lock your phone. "Just sent you a video of how I see the city tonight."
You've no right to be annoyed. You know that.
Jungkook can be in a bar with another girl's lipstick on his chin if wants to be. He can stay out all night, and he can stay in beds that aren't his. It's his prerogative.
But you are annoyed.
It's irrational, and pathetic, and you shouldn't be.
You barely know him. Not really.
After you'd shown him your favourite tree at the Design Plaza a few weeks ago, he'd insisted on taking you across town to Garosugil, a street in Gangnam lined with beautiful tall trees. He questioned why you only had one favourite tree, when you could have had an entire row of them instead.
At the time, you'd enjoyed the way his eyes looked beneath the lights of the designer stores that neither of you could afford. You didn't question what he had meant.
It seems like you found your answer.
"I'm not the city," he eventually says.
And he's right.
He's not the city.
Fuck it, no, he's not the city, but his eyes sparkle like Itaewon on Friday nights, and his hands are strong like the World Cup Bridge. He's not the city, but you find it so easy to get lost in him without a map, and sometimes wearing his leather jacket makes you feel like you're eating comfort food at your favourite breakfast bar over in Myeong-dong. He's not the city.
He's not the goddamn city.
But it feels a little like you'd accidentally anchored your navigation pin in him regardless.
All you do is smile, and tell him that he's right.
"Look," he begins, and you can smell the spiced rum on his breath.
"It's okay," you interrupt. Who are you to make him feel guilty for his promiscuous encounters?
He doesn't know what you do in the dark. Not really. If he did, he probably wouldn't have kissed you last week.
"No, I-" he cuts himself off like he always does when he doesn't wanna fuck up his words. The alcohol is doing him absolutely zero favours. "I dunno, sugar."
Your smile is sad, and he hates himself. You lean forward, press a kiss into his rosy cheek and whisper, "That'll be 20,000, Jeon."
And because he's drunk, and he wants to make things better, he reaches for his wallet. You were about to walk away regardless, but damn, if the boy doesn't know how to hit you where it hurts.
"Really, Kook?"
It's like he doesn't know you at all; doesn't remember how you banter with him, how you flirt with him. Or maybe you were just stupid for thinking that you'd been flirting with him in the first place. Maybe he just speaks to everyone how he speaks to you. Must have spoken to whoever was wearing that lipstick in the same way.
He doesn't answer, not verbally, but his brows pinch together and his lips develop a frowning pout.
When he stumbles home that evening, he asks himself the same question: really, Kook?
In the morning, he wakes alone, with no recollection of how he got home.
He doesn't remember the girl from the bar, or the fact that Jimin threw up in a fish tank, or that they're now barred from three different establishments for encouraging people to snort fish food (which Jungkook had stolen while Jimin was emptying his stomach). Regretfully, he doesn't even remember your arrival at the first bar. Doesn't remember how, for once, you'd dressed to impress just him.
His lack of recollection means fuck all though, 'cause despite his headache, the thing weighing down most heavily on him is guilt. He feels a sense of duty when it comes to you; duty that he hasn't performed lately. Were you getting home safe? Getting harrassed by scummy fuckers on the Daerim path of destruction?
Out of habit, he checks his phone, ignores the messages from unknown numbers and goes straight to your message thread to check the damage. He's surprised to find that he didn't drunk text you, but even more surprised to find that you'd messaged him. It's a video, just a few seconds, but it's enough to provoke some of his memories back.
He watches your thumb as it glides across his bottom lip. Watches it again. Notices the lipstick. Notices the thumb ring he never realised you wore before, and the fact that your nails are black now instead of their usual pink. There's something erotic about it; the way you touch him. The way you filmed yourself touching him. He'll probably get in trouble for it, but there's no way he isn't adding that to your project.
You consider ignoring his call when your phone flashes with his caller I.D.
It's only just gone seven, and you're still in bed, still try to make heads or tails of your life.
But you're weak, and so you slide your thumb across the little green icon.
"Hey."
"Uh, hey."
"You good?"
"So hungover, I think I might die," Jungkook jokes, voice hoarse. You wonder if he always sounds like this in the morning. "Just wanted to check in with you though. Barely seen you all week, and then I end up with a weird-ass video in our message thread that I don't remember."
Ah. You cringe.
"Ran into you at the bar," you shrug, not that he can see you. "Didn't realise you were friends with Sohyun."
"Hmm?"
"Sohyun... the girl who's birthday it was?"
"Oh. Right. Yeah. Nah, no, not really friends with her. Jimin forced me along."
You don't know all that much about Jimin, but from your limited interactions with him, it doesn't surprise you. Not in the slightest.
"Good night?"
Your question sounds forced and awkward, and he doesn't quite understand why.
"No idea," he admits honestly. "Remember fuck all."
He sounds as if he wants to keep talking but doesn't know what to say.
You don't know what to say either.
It's a mess. You liked it better when he hated you.
"Were you at the bar for long?" He asks, genuinely curious. "You're normally busy on Thursdays?"
"Just a drink. Had a last-minute change of plans."
"Oh?"
"Yeah..."
You know he wants you to elaborate. He wants more without having to explicitly ask for it.
Which is apt. Seems like it's a common occurrence with Jungkook.
"So what did you call for?" you change the topic, not wanting to dwell. The aversion doesn't go unnoticed by him, but it does go unquestioned.
"I-" there he goes again, cutting himself off prematurely. Coward. "Are you free? Now?"
Oh.
Not a coward. Just cautious.
"Now? I mean, yeah, I guess."
Jungkook takes a second, and then he bites down on the grenade pin.
"Can you come over?"
THE WAY YOU keep Jungkook hanging on tenterhooks is deliberate.
You're unsure of him, of his motivations, and what he does in the dark. And so, while you want to let your guard down, you can't. It's probably something to do with your parents - the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally - making their love entirely conditional and withdrawing it so suddenly.
It's the kind of shit you would have spoken about with your therapist, but you can't afford her anymore.
Can't afford much of anything, anymore. So much of the money you've earnt recently is tied up in credit card debt or rent.
Foundation was the first luxury that you'd compromised, and you're still yet to buy any more. Cheap stuff always makes you break out, and thankfully your parents did give you decent genetics, at least, so your skin was pretty clear.
It's the lack of make up that suggests to Jungkook you're opening up; not hiding from him anymore.
But it's also what tells him something is incredibly wrong, when you show up at his door half an hour later with a graze beneath your eye. Little flecks of reddened skin creep up your cheekbone, and Jungkook thinks it almost looks like carpet burn.
He hadn't noticed it last night, but it was dark, and he was drunk.
He lets you in, takes your jacket, offers you a drink. Everything that he knows he should do. Asks how you are, keeps a safe distance.
You don't know why you're here. Why you didn't say you were busy.
Except you do.
It's cause you miss him whenever you're away from him.
"I like these," you smile as you look at the artwork he has up in his room. The studio space is small, cramped, like all semi-basements are, but it's distinctly 'his'. A lot different to yours. Everything you own is still in boxes, not yet unpacked.
You've refused to come to terms with that being your life now.
"Thanks," he nods, watching you as you explore the box of a room he calls home. "They're from a guy down by the coach station. Has a little stall."
"You'll have to show me," you muse, turning to smile at him. It's saccharine, but the graze on your face is just so bitter. He hates it. Hates that he doesn't know how you got it. "Think I'd like some for my place."
"I have a feeling they'd look a little out of place in a princess tower, sugar."
Your shoulders shake as you laugh quietly, not correcting him. He doesn't need to know that you're a basement dweller, too.
"How's the editing coming along?" You steer the question away from your living situation.
"Nearly there," he grins, brimming with quiet excitement. Something about the way your camerawork looks with his editing technique layered on top just really works. He's always been confident with his final projects, and this one scares him a little bit, but in a good way. It's his best yet. Maybe he did need you after all.
"Can I see?"
"Not yet."
"Kook," you say, and - oh god - you're pouting. Jungkook suddenly begins to feel nervous.
It's that scary feeling again. A fear of the good stuff. Trepidation.
"What?" he grins, walking a little closer to you, letting his hand stroke against your back as he sits down on his bed. His fingers catch yours. It's fleeting, but enough.
You both feel it.
"Such a tease," you say, talking about the project, but there's innuendo in your words, too.
"Some girls like it," he flirts back.
"The girl at the bar last night seemed to like it."
Jungkook rolls his eyes, boyish and charming. It's annoying, you think, how impossible it is to be mad at him. It's not because you're weak, or because you can't resist his charms, but because he has a way of playing things off as if they're no big deal.
The girl at the bar? A nobody, his shrug suggests. She doesn't matter.
And it's so easy to believe, because you're the one in his apartment. You're the one he wanted here, the one that he missed. Or at least, the one that he was thinking of when he decided that he could do with some company.
It might be nothing, just something to pass the time, but it makes you feel wanted. Desired. Needed.
So you accept his hand when he reaches out towards you, pulling you closer, positioning you between his spread legs. You're standing, his eyes level with your chest, unashamed as he looks at your body.
"You look warm," he husks.
Just like he always uses your body temperature as excuse to give you his jacket, he's using it as an excuse now, too. The desired effect is obvious.
His AC switchboard is on the wall behind his bed. You'd clocked it when you were walking around, observing his possessions. Yanmar, the branding reads, the plastic outer frame beige. Once, it would have been crisp white. Age has dulled it. The monochrome monitor has a clock symbol in the corner, an indicator that Jungkook has his AC set on a timer. It suggests a sense of permanence. This is his home.
You haven't set your timer yet. You just flick it on when you get hot. It isn't your home.
He watches you as you move, curious. He's smirking, because he just cant help himself.
And because he knows that you like it whenever he does. Gets you a little bit flustered.
One of your knees hooks over his lap, and then the other follows suit.
He'd have said you were straddling him. You'd have argued that you were simply reaching over to the AC.
And you do exactly that, flicking the switch, watching as it lights up. "There. Much better."
Touche, he thinks. Smiles. Grips your thighs, as if he's scared you'll stand up again. Scared to lose you.
In all honesty, he had been hoping you'd take your shirt off, but he isn't going to complain with you in his lap, instead.
Doesn't matter if you mix the eggs with the milk first, or the flour. You still bake a cake at the end of it all.
Jungkook looks at you in such a way that you find yourself thinking maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be so horrible to let someone in. His eyes are honest, void of ulterior motives. He's doing this because he wants to. Because he wants you.
Wants that feeling back. The one where his lips are cushioned between yours, his tongue licking into your mouth.
Jungkook wants what he wants. Jungkook gets what he wants.
And, fuck, if it isn't bare minimum - but you know this, and you don't care. Bare minimum tastes pretty fucking good when you're licking it from his lips.
His hands roam, and you let them. He's rough with his movements, but the fleshy pads of his fingertips are soft, like silk against your skin. It's almost like he's afraid, filled with the knowledge that he can bruise, if he really wants to.
But he doesn't want to. He wants to ask about the graze that's sitting pretty where blush should be. Jungkook doesn't wanna hurt. He wants to heal.
"I catch you looking, you know," you tell him before he gets a chance, wanting to see how he responds. "Every now and again..." He hikes you forward in his lap. Places you dead centre over his cock. You can feel it. He can feel you. "...I catch you looking at me." He presses a kiss against the base of your neck, obsessed with the way it vibrates when you speak. "Why are you always looking at me?"
The fact that you're sat in his lap, grinding your hips against a solid bulge, should be indication enough.
Jungkook isn't going to spell it out for you. The eroticism of suggesting he's a fucking voyeur makes him want to laugh - but the way your nipples are tenting the shirt you're wearing distracts him.
His teeth graze your throat, hands creeping round to your tummy. His fingers are long, practically the length of the expanse between your hips and the underneath of your plump tits. Just a little further and he'd be holding them, cupping them, caressing. Just a little further.
"I look at you-" His hands continue their exploration as he leans back, watching the movement beneath your shirt. It somehow feels forbidden - like he can touch, but not look. After all, your question had sounded quite a lot like a telling off. "-because you like me looking at you."
He's fucking with you, trying to get a rise.
"Do I?"
The way that you whimper as he brushes against your nipples has him pulsing his hips. Your eyes close, head tilting back ever so slightly. You like this. The way he does it.
"Uh-huh," he mumbles, lips wet against your neck. His fingers knead into the flesh of your tits, nipples hard in his palm as he relieves his stresses. "Bet you think about it all day, don't you? Think about the way I look at you when no-one else does."
Yes.
"All day?" you smirk between dulcet moans. "You're lucky if I pay you any attention at all."
"I think you're lying," he declares rather boldly, hands all over you. "I think it plays on your mind. I bet you fall asleep thinking about it, don't you?"
Yes.
"Ddaeng."
"I bet you get yourself off thinking about it."
Maybe you do.
Maybe you've whispered his name in the dead of night, imagining how it would feel to have his body weight on top of yours. Maybe you get intrusive thoughts of that kiss every single time you try to draw close. Maybe Jungkook has made you cum without ever laying a single finger on you.
But even if he has, you won't tell him.
And you don't need to, because his phone buzzing on the bedside table behind you cuts the conversation dry. Jungkook glances towards it automatically, then back up to you. His frustration is evident, jaw tense.
"I gotta get this," he mumbles, encouraging you off of his lap. You don't resist, accepting the last five minutes for what they were: a momentary lapse in judgement. He sighs as he stands, adjusting his trousers, swiping his phone and putting it to his ear. He strolls just far enough away that you won't hear what or who is on the other line. "Hobi. Speak to me."
Hobi, you muse. A friend? A colleague? Another girl?
You swallow back the nauseating feeling in your throat, pretending as if the prospect of Jungkook with someone else doesn't chip away at your self-worth a little bit. It wasn't like you thought you had anything special between the pair of you.
But he was right. You did like him looking at you.
More than you had realised until the prospect of him looking at someone else arose.
From the corner of the room, you could hear Jungkook trying to interrupt the person he was talking to. The first syllable would escape, and then he'd hush again, never quite managing to get the words out in full.
"Ho-" His nostrils look quite cute when they flare, lips pursed, a pair of unique dimples becoming evident. They're different to the usual ones you notice. Full of surprises was Jeon Jungkook.
"Hobi, can I-"
He runs his hand through his hair, already dishevelled from your hands.
"Hobi will you let me fucking talk!"
Attaboy.
The pause that follows Jungkook's outburst would suggest that Hobi had said 'no' - and then a few more choice words. If Jungkook rolled his eyes back any further, they'd surely get stuck.
"Look, I'm a bit tied up right now- no! No, not that. Who? No. I don't know a Taehyung, and even if I did- Huh? Ain't got nothin' to do with Holangi. Don't know a single one of 'em."
You try to decipher the conversation, but fail.
"You're a real fuckin' cockblock, yanno?"
You blush.
"Fuck it, fine. But you owe me. I'm not saying yes next time."
He glances over to you, catching your raised brow. Next time?
A smile catches on his lips. You thought this would be a one time thing?
He's barely hit second base. If there's one thing you're yet to find out about Jungkook, it's that he loves to win. He won't be satisfied until he's got a home run.
Any other girl, and he'd have probably been running laps for fun by this point, but you... yeah, you didn't bowl him easy hitters, that was for sure.
Jungkook moves with confidence, like he always does, as he strides over to the sofa, the bulge in his pants considerably softened but still present. "Take a picture," he grins. "It'll last longer."
You roll your eyes, but it doesn't stop you from asking if that's an offer. He laughs - that soft, gentle thrum of his vocal chords that sounds so heavenly in your ears - and tells you to behave.
"I just gotta help a friend out," he says as he reaches over you to grab his rucksack. It's heavier now than it ever is at school, the jingle of crushed tin foil rustling as it briefly catches on your knee. He pretends not to notice the curiosity in your eyes. Pretty eyes, though. He quite likes them, especially when he's towering above you and can see the whites just above your lashline. Yeah, he likes them alot. "I'll only be an hour or so. You can stay here, if you like?"
The way he phrases it is so casual that it's almost like you're old friends.
That, or Jungkook's just used to having women he doesn't know very well stay at his place.
You're unaware of the mental gymnastics he's putting himself through. If he could kick himself without looking like a twat, then he definitely would.
Shrugging, you give him a polite smile. "I don't wanna overstay my welcome."
"Nah, you're fine. I can give you a lift back to yours when I'm home? I'll be an hour. Two, tops."
Finally you agree, watching as he leaves like a lovesick puppy, listening out for the familiar rattle of his exhaust pipe. There's a cough and splutter of petrol spitting onto the sidewalk as his motor roars into action, and then he's gone.
You don't hang around for much longer.
You tell yourself that you will. That it would be nice. That you and Jungkook might not be so ill-suited after all.
But as the clock ticks by on the wall, you find yourself getting antsy. You find yourself asking stupid questions. Who exactly is Hobi? What was in Jungkook's bag? Why is he always down in Daerim? Is that where he's gone now?
The thoughts grow, adapt, intrude. Before you know it, you're considering what you'd find if you opened the top drawer of his bedside cabinet.
Realistically, you know it would probably be a wank sock and a tub of vaseline - it doesn't matter though. Your mind is wondering. You need to scratch the itch.
Just a little peek. He'll never know.
Oh, how you loathe your brain.
What's the worst you could find? A revolver? His ex-girlfriends panties? Love letters? A crack pipe?
Somehow, you'd rather find a pipe than panties.
It's not that you want Jungkook to be a crack addict. It's just the more that you think about it, the more you come to realise that you really, really don't like the idea of someone else feeling how warm his torso is, or how his upper teeth always nip slightly when he starts kissing you, until the pressure of his pecks plump his lips. You've only experienced it a handful of times, and it's stupid to get carried away, but he just makes it so easy.
He didn't ask you to stay, you tell yourself. He asked you if you wanted to.
Moments of instability like this are exactly why girls like you don't spend time with boys like him. It's stupid. Futile. A game for fools.
You leave his apartment as you found it, with not even a note to say thank you. He's had a squeeze on your tits. You deem that thank you enough. If anything, he should be thanking you.
When he returns, just half an hour after your departure, he can still smell your perfume. He tosses his keys down, calls out your name, and is met with silence. It takes him a moment or so to realise that he's alone.
There's a sinking feeling in his chest that he doesn't recognise. Doesn't like. Hates, in fact.
But fine. Fuck it. He didn't want you there anyway. He'd just been doing a good deed. Being kind because - if your face was any indication - obviously someone else had been particularly unkind to you.
Jungkook thinks he knows who, now.
Daerim nights have always been sketchy, but the days are no better.
He's just the lowest rung on a long ladder of criminals who turn a profit when the sun goes down in Seoul.
Hobi had asked him to drop the stash in his rucksack off at a club, some gang-run joint that Jungkook doesn't know much about, so that he could get them back to his boss.
That had been the plan, at least.
He slings his bag down, now empty, and sinks into the sofa, not bothering to get a rag to clean himself up. No point. The dried blood will just wash off in his shower. It's not the first time this has happened. He doubts it will be the last.
Jungkook's nose is currently bleeding, dripping down his chin and hitting the ceramic tiles of his apartment with small slaps. A bruise is forming above his left eye socket, and his knuckles are red.
A punch to the face means very little to Jungkook.
He's young, but he's strong. Fast, too. It could have been a lot worse if he wasn't.
He pushes the back of his hand against his nose, sniffing, before unlocking his phone, and dialing a number he knows now by heart.
The dial tone bleeds out, just like his nose.
And so he hangs up, and calls the only person he knows he can rely on.
"Wassup, kid?"
Jungkook doesn't mean to sob, but he cant help it. He knows Yoongi has finals coming up. He doesn't need his bullshit on his plate, too.
"I got jumped Yoongs."
Fuck.
"You alright? Sound pretty bad? Where?"
"Daerim-"
"The fuck you doing there at this time of day?"
"Hobi wanted me to drop off my stash."
"Kook..." Yoongi speaks slowly, coming to a horrific realisation. A few punches had never bothered Jungkook before. Something bigger was at play. "The stash...?"
Jungkook can hear it in Yoongi's voice: fear.
"Gone."
Yoongi sighs down the line. "Hobi know yet?"
"No."
"Alright, get outta your flat," Yoongi begins, not wasting time. Now is not the time for emotions, and it's clear that Jungkook isn't capable of that just yet. "I need you to go somewhere safe, somewhere you can lie-low for a little bit alright? Let me sort it-"
"Yoong-"
"Let me sort it. I got you into this mess. Don't sweat it."
"Ple-"
"Kook. Seriously. Trust me with this."
Yoongi doesn't let him debate it any further - and it's just as well he doesn't, because as soon as he hangs up the phone, another call comes through. Jungkook wants to answer it. Really, he does.
Jungkook's just very aware of the fact that the guy who jumped him had almost been waiting for him. Right by the entrance of the apartment block which he always picked you up from.
In between blows, he'd warned Jungkook to 'stay the fuck away from the girl'.
The girl who's now returning his call.
"Hey," you say animatedly, having not expected him to call. You thought the pair of you would resume your usual awkward routine of pretending like nothing ever happened. "Sorry, I was in the shower. You good? Sorry I left, I just did-"
"I need a favour," he doesn't bother with formalities.
You want to banter with him, to flirt, but the tone of his voice warns you not to. So instead you tell him that you'll do whatever he needs.
"Can I come over?"
Fuck. Anything except that.
"Please."
YOU DON'T EXPECT to say yes. You don't expect to care more about him than you do about protecting your own dignity. You don't expect Jungkook to traipse down the stairs that lead to your slovenly open door with a glum look on his bloodsoaked face, as you stand there waiting for him.
But he does.
He makes no comment, no remark about the building. Just wraps his arms around your head, cradling you against his chest as you stand in your doorway. You can hear his heartbeat, thud, thud, thud against his ribs.
Go somewhere safe, Yoongi had told him. It was a no brainer.
"I'm sorry," he says, eventually pulling himself away from you. "I didn't know who else to ask."
You tell him it's fine, and you mean it. Keeping up pretences doesn't really matter so much anymore. Perhaps honesty was overdue from the both of you.
"The fuck happened to you?" You ask, tenderly reaching up to stroke away some of the dried blood from his lip. He winces, hisses, body tense, but he lets you continue. "Sorry."
"Could ask you the same, sugar," he speaks kindly, not wanting you to think he's being critical as he nods to the entryway behind you.
You grit your teeth together and let your hand rest on his shoulder. "King kicked the princess out of the castle."
And, suddenly, it doesn't seem embarrassing anymore. In fact, it seems perfectly apt that Jungkook knows. He doesn't pry, don't push for further clarification. Just nods. Accepts your reality.
"Castles are overrated, anyway," he presses a kiss to your head, and gently guides you through the threshold. The corridor is short, opening up to an open plan studio. The layout varies from Jungkook's, but it's similar in size. Small.
"Ignore the wallpaper," you say of the awkwardly granny-ish floral print. It's beige, so not totally offensive, but dear god, you think it looks like vomit.
"No," he grins. "It's... wow. Your landlord really knows how to make a statement, don't they?"
You perch on your bed and cringe. "A statement... a crime against interior design. Whatever you wanna call it."
Jungkook continues to pace around your room with a curious smile. He's partially deflecting from the fact he knows you're probably dying to ask about his face, and why he was so desperate to be with you, but he's also interested in the life you neglected to share with him.
Brown cardboard boxes are piled high in the corners, your possessions not yet unboxed.
This place is just temporary.
You've got three and a half million won sat on your desk. A couple more weeks, just a few, and you'll have enough for a deposit on a decent flat. Then you can get a regular job, something stable, and you won't have to worry. You could work through the summer and then figure out what to do next. Just as long as you keep on moving upwards, you'll be happy.
"So," you begin gingerly, as you head to the kitchenette beside your bed, wetting a cloth beneath your tap. "You gonna tell me what happened to your face?"
He takes your previous position, inviting himself to sit on the end of your bed, anticipating your return. There's light coming in from the thin windows by your ceiling, hitting directly onto your back. He thinks it's apt. Thinks you're the kind of girl who deserves a spotlight. Thinks that Mother Nature agrees.
Jungkook shrugs, in that lazy, boyish way he so often does, as you walk towards him. He spreads his legs, encouraging you between them, letting his hands graze your thighs. You pretend not to notice as you press the damp cloth to his cheek. Tiny crows legs appear at the edges of his eyes, face wincing from the contact. It's painful.
But being alone would be more painful. He chose to be here. To be with you.
And so he tells you what happened, with as much honesty he can muster. There are some things better left unsaid, his occupation being one of them. You listen attentively, dabbing at his wounds, a frown etched into the lines of your face.
"Stay away from the girl, huh?" you muse, avoiding his eyes as you study his face. His nose is still bleeding, but every time you tell him to tilt his head towards the ceiling, it ends up back in its original position. He can't see you as well with his head tilted back. Doesn't like it. Doesn't wanna do it. "Could be any girl."
Jungkook's dimple forms in his cheek. "No. No, it couldn't."
His fingers that have been grazing at your thighs squeeze tenderly, letting you know he means it. More than he thinks you know. More than he knows he should.
There's a chance that any words spoken between the pair of you could be misconstrued. He doesn't know what his feelings for you are, and you don't really understand yours for him - but you understand your body, and the electric current running beneath your lips, dying for a connection. A little spark.
So you do the only thing that makes sense: you kiss him.
And he kisses you back. Slowly, tenderly, deliberately. His lips melt into yours, hand pulling your legs closer. He encourages you onto his lap, as if he needs to be insufferably close to you. Once you're positioned how he wants, just like you were earlier, he grips your waist, keeping you stationed there.
Jungkook knows he should stop.
He knows he should have paid attention to the pair of fists that warned him off you as his skull hit the pavement earlier that morning, knows he shouldn't let himself get so wrapped up in such a red flag - but he just can't help himself. It's like you're laced in the narcotics he deals, and slowly but surely, you've gotten him addicted.
He's craving. Dying for a hit. Just a little taste of your tongue on his, the scent of your shampoo in his nose.
Red flags, red stop signs, pretty red lips all plump from the kisses he's smothering them in. Red blood, too. His nose is still a little damaged, and the way he's painting your cheek in crimson should repulse you.
Should repulse you.
Like fuck it does, though. You can smell the copper twinge through his plasma, and suddenly it's as if the Cullen's had the right idea all along.
When he pulls back, only for a moment, hands clutching at the side of your face to assess the look in your eyes, he notices it too. Hard not to. You blush all the fucking time, so much so that he knew the shade by heart, and the rouge on your cheek is far too vibrant, too scarlet. It's his fucking blood on you.
It should scare him, he knows. But the way you're looking at him, eyes all wide and glassy, lips swollen and waiting for more, has him unable to think straight. It has him obsessed, the way you don't care. The way he's covered you in blood and you still seem to want more.
But there's a softness to the way in which you're looking at him, mild confusion, as if you've got the same strange warmth running through your veins as he does. It's not a feeling he recognises, pulsing through his bloodstream with every beat of his heart.
Perhaps it's nothing. Jungkook tells himself that it is. Just adrenaline, probably.
You look at his lips, all crimson and blushed, and realise you much prefer the shade of his blood to the plum lipstick that had tainted them the night before. You're delicate as you wipe your thumb along his pouted bottom lip, just like you did in the bar. Except this time, the jealousy that had blossomed in your diaphragm is nowhere to be found. There's still a pinch beneath your ribs, but this time it's in your heart, and it's far more aching. This time, you feel his hurt.
Jungkook reaches down to where you left the damp cloth on your bed. It's wet and heavy in his hand, a little warm, too. He brings it to your face and dabs silently, cleaning you of the mess he's made. Fixing you. Restoring you to your former glory.
Its futile, 'cause his nose is still fucking bleeding, and you don't plan on leaving it more than a moment before you kiss him again. You simply don't care. Want him for all that he is, blood, sweat and tears.
But still, he insists on ridding you of his stain. Doesn't want to tarnish you. He's soft with the way he presses the cloth against you, mirroring how tenderly you were with him earlier. He's learning from you, adapting to you. Wants to be like you. Wants to be 'better'.
You watch as his eyes scan your face, brows twisted like they always do when he's about to say something but stops himself. The vertical groove just above his cupid's bow is red, blood tacky as it dries. If he kisses you now, he'll leave a stamp; a mark that says 'you're mine.'
It's too much. Far too much. You aren't his, and he knows this. He never wanted you to be his, in fact, for the longest time, he had wanted to be anything but yours.
But now he sits beneath you, crestfallen, heart in his throat, blocking him from speaking.
This was never part of the plan. He was never supposed to end up here. He was supposed to escape from the trenches, to get on the path of straight and narrow. Thrive. Succeed.
And it's not your fault, he knows this, but there's a little part of him that wonders what could have happened if he hadn't seen you that night in Daerim, hadn't seen the way your eyes look beneath night market lights, hadn't heard your laugh as he looked at his favourite view of the city.
You whisper his name, your palm resting flat on his chest, and his brows soften.
It doesn't matter what could have happened, anymore.
All that matters is what is happening.
The shortness of his breath, the flutter of his lashes against your cheek, the swelling between his legs. You can feel it, feel him, and he knows it. The way he's pulsing his hips upwards is testament to that.
It's a comfortable position, you sat on his lap on the end of your bed, not one that either of you wishes to break from. Not even as he begins to breathe against your lips, unable to properly control his reactions thanks to the friction beneath his briefs.
"Want you," he mumbles, pressing his lips into yours, the air in his lungs giving itself up to you. "Want you so bad."
You shake your head, brows pinched just a little. "I'm bad news for you."
And maybe that's it. Maybe he just wants you because he knows he shouldn't - but fuck it, if he can't let himself indulge in simple pleasures, then why bother getting himself beaten to a pulp over you?
"I'm bad news for myself, sugar," he husks against your lips, tickling them as he slips his tongue into your mouth. Deeper, deeper. Closer, closer. He wants it.
Wants it all.
Wants you naked.
Wants to know what it feels like to have you gasp in his ear as his hands roam beneath your panties.
Wants to know if you'd still look at him like you're stargazing even when he's railing you.
Wants it. Wants you. Just wants.
And what Jungkook wants, Jungkook gets.
He slips his hand up your shirt and pushes it upwards, before letting it crumple to the floor. You know that you should be more bashful, a little bit ashamed, but it's impossible when he's looking at you like this.
He has a visual now that he didn't have earlier. The glow of your skin beneath his bruised knuckles looks almost sinful, like he's plucking forbidden fruit from its tree. He'll pay the price for this, and he knows it, but he just can't resist.
Jungkook has always been a boob guy, always loved the way he could get girls moaning with just a little pinch, but never had he had a pair quite like yours. So full, so round, he's not sure his hands are big enough, and that doubt makes him throb. Soft and pillowy, he groans as he watches his fingers sink into them, utterly enthralled. His hips adjust, pushing upwards, pressing himself into you. He wants this. Wants it so bad.
You can feel the metal of his rings against your skin, and then you can feel his lips, his tongue, his teeth as they graze against the plush skin of your chest. He licks around your nipple, letting the air cool the wet trail, hardening you for him.
He's utterly obsessed.
His mouth pulls at the sensitive skin, suckles, sucks. His lashes are splayed on the tops of his cheeks, lips pouting around your nipple as he does so, small groans of pleasure vibrating against you. It will be a miracle if he can't already feel you seeping through your panties.
You whimper as his teeth graze your hardened nub, and his eyes flutter open. He doesn't detach himself, but instead, he keeps your gaze as he sucks. The pressure varies, and then it's hard. Really fucking hard. So hard you'll think he'll somehow give your nipple a hickey - but fuck, if you don't love the sensation.
"Christ," you gasp, before biting down into your bottom lip.
"Too hard?" He mumbles against you, peppering you in kisses and soft licks as if to apologise.
"No," you pant. "Was good. Was great. Just - fuck."
You laugh, soft and airy, and Jungkook smiles from the sound.
He likes this. Likes how you react to him.
And while he’s patient and gentle with you in a way that he isn't with other people, Jungkook has only ever known how to have sex in one way. It's ingrained into him, as if he was made to fuck like it; like he doesn't give a shit about the person he's screwing.
Jungkook doesn't do love, and you know this. He trades. Works in transactions. Settles debts. You don't really know this part, but you aren't stupid. You know he's never in Daerim for any good fucking reason.
You don't question it as his hands move south, slipping past your underwear. In fact, you're smug as he curses when he feels how wet you are, fingers slippery in your panties.
He pushes a finger into you, and closely follows it with a second. They curl ever so slightly, and it's at this point that you realise Jungkook is absolutely going to ruin you. Just a few pumps. Just to ease you up.
He's bored of waiting. Wants you now.
The pair of you move fluidly, minimal discussion needed, just occasional checks of 'you good?', or 'this okay?'. The answer is, always, without a doubt, 'yes'.
He gets you on your back, panties pulled off, legs not quite hanging off the edge of your bed, but nearly. He strips himself of his shirt first, and grins as he notices the way you whine.
"What?" he toys.
"Nothing," you flirt. "Just wish you'd hurry up. I'm a busy woman."
"Oh yeah?" The sound of his buckle coming undone is enough to make you fucking leak. "Busy doing what?"
You neglect to tell him. Not because you don't have a witty remark lined up, but because he's fucking naked now.
What a sight to behold he is. Body lean, honey skin flawless, muscles defined. You pretend like you're looking at his body, but your eyes are drawn to his cock. You'd expected length, but not the girth - and he has both in abundance. The tip of his cock is blushed and wet, with Jungkook just as aroused as you are.
Noticing your gaze, he rolls his eyes, and toys with your pussy again, lightly running his fingers up and down your slick entrance. When he pulls back, his fingers are still connected by thick clear fluid. His cock throbs.
"You're gonna get me so dirty," he hums, as he crawls onto the bed above you, before holding his fingers to your mouth. "Clean them."
Part of you wants to say no, but the other part of you can see his darkened gaze and the way his cock is twitching. You can't refuse.
His fingers are on the tip of your tongue, the tip of his cock nudging so close to your entrance that he may as well just do it. You raise your hips, encouraging, but he retracts a little just to tease.
The fingers that were in your mouth come to grip at the soft flesh of your cheeks, his thumb on the other side. "Don't you fucking dare."
There's tepid aggression to his movements, and it makes you feel vulnerable - but you like it. You like the way he's gripping your face, the ways he's looking at you with narrow eyes, just like he used to do across the lecture hall. You like being reminded of when you were nothing to one another, because it makes the satisfaction of feeling his stiff cock jump a little against your pussy as you moan so much more worth it.
He used to hate you, now he can't wait to bury his fat cock in you. Victory is yours, even if he's trying to act like he's the one holding all the cards.
You don't correct him, though. You let him think he has the upper hand. You'll play pillow princess just this once if it means you get to see him a little bit mean again.
"Dare what?" you pout, cheeks still squished between his fingers. He grips a little tighter, your chest rising as you gasp. He pulls your face towards his, sinking down into your lips, until he decided he's done with you.
He stands by the edge of your bed, and yanks your ankles towards him, pulling you close enough to the edge for him to fuck you like this.
The loss of his grip is unwelcome by you, a frown forming. He isn't looking at your face now, eyes down on his cock, which he's rubbing between your soaked pussy lips, but he can almost hear you brace yourself to whine. He smirks, one side of his mouth lifting, head knocking to the side slightly.
"Don't you dare try and set the pace," he finally husks, still not glancing up towards you. He's taking his time, making sure the head of his cock kisses every inch of your exposed mess. "Nearly got my nose fucking broken for this pussy-" he spits, hard and fast, right onto your clit, spreading it with his cock. "- so I'm gonna make sure I get what I'm owed."
He spreads your thighs back, his fingers gripping harshly just how you like it. Perhaps you should pretend to be embarrassed by the fact your cunt is leaking for him, begging for him, but the way he hisses at the sight, chest heaving, prevents it.
Jungkook's thought about this before, about how pretty and pristine you'd be, about the mess he'd hoped you'd make. Thought about it so many times. Fingers wrapped around his shaft in the middle of the night when no one can hear him chant your name as he spills over. Yeah, he's thought about it a lot.
His imagination has never done you justice. One look and he's obsessed. Wants to spend hours touching, caressing, licking you.
"Take it," you whisper. "What you're owed, Jungkook. Take it."
He looks up now, brows threaded together. You don't recognise the contemplation his face is laced in, but he doesn't give you the chance to question it, for you begin to feel that burn. The one your fingers can never give you. It's alien, and yet familiar, inherently natural but intrusive nonetheless.
"Shit," is all you can manage to say, eyes locked on his.
He wants to watch himself sink into you, watch as his fat cock forces your slick wetness out of your pussy, but he can't. Not when you're looking at him like that. Not when your chest is heaving and your eyes are watering beneath tense brows. Not when your mouth is hanging open and just begging to be fucked like your tight little pussy.
And then he starts feeling something a little strange. A little unfamiliar. A little bit like his heart has stalled to beat in time with the contractions of your chest. And though he's not in pain anymore, too busy feeling you, he's aware that it hurts. Aware that he can't fuck you like he wanted to, 'cause his chest needs to be against yours. Needs to feel the beating drum beneath your ribs.
He doesn't even realise that he's paused until you whine a meagre, "please."
"That's more like it," he hums, as he pushes into you, the base of his thick cock plugging the weeping mess that he's made. You know that as soon as he pulls out, you'll be whimpering, begging for the tip of his cock to kiss your walls once more. "See how nice things can be when you just behave yourself, huh?"
His hips push just a little deeper, and he knows that it hurts. Knows that the little gasp isn't entirely from pleasure. He's seen his cock. Doesn't take a genius to work out that it can do damage.
"You can take it," he tells you, and like a pathetic, whimpering mess, you fucking nod. He's still inside of you, still deeper than you thought possible, and then his hand is on your stomach. He grabs your hand and places it beneath his. "You feel that?" He retracts just a little, pushing back in just as deep. Beneath your hands, there's a bulge. External or internal, it doesn’t matter. It's him. He does it again. "You feel me taking what's mine?"
Whatever the fuck you moan is incoherent, but he doesn't give a shit, 'cause he's ploughing now. Bucking his hips into you like pneumatic fucking drill. Shit. He's done this before. Got it mastered to a fine art. Momenta worthy of a museum exhibition.
Your tits are pillowed on your chest, nice and round, wobbling as he takes command of your body. He slaps one of them, just to watch it ripple, before that firm grip of his is on it. "Perfect tits," he growls the compliment, not really meaning for it to come out. "Gonna put my cock between them later," he tells you. "Gonna cum all over them."
He doesn't tell you that he'll also clean them with his hungry tongue, before delivering his cum into your mouth. Figures he'll just let you find out. His brain is working at a mile a minute, trying to reign back thoughts of sharing his cum with you in such a filthy manner. God, he wants to do heinous things to you. With you. For you.
But for now, he needs to focus on his cock. It's rubbing inside of you, nuzzling. He knows he's weeping, and that his precum is getting mixed with your slick juices. Knows he won't last long if you keep whining like that. Mewling. Purring.
He stalls his hips, letting go of your tits as they jiggle back into position. Your cheeks are flushed, imprints of his fingers reddening your skin. Lips pouted and resting ajar, Jungkook thinks they've never looked more fuckable. More kissable. More whisper-sweet-nothings-against-able.
"You ever shut the fuck up?" he teases, but is quick to notice confusion flash in your eyes. He didn't mean it as an insult, but it's easy to read the hurt in your perplexed features, and the way you begin to try and push your legs together. It's futile. His cock is keeping you open.
But you feel embarrassed, as if your natural reactions to him are a turn-off. It's silly, because he's quite literally inside of you, fat and solid, using you to milk himself. Of course, he's not turned off, but you're hyper-aware of how vulnerable you're feeling right now. It had been fun to pretend like you were in control, but as soon as he slipped inside of you, all sense of power had evaporated.
He doesn't realise this though. Doesn't realise that his cock is nudging so deep into you that it's practically knocking against your heart. Knock, knock, knock. Who's there? Your mind taunts, but you daren't answer.
"Hey," he coos, one of his large palms stroking on the inside of your thighs. That uncomfortable, obscure feeling is back again. The one that tells him he needs to be closer to you. This time, he doesn't ignore it. His hips pulse, just the once. A reminder he's still very much into this. Into you.
His hands grip your waist, softly this time, as he manoeuvres himself onto the bed with you, keeping himself snug. Your head is by the pillows, Jungkook's knees on either side of your ass, his chest flat against yours as one of his hands cradles your jaw. He presses a chaste, airy kiss against your lips, and whispers, "I love the way you sound." He kisses you again, hips rocking. You're trying not to, but you whine. "Fuck, sugar. You're my favourite fucking sound."
Your legs hook over his back, and he groans now. The angle change lets him delve deeper, your walls massaging him so well. Jungkook thinks he might have died and gone to heaven. He's slipping in and out of you with minimal force, skin slapping together. He makes sure to let his moans roll off his tongue and into your mouth. You eat them up and give them back. The pair of you aren't kissing anymore, just gasping and humming into one another's mouths. He's stuttering.
There's a pause as he adjusts his grip, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs. He likes it, the way you seem to melt around him in all capacities. His lips nudge against yours as his steady hips begin to rock into yours again.
You groan as he pushes down on your legs, pushing you as far apart as your bones allow. It's typical of him, seeing how far he can take things. Push them to the limit. Always gets him in trouble. There's a click, as air escapes from the socket where your leg meets your pelvis.
"You good?" He checks and you respond with a kiss. Hands tangled in his hair, you hope it conveys the fact you've never felt better. He laughs a little, soft and serene, into your mouth, the weight of his body keeping you trapped beneath him.
You're morbid in your thoughts, and consider how nice it would be for Jungkook to suffocate you like this; steal you of the air you breathe with his tiny giggles of satisfaction. So, so nice, you think.
And so you tell him. You tell him that you want his hand on your throat. He takes a second to respond - not because he doesn't want to, but more so because he can't believe you actually asked.
He doesn't normally fuck the girls he cares about like this. Then again, he never really cares about the girls he fucks.
"God," you moan as he pushes one of your legs over his shoulder. His body is clammy against yours, skin hot and damp, chest lean but built. He's working hard; not just for his release. For yours too. Rams into you, stuffing your cunt with his cock, dipping his head to lather your clasped throat in wet kisses.
"That's it, sugar," he growls as his teeth graze your neck. "Need to hear how good you feel. Need to hear what my cock does to you. You owe me."
You want to laugh. You're about to laugh. But then his head dips down to your chest, and he latches onto one of your pebbled nipples, sucking so hard that all you can do is tremble. He knows you like this. Knows it makes your pussy all creamy and slippery for him - and like clockwork, he's proven right. The sounds are lewd. He loves it.
"On your back," you husk, punctuating your instruction with a whimper as he suckles even harder. He shakes his head, eyes closed, mouth vibrating and full of your tit. Not a chance, he tries to say, but it just sounds likes he's forgotten how to speak. Too busy. Too close to spilling himself into you. Doesn't wanna get distracted.
So focused, he doesn't realise you're pushing him over until you're on top. He frowns as he detaches from your nipple with a pop, but his hands are running all over your body regardless. Obviously doesn't care that much. Course he doesn't. That ache in his chest has settled.
Until he starts thinking about it, and oh god, it's back and it's fucking unbearable.
"C'mere," he pulls you flush against him, as your hips begin to work against him. His hands cradle your face so he can kiss you as deeply as he likes, tongue slipping into your mouth, as his cock slips up and down your pussy. This, he thinks, is it. This is what fucking should feel like.
"Shit," he whispers. "Shit."
The friction of his surprisingly neat hair that rests at the base of his cock is nice. Real fuckin' nice. You're not even fucking him anymore, just grinding against it. Using it, using him, to get yourself off.
You think you're being slick, like he won't notice - but he does. Of course, he does. He's obsessed with your body.
"God, yeah, baby," his back arches, pressing his chest against yours, eyes closed. "Use me like that. Use me," he bites into your shoulder gently. "Fucking use me."
He means it. Doesn't give a shit about himself anymore. Just wants to feel you tremble as he holds you close. Wants to press kisses against your lips as your moans become undignified. He needs to be the reason you cum; needs to be responsible for your oxytocin rush.
You sit up a little, and Jungkook holds back a pout from the separation - but how can he complain when you're sat like that, his cock buried inside of you, hair a mess and with eyes like his favourite constellation? He's hypnotised as your boobs begin to bounce, pussy working up his shaft like the true Daerim woman of the night you are. He's forgotten about all of that, now. Can't think about anything except for how to not fucking cum.
He can't and he won't. Not until you do. But you're bouncing, and it's wet, and he can hear it, and it feels so fuckin' good. His toes are curling, torso tensing, eyes half-shut, pretty little pout hanging open. He's fucking whining. "Yeah like that," he encourages. "Gonna milk me so well, baby. Gonna... ah. Fuck. Gonna-"
Jungkook can't fucking speak. He wants to. Wants to tell you how fucking beautiful you look, how he wants this endlessly, how he never wants to let you go. Needs to tell you how right this feels, how good you make him feel, how he doesn't understand his feelings but fuck, just that he is feeling. Feeling so much.
You're not sure at which point he started calling you baby, but you're actually convinced that the name alone could tip you over the edge.
The pace of your hips is slowly, savouring. He doesn't quite get it. You were so close. Why stop?
The stillness of your movements makes way for something new. He feels a throb around his fat cock, which is begging for release. Notices the way your chest is shaking like you've got hiccups, tiny whines of pleasure making themselves known. Your pussy was always warm, but it's hot now, contracting around him.
And then he gets it.
"Oh, shit," he mewls, his hips slowly pumping upwards. "Yeah, that's it, baby. Let yourself cum. All over my dick," he encourages, hedonistic and self-serving. "That's it. Cream for me."
His slow movements as he fucks up into you amplify the sensation, the tip of his cock nudging languidly against your tight walls. Your entire body shudders, the feeling rippling from your chest right down to your toes. You rasp out moans, the sensation all too powerful, a creamy mess pooling at the base of his shaft. There's a jerk as your muscles spasm, your orgasm well and truly delivered. He pulls you down and into his chest, his strong arms wrapped around your back.
Your body rests on his, spent and sensitive, and he can tell you can't hold out for much longer. He pushes back the hair that's sticking to your clammy face, and presses kisses into your temple.
"So big," you hum, voice hazy, eyes shut.
"Just a little more, baby," he promises. " You're doing so well. Just a little..."
You've considered how Jungkook would orgasm on more than one occasion - and you're pleasantly surprised to find that your imagination was wrong. There's no grand declaration, nor large grunt. He's not aggressive, either, like you'd half-hoped he would be.
Instead, Jungkook kisses you as his hips begin to stall. His brows are creased, moans muffled against your lips. His torso shudders, abdomen as tight as his balls. "Baby," he drowsily mewls, and then it's happening. His cock pumps into you, unloading thick creamy spurts with every stroke of your pussy. The first one is so desperate that you're almost positive you can feel it paint your insides. You moan along with him, utterly obsessed with this, him, whatever the fuck just happened.
He doesn't withdraw immediately. Just lays there and kisses your skin, absolutely spent.
You don't move a muscle. You don't want it to be over. Don't wanna lose this. Lose him.
When you tilt your head to look at him, he's smiling. Eyes closed, cheeks appled. Serene. In a state of fucked-out bliss.
You tell him that he's pretty, and he lets out an airy laugh, covering his face with one of his hands. You move his hand and watch him fondly, enthralled with the grin that he's struggling to fight.
He turns to look at you, and the smile he's been boasting amplifies. "God, you're gorgeous."
It's not a new observation; just one he's never voiced before. One that he was able to resist saying. But you're naked now, chest pillowed against his, eyes glowing and nose blushed.
You hum, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. "I'm glad you chose to come here."
Just like that, there's a knot in Jungkook's stomach that seems to anchor that feeling he keeps having.
"Yeah," he nods. "Me too."
IT'S THREE IN the afternoon by the time you wake from your post-fuck snooze. Jungkook's never had one of those before. Hated being sticky after sex with anyone else. Always had to shower - but with you, he wants to stick to you like glue.
"Should have filmed that," he hums, the tips of his fingers stroking up your arms. You aren't sure if he's joking or not. "Would have given us a unique take on the project. Probably wouldn't have gotten us very high grades, mind you, but art is subjective."
"Some would argue that the critique of art is objective," you muse back, still blissfully cum-drunk from the events prior to your nap. Jungkook's nose has stopped bleeding, and the pair of you have almost forgotten the reason he showed up in the first place. "Documentary maker by night, porn star by day," you flirt. "Although it's cute that you think you fuck like a porn star."
"I felt you shaking," he says, knowing there's no possible way that you didn't enjoy it. His nose feels a little cold after all the trauma of the morning, so he buries it into your hair. "Can't fake that."
"That's what I'm saying," you simper, pressing a kiss against his bare torso, just below the meeting of his collarbones. And then another, simply for good measure. "Porn stars never actually look like they're making the woman feel any good." You trail down his chest, tongue licking gently at the darker skin around his nipple. "You... yeah you don't fuck like a porn star." And then you suck a little. He hisses, in the best possible way.
"Don't," he says. "Not ready to go again."
You laugh.
Jungkook thinks he's reached Nirvana. Almost certain, in fact. Never had a girl do that to him before. He loves to give it, but hasn't ever thought to receive it. Wonders what other things you'll do to him that he's never had done before. He can feel his cock fucking twitching again, achy and sore, definitely not recovered yet from how hard he went earlier - but god, he wants it. Wants to bury himself inside you again. Belong to you.
His hands paw at you, one gripping on your chest, the other on your ass, pulling you closer. Your leg hooks over him, and he can feel how wet you still are on the side of his thigh. His balls fucking tighten. He can feel it happening, blood rushing to his crotch.
Yet despite it all, he just kisses you. Softly. Tenderly. Merely his lips languid between yours. Withdraws slowly. Keeps his eyes closed. Bliss.
"The fuck have you done to me, sugar?" he whispers, dark eyes opening to look into yours. His speech is husky, like he trying to steal the answers of a pop-quiz from you. You can't help him. You don't have a clue what the answer is. You're just as stuck as he is. "Got me feeling all fuzzy 'n' shit."
"Just a sugar rush," you smile. "It'll pass."
You're both acutely aware that it won't, but that will be a problem for another day.
"Tell you what," Jungkook muses, though his thoughts are shallow. He's not digging deep. Just talking for the sake of it. "I might not fuck like a porn star, but you don't fuck like a hooker."
He pulls your arm up so that he can study the crease of your elbow. You let him move your body like you're a barbie doll. You'll be his toy, you think, if he wants. No bother.
His fingers press at the thin skin that covers your veins, inspecting.
"Not a scratch," he assesses. "So you're not an addict either."
You laugh, slightly amused. "No? Maybe I just don't inject."
Jungkook gives you a stern look. Hopes you're joking. Tells you that you better fucking be joking. The sweetness of your laughter tells him that you are.
"So?" you press. "I'm not a prostitute and I'm not an addict. It's your lucky day. What of it?"
Jungkook tilts his head down so that his nose is nestled into the crown of your head again. Comforting, he thinks. Smells like laundry. You must have washed your sheets recently.
His next statement takes you off guard.
"Only ever see three kinds of women down in Daerim."
And you know.
You know he knows.
You can feel it in the way he protectively presses his lips into your skull, as if he's Prince Charming trying to rid his Sleeping Beauty of the nightmare she's been living. Wake up.
But Prince Charming rides a white horse, not a petrol-spitting, air-cooled, steel-framed shadow that rips through the city at night.
There are no nightmares, either. You're already wide awake. There's no saving you.
He sighs against your head. Pauses. Resists, and then confronts.
"I know what you do in the dark, sugar."
You don't say anything for a moment, and then you're pulling away from him, reaching for your shirt. He doesn't like this. Misses your warmth, but doesn't stop you. Instead, he follows, sitting on the edge of your bed, the corner of your comforter lazily protecting his modesty. His muscles are relaxed now, a little crease in his stomach from the way that he's slouching, hands in his lap. Those Bambi eyes of his are peaking through his hair, cheeks red and grazed from the morning encounter he'd had in Daerim.
He watches as you pull your shirt over your head, hair just as messy as his, and a graze on your cheek to match. He was pretty certain before that it had been carpet burn, but now that he's seen it up close, softly rubbed his thumb against it during pretty kisses, he's sure of it.
You avert his gaze. Feel shameful. Hate that he knows. You never cared before. It was just a fun little secret, the fact that he didn't know you were no angel.
But you want him to think that you're one, now.
For a moment, you were sure that he had.
Instead, now, it feels like you're falling from grace.
He reaches for your hand, but you pull it back. "Please don't."
And so he doesn't. Just sits for a little while instead. "Do you want me to get dressed?"
You really don't.
But your tongue is lodged in your mouth and it won't budge. You turn away, internally furious with yourself. It's been a while since you've gotten like this; so dreadfully panicked that you can't talk. It's a once in a blue moon kind of thing, the early onset of a panic attack, but you're hoping it won't reach the stage of no return. Praying.
"Babe?"
He sounds worried now, and it's making it worse. Feels like you've just reached the top of Bukhan Mountain without taking a second to catch your breath.
Has your chest always been this tight? Or has someone just been wrapping rubber bands around your torso without you noticing?
It isn't possible, and you know this, but it feels like it and - oh God - you can hear him shuffling, the buckle of his belt clanging. He's leaving, he's leaving, he's leaving, your ribs cackle as they close down on your lungs.
There's a light hum behind you, like a wasp is coming to send you into a state of anaphylactic shock and then it stops. His jeans are tossed to the floor once more.
"Yoongi?" Jungkook speaks quietly behind you into the receiver of his phone. "Wassu- Yeah, yeah, I'm safe. I'm good."
I'm safe.
I'm good.
"Where are- Yoongi stop. Stop it. I'm being deadly fucking serious-"
You don't realise it, but your chest begins to mellow as you listen in to his conversation.
"It's my mess!" He shouts now. "I'll fucking fix it. I don't give a fuck what Hobi says. Where you at? The Zoo? I'll be there- Yes, I will. Don't do anything fucking stupid."
And then he hangs up, chucking his phone into your bed with more aggression than he'd ever wanted to show in your presence. You don't see it, back still turned, but you hear it, the way his phone rebounds against the springs of your mattress.
"Shit," he hisses, and when you turn to face him, you find that his head is in his hands, elbows on his knees.
Crouching by him, your chest expands. You don't give a shit about yourself anymore. Your palms rest just behind his elbows, eyes anchored below his, looking up.
"He's got his fucking final in an hour," is all Jungkook says. "He's gonna miss his fucking final."
He lifts his head, tender lips pouted, eyes bloodshot from the pressure he's been placing on his palms. Looks right at you. Decides he'll never trust another pair of eyes more.
"I know what you do in the dark, sugar," he relays. "But I do worse. So much fucking worse. And I've just gone and fucked it all up."
And while he blames it all on himself, you know it's your fault.
He didn't stay away from the girl. He tempted fate, tugged on the red string, and accidentally snapped it.
Forlorn, he slumps, tongue wetting his bottom lip as he bites down on it. It's only to stop it from trembling. Clouds lurk in his eyes, trying to block his vulnerabilities from you, but it doesn't take a genius to work out that he's scared.
"Take it," you say, lips in a flat line, eyes stern. You nod towards the pile of cash on your desk, and his eyes follow. "Take it. Pay your debts. I can earn it again. I don't have a deadline. You do."
He shakes his head.
"I'm not taking the money you've earned."
"Yes, you are."
"I'm not," he protests and you've got it in your right mind to slap his pretty face silly. "Gonna be totally honest," he adds, "Don't really want your sugar baby money. Kinda resent it a little. Resent the fucker who gave it to you."
Jungkook hates him.
Doesn't know him.
Loathes him.
"So then give him the middle finger and take it," you plead. "He got you fucked up into this mess, he got you jumped, he got your stash stolen. Take his money and get yourself and Yoongi out of it. You don't have time to be fucking arguing with me."
He wants to fight back. You stop him.
"We can argue later," you promise.
And that ever-present effervescent feeling is back in his chest.
"Sugar," he speaks quietly. "Don't do this."
"Kook," you respond, voice much firmer than his. "You gotta do this. Yoongi shouldn't be fixing your mistakes and you know it. We can work it out on an I.O.U. basis. It's okay."
"I.O.U. suggests I'm gonna keep seeing you for a while," Jungkook mumbles. He isn't feeling as confident in himself as he had done earlier.
You stand, offering your hand to him so that you can pull him up with you. Neither of you acknowledge the fact that he's stark bollock naked. It's really not the time. Nothing you haven't seen before, after all.
"Well, yeah," you shrug with a straight face, but there's a glint in your eye. "I'd hope so. Pretty sure you said you were fuck my tits later? Gotta hold up your end of the bargain, sugar."
And despite it all, he laughs, toying with your hands before slipping his finger between yours. "Don't call me that."
"Why not?" You squeeze his hands. "You're technically my sugar baby now."
"That's not how it works."
God, he knows he shouldn't be fucking about, wasting time flirting, but he just can't help himself.
"No?" You question, equally distracted.
"No," he says. "If you're paying me, and I'm fucking you, then that makes me a hooker."
He's not wrong.
"Oh, that's kinda hot," you smile, pulling gently on his hands to encourage him to lean down. He does as he's told, and kisses you like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"You're so fucked up," he whispers against you, knowing that it's exactly why he enjoys you so much.
You don't let the moment linger, though, tossing him his clothes and going to grab the money while he dresses himself. You stack it together, all nice and neat, using the desk to straighten the edges. The wedge is thick in your hands. Yellow 50's are laughing at you. Stupid girl thought we'd fix her problems, they chatter silently to one another.
"Three and half million won," you hold it out to Jungkook. He hesitates, so you force his grip around it and let go. It's his problem, now. Not yours. You smile so warmly that Jungkook can't help but let that feeling in his chest simmer. Your hair is still messy, mascara still smudged. He wants to kiss your cheeks.
Jungkook hasn't disclosed what exactly was in his bag.
But in the same way he knows there are only three types of women in Daerim, you know there are equally only three types of men.
There's only one demographic that he belongs to. Yoongi, too.
You don't say it explicitly, not like he does.
"Holangi are nasty fuckers," you acknowledge. "I know they raise the stakes just for the fun of it. Whatever got stolen, the street value doesn't matter. Take it all. You'll need it."
Take what I owe you.
When he kisses you goodbye, it's just like the first time; all breathy and needy, lips parted and pouting. Again and again, he presses down into your lips. His brows furrow, hands on your cheeks, chest pressed against yours.
The crimson paint that had stained you from his very first kiss returns. You're painted in red for the second time that morning, but this time only you can see it. Only you can feel it.
That's her. That's the girl who let Jeon Jungkook kiss her like he actually meant it.
But it's funny now, because you know that he does mean it.
When he finally leaves, his nose is blushed, his cupids bow too. Eyes glassy. Smile forlorn.
Disappointingly, as you close the door of your apartment when he's no longer in your line of sight, you remember exactly how Jungkook had kissed you for the first time:
Like it was going to be the last.
And it consumes you, because the kiss you just shared felt exactly the same.
Your chest is uncomfortable again, but it's not rubber bands this time.
It's that stupid red string that Jungkook had tugged too tightly on.
↣ life through the eyes of someone who watches you fall apart and helps gather the shards of your heart, only for you to make the same mistake time and time again, but he refuses to accept the truth because to him, you’re infallible.
a/n — this…was supposed to be 5K but I love that song. also the song he sings in the bar is Your Eyes Tell by BTS (my favorite Japanese song of theirs)
∞
Jungkook remembers the first time he had seen you. It was a chilly evening, slight breeze with a few stars dotting the inky sky, you were standing outside the café opposite Seokjin’s bar. Even from afar, he could tell that you were annoyed, by the dip between your brows and the way you kept tugging your hoodie sleeves over your hands. He couldn’t wait long enough until your ride arrived, duty called, but when he checked not even ten minutes later, you were gone.
Just spent at least 10 mins searching for a part 2 😭 just beautifully written. I was hesitant to read a story from this point of view but this was fantastic.
summary: the date was terrible, awful even, but you just can't call your brother to pick you up. you have to call his best friend instead.
note: hi um....... i'm back and a seventeen stan now????? don't worry, i'm still working on ateez fic, but s.coups has taken hold of my brain and i needed to get this one out there so..... pls enjoy
warnings: non idol!seungcheol, fem!reader, older brother mingyu, seungcheol is mingyus bff, reader is called a sl*t in a mean way by her shitty date, v protective cheol, reckless driving, unprotected sex (wrap it up dont be like them), reader is curvy and descriptors like full, thick, etc. are used throughout, makeouts, grinding, cheol is obsessed with pussy, i mean fr he's a bonafide wap enjoyer, an oral aficionado of the wettest kind, anyways there's oral sex f receiving, hand stuff, rough fingering, rough but passionate sex, use of baby and princess, creampies b/c lbr he's gotta, anyways they're obsessed with each other
pairings: s.coups x reader
genre: smut and more smut, childhood friends to lovers
word count: 14.2K
It was a bad date.
Not the worst date you’ve ever had, granted, but still pretty up there in terms of terrible. He left an hour ago, the minute you interrupted his monologue to tell him that you were pretty sure things weren’t going to work out. You’ve never had someone leave in the middle of a date before, but then again, you’ve never actually told someone the date was bad in the middle either.
Not being able to find the right guy is starting to feel embarrassing. It’s been years since your last relationship and months since you even had a second date. Naively, you had had such a good feeling about tonight and having to be proven wrong at breakneck speed before you even got your entrees feels like some kind of poetic karma for something you must have done. You just wish for once you had kept your mouth shut, but your good feeling had been infectious and your excitement about the date bubbled up out of you to your friends and your coworkers.
You just wish you never told Mingyu.
I have a really good feeling about him. That’s what you told your brother on the phone a few hours ago. We’ve been talking for a few weeks, I think you’ll really like him.
Stupid.
You should have known he was on the rebound from the suspiciously large gap in photos on his Instagram. You should have known he was just trying to sleep with you from the minute he commented on your dress, from the way he touched your shoulder for too long for the first hug. You should have known on top of all of that that he would be boring from his joking non-answer when you asked about his most recent read. Sometimes it takes all of those things wrapped up tightly together and shoved directly in your face from across a dining room table to know for sure.
You just wish you never said a word to Mingyu. You don’t want to see that look in his eyes when you tell him he wasn’t the right guy. His eyes always go soft, mouth downturned, and it kills you every time because he means it when he says - You’ll find the right guy soon, anyone would be crazy to not love you.
Tonight you really don’t want pity, you don’t think you can handle it.
“Are you ready for the check?” The server’s voice snaps you right out of your thoughts and you look up at his sympathetic smile.
“Sorry,” You manage, “yes,”
“No rush,” He lies, immediately producing the leather billfold and sliding it across the tablecloth.
The floor doesn’t start to drop out from beneath you until you open it, despite having to sit here and eat your pasta alone. This place is expensive, more expensive than you thought.
Your eyes run through the bill. Four cocktails, two appetizers, two entrees, one slice of cherry cheesecake. The bills your date left on the table just barely covers three cocktails. You can’t afford this. The prices here were probably nothing for your date given how much he talked about his extremely smart investing strategies, but not for you.
You do fast math, panic math.
After paying the bill you’ll have 9,600 won in your debit account. You get paid tomorrow so it’s not the scariest number you’ve ever seen in your account, but it’s definitely not enough for a taxi home.
Your stomach churns.
You pay the bill quickly, quietly, the server’s hovering presence by your shoulder enough to tell you there is in fact a considerable rush. Your card is returned to you in moments, and he places a brown paper bag in front of you, “There’s an extra slice of cheesecake in there for you,” he says, “I’m sorry about your date.”
He’s gone before you can say thank you.
You suppose you can’t really sit inside anymore if you’ve paid the bill and you’re holding a to-go bag, so you step out into the chilly night air. It’s been raining lately, but barely. It’s been cloudy more than anything, and yet here you are walking outside into the cold night air and a late autumn storm of icy rain.
Your date was a special kind of bastard for leaving you stranded a half hour from your apartment in a storm like this.
The comments he made about you, about your dress and the way it fits flick through your mind and your jaw draws tightly shut. If you had had the wherewithal in that moment to slap him or toss a glass of water in his face you would have, but instead you sat frozen with your stomach in knots.
It takes you one flash of rage to scroll through your phone and delete the three dating apps installed, and then you open up your contacts and scroll for your brother’s name. He doesn’t live too far from here, and you know he’s probably out with some of his friends, but if you’re lucky maybe he’s close by. Your finger hovers over Mingyu’s contact, but you can't quite make the call.
You’re twenty-six, you should be grown up enough to get home by yourself after a bad date and not have to call him to rescue you. Embarrassment floods you, the idea of admitting you can’t afford the taxi tonight just sinks into your bones. You love your brother so much, but the idea of seeing him look at you the way he sometimes does and then slip money into your purse for you to find at home makes you want to cry. You’d call him and you’d tell him you’re returning it and he’d play dumb - What money, y/n? I didn’t put that there, maybe it’s like when you find 50,000 won in your old jeans?
No, you can’t call him. You can’t go over to his lovely little apartment with his absolutely lovely fiance and cry about the sorry state of your romantic life. Nothing about that will make you feel better in this moment, absolutely nothing.
You scroll away from his contact and you think about anyone else you could call, but there’s only one person who keeps coming to mind. There’s no way he’ll pick up, not when he sees your number on his phone, not after the way you’ve treated him for the past year, but his apartment really isn’t that far from here and if he doesn’t hate your guts you know he’ll at least give you a ride.
The rain picks up, pelting you hard enough that you have to duck back under the measly lip of the restaurants roof for what cover it provides, and you don’t realize you’re well and truly crying until your cheeks feel warm and wet and you can’t get a full breath, but here you are. Stranded alone, broke, and loveless in an apparently ill fitting dress, and there’s only one person’s voice you want to hear even if it’s just his stupid voicemail box.
Tears hiccup out of you as you dial, cold fingers shaking as you try to press the numbers you’ve had memorized by heart since you were thirteen and got your first cell phone.
The phone rings twice before he answers, “Hey, you,”
The easy sound of his voice makes your tears come faster. Your breath hitches in your chest, “Cheol?”
“y/n?” His voice shifts, “Are you crying?”
“I’m,” You hiccup again, “I’m sorry,”
“Hey,” He tries again, “y/n, is that you?”
“I messed up,” Your head is starting to throb and you press your eyes closed, leaning back against the cold wall of the restaurant and hiding as much of your body under the overhang of the roof as possible, “I’m sorry to call,”
He hasn’t called you that in years, not since you were fifteen and carrying a torch for him. Not since you made Mingyu tell him to stop.
“C-can you come get me?” You wish you could just stop crying.
“Tell me where you are,” He answers immediately, and despite the rain you hear the sound of his car keys.
You give him the name of the restaurant, the closest cross streets, all blubbered out between fat tears and rain drops.
“That’s…” He sounds distant suddenly and then his voice reconnects, “twenty minutes, okay? I’ll be there in twenty minutes, princess, just take a deep breath,”
You drag in a shaky breath, “Cheol,” you scrub the tears from under your eyes, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know who else to call,”
“Me,” He says, his car starting up in the background, “you always call me if you need me,”
You haven’t seen him in almost a year, barely talked to him outside of sending reactions to each other's Instagram stories, but he’s coming.
The way you fell away from him was gradual at first, and then an intentional self preservationist wall. Mingyu had introduced his best friend to a girl, and despite your high school crush being supposedly dead and buried, you weren’t prepared for what Choi Seungcheol in love would look like. You started being busier and busier until his calls went unanswered and then eventually his calls just stopped altogether. Mingyu told you later that the relationship didn’t last, but the damage was done and in the end it was just easier not to reach out first.
You can’t believe he picked up the phone and you can’t believe the first thing he heard from you in a year was hysterical crying. Taking a set of deep, steadying breaths you wipe away the wetness from your cheeks. Your date had hurt your feelings, but you only let it last for a minute. You wouldn’t let a man with such a fragile ego get into your head, and besides, you’ve always liked this dress.
Seungcheol makes it to you in fifteen minutes flat. He’s broken at least six traffic laws to get to you, including running a solidly red, redlight, but he really doesn’t care.
He’s seen you cry before, plenty of times. When you skinned your knee at seven or that time he and Mingyu played a prank when you were eleven, tricking you into thinking you were home alone on Halloween night. He’s seen you cry at movies and at videos of puppies and the sound of moving music, and he remembers your eyes full of glassy tears watching Mingyu graduate college. He remembers the sound of it when your grandmother died when you were nineteen, the way your shoulders shook and your breath wheezed as you hid your face tightly in your brother's chest while he looked on feeling so, so helpless.
Seungcheol remembers all of it, but he’s never heard you sound like you did tonight.
Mingyu had said you had a date. Earlier in Seungcheol’s night at a bar not far from his apartment, his best friend mentioned it off hand. Mingyu said it like an afterthought as he answered one of your texts. Seungcheol tried not to notice the way his hand tightened on his beer can, enough to make the aluminum crack inwards on itself where his thumb dug into the cool metal. He tried not to think too much about what that meant, just like he’s been trying not to think too much about you at all lately.
Now his mind is racing, threading the pieces together as the wet road whips by. The threadiness of your voice turns synonymous with panic in his mind and now all he can think about is how he’ll find you when he gets there. He goes over the facts he knows while he stops behind a small block of traffic, his knuckles white as he grips the wheel.
A date, a bad date, a date you needed a ride away from. The kind of date you couldn’t tell your brother about, when he knows that Mingyu is always your first call. As the traffic disperses he presses the gas pedal and weaves around the slower cars, images flickering in his mind’s eye. A faceless man looking at you, making you uncomfortable, pressing into your space. His mind loops on the image of an unwanted kiss, of pushy hands finding their way under your blouse.
By the time he’s skidding into the parking lot of the restaurant his hands are shaking and he’s ready to kill.
When he sees you, wet and shivering on the sidewalk, he nearly falls out of the car trying to get to you. He leaves the key in the ignition, the door flung wide open with warmth pouring out into the chilly night air.
He looks flustered, rumpled like he was having a quiet night in. Heavy gray sweatpants that hang just right on his hips and an oversized white shirt. He’s wearing socks and slides and the second you see him it dawns on you that when you called him you must have sounded hysterical because he didn’t even try to dress for the icy weather.
“You look terrible,” You clap a hand over your lips to stop yourself from laughing, and you can’t believe that’s the first thing you manage to say to him after a year. You hate yourself for having no filter, no off switch, no ability to just be normal and say thank you for coming all this way.
His expression runs from panic to confusion in a split second, “What?”
“Fuck,” You laugh, shaking your head, “no, sorry, you look good, but it’s raining like hell, get in the car,”
He blinks, “y/n,”
“Come on,” You duck out from beneath the measly roof overhang and dart towards the passenger side door, “it’s freezing, I’ll explain in the car,”
Your dress is wet, but not soaked through, so you hope you won’t do any damage to his seats as you slide into the warmth of his car and shut the door. It takes him at least thirty seconds to follow you, but through his confusion at your reaction you bet he finally registers the cold wetness of his socks and it snaps him back to reality.
He leaves the car in park and turns his body to you.
You owe him an explanation, especially given the way you cried on the phone to him twenty minutes ago, but all you can think right now is that it’s really, really nice to see his face again. His hair has gotten longer, shaggier and curled a little at the neck and it might just be the fit of his shirt, but he looks broader. It’s only been a year, but he looks so much more like a man now. All you can manage is, “Hey, Cheol,”
“Hey,” He answers, shifting himself further in the seat so that he’s almost twisted up sideways, one leg tucked up to accommodate the position.
The front of his shirt is damp with rain and clinging a bit to his chest and you look down. You really do not need to be having these kinds of thoughts about him again, it’s only been a minute, ninety seconds at the most.
“y/n,” He says, his voice slow and soft, “what happened?”
Shame floods you, heating your cheeks red.
He stretches a hand across the center console, but he stops halfway, his fingers closing into a loose fist, “You know you can tell me anything, right?”
“I know,”
“I won’t tell Gyu,” He offers quietly, “just tell me what happened, and I promise, I’ll take care of it.”
Oh.
Your head snaps up at his serious tone, “Nothing happened, I’m fine,”
He looks more confused than before if that’s even possible, and you can practically see him working out his next words.
“Cheol,” You shake your head, “I’m serious, I’m completely fine, I just needed a ride,”
“You were crying,” He says, not a question but a fact.
“I know,” You sigh.
“You were crying like something happened,” He draws his arm back and runs a hand through his damp hair, “and you called me?”
“I know,” You repeat, “it was a bad date, but that’s all it was. He ditched me without a ride though and I just,”
Seungcheol’s lips close at your words as he waits for you to finish.
“The thought of calling Mingyu and telling him about this just,” You clear your throat to push back a little bubble of emotion, “yeah, I couldn’t do that,”
“Oh,” His voice drops, and Seungcheol shifts in his seat, throwing the car into drive, “got it.”
“No, Cheol,” You shake your head, “that’s not what I meant,”
“It’s fine,” He peels out of the parking lot, “I’ll drive you home.”
He’s angry, pissed at you in that way he gets pissed. Tightened jaw, heavy sighs, his knee bouncing in irritation. If you give it five minutes he’ll tell you what’s bothering him, he’ll say it in a fast rush like he’s more disappointed than mad. You have to let him come to you when he’s like this, no amount of trying to explain will fix it, so you wait.
The drive is silent, and you fight the urge to jump in with directions when he approaches each light and turn. He knows where your apartment is, he helped you move in four years ago when you graduated college. Mingyu and his friends lifting box after box and telling you to just relax and let the professionals handle it. You smile at the memory.
He stays quiet until he turns off the major road and down the side streets that will take you to your apartment, but finally he says, “You can’t just call me like that and expect me to drop everything when you have a bad date,”
“Were you busy?” You didn’t think so judging by the state of his clothes, but it’s not out of the realm of possibility. He could have had friends over, maybe a girl. You wonder idly if he’s seeing someone.
“That’s not the point,” He glances at you, “and you know it.”
“I’m sorry,” You tell him, and you mean it, “I really didn’t know who to call, and I just,”
“What, y/n?” He pushes a little.
“I just don’t want to tell Mingyu about the date,” You confess, “and I didn’t mean to call you and be such a mess, the date really was bad and I was feeling sorry for myself, and I didn’t have enough money to get home,”
“What?” He swivels his head to the side for a moment and then refocuses on the road.
“I would have called a taxi,” You explain, “but my fucking date left and didn’t pay after we ordered all this food and it was more than I was planning for,”
“He didn’t pay?” He sounds disgusted and you smile.
“No,” You tell him, “but in fairness, I did tell him in the middle of the date it wasn’t going to work out,”
He laughs sharply, and you know he’s still irritated but at least he’s listening, “That bad?”
“Yeah,” You sigh, “but it is what it is,”
He glances over to you again, “So he walked out?”
“Basically,” You nod, “he said what he needed to say, dropped twenty-thousand won on the table like that was going to cover anything and walked out. At least now I know he was an asshole, I’m not missing out on anything,”
“What did he say to you?” His voice pops up an octave.
You’d really rather not tell him, you’d be fine burying the comment he made deep down inside never to be unpacked again. You shake your head, “It’s fine,”
“It doesn’t seem fine,” He starts, but you smoothly cut back in.
“I just didn’t want Gyu to feel bad for me I guess, he knew I was looking forward to the date, and having to call for a ride like this, I don’t know. I was embarrassed,” You explain.
“I still don’t understand why you called me, though,” He admits, and you can still feel the tension in him even though the conversation has been ebbing and flowing, “I’m not your brother.”
Irritation sparks in you at the comment, “I know you’re not,” you turn to him, “but we’re friends, aren’t we?”
“Friends call each other,” He says simply, “don’t they?”
You let his comment sit in the air between you for a moment, and then you sigh, “Yeah, they do. I’m sorry I disappeared on you like that,”
“I tried calling,” He says softly, “but you were always busy,”
“I know,” You breathe.
He drives further, slower now and safer that you’re in the car, and you can see him thinking through your words. Finally he slides his hand across the center console with his palm turned up, offering you his hand, “y/n,” he says, “are you doing okay? With money, I mean, after what you said?”
“I’m good,” You tell him, “it was just shitty timing,”
“If you need anything,” He squeezes your hand as you slide your palm across his, “I’m here, we don’t have to say anything to,”
“I’m okay,” You assure him, “but thank you, seriously,”
He nods, accepting your words, but then he asks something harder, “What did that guy say to you, y/n? I know you, you weren’t crying like that over not being able to get a taxi,”
You sigh, leaning back in the passenger seat, “Can I ask you to let it go?”
“You can ask,” He shrugs, “but so can I.”
You sit quietly, looking at your entwined hands resting on your knee. His thumb strokes over your knuckles slowly.
“Fine,” You murmur, “he said he didn’t want to date me anyways, he just came to sleep with me,”
His hand tightens on yours.
“And if I wasn’t going to fuck him,” You do your best to clean up some of the language he used when he got up from the table, “I shouldn’t have dressed like a slut,”
You leave out the part that really cut deep, the part that made the more form fitting dress you chose go from sexy to something sour.
“Give me this asshole’s name,” Seungcheol skids to a stop a little too harshly at the next traffic light and turns to you.
“No,” You shake your head, “I’m fine now, it just stung,”
His lips close in a tight line and then he sighs, “I’m so sorry someone said that to you,”
“Don’t apologize, Cheol,” You squeeze his hand, “you didn’t say it.”
“I know, but still,” He holds your gaze, “it was mean, and you deserve much better from a guy you’re seeing, and you don’t look like, or I mean, you aren’t a,”
You smile as he stumbles over his words and someone behind him gently honks the horn enough to let him know the light has gone green.
He jolts and refocuses on the road, clearing his throat, “What I’m trying to say is that you look nice, pretty. The dress is good, and you, um, you don’t look,”
“Thank you,” You cut him off, trying to save him from swallowing his own tongue out of embarrassment, and you ignore the way your stomach flipped over on itself hearing Seungcheol call you pretty.
“Yeah,” He swallows, slowing down to make the final turn onto your little block, “you know what I mean,”
“Mhm,” You laugh, breaking down any lingering tension, “Cheol, are you a little disappointed you didn’t get to punch my date? Is that it?”
“Shut up,” He sighs.
“Aw,” You smile as he pulls into a space by your apartment, “You were worried about me?”
He rolls his eyes as he kills the ignition, “You were hysterical,” he says, “what was I supposed to think?”
“Don’t worry,” You smile as he throws open the driver’s side door, “I think it’s kind of sweet that you went all knight and shining armor on me,”
His lip twitches, “Don’t make fun,” he says, “I thought something bad happened to you,”
“Nothing bad happened to me,” You find yourself assuring him again even though he already knows this, and you twist the moment back to a joke as quickly as you can, “unless you count listening to a guy talk about his ex for twenty minutes,”
He grimaces, “Ugh,”
“Exactly,”
“Actually, you know what,” He grins, “you’re right, that is a terrible date and you were right to call me,”
He’s out of the car and crossing to your door and relief floods your chest. Just like that, you’re back to normal.
Seungcheol pulls open your door to let you out and says, “Do you have a towel or something?”
“You want to come up?”
“If you don’t mind,”
“You just swooped in and saved my night, Coups, of course I don’t mind.” He smiles at the nickname, the one mostly used by his friend group and coined by Seungcheol himself during their short lived Soundcloud music career freshman year of college. The nickname stuck, but you and Mingyu knew him before and you’ve both always, always called him Seungcheol.
He ducks his head, smiles, and follows you up the stairs and into your apartment just like old times.
It’s a little strange seeing him like this after so much time has passed, but no matter what has happened in your life, even when your childhood little crush on him was making your nights sleepless, he’s always been there. He’s been a constant in your life since you could form memories, and when you really think about it, you’ve never not known Seungcheol. Suddenly seeing him in your living room feels right, and it makes you wonder why you couldn’t pick up the phone and say something real to him this past year.
“It looks good in here,” He offers, toeing off his slides in the entryway and stepping into your little living room, “it looks like you,”
“Thanks,” You’re pretty sure the floor of your bedroom is still covered in clothes from earlier, but he’s not going to see that and you’re just glad you didn’t let that chaos spillover out here.
“So,” He clears his throat lightly.
“Towel,” You jump, “right, hold on,”
You disappear down the hall and Seungcheol’s chest goes fluttering fast. He doesn’t need a towel, he doesn’t need anything except a pair of dry socks and his own bed, and he can’t figure out for the life of him why he gave into the little voice that told him to come upstairs. You’ve made it pretty clear over the past year or so that you’ve grown up, you’ve made your own group of friends outside of him and your brother and the guys. He doesn’t need to be here, you don’t need him anymore, you just needed a ride.
But he’s missed you a little. A lot if he’s being honest with himself. Sometimes he finds himself asking Mingyu about you, hoping you might drop by while he’s at his best friend’s place. Your name on his phone screen earlier in the night had stopped his heart cold. He couldn’t imagine why you were calling and not just texting, and he picked up the phone so fast he thought he might have fucked it up and accidentally pressed end. He tried to sound casual, normal, but his heart was pounding.
Standing in your living room he feels out of place, like a forgotten childhood relic unboxed in the middle of a new home. He doesn’t know which seat to sit in, he doesn’t have his spot on your couch here like he did at your old place. He doesn’t know where you keep your glasses or which remote would switch on the television. He doesn’t know which book you’ve been reading from the little stack on the table or the name of the place you’ve been working, and there’s a man’s jacket hanging on the wall in the hallway that he doesn’t recognize. He hopes it’s Mingyu’s.
He doesn’t know why he’s here. He should leave. He should go.
“Okay,” Your voice comes back, and he tears his eyes away from the little details of your life he doesn’t recognize to look back at you, “I’ve got a towel, socks, and I bet I have a sweatshirt of Gyu’s around here if you’re cold,”
“I’m good,” He recovers, taking the dry items from your hands.
Your fingers brush along his as you pass everything off and your stomach jumps.
“Come in,” You wave him in, “I’ll make some coffee or something and then I need to change,”
“You should get a warm shower,” He says abruptly, “you’ll catch a cold,”
“I’m fine,” You shake your head, “I wasn’t out there for too long,”
“I’ll make the coffee then, you need to get out of that wet dress,” He shoos you away and points to your kitchen, “I assume you have a normal coffee machine and not some fancy Italian thing?”
“I think you’ll be fine,” You smile, “I’ll just be a second,”
He nods, and you dart back down the hallway to your bedroom.
It takes you three minutes to change into something comfortable and clean and then kick all of your scattered clothes into the closet and shut the door. You run a brush through your tangled hair from the rain, and you almost forget that your childhood crush is walking freely around your apartment, but then you hear his laugh and you melt into the wall behind you. You missed the sound of it so much, and if you don’t get a handle on this right now you’re going to go out there and make a fool of yourself.
But then he laughs again.
You smile as you come back out into the living room, leaving your good sense behind in the bathroom, “What’s so funny?”
“I haven’t seen these in years,” He grins, and as you come around the corner you realize he’s looking at the photos you have framed and sitting in various spots on your bookshelf.
“Oh,” You smile, seeing the one he’s holding and studying, “yeah,”
“This one,” He tips the frame so you can see the picture, but you already know which one, Mingyu and Seungcheol in their first year of college stand in the center of the frame, Wonwoo, Jeonghan, Dokyeom, and Hoshi with their arms thrown around each other on either side. You are crouching in the center with Jeonghan’s little sister, both of you holding out a peace sign.
“Isn’t this the night we went to that haunted theme park?” Seungcheol asks with a smile.
“Yeah,” You take the photo back from him and look it over for a moment, “in Daegu,”
He nods, “I remember,”
“Yeah,” You place the photo back in it’s assigned spot and turn towards the kitchen, “I just remember you and DK scaring the living shit out of me,”
“God,” He runs a hand through his hair, “we did, I felt so bad about that after,”
“Mm,” You laugh.
“Gyu reamed us out for it later,” He follows you into the kitchen and watches as you pour two cups of freshly brewed coffee.
“He never told me that,” Your eyes perk up in surprise.
“He said,” Seungcheol straightens himself up to his full height and lets his face go passive for his impression, “‘If you ever make my sister cry like that again, you’ll be sorry,’”
“Sorry?” You laugh, “Mingyu wouldn’t know how to make someone sorry if his life depended on it,”
“I don’t know,” He shrugs, relaxing his shoulders and reaching for his cup, “it seemed pretty clear he wasn’t fucking around, we took him seriously,”
“Wow,” You lean against the counter, “that’s actually kind of sweet,”
“He’s always been protective of you,” Seungcheol points out, “even now, he’ll talk about you and I can see it,”
“I’m not a kid anymore, though,” You bristle a little.
“He knows that,” Seungcheol shakes his head, “he just worries, you know, it’s his nature,”
“Yeah,” You nod, taking a long sip of your coffee, “I know,”
Seungcheol hovers, not finding a place to lean or to sit in the unfamiliar place, and finally he just asks the question that’s been on his mind for the past twenty minutes, “Is that why you didn’t call him? He worries too much?”
“I guess a little,” You move past him and back into the living room, “come sit down, you’re making me nervous,”
He blushes and every little emotion you’ve ever had for him comes thundering back in your chest. There are at least three places for him to sit that aren’t directly next to you on the couch, but he ignores every one of them and sits next to you, barely a foot away, and turns towards you so he can put all his focus on you.
“So,” He prompts you, “come on, it’s just me,”
Talking to him was always easy, always. Even in the throes of your infatuation you were able to hold a conversation with him, sometimes a long one out on the balcony of your parent’s house. It’s almost irritating how quickly that familiarity and comfort comes back.
“I just feel like I’ve been really fucking this whole dating thing up,” You confess, “and Mingyu’s been… well you know him, he’s like the number one hype man for me making all my dreams come true, and being ten out of ten happy,”
“Yeah,” He nods, but lets you continue.
“But I just haven’t been able to make it work with anyone in a while,” You bite down the reason why in the back of your brain, “and every time I tell him about a bad date he just looks sadder and sadder for me,”
“Mm,” He nods, sympathetic, “I know exactly what you mean.”
“I’m so glad you picked up, honestly,” You glance down at the edge of your cup, “you’ve never treated me like that, and I just… I guess I needed a friend and not my brother tonight,”
He hesitates, but then his hand comes to rest on your knee and he gives you a squeeze, “I get it,” he says, “but, honestly it seems like you’re putting a lot of pressure on yourself,”
“I know, but,” You sigh, your words dying out as you focus on his lingering hand on your knee.
“What’s so important about getting a guy right now?” He asks, and you almost laugh at the absurdity of this man asking you that question.
“Cheol,” You shift on the couch to reposition, pulling back your knee from his touch so you can face him and admit this without being dizzier than you are about his presence, “I don’t know, exactly, but… don’t you feel like living alone is kind of fucking lonely sometimes?”
His eyes flick over you and then he nods.
The words keep coming as much as you don’t want them to now that you’ve started telling someone, telling him the truth of it and you grimace as you admit it, “The sick part is that I think it’s me. Tonight was the exception, he was a dick, but most of these guys are nice. They’re nice, they’re respectful, they seem to be interested in me, but none of them are what I want, none of them are,”
You have to stop. You have to get off this topic and off this train before you say something really and truly stupid and burn this newly restored friendship down to ash.
“Having high standards isn’t a bad thing,” He offers, “and Gyu sets the bar high for how you should treat a woman, I mean,”
“You think I’m talking about Mingyu?” You laugh sharply.
“He’s the best guy I know,” He starts to say and then the wheels start turning.
It happens fast, your absolute lightning quick strike to the match, but your poor decision making usually goes something like this. It makes you mad at first, his constant reference to your perfect brother, but then it all makes sense. Seungcheol really has no idea how you feel about him, as a person or otherwise. It doesn’t enter his brain that the guy who set your standards for men so high might be him, even after he drove illegally fast on wet roads just to come get you because he heard you cry. Up until the last year of your life where you tried to install some distance, he was always there. He was always your first call, always your last call too, and you could never really see anyone else while he was towering right in front of you. He’s never let you down and he doesn’t even know it.
“I can’t believe you,” The words slip out, and then you’re kissing him.
He takes a sharp inhale of breath at the way you collapse onto him, holding yourself up with one hand on his chest and the other on his neck, and his mouth is so warm. You press the first kiss tentatively, and then the second a little more insistently, and then you realize he hasn’t moved an inch and isn’t kissing you back in the least.
You fly backwards, your hand over your mouth, “Oh, god, I’m so sorry,”
He clears his throat and shifts, shaking his head, “It’s fine, don’t worry about it,”
“I can’t believe I just did that,” You blush scarlet, “I’m a mess, I’m so, so sorry, Cheol,”
“Really,” He avoids your eyes, “it’s fine, it was an emotional night, and you just said it yourself, living alone is lonely. We’re good,”
“I didn’t kiss you because I was sad,” You run a hand through your hair and slump back on the couch, “I kissed you because you were being a dumb ass,”
“I feel like you’re insulting me a lot tonight considering I just drove across town for you,” He’s not angry, not really, but he doesn’t let you off so easily, he never has.
“I kissed you because you’re the best guy I know,” You counter his words back, “and I’m sick of you always putting yourself down when-”
He yanks you forwards by your wrist, and this kiss is what you’ll count forever as the first one. He drags your body forwards as he leans back against the couch and kisses you hard, his tongue dipping past your lips this time, his breath mingling with yours.
You shift for better purchase, your chest and his flush together, and you moan softly against his lips when his hand slips lower on your waist.
He breaks the kiss, his forehead leaning against yours, “What the fuck are we doing?”
“I think they call it making out,” You manage, your heart beating fast like a bird.
“Jesus,” He shakes his head, “what are we doing?”
“Cheol,” You start, but he kisses you again, hungrier and hotter as he pulls you in.
You pant against his mouth, your brain exploding into little fireworks as his hands start to wander, and then he groans, “You feel so good,”
This is going somewhere fast, and with your hands twisted in the fabric of his t-shirt you swing your leg over his hips and let him wrap his arms around you.
“We should slow down,” You find yourself mumbling against his mouth, “but I don’t want to, I want you,”
He nods against you, his hands squeezing your thighs where they rest on either side of him, “I want you too,”
“We should talk more,” You manage as his kisses travel over your jaw.
“Later?” He asks, his hands dragging you closer, “God, that dress,”
“Yeah?” You’re breathless already.
“If I knew you were going to kiss me I would have peeled it off you,” He pants.
A moan gets caught in your throat, your hips jerking, nipples hardening against his chest as you throw yourself into another kiss.
“God,” He shivers.
“Cheol stay,” You can talk later, he’s absolutely right, and you beg him not to go between kisses, “please stay,”
Logic starts to pump through him at the implications of that, so much more than kissing comes with staying for the night and he starts to shake his head, but at the way you’re touching him he can’t quite tear his hands away.
“I should go home,” He murmurs against your mouth, fingers slipping underneath the hem of your t-shirt, “you’ve been drinking,”
“I had two drinks,” You connect your lips with his again, tongue dipping into his mouth, “like three hours ago,”
“Still,” He kisses you again despite his words, his hand now flat against the small of your back.
“I’m not drunk,” You pull yourself closer using his shoulders, “if you don’t want to kiss me, don’t kiss me, but don’t use that as an excuse,”
“I should go home,” He repeats, like saying it out loud might make his body follow his brain, but it doesn’t. All he does is tug you closer, your legs now fully splayed around his hips as he leans back against the couch and groans against your mouth.
“I should,” He starts again, whispered thoughts against your lips, but you push back from his chest and break your mouths apart.
“If you want to go so bad, go,” You pull your arms away from him, crossing them under your chest to hold yourself steady. Your nails press pinpricks into your palms.
“This isn’t about what I want,” His eyes soften in that tender way you love, and his hand cups your waist, thumb brushing a line over the deep curve of your hip.
“Why wouldn’t this be about what you want?” You press him, “Or about what I want?”
“Mingyu is my best friend,” He says, his mouth drawn into a sullen line, “and I never want to do anything that betrays his trust or hurts him in any way,”
“I’m not asking you to,” Your voice is small.
“Just,” He sighs, his head tipping backwards against the cushions and his hands slipping to rest over your thighs, “tell me something, okay? Be honest,”
“Okay,”
“Do you want me because you’re lonely and I’m here,” He asks, his eyes locked to the ceiling, “or do you want me because you want me?”
Your arms fall slack and you open your mouth to respond but he presses forwards.
“Because if this is a one time thing to make us both feel better,” He shakes his head, “I can’t do that, I have to go home.”
“Cheol,” You murmur, but he doesn’t lift his head. You reach for him, brushing a hand along his cheek and drawing his gaze back down from the ceiling to your face, “Seungcheol, look at me,”
“Yeah,” He finally follows your gaze.
“I love my brother, but this isn’t about him,” You tell him clearly, and you watch his lips part so he can cut in but you shake your head, “it isn’t. This is about us, and I’ve had a crush on you since I was fucking thirteen,”
He blinks, a grin breaking across his face, “You have?”
“Yeah,” You shuffle closer on his lap, “why do you think I disappeared? You started dating that girl and I just… it wasn’t my place to say anything, it’s not like you were mine, but,”
He brushes the hair back from your cheek as he nods, “It hurts to see the person you want with someone else,”
“Yeah,”
“And you wanted me?”
You nod, stroking his neck where your hand rests, “I just needed some space after that, I thought I could move on,”
“I know the feeling,” He smiles, his thumb tender against your jaw, “believe me,”
“I do,” You nod, “so believe me when I tell you I’ve wanted you for a long time and I don’t just want the one night,”
He sits frozen, his eyes studying your expression, and then he’s moving. Seungcheol pulls you down to meet his mouth again, hands roughly threading into your hair and gripping your hip as he tugs your bodies flush together. He kisses like you hope he fucks, passionate and a little messy, like his need to be inside you and consumed by you is more important than any vanity.
“God,” He groans against your mouth, “he’s going to kill me,”
“Probably,” You huff a laugh against his lips, rolling your hips forwards to slot your bodies together tightly, and at the feeling of his hardening cock pressed against your sex you can’t help the breathy moan that slips out.
He drops his hands to your hips, coaxing you into rolling them again as he presses upwards and you follow his guidance with ease. He curses softly and you roll your hips again, “Oh, fuck my fucking life,” he groans, kissing his way down your throat, “he’ll kill me, but you’re worth it,”
“I better be,” You tease him, tugging gently on his hair as he licks a stripe along your throat.
“Oh, you are,” He shifts back up to kiss your lips again, his mouth pillowy soft and hot against yours, “and I love Gyu, but,”
“Seungcheol,” You push on his shoulders.
His rarely used full name gets his attention and he leans back just enough to see your face, “What’s wrong?”
“Can you please stop talking about my brother while you’re trying to fuck me?” You can hear the whine in your own voice, “I need you right now, we’ll deal with him later,”
“Sorry, sorry,” He smiles, “of course, come here,”
You melt into him as he gathers you closer, his warm, rough hands finding new expanses of skin to touch and it’s strange but delicious to know that there are still brand new things you can learn about a person even after knowing them all your life. He gets soft beneath you like butter when you touch his ears, audibly groans when you grind against him, and gets breathier every time you kiss his neck. He’s not afraid to make little noises in your ear, to curse when you do something right or softly beg you to do something again.
With his mouth on yours and his hands exploring you, you’re just a shaky wet mess in his arms and he doesn’t even fully realize it yet, still so focused on studying your body with his lips, his tongue.
“Ch-Cheol,” You whine as his teeth nip at your pulsepoint, “baby,”
His hands tighten, sliding to cup your backside through the thin fabric of your lounge pants, “Say that again,”
“Baby?”
He exhales hot air across your neck and chest, “God, I like that,”
“You hate pet names,” You sigh, remembering how his nose always crinkled in an uncomfortable scrunch when he heard people getting too coupley.
“No, I don’t,” His hand slides up, tucks under the waistband of your pants, and slides back down to feel your skin, “I hate cringey shit. You calling me ‘baby’ while you’re grinding on my dick isn’t cringey, it’s fucking hot,”
“Ah,” You tug his hair just a little, rolling your hips again, “yeah? Like this?”
His hips jolt up, pressing his cock against your clothed mound and he groans, “Say it,” he nips at your neck again and then pushes you backwards so that you’re sitting up straddling his lap, “and let me see you,”
For a brief flickering second you feel shy, another stark moment of awareness that the man between your thighs is Mingyu’s best friend, but it flashes away the minute you see his smile. He’s looking up at you like you invented the sun and you think it just might make you dizzy enough to say yes to anything he could ever ask of you.
“God,” His eyes rake over you, “you’re so fucking pretty,”
Blush creeps up your chest, “Yeah, baby?”
He swallows hard, his hands coasting up your arms and his eyes coming to rest on the heavy swell of your chest, “The prettiest.” His fingers tuck underneath the straps of your tank top and your bralette and he glances up to your face, “Can I see?”
“Please,” You whisper.
He moves slowly, peeling down the straps from each of your shoulders first, letting the thin fabric of your tank top droop down your arms until he’s left with just the stretchy elastic of your black bralette. His fingers trace your curves, the pad of his thumb ghosting over one of your hardening nipples until it pushes into a firm peak under the fabric.
“Cheol, please,” If he doesn’t touch you soon you’re going to be a squirming mess.
“Relax,” He toys with the strap, “we’ve got all night,”
You gasp as he dips forwards, peeling the front of your top down entirely until your breasts spill out of the elastic fabric. His lips connect with your skin, tongue exploring intimate parts of you in ways you’ve never experienced quite like this with anyone else.
“These,” He cups your full breasts in his hands, kissing along each swell, “are perfect, princess,”
You shiver at that, whining in his grip as he traces his tongue down and ghosts it close to your nipple, but you smile and manage, “I really took you for an ass man,”
“I’m an everything man where you’re concerned,” He flicks his tongue experimentally across the hardened bud and hums softly when you jolt in his arms, “so excuse me if I have to slow down and show my appreciation,”
This crush is going to kill you, that’s the thought that gets instantly banished from your brain the second Seungcheol wraps his lips around one nipple while his fingers pinch the other, setting a steady pace of sucking and teasing that is sure to leave pleasured little bruises.
“Oh,” You grip his shoulders, “oh, Jesus, Cheol,”
“Feel good, baby?” He switches sides smoothly and sucks again.
A jolt of pleasure rocks from your chest to your untouched clit and you rock down, trying desperately to press your aching center against anything for a little friction.
“Yeah?” He prompts you gently.
“So, so good,” You nod, rolling again, “but I need more, please,”
He nods against your chest, pressing one more kiss to your breastbone before he says, “y/n, I don’t want to move too fast or anything, we’ll do whatever you want, but,”
“But what?” You’re about a second from pushing his hand into your underwear yourself.
“Can I eat you out?”
Your stomach flips, “Oh, fuck yes,”
You’re on your back practically the second you give him permission. He holds you tight to his chest as he pushes himself up off the couch and flips you around, dropping you back onto the cushions and tugging at your clothes. Normally you’d be a little self conscious, especially in the brighter light of your living room and not the dim strategic lightning of your bedroom, but Seungcheol keeps looking at every inch of your body like he’s starving for it, groaning in pleasure at every inch of you that gets revealed, and you’re starting to think he really does like everything about you.
You help push off your pants with shaky hands, but let him loop his thumbs under the thin straps of your underwear and tug those free, a slick wet patch in the middle where you’ve been soaking through the cotton for the past half hour. You help him with your top, until finally you’re completely bare and he’s pushing you to lie back onto the extended length of the chaise while he falls to his knees before you.
“Wow,” He breathes, his hands running along your thighs, “just… wow,”
“Stop,” You can’t stop the blush now, and you fight the urge to reach for a blanket or cross your arms over yourself at his exacting gaze.
“Nope,” He dips his hands to your inner thighs and pushes your legs apart little by little, “I’m going to enjoy every bit of this,”
“Now you’re just trying to embarrass me,” You smile.
His tongue darts out to wet hips lips and he shakes his head, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,”
Your stomach churns, flipping nervously as he looks at you so earnestly.
“I’m serious,” He kisses your knee as he opens one of your legs wider, “I’ve thought about this a thousand times, but you’re so much better than my imagination,”
“Cheol,” You whisper tightly.
“Mm,” He sighs as he tips your hips back, maneuvering your legs wide and open now and shifting your hips to the very edge of the couch so he can tuck smoothly between your open legs, “I wonder if you taste as sweet as I imagined too,”
Your fingers grip down on the cushions, your heart hammering in your chest.
“Look at you,” He sighs pleasantly, his fingers ghosting along the edge of your lower lips, “is all this for me, baby?”
“Uh-huh,” Your breath hitches as his finger just barely touches your seam.
“You got this wet just from grinding on my lap?” He smiles, his teeth catching his thick bottom lip.
“Cheol,” It’s all you can manage, you really didn’t know he was like this.
His eyes soften up though at the sound of his name on your lips, and he kisses your thigh tenderly before looking back up to you, “Doing good? Okay?”
“Mhm,” You’re fine, you are, except you think you might come the second he touches you and you’re a little terrified at just how intense he is from minute one.
“y/n,” He squeezes you a little.
“I’m good,” You breathe, “I promise,”
“Okay,” He kisses your skin again and nods, “just relax, okay?”
“I’m relaxed,” You answer too quickly and one of his eyebrows goes high.
“Mhm,” He eases up on his knees a little to see your face better and smooths his hand from your leg to your hip to your stomach, “what’s going on?”
“This is just a little surreal,” You admit, “isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” He releases your legs and shifts up so he can lean over your body, catching your mouth again in a soft kiss, “it is, but do you trust me?”
“Of course,” You kiss him back.
“Then you should know,” He nuzzles your nose with his, “that all I want to do right now is make you come on my face until you can’t think, and after that if you still want to take this further we can, but baby, I really don’t care what we do tonight. I just want to be with you,”
Your mouth runs dry, and you can feel your core throbbing hard between your legs, your heart fluttering fast.
“So, please, can I make you come?” He smiles, pressing another quick kiss to your lips, “I think you want me to,”
“Yes,” The nervous knots in your stomach release, “please, Coups,”
His nose scrunches as he laughs, kissing his way down your chest, “It’s Coups now?”
“Cheol,” You whine, “you’re stalling,”
“It’s called foreplay,” He licks a firm line between your breasts and moves lower, “have you not been getting fucked right, princess?”
“F-fuck,” Your back arches as his lips travel down over your belly, eyes slipping closed, “Seungcheol,”
He shakes his head, his hair brushing against your skin, “No more baby?” He makes a sulky noise with his tongue against the back of his teeth, “Come on princess, call me baby,”
Your mind is spinning, and you gasp sharply as his fingers finally slide through your wet slit and land at the apex, pressing deliciously down over your throbbing clit, “Ch-Cheol, fuck, oh fuck, baby,”
“There she is,” He groans, and as his fingers fall away and his lips take their place. He licks a deep stripe through your folds and groans, spreading your legs open wide with his hands anchored on the backs of your thighs, “You’re perfect,”
You moan as he sucks the tender bud of your clit into his mouth.
“I’m going to do this everyday,” He pants, licking another stripe, exploring every inch of your cunt with his tongue, “you’ll be my dessert every night,”
“Ah,” Your head rocks back as pleasure lights up your spine, “baby,”
“Mm,” He groans into your core, burying his face against you and alternating perfectly between sharp sucks and flicks of his tongue.
You are moving fast, from nothing to desperate something in the span of a couple of hours, but honestly you’ve never felt safer and better and more held than this. His hands roam your body, seeking every soft place he can grab and squeeze and hold onto, and you just know the bruises on your hips will be worth it when he finally fucks you.
“Come on,” He tips your hips back to get better access, wrapping his arms around your thick thighs, “don’t be shy,”
“Oh, shit,” Your hand flies down to grip his hair and anchor your position as he manhandles you, your other hand gripping the cushions, “just like that,”
He sucks harder and flicks the tip of his tongue against your bud again, quickening his pace and listening carefully for your sounds to know what you need. Looking down between your legs you can barely believe the sight, but there he is, Choi Seungcheol with his face glistening. His lips are puffy and red, his eyes hooded, and he grins when he sees you watching before nodding just a little and redoubling his efforts.
Your legs are trembling now, the start of your orgasm building up through the base of your spine and flooding warmth into your belly, and if he wasn’t holding you so tightly you’re sure you’d snap.
“Baby,” You whine, your voice sounding not quite your own as heat floods in your chest, “oh, God, please don’t stop,”
He sucks hard, shifting to kiss your core and push the tender muscle of his tongue inside you, “I’ve got you,” he pants as he works his tongue faster, “I’ve got you,”
He’s a mess, wet with slick across cheeks and sweat on his brow, and you think for a split second you might actually be in love with this man already, no one has ever, ever treated your body quite like this. As he shifts to tease your clit again, building the pleasure up and up higher, you grip down on his hair harder.
“I’m,” You stammer out, your back arching and your mouth falling slack, “I’m gonna,”
He nods into you but doesn’t stop the pace of his tongue one bit.
“I’m,” You gasp again, “coming, fuck, I’m coming,”
It hits you all at once, punctuated with his sharp suck to your clit and your legs snap shut around his head, your body wrenching sideways as the wave takes you from conscious to that hazy middle space of pleasure. You can barely breathe, you can't even think, all you can do is feel pulse after pulse of pleasure.
“Fuck,” He curses, and your brain connects enough to realize your legs are still snapped tightly shut around his ears but you can’t get your body to respond, “yeah, fuck, there you go,”
Everything you are is trembling in his hands.
“I could fucking die happy,” He says, shifting to nip your plush thigh with his teeth, his hands gripping down on your curves, “right here between your legs,”
You make a sound, you think, and he chuckles against your skin.
“Mm-mm,” He sighs pleasantly, his hands running from your thighs to your hips and down to cup your backside, “you’re fucking gorgeous, y/n, I love every fucking inch of you,”
“Y-yeah?” Your eyes flutter open.
“Mhm,” He flicks his tongue over your clit once more, eliciting a deep shudder from your hips before he says, “I can’t wait to fuck you,”
Your legs start to relax, and you look down, “Then fuck me,”
“I want another first,” He shakes his head, “please, let me make you come again, sweetheart,”
“Oh,” You shiver as he kisses your slit again, letting his tongue linger, “fuck,”
He sighs, “This pussy,”
“Cheol,” You blush hard.
“I would do anything,” He smiles, flicking your clit again with his tongue, “for this perfect fucking pussy,”
“Anything?”
He goes still between your legs and then he nods, wetting his lips with his tongue, pressing a kiss to your quivering cunt, and looking up over your body to meet your eyes, “Anything.”
“Will you come up here?” You reach for him, “Will you hold me?”
He eases your legs down off his shoulders and shifts up, “Yeah, of course,”
“Will you,” You nearly come again just at the sight of a sizeable wet spot on his sweats, and you tug at his shirt to try and silently communicate your need, “I want to touch you too,”
“Mhm,” He stands up, shucking off his clothes as quickly as he can, and when he pushes down his boxer briefs your muscles clench.
When you were younger, a teenager inexperienced with sex and boys, you imagined his cock. You saw the faint outline of it once through a pair of athletic shorts and you wondered what he might look like naked. You wondered if you would like his body. You wondered if he would like yours too. You can’t really remember what you imagined Seungcheol’s cock to look like, but you know this is better. It’s long, but not too long, like the guys who can’t fit it in all the way without smashing painfully into your cervix, but it’s thick. His cock is heavy, deserving of the word, and perfectly straight until the very end where it curls up towards his abdomen.
You want him inside you so badly you could cry.
“You okay?” He says as he slides up the couch next to you, your naked hip against his.
“A little nervous,” You admit quietly, turning towards him on the cushions and drawing him closer with your hand on his shoulder.
“Me too,” He says softly, maneuvering until one arm is wrapped around your back and your head is pillowed on his other, your chests flush against each other, his cock trapped between your stomachs.
“God,” You shift closer to him, tangling your legs together, “you’re so hard,”
He nods, sighing at the way your skin drags against his, “You’re making me insane,”
“Good,” You smile, finding his lips with yours, tasting yourself on him and dipping your tongue into his mouth as you deepen the kiss.
He groans against you, and you snake a hand between your bodies to wrap around his aching cock. “Oh, fuck,” he curses as you pump your hand up and down his shaft, “easy, it’s been a while,”
“Yeah?” You soften your grip a little, rolling your hand at the tip and feeling precum bead up and smear on your belly, “Saving yourself for me, baby?”
He moans softly, his eyes rolling shut, “You’d like that wouldn’t you?”
“Maybe,” You kiss the corner of his mouth and pump his cock a little harder.
“L-let me touch you,” He pants, his hand pushing your hips back just enough so that he can fit a hand in between your thighs, “can I touch you?”
It’s dizzying how much he begs to pleasure you, and you’re starting to think maybe this is part of what he needs, but you’re still new to each other’s bodies and learning and you suppose you’ll have time to figure all of this out. It’s not just a one night thing.
“Touch me,” You open your legs for him and he immediately slides his fingers down your slit to your aching entrance.
“Don’t stop,” He urges you and you realize at the feeling of his fingers you stopped pumping your hand.
You smile, kissing him again and finding a new pace with a stroke of your hand and a roll of your wrist, “You feel so good, baby,”
“So do you,” He pants, and then he pushes two fingers inside your slick walls.
You choke out a wine, pushing your hips forwards into his hand so he can go deeper.
“God,” He holds you firm with his other hand, “you’re too tight,”
“Too tight?” You huff, still working your hand over his cock, “never gotten that complaint before,”
“Not a complaint, princess,” He teases, drawing his fingers out of your channel before thrusting back inside, “but I need to prep you a little, I don’t want to hurt you,”
Your muscles clench down around his fingers.
He laughs softly, “Oh, yeah, babygirl? You want me inside?”
You nod, a whine trapped on your lips, “Cheol, please,”
“Shh, shh,” He shifts, effectively sliding down the couch a little more while you slide up, and he rests his head on your shoulder and adjusts the angle of his arm so he can pump his fingers in and out of your channel at a steadier pace. He watches the way his fingers disappear inside you with rapt attention, cursing when he feels you grip down on him, “You want to come again?”
“P-please,” You’re doing your best to keep working your hand, but at the way his fingers are curled inside you and pressing rhythmically against your sweet spot you think you’re about to see stars again.
“Fuck, baby,” He sighs, “you’re so sexy,”
All you can do is moan, grip down on his shoulder and let him have you.
When he pushes in a third finger to stretch you, you gasp tightly at the sensation, the pleasure rocketing up your back and making your brain buzz.
“Are you close?” He pumps his hand harder, finding your nearby nipple with his tongue and your body arches again.
“Close,” You pant, your legs widening as you try to brace yourself, your hand falling away from his cock and gripping down on his thigh as the rolling wave of your orgasm starts to wash up over you.
“Come for me,” He’s gripping you hard, like you belong to him and he wants only to please you, and his words combined with the way his hands lay on you leaves you coming apart at the seams.
The sound of it is obscene, wet and filthy and pornagraphic and you’ve never in your life had sex with someone for the first time and had it be anything close to perfect. Your bodies want each other with such need. It's entirely outside your conscious brain, and you think if he can love your body like this then maybe he can love all the other parts of you, and you never want to let him go.
Your orgasm hits you harder than the first, locking your body up in spasmodic elation, and he curls around you when you twist to make sure he works you through the crest of it, his hand only slowing down when the pulses of pleasure start to ease.
When you come back to earth, you’re pressed face down onto the couch instead of up, your cheek against the cool fabric below you. Seungcheol is wrapped around your body like he’s glued to your back, and you feel his soft breath against your cheek and shoulder, his easy kisses on whatever part of you he can reach. His hand is still tucked underneath you and between your legs, cupping your cunt warmly and just holding you as you come down.
“Cheol?” You murmur, your brain almost a little foggy at the heady feeling of two full body orgasms.
“Hey, there you are,” He kisses you again, “feeling okay?”
“Mm,” You nod, “so, so good,”
He smiles, “Yeah? Did I get you?”
You laugh against the cushions, shaking your head, “Babe, I just came so hard I blacked out,” your body stretches, pressing your core into the cup of his hand, “you definitely got me,”
“Mm,” He rocks his hand and you sigh a little overstimulated sound, “should we stop here?”
He doesn’t know, you realize it suddenly, he has no idea how badly you want him. He’s been so focused on your body, your pleasure, your wants, but you can see it now in the hesitation in voice that he still doesn’t know for sure if you want to be here with him or if you just wanted someone.
He’s been touching you like it might be the only time, his only chance to have you and hold you in his arms. Didn’t he believe you when you said it wasn’t one night?
“Seungcheol,” You wriggle in his arms, “baby,”
“What’s wrong?” He gives you the space to roll and you twist against him.
You see his eyes when you turn, like he’s waiting for something and you curse yourself inside for not telling him like he was telling you. You smile, pushing his shoulder until he’s flat on his back, “What’s wrong is that you’re not inside me,”
“O-oh,” He gasps as you hook a leg over his hips and straddle him, your body hovering over his prone cock.
“Mhm,” You drop your body over him, your slick slit nestling directly over his cock, “but I’ve been so selfish,”
He shakes his head to protest but you lay your fingers over his lips to stop him.
“I want you, Cheol,” You drag your hips and find the head of his cock so you can dip and press it against your entrance, “so fucking much,”
He’s breathing heavy against your hand, your eyes locked on eachother.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?” You stay steady above him.
He nods, just a little.
“I’ve never wanted anybody like I want you,” You tell him, “never,”
His lip quirks a little, a small smile as he presses a kiss to your fingers, “I’m all yours,” he whispers.
You sink your hips back in one smooth flush motion, taking him inside you to the hilt without warning, and his head falls back as he moans. He’s stretching you out wide and full, his thick cock pushing into every spot inside you that you didn’t know could feel like this.
“Oh my fuck,” Your body moves on it’s own, rocking your hips in a circle to take him deeper and roll your clit across his pubic bone, “Cheol, Cheol,”
He blinks hard, finding your eyes at the sound of his voice, “Yeah?”
You feel strangely like you might cry at the rush of endorphins, and you roll your hips again, whining out a need, “Hold me, please? Please, touch me,”
Seungcheol softens, his hands unclench on the cushions below him and he coasts his warm hands over your thighs, your hips, up and down your sides, “I’m right here,” he murmurs.
You relish in the feeling of it, and you direct them from their wandering comfort to a landing place on your hips, the perfect soft place for him to grip in with his fingers and keep you steady while you work him. He follows your lead, watching you above him with no hesitation, and his mouth falls slack when he watches you get your position right on your knees and lift up to draw his cock out of your warm, wet channel.
“y/n,” He pants tightly.
You sink back down hard and he groans, cursing and no doubt leaving a pretty bouquet of bruises where his fingers press down.
“Your cock,” You moan as you bounce again, finding a steady rhythm, “you feel so perfect,”
“Yeah?” He bounces you, teeth clenched as he tries not to come too early.
“Made for me,” You grind down and jolt against the pleasure, “never felt something this good,”
He groans, a hot pant of breath and then he stutters his hips upwards, “D-don’t, I’ll come,”
“Good,” You sink down and back up, feeling him stretch you open again and again.
“Come here,” He reaches up for you, tugging you down by your neck to get you close and you can feel him suddenly reposition and change the angle, take back control as he pins you to his chest and pumps his hips.
The way his cock punches into you, curved and pressing directly into your g-spot, makes you choke out a moan and dig your nails into his chest.
“Say you love my cock,” He pants suddenly in your ear, “if it feels so good, say it, tell me,”
You moan sharply, “I fucking love your cock,”
“Fuck yes,” His hand claps down on your ass and grips you tight as his hips piston upwards.
“Ah, ah,” Your legs are trembling again, “I can’t,”
“Yes, you can,” He pants, “I want to feel you come on my cock, babygirl, squeeze me,”
Your eyes slam shut.
“So fucking tight,” He breathes, “so wet,”
“For you,” You choke out and hips stutter.
“Oh, f-fuck,” He pushes up hard, but instead of thrusting he locks his hips there with your bodies pressed flush together and at the sound of his sudden moan, the way his hands lock tight on your body, the way warmth floods your belly, you know he’s coming.
Your brain somersaults and you rock your hips, trying to keep catching the friction against your clit to help push you over the edge, “Ah,” you whine, “no, please,”
He doesn’t go anywhere though, he just presses his hips up to keep giving you the pressure you need and holds your hips down with his broad hands, and you hear him hiss at the overstimulation but he groans and manages, “Come baby, you’re so close, there you go, there you go,”
You’re saying something, but you can’t really hear it. All you can feel is the bubble about to burst inside you as you drag yourself fast and frantic against his body. You’re needy and seconds away, falling into trembles again.
“So beautiful,” He mumbles, dragging your mouth up to his and locking you in a heady kiss.
“Cheol!” You squeak against him, body cracking apart into shakes as you come, probably louder than you wanted to as you fall into the sweet space between his neck and shoulder.
“I’ve got you,” His softening cock slides out as you come, but he slides a hand between your thighs and rubs fast circles on your swollen clit, “fuck, look at you, god, you’re such a mess,”
Your brain is dizzy as he talks you through the edges of your orgasm.
“So wet,” He bites down softly on your shoulder, “soaked for me and full of my cum, fuck,”
As you collapse on his chest, your orgasm receding, his hand slows, but his fingers stay slipped between your folds in the messy mixture of your slick wetness and his release. You are a mess, but he seems to like it and if you’re benign honest so do you.
“I’m so,” You breathe out, shaky and exhausted, “god, I don’t know,”
“Mhm,” He sighs, and finally he slides his fingers out of you to rest on your hip, his other hand stroking a line up and down your back while you recover together.
You need to get up, run to the bathroom and get the shower started, but you’re boneless and floating and he’s just the perfect temperature, so for a little while you don’t move.
When he shifts his hips under yours to readjust your eyes pop open and you start to move, “Am I hurting you?”
“Shh,” He wraps his arms around you and gathers you tight to his chest, “don’t you dare go anywhere,”
“Yeah?”
“You’re perfect,” He repeats and you smile against his skin, “next time I want you sitting on my face,”
You laugh against him, “Next time?”
He’s quiet, his fingers still dragging up and down your spine, “If you want,”
You shift up in his arms, settling on his chest so that you can see his face, “So much,”
He cups your cheek, brushing his thumb along your face, as he smiles, “I missed you, you know,”
Tears prick at the back of your eyes and your throat goes thick, and you don’t trust your voice but you nod and press your lips to his, “I missed you too, all the time,”
He gives you a moment, just staying calm and kind with his hands, and then he leans up to capture your lips once more, this kiss so much softer and more familiar from the frantic emotion a few minutes ago. His kisses travel from your lips to your forehead and then he smooths back the tangled mess of your hair, “We should get cleaned up,” he murmurs, “how are you feeling?”
“Like I might not ever walk again,” You joke wryly.
“I didn't hurt you, did I?” He leans to look you over, “I got a little carried away,”
You shake your head, “No, I’m perfect, I promise,”
“We didn’t talk much beforehand,” He notes, brushing his palm over the swell of your hip, dipping at your hip crease, and tracing up over again at the curve of your thigh, “I just want to be sure you’re feeling okay with everything,”
“I’d tell you if I wasn’t,” You press, “you know I would,”
“Good,” He sighs.
You stretch on top of him, your knees aching from your curled position and you smile, “You want to get a shower? We can share the hot water,”
“You’re insatiable,” He quirks an eyebrow at you.
“Not for sex,” You slap his chest lightly as you climb off him, wincing at the sudden stretch of your knees, “I can barely move,”
“I like a challenge,” He sighs, rolling off the chaise and stretching long and you catch yourself watching the strong flex of his back, the cut of his shoulders, the curve of his ass and his muscular thighs.
Maybe you could rally.
Seungcheol turns and his eyes flick over your body too, “Yeah,” he nods, “I think I can get one more out of you,”
“My shower is shockingly small, so,” You reach for him, guiding him down the hall with you, “we’ll see,”
“I said I like a challenge,” He shrugs, and all of a sudden you can’t stop laughing.
Your shower is small, but in the end it doesn’t matter. Seungcheol ends up crouched on his knees anyways, with one of your legs hitched over his shoulder while he takes his sweet time with his tongue bringing you up to your softest, easiest orgasm of the night. You trade lazy kisses in the warmth after, the suds long gone and your fingers pruned by the time you fall into bed.
You don’t have to ask him to stay, he just does. You talk for as long as you can keep your eyes open, stories of years ago when you saw him almost every single day. You whisper late into the night, until finally he falls asleep first, his head lolled to the side, but his hand still wrapped tightly around yours.
You tumble into sleep right alongside him, his skin smelling of sweet peach and nectarine.
In the morning, you wake up to something cold suddenly pressed to your cheek and you start to stitch together the world around you in quick threads.
“Kkuma,” Seungcheol’s voice reaches you first, a hushed whisper as he tries to get his dog’s attention, “come here girl, let her sleep,”
You groan a little, and you realize the something cold was Kkuma’s very wet nose against your cheek. Instead of listening to Seungcheol, she presses her nose to you again and follows it up with a lick, her panting excitement pushing you from laying on your side to your back as she collapses over your chest.
“Kkuma!” He exclaims quietly, “down girl!”
Your eyes start to pop open, and this time you see his dog’s fluffy white face inches from your own, delighted that you’re awake.
“Kkuma,” He tries to drop his voice to a lower tone to get her attention.
“It’s okay,” You yawn, reaching up to scratch Kkuma behind the ears, “I’m awake now,”
“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol moves into your bedroom, and you can see he’s fully dressed and has been for some time, “I didn’t think she would just jump on you like that,”
Your brain is still a little sluggish and you rub your hand over your face, “Did you go home?”
He grins and nods at your sleepy question, the answer obvious from the dog on your chest, “Yeah, I needed to run home and take her for a walk, I hope you don’t mind I let myself back in,”
“Not at all,” You smile up at him, “I’m just sad you’re not in the cuddle pile,”
“We can fix that,” He tosses his beanie on your nightstand and then holds up a little carrier containing two coffees and a few little pastry bags, “and I bring gifts,”
“From that place by your apartment?” You brighten, recognizing the stamped logos on the cups.
“Mhm,” He passes over your cup, “sugar, no cream,”
“You remembered,” You push yourself up in bed, Kkuma adjusting herself to snuggle into your side, and accept the cup, “thank you,”
He lays his heavy denim jacket on the chair by your dresser and slips back into bed with you, dragging the covers back over both your legs, “Of course, I did, not that much could have changed in a year, right?”
“Mm-mm,” Your legs slide together as you tuck under his arm and settle back into his chest.
His fingers play with the ends of your hair while he sips his coffee, and then he sighs, “y/n,”
Your stomach freezes and you wonder if you’re about to get let down easy. If waking up in the morning cleared his head, if a text from Mingyu changed his mind, if on the trip back to his place he worked out the right way to break your heart, if he practiced it out loud in his car with the dog.
“What’s up?” You say, hoping you sound far more casual than you feel.
“About Gyu,” He exhales heavy, his coffee leaning against his thigh as he gathers his words, “listen,”
“Don’t,” You murmur, pressing your eyes closed, “please don’t go,”
“Go?” He asks.
“I’ll tell him, and I know he’ll be fine after the shock wears off,” You twist in the bed to look up at him, “please just stay, last night was… Cheol, please just think about this,”
His brows knit together tight in confusion and he sets his coffee on your bedside table to free up his hand and brush it along your cheek, “I was going to say, about Gyu, I’m meeting him for lunch at two. I’d like to tell him about us today,”
“You what,” You blink.
“I’d like to tell him that I picked you up after your date,” He says, “and that we got to talking, and that we kissed,”
You can almost see Mingyu’s wide puppy eyes as he realizes where the story is going to go.
“And that I asked you out on a date,” Seungcheol finishes, “and he’s going to ask me a lot of other questions which I definitely am not going to answer, except one thing,”
You swallow nervously, your coffee almost tipping to the side forgotten in your hands until he plucks it up and sets it to the side.
“He’s going to ask me if I’m serious about you,” He says calmly, like you’ve discussed this before, “and I’m going to say yes, but that’s the kind of thing you should know before your brother does.”
“You’re serious about me,” You say it back, your heart picking up as the words come off your tongue.
“Yes,” He nods, unequivocal, “and I hope you feel the same way because before I drive across town and tell my best friend I’m in love with his sister, I just need to know if you feel even a tenth of that,”
Your heart should be pounding, your stomach fluttering, your body flooding with emotion at the casual confession, but all you feel is calm. Mingyu told you once that life would fall into place, you just never thought you’d have that realization while it was happening around you.
You try to keep a straight face when you say, “There’s only one problem,”
“Okay,” He says, but you watch his hand fidget in his lap.
“You never actually asked me out on a date,” You point out with a smile, “and I don’t want to lie to Mingyu about anything,”
He grins, his tongue dragging against one side of his teeth as he shakes his head in disbelief, “You’re right,” he says, “that’s my mistake, will you go out with me?”
“I’d love to,” You lean into him so you can press a quick kiss to his lips and take his hand in yours, lacing his anxiously twitching fingers with yours to hold him steady, “and if Gyu gives you any lip about this,” you kiss him again, “tell him I’m in love with his best friend,”
“You are?” His fingers tighten on your hand.
“Mhm,” You suddenly can’t keep your lips away from his, “and you tell him that if he does anything to ruin this, that I’ll make him sorry,”
“Now that,” He laughs, “that I believe,”
You pull him down to you and your body without another word, and with a hushed apology he pushes Kkuma off the bed so he can splay you out in the middle of the mattress. He takes you fast, hurried and full of need now that you have so much time ahead of you for slow. For now, you have a lot of catching up to do.
When you finally make it out of bed the coffee is cold and Seungcheol is late for lunch.
Your childhood crush, now famous and successful, comes to visit you while you’re drunk and have a lot to prove.
→ actor!yoongi x reader
→ smut
→ 7.6k words
a/n: an immediate continuation from the first part. sleazy, aged up by three years, bts. hint of significant age gap themes. dirty talk. a lot of foreplay. defloration. overstimulation. multiple orgasms. denied orgasms. creampie. unprotected sex. hint of jk.
Your childhood crush, now famous and successful, comes to visit you while you’re drunk and have a lot to prove.
→ actor!yoongi x reader
→ suggestive, soft angst
→ 6.7k words
a/n: yoongi was never in bts. bts are aged up 3 years and slightly sleazy. overuse of pet names, a lot of babying, bratty sub reader—hence the title. hint of significant age gap themes. drug and alcohol abuse. there also may be a lil bit of tae and jk in there.
↳ 01 | 02
“Are you well?” He asked sweetly.
You nodded, unable to trust the sound of your voice. He was sitting close, knees grazing and it made your confidence crumble. You couldn’t put your finger on why. You were always the one to leave the everlasting impression—you were always the one to poke fun at him and make him laugh. So, the fact you sat there as shy as a twelve year old girl had you stumped.
He’d sat this close to you before. He’d given you that smile and asked you the same thing before. He was your elder, your friend, someone you admired and respected in the form of teasing and burdening. Although shamefully, the last bottle of soju had you thinking of him as more than that. You couldn’t deny he was gorgeous and you couldn’t deny you had thought of him this way before—but it was never to the extent of your cheeks flushing and your voice squeaking.
↳ genre: punk!jimin, e2l, college au, very explicit smut, one-shot, jimin is a whole asshole
↳ pairing: cheerleader!reader x punk!jimin
↳ warnings: light sexual themes, explicit language, hurt/comfort
↳ summary: jimin, dipped in hair-dye and pierced in so many places that you just couldn’t keep track, doesn’t think you’re his “type”. you call bullshit.
↳ note: second part! this doesn’t contain any smut, unfortunately. just some closure for those who come for plot. enjoy.
↳ genre: punk!jimin, e2l, college au, very explicit smut, one-shot, jimin is a whole asshole
↳ pairing: cheerleader!reader x punk!jimin
↳ warnings: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, sub/dom themes, casual sex, be t r ay a l, alcohol (and weed? idk) consumption, oral sex (male receiving), squirting, thigh-fucking, kind of exhibitionism?, jimin is pierced (that’s all i’ll say), just expect the worst from me tbh
↳ summary: jimin, dipped in hair-dye and pierced in so many places that you just couldn’t keep track, doesn’t think you’re his “type”. you call bullshit.
↳ note: i reallyreallyreally hated this fic. loved the idea, hated how i wrote it. i’ve had this bad boy sitting in my archives for months and months and months and couldn’t gather the courage to post it until NOW! partially because this is an apology fic for my inactivity and more so because i just think i’ve read it too many times that at this point, i’m just being nit-picky and need to move on.
a special thanks to the lovely @14statelier whomst unwillingly received dong pics for the sake of this fic. i’m so glad i found someone as sweet as you to beta for me + become an even better galpal! love u always xx
also thanks to my gal @jungshookz, i’m pretty sure (78% positive) i sent her my idea via snapchat and was probably inspired by her in some way, per usual.
▻ On Wings of Mist & Memories
↳ DragonRider!Jungkook x FieldScribe!f.Reader
⤜ Exiled Royalty, High Fantasy AU
⤜ Enemies to Lovers | Angst, smut, fluff
⤜ Rating: MA
⤜ WC: 39,753
⤜ Summary: You’re a Psion—disguised Field Scribe—of the Golden Kingdom of Bolas, attached to the Front Wing Infantry. After an ambush from the sky rips down the safe walls around you, you find yourself at the mercy of a brutal man, his dragon, and his shadows.
⚠️ Crass language, combat/violence, minor character deaths, talk of war, brief nudity (nonsexual, mostly), sexual references and feelings, flashback minor character death, mild sexual tension, suggestive inner thoughts, lots of sexual tension, crude banter, fingering, kissing, dirty talk, teasing, shadow penetration/sex (it's exactly what you're probably thinking it is: fun af), lots of praise, sexual pleading/begging, endearingly awkward sexual tension, shameless flirting, oral m. receiving, shadow clit play, nipple pinching/teasing, v. sex, mild cum play & eating, multiple orgasms, sad feelings/thoughts of the future, fighting, mild violence, implied minor character death, minor character terminal sickness that leads to off-page death, talk of forced bonds, heartache, pregnancy, off-page childbirth
Each chapter will have specific warnings listed.
Chapter 1: Shadowsword
Chapter 2: Oath Breaker
Chapter 3: Burnished Heart
Part of the Bangtan Writers HQ August 2023 “A Love Like War” Writing Event.
A special thank you to @hisunshiine @downbad4yoongi & @peachiilovesot7 for being the best betas!
Can also be found on: Ao3 | Wattpad
Glossary/Map
Mave - dragon rider who can wield magic, tethered to the soul of their dragon when they bond (death for both if one dies)
Psion - infinite memory/recall
Reaver - a dragon that can wield magic, tethered to the soul of the rider they bond (death for both if one dies)
Noks - infantry soldiers, humanoids who can enter berserk/rage mode
Rider - regular dragon rider, no magic, uses bows or scouts
Brute - riderless dragon, usually wild and very dangerous
Wielder - magic user, no dragon needed
Signis - the designated/specific type of power someone wields
Helnite - metal ore that can cut off magic from its user
Golden Blight - incurable blood disease
summary: You have twelve hours to make Jeon Jungkook fall in love with you. He's about to get married. You're the entertainment at his bachelor party - a burlesque dancer. Long ago, he used to be the class representative and you used to be the class delinquent. Nothing has changed and, yet, everything has.
this is part ii | click here for part i | total wc: 23k
warnings: rated M (18+) for language; this story contains parental child abuse and graphic violence, including the reader becoming physically scarred and having panic attacks; rich, this bachelor party is on a fuckin' YACHT, the best man is LOADED; JK and reader interacted in high school; angst and fluff and feels; cheating; this is mostly smut XD; (in part i) high school smut + intense adult smut (fem reader, striptease, semi-public sex at school, nipple play (he's a bit obsessed with them), dry humping, m-masturbation, handjob, cumming on tits (and diamonds), cum-eating, mirror kink, spitting, tit fucking, m-receiving oral, scratching / biting / marking, penetrative sex, doggy); shifts back and forth between Jungkook’s POV and your POV
non-idol!AU; film director!Jungkook x wealthy, burlesque dancer!reader — ft best man, art trader!Kim Taehyung; dancer's bodyguard!Kim Namjoon and bodyguard!Kim Seokjin
> eyebrow pierced, tattooed, and long black-haired JK (with undercut) in a black suit because that's what we need in this life
> look for TXT's 'you and me and the sky at 5:53' :)
--
time left: 06:49
No.
Don’t leave me.
It was the same then as it was now.
Jungkook reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her back to him. Her eyes widened, pivoting quickly on her toe, snapping her heel down and cutting the turn short, black skirt flaring out. The swift glimpse of her legs in the high slit, the gentle bounce of her breasts in the slinky fabric. Her manicured hair bounced, dyed blue-black and giving her skin a surreal quality.
He held on.
Please don’t disappear.
“What?”
Her brows knitted together. She didn’t pull her arm away, but she was steadfast in her posture, not letting him push her around. Not that he ever could.
“He asked me to escort you back,” Jungkook found himself saying. “If not for your sake, then for his peace of mind. I don’t want to be a liar.”
Her features softened.
His fingers around her arm, touching that soft skin once more.
I care. I care a lot.
Jungkook realized that, in a way, he had never moved past those classrooms, those touches, those kisses, those moments.
“You can let go now.”
She said it patiently. Always patient with him despite his overzealous and sometimes clumsy antics, putting up with it even when she didn’t have to. He looked into those eyes and found those walls were falling away, little by little. Winged liner, red lipstick, it didn’t matter, it was the same expression, defiant eyes and hint of a scowl on those lips. Ready to fight, but not him.
She was always a fighter and the opponent was always life itself.
“I don’t want to let go.”
He didn’t expect himself to say the truth, but he did.
She smirked, reaching up, her fingers covering his tattoos for a moment, placing them on the back of his hand. This warmth. This feeling. It was not the same as the rest, and he knew that now.
“Hm, well, you must realize this looks a bit awkward. You wouldn’t want to give anyone the wrong impression, would you?”
Wouldn't want someone to see you talking to me, right?
“You will let me escort you?” he insisted.
She pried his hand from her arm and lowered it, turning the other way.
“You are welcome to do as you like. I won’t stop you, golden boy.”
-
time left: 06:41
He followed you, surrounded by moonlight reflecting off water.
It streamed through the windows, lighting the red carpeted hall along with the dim sconces. You found yourself stepping in each lighted square, avoiding the thin dark beams of the windows, a little game for yourself, like how children avoided the cracks in the concrete sidewalks, except you were on a lavish yacht wearing Louboutins with a handsome man in step behind you.
It was quiet and yet it wasn’t. Small sounds, footsteps, distant muffles of talking through the walls, the faint sound of bass as you walked away from the party, the sound of the ocean ever present, your own breathing.
Jungkook’s breathing.
Familiar.
Once yours.
You looked to your right, to the window, seeing his reflection. His profile, hands in his pockets, tattooed arm standing out against the black background of his clothes, dressed formally but always a bit sheepish about it, as if he wasn’t sure if it looked good on him, but it always did, even the school uniform. He still had the youthfulness about him, even as a man.
Your eyes found his and he was watching your face in the glass of the window.
You stopped abruptly, pivoting on one heel to face him.
Impulse.
Your younger self would have bristled, glaring, accusing the eyes and snapping, what are you looking at?
Jungkook started, realizing you had noticed, and tripped, his black hair suddenly disturbed and tumbling over his eyes as he struggled to catch himself, hands flying out of his pockets.
You caught one, lacing your fingers with his, and gripped tightly, yanking up.
He righted himself, gasping. Looking up, bent over and long legs awkward, somewhat like a fawn trying to get on its legs for the first time. Those big brown eyes, parted pink lips. Familiar.
Your joined hands fell exactly where the window beam was, shrouded in shadow.
“Something on your mind?” you chuckled, shaking your head.
He straightened. You loosened your grip on his hand, but he held on. You frowned slightly, raising your brows.
He swallowed hard.
“Can I hold your hand? Please.”
Back then, you would hold his hand, hiding behind corners and dashing past, holding your breath, light steps, leaping from shadow to shadow, bodies close, breath mixing. Showing him all the secrets of the school that you had found while wandering, a fun little game with a reward at the end, school uniform being shed, skin to skin, his body against yours, his heartbeat in time with yours, his lips on yours.
You shrugged and turned back around, his hand tightly around yours.
-
time left: 06:35
Jungkook held her hand.
In an instant, he looked down, staring at their joined hands.
This was different.
And then he saw them.
Scars, all over the back of her hand. He could feel the scar tissue on her palms too, lines on her fingers even though she was holding him loosely. He had memorized every centimeter of her beautiful hands from back then, and these lines were not here before. These were not scars from living life. These had been cuts, healed now, unseen from far away and even up close. Perhaps they had been filled in with tattoo ink in a color to match her skin tone so they were less noticeable.
No one would know unless they were holding her hand or looking for it.
Without knowing it, Jungkook clutched her hand tighter, a sudden ache in his chest.
He had found bruises on her sometimes.
I fell down the stairs. It's nothing.
He had found welts.
Stupid fight with some dumbass.
He had found a criss-cross pattern of cuts on her leg.
I tried to jump over a fence and fucked up.
He glanced at her other hand loosely by her side. The same. He could even see her palm and there were many, many lines, all over her palm, healed cuts. Drugs? But he knew it wasn’t. Not because he had a romanticized idea of who she would be in his head, but because that was the nice answer.
That was the reasonable answer.
“Oh!”
“Excuse me, miss.”
His eyes flickered upward to see a young woman in a short midnight blue dress pausing, looking from her to him, cheeks flushed, not being subtle about it. The glittery fabric picked up the moonlight, accenting her curves and long legs. Pretty.
But not sensual.
Not immaculate.
Not teasing and sculptural.
The grip on his hand tightened so much that he inhaled sharply, fingers nearly crushed by her hold.
“Have a nice evening,” the woman in black purred, edge of ice indicating the stranger to move along, or, more accurately, fuck right off.
Jungkook knew he shouldn’t, and yet.
His heart skipped two beats as she dragged him along.
He had no problem looking away from the other woman and fixate on the back of that neatly pinned, blue-black hair, graceful shoulders, corseted waist, swaying hips.
And her hand in his, not letting go.
-
time left: 06:22
“This is it.”
You turned to see Jungkook looking around, mouth open, gawking at the entrance of the intricately carved wooden door. It was one of the grander, first-class rooms. The red doors were much farther apart and the sconces here were glided with glass-blown lampshades, casting swirls of orange across the white walls, dimmed now from the late night.
“It was nice to see you again.”
It was, even with the bitter taste in your mouth that seemed to linger.
His eyes came back to you, dark brown and clear, focused on only your face, long black strands framing his cheeks, the small mole underneath his lower lip trembling.
“I hope you have your happiness now, Jungkook.”
You did.
You felt a strange, unmovable pressure on your chest. The time wasn’t up yet. You could still try. You could keep your hold on his hand and drag him into the room and hold him close to you, skin to skin, lips on his, and show him all you’ve learned. You could. You could see it in those eyes. He would follow you now, maybe because of the alcohol, maybe for old times sake, maybe out of impulse and bad choices.
You let go.
You let go, because you didn’t want to be a bad choice.
Not to him, Jeon Jungkook.
“You were my small happiness, back then,” you said softly, feeling yourself smile.
It was better not to have regrets. At the time, even you didn’t know how important he had been. The thought of being withdrawn from that school and not being able to see him again made you fight back for once, and it ended in the very thing you didn’t want. It fucked up your hands, it fucked up your life, but somehow you found yourself here now, in expensive clothes on an expensive boat with expensive tastes, able to make a choice between selfishness or selflessness.
Maybe you hadn’t changed much after all, since you found yourself choosing the latter.
You turned away and pulled your hand out of his.
Or would have, if Jungkook hadn’t grasped your hand tighter, yanking you back and shoving you against the door of your suite. Your hand automatically raised to push him back, but he put his whole weight on your body, sandwiching you between the door and himself, making you gasp, trapped between dead timber and muscular hardness.
Now his face was in your face, breathing hard, dark brown orbs shaking and shining with wetness.
You froze, lips parting.
“You were my happiness too.”
He was panting, warm exhale on your lips.
“Not a small happiness. The happiness.”
He squeezed your hand like you were going to disappear.
“I didn’t know then, but I do now,” Jungkook shuddered, towering over you even in your heels. He stared into your eyes. “Your smile.”
You blinked slowly, confused.
“Your smile. I’ve never seen it reach your eyes.”
Heart racing, suddenly breathless.
“Except when you thought I couldn’t see, like when my back was turned or my face was turned away from you,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against yours, long black hair curtaining your faces, sending you back to the shadows. “I saw it though, in reflections. In windows. In mirrors. In those beakers in the science room.”
Was that so? Had that been you? You made it a point not to smile back then, because there had been nothing to smile about. But maybe… maybe when eyes weren’t on you, maybe when you yourself didn’t notice, but, somehow, Jungkook had noticed.
You realized that your introspection had diverted your attention from him, so you made eye contact again, airless at his closeness. Your eyes and his, lost in sweet dreams.
“I want to kiss you.”
He tilted his head and hesitated.
“I want to kiss you all the time,” he said to your lips.
His expression was clouded with shame. It was ugly. It made his handsome features ugly and you didn’t like that. You wanted to make it go away. You closed more distance, fingers pressing down on the back of his hand, your other hand raising and resting on his hip, lashes lowering.
“Then kiss me,” you said to his lips.
-
time left: 06:13
Jungkook kissed her.
From then and now, it was the same.
Euphoria.
But this time, it wasn’t clumsy with colliding teeth and too much tongue that did nothing, sloppy with no purpose. This time, his lips were soft at first and so were hers, breathing in each other’s scent. She smelled warm and musky, like blackberry and evergreens, expensive and lush, but somehow still her, still that girl from back then, comforting and intense, sometimes with the hint of metallic blood, but that never bothered him. Her hand on his hip, stroking it under the layers of fabric, making him shiver, caressing the back of his hand with her fingertips, delicate sigh in his mouth.
The faintest flicker of tongue on the edge of her upper lip, swiping down into his open mouth.
He moaned, feeling the strong wet muscle thrust into his lips, coaxing his tongue, teasing, pressing her body to his, breasts against his chest, their deep open necklines exchanging heat in the air between their skin but not quite touching, and he found himself letting go of her hand, reaching up to grab her breasts.
Her fingers closed around his wrists, forcing him to stop.
He gasped in her mouth, eyes opening.
“They’re not stress balls, Jungkook,” she snickered.
He was breathing hard, ribcage shuddering, heartbeat thundering in his ears, getting louder as he realized her red lipstick was a little messed up, feeling the stickiness on his own lips.
“You need to slow down. You can’t just grope me out in the open.”
His impatience spoke for him.
“Why not?”
His voice was low, octave deepened from lust.
Her lips curved into an amused smirk. “Oh? You have changed. You used to be so worried about someone seeing us. If anything, you should be more worried now, considering your beloved.”
“She’s not my beloved.”
She was still holding his wrists, but her head tilted, watching his eyes carefully. He sucked in a shuddering breath, feeling the guilt.
“We… we thought it would be a good idea. Because our friends told us we look nice together. It would help her career. I wouldn’t have to invest too much into it.”
He felt ashamed, but he didn’t look away because he didn’t want her to think he was lying.
“I never found a smile like yours. I accepted that I never would.”
Her eyes darkened.
“It’s dangerous, Jungkook. Ill-advised.”
He smiled and he didn’t know if it reached his eyes because his vision was blurry.
But he knew it wasn’t a lie.
“You always were. I should have chased you to the ends of the earth, even if you were only a ghost.”
He lifted his hands, hers with his, and cupped her face, running his fingertips over her cheeks, smooth and soft skin, transported back to that moment in the abandoned literature club room, her face cast in an orange glow, actually swirls from glass-blown sconces, but the past and present connected, turning it into rays from the setting sun that lit up her features, and he said what he had said then, because it was the truth.
“You’re really pretty.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“You are.”
He leaned forward and kissed the side of her lips gently.
She chuckled.
“You really are something, Jeon Jungkook.”
Her hands let go and she reached into the deep neckline of her dress, plucking something from the corset. His eyes widened as she pulled out the key card from between her breasts, smirk dancing on her lips. She winked at him.
“A lady has many hiding places.”
She flicked her wrist and inserted it into the door, unlocking it without looking.
The door opened and they stepped into her room.
-
time left: 06:02
“Hnnnnnnngh…”
“Dude can snore.”
“Help me turn him to his side. Don’t want him to vomit in his mouth and asphyxiate,” Kim Namjoon grunted, helped by Kim Seokjin, jerking Kim Taehyung’s body to the side. They backed up and Taehyung immediately flopped to his back, snoring away.
Seokjin thinned his mouth into a line. “Seriously?”
“Ah, here, let’s roll up the towels and use them to prop him up.”
“He’s not as cute as she is.”
“Well, she also doesn’t get piss drunk... ever.”
“Still a better cuddle buddy. Comes with built-in pillows.”
Namjoon blinked at Seokjin and shook his head, letting the odd comment slide. They managed to jam the bath towels next to Taehyung and force him to lay on his side, placing a pillow in his arms that he immediately hugged, squeezing it tightly. The snoring lessened as well.
“Guess we should go back,” Namjoon sighed, rubbing the back of his short hair.
Seokjin scoffed. “No, we shouldn’t. They’re probably all over each other as we speak.”
Namjoon frowned, raised an eyebrow at the other man. “Really? I don’t know. She seemed very hesitant about it. She said she didn’t love him.”
Seokjin snorted, somehow still elegant with his handsome face. “You really believe that?”
“That’s what she said.”
Seokjin rolled his eyes. “That’s what everybody says when they don’t want to admit they’re in love with someone.”
“That’s also what people say when they are, factually, not in love with someone.”
The black-haired man raised his hands and held up his index fingers, wriggling them in the air and bending them ninety-degrees, squiggling them around each other and poking the tips together repeatedly. Namjoon blinked at him.
“What are you doing?”
Seokjin rolled his eyes as if it was despairingly obvious what he was doing. “A visual representation of what they’re doing right now.”
Namjoon contorted his face in confusion, raising an eyebrow.
“… Becoming worms…?”
Seokjin groaned. “Having sex, Namjoon.”
“… How is that…?”
-
time left: 05:53
The door to his dreams unsealed and they tumbled inside.
The orange glow of the hallway lights spilled into the room, bleeding into the cool glow that came from the open windows, curtains pulled back to reveal the shimmering sea and bright moon, a contrast of artificial dusk and true nightfall. She pulled him in by his belt, hooking two fingers under the leather, step by sweeping step, grace that made him breathless, orange and silver and shadow, all mixing together, and then the door closed and then the sea and the moon replaced the sunset dreams.
It was a heavy thunk, closing with finality.
The room had many ornate mirrors in it to make the room seem bigger. The had gold vintage frames of different shapes and sizes, reflecting the contents of the room, the large bed and red silk sheets, the black leather chairs and black marble table bolted down to the floor, the matching marble vanity laid out with several black leather cosmetic bags, all zipped up neatly. The had small details on them – red zippers, silver locks, the designer logo engraved into the leather. The suitcases leaning against the wall matched the cosmetic bags, three of them, one larger than the first two.
Jungkook breathed her name, raising his hand, fingers spread.
Her fingertips touched his, halting him.
“Let me do it.”
He spied his expression in one of the mirrors.
The silver moonlight lit up his face and his eyes, reflecting the lust and trust in them.
He looked back to her and nodded.
“Okay.”
Glamour. Fantasy. Descent.
That was the only way he could describe the way she moved, glamour in the way her hand slowly retreated from his, a steady wave and sweep, clearly deliberate. Even in smeared lipstick, the small smirk was present on those lips, stepping around him with a swing of her hips and gentle clicks of her black patent leather heels, the slinky fabric flowing with her actions and also clinging to her body at the same time, using the arc of her stride to spread open the high slit. Letting him watch. He almost turned to follow but she placed a few fingers on his arm, purring softly.
“Don’t move.”
Fantasy, the way she slipped behind him like a shadow, and then Jungkook had to look up into the mirrors, catching glimpses of her behind him. There was no music, but she moved as if there was. If anything, the sound of the waves seemed to form its own music, and he was suddenly more aware of it, the splashes against the hull of the boat mixing with the bass of his heartbeat and the wispiness of her breath, stepping up behind him, body heat making him gasp, looking into a mirror to his left, a window illuminating his right, her hands slipping between the space of his ribs and upper arms, fingers spread like wings, warm exhale on his neck.
No words.
Just a simple kiss to the base of his head and her lips murmuring his name on his skin.
Descent.
One by one, teasing the buttons apart, her fingers ghosting the exposed skin, his heart racing as he watched those hands, peeling apart the button placket, unwrapping him like a decadent sweet. He watched his own expression framed by long curls of black, his teeth sinking into his lower lip, small mole below quivering, seeing more and more of his chest being exposed, somewhat self-conscious, but there was something spellbinding about only being able to see her hands and forearms, pointed black nails decorated with crystals that caught the light, undoing all the buttons until she reached his pants.
“I can–”
“Shh. Don’t let your impatience prevent you from enjoying your own striptease.”
His cheeks heated a little and he lowered his hands, breath hiking as she firmly gripped the bottom of his shirt and pulled it out. Jungkook took a step back, his back hitting her chest, and gasped again, feeling the softness, but she adjusted her position so her body wasn’t touching his anymore, chiding him playfully.
“Never had someone take off your clothes, Jungkook?” she chuckled against his neck, making his hairs stand on end.
“Ah, well…”
He watched those deft fingers undo the last two buttons. Then they spread apart his black shirt, reaching in, fingertips spreading out over his abs and pecs, tracing the contours of his muscles, switching between her nails and the pads of her fingertips, prickling and dainty. He couldn’t sure her face, but he saw his, and only now registered his own moans, so absorbed by her sensual movement and her touch that he didn’t even realize the embarrassing sounds falling from his lips.
“Not… since you…”
She snickered. “Seriously? What fool wouldn’t want to tear the clothes off this lovely body?”
He could feel and see his flush in the mirror. He looked away quickly, down to her hands exploring his body. “Well, I just… figured it’s easier if I do it. No one has ever been like you.”
“Hmm.”
His hands raised. He traced her knuckles, causing her to pause, caressing small circles on his sternum.
“You want to tear the clothes off my body?” he breathed, not daring to see his own reflection and know his reaction to whatever her answer was.
“I do.”
He placed his left hand on hers, heart beating faster and faster.
“Not tonight though.”
He pulled her palm away from his racing heart, not wanting her to know her effect on him, letting it linger beside his ribcage.
“Tonight, I will show you all I’ve learned, because I was always a better student than you, class representative.”
He found himself laughing a little, suddenly sheepish. “Yeah. Your name was always in the top five percent. I was pretty bad at school. I don’t know why everyone voted for–oooh…”
Her fingers touched his nipples, rubbing delicately, sending strange shivers all over him, shallowing his breath, making him look up and see his dark nipples being teased by expert hands. Her nails nicked them lightly and he whined in his throat, feeling them harden against her fingertips, surprised at the arousal from the simple touch, something he never paid attention to or cared about. His hair was covering part of his face.
Jungkook reached up and pushed his hair back, pressing his chest into those hands.
Saw one of her eyes behind his head, sharp and sultry with winged liner, twinkling as she watched him.
“I voted for you because I thought it would be funny since you weren’t even trying.”
He didn’t really have a response for that, too busy looking at his own face and body, shivering as she tweaked his nipples and pushed them in slow circles, his arms descending to lower the shadows, letting them suspend by his sides.
She shifted beside him and half of her lips appeared, on the toes of her heels, whispering close to his ear, seductive and dark.
“You were good-looking then, and you’re even more handsome now, Jungkook.”
The sound of the ocean, the silver moonlight shining off her blue-black hair giving her skin a surreal quality, almost doll-like, the mirror reflecting his expression, desire and anticipation.
She removed her hands and grabbed the collar of his shirt, yanking it down.
He inhaled sharply and her face disappeared.
Dress shirt stripped from his body and flung away, the crisp black fabric flaring out, a shadow cast aside.
Jungkook spun around.
-
Does this man know the meaning of calm the fuck down?
You rolled your eyes inwardly as you witnessed Jungkook turn around, facing you again even though you told him not to the move. He had always been like this, overzealous, but he didn’t seem as clumsy as before, although…
He grabbed your tits.
Hah.
He blinked rapidly, surprised. “Huh?”
You shook your head and knocked his hands away, sighing. “Pasties, Jungkook. To cover my nipples.”
You reached into your dress and scooped your breasts out, trapping them between the v-neckline. His eyes bulged slightly when he saw the smooth black satin circles flush to the apex of your breasts. They fit perfectly, seamless so they were unseen even under the slinky fabric of the black gown.
“W-Whoa…”
“What? I’m a burlesque dancer. Of course, I have fancy nipple covers. This is basic wardrobe.”
He tilted his head. “I’ve never seen any like these. They look like they’re part of your body.”
You tutted. “Obviously, they aren’t. You know I have nipples.”
And you reached up and peeled them off, flinging them aside carelessly.
Jungkook gasped, staring at your nipples with wide eyes.
“Don’t act like you haven’t seen nipples,” you scowled. “You better not be a virgin with how hot you’ve become.”
His hands shot up and you grabbed his wrists again, forcing them back down.
Jungkook whined, eyes shifting back up to you, begging to touch them.
You stiffened slightly. What kind of reaction was that?
“They’re so big,” he whispered huskily, visibly shuddering, shaking with the craving to touch them. “I remember they were soft. And…” His breathing hitched, trembling in your hands. “I remember they tasted so good. Amazing. No one has ever tasted as good as you.”
His eyes flickered back down, biting his lip. He tried to break free, but you held. A single glance exchanged and you let go, realizing he was going to do something other than attack them. Instead, he collected the straps of your dress and pulled them back up, slowly, moaning as the slinky black fabric skimmed over your breasts, your prominent nipples sticking out, hardening from the light friction.
“Fuck, that’s so fucking sexy.”
Well, maybe he did have some appreciation for the visual after all.
“You see why I need the pasties.”
He pulled the straps up, whimpering as he watched your nipples strain against your dress, lifting your breasts in the confines of the fabric and lowering them, lifting, lowering, repeating the gesture.
You raised an eyebrow.
“Jungkook… are you bouncing my tits on purpose?”
His dark brown orbs darted to you. Guilty.
“Um… y-you won’t let me touch them…”
You weren’t sure whether to sigh or to laugh. You just shook your head, backing up out of his grasp. His hands were still outstretched, lips forming a small pout. You almost regretted it, but his expression quickly changed as you casually flicked down the straps, freeing your breasts again, dropping his hands and linking them together under his waist, waiting, now invested in what you had in store.
Oh.
He chewed on his lip and gave you an expectant look.
A flutter in your chest.
The side of your lips curved upward, tongue sliding out to graze the edge of your upper lip before disappearing.
You reached back, leisurely undoing the fastenings of the corset, sweeping your legs so the high slit flared apart, turning around, letting him witness the slow undress. Every action was deliberate, the wide arc of your leg moving the skirt aside to prevent you from tripping as you turned without using your hands, the wide stance of your feet to relieve pressure on your heels and to prevent the dress from sliding down too soon, and even the position of your fingers, poised so you could run a nail down your spine as two of them pinched the hook-and-eye and separated them, traveling down to the top of your ass. Every movement was thought out, details that made up the bigger picture, constructing your ultimate goal.
A sensual striptease.
You caught his reaction in a mirror to your right.
His sparkling brown eyes were wide, jaw dropped.
A lot of people had seen you take off your clothes, but no one made you feel as satisfied as Jeon Jungkook, then in his school uniform and now shirtless in his slacks, hands twisting in front of his crotch.
Then you saw your face.
You were smiling.
You really did smile when you thought he wasn’t looking.
Another glimpse at his face and you found him staring at you, silver moonlight glinting off his eyebrow piercing and flooding into his eyes, bringing out the stars within.
You released your hand and your dress tumbled to the ground.
He sucked in a shuddering breath, your name drifting from his lips.
“H… Holy shit…”
You did have an amazing waist-to-ass ratio.
Proper corset training and specific hit workouts to perfect your craft contributed. You couldn’t simply be pretty. You had to be strong and flexible to do the stunts and to walk in your red bottoms for the entire performance. Christian Louboutin didn’t make his shoes to be comfy. He made heels to make feet look enticing and sexy.
The price to pay for glamour and vanity.
It did give you some powerful calves though.
You lifted one shoe, flashing that blazingly red sole of your heel, balancing on one leg for a second.
This was to prevent you from getting tangled on your now fallen dress. You tightened your core, shifting your weight, knowing it would give Jungkook an irresistible view of your plump derriere in your high French-cut black satin panties, the particular style adding illusion to the already stark proportion.
In short, your ass looked fucking fabulous.
You stepped out of your dress, one leg, then the other, taking care not to step on it, adding a little flourish of your hands to create those body lines, ever the performer. You glanced at the mirror and was pleased to find Jungkook hadn’t moved, although his hands were now firmly open, palms down on his crotch, whimpering in his throat.
“Soon,” you promised, and you would keep it.
He nodded, swallowing hard.
You turned your fingers inward, hooking each index finger on the sides of your panties, rocking your hips slowly, lowering your lashes, following the beat of the sea, tugging down the right side a few centimeters and then the left, listening to his breathing and controlling yours. You bent over slowly at the hips, sticking your ass out, listening to his low moan as your glistening slit was revealed, sliding your undergarments down your thighs and calves, placing them carefully onto the floor.
You gradually straightened, breathing out, keeping it as one smooth motion.
You stepped out of your panties.
Now you were clad in only your black patent Louboutins and black diamond choker.
This time, you found your reflection in the mirror to delicately correct your smeared red lipstick with your fingertips. Good enough. You nodded at your reflection. The corners of your mouth curved upwards.
You turned to face him, showing Jungkook your smile.
-
This smile was real.
The smile she only showed when she was with him. He didn’t know if that was a valid thought or not, but he liked to think so. Besides, no smile meant as much as this one. That he was sure of, because he had been chasing this smile for all these years before finally accepting that he would never find another one like it. It was too precious to belong to anyone else.
His smile.
If his dick wasn’t trying to rip open his pants, Jungkook might have cried seeing it for the first time.
He couldn’t speak, too afraid he was going to lose it right then and there.
She walked towards him.
No, walk wasn’t the correct word. Strode, strut, glided, fuck, he didn’t know, she just moved as fluidly as a shadow and water combined, silver moonlight glistening off her skin and her diamonds, and he knew he would never love the mere act of walking more than when he watched her move.
She stilled.
He stopped breathing.
Her foot raised, toes tracing the inside of the heel, raising the pointed toe, balancing it on the stiletto, and she flicked it backward, causing it to tumble and somersault backward, falling to its side.
Fuck.
She thought of everything.
She balanced on tiptoe and did the same to the other shoe, discarding it with a swift tick.
He made a less-than-elegant noise of her name mixed with a needy whine.
“P… Please…”
Jungkook was quite sure he was a hair’s breath away from ripping off his pants to get some relief.
She finally made her way to stand in front of him. Smile so close now, emphasized by painted lips.
Her hands closed over his, peeling them away from his crotch, holding them loosely. She leaned forward, placing a delicate kiss on his lips. Deep, meaningful, nothing flashy. Drew back, still smiling.
This smile.
He wanted to protect it forever.
“I should have told you that I love you, but I didn’t know it then,” he whispered.
She chuckled.
“I know now.”
She was lowering herself as he spoke, tilting her head at him, inviting him to continue. Getting to her knees, positioning her feet right under her ass, neat and orderly. His hands dropped, leaving hers on his belt, undoing the buckle, her gaze still on him. Looking up at him with amusement, diamonds glittering on her throat, perky tits and nipples, thighs on display, kneeling in front of his crotch.
“I love you.”
Jungkook meant it, every syllable.
He never meant it more in her life.
“I know.”
What?
She casually undid his belt and slid the closure open, unzipping his slacks.
“Wait… what?” he sputtered, blinking rapidly.
“I know you love me,” she repeated calmly.
Jungkook had time for a single blink before his pants were yanked down to his knees. He started, almost falling over, but her hands came up behind his legs and gripped them, keeping him upright.
“Careful,” she purred, stroking the backs of his thighs.
He jerked his head down, hardly able to breathe, shock blossoming as she leaned forward, hot breath warming his black boxer briefs. Eyes on his face, pink tongue extending.
“O-Oh, fuuuck…”
She planted her tongue over his hardness and soaked it with saliva, wetting the fabric and tracing the outline, molding his underwear to his length, sending him into gasping shivers, heat from her tongue and then her lips closing, blowing a cool stream over it, hot and cold, sensation and deprivation, too much and not enough, placing kisses all over and he flinched with every one, savoring the feeling, the touch that was familiar and unfamiliar, everything he wanted.
“W-Wait… that’s dirty…”
“Not as dirty as the things I want to do to you.”
Not as dirty as the things I want to do to you.
Pants racking his torso, looking down, and it was the same but different, her lips kissing up his abs, his chest, back to his face, holding him to her, lipstick smeared and now on his skin. Open mouth to elegantly parted lips, gasping as she collected her breasts and pressed her nipples to his chest, squashing the softness to his pecs.
“Spit on my cleavage,” she breathed.
“W-What?”
She raised an eyebrow, knowing that he heard her perfectly well, squeezing her breasts together and rubbing them on his chest, sending the electric sensation of her large nipples dragging across his heartbeat, rolling her shoulders to the beat of the sea, bathed in silver moonlight.
“Spit on my tits, Jungkook.”
“I… c-couldn’t… do that to you…” he moaned, pitch hiking with pleasure.
She didn’t chide him to cover his mouth this time, instead smirking wider, licking her teeth. “Sure, you can. Do it, golden boy. Spit on me.”
She hooked a leg over his hip and grinded her crotch to his wet one, causing him to whine, knowing his cock was so close to her pussy but not yet skin to skin, the soaked fabric barrier driving him insane, his hands coming up to grip her waist and press her down on him, staring into her eyes, inhale shaky and erratic.
She smiled, teasing, sculptural, his.
“You trust me?”
Jungkook was drunk on something he didn’t understand and it was love.
“Yeah…”
He leaned forward, capturing her lips, an intense, burning kiss. She smiled into his kiss, and he knew she was aware of his nervousness, but she remained patient as she always was, pressing back daintily, taking his breath away. He broke apart, trembling.
She nodded, telling him it was okay.
He collected saliva at the tip of his tongue and looked down, spitting into her cleavage.
It shot out of his mouth, splattering over the swell of her breasts and onto his own chest. His ears burned, self-conscious at the dirty act, but she moaned deliciously, backing up, his saliva dripping down and stuck to the inside curve of her breasts. He had a moment to appreciate the image, the most beautiful woman in the world with her diamond choker and his spit on her tits glistening in the moonlight reflected by the sea.
“Wow.”
That was all he could say as the image burned into his memory.
She smirked, falling to her knees, tugging his black boxer briefs down his thighs, his stiff cock popping out, bobbing in the air at the suddenness of its release, and then trapped once more, except this time not in drenched fabric but in her soft, saliva-covered breasts – or his saliva, depending on how he thought about it – but he couldn’t think about it, abrupt pleasure shooting up his spine, throwing his head back in a moan, eyes darting everywhere, surrounded by mirrors, reflections of his face, his long black hair a wild mess, his facial features consumed by wanton lust, his throbbing cock jammed between her breasts and her body sliding up and down, her large nipples rubbing against his crotch and thighs, oh, fuck, the sensation insane, soft and rough and wet, her perfectly pinned hair leaving only the curls at the ends bouncing from her effort.
She spit down his length, adding to the lubrication and her name burst out of his mouth in an erratic groan.
“F-Fuck…!”
She pushed his cock up, almost uncomfortable, but then her mouth closed around the tip, tongue swirling, and he was lost again, ecstasy as she switched to blowing him, pressing her breasts to his thighs, smearing the saliva on them too, covering his cock in red lipstick, soaking every centimeter with saliva, running her tongue over the veins and the head, his hands clenching into fists, close, so close, and then she popped her mouth off, leaving him near tears and in whines.
“P-Please, let me cum, please…”
“I want you to cum on my necklace,” she panted, planting his cock in her cleavage again, lacing her fingers over it, pressing the head down into the slick skin, shock of her words and the escalating pleasure, his chin lowering and staring down at glittering black diamonds and the engorged tip of his length popping in and out of her breasts.
“You want me to… cum on your necklace…?” he echoed hollowly, in utter disbelief.
“Fuck yes, I do,” she grinned, tip of her tongue flickering at the edge of her lips. “Cum on my diamonds, Jungkook.”
Well, fuck.
This was the worst surreal and hottest moment of his life.
He clenched his jaw and thrust his hips into her chest, adding to the stimulation, chasing it, seeing her grin grow, devilish and devious, squeezing him tighter, faster, faster, faster, his hands and his body shaking, gripped by pleasure and her hold, panting her name over and over, his prayer, his drug, his lifeline, trying to hold out, the line inside him pulled taut, thinner and thinner, snapping.
“F-Fuck, I’m gonna cum!”
His hips jolted and he forced them upward, her head tipping back as the thick red tip popped out, twitching and splattering thick streams of white, painting the black diamonds with his white orgasm, clinging to the jewels and her collarbones, dripping down, covering her with his strong and masculine scent. She lifted her body, trapping his jolting cock in her breasts, and he moaned helplessly, rutting against her skin, sparks of pleasure shooting through his veins, uncontrollable flinching and shuddering as more dribbled out, milked out by the tightness.
“Oooooooh, f-fuck… fuck, I’m s-so sorry…” he gasped out, wincing at the mess he made.
“Ah, shut up, Jungkook.”
In awe, he watched her back up slightly, strings of his orgasm all over her breasts, chest, and diamonds.
She smiled and dipped her fingers in it, coating them with his cum and bringing them to her smeared red lips, licking them off one by one, pink tongue slipping between her elegant digits, moaning as she drank up his taste.
Eyes on his, drunk on him.
-
time left: --:--
Kim Namjoon leaned against Kim Seokjin’s shoulder, listening to the other man’s deep breathing.
They were sitting on the plush green couch in Kim Taehyung’s room.
The night was quiet, nothing but the sound of the waves coming through the open window, a light breeze as Namjoon watched the moon reflect off the ocean. Seokjin had already fallen asleep, head resting against the back of the sofa, tired from the day’s events and needing the rest. Namjoon felt the drowsiness beginning to weigh on him too, using Seokjin’s wide shoulder as his headrest. He had opened the window to prevent the room from getting too stuffy.
It would have been more comfortable to be in that giant bed with the one he was paid to protect, but he hoped she was in good hands now.
He smiled to himself, watching the silver moonlight dance off the choppy waters.
His mind went back to those moments, moments when he had to hold her shoulders and remind her of who and where she was, moments when he sat and waited as she clenched her teeth and a skilled medical tattoo artist filled in those white scars all over her hands, moments of when she finally sat him and Seokjin down and told them why she sometimes woke up at night, screaming and crying, yelling the names of past demons.
She had told them she was sorry, sorry for being weak, sorry for not taking responsibility.
Seokjin had scoffed, smacking her lightly on the head. “Are you an idiot? You have been through enough. Stop it with that nonsense. It’s part of our job, so let us do our job.”
After that, Namjoon would make it a point to check up on her at night, reaching over to soothe her brow as she slept, relaxing her face with gentle touches. He wanted to be there in case she woke up from a nightmare, and it became a habit, until Seokjin too elbowed himself in the bed, muttering that she always got the best digs anyway, so why shouldn’t he? He was handsome enough, after all.
They only accompanied her to events or appearances.
It bothered Namjoon to think that sometimes she was alone in her own home, waking up screaming and crying, and that he couldn’t be there.
He wondered what would come of this.
Jeon Jungkook.
Did he know that if he broke her heart that two ‘big-scary-dudes-with-massive-shoulders’ were going to find his ass and rearrange it?
Hm.
Namjoon closed his eyes, letting the night take him under its wing.
-
time left: error
The black diamond choker was on the vanity, covered in Jungkook’s cum.
Both of your clothes were on the floor, shoes, pants, dress, undergarments, strewn all over, a mess, along with a now cold, wet, white bath towel that smelled like semen and saliva. It had what was left of your red lipstick on it.
One of the designer cosmetic bags was open.
There were condoms scattered on the bed now, thrown over the red silk sheets.
Jungkook was holding your hands, palms up, tenderly kissing them.
It felt strange, his soft lips on your scars.
Most people didn’t realize it. It wasn’t something they looked for or thought to think twice about, because to them, your hands had always been like that. It would be rude to comment or mention it even if they had noticed.
But Jungkook had known your hands before they became like this.
“It’s why I stopped going to school.”
He kissed the pads of your fingertips, looking at you with those dark brown orbs.
“Did something bad happen?”
You smiled, somewhere between sad and apologetic.
“I wanted to make sure that I could still see you, but unfortunately I ended up doing the exact opposite.”
He squeezed your hands tightly, giving you his own smile. “Still, you came back to me.”
You chuckled ruefully. “Not with the best intentions.”
The silver moonlight highlighted all your favorite features, the cupid’s bow of his lips, the tiny mole underneath, the wrinkle of his nose with his smile, the stars in his eyes.
“You’ve always been dangerous and ill-advised for me, but I always liked that about you.”
You arched a brow. “Hm, you were a shitty class representative, huh?”
Jungkook shrugged. “You weren’t really a class delinquent either.”
You shook your head, pulling your hands out of his. “Look at you. What kind of class presentative gets all these tattoos?” you teased, dancing your fingers up his right forearm and elbow, tracing the outlines of the script and graphics, following the swirls of the clouds and flower petals with your nails, listening to his shallow breath at your touch. “And an eyebrow piercing? Are you trying to tell everyone you’re one of the cool kids now?”
His lips twisted into a small frown. “Am I cool?”
You shrugged. “Every time I hear about the cool kids in our grade, it’s just about how they got knocked up too early or how they dropped out of university, so you tell me.”
“I haven’t gotten knocked up.”
You gave him a look, bordering on impatience.
“Wait, I mean–”
You raised a hand and planted it on his chest, pushing him down on the bed.
“Enough. Stop talking, please.”
You crawled over his body, placing your hands by his head, looking down at him. Jungkook stared up at you, long black hair splayed over the pillows. He was definitely a man now, sharp jawline, manicured brows, slight dark circles from long nights, and, as you leaned down, expensive cologne now, still light and clean but with a twist of sharpness and sweet fruit, still with the same warmth. Your lips pressed against his jaw, leaving kisses, sinking your weight onto him, skin to skin, his gasps under you, and now it seemed like you were back in that time, his teenage self and your teenage self, the same eagerness as his arms surrounded you, running his hands down your back, but now he added his nails, making you hum in approval. He did it more, scratching his nails over your spine as you kissed his jaw, his throat, his ear, jingling his earrings with your tongue, whispering against his skin.
“No one has ever been what you are to me.”
You didn’t bother using past tense, because it wasn’t.
You sat down on his thigh, his semi-hard cock twitching against your skin, turned on by your kisses and your tongue toying with his ear.
“You weren’t even very good, you know. You were kinda shit. Too impatient.”
He shuddered, tensing his forearms against your sides.
“I’m b-better now…” he whimpered, turning into a moan as you bit his ear and rubbed your wetness on his thigh, painting it with your juices. You kept it slow, leisurely, with even pressure.
“Still…”
You lifted your head, bringing your fingers inward, slipping them into his hair, pushing it back, caressing his temple with your thumbs.
“I have loved you all this time, Jungkook, even back then when I didn’t know what love was, when I was only chasing a feeling that was different from all the others.”
His eyes widened, stunned by your words.
“Ah, nevertheless, I came back too late.”
“No.”
His hands on your back, holding you tightly to him.
“I want to kiss you all the time,” he whispered, words from long ago, bringing them back. “And I will.”
He raised his forehead and touched yours.
“I know it’s not fair, I know it’s bad, I know it’s terrible, but I’ll be fucked up if you can’t be right here, with me.”
His lips to yours, small kisses and closed eyes, hiding his tears behind his lashes.
“You are the happiness, and if you continue to love me, I will never let you go.”
That’s what Jungkook said, but the sentiment was slightly interrupted by his cock being so hard that it was actually raising your thigh up into the air.
You smiled against his lips, chuckling.
“I guess I’ll bring a towel when you get her cocktail splashed into your face.”
“Maybe two. She has a lot of internet friends.”
“Hm.”
You lifted your head, smirking.
“Well, I can’t say it would be the first relationship I’ve ruined, although those were far more indirect.”
-
Jungkook tried to make the moment romantic, but her naked body was on top of him with her wet pussy rubbing on his thigh and his dick was coming back to life right in the middle of his speech.
Still, he couldn’t really complain, because at the moment he was ripping open a condom, on his knees between her legs, rolling it down, eyes roaming over her body lines, poised and elegant and sexy, her hair flared out on the pillows, still neatly pinned up, some kind of sorcery, but that didn’t surprise Jungkook, for she had always had her spell on him and he was better for it.
“You want missionary?” she teased.
He bit his lip, nodding.
“I want to watch your face.”
Her tongue flickered out on the edge of her upper lip, accenting the high point of her smirk.
“Good, then I can watch yours.”
He positioned himself in front of her, pausing for a second, unsure now, but she simply grinned and reached between her legs, one hand on his length and the other on his hip, digging her nails into his ass and shoving him inside her.
“Oh, fuck!”
She seemed highly amused, but he was gone, sudden tightness and wetness enveloping him, pitching forward and catching himself on his palms, sinking into red silk, the intensity bursting from his core and washing over him, shuddering and gasping as she gripped his ass with both hands and sank him down into her pussy, down, down, drowning in the feeling, diving into the depths of pleasure, fuck, he felt it everywhere, her walls clenching and wrapped around his length, the sensitive head rubbing against the ridges, and the emotions that rushed through him as he looked into her eyes, a little humiliated that it affected him so much, a little shocked at how good it felt even with the condom, and a lot of lust and trust and love, all rolling into one, and she purred his name, smooth and silky and gentle, and he couldn’t help himself, slowly rolling his hips and smacking down hard, burying himself to the base, eyelids fluttering, feeling it radiate over his body.
“Too... hard?” he choked out, trying to be considerate, desperate not to fuck up.
She shook her head, snickering.
“Not even close.”
“How can I–?”
But she didn’t let him finish, tapping the mandala flower tattoo on his right elbow and he raised his arms, at loss for words and breath when she raised her legs to his shoulders and tugged his forearms back down, his hands landing on the bed once more.
Oh no.
This was tighter.
“Fuck me, Jungkook, and make it rough.”
I can’t talk or I will blow my load in two seconds.
He nodded, tensing his jaw, and smacked his crotch down, her thighs smacking against his chest.
Oh, fuck me.
He wished he could sound less desperate and less ruined, but he simply didn’t have the capacity for that any longer, tumbling into a series of wild moans as he built up the pace, wave after wave of pleasure crashing into him, too much sensation, soft thighs, wet tightness squeezing his throbbing length, her hands on his upper arms, holding on tightly, his name falling from her mouth along with her erotic exhale. He loved every sound she made, every single one, her moan, her hiss, her growl, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, that’s it, give it to me, Jungkook, loved the way she looked at him, a mixture of bliss and slyness, loved the sound their bodies made, a harsh rhythmic smack, louder and louder, messing up the sheets, her head tipping back, eyes closing, fuck, yes, gonna cum if you keep going like that, so he did, hard, firm, powerful slaps of skin-to-skin, feeling so good but holding himself back, biting his lip hard and moaning in his throat, not willing to orgasm until he made her do so, at least twice.
Jungkook was being ridiculous, he knew, but he wouldn’t forgive himself if he lost it too soon during his first time inside her.
“Mmm, fuck, Jungkook, fuck!”
A sharp throb and then a cascading effect, brutal massages of his length, and he didn’t even realize it, pausing for a second from the strength of her orgasm, his cock clenched all over and squeezed, shocking pleasure that made his eyes roll back, struggling with every fiber of his being to not explode, edging himself by ceasing his thrust, and then he drew back and rammed back into her, clawing up the sheets to press her further down into the bed, nearly bending her in half, but she didn’t seem to mind, gripping his arms and raising her hips to meet him, deeper now, the head being constricted even tighter by this changed angle, him sucking in a deep inhale, smelling blackberry, evergreen, and sex, the sweet smell of her pussy, reminding him of sitting on the bus on his way home and catching that scent on his hands and clothes, not regretting it, loving her mark on him.
It was better now.
Better because he was actually in her pussy.
And better because her teeth caught the side of her lower lip, a second of lost control, lashes lowering, moan in her mouth, his name, his name, his name leaking from her lips.
“Oh, Jungkook…”
He would never tire of it.
Never.
It burst again, a lewd squelch, and the insides of his thighs were soaked with viscous honey, clinging to his balls, violent throbs around his jerking length and Jungkook was gone, gone, everything accumulating at the peak and shattering down, his deep moan flooding the room, shooting his orgasm into the condom as his quivering cock was clenched all around, unbearable euphoria that he welcomed, letting it consume every nerve and vibrate through him, a feeling he never wanted to end.
He let it swallow him, her ocean, her moonlight, her night, and he promised himself that he would never leave.
-
All in all, Jeon Jungkook hadn’t changed much. That was alright. It was clear that you both had unfinished business in the past that was being hashed out right now.
Through sex, because how else?
He was behind you, both of you kneeling on the bed, his breath on your skin, murmuring your name, wonderment and desire, leaving a trail of kisses on your shoulders and neck.
“You can bite me, you know.”
He nipped at your skin experimentally. You pinched his finger on your upper arm, the little sheepish emoji on his middle right. He squeaked and bit harder. You hummed approvingly, lowering your hand.
“You’re turning me into a crazy person,” Jungkook mumbled to the curve of your neck.
“You were already a crazy person. You just pretend you’re not.”
“That’s not true…”
You gently peeled his right hand from your arm and yanked him forward. He inhaled sharply, hard chest hitting your back as you tugged his arm forward, curving it around you.
“What non-crazy person blacks out the inner part of their elbow and tattoos the bone on the outer part as well?” you accused, rubbing his muscular forearm against your nipples, smirking at his moan, his shiver traveling through your back and to the sparks of pleasure radiating from your breasts at the lovely friction.
“Um…”
That was as far as he gave you as an answer because he had no good answers.
“Mhm.”
His hand curved around your left breast and he ran his fingers over it, tugging at your nipple. You leaned into his touch, sighing softly. Well, maybe you had been a bit harsh. He had changed. Less clumsy now, attaining his own irresistible sensuality that he probably wasn’t even aware of, considering the wavering in his tone.
“You’ve probably had better than me, huh…”
“You would be surprised at the complete inadequacy of the human race when it comes to sex, Jungkook. Most people don’t give two shits about listening to their partner’s wants.”
He pinched your nipple and you moaned, rubbing your ass against his crotch.
“You always do everything I want and even things I didn’t even know I wanted,” he mumbled.
His cock was getting the hint with every rock of your hips, rousing at the soft friction. You listened to his rapid breathing, amused, the amusement turning into fond irritation as you felt his free hand slide between your bodies, tucking his hardening length between your ass cheeks, now slowly and non-discreetly humping you.
Well.
Can’t say you were surprised.
“You’re not that hard to read, Jungkook.”
He was leaking all over the top of your ass, ramming the head into your tailbone, now both hands on your chest, forgetting to answer, too absorbed in touching you, tugging at your nipples in time with his rocking hips, lips back to your neck, biting down and sucking hard, leaving marks. There was power in his hold, passion and desperation, a needy whine vibrating in his throat, faster, harder, pinching your nipples and rubbing the tips, pulling slightly, pleasure from his lips and his hands, your own reaching back and clawing at the small of his back, leaving scratches, yes, please, harder, mark me, make me yours, and you chuckled at his declaration, you were always mine, Jungkook, and he moaned your name in affirmation, licking up your neck, hot shaking breath ghosting your ear.
“Wanna fuck you from behind.”
You sunk your nails into his skin and brought your fingers outward, flicking your wrists to leave sharp lines of lust, his moan in your wake.
“Do it,” you drawled, voice saturated with need.
He pushed you down and your caught yourself with your hands, clutching fistfuls of red silk. You heard the rip of another condom and his groan as he encased his aching length, one hand on your ass, and you spread your legs, his knees fitting between them, the head grazing your wet opening and he slid in with a shudder, filling you up and stretching you out, a little pain that dissipated as he squeezed your ass with two hands, sighing with satisfaction with you.
“I know I said I want to kiss you all the time, and I do,” he panted, stalling.
You smiled, turning your head to look over your shoulder. Jungkook looked back at you and he reached forward, driving deeper into you, making you mewl for him. He plucked the pins from your hair, one by one, undoing the perfection, tossing them aside as he spoke, shrouding your shoulders and face with cool-toned black, surreal and glamorous.
“But I think I’ve decided I also want to fuck you all the time.”
You smirked. “You don’t take much convincing, I must say.”
He eased the last pin from your hair and flicked it aside.
You heard it fall to the floor.
That one wouldn’t be found in the morning.
He grinned. “Maybe I already knew you would be amazing.”
Instead of replying, you leaned forward and then smacked your ass back into his crotch.
Jungkook reeled, hand flying back to your hip, grabbing it tightly as you roughly pushed back into him, his natural response being to thrust forward, compounding the pleasure for you and for him, looking forward again and tipping your head back, letting go, moaning for him, his hardness twitching with your sound, loud and getting louder, bodies tangled, bed creaking, clutching your ass for dear life. You lifted one hand and brought beside your hip and Jungkook gripped your forearm, your body naturally dropping lower, deepening each thrust, and that was it, the uncontrollable need resonating in his deep voice, forcefully pounding you into the mattress, thighs, crotch, balls slapping into your lower half, carnal and wild and visceral, his name and your name mixing together, filling the room with the sight, sound, and smell of sex, so strong, fuck, he was so fucking strong, and so were you, a shock every time your bodies connected, until you were wailing with the ferocity of orgasm, squirming and clutching his forearm as he held yours, clenching around his length, but this time he didn’t stop, fucking you through it, gasping for air.
“Oh fuck, yes, fuck, do it again, cum for me again, fuck, feels so fucking good, feels like you’re choking my cock…”
And he brought it out of you again, your right hand punched into the sheets, your left in his hold, moaning for him, Jungkook, fuck, Jungkook, for him then, him now, him forever, ecstasy and elation, hitting a high you thought didn’t even exist, lust and trust and love, raising your torso and slamming your palm onto the headboard, rattling the whole damn bed.
“Fuck!”
Slamming back onto his cock and squeezing hard, Jungkook gasping at the suddenness of the harsh throbs around his length, jolting inside you and spilling another into the condom, your head whipping to the side, spotting a mirror and there he was, head thrown back, long black hair touching his shoulders, open mouth, eyes rolled back, chest shuddering, your name a shaky moan, holding you tight, his right arm travelling, wrapping around you and lifting you up, and then it was you in the mirror, your body against his, skin to skin, his dark brown orbs shifting down, feeling your eyes on him, and then he was watching your reflections, seeing your joined bodies, panting in unison, both sweaty and spent.
You smiled at him, lit up by moonlight and mirrors.
He smiled back.
And then his hand was on your chin and he turned your head to face him, tilting his head and kissing your smile, seeing it not its reflection but the real thing, no longer only when you thought he wasn’t looking.
-
time left: 00:00
“Oi.”
Jungkook didn’t recognize that voice at all. He concluded must still be dreaming.
A finger podded his temple.
“Oi!”
He started, but the arms encircling him pinned him in place, not letting him and his naked body leave the bed. Softness pressed against his back, bare nipples rubbing against his skin. He froze.
His dick was rock-hard.
A black-haired man in a black suit with a disturbingly handsome face was glaring at him.
“You animals made a fucking mess.”
“Go away, Seokjin.”
Jungkook squeaked, unable to talk because one of the hands holding him was dancing downwards under the covers, wrapping around his impossibly stiff length. He prayed it wouldn’t start moving up and down, but it did. Slowly. Not enough, but still too much, because he didn’t really want to get jacked off first thing in the morning while someone was very clearly assessing whether or not to cause extreme bodily harm to him.
Well, he did want to get jacked off first thing in the morning.
It was the bodily harm he was less enthused about.
The man named Seokjin squinted at him and it took every fiber of Jungkook’s being to not make a goddamn peep as her fingers ghosted the head, smearing slick pre-cum over the slit.
“I want to take a shower.”
“Then go take a shower. I left towels for you,” she mumbled behind Jungkook’s back.
“Namjoon’s in the shower right now.”
“Then order us some breakfast.”
“I sent Taehyung to do that. Also, it’s noon.”
“Couldn’t you order room service?”
Seokjin shrugged and Jungkook realized his shoulders were huge. “He said he had a friend who worked in the kitchen and was going to reserve us a table.”
She raised her head, resting her chin on Jungkook’s right shoulder and pulsing his cock with her right hand under the sheets. “Taehyung has a lot of friends, doesn’t he?”
Seokjin looked at Jungkook pointedly.
“Er… yeah. T-Tons…”
Those brown eyes narrowed, scrutinizing Jungkook suspiciously. “He seems like a dork.”
“I like dorks. That’s why I keep you around.”
Seokjin stuck his tongue out childishly and yelled at the top of his lungs. “Namjoon!”
“I’m done!”
“Finally,” Seokjin grumbled, walking off and yanking the bathroom door open, barging in unceremoniously.
“Gah!”
“Gah!!!”
-
“Oh, fuck, please, d-don’t…”
“It’ll only take me a second.”
You dove under the covers and Jungkook clapped his hands over his mouth, your grip on his twitching length moving fast and tight, rubbing your tongue on the hot head, and you were right, it only took a few seconds, and then Jungkook was hissing through his fingers, now, fuck, now, and your mouth swallowed his cock, not a moment too soon as thick spurts of his orgasm shot into your throat, coating the back of your tongue, savoring his smell and his thighs under your breasts, rubbing your nipples on the muscle.
“N-No, stop, stop,” Jungkook whimpered desperately, grabbing you by the shoulders and yanking you up, your head popping out, smirk on your lips.
You opened your mouth and showed him your tongue covered in his cum.
“Shit, you’re going to be the death of me…”
He hurriedly nudged your chin and you closed it, grinning.
Dangerous.
Ill-advised.
Jungkook grinned back at you helplessly, holding your smiling face in his hands.
---
some time later
“I have two towels.”
“She didn’t throw her drink at me.”
“Damn. I even seduced the bartender a little bit to get those plush cotton ones.”
“She asked if she could keep the ring so she could sell it and give the money to her secret, less good-looking boyfriend so he could buy her a new ring.”
“Oh. Wait, what?”
He shrugged, rubbing the back of his head. “I said sure, because it wasn’t like the love of my life couldn’t afford her own diamonds.”
“Ah, true, true.”
“I might be slandered for a little while on the internet.”
“Nah, you won’t. Maybe for like, six hours. Then everyone’s attention span will be somewhere else. Also, your taste upgraded in their eyes, from social media influencer to burlesque dancer.”
You grinned, raising your hands to create a finger frame of your index fingers and thumbs, enclosing the handsome face of Jeon Jungkook, long black hair, silver brow piercing, dark sculpted eyebrows, big brown eyes, defined jawline, shapely pink lips, mole of his nose and cheek, and finally that perfect mole underneath his lower lip, appearing as he smiled at you, confused at what you were doing.
“Even though we all know you’re just a hopeless sucker for the class delinquent. Tsk tsk.”
His grin grew mischievous, walking over to you as you lowered your hands.
pairing(s): jungkook x reader; implied taehyung x reader
summary: You have twelve hours to make Jeon Jungkook fall in love with you. He's about to get married. You're the entertainment at his bachelor party - a burlesque dancer. Long ago, he used to be the class representative and you used to be the class delinquent. Nothing has changed and, yet, everything has.
this is part i | click here for part ii | total wc: 23k
warnings: rated M (18+) for language; this story contains parental child abuse and graphic violence, including the reader becoming physically scarred and having panic attacks; alcohol consumption; rich, this bachelor party is on a fuckin' YACHT, the best man is LOADED; JK and reader interacted in high school and haven't seen each other until now; angst and fluff and feels; cheating; high school smut + (in part ii) intense adult smut (fem reader, striptease, semi-public sex at school, nipple play (he's a bit obsessed with them), dry humping, m-masturbation, handjob, cumming on tits (and diamonds), cum-eating, mirror kink, spitting, tit fucking, m-receiving oral, scratching / biting / marking, penetrative sex, doggy); shifts back and forth between Jungkook’s POV and your POV; the ask
non-idol!AU; film director!Jungkook x wealthy, burlesque dancer!reader — ft best man, art trader!Kim Taehyung; dancer's bodyguard!Kim Namjoon and bodyguard!Kim Seokjin
> eyebrow pierced, tattooed, and long black-haired JK (with undercut) in a black suit because that's what we need in this life
> reader's burlesque performance is heavily inspired by Dita Von Teese and her martini glass stage; music used is 'sweet dreams are made of this' and 'are you the rabbit?' both by Marilyn Manson.
--
"You have twelve hours."
"What happens after that?"
"He going to get married."
-
time left: 11:59
"Dude, she said anything goes."
Jeon Jungkook frowned, glaring at his best man. "You don't do dumb shit if you're going to marry them."
Kim Taehyung tilted his head, long black-brown stands curling around his defined cheekbones, dark brown eyes twinkling with slyness, looking handsome, amused, and devilishly single.
Because he was.
"Oh? You're finally admitting you're in love with your future wife?"
"... Of course."
Taehyung cocked an eyebrow. "How convincing."
-
time left: --:--
Jeon Jungkook.
Hm.
Did he remember you? Probably not. It was a long time ago, high school and all that. He was more adorable then and you were more rebellious then. Too rebellious, putting yourself in detention far too many times, leaving you with the class representative after hours, who turned out to be Jeon Jungkook, not because he was a good student but because everyone liked him. Athletic, creative, attractive, the epitome of the face of the class.
The teachers left you with tons of remedial work that you didn't bother to do during detention, choosing instead to annoy the class representative. Sitting close to him, staring at him, toying with his school supplies, pointing out when he was using the wrong equation for the math problem he was trying to solve.
"Why are you like this?" he snapped one day, smacking his pencil down and glaring at you. "Why do you pick fights and beat up upperclassmen and skip class and sneak around? What's the point?"
You spun your pen on your fingertips.
"I just want to spend time with you."
And you had kissed him.
Whether those words were real or not at the time didn’t matter, because, in time, they would become all too real.
-
time left: 11:45
"You're on stage in five minutes. We're very sorry for the delay."
You smiled, lips painted red, teasing and sculptural, covered in red and black Swarovski crystals and lush velvet, chained by fabric and thick clasps holding each piece together. "That's alright. I understand."
The employee bowed and left. The bachelor party was already in full swing. Loud chattering, clinking of glasses, rowdy laughter. You could hear it through the thin walls backstage, through the curtains, into your soul. A big party on a yacht.
Rich, decadent, ripe with sin.
Arranged by Kim Taehyung, a successful art trader and the best man of Jeon Jungkook, well-known director of indie films and the bachelor who was about to get married to a wealthy, very well-known social media influencer turned socialite. She had her face all over social media, so she needed another face equally as beautiful for the likes and the sponsors.
Young money, they called it.
You stood up, looking at yourself in the mirror.
Being on stage was different than real life.
It required red lips, immaculate black eyeliner, sharp and distinct, manicured brows, and perfectly pinned hair, dyed a cool-toned black to bring out a kind of surreal quality to your skin, as if you were more of a doll than a human being. The show costume tonight was black and red, packed with crystals so you would be glittering from every angle. Handcrafted bustier, separate corset, strappy panties, slinky floor-length skirt with a high slit, sheer stockings, tall heels, even a long cape that trailed on the floor, completed with heavy choker around your throat, covered in black diamonds.
You turned from the mirror and exited your green room, walking slowly and carefully. Two security guards followed you, keeping all staff away from your path. They were holding your ostrich feather fans.
Black and red.
Taehyung couldn't afford you and your act unless he blew his entire budget on your performance alone. However, you made an exception for him, because he had something you wanted.
The lights were dimming.
You stood next to the stage, seeing the two-meter-tall, gem-encrusted martini glass waiting for you.
There was a spotlight on it, scattering light all over the dark room, barely illuminating the faces in the audience. You could see him because he was in the front row, looking confused, large brown eyes, long black hair, eyebrow piercing, and hand tattoos.
It was his party.
Jungkook had no idea the main event Taehyung had arranged was a professional burlesque dancer.
Sudden silence.
Being on stage was just like real life.
You always had to play a character.
The music began.
"Sweet dreams are made of this..."
You glided on stage, and the lights followed.
-
time left: --:--
You sat with the teacher, waiting.
The whole thirty minutes elapsed.
"We will have to reschedule this parent-teacher conference."
It was on the tip of your tongue. They won't come. They don't care. Last night my mother shoved my hand into boiling water until I screamed my apology for not folding the laundry fast enough.
You pulled the sleeve of your large hoodie over your bandaged left hand.
"I did the remedial work..." you mumbled.
"It doesn't matter even if you got full marks on it. Your behavior hasn't changed. You'll be on cleaning classroom duty for the rest of the month unless your parents attend a meeting to talk about your behavior."
That was the only reason you weren't expelled or suspended. Despite all your bullshit, your grades were good. Excellent, even. Strangely good despite only attending half of your classes. The teachers still gave you punishments to make an example of you, but you wouldn’t be getting away with this if your name wasn’t at the top five percent of the class.
You were mopping the floor when someone called your name. You looked up, and there he was.
The class representative.
"Hello, Jungkook."
He must have stayed late for taekwondo. He was still in uniform.
"This isn't your day for cleaning duty," he said, sounding confused.
You smirked at him, teasing and sculptural.
"Every day is my day for cleaning duty now."
His dark brows knitted together, frowning. He walked to the entrance but did not step in, seeing the wet floor. "What do you mean?"
"I don't think they enjoyed my graffiti on the gym building," you mused, recalling the strong scent of the paint spray cans. Students and teachers had to look up the English phrase you had outlined on there to understand it. It spread around the school like wildfire before you were forced to paint over it.
I got an F and a C and I got a K too and the only thing that's missing is a bitch like U.
You even left the period for proper grammar.
"Your shirt is untucked."
You flipped up the bottom of your white dress shirt and flashed him your red bra. Jungkook jerked his head away quickly, trying to avoid looking. His eyes lingered anyway, because, of course, he was a teenager and you were well-educated in the stages of puberty. Not really because of school.
Mostly because of the internet.
"Oops," you purred, leaning against the mop handle. His eyes flickered to your face and your tongue curled around the edge of your upper lip before disappearing into your mouth.
Jungkook's ears and cheeks turned red. He backed up, away from the door.
You cocked your chin.
"Run along now, golden boy."
You let the coldness show now, tone dropping.
"Wouldn't want someone to see you talking to me, right?" you snarled.
Guilt clouded his features.
He ran.
You went back to mopping.
-
time left: 11:37
Your clients usually wanted very specific things from you. Glamor, first and foremost. Fantasy. They wanted to descend into hell, or at least feel that way. It's not cheating if you're not touching, they loved to say. They were usually old, wealthy, and surprisingly respectful of the craft.
Not so much you, but the craft.
Well, that's what the bodyguards were for.
There was something about a woman who lived in shadow that was appealing and enticed all the worst behaviors. Alcohol was usually involved, a depressant to the mind and stimulant to sin.
Taehyung had given you free reign.
"Go off. Do whatever you want."
It began with Sweet Dreams, but not just any sweet dreams. Sweet dreams with a grating, smoked growl, darker with guitars and low bass, a remix with longer instrumental parts. They saw the black ostrich feathers and glowing dark crystals first, followed by your haunting movements and feline predatory grace.
“Travel the world and the seven seas, everybody's looking for something...”
You could see him through the vanes of the feathers, jaw dropped, trying to take it in. Unlikely he recognized the singer. Marilyn Manson wasn't exactly who people thought of when burlesque was involved.
Ah, but the pain and agony in that voice was exactly what you wanted to convey.
"Some of them want to use you. Some of them want to be used by you..."
You lowered the fan, smirk on your lips. Tipped your head back, letting the diamonds on the choker catch the light, swaying to the movement of the music. There was smoke creeping down the sides of the curtains, adding to the strangeness of it all, as if one was stepping into another world. You turned your wrists inward, feathers gliding over your body, pulling back slowly, tongue tracing your lips.
The tip lingered at the edge of your upper lip and slid back in as you lowered your lashes.
“I want to use you and abuse you…”
You transferred one of the fans to your left hand, careful to place them so it looked like one massive fan. You swept it over your head, grazing your hair, covering part of your back.
“I want to know what's inside you…”
You knew the easiest and most elegant way to flick off the cape, pulling the fan back as it cascaded down, stroking your torso and catching onto your ass.
A deliberate flick of your hips and it fell off, revealing your form.
You looked back over your shoulder and found those brown eyes, frozen in his seat.
You could hear some boisterous whistles and cheers but you focused on personifying the music.
“Movin’ on…”
Every action was practiced, sharp, attentive. You were very aware of every arm movement, every line of your legs, every facial expression, every finger and every wrist flick. You commanded the stage with every step, almost lazy in facial expression, but your eyes were sharp, clear of all your surroundings.
You cocked an eyebrow, hiding behind your fans again.
The art of tease was not something you took lightly.
Your hand slid down, visible against the dark fabrics and sparkling crystals, long fingers spreading out.
Two slid between your legs, pushing the fabric in, outlining your pussy.
The delicate but forceful thrust of your hips, implying that perhaps, maybe, if one was lucky, they could have it.
All lies.
Your hand danced back up, unhooking your skirt and tossing it aside. A smooth, practiced motion, glistening as it tumbled through the air. Your stagehand caught it, hidden in the dark, the same one that had collected your cape from the floor earlier. No one noticed.
All eyes were on you.
You closed the fan slowly, lowering it, tracing the inside of your thigh.
Gazing at Jeon Jungkook under your lashes.
“Sweet dreams…”
Your slim tongue slid out from between your painted lips.
Slow, curling around the edge of your upper lip before disappearing into your mouth.
Taehyung had met you by chance. He had been invited to a fancy dinner party and you were the guest performance. That was your opium stage, with the green bed and white smoke, long robes and snake motifs. Writhing on the bedsheets, slithering, serpentine. The deliberate plucking of each finger from the long black opera gloves before pulling it off with one smooth motion, mining a moan as you tossed it aside. One, then the other. Then the stockings, holding it by the toe and leaning over the edge of the bed, raising your bent leg and pulling it over your shoulder, ass in the air. One and then the other. Your head tipped back, unlacing the corset, paying attention to your body line.
Nothing but pure seduction.
The host decided to hold a drawing for a private show, just for fun, and, lo and behold Kim Taehyung's luck, clutching the called-out number and pushed into a dark room with you.
He had looked from the two bodyguards to you, uneasy.
You had climbed into his lap.
"W-Wait, I thought I couldn't t-touch..."
"You can't."
Young money was starting to take over and thank God for that, because private dancing for old, entitled men was rather annoying and required the presence of the guards. A young man winning was just as lucky for you as it was for him. You never, ever allowed any of the men to touch you.
You touching someone, well, that was your choice.
When you tilted your head, you shifted your torso too, making the green and clear crystals on your silk robes catch the light, fluid and serpentine, hair cascading down your shoulder.
"Unless you want me to get off you."
Taehyung had stared into your eyes, tipsy and in awe of your movement.
"No."
He had placed his hands behind his back, baritone voice deep and heavy in anticipation.
"You can do whatever you want."
Now.
The song was changing.
You turned ninety degrees, balancing on the fans, bent over, staring into Jungkook's eyes.
Did you know?
You straightened slowly, turning your back to the crowd.
Reached back and undid the corset with one hand, slowly loosening the strings.
"I'm a kickstand in your mouth and I'm the tongue slamming on the brakes..."
Looked back and shook your ass, bending over again, tangling your fingers in the black cord as if you were trapped, strategic and deliberate, making eye contact with him, the one from long ago, class representative and all that. Still had that same handsomeness when he was dressed up, wearing an all-black suit, tailored and fitted. You could see his hand was tattooed, and he had a brow piercing, but still the same air of uncertainty when his eyes were on you. Whether that was simply the performance or because he recognized you remained to be seen.
You stood up and the corset slid down your legs, so heavy that it was a smooth motion.
You stepped out of it, flashing the iconic red soles.
The fans fell to the floor.
The ladder was set up.
You strode around the large martini glass, slow, long steps, all legs and ass, poised hands, and over-the-shoulder glances, promises unfulfilled.
"Don't want anyone else's hand on my gears..."
You placed a hand on the stem of the stage prop, lifting your leg and plucking off one Louboutin. You cast it aside. Then the other, keeping yourself balanced in tiptoe to maintain the illusion.
A lull in the music.
You toyed with the top of your stocking, loosening it.
“And I'll choke on all the diamonds…”
Leaned down, gripping the toe of the stocking. Balancing on one leg and leaning against the two-meter-tall martini glass, lifting your leg and bending your knee, tugging it off with one smooth motion, pulling up until it popped off your pointed toe.
Now the other.
"So ask yourself before you get in, know insurance won't cover this..."
Parted lips, lowered lashes, raw, sensual lust as the sheer fabric slid off your calf and foot.
"Are you the rabbit or the headlight?"
Guitars and bass, the music lulling at this part, accenting your actions.
Up the ladder.
The giant glass had water in it, complete with a sponge that looked like an ice cube.
You reached the top.
You traced the lip of the glass with your fingertips, bending over, cleavage and black diamonds, smirking.
Slid one leg in.
Cold.
Slid the other leg in.
Down, soaking yourself in the glittering water, tongue flickering, staring down at Jeon Jungkook.
"And is there room in your life... for one more breakdown?"
Now the real show was beginning, with a longer remixed version of Are you the Rabbit? as the backing music.
-
time left: --:--
You kissed him and he took more.
Not right away.
Slowly, with every detention.
First, it was just kisses.
You danced your fingertips on his arm and he shifted his body so it was over his chest. There wasn't much talking. Unbuttoning, yes. He was ashamed, so he didn't talk. You didn't need talking. No one was around except the janitors and they were cleaning the other wing of the school.
You knew. You served a lot of detentions.
Jeon Jungkook reached over and teased a button loose from your dress shirt, shivering.
He looked into your eyes.
You took his hand and lowered it to the next button.
He knew he shouldn't.
You scraped your chair across the floor and pressed your thigh against his, fingers gliding under his button placket, soft moan falling from your lips.
He didn't know what hit him.
He didn't know you caused trouble on purpose to stay late at school to avoid the war zone that awaited you at home. He didn't know that you were so starved for something that wasn't senseless reprimands that you were manipulating him. You didn't know either.
You only knew this was a different feeling than anger or pain, so you threw yourself in it.
Jungkook unbuttoned your school shirt and touched your skin as you touched his, breath catching in his throat as he came into contact with the softness.
The sun was setting.
Your head was tilting, placing your lips on his, sweet and intense, his fingers clumsy but gentle, curious at what was being offered, gasping as you crawled into his lap, hardness to heat.
There was no talking.
You lowered the straps of your bra, trapping your arms slightly, tugging it down. Not thinking about the consequence, not thinking that this was wrong, not thinking you shouldn't be doing this with the class representative who very clearly did not suffer from the same discourse you did.
Jungkook gasped, staring at your nipples with wide eyes.
Unlikely that he had ever seen any in real life and doubtful that he had ever thought it would be in this context of being stuck in detention with the class delinquent. It didn’t matter. He touched them first, hands on your breasts, and then looked up, startled, unsure.
Neither of you spoke.
You grabbed his fingers and made him pinch them as you kissed him, stifling your moan with his.
To be honest, you didn't even know if you liked that sort of thing.
It just seemed shocking, so you did it.
It sent sparks all over your skin and made you bounce in his lap, grinding down on his erection. The kisses were messy with too much tongue that did nothing, clearly done to avoid talking, his hands kneading and squeezing your breasts, a little too hard, but he didn't know. You had to grip his hand and loosen his hold, getting him to adjust pressure until it was a more comfortable.
Until it was pleasurable.
He broke the kiss suddenly and lowered his head, attaching his wet lips to your nipple.
Pain.
You whimpered and his touch softened to small licks, looking up at you for confirmation.
You nodded.
-
time left: 11:29
You picked up the ice cube sponge and drenched your front with cascading water again, gasping at the cold against your hot skin. It seeped into the crystal-covered bra, causing your nipples to harden.
"You can't escape, can't escape..."
You tipped your head, arching your back, gracefully leaning, unfolding your legs from under you and keeping them together as you raised them to the lip of the martini glass, delicately crossing at the ankles, toes pointed.
You spun on your ass, leaning back.
"All your demons, all you demons..."
Slow, flourishing.
Eyes on Jungkook the entire time.
"Watch out, watch out for your lovers..."
You stopped gradually, running your widespread fingers up your hips, your stomach, your breasts, touching everything, tracing the black diamonds on your neck. It was vanity, it was enviable, it was performance.
And every performance was a statement of lust.
It was the instrumental now. A friend had mixed this part for you, violins and piano bleeding into the original guitar and bass, slow and steady drums, a peculiar but mesmerizing blend of classical and rock.
You rose from the water, a few wet strands of hair sticking to your cheeks, but it only added to the elegant depravity.
Your nails, pointed, black, and covered in small gems, traced your cleavage, your flexible pink tongue dancing in the air, skin covered in glitter from the shimmering water, nearly blinding in the spotlight from your crystalline undergarments and glistening wet body. Most of the time, you would wear nipple covers. The fun ones with the cute tassels or the crystal-covered ones.
But this time.
You looked straight at Jungkook and formed his name with your lips.
This time, you had a message to send.
You unclasped your bra and revealed your bare nipples.
You saw Jungkook gasp, eyes widening.
Your stagehand came and you dropped the article of clothing over the edge, practiced and clean.
You picked up the ice cube and got on your knees, exquisite body line and open red lips, squeezing the sponge and drenching your front with rivers of water that followed your curves and dripped off your hard nipples.
Your body sparkled all over.
-
time left: --:--
He whispered your name against your skin, your nipples tingling and drenched in his saliva.
A clatter was heard down the hall.
You both scrambled to put your clothes on. He didn't wait for you to finish. He simply bolted from the room when he was dressed, leaving you there by yourself to somehow explain why you were in detention alone.
"He went to the bathroom," you drawled when the janitor asked. You were leaning on the two back legs of the chair and he scolded you to sit properly.
Jungkook didn't come back.
You went home after you had stayed for the time you were meant to be there.
Then the mop incident occurred.
You two never spoke outside of detention. Made it a point not to. You avoided him for that whole month. Skipped class, sure, but you always skipped class. The teachers didn’t bother to punish you for that anymore. You didn’t fight anyone though. Didn’t spray any more obscene phrases onto brick walls. Didn’t do anything to compound your month-long cleaning punishment.
After that was complete, well.
The next time you were alone with Jungkook, your lower lip was clotted with blood and you had strangled some girl who said some dumb shit. Something about you being a sloppy slut for your untucked shirt and short skirt. It didn’t really matter. The words didn’t really bother you. You just wanted to fight.
Needed to fight.
You had clamped your hand around her throat and dug your nails into her skin and refused to let go until security came and literally pried your fingers from her neck.
She had turned purple and was bleeding from multiple cuts.
You sat in the back, not looking at Jungkook when he came into the classroom. They always picked days when he wasn’t doing club activities like soccer or taekwondo.
Ah, no, that was a lie.
You always picked days to cause the most trouble when Jungkook didn’t have club activities.
Neither of you said anything. He sat in the front of the room and opened his textbook to work on something. Homework, probably. That’s what he always did. He wasn’t good at it, but it didn’t really matter. He still tried to be at least mildly diligent about it for the sake of education.
You had a stack of remedial work and you didn’t touch it.
You always did homework at home to occupy yourself. That seemed to be the one thing that stopped your parents from… doing the things they did. When the night was bad, you would get slapped or pinched, but that wasn’t the same as the thrown dishes, lashes with the rod, or being ordered to do things in unreasonable timeframes to receive some creative, twisted punishment.
You skipped class to sleep.
You parents didn’t like it when you slept. They found it to be a sign of weakness and laziness.
You did so much remedial work that you were actually knowledgeable at the subjects from doing all the deep diving and expansion on difficult topics. You were also good at taking tests. You felt no pressure during exams. Exams were much easier than crawling on your knees and pulling up your shirt to get belted.
Good grades were the only reason you weren’t suspended or expelled yet.
You stared at your desk.
“I’m… sorry.”
Your eyes shifted upward. Your head didn’t move. Jungkook had turned his body to you, chewing on his lower lip, brown eyes shifting under his dark hair.
“About…”
“Slobbering all over my tits and running away?” you replied coldly.
His ears turned red; expression clouded with shame. It was ugly. It made his handsome features ugly and you didn’t like that. You raised your head, cocking an eyebrow. You leaned back in your chair, lifting it and balancing on the two back legs.
“I don’t give a shit,” you scoffed. You saw him stiffen at your vulgar language. “Why should I give a fuck? You’re just like the rest of them, golden boy. You think I’m a dirty slut and a good-for-nothing waste of space. You’re probably happy that I’m so easy and fuckin’ ecstatic that you got to touch a girl.”
You weren’t being fair. You were being mean, destructive, hurtful.
That how it was then.
You saw Jungkook swallow and shake his head.
“I don’t think that.”
You snorted. “Sure. That’s why you’re sitting that far away from me.”
His eyes flickered to you, narrowing a little. You spread your legs and put your hands behind your head, leaning back, creaking and scarping the chair against the floor. Your lip hurt. The security guard had slipped while trying to untangle you and elbowed your snarling mouth, causing you to bite your own lip and slice it open. He hadn’t apologized and you hadn’t asked for one.
You held his gaze.
Jungkook looked away.
You slammed the chair down onto the floor.
He jumped, startled at the loud sound.
You snatched the pile of papers in front of you and shoved them into your backpack, zipping it forcefully and standing up, school skirt swishing as you kicked the chair aside and strode powerfully to the classroom door, no longer looking at him. Veins on fire, dying on the inside for no reason at all, sick of this, sick of everyone, but especially sick of Jeon Jungkook, so sick you might throw up if you stayed.
“Hey–”
You snapped your head back, scowling over your shoulder.
“Fuck off, Jungkook. You could care less if I lived or died,” you spat, wrenching the door open.
Then you walked out.
Or would have, if Jungkook hadn’t jumped over the desks and grabbed your arm, yanking you back and slamming the classroom door closed, shoving you against it. You snarled like a wounded animal, lifting your arm to push him back, but he put his whole weight on your body, sandwiching you between the door and himself, making you gasp, trapped between dead timber and muscular hardness.
Now his face was in your face, breathing hard, dark brown orbs shaking, the mole underneath his lower lip trembling at the suddenness of his own action.
“I care,” he panted, staring into your eyes.
You narrowed them, seething.
“I care a lot.”
And he tilted his head and kissed you.
Pain shot up your lip, and you flinched with an injured hiss, causing Jungkook to back up, realizing his mistake, clutching your shoulders.
“Oh, no, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have, that was stupid, I–”
You grabbed his hips and rammed them into yours, grinding into his crotch, sucking in a breath through your teeth, his hot gasp drifting over your open mouth, shuddering at the closeness, becoming instantly hard in his pants. The tip of your tongue danced between your teeth, touching the edge of your upper lip before sliding back in, smirking as you pressed against him.
Your backpack fell to the floor.
“I want to touch you all over,” you whispered into his quivering lips. “Want to feel your skin on mine.”
He was terrified.
“Someone… someone is going to see…”
“I can take you somewhere. You trust me?”
Jungkook bit his lip, but he stepped closer to you, shuddering, his hands sliding down your shoulders, drunk on something he didn’t understand, never having encountered such intense, sensual, raw lust. Youth and impulsivity mixed together.
Both him... and you.
His eyes darted back to yours, searching for lies.
“Yeah…”
-
time left: 11:11
Your hands cradled your breasts, tweaking your nipples, legs spread, head touching the lip of the two-meter-tall martini glass.
The music ended.
The lights turned off.
The curtains closed.
Fuck, the water was cold.
-
time left: --:--
“The Literature Club always meets in that coffee shop down the block. More vibey, they like to say. They never use their club room.”
Hands fumbling, nearly ripping off your buttons, despite to touch, trying to stay silent. You had more grace though. You found it came naturally to you, sliding your hand up his chest, undoing the buttons one by one, making Jungkook pause and gasp, savoring your touch. You kissed the exposed skin, his soft whimper, don’t hurt yourself, please, and you humming soothingly, pushing his shirt out of the way. He had a warm scent to his skin, light and clean.
Too young to own expensive cologne.
He tried to reach for your shirt again, but you stopped his hand, murmuring quietly, looking at him through your lashes.
“Let me do it.”
One by one, his eyes glued to your movements, entranced. Not the best, definitely a little awkward, but the sentiment was there, and Jungkook didn’t know any better, sitting on the edge of the table in the middle of the abandoned club room.
You lowered your shoulders and your dress shirt and blazer fell onto the floor.
“It’s dirty,” he gasped, breath hitching as you pressed your body to him.
“Not as dirty as the things I want to do to you,” you purred, tracing his jaw gently, stroking his skin. Something you saw in porn but it was having its desired effect, Jungkook swallowing hard, rolling his erection into your skirt.
“Sorry I can’t kiss you.”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Your eyes and his, lost in sweet dreams.
“I want to kiss you.”
You leaned forward, forehead to forehead.
“I want to kiss you all the time,” you said to his lips.
It was different, touching him. You made note of his sounds, his voice, the way he said your name, his shaking hands, the delicateness he used to remove your bra and place it on the table. He way his lips feathered over your skin, gentle at first, learned from last time, the way he fixated on your nipples, fascinated by them and the sounds you made when he touched them, watching your face as he licked them, hotly whispering to your shivering skin.
“They’re so big… And they taste good…”
You hadn’t asked, but he was telling you anyway. Or maybe rationalizing with himself.
“And they’re soft…”
His index fingers on your nipples, pushing them around, squeezing your breasts with the rest of his hand, gasping with you, mesmerized by the way you squirmed between his legs.
You unzipped his pants and he unzipped your skirt and everything was falling to the floor.
Touching everything, raising one of your legs so he could run his fingers from your thigh to shin, warm exhale against your neck, exploring.
“Your skin is so soft and smooth,” he breathed, his other arm around your waist, holding you to his chest.
“I guess…” you mumbled, suddenly uncertain in light of his praise.
The sun was setting, casting your bodies in orange glow.
“You’re really pretty.”
You glanced at him with your busted lip and raised an eyebrow. He noticed your inquiring expression and nodded, unclear whether he was assuring you or himself. He leaned in, lashes lowering, kissing the side of your lips gently.
“You are,” he sighed against your cheek.
You took his hand and shoved it into your panties.
-
time left 10:20
You looked at yourself in the mirror. Dried off now, hair and makeup redone, still wearing the black diamond choker. The show costume was now cleaned off and set aside, locked back into your luggage and escorted back to your room by one of your bodyguards.
Now you wore a slinky black dress with a low V-neck and boned bodice. The hem skimmed the floor. It had a high side slit, revealing your legs and your sleek black pumps with red soles that really were too impractical for walking, but that was the nature of glamor.
You stepped out and your other bodyguard met you, escorting you to your table.
Back to the party, but this time as a guest.
-
time left: --:--
You weren’t stupid enough to even think about losing your virginity in some abandoned club room with the class representative. You were horny, not an idiot.
Jungkook would have, but that was because he was horny and seduced.
You weren’t, however, above climbing onto the table and rubbing your clit as Jungkook kneeled over you and jacked off while watching.
“Oh, f-fuck…”
He was embarrassed, but again, too horny and seduced to care at the current moment.
You placed your left hand on his tense thigh and licked the edge of your upper lip, heart racing, skin singing, pleasure shooting up from your core, knowing what to do because you discovered self-pleasure at a very young age. It seemed wrong.
So, you explored it.
You could tell, however, that Jungkook was not as practiced. He was wincing and his knuckles were white. Nervousness? Or inexperience?
“Wait...”
You tapped his hand.
“Let me try.”
Not that you’ve ever jacked off a dick, but your right hand was wet from your own juices, so you closed your hand around his length, surprised at the warmth. Your fingertips were slick, starting off barely grazing him, ghosting over the head.
“A-a-ah…”
Your name fell from his lips in a strangely erotic, silvery moan.
It made your blood hot and your core throb.
“Shh,” you murmured quietly, rubbing his thigh. It was strong and muscular under your palm. “Cover your mouth.”
Jeon Jungkook looked very sexy with his bangs all over his forehead and his lean torso trembling, slowly placing his right hand over his lips with a soft whimper. Not that you had seen many naked bodies in real life, but you had seen enough porn and he looked much more attractive than those guys.
You stroked him slowly, slicking your pussy juices over his length.
He groaned behind his hand, thrusting his hips into yours.
“Faster?” you whispered.
He nodded quickly and you obeyed.
“Harder?”
Nod, nod, nod. Your grip tightened.
Surreal, jacking off the class representative above your mostly naked body, still wearing your fucking shoes because it didn’t make much sense to take them off.
“Do you want to cum on my tits?” you asked, the sudden idea popping in your head.
Jungkook’s eyes widened at your suggestion. His cock twitched in your hand. You gradually sped up, building the intensity as you waited for his answer. He peeled off a few fingers and shuddered, barely able to croak out his words.
“I… c-couldn’t… do that to you…” he moaned, pitch hiking with pleasure.
“Cover your mouth,” you hissed.
He clamped his palm onto his mouth and panted, nostrils flaring, eyes glazing over, legs shaking.
“Sure you can, Jungkook,” you continued sweetly, as if you hadn’t just scolded him. “You want to, don’t you?”
His eyes seemed panicked. He didn’t know whether he wanted to or not. Had he never thought about it? Or did he think the act was too dirty to do, an act that was purely reserved for porn stars?
“Look at me.”
He did. Jungkook looked down at you, whole torso trembling, pupils blown out.
You gazed back at him, lowering your voice, smooth, silky, gentle.
“You want to cum on my tits, Jungkook?”
The orange sunset lit up his face and his eyes, reflecting the lust and trust in them.
He nodded.
You slid down a little, tiptoes touching the floor, one hand on his thigh, rubbing the tenseness out as you fixed your other arm, pumping him faster, harder, following the sounds of his voice and the shivering of his skin. Later in life, you would look back on that moment and realize you didn’t have good rhythm, and your arm had been burning, causing your grip to weaken.
It didn’t really matter though, because suggesting that Jungkook could orgasm on your tits took him literal seconds to explode all over you.
“Oh, fuck–”
He choked, pitching forward, smashing the head of his cock into your right nipple and making you wince, spilling hot streams of sticky white cum all over your breast, your hand pushing it to the side, gasping at the scent, feeling his stiff length twitch and jerk in your cleavage, dribbling out more all over your skin. He lost strength in his legs, sliding down and groaning loudly, rubbing the tip in his own slick cum, smearing it everywhere.
“Shhh, damnnit!”
You clapped your left hand over his moaning mouth, half-crushed by his weight, his balls touching your cum-covered skin and sending Jungkook into another fit of wanton whines, your fingers tightly gripping his cheeks to try and get him to shut the fuck up.
You lifted your right hand, seeing his release glistening off it.
You licked your palm.
A little bitter, somewhat salty, very strong and masculine.
You liked it.
-
time left: 10:00
“You ready to meet her?”
“What…? N-No.”
Kim Taehyung chuckled, grabbing Jeon Jungkook’s arm, dragging him along.
“Come on.”
The thing was…
Jungkook was pretty sure he knew this woman.
He wasn’t sure how or why, but he just did. He knew her somehow. It wasn’t the same body. This one was fuller, more womanly, long legs and sophistication. It couldn’t be, he thought. He was being dragged to the table with the lone woman and the two men in dark suits and sunglasses standing behind her, her chin resting on her palm, tongue flickering out between red lips.
This face.
Not a teenager anymore.
Elegant and stylish with a hint of mischief.
It can’t be.
Her tongue touched the edge of your upper lip and slid back in, slowly.
Taehyung forced him into the chair in front of her.
“Good evening. You’re the star of the party, aren’t you?” she purred.
Smooth, silky, gentle.
“The golden boy, one might say.”
Her name left his lips before he could stop it, shock and awe.
It wasn’t the name she used on stage. It was her real name emitted from his lips, the same name he uttered that day in the abandoned literature club room, struggling with the tiny pack of leftover tissues he kept in his schoolbag to wipe off her chest, stuttering, apologizing, saying he didn’t know how to reciprocate, and her hand gripping his shoulder, telling him to shut up and worry about it later because they had to get the fuck out of here since it was dark already.
And now.
She smiled at him.
“Hello, Jungkook.”
-
time left: --:--
They snuck around and it was euphoria.
Even now, Jungkook didn't know why he did it. It seemed dangerous and ill-advised. She was the class delinquent, after all. She knew all the empty classrooms no one ever used, the side closets, the forgotten halls. She even knew the usual paths the janitors and security guards used and the time they spent in those areas of the school. They would hide behind corners and dash past, holding their breath, light steps, leaping from shadow to shadow, bodies close, breath mixing.
They didn't even talk during school hours.
He saw her sometimes, in the hallways.
Untucked shirt and skirt too short, not looking at anyone, wandering about.
He never noticed before, but everyone avoided being in her path.
On the days after school when he didn't have club activities, he would find himself standing in front of the abandoned literature club door and opening it. She would be laying down in the table, legs dangling over the edge, staring out the window. She would sit up and they'd run around.
And she would touch him.
And he would touch her.
"Stop that, I'm not a stress ball."
"Ah, slow down."
"Jungkook..."
It was the weirdest feeling, touching someone like that.
Thinking about now, he realized how patient she was with him. Occasionally, he'd be too overzealous and discomfort flashed in her eyes, but she didn't snap at him outright, didn't put him down when she could have. She knew all the words to do so. But she didn't. She just sighed and put up with it. She didn't fight anymore, because she was spending all her time with him.
There were no more detentions, because after hours was now reserved for touching.
Jungkook would catch her smiling sometimes, when she thought he wasn't looking. The first time was when he was putting his shirt back on and her face was reflected in the window.
She was gazing at his back, smiling.
He had never seen her smile like that, ever.
It always disappeared when she caught him looking at her face.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Every time, only through reflection – mirrors, windows, a polished beaker in the science lab. His body pressed against the window, gasping at the coldness of the glass, worried that someone would see even though they were on the third floor of the back building and no one was going to come here, but he never said it because her reflection was smiling at him, her hands sliding up his body, and it made him speechless, seeing that smile. A smile those lips only made when she was with him.
It was his smile.
Her mouth on his neck, kisses and licks, setting his skin on fire, the kind of sensuality that only came with undeniable attraction.
It wasn't until after her that he realized how easy it had been to tell her things, small things, simple things. Things he didn't even realize he said until he felt her shiver a little in his arms, eyes shifting away from him, pink tinge to her cheeks.
"I like the way you sound."
"Your hands are beautiful."
"I like looking into your eyes."
Little by little, though.
She skipped class more and more.
He found bruises on her sometimes.
"I fell down the stairs. It's nothing."
He found welts.
"Stupid fight with some dumbass."
He found a criss-cross pattern of cuts on her leg.
"I tried to jump over a fence and fucked up."
Jungkook would look into her eyes and realize they were lies.
She would scoff. "I'm just a dumbass."
"No."
And he would kiss her and kiss her until she shoved him away and told him he was being weird.
One time, before he was about to leave, she asked him a question.
"What do you want to do, Jungkook?"
"Huh?"
She snickered. "As a job. You know, when you become an adult."
He frowned. "I don't know. I want to create things. I think it would be cool to tell stories. But I don't know if I have enough imagination for that... or know the words to say what I want..."
"Films, then."
"Huh?"
A small smirk. "Movies, dork. Make movies."
He blinked slowly. "O... oh."
When Jungkook looked into her eyes, he realized he didn't want to look away. "What about you?"
She smiled.
The only time she smiled in front of him.
And it was a lie.
He could tell, because it didn't reach her eyes, his favorite feature of her face.
"I might not make it there."
She turned and walked away from him.
He never saw her again.
She never came back to school. Nobody seemed to notice and, when they did, students and teachers alike seemed relieved. Jungkook had no one to talk to about his sudden emptiness, because she had been his accidental secret, his little taste of heaven turned hell because she never came back. The eventual rumors said that she had done something very bad and was sent away.
It was only then that Jungkook realized how happy he had been and how he never told her.
There was no reason to dwell on it. In retrospect, it didn't even last that long. He hadn't even fully lost his virginity to her. But time after time, relationship after relationship, smile after smile, he realized he missed the moments, the sneaking around, the touches, the look into the window and her genuine smile as she looked at his back.
He never found a smile like that one.
He accepted that he never would.
Settled for a fun girl who made him laugh and laughed at his awkward jokes and accepted that was enough, that he shouldn't chase ghosts, should try to find what ultimately was dangerous, ill-advised, and...
It wasn't love, right?
I want to kiss you all the time.
Jungkook didn't know why, but every time he remembered those words, he wanted to cry.
-
time left: 09:55
This smile, too, was fake.
“Hello, Jungkook.”
This isn’t real, right?
“Did you enjoy the show?” she, his ghost, asked, tilting her head, foxy smile on those lips, more of a smirk, teasing and sculptural. Those eyes were guarded, eyes that he thought he knew well, but there were walls between him and her now, walls he found himself banging his fists against, sudden panic and anxiousness at the moment, abruptly slamming his hands on table and scraping his chair back, throwing his body aside.
She looked at him.
For a single second, they were in high school again and they were in that abandoned literature club room, her on the table, waiting for him.
Jungkook ran.
He ran away from the table and left her there.
-
time left: 09:52
You watched him go.
-
time left: 08:27
You threw your glass into the hotel wall and screamed.
Screamed at the top of your lungs, screamed so loud it felt like your eardrums burst, screamed in agony and loss, the crystal shattering as it hit the wall, cracking and spilling the whiskey within all over the paint and onto the floor.
Then, silence.
You panted, staring at the mess, feeling the floor rock under you. You had a private room on the yacht, considering you were the entertainment. If they were paying for you, you made them pay for room and board too, and that was no exception with Kim Taehyung, the one who hired you. After all, there was no reason not to have some fun, right?
The door opened and your two bodyguards entered, saying your name gently.
“Is something wrong?”
His voice was deep, compassionate. He could tell from your stance that it wasn’t an outward influence, but an inward one. You were breathing hard, staring at the broken glass and the alcohol, mind racing, throat dry, despair threatening.
“I’m fine,” you replied shakily.
You were still dressed in your long gown, black, slinky, sexy, still wearing your black diamond choker, still wearing your Louboutins, the epitome of style and class.
Still.
You dropped to your knees and began to crawl to the glass, a child again.
“I’ll clean it up…”
Your voice was cracking.
In two steps, long legs crossed the room and a strong hand grabbed your shoulder, stopping you.
“Let Seokjin do it.”
The world was very small now, just you and the fallen glass, small and tiny and condensed, screaming, pain, memories flashing in your mind, your hands bleeding as you picked up the broken glass, surrounded by it on all sides, flinching as multiple glasses were thrown at the wall, showering you with shards and alcohol, the stink of blood and drink surrounding you. You barely registered the other bodyguard bending over with a towel, sweeping up the shards, because you were trapped in that night, that night after asking Jeon Jungkook what he wanted to do for a living, coming back to a house full of hate and rage, harshly questioning where you’ve been, slapping you across the face, threatening that they were going to withdraw you from the school because clearly you didn’t need it, a flood of blood in your mouth as your teeth sliced the inside of your cheek.
I might not make it there.
The hand was holding your shoulder, holding you back, but your mind was throwing you to the wolves.
You almost screamed again.
You did scream that night, clutching handfuls of glass, driving them into those accusing faces, driving them over and over into those faces that used you as their punching bag for years and years, slashing them up, tearing up skin and flesh, dying on the inside, because the only thing that kept you alive was Jeon Jungkook and those touches.
Did you mean them?
Even now, you didn’t know.
Did you just chase them because they felt real?
Even now, you didn’t know.
I want to kiss you all the time.
They sent you to correctional school, which was really just a nice way to say jail for children.
Your name, spoken softly, two hands on your shoulders now, pulling you away from the scene of Kim Seokjin cleaning up your mess, forcing you to look away and at him instead, sunglasses removed now, deep brown eyes bringing you back to the present.
“N… Namjoon…?”
He smiled at you. “Yeah, it’s me.”
You almost looked away again, but he held your cheeks, not letting you.
“What’s my full name?” His tone was stern, but grounded.
“K… Kim Namjoon.”
“And yours?”
Your voice didn’t hesitate this time.
He smiled. When Namjoon smiled, his dimples showed and his normally stone-face expression changed, becoming bright and serene. He lowered his hands, holding one out to you.
“Come on now. You don’t belong on the floor like this.”
You took his hand, swallowing hard. One leg, then the other. With each passing second, you fell back into your grace, breathing out, slow, controlled. Namjoon held your hand tightly, not letting go. They both had training in psychology, for threats.
Not all threats were outward threats.
“I’m sorry, I haven’t been like that in a while,” you exhaled evenly, shaking your head. “I didn’t think…”
“Seeing someone from your past can do that.”
Seokjin walked up to you, black-haired and sunglasses removed as well, brown eyes softening as he neared, wiping off his hands. He was only slightly shorter than Namjoon, but possibly more handsome, with even fuller lips and a symmetrical face. Namjoon had slightly lighter hair, cut shorter, and he was the stoic one, whereas Seokjin was the one who spoke when pleasantries were required.
“Ah…”
You frowned.
“It was just a high school fling. Nothing serious.”
Namjoon raised an eyebrow. Seokjin snorted.
“Right. Do you think we don’t have eyeballs? We do. Two of them, in fact,” Seokjin remarked coolly, rolling his. “Two on two people, making four, and all four eyeballs saw the way you and him looked at each other, not to mention your sudden interest in bachelor parties and working at a lower base rate for literally no reason whatsoever.”
You cleared your throat, eyes narrowing. “Taehyung’s a friend.”
“Taehyung’s an airhead you bonked because old men don’t have virility,” Namjoon pointed out.
“You should just hook up with Taehyung again instead of bachelor boy. He seemed like a damn virgin.”
Namjoon elbowed Seokjin in the ribs and the older man winced, giving him a ‘what-the-fuck-was-that-for’ look. Namjoon rolled his eyes, as if to say, ‘isn’t-it-fucking-obvious-bro’ and Seokjin’s expression remained confused.
“Huh?”
“I wasn’t… going to hook up with him.”
Now they both gave you the ‘stop-bullshitting’ face.
You sighed, about to run your fingers through your hair, but stopped when your realized it was still styled. You lowered your hand, not wanting to disturb it. “He’s getting married. I wasn’t going to do anything.”
“That’s a lie.”
Your eyes flickered up to Namjoon. He shrugged.
“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize you don’t want him to get married. Maybe only because you want to wreck it. Maybe to make his life miserable. Maybe because you love him.”
“I don’t love him,” was your instant reply.
Seokjin seemed to have a lightbulb moment and plunked his fist in his palm. “Oooooooh.”
You narrowed your eyes. Namjoon sighed. “Okay, you don’t.”
A knock on the door.
-
time left: 07:59
Jeon Jungkook was throwing up in the bathroom.
His hands were flat on the wall and the toilet was swaying. Of course, it was. He was on a boat. He heaved again and hurled into the bowl, mind swimming.
“Dude, the fuck was your problem? Why did you run like that? I know she wasn’t mean to you. That’s not like her. You know, if you asked, you could have fucked her. She’s a burlesque dancer! It would have been amazing. One last hurrah before you commit single suicide. But, no, you fucking booked it like a cockroach when the lights turn on. Hah,” Kim Taehyung, his best man, had scolded him, shaking his head. “Eh, fine, whatever. Let’s just get wasted them. I can’t believe you would do that. She came here as a favor to me, dude. I wanted you to have a really good time tonight. She’s one of the coolest people I’ve ever met or fucked.”
“You fucked her?” Jungkook had sputtered.
Taehyung had raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, once. Was fuckin’ sick. She’s a banger.”
He had drunk so much. Why, he didn’t know. He flushed the toilet, coughing. His blazer was gone. He had no idea where it was. His sleeves were rolled up and his shirt half-unbuttoned. It was so damn hot. Where was his tie? No idea. His brain was a jumbled mess.
His chest hurt too.
Jungkook stumbled out of the stall, pushing his long black hair back and away from his face. It was a one-person bathroom, but the toilet was in a separate area. Probably for sanitary reasons. He clutched the sink, running the water, staring at his reflection.
His own face looked back at him, silver brow piercing gleaming in the harsh overhead light, his skin pale and lips shiny from vomiting.
Were there walls in his eyes too?
He cupped some water and rinsed out his mouth, spitting it out. Ugh, the taste was disgusting. He kept doing it, splashing his face, trying to clear his head. He didn’t really remember what he did or what happened. It was all a blur. It was very late now, but the party was still going. After the burlesque show, there were musical acts, and, at the moment, a DJ was tearing it up.
He should be out there.
Jungkook knew this and yet the thought of going back out there was making him sick again.
He looked back to the mirror, his face dripping water. He wasn’t a teenager anymore either. He was older now, cheek fat gone, turned into an angled jaw. Dark circles under his eyes from long nights. His life after high school was university and filmmaking, spending all his spare time creating his films from the ground up, from casting to storyboarding to finding film locations to the actual shooting and editing and production. As he got better at it, more people became involved and he had help, attending film festivals and showcasing his work despite his young age. Met lots of cool people.
Met his future wife, a reasonable union, but not a replacement for his broken heart.
His brows furrowed.
What kind of thought was that?
True, they both came to an agreement that it made sense to get married. They liked each other enough, everyone said they looked nice together, and there wasn’t any reason not to, right? And starting a family would be good for her career too. She could transition to that kind of lifestyle content after a couple years of marriage. They would figure that out when the time came, buy a nice place to live, have maybe one or two children, housewife and working husband.
And she wasn’t going to come back to him anyway.
Except she did.
Jungkook breathed out.
“What are you doing?” he said to his reflection, but his reflection only repeated the question back to him.
The class delinquent and the class representative.
“That was a long time ago,” he said to himself. “Those kinds of things don’t matter anymore.”
In his mind, her smile appeared in the mirror, because she only smiled at him when she thought he didn’t see. His smile. The smile she reserved for him. The smile when she looked at his back, the smile when her hands traced his torso, her breath on his skin, murmuring his name, wonderment and desire, putting up with his clumsiness and overzealous touch, things he continued to do after her with other people, and yet it never felt…
“It never felt the same,” he whispered.
His fingertips were touching the mirror, the place where his mind had conjured her smile.
“I thought it was only because you were my first.”
He thought of the woman on stage hours before, that beautiful face shrouded by ostrich feathers and painted with makeup, immaculate body lines and sensual movement, and it was like no time had passed at all, because she had always been like that, naturally sensual and erotic, teasing and sculptural. Untucked shirt and short skirt or crystal undergarments, it didn’t matter.
“You were always like that, weren’t you?”
She wasn’t there.
His fingertips lowered from the mirror. His black hair was damp from pushing it away from his face with wet hands. Lots of people told him he was good-looking. Handsome. Attractive. But he couldn’t move like that, like how she did on stage. He was better behind the camera. That was where he had always been. The director, the class representative.
And now, she, the class delinquent, was the main stage, all cameras and eyes on her.
He shook his head.
“You’re better off now. Look at you. Wearing beautiful clothes and followed by bodyguards. I bet you have a really nice guy waiting for you at home, wherever that is for you.”
He couldn’t see her face, couldn’t conjure it in his mind’s eye anymore. He wouldn’t be able to see it anyway, mostly because his vision was suddenly blurry.
“I hope you’re happy, because a long time ago, you made me really happy.”
He wiped his eyes, smiling at his reflection. It didn’t reach his eyes, because his eyes were full of tears.
His smile was a lie.
“I should have told you that I love you, but I didn’t know. I know now.”
A knock on the door.
-
time left 07:22
“I’m so sorry he’s a dork, I don’t know what got into him, I swear you’re not ugly, you’re super sexy, like, impossibly sexy, god, he’s such a fucking idiot, I should have convinced him to whip his dick out or somethin’, I thought he’d get the hint, you know, I bet he’s good in bed, have you seen him, he’s real fit, works out a ton, a muscle pig, haha, yeah…”
“Taehyung, how did you get so drunk?”
You sighed as you hurried after Kim Seokjin and Kim Namjoon who were both carrying Kim Taehyung, one arm on each of their broad shoulders, the brown-haired man babbling the entire time. He showed up at your door, maybe by chance, maybe by knocking on every single room until he got to yours, who knew, but he had clearly been looking for you, bursting in when he saw you, pushing past Seokjin, nearly making you trip on your Louboutins, spouting nonsense about Jeon Jungkook, apologizing profusely for his friend, not listening to you saying that it was perfectly fine.
The three of your concluded it would be best to bring Taehyung back to his friend, but Taehyung would not leave without you, saying he didn’t want to be left with the ‘big-scary-dudes-with-massive-shoulders’. Namjoon and Seokjin had stared at each other, pointing to themselves sin disbelief, sharing a ‘we’re-scary?’ expression. You had given up.
“Sure, fine, I’ll come, I was meaning to go back to the bar anyway. I don’t have to interact with him. Soekjin can do it.”
“Ah, of course. I got this!”
You were on your way back to the grand hall, when Taehyung had a declaration.
“I gotta hurl.”
Then it was a mad scramble to find a restroom, hurriedly banging on the doors. There was many single gender-neutral restrooms everywhere on the yacht, but all seemed occupied. Taehyung was rapidly turning an unpleasant shade of green, until one opened.
“Oh, hey, Jungkook. I’m gonna vomit.”
“Sorry, if you could–”
The tall man in black was shoved aside, and all three – Seokjin, Namjoon, and Taehyung – crammed themselves into the restroom, wrenching open the door to the toilet and then there was a loud retching sound.
You winced, recoiling a little. “Oh, dear.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Guess he was trying to enjoy his night a little too much,” you chuckled, amused as you watched Seokjin rub Taehyung’s back soothingly while jerking his head back, looking incredibly perturbed. Seokjin didn’t like gross things. He was a bit of a prince like that.
“I guess.”
It suddenly occurred to you that the voice beside you was Jeon Jungkook.
He was standing right next to you.
You turned your head.
Time seemed to stop.
He almost seemed to the same, but different. He had long, black hair that was currently swept back, the sides buzzed short and ears adorned with earrings. An eyebrow piercing. Chiseled jaw and high cheekbones like a marble statue, with dark brows and shapely lips. Muscular chest, broad shoulders, slim waist, long legs. A right sleeve of ink-black tattoos, going all the way down to his hand. You could tell because his dress shirt sleeves were rolled up.
Who was the delinquent now?
Your eyes found his.
Those eyes were still the same, staring at you, entranced with your gaze.
Still the class representative everyone picked because of his good looks.
Even you voted for him, although you didn’t really care who won. You only picked him because he seemed the least qualified and you thought it would be funny if he won, because he wasn’t even trying to get the position.
Taehyung groaned and declared he was never drinking again.
“I don’t know you, but I don’t believe you,” Seokjin scoffed.
“I’m inclined to believe this isn’t your normal behavior, so don’t be too hard on yourself,” Namjoon chuckled.
Taehyung heaved again.
You noticed Jungkook’s complexion had that paleness to him too. His lips and hair were glistening with water. A droplet collected on his chin and fell to the floor.
“Two peas in a pod, huh?” you said with a smirk. “Seems like you two have the same drinking habits.”
His ears turned red, but he didn’t look away, electing instead to raise his hands and cover his ears, pretending to tuck spare strands back. “A-ah… well… I’m much better now…”
You nodded, bouncing an eyebrow. “Back to the party you go. Only to attend another one with your beloved. Maybe you both will end up in the same bathroom. Wouldn’t that be fun?” you added with a dry chuckle.
It died out quickly, for something seemed to cloud Jungkook’s eyes at your words.
“Your performance was breathtaking,” he said, changing the subject.
You bowed. “Thank you.” You lifted your head. “It was, after all, for you. I am pleased to hear you enjoyed it.”
His hands lowered. He still didn’t look away from you, ears tinted pink.
“Your movements are unreal.”
He always had beautiful eyes, even back then.
“But they always were. Now and back then.”
You were different people now though. He had someone else. You were too busy being booked to have someone else. You didn’t want someone else. After graduating correctional school, which basically meant being released from jail, you had run away before your parents could pick you up, hitchhiking until you met an older woman. She was a traveling woman, an independent one. A dancer. She stuck with you with her words and her brashness, not letting you run off on your own any longer.
Don’t be stupid. I’m not trying to control you. I’m trying to teach you. You can have any kind of life you want. You can live any way you want. But it’s no good to think that everyone is out to get you, you silly bean. You have to find some dorks to trust and have your back with things get shit. You have to have a job to sustain yourself so you can be financially secure. What do you have to lose? Why not try this?
She was a strange woman, but a wise one. One that was retiring soon and wanted a protégé to teach, for fun, for picking up her clients, it didn’t matter. She gave you a chance when you didn’t have one.
What if you live like this?
You thought, fuck it. Why not?
Wasn’t like you were going to see Jeon Jungkook again anyway.
Except he was right here.
You chuckled. “It takes a lot of practice. I’ve spent many hours tripping on my own feet, believe me.”
The side of his lips quirked upward. “I’m sure you look graceful even when you trip. You were pretty even when you were beating up upperclassmen and sulking in detention with a busted lip.”
You scoffed, shaking your head.
“I’m sorry.”
You looked back to him.
There was sharpness in your chest as you realized there was pinkness to the whites of his eyes and sadness in his voice. It was like you were back in the classroom for a moment and he was meters away from you, saying I’m sorry, but this time you were adults and he was right next to you and you didn’t know the reason why he was sorry, because there was nothing to be sorry for.
You frowned, raising an eyebrow. “About what?”
“We’re going to bring him back to his room.”
You jerked your head to Namjoon, who was carrying a now extremely unsteady Taehyung. Seokjin was nowhere to be seen. Namjoon spoke curtly, stone-faced and serious.
“Hyung went to ask for his exact room number. In the meantime, Taehyung pointed us in the general direction while he was rinsing out his mouth. It would be hazardous to leave him alone. I will assist him and rendezvous with hyung midway.”
You blinked at him. Namjoon tended to speak this way around strangers when he was putting his professional mode on. He looked from you to Jungkook, eyes narrowing, looking down at him. With his short hair and stern gaze, he was intimidating, even while holding a woozy Taehyung with a lolling head.
“I expect you to escort her back to her room safely.”
And he turned and marched off, dragging Taehyung along with him.
“Hey, you like bees? I like bees. They help flowers…”
“That they do. They’re vital for all ecosystems by aiding pollination.”
“Bees are fuckin’ lit, dude…”
You watched them go, wincing. Maybe this was better. The bodyguards were for your safety, but it wasn’t like you didn’t know how to disarm someone with your Louboutins. Also, you didn’t really want to wander around the yacht listening to Taehyung ramble about bees.
Now, you were alone with Jungkook.
You looked at him over your shoulder, the side of your lips curving upwards.
“I’ll be fine on my own. It’s only a short walk. Good night.”
You began to walk away from him, and, in turn, the classroom from back then, away from his I’m sorry, away from those eyes, away from his care, because Jeon Jungkook did not care about you. There was no reason to care about you. Those events happened a long time ago. You were different people now, grown up, living separate lives.
Changed.
No longer class representative and class delinquent.
He was about to have a wife and you were swimming with too much money you had no idea what to do with, busy planning ideas for your next performance and organizing venues for a possible tour. This was just a favor to Kim Taehyung, nothing more. It was fine to leave it like this.
❧ summary ⟶ on new year’s eve, you and jungkook reflect on each other’s entire year together.
❧ pairing⟶ jungkook/reader
❧ genre⟶ enemies to friends, friends to lovers, fluff, angst, pining, smut, boxer!jungkook. two-part series.
❧ word count ⟶ 16,000+
❧ warnings ⟶ descriptions of an anxiety/panic attack, character death (non-major), smut which includes … passionate to rough sex, oral (female receiving), penetration, fingering, unprotected sex (please have sex responsibly lol).
❧ music⟶ safety net, selfish, stuck on you, exile, +more
❧ a/n ⟶ I am still fairly new to writing smut so sorry if it doesn’t meet your expectations 😭 also to all my people who don’t like smut “*” signals where you can stop reading as the smut is really just a bonus scene at the end. and remember dark purple = entering/still in the past, light purple = present
01 | 02 (final)
“God were we dramatic,” you laugh, glad that the recollection of your big fight with Jungkook was something that could by now be laughed at rather than seen as something you’d dearly regret, “Don’t you think?” you ask Jungkook, concern immediately washing over you once you see the sad look on his face, “Jungkook?”
Jungkook stares blankly at the lake in front of him, surprised at the resurgence of the same heavy feeling in chest he had felt several months before, “Did I—Did I say something wrong?” you worry that you’ve hurt his feelings, that being one of, if not the, last thing you wanted to do tonight.
Quietly he nods his head no, “I just—” he struggles to voice his thoughts, “I was—” he shakes his head and you grab his hand in comfort, giving him a small smile.
“Hey,” you giggle, “what happened is in the past,” you reassure.
“I know but—” he sighs, pushing his hair back with his other hand, “I just still feel bad, you know? I mean we went a whole month without talking…. practically hating one another…”
❧ summary ⟶ on new year’s eve, you and jungkook reflect on each other’s entire year together.
❧ pairing⟶ jungkook/reader
❧ genre⟶ enemies to friends, friends to lovers, roommates au, fluff, angst, pining, eventual smut, boxer!jungkook. two-part series.
❧ word count ⟶ 24,000+
❧ warnings ⟶ mentions of oral and sex but nothing explicit or descriptive. fight scene that involves drunk man. mentions of bullying (in the past).
❧ music⟶ safety net, selfish, stuck on you, exile, +more
❧ a/n (please read) ⟶ this story switches a lot from past & present, I color coded borders to make it easier to tell :) dark purple = entering/still in the past, light purple= present, also this is unedited so sorry for any mistakes 😭 ill come back to edit a lot of things soon.
01 | 02
“Oh perfect, y/n!” Hobi stops you dead in your tracks before you could completely make your way onto the living room, “You don’t mind grabbing some more firewood from my car while I finish these up,” he says, currently too busy melting the chocolate for the s’mores he was making.
You see tonight was New Year’s Eve, and you and a couple of other close friends had decided to rent out a cabin in celebration of the new year instead of going out to some end of the year party, choosing comfort over a night of wild drinking. In the end it didn’t make much of a difference, because the moment you saw Jimin and Taehyung walk in with a pack of soju and other cheap liquor in their hands, you knew that by the end of the night someone, if not everyone, was going to end up completely wasted.
baratheonpilled
tangentwithtanner
snowghoul
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