Am I the only one that gets turned off from reading fanfiction that has ai covers? Like there are billions of pictures on the internet of hot men and women... and you chose to participate in killing the earth to generate it, for what?
Summary: “And if all of this experience was indeed a dream, you chose to stay just a little longer.”
After leaving to work towards his dream rather than the bonds that shackle him to home, you didn’t expect to see Jungkook again years later at your best friend’s wedding. And even less, for love to rekindle at second glance.
pairing: Jungkook x reader
genre: f2l; fluff, angst, smut, crack
warnings: a whole laundry list tf: (past) minor character death, somewhat toxic parents, (mentions of) gambling, blond & then 5th muster pied piper (fuckboy) jk lol, this jimin, jealousy, alcohol consumption, unrequited love (not between jk & oc), friends fighting; explicit multiple (2) sex scenes that include: dom & big dick!jk, light hair pulling, marking, tiddie sucking/breast play, clit pinching, pussy slapping, soft & rough sex, praising, biting, some spit ig, oral (f. & m.), fingering, handjob, consent <3, cockwarming, squirting, oversensitivity, multiple orgasms, mouth fucking,… uhh, consensual drunk sex, protected & unprotected sex…. yeah
word count: 43.1k (i sincerely apologise <3)
credits: such a beautiful banner by my lovely @taemaknae <3 !! beta’d by @bangtanhome @hobiandsprite & @missgeniality - your brains are exquisite and this fic would be NOTHING without you !! & parts read by @hantaev ILY ALL <3
a/n: i’m honestly SORRY for the wc lol pls still read tho, i worked so so hard on it :’) a belated love letter to one of my favourite people in this world - happy birthday, jeon jungkook. i’ll always be inspired by your words and admire you forever <3
BASED ON THE 2013 MOVIE ‘YEH JAWAANI HAI DEEWANI’!
uploaded to AO3, too (for those who prefer pdfs or mobile readings!) + the fic is split in ‘Before’ & ‘Now’ - that way, you can read it in 2 sittings if you’d like <3
➳ listen to the (collaborative!) ATRW playlist for the full experience!
MASTERLIST | WIPs
The slowly vanishing light of the sun bathes the room in a golden glow when you close the door to your apartment behind you.
Coming home feels different today. With the boxes under your arms, you feel the weight of the postcards and invitations heavier than usual. After letting Dia ramble about the plans for the next few days, dreamy eyes drifting off now and then, you’ve grown increasingly tired this evening. And yet, you can’t wait to send off the cards that remain before the big day breaks in.
You lift the sunglasses from your eyes and place them on your head, not bothering to change your clothes before you sit down at your desk and start putting the invitations into envelopes. You wait and read with a thumping heart, fingers working through the pile quickly until you finally see it.
▻ Shatter With Me
↳ Model!Jungkook x Surrogate!f.Reader
⤜ Surrogacy AU
⤜ Best Friend’s Husband | smut, fluff, heavy angst
⤜ Rating: MA
⤜ WC: ~46,420 (ongoing)
⤜ Summary: Your best friend, Jiyoon, and her husband, Jungkook, have faced years of hardship trying to start a family. In a last-ditch effort to have their dream life, they seek solace in surrogacy. Wanting to see your best friend smile, you offer to become the bright beacon at the end of the tunnel, giving them what they have always wanted. But what happens when you begin to shine your light on their darkness? Things aren’t always as they seem—happiness can be a façade, shattering under the lightest pressure.
⚠️ Crass language, talk of infertility, drinking, very mild bullying and references to cruel behavior/words, talk of surrogacy, at-home medical procedure, genital touching (non-sexual), planned pregnancy, talk of pregnancy termination/abortion, BIG hurt feelings, open palm slapping, accusations of infidelity, rejected/unwanted drunken kissing that could be viewed as dubious infidelity, lies/deceit about fertility, broken marriage, infidelity, talk of divorce/filing for divorce, legal separation, kissing, fingering, cunnilingus, mild dirty talk, mild begging, sex while pregnant, creampie
Each chapter will have specific warnings listed as they're posted.
Warnings: SMUT!! With no plot, handjob/blowjob, fingering, he’s a munch, free-use (duh), They are in love dw, aftercare, slapping, slight degradation?????,
Authors note: This was a request so i'm hoping I got it right!! I hope you enjoy! :) NOT PROOFREAD.
Taehyung always knew what he was into wasn't "normal". He alway loved more darker stuff, especially when it came to sex. He LOVED to be in control, he never let many people dominate him, you were the only one who can. It doesn't happen often though.
His favorite view was you under him, cheeks flushed as you just came undone. He loves to see his marks all over you. He loved knowing he had possession over you.
You never really minded it. To be honest you preferred being the bottom anyway. Taehyung had a special ability to get to you. You were always intrigued by him. He always left you wondering what he was going to do next.
He just came home from work, you were laying in bed with your glasse. reading a book. The only source of lights coming from your bedside lamp, casting a warm glow to the room. Sheets are all messed up. Your legs positioned up in a lounging position.
Taehyung walked in the room and noticed you, looking so innocent and lovely. He walks over to the bed and crawls to land a kiss on your cheek. You simply smile, invested so deeply in your book.
He goes into the bathroom to get changed, coming out in just his short, tight black boxers and no t-shirt. His hair falling into place perfectly and effortlessly. He was just perfect. A beautiful canvas. He layed in bed, facing you while he places soft kisses on your neck. Trying to act 'innocent" knowing that it will always never mean anything close to innocent.
"mm.." you hum softly. His hands sliding up your shirt as he gently pinches your harden nipple.
You moan gently in response.
He connects his mouth to yours, deepening the kiss. You guide him to lay back on the headboard. You continue to kiss his mouth before leading kiss down his neck, then to his abs. Going farther and farther down till you get to his boxers waistband. Gosh you loved these boxers he always wears. You can see his print through the thin fabric. You gently slide off his boxers. His long and hard shaft springs up. You gasp in shock. It looks so tempting. You wrap your hands around his cock and slowly start to stroke it. Taehyung groans as his head drops backwards to the head board, eyes closed and mouth dropped open.
You start by putting just the tip into your mouth, your tongue swirls around his pretty pink tip. You look up at him, admiring his reaction, making you want to go deeper. Your mouth starts to go deeper, fitting the whole thing, touching the back of your throat. You gag but that doesn’t stop you. Your hands still wrapped around the base as you slide your tongue around him. “Good girl keep going…just like that.” He says, breaking the silence.
You moan in response. You love it when he calls you that, it drives you crazy and he knows it.
He shifts, you know that he’s going to cum soon. He keeps groaning which only makes you want to keep going. You quicken the pace, your hands stroking him and your mouth and tongue still swirling around his cock.
Taehyung lets out one final groan before he releases into your mouth. His salty cum mixing with your saliva. He looks at you while your collecting all of his release. “Swallow it all.” He says sternly. You look up at him making eye-contact as you swallow every last drop. You slip his cock out of your mouth as you open your mouth to show him. He leans over to grab your waist as he lifts you up and turns you over, practically man-handling you. Your back hits the comfy mattress as he lifts your shirt leaving you only in your thin panties.
He starts kissing around your breasts, his left hand needing your left breast while he kisses your right breast. He’s like an animal. His boxers are long gone, somewhere on the floor across the room. He guides his kisses down to your panties, noticing a wet patch. He doesn’t waste any time to rip them off and dive in. His tongue licking your slick folds while he groans. Your back instantly arching at the sudden movements.
He immediately starts attacking your pussy. Eating it like he’s never been fed before. You moan so loudly the neighbors could probably hear you. “Fuck Tae..” You moan out loud.
He sneaks one finger into your dripping pussy, curling it at just the right angle to make you go crazy. Your hand find his hair immediately to tug on. He looks up at you, you look a mess. Hair messy, mouth dropped open, hand gripping the sheets. He loves the sight, he loves knowing only he has this effect on you.
He couldn’t take it anymore he needed to be in you. He abruptly stops making you groan as he wraps his arms around your thighs to pull you closer. He takes no time to line up his cock at your folds, rubbing his pre-cum all over you. He didn’t even care if you were ready. You practically couldn’t process what was happening, everything happened s.o quickly.
Taehyung slides in with force, giving you no time to adjust. You moan so loudly, your hands looking for anything to grip onto. The pace he sets is brutal. You look at his face, he’s biting his lips with his teeth, eyebrows furrowed. He looked so hot. He leans closer to you, letting you grip his shoulders. “Tae…slow down..” You protest. He doesn’t listen. He even quickens the pace. Your mind goes blurry, you can’t process anything. He grabs your wrists and pins them on either side of your head still fucking you relentlessly. You can tell he’s been craving this. “Stay like this okay? Hm? Gon’ be a good girl for me right? Say yes.” You nod your head, your eyes closed as you lay there letting him use you. “Word y/n, words.”
“Yes. I will be.”
He lands a harsh slap to your face, causing your cheeks to be even more flushed before he flips you over abruptly. Taehyung puts his cock back into your folds still keeping the quick pace. Your legs give out, laying flat on the bed as he slaps your ass and leans onto your back. He grabs your face and kisses you harshly. He pushes your face into the pillow as he fucks you.
You feel your release coming, you look back to see him so focused on the both of you connecting.
Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, soaking Him and you. Soon after he cums to. His groans and skin slapping fills the room as you lay there defeated. Taehyung lands soft kisses along your back before getting up and gently turning you over.
“Wanna take a bath?” He says breaking the silence. You nod as you try to sit-up. You wince in pain and he quickly picks you up and carries you to the tub.
Your laying against his back as he helps wash you up, the scented bubbles and bath salts making the bathroom smell like lavender. You lay your head on his shoulder, taking in all of his presence. He keeps giving you soft kisses along your collar bones. The only source of light being the candle on the tub shelf.
summary: you should already know that movie night with your roommate jungkook always ends up turning into something more
pairing: roomate!Jungkook × reader
tags: roomate!jungkook, friends with benefits au
wc: ~ 1.8k
warnings: pwp, cockwarming, unprotected sex, multiple rounds, tit play.. free use? if you squint?
notes: this was requested! as always, English is not my first language! so excuse any mistakes
“Wanna watch something?” you ask, standing in the kitchen with a half-finished drink in your hand.
“Yeah. Pick whatever," your roommate Jungkook says from the living room.
He's already on the couch, with his legs spread open and one arm thrown over the backrest. And in classic Jungkook fashion, he’s not wearing any shirt. His chiselled chest is on full display for the enjoyment of your eyes.
You walk over with the cup still in your hand. “Are you sitting in the middle?”
He nods. “And you’re sitting here” he says, patting his lap.
You raise a brow. “On your dick?”
“Yep.” he states, not even blinking. “Keep me warm while we watch the movie.”
You roll your eyes but you’re already setting your drink down on the coffee table and getting close to him. “So needy.”
“For you, pretty? Always” he laughs, tugging his sweatpants down just enough to free his half-hard cock. “Also, is that my shirt?” He grabs his cock and strokes it, but his eyes never leave you.
“It’s comfy” you excuse yourself.
“Mmmh.” He strokes himself lazily. “It looks better on you either way. Off with the shorts tho.”
You shimmy your shorts down and step out of them, taking your panties with them, naked now under the oversized tee. The fabric barely covers your ass.
“That’s better,” he mutters.
You turn around with your back facing him, and climb into his lap.“ Wait. Let me prep you.”
Jungkook’s fingers slide between your legs, stroking your clit with slow, practiced circles. You bite your lip, already arching into his touch.
“You’re wet,” he mutters, pushing two fingers into you without warning. You gasp, grabbing his wrist as he fucks you open.
“Almost there,” he says. “Then I’m putting my cock in this tight pussy.”
Your head falls back on his shoulder. He pumps his fingers faster, thumb flicking your clit until your hips jerk. His fingers work you fast, getting you wet and ready.
“Good?” he asks against your ear.
You nod quickly. “Yeah. Good.”
He pulls his hand back. You reach for his cock, lining him up against your pussy. “Fuck,” he mutters when he bottoms up.
You hum, reaching for the remote and pressing play. The screen lights up, some Avenger movie you have watched like a million times before, and you settle into him.
Jungkook’s hands go under your shirt and grab your tits, and you barely flinch because you know how much he loves your breasts. His thumbs brush against your nipples and you clench around his cock.
“Mmh, that feels good,” you mumble, head tilting back slightly, still looking at the screen.
“Yeah?” he answers softly, pinching your nipple. “Mmmh. Watch, Tony Stark is going to catch that guy playing Galaga ” he says, looking at the screen.
He keeps playing with your nipples. You stay quiet, and let him keep going. You try to pay attention to the movie, you really do, but when you feel his hips slowly move against yours you know what comes next. “I thought we were watching the movie,” you say, not even trying to sound annoyed.
He laughs under his breath, still toying with your nipple. “We were,” he says, giving your tits another squeeze. “But then your tits got in the way. You expect me to focus with these in my hands?” He presses his hips up a little harder, making you gasp.
“You can pause it. We’ll finish it later.” He adds, peppering kisses over your shoulder.
You grab the remote and hit pause, and go back to lean against his chest again.. Your (his) shirt is now pushed up and bunched under your arms.
“Fuck…” he mutters close to your ear,“Your pussy feels so good.”
You press your back harder to his chest and let him fuck up into you while you sink down. “Mmm yeah… don’t stop.” You whisper.
“Trust me, pretty, stopping is not in my plans,” he says. You don’t see his face, but can almost hear the smile on his face. He gives you a deep thrust.
His right hand leaves your tit and goes south. You feel his fingers against your clit, caressing it with light pressure at first, but soon he starts rubbing harder.
“Shit,” you whimper, hips twitching. “Just like that, fuck!”
He keeps with his rhythm. His thick cock drags inside you, hitting that stop that makes you feel so good. Mixed with his hand rubbing your clit, you know your climax is near.
“Feels good?” he says, a little out of breath now.
“Mmmm…so good. F-fuck, Jungkook. I’m close.”
“I got you, pretty” he says, kissing the side of your neck. “Just let go.”
His finger gets rougher against your clit and his cock keeps slamming hard your insides until you cannot hold it anymore. You cum with your mouth half open, and your eyes shut between cries of pleasure. He doesn’t stop right away, letting you clench around him.
“Good girl,” he whispers after a second.
You’re still pulsing around him, your thighs twitching. He remains quiet for a moment, but then he shifts under you, and his hips pull back just a bit, and then he slams against you again, harder and faster this time. His cock, sleek with your juices, slides in and out easily.
“Shit,” he breathes out. “Do you feel that? How are you squeezing me?”
“Mhm. Keep going.” And you can bet he does.
He groans behind you, and his forehead drops to your shoulder. Putting one arm around your waist he holds you in place. His other hand is still on your tit, but he’s not playing with your nipples anymore, too focused on his own pleasure.
“Fuck… where?” he asks, you feel the neediness in his voice. “Tell me.”
You swallow, still fucked-out. “Inside.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm. Fill me up.” And that is what he needed to send him over the edge.
“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck! Pretty, I’m gonna cum.”
Thrusting one last time, he spills into you, painting your walls white and his cock buried all the way inside. His head drops against your shoulder and lets out a laugh. His arm stays around your waist and neither of you move.
After a few quiet seconds, he blinks at the screen. “so… we are watching or what?”
You hum, half-gone. “Play it.”
He grabs the remote, cock still inside you, cum still dripping warm between your thighs.
His hands are back to your tits, his fingers brushing your nipples. “mmm these tits..I love them. Ditch the shirt,” he says, tugging at the fabric bunched around your ribs. “What’s the point if it’s already up here?”
His hand slides under it again. “Just wanna feel you properly.”
You sigh, amused, but lift your arms anyway. He helps you pull the shirt off.. “There we go,” he says, both hands going right back to your chest, like he never left. “Much better. Fuck. Pretty, you’re so fucking soft,” he mutters, almost to himself. “I swear to God I could stay like this all day.”
You lean back into him with a little hum, skin to skin now. His cock stays inside you, and you feel it twitching every so often. You shift a little, trying to get more comfortable. Your thighs are sticky, but you don’t really care.
He hums behind you, mouth at your neck. “You good?”
You nod, eyes on the screen. “Yep.”
Twenty minutes pass, maybe more. You’re zoned out, barely following the movie when you feel it. A light twitch, followed by another, and you know that his cock is starting to get hard again inside you.
You glance back over your shoulder, smirking. “Seriously?”
He doesn’t even look at you. Shrugging, his eyes never leave the screen “Mmmh. It’s because of Black Widow. She’s hot.” You roll your eyes, but your hips already start moving.
You feel him swelling, thickening more with every soft little shift of your hips. Your pussy’s still slick. His hand slides down to your waist again and starts rocking up his hips.
Jungkook’s cock drags out slowly, slides back in even slower but this time hitting a different spot inside you. You cannot control the moans.
“That good?”
You nod, eyes still on the screen. “Fuck. Yes. Don’t stop.”
He thrust up again, making you moan even louder. Fucking into you with slow but hard thrusts, the movie still going in the background. Moaning softly, you tilt your head back, and his mouth finds your neck. His warm lips place a few kisses on your skin.
“Mmm… Go a bit harder.” Not saying anything, Jungkook shifts under you and grips your waist a bit tighter, thrusting again. You exhale and your hips rock back against his. “Fuck…” you mumble, barely loud enough to hear over the movie.
His cock presses deep, fills you all the way up, and then pulls out just enough to do it again, hitting that sweet spot.
“Shit. Don’t stop, don’t stop! ”
He groans behind you, teeth grazing your neck again. “Yeah? Right there?”
You nod fast. “Fuck, yes. Feels so good.”
You clamp down around him so tight he swears. “Fuck… you’re so fucking tight. Shit.”
“Can I - fuck…” he starts, “Can I cum inside again?”
Not being able to speak, you just let a soft moan out, nodding.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna fill you. Fuck!” And he does, warmth spreading between your legs all over again. His arms wrap tight around your waist while both of you reach your climax.
You just melt into him, letting him fill you. For a moment both of you stay quiet, just your heavy breathings can be heard. His cum is dripping out of you again, making your thighs sticky, but honestly you couldn't care less.
Jungkook lets out a laugh “God. We’re disgusting.”
You grin, eyes barely open. “Yeah. Whatever.”
A few seconds pass. The movie’s still playing in the background, long past the point where either of you left off. You glance at the screen, squinting. “We missed, like, twenty minutes.”
He groans, grabs the remote from where it’s wedged between the couch cushions, and starts skipping back. “Ugh. Worth it.”
“You’re leaking all over me,” he mutters when his cum leaks onto his thighs.
“Your fault,” you murmur, head tilted against his. “You’re the one that couldn’t help himself.”
“Help me clean up?”
“Let’s stay like this a bit longer.”
You snort. “You just don’t wanna pull out.”
“Exactly,” he grins, shameless. “It feels too good like this.”
You roll your eyes, but you don’t argue. His cock is still buried inside you, softening slowly. You feel his cum warm between your thighs, his hands cupping your tits again, his chest against your back, and there’s something weirdly comforting about it.
“Besides,” he adds, kissing your shoulder and giving your tits a soft squeeze, “if we wait a little… It'll probably be hard again.”
You huff out a laugh, leaning back into him, knowing a round 3 is just around the corner.
SYNOPSIS: Forever was a long time to spend with someone you weren't in love with. Saying yes to Taehyung's proposal had been a mistake, one you didn't think you could walk away from in fear of destroying everything you've ever made for yourself. But, your heart laid with Jeon Jungkook, your grooms best man and best friend.
STARRING : 💍 bestman!jungkook x reader & fiance!taehyung x reader
WARNINGS : smut mdni, closet sex, hotel sex, multiple sex scenes, cowgirl, bathroom sex, infidelity, angst, fighting, blood, weddings, reader and jungkook are not good people at all.
▹ word count ✶﹐20k
The soft glow of string lights and the warm flicker of candles bathed the rehearsal dinner venue in a romantic haze, but beneath the surface, the air crackled with the kind of electric anticipation that came the night before a wedding. Tables were being meticulously set with crisp white linens and gleaming silverware, florists adjusted overflowing arrangements of blush roses and eucalyptus, and the low murmur of laughter mixed with the clink of champagne flutes as the wedding party mingled.
Taehyung moved through it all with his usual bright, easy smile, clapping Jungkook on the back as they joked about something you couldn’t quite hear from across the room. Your fiancé looked happy— genuinely happy and a sharp pang twisted in your chest at the sight. You loved him. You truly did. He was safe, kind, and had built a beautiful life with you. But love wasn’t the same as the all-consuming fire that burned in your veins whenever Jeon Jungkook was near.
No one noticed when you slipped away from the bustling main hall, your heels clicking softly against the polished floors as you made your way down a dimly lit side corridor. Seconds later, the supply closet door opened and closed with a quiet click, and Jungkook was on you. The space was small and intimate, barely large enough for the two of you, filled with the clean scent of fresh linens, lemon furniture polish, and the faint woody notes of his cologne that always made your head spin. Shelves lined the walls, stacked high with folded tablecloths and spare glassware that trembled slightly as he pressed you back against them. His hands were everywhere at once, cupping your face, sliding down your neck, gripping your waist with a hunger that had been building for far too long.
His mouth crashed against yours in a heated, desperate kiss, tongues tangling instantly as years of suppressed longing poured out between you. You moaned softly into him, fingers threading through his dark, silky hair and tugging just hard enough to draw a low growl from his throat. The kiss was messy, breathless, all teeth and tongue and raw need. One of his large hands trailed down your body, bunching the soft, flowing fabric of your rehearsal dinner dress higher and higher up your thighs until the cool air kissed your skin. He hooked his fingers into the delicate lace of your panties, yanking them roughly to the side without bothering to remove them. You felt the thick, hot length of his cock pressing against your entrance, already slick and aching for him after just one heated look across the room earlier.
“Jungkook…” you whispered breathlessly against his lips, but the name came out more like a plea than a warning. You tried not to think about how long this had been going on; one entire year of stolen touches, secret meetings, and nights where you told yourself it would be the last time. You tried not to think about Taehyung waiting just down the hall, about the vows you would speak tomorrow, or the life you had so carefully built. But then Jungkook pushed inside you in one slow, powerful thrust, stretching you open so perfectly that all coherent thought shattered.
A choked gasp escaped your lips as he filled you completely, his cock buried to the hilt, your walls fluttering around his thick girth. He was so big, so deep, the delicious burn of it making your toes curl inside your heels. Jungkook pressed his forehead to yours, breathing hard, his hands gripping your hips with bruising strength to hold you steady in the cramped space. “Fuck, baby… so tight, so wet for me already,” he rasped, voice low and wrecked, barely above a whisper. He began to move then, deep, rolling thrusts that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you, the angle perfect in the tight confines of the closet. The shelf behind you rattled softly with each measured pump of his hips, the quiet, wet sounds of your bodies connecting echoing obscenely in the small room.
You clung to his broad shoulders, nails digging into the crisp fabric of his black button-up shirt as you tried desperately to stay quiet. Outside, the rehearsal dinner continued, laughter rang out, glasses clinked, someone called your name faintly in the distance, but in here, it was just the two of you. Your leg hooked around his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper as he fucked you with controlled intensity, grinding against your clit with every thrust. Pleasure coiled hot and tight in your lower belly, building faster than you could handle. Sweat beaded along your skin, your dress sticking to your back, while Jungkook’s breath fanned hot against your neck, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered filthy praises.
“You feel so fucking good… always take me so well,” he groaned quietly, one hand slipping between your bodies to rub tight circles over your swollen clit. His pace quickened slightly, hips snapping forward in short, powerful strokes that made stars burst behind your eyelids. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, biting down on his shoulder to muffle the desperate whimpers threatening to spill out. The scent of him, clean soap, faint sweat, and pure Jungkook— overwhelmed you, making your head spin. Every drag of his cock sent sparks of ecstasy racing up your spine, your inner walls clenching rhythmically around him as you neared the edge.
He could feel it, knew your body better than anyone. “That’s it, baby. Come for me,” he murmured, voice strained with his own impending release. “Let go… I’ve got you.” The coil inside you snapped, pleasure crashing over you in powerful waves. Your thighs trembled violently as you came hard around him, a broken sob muffled against his skin while your pussy pulsed and fluttered, drawing him even deeper. Jungkook followed right after, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural groan he tried— and failed— to silence. You felt the hot rush of his release filling you, his cock twitching deep inside as he rode out his orgasm, hips grinding lazily against yours until you were both spent and shaking.
For several long moments, the only sounds were your ragged breaths mingling in the dim closet. Jungkook stayed buried inside you, softening slowly, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as if he couldn’t bear to let go just yet. He pressed soft, lingering kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, tender now that the storm had passed. You kept your eyes closed, trying to savor the warmth of him, the feeling of being so completely his, even if it was only for these stolen minutes. Tomorrow you would walk down the aisle and promise forever to Taehyung. Tomorrow this would have to end.
The aftershocks of pleasure still hummed through your body as Jungkook cupped your face with both hands, thumbs brushing tenderly over your flushed cheeks, and kissed you— slow, deep, and devastatingly intimate. It wasn’t the frantic hunger from minutes ago; this kiss was full of quiet longing, his tongue sliding against yours like he was trying to memorize the taste of you. You melted into it, fingers curling weakly into his shirt, wishing you could stay wrapped in him forever.
Eventually he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours with a heavy sigh. “We should get back,” he murmured, voice low and rough, still laced with emotion. He pressed one last soft kiss to your swollen lips before carefully slipping out of you. The loss of him made you ache in more ways than one. Jungkook stepped back just enough to fix himself, tucking his shirt back in, smoothing down the front of his black trousers, and running a hand through his messy hair until it looked intentionally tousled rather than freshly fucked. He gave you one final look, eyes dark and conflicted, the weight of tomorrow hanging between you like a storm cloud.
“I’ll see you back out there, baby,” he whispered, the nickname slipping out like a secret he couldn’t hold in. Then he cracked the door open, checked the hallway, and slipped out without another word, leaving you alone in the dim, cluttered space.
You stood there for a long moment, thighs still trembling, his release slowly trickling down your skin. The distant sounds of the rehearsal dinner filtered in, laughter, music, the clinking of glasses, reminding you that the world outside hadn’t stopped turning.
With a shaky breath, you reached for the small mirror hanging on the back of the closet door. Your reflection stared back at you: cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen, hair slightly disheveled. You carefully smoothed everything back into place, patting down stray strands, fixing the smudged edge of your lipstick with your fingertip, and adjusting the neckline of your dress until you looked like the composed bride-to-be everyone expected.
As you stared at your own eyes in the mirror, a heavy wave of memory washed over you. Your mind drifted back to the exact day this all began, the moment everything between you and Jungkook shifted from best-friend’s-girlfriend and best man into something irreversible.
one year ago.
The rain came down in merciless sheets that night, turning the city streets into glossy rivers that reflected the blurred glow of streetlights. Thunder rolled overhead like distant artillery, shaking the windows of the apartment building as you slammed the door behind you. Your heart hammered wildly in your chest, a chaotic mix of rage, hurt, and disbelief crashing through you with every step. The fight with Taehyung had been one of the worst you’d ever had, maybe the worst. It started over something small, as these things often did: a forgotten anniversary plan, a careless comment about your long work hours. But it had snowballed fast, words flying like daggers neither of you could take back.
“You’re never here anymore!” Taehyung had shouted, his usually warm voice sharp with frustration. “It feels like I’m dating a ghost. Do you even still want this?”
You’d fired back just as viciously. “Maybe I don’t! Maybe I’m tired of feeling like I’m carrying everything while you act like the charming golden boy who never has to try!” The accusations had grown crueler, old insecurities dragged into the light, past arguments rehashed with fresh venom. He’d said you were emotionally unavailable. You’d thrown back that sometimes you wondered if he even loved you or just loved the idea of you. By the end, both of you were yelling things you never thought you’d say to each other. “Maybe we shouldn’t even be together,” he’d spat. You hadn’t disagreed. You’d grabbed your coat and left before the tears could fall in front of him.
Now, soaked to the bone, your phone vibrated relentlessly in your pocket. Taehyung’s name lit up the screen again and again, missed calls piling up, text notifications buzzing like angry hornets. You ignored them all, teeth chattering as the cold rain seeped through your thin jacket and into your skin. The wind whipped your hair across your face, stinging your eyes that were already burning from crying. Where could you even go? Chaewon was out of town for the whole week, visiting family in Busan. Hotels felt too lonely, too clinical for a night like this. Your feet carried you almost on autopilot through the storm, blocks blurring together until you found yourself standing in front of Jungkook’s apartment building.
He was Taehyung’s best friend, but over the years he had become yours too. The three of you had built a comfortable little world together, lazy Sundays playing video games, late-night drives for street food, inside jokes that no one else understood. Showing up at his door in the middle of a breakdown wasn’t entirely out of character, but it still felt vulnerable. Your knuckles rapped against the wood, weak at first, then louder as another crack of thunder split the sky.
The door opened after a moment, and Jungkook stood there in a simple black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, his dark hair slightly messy like he’d been relaxing. His eyes widened instantly at the sight of you, drenched, shivering, mascara running in dark streaks down your cheeks, lips trembling from the cold and suppressed sobs. “Holy shit,” he breathed, reaching out without hesitation. “Get in here right now. You’re going to freeze to death.”
Strong hands pulled you inside, and the warmth of his apartment wrapped around you like a hug. The door clicked shut, muffling the roar of the storm outside. Soft lighting glowed from a lamp in the living room, and the faint scent of his cologne, something woody and clean, mingled with the smell of rain on your clothes. Jungkook didn’t bombard you with questions. Instead, he moved with quiet efficiency. He disappeared down the short hallway and returned quickly with a large, fluffy towel, an oversized black hoodie that smelled like him, and a pair of his sweatpants.
“Here,” he said gently, pressing them into your arms. “Bathroom’s yours. Change out of those wet clothes before you catch pneumonia. I’ll make you something warm to eat.” His voice was steady, grounding, the kind of calm that made the chaos in your head feel a little less overwhelming.
You nodded numbly and slipped into the bathroom. Peeling off your soaked clothes felt like shedding a layer of the fight itself. The dry fabric of his hoodie engulfed you, soft and comforting against your chilled skin, the hem falling mid-thigh. The sweatpants were loose but warm. When you emerged, Jungkook had already set up the living room: a steaming bowl of spicy ramen on the coffee table, a blanket draped over the couch, and a glass of water beside it. He patted the seat next to him.
Only then did he ask, voice soft and free of judgment, “What happened?”
The words tumbled out of you for what felt like hours. You told him everything, the small spark that started the argument, how it escalated into screaming matches about commitment, about feeling unseen, about fears that maybe the two of you had grown in different directions. You recounted the cruelest things said: how Taehyung had implied you were selfish for prioritizing your career, how you’d thrown back that sometimes he felt more like a best friend than a partner. Tears flowed freely again as you spoke, and Jungkook listened through it all. He never interrupted, never took sides. He simply nodded, offered quiet “I’m sorry you went through that,” and handed you tissues when your voice cracked.
As the ramen cooled and your shivering finally stopped, the conversation stretched deeper. You talked about the good times too, the early days when everything with Taehyung felt effortless and exciting. Jungkook shared his own observations from the outside, careful and kind. “You two have always been strong,” he said at one point, leaning back against the couch. “But even strong couples hit rough patches. Doesn’t mean it’s over unless you want it to be.”
Time slipped away. The storm outside began to ease into a steady drizzle. Eventually, Jungkook stood and returned from the kitchen with a bottle of red wine and two glasses. “You’ve earned this,” he said with a small, comforting smile, pouring generously. “Might help take the edge off.”
You accepted the glass gratefully. The rich, velvety liquid warmed your throat and loosened the knot in your chest. As you sipped, the heavy topic of the fight slowly faded. The conversation drifted naturally into lighter waters, funny memories from group trips, inside jokes about Taehyung’s dramatic reactions to horror movies, stories from Jungkook’s recent work projects. He was always so easy to talk to, his laughter low and genuine, his eyes crinkling at the corners when something truly amused him.
Eventually the topic turned to his love life, or lack thereof. Jungkook swirled the wine in his glass, a faint sigh escaping him. “I don’t know… I just haven’t found the right girl yet. Dating feels exhausting lately. Everyone I meet seems nice on the surface, but there’s no real connection. No spark that makes me want to fight for it, you know?”
You tilted your head, studying him under the warm lamplight. The wine had brought a soft flush to your cheeks, and the comfort of his clothes made you feel safer than you had all night. “She’ll come along, Kook. I promise. You’re… you’re really attractive. Like, stupidly attractive. You’re kind, talented, funny, thoughtful. Any girl would be incredibly lucky to have you. Don’t sell yourself short.”
He looked surprised, then shy. A light blush crept across his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he ducked his head with a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Stop it. You’re just saying that because you’re being nice after a bad night.” But when he lifted his gaze again, his dark eyes met yours and held. The air between you thickened, charged with something new and electric. “You’re attractive too,” he said quietly, voice dropping lower. “Really fucking attractive. Inside and out. The way you light up when you talk about things you love… the way you’re so strong even when you’re hurting. Taehyung’s lucky. Anyone would be.”
The compliment landed heavily, warmth blooming in your chest that had nothing to do with the wine. You stared at each other across the small space of the couch. The storm outside had become a distant murmur. Your heart pounded hard against your ribs, a mix of guilt, curiosity, and undeniable pull swirling inside you. Without fully realizing what you were doing, you set your wine glass down on the coffee table with a soft clink. The sound seemed to echo in the quiet room.
Then you leaned forward, closing the distance in one breathless moment, and pressed your lips to his.
The kiss started tentative, soft and uncertain, tasting of red wine and the faint salt of earlier tears. But the moment Jungkook’s hand came up to cradle the back of your neck, fingers threading gently into your damp hair, something ignited. The kiss deepened, slow and exploratory, like both of you had been waiting for permission you didn’t know you needed.
The kiss deepened almost instantly, like a dam breaking after years of careful restraint. What started as soft and tentative quickly turned hungry— your lips parting, tongues sliding together in a slow, intoxicating rhythm that sent heat rushing through your entire body. Jungkook tasted like red wine and warmth, his mouth moving against yours with a quiet intensity that made your head spin. One of his hands stayed cradled at the back of your neck, fingers threading through your still-damp hair, while the other settled on your waist, gripping the fabric of his oversized hoodie like he was trying to anchor himself.
You couldn’t stop yourself. The ache that had been building inside you all night, the hurt from the fight, the confusion, the unexpected pull toward Jungkook, pushed you forward. You shifted on the couch, swinging one leg over his lap until you were straddling him, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his thighs. The new position brought your bodies flush together, your chest pressed against his, and you felt the sharp intake of breath he took against your mouth.
Jungkook’s hands instinctively moved to your hips, holding you there as the kiss grew hotter, wetter. A low sound rumbled in his chest— half groan, half sigh— and for a few blissful seconds, he kissed you back like he’d been starving for it. His tongue explored yours, teeth grazing your bottom lip, sending little sparks straight down your spine.
Then he suddenly pulled away, breaking the kiss with a gasp. His forehead rested against yours, eyes squeezed shut, breathing ragged. “Wait— wait,” he whispered, voice strained and rough. One hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your flushed skin. His dark eyes searched yours, filled with conflict. “But… Taehyung. He’s my best friend. You’re his girlfriend. We can’t— we shouldn’t—”
The words hung heavy between you, the reality of what you were doing crashing down like cold water. For a heartbeat, guilt flickered across his face, his jaw tight as he fought an internal battle. You could see it, the loyalty to Taehyung warring with the undeniable desire burning in his gaze.
You shook your head, heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat. Your fingers curled into the front of his t-shirt, holding him close. “I know,” you breathed, voice barely above a whisper. “I know it’s wrong. But right now… I need this, Jungkook. I need you.” Your voice cracked slightly, raw with emotion. “Tonight I don’t want to think about the fight or what it means. I just… I want this. I want you. And I can tell you want it too.”
Jungkook stared at you for a long, charged moment. His chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes dark and conflicted, lips slightly parted and still glistening from the kiss. The silence stretched, thick with tension and unspoken consequences. Then something in his expression shifted, the hesitation cracked, desire winning out. With a quiet, defeated groan, he slid his hand back into your hair and pulled you back down into a searing kiss.
This time there was no restraint. The kiss was deeper, more possessive, his tongue claiming your mouth as his hands roamed. He kissed you like he was pouring every hidden feeling he’d ever had into it. His lips soon trailed away from your mouth, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down the sensitive column of your neck. You tilted your head to the side, giving him better access, a soft whimper escaping as his teeth grazed your pulse point.
“Fuck… you taste so good,” he murmured against your skin, voice husky. One of his large hands slid down to your thigh, fingers slipping under the hem of the borrowed sweatpants, stroking the bare skin there with slow, deliberate touches. The other hand stayed on your hip, guiding you as you began to move.
You rocked slowly against him, grinding down onto his lap in a gentle, teasing rhythm. You could already feel him hardening beneath you, the growing bulge pressing against your core through the thin layers of fabric. Each roll of your hips drew a low, muffled groan from him, the sound vibrating against your neck where he continued kissing and gently sucking, careful not to leave marks but clearly struggling with the urge.
His hands explored your thighs with increasing hunger, squeezing the soft flesh, fingertips digging in just enough to make you shiver. “You feel so fucking good on me,” he whispered between kisses, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Been trying not to think about this for so long…”
You answered by grinding down harder, chasing the friction that was quickly turning the slow burn into an open flame. The living room felt smaller, hotter, the distant sound of rain against the windows the only thing grounding you to reality. Jungkook’s breath grew heavier, his hips starting to lift subtly to meet your movements, hands guiding your pace as he kissed lower, nudging the collar of the hoodie aside to press his lips to your collarbone.
Every touch, every whispered word, every roll of your hips blurred the line further, guilt and desire twisting together until they were almost indistinguishable. The heat between you had become unbearable, a slow-building fire that consumed every last shred of hesitation. Jungkook’s hands were everywhere, sliding under the oversized hoodie, palms hot against your bare skin as he pulled you closer.
Your fingers trembled as they found the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it upward. He helped you, lifting his arms so you could peel it off, revealing the smooth, toned planes of his chest and abdomen, muscles flexing with every ragged breath. The hoodie came off next in a frantic blur, your hair tumbling messily around your shoulders as he yanked it over your head. Sweatpants and his own followed, fabric whispering against skin and pooling on the floor until there was nothing left between you.
Naked, skin to skin, the world narrowed to just this: the warmth of his body, the rapid thud of his heartbeat against yours, the way his dark eyes drank you in like you were the only thing that mattered. Any lingering thought of Taehyung dissolved completely, washed away by the storm outside and the one raging inside you. There was only Jungkook, his scent, his touch, the way he looked at you like he’d been waiting years for this moment.
You rose up on your knees, straddling him fully now, one hand braced on his broad shoulder while the other reached between your bodies. His cock was hard and heavy, flushed and leaking at the tip. You wrapped your fingers around him, stroking once, twice, feeling him twitch in your grip. Jungkook’s breath hitched, a low, needy sound escaping his throat as he gripped your hips, thumbs stroking soothing circles into your skin. No words passed between you. None were needed.
Slowly, torturously, you sank down onto him.
The stretch was exquisite, inch by inch, he filled you, thick and deep, pressing against walls that had never been touched quite like this. A soft, broken moan slipped from your lips as you bottomed out, your thighs trembling against his. Jungkook’s head fell back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, his chest rising sharply with a silent groan. His hands tightened on your hips, not guiding, just holding, reverent, steady, like he was afraid this might vanish if he gripped too hard.
You stayed there for a long moment, just feeling him, letting your body adjust to the fullness. Then you began to move. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t rough. It was slow, rolling waves, your hips lifting and sinking in a languid rhythm, grinding down on every descent so his cock dragged perfectly against that sensitive spot deep inside you. Every movement drew quiet, breathy moans from both of you. Your forehead pressed to his, noses brushing, mouths hovering close enough to share the same air. His hands roamed your back, your waist, your thighs, gentle caresses that felt almost worshipful. One palm came up to cup your breast, thumb brushing tenderly over your nipple, drawing another soft whimper from you.
You rode him like that for what felt like forever, lost in the rhythm. The wet, intimate sounds of your bodies moving together filled the quiet living room, mingling with the steady patter of rain against the windows. Your breaths synced— short, panting exhales every time you sank down, shaky inhales when you rose again. Jungkook’s moans were low and guttural, vibrating against your chest whenever he buried his face in your neck. He kissed you there, open-mouthed and slow, sucking gently, tongue tracing your pulse.
You hated yourself for the thought that flickered through your mind, but it was impossible to ignore: Jungkook was hitting places Taehyung had never reached. Deeper, fuller, brushing against a spot that made sparks explode behind your eyelids with every roll of your hips. The pleasure was different, richer, more intense, curling low in your belly and spreading outward like warm honey. Guilt twisted sharp and sudden in your chest, but it melted away again under the next wave of sensation as you ground down harder, taking him to the hilt.
Jungkook seemed to sense it. His arms wrapped fully around you, pulling you impossibly closer until your bodies were flush, moving as one. One hand slid into your hair, cradling the back of your head; the other stayed on your lower back, guiding your slow, sensual rhythm without forcing it. His lips found yours again, kissing you deeply, languidly, tongues stroking in time with your hips. Every moan, every sigh, every quiet gasp became your only language.
You could feel the tension building in both of you, coiling tighter and tighter. Your walls fluttered around him, clenching with every descent. Jungkook’s breathing grew more ragged, his hips starting to lift subtly to meet yours, pushing just a little deeper each time. Sweat slicked your skin where you pressed together. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, nails leaving faint crescents as the pleasure crested.
When you came, it was slow and devastating, waves of ecstasy rolling through you, pulling a long, trembling moan from your throat that he swallowed with another deep kiss. Your body pulsed around him, drawing him in, holding him there as pleasure blinded you. Jungkook followed moments later, burying himself deep with one final, shuddering thrust. A broken groan tore from him as he spilled inside you, hot and pulsing, his arms tightening around your body like he never wanted to let go.
You stayed like that for a long time afterward, still joined, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in. His hands stroked soothingly up and down your back. Soft kisses were pressed to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. No words. Just the quiet intimacy of two people who had crossed a line they could never uncross.
The next morning light crept in slowly through the half-drawn blinds of Jungkook’s living room, painting long, lazy stripes of pale gold across the hardwood floor and the rumpled blanket that had been pulled over your bodies sometime in the night. You woke gradually, not with a jolt but with a soft, heavy awareness that settled into your bones like warm honey mixed with lead. Your body felt different, deliciously used, sore in the most intimate places, a faint ache between your thighs that made heat bloom across your cheeks even before your eyes fully opened.
Every shift of your hips reminded you of how deeply he had been inside you, how perfectly he had filled you, how your walls had clenched around him in those slow, rolling waves of pleasure. The memory hit you in fragments: the way his hands had gripped your hips with such tender reverence, the quiet hitch in his breath each time you sank down onto him, the way your foreheads had stayed pressed together as if you were sharing the same heartbeat.
Jungkook lay beside you on the wide couch, still fast asleep. His dark hair was tousled against the cushion, one arm draped loosely over your waist, fingers curled loosely against the bare skin of your lower back where the blanket had slipped. His chest rose and fell in deep, even rhythms, lips slightly parted, lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks. He looked so peaceful, so boyishly handsome in the morning light, and for a fleeting second your heart squeezed with something dangerously close to affection.
Last night had been… God, it had been some of the best sex of your life. Not just the physical release— though that had been shattering— but the intimacy of it. The way it had felt romantic, almost sacred, like two souls reaching for each other in the dark without a single word spoken. You hadn’t rushed. You hadn’t needed to. Every slow grind of your hips, every shared breath, every soft moan had built something deeper than lust. And now, in the quiet aftermath, you lay there feeling the evidence of it still inside you, his release, dried on your inner thighs, a sticky reminder that refused to let you pretend it had been a dream.
But the warmth in your chest curdled quickly into something colder. Your heart felt heavy, a dull, throbbing weight pressing against your ribs as reality seeped in like the gray dawn outside. You didn’t regret it. Not entirely. How could you, when your body still hummed with the afterglow of something so raw and real? Taehyung had never touched you like that— never reached the places Jungkook had found so effortlessly, never made you feel so completely seen and wanted in the middle of your brokenness.
The thought made guilt twist sharp and vicious in your stomach, but it was tangled up with an odd, stubborn sense of clarity. Last night had been a release you hadn’t known you needed. Still, the dread pooled low in your belly, thick and icy, spreading outward until your fingers trembled where they rested against Jungkook’s arm. You had cheated. On Taehyung. With his best friend. The words echoed in your mind like a courtroom verdict, cold and final. You had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed, and the weight of it pressed down on you until breathing felt like an effort.
Your mind began to whirl, thoughts spiraling faster and faster. What if Jungkook woke up right now? What would you say? What if he looked at you with those dark, searching eyes and asked if it changed anything? What if Taehyung somehow sensed it the second you walked through the door, the faint scent of Jungkook’s cologne still clinging to your skin, the subtle marks his mouth had left on your neck that you’d have to hide? Panic flickered at the edges of your consciousness. You couldn’t stay here. You had to leave before the apartment filled with daylight and questions and the terrifying possibility that last night might mean more than either of you could handle.
Carefully, so carefully, you began to disentangle yourself. You lifted Jungkook’s arm inch by inch, holding your breath when he stirred and let out a soft, sleepy sigh. His fingers brushed your hip as they fell away, sending a traitorous spark through you, but he didn’t wake. You slid off the couch on silent feet, the cool floorboards kissing your bare soles. Your clothes from the night before, still slightly damp from the storm, lay folded neatly on the coffee table where Jungkook must have placed them.
You dressed quickly but quietly, pulling on your pants and shirt with shaking hands, wincing at the way the fabric dragged against skin still sensitive from his touch. The oversized hoodie and sweatpants you’d borrowed last night stayed behind; you couldn’t risk taking anything that smelled like him home. One last glance at Jungkook, his peaceful face, the faint red lines your nails had left on his shoulder, and your chest tightened with a confusing mix of longing and shame. You slipped out the door like a ghost, pulling it shut behind you with the softest click. The hallway was empty, the building still hushed in the early hour. Your footsteps echoed too loudly in your own ears as you hurried down the stairs and out into the morning air.
The city was just waking up, the streets still glistening from last night’s rain. Puddles reflected the pale sky, and the air carried that fresh, earthy scent of wet pavement mixed with distant coffee shops opening their doors. You walked the familiar route home, each step heavier than the last. The dread in your belly grew into a storm of its own, churning and expanding until it felt like it might swallow you whole. You had cheated. With Jungkook. Taehyung’s best friend. The man who had stood beside him at every milestone, who had laughed with the two of you over late-night dinners, who had been part of your shared life for years.
How had it come to this? One fight, one storm, one vulnerable night, and now everything was tainted. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, Taehyung again, probably, but you couldn’t look. Not yet. Your mind raced through every possible scenario: what if he could tell just by looking at you? What if the guilt was written across your face like a neon sign? What if Jungkook texted him something innocent later and the truth slipped out anyway? You prayed, silently and desperately, that Taehyung wouldn’t be home when you got there. Maybe he’d crashed at the studio. Maybe he’d gone for a run to clear his head. Anything but facing him with last night still burning on your skin.
But the universe had other plans. Punishment, it seemed, came swift and merciless.
The moment you slid your key into the lock of your apartment door, the familiar click sounded like a gunshot in the quiet hallway. You pushed the door open and stepped inside, heart hammering so hard you could feel it in your throat. The living room was dim, curtains still drawn, but the lamp on the side table was on. And there he was, Taehyung. He had clearly spent the entire night on the couch, exactly where you’d left him. His hair was a wild mess, dark circles carved under his eyes, clothes wrinkled and rumpled from hours of restless tossing. The second the door opened and he registered your presence, he shot up from the couch like a man possessed, eyes wide and red-rimmed with exhaustion and unshed tears.
“Baby—” His voice cracked on the single word, raw and broken. He crossed the room in three long, desperate strides, bare feet silent on the floor. Before you could even open your mouth to speak, he dropped to his knees right in front of you, the impact loud enough to make you flinch. His arms wrapped around your legs in a crushing embrace, face burying itself against your thighs as heavy, gut-wrenching sobs tore from his chest. “I’m so sorry,” he cried, voice muffled against the fabric of your pants. Tears soaked through immediately, warm and relentless. “I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t mean any of the things I said last night— none of it. I was scared and angry and I took it all out on you. I love you. God, I love you so much. Please… please don’t leave me. I can’t lose you. I can’t do this without you.”
His shoulders shook violently under the force of his crying. He clung to you like a lifeline, fingers digging into the back of your thighs as if letting go would make you disappear forever. “I stayed up all night thinking about everything. About us. About how I’ve been taking you for granted. I’ll change. I’ll do better. I’ll be the man you deserve. Just… just tell me we’re okay. Tell me you still love me.”
Your heart sank like a stone dropped into the deepest, coldest part of the ocean. The guilt you’d been carrying since you left Jungkook’s apartment crashed over you in a tidal wave, so intense it stole the breath from your lungs. Here was Taehyung— your boyfriend, your partner, the man you had built a life with, completely shattered at your feet, pouring out his soul in raw, ugly tears. And you… you had spent the night wrapped around his best friend, letting Jungkook fuck you slow and deep while the rain fell outside. The contrast was nauseating. You couldn’t tell him. Not now. Not ever. The truth would destroy him. It would destroy the three of you. Everything you had worked so hard to build would crumble into dust.
Right then and there, kneeling on the floor with him, the decision crystallized in your mind like ice forming over a lake. It had to be a one-time thing. A horrible, beautiful, unrepeatable mistake born from anger and vulnerability and the storm. You would talk to Jungkook, soon, before anything else could happen, and make him understand. You would convince him that you couldn’t tell Taehyung, that it was a mistake that could never be repeated, that the two of you had to bury it so deep it never saw the light of day again. For Taehyung’s sake. For all of your sakes.
Tears spilled down your own cheeks then— hot, guilty, bitter tears that burned tracks down your skin. You sank to your knees too, right there in the entryway, cupping Taehyung’s tear-streaked face in both your hands and lifting it so you could look into his eyes. They were so full of love and relief and desperation that it nearly broke you all over again. “Taehyung…” you whispered, voice thick and trembling. You leaned in and kissed him softly, tasting the salt of his tears on his lips. The kiss was gentle, reassuring, everything he needed it to be. “I forgive you. I’m sorry too. We both said awful, hurtful things. I love you. We’re going to be okay. I promise.”
He pulled you into his arms with a broken sob of relief, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his body shook against yours. You held him tight, stroking his back in slow, soothing circles, letting your own tears fall freely into his hair. The two of you stayed like that on the floor for what felt like hours, two broken people clinging to each other in the wreckage of last night’s fight.
Taehyung’s tears eventually slowed, replaced by shaky, grateful breaths and whispered promises against your skin. But while his were tears of remorse and gratitude and second chances, yours were born from something far darker: a crushing shame that settled deep in your bones, a fear that gnawed at the edges of your mind, and the terrifying knowledge that you had just shattered something sacred and could never, ever take it back.
The apartment smelled like yesterday’s dinner and stale coffee. The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the silence between his sobs. Outside, the city continued its morning rhythm, cars passing, birds calling, life moving forward as if nothing had changed. But inside, everything had. You stroked Taehyung’s hair and whispered more reassurances, even as your mind replayed every slow, intimate moment with Jungkook in vivid, unwanted detail. The way he had looked at you. The way he had felt inside you. The way your body had responded like it had been waiting for him all along.
You hated yourself for it. But you couldn’t undo it. All you could do now was bury it, lock it away, and pray that the secret wouldn’t eat you alive from the inside out.
The week that followed the stormy night felt like walking through fog, thick, disorienting, and heavy with the weight of what you’d done. You threw yourself into repairing things with Taehyung: quiet dinners at home, long talks where he held your hands and promised to be better, soft kisses that tasted like forgiveness. You told yourself every single day that the night with Jungkook had been a one-time lapse in judgment, a moment of weakness you would bury so deep it would never surface again. You even avoided places where you might run into him, deleting the casual “you okay?” text he’d sent the day after and never replying.
But the memories refused to stay buried. At night, when Taehyung slept beside you, your mind replayed every slow roll of your hips, every shared breath, the way Jungkook had looked at you like you were the only real thing in his world. Your body remembered too— the delicious ache, the way he had reached places no one else ever had. The guilt was constant, but so was the pull. By the seventh day, you couldn’t fight it anymore. You told Taehyung you were going out for a walk to clear your head, and your feet carried you straight to Jungkook’s apartment building like they had a mind of their own.
Your heart thundered as you stood outside his door, fist hovering. Just end it, you repeated like a mantra. Tell him it was a mistake. Make sure he understands we can never speak of it again. You knocked before you could chicken out.
Jungkook opened the door almost immediately, as if he’d sensed you coming. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, hair messy, wearing the same black hoodie from that night. The moment his gaze landed on you, something raw and relieved flickered across his face.
“You came,” he said softly, stepping aside to let you in.
The apartment smelled exactly the same, clean cotton, faint cologne, warm coffee. It made your stomach twist with unwanted nostalgia. You sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, the same one where everything had started, hands knotted tightly in your lap. Jungkook settled across from you, leaving careful space between you, but his eyes never left your face.
You swallowed hard. “Kook… what happened last week can never happen again. It was a mistake. I was hurting, the fight with Taehyung was fresh, and I was vulnerable. But I love him. He’s your best friend. We crossed a line we had no right to cross.”
Jungkook nodded slowly, jaw flexing. He ran a hand through his hair, looking down at the floor. “I know. I’ve been sick over it. He’s like a brother to me. Every time I think about looking him in the eye, I feel like the worst person alive.” His voice was heavy, genuine. “You’re right. It has to stop. We bury it. Pretend it never happened.”
Relief flooded through you, cool and fleeting. He agreed. This nightmare could end here. But the silence that followed stretched too long, thick with everything unsaid. Your mind betrayed you first.
“I still can’t stop thinking about how slow we went,” you whispered, almost against your will. “The way you held me… like I mattered. Like nothing else existed.”
Jungkook’s breath caught. His eyes darkened, pupils blowing wide. “Yeah?” His voice dropped lower. “I keep remembering how you sank down on me… so wet, so tight. The way your walls fluttered every time I hit that spot deep inside. Fuck… I’ve jerked off to that memory every night since.”
Heat flashed through your body like lightning. Your thighs pressed together instinctively. “The way you looked at me when I came,” you continued, voice trembling. “Like you were feeling it too.”
“I was,” he rasped. “I felt everything. Every little gasp, every roll of your hips, the way you clenched around my cock when you fell apart. I’ve never come that hard in my life.”
The air between you crackled, electric and dangerous. You leaned forward slightly at the same time he did. “We shouldn’t,” you breathed, even as your body leaned closer.
“I know,” he growled, but his hand was already reaching for you.
The distance vanished in a heartbeat. Jungkook pulled you up and into his arms, mouths crashing together in a desperate, starving kiss. This wasn’t the tender exploration of last week. This was weeks of guilt, longing, and frustration exploding all at once. Tongues tangled, teeth nipped, hands roamed frantically. He walked you backward down the hallway without breaking the kiss, kicking his bedroom door open.
Clothes came off in a frenzied blur, your sweater yanked over your head, his hoodie tossed aside, pants and underwear shoved down and kicked away. By the time your back hit his bed, you were both completely naked, skin flushed and burning. Jungkook climbed over you like a man possessed, eyes blazing with raw hunger. He hooked his hands behind your knees and pushed your legs up and over his broad shoulders, folding you nearly in half beneath him. The position left you completely open, vulnerable, and aching.
He gripped his thick cock, dragging the swollen head through your slick folds once, twice, teasing your entrance. Then he thrust in— hard. One powerful snap of his hips buried him to the hilt inside you. You cried out sharply at the sudden, breathtaking stretch, your walls fluttering wildly around his girth. He didn’t pause. He pulled back almost to the tip and slammed in again, setting a brutal, punishing rhythm that made the headboard slam rhythmically against the wall.
“Fuck— Jungkook!” you sobbed, nails raking down his back hard enough to leave marks.
He groaned deep in his chest, the sound animalistic. “So fucking tight. So wet for me. God, this pussy was made for my cock.” His hips snapped forward relentlessly, fast, deep, almost feral. The new angle had him dragging against that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, the head of his cock kissing your cervix and sending white-hot pleasure shooting up your spine. Skin slapped loudly against skin. Sweat slicked your bodies. His balls smacked against your ass with every powerful drive.
Nothing like the slow, romantic first time. This was pure, unrestrained need, a week of denial poured into every brutal thrust. He fucked you like he was trying to erase the guilt, like he could fuck his name into your soul. Your legs shook over his shoulders, toes curling in the air. Every drag of his thick cock sent sparks exploding behind your eyelids.
“You feel even better than I remembered,” he growled against your neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark you’d have to hide later. “So deep, shit, I’m so deep inside you, baby.”
You couldn’t form words anymore. Only broken moans and whimpers spilled from your lips as he pounded into you, the wet, obscene sounds of your arousal filling the room. Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly, white-hot and devastating. When you came, it hit you like a freight train, your walls clamping down around him in rhythmic pulses, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as your entire body seized.
Jungkook followed right after with a guttural moan, burying himself as deep as he could go and spilling inside you in hot, thick ropes. His hips stuttered through the aftershocks, grinding against you as he emptied every drop.
You stayed locked together, breathing hard, hearts pounding against each other. Slowly, he lowered your legs, but he didn’t pull out. He collapsed half on top of you, forehead pressed to yours, eyes closed like he was savoring the connection.
“We’re so fucked,” he whispered after a long silence.
You let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a sob. “Yeah… we are.”
Neither of you suggested stopping again.
And so it began.
What was meant to be the final goodbye became the second time, then the third, then an addiction neither of you could quit. Over the following weeks and months, you found yourself at Jungkook’s door again and again. The excuses started weak—“I just need to talk”—but soon you stopped pretending altogether. You would text him a single “now?” and he would reply with his door code.
The encounters grew more intense, more varied, more dangerous.
One rainy afternoon he took you on the kitchen counter. He sat you on the edge, spread your legs wide, and fucked you slow and deep while staring into your eyes, whispering how perfect you felt, how he couldn’t stop thinking about you even when he was with Taehyung. Another night he bent you over his gaming desk, pounding into you from behind while one hand reached around to circle your clit until you were sobbing his name. You rode him in his desk chair, grinding down on his cock while his hands guided your hips and his mouth worshipped your breasts.
He ate you out on the dining table for nearly an hour, tongue and fingers working you until your thighs shook uncontrollably and you begged him to fuck you properly. In the shower you clung to him as he held you against the tiled wall, water cascading over your joined bodies while he thrust up into you. In the backseat of his car in a deserted parking garage, windows fogged, you straddled him desperately because you couldn’t wait the extra ten minutes to get upstairs.
With every new position, every new location, the sex evolved. It stopped being just release and became something deeper, more intimate. He started staying inside you after he came, holding you close, tracing lazy patterns on your bare skin. You talked for hours between rounds— about childhood dreams, fears of the future, silly stories that made you both laugh until your stomachs hurt. He comforted you when you cried after arguments with Taehyung. He listened when you admitted how lost you sometimes felt in your own relationship. He looked at you like you were the center of his universe.
And somewhere in the quiet moments after mind-blowing orgasms, you fell in love with him.
It happened gradually, terrifyingly. You started craving not just his body but his presence, his laugh, his gentle teasing, the way he made you feel truly seen. You caught yourself smiling at your phone when his name appeared. You found yourself comparing Taehyung’s gentle kisses to Jungkook’s consuming ones. The guilt never disappeared, but it became background noise, drowned out by the overwhelming love and pleasure you felt in Jungkook’s arms.
You were in love with your boyfriend's best friend. and then, you were— you were Taehyung's fiance.
The night he proposed was one you'd never forget. The elegant Italian restaurant glowed under warm amber lighting, crystal chandeliers casting soft golden patterns across crisp white tablecloths and polished silverware. The air carried the rich aroma of garlic, fresh basil, aged wine, and seared butter — the kind of scent that made every breath feel indulgent. Soft jazz played in the background, mingling with the low murmur of conversation and occasional laughter from surrounding tables. It was the perfect setting for a special night, or so everyone believed.
Your mother sat across from you, elegant in her cream blouse, chatting animatedly with Chaewon, your best friend, who kept shooting you knowing little smiles. Taehyung was in his element— charming, bright, laughing easily as he poured more wine for everyone. And then there was Jungkook, seated diagonally across from you, his usual easy smile nowhere to be found. His jaw was tight, brows furrowed, dark eyes clouded with something raw and anguished. He kept glancing at you, then at Taehyung, then down at his plate, fingers white-knuckled around the stem of his wine glass. He knew. Somehow, in the way only someone who had been tangled in your secret for months could know, he sensed what was coming tonight.
You hadn’t planned to sneak away with him. Not here, not with everyone present. But the tension had been unbearable from the moment you all sat down. Under the table, Jungkook’s foot had brushed yours once, twice, then stayed pressed against your ankle. When Taehyung excused himself briefly to speak with the waiter about a special dessert, Jungkook’s eyes met yours, dark, desperate, pleading. You gave the smallest nod.
The two of you slipped away separately, hearts racing. You waited in the dimly lit hallway near the restrooms for what felt like an eternity before his hand closed around your wrist and pulled you into the single-occupancy bathroom at the end of the corridor. The door locked with a quiet click.
There was no time for tenderness tonight.
Jungkook spun you around, pressing your front against the cool marble counter, your reflection staring back at you, flushed cheeks, wide eyes, swollen lips. He hiked your elegant black dress up around your waist in one rough motion, yanking your lace panties down just enough. You heard the metallic sound of his belt, the rasp of his zipper, and then he was pushing inside you, thick, hard, and urgent.
“Fuck,” he breathed against your ear, one hand covering your mouth to muffle your moan as he bottomed out in a single thrust. “So wet already… you’ve been thinking about me all night, haven’t you?”
You could only nod frantically, pushing back against him. He fucked you hard and fast, hips snapping forward with desperate intensity. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed quietly in the small space, drowned out by the restaurant’s ambient noise just beyond the door. One of his hands gripped your hip hard enough to bruise while the other reached around to rub tight, frantic circles over your clit. It was quick, dirty, and devastatingly good. Within minutes you were coming hard around him, biting down on his fingers to stay silent as pleasure ripped through you. Jungkook followed right after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a choked groan, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades.
For a few seconds you both just breathed— ragged, guilty, addicted. He kissed the back of your neck softly, almost apologetically, before pulling out. You quickly fixed your panties and smoothed down your dress while he tucked himself away and washed his hands. Your eyes met in the mirror. His were tormented.
“We should get back,” you whispered.
He nodded, jaw clenched. “Yeah.”
You returned to the table one after the other, trying to look casual. Taehyung was already back, smiling warmly as he pulled your chair out for you. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, his lips lingering sweetly against your skin.
“There you are,” he murmured affectionately. “Missed you for a second.”
You forced a smile, cheeks still warm from the bathroom. “Just freshening up.”
Chaewon raised an eyebrow at you but said nothing. Your mother continued talking. Jungkook stared down at his plate of half-eaten risotto, fork gripped so tightly in his hand that his knuckles had gone white. His expression was twisted— anguish, jealousy, heartbreak, and self-loathing all etched into the sharp lines of his face. He looked like a man watching his entire world prepare to slip away.
The conversation flowed around you. Taehyung’s hand rested warmly on your thigh under the table, thumb stroking gentle circles. You laughed when you were supposed to, nodded at stories about old memories, sipped your wine to steady your nerves. But every time you glanced at Jungkook, your heart cracked a little more. He barely spoke. When he did, his voice was tight, clipped.
Finally, as dessert plates were being cleared and another bottle of wine opened, Taehyung stood up. The table quieted. Your stomach dropped like a stone. He turned to you, eyes shining with love and nervous excitement. Slowly, he lowered himself onto one knee right there beside your chair. The entire restaurant seemed to hold its breath. Soft gasps and murmurs rose from nearby tables as people realized what was happening.
Your mother’s hands flew to her mouth. Chaewon grinned widely, already pulling out her phone to record.
Taehyung took your left hand in both of his, his touch warm and steady. From his pocket he produced a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a stunning diamond ring that caught the chandelier light and sparkled like starlight. It was beautiful. Perfect. Everything you should have wanted.
“Baby,” he began, voice thick with emotion, “from the moment I met you, I knew my life would never be the same. You make every day brighter. You make me want to be better. I want to spend every tomorrow with you— building a home, chasing dreams, growing old together. I love you more than words can say.” His eyes glistened. “Will you marry me?”
Time slowed.
Your mind spun wildly. Saying no would shatter everything. It would break Taehyung’s heart in front of your mother, your best friend, and half the restaurant. It would destroy years of shared memories, plans, stability. Your career, your social circle, the life you had so carefully built— all of it intertwined with him. People would ask questions. Rumors would spread. You would lose the safety net you had clung to for years.
Your gaze flickered desperately to Jungkook.
He sat frozen, head bowed, staring down at the tablecloth. His fork was clenched so tightly in his fist that it looked like it might bend. His shoulders were tense, jaw locked, chest barely rising with each shallow breath. He wouldn’t look at you. He couldn’t. The anguish on his face was so raw it hurt to see.
You looked back at Taehyung— kind, loving Taehyung, on his knee with nothing but hope and devotion in his eyes.
Your throat tightened. The word you wanted to say— no, lodged somewhere deep inside you, trapped beneath layers of fear and guilt and years of momentum. Instead, you whispered, voice barely audible yet somehow carrying across the silent table, “Yes.”
The restaurant erupted in applause. Taehyung’s face lit up with pure joy as he slid the ring onto your finger. He rose and pulled you into his arms, kissing you deeply in front of everyone. Your mother was crying happy tears. Chaewon cheered. Cameras flashed from nearby tables.
You smiled. You laughed. You hugged him back.
But inside, something vital fractured.
Later that night, back in your shared apartment, the guilt sat like lead in your chest.
Taehyung made love to you slowly, reverently, the way he always did on important nights. Candles flickered on the nightstand. Soft music played low in the background. He kissed every inch of your skin like you were something sacred, whispering “I love you” between each touch. When he finally slid inside you, it was gentle, familiar, comforting, safe.
But all you could think about was Jungkook’s desperate thrusts in the bathroom earlier, the way he had filled you so completely, the anguished look on his face at dinner. Tears slipped silently down your cheeks as Taehyung moved above you, slow and deep and loving.
He noticed the tears and misunderstood completely. A tender smile crossed his face as he brushed them away with his thumbs, still rocking into you gently. “Are you crying because it feels good, baby?” he murmured, voice husky with affection. He kissed the tears from your cheeks, then your eyelids, then your lips. “I’ve got you. Let it out. I love making you feel this way.”
You nodded, unable to speak, fresh tears falling faster. He took it as overwhelming emotion from the proposal, from the intensity of the moment. He held you closer, hips rolling languidly, murmuring sweet nothings against your skin. When you came, it was quiet and bittersweet, more from emotional exhaustion than pleasure. Taehyung followed soon after, groaning your name softly as he spilled inside you.
Afterward, he pulled you into his arms, spooning you from behind and pressing kisses to your shoulder. “My fiancée,” he whispered happily, already drifting off. “I can’t wait to marry you.”
You lay there in the dark, his warm breath against your neck, the new ring heavy on your finger. Silent sobs shook your body long after he fell asleep. The guilt was suffocating. You had said yes to a future you no longer wanted, all while carrying the scent of his best friend on your skin.
Jungkook’s tormented face flashed behind your closed eyelids again and again.
You had never felt more lost.
Present day.
The supply closet door creaked open just a sliver. You peered out, heart still racing from the aftershocks of what had just happened. The hallway was mercifully empty— no lingering guests, no staff rushing by with trays. Only the distant hum of the rehearsal dinner setup floated toward you: silverware clinking, soft laughter, the low murmur of voices echoing off the high ceilings of the venue. You slipped out quickly, smoothing down the front of your rehearsal dress with trembling hands. Your thighs still felt slick, your core pleasantly sore, and the faint scent of Jungkook’s cologne clung to your skin like evidence you couldn’t erase.
You paused at a decorative mirror hanging on the corridor wall, checking your reflection one final time. Lips slightly swollen but hidden under fresh lipstick. Hair mostly back in place, though one strand still looked a little too mussed. Cheeks flushed, but you could blame that on the warm venue lighting or a glass of champagne. You took a slow, steadying breath, forcing your expression into something calm and bridal. The diamond on your finger caught the light mockingly as you turned and walked back toward the main hall.
No one seemed to notice your absence. Or if they did, they didn’t care. The venue buzzed with pre-dinner energy, florists making last-minute adjustments to centerpieces, waitstaff filling water glasses, family members chatting in small clusters. You spotted Taehyung immediately. He was standing near the head table, looking unfairly handsome in his tailored navy suit, laughing at something Namjoon said. The moment he saw you, his whole face lit up.
“There you are, baby,” he said warmly, crossing the distance in a few strides. His arms wrapped around you before you could prepare yourself, pulling you into a tight, loving hug. One hand rubbed soothing circles on your lower back while the other tilted your chin up gently. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, then another to your temple, exactly where Jungkook’s breath had ghosted earlier. “I was starting to wonder where my beautiful almost-wife disappeared to. The rehearsal dinner’s about to start. Everything okay?”
You smiled up at him, the motion automatic after months of practice. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just needed a minute to breathe. It’s all a little overwhelming.”
Taehyung’s eyes softened with understanding. “I know. But tonight’s going to be perfect. Tomorrow’s going to be perfect. Because I get to marry you.” He kissed your forehead again, then laced his fingers through yours, giving your hand a gentle squeeze as he led you toward the long head table.
The seating arrangement had been planned meticulously. You sat near the center, with Chaewon— your maid of honor, on your immediate right. Next to her were your other bridesmaids: Jennie, glowing in a sleek emerald dress, and a couple of college friends who chatted excitedly about the florals. Across the table sat Taehyung’s groomsmen, Yoongi looking effortlessly cool in all black, Namjoon with his dimpled smile, and a few others. And directly across from you, of course, was Jungkook. Best man. Taehyung’s closest friend. The man who had just fucked you senseless in a supply closet less than ten minutes ago.
You did everything possible not to look at him.
Taehyung pulled your chair out for you like the perfect gentleman, then took his seat beside you, immediately draping an arm along the back of your chair. His fingers found yours again under the table, thumb stroking over your engagement ring as if reminding you, or himself that this was real. He leaned toward Yoongi and Namjoon, launching into an easy conversation about some new whiskey Namjoon had discovered on a recent trip. Their laughter rolled over the table, warm and familiar.
You kept your gaze fixed on your water glass, on the delicate gold rim of your plate, on the beautiful floral arrangement in the center of the table, anywhere but across from you. Still, you could feel Jungkook’s presence like a physical weight. The heat of his stare. The way his shoulders filled out his black button-up. The faint redness on the side of his neck that you knew you’d left there with your teeth.
Chaewon nudged your side gently. “You good? You look a little flushed.”
“Just the wine,” you lied with a small laugh, lifting your glass as proof.
Before anyone could press further, Jennie leaned in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that only you and Chaewon could hear. Her eyes sparkled with gossip. “Okay, you guys are never going to believe this. Wonyoung just told me she heard two people straight-up fucking in one of the supply closets a little while ago.”
Chaewon gasped, hand flying to her mouth in dramatic shock. “No way. During the rehearsal dinner? That’s insane. Who would be bold enough?”
Your face drained of color. Ice-cold dread flooded your veins, turning your stomach into a tight knot. Your fingers tightened around the stem of your wine glass until you worried it might snap. They know. Oh God, they know. The room suddenly felt too loud, too bright, too small. You forced yourself to breathe slowly, keeping your expression neutral even as panic clawed up your throat.
Jennie shrugged, clearly enjoying the scandal. “Wonyoung said she heard moaning and the shelf rattling. She tried to be sneaky and wait to see who came out, but she got bored after a couple minutes. The only person she actually saw leave was Jungkook. The girl, whoever she was, took too long, so Wonyoung gave up and came back to the table.”
Chaewon made a disgusted yet amused face, leaning back in her chair. “Of course it was Jungkook. Leave it to him to sneak off and fuck some random girl right before his best friend’s wedding rehearsal. The man has zero shame. I swear, he’s going to end up causing drama at the actual wedding if he’s not careful.”
You swallowed hard, forcing a weak chuckle that sounded fake even to your own ears. “Come on, guys. We don’t know for sure it was him doing anything. Maybe he just… needed something from the closet. Or maybe Wonyoung misheard. These old buildings have weird acoustics.”
Chaewon turned to you with a weird, skeptical look, one perfectly groomed eyebrow arched. “Since when do you defend Jungkook’s hook-up habits? You’ve literally complained about his ‘playboy phase’ with me a dozen times.”
Jennie giggled, already moving on. “Maybe it was one of the catering staff. Or that cute bridesmaid from Taehyung’s cousin’s side? God, I hope it wasn’t. Can you imagine the drama if someone finds out?”
The two of them launched into eager speculation, voices low but animated, throwing out names and possibilities while laughing behind their hands. You sat there frozen, smiling stiffly when they looked at you, nodding along like you were just as amused. Inside, your mind screamed. Every beat of your heart felt like a countdown. The memory of Jungkook’s cock buried deep inside you, his hand over your mouth, his whispered “so fucking perfect” still echoed in your ears while your fiancé held your hand lovingly under the table.
Taehyung squeezed your fingers, completely oblivious, still deep in conversation with Namjoon about honeymoon destinations. “What do you think, babe? Beach or mountains?”
“Beach sounds nice,” you murmured, forcing warmth into your voice.
Across the table, you couldn’t resist anymore. Your eyes lifted.
Jungkook was already watching you. His gaze was intense, dark, and unapologetic. He hadn’t touched his food. His fork rested beside his plate, forgotten. Those familiar eyes, the same ones that had looked at you with lust and something far deeper in the closet, bored straight into you. He didn’t smile. He didn’t look away. He simply stared, jaw tight, like he was daring the entire room to notice. Like he didn’t care if they did. One of his hands rested on the table, fingers drumming once, slowly, as if remembering how they’d gripped your thigh earlier.
The heat in his stare made your core clench involuntarily, a fresh rush of slick mixing with what he’d left inside you. Guilt and desire twisted together so tightly you felt dizzy. You looked away first, cheeks burning, focusing instead on the way Taehyung’s thumb kept stroking your knuckles.
The rehearsal dinner continued around you— toasts starting soon, servers bringing out the first course, laughter rising and falling like waves. But inside your chest, everything felt like it was fracturing. Tomorrow you would walk down the aisle. Tomorrow you would promise forever to the man beside you. And the man across from you, the one still staring like he owned every broken piece of your heart, would be standing right there watching it happen.
The rehearsal dinner wound down slowly, like the final notes of a song that had gone on just a little too long. Laughter gradually softened into tired goodbyes, chairs scraped against the polished floors, and the warm glow of string lights overhead began to feel almost too intimate. Plates were cleared, half-empty wine glasses collected, and the wedding party slowly migrated toward the connected hotel lobby in a cheerful, slightly tipsy procession. Hugs and promises to meet bright and early tomorrow filled the air. Your mother kissed your cheek and whispered how proud she was. Chaewon squeezed your hand and reminded you she’d be there first thing in the morning to help you get ready. Everyone was glowing with excitement.
Everyone except you.
A heavy fog of exhaustion and dread clung to your bones as you walked beside Taehyung through the elegant hotel corridors. The plush carpet muffled your footsteps, but nothing could muffle the storm raging inside your chest. Jungkook lingered somewhere behind the group with the other groomsmen— you hadn’t dared look back at him since that intense stare across the dinner table. The memory of his eyes on you still burned.
True to old-fashioned wedding tradition, you and Taehyung were to spend the night apart. No shared suite, no last-minute intimacy. Just one final night as fiancés before tomorrow made everything permanent.
Your group reached the executive floor where the bridal and groom parties had been booked. Doors lined the quiet hallway, each marked with elegant gold numbers. Taehyung’s suite was three doors down from yours. The others said their final goodnights, waving and calling out teasing reminders not to stay up too late thinking about each other. Slowly, the hallway emptied until it was just the two of you standing outside your door.
Taehyung turned to face you fully, the soft hallway lighting casting gentle shadows across his handsome face. He looked at you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever seen, eyes warm, smile soft and full of love. Your heart clenched so hard it hurt.
He stepped closer, cupping your face with both hands. His thumbs brushed tenderly over your cheeks as he leaned in and kissed you deeply. It wasn’t a quick goodnight peck. This was slow, reverent, full of promise. His lips moved against yours with familiar affection, tongue gently teasing until you parted for him. You tasted the red wine from dinner on his tongue, felt the steady warmth of his body pressing close. One of his hands slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepened.
When he finally pulled back, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his voice was low and thick with emotion. “God, I love you. I can’t believe tomorrow is finally here. I get to marry the love of my life. My best friend. My everything.” He kissed the tip of your nose, then your forehead, then your lips again, softer this time. “I’ve been dreaming about this day since the moment I proposed. I can’t wait to watch you walk down that aisle toward me. I can’t wait to call you my wife.”
You swallowed hard, forcing a smile that you hoped looked genuine. “I love you too, Taehyung,” you whispered, the words tasting both true and bitterly false at the same time. “I can’t wait either.”
But inside, a mountain-sized rock of fear and doubt sat heavy in your stomach, pressing against your lungs and making it hard to breathe. Tomorrow you would stand in front of family, friends, and God, and promise forever to this man while carrying the weight of months of betrayal. While the memory of Jungkook’s hands, his mouth, his body still lingered on your skin. The thought of saying “I do” felt like stepping off a cliff. What kind of life were you building on such a rotten foundation? What if you ruined him? What if you ruined yourself?
You pushed the thoughts away violently, locking them behind a mental door you refused to open tonight. Not now. Not when Taehyung was looking at you like this.
He smiled against your lips, then leaned in closer, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. His voice dropped into that husky, intimate register that always made your stomach flutter. “You have no idea how badly I wish I could take you into that room right now,” he murmured, breath warm against your skin. “How much I want to peel this dress off you, lay you down on that big bed, and fuck you slow and deep until you’re moaning my name. I’ve been thinking about it all night… how perfect you’d feel wrapped around me on the night before our wedding.”
A shiver ran through you, part guilt, part muscle memory from the supply closet earlier. You played along, letting out a soft, breathy laugh as you slid your arms around his neck. “Tae… you’re going to make this separation even harder,” you whispered back, kissing the corner of his jaw. “But you’re right. We’ll have forever after tomorrow. All the nights we want.”
He groaned quietly, pulling you into another deep kiss, this one edged with restrained hunger. His hands roamed your back, pressing you closer, and for a moment you let yourself sink into the familiarity of him, the safety, the love, the life you had chosen. When he finally stepped back, his eyes were dark with want but shining with pure happiness.
“One more night,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Then you’re mine forever. Sleep well, my beautiful bride. Dream of me.”
“I will,” you lied gently.
He kissed you one last time, slow, lingering, full of quiet devotion, before pulling away with visible reluctance. He walked backward a few steps, still watching you with that bright, loving smile, then turned and disappeared into his own suite a few doors down. The soft click of his door closing echoed in the now-empty hallway.
You stood there alone for a long moment, keycard clutched tightly in your fingers, staring at the polished wood of your own door. The mountain in your stomach grew heavier. Your thighs still ached faintly from Jungkook. Your lips still tingled from Taehyung. Two completely different kinds of kisses, two completely different kinds of love, one safe and warm, the other dangerous and all-consuming, warred inside you until you felt dizzy.
Finally, you slipped the keycard into the lock and pushed the door open. The luxurious suite welcomed you with soft lighting, a king-sized bed piled with crisp white linens, and a breathtaking view of the city skyline through floor-to-ceiling windows. It should have felt like a dream. Instead, it felt like a beautifully decorated cage.
You closed the door behind you, leaned back against it, and let out a shaky breath. Tomorrow was coming whether you were ready or not.
You had been lying in the massive king-sized bed for what felt like an eternity, though the clock on the nightstand insisted it had only been forty-three minutes. The silk sheets were cool against your skin at first, but now they clung to your legs like a second, suffocating layer. No matter how many times you flipped the pillow to the cool side, no matter how you rearranged your body— on your back, curled on your side, sprawled on your stomach— sleep refused to come. Your mind was a hurricane, relentless and loud, every thought crashing into the next with brutal force.
Tomorrow.
The word echoed like a death knell. Tomorrow you would walk down a petal-strewn aisle in a dress that had cost more than most people’s cars. Tomorrow you would stand in front of two hundred people and promise forever to Kim Taehyung. Tomorrow you would become someone’s wife.
And tonight, your body still carried the ghost of Jeon Jungkook.
You could still feel the faint ache between your thighs from the supply closet. The taste of his kiss lingered on your lips beneath the mint of toothpaste. His scent, clean, woody, faintly sweet, seemed embedded in your skin no matter how many times you’d showered. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw his face at dinner: that anguished stare across the table, the way his knuckles had gone white around his fork.
You and Jungkook had never truly talked about it.
Not once in all those stolen months had either of you said the words “I love you.” The relationship, if it could even be called that, had existed in heated silences, desperate touches, and late-night conversations that danced around the edges of real feelings. You’d talk about music, about childhood memories, about fears of failure and dreams you were too scared to chase. You’d laugh until your stomachs hurt, then fuck like the world was ending. But love? That word had always stayed locked behind teeth and bitten lips, too dangerous to release.
Still, you knew.
You loved him. God, you loved him in a way that felt terrifying and inevitable, like gravity. You loved the way he looked at you like you were the only real thing in his universe. You loved how he remembered tiny details no one else noticed. You loved the way he touched you— like worship and ruin all at once. And deep down, in the quietest part of your heart, you were almost certain he loved you back. The way he held you after sex, the way his voice would crack when he said your name in the dark, the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching… it was all there.
But love wasn’t enough. Not when it was built on lies and betrayal. You couldn’t keep doing this. You couldn’t spend the rest of your life sneaking around, stealing moments, destroying two people who didn’t deserve it. Tonight had to be the end. One final goodbye, then you would lock your heart away and become the wife Taehyung deserved.
The decision settled over you like cold steel.
You sat up abruptly, heart hammering. The city lights outside the floor-to-ceiling windows blurred through the tears gathering in your eyes. You didn’t bother with a robe, just grabbed the hotel keycard and slipped on the soft hotel slippers. Your silk nightdress brushed against your thighs as you moved silently to the door. The hallway was quiet, dimmed for the night, the carpet plush underfoot. Every step felt like walking toward the edge of a cliff.
Jungkook’s room was only two floors up. You took the stairs instead of the elevator, needing the movement to steady your nerves. By the time you reached his door, your hands were shaking so badly you almost dropped the keycard twice. You stood there for a long moment, forehead pressed against the cool wood, breathing through the panic.
Then you knocked. Soft. Hesitant. Barely audible.
You heard movement inside, sheets rustling, footsteps padding across the floor. The door opened. Jungkook stood there in nothing but black sweatpants slung low on his hips, hair messy from tossing and turning of his own. His eyes widened in genuine shock when he saw you. For a second, neither of you moved. The hallway light spilled into his dimly lit suite, highlighting the sharp lines of his collarbones, the faint red marks your nails had left on his shoulder earlier.
You didn’t wait for an invitation. You stepped forward, gently pushing the door wider, and slipped inside. Jungkook closed it behind you with a quiet click, the sound final in the heavy silence. No words passed between you. You stood just inside the room, staring at him. He stared back. The air felt thick, charged with everything unsaid for months. The king bed behind him was rumpled, one pillow tossed aside like he’d been struggling to sleep too. A single lamp cast a warm, golden glow across the space, catching on the sharp angles of his face and the tension in his jaw.
You moved first, walking slowly to the edge of the bed and sitting down. The mattress dipped under your weight. Tears welled up instantly, hot and stinging, blurring your vision. You tried to hold them back, but one slipped free, rolling down your cheek.
Jungkook was on his knees in front of you before you could draw another breath.
He moved with that quiet, graceful speed he always had, dropping down between your legs, hands coming up to cradle your face with heartbreaking gentleness. His thumbs brushed away the tears as they fell, warm and calloused from years of playing guitar and working out. His dark eyes searched yours, full of worry and something deeper, something that made your chest ache even worse.
“Baby… what’s wrong?” he whispered, voice rough with sleep and emotion. “Talk to me. Please.”
You shook your head, lips trembling. More tears spilled over. “This has to be the last time, Jungkook,” you managed, voice cracking. “Tonight. This… us. It has to end. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t marry him tomorrow while I’m still… while we’re still—”
Your words dissolved into a quiet sob. You cried harder, shoulders shaking, the weight of months of guilt and love and fear crashing down all at once.
Jungkook’s face crumpled. His own eyes glistened as he continued wiping your tears away with careful thumbs, like he could erase the pain if he was gentle enough. “Okay,” he whispered, voice wavering badly. He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Okay… if that’s what you need. I’ll… I’ll let you go.”
The words sounded like they physically hurt him to say. His hands trembled against your cheeks. He stayed on his knees, looking up at you like you were his whole world breaking apart right in front of him. You cried harder, leaning forward until your forehead rested against his. Your hands came up to clutch at his bare shoulders, nails digging in like you could anchor yourself to him one last time. The sobs came freely now, quiet but devastating. Jungkook wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer, pressing his face into your stomach as he held you through it. His own breathing was shaky, uneven.
After a long stretch of silence broken only by your quiet crying, he pulled back just enough to look up at you again. His eyes were red-rimmed, devastatingly beautiful in their pain. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear with infinite tenderness.
Then, so softly you almost thought you’d imagined it, he whispered:
“Don’t marry him.”
The words hung between you like smoke. Time seemed to stop. Your breath caught in your throat. Jungkook’s eyes never left yours, raw and pleading and full of a love he had never dared speak out loud until this moment. His hands stayed on your waist, thumbs stroking slow circles through the silk of your nightdress, grounding and desperate all at once.
You stared down at him, heart shattering into a thousand pieces. Then you pulled back slightly, staring at him through tear-blurred vision. Your heart stuttered. “What… what do you mean?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, cracking on the last word.
Jungkook didn’t look away. His hands stayed on your waist, thumbs stroking slow, desperate circles through the silk of your nightdress. “I mean don’t marry him,” he repeated, louder this time, voice thick with emotion. “Don’t do it, baby. Please.”
You shook your head frantically, fresh tears spilling over. “Jungkook… I don’t have a choice.”
“You do,” he said immediately, eyes pleading. “You have a choice. Right now. Right here.”
A broken sound escaped your throat. You pulled away from his touch, wrapping your arms around yourself as if that could hold you together. “No, I don’t. Everyone would hate me. My family, his family, our friends… they’ve all poured so much into this wedding. Into us. I can’t destroy everything like that. I can’t do that to Taehyung. He doesn’t deserve this. None of them do.”
Jungkook stayed on his knees for another moment, watching you unravel. Then frustration flickered across his face. He pushed himself up abruptly, running both hands through his hair, tugging at the dark strands in clear agitation. He paced two steps away, then turned back to you, chest rising and falling rapidly.
“But what about what you want?” he asked, voice rough and edged with pain. “What about you? For once in all of this… what do you actually want?” You looked at the ground, unable to meet his eyes. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it. The truth sat on your tongue like fire: You. I want you. I’ve wanted you for so long it feels like I’m drowning. But the words wouldn’t come. Admitting it would make everything real. It would make the pain sharper, the consequences unavoidable.
So instead of answering, you stood up. Jungkook watched you, breath caught, waiting. You closed the distance between you in two shaky steps. Your hands came up to cup his face, thumbs brushing over his sharp cheekbones. For one heartbeat, you just looked at him — memorizing the way his dark eyes searched yours, the slight tremble in his jaw, the love and heartbreak written so clearly across his features.
Then you kissed him.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was deep, desperate, and devastating, all the things you couldn’t say poured into the press of your lips. Your fingers slid into his hair, tugging him closer as your mouth moved against his with raw hunger and sorrow. Jungkook groaned into the kiss, hands gripping your waist almost painfully as he kissed you back like it was the last time. Because it was.
Tongues tangled. Breaths mingled. Tears slipped from your eyes and mixed between your lips. The kiss tasted like salt and goodbye. You poured every unsaid “I love you,” every stolen moment, every future you could never have into it. Jungkook held you like he was trying to memorize the feel of you, like he could keep you here forever if he kissed you hard enough.
When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathing hard. Your forehead rested against his for one final second. Then you turned and walked toward the door. A sob caught in your throat, thick and painful, threatening to break free. You didn’t let it. You kept your back straight, shoulders tense, even as your vision blurred with fresh tears.
Jungkook didn’t try to stop you. You heard him take one shaky step forward, then stop. “Please…” he whispered, voice wrecked. You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. You opened the door and slipped into the hallway, the cool air hitting your tear-streaked face like a slap. The sob finally escaped the moment the door clicked shut behind you, a broken, muffled sound that you tried to swallow as you hurried back toward the stairs.
Your bare feet moved quickly over the carpet. Tears fell freely now, dripping onto the silk of your nightdress. Every step away from him felt like tearing your own heart out. You pressed a hand to your chest as if that could ease the pain, but it only made it worse.
By the time you reached your own floor, your shoulders were shaking with silent sobs. You slipped back into your cold, empty suite, closed the door, and leaned against it, sliding slowly down until you were sitting on the floor.
The ring on your finger felt heavier than ever.
The morning light filtered through the sheer white curtains of the bridal suite like a soft, golden promise. It was supposed to be the most beautiful day of your life, the kind of day people wrote songs about, the kind of day you had spent months planning down to the last petal and place card. Instead, it felt like the heaviest weight you had ever carried.
You had barely slept. After slipping back into your own suite last night, you had curled up on the cold floor by the door for what felt like hours, sobbing until your chest ached and your eyes burned raw. Eventually exhaustion had pulled you into the bed, but the sheets still smelled faintly of the hotel laundry and nothing like home. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Jungkook’s face, his tear-streaked cheeks, the raw desperation in his voice when he whispered “Don’t marry him,” the way his lips had moved against yours in that final, devastating kiss. The memory played on repeat, mixing with flashes of the supply closet yesterday, the storm night a year ago, every stolen moment that had led you here.
Now you sat in a high-backed velvet chair in front of a large vanity mirror, the room buzzing with excited energy all around you. The bridal suite was a whirlwind of satin, lace, laughter, and the sweet scent of fresh peonies overflowing from every available surface. Your mother flitted between the racks of dresses and the champagne station, chatting animatedly with the wedding planner. Jennie and the other bridesmaids lounged on the cream-colored sofas, sipping mimosas and scrolling through their phones, occasionally bursting into giggles. A photographer darted around capturing “candid” moments, someone adjusting a veil, someone else helping zip a bridesmaid dress. Soft classical music played from a speaker in the corner, but it all felt distant, like you were watching it happen to someone else through fogged glass.
Chaewon stood behind you, her fingers gentle but precise as she worked through your hair. She had insisted on doing your makeup and hair herself, “No one knows your face like I do,” she had said with a wink this morning, but right now her usual bright energy felt like it was pressing against a bruise you couldn’t hide. She had already curled and pinned half your hair into an elegant updo, soft tendrils framing your face exactly the way you had pictured it months ago when you’d chosen the style. The makeup artist had already done the base, flawless, glowing skin, subtle contour, the perfect neutral lip, but Chaewon was handling the finishing touches: the smoky eye that made your eyes look bigger, the highlighter that caught the light just right.
You stared at your reflection and hated what you saw.
The woman in the mirror looked beautiful. The silk robe with your new initials embroidered on the pocket, the diamond studs in your ears that Taehyung had given you last Christmas, the faint flush on your cheeks that could almost pass for bridal excitement. But your eyes were dull. The smile you kept trying to force felt plastic and wrong, like a mask that kept slipping no matter how hard you held it in place.
“Hold still, babe,” Chaewon murmured, carefully sweeping a fluffy brush across your cheekbone with setting powder. “You’re going to look insane when I’m done. Taehyung’s jaw is going to hit the floor the second he sees you.”
You tried to laugh. It came out small and hollow. “Yeah… I hope so.”
Chaewon paused, her eyes meeting yours in the mirror. She tilted her head, studying you the way only your best friend could, like she could see straight through the carefully constructed walls you had spent the last year building. The room’s chatter continued around you, but for a moment it felt like the two of you were in a bubble.
She set the brush down and leaned in closer, resting her forearms on the back of your chair so her face was level with yours. Her voice dropped low, soft enough that only you could hear over the background noise. “Hey… are you okay?”
You nodded immediately, plastering on the brightest fake smile you could manage. The muscles in your cheeks protested. “I’m fine. Really. Just… wedding day nerves, you know?”
Chaewon didn’t smile back. She searched your face for another long second, her perfectly winged liner making her eyes look even sharper. “You’ve been quiet all morning. Like, too quiet. And your smile keeps doing that thing where it doesn’t reach your eyes. I know you, remember? I’ve seen you fake it through finals week, through that horrible breakup in college, through every single time you tried to convince me you were okay when you weren’t.”
Your throat tightened. You could feel the tears from last night threatening to resurface, stinging behind your eyes. You blinked rapidly, forcing them back. “I’m just nervous,” you said, keeping your voice light. “Overthinking everything, like always. What if I trip walking down the aisle? What if the flowers aren’t right? What if I forget my vows?” The excuses tumbled out easily, practiced from months of hiding the truth.
Chaewon’s brow furrowed. She lowered her voice even more, almost a whisper now. “Is it cold feet? Like… actual cold feet? Because if it is, you can tell me. I’m your maid of honor. I’m supposed to be the one who helps you through this shit, even if it’s messy. We can slow everything down. We can talk to Taehyung. We can—”
“No,” you cut her off quickly, shaking your head so hard that one of the pinned curls almost slipped. You reached up and caught her wrist gently, squeezing it. “No cold feet. I swear. I love Taehyung. He’s… he’s good to me. He’s safe. He’s everything I’m supposed to want.” The words tasted bitter on your tongue. Safe. The same word you had used in your own head a thousand times. Safe, but not the one who made your heart feel like it was on fire. Not the one who had looked you in the eyes last night and begged you, in the softest voice imaginable, not to go through with this.
You forced another smile, wider this time, even though it hurt. “I’m just overthinking. The last year has been a lot, planning this whole thing, work, everything with Taehyung’s schedule. It’s all hitting me at once. But I’m happy. I promise.”
Chaewon studied you for another beat, clearly not convinced. Her thumb brushed over the back of your hand where it still held her wrist. “You know you can tell me anything, right? Even if it’s scary. Even if it changes things. I’ve got your back no matter what.”
The sincerity in her voice nearly broke you. For one wild second you considered it, telling her everything. The affair. The way Jungkook had fallen to his knees last night and whispered those three words that had shattered your entire world. Don’t marry him. How you had kissed him like your life depended on it and then run away like a coward. How you were sitting here in a wedding dress about to promise forever to the wrong man because the right one was standing on the other side of the aisle as his best man.
But the words stayed locked behind your teeth. You couldn’t destroy everything. Not today. Not when your mother was already tearing up in the corner watching you. Not when two hundred people were already seated in the garden waiting for you. Not when Taehyung was probably pacing in his own suite right now, smiling that bright, hopeful smile you had fallen for years ago.
“I know,” you whispered instead, squeezing her hand one more time before letting go. “Thank you. I really am okay. Just… help me finish my makeup so I don’t look like I cried all night?”
Chaewon hesitated, lips pressing into a thin line. She clearly wanted to push more, but the wedding planner chose that exact moment to clap her hands loudly from across the room.
“Ten minutes until we need the bride in the dress, ladies! Let’s get that veil on and do the final touch-ups!”
The bubble popped. Chaewon gave you one last searching look, then straightened up with a forced bright smile of her own. “You heard her. Time to make you the most beautiful bride this venue has ever seen.”
She went back to work, dabbing at your under eyes with a cool sponge to hide any remaining redness, then carefully placing the delicate lace veil into your updo. The fabric fluttered down around your shoulders like a cloud. Your mother came over, eyes already misty, and adjusted the veil with trembling fingers. “My baby girl,” she whispered, voice thick. “You look like a dream.”
You smiled at her reflection in the mirror, the same fake smile you had been wearing all morning. “Thanks, Mom.”
Jennie popped up beside you, holding up a glass of champagne. “One last sip for courage? Or is it bad luck before the aisle?”
You took the glass, mostly to give your hands something to do. The bubbles tickled your throat as you sipped, but it tasted like nothing. The room continued its happy chaos around you—bridesmaids zipping into their matching dresses, the photographer snapping more photos, your mother fussing over the hem of your gown as it was finally brought out on a rolling rack. The dress was everything you had once dreamed of: soft ivory silk, a fitted bodice with delicate beading, a long train that whispered against the carpet. It should have made you feel like a princess.
Instead, it felt like armor you were putting on for a battle you didn’t want to fight.
As Chaewon helped you step into the gown and began buttoning the long row of tiny pearls up your back, your mind drifted again. Last night’s kiss burned behind your eyelids. The way Jungkook’s hands had gripped your waist like he was drowning. The broken sound of his voice. What about what you want? You hadn’t answered him then, and you still couldn’t answer yourself now. Because the truth was too terrifying: what you wanted was him. All of him. The stolen nights, the laughter in the dark, the way he saw every broken piece of you and loved them anyway.
But wanting wasn’t enough. Not when it would ruin so many lives. “Almost done,” Chaewon murmured behind you, her voice soft again. She fastened the last button and stepped back to admire her work. “There. You’re perfect.”
The entire room turned to look at you. Gasps and soft cheers filled the air. Your mother covered her mouth, tears slipping free. Jennie raised her phone to take a video. The photographer clicked away furiously.
You stood there in the center of it all, the most beautiful bride anyone had ever seen, and felt absolutely nothing but dread. Before Chaewon could pull you aside for one more private question, you could see it in her eyes that she was about to try, the wedding planner appeared in the doorway, clipboard in hand and a bright, efficient smile on her face.
“It’s time, everyone! The ceremony starts in twenty minutes. Bride, we need you in position for the processional. Let’s get you to the garden entrance.” The words landed like a final bell.
Chaewon squeezed your hand one last time, her expression still worried but resigned. “You’ve got this,” she whispered. “I love you.”
You nodded, swallowing hard. “Love you too.”
As the bridesmaids lined up in front of you, as your mother gave you one last tearful hug, as the veil was lowered gently over your face, you felt the mountain of everything you had been carrying finally settle into place.
This was it.
The best day of your life.
And all you could think about was the man waiting at the end of the aisle, not as your husband, but as the best man who had begged you, just last night, not to walk toward anyone else. The doors to the garden opened. Music swelled. Everyone turned to look. And you took the first step.
The first step down the aisle felt like stepping off solid ground into open air. Hundreds of eyes watched you, warm and adoring, but your own gaze kept betraying you. It flickered forward to Taehyung, standing tall at the altar in his perfectly tailored black tux, eyes already glistening with happy tears, that bright, boyish smile lighting up his entire face. Then, helplessly, it slid to the left.
To Jungkook.
He stood just behind Taehyung as best man, posture rigid, hands clasped tightly in front of him. The black suit fit him like it had been made for this exact moment of torment. His hair was styled neatly, jaw clean-shaven, but none of that hid the devastation carved into his features. His eyes, dark, red-rimmed, utterly shattered, locked onto yours the second you looked at him and refused to let go. A sinking feeling twisted deep in your stomach, heavy as lead.
Every step brought you closer. Your heels sank slightly into the white runner. The guests murmured how beautiful you looked, how radiant, how perfect. But all you could see was Jungkook’s face, the way his lips pressed into a thin, pained line, the subtle tremble in his shoulders, the way his eyes glistened like he was barely holding himself together. He looked at you like you were killing him. Like every step you took toward Taehyung was a knife sliding between his ribs.
You tried to look away. You really did. But your eyes kept returning to him, drawn like magnets. Flashbacks assaulted you with every heartbeat. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You blinked them back furiously, forcing a soft, trembling smile for the guests. Your father mistook it for emotion and patted your hand proudly.
Closer now. Ten steps. Five. Jungkook’s chest rose and fell faster. His jaw clenched so hard the muscle jumped. For one heartbeat, as you passed the front row, his eyes met yours fully and the pain in them was so raw, so open, that your knees nearly buckled. I love you, his gaze seemed to scream. Please don’t do this.
You reached the altar.
Your father kissed your cheek, then placed your hand in Taehyung’s. Taehyung’s fingers were warm, steady, loving. He squeezed gently and mouthed, “You look breathtaking.” His smile was so full of pure joy it hurt to look at.
Jungkook stood directly behind him, only a few feet away. You could feel the heat of his stare on the side of your face like a brand.
The officiant began. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union of Kim Taehyung and…”
The words blurred. You stood facing Taehyung, bouquet lowered, veil soft over your vision, while every nerve in your body remained hyper-aware of the man standing just over his shoulder. Jungkook’s presence was a storm at your back. You could hear his shallow breathing, could almost feel the tension rolling off him in waves.
Taehyung looked at you like you were his entire universe. He mouthed “I love you” during the opening remarks. You tried to say it back. The words came out, but they felt hollow.
The ceremony moved forward, readings, a short sermon on love and commitment, the sharing of memories from friends. Laughter rippled through the guests at funny stories. You smiled when you were supposed to. Nodded. Squeezed Taehyung’s hands. But your mind kept screaming.
This is wrong. This is all wrong. Then came the moment. The officiant smiled warmly at the crowd. “If anyone here has any reason why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
A respectful, anticipatory silence fell over the garden.
For three full heartbeats, nothing happened.
Then Jungkook moved.
He stepped forward, shoulders squared, voice cutting through the quiet like thunder.
“I do.”
Gasps erupted everywhere. Heads whipped around. A wave of horrified murmurs swept through the guests. Your mother’s hand flew to her mouth. Chaewon’s eyes widened in shock beside the other bridesmaids. Taehyung’s smile froze, then slowly fell as he turned toward his best friend.
Jungkook didn’t look at anyone else. His eyes were locked on you, burning, desperate, filled with months of suppressed love finally breaking free. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking but growing stronger with every word. “I’m so fucking sorry, Tae. But I can’t stand here and watch this happen without saying something. I’ve been in love with her for over a year.”
The crowd’s murmurs turned into outright shock. Someone dropped a phone. A few people stood up. Jungkook took another step closer, eyes never leaving yours. Tears slipped down your cheeks now, unchecked. The veil did nothing to hide them. “From that first night she showed up at my door in the rain, broken from a fight with you… I tried to fight it. I swear I did. But every stolen moment after that only made me fall harder. The way she laughs at my stupid jokes. The way she looks at me like I actually see her. The way she makes me want to be better. I love her in a way I’ve never loved anyone. Deep. All-consuming. The kind of love that ruins you.” His voice broke completely. “I know this destroys everything. I know I’m the worst friend in the world. But I can’t let her marry you while pretending I don’t feel this. I can’t forever hold my peace when my heart is screaming her name.”
Silence. Absolute, horrified silence. You stared at him, tears streaming freely now, chest heaving. The love in his eyes was devastating. Raw. Real. Everything you had been too scared to admit you wanted. Taehyung’s hand dropped yours. He looked between you and Jungkook, confusion melting into dawning horror, then white-hot anger and heartbreak all at once. His face crumpled. “What the hell is he talking about?” he asked you, voice low and trembling. “Baby… what is this?”
You opened your mouth, but no sound came out at first. “Taehyung, I—”
Jungkook stepped forward again, reaching toward his best friend. “Tae, please. This is my fault. I—”
Taehyung’s fist flew before Jungkook could finish.
The punch landed hard, right against Jungkook’s jaw with a sickening crack that echoed through the garden. Jungkook stumbled back, hand flying to his face. Blood instantly trickled from the corner of his mouth. Guests screamed. Chairs scraped. Chaos erupted. Taehyung stood there, chest heaving, eyes wild with betrayal and pain. “You son of a bitch,” he snarled, voice breaking. "How long?"
Jungkook didn’t fight back. He just stood there, blood on his lips, eyes still locked on you even as tears mixed with the red on his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, but the words were lost in the growing uproar. You stood frozen at the altar in your wedding dress, bouquet long forgotten on the ground, tears pouring down your face as the perfect day shattered around you in front of everyone you loved. The man you were supposed to marry had just punched his best friend. The man you were in love with had just torn everything apart in the most public, devastating way possible.
But Taehyung wasn’t done. Rage and heartbreak twisted his usually gentle features into something unrecognizable as he grabbed the front of Jungkook’s suit jacket with both hands and shoved him again, snarling through gritted teeth. “You fucking traitor—”
You moved without thinking, silk gown tangling around your legs as you surged between them. “Taehyung, stop! Please!” Your voice cracked, raw from hours of suppressed tears. You grabbed his arm, trying to pull him back, but he was stronger than you in his fury. His elbow jerked back sharply, shoving you hard.
You stumbled, heels catching in the runner. The world tilted. Strong arms caught you from behind— Jungkook’s arms— pulling you against his chest to keep you upright. His blood smeared across the shoulder of your pristine ivory gown as you gripped his suit jacket, breathing hard.
Every single person in the garden was staring at you now. Hundreds of eyes. Phones still recording. Gasps and horrified whispers rippling outward like shockwaves. Your mother looked faint. Jennie had her hands over her mouth. The officiant stood frozen with the bible clutched to his chest. And Chaewon… Chaewon stared at you like she didn’t even recognize you anymore.
Taehyung’s chest heaved as he looked at the two of you, his fiancée clinging to his best man, blood staining her wedding dress. His eyes were glassy with betrayal, pain, and fury so deep it looked like it might break him. “Is it true?” he demanded, voice low and trembling. “Everything he just said… all of it. Is it fucking true?”
You turned slowly in Jungkook’s arms, still gripping his jacket like it was the only thing keeping you standing. Your veil clung to your wet cheeks. The bouquet you’d been holding lay forgotten on the ground, petals crushed under panicked feet.
You met Taehyung’s eyes, those warm, loving eyes that had looked at you with nothing but devotion for years, and felt your heart splinter. “Yes,” you whispered, voice barely carrying but loud enough in the deadly silence. “It’s true.”
A collective gasp swept through the crowd. Someone cried out. Phones lowered slightly, then rose higher as people realized they were witnessing something historic in the worst way possible.
Taehyung’s face crumpled further, like you had reached into his chest and ripped his heart out in front of everyone. “Do you love him?” he asked, the question raw, desperate, almost begging you to deny it even though the truth was written all over your tear-streaked face.
You looked at Jungkook first, his split lip, the rapidly swelling bruise on his jaw, blood mixing with tears on his chin. His eyes were locked on you, full of love and terror and regret. Then you looked back at Taehyung.
“Yes,” you said again, the word trembling but clear. “I love him. I’m so sorry, Taehyung… I never wanted this. I tried to stop it so many times, but I do. I love him.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Chaewon stood frozen near the altar, one hand pressed to her throat, eyes wide with pure shock and dawning disgust. Your mother sobbed openly. Taehyung’s mother looked like she might faint. The entire wedding party stared at you like you were a stranger.
You took one shaky step toward Taehyung, reaching out with a trembling hand. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you like this. I tried to end it, I swear on everything, I—”
Taehyung spat a thick mouthful of blood onto the white petals at your feet. The red stain bloomed obscenely against the pristine aisle like an accusation that would never wash away. His eyes were cold now, filled with nothing but disgust and heartbreak. “Go to hell,” he snarled, voice low and venomous. Then he turned on his heel and stormed down the aisle, shoving past groomsmen who tried to reach for him, disappearing toward the venue building as guests parted in stunned silence.
You stood there shaking violently, the weight of what you had just admitted crashing down on you. The perfect day you had spent months planning lay in ruins, scattered flowers, overturned chairs, horrified faces everywhere. Chaewon moved next. She walked up to you slowly, her beautiful maid of honor dress suddenly looking too cheerful, too out of place. Her expression was a mixture of disbelief, anger, and deep, cutting betrayal.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” she demanded, voice shaking. “All those times I asked if you were okay this morning… every late-night conversation we had about the wedding… you were fucking his best friend behind his back? For how long?”
“I… I didn’t know how,” you stammered, words tumbling over each other in a desperate rush. “It started after a fight with him… it was supposed to be one time and it just… it got so out of control. I was scared, Chaewon. I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to lose everyone. I tried to end it, I swear I did, but I—”
She looked at you with such raw disgust that it felt like a slap across the face. Her eyes, which had always held nothing but love for you, were now ice cold. “You deserve every single bad thing that’s coming for you,” she said quietly, voice trembling with betrayal. “All of it. Every bit of pain. You did this to yourself.”
“Chaewon, please—” You reached for her arm, sobbing openly now, fresh tears pouring down your face.
She jerked away from your touch like it burned. “Don’t. Just don’t.” Then she turned and walked away, following the same path Taehyung had taken, leaving you standing alone at the ruined altar in your bloodstained wedding dress.
A broken sob tore from your chest. The world spun. You felt like you might collapse right there in front of everyone. Jungkook stepped closer, voice wrecked and hoarse. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for it to go like this. I just couldn’t let you marry him without—”
You didn’t let him finish. You grabbed his hand, bloodied knuckles and all, and pulled him urgently through the staring, whispering crowd. Guests parted like the sea, murmurs rising into a roar. You didn’t care. You needed to get away from the eyes, from the judgment, from the wreckage you had caused.
You dragged him toward a side entrance of the main venue building, heart pounding so violently you thought it might explode. The first door you found was a small, secluded preparation room used earlier for photos. You shoved it open and pulled him inside. The door slammed shut behind you, muffling the chaos outside. Jungkook opened his mouth immediately. “I’m so sorry, I ruined everything, I—”
You cut him off with a kiss.
It was hard. Deep. Desperate. Your hands fisted in his bloody suit jacket as you poured every ounce of fear, relief, heartbreak, and overwhelming love into it. Jungkook groaned against your mouth, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head while the other gripped your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. Blood from his lip smeared between you, but neither of you cared. The kiss tasted like copper, salt, and the end of everything you had known, and the terrifying beginning of something new.
When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, your veil tangled around his fingers. “You’re so stupid,” you whispered against his lips, voice hoarse and shaking. “So fucking stupid for doing that in front of everyone.”
Jungkook looked confused, eyes searching yours, still glistening with tears and uncertainty. “I know. I destroyed your life, your reputation, everything—”
You shook your head, cutting him off again. Your hands moved up to cup his bruised, bloody jaw with heartbreaking tenderness. “I love you,” you said, the words finally free and ringing with truth. “I love you so much, Jungkook. I’ve been in love with you for so long it felt like I was drowning. Our lives… they’re utterly destroyed right now. Everything we knew is gone. But at least we have each other. At least I finally have you.”
A broken, relieved sound escaped his throat. He pulled you into his arms, crushing you against his chest, burying his face in your hair and veil as his shoulders shook with silent sobs. You clung to him just as tightly, fingers digging into his back, wedding dress torn and bloodstained, both of you crying and holding each other like the world outside no longer existed.
For the first time in over a year, there were no more secrets.
SUMMARY. Your friends think you’re one bad night away from becoming a cat lady with a wine addiction. Their solution? It’s simple: Wingmate, the new dating app where your friends swipe for you, and set you up on a blind date. At the very least, it’s supposed to guarantee a steamy hookup for the group’s weekend trip—little do you know, they’ve swiped right on none other than Jeon Jungkook, resident fuckboy and your coworker, who’s terminally addicted to two things: bad bitches and situationships.
note. LOL!!!!! before you bring out the glock, this is actually a pre-written fic from the big year of 2024 that never saw the light of day, and i am re-vamping it to fit my current writing style. think of it as a gift… *hides from incoming tomatoes* heh-he, right guys..? no but genuinely this shit is a joke. it’s a—you guessed it—romantic comedy so. idk. have a laughs luv xx ALSOOO as you can see below i’m playing around with a new style for my blog… be patient with me i’m just a girl
SYNOPSIS: A girl raised on scripture, an arranged engagement, and a digital god of sin, she was never supposed to click on. You only wanted one secret before the wedding. One night. One mistake. But he doesn't do 'just once.' Now your rebellion has a name, and it won't let you go.
GENRE: dark romance | cheating | smut | thriller | slow burn
You shouldn't have come straight from church. The scent of incense still clung to your hair. The white dress brushed your knees modestly, sleeves soft against your wrists pure, untouched, obedient. You looked like you belonged under stained glass, not beneath flickering neon. The club doors opened and heat swallowed you whole. Music pulsed through the floor. Lights cut through the dark like blades. Bodies moved without shame, without prayer, without apology.
And there you were. White in a room full of sin.
"Y/N!"
Hana's voice carried over the bass as she waved you over from the VIP booth. She looked you up and down the moment you reached them. Her smile widened. Then her nose scrunched.
"Oh my God," she laughed, grabbing the fabric of your sleeve between her fingers. "You came dressed like the Virgin Mary." The table erupted in laughter. You slid into the booth anyway, smoothing your dress calmly. "I just came from church."
"We know," one of the others snorted. "We can see that." Hana leaned closer, lowering her voice teasingly. "Did you at least pray for our sins too?" You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. The waiter arrived. Hana ordered shots before you could object.
"You're engaged," she reminded you, lifting a brow. "You're basically almost married. Isn't this your last chance to do something stupid?" You took the glass when it was pushed toward you. The liquid burned on the way down.
"I don't do stupid," you replied softly.
Hana tilted her head. "That's the problem." Another drink came. Then another. The music grew louder. Or maybe your thoughts did.
They teased you about your father, about his church donations, his charity galas, his polished speeches about morality while negotiating business deals behind closed doors.
"Saint by day. Shark by night," someone joked.
"And you," Hana added, nudging you, "are his perfect little angel." You smiled again. That soft, trained smile. But inside, something twisted.
You were tired of being perfect. Tired of white dresses and folded hands. Tired of pretending the engagement didn't feel like a contract. Like ownership.
"Just once," Hana said, leaning in conspiratorially. "Do something rebellious. Something no one would expect from you." Your fingers tightened slightly around your glass. Rebellious. The word felt heavy. Because rebellion in your world wasn't just sneaking out. It wasn't drinking. It wasn't dancing.
"Hana," Kevin suddenly cut in, pointing at her with lazy curiosity, "didn't you say you went to Jessi's birthday last week?"
Hana paused mid-sip, eyes widening. "Oh my God," she laughed, nearly choking on her drink. "I completely forgot to tell you guys. That got everyone's attention. She set her glass down dramatically, lowering her voice even though the music swallowed half her words.
"It wasn't just a party. It was private. Invitation-only. Jessi rented out the top floor of this hotel and-" she grinned wickedly, "-she hired entertainment."
Minseo raised a brow. "Entertainment?"
Hana nodded slowly. "Sexy men. Like... unreal. They looked like celebrities."
"P*rnstars, you mean?" Minseo snorted, leaning back against the booth.
Hana snapped her fingers. "Exactly." The table erupted into laughter and whistles.
"They weren't just guys," Hana boasted, her eyes wide and glassy. "They were art. Jessi was in the middle of it all, just... completely unraveled. It was filthy, it was loud, and it was the best night of my life. I think I'm still sore."
Kevin let out a low whistle. "That's insane."
"She didn't care who judged her," Hana added, shrugging. "It was her birthday. She said if men can do stupid bachelor parties, she can have her own version."
Minseo laughed. "Iconic." You didn't laugh. You just listened.
Jessi. Sweet, soft-spoken Jessi from university. You pictured her in some dim hotel suite, music low, strangers' hands on her waist while she threw her head back without worrying who would find out. No fear. No guilt. No consequences.
"Apparently she was the boldest one there," Hana went on. "Completely fearless. Filthy, honestly. But in a fun way." The word lingered in the air. Filthy. You glanced down at your white dress. Your entire life had been curated to look untouched. Clean. Holy. Even your engagement had been arranged like a contract sealed with polite smiles and handshakes. You were meant to walk down an aisle pure and grateful.
And Jessi? She hired men whose faces probably lived on hidden tabs and late-night searches. Men who belonged to fantasy, not family dinners. "Can you imagine?" Hana said, nudging you. "You at a party like that?" The group burst out laughing at the thought.
"Y/N would faint before the first song starts," Kevin teased.
"She'd start reciting Bible verses," Minseo added dramatically. You forced a smile. But something unfamiliar flickered in your chest. Not embarrassment. Curiosity. What would it feel like to not care? To not measure every action against your father's reputation? Against the church's whispers? Against a fiancé you barely knew?
Hana tilted her head at you, studying your expression more carefully now. "You're thinking about it," she said softly.
You looked away, lifting your drink to your lips.
When Hana grabbed your phone, the intrusion felt like a physical violation, but the website she flicked through a dark, sleek interface of profiles and unapologetic desires lingered in your mind even after you snatched the device back.
"Look," Hana said, her tone softening but her eyes remaining sharp. "Just one night. No strings. No Bible verses. Just skin, breath, and forgetting who you're supposed to be. I know a guy. Or use an app. But do something before you wither away."
You looked at the group, at Kevin's smirk and Minseo's expectant gaze. The 'Good Girl' armor you had worn for years suddenly felt too tight, suffocating the pulse that was now thrumming in your throat.
"Fine," you whispered, the word tasting like copper.
"What was that?" Kevin leaned in, cupping his ear.
"I said fine," you said louder, your grip tightening until the glass threatened to shatter. "I'll do it. Arrange it, Hana. Or I'll find someone myself. But I'm done being the punchline."
-------
The rain began to smear the neon lights of the city into bleeding streaks of oil and light as you slammed your car door shut. Your chest was heaving, the air in the vehicle tasting like leather and the bitter copper of adrenaline.
Hana's 'perfect guy' was currently buried face-first in a stranger's neck at the VIP bar, his hands roaming over her with a practiced, hollow hunger. If you hadn't seen the photo Hana sent, the sharp jawline, the specific silver ring you would have walked right into his trap. You would have let that mouth, currently slick with another woman's saliva, touch yours. You would have let his skin, probably already layered in the sweat and scents of a dozen club flings, press against your own.
The thought made your stomach roll. You weren't just a 'Good Girl'; you were a woman with a fiancé and a reputation, and the idea of being just another notch on a sticky club couch felt like a physical violation.
Your phone buzzed aggressively in the cup holder.
A text from him. "Where r u? I'm waiting near the booth." You didn't even give him the satisfaction of a block. You let the notification hang there, a rotting piece of digital trash.
Then, the other notifications started to bleed through. The website Hana had forced open was now a persistent, pulsating itch on your lock screen. It was a sewer of desperation and cheap thrills:
"Single MILF nearby... feeling lonely?"
"Daddy issues? I can fix that for a price."
You went to swipe them away, your thumb hovering over the 'Clear All' button, when one caught your eye. It wasn't loud. It wasn't colorful. It was just a black icon with two letters: JK.
"Lonely tonight? Mature men ready now."
You clicked it. You told yourself it was curiosity, but the way your heart hammered against your ribs told a different story. The profile picture was a masterclass in shadowed temptation, a glimpse of a broad, ink-covered shoulder, a hand with prominent veins gripping a glass of dark amber liquid, and a jawline so sharp it looked like it could draw blood.
You scrolled down, but the screen was a sea of blurred, tantalizing shapes.
A glimpse of a muscular torso arched in a dark room. The suggestion of a mouth pressed against a neck.
Captions that read: "Whatever you crave, I provide. No judgment. No names. Just the heat."
To see the truth behind the blur, you had to pay.
You stared at the 'Subscribe' button. Money was never the obstacle; your family's accounts were deep enough to buy the club you just fled. But this was different. This was paying for a fantasy, paying for a man who promised to be exactly what you needed, without the messy, cheating reality of the guy you just left behind.
You shifted the car into gear, the engine purring beneath you like a caged animal. You didn't need a club. You didn't need Hana's sloppy seconds. You needed something dark, something controlled, and something that would make you forget your fiancé's face for one long, filthy night.
You pulled out of the parking lot, your thumb hovering over the screen. You'd look at his 'content' when you got home. You'd see if JK was worth the investment or if he was just another lie wrapped in a pretty package.
-----
The silence of your bedroom was deafening, a sharp contrast to the pulsing chaos of the club you'd just escaped. You kicked off your heels, the silk sheets of your bed feeling like a cool, mocking caress against your skin.
With a trembling thumb, you hit Subscribe. The transaction cleared instantly, a drop of water in the ocean of your family's wealth and the digital veil lifted.
The blur vanished, replaced by high-definition sin. Your breath hitched. He wasn't just handsome; he was a visceral assault on the senses.
One photo showed him leaning against a stark white wall, shirtless and unbothered. His skin was a map of dark, intricate ink that disappeared beneath the waistband of low-slung black boxers. The fabric was strained, the heavy, unapologetic bulge casting a shadow that made your throat go dry.
Another shot was a close-up of his tatted hand, thick veins and scarred knuckles possessively gripping himself through the cotton, as if marking his own territory.
Then came the shower shot. His hair was slicked back, dripping diamonds of water down a chest that looked carved from marble. He was sitting on a velvet chair, legs spread wide, his boxers pulled down just far enough to reveal the deep, lethal carve of his V-line. It was a jagged invitation into the darkness.
He looked into the camera with a heavy-lidded gaze, his silver lip piercing catching the light as he pulled his lower lip between his teeth. It wasn't just a pose; it was a challenge.
Your phone vibrated, the haptic feedback buzzing against your palm like a heartbeat. A direct message popped up.
JK: "Hey, princess. I see you lurking. I'm glad you decided to pay the entry fee. The view is better from the inside, isn't it?"
Your heart thudded. Before you could even think of a reply, another message followed, dripping with a casual, expensive arrogance.
JK: "For the real show, check the link below. And if you want to talk... my inbox is always open. As long as your wallet is as heavy as your curiosity."
You clicked the link, expecting more suggestive teasers. Instead, the screen exploded into motion.
This wasn't just 'content.' These were professional, high-production scenes of raw, unbridled intimacy. You watched, paralyzed, as JK, the man who had just called you princess, commanded the screen. He was a force of nature, his tattooed body slick with sweat as he moved with a feral, rhythmic intensity.
He wasn't just a model; he was a pornstar. A top-tier, high-demand performer whose every groan and movement was documented for thousands of paying voyeurs.
You saw him dominant, his eyes darkened with a hunger that felt terrifyingly real, his hands pinning a woman's wrists above her head as he took what he wanted. He looked nothing like the polished men in your social circle. He looked like the end of your reputation and the beginning of the best mistake of your life.
------
The silence of your bedroom felt heavy, pressurized by the secrets you were suddenly keeping. Your fiancé's photo seemed to watch you with silent judgment, but the heat pooling in your lower stomach was louder than any conscience.
You stared at the empty text box, the cursor blinking like a taunting heartbeat.
You: Hi there.
The moment the message sent, you threw the phone face-down on the silk duvet as if it were a live grenade. What are you doing? you hissed to yourself, staring at the ceiling. You were a woman of status, a woman with a ring on her finger, and yet you were reaching out to a man who made a living out of every primal, unfiltered instinct you had been taught to suppress.
Bzzzt.
The vibration against the mattress made you jump. You hesitated, then crawled toward it.
JK: Just 'Hi'? A girl with a wallet like yours usually has more to say, Princess. Or are you just shy because you've been watching my videos?
Your face flushed a deep, stinging crimson. He was blunt. No pleasantries, no dancing around the fact that you'd just spent the last hour watching him ruin women on camera.
You: Maybe I'm just selective.
JK: I like selective. It makes it more fun when I finally get you to beg. Tell me... what are you wearing right now? Are you touching yourself while you think about what I did in that last clip? I bet you're soaking wet just imagining those tattoos against your skin.
The rawness of his words hit you like a physical blow. It was filthy, direct, and completely devoid of the 'gentlemanly' mask every man in your life wore. You felt a rebellious streak flare up. You didn't just want to be a fan; you wanted to be the one in control of the interaction.
You tapped the Tip button. $500. > You: Less talking. More showing.
There was a long pause. The "typing..." bubbles appeared and disappeared. You had caught him off guard. A man like him was used to being the predator, but you were playing a different game.
JK: $500 just for a greeting? You really are a spoiled little thing, aren't you? You want to see what that money buys you?
Bzzzt. A notification flashed: New Media Received.
You clicked it, your breath hitching in your throat. It was a mirror selfie, taken in a dimly lit bathroom. He was wearing nothing but a pair of thin, heather-grey sweatpants, the kind of fabric that hid absolutely nothing.
He was leaning against the counter, a bright red lollipop caught between his teeth, his lips slick and stained. But your eyes dropped lower. The grey fabric was stretched tight, a massive, unmistakable bulge straining against the seam, thick and heavy. You could see the distinct outline, the sheer weight of him demanding release.
JK: "Do you like the view, Princess? Or do I need to pull these down so you can see exactly how much you're affecting me? I haven't even started yet... and I'm already wondering how you'd taste."
You gripped the phone so hard your knuckles turned white. The Good Girl was gone; there was only the woman in the dark, staring at a digital god of sin and wondering just how much more it would cost to make him yours for the night.
You were about to type something reckless when the three dots appeared again. This time, his tone shifted. The raw, unfiltered heat was still there, but a sudden streak of professional caution cut through the filth.
JK: "Hold on, Princess. Before I slide these off and show you exactly what that $500 just bought... I need to know who I'm playing with. I've had too many eighteen-year-olds trying to play grown-up games, and I'm not interested in babysitting. I also get guys in my DMs thinking they can handle a man like me. I'm straight, I'm a Dom, and I like to know exactly whose mind I'm breaking."
He was drawing a line in the sand. He wasn't just a body; he was a man who took up space, demanded truth, and controlled the narrative.
JK: "So, tell me. How old are you? And what exactly am I looking at on the other side of this screen? Give me a reason to keep this video recording."
Your heart hammered against your ribs. You looked at the diamond engagement ring on your left hand, a symbol of a life that felt like a gilded cage. You weren't a girl. You were a woman, suffocating under the weight of expectations.
You: I'm 26, JK. And I'm definitely a woman. A woman who is tired of being told what she can and can't want.
The "typing" bubble was instant.
JK: "26... perfect. Prime. Old enough to know the damage I can do, and young enough to want it anyway. And a woman? Good. Because the things I want to say to you next... a man couldn't handle them."
Bzzzt. Another notification. New Video Attached (0:15).
You tapped it with shaking fingers. The lighting was low, the camera focused entirely on his waist down. He was still in the grey sweats, but his hand those large, tattooed fingers hooked into the waistband. You heard the low, gravelly sound of his voice, a dark rumble that vibrated through your phone's speakers.
"See this, Princess? This is what happens when you talk back to me."
Slowly, agonizingly, he began to peel the fabric down. The camera caught the deep ridges of his hip bones, the dark hair trailing down into the shadows, and then the release. The grey fabric dropped, and for a split second, you saw the raw, pulsing reality of him, thick and heavy, before he cut the feed.
JK: "That was just the teaser. If you want the full 10 minutes of me taking care of myself while I say your name... it's going to cost you more than $500. But I think you've got the taste for it now, don't you?"
-------
The cool air of the en-suite bathroom hit your flushed skin, but it couldn't chill the fire burning beneath the surface. Your hand was still trembling as you set the phone on the marble counter. The screen was dark now, but the ghost of JK's low, gravelly voice, moaning your name into the speaker as he took himself to the edge replayed on a loop in your mind.
You had actually done it. You had paid a stranger to ruin your composure, touching yourself to the rhythmic sound of a man who didn't even know what your face looked like. The Good Girl wasn't just cracked; she was shattered.
Next day, the transformation was complete. The disheveled woman on the silk sheets was buried under layers of designer silk and heirloom diamonds. You stood before the mirror, the heavy weight of your engagement ring back on your finger, looking every bit the pristine daughter of a political dynasty.
A high-stakes gala where business deals were signed in blood-red wine.
The silent, supportive fiancée to Kim Seokjin, a man whose ambition was as cold as the stone floors of the ballroom. You felt like a walking lie, the ghost of JK's tattoos still burned into your retinas.
As you stood in the grand foyer, flanked by your father's imposing presence and Seokjin's possessive hand on the small of your back, your clutch bag vibrated.
Buzz. Buzz.
You ignored it, keeping your chin high as you greeted a senator.
Buzz.
Under the pretense of checking the time, you stole a glance at the screen.
JK: "Princess. I'm feeling generous tonight... or maybe just restless. I'm available for your 'entertainment' for the next hour. Want to see what I can do with my hands when I'm thinking of you?"
The sheer audacity of the text, the filthiness of his offer sent while you were surrounded by the elite 'saints' of your world made your breath catch. He was a digital demon whispering in your ear while you played angel for the cameras.
You looked up at Seokjin. He was discussing quarterly projections, his face a mask of bored perfection. He didn't know the woman standing next to him had spent her afternoon watching a pornstar come undone. He didn't know that right now, in your purse, a man was offering to show you things that would make this entire ballroom faint.
You felt a surge of power. For the first time, you weren't the one being controlled.
You didn't reply. You didn't even unlock the phone. You let the notification hang there, unanswered. JK might be a god in his digital kingdom, but here, in the world of power and pearls, he was nothing but a distraction you had bought and paid for. You weren't going to give him your attention just because he asked for it.
You slid the phone back into your bag, the "typing" bubbles likely still flickering in the dark. You had a role to play, and for tonight, the only thing that mattered was the cold, calculated perfection of being Seokjin's future wife.
------
Jungkook tossed his phone onto the leather sofa, the screen dimming on the silence of your chat. He didn't pace; he didn't fret. At thirty-two, he had moved past the age of chasing validation. He was a man built of muscle, ink, and a decade of performative sin, and he knew exactly how the game was played.
He remembered being twenty young, hungry, and possessing a body that the industry wanted to colonize. Back then, the lights felt like a spotlight; later, they felt like a dissection. He had become a household name in the darkest corners of the internet, a titan of the screen who could command a room with a single look. But the reality had been a grind of faked moans, sterile sets, and the exhausting tax of staying aroused for a camera crew while burying his own soul.
He had walked away from the contracts and the forced chemistry, but he couldn't walk away from the reputation. He became his own master. He curated his past, uploading vault footage and shot-from-the-hip content to exclusive sites where the elite came to play.
He had seen it all. He had been the 'daddy' for broken girls, the secret thrill for bored socialites, and the wrecking ball for marriages that were already crumbling.
Then there was you. 'Princess.'
Most of his new subscribers were predictable, bratty teenagers using their parents' credit cards or lonely men hiding in the shadows. When you first started throwing hundreds of dollars at him for a simple greeting, he had pegged you as a bored kid with a trust fund. He had almost felt a flicker of annoyance; he wasn't a toy for children.
But then came the revelation. Twenty-six.
A woman. A grown woman with a voice that sounded like she was starving for something real, even through a text. That changed the math. You weren't just looking for a thrill; you were looking for a transformation. And as he stared out his window at the city skyline, he felt a predatory curiosity he hadn't felt in years. You were rich, you were mature, and you were currently ignoring him while you played your part in a world of high-society lies.
He liked a challenge. And he especially liked breaking good things to see what they were made of inside.
------
The drive home was conducted in the stifling, climate-controlled silence of Seokjin's silver sedan. The leather smelled of expensive citrus and ambition. Outside, the city blurred into a streak of grey, but inside, the tension was a physical weight. Your parents had stayed behind to finish a round of late-night networking, leaving you in the capable hands of your future.
Seokjin drove with a one-handed, effortless precision, the light from the streetlamps dancing off the sharp crease of his suit trousers.
"The merger looks solid," he began, his voice smooth and devoid of any real warmth. "Your father was impressed with the way you handled the Senator tonight. You looked the part. Dignified. Untouchable."
He didn't look at you as he spoke; he was already three steps ahead, calculating the next move on the chessboard of your lives.
"I've been meaning to talk to you about the timeline," he continued. "Once the wedding is finalized in June, I'll be moving our primary operations overseas. London, most likely. Maybe a stint in Singapore. It's the only way to truly scale the family brand."
He wasn't asking. He was informing you of your new itinerary. You were an asset to be moved, a piece of luggage wrapped in silk and diamonds. You nodded, your gaze fixed on the window, listening to him drone on about logistics and tax havens, while the ghost of a tattooed hand and a red lollipop burned in the back of your mind.
When the car pulled up to the gates of your family's estate, the engine cut with a quiet, expensive hum. Seokjin turned to you then, his expression softening just enough to be considered "affectionate" by his standards.
"You've been quiet tonight," he noted, reaching out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. "Are you nervous about the move? Don't be. You'll have everything you need there. More than you have here."
"I'm just tired, Jin," you lied, the words feeling like ash.
"Get some rest, then," he said. He leaned in, his lips pressing against yours. It was a kiss that was perfectly practiced polite, dry, and entirely devoid of the hungry, visceral heat you had felt pulsing through your phone only hours ago. It was the kiss of a business partner sealing a deal, not a man claiming a woman.
"I'll call you tomorrow about the venue," he whispered against your mouth before pulling away.
You watched the red glow of his taillights disappear down the driveway. The house was silent, a hollow museum of your family's status. You walked inside, the click of your heels echoing on the marble floor.
The house was silent, your parents still tangled in the web of the party. You kicked off your heels in the foyer and retreated to your bedroom, the shadows of the large room feeling like a sanctuary. You reached into your clutch and pulled out your phone.
JK's last message was still there, glowing in the dark. 'Available for your entertainment.'
The contrast between Seokjin's sterile overseas transition and JK's raw, unapologetic filth was too much to ignore. You didn't just want a distraction; you wanted to burn the bridge between who you were and who you were supposed to be.
You: I need you to make me forget everything about tonight. Name your price. Whatever the amount, I'll pay it. Just... don't stop.
You didn't expect an immediate reply. It was late, and a man like him surely had other clients to attend to. But the notification popped up before you could even set the phone down.
JK: "Whatever the amount? Careful, Princess. You're talking to a man who knows exactly how to bleed a bank account dry. But money isn't what I'm craving right now."
Your heart skipped.
JK: "I've been watching your silence for the last three hours. You were somewhere, weren't you? $2,000 for a live call. Right now. No scripts. No filters. I want to see exactly where you are and what you're willing to do to earn my time."
He wasn't asking. He was demanding. And for the first time in your life, you found yourself reaching for the "Pay" button without a single second of hesitation.
The screen of your phone was a void of black, but your speakers were alive with the sound of his breathing low, steady, and dangerously calm. You sat on the edge of your bed, the silk of your dress pushed up to your hips, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. The thought of your face, the face of a a corporate bride-to-be appearing on his screen was a death sentence.
Then, his video feed flickered to life.
You gasped, the sound muffled by your hand. Jungkook was sprawled across a messy bed, the sheets a dark, tangled contrast to his glowing, tattooed skin. He was completely naked, one arm tucked behind his head, flexing the thick bicep covered in intricate ink. The camera angle was unapologetic, looking down the length of his hard, sculpted torso to where his heavy length lay resting against his thigh.
He leaned in closer, a dark, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Why, Princess? Are you scared of revealing yourself?" His voice was a gravelly vibration that seemed to pulse right between your legs. "Are you hiding a face I'd recognize? Or are you just shy because you know exactly what I'm going to make you do?"
"I'm not turning it on," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Just... do what I paid for."
Jungkook let out a low, dark chuckle that sent shivers down your spine. He didn't push further; he liked the power dynamic of the mystery. His free hand traveled down his chest, his thumb grazing his nipple before sliding down the ridges of his abs.
"Fine. Keep your secrets," he groaned, his eyes darkening as they stared into the blackness of your side of the call. "But if I can't see you, I need to hear you. I want to hear the fabric of that expensive dress rustling. I want to hear your breathing get ragged. Tell me, Princess... what do you want me to do to myself while I think about breaking you?"
"I want to see you play," you breathed, your own hand sliding tentatively beneath the lace of your underwear. "I want to see... everything."
"Direct. I like that," he said, his hand finally closing around himself. He started a slow, rhythmic slide, his head falling back against the pillow. "I'm imagining you right now. I bet you're sitting on the edge of that big, lonely bed, your legs spread for me. Spread them wider, Princess. Touch yourself."
-------
The video call became a fever dream of filth and friction. The sight of him, his veins popping in his forearms as his grip tightened, his jaw clenching with every upward stroke was a visceral assault.
"God, you're so loud in my ear," he hissed, his pace quickening, the sound of skin hitting skin echoing through the line. "Are you wet for me? Tell me how much you want this sticky, filthy mess all over you."
"Shut up," you gasped, your eyes rolling back as you reached your peak, the image of his tattooed body moving with feral intensity driving you over the edge. "Just... don't stop. Don't you dare stop."
"I'm not stopping until I hear you shatter," he growled, his voice dropping into a guttural roar as he watched the black screen, imagining the ruin he was causing in your high-society bedroom. "Give it to me, Princess. Tell me who you really belong to tonight."
You couldn't hold back anymore. The friction of your own fingers, the sight of his head lolling back as he reached his limit, and the sheer, forbidden thrill of the moment snapped something deep inside you. You let out a broken, high-pitched moan, your body arching off the bed as the first wave of a violent climax hit you.
"God... JK," you gasped, his name slipping out like a prayer and a sin all at once.
The sound of his name seemed to trigger the end for him. On the screen, his muscles corded, his veins bulging in his neck as his grip tightened into a final, desperate rhythm. His jaw locked, a low, animalistic growl vibrating from his chest as he finally came, the raw evidence of his release slicking his abdomen and his tattooed hand.
He stayed like that for a moment, chest heaving, his skin glistening with a film of sweat under the dim lights of his room. He looked utterly wrecked, a man who had just given everything to a black screen.
The silence that followed was deafening. You lay there, your dress ruined and hiked up around your waist, your breath coming in shallow hitches. The reality of what you had just done the sheer filth of it, the distance between this and the cold, sterile life Seokjin offered felt like a physical weight.
Jungkook finally opened his eyes, blinking slowly at the camera. He reached out, his thumb grazing the lens as if he were trying to touch the woman behind the darkness.
"You're a quiet one after the storm, aren't you?" he murmured, his voice honeyed and rough.
He didn't ask about your life. He didn't ask who you were or why you were hiding. To him, you were just a high-paying fantasy, a voice in the dark that needed him. He had no idea about the diamond ring sitting on your nightstand or the political merger that was currently dictating your future.
"Same time tomorrow?" he asked, a ghost of a smirk returning to his lips as he began to reach for a towel to clean himself up. "Or did I finally give you enough to keep you satisfied for a while?"
You didn't answer. You couldn't. With a trembling hand, you reached out and tapped the red 'End Call' button, plunging the room back into a cold, suffocating silence.
--------
The air in the cathedral was thick with the scent of aged frankincense and the heavy, suffocating weight of tradition. Sunlight filtered through the stained glass, casting vibrant hues of ruby and sapphire across your folded hands, but you felt none of the peace the priest was droning on about.
You were kneeling between your mother, who was draped in modest Chanel, and Seokjin, who looked like a saint carved from marble. His eyes were closed, his profile sharp and perfect. To the world, you were the picture of piety, the cherished daughter of a dynasty, preparing to enter a sacred union.
Inside, you were a riot of sin.
Your thighs ached from the tension of the previous night's call. Every time the choir hit a high note, you didn't think of angels; you thought of the way JK's voice had dropped into that guttural, animalistic growl when he watched you peak through the screen.
The small clutch purse on your lap vibrated.
It was a sharp, jagged intrusion into the silence. Your mother cut a sharp glance toward you, her perfectly arched brow twitching in warning. You offered a tight, apologetic smile and slipped your hand into the bag, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.
You knew you shouldn't. Not here. Not in front of the altar. But the hunger was a physical itch you couldn't scratch.
You shielded the screen with your palm, the brightness biting into the dimness of the pew.
JK: Thinking about how you sounded last night.
JK: Bet you're being a good girl right now, aren't you? Sitting somewhere pretty, pretending you don't have a filthy mind.
A heat, sudden and violent, bloomed at the base of your throat. You shifted in the hard wooden pew, the wood creaking, a sound that felt like a scream in the silent church. Your mother cut a sharp, questioning look at you. You offered a tight, strained smile and looked down at your lap, your fingers trembling as another notification popped up.
It was an image.
You shouldn't have opened it. Not here. Not under the eyes of the saints. But curiosity was a hunger you couldn't starve.
The photo loaded. It was a mirror selfie, taken in what looked like a dimly lit bathroom. JK was wearing nothing but grey sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips, his hand curled around the back of his neck to flex the heavy muscle of his shoulder. His hair was damp, falling over his eyes, and he was biting his lower lip, that same lip you had watched him wet with a red lollipop.
The caption read.
JK: I'm bored, Princess. Saturday feels too far away. Tell me what you're wearing. I want to know exactly what I have to take off you before I show you what $2,000 actually buys.
The unholy thoughts hit you like a physical blow. You could almost feel his tattooed fingers tracing the zipper of your dress, pulling it down to reveal the virginity you were planning to hand him like a sacrificial lamb. The irony was suffocating, here you were, surrounded by prayers for your soul, while your heart was racing for the man who promised to ruin it.
"Y/N," your mother whispered, her hand resting on your arm. Her touch felt like ice. "Are you alright? You're flushed. You're shaking."
"I... it's just the incense, Mother," you choked out, the lie tasting like ash. "It's a bit stifling in here."
You looked back at the phone one last time. The image of his sculpted torso, the V-line of his hips disappearing into the fabric of his pants, burned into your retinas. You felt a coil of heat tighten deep in your belly, a visceral ache that made the church feel like a cage.
You typed back with a daring you didn't know you possessed, your thumb hovering over the keys as the choir began to sing.
You: I'm in church, JK.
You: And you're making it very hard to pray.
A second later, his reply came, and you nearly dropped the phone.
JK: In church? Perfect.
JK: Kneel down for me then, Princess. Tell God I'm the one coming for you on Saturday. And tell him I don't plan on being gentle.
You snapped the clutch shut, the metallic click echoing too loudly in the hollow space. Your breath was ragged, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. You looked up at the crucifix at the front of the hall, but all you saw was the dark, hungry gaze of a man who didn't care about your soul, only your body.
Saturday wasn't just a date. It was a countdown to a total eclipse of the life you had been forced to lead. And as the congregation stood for the final blessing, you realized you weren't praying for forgiveness. You were praying for the week to end.
--------
The air in the garden was thick with the scent of peonies and overpriced champagne. Everything, from the silk ribbons tied around the topiary to the macarons on the tiered trays, was a precise, aggressive shade of blush pink. It was beautiful, curated, and utterly exhausting.
Seokjin stood beside you, looking every bit the heir to an empire in a tailored cream suit that made his shoulders look impossibly broad. He held a glass of sparkling cider, his posture perfect, his smile appearing and disappearing with the mechanical precision of a shutter.
"A girl," he remarked, his voice low enough only for you to hear. "It's good for the family lineage. Softens the brand's image. My cousin, Hana, has always been savvy about these things."
You nodded, feeling the weight of the pink silk dress you'd been instructed to wear. "She looks happy, Jin. It's a celebration, not just a branding opportunity."
He chuckled, a dry, polite sound. "In this family, darling, they are one and the same."
Hana, glowing and draped in chiffon, glided over to you both. "Y/N! You look stunning. Pink really is your color," she chirped, kissing both of your cheeks. She leaned in closer, her eyes sparkling with a mix of genuine excitement and family expectation. "So, I hear the wedding is set for June. Just think, in a year or two, we could be throwing one of these for you and Jin. Can you imagine a little Seokjin running around?"
Your stomach did a slow, nauseating somersault. "We're just focusing on the merger, the wedding, right now, Hana," you managed to say, your smile feeling like it was held up by wires.
"Of course, of course," she winked. "But don't wait too long. We need to keep the dynasty strong."
As they descended into a conversation about offshore investments and the guest list for the upcoming charity gala, your mind drifted. The pink balloons began to look like blurred spots of light. You were bored no, you were suffocating. This was your life, a series of gender reveals, sterile conversations, and softening the brand.
As the afternoon wore on, the fun began. There were games involving guessing the baby's birth weight and advice cards for the new parents. You sat at a circular table with three other corporate wives who discussed nothing but interior designers and the local private school rankings.
Seokjin was a few yards away, locked in a deep conversation about tax-free zones with his uncle. He didn't look back at you once. He knew exactly where you were, exactly where he'd left you.
You picked at a pink cupcake, the frosting too sweet, your mind drifting. You looked at the pink ribbons tied around the trees and thought about how everything in your life was being pre-packaged. The color of the nursery, the city you'd live in, the man you'd wake up next to.
"Everything alright?"
You looked up to see Seokjin standing over you. He checked his watch, a habit he couldn't break even at a family party.
"I'm just a bit drained, Jin," you said, echoing the same lie you'd told him in the car. "The sun is a bit much."
"We'll leave after the final toast," he said, patting your hand. It wasn't a gesture of comfort; it was a promise of an end to the social obligation. "You've done well today. My aunt was very complimentary of your poise."
Poise. To him, you were a well-behaved pet.
As the "It's a Girl!" confetti cannons went off, showering the lawn in a blizzard of pink paper, you stood there clapping politely. The sight was objectively beautiful, but you felt nothing but a hollow ache for something messy, something unscripted, and something that didn't require a Pay button even if that was the only way you knew how to find it.
You followed Seokjin toward the car, your heels sinking into the manicured grass, a dignified bride-to-be who was secretly counting down the seconds until she could be alone in the dark.
--------
You stood before your full-length mirror, two dresses draped over the velvet chair behind you.
The red dress was a statement. It was bold, a "femme fatale" armor that screamed of the woman you were trying to become sensual, confident, and unapologetic. But as you held it up, it felt like a costume.
Then there was the white dress.
White was your signature. Your closet was a graveyard of ivory, cream, and pearl the color of purity, the color of a bride. Choosing the white silk slip dress felt like a deliberate act of sabotage. You wanted him to see you in the color of innocence just before you let him ruin it. You pulled the silk over your head, the fabric cool against your skin, sliding down your curves like a secret. No bra, just lace-trimmed stockings and the frantic thrum of your heart against your ribs.
The hotel was a discreet, high-end establishment on the edge of the city, the kind of place where the staff was paid for their silence. Your hands shook as you pressed the button for the penthouse floor.
When you reached the door, you hesitated. Your reflection in the polished brass of the room number looked like a stranger pale, wide-eyed, and desperate. You knocked, the sound muffled by the thick carpet of the hallway.
The door swung open almost instantly.
The camera hadn't done him justice. In person, Jungkook was an overwhelming physical presence. He was in a black silk button-down, the top three buttons undone to reveal a glimpse of the intricate, dark ink sprawling across his chest. His hair was pushed back, and the light caught the glint of the silver rings in his ears and the sharp, silver stud in his lip.
His dark eyes raked over you, slow and deliberate, moving from your trembling lips down to the hem of your white dress. He didn't look like a service you had paid for; he looked like a predator who had finally cornered his prey.
"You're late, Princess," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that settled deep in your bones. He stepped back, gesturing for you to enter. "And you're wearing white. Are you trying to remind me of what I'm taking from you tonight?"
The door clicked shut, sealing out the world and its expectations. The room was dim, lit only by the amber glow of the city skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
"I... I was nervous," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. "I didn't know if I'd look the same to you in person."
Jungkook walked toward you, his movements fluid and predatory. He stopped inches away, the scent of expensive tobacco and something dark and masculine filling your senses. He reached out, his hand, covered in the intricate tattoos of a snake and a crown, sliding up your arm. The contrast of his ink against your pale, pristine skin was startling.
"You look better," he hissed, his thumb grazing your jawline before hooking into the corner of your mouth, tugging your lip down slightly. "The camera didn't show me how much you tremble when I touch you."
He didn't waste time with the polite, dry kisses. When his mouth crashed against yours, it was a claim. It tasted of hunger and heat. His lip piercing dragged against your skin, a sharp, metallic sensation that sent a jolt of pure electricity through your nerves.
The room felt smaller now that the door was shut, the air thick with the scent of his cologne and the dangerous, electric hum of his presence. You stood by the foot of the bed, your fingers fumbling with your clutch until you managed to pull out your phone. With a few frantic taps, you hit 'confirm.'
The $2,000 left your account, a digital sacrifice to the man standing before you.
"It's sent," you whispered, your voice thin.
Jungkook didn't even glance at his phone. He took a slow, deliberate step toward you, the silver rings in his ears catching the light. He looked at you not like a client, but like something he had finally hunted down.
"You think I care about the notification, Princess?" he murmured, stopping so close you could feel the heat radiating from his chest. "I've got plenty of money. But having the pristine, high-society bride-to-be standing in my room, shaking because she wants to be touched by a man like me? That feels like winning a trophy I wasn't supposed to have."
He reached out, his tattooed hand cupping your cheek, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip. "So, how do you want to start? You paid for the time. Tell me how you want me to ruin you."
"I... I don't know," you breathed, your heart hammering against your ribs. "I've never... I've never done this."
A low, dark chuckle vibrated in his chest. "You don't know? After all that talk on the phone?" He leaned down, his lip piercing cold against your ear as he whispered, "I like that. A blank slate."
He didn't wait for another word. He gripped your waist, his large hands sinking into the ivory silk of your dress, and guided you back until your knees hit the edge of the mattress. With a gentle shove, he sat you down and then eased you back until you were lying against the pillows, your dark hair splayed out like a halo.
Jungkook hovered over you for a second, his dark eyes raking over your body with a proprietary hunger. Then, he dropped to his knees between your legs. The movement was so sudden, so worshipful yet dominant, that you gasped.
He didn't look up. Instead, he gripped the hem of your white dress and slowly slid it upward. The silk bunched in his tattooed hands, revealing your trembling thighs, inch by inch, until the fabric was gathered at your hips.
He leaned in, pressing a searing, open-mouthed kiss to the soft skin of your inner knee. His breath was hot, sending a violent shiver straight to your core.
"I'm here to please you, and I'm getting paid a lot of money to do it right," he murmured against your skin, his voice muffled by your thigh. He moved higher, his tongue tracing a line toward the lace of your underwear, his nose brushing against the heat of you. He looked up then, his jaw sharp, his eyes hooded and dark. "Tell me what you want, Princess. Give me an order."
Your hands found the mess of his dark hair, your fingers curling into the strands. The dignified version of you was dead. The girl who belonged to Seokjin was gone.
"I want you," you choked out, your hips instinctively arching toward him. "Please... I just want you."
"Good girl," he growled, a jerkish, satisfied smirk pulling at his lips.
He stood up just long enough to shed his shirt, his muscular torso a map of dark ink and raw power in the dim light. He crawled over you, his weight a welcome pressure, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand.
"I'm going to be your favorite mistake," he promised, his mouth crashing onto yours with a visceral, filthy intensity that tasted of leather, metal, and the end of your innocence.
-------
Jungkook loomed over you, his eyes dark with a predatory focus as he pinned your wrists to the headboard with a single, tattooed hand.
"You're so tight," he rasped, his voice dropping into a guttural register. "Just looking at you like this... I can tell you've been holding your breath for years."
He didn't give you a chance to answer. His free hand traveled up your torso, the rough texture of his calloused palms dragging against the smooth silk of your dress until he reached your breasts. He didn't hesitate; he squeezed firmly, groaning at the soft, heavy weight of you in his hand. With a flick of his thumb, he caught your nipple through the thin fabric, rolling the sensitive peak until a sharp jolt of pleasure shot straight to your core.
You let out a broken moan, your head tossing back against the pillows. "JK... please..."
"Please what?" he taunted, his smirk returning, sharp and cruel in the best way. He leaned down, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear before he moved to your neck, sucking a dark mark into the skin. "Tell me exactly what you want me to do to these."
He didn't wait for your stuttered reply. He used his teeth to snag the neckline of your dress, pulling the white silk down until your breasts were bared to the cool air of the room. He stared at you for a long beat, his chest heaving. Then, he dipped his head, taking one aching peak into his mouth. The sensation was overwhelming, the wet heat of his tongue, the sharp scrape of his lip piercing, and the rhythmic suction as he nursed you like he was starving.
"God, you're so responsive," he hissed against your skin, moving to the other side, his hand sliding down to the damp lace between your thighs.
He began to play you like an instrument he'd spent a lifetime mastering. His fingers found your center, circling and dipping with a relentless, expert friction that had you sobbing his name. Every time you neared the edge, every time your breath hitched and your back arched, he would stop. He would pull his hand away, watching you crumble in frustration.
"Not yet," he whispered, his eyes burning into yours. "I want you so desperate that you'll forget your own name. I want you begging for the ruin."
He edged you again and again, his mouth never leaving your skin, his hands mapping every inch of your trembling body until you were a raw nerve, weeping and pleading for him to finish it.
Finally, he sat back, stripping off the rest of his clothes with a fluid, impatient grace. He looked like a god of ink and sin as he moved back between your knees. He positioned himself at your entrance, the blunt heat of him pressing against your virginity.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice thick.
You opened your eyes, blurred with tears of pleasure, to find him watching you with a terrifying intensity.
"This is the part you can't take back," he murmured, his hands sliding under your hips to tilt you up. "This belongs to me. Not the businessman. Not your father. Me."
With one slow, heavy thrust, he broke through.
A sharp gasp escaped your lips, your fingers digging into his biceps, tracing the ridges of the tattoos that covered his skin. It was a searing, full sensation, a stretching ache that quickly began to melt into a deep, thrumming heat. Jungkook stayed still for a moment, his forehead pressed to yours, his jaw clenched so hard the muscles jumped.
"Breathe, Princess," he grounded out, his thumb catching a tear on your cheek. "Just breathe for me."
As the initial sting faded, replaced by a blossoming, primal hunger, he began to move. It wasn't the polite, measured rhythm of a gentleman. It was a hard, unapologetic pace that made the bed frame groan and your vision swim. Every thrust was a claim, the sound of skin hitting skin echoing in the quiet room.
You were lost in the friction, the silver glint of his piercings, and the way his name felt like the only word left in your vocabulary. As you spiraled toward a violent, soul-shattering peak, you realized you hadn't just paid for a night; you had paid to finally feel alive, even if it meant burning everything else to the ground.
---------
The room was silent, save for the hum of the air conditioning and the rustle of ruined silk. You felt heavy, your body aching in places you hadn't known existed, marked by a man who was now watching you from the shadows of the pillows.
You stood by the edge of the bed, your back turned to him as you stepped into your lace underwear. Your fingers trembled as you reached for the ivory dress on the floor. It was wrinkled, a far cry from the pristine garment you'd arrived in, much like yourself.
"Running away so soon, Princess?"
Jungkook's voice was a low, gravelly vibration. You glanced back. He was sitting up, completely naked, the sheets pooled at his waist. The morning light caught the sharp lines of his tattoos and the glint of his piercings. He looked devastatingly unbothered, his jaw shadowed by stubble, a dark lock of hair falling over his eyes.
"I have to go," you whispered, pulling the dress over your head. The silk felt cold against your sensitive skin. "This... tonight was... it was what I needed. But it's the last time we'll see each other."
A dry, dark chuckle escaped his throat. He reached for a pack of cigarettes on the nightstand, his movements fluid and predatory even in his stillness. "The last time? You paid two grand to have me break you open, and now you're acting like we just had a polite coffee."
"I'm serious, Jungkook," you said, finally turning to face him as you zipped the side of your dress. Your voice gained a desperate edge. "The merger is moving forward. My wedding to Seokjin is in June. I can't risk this. I can't risk you."
Jungkook paused, a lighter sparking in his hand. The flame illuminated the hard, jerkish tilt of his smirk. He took a slow drag, exhaling a cloud of grey smoke that curled around his head like a halo.
"Seokjin," he repeated the name like it was a bad joke. "The man who kisses you like he's signing a contract. You really think you can go back to that? After how loud you were screaming my name an hour ago?"
"I don't have a choice," you snapped, grabbing your clutch. "This was a distraction. A final act of rebellion. But on Monday, I go back to being the woman I'm supposed to be."
Jungkook stood up then, uncaring of his nudity, and walked toward you. He stopped just inches away, the scent of tobacco and sex clinging to him. He loomed over you, his presence suffocating. He didn't touch you, but the heat from his body made you want to melt right back into the sheets.
"June is a long way off, Princess," he murmured, leaning down so his lip piercing almost brushed your ear. "You've tasted what it's like to actually feel something. You think you can survive three months of silence with him? You'll be back. You'll get bored, or lonely, or just plain hungry for the way I make you hurt."
"I won't," you lied, stepping back toward the door. Your heart was thudding against your ribs, a frantic, rhythmic warning.
"We'll see," he said, his eyes darkening. The "care" he'd shown earlier was gone, replaced by a cold, possessive streak. He didn't like being told 'no.' He didn't like being a chapter that was closing.
You didn't say goodbye. You couldn't. You turned and walked out of the room, the click of your heels on the hotel carpet sounding like a funeral march.
Behind you, Jungkook didn't follow. He leaned against the doorframe, naked and etched in ink, taking another long drag of his cigarette. He watched your retreating back through the haze of smoke, a dark, knowing smile tugging at his mouth. He knew the truth you weren't ready to admit: you hadn't just bought a night of pleasure. You had bought a hunger that a man like Seokjin could never satisfy.
As the elevator doors closed, the last thing you saw was the red glow of his cigarette in the dim hallway, a small, burning warning of the fire you had started and couldn't put out.
-------
The days following that night were a blur of suffocating tradition. Jungkook had gone silent, a ghost in your digital world, and you tried to convince yourself that the $2,000 had finally bought you peace. You threw yourself back into the role of the perfect daughter, the Untouchable Princess of the Min political dynasty.
Tonight, you are at a gala for your father's re-election campaign. The ballroom is a cathedral of gold leaf and forced laughter. You are wearing a champagne-colored gown, modest, floor-length, and expensive. It feels like a shroud.
"You're doing well, Y/N," your father whispers as he steers you through a crowd of donors.
You offer a practiced, porcelain curve of your lips to a local Governor, nodding at the right intervals, while inside, you feel hollow. Your skin still feels the phantom heat of tattooed hands; your ears still ring with the sound of a voice that was anything but stable.
Miles away, in a dimly lit apartment that smells of stale smoke, Jungkook is slumped on a leather sofa. The only light in the room comes from three different monitors. One shows a live feed of the gala, a social media broadcast from a local news outlet.
He zooms in on your face. He watches the way you tilt your head, the way you hold your champagne glass with a poise that looks like it would shatter if he so much as whispered your name.
"Liars," he chuckles, the sound dark and jagged in the quiet room. "Every single one of you."
He reaches for his phone, scrolling through the private folder he has dedicated to you. He knows things Seokjin doesn't. He knows you hate the taste of the expensive truffles served at these events, preferring the street-food spicy rice cakes you used to sneak as a teenager. He knows your favorite color isn't the dignified white you wear for the public, but a deep, bruised violet.
He knows the exact shade your skin turns when you're pushed past your limit.
He stares at the screen, at the way your dress clings to the hips he claimed only nights ago. The memory of your first time, the way you gasped, the way you were so tight and terrified and then so utterly wrecked, hits him like a physical blow. He feels the familiar, heavy throb in his veins, a visceral hunger that the money didn't satisfy. It only made him want to own the soul behind the bank account.
He stands up, his hand moving to the waistband of his dark sweats. He doesn't just want you; he wants to haunt you in the middle of your perfect life.
Back at the gala, your clutch vibrates against your ribs.
You excuse yourself from a conversation about tax reform, retreating to a quiet alcove behind a velvet curtain. Your heart is already racing before you even see the screen. You know that vibration. It's the rhythm of a disaster.
You open the app. Your breath hitches.
It's a photo. Unapologetic. Raw. Filthy.
It's a close-up of him, his hand gripping the thick, straining bulge beneath the fabric of his pants. His tattooed knuckles are white from the pressure, and you can see the dark v-line of his hips. It is a violent intrusion of reality into your gilded cage.
Followed by a text:
JK: I see that fake smile you're giving everyone, Princess. It's pretty. But we both know what you look like when you're crying for me.
JK: I can't stop thinking about how you felt. How you tasted. I'm sitting here getting hard just watching you pretend for the cameras.
JK: You said it was the last time. But you haven't blocked me yet, have you? You're still holding onto the leash I put on you.
You lean your head against the cold marble wall, your eyes fluttering shut. The sound of the orchestra in the ballroom feels miles away. All you can feel is the phantom weight of him, and the terrifying realization that while you were trying to forget him, he was busy memorizing every way to destroy you.
You don't reply. You can't. But you don't delete the photo, either. You just stand there in your champagne silk, shivering in the heat of his obsession.
--------
The silence of your bedroom is stifling, a stark contrast to the thrumming energy of the gala you just fled. You don't even bother unzipping your dress; the champagne silk feels like a straitjacket as you pace the length of your hand-tufted rug. The glow of your phone is a jagged blade in the dark, cutting through the carefully constructed peace you've tried to build over the last forty-eight hours.
Your thumbs fly over the screen, fueled by a mixture of terror and a lingering, traitorous heat.
You: Stop sending me those. I have already made it clear that this needs to stop.
You hold your breath, watching the three dots dance. He's there. He's always there, lurking in the digital shadows of your life.
JK: But i thought this just started.
JK: Common Y/n you can't forget me just like that, I need a good farewell don't I?
JK: I have done everything you asked me to do for money.
The mention of the money makes your stomach flip. It was supposed to be a shield, a way to keep it a transaction. But in his hands, that paper trail has become a tether. He's reminding you that he knows your secrets, that he's seen the princess at her most vulnerable, and that he has the receipts to prove it.
You: What do u want now?
You sit on the edge of your bed, the same bed where you've spent the last two nights staring at the ceiling, haunted by the memory of his ink-covered skin. The reply comes instantly, as if he's been waiting for you to crack.
JK: Can we meet one last time please?
You stare at the word please. Coming from him, it doesn't feel like a request. It feels like a challenge. It feels like a predator offering a hand to the prey, knowing she's already halfway into his mouth.
You: I can't. Seokjin is coming over tomorrow for a formal dinner. My father is watching me. The security...
JK: I don't care about the security. And I definitely don't care about Seokjin.
JK: One last time, Princess. A real goodbye. No screens. No "Pay" buttons. Just us.
JK: Unless you're scared that if I touch you one more time, you'll realize you can't actually go through with that wedding in June.
The words burn. He's poking at the bruise, finding the exact spot where your resolve is weakest. You look at the vanity mirror, at the 'Untouchable Princess' reflected there, and then back at the phone. The obsession in his tone is palpable a dark, heavy weight that seems to pull you toward the screen.
He knows you. He's spent the last few days dissecting your life from afar, watching your polite smiles and your public purity, and he's decided he's not done being the one who stains it.
JK: I'll be at the old pier at midnight. The one near the warehouse district.
JK: Come alone. If you don't show up, I might just have to drop by that formal dinner tomorrow.
It's a threat wrapped in a plea, delivered with the jagged edge of a man who has decided that if he can't have you as a client, he'll have you as his captive audience.
summary: your roomate asks you for help to film a video for his OF, and you agree
pairing: roomate!Jungkook × reader
tags: roomate au, friends with benefits, OF streamer Jungkook
warnings: sex on camera, tit sucking, tit play , unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it !! ), blowjob, yn rides him! he calls her baby and beautiful and that makes her feel funny
wc: ~3.1k
a/n: I thoght I could give our hit pause couple a bit of background! what do you think? As always, english isn’t my first language, so please be kind!
The second you open the door, Jungkook’s already calling out from his room.
“Hey, Y/N, you home?”
You kick your shoes off, drop your bag, and yell back, “Yeah! Why?”
His door swings open. He’s shirtless, wearing just some loose shorts, and his messy hair looks like he just woke up.
You’ve been living together for almost a year now. You found out through some friends that Jungkook was renting out a room in his place. You’d just gotten out of a relationship and weren’t looking for anything permanent – just somewhere to crash for a while while you sorted yourself out.
When you met him, he told you right away what he did for a living: he’s a content creator – making videos, streaming, all that stuff - the adult kind of content. But honestly? You didn’t care much. His job wasn’t that important to you, as long as you got along.
Living together just kind of happened, and you actually really like living with him. There’s something about how easy it feels around him, and sometimes, you get this little tingly feeling inside. But you usually push it down, not wanting to read too much into it or complicate things.
He leans on the doorframe. “Are you busy?”
You narrow your eyes. “Why?”
He grins. That one he pulls when he’s about to say something stupid. Or nasty. Usually both.
“So…” He scratches his neck. “I got this custom request. A subscriber wants a full POV of me sucking tits.”
You blink. “Okay… and you’re telling me… because…?”
He shrugs. “Mmmm…I have this silicone doll this brand sent me and… The tits are fine, I guess. But they don’t jiggle like real ones. It’s not gonna look real.”
You’re still waiting for the punchline. He gives you a fake innocent look. “I thought… yours would be way better,” he says, pointing at your tits.
You cross your arms. “You wanna suck my tits for a video?”
“I mean…” He steps closer, eyes on your chest. “You’ve got the most perfect rack I’ve ever seen. Big, round.”He makes a rough circle in the air with his hands. “Would look crazy on camera.”
You raise an eyebrow.
He smirks. “I’ve seen you in your gym stuff enough times. I noticed–” he drags his eyes down, then back up, real slow, and gives a small shrug “Anyway. It’s just for the video. No face, I promise. Just my mouth and your tits. You just lay back and enjoy it while I do all the work.”
You snort. “That 's all?”
He tilts his head. “Unless you wanna do more.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re already smirking. “Mmh. Sounds good. I’m down.”
His face lights up. “Seriously? Fuck – thank you. You’re saving my ass. They paid extra for this request and I was starting to get pretty stressed.”
You lean on the wall with your arms crossed under your chest, watching him practically bounce with excitement.
“So… when do you want to do it?” you ask.
He gives you a look. “How about now?”
Your brows shoot up. “Like now, now?”
“Yeah,” he says, already stepping back toward the hallway. “I’ll head to the studio, get the lights and setup going. Just bring that black lace set. You know the one.”
You squint at him.“How do you know I own that?”
He pauses at the door, shoots you a wicked little smirk over his shoulder.
“I’ve seen your laundry. Those panties with the tiny bows? Burned into my brain.”
You head to your room, the door clicking shut behind you. For a second, you just stand there, staring at your dresser like... what are we doing?
Still, you’re already moving. You grab the black lace set he mentioned and toss it on the bed while you reach for your make up bag.
As you lean over the mirror, dusting some bronzer on your cheeks, you pause. “My face isn’t even gonna show,” you mutter. “Why the hell am I doing this?”
You slip on the lingerie, then throw a loose tee over it and then a pair of shorts.
You walk down the hall, heart thumping like crazy even though you’re just about to let Jungkook suck on your tits for his OF. At his door, you knock twice.
The door swings open right away and you see Jungkook. You see the camera set up on a tripod behind him and a few softboxes. You’ve been here before – the spare room turned into a studio. It smells like his cologne. The bed’s made with plain sheets, simple. He steps aside as you walk in.
“Mmm, you look good,” he smirks. “Did you put on makeup for me, pretty?”
You snort, feeling a little blush creep up your cheeks. “Shut up.”
He closes the door behind you. “Alright” he says. “Sit on the bed. Back against the frame.”
You nod and move over, climbing onto the mattress. Your tee rides up as you sit with your legs stretched out and your back against the headboard, hands resting behind you.
You glance up at him. “Like this?”
“Perfect,” he says as he reaches to adjust the camera angle.
Jungkook finishes adjusting the camera, checking the screen once more before turning to you. He runs a hand through his hair, then leans against the edge of the bed.
“Before we start – anything you don’t want me to do?”
You tilt your head, thinking for a second, then shrug. “Not really. I’m good with whatever.”
With that, he grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it off in one smooth motion. Now it’s just him and his basketball shorts, with his abs and tattooed sleeve on full display.
Your eyes drop without meaning to, tracing the faint trail of hair that disappears beneath the waistband. He catches you looking and smirks again. “Your turn.”
You blink. “Hm?”
“Shirt. Off.”
He watches you almost as if he was waiting for any sign you’ll back out. But you don’t. You grab the hem of your tee and pull it off slow, knowing he’s watching.
He stares, just for a second “...fuck.”
You shift a little under his gaze, raising a brow. “What? Something wrong?”
Jungkook snaps out of it, shaking his head slowly. “No! No. That black really suits you.”
You chuckle as your fingers brush along one strap. He clears his throat, and glances back at the camera. “Okay – quick rundown.” You nod, sitting a little straighter.
“So, I’ll hit record,” he says, moving around the bed. “Then I’ll come close, say something to set the mood, get the audience ready.”
You hum in agreement. “Right. Then what?”
“Then I get to work.” He grins.
You nod again, glancing down at your cleavage. “Should I unhook the bra or…?”
He cuts in, shaking his head. “No. Let me pull the cups down. Waaaay hotter. Makes them look even fuller when they spill out like that.”
You laugh. “You sound like you’ve done your research.”
“I jack off to this kind of shit. Of course I have.”
That earns a grin from you, and then he’s climbing up onto the mattress, grabbing the remote for the camera. His knees press into the bed, positioning himself between your legs.
“Alrighty,” he says, looking at you one last time. “Ready?”
You nod, biting your lip. He hits record, then moves forward, kneeling between your thighs as his face drops toward your chest. The red light on the camera clicks on.
Jungkook’s voice drops an octave. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? Bet you’ve imagined this…”
You bite your lip, and your heart skips a beat. “Yeah…”
But then you realize – he’s not looking at you. He’s talking to the camera. You clear your throat, trying to play it cool as he starts kissing your collarbone, just above your bra where the lace meets your skin.
“Damn…” he mutters, pulling back just for a second to look at you. “You’re beautiful.”
Something tightens in your chest at that.
Yes, you’re used to him calling you pretty, yes – but beautiful? You don’t know why, but that just hits differently. You push the thought away before it sticks.
He leans in again. His tongue presses over your nipple through the fabric of your bra.You exhale, shifting slightly under him. He sucks gently, slow and wet, letting the sounds hit just right for the camera.
“Can’t wait to get these pretty tits out,” he whispers. His fingers slip under the bra and eyes never leave yours. Then he tugs the cups down, and your tits spill free.
“Fuck me,” he breathes, quiet. His eyes go wide, as if he forgot the camera was on. “They’re even bigger than I thought.” His hands move up, feeling warm on your skin. He rubs your nipples, then pinches them. You arch your back with a sharp breath.
“Ah. Fuck.”
He groans low, clearly loving the sound. “You like that?” he mutters, tugging again, this time slower, rolling the sensitive peaks between his fingers.
“Yeah – shit. Keep going,” you breathe.
“So sensitive,” he mutters, giving your nipples a slow tug. You moan, and he smirks. “Just a little touch and you're already making noise.”
He groans as his mouth moves across your skin. “They’re so big, I bet I could fit them both in my mouth.” He grabs your tits, pulling them to his face. His mouth opens wide, sucking both nipples. You let out a moan.
He stops for a second and looks up at you. His mouth curls into a dirty little smile, then he dives back in.
“Shit, Jungkook…” you pant, thighs tightening around him without even trying, “I–I think I’m close…” you pant.
He pauses for a moment, watching your face as you squirm beneath him.
“Are you serious right now?” he asks. “You feel like you could cum… just from this?”
“Yeah,” you whisper. “Fuck, I feel like I could.”
That lights something in him. His mouth opens to say something cocky, but he stops. “Damn, baby…” That damn nickname again, making you feel all funny inside.
Jungkook groans, sucking your nipple hard. Your thighs tighten around him and your fingers clutch the sheets. His other hand grabs your other tit, pressing them together as spit drips down your chest.
“God, yes – fuck! Don’t stop,” you whimper.
“You gonna cum for me?” he growls against your nipple. “Just from this? From me sucking on your perfect fucking tits?”
“Y-Yeah. Jungkook, I –” You come hard, grabbing his hair. Jungkook keeps licking, growling as you shake under him.
“Damn,” he mutters “You really came. All from my mouth on your tits.” He pulls back a bit. “You gonna tell your future hookups some guy made you cum off tit sucking alone?” he teases, raising his eyebrows. “’Cause I feel like that’s a flex.”
Still trying to come down from your climax, you let out a shaky breath.
“No – but,” you say, dragging a hand down your face. “That wasn’t just some orgasm. That was... the orgasm.”
“Yeah?” He leans in again and his nose brushes your breast. “Damn, baby. You’re gonna give me a god complex or something.”
You roll your eyes. “Mpfh. Like you don’t have one already.”
He smirks against your skin, and gives your tits with one last squeeze before he sits up on his knees. “Alright, I’ll stop the camera,” he says, reaching toward the remote.
But before he gets there, you notice it – the bulge in his shorts. He's hard and you bet he’s been holding back this whole time. Your eyes move up to his face, and he catches you looking.
You raise an eyebrow. “You’re really gonna walk around hard like this?”
He freezes for half a second, then chuckles under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I mean… wasn’t really planning to, but – ” He glances down at himself, then back at you, grinning. “Hard not to be when you’re sitting there moaning like that.”
You sit up a little. “So you’re telling me…” you start, playfull, “you made me cum… and you’re just gonna leave yourself like that?”
He licks his lips slowly, gaze flicking down your body like he’s rethinking everything.
“…didn’t say that,” he mutters. “Was probably just gonna go jerk off in the shower or something.”
You watch him for a second. He’s trying to play it cool, but that bulge says otherwise. Your eyes drag down to it again, and then back up. “Come here.”
He blinks. “Huh?”
You tilt your head, smirking. “I wanna suck you off,” you say.
His breath stutters, eyes darkening. “You wanna – yeah?”
You nod. He shoves his shorts and underwear down in one motion and his cock springs free, hard. His hand wraps around himself, stroking slowly as his thumb smears pre-cum across the head.
He drops back onto the bed and you move between his thighs, fingers curling around the base of his cock. He’s hot, heavy in your hand, and your grip tightens as you start to stroke him, watching his breath hitch.
“Fuck,” he mutters, barely audible.
You lean in, tongue flicking out to taste him, dragging a slow lick from base to tip. His hips jerk. Then your mouth closes over him, lips sliding down his length, tongue working the underside. You take as much as you can, and your hand strokes what your mouth doesn’t cover.
“Shit,” he mutters, eyes wide, locked on you. “You’re actually— okay, fuck.”
You hollow your cheeks, pull back, then sink down again.
His hand drifts up your chest and his fingers brush your skin before he finds your nipple. He rolls it between his fingers, slow at first, then pinches, watching the way your body responds. You moan around him, and his cock twitches in your mouth.
He groans as he keeps playing with your nipple with his fingers. His hips shift, fighting the urge to thrust deeper. Every time you pull back to breathe, you lick at the head, your tongue circling before you take him again. He’s panting.
His thumb wipes a streak of spit from your chin, then lingers at your lip, watching the way you take him. You suck him deeper making your jaw ache, but you don’t stop. He’s close – you can feel it in the way he tightens beneath you, the way his breath breaks.
“Can I fuck you?” he asks. “Because I wanna fuck you so bad right now.”
You let him slip from your mouth to speak. Your lips are swollen, a sheen of spit glistening on your chin. “Yeah.”
He lets out a breath, “Thank fuck,” he mutters, already reaching for you.
He leans in, kissing you hard, and his hands grip your hips, pulling you closer. It stirs something inside you, a mix of wanting and nervousness, but neither of you says a word. One hand slides down to the waistband of your shorts, tugging them and your panties off in one smooth motion. They hit the floor somewhere behind him, forgotten.
His fingers trail slowly up your thigh, pausing just a breath away from where you need him most. Then they slip between your folds. You gasp into his mouth as one finger slides in, then another.
“God,” he mutters against your lips, “you’re soaked.”
His fingers move and his mouth never leaves yours. “Jungkook” Your hips jerk up, chasing his fingers, trembling around them.
Jungkook slips his fingers out slowly, and his lips brush against your neck as he pulls back a little. He moves lower, positioning himself at your entrance, feeling how wet and ready you are.
He pushes forward, his cock stretching you open. You gasp.
“Shit,” you breathe. “You’re … big.”
He groans at that, and his head dips to your shoulder as he sinks deeper. “I’ll go slow,” he mutters. “Just tell me if it’s too much.”
You shake your head, panting. “No. Just – mmmh. Don’t stop.”
He stills when he bottoms out your walls clench tight around him.
“You’re so tight,” he growls, grabbing your hips as he drives into you. “Moan for me,” he pants. “I want to hear you”
“Jungkook!” you cry out.
His hands grip your hips tight, then with a quick move, he flips you over so you’re on top. You settle down slowly, riding him, grinding as his hands slide over your waist. Your hands grip his shoulders and Jungkook watches your tits bounce.
“I wish you could see how hot you look right now, riding me like that” he groans. “I love watching your tits bounce” He reaches up, cupping one, squeezing it tight, watching it jiggle under his hand.
“Your pussy feels so fucking good,” he groans. His hips snap up to meet yours.
Skin meets skin as the rhythm quickens. You bounce harder, keeping up with his pace. Jungkook drives deep, each thrust harder than the last. You grip his shoulders. “Jungkook, I’m close,” you gasp.
His grip on your hips tightens, pulling you closer. “Cum for me, baby,” he says.
Your body shakes, as you reach your climax, but Jungkook never stops thrusting.
“Fuck, I’m cumming,” he growls. His hips jerk hard, driving deep as he spills inside you, groaning your name.
You collapse over his chest with shaky breath, and press a quick kiss to one of his pecs.
He asks softly, “You okay?”
You nod.
“Mmm, I like being like this,” he says. He stays still for a moment, then slowly thrusts again. You let out a low moan, feeling he’s still inside you, not soft yet.
“Jungkook!”
He chuckles, brushing his lips over your skin. “What? I like being inside you. Could stay here all day. Watch a movie or something.”
You giggle. “So… you recorded the whole thing? But you’re not going to upload everything, right? Like, the entire thing?”
He smirks against your skin. “Nope. What happened after you came the first time? That’s private content, for my eyes only.”
You laugh, nudging him playfully. “Good. Some things should stay between us.”
He wraps an arm around you tighter. “Exactly. And honestly, we could do this more often – with or without the cameras.”
