as the years go on, the 2000s only get more nostalgic. it was messy, chaotic, unhinged .. and still somehow the best years to be alive ! ever wish you could go back ? or experience it at all ?
well, lets press rewind !
join these two ‘06 girlies in their 2000s inspired miniseries ♡
where our muse, jungkook, can be many things .. paperboy with raging MILF fever ? check. blockbuster employee who films his own pornos ? check. brothers BFF who got a crazy glow up ? also check. sexy neighbor who can fix your pipes ? check !
ana and jen present .. PRESS REWIND !
⌗ prod. @voyter and @pjminii
SPECIAL DELIVERY ⟡ VOYTER
getting a new job as a newspaper delivery boy to earn some extra cash wasn't exactly ideal for jungkook's busy college schedule. but the MILF he delivers papers to every wednesday? absolutely essential.
⌗ paperboy!jungkook. fuckboy!jungkook. milf!reader. age gap. infidelity. smut. college au. 2000s au.
CULT CLASSIC ⟡ PJMINII
you were just renting your usual blockbuster from the stupidly hot guy at the video store, when it turns out you’ve been handed a tape you really shouldn’t be watching. are you an intruder, or did he give it to you on purpose?
⌗ fuckboy!jungkook. voyeurism. slight age gap. sex tape. smut. 2000s au.
TASTE THE CRUSH ⟡ VOYTER
it's been years since you've been home. years since you've seen jeon jungkook — your brother's childhood best friend. what you don't expect is for him to look like a completely different person. and you definitely don't expect to spend your whole summer with him either.
⌗ fratboy!jungkook. brothers best friend. summer break. smut. college au. 2000s au.
HANDYMAN ⟡ PJMINII
your new neighbor is just numbingly cute, but it’s hard getting his attention. so when you find out he’s handy, you decide to sabotage every single item in your home, trying to lure him in.
i read cult classic this week, 1 day before @pjminii deactivate her account and my mental review was already prepared… now it's all just a memory. What a shame you guys won't be able to read it… I had so much fun and now my heart is broken 😭
I'm really thankful for your recommendations! (Especially for Namjoon) 🙏
I was wondering If we have any updates from the author joons-cinnamon-bun. She hasn't updated for some time now. I hope she is ok. 😥
Hope you are doing alright too! Thank you for being active and keeping the community alive! 😄
hi baby! thank you for your message and sorry for taking this long to reply but life has been crazy busy lately.
im really glad that you like my recs and i miss reading fanfics with namjoon :(
as for the author, well i can’t speak for her in the terms of posting again or anything but to calm your heart, i can say that she’s been busy as well but she’s doing pretty good so dont worry <3 i also miss her writing but life has other demands right?
as for me, well… i could be better but i’m trying to find happiness despite the chaos.
summary: you and namjoon are left alone together for a little too long. or: in your childhood home, you learn just how much is really "just the tip" with namjoon.
word count. 3,994 words.
warnings. semi-public sex, namjoon doesn't need much convincing, oral sex (m. receiving) unprotected sex but reader is on birth control, creampie, namjoon takes oc's underwear.
note: happy early bday to our leader who keeps me sane and motivates me to keep living everyday. here is some horny fluff word vomit inspired by all the content we've been getting of namjoon looking delicious in his buzzcut lately. i couldn't resist. pics above are from @rkivsfe ♡
Namjoon seemed plucked straight from the pages of a classic romance, a perfect gentleman in every sense.
Throughout the day, your parents had been gracious hosts at their house, and Namjoon had gracefully navigated each conversation, his charismatic charm and impeccable manners in full display.
Yet, it wasn't the refined qualities occupying your mind; rather, it was his freshly buzzed hair and the allure of his domesticated moments – like when he insisted on helping your mother – that made your heart race, feverish heat flooding your core at the thought of creating a home with him someday.
The both of you had never really properly broached the topic of children, especially since you were on birth control.
While you had only been dating for two years, discussions of having children had stayed respectfully on the back burner; the decision to wait until marriage, or at least until life was less hectic, appeared sensible to both of you.
For now, life as it was felt fulfilling.
But lately, as you watched Namjoon tenderly cradle a friend's baby or playfully chase nieces and nephews at family gatherings, you began to see the appeal of having a family with Namjoon.
It was hard not to want it sometimes.
It took every ounce of restraint not to lunge at him right there, an insatiable hunger bubbling within, barely contained.
And when the rest of your family continued to mingle in the backyard, that was the moment you decided it was time to make your move.
Namjoon's eyes narrowed perceptively, instantly detecting the undercurrent of mischief in your stride.
Your smile, wide and radiant, was Oscar-worthy enough to mask your ulterior motives from everyone else; however, Namjoon could see right through your seemingly innocent offer of showing him a 'tour' of your childhood bedroom.
Determinedly, you grasped his arm firmly and practically dragged him up the staircase of your parents’ house and up to your old room located at the far end of the second-floor hallway.
—
To his credit, Namjoon nearly fell for your act.
He attentively followed along while you animatedly led him around the room; pointing out the remnants of your teenage years evident in the faded posters of pop bands adorning the walls, a meticulously arranged collection of Studio Ghibli figurines that adorned shelves, and a colorful assortment of plush toys scattered about.
Golden sunlight pours through the window, playing on the sparkle in your eyes as your sundress embraces every curve. Beneath Namjoon’s clothes, a nagging ache intensifies, matched by the growing warmth and strain in his pants as he admires your radiance.
Slowly, time seemed to suspend itself, while the walls in your room appeared to close in on you both.
Soon enough, you found yourselves standing face-to-face, completely absorbed by each other's presence.
“You okay?” you ask in a hushed tone.
Namjoon's eyes sparkle with mischief, his eyes shamelessly lingering on your figure. The corners of his mouth turn up in a cheeky grin.
"I know what you’re thinking."
Brows knitting together, you blink in feigned innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about," you murmur, eyes evading his as your arms cross protectively.
“Oh, of course. You were just so eager to show me your room,” he states matter-of-factly.
Namjoon’s grin grows wider as he confidently strides closer, hands casually tucked in his pockets. “Nothing more to it, right baby?”
What a fucking tease.
Warmth creeps up your cheeks as nervous laughter bubbles up, eyes avoiding his penetrating stare – Namjoon always had an uncanny ability to read you like an open book.
It was something that instantly made heat bloom between your thighs. And when he was looking at you like that, it was impossible to hide anything from him.
He tilts his head and studies you with an arched brow. “You have that look.”
“What look?”
“The bedroom eyes. I’ve seen it before.”
“I do not!” you manage to choke out, the words nearly vanishing from your throat.
Namjoon just chuckles, disarmingly smug. “Hm. If you say so.”
Within moments, you uncross your arms and navigate the remaining distance, your hands coming up to explore the contours of his body – fingertips slipping under his shirt, feeling the muscles tensing in his back before coming around and daintily migrating northward across his chest.
Namjoon leans down, claiming your lips with a fleeting kiss. "We probably shouldn't," he breathes out softly against your parted lips.
"Hmmm," you pout. "And why not?"
Not waiting for an answer, your lips continue their exploration – slowly moving from his lips, tracing the angles of his jaw, and dancing between gentle nibbles and fervent suction.
Beneath his shirt, your fingers tease his chest, leaving light scratches before brushing against his sensitive nipples.
It only took seconds before you could feel how hard and ready Namjoon was, as his skin burned hotter beneath your touch and his breaths grew shallow.
Trying to suppress a groan and maintain some level of composure, Namjoon bites down on his lip and whispers your name with an unsteady voice.
"Your family is literally downstairs."
“They’re actually outside.”
Smiling mischievously, you return your attention to him by licking a slow stripe from his neck to the sensitive spot just below his ear – a place you’ve discovered he particularly enjoys being teased.
“I can’t promise I’ll want to stop at just kissing,” he warns with equal parts desperation and plea – a last attempt at cracking your resolve as his hands reflexively grip your waist in a manner both possessive and protective.
“And what?” you breathe out, each word soft and slow, a challenge in disguise. “Where would you want to stop?”
“I won’t.”
Softening your gaze, you allow your lips to ghost over his. “Then don't hold back,” you whisper, pressing a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth.
His heated gaze flickers across every inch of you – taking in your expression, the way your body presses against his. You couldn't resist further taunting him.
Your hands slide down his chest and towards the belt loops of his jeans, giving them a playful tug before swiftly moving to unbutton them.
It’s at this moment that Namjoon seems to snap out of his haze.
His lust-addled stupor evaporates like lifting fog, replaced by a rush of clarity where the lines between right and wrong become difficult to blur.
Suddenly decisive, he intercepts your wandering hands with a firm but gentle hold.
“____. No.”
“I’ll be quiet,” you promise him, a sultry smirk playing on your lips, both tempting and dangerous.
“Baby. We are not fucking in your parents’ house—especially in broad daylight.”
"Oh, Joonie…" you sigh lovingly, pressing a tender and lingering kiss to the small mole just below his lip.
"Always such a gentleman. Holding my hand, praising me in front of my parents, even charming my mom... You don’t wanna fool around with me here?"
Namjoon's mouth opens as if to protest further, but any words that threaten to come out are swallowed up by a groan that he struggles to stifle at the sensation of you swiftly tugging down his jeans and boxers, just enough for you to wrap your warm, tight hand around his thick length.
"You’re…s-seriously out of your mind. We…we really shouldn't," he manages to utter, each word strained by the effort he puts into maintaining control – his dark eyes burning with barely restrained desire.
You pause your movements and look into his eyes. "We can make it quick. I promise I'll be quiet."
But you knew Namjoon had always preferred taking things slow, savoring every moment, especially during sex with you.
He was never really a fan of rushing, and you learned along the way he was big on foreplay.
Yet seeing you present yourself before him like a priceless treasure, accompanied by batting those alluring, pleading eyes at him, Namjoon can't help but consider going against his instincts for once – if only for five fleeting minutes.
“I knew you didn’t want to bring me up here just to—Fuck, hold on. Wait,” he stammers, suddenly remembering, “I– I don’t have any condoms. Well, I didn’t bring any, for obvious reasons.”
An awkward silence settles between you two as the unspoken question lingers, and you gaze into his eyes, searching for an answer.
His eyes widen just a fraction when he realizes what you’re silently asking.
“God, are you…—? No," he says firmly. "Absolutely not."
"But I've been on birth control for years!" you whine.
Namjoon closes his eyes briefly and exhales sharply, tension radiating from his clenched jaw.
“Babe,” he utters with a heavy sigh.
"Namjoon," your voice is barely audible as you breathe the plea into the curve of his neck, the warm air causing a shiver of desire to course through him.
Your thumb glides across the tip of his cock, smearing the glistening pearl of pre-cum that gathers from the tip.
Your lips begin to trail gentle kisses along the length of his throat, all while teasingly drawing the tip of your fingers up and down his shaft.
Namjoon's breath catches in response to your touch, gasping as he involuntarily thrusts upwards to meet your hand.
“What about ‘just the tip’?” you whisper. “Isn’t that something that guys like to do?”
“Well… I-I’m paranoid and we should be careful,” he stammers out. “It only takes one time, you know. Can’t this wait until we get home?”
Noticing his faltering resolve, your lip catches between your teeth to suppress a sly grin. Wordlessly, you slowly sink to your knees in front of him.
He watches transfixed as your tongue traces a slow path up the engorged vein of his cock, pausing to swirl around the head before taking him fully into your warm mouth.
Namjoon emits a soft groan - hands delicately cradling your jaw - while your cheeks hollow and your head begins to bob rhythmically, dewy eyes peeking out from beneath your lashes to watch him.
His head falls back and his eyes squeeze shut, fighting to restrain a moan as desire shoots through him like wildfire, fuelling your own craving for him even more fervently.
You could sense him teetering on the edge, his self-restraint waning with each moment until, in one deft motion, he withdraws from your mouth just enough to stagger back, hoisting you up by your arms and steering you backwards until the mattress edge halts against your knees and topples you onto it.
“You’re fucking shameless, you know that?” he pants, scrambling to shove his pants further down and stepping between your legs, holding his hard cock and leaning over you.
Below him, you giggle and hurriedly push your dress up, sliding your panties down and kicking them aside.
Grabbing your wrists, he pulls them over your head and pins them there.
And as his body aligns with yours – his strong chest firm against your breasts, his crotch deliciously nestled between your thighs – every last drop of doubt vanishes from both of your minds.
Under the sultry gaze of his darkened eyes, he grips your face, his large hands cupping your delicate cheeks, thumbs tenderly caressing the soft skin.
Your mouths meet urgently; his lips hungrily pressing against yours to lick and tug at your bottom lip, expertly swallowing every stifled sound that begs release.
"Joon," you murmur tenderly against his parted lips, pausing between kisses. "Touch me, please."
Your honeyed pleas don't go unanswered; Namjoon's hands swiftly comply with your demand, gently pulling down the elastic neckline of your dress far enough to let your breasts spring free.
"Such a tease, wearing this," Namjoon grunts, grabbing a fistful of your dress, "fuck."
His eyes darken at the sight before him: your dress invitingly pooled at your waist, thighs parted and slightly glistening from your arousal visible even to him.
It was nearly impossible for him to deny you anything at all when you pleaded with that breathy, needy tone.
His lips move with purpose, trailing a series of warm, sweet kisses across your collarbone, down to the valley between your breasts – lingering just long enough to elicit a breathy gasp before grazing your stiff nipples with feather-light nips.
You struggle to bite back any gasping moans – honoring the promise you hastily made earlier – with only the softest sighs escaping your pursed lips.
“Feels good?" Namjoon murmurs softly, his hand navigating the space between your bodies to trace delicate circles around your throbbing clit.
"God, you're soaking wet already and I've hardly touched you."
Desperately trying to maintain silence, you find your hips moving instinctually in rhythm with the sinfully slow motions of his long fingers. They gather your slickness, teasingly near your dripping entrance with one finger before returning upward to trace unhurried, deliberate circles on your clit again with two fingers.
“Wanna come first?”
Your bottom lip captured between your teeth, you shake your head.
"Can we… Can you pull out?" breathlessly escapes from your lips.
He groans your name gently, punctuating his words with a delicate nip on your jawline. "What happened to 'just the tip'?"
"I changed my mind," you whine weakly, stifling a frustrated groan when his fingers stop their movements.
Namjoon's chuckle against your skin is light and teasing. "My greedy girl,” he coos affectionately against your lips before pressing a lingering kiss on the corner of your mouth.
“Wonder what your parents would think if they knew that right now, their precious daughter was up here with me, legs spread wide and begging for me like this? Hmmm?"
His dirty words make you choke on a barely suppressed moan, but you do nothing to discourage him.
He doesn't pull his fingers away from your aching core – instead, he bends down to lick them clean before gently pressing them back inside of you.
“Please, just please, can we…” your voice falters as it dissolves into unintelligible murmurs, desperate for relief, desperate for him to fill you up the way you want.
"So needy," Namjoon chuckles softly at your struggle for coherence; swiftly replacing his fingers with the head of his cock.
"You’re sure about this?" he whispers hoarsely, the feel of him nudging at your entrance sending already rioting butterflies into overdrive.
Your hands instinctively slide over the firm contours of his backside, urging him closer as your hips rock against his. “Wanna feel you. All of you,” you softly mewl in his ear.
A primal growl emerges from Namjoon’s throat before he nips lightly at the tender flesh of your neck. “So filthy.”
Namjoon finally pushes inside of you, inch by torturous inch, until he’s buried to the hilt inside of you, slowly filling and stretching you in a way that makes your legs shudder and lock around his waist.
His hips still, giving you time to get adjusted, or perhaps in an attempt to try to steady himself.
He nuzzles into your neck, spreading his warm breath all over the soft skin there, nudging aside the fabric of your dress to press a kiss to your bare shoulder.
Your arms come up to wrap around his neck, fingers dancing across his freshly trimmed head, massaging and scratching softly at his scalp.
Your hips slightly roll to guide him deeper, enticing him to start moving.
It's sheer, unadulterated bliss as he pumps into you, filling you up in perfect harmony with your own unsteady breaths.
It feels even better than you thought – so warm and wet and snug around him, nothing has ever felt as good in your life.
Out of all the things you and Namjoon have tried, this was something that you just haven’t done.
And now you know you were ruined.
Ruined for using a condom ever again with this man. Your pulse is pounding so hard against your ears that it seems impossible to focus on anything else at this moment but him and how good it feels to have him bare inside of you.
"You feel so fucking good, baby," Namjoon breathes hotly against the column of your throat. "So tight around me."
He’s fucking into you agonizingly slow and deep; his movements are deliberate and unhurried, each deep, slow stroke filling the air with your muffled moans and the wet sounds of your slick bodies every time his hips snap up against yours.
His hand entwines with yours, palm-to-palm above your head, while his other arm holds you closer by the thigh curled around his waist.
Enveloped in a sensuous fog where your senses blur and bend, you feel him gradually quicken his pace, each thrust growing more intense.
Namjoon nuzzles his face into your neck, soft moans vibrating against your skin.
Teasingly, his pulsating shaft glides out completely – slow, torturously slow – pausing just before thrusting back in; filling you completely, his tip applying pressure to a hidden sweet cluster of nerves within you that ignites an uncontrollable tightening around him.
An unfamiliar sound escapes from your throat – a strange mixture of a whimper and his name – and he gasps before laughter takes over.
His hand comes up to quickly muffle your sounds.
"Babe," he warns between giggles and gasps for air. "You promised you'd be quiet."
“But—” your weak rebuttal trails off as warmth spreads across your face and tears gather at the corners of your eyes. “B-but it’s just so… F-feels… so…”
"Shhh, I know," he whispers tenderly against your mouth.
Namjoon’s hand trails from the curve of your thigh to weave through your hair, tightening at the back of your head and pulling you into another heated, sloppy kiss.
“Doing so well for me,” Namjoon whispers between kisses. “Taking it all.” More kisses. Rougher and wetter. “S-so pretty… so fucking pretty wrapped around me like this.”
With each impassioned stroke, you cling to him; muffled moans of his name escaping between breathless kisses as waves of warmth wash over you.
"Want you to come... come inside, Joon, please," you softly plead.
Ardor begins to strain at every seam, your sweet plea threatening to shatter Namjoon's restraint, nearly sending him over the edge.
“Yeah? You close, baby?”
Your eyelids grow heavy, closing tightly as your head fervently bobs in agreement, words failing you.
To this, Namjoon plunges into you with a growl. His cock kisses your g-spot, again and again – and his face is a canvas of pure ecstasy as he thrusts forcefully, his hips colliding with yours while he drives himself even deeper, almost as if he was working to etch himself into your very being.
Your teeth press into his shoulder to muffle your sobs, while your hands frantically wander— sliding under his shirt to rake at the damp skin of his back or bunching at the wrinkled sheets, desperately searching for something to ground you as he pounds into you, each powerful motion stealing more breath from your lungs. It’s a drawn-out, slow rolling orgasm that he drags out of you.
He fucks you through your climax; deep, steady thrusts that makes your legs quiver and your eyes lose focus as they roll back.
A low, guttural moan suddenly escapes him as warmth begins to flood every nook and cranny within you, occupying and filling every gap.
The pulsating of the thick vein lining the underside of his cock throbs with each burst of his release, while your own walls tenderly constrict around him.
Your vision is consumed by whiteness as your eyes clench shut from the sheer force of shared euphoria, your mind wonderfully blank.
And then, stillness.
He stays buried inside you, his large frame forming a protective shield around your body, like a giant blanket swaddling you both.
His nose gently nestles against the side of your neck, as the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest comes to match yours, slowly and peacefully. Your legs are still wrapped snugly around his waist, your hand tracing slow, lethargic circles on his back beneath his shirt.
“Holy shit,” you breathe in elation, “we should do that more often.”
Namjoon huffs out a laugh. Carefully shifting his weight, he hovers above you, hands on either side of your shoulders. “That good?”
“Yeah,” you exhale with a grin. “Really good.”
“Really good,” he echoes with a laughter that dances at the edges of his eyes and alights the depths of his dimples.
And you laugh, too, delightfully dizzy and slightly sticky with perspiration as the sun spills through the window's gaps, rays of golden syrup bathing you in warmth.
Namjoon presses a fleeting but tender kiss to your mouth and gently pulls out of you, leaving a lingering emptiness and a sweet ache in your core that lingers.
His eyes curiously wander down to the apex of your thighs and you watch as his hand wanders down to pry your legs apart, his fingertips holding them open as he watches the warm, viscous fluid of his cum slowly form a trail from your entrance. He traces a gentle finger through the slick aftermath, a satisfied hum resonating as your body shudders with blissful oversensitivity.
In this proximity, he bends down to place a tender kiss on the side of your jaw, with words that now flow like honey. “Think we could make that a priority,” he murmurs.
He follows up with another feathery kiss directly upon your lips - an almost chastely innocent smile dancing across his features, almost sinfully ironic.
You find yourself grinning in response to his obvious overture before letting your hand wander lower on his back.
Slowly, deliberately, almost flirtatiously, it reaches and gropes his rear end. "So would you be open to round two then?" you tease playfully as your fingers pinch just enough for him to know you're serious.
Namjoon’s immediate reaction is priceless – a jolt forward accompanied by an adorably indignant yelp as he tries (and fails) to hide his surprise at your boldness.
All he can do is shake his head at you in disbelief before giving in once more to laughter.
Eventually regaining some composure, he chides you gently by flicking your forehead with one finger, mimicking chastisement but betraying nothing but affection. You feign complete agony with a comically exaggerated moan and grip to your forehead, earning another round of laughter from Namjoon.
“Jesus, baby,” he says, exhaling a heavy breath, forcing a laugh. “You’re going to kill me.”
He shifts to a seated position on the mattress next to you before standing up, his back straight and his movements curiously graceful for someone so tall.
Your gaze follows him, transfixed as he grasps the edges of his boxers and jeans, lifting them back over his lean hips.
You have to internally curse at how his shirt clings to him like a second skin, accentuating his broad form as he calmly fastens each button, the muscles in his biceps rippling subtly in the process.
This simple act (an undoubtedly mundane and ordinary action) transforms into a hypnotizing display just by virtue of it being Namjoon.
Shifting your position slightly, you slide the straps of your dress back into place, readjusting the elastic neckline to cover your chest.
Propped up on your elbows, your eyes dart around for your missing panties.
Namjoon seems to be almost telepathic in this moment, glancing over and catching your eye.
Realizing what you're searching for, a playful smirk forms on his lips.
He bends down to retrieve your underwear from its hiding spot on the floor and rather cheekily shoves it into his pocket instead of handing it to you.
Feigning irritation, you huff as he saunters victoriously across the room towards the bedroom door with his stolen trophy secured in his pocket.
“Namjoon,” you protest, now sitting up completely. “I need those!”
"You can have them back later," he calls over his shoulder as he begins opening the door.
The curve of his lips breaking into a gentle smile as he adds, "Let's go home. And don't worry, love - I'll keep these safe for you."
As if to emphasize his point, he gives the pocket safeguarding your panties a delicate pat - one last playful jest before disappearing beyond the doorway.
Monthly brunches with your little group of friends were never dull. You actually looked forward to them the most whenever life’s schedule grew tedious, and work exhausted you to no end.
Although not this time around, with the guy you've been dating for a couple of months now.
Choi Soobin.
He was kind, gentle, and up front with you. Caring in a way you could never fully comprehend, a sincere lover, and certainly a pleasant view for anyone who had eyes.
You would definitely say he made life more colorful, and of course, an immense part of the discussion at monthly brunches.
Various topics would dance around the table, only meeting their end when the waiter returned with the food–but once plates were partially empty and bellies half full, the conversation rekindled.
From busy morning traffic to bothersome colleagues, to the inevitable sexcapades you all rounded the table, narrating to one another.
So once the group got to your particular situation, an entire index of questions came hurling at you, desperate to scratch whatever strange, kinky itch they all secretly shared.
“I mean, he just seems too nice,” One of your friends shrugged. “ How could you blame us for thinking he’s more on the vanilla side?”
“Uh, uh. It’s the nice ones that scare me,” Another friend muffled, covering her mouth as she swallowed another bite of French toast. “They’re cute but get all frisky once they've got you pinned.”
You were fairly private about your sex life and the activities you and Soobin enjoyed.
Not because you didn’t want to tell them, but you did feel a bit self-conscious about being seen differently. You loved your friends, no doubt, but just the topic of toe fetishes made them lose their appetites. So, you continued to play it safe.
“No, she's right.” You let out a faint laugh, putting down your now-empty cup of mocha. “He can be pretty basic at times.”
“Told you,” The first friend teased, clearly proud of her speculations, while the rest of the group simply rolled their eyes.
“That man’s too sweet. He’s like made of sugar.”
You shifted in your seat, reaching into your purse for your favored pack of Marlboro Reds. Internally, you prayed your smile was sellable enough for them to move on. “Totally.”
Little did they know.
─── · ·
Earlier that morning, a shirtless Soobin had just finished his morning ritual, placing his toothbrush back in its holder.
You were nowhere to be found when he stirred awake. Reaching over to hold you, there was nothing but pillows and a cold blanket. But it didn’t take long to realize exactly where you were.
He left the bathroom and rounded the corner, hearing the whistle of the kettle he had put on the stove minutes ago. Upon entering the kitchen, he paused, sensing you nearby–the air veiled in your soft essence.
Familiar with the scent, he knew it was the body wash you used during early-morning showers. His eyes fluttered shut, completely enamored by it.
Your wet hair. The calm little droplets slowly cascaded down your neck until they seeped into the shirt’s fabric.
His shirt.
He knew you had it on cause you wore it to bed the night before, just inches above your knees as your legs perched up by the window–your attention lost in some chapter of a book.
God, just the thought of seeing you like that. He took a deep breath, feeling his dick twitch. He needed to hurry.
Impatient now, he opened a nearby cupboard in search of a mug, his other hand turning off the stove. Then he poured the nearly-boiled water, grabbed two packets of chamomile tea, and added honey.
He stirred only three teaspoons, just the way you liked it, and made his way to you.
A few careful steps later, and there you were, exactly as he had envisioned, in your usual spot during a quiet sunrise. He felt all oxygen leave his lungs, frozen in the doorway as he watched the sun’s rays shine on your skin.
How otherworldly.
He nearly jolted when your voice struck his ears.
“Are you on my time or am I on yours?” You urged more like an order, not even sparing him a glance.
He rushed over, still cautious of your tea, handed it to you, and straightened up beside you.
“My cigarettes?”
Soobin didn’t hesitate to pull them out, already in his sweats pocket. You gladly took them and placed them on the windowsill.
“Good. On all fours.” You commanded. Almost faster than you said it, he complied, kneeling on the wood, as he stared at the floor.
“I trained you well, I see," Smirking, you flipped to another page.
“My good boy.”
The man let out a labored breath, though he wasn’t sure if it was because of the sweetness laced in your tone or what he was preparing himself for. Probably both.
He sat in eager silence, pressing his palms to the floor harder, as you took a small sip of your tea. You hissed, letting out a chuckle from the hot liquid burning the tip of your tongue. Perfect temperature.
“Just the perfect little mutt for me.” You turned to him, finally, and pressed the scorching drink on his back.
Instantly, Soobin jerked forward, whimpering as the mug’s rim hit his skin. In consequence, some tea tipped onto him, forcing out a pained moan.
“Oh no..” You cooed, returning to your book. “Are you gonna drop my tea, Binnie?”
“Shit...” He quickly straightened his back, biting back the whimpers threatening to escape. “N-no, I won’t, Miss.”
He felt his cock pulse from the feeling, mixing between pain and pleasure every time he shook. Not to mention you. So cold towards him as he poured into you.
Call him a lovesick fuck, but it made him fuzzy inside, wanting nothing but to feel that warmth again, and you gave it to him.
You taking this so seriously, despite being hesitant at first, meant so much. Like you actually cared about making him feel good. Though in a rather cruel way.
He wanted to earn your love. Your rewards, your kisses, your beautiful smile when he did the right thing. He craved it all.
“I–hah! I promise I won’t, Miss.” Soobin fought his pathetic moans from escaping him, but that quickly faltered when you drove the cup to a different spot, urging it into the flesh.
He gasped, stunned by how good it burned. He could feel himself leaking, precum staining his pants. “Yes! Please...”
You let out a low chuckle, staring in awe as he took everything you gave him, getting off on the adrenaline yourself.
“Please, what Binnie?”
Then he fixed his gaze towards you, making you inhale a sharp breath. You met his teary eyes and quivering form, struggling to get the words out.
“Please..k-keep hurting me,” he cried. “Wanna burn-ngh! f-for you.”
You felt a heat surging through you, aching between your thighs as he looked away, which was good in your case. Cause oh, did he look so pretty. Though, even better with his mouth on your wet cunt, drinking you up the way you liked.
You wavered, dropping your book beside you, lifted the ceramic off of him, took another sip of tea, and set it aside the window.
Reaching over for your Marlboro Reds and lighter, you observed the fresh wounds, pulling a cigarette between your teeth.
“God, are you fucking pathetic.”
You continued, lighting up and taking a nice drag. “Well, since you asked so nicely.”
You took a few more inhales before gently forcing the end into his shoulder.
Another pitiful whine betrayed him, curling his toes as his cock twitched once more. “Mhn! Thank you..”
He tried not to tremble, but the bliss was becoming too much. He writhed and bucked his hips against nothing, craving some sort of friction.
“Thank you s-so much.. so grateful.”
You repeated the torture, using a few more on him as he unfolded at your feet.
“My little ashtray,” You purred with a tilt of your head. “That’s all you are.”
At this point, Soobin was completely hysterical. Tears coursed down his face, and drool dribbled down his jaw while his body shuddered in pleasure. Truly euphoric.
He felt a tightness coiling in his abdomen with every bud that scorched his skin, each one hurting like a bittersweet kiss.
“Think I’m gonna come,” Soobin pleaded, fighting with whatever will he had left not to fall over.
“Please–I’ve been so good…been so good for you.”
You couldn’t lie; his pleas were making you just as restless, wanting so badly to put his pretty mouth to use, but you had more restraint than that. You could go for hours if it meant having him exactly like this.
“Oh no, you won’t, baby.” The words slipped through your lips like venom. “Not until I say, I’m done with you. Understand?”
His sobs echoed throughout the room, so close to release, yet entirely loyal to you. He adjusted himself, his knees sore against the floor.
“Y-yes, I do...”
You couldn’t help but laugh, smiling down at his injured skin.
“That’s my good boy.”
─── · ·
“What a shame,” You heard one of your friends sigh, finishing up whatever was left of their plate.
Meanwhile, you took another drag of your cigarette, twisting and teasing it through your fingers. You watched the smoke wane into the air, a new gleam in your eyes as you smirked.
𓄲 He doesn't respond, you knew he wouldn't. The roaring fire inside of you is put out as though someone had dumped a bucket of water over it. Better if he didn't? You let your gaze drop to the floor, to where your feet were but an inch from nudging his — yet Jungkook had never felt further away.
전정국 x f!reader ˖ ࣪ ꉂ🗯˙ ‹— cw dilf!jungkook single dad jungkook nanny!reader 1980s au slowburn fluff angst (eventual) explicit content age gap (jungkook is 30, reader is 20) oc!cassian/oc!rayne (jk's children) soft launching the angst in this one
⧽ word count ⋮ 8.3k
average reading time ⋮ 45 minutes
── [ ✉️ ] I think I scared you ladies with the teaser, this chapter is not that angsty. The real deal has yet to hit us where it hurts. But oh my god, literally everything is about to change right now. I'm so nervous hitting post on this because I already know how my comment section and inbox is going to look in a couple of hours. The moment we all waited for is here though. Feedback in the comments/reblogs and asks are much appreciated <3
series masterlist | last chapter | next part
chapter 24 — "Twig Snap"
Your bedroom looks exactly the way you had left it six months ago — save for the layer of dust that had accumulated since your departure. The knick-knacks you hadn't bothered with in the midst of the July heat, lay scattered across your old dresser, desk and bookshelf. A couple of stacked books, a plant that your mother was surely watering, and the Walkman your father had gotten you a few years back.
There was something so sickeningly nostalgic about standing in the center of the room you had grown up in. How one glance toward the green bedsheets with dotted flowers could make you feel like a kid all over again.
The duffel bag slung over your shoulder sits heavier than it had upon your arrival at Mr. and Mrs. Jeon's house. Perhaps it was the cookies Ye-seo had stuffed in there before your departure, or maybe it was simply the weight of Jungkook's silence as he drove you to the train station this morning.
You let it drop to the floor with a thud, leaving it behind as you approach the bed. Your knees buckle and then they hit the mattress, your body toppling forward as your face buries in the pillow that still holds memories of childhood. Your eyes flutter and you find comfort in the darkness behind closed lids.
There's an uneven, soft lump, pressing against your ribs. Reaching a half-hearted hand under yourself, you frown when coming into contact with familiar, fuzzy leg. You pull the teddy out from beneath you, huffing out a short breath when its sun-bleached head lolls forward.
Your dad had named him Tater, said that his yellow hue and lumpy stomach made him resemble that of a potato. You'd cried on the stuffed toy's behalf at first, at least until your mom managed to console both you and your teddy — whose feelings were naturally hurt.
His floppy arms are easily manipulated under your fingers and you bend one of them into a small wave. "Hey there," you hum, and Tater claps enthusiastically. Leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his forehead, you take a moment to inhale the different scents that inhabit him. Like that of the funky-looking tapestry, paint being left out to dry, the bitter traces of your father's cigarettes and something sweet.
Despite the delicious food you'd been eating at Mr. and Mrs. Jeon's house, there was still a gaping hole inside your stomach. Jungkook had been avoiding you ever since yesterday morning — when the movie ended and your interlocked pinkies became nothing but a sacred memory.
You don't know what had changed, but something had. He wouldn't look at you during mealtime, engaging in conversation only when his father forced him to. Mrs. Jeon had worn a solemn expression almost all day but you couldn't quite figure out what had been the cause.
Cassian was the only one who'd seemed just as clueless as you. Though he was at least able to enjoy himself. You think that perhaps it had to do with you — had your presence been unwanted after all? Had you said something out of line without even knowing it?
There's a quiet knock to your bedroom door and it pulls you back from the edge of the cliff that had become your mind as of late. "Come in," you call, rolling onto your back as you stare up at the ceiling.
You already know that it was your mom who had come. Dad never knocked, and he always found a way to step on all the creaks when crossing the wooden floorboards. Your mom is silent, almost eerily so, as she approaches you where you lay sprawled out on top of the covers.
"I thought I'd give you some time to settle in," she says when taking a seat on the edge of your bed. The mattress dips under her weight and the sight of her like this, instantly transports you back to a time long ago. "Your dad is in the kitchen making lunch, as per my demand."
The corner of your lip twitches as you nod, "Scrambled eggs?"
Your mom sighs, "The only thing he knows how to make without setting something on fire."
You both giggle at that. Your father's inability to cook was something that had led to many pizza nights — especially when your mother worked late and he was assigned with the task of dinner.
"She won't find out if we're sneaky about it," he would say as you hurried down to the local pizzeria just a few blocks from your house. Of course, she did always catch on, though she said nothing when finding both you and your dad passed out on the couch with the unfinished box still on the coffee table.
In the distance you could hear the tell-tale clinking and sizzling of a pan, signaling that your father was indeed trying his best to navigate the kitchen in his wife's absence.
"I see you found Tater," your mom nods toward the plushie you still cradle in both hands, a fond look in her eyes, "I'm starting to think I should write him into my will."
You scoff, "No. But I'm writing him into mine."
The two of you share another laugh at that before a comfortable silence settles between you. Things like that were easy with your mom. She asked just the right amount of questions, left out the ones she knew you wouldn't want to answer. You study her through the corner of your eye, trying to force the sudden lump in your throat back down.
You had deprived yourself of her comforting presence for six months now. The phone calls only did so much to pick up her soothing voice over the static — and now that you were here, on the same bed where she had lulled you to sleep so many times before — three days no longer felt like enough.
"That's a beautiful necklace," she muses, clearly having noticed the way your eyes glossed over with unshed tears but knowing better than to address them. Instead, she tilts her chin in the direction of the golden heart that rests over your collarbone.
Following her gaze, you crane your neck to see it better. "Oh," the exhale feels like it's been punched from your lungs and you reach a finger up to trace the pendant. "Yeah, it is," you hesitate before adding, "It was a gift."
Your mother's expression flickers with surprise as she leans forward, inspecting the piece of jewelry closely. "Must have been from someone special then," she says, but there's no teasing lilt to her voice — just raw honesty. It makes your chest contract even harder.
Yes. Jungkook was special. Your eyes find their way back to the golden heart, it shines softly under the sunlight that seeps through your window. Yet, the longer you regard the piece, the deeper the crease between your brows become. Were you special to him?
You glance toward the sneakers by your door, the ones he'd gotten you, the ones you had worn with pride throughout all of Christmas day as you played with Cassian in the snow. Then back to the necklace, the one you had tucked under the collar of your shirt when Mrs. Jeon had come to close to asking, the one you only let yourself behold when no one else was around.
The moment in the kitchen had felt romantic, as it always did when you and Jungkook were alone. But that was the thing wasn't it? The sneakers were fine — but the necklace too much to ever be given to you in front of his family. His gesture becomes tainted by the realization that it could not exist outside the bounds of your privacy.
"Yes," you whisper when letting the necklace fall back against your skin, "Someone special."
Special. But not special enough to be shown off in front of the people he loves most.
There was this pre-established routine at the round table in your parents' tiny kitchen. The kind that couldn't be found in the Jeon estate where you had shared so many of your meals. No, this came from years of coexistence. Where you had learned that your mom liked her coffee steaming hot with only a dollop's worth of milk. Or that your dad had this peculiar habit of layering the salt on the back of his hand before sprinkling it over his food.
It was a privilege, to know someone so intimately, to no longer need words when you communicate. Your parents do it all the time, a kiss on the cheek as your mother hands your father his mug, or him tucking a stray hair from her face when she brings her fork to her mouth.
The two of them had met by chance, really. Three years worth of college, all in pretty much the same classes with neither of them paying the other any mind. Had it not been for that drunken night — spent at the same graduation party in 66' — you might have never came to be.
A leap of faith is what your mother calls it. She would often remind you to thank your father for your life, for she had been ready to give the pregnancy up as soon as she found out. It was dad who convinced her to give him a shot and go out with him.
So in a way, you suppose you watched your parents fall in love, all the way from the beginning. You were gap-tooth and a proud first grader when your father proposed. You were 4'11 in a sheer, pink dress on their wedding. You were a lousy teenager when you celebrated their fifth anniversary with a trip to Egypt.
Nearly twenty-one years later and you were still watching them get hopelessly lost in each other's eyes.
Your dad nudges the massive plate of scrambled eggs in your direction, "Figured you'd be hungry after the long journey, kiddo," he says between mouthfuls when you raise him a brow.
"It's a two-hour train ride, honey," your mom sighs when snatching a slice of toasted bread for herself, to which the former grumbles under his breath as he shovels another forkful past his lips.
You sip on your orange juice, fingers tapping against the rim of your glass as you gaze out across the rather crammed kitchen. The fridge was covered in magnets, most of them bought from various stores in the area, though some souvenirs from the trips you would splurge on every so seldom.
Lunch consists of small talk for the most part. Details and funny stories about your parents' recent trip, and a bunch of apologies for not being able to bring you along — to which you simply shook your head. "I had a lot of school work anyway," you say when setting your glass down once more.
"Still, we really wanted to bring you along but the—"
Your dad is cut off by a sharp elbow to his ribs, delivered by your mom who hisses a 'quiet' under her breath. Confused, you sit up a little straighter. The two of them were not people to keep secrets, your twenty years by their side had taught you that much.
But before you get the chance to question your father's odd behavior, your mother cuts in. "So, how has school been?" she leans forward in her seat, ignoring her husband who was rubbing his wounded side with a grimace. "Last we spoke you mentioned a big exam, how was it?"
Blinking a few times, you recall the late evening where you had anxiously informed your mother of the important examination. What you hadn't told her about, was the very hands-on lesson with Jungkook on your couch that had followed. The heat of the memory alone makes his aloof demeanor yesterday feel all the colder.
"It went good," you hum, the few remains of eggs and toast on your plate now forgotten about.
Your dad finally recovers from his wife's brutal hit as he, too, joins in on the conversation. "Do you have anyone to practice with? Any classmates?" he asks as he reaches for his coffee mug, "Daehyun? He seemed like a nice guy."
Nodding, you give him a small smile, "Yes, Dae is nice. We study together."
"You should bring him around sometime," he then says as he peers down into his cup, "It'd be nice to put a face to the guy who—"
"Dad," you silence him with a sharp flick of your tongue, already sensing which road he was headed down. "Me and Daehyun are friends." Your father had a habit of believing each and every man you interacted with to be a potential suitor — so it was better to shut the idea down as quickly as possible.
"Besides," you then add with a tiny grin, "He likes boys."
The brows on his forehead raise a little higher at that and your father hums to himself. "Yes," he murmurs against the rim of his cup as he brings it up for another sip, "I've heard that's a thing."
On his right, your mother sends him a glare that could cut steel and he clears his throat into his coffee, "Not that there's anything wrong with it of course!"
Your mom rolls her eyes, wafting a hand in his direction like she was batting away a fly. Then she turns back to you, leaning across the table as much as it allowed. "You could still bring him over as a friend. I would love to meet him."
Giving her a nonverbal agreement, you sink back in your chair slightly. The idea of introducing Daehyun to your parents wasn't something you'd toyed with before — but you figured that there would be no harm in doing so.
"How about work, how's it looking for you over there in the big city?" Your dad asks when setting his mug down.
While your parents had been supportive of the move and your willingness to chase your dreams, the financial aspect still worried them. You didn't want to burden them even further by asking for help, determined to make it on your own, even if it meant working yourself to the bone.
"Well," you shrug, "I told you guys I quit at the restaurant, right?" They both hum and you draw in a long breath. "I make a lot more being a nanny for the children, besides, I've been entrusted with a lot more responsibilities." It wasn't a lie — it wasn't the truth either. Your relationship to Jungkook was complicated at best, and that was without taking yesterday into account.
Your father seems content to hear that, "I see. And the kids, they're nice?"
Nodding enthusiastically, you say, "They're lovely, I would love for you to meet them someday." The thought of possibly introducing the children to your parents had never actually crossed your mind. But the more you try to picture the four of them together, the faster your heart beats.
At least until Jungkook finds his way into the frame. You can see him so clearly. In his dress pants and button ups. With his hair styled to perfection and a face of stoicism. You imagine him next to your mom and dad. What would they think of him? What would he think of them?
"Their father raises them on his own, yes?" Your mom suddenly asks, ripping you from your momentary train of thought. Her expression doesn't falter when you tell her yes, but her brows do furrow, if only slightly. "He's alright? Treats you well I hope?"
You hum, "More than well."
Her and your dad share a lingering glance that makes you sigh. "He's a nice man," you tell them with certainty — refusing to let the mark of Christmas Day show as you send them a faint smile.
The tension in your mom's shoulders ease up as she sits back in her chair. "I'm sure he is," she hesitates, "It's just— I want you to be safe. The world is full of dangerous people and I simply want my daughter to be alright."
"Well Jungkook is not like that." You're unable to hide the defensiveness as it creeps into your voice — you're sure they both pick up on it. "There's nothing to worry about," you add after heaving another breath.
It's quiet for a while where neither of your parents make an attempt to say something. You deemed lunch to be over and rather than waiting for them to get a move on, you instead start collecting the unfinished plates of food — feeling your mother's eyes on you as you do.
It's your dad who takes it upon himself to break the silence. "Alright then," he leans back in his seat, slapping both hands onto the round table, the way he always would when he had something to announce.
You pause, just enough to raise him a brow, but he doesn't seem to take note of it as he instead says: "Why don't we head to the garage?" Next to him, your mom mouths something under her breath but her husband simply shakes his head as he gives her shoulder a pat.
"The garage?" you finally bring yourself to ask, hovering just short of grabbing his plate to stack it onto the others, "What for?"
To that he simply grins, "For your Christmas present of course."
"Is all of this really necessary?"
With your mother's hands resting over your eyes it was impossible to make out anything at all as they guide you down the hall. "I'm not a kid anymore," you remind them, but your parents are too busy biting back fits of giggles that had you wondering if perhaps you should be asking them that question instead.
"Careful now," your dad says when pushing a door open, "Lift your feet."
Doing as you're told, you step over the threshold without much difficulty. The garage is a lot colder than the rest of the house, the familiar smell that had always been a secret like of yours, infiltrating your senses immediately. "Can I open them yet?" The extreme measures they were going to actually excited you, though you wouldn't give either of them the satisfaction of knowing that.
"Just a second!" comes your father's voice from somewhere in the distance. You can hear him knocking a few supplies over, the action followed by a few muttered curses as your mother's fingers flex across your face.
He returns to your side a moment later, breath fanning across your shoulder. "Okay," he exhales, "Show her, honey."
The bright light is the first thing that hits you as your mom's hands fall away from your eyes. You squint, blinking rapidly as you adjust to your new surroundings. At first nothing sticks out. The old cans of paint, their unopened lids a tribute to your dad's abandoned idea of sprucing up the house. The packages of soil that your mom used to fill the flower beds in the front yard with.
But then your gaze lands on the car — not the old truck that had taken you everywhere as a child — no, an actual car. With a steel-grey surface, new tires and clear, polished windows. "What is—" you trail off, your attention lingering by the red bow that was tied to the windshield-wipers.
"Your father and I thought you could use something to get back and forth from school a little easier," your mom explains with a shy smile, "We know it's a hassle for your to commute everyday."
Too stunned to even form proper sentences, you stare at the vehicle in awe. This was yours? The model is certainly an upgrade from the old, green pick-up that had been in your family for as long as you could remember, and it had undoubtedly stretched their budget to its limits. "When did you…?"
"Had to pick it up three hours away," your father shrugs, "But it was worth the drive."
You pause, the pieces slowly clicking into place. "The trip… But I thought you were going on a Christmas vacation?" A twinge of guilt sparks through your chest at the thought of them sacrificing the holidays for this and your throat thickens when you meet your mom's eyes.
"We still went on the trip," she says, "With an additional detour of course." After a pause she adds, "Merry Christmas—"
The words have barely left her lips as you come crashing into her, wrapping her in a tight embrace. "Thank you," you whisper against her shoulder, unable to express your gratitude any better than this.
Your father's hand is warm and gentle on your back as he joins in on the hug. "I take it as a success then?" he says, and you can practically hear his grin. All you can do is fight back the tears steadily building as you swallow down a pathetic sob, nodding weakly as you turn to let his arms envelop you.
When you pull back enough to wipe the corner of your eye, you glance toward the car once more. "How did you afford this?" you ask, already frowning as you tried to count the costs for yourself, estimating staggering amounts and multiple zeroes that made you feel faint.
"We've been saving up," your mom says.
"Ever since you first left," you dad adds with a proud tilt of his head.
"And I've been picking up a few extra shifts at the store," she hums.
Your gaze jumps between them both, bottom lip already trembling again despite your attempts to calm yourself down just moments ago. "You really didn't have to," you murmur, "I mean— I'm fine taking the bus. You should be spending your money on yourself, not me!"
But your father is already shoving the keys into your palm, closing your fist around them before pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Only the best for our girl," he gestures toward the car, "Come on, won't you give it a spin?"
You hesitate for a second, peering over at the vehicle that was now proudly yours. Then you smile, "Yeah, I want to try it." Giving your parents one quick peck on their cheeks, you let them pull you back into their arms a second time. "I love you," the confession is muffled against the press of bodies, though you know they heard it.
Leaving home a second time was almost harder than the first. You thought that by now you would have it easier saying goodbye to your parents but the brief three-day stay had made you realize just how much you truly missed them. The hugs and whispered endearments go on for far longer than they should — making your departure all the more painful.
After a long thirty minutes where the three of you all shed a couple of tears — something your dad would never admit to — you pull out of the driveway.
The journey back would take you less than two hours but it was still enough time for you to sit alone with your thoughts for the first time since Christmas Day. And as your parent's house disappears in the rear view mirror, your mother and father's waving figures growing smaller and smaller until you could no longer see them, your mind finds its way back to what awaits you when returning to your apartment.
You and Jungkook hadn't been in touch since he'd dropped you off at the station that morning. The air had been crisp, the last snow settling over the ground, a few flakes falling into his hair as he got out of the car to walk you to the platform. A silly and stupid part of you had hoped he would kiss you, seize the rare moment of privacy after spending two days in his parents house and make good on his words from that night in the kitchen.
But Jungkook had simply nodded a quiet farewell when your train arrived. And he'd taken his leave before you even rolled out of the station.
Your fingers drum anxiously against the wheel as you drive down the lonesome road. It cuts through the forest, with tall pines crowding you both left and right. You still had a good couple of hours on your side before nightfall, making you relax as you ease up on the gas. No broadcast channel reached the car's radio out here and you were left to fill the silence on your own.
Jungkook inhabits most, if not all, of your thoughts. You replay Christmas Day over and over in your head. The soft caress of his pinky against yours as you sat on the couch, a stark difference to the cold shoulder he gave you during the rest of your stay.
Brushing pasting you on the stairs when you were headed up and he down. Both Mr. and Mrs. Jeon avoiding any kind of conversation with him during breakfast and dinner. Excusing himself to his room every couple of hours for 'work purposes' despite the holiday.
In the midst of it all you had tried to appear composed, like every subtle, non-verbal rejection didn't cut deeper than any blade. And by the time he dropped you off at the station, suppose you had felt some kind of relief at the three days of distance ahead of you.
You groan, stealing a glance at the necklace you wear in one of the side mirrors. Returning meant facing where you left off last and you weren't sure how that was to be done. However, with only a few days to spare until the new year there was a good chance he wouldn't ring you in to watch the children at all, thus postponing your inevitable conversation a while longer.
The idea comforts you enough to make the rest of your drive home.
Jungkook did not in fact, not wait, and his call came the very next day, giving you less than twenty-four hours to settle in back at your apartment after being away for almost an entire week. You were going through the pile of mail that had been shoved through the hatch in your door when the sound of your landline came tumbling down the hall.
You hadn't meant for the letters to slip through your fingers but they had anyway, and on quiet feet you'd approached your desk — picking up the phone with a final exhale.
The bruising static assaults your ears for a long moment. You should probably have said something by now, but words weren't coming. Once you've counted five long breaths does he finally speak:
"Are you in the middle of something?
His voice is too calm and for a second you almost forget how things had ended on Christmas Day — had it not been for the detached edge to it. You glance toward the abandoned mail by the front door, "No."
Jungkook sighs, he did not usually take this long to get his point across. His silence unnerved you slightly. "I need to swing by the office," he says before adding, "Just for an hour or two." The unspoken requests sits between you for a moment. You knew that he would be okay with you making up an excuse about not having time, perhaps he even expects you to.
"I can stop by," but then again, things very came easy for you, "Give me twenty minuets."
There's an exhale on the other end of the line, though you can't tell if he was relieved or simply acknowledging your agreement. "Alright," is all he says before the call cuts and your landline goes back to static.
That was one of the shortest conversations the two of you had ever held.
You had gotten well accustomed to the comforts of your new car by this point, making the ten minute drive to Jungkook's place feel like a breeze compared to the alternative of the bus. You distract yourself with music, humming along to whatever the local broadcast station was playing as your eyes gaze across the road.
But even the pop songs soon became background noise and by the time you reached the large house and killed the engine, you had decided that you would try to talk to him about what had been on your mind for the past couple of days.
"Can we talk—"
"I think it's a good idea if you and me have a conversation—"
Each line makes you shake your head. Sitting behind the wheel, you stare at the three-story estate through the windshield. Its white concrete walls felt less like a peace offering and more like an impending doom. Ridiculous really. The windows hold no movement, not even a flicker of a curtain, like it too, was waiting for something.
To hell with it, you think as you swing the car door open and step out. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable, you would have to face him eventually. And so you make your way to the front door, up the three stone steps before ringing the bell, just like you had so many times before.
Even with its bright, beige walls and glowing chandelier — the Jeon house fails to capture the warmth that had come so easy back at your parents'. It had been more than a week since you last set foot here, that was the longest you'd ever been parted from the high ceilings and soft carpets since first taking on the position — and in that time you had managed to forget just how hollow this place could feel.
Jungkook didn't say much when he opened the door for you. He was already dressed for work. Gone were the soft sweaters he'd worn during the holidays, the smile you would catch him trying to hide or the way his eyes lingered on yours when no one else was looking.
The man in front of you today is a shell of himself. Stripped down until only the firm line of his jaw and his furrowed brows remain. He takes your coat from you without a word, hanging it up alongside the children's with methodical care. You're wearing the shoes he got you but he doesn't glance at them once.
"Will you be heading out soon?" you ask when slipping the sneakers off your feet.
He nods, "Just need to get some paperwork from my study." He doesn't wait for you to say anything else, turning on his heel before you can even heave your next breath as he heads toward the stairs.
It was then you noticed that neither Cassian nor Rayne had made an appearance. The silence which had always been a custom in this house now felt oppressive. You missed the youngest's laughter, even his sister's remarks and the sound of her flipping pages in whatever book she read. And in front of you, Jungkook has almost disappeared from view entirely.
"Wait—!" you scramble after him, clutching at the banister as you dart up the stairs. He's already by the door to his home-office when you finally catch up to him, one of his hands curled around the knob that he'd been prepared to turn.
He tilts his head over his shoulder, giving you a long glance that held none of the warmth he'd been reserving for you these past couple of weeks.
"Do you have a minute?" your fingers are toying with one another, unable to keep still as you await his response. "I'd like to talk."
Jungkook shakes his head. "I have to get to work," he jerks his chin toward the library, "The children are in there." The finality that laces his voice fills you with disappointment and you watch as he pushes the door to his study open to step inside.
For a long moment you simply wait. Through the crack you can see him move about, collecting papers and stapling them together before he slides them into accompanying folders. Your gaze darts to where the kids wait for you — torn between duty and something far more complicated.
In the end, the latter wins out and you storm after him as you shove the door open with more force than necessary. It hits the wall with a thud, not hard enough to rattle the paintings on them, and not hard enough to grab Jungkook's attention as he continues to sort through his files.
"It won't take long," you're determined to see this through, to get to the bottom of whatever this was. But he doesn't acknowledge you, save for the sigh he lets out, a little louder than the last. You can feel your throat tighten at his blatant dismissal, and the words come gushing out before you can stop them:
"Did I do something wrong?"
He pauses at that, the folder currently in his hands bending slightly under the pressure he put onto it. Though you could only see half his face, the frown he wears and the tension to his jawline is unmistakable. "What?" he asks flatly.
You want to scoff but all you manage is a huff, a strained noise that betrays just how easy it was for him to make you feel things out of your control. "I'm asking you if I did something wrong," you step forward, pushing your shoulders back and lifting your chin.
Jungkook remains indifferent, his head shaking slowly as he reaches for the briefcase sitting on his desk, the one you had yet to notice. "No," he says, his tone never rising above its default octave, "You haven't." He sounds so sure of himself and it makes you desperately want to believe him.
Only, you can't. Not when he wasn't even looking at you, much less talking to you. "Well it feels like I have," you shoot back, "So then what is it?"
A muscle in his jaw ticks as he stuffs the organized folders into the case, sealing it shut with a rough jerk. "Nothing," he grits through clenched teeth, "You've done nothing wrong."
You let out an exasperated breath, "Well there must be something." Gesturing vaguely to the space that still exists between the two of you, "You don't talk to me, you don't get close to me, hell, you won't even look at me."
The briefcase hits the desk loudly as Jungkook slams it down onto the mahogany wood. He exhales something that sounds almost like a hiss, as though he was holding off on saying things he shouldn't.
"I need to get to the office," he echoes, "We can talk later."
He grabs his things, ready to leave — only for you to stop him as you get in his way. "No," you say, halting him in his tracks. His chest nudges yours, a touch that would've send fireworks through your stomach on any other occasion, now it just makes you sick. "I want us to talk now."
Jungkook's brows pull together, lips pressing into a firm line. The grip he has on his briefcase is white-knuckled, yet he says nothing for a long while. Then he exhales sharply through his nose, "You're being unreasonable."
The way he says it, like a statement of disapproval, like you were just some kid who's silence he had a right to order. It infuriates you in a way Jungkook had never been able to before.
"Me?" The accusation tastes bitter on your tongue, "I'm being unreasonable?" Had you been able to take another step forward you would have done so, but your bodies were practically pressed together by this point. "You haven't said three words to me since Christmas Day, and even then you avoided me all afternoon!" your hands are thrown in the air, gesturing wildly to nothing in particular.
A headache is steadily building behind your eyes, whether it came from anger, exhaustion, desperation, you didn't know, all you know are the feelings in your chest that beg to be let out. "Then at the train station you didn't even—" the frantic flailing of your arms come to an abrupt stop and you swallow the last bits of your confession down.
Jungkook pauses just as you do, his gaze heavy with an accusation that matches your own. "Didn't even what?" he asks and your heart draws back at the tone he used.
For a while you debate on not saying anything at all. To mutter a 'forget it' and walk off to the children, pretending that everything was fine. You trap the inside of your cheek between your teeth, gnawing on it before letting go again.
"You didn't even kiss me."
There's a small crack in his structured exterior, a quick flash of surprise passing by his eyes, only for him to conceal it again. Jungkook blinks once, then shakes his head. "I thought it'd be better if I didn't," he says.
"What…?" He doesn't respond, you knew he wouldn't. The roaring fire inside of you is put out as though someone had dumped a bucket of water over it. Better if he didn't? You let your gaze drop to the floor, to where your feet were but an inch from nudging his — yet Jungkook had never felt further away.
Your next breath catches on your quivering bottom lip — you hadn't even noticed that you were close to crying — and you press them together as you struggle to swallow. "I just—" fingers tapping against your thigh, "I thought that there was more to us." You frown, almost tripping over your sentence.
It feels devastating to say, to willingly confirm the theory you had been building on with dread. And perhaps it really was true. Perhaps you had let yourself get strung along, let yourself get lost somewhere between the lingering touches and the chaste kisses.
Jungkook's face twists into a painful grimace as he forces himself to look away, leaving you to watch with a sinking heart as he chews on his next words. His brows twitch once before settling across his forehead. "I have never lied to you," he says. While his tone remains leveled, his jaw clench and unclench as he battles the vulnerability that followed the admission.
"I don't understand…" If each second spent in his embrace had been real, each kiss and each gentle touch to your skin, then why hide? For weeks you'd been able to place your concerns with his children, delude yourself into thinking that the line between you existed solely because of Cassian and Rayne. But this sudden distance, it was different, and the tremor to his hand, still wrapped around the handle of his briefcase betrays him.
Your frown returns tenfold as you regard him with scrutiny. "What are you so afraid of?"
The simple question becomes his undoing as it unwinds the last fragile threads that keep him together. Jungkook's head whips in your direction, his eyes blazing hot when they zero in on you. "A lot of things!" He snaps, finally breaking free of his monotone confinement as he shouts the words in your face.
Jungkook had never raised his voice at you. Never. And you found that you absolutely hated it. He must see it too, for he immediately takes a step back, the briefcase slipping from his grasp and landing on the floor with a thud. His chest rises and falls, quick and uneven as he tries to rein himself back in.
A full minute passes without you daring to even open your mouth. He doesn't either, until finally, his chin drops in defeat. "I can't—" teeth trapping his bottom lip, he bites down hard enough to draw blood. When he speaks again, it's no longer a yell, it's something uncharacteristically small, his next confession slipping out soundlessly, "I can't give you what you want."
You stare at him in silence, measuring the space between you as you glance toward the briefcase on the ground. "What?" You don't register the question until its left your lips, but Jungkook does.
"It means I can't." He inhales, dragging a hand down his face before forcing it through the hair he'd styled before your arrival. His other one, covered in ink, points vaguely to you, never actually touching. "Whatever this is, it's not right to you."
A tiny flame flickers inside of you, and you're quick to disagree. "You don't know that." Who was he to tell you what was right and what wasn't, who was he to decide for the both of you?
Jungkook huffs, "Maybe not." His voice is filled with self-deprecation as he continues, "But I know that we can't keep playing house while I pretend that I'm not being extremely selfish."
Is that what he thinks this is? That you were here doing charity work with both him and his children — that Cassian and Rayne were nothing but dolls which you moved around as you pleased?
"Don't act like this wasn't my choice just as much as it was yours," you say, closing the distance between you again when taking another step forward.
The intensity had yet to dull from his eyes, but he still made no move to back away when you force proximity onto him. He gives you a long once-over, gaze dragging over every inch of you, the way that would always make your skin prickle. Without missing a beat he bends down to pick up the discarded briefcase.
"Then let me be selfish one last time and take that choice away from you."
It's the last thing he says before brushing past you and before you can even register what's happening, the door to his study slams shut behind him — leaving you alone with the remnants of the fire you both started. And suddenly you thought yourself stupid for defending him so adamantly in front of your parents.
You feel like an intruder when walking into the library where the children sit gathered around their usual table. Cassian looks up at your arrival, his face cracking into a beaming grin as he waves enthusiastically. "Nanny!" he calls out as he beckons you over.
The smile you give him in return doesn't feel genuine and you berate yourself for it. Still, you try your hardest to act like your heart wasn't in complete shambles after your conversation with their father just moments ago.
"Hi sweetie. What are you up to?" You sink down on the chair next to his, your arm coming to rest against the back of it as you lean closer to better see the drawing he was working on. The rainbow crayons you had gotten him for Christmas seemed to be well-used, and you study the depiction of a large fish with sharp teeth on the paper.
"I'm painting," he says, pointing to the art work.
"I see that. Is it a fish?" you ask when running your fingers through his hair, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy.
He shakes his head, "A shark."
"Ah, of course." In your defense, the creature on the paper resembled very little of a shark, but you didn't tell him that, content to watch him draw a little while longer.
Rayne sits opposite him, one of the books she had gotten from her grandfather opened in front of her as she reads. She gave a subtle nod as a means of saying hello, your eyes meeting for a brief second before she went back to the contents of her pages.
You hadn't seen the kids since Christmas Day and while you had missed them both dearly — Jungkook had occupied most of your thoughts during your stay with your parents. Sitting with them now lessens the ache left by their father's words significantly.
"Daddy said you went to see your parents," Cassian muses as he colors in the wonky-looking fin of his shark.
Humming softly, you let your hand fall to the back of his chair again. "I did," the corner of your lip twitches, "They gave me a Christmas present."
At that he stops drawing, glancing up at you with newfound curiosity. "What did you get?" he asks.
You think back to the moment in the garage at home. Your dad's grand surprise and your mom's hard work. It wasn't often you found yourself thinking about them like this, suppose it had something to do with the rollercoaster of emotions that today had been. Meeting Cassian's gaze, you give him the first real smile you'd worn all day, "A car."
"A car?!" The crayons are completely forgotten about as the young boy twists in his seat, eyes wide as saucers. "A real car?" he questions, and when you nod he practically leaps out of his seat.
Rayne, too, had stopped reading and was now watching you with a look of mild surprise. Though she kept quiet as the library echoed with her brother's excitement. "Can I see it? I want to see it!" He's already on his feet, halfway across the room as he heads for the door.
You get up after him, "Sure we can. I can even take you both for a drive somewhere if you'd like?"
"But it's snowing," Rayne speaks up for the first time since you entered, her brows furrowed in concern.
"I'm a decent driver," you tell her with a confident shrug, "You know that."
She hesitates for a second, fingers picking at the corner of her page — but even she wasn't immune to Cassian's giddy laughter. The book is shut and she hops off her chair to join you both. "We'll see about that," she says with a huff, though does a poor job at hiding her small grin.
The three of you head downstairs with Cassian in the lead as he dashes for the font door, eagerly pulling on his shoes, albeit clumsily. You kneel down to help him, easily falling back into the habit of tying his laces.
"Can I sit in the front?" he asks as he watches you work.
"You're too small for that," you tell him, having already anticipated the whine that followed.
There was still a sense of peace that came whenever you were around the children. It was never intentional on their part, least of all Rayne who was still muttering to herself as she pulled on her coat, but without knowing, they brought joy to a day you would otherwise deem ruined.
Once you're all geared up and ready to go, Cassian suddenly freezes. "Wait—" he says, bottom lip jutting out into a small frown, "I need to get Frank." That was what he'd ended up naming the stegosaurus plushie you had gotten him for Christmas, who now apparently counted as an important member of the family.
He scurries down the hall, already headed up the stairs when Rayne sighs. "I'll go with him, he's not allowed to have his shoes on inside." You hadn't even noticed that she'd rid herself of her own footwear, standing in only her socks as she give you a quick nod — then she's gone after her little brother.
You listen to the joint sounds of their footsteps on the second floor, Cassian's excited giggles as he rummages around for his beloved dinosaur. The car keys rest in your palm and you peer down at them with a fond smile. You don't know how you would be able to repay your parents' gesture, but you'd figure something out.
A minute passes and you're just about to call out and ask how the kids were doing when the sudden knock to the front door pulls your attention away from the keys. Strange. Jungkook couldn't possibly have returned so soon, even if he did, he had no reason to knock.
Two months you had spent in this house, and not once had there been a visitor besides yourself. Not even a second later, the knocking returns. Three sharp and impatient raps against the wood. Why not use the doorbell — unless they were anxious to alert the wrong person?
Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you find the staircase empty, Cassian and Rayne were still nowhere to be seen. You approach the door cautiously, fist closing around your car keys, the metal was blunt enough to cause damage, should the person on the other side prove themselves a threat.
The knocking returns after a beat's silence and you inhale a deep breath before twisting the lock and pushing the door open.
You don't know who you had expected to see. A big, scary stranger with a mask on, a delivery man maybe, hell, even a clown who'd gotten the wrong address for a birthday party.
What you find is none of that — but a woman.
She looks to be in her early thirties, perhaps late twenties, though the dark circles under her eyes and deep frown she was wearing might've added on a couple of years. Her dark hair is a mess, tangled where it falls down her shoulders. She's not dressed for the weather, clad in only a thin fleece which had her wrapping her arms around her torso.
To put it simply; she looked rough.
Your grip loosens on the keys you had been clutching, your other hand holding onto the doorframe as you study her. What business could she possibly have here?
"Hi," you try to sound friendly as you greet her, "Can I help you?"
Her eyes find yours in an instant and for a second you could've sworn you saw Rayne in them. But that illusion is quickly broken as they dart around the front porch she stands on, skittish in the way they jump back and forth. "Yes," she says, her voice a low rasp, as though she hadn't used it in a while.
When her gaze finally finds its way back to yours, her expression has fixed itself into something more composed. She parts her chapped lips, tongue darting out to swipe across the bottom one.
"I'm here to see my children."
── [ ✉️ ] Woah. Okay there, before you jump on me and say "Ugh. Ki I hate when they bring back the ex wife in fics like these." Let me stop you right there. Pause. Big deep breath in and out for me. Okay, good? I have a plan, not a concept of a plan but an actual solidified plan. So just trust me for this and sit tight for the upcoming chapters, I know what I'm doing. I won't fumble you ladies <3
Ever since Taehyung heard you and Jungkook going at it late at night, it never left his mind. His mind clouded with thoughts, imaginations, dreams—even wishes. And because of having no control of resitance, he needed to touch himself. But he didn’t expect what would happen next once he did.
ᝰ pairings ➜ idol!jungkook x f!reader x idol!taehyung
ᝰ words ➜ 6.3k (23 min)
ᝰ cw ➜ bts dorm era, secret relationship, threesome, mentions of sexual content, explicit content, pwp, unprotected sex (wrap it up!), blowjob, face fucking, cowgirl, dirty talk, mini oneshot
Taehyung was never one to get aroused by a girl easily. Especially not by his own member’s secret girlfriend. But when he heard you from the other side of the wall as Jungkook fucked you senseless? He knew he was fucked the second he felt his dick grow inside his pants.
He knew it was wrong. He knew he should just sleep it off instead of staying up to eavesdrop on you two having sex. He knew he shouldn’t even be aroused about it in the first place.
But apparently, his dick seemed to disagree.
When Taehyung slowly gave up and shoved his hand inside his boxers, he was surprised to feel precum already coming out of the tip of his cock.
He bit his lip, closing his eyes as he started palming the tip. He listened to the both of you from the other room as he played with himself. It’s so perverted. But he couldn’t stop.
He continued, listening closely to the situation happening in the other room. He heard your moans and Jungkook’s grunts mixing together. To Taehyung, that seemed like a bunch of harmonies singing in his ears.
“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” He heard Jungkook groan out. Followed by more of your breathy moans, whining Jungkook’s name over and over again like a prayer.
He jerked his hips up, pushing inside his hand that subconsciously tightened around his dick while he was stroking it up and down. Imagining it was you. Your pussy. Your walls. Clenching warmly around him.
He surpressed his moans all while doing so, he didn’t dare to get caught right now. Not while he was picturing you and Jungkook having sex. Not while he was touching himself with closed eyes. Not while he was openly listening to the both of you like an ASMR video helping him get off.
“Please—Koo, gonna cum” Koo. That sounded so fucking cute coming out of your mouth. Taehyung thought. He’s heard you call Jungkook that before, many times. Heck, he even teased Jungkook about it with the other members.
But this? It hit so differently.
You were calling Jungkook a cute endearment while he was balls deep inside of you. Pounding like an animal with an inhumane pace. And he wondered—if he was fucking you, would you shorten his name too?
The imagination clouded his mind, picturing you on his bed while he’s inside of you. Whispering sweet nothings to him as he fucked you desperately.
“Tae—Fuck. You feel so good.” He imagined you moaning out. Causing a small moan to escape his own lips. And from the side of the room, he imagined Jungkook. Masturbating as Taehyung fucked his girlfriend on his bed.
He continues imagining, with Jungkook walking towards him. Jungkook grabbed one of his hands and guided it to his cock, gesturing him to stroke it for him. “That’s right, Tae… Fuck.” Jungkook groans, throwing his head back. Honorifics be damned.
Jungkook calling him without addressing him as the older brother—it turned Taehyung on. More than he thought it would.
Taehyung was going wild. Feral, almost. His own imaginations edging him close. Until he snapped back to reality and heard Jungkook from the other room.
“Gonna cum, baby. Fucking take it—take it like the good fucking girl you are.”
He himself spills on his hand that’s been gripping almost painfully around his cock too, slipping a low groan out of his mouth when he does. He stays silent for a hot minute, eyes still closed.
Until he opened his eyes, post-nut clarity hitting him hard. He had just listened to the both of you having sex, it shouldn’t have had turned him on. But it did. Because he just came embarrassingly hard from the thought of you both in his room.
-
Few days have passed, all BTS members were rehearsing on stage for their comeback performance. Everyone wore casual, practice clothes. Jungkook, who’s been oblivious to Taehyung’s repeating glances, was wearing his usual black oversized shirt and black sweatpants.
Taehyung hasn’t been able to stay still ever since the night he heard you two. He kind of started regretting that he stayed up for it, honestly. Because now? His mind’s wrapped up all around the thought of it.
When they started rehearsing, Taehyung kept making small mistakes. It was obvious that something was bothering him. Everyone noticed this every time he made a mistake and apologized to everyone. Jimin, his best friend, walks up to him while they were on water break.
“Taehyung-ah” He called out, placing a hand on his teammate’s shoulder. With a concerned look on his face, he asks. “What’s up with you? Are you alright?”
Taehyung saw the worried eyes his best friend had, he smiled a little and nodded his head. “I’m alright, just tired I guess. I’ve been sleeping late lately.” He explained.
That was true. His insomnia developed because of that night. Every night, all he could think of was how loud you were around Jungkook. How impactful Jungkook’s words were.
Jimin hesitates for a second, but nodding it off. Understanding that his best friend might’ve been having trouble sleeping again. “Just make sure to keep your body healthy. It’s okay to make mistakes.” Jimin assures with a smile on his face, which makes Taehyung smile too.
Jungkook notices them from a distance. He jogs over, stopping just beside Taehyung. “Hyung, are you okay?” He sighs out with his big, doe eyes looking into Taehyung’s.
Taehyung stilled, his mind painted with a flashback.
“That’s right, Tae… Fuck.”
Taehyung immediately shrugs the thought off of his mind, cheeks turning pink. “Um, yeah. I’m—I’m fine.” He managed to stutter out.
“He said he’s been sleeping late these days.” Jimin cuts in, looking at Jungkook. Jungkook raised a brow at this, hand reaching up to Taehyung’s neck.
“Why, hyung? Is there something bothering you?” Jungkook asks as he massages Taehyung’s neck. It was normal. They all usually do this to each other. So it shouldn’t have affected him. But it does. It sent immediate heat all over his body, his body shuddering slightly with every press of Jungkook’s hand.
Jungkook noticed it. How Taehyung melted into his touch. How his body trembled minimally. How he closed his eyes, reacting to his touch. Jungkook furrows his brows at this, Taehyung never reacted to his neck massages. So why was he reacting like this now?
Taehyung, with this lips partly open, sighs out a small breathy moan. Which surprised himself. He opened his eyes to see Jungkook staring at him intently.
“Nothing, just—just..“ Taehyung’s voice trailed off. Surprised to see the sudden change in Jungkook’s eyes. “Couldn’t sleep properly. That’s all.” He explained.
Jungkook hummed in response, eyes squinting slightly. Jungkook didn’t seem to believe him. Jimin, however, was distracted enough by Jin and Yoongi joking with each other. He didn’t notice the intense tension Jungkook and Taehyung had while they stared at each other.
Taehyung was so nervous, he swore he was almost gonna fall down to his knees right then and there. Just because of Jungkook’s stare.
When Taehyung finally broke the eye contact and looked ahead, Jungkook stops the pressure of his hand. But he lets it rest there, on the back of his now sweating frozen teammate’s neck.
While Taehyung is obviously wary of Jungkook, an idea pops into the latter’s mind. Jungkook would’ve been lying if he said he wasn’t curious about Taehyung’s reactions to his touch. That heat wasn’t secretly creeping up all over his senses. So, he tries to test it. Test Taehyung.
Taehyung’s breath hitched as he felt the hand that was resting on his neck leave and travel down his spine. His eyes widened a bit, body nearly arching from the touch. And he realized what Jungkook was doing.
He was caressing him. Touching him. Slowly.
As if telling him one thing: Feel my touch and give me another reaction.
And Taehyung does give him a reaction. By the time Jungkook’s hand reached just above his waistband, he felt a press right there. Taehyung almost threw his head back, lips parting again. His breath quickened evidently.
As if one press wasn’t enough, Jungkook experimentally inserts two of his fingertips inside his waistband. And he tugs it like a slingshot.
Taehyung grips his mic hard, gulping harshly from what Jungkook just did. He was losing his sanity. A million questions and thoughts running through his mind. Because why was Jungkook doing this?
And Jungkook? He’s been smirking smugly the entire time. Seeing his older member shiver from his touch, it amused him in ways he didn’t know it would. He started to enjoy teasing Taehyung like this.
Before Jungkook could tease him even more, one of the staff members yelled out that they were done for the day. A cue for them to go home and rest. Taehyung, who heard it clearly, finally lets out a sigh. Relieved that he can finally escape Jungkook and the tension that was circling around them.
But just as he was about to leave, Jungkook tugs his waistband just one more time. Making Taehyung catch another breath. He pats Taehyung’s back, leaning to his ear.
“Saved by the bell.” Jungkook whispers sweetly before leaving him alone, swinging an arm around Hoseok with a smile so innocent you wouldn’t even suspect what he was doing to Taehyung seconds ago.
Taehyung was flabbergasted. He stood there in shock and in pure confusion. Jungkook’s small whisper repeating in his head. Saved by the bell? What does he mean by that?
Taehyung snaps from his thoughts when Jimin calls him over. So he shrugs off his thoughts, for now. Jogging to Jimin so they could go home too.
-
When everyone got back at the dorm, Taehyung was genuinely surprised to see you standing in the living room. In his head, you were the last person he wanted to see right now. But in his heart, he knew he wanted to see you so fucking much.
You greet the boys happily, smiling and waving. Jungkook rushed to you, smiling widely. He carried you up, twirling you around like you two were in a movie. And when he puts you down, he wasn’t done. He smothered your face with kisses, hugging your waist tightly.
He cups your face, finally pressing his lips into yours. All the members started to groan, nose scrunching in disgust. But Taehyung? He was watching in awe. He didn’t even notice he was staring intently at the two of you practically making out in front of them.
You were a little small, so your heel was off the floor. You stood on your tiptoes to try and match your tall boyfriend’s level. Humming contently as you both kissed. Jungkook smiled, leaning more to deepen the kiss you both were sharing. His grip on your waist tightening just a tad bit.
And for a second, Taehyung was stuck in his own fantasy again. Seeing you two together couldn’t help the thoughts invading his mind. Would you stand on your tiptoes too if he kissed you? Would Jungkook smile in the kiss they’d share too? Would you ruffle his hair too? Would Jungkook lean in deeper too?
“Okay slow down there, kangaroo. We’re still in the room.” Taehyung is back to reality when he heard Jin complain to the two. Jungkook only pulls back with a smug grin on his face, biting his lip.
“Are you staying here for the night again, Y/N?” Namjoon asks, putting his bag down on the sofa and turns to you. You nodded in response, finally letting go of your clingy boyfriend. “Heard today was your last rehearsal, so I cooked dinner for you guys.”
All the members exclaimed, feet already moving to the kitchen for the food you cooked. Jungkook hugged you from behind, smothering your shoulders with soft kisses as the members left one by one. He mumbled a small “thank you” before turning you around to face him.
With a quiet, seductive whisper, you lean to his ear with a knowing grin. “You can thank me better later.” Jungkook instantly gets the message, hands traveling down to your ass to squeeze it gently. When he looks up from you, he notices Taehyung who definitely had just seen him cupping his girlfriend’s ass.
His hands are so big.. it fits her round butt perfectly. He thinks. He coughs awkwardly, touching his nape and charges his phone by the TV. He found his thoughts weird himself, and it was a pain that it wouldn’t leave his head.
Jungkook scoffs at Taehyung’s obvious awkwardness with an intrigued smile on his face. You notice this, and your eyes follow his own eyes’ view. You make immediate eye contact with Taehyung as he turned back around to face you two.
He looks awkward. Did he see us? You ask yourself. But you already know he did. Jungkook’s hands hadn’t left your ass. It stayed there, massaging you softly right in front of another member. For a second, Taehyung’s eyes moved from yours to your ass then back to yours. With your lips curling upwards, you ask him without breaking eye contact. “Like what you see, Tae?”
Tae. As soon as Taehyung heard that nickname leave your mouth, he heard something again.
“Tae—Fuck. You feel so good.” He heard you, moaning in his ear sweetly.
Taehyung slightly shivered, the thought hitting his mind again made his blood boil. Not out of anger, but out of pure heat.
Then he blinks, returning to the real world again. The real world where you and Jungkook were standing in front of him, clinging onto each other as both your attention focused on him. Taehyung mutters a soft “huh?” to pretend he didn’t just hear what you just asked him.
Because honestly? Fuck yeah. He liked it. He liked the view a lot right now.
You just giggle at him, along with Jungkook who was smiling at his hyung’s meekness. Taehyung just swore he heard heaven when your giggles injected into his ears. With a small smile and a soft chuckle, Taehyung asks “what why?” as he gauchely scratches his head.
Jungkook shakes his head, walking to Taehyung while pulling you by the waist. He pats Taehyung’s back and gestures him off to the kitchen with his head. “Let’s just go and eat.” Jungkook laughs off as the three of you walk in the kitchen.
-
The whole dinner was a blast unlike their usual nights. It’s not like they don’t have fun when they’re all together, but there was even more fun because you were there. It was always like that when you’re with them. The boys loved and adored you exactly like you were their 8th member. Not as much as Jungkook does though, of course.
Taehyung sighs on his bed after pushing his door just slightly to keep it shut but not entirely closed, finally relaxing after a very tense day. He stares up the ceiling with a hand resting against the back of his head, his other hand placed on his chest.
Since his mind wasn’t as loud as it usually was, he closed his eyes. Finally attempting to relax and sleep. His body shifted and tossed around the bed a few times, trying to find a more comfortable position.
After a while, Taehyung started drifting off to sleep. With his whole body and mind finally at peace, he enters dreamland in an instant.
-
Taehyung has been peacefully sleeping with no any disruptions. When all of a sudden, he wiggles in his sleep. He opens his eyes slowly, starting to wake himself up. And once he gained consciousness, he felt something. Something weird. Something good. Something wet.
He wonders what the feeling was, scrubbing his eyes to wait for his eyes to clarify his vision. And when his vision finally returned, he looks down. Taehyung widens his eyes, gasping sharply at the sight in front of him.
“Y-Y/N..?” He stutters out. You were there. Right in front of him.
You looked up with a smirk, humming. Around his monster of a cock. Taehyung swore he was about to burst right then and there, but he was so confused. Because why were you there? Why were you doing this? Sucking him fully into your mouth?
A million questions ran through his head while he watched your head bob up and down on his dick. But when he turned his head to the side, he saw Jungkook standing right beside him. Hand lazily stroking his cock with a smug smirk on his face. Taehyung’s eyes went wide—eyeballs almost popping out.
Jungkook places one knee on his bed, leaning closer. He kisses Taehyung’s neck, licking the side playfully, while still playing with his tip. Taehyung was almost in ecstasy. Everything was overwhelming.
“F-Fuck.. what the fuck.” Taehyung cursed in absolute pleasure. The feeling, the situation—it all felt like a dream. A dream he’d been wishing for. A dream he wanted to fulfill. A dream he needed to become a reality.
Taehyung was so lost in his thoughts—mostly from the fact that the two people are all over him like leeches. He was so, so close to releasing what he needed to spurt out. Until you both stopped.
He rose his head, staring at the two of you in confusion. You just grinned, amused. And you lean down to whisper right against his ear:
“Wake up, Taehyung.”
-
If dreams were supposed to make you wake up in absolute terror and nearly crack the bed as you sit your body up all in the middle of the night, Taehyung would agree to stop dreaming ever again. Because what the hell was that?
It was just a dream. Of course. Not a reality. Not in this reality, at least. But the pleasure felt so real, Taehyung almost cried just by remembering every detail. The way your mouth moved, the way Jungkook hovered over him, the way you both groan into your lips just to send the adrenaline rush throughout his whole body.
All that was just a fucking dream?
Taehyung, with his raging boner, rubs his face in frustration. He falls back with an audible squeak from the bed—a squeak he’s never had the chance to fix yet. He closes his eyes with hands still placed over his face.
He tries to ignore it—tries to fall asleep. But the silence was too loud. And so were his own thoughts. His imaginations.
All he could hear was your moans. Jungkook's filthy words. Your screams of Jungkook’s name. The sounds of skin slapping, bed creaking, grunts and sighs repeating again and again in his mind.
So, to get rid of the heat that kept creeping up to his dick, he needed to touch himself. Immediately.
He doesn’t even recognize the way he moves, because he moved too quick that even he was impressed. With one drag of his waistband and one kick to pull it off completely from his body, his angry cock sprung up. The cold air suddenly slapping it caused Taehyung to groan.
It was already so wet, Taehyung didn’t need anything else to help him touch himself comfortably. He wraps his hand around the base, immediately starting with a fast pace.
He imagined you two again—hovering over him like you did in his dream. He imagined the way you let your tongue play with every active vein visible on his dick. He imagined how adventurous Jungkook is with his free hand, exploring his body bit by bit.
This was so dangerous, but Taehyung liked it. He liked it a little too much.
With his thoughts and the heat mixing together, he unconsciously lets out a moan. But it’s not just any moan—it was your name.
With his eyes closed and his hand tightening around his thick cock, he moans your name out loud. Like a desperate plea. A call for help. He’s pretty sure someone might’ve heard him, but he couldn’t care about it at the moment.
What he didn’t know? You were right outside his door. Walking from the bathroom where you just came from. And of course, what made you stop in your tracks, you heard him. You furrowed your eyebrows at this, curiosity filling your brain instantly.
You debate with your thoughts for a second. You know you shouldn’t. But it was your name, so a little look wouldn’t hurt right?
With that thought in your head, you move. You turn towards his door that was slightly ajar, finally taking a peek. Then you saw him—Taehyung. He was gripping the sheets, biting his lip, thrusting into his tight hand with eyes closed. Then he does it again.
“Oh, Y/N.. oh fuck.”He moans your name sweetly.
Jungkook, who was waiting for you to return, left his room next to Taehyung’s to check on you. He saw you standing by Taehyung’s door, lips parted slightly. Your eyes were wide enough to display shock on your face.
“Baby?” Jungkook called out in a whisper. You whip your head, looking at Jungkook without your wide eyes leaving your expression. You motioned him to come over.
Jungkook was confused. But he obeyed anyway. And when you move a bit so he could lean in, he’s met with Taehyung’s moans. Not just of your name anymore, but moans of Jungkook’s name as well.
You both stare in shock, eyeing each other for a moment. As if you were questioning each other about the view you’re taking in.
Unbeknownst to Taehyung, he didn’t even feel the couple who’s been watching him intently. He was too busy feeling himself. Too busy groaning, whining, cursing, moaning Jungkook’s and your name repeatedly.
If there was an award for having the quickest speed and amazing stamina for just jacking off, Taehyung thinks he would’ve walked up to receive that on stage with no shame. Because even he was surprised by his own pace.
With a few more pumps here and there, all while thinking of your hot mouth wrapped around him as he imagines Jungkook pushing his monstrous cock inside his mouth, whispering “Taking me so well.” sweetly into his ear which makes you groan as you constrict around his length, he finally cums.
And God knows how much he has came, because it splatters all over him and his sheets which he hates to think about cleaning right now.
Apparently, You and Jungkook know it too.
Taehyung finally relaxes his body as he sighs, hand falling from his still hard dick to beside his hips. He doesn’t see the movement of the door pushing open. He doesn’t hear the soft footsteps nearing closer to his bed. He’s completely oblivious to the two grins plastered on the couple’s faces along with eyes almost furious from desire.
Taehyung thought he’d finally relax, with his thoughts shutting down thankfully. But a touch jolts him awake, body reacting fully. When he pops his eyes open, he sees you. Holding his dick. Smiling up at him.
Was this another dream? Was he imagining this again?
But no, it felt so real. Because the next second, you take his dick closer to your mouth only to kiss the tip and lick a long stride of his girth afterwards. Taehyung’s body tenses up again, his focus staying solely on you.
He whines audibly when you finally take him into your mouth, sucking it in so deep that it hits the back of your throat. His weak hand merely makes it to your hair. But when it does, he grips it with all his strength.
“Y/N—your mouth—fuck.” Taehyung groans out loud, voice cracking slightly. He throws his head back, eyes rolling to back of his head as you play with his balls as you continue sucking him repeatedly. He was still highly sensitive from his orgasm just almost a minute ago. All of this, everything you were doing, felt so much for him.
Taehyung, with his brows furrowed, asks you with all his might and with a shaky voice. “Does—shit. Does Jungkook know.. you’re here?” He gulps out. Because as much as what you’re doing felt good, he didn’t actually want to upset his younger member. He doesn’t want to hurt Jungkook, especially not like this.
But as if on cue, a voice emerges from beside him. “He knows.” Taehyung whips his head straight to the voice, he swore his head almost snapped right off from his neck. And when his vision clears like a camera lens focusing on its target, he sees Jungkook walking towards him in just his stupidly hot calvin klein underwear. Not to mention his also enraged boner that could make his tight underwear rip any second.
Jungkook smirks when Taehyung whimpers, eyes shaking. He was scared, confused, but most of all—very aroused. And that was obvious. “Jungkook.. fuck.” Taehyung bites his lip, unable to process. Jungkook was standing right beside him, his boner practically kissing his face. But also, you were blowing him like it was the end of the fucking world.
Who wouldn’t fucking lose their mind over that?
“Look at you, Tae..” Jungkook whispers. Eyebrows almost kissing each other as he examined his older member and his trembling body. Taehyung almost wails at the nickname—it was a hidden trigger for him and his past imaginations with Jungkook. But of course, this wasn’t hidden anymore by the way Jungkook’s expression evidently painted with amusement.
“Oh you like that? Like it when I don’t address you formally, hm?” Taehyung feels two fingers rush to his clothed nipple, tugging and pinching it. His back arches at that, surprising you a bit because it made his dick slam deeper into your mouth. And you moan aloud when he does, sending vibrations all throughout his girth. Jungkook watches you both, genuinely amused. “You’re trembling from my touch, and from my girlfriend’s mouth. Are you not ashamed at all, Taehyung?”
Taehyung wails, a sharp breath inhaling through his lungs. “N-No.. I am.” He whispers under his breath, hands gripping the sheets and your hair tighter than ever, heat rushing through every inch of his body as Jungkook focuses on his nipple. “Didn’t—fuck!—didn’t mean to... hah” He closes his eyes, nearing his high.
“Didn’t mean to, huh? Just accidentally thought to jack off one night while your door was open, moaning both our names?” Jungkook slyly mumbles with his hot voice. He leans down, biting Taehyung’s ear as his hand travels to his throat. Other hand finally palming his neglected boner through his underwear.
For a moment, you pop your mouth off Taehyung’s dick with a smirk. “Good thing I heard you, Tae. Wouldn’t have gotten a chance to suck this dick if I didn’t.” You smirk, kissing the tip once again. You jack him off with your hand. Fast. Tight. Quick. Ready to make him spill.
Taehyung groans from all the touches—the attention. His hand goes from the sheets to Jungkook’s hair, other one thrashing around nothing.
“You gonna cum, Tae?” You whisper, staring intently at him as your hand doesn’t falter the movements you continued. Jungkook smiles against his ear, chuckling lowly. “Gonna cum for us both baby?” he adds after you.
You pick up the pace even more. Except now, you lean down right near the tip of his dick. And Taehyung wasn’t prepared for what comes next. Because he could barely register the moment, yet you let your tongue slip through your lips, just to lick his tip like a fucking lollipop as you pumped him up and down.
Taehyung loses it right then and there. As Jungkook bites on his ear hard—he spills with a loud moan against your tongue. His cum gushing out immediately only for it to land on your face, the sheets, and on the side of his spent cock.
You giggle. Tasting his release, savoring it like it’s honey. You let out a quiet hum, satisfied, before you climb on top of him after removing your clothes. Except your panties.
Taehyung swore he saw a goddess right before him. Because God did your body look so perfect. His eyes are barely open, but his focus never falters on you. He doesn’t know what you were planning to do. Which only worsens his obvious arousal.
Jungkook stands away, not too far. Still right next to him. Enough distance to watch you both closely. He takes his own underwear off, letting his savage cock finally spring free.
Then, he slowly realizes your intentions. You position your wet underwear right on top of his embarrassingly hard dick. With a small sigh, you drag the length of his cock along your clothed folds. You both almost moan in unison.
“So good.. holy fuck.” He moans out, hips jerking up in hopes of feeling it again. You watch his movements with a grin, biting your lip at how desperate Taehyung looked. “You like this so much, don’t you?” You push your hips down, finally meeting his eager upward thrust. “Bet you dreamt about this. About us.”
Taehyung could only nod, lost in ecstasy. Lost in the truth too.
Jungkook can see how much strength Taehyung still has with holding back. He found it cute. He knew Taehyung clearly wanted to be inside you already, but he also knew Taehyung was still scared to cross that line.
Well, you were Jungkook’s girlfriend after all. Of course he was.
Jungkook breaks the silence among the harmonized grunts and moans you both slipped out of your lips. “You wanna fuck her, Tae?” He walks over, pushing your hips down harshly. Which makes the two of you curse and tremble like little bitches.
Again, Taehyung could only nod. Frantically this time. Slowly, Jungkook takes his hand and guides it to your soaked panties. He leans down to whisper near Taehyung, also to take in the view of his girlfriend’s cunt. “Pull it aside, she likes being fucked with it on.”
You whine from Jungkook’s instructions, butterflies practically screaming inside your stomach because he remembers. Because he knows. Taehyung obeyed almost immediately, gawking at the sight of your now exposed—wet pussy in front of his eyes.
“Tae—please.. Koo..” You moan for both of them. It probably sounded like heaven to both their ears. Jungkook smiles. Cooing at the sight of his needy girlfriend. “You’ll get what you want baby. Right, Taehyung?”
Taehyung’s eyes don’t leave your cunt. And he doesn’t give Jungkook an answer. As if distracted, he lines you up on his dick, and pushes in with no hesitation.
And you? You were surprised as hell. This was new, because it wasn’t Jungkook. It wasn’t your boyfriend. Instead, it was his hot member. It was Taehyung. And fuck did the rawness and unfamiliar feeling turn you on.
Jungkook, amused and aroused by Taehyung’s actions, licks his lips at the sight. He hums, seeing you sink down Taehyung’s dick, satisfied as if he was watching the Mona Lisa being painted.
He drags his hand over his own veiny cock, grunting alone as you finally take Taehyung fully inside of you. His dick felt like it could burst just from seeing you thrash around nothing. Whimpering from the stretch of his older member’s girth.
And Taehyung? He’s having the best time of his life. Not only were you tightly wrapped around him warmly, Jungkook was also beside him playing with his poor massive cock.
He lets you take your time to adjust, before you start moving to jack his dick off with your glistening pussy. You both moan in unison, huffing together, as you bounced on him.
Taehyung watches you in awe. You had sweat all over your body, hair messy, tits bouncing like two huge balls with a chocochip in the middle. Taehyung uses one of his hand to cup your left breast, massaging it while tugging your nipple playfully.
When you let out a moan from his actions, he smirks. “Like it when I play with your tits like this, baby?” He coos. Other hand travelling to your bouncing ass.
You could only nod, hands reaching for Jungkook for support. Jungkook immediately understood and let you hold onto him. “Fucking slut. Can’t even fuck yourself properly.” Jungkook throws from his lips, a grin forming after. His harsh words were enough to make you cower, whimpering softly as you tried to continue.
Taehyung, who was nice enough because you were literally making his dream come true, used both his hands to stop you. And when you do, confused, he fucks you hard. Hands gripping your ass tightly as he thrusts himself up deep.
“Fuck! Tae—so g-good!” You can barely control your voice as you screamed in pleasure. Taehyung just picks up the pace, not even caring about shutting your loud mouth up. Because he likes it. He likes hearing you scream just for him. Scream just because of him.
Your grip on Jungkook’s shoulder tightens, his hand on his cock moved faster to match Taehyung’s pace. But he could tell even his hand was getting tired from jacking off all night, so he thought of an idea.
“Tae.” He calls out, earning a soft “hmm?” from Taehyung. Jungkook doesn’t say anything for the next 7 seconds. Instead, he holds Taehyung’s face in place, lining up his cock on Taehyung’s trembling lips.
Taehyung’s eyes widen softly, looking up to Jungkook. Jungkook only smirks as he looks down. “Think you can handle me, pretty boy?”
Taehyung only nods frantically, hips still snapping up and down consistently inside you. Jungkook took this as a sign to push his cock inside Taehyung’s mouth. And he groans. Loud. “That’s right, Tae… fuck.” He sighs out. Thrusting through his lips.
You focus your eyes on the sight you had below you, Taehyung with his pretty lips wrapped around your boyfriend while he was balls deep inside you. It was so, so lewd. And you loved it.
Jungkook leans down to you, capturing your lips in a sweet, very passionate kiss. You moan into each other’s mouths from ecstasy. Taehyung, who saw this, moans lovingly and sends vibrations to Jungkook’s dick.
As soon as Jungkook pulls away from the kiss to grip Taehyung’s hair and fuck his mouth harder, you find your own hands grabbing Taehyung’s torso for better support. “Tae—fuck. You feel so good.” You moaned out.
Taehyung’s brows furrows and closes his eyes from hearing that. Jungkook was even more impressed and turned on because Taehyung had no gag reflex. It drove him insane. “Fuck, Taehyung. Taking me so fucking well.” He grunts.
“Couldn’t fucking resist huh? You were moaning our names all alone in your room.” Jungkook talks, making Taehyung lose his sanity.
You continue Jungkook’s words, smiling down dangerously to Taehyung. “This is what you get for being so fucking needy for us, Tae. Take it all.”
Taehyung, who was overwhelmed, senses that he was going to cum anytime soon. He taps Jungkook’s thighs frantically, signaling. You notice this and immediately call it out.
“You cumming Tae?” Taehyung opens his eyes to look at you and tries to nod. You giggle lowly, nodding your head too. “I’m close too—hah..”
Jungkook throws his head back, groaning. “I’m fucking cumming too, shit.” He says as he fucks Taehyung’s mouth faster than ever. Chasing his high.
Taehyung’s hips didn’t give up either, hands practically digging into your skin as he nears his own high.
“C-Cumming! Fuck!” You scream as a warning, spilling against Taehyung’s rapid dick. You wail as he kept punishing your sweet sex.
Taehyung moans around Jungkook’s cock, thrusts growing more erratic. A sign that he was cumming any second.
Jungkook spills into his mouth with a low, deep growl. And Taehyung takes it all like an award he’s been working so hard for. He shuts his eyes tight from the taste, whimpering. Jungkook kisses his forehead after removing his own length from his mouth.
Taehyung swallows Jungkook’s cum after. To which, made Jungkook’s cock twitch at the sight. He grins, locking Taehyung’s lips with his own as he tastes himself from Taehyung’s mouth.
When he pulls away, he leans down to Taehyung’s ear to whisper: “Cum inside her, Taehyung.”
It wasn’t a request, nor a question. It was a demand. A demand that Taehyung would love to obey.
And finally—after a few more thrusts—he spills inside you. Hips snapping up harshly, as if pushing every ounce of his cum inside your sensitive cunt.
You both moan loudly from the feeling, you felt him filling you up to the brim. Taehyung swore he saw the bright stars shooting in his eyes, because fuck did that feel good.
You collapse on top of him, absolutely spent. Jungkook pats your back, kissing your shoulders while running his hand through Taehyung’s hair. He lays on the side of the bed as well, laying down with a sigh and a smile on his face.
You finally remove yourself from Taehyung, collapsing between them. Immediately, they spoon you. It made you giggle, to know that they both felt protective after what just happened.
Taehyung slowly lifts his head up to the two of you, with a slightly worried look on his face. “Wait.. don’t we need to talk about this?”
You and Jungkook chuckle together, witnessing Taehyung’s post-nut clarity. “You’re right, we do. But for now, I think we should rest.” Jungkook replies softly, hands carressing Taehyung’s arm on top of your torso.
You nod in agreement. You see Taehyung’s obvious concern expression, so you speak too. “It’s okay, Tae. We’ll figure it out first thing in the morning.”
Taehyung looked at you both for a hot minute, and finally breaks into a smile. Nodding, he slumps back into his pillow.
The three of you cuddled to sleep with smiles on your faces for the rest of the night. And there was only one thought that Taehyung had while falling asleep.
He was so glad he left his door open.
author’s notes 𖤝 IT’S FINALLY HEREE!! after a whole month i can’t believe i finally finished this 😭 i’m so so sooo sorry for taking so long. also! i might do another jk oneshot inspired by single’s inferno (iykyk) 👀 let me know what you think of this! hope you enjoyed reading <3
⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: swimmer!jk x female reader, college au, slow burn friends to lovers to ??, fluff, angst, slice of life, coming of age
⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, substance use, college party and hookup culture, mentions of greek life hazing, characters experiencing just about every feeling a lost college student goes through, depictions of and discussions surrounding mental health (depression, anxiety, substance abuse), all of the main characters have family issues, disgusting amounts of yearning and clueless pining, yes he's her tutor at one point, yes they're in denial, she fell first he fell harder, also features other third gen idols, dare i say found family, there is a beach episode and a fireworks festival too lol
in which a little box of memories tells the story of how you and jeon jungkook slowly, but surely, fell in love against the backdrop of the growing pains of your college years. jungkook presents this box to you as a final gift at graduation and each item in the box is a snapshot frozen in time, capturing the forces that brought the two of you from strangers to friends to more.
⇢ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐱: masterlist. / prologue. / the loyalty points card from the campus coffee shop. / ticket to the haunted horrors house (admission for two). / a worn out deck of cards. / handwritten no-bake cheesecake recipe. / cd soundtrack for stand by me (1986). / the hat box pt. 1. / the hat box pt. 2 / travel brochure to derry beach. / postcard from odense, denmark. / pieces of confetti. / one empty tequila shooter & the final item.
⇢ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: this is it. yes i cried.
one empty tequila shooter & the final item
SUMMER, BEFORE SENIOR YEAR
when you were a little kid, one of your favourite days of the year was the last day of school. the promises of a pizza party, smooth wooden pieces of board games underneath your fingertips, blowing bubbles in the air. without a single care in the world left the younger you feeling as though she could take on the world. something was so special about that day, when saying goodbye used to be easy and before “have a good summer” turned into “have a good life” in the blink of an eye.
back then, there was always a next year to look forward to, a new grade to happily call yourself. seeing your friends again was a certain promise. at some point, growing up was a privilege - now, it was an expectation. as you got older and wiser, it was something to be scared of.
sitting on the beach at the bonfire party before senior year, you watched the tide wash away footprints left on sparkling sand. it came and went so easily, taking away what had once been there like it never existed. like it never mattered.
“what do we leave behind when we’re gone?”
the party just begun. jungkook and jaehyun tossed the last of the wood into the fire and cars started to show up past the hills overlooking the sand. but, for now, it was just you and your friends.
it seemed as though you all constantly found yourselves circling fires over the years. you thought back to not just the first party that yeri ever took you to, but you thought of new year’s at the ski lodge and derry beach and birthdays, even the time jaehyun forced you all to go camping for two nights in junior year. you’d long gotten used to the crackling fire and harsh snapping of twigs, along with the smoky wood fire air and taste of roasted nuts.
for centuries, humans had always been drawn to bonfires - gathering around in both celebration and remembrance.
without explicitly saying so, tonight was meant for both.
doyeon passed around six tequila shooters to start things off and someone insisted on a toast to the year ahead. yeri spoke first, wondering aloud about an imaginary legacy formed by the past four years.
“the late nights?” seokmin offered, holding up his shooter in celebration.
you hummed, smiling. “how about friendship?” you offered dryly, ignoring the jeers that followed from your friends.
everyone downed their shooters, discarding them in a plastic bag because jungkook would kill you all if he caught anyone littering in public. besides, this beach was special. in a way, it was where everything started. not much had changed since your first visit at the start of freshman year and you wanted to keep it that way - bottle up this vision of the beach up forever and keep it tucked away in your memories like a lucky charm.
“pft, remember when you used to choke when you took shots?” jaehyun took a jab at you, snickering.
you nearly forgotten that jaehyun was there when that happened during the first bonfire party of freshman year. he had been so quiet back then, so polite. how things have changed.
“remember when you used to mind your business?” you shot back and the others laughed.
there was just a few days away until the start of the semester and you wondered if you should have been feeling a certain fear bubbling in your chest when you thought about it. instead, it was all quiet - like it wasn’t real. or, maybe because you’d long accepted it. you were so used to saying goodbye until something came along and made you want to stay. you looked over at your friends, laughing around the fire pit, and wished you could stay forever.
an arm slithered around your waist and you automatically leaned into it. jungkook wrapped the rest of his blanket to share and you whispered a thanks.
“not feeling talkative tonight?” you asked.
jungkook shrugged. “just not good with all the sentimental stuff.”
the first half of the year felt patient and kind towards you. most of it was a repeat of previous years - academics, friends, work. this time, you felt like you finally had a handle on your life and began to really grow into the person you wanted to be. you made smarter choices and decided what was worth your time, while finally getting into rhythm with the demands of college. you were taking it day by day, until time was no longer patient and it was summer once more. once the school was out of session and the warmer months flew by, you suddenly felt stuck and like things were slipping out of your control. and now, it seemed like everyone around you had already begun feeling like everything was about to end and like jungkook, it was difficult to swallow.
you kissed his cheek, which at the very least, elicited a small smile out of him. “it’s not even september yet. no need to get sentimental.”
except, the revelations made tonight made it impossible to be otherwise.
the party followed like any other party you’d been to. you laughed with strangers and played beach volleyball. someone’s ancient portable speakers played songs that only wanted to talk about having a good time. soon, the day fell away and with it went the golden wash of the skies above. you thought about how the sun never failed to say goodbye, but its loyalty always guaranteed a new day. when the muddy skies darkened and the shy moon peeked from behind, the beach belonged to just you and your friends again. other attendees had long left and only the six of you remained, still circled around that everlasting fire.
most of you had sobered up at this point. you only drank the singular shooter. the conversation continued flowing - as if you were all scared to finally leave.
yeri dropped the first bomb.
the topic at hand had been baseball when she suddenly blurted it aloud. she’d been unusually quiet for the past little while, as if battling internally.
“i won’t be graduating this year with you guys.”
you thought you heard wrong or that you’d been hallucinating altogether. seokmin nearly knocked over the bong. everyone turned to yeri with either wide eyes or furrowed brows of confusion.
“what are you talking about?” jungkook said, laughing like the nerves lined his throat. “you don’t need to be scared of failing any of your classes.”
“i can set you up with the tutoring company that’s been helping me. . .“ seokmin offered, but his voice trailed off when he saw the solemn look on yeri’s face.
she took a deep sigh and that’s when you all knew that this was reality. “i won’t be graduating with you guys,” yeri repeated. “i’ve switched my major four times. even with summer school, i won’t have the credits i need. if i take extra classes, i’ll compromise my gpa and ruin my chances of getting a good student teaching placement.”
when you first met yeri, she was a pre-med student and dreamed of being a doctor. then, she switched to english before freshman year even ended. you encouraged her to figure out what truly made her happy, as did the rest of your friends. then, yeri switched to history. over the summer, she suddenly announced that she was going to switch yet again to education. you had a feeling that something like this would happen, but yeri had a habit of somehow making things work - whether it was finding a way to transfer her credits with each change or other things in her life, like somehow making it to all of her scheduled extracurriculars.
“what?” doyeon was the first to finally speak, her jaw hung wide open. “i know you spoke with your advisor, is there really no way for you to get your other credits transferred? or to stay in history?”
yeri shook her head. “they said that i’ll still need the same education courses plus the rest of my history requirements,” she responded, shoulders sagging. “then, i’d end up staying an extra two years, instead of just one. it’ll be worse. plus, i can’t stay in a major i know i don’t love.”
the rest of you went quiet, absorbing yeri’s words. before, it was almost like a running gag that yeri could never truly stay in one place. you couldn’t blame the girl - who’s supposed to know what they want in their twenties? it was unfair to decide what you wanted to do for the rest of your life when you were so young.
but, you’d long pictured the six of you in robes and caps on graduation day. it was always supposed to be the six of you, until the very end.
“you’re sure this is going to be what makes you happy?” jungkook asked. he knew yeri the longest and watched her go through so many changes, so many ups and downs.
when yeri nodded without hesitation, she did so with her eyes downcast. still, despite her indecisive behaviour, you had a feeling that it was true. it was a funny feeling, like you knew that this was it for her.
“we’re here to support you every step of the way,” you whispered.
“i just. . .” yeri began and sniffled, hands hiding her face. “i don’t want to be left behind,” she lamely admitted.
jaehyun and doyeon immediately came over to hug either side of her, cradling her as she quietly cried. then, you, jungkook and seokmin followed, resulting in a massive group hug and murmured words of assurance.
“we’re not leaving you behind,” seokmin murmured, holding yeri’s hand as she babbled out her fears in one long sentence.
yeri knew that this was what she wanted and she was sure of something, for the first time in her life. now, she had to do it without her best friends. she thrived in every social circle, but you knew that you guys were special to her. when she finally calmed down and everyone returned to their previous seats, something heavy hung in the air.
then, it was jaehyun’s turn to speak up. he swished around the remaining liquid at the bottom of his beer bottle, clearing his throat to grab everyone’s attention.
“i have something to say, too,” he begun and your heart immediately sunk.
college couldn’t last forever. you knew that. but, you were never going to be prepared for just how damn fast things were about to change.
seokmin’s eyes flickered to jaehyun. “what is it, buddy?”
after a beat, he looked around the circle. the hot air felt suffocating and it was as if the dazzling flames grew with each second.
“i looked at my options for grad school,” he started. “and i’ve decided on where i’m going to apply. i, uh, chose schools abroad. mostly in asia, some in europe - but, i know for sure that i won’t be getting my master’s here.”
these statements were all worth celebrating. everyone was ready to move on with their lives and figure out what was best for them. jaehyun was incredibly intelligent and you knew he had a lot of ambitions for himself in life. you watched some of your friends offer him high fives, despite the obvious sadness swirling behind their eyes.
“that’s amazing,” doyeon said, smiling softly.
jaehyun nodded. “thank you guys. i guess. . .” he looked off into the sky, trying to find his words. “i chose to go to college here because of my parents. because i wanted to be in their shoes and i thought it would help me know myself better.”
he wasn’t exactly the most adventurous person in your friend group. jaehyun grew up a few towns over, just a drive away. it wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy taking risks, but that he was always comfortable in his roots and what he surrounded himself with. the familiar and jaehyun got along as one.
“i think it’s time for me to do more for myself. to find myself somewhere else,” jaehyun finished, flicking imaginary ash off of his legs.
jungkook told you four years ago, on the uber ride back from the beach, that college was supposed to be the place where you found yourself. in a way, it happened for you all.
you thought about the rest of the group. you and doyeon were both preparing for law school applications and had been studying for your lsats since the beginning of the year. seokmin had a guaranteed position at his parents’ insurance company after graduation. meanwhile jungkook. . . seemed unsure. you didn’t like to prod him about it because you knew he got stressed out easily, but his future was up in the air. that was a conversation for another day.
“will you be coming back after you finish?” jungkook queried, but it was like he was afraid of the answer already.
everyone looked at jaehyun nervously. the possibility of you all going your separate ways was not only possible, but inevitable. still, it was clear that no one considered a future in which you would be spread out across the world.
jaehyun pressed his lips together in a thin line. “i don’t know,” he replied with candor.
you sat in an uncomfortable realization that you were no longer chasing time. growing up wasn’t fun anymore and the ticking of the clock was now clutching onto your ankles, willing to you live in the memories of yesterday. it felt impossible to move forward amidst the heavy weight of change.
while this dawned upon you, yeri’s words from earlier in the night echoed in your head.
what do we leave behind when we’re gone?
you wondered what good you had done for the college you would be moving forward from. making meaningful change was the last of your worries throughout the past four years. all the time you’d spent at this school and you struggled to pinpoint what you made special about it.
“can i be honest?” doyeon blurted out, toying with her fingers. “you guys. . .you guys are all i got.”
no one spoke a word again. silence enveloped the air, except for the popping of the bonfire in the middle of you all. her words hit hard because for you all, they rang true. something special lived in that circle, where the six of you sat and laughed and dreamed together. when your families didn’t show up at your door, your friends were already inside and welcoming you back home.
doyeon continued, looking away and you knew that she was trying to not cry.
“i don’t know what’s supposed to come next. but, no matter what, i’m here for you all.”
a part of you mourned the version in which it was the six of you with your graduation robes on. but, doyeon’s statement forced you to find solace in what you already had - the visions of the six of you everywhere else. on a balcony, watching fireworks over the slopes. cramped in your freshman dorm, playing cards and drinking the cheapest vodka from the liquor store. eating corndogs on the fall fairgrounds.
you didn’t know what was supposed to come next either. you just knew what you had now and what it meant to you.
**
relationships would never be perfect and you learned that with jungkook. it felt like everything finally fell into place when the two of you made things official at the end of last year. you figured that things would feel natural - dating your best friend didn’t exactly seem like rocket science. of course, you learned the hard way that every relationship still required the same amount of hard work and love to get through the hard days. what mattered was standing by each other.
the two of you stood in the kitchen of your shared apartment with doyeon and yeri, making dinner together. there was just one more day until the semester begun and it didn’t feel real.
jungkook acted uncharacteristically quiet since arriving and you had a feeling that it was because of the conversation shared at the bonfire. you weren’t trying to get him to suddenly spit it all out, but it was obvious that your repeated “are you okay’s” were getting annoying for him.
he put the salt shaker on the counter with more force than necessary. “please stop asking me if something is wrong with me.” jungkook let out an aggravated sigh.
it wasn’t like the two of you constantly butted heads, but navigating through conflicts were naturally not the easiest thing in the world. you never had a real, long-term relationship before jungkook and neither had he. learning to communicate and to solve problems as a team was a slow, but rewarding journey.
“i’m sorry,” you said immediately, gently touching his arm.
jungkook’s eyes softened. “it’s okay,” he replied.
the last nine months of your relationship had otherwise been amazing. on top of your memories from the past few years, you and jungkook made even more happy moments together. you got each other through finals and internships and approached many milestones as a couple. your bedroom walls showed it - polaroids of dates and holidays, souvenirs from your first trip as a couple over the summer, the gifts that you received from jungkook’s mother with each visit to his home.
the “will they” became the “now what?” and the question of choosing each other was no longer a question. the only question remaining was the future left for the two of you. you could tell that it was what burned in jungkook’s mind.
on the kitchen counter, jungkook’s phone flashed with a notifcation from his email. you weren’t trying to snoop, but you saw what it said when you handed it to him. it was the admissions office from a graduate school nearby.
“i think i’ve narrowed down where i’ll be applying,” jungkook said, suddenly changing the subject.
you walked over to the stove top, checking on the stew. “yeah?” you responded casually, steam fogging up your vision when you uncovered the pot.
of course you were relieved when he told you his choices. you weren’t necessarily worried about having to potentially go long distance after graduation, but it was certainly on your mind. in the end, the law schools that you hoped to get admitted to were all within driving distance of jungkook’s top choices for grad school. you hadn’t even really told him where you wanted to go, so it was by chance that your aspirations aligned. a lot of them were within the same metropolitan area.
it wasn’t like you and jungkook didn’t talk about your future together. it became clear that you both wanted something long-term out of this relationship, but now, it finally looked clear.
still, jungkook brushed off most discussions about the future in general.
“we could even get a place right in the middle of where our schools will be,” he remarked, as he opened the rice cooker.
talking about the future with you was easy. but, you noticed that he wouldn’t delve into his future.
it took a few weeks for jungkook to finally admit it. the last of summer still had yet to fade away, with a sleek heat warming the air and the sun bright outside. the cool ac was the only thing keeping you sane, as you cleaned up the space that the ceramics club used for open studio hours.
you were the last one left in the room, double checking that you’d put away all of the equipment when you heard your name at the doorway.
“i thought you had practice at the pool,” you said, but happily accepted a soft kiss from your boyfriend.
jungkook shrugged. “i cancelled it. apparently, there’s some big mixer for the freshmen and i didn’t want them to miss out.”
“oh man, i miss those events,” you chuckled, shaking your head and wrapped your arms around him. “it feels just like yesterday when yeri and doyeon would drag me to all those freshman socials and game nights.”
“you sound old,” he replied wryly, earning a smack on his arm.
the two of you walked out of the arts building. it seemed like you were short on evenings like this - where you had nothing on your schedule and you were free to walk around doing nothing. you and jungkook headed for his car with no destination in mind, braving the thick september heat. he carried your books for you like a lovesick teenager, as always, and tucked your hat box full of pottery tools underneath his arm.
“doyeon and i are taking the lsats soon,” you shared, intertwining your fingers with his. "
“feeling prepared?”
“actually, yes,” you chuckled. “i’m feeling pretty good about the test. i’m ready for applications, too.”
jungkook nodded thoughtfully. “seems like you’re pretty sure about everything that’s coming up.”
at some point, you started to form an understanding of what you wanted. you always knew what career you saw yourself in, but it was the path along the way that once left you feeling unsure or not enough. your confidence built itself from the ground up and although things weren’t perfect, you were far from the overwhelmed girl that cried on the kitchen of her freshman year dorm.
“something like that,” you said.
jungkook muttered, “that makes one of us.”
he opened the car door for you and the two of you settled in. after putting all of your belongings in the backseat, jungkook sat beside you. you noticed the frown on his face.
“what do you mean by that?” you queried gently.
he took a second to form his thoughts. “guess i’m just unsure about what comes next after college,” jungkook admitted. “i feel like everyone’s been talking about the future so much and it made me realize how stuck i feel.”
jungkook wanted to become a psychologist and you knew he had the grades for it. he had the drive and the lived experience that would ensure success in the field. most of all, he had the passion. so, you were left confused.
“stuck? you have so much going for you, koo.” you reached over, cupping his face and tried to meet his eyes.
jungkook leaned into your touch, but his jaw remained tense. “how can you all be sure? of everything?” he murmured. “i feel like no one is scared like i am. what if i don’t get into my master’s program? what if this isn’t even the right path for me? and what about our friends, what’s supposed to happen after graduation?”
“you’re not supposed to know everything. i know you want to, but it’s impossible.”
that was the first and last time jungkook spoke about his fears about the future. you calmed him down that afternoon, crooning sweet words of encouragement and pride to ease his worries. he was always a worrier and by this point, you knew how to put his heart at ease. he repeated over and over to himself that college wasn’t the end of the world and that was that.
**
FALL, SENIOR YEAR
seokmin’s last greek formal turned into something resembling five parents sending off their kid to prom, as you all fussed over pictures and making sure his suit was perfect. even though he was the only one that was going to show up, you all shared shooters at the start of the night to hype him up. having a physical shooter was something that helped you watch how much you were drinking and all of your friends made it into a regular thing, as opposed to the days where you’d pour liquor straight into your mouths from the bottle.
you all gathered for friday night dinner at seokmin’s apartment a few hours earlier than usual because he had some big fancy ball to attend. still, seokmin had been dying to host seemingly every group gathering as soon as he got his own apartment - he still had a room in the sigma chi house, but had finally grown tired of living with a bunch of gross college boys.
“your tie is crooked!” yeri exclaimed dramatically, reaching over to fix the red fabric.
meanwhile, jaehyun was busy adding gel to seokmin’s hair. jungkook filmed the entire thing on his phone with a snicker.
one thing you came to understand when it came to college was that you were able to choose traditions with the people you loved, as opposed to scrambling to fulfill traditions laid out for you. prom, a senior trip, skip day - all of those things were well known as a way to celebrate the last year of high school. this was different and felt very adult-like, the freedom of being able to surround yourself with the people you chose.
“our seokmin is all grown up,” jungkook cooed, ignoring the middle finger sent his way by the man in question.
doyeon, who was a few feet away on the couch, playfully rolled her eyes at the antics of your friends.
“you guys are making it seem like he’s about to get married,” she remarked.
your job at the moment was to run a lint roller over every surface of seokmin’s outfit. “who knows when the next time we’ll see seokmin all dressed up will be.”
all six of you shuffled together for a picture in the middle of seokmin’s living room. yeri positioned her phone against a shelf and hollered for everyone to get ready as the self-timer started to go off.
“i really doubt we’ll see you in a suit again until you weasel your way into getting some girl to marry you,” you teased, poking seokmin’s chest. everyone laughed at the comment.
he puffed out his cheeks. “hey!”
“oh god, let’s not talk about weddings already.” yeri buried her face in her hands. “you guys are gonna make me go crazy.”
you chuckled, hugging yeri. it was already october and it made you wonder how freshman year felt like it lasted three times as long. senior year evidently had a tendency of messing up everything that you knew about time, bending the universe in strange ways. you could tell that it was slowly starting to also affect your friends.
“how about we focus on right here, right now?” offered jaehyun, joining you to ruffle yeri’s hair.
it was always about the right here, right now until it was finally over.
**
WINTER, SENIOR YEAR
jungkook was horrible at surprising you. he planned many dates and gifts over the past year, some of which behind your back, but you managed to find out about each and every one of them. that didn’t bother you at all, but this was one thing that he knew he needed to make special for you.
the holidays were fast approaching and this year, you agreed to go back to your hometown and not only spend christmas with your mom, but spend some time with your father, as well. truth be told, you wouldn’t have been able to take the leap to repair your relationship with him if it hadn’t been for jungkook’s encouragement. it was your favourite thing about him - the way he made his loved ones better people. unfortunately, though, this meant that you would be spending your first anniversary apart and so, you both planned to do something before the conclusion of the semester.
“koo, this place is really expensive.”
when jungkook said that he had dinner reservations, you did your thing - you did your makeup meticulously, looked up and recreated a ridiculously hard hairstyle on pinterest, and dragged jaehyun and seokmin dress shopping.
they initially moaned and groaned on the way to the mall, but once you bought them cinnamon rolls to share, the boys were actually extremely helpful with each dress you tried on. the girls would have hyped you up with everything you picked out, even with their honest criticisms, and you needed to hear from jaehyun and seokmin instead, as they knew better about what jungkook’s tastes were like.
“do the red dress,” seokmin had decided, sitting in front of the fitting room with a mouthful of cinnabon.
jaehyun scoffed like he was crazy. “what? no, you need to do the black - that’s kook’s favourite colour.”
“yeah, but he likes her in red,” seokmin shot back. “remember derry beach? i had to smack him so he would stop staring -”
“- at least do the heeled boots with the dress!”
safe to say, they were very opinionated and gave useful pointers. that’s how you ended up in this burgundy, sheath chiffon dress that hugged your curves and made you feel like a princess. and yes, you wore the heeled boots. you both entered the restaurant slightly disheveled and you muttered complaints about having to already touch up your makeup because jungkook couldn’t keep his hands to himself in the car. as soon as he came to pick you up, it didn’t take long for him to completely give up and park in an alleyway - still, you somehow made it to your reservation on time after the detour.
from across the candlelit table, jungkook smirked. “don’t worry your pretty little head about that.” his eyes returned to the menu, which was the reason for your blurted out concern.
you sighed and as you spoke, you leaned over to wipe off a smudge of lipstick on jungkook’s neck that you missed earlier. “are you sure?” you asked. “these are the prices. i thought it was the calories for each dish.”
“baby, it’s our anniversary,” jungkook reminded, hand over yours on the table.
it wasn’t like you guys were broke, but you were still college students. you came to understand why jungkook had been taking on extra hours at the clinic where he worked part-time. the pointed look on his face forced you to shove these thoughts away and enjoy the evening.
an amber hue dawned over your surroundings, as contrasting hanging lamps illuminated the restaurant in mosaic glass. it was a korean fusion spot and one of the walls depicted a floor to ceiling mural of what jungkook explained to be was the joseon dynasty era. candles situated on every table and plants crawling each corner, the atmosphere was both cozy and luxurious.
your food and drinks arrived shortly and the two of you fell into comfortable conversation. laughter and grins filled the next hour or so, a warm feeling spreading in your chest from the man that you loved. jungkook looked so handsome like this - he cleaned up pretty well himself, donning black button down and slacks. his hair was messy and beautiful all at once, falling just underneath his ears, where he wore the earrings that you gave him last christmas.
when dessert came, you noticed the way jungkook’s leg began to shake. he had something to say. you let him take his time, waiting patiently as you carefully sliced into your cake.
then, of course, jungkook caught you off guard.
“hey, what’s that over there?”
“huh?”
you fell for it like a looney tunes cartoon, whipping your head to where jungkook pointed behind you. you were sure that you’d be met with some sort of celebrity dining in the same space or maybe even a server tripping and dropping a bunch of food. when you realized that you were squinting at absolutely nothing, you turned back and gasped when you saw was in front of you.
a velvet box.
“i’m not proposing!” jungkook immediately exclaimed, eyes wide and hands up in the air.
truthfully, you let out a sigh of relief. jungkook knew damn well that you weren’t accepting any sort of ring until you walked across that stage and received your diploma anyways. he chuckled at your reaction and reached over, grabbing both of your hands. and squeezing them. you bit your lip, waiting.
he breathed your name, eyes soft. “i am so madly in love with you. every single part. i loved you back when you would fall asleep during our tutoring sessions and drool all over our work,” jungkook laughed and held your hands tighter when it became clear that you wanted to hit him. “i loved you when you never missed a single one of my swim meets. i loved you with every movie we watched and every playlist we’ve made. you are my best friend and i swear, i will love you for as long as you let me.”
the past four years of your lives came together like the mosaic glass lighting the room - each colourful moment crafted to shine and glimmer when they all came together. you saw it all in your head, even with all the tears shed and frustrations had to get where you were now with jungkook. you could feel new ones welling in your eyes as jungkook continued.
“you’re a sap,” you mumbled, but your voice gave you away.
jungkook grinned. “happy anniversary, baby. i got this for you.”
he let go of your hands only to open the box. the contents left you breathless - a dainty ring with two heart shaped stones surrounded by a halo of pavé, twinkling in the warm light above. your lips parted as jungkook slid it on your right left finger, eyes never leaving yours.
“a promise ring?” you whispered, still crying to not cry.
he nodded. “yeah. we’ve been through so much together and i’ve been lucky enough to call you mine for a year now. with so much going on and our futures coming soon, i wanted to give you this. i want you in that future, wherever it may be, and i promise to never let you down.”
if there was one thing jungkook did so well, it was guiding you through all of your uncertainties. he always seemed to be there, like an everlasting rock. you didn’t need a ring to know that, but you still smiled and swore to never take it off.
when you came home the next day to doyeon and yeri, they cooed at the sight of the promise ring on your hand.
you sat on the couch with them, as doyeon poured you all soda and you recounted your anniversary date with your boyfriend. your shared apartment brought in a lot of sunlight, which was more than welcome in the winter months. an old lauryn hill record hummed in the background and you added just a shooter to your drink, while yeri and doyeon poured a heavy hand of tequila straight from a handle into theirs.
“wow, he really went all out,” yeri teased. she was still inspecting your hand and how pretty the ring glinted under natural light.
doyeon smiled, crossing her legs next to you. “god, i’m so happy for you guys.”
“thank you.” it wasn’t often that you blushed just off the mention of jungkook, but it was hard not to when you were reminded of the night every time you looked at your finger.
“so,” yeri said. “you guys are really locked in, huh? are you sure you didn’t apply to law school close to him on purpose?”
“yeri,” you groaned. “god, i would never do such a thing for a man. but, yes, i guess we are locked in. i think the coincidence with our applications was just a good sign.”
it almost seemed too good to be true, but given the hundreds of different directions that the rest of your friends seemed to be pulled, you considered yourself lucky.
doyeon smiled, putting her head on your shoulder. “you’re okay with bringing the boy from college into the real world?”
somehow, there wasn’t a universe where you didn’t. you had an inkling that jungkook was meant to be more than just some college boyfriend.
**
you never stopped to count the last times, especially when you didn’t even know it was the last time. but, there always was. you wished you could remember the last time your parents turned on your night light for you or the last time you played hopscotch. there was a last time for everything and in february, when your friends all decided to go to the local pub on a saturday night off, you had no clue it would be the last time you ever stepped in that place.
the royal oak pub brought back a lot of memories from freshman year, as it was the hot spot for everyone that year. everything in that place was old and dusty, but the drinks were cheap and the music was good. at some point, you and your friends graduated to flashier nightclubs and lounges, but no one protested when yeri suggested that you guys hit up the pub for a change.
you discreetly downed your little tequila shooter in the uber with her, as the car approached the bar, where you would be meeting the rest of your friends. you bounced with excitement as you entered, spotting them from the entrance.
“there they are!” seokmin exclaimed, apparently already a few drinks in.
the four of them waved from the booth and yeri sat on the edge next to jaehyun, while you squeezed past doyeon so that you could sit on jungkook’s lap. he smelled like leather and rum when he kissed your neck in greeting and you giggled at the way his nose tickled your skin.
it was getting harder and harder to catch all of your friends in the same place up until now. the majority of you were working hard on your applications to graduate school and in your and doyeon’s case, law school. long gone were the days when you spent every waking moment with your friends - from breakfast in the campus dining hall to the end of the night, returning back to stratton hall after whatever party you went to that night. you could still picture it so clearly - especially moments like seokmin crashing on the floor of jungkook and jaehyun’s dorm because he didn’t want to go all the way back to greek row.
the end of last semester was particularly tough, with only spontaneous gatherings outside of maybe one scheduled weekly hangout. you knew that was better than most friend groups, but it was still such a drastic change from what it looked like before. you figured that was the consequence of life getting busy. at the very least, all six of you were able to spend new year’s together once again and this time, it was in seokmin’s hometown and you stayed at his parents’ huge house.
“so,” yeri drawled, eying all of you. “what’s new?”
apparently, a lot.
doyeon received early acceptance to her top choice for law school, all the way on the other side of the country. jaehyun also got the first of his offers for grad school and he was currently between imperial college london and the university of hong kong. and, although the last of your acceptances had yet to roll in, you and jungkook were close to accepting your own postgraduate offers. the group smiled when you mentioned that the schools happened to be barely thirty minutes from each other.
“everything seems to be falling into place.” seokmin whistled, holding up his glass for a toast.
it all happened so fast, too. you raised your glass with the rest of your friends and cheered to your accomplishments.
“it feels like we were just worrying about our freshman gpas,” doyeon sighed, taking a long drink out of her long island iced tea. “now, we’re really here.”
right here, right now - until it wasn’t. until, soon enough, it looked like it was all about to be over.
you remembered crying over those grades a lifetime ago, wondering why you weren’t good enough and why everyone seemed to be one step ahead of you. somewhere along the way, you accepted the reality in which you weren’t extraordinary. you were getting by like everyone else and figuring things out at the same pace. the harsh truth was both sharp and comforting - you didn’t need to have it all figured out. a part of you yearned to know and to be, but it was moments like these that reminded you that it was okay to be anything but. it always worked out and it was more than okay to not know anything at all.
jungkook suddenly nudged seokmin with his foot, as if urging him to talk. it was hard to miss. you all looked at seokmin with questioning looks.
“alright,” he relented, setting down his glass. “i have something to announce.”
“oh my god, what now?” doyeon groaned, rubbing her temples like her cousin was about to announce his plans to drop out.
seokmin stuck his tongue out at her. “shut up. it’s nothing bad.” he leaned back, folding his arms across his chest.
you raised an eyebrow. “what is it?”
“i’m planning to solo travel for a year. i’m leaving the week after graduation.”
that was not the answer that anyone was expecting - except maybe jungkook, who looked like he already knew. but, it seemed about right.
“honestly, i had my doubts that you would immediately jump into working for your parents as soon as college is over,” quipped yeri.
you nodded. “but, for a year? by yourself?”
“i wanna see the world!” seokmin grinned. “i’ve been working my ass off for my parents and for what? a future that’s been decided for me since i was born?”
silence fell after that. he was being lighthearted, but it was true. seokmin’s career had long been carved out for him, no matter what he chose to do in college. he was always going to end up working for his parents.
“is that. . .okay with you?” you struggled to find the words.
seokmin shrugged. “i guess. but, before all of that happens, i want to do something on my own terms.”
and you understood that. college had been sbout finding yourself and figuring what you wanted after it was all said and done. you watched seokmin carry a weight that wasn’t even his for the longest time. though you were afraid of what was to come after the year was up and when you would even see him again, this felt like the best move for him. he deserved it.
the conversation between your friends contrasted greatly from months ago, when you all sat around a bonfire and expressed your fears for the year ahead. you expected the nerves to settle after a big revelation, a magical switch that turned your anxieties into excitement overnight.
instead, it was a quiet change. a slow one. but, it was always one that you knew that would come. it was like reading a book and suddenly reaching the last page, enjoying the story too much to realize it was the end. it was better for you, who hated change and never held on to material things. except this time, for the first time, you didn’t want to let go. you ignored it, buried it deep within you, and never noticed the subtle passing of time and the acceptance that came with it.
or, so you thought you’d come to acceptance.
“i’m thinking punta cana or cancun for the top choices, but i’ll show you what i’ve laid out so far and the research i’ve done.”
the rest of the night was consisted of some dancing, drinking and finalizing spring break plans. everyone wanted to make it a big deal and go overseas for the trip. doyeon already had a spreadsheet to show everyone, comparing different destinations and prices.
jungkook grinned. “the last spring break. we have to make it count.”
“the last hurrah!” yeri squealed, clapping her hands together.
unbeknownst to all of you, nobody would step foot in this pub ever again. this was the final time that you would sit in these booths, dance under these lights, and laugh with these people. there was a time when every crevice of this place was familiar to you. of course, it didn’t mark the end of your group hanging out. you found yourselves back at your other regular spots on the weekends for the rest of the school year, but this would be just another last time lost in your memories.
**
SPRING, SENIOR YEAR
growing up, your favourite television show was one tree hill. it was one of the many things you watched with jungkook over holiday break in junior year, with all the free time that the two of you had. a part of you wondered if you’ll ever get that kind of lazy free time every again. nonetheless, the rewatch had you come across a quote from one of the characters that caused a dull pain in your chest.
it’s the oldest story in the world. one day, you’re seventeen and planning for someday. and then, quietly, without you ever really noticing, someday is today, and that someday is yesterday and this is your life.
tonight, you and your friends had the smart idea to sneak onto the football field at one in the morning. somehow, the idea came from doyeon, who’d been groaning about the fact that she wanted to do something “crazy” before graduation. there was the skinny dipping in mexico during spring break, maybe even the group’s brief, one time experimentation with psychedelics last semester. you knew it had more to do with what tomorrow meant. it was the wednesday night before the ceremony and you all got wasted in your apartment to celebrate, somehow ending up back on campus after everyone agreed to doyeon’s idea.
“won’t there be cameras?” jaehyun wondered aloud.
at that, seokmin snickered. “what are they gonna do? expel us?”
it had been a while since you got drunk and although you were feeling some anxiety at first, jungkook held onto you the entire time and you became comfortable. the six of you piled into an extra large uber with absolutely no plan at all when you approached the field.
yeri sent a glare seokmin’s way. “uh, hello?” she said, reminding the male of the fact that she actually had something to lose.
“technically, it’s trespassing and the police will charge us, but that’s besides the point,” jungkook quipped, but everyone ignored him.
this was your life. or, at least, for the next twenty-four hours it was. it still hadn’t occurred to you that this was truly the final night of senior year. exams had long passed, you and your friends had a blast in cancun for your last spring break, and you posed for your graduation portraits months ago. after tomorrow, nothing would be the same.
“what comes after?”
doyeon’s question was a yell at the top of the fence, as the five of you urged her from the other side to just drop down already. except, the question rang differently in your ears and was nothing about the fence. if this was now, what was supposed to come next?
jungkook had went first - suspiciously skilled at climbing wired fences and got to his feet like greased lightning. when you send him an amused look from the other side, he put his hands up in defense.
“what? i was a troubled youth,” he smirked, half joking.
seokmin and jaehyun gave both you and yeri a boost to help you get over the fence. the latter shrieked when she felt her lululemon leggings rip, which gave the rest of you a laugh. doyeon continuously shook her head when they asked if she wanted help, even though the whole thing was her idea. the boys shrugged and climbed to the other side. then., doyeon had to finally swallow her nerves and climb by herself, but now at the top, she was scared to fall.
“just do it! don’t be scared!” you exclaimed encouragingly.
with a yelp, doyeon swung her legs over the other side and even though she almost lost her footing, she gracefully made her way down with the help of you and jungkook.
you couldn’t see much of the moon and stars on this may night and the lights were off, so you and your friends made your way to the center of the field with the illumination of your phone flashlights in hushed laughter.
soon, you sat in a circle and passed around a blunt, silver smoke painting the air. even though you’d all been drinking since the night started, seokmin passed around six shooters to keep things “refreshed,” as he called it.
“it almost feels like we’re still eighteen,” jungkook joked. “these are freshman antics.”
a round of chuckles emerged. in a way, it was like your group was trying to capture that feeling again - the feeling of having nothing but time on your side.
yeri sighed. “it feels. . .nice,” she said. “getting wasted and doing illegal shit. feels just like freshman year.”
“except, it’s not,” you piped in, voice dull. it broke a bit of the mood, but it sent everyone thinking.
jungkook put a hand on your shoulder. you’d been stressing about graduation for weeks now. things were feeling scary, feeling real.
nobody would say it, but everyone felt it. after tomorrow, you would all be going your separate ways with no guarantee of the next time everyone would be together once more. seokmin was packed to leave for argentina in a few days. the lease to the apartment you shared with doyeon and yeri would expire in a week. jaehyun received confirmation of his hong kong student visa that very morning. everything was about to change forever.
“why did this year have to go by so fast?” you felt the sting in your eyes and harshly swiped at them before anything could fall.
you thought you were good at letting go. you thought you accepted it all. and yet, on the night before your college graduation, you finally broke down in front of your best friends.
this was no longer going to be your life.
jungkook held you tight with each of your sobs and although you couldn’t see with your face buried in his chest, you heard the sniffles of your friends.
when everyone settled down, jaehyun spoke first. he ran a hand through his hair and looked up at the sky above. he wasn’t ever one for too many words unlinked to sarcasm and flirtation, but he knew could be vulnerable with the five of you. it was safe and always was going to be. so, the drunken sadness was welcomed.
“this place will always feel like home,” he murmured and he wasn’t referring to the middle of the football field.
you didn’t know where you’d be without these friends. for every good and every bad memory, they were there. to cheer you on and to comfort you, when you had no one else. most importantly, the person you became today only found her feet because of the way your friends loved you.
yeri affirmed it. “you guys are my home,” she stated.
making homes out of people was not smart - this was something you learned before college. you could decorate their rooms and open up the windows and still, they could walk right out of your life. you had nobody four years ago and you were scared of what you would do. yet, you made the stupid decision to build a house with these people around you, with bits of them in every doorway and the pieces of their love lingering on each floor. spring was here and the flowers bloomed again, but you weren’t ready to change with the seasons. they were home and you were already homesick.
when you entered college, the one thing you were terrified of was not being able to make any friends.
this was worse.
you slept in jungkook’s bed that night because you couldn’t do it alone. it was about five in the morning when you trudged into his room, eyes bleary and swollen. he followed right after you, kicking off his pants and shedding his shirt. you’d already thrown on one of his hoodies by the time he was done and drunkenly flopped onto his bed.
“drink that before you dare close your eyes.” jungkook tossed a water bottle towards you and you somehow caught it.
he turned off the lights and instantly pulled you into his arms, tucking your head underneath his chin. you let out a sigh, inhaling his scent to calm yourself down. jungkook could already tell that you were about to cry again and lovingly stroked your hair.
“i never actually imagined that we’d have to say goodbye one day,” you confessed into his skin, hoping it would muffle the sadness in your voice.
still, through the night and the past few months, you never saw jungkook let his mind wander too far. he’d expressed his worries at the beginning of the school year and since then, had completely shut them down. you looked up, hoping to find some sort of emotion in his eyes, but he only looked at the ceiling with a blank expression.
when he made eye contact with you, he smiled softly. “i know it all went by so fast,” jungkook whispered back and kissed your temple.
on graduation day by the swimming pool, you and jungkook met the younger version of yourselves for a conversation.
while the two of you were on time - five minutes early, even - your younger versions were ten minutes late. the younger you trailed behind because you were waiting for jungkook and you would never leave him behind.
upon arrival, she asked you where the nose ring went, the one you got behind your parents’ back when you were sixteen and felt like doing something rebellious amongst their nightly screaming fights. she and the younger jungkook asked you if you won the chase for the kind of freedom that only came with adulthood, where nobody could tell you what to do or who to be. you responded that you were now clawing for the freedom you had at his age, where nothing mattered, and that this was a cycle to never end at all stages of life.
the first thing you told your younger self was to prepare for it and of course, she didn’t listen.
you didn’t mind.
she wore false eyelashes and made a negative remark to you about your dad. you told her that he came today and cheered louder than anyone else in the stands when you crossed the stage for your diploma. her favourite drink was a vodka cranberry and that apart from special occasions, you stopped drinking a while ago. the younger jungkook watched in quiet admiration, while the older one held your hand.
this meeting existed in a strange void, where everything was happening at once and yet, you felt stuck. you knew that if you didn’t fight against it, you’d be stuck in a swirl of memories forever and the last thing you wanted to do was live in them. it was difficult, but jungkook’s voice pulled you out of it.
he watched you stare at the box for what seemed like forever. his patience was evergreen. then, a crease appeared in between his eyebrows and you became confused when he reached out to your face.
you realized he was wiping your tears. when had those fallen? their hot streaks against your cheek felt like sharp glass and suddenly, you were shaking uncontrollably.
“i know,” jungkook murmured, wrapping his strong arms around you and began to rub your back.
you couldn’t find the words. you tried, but only hiccups and wheezes came out of your lips. it was embarrassing, but it was jungkook, so you instead felt comfort in it.
and finally, he let go.
jungkook cried into your shoulder and you cried into his. you didn’t have to hold anything in and he didn’t have to put anyone before himself. more importantly, there was no longer anything to be afraid of. you melted into each other until there wasn’t space between you.
you realized that you’d been holding your breath until jungkook finally broke down. that was when you knew the ending was near. you just didn’t anticipate the ache in your chest when you received the hat box back from him. you stared at the box ever longer than before, tracing what was left of your college years with a delicate finger.
nobody ever really learned how to say goodbye. you could anticipate it and plan it all in your head, but it never worked out the way you imagined in your head. you thought you knew how to let go and you thought you knew what change meant. you held that box to your chest, finally understanding that with goodbyes, there was always something to celebrate.
“i’m the luckiest man in the world to have been able to have this with you,” jungkook murmured, his hand over yours on the top of the hat box.
your voice came out in a stammer until you breathed in deeply, calming yourself. “i love you,” was all you could manage to say at first. “thank you. for being here this whole time.”
"i'm so proud of you, you know," he said, as if he didn't remind you every single day.
except, today, you needed it. you crossed the stage and got your little piece of paper. you made it. today was one of the biggest accomplishments of your life and you didn't feel like celebrating - you felt relief. relief that it was all over. you wondered if that was normal.
"i'm proud of you, too," you responded and it was genuine, but jungkook noticed the look in your eye.
he ran this thumb along your cheek. "you did it. you deserve to feel good about it."
"it was something that i had to do." your tone was dry.
"and it was absolutely brilliant. every single moment of it."
growing up didn’t feel like a privilege anymore, but it was certainly a privilege to do so with jungkook. it was a privilege to fall in love with your best friend. even in this moment, he reminded you of the good you failed to see in yourself, just as he had done over the years. you made it to the very end and had him in your corner every step of the way.
"i think i'm ready now," jungkook said. "to go back."
"you feel okay?"
his smile was crooked. "as okay as i'll ever be. i think i get it now," jungkook paused. "the whole saying goodbye thing. you gotta remember all the happy parts when you do."
as you put the lid on your past, you looked up and met his eyes. it was like you could see the future. a big house, his tattooed arms carrying a baby with your smile and his eyes, a freaking dog and picket fence. you saw walls lined with degrees framing your name and others framing jungkook’s. you saw success and love and it was because you had each other - just like the past four years, you knew the two of you could do it all. the promise ring on your right hand was just the beginning.
you met your friends back to where the ceremony was being held, just in time for jaehyun’s department to begin theirs. nobody asked any questions and the five of you cheered as jaehyun crossed the stage, the last of your group to receive his diploma. then, you all went to stratton hall and posed for a picture - in that embrace with the people you loved, you stopped pushing your emotions away.
the last item added to the box came at the contributions of your friends. five tassels tied together and one red ribbon belonging to yeri wrapped around them all.
“the red thread of fate - it’s supposed to be for lovers, destined to always meet,” she said, beaming at you all. “i’d like to think that it could be for us six, too.”
you don’t ever make friends the way you did when you were in college. somehow, despite your rollercoaster of emotions before the ceremony, you still waited for a grief that never came. that was because it was always there, just deeper down than you could’ve ever suspected. it crawled underneath your skin and sunk further into your bones for every card game throughout those four years. for every study session trickling past midnight and neatly crushed cans of red bull, the grief spread to your blood streams. for every trip playlist and every sunset shared, the grief made a home inside you before you even knew it. it didn’t come knocking on your door on graduation day because you already had long let it in.
life went on, as it always did. you had no choice and you had no control over it. it went on, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t remember. being afraid of what came next after graduation day wasn't important.
because with your hat box tucked underneath your arm as you and your friends looked to the future, those memories would be with you forever. each item inside was a precious remembrance of a special form of love and friendship that came once in a lifetime. the grief didn’t take that away - it only showed how much it mattered.
୨ৎ SUMMARY !! You’re fresh off another breakup, furious at your own body for never responding the way it’s “supposed” to—and even more furious at the sinking fear that something might be wrong with you. When late-night research leads you toward fantasies you’ve never dared to voice, you turn to the one person you trust most: your best friend.
୨ৎ TAGS/WARNINGS !! NSFW, MDNI (18+), the return of what’s-his-face, yoongi and MC get into an argument, vmin cameo, soft launching the japan trip that’s going to span the next several chapters, YOONGI GETS A HAIRCUT, honestly this chapter is like 90% smut but the smut is So Important To The Plot, we’re dealing with this yoongi here btw, punishment (no joke this time), watching porn together, dirty talk, degradation, praise, orgasm denial, face slapping, pussy spanking, hair pulling, fingering, oral (f. receiving), overstimulation, crying during sex, crying AFTER sex, aftercare, lmk if i missed anything (:
୨ৎ WORDCOUNT !! 12.1k
୨ৎ AUTHOR'S NOTE !! HELLO WORLD! this chapter is largely unbeta’d because i was too impatient, so if there are any mistakes forgive me 😭 however, both claret @yoonmetogether and peach @risky-peaches did camp out in the doc at several points watching me write, not to mention they put up with me talking about little else for the past several weeks. thank you guys, and @joonary for being tft!yoongi’s #1 fan (not fucking normal about him)
i know it’s been a long wait for this chapter so i hope it doesn’t disappoint! i can’t wait to hear what all of you think 🫶
chapter 4: acceptance is the key (♬)
Some people are born lucky.
In high school, there was this girl you knew who seemed to have unlimited amounts of it. She got straight A’s without even trying. When teachers pulled names for classroom chores, she always got the easy ones like sweeping or dusting, while you were, more often than not, stuck cleaning toilets. She didn’t even seem capable of having a bad hair day—her luck was that good.
You’ve always wondered what it would be like to live like that. Luck has never been on your side.
You’re no stranger to the humiliation of a humongous zit erupting on your forehead the day before yearbook photos, or your car breaking down the morning of an important job interview. Not to mention the countless instances of locking yourself out of the apartment, or spilling coffee all over yourself five minutes before work, or stepping directly into a puddle in shoes you just bought.
It certainly explains your dating life. Unlucky in love, much like everything else.
And yet, you keep trying.
Your mom has always told you it’s one of your best qualities. Despite the way the universe insists on knocking you down, you never fail to pick yourself back up and keep going.
Even when it hurts. Even when it feels pointless.
Still, these past few weeks have given you a new perspective. You wouldn’t say your luck is turning around, not quite, but you’re starting to feel stupid, dangerous things like hope—at least where your bedroom-related woes are concerned.
Yoongi told you he’d be there for you, that all you needed to do was ask and he’d come running, and you’ve been taking him up on the offer. Often.
Which is to say, you’ve been having many, many, many orgasms. Ridiculous amounts, considering you were batting zero just a month ago.
It’s honestly surreal. You’ve spent so long convinced your body was fundamentally broken that every time Yoongi gets you off still feels nothing short of miraculous. It’s as if whatever weird cosmic curse has haunted your sex life since your late teens disappears entirely.
Which is why getting a text from your ex while you’re still sweaty and out of breath from three consecutive orgasms feels a little laughable. Not necessarily unlucky, but definitely ironic.
hey. found some of your stuff while cleaning. when do you wanna come grab it?
So, Sunday morning, you find yourself in the car, on your way to what’s-his-face’s place.
You honestly wish he would’ve just offered to drop your stuff off while you were at work. It would’ve been the kinder thing to do.
Because now that you’re actually in Yoongi’s passenger seat and your ex’s street is getting closer and closer, your stomach feels like it’s full of wet cement.
“You can still back out,” Yoongi reminds you as he pulls up to a red light.
“No, I can’t.”
“You literally can. Watch.” He breaks his 10-and-2 to gesture at the road ahead of him. “I’ll just keep driving.”
Your hands twist nervously in your lap. You recognize what he’s trying to do, and normally, it’d work. At the very least, it would get a laugh out of you. You’re just not feeling it.
“No, I want my stuff back,” you say quietly. “It’s okay.”
Yoongi glances at you from the corner of his eye. You can practically see him weighing whether to keep pushing or leave it alone.
Thankfully, he chooses the second option.
“Okay,” he says simply. The light turns green, and the car rolls forward.
When he finally parks on the street outside the building, you don’t make any immediate move to get out of the car. You just stare out the window with dread usually reserved for dentist appointments and funerals of distant relatives.
A few months ago, you came here excited. Nervous in a good way. Hopeful. Now the building just looks cold.
You can see the window of his apartment from here, curtains half drawn. A succulent you bought together used to sit on the sill, but it isn’t there anymore. Which means you can probably expect to have it in your hands in a few minutes.
“You want me to come up?” Yoongi asks softly, breaking you out of your thoughts.
Ha. Again, you appreciate the thought, but that would probably only make things worse.
You shake your head, reaching to open the passenger door. “No. I’ll be quick, okay?”
“I’ll be here,” he says.
You step out onto the sidewalk before you can change your mind, the car door closing behind you with a muted thump.
You walk inside, past the mailboxes, up the familiar flight of stairs because waiting for the elevator feels unbearable. Each step gives your brain another opportunity to reconsider, but you don't take it.
By the time you reach his floor, your palms are damp.
You stop outside his door and stare at it for a moment. Breathe once. Twice. Then you lift your hand and knock.
You’re greeted with your ex’s face less than a minute later.
For one awful second, your body reacts on instinct. A familiar face, familiar apartment smell drifting through the crack in the doorway, familiar posture leaning against the frame. Muscle memory tries to kick in before your brain catches up, and suddenly you’re vividly aware of how many evenings you spent standing exactly here kissing him hello.
The feeling dies almost immediately, because he looks as uncomfortable as you feel.
At least the suffering is mutual.
“Hey,” he says awkwardly.
“Hey.”
The interaction itself is painfully polite. Almost sterile.
He already packed everything into a cardboard box for you. A couple t-shirts. Your toothbrush from his bathroom. Some skincare products you forgot about. Movie tickets. Tiny remnants of a relationship reduced to clutter.
“How’ve you been?” he asks, once the hand-off is complete.
Ugh. You hate this.
“Fine,” you say, adjusting your grip on the box. “You?”
“Good,” he says.
You nod. He nods. Nobody says anything.
It's almost impressive.
This is someone you once spent entire weekends with. Someone you told stupid stories to at two in the morning. Someone who knew how you took your coffee and which side of the bed you preferred.
Now neither of you can sustain a conversation for more than thirty seconds. Funny how that works.
Your ex shifts awkwardly. "So..."
"So."
“I guess that's everything.”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry it took so long to get it together.”
“It's fine.”
More silence. Then he rubs the back of his neck.
“Well,” he says. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
“You too,” you say softly. Then you turn around and leave.
When you make it back to the car, you don’t say anything. You just buckle your seatbelt, cardboard box balanced on your knees.
“You okay?” Yoongi asks as he pulls back onto the road.
Good question.
You haven’t thought about your ex much since he dumped you. You weren’t with him for long, sure, but historically, you love to dwell. To pick apart every event that led up to the end, to catalogue all of your missteps so you don’t make them again.
You haven’t had much time for any of that, with how quickly you fell into bed with your best friend.
Should you feel guilty for that? Maybe so. You don’t, not really, but you’re definitely feeling something. It’s weird, staring down at a neatly packed box of all of your memories with someone, no matter how long the relationship lasted, and knowing you’re the reason it ended. That it’s your fault you’re in this position.
What’s-his-face is a nice guy. He liked you. He tried with you.
And you failed, again. You couldn’t be what he wanted.
“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “That sucked.”
Yoongi hums sympathetically. “Screw that guy,” he says. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”
You huff. It’s a nice sentiment, but it doesn’t really work in this case. You couldn’t screw that guy, and that was exactly the issue. He knows what he's missing and he’s perfectly fine not having it.
“He’s a nice guy, Yoongi,” you mumble, smoothing your hands over the box in your lap. “I was the problem. I always am.”
“Hey,” Yoongi says softly. “You’ve gotta stop talking about yourself like that.”
You turn your head towards him. “It’s true, though.”
“It isn’t.”
“Yoongi,” you say tiredly. “Come on. Think of all of the partners of mine you’ve met. You know I’ve never broken up with any of them? I’m always the one who gets broken up with. You seriously think that’s just a coincidence? Because I don’t.”
“I seriously think you just haven’t dated the right person.”
“How many more people do I have to date?” you snap. “It feels like I’ve been dumped by the entire population of Seoul! And I don’t blame any of them, Yoongi! Would you want to date someone who can’t fucking cum? I don’t blame them, because it’s probably insulting.”
Ugly as they may be, the words rush out of you with no hope of stopping them. A dam finally broken by years of erosion. Of heartbreak and frustration and too much time spent feeling horribly, disgustingly inadequate. Defective, like you told Yoongi before. Broken from the start.
Yoongi goes quiet. You suck in a shaky breath and, head in your hands, try to pull yourself together.
You didn’t mean to snap at him, but you’re just so tired of it all. You can only take so much of the whole ‘there are plenty of other fish in the sea’ thing. You get enough of it from your mom, from Jimin and Taehyung and Hoseok, from your fucking exes themselves sometimes. You don’t want Yoongi to bullshit you, too. Not when, for your entire life, he’s been the one person you can trust to be honest with you, no matter what.
“But you can,” he mumbles.
You lift your head. “What?”
“You can cum.”
Oh.
You don’t know how to respond to that. There’s no nice way to say ‘yeah, but practicing with you is different from the real thing’ without sounding like an asshole—not that you think Yoongi would care.
“Look, can we just go home?” you ask instead. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
Yoongi glances at you out of the corner of his eye for a moment, then sighs and redirects his attention to the road. “Okay.”
୨ৎ
When you get back to the apartment, you can tell the conversation isn’t actually over.
You both slip off your shoes in silence. Silence that continues as Yoongi sheds his jacket and hangs up his keys and you find somewhere to stow the box you came home with. But he’s being twitchy, and you can tell he wants to say something more.
It’s driving you crazy.
You shove the box in the corner of the living room to deal with later and whirl around to face him, annoyed.
“Whatever you’re thinking, just say it.”
Yoongi, who’s in the middle of adjusting the Dodgers cap on his head, freezes at the threshold of the living room, caught.
“Who said I was thinking anything?”
“We’ve known each other for how long?”
“You said you didn’t want to talk about it,” he hesitates, which just annoys you even more.
“And now I’m saying spit it the fuck out,” you snap.
Yoongi’s been on the receiving end of your stubborn streak more times than he can count, so you know he knows better than to fight you on this.
He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face as his feet guide him a little further into the room. You can practically hear the gears turning in his head as he gathers his thoughts, clearly trying to choose his words carefully before they come out of his mouth.
Normally, you’d appreciate it, but right now it sets your teeth on edge.
“Look,” he starts after a moment, “it just pisses me off that you keep talking like there’s something, like, fundamentally wrong with you.”
You cross your arms defensively. “Well, up until about a month ago, I thought there was.”
“But there isn’t!” he says, gesturing wildly. “There’s nothing wrong with you! I mean, fuck, how many times do I need to make you cum before I finally get through to you?”
Oh, this really does piss him off.
You scoff. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“You want me to?”
“Yes!”
“Fine. Your ex was a fucking loser.”
Wow.
You’re so stunned that you visibly back down, arms dropping limply at your sides. You didn’t exactly have a quippy response locked and loaded for that one.
Yoongi keeps going.
“You keep saying he was a nice guy,” he continues, “but nice guys don’t break up with their girlfriends over shit like that. Did he even try to talk to you about it before he decided making you cum wasn’t worth his effort? Did any of them?”
The bluntness of his words hit like a slap, forcing your eyes down to the floor where you’re suddenly very interested in your sock choice of the day.
Turquoise with yellow stars, and there’s a tear you didn’t notice in the heel of the left one. You can try to mend it, you think, but it would be so much easier to retire them entirely.
Hm.
“I hate the way you talk about your exes. Like they’re fucking saints for deigning to touch you or something. Because you’re so hard to figure out, right? You’re not.”
You look up from studying the hole in your sock.
“You’re not hard to figure out,” he reiterates, stepping closer. “It only took me a few minutes, didn’t it?”
Something about the way he says that makes your face instantly hot. How, how, how does he sound so sure of himself? Of you?
It’s baffling, maddening, completely unbelievable that he can think of this as anything other than a fluke. A product of sheer luck (his, not yours), or experience (again, his).
“Because I told you what I was into,” you try to reason.
“You really think I wouldn’t have figured it out anyway?”
“You’ve known me my entire life! Don’t act like you don’t have an advantage here.”
“No, I listened to you,” he says, jabbing his index finger at his own chest, repeating, “I listened to you. I paid attention. It isn’t rocket science.”
Your brow furrows. Suddenly, it feels like you’re talking about something else entirely.
“I’m sorry, when did this become a competition between you and my exes?”
“It didn’t! It isn’t!” he insists. He’s pacing now, feet mapping the same semi-circle over and over. “I’m just sick of you talking about your past relationships like you were somehow the only one at fault for the way they ended. I don’t like seeing you punishing yourself for other people’s shitty behavior.”
You laugh humorlessly. “Because you’re the only one who’s supposed to be punishing me, right?”
At that, Yoongi stills. Looks you dead in the eye.
“You know,” he says, his voice suddenly dangerously low, “maybe I should.”
You blink, eyes widening like a deer caught in the headlights. Or maybe, more accurately, caught in the crosshairs.
Oh.
“You aren’t serious,” you say weakly, because you were fucking joking. Or, at least, you think you were joking.
But the look on his face tells you he doesn’t think shit is funny.
“I could be,” he says. “Maybe you fucking need it.”
Oh.
“What are you gonna do?” you weakly taunt. “Make me cum until I stop talking badly about myself?”
Yoongi tilts his head in consideration.
“That’s an idea,” he admits. “But not quite what I have in mind.”
“No? Then what? You gonna spank me?”
Amusement flashes over his features, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek to poorly mask a smirk.
“Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “You’d like that too much, I think. Defeats the purpose.”
That just pisses you off even more.
“Well, are you planning on telling me anytime soon? Or are you just gonna keep me in suspense?”
“I’m kind of enjoying letting you run your mouth.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“See?”
You glare at him and he just stares back, so maddeningly calm that you’re the first to break, looking back down at your stupid socks.
You don’t know how he can even be so calm, how his head isn’t spinning like yours is. Only seconds ago, you were arguing. Something you and Yoongi don’t do that often to begin with. And then you opened a door, a door you didn’t even intend to open, a door that leads to… fuck.
Sexy landmines everywhere.
You’re not super upset about it, not really, but it’s a little pathetic, isn’t it? You shouldn’t fold this easily. You should have some dignity.
“Who says I even want to do anything?” you mutter after a moment, because it’s the last line of defense you have.
Yoongi doesn’t say anything for so long that you honestly think he’s going to back off.
It would make sense. He’s a boundaries guy, he’s made that clear. And this is unfamiliar territory for you. Light reprimand for talking back or teasing during a scene is one thing, but what he’s suggesting? Full-scale punishment?
Maybe he’s decided you’re out of your depth.
“Say it, then.”
At the sound of his voice, you lift your head, brows drawn together.
“What?”
Yoongi shrugs. “Tell me you don’t want it. This all happens on your terms, remember? I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want me to.”
His gaze drags over your face for a moment, studying you. You’re sure there are a million tells in your expression, clear as day for him to catalogue, but you have no idea what they are. You wish you knew. You wish it were easier for you to hide how much you want him.
“But I think you do,” he adds.
You lick your lips. “What makes you think that?”
He closes the distance between you, and you barely fight off your urge to back yourself against the wall.
On a normal day, Yoongi is about as threatening as a newborn kitten, poor eyesight and all. But whenever he gets like this, you feel your heartbeat in your throat. You feel like the defenseless animal.
You don’t know what it says about you, that you like it so much.
“You mean other than you giving me suggestions on how I should punish you?”
He cups your jaw, littlest finger pressed firm against your carotid. You wonder if he can feel your blood rushing.
“Very cute, by the way,” he murmurs, voice so low it practically vibrates through you. “You think I need suggestions?”
Fuck.
Your eyelids flutter. You can feel yourself slipping, your body swaying into his. Whatever magnetic pull exists between you in this moment is so much stronger than the weak dregs of defiance you pathetically try to scrape together.
“Shut up,” you breathe.
“Nuh-uh.” A light squeeze to your jaw draws your eyes to his again. “Do you want it or not?”
Your throat feels so dry. “I…” you start, but nothing else comes out.
“That’s funny,” he teases. “You seemed perfectly capable of using your words a minute ago.”
Your lips flatten into a line at his condescending tone, but you’re getting wet. You can feel it, and you like it, because you’re a sicko.
“C’mon, baby,” he coaxes. “Yes or no?”
“Fine,” you grit out. “Yes.”
Yoongi clicks his tongue. “I think you can be a little nicer than that, can’t you?”
You stare at him, slackjawed.
“You want me to say please?” you ask. “Seriously? You want me to plead with you to punish me?”
“I think the practice will do you some good,” he says with an infuriating shrug.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I just have a feeling you’re going to be saying it a lot in about…” he trails off, checking his non-existent watch, “five minutes?”
Asshole.
Complete fucking asshole.
But you did, quite literally, sign up for this. You can’t deny that you’re more than a little curious about what he’s got in store for you, although the circumstances of the whole thing are a bit strange.
“Please,” you bite out through clenched teeth. “Will you please punish me?”
Yoongi looks so pleased with himself.
“Of course, baby,” he replies smoothly. “If that’s what you think you need.”
“I hate you.”
“Uh-huh, sure. Is your laptop in your bedroom?”
This conversation is just throwing you for a loop at every turn. You blink hard, shaking your head in confusion when you ask, “yeah, why?”
He nods his head towards the hallway. “Let’s go.”
And then suddenly you’re faced with his broad back through the fabric of his worn Supreme tee as he retreats down the hallway, just innately expecting you to follow.
Which you do.
Once inside, you tentatively grab your laptop from your desk and set it at the foot of your bed, although you still aren’t sure why you need it in the first place. The look Yoongi gives you, eyebrows raised as if to says, ‘well?’, prompts you to bend at the waist and open it up, but when the screen wakes and prompts you to type in your password, you glance at him over your shoulder.
“Is the laptop part of the punishment?” you joke. “Are you gonna smash it or something to teach me a lesson? It was expensive, you know.”
Yoongi snorts. “Are you gonna be a brat the whole time?” he counters. “You know you’re just making things worse for yourself, right?”
“I’m just making sure,” you defend with a smirk.
“Your laptop will be fine. C’mere.”
He gently grabs your wrist and pulls you to turn around and face him. Strong hands move to your hips, thumbs rubbing little circles just above the waistband of your sweatpants.
“You understand what’s about to happen?” Yoongi murmurs.
You have the urge to continue being a brat and prolong this just to annoy him, but your curiosity wins out. You want to know what he’s planning.
Plus, if you had to guess, this is probably the last time he’s gonna be nice for a while. So you decide to soak it in and not piss him off any more than you already have.
“You’re gonna punish me for talking badly about myself,” you say.
“Uh-huh. But I need you to know just because it’s a punishment doesn’t mean you can’t say no,” he reminds you. “You’ve still got your safewords. You can use them at any time and everything will stop. Understand?”
You nod.
“Words.”
“I understand,” you say.
“Good girl,” he says. He grips the brim of his cap and pulls it off, running his fingers through dark locks before putting it back on, backwards this time. Then, he grabs your wrist. “Come here.”
He pulls you closer and you follow willingly until your body is flush with his. Your arms instinctively wind around his neck, and he leans down to kiss you.
Doesn’t feel like much of a punishment, but you aren’t complaining. Yoongi is a great kisser. Maybe the best you’ve ever had. It doesn’t matter if it’s slow and lush, like this one, or if it’s heated and frantic. You feel it all the way down to your toes every single time, without fail.
By the time he pulls away, his hands spread over the small of your back, you’re already breathless. His forehead presses against yours for just a moment, and then he takes a step back.
“Remember when you told me about the research you were doing? On BDSM?” he asks suddenly.
You nod, although your brow creases in obvious confusion.
Haven’t you already covered this? You don’t see why it would come up again. Is he planning on punishing you by making you talk shit to death again? Because honestly, that’d be pretty evil on his part.
“Why?” you ask.
“Well, you told me a little about the sites you signed up for. Articles. Shit like that.”
“Yeah…” you say, waiting for the point.
“And, okay, I guess it wouldn’t be totally out of character for a Wikipedia rabbithole to turn you on,” he jokes. “But I have a feeling you were leaving some stuff out. Call it a hunch.”
Oh no.
Ohhhhh no, you have a feeling you know where he’s going with this.
Warily, you ask, “what… what kind of stuff?”
Yoongi crosses his arms over his chest, his shirt stretching over the lean muscle hidden beneath. You try (and fail) not to stare.
“You tell me,” he says.
“I have no idea.” You’re a lying liar who lies.
“No?” he asks. “So you didn’t, say… watch any videos, during your research?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck, ABORT MISSION! IS THIS WHY HE ASKED ABOUT YOUR LAPTOP???
“Like… like porn?” you stutter.
Yoongi’s lips twitch. “Yeah. Like porn.”
Dread. Dread is what you’re feeling. Pure, unadulterated, put-your-heart-in-your-ass dread.
“I mean… I might’ve watched one…? But what does that have to do with anything?”
“Maybe I want to see it.”
FUUUUUUUUCK!!!
You laugh nervously, heat creeping up your neck. “Yoongi, no.”
“Why not? Are you embarrassed?”
Yes. “I mean… I probably wouldn’t even be able to find it,” you lie. Again.
You’ve watched it countless times since that first night. The title is pretty much seared into your eyelids at this point.
Yoongi clicks his tongue. “You’re a shitty liar. If you’re embarrassed, you can just tell me.”
You groan, annoyed. “Fine! I’m embarrassed.”
“Enough to use your safeword?”
Your lips part in sheer disbelief.
Shit, he’s really on a roll tonight, isn’t he? You have no way of predicting what’s going to come out of his mouth next.
“I… no?” you finally manage.
Yoongi nods his head towards your laptop. “Prove it, then.”
Walking back over to your bed literally feels like walking the plank. You still don’t know what he’s planning, but whatever it is, you know it hasn’t even started yet. And you already hate every second.
You’re also soaking your underwear, but whatever! Whatever.
You bend down to finally unlock the screen fiddle with the trackpad as you pull up your browser (in an incognito tab, because you aren’t an animal). Meanwhile, Yoongi cages you in from behind, one hand braced on the mattress next to yours, while the other slides under your shirt to grope at your tits.
You try to type in the URL, and you get more than halfway through with immense effort, but your breathing picks up when he starts to tweak at your nipples, rolling the buds between his fingers. He kisses the back of your neck, openmouthed, and your thighs squeeze as another gush of arousal seeps into your panties.
“Focus,” he murmurs, and oh, you hadn’t even realized your eyes had closed.
He probably thinks you’re deliberately trying to prolong things, and if you had all of your brain power right now, maybe you would be. But you’re not.
He’s just so…
You swallow hard, staring at the cursor blinking in the search bar as you fight for some composure.
“Sorry,” you breathe, and poise your hands to type again.
After a bit more effort, the garish site fills your laptop screen. Shame swirls in your gut as you locate the video, mingling with the pleasure-pain of him playing with your tits. You feel exposed, in more ways than one.
“There.”
Yoongi doesn’t even react. He just glances over your shoulder and asks, “want me to tell you what your punishment is?”
“Please,” you pant.
He chuckles at how easily you say it as he gives your aching nipples a break to slip a hand beneath the waistband of your sweats.
“You and I are gonna watch this video together…” He cups your pussy with his entire palm. It’s torture forcing yourself not to immediately grind down into the heat and pressure of it. “...While I play with this sweet cunt.”
“That’s it?” you ask breathlessly, turning your head to look at him over your shoulder. “That doesn’t sound like a punishment…”
Yoongi takes advantage of the position to capture your lips in a quick kiss. “I haven’t told you the rules yet,” he murmurs.
You swallow, already dizzy. “What are they?”
Yoongi uses his free hand to cradle your cheek, kissing you again, this time with tongue. You know it’s probably a distraction, something to disarm you, but you don’t care. It’s working. He’s touching you, he’s kissing you, and you can’t get enough.
His hand moves from under your sweatpants and you whine at the loss, but then he’s turning you in his hold and kissing you deeper.
You only break apart so he can shove your shirt up and over your head until you’re bare from the waist up. Your sweatpants go next, along with your panties, pushed roughly down your legs until they’re tangled at your feet. He’s still licking into your mouth as he helps you step out of them, until all that’s left is your star-patterned socks. You take those off yourself.
When he finally completely pulls back, you’re naked in front of him. His hand slips between your legs, fingers parting your folds and gathering wetness, sliding up to circle your clit. Your knees practically turn into jelly.
“Ah, fuck—”
“Feels good, baby?” he rasps, hooking his free arm around your waist to keep you upright.
“Mhmmm…”
“You’ve gotta tell me when you’re close, okay? That’s your first rule.”
“A-ah, yeah,” you breathe, nodding enthusiastically. If he keeps doing that, it isn’t going to take long at all. “I’ll tell you.”
“Yeah?” His motions speed up enough to make your thighs shake from the force of it. “Gonna be good for me?”
“Yes!” You moan helplessly, pressing your face into the fabric of his shirt to dampen the sound.
“Promise?”
“Yes, fuck, I promise!”
“Good. ‘Cause your second rule is that you aren’t allowed to cum. Not until I say so.”
Eyes wide, your head jerks back so fast you swear you hear your neck crack. “What?”
Yoongi doesn’t even falter. “You heard me.”
Oh, FUCK. That’s the punishment, then?
A month ago, it would’ve made you laugh. In your mind, reaching orgasm wasn’t even in the cards, so the idea of holding one back? Unheard of. But you had a taste of it the night of the gala—when he almost made you cum just from playing with your nipples—and the memory is more than enough to know this is going to be fucking torture.
God, he’s good.
“Clearly making you cum whenever you want isn’t getting through to you,” he explains. “So maybe if I make you work for it, you’ll understand.”
“No, no, please,” you whine immediately, because he’s still rubbing your clit with terrifying precision and you’re already getting close enough that the threat feels real.
“This is the nice version, baby,” he coos, nipping at your neck. “Trust me, if you decide to break my rules and cum anyway, you’ll be getting a lot worse than that.”
Your stomach drops at the thought. You believe him. This is evil mastermind level punishment, so you don’t even want to know what his mind deems as worse.
“Are you gonna break my rules?”
“No,” you pant quickly. “I won’t.” And because you’re trying to prove it, you will yourself to admit, “I’m close.”
“That’s my good girl.” And then he pulls his hand away completely.
You make a broken sound at the loss, while Yoongi simply climbs onto the bed, settling back against the headboard with his legs spread comfortably.
“Sit,” he says, patting the space between his thighs.
You scramble onto the mattress immediately. The second you’re close enough, he pulls you against his chest so your body rests between his spread legs, the bare skin of your back pressed against the soft fabric of his shirt. Him fully clothed where you’re completely bare. You’re figuring out he likes it like that.
He reaches around you to drag your laptop closer.
“Show me,” he says, grabbing your hand and guiding it to the trackpad. Making you press play yourself.
Your body feels rigid as the familiar frames play out in front of you, the low voice of the dom filling your ears as the camera adjusts. Yoongi watching over your shoulder like this makes you so much more aware.
Fuck, now that you’re paying attention, this guy’s timbre is kind of similar to Yoongi’s…
And then the sub appears, bound to the headboard by her wrists, thighs forcibly held open by a spreader bar. There’s a needy, dazed look in her eyes as she squirms just at the idea of being used.
It bothers you that you can’t see Yoongi’s face. That you can’t tell whether he’s judging you.
You snap out of it when Yoongi’s hands ease your thighs apart. You hadn’t even noticed you’d closed them, probably unconsciously did so out of embarrassment.
“Shy?”
“No,” you lie.
“Good,” he says, and then repositions you so your legs are draped over his spread thighs, making it that much harder for you to close them again. He gestures towards the screen, at the spreader bar locked around the woman’s calves. “‘Cause I’ll get you one of those if I have to.”
Your pussy clenches greedily at the thought.
“You’re telling me you don’t have one already?” you ask.
You know if you keep mouthing off you’re bound to face consequences, but you can’t help taking such an easy shot. Plus, you’re genuinely curious.
Yoongi hums. “I prefer using my hands.”
OH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
His hand dips between your thighs, fingers lightly trailing over your slit. You twitch at the contact, releasing a surprised puff of air.
“Relax,” he murmurs against the back of your neck.
How are you supposed to be anything other than tense in this situation? Humiliated, hopelessly turned on, actively being punished—that is not a recipe for relaxation!
Still, you don’t talk back this time. You try to do as he says, even though every inch of your skin feels as if it’s on fire.
You lean back into the cradle of his body, inhaling deeply through your nose. Exhaling slowly. Allowing yourself to finally melt just the tiniest bit when Yoongi’s fingers gently relocate your throbbing clit.
“Good girl,” he coos. “Remember your rules?”
You nod. “Mhm.”
“Gonna add another one,” he tells you. The hand not currently teasing you into madness snakes up between your breasts until he’s got a firm hold on your face, squishing your cheeks. He directs your attention back to your laptop screen. “You’ve gotta actually watch.”
Shit.
Right then, the man’s hand moves from the woman’s throat, rearing back to deliver a light slap to her cheek. A shiver runs down your spine. It’s exactly what you asked—begged—Yoongi to do to you the first time you were together, and now he knows where you got it from.
As if he can read your thoughts, the hand holding your face moves to gently pat your cheek, mimicking what you just watched. You gasp.
“Like that?”
Fucking obviously, you think. He knows that. But you bite it back, giving a jerky nod instead. The woman on your screen, much more courageous than you, begs to be fucked.
In response, the man delivers another slap, this time to her pussy. Yoongi’s hand on yours stops cold, and you go rigid all over again.
“Like that, too?” he asks.
Your lips part, but nothing comes out.
“Color?”
“Green,” you rush out.
“Answer me, then.”
You squirm in his hold, eyes still fixed on the screen. The dom has his cock out now, one hand wrapped around the base as he teases the tip up and down his sub’s cunt, drawing pathetic whines from her throat. She’s spread open so wide you can see the way her hole clenches and unclenches in anticipation.
“I think I do,” you admit shakily. “I don’t know.”
Yoongi hums, seemingly satisfied if the way his fingers continue their gentle rubbing is anything to go by.
“Wanna find out?” he asks breezily.
You force yourself to set your shame aside, because yes. Yes, you want to find out. That’s what all of this is for, right? So you can try these things with someone you trust? So you nod.
Yoongi taps your cheek again, harder this time. “Use your words.”
“Yes,” you pant. “I want to find out.”
“Mm.” The couple on your screen is fucking now, you notice. Hard not to, with the way the woman is wailing in pleasure. In relief. “Say ‘please spank my needy cunt, Yoongi.’”
Oh holy fuck!!!
Is he serious? He can’t be serious, right?
“Yoongi,” you whine, wiggling your hips in an attempt to increase the friction on your clit and evade his request all at once.
“No,” he reprimands, swatting your cheek a third time. This one stings enough to make you moan. “Say it, baby.”
God, he’s cruel. You can’t believe he’s really making you say this shit, and you’re just!!! You like it! You like how it’s making you feel!
“Please…” You swallow thickly. “Please spank my needy cunt, Yoongi…”
You feel Yoongi’s amused huff against your nape. “Cute,” he mocks. “You’re trying so hard to be good, aren’t you? You must really want it.”
There are so many things you want to say, but you can’t bring yourself to. Instead, meekly, you ask, “are you gonna…?”
“Spank your needy cunt?” Yoongi finishes smugly. All you can manage is a nod in response. “I’ll think about it.”
Record scratch.
“But—”
Whatever pathetic plea was bound to come out of your mouth is cut short when Yoongi’s hand dips lower, a single finger breaching your folds.
His laugh is fuller this time, throaty. “Shit, you’re squeezing me so tight, baby,” he rasps, dragging his finger all the way out just to thrust it back in so deep your eyes roll back into your head. “Does it feel that good?”
You’re so wet you can hear it, even over the sounds emanating from your tinny laptop speakers. Skin slapping. Ragged breaths. Their sex mixing with yours, completely at odds with one another. Yoongi is moving so slowly in comparison, dragging things out just to torture you. Punish you.
“Yes,” you pant, but you can’t help but squirm. You want more.
And thank god Yoongi has apparently been gifted the ability to read your fucking mind, because before you can even ask, another finger plunges in alongside the first.
The angle is a little weird to start, the added intrusion throwing things off. But then you adjust your thighs, spreading them even wider where they’re hooked over his, tilting your hips up just a bit, and suddenly it’s perfect.
“Fuck,” you moan, your eyes squeezing shut. Your head falls back against Yoongi’s shoulder, and the hand holding your face adjusts to rest lightly at your throat instead. “Please don’t stop.”
You feel his hum reverberate against your back, deep in his chest. He doubles his efforts, fingers fucking you a little faster in response, his shallow breaths tickling your ear and mixing with the slick sounds in the air. The hand at your throat squeezes, just a little. You don’t know if it’s purposeful, but it makes you moan all the same.
He’s too good at this. He’s right, it only took him a few minutes to figure you out. If there were some kind of competition to be won, he’d win it by a landslide. It wouldn’t even come close.
Because now that you think about it, nothing you and Yoongi have done together has been too crazy, too far outside of the realm of what you’ve done with others. You’ve barely even scratched the surface of his scary-exhaustive list of Deviant Sexual Acts. You haven’t needed them.
He’s capable of getting so much out of you from so little. You guess you have his slut era to thank for that—which was, apparently, also the era where he learned how to fucking talk like he does. In that way that makes all the hair on your body stand up.
You have to give credit where credit is due.
You feel like you’re burning up. Your muscles spasm as Yoongi’s fingers curl and rub at your inner walls, and when his thumb joins the mix to stimulate your clit in tandem, you realize with dread that you’re about to cum.
It’s kind of funny. You told him not to stop, and now you have to tell him the opposite.
Chest heaving, you moan, “think I’m gonna…”
You hope that’s enough for him. You don’t really want to say anything at all.
In response, Yoongi—the bastard—has the audacity to laugh at you, breath puffing against the back of your neck. “Yeah, I could tell.”
The pumping of his fingers slows, and your orgasm slowly recedes. Which is enough to make you whine on its own, but it certainly doesn’t help that now that he’s worked you up so much, you’re unbelievably sensitive. Even the languid pace he’s set now is enough to have you squirming in his hold.
“Still good?” he asks.
“I kind of want to kill you.”
He laughs again. “Mm. Are you tapping out?”
You stretch your neck awkwardly to give him a flat look. “Are you gonna let me cum anytime soon?” you counter.
“If I feel like you’ve learned your lesson, maybe.”
If he thinks you’re going to unlearn literal years of psychological bullshit just by denying you a few orgasms, he’s got another thing coming. It isn’t that easy.
Still, you’re no quitter.
“I’m not tapping out,” you sigh. “I’m actively fantasizing about smothering you with a pillow, but I’m not tapping out.”
“Whatever works for you.”
You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” you say. “Green, go, get on with it.”
“Don’t be like that,” Yoongi murmurs, and you absolutely intend to continue being like that, but his lips find the side of your neck before you can, tongue laving over your pulse as his fingers continue to lazily pump in and out of you. Instinctively, you tilt your head to give him better access. “I’m doing this for a reason, baby. I’m not being mean just to be mean.”
His reason is stupid. He’s stupid.
“Your reason is stupid,” you mumble, although it’s half-hearted. Logic isn’t really on your side here. Everything feels so nice.
“I don’t think so. You’re already proving my point, aren’t you?”
The hand at your throat slides down to grope at your chest, squeezing each breast once before settling in to tease his thumb over one of your nipples, still stiff and sensitive from earlier.
You moan, hips wiggling to coax his fingers deeper, and Yoongi lets out a groan that sounds almost pained as he obligingly picks up the pace. You haven’t been able to see any of his reactions this whole time, forced to face away from him, so the audible evidence that he’s affected by this too—maybe just as much as you are—turns you on even more.
“You think something’s wrong with you?” he rasps, nipping at the shell of your ear and causing you to shiver. “‘Cause it doesn’t seem like it from where I’m sitting.”
You moan, preening openly at the praise.
“How could anything ever be wrong with you? Shit, I wish you could see yourself, baby. So pretty. So fucking perfect for me.”
All over again, you’re so wound up you’re about to cum. He says things with such certainty it makes it damn near impossible to doubt him, and the idea that he sees you like that? That he thinks you’re perfect like this? It’s a good thing your eyes are closed, because if you were to open them and make eye contact with him in any way, you’d be a goner.
“Yoongi, I—”
“I know, I know,” he soothes, clearly taking pity on you this time. But unfortunately for you, this time he backs off completely, withdrawing his fingers from your aching cunt. You can’t stand it.
“Please,” you beg, eyes wide as your neck strains to look behind you. “Please, please, please let me, I can’t—”
Yoongi shushes you, the tip of his nose brushing your temple. “Just a few more, yeah?” he says, pressing a kiss there. “You’re doing so good for me. You can take a little more.”
You don’t see how that could possibly be true, but it’s not like you have much of a choice. So, weakly, you nod your consent for him to keep going.
“You sure it’s okay?” he asks softly.
“Yeah,” you breathe, swallowing hard. “Green, just… mm, please touch me, Yoongi…”
“Fuck,” Yoongi grunts, shifting behind you and immediately snapping your attention to the thick press of his cock against your lower back. Fuck indeed. You’re going insane. “Think you can take it if I get a little rough?”
“Yes,” you whoosh out instantly, uncaring of how needy you sound. Suddenly, you don’t have it in you to be embarrassed anymore. “I can take it, I promise.”
He makes a low sound in his throat, and then, sudden enough to make you cry out, he grabs a fistful of your hair and roughly forces your gaze back to your laptop screen.
“Fuck—!”
“Remember what I told you to do?”
You can barely think, let alone speak! Three denied orgasms, and now he’s switching up on you so fucking fast, like it’s as easy as breathing for him. You whimper and blink hard as you grasp at straws for any coherent thought.
“A-ah, um, you,” you gasp, licking your dry lips, “y-you told me to watch!”
“Were you watching?” he demands.
“Yes! I-I, fuck, I was trying—”
“Then try harder this time,” he says, and then he splits you open on his fingers again.
“Ah—!”
You don’t even try to bite back your sounds—it would be useless. Up until now, Yoongi has been relatively gentle. Coaxing. Teasing. Now, the pace he sets is cruel.
“Oh my god, Yoongi—”
Your hands fly to grip his forearm just for something to hold on to. If your body wasn’t so securely cradled in his, you’re sure you’d be careening off the mattress.
“Shit, I fuckin’ love when you say my name like that,” Yoongi groans, but even as he praises you, his grip at your scalp tightens. “Watch, baby.”
Fuck, right, you’re supposed to be doing something. Somehow, you just barely manage to keep your eyes open, your bleary vision fixed on the filthy scene playing out in front of you.
For someone who has probably never seen this video, Yoongi’s timing is sick. Because when your eyes finally focus, you’re greeted with the sight of the dom pulling out to stroke his cock fast and hard while his sub lays beneath him, still shaking with the tremors of her orgasm. You swallow hard when a throaty moan sounds from the speakers, thick spurts of cum landing all over the sub’s stomach and cunt.
Yoongi’s fingers falter just slightly, and behind you, his dick twitches hard against the small of your back.
Oh.
The overworked gears in your brain stutter back to life all at once, and suddenly, you’re overwhelmed at the thought of being fucked. Of Yoongi fucking you. This isn’t the first time the thought has crossed your mind in recent memory, but it’s certainly the first time you’ve felt this desperate for it.
You can imagine it so clearly. Yoongi flipping you over and fucking you hard, giving it to you so good you can’t help but scream into the mattress just like the girl in the video. Pulling out and marking you with his cum, maybe on your back, or your stomach, or your tits, or your face. Maybe he wouldn’t pull out at all. Maybe with his last thrust, he’d press his hips even harder into your ass to get as deep as possible.
You’re so caught up in the fantasy—mouth hanging open on a moan, eyes heavy-lidded, practically drooling—that you don’t register your screen going black. You don’t register the grip on your hair disappearing. You don’t register anything at all except the pleasure sparking hot in your stomach, spreading like wildfire through every limb in your body as Yoongi pounds you closer and closer to—
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
The fingers stuffing you full withdraw so fast it sends you reeling, and before you can even ask why, Yoongi’s full palm comes down hard on your aching pussy.
“Ohhh!” you wail, clit throbbing.
“Filthy slut,” Yoongi spits. “You think you can get away with breaking the rules now?”
You blink hard, tears pricking at your eyes. What? What is he talking about? “I-I… I don’t…”
His knuckles graze the side of your face, the fleeting gentleness tethering you back to reality for a moment. “Color, baby,” he says softly.
Your chest heaves as you gulp a big breath, turning your head to look back at him. There’s a crease between his brows, but it’s in concern, not anger. Like he’s nervous he took it too far.
Your Yoongi.
“Green,” you whisper.
You want to say more. You want to tell him how much you liked it, how much you want him to do it again. But you can’t find the words, so you silently hope that’s enough.
Yoongi lightly traces your cheekbone with his thumb. “Want a breather?”
You shake your head. “I’m okay, just…” You crane your neck a little more, tilting your head towards him in what you hope is a clear request for a kiss.
Thankfully, Yoongi gets the hint, dipping down to gently press his lips to yours once, twice. On the third, he lingers, deepening the kiss just enough for you to relax in his hold.
“C’mere,” he murmurs, reaching past your body to shut your laptop and push it closer to the edge of the bed. Satisfied, he takes a minute to rearrange your bodies so you’re laying on your back beneath him. “Let’s slow down anyway, okay? Just for a minute.”
Part of you wants to reassure him that you’re fine, that you don’t need to be coddled just because you’re a beginner, but you can’t find it in you to complain. Not when he’s finally allowing you to face him.
Instead, you loop your arms around his shoulders, pulling him back in. Your thighs spread wide to accommodate his body between them as he kisses you thoroughly, over and over until the scattered pieces of your mind lock back into place.
Satisfied, Yoongi sucks gently at your bottom lip before soothing the sting with his tongue, pulling back to admire your swollen mouth. “Feeling good?”
“Mhm,” you hum, hands sliding down from his shoulders and over his chest. “You’re mean.”
Yoongi huffs. “Too mean?” he jokes, but you can tell he’s genuinely wondering.
“No,” you softly insist. “Not too mean.” Then, you pause. “Actually, the not letting me cum part is pretty evil.”
His responding laugh is real this time, your own worries quelled by the sight of his gums showing. “You knew what you were signing up for,” he reminds you, features settling into something gentle and fond. “I make you cum literally every day. I think you’ll survive a little longer.”
“Nooooo,” you complain. “There’s more?”
“Only if you’re really okay,” he says, kissing your pout away. “Wanna taste you.”
The thought makes your body heat up all over again, your eyelids fluttering shut and hips lifting all at once. “Oh?”
“Mhm,” Yoongi hums against your lips. His hips roll down, his clothed cock pressing against your still-soaked cunt. “You like that idea?”
You nod eagerly, a breathy moan tumbling from your parted lips. “Uh-huh…”
“Even if I still don’t let you cum?”
“Yoongi…” you whine.
“C’mon, baby,” he coaxes, sliding his hand between your legs again. “Don’t you want me to eat this pretty cunt?”
Your head falls back against the mattress. You moan softly, looking up at him as he tenderly traces your oversensitive slit with one finger.
He drives a hard bargain, he really does. You hear what he’s really offering loud and clear—you can either say yes, and he’ll edge you until he’s satisfied enough to finally give you what you want, or you can say no, and everything stops now.
It’s still a punishment, after all.
So you take a breath, gather all the determination you can, and say “yes.”
Eyes still locked on yours, Yoongi smirks, his hand retreating. He braces his hands on each side of your head. “Do you want me to be nice about it?” he asks.
You know why he’s asking. He’s making sure you can take it, after everything you just did.
You don’t even hesitate. “Fuck no.”
Delighted, Yoongi grins. “That’s my girl.”
And then he’s quickly sitting up, his strong hands taking hold of your hips to roughly flip you over. You gasp, bouncing against the mattress once before he yanks you up onto your hands and knees.
You don’t even get a chance to adjust to the new position before a hand cracks down harshly on your ass. You moan, squeezing your eyes shut as you brace yourself for more.
“Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook,” Yoongi says, spanking you again. “You think you can cum without my permission?”
“N-no!”
“No,” he agrees. “Because that was one of, what, three things I asked you to do? If you have such a hard time following simple instructions, I think I’m gonna have to punish you more often. Train you up.”
The thought makes you dizzy. Honestly, just the phrasing makes you dizzy, a reminder that while you may be new to this, Yoongi isn’t. Not even a little.
His palms smooth over your ass, kneading and squeezing unabashedly, like it’s a simple fact that he gets to touch you however he pleases. And to prove him right, you practically mewl, pushing back into his touch.
“Oh, you like that idea, huh?” Yoongi asks, sucking his teeth. “Knew you would. Such a nasty fucking girl.”
“Uh-huh,” you moan, unashamed.
“No wonder you couldn’t cum with anyone else, baby.”
You look over your shoulder in surprise at his words, only to find him biting his lower lip as he admires your pussy. His thumbs dig into the softness of your inner thighs, spreading you open even further. When he looks up to meet your eyes, he raises a brow.
“They didn’t treat you like the slut you are.”
His words steal the breath from your lungs, and before your brain can fully process what they mean, Yoongi surges forward to push your head back down.
“Still green?” he asks.
Cheek pressed into the sheets, you breathe your muffled consent, and then the mattress dips behind you. After some shifting, Yoongi’s hands spread over your ass again, holding you open.
“Oh, shit,” you moan when he kisses your clit.
He told you he was going to eat you out, but you didn’t know he was planning to do it like this. There’s something so dirty about it, being on all fours while his tongue darts out to taste you.
Yoongi hums in satisfaction, the sound vibrating through you before he pulls back, breath ghosting over your soaked folds.
“You remember your rules?” he asks.
Your chest heaves. “D-don’t cum without permission.”
“And?”
“Tell you when I’m close.”
“Good girl,” he praises. He gives your ass a gentle squeeze. “Keep that shit up, you understand?”
“Yeah,” you pant, digging your knees further into the bed to stabilize yourself.
Yoongi doesn’t waste any time after that.
He licks a luxurious stripe up your slit, collecting your arousal on his tongue and groaning into you at the taste, to which you respond with your own strangled moan. Fuck. He’s already so good at this to begin with, you don’t know how long you’re going to last with how sensitive you’ve become.
Every delicious stroke has your thighs trembling, breathy whimpers spilling into the sheets as he fucks his tongue into you, using his grip on your ass to lock your squirming body into place.
Surely you must be dripping onto the sheets by now, with the way he’s devouring you. You wish you could see, but it’s almost hotter like this—only being able to hear the way he messily laps and slurps at your cunt.
And then, just when you think you can’t take anymore, he switches course.
“O-oh!” you cry, your legs nearly giving out when his lips wrap around your angry, swollen clit.
But Yoongi doesn’t take pity on you. If anything, he doubles his efforts, sucking so ruthlessly your vision whites out. You do your best to clench your muscles in a desperate attempt to keep your orgasm at bay, but at this point, it’s only making things worse. There’s no way you can hold back anymore.
“Yoongi,” you cry, “I can’t—fuck, please, please, I’m gonna—!”
Suddenly, the warmth of his mouth leaves you entirely. Yoongi slings his left arm around your shoulders, hauling you up until you’re seated in his lap, your sweat-slick back pressed against his chest again. Your head is forced back against his shoulder when his arm tightens, bicep and forearm squeezing at your throat. You reel at the way he’s used that deceptive strength of his to manhandle you exactly how he wants you.
“What do you want?”
“I wanna cum,” you gasp, unable to control the way you squirm, grinding back against his cock.
“Yeah, I know,” Yoongi snarls into your ear. “‘Cause you know you can, don’t you? How many times would you have cum already if I let you, hm?”
“F-four…”
“Four is nothing, baby,” he mocks. “You’re already done? I can do this all night.”
Your eyes go wide. “N-no, Yoongi, please, I’ve been so good!”
“If you wanna cum, tell me what you’re gonna do to earn it.”
Fuck! You can barely even remember what you’re being punished for anymore. Your brain has gone all fuzzy again, exacerbated by the delicious pressure at the sides of your neck. All you’re able to grasp onto is your single-minded need to cum, right now.
“I…” You gulp a breath, vision swimming. “I don’t know what you want… Please…”
He loosens his hold on you. “Do you want to stop?”
“No!” you panic. Your hands fly up to grip his bicep, nails biting as you encourage him to squeeze again. “Nonono, green, fuck, I’m okay!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes!”
Yoongi hums. “But you want me to make you cum,” he clarifies, and you nod eagerly. He chuckles, breath tickling your ear. “You need it, baby?”
“Need it,” you moan.
“Hm.” He takes a moment to consider that, nosing the side of your neck. “Well, maybe we can switch things up a little.”
You perk up instantly, straining to look at him behind you. “Really?”
He smirks. “Don’t get too excited.”
Fuck that! You can barely contain yourself!
You grin at him, eyes sparkling. “Sorry,” you say breathlessly, not meaning it at all.
“Uh-huh.” His arm drops from around your neck, his palm coming down on the side of your thigh. “Lie back.”
You instantly scramble off of his lap and flip flat onto your back, spreading your legs. Is he going to fuck you? You hope he’s going to fuck you.
“Shit,” he groans, sounding amused and turned on all at once. He climbs over you, caging you in. “Look at you. So fuckin’ easy for me, aren’t you?”
“Mhm,” you agree shamelessly. You tug gently at the front of his shirt, and Yoongi leans in to kiss you once, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
“Why’s that, huh?” he mumbles, nipping your bottom lip.
“‘Cause you make me feel so good,” you answer breathlessly. “Please make me feel good, Yoongi…”
“You make it hard to say no,” he says. “Too fuckin’ cute.” His hands run greedily over your spread thighs, stroking and squeezing. “Okay, baby. I’ll give you what you need.”
“Thank you!” you moan, tilting your hips up towards him.
He laughs, scooting down on the bed until he’s kneeling between your legs. “Don’t thank me yet. This doesn’t mean your punishment is over.”
You sit up on your elbows, brow furrowing as you blink at him. “Wh-what?”
Yoongi looks up at you, eyes dark. “Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he tells you, sinking his teeth into your inner thigh just to hear you yelp. “I’m gonna eat this pussy again, and you’re gonna be loud for me. You’re gonna scream my name until our neighbors know exactly who makes you cum so good.”
Your face goes hot, your stomach swooping.
“And then you’re gonna keep cumming,” he continues. “You’re gonna cum over and over until you have no choice but to tap out. Do you understand?”
Oh, fuck. You can’t even be mad at him for this, because you’re the one who suggested it in the first place. This is just what you get for running your mouth.
“I understand,” you manage, because what else can you say? You want to cum so badly.
“Good.”
And then he’s sucking on your clit with fervor, and you’re screaming just like he told you to.
“Yoongi—!”
Your first orgasm catches you by surprise. You’re so pent up that it crashes through you within mere seconds, your body floundering pathetically from the force of it. Yoongi just grunts in satisfaction, gripping your thighs tightly to keep you spread open beneath him as he feasts on you.
Because he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even slow down! He just adds even more, pushing three fingers inside your sopping cunt and making you shriek as they curl up to rub hard at your G-spot.
“Oooooh my god!” you cry out, another wave of pleasure wracking your body.
“Fuck yeah,” Yoongi groans against you, pistoning his fingers even harder, “cum again. Keep fucking cumming.”
And you do.
Every time you think you can’t have any more left in you, that you can’t possibly cum again, you prove yourself wrong. You lose track, breaking over and over until you can’t tell where the last one ended and the next one begins.
“C-can’t take anymore, fuuuuck, p-please,” you plead. You reach down to push at his shoulders, but Yoongi uses his free hand to smack yours away, still mercilessly fucking you with the other.
He pulls back, the lower half of his face completely soaked. “Are you gonna use your safeword?” he asks, and you shake your head. “Then show me you’ve learned your lesson.”
“I’m sorry!” you wail.
To your surprise, Yoongi stills his fingers inside you, watching your face intently. Something clicks into place.
“I-I’m sorry for talking badly about myself,” you continue, eyes welling up with a fresh wave of tears. “I-I don’t… I know there isn’t anything wrong with me.” You immediately shake your head, because that isn’t quite right. “I’m trying. I’m trying to know that. I’m trying to believe it.”
Yoongi’s expression softens. “I know.”
“I’ve felt this way for years, it isn’t…” Your words break off with a sniffle, your bottom lip trembling. “It isn’t easy to stop.”
“I know,” he repeats. Slowly, carefully, he withdraws his fingers.
“I need you to help me,” you say, tears streaming freely now. “I wanna stop. I wanna keep working on it, but I can’t… Will you help me?”
You don’t even really know what you’re asking for, if it makes any sense at all. All you know is that you only feel good lately when you and Yoongi are doing this. When he’s showing you exactly how not broken you are.
Maybe that was his point.
Yoongi wipes his hand off on his pants and moves closer to pull you up and into his arms, shushing you gently.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs against your hair. Overwhelmed, you sob into his chest, a pathetic, hiccupy sound that instantly makes Yoongi’s arms tighten around you. “You’re okay, baby. I’ll help you. That’s all I wanna do.”
He holds you for a long time, rubbing your back as you get it all out. You haven’t cried like this since the first time, and this is so much more intense. You aren’t sure if it’s from the way your day began, seeing your ex, or if it’s from sheer overwhelm. Maybe it’s a mix of both, but regardless, it’s clear to both of you that you need it.
Once your breathing evens out, Yoongi carefully pulls back, nudging your chin up so you’re looking at him.
“You’d tell me if I gave you too much, right?” he asks, his words laced with clear concern.
“It wasn’t too much,” you reassure him. “I think you were right. I think I needed it.”
Yoongi frowns, cradling your face in his hands. “I shouldn’t have started anything while we were arguing like that. It wasn’t the right time. I’m sorry.”
You shake your head. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” you tell him honestly. “It, like… It got me out of my head, you know? I liked it.”
Something in his expression changes then, just for a moment. It isn’t there long enough for you to know what it means or how he’s feeling about that. He just rubs your back some more, deep in thought.
“Hey,” he says after a minute, nudging you, “we’re gonna have a good week.”
Oh, right! After all the drama with your ex, you almost forgot about the trip.
Hoseok’s dance crew has a big showcase happening in Tokyo, so you, Yoongi, Jimin, and Taehyung are all flying out to support him. Your vacation time officially starts tomorrow, and you’ll be there for a whole week.
Your mouth lifts at the corners. “Yeah,” you say, thankful for the reminder.
“We’ve both been needing some vacation time, I think,” he says, matching your small smile. “No work, no exes. It’ll be fun. Get your mind off of things.”
You hum in agreement, resting your cheek against his shoulder. He’s right. It’s been a long time since you’ve taken a trip like this. For a long time, neither of you were able to afford it. Lately, you’ve both been so busy—you in particular.
But you took the time off months ago, and you’re excited for it. You know Hobi’s been working hard.
Suddenly, a thought pops into your head.
“Are we telling them?” you ask. “About, uh… this.”
Yoongi looks down at you. “Uh,” he says, surprised. “Do you want to?”
You only realize how ridiculous it sounds after you’ve asked—letting your friends in on the suddenly-sexual nature of you and Yoongi’s relationship because… why? Because they’d find it interesting?
“Actually, nevermind,” you say, covering your face with your hands. “Forget I asked.”
Yoongi’s chest shakes with a laugh. “I mean, if you want to tell them—”
“No,” you say emphatically.
He gently pulls your hands from your face, his lips twitching at the corners when you finally open your eyes. “We won’t, then.”
“Good.”
“It isn’t anyone’s business unless you want it to be.”
“Good,” you repeat.
"Besides,” he continues, his thumb tracing slowly across your shoulder. "I kind of like this being ours."
You swallow. "Oh."
It’s unbelievably stupid, you think. After everything that happened today, that's what makes your stomach flip the hardest? Not the punishment. Not the orgasms.
I kind of like this being ours.
"Yeah," you agree softly, caught off guard.
And although you both have so much left to do tonight—dinner, packing, coordinating plans—you allow yourself to sink into the comfort of his arms for just a little bit longer.
୨ৎ
The next morning, Jimin and Taehyung arrive earlier than you expected them to.
You’ve been on trips with them before. Yoongi and Hoseok have a tendency to take point when it comes to vacations, the most punctual and practical of the group. You, on the other hand, used to be a nightmare when it came to getting anywhere early. But to your credit, that was back in college. Working in the adult world has beaten punctuality into you. Plus, living with Yoongi always meant that if there was somewhere to be, you woke up when he woke up.
Jimin and Taehyung, though? They’ve always been the last ones out the door. Both have a tendency to preen, determined to look their best even if they’re going to be stuck in the airport (and then a stuffy metal tube) for hours. It only got worse when they started dating, because… well. Morning sex, of course.
So when you open the door still nursing your first cup of coffee, only to find both of them standing in the hallway with their luggage already in tow, it’s hard to mask your surprise.
"Good morning," Taehyung says breezily.
“Oh,” you say, eyes wide as you let them both in. “Yoongi’s not back yet.”
They both set their bags by the door and walk to the living room, dropping onto the couch.
"Where'd he go?" Jimin asks.
You shrug. "No idea."
Yoongi left over an hour ago, and all he'd said was that he had to run an errand before the flight. No explanation. No elaboration.
"He didn't tell you?"
"No."
That seems to surprise both of them. It surprises you a little, too.
Not because Yoongi reports his every movement to you—he obviously doesn't—but because it’s so unlike him on a day like this. He’s usually carting everyone to the airport with hours to spare, double and triple checking everyone has what they need.
The conversation drifts elsewhere—Hoseok's showcase, travel plans—until the sound of keys rattling outside finally cuts through the apartment.
The front door opens, and your eyes nearly bug out of your head.
Suddenly, you understand why he didn't tell anybody where he was going.
The longer hair he'd been sporting lately at the behest of his eomma is long gone. It’s significantly shorter now, exposing more of his forehead.
Yoongi closes the door behind him and sets a small shopping bag on the entryway table before looking up. Immediately, he catches three people staring at him.
"What?"
Taehyung blinks first. "You got a haircut."
"Oh,” he says, as if he'd forgotten.
Jimin squints. "When did you do that?"
"This morning."
"That's where you went?"
"Yeah."
The conversation continues around you, but you're only catching about half of it, too distracted by your monkey brain going haircuthaircuthaircuthaircut.
You hate that you're noticing things like the shape of his neck. Or the cut of his jaw. Or the fact that the delicate silver hoops in his ears are more visible now.
He looks pretty.
Yoongi catches you staring. "Do you not like it?"
The question catches you completely off guard. Shit.
Jimin and Taehyung follow his gaze to you. Double shit!
"What?" you ask, heat creeping up your neck.
"My haircut."
"It's fine," you say.
The second the words leave your mouth, you know they were a mistake. Yoongi's eyebrows lift.
"'Fine?'" he repeats.
Taehyung looks between the two of you. "I think it looks good,” he offers.
"Thank you," Yoongi says.
“It makes you look like a baby,” he continues.
"Thank you?"
"I'm not sure if that was a compliment,” Jimin says.
"Neither am I,” Yoongi says, glancing at you pointedly, “but it’s better than ‘fine.’”
Your cheeks are so hot at this point you don’t know how much more you can take.
"Can we please leave before we miss our flight?" you ask, standing up from the couch. “We have places to be, people!”
“Damn, hello Hoseok,” Jimin says, but still, thankfully, everyone starts grabbing their bags.
Once the luggage is packed into the trunk and the four of you are finally settled in the car (Yoongi in the driver’s seat, you in the passenger seat, Jimin and Taehyung in the back), your phone buzzes three times in your lap.
You pick it up and flip it over, squinting to your left when you see that it’s a text from Yoongi. You were wondering why he was spending so much time fiddling on his phone. You figured he might be checking the flight details one more time, or queueing up some music, but apparently not.
When you open it, your eyes widen. Oh. That’s why he texted you instead of saying it out loud, then.
Yoongi: I’m glad you like my haircut.
Yoongi: By the way, there’s a BDSM club in Tokyo I’ve been wanting to check out. If you’re down.
Yoongi: Think about it :-)
You slam your phone back down onto your lap before Jimin or Taehyung have a chance to be nosy, your cheeks going hot.
Fuck.
So much for this trip being relaxing.
a/n 2: please leave a comment or send me an ask with your thoughts! if you’d like to be added to my taglist, you can go ahead and fill out my form here (no need to do so if you’re already on my permanent taglist)
last chapter was April 11th and i was having one of the worst days of my life, losing the ticket war (for now) and the only think that made my day better was reading this fanfic and i was sooooo anxious for the update.
this fanfic is so unique from everything i’ve read so far on this site and i kid you not when i say that this fanfic literally changed my brain chemistry, and i’m not exaggerating!
it all started with the premise of the story, and the references that @glossdebut gathered made me think “oh, she knows stuff” and also bisexual characters! i think that shapes a lot of my perspective towards people/desire/love/romance and etc and sometimes i can physically feel how straight the character or the author is just by reading them and preceding it to the “that could never be me” feeling. Something like “yes, i know you only like men. I can tell 😁” but ANYWAY!
@glossdebut you opened the pandora box or something cause baby, you really rocked my world. the secretary was on my list for so long but i finally got the motivation to watch it and let me tell you: my brain was working HARD! (am i turned on? is this okay? this doesn’t feel right! i get it! i don’t get it! it’s okay! it’s not okay! what’s exactly about this that makes me horny? i agree, this was messed up. i agree, this was completely reasonable +…)
great cinematography experience, i will tell you that! you made me rethink a lot of things.
unfortunately, i have a lot of things in common with oc ( besides both of us being easily turn on by tit stuff and dirty talk) but i won’t turn this into therapy so i will say that it’s been a great journey to discovering pleasure through and with her and that’s one of the reasons why i love reading.
I honestly think this is not smut for smut but something else, bigger than that hidden underneath and i ❤️ to find meaning behind anything and everything!
i think you write the filthiest stuff on the site, like there’s no one like you. I won’t mention the amount of the i read the last chapter because it will sound concerning but there’s no one describing giving head like you ❤️🫶🏻 like you’re the nastiest writer ever and the FUCKING dialogues??????????????? like my thighs are so tightly closed right now under this fucking desk at work (yes) that they might as well become one at this point. @glossdebut
(thats you btw)
THE URGE to send you a message asking for updates, rambling about stuff or whatever…. i fought it every fucking day and NO there’s absolutely no one that adores this fanfic and this yoongi more than me. Like don’t even try it!
“ I LOVE THIS FANFIC THE MOST” — (i scream louder than everyone else in the room with a scream so loud that breaks the barrier of the sound and goes to another galaxy outside our dimension)
i gotta excuse myself now cause the panty-wetting fanfic is back in town and I'm affected. fuck YOU yoongi with that backwards cap and that tshirt and and….
guys. this is one of my top favorites fanfics ever (can’t you tell?) so please, read this. alone. not at work like me. but read this.
when the stoic and devastatingly handsome sir jeon jungkook is appointed as your personal knight, sworn to guard your royal highness with a will forged from steel, you quickly discover that his greatest strength may also be his most infuriating trait, he is utterly immune to you. no matter how tightly you lace your corset, he remains the perfect knight, eyes respectfully averted, jaw set like stone. but while sir jungkook may be a man of steel, you are a princess accustomed to getting what you want, and with every sinful intention of discovering whether even the realm’s most loyal knight could be brought to his knees for you.
⎯⎯ pairing: knight jungkook x princess y/n
warnings: erotica, forbidden medieval fantasy au, porn with plot, age gap, yearning, size difference, oral fixation (f.), unprotected sex, the princess is very horny, cold,dom!knight, bigdick!knight, breeding, pregnancy trope, war brutality, motherhood, subtle angst
word count: 20.5k
The great hall of the royal palace echoed with the murmurs of the assembled court. The King sat upon his throne, his stern gaze sweeping over the line of elite knights who had come to compete for the highest honor in the realm, becoming the personal protector of his only daughter, the princess, you.
The position was coveted for many reasons, but none more obvious than the princess herself.
Beauty had always been your burden as much as your blessing. Tales of it traveled farther than merchants and faster than ravens, crossing borders until even distant courts spoke your name with a mixture of admiration and longing. Princes penned verses in your honor without ever meeting you. Even seasoned knights, men hardened by war and duty, often found themselves disarmed by nothing more than a smile.
With your coronation fast approaching, the kingdom stood on the brink of celebration. It would be the grandest event seen in decades, drawing princes, dignitaries from every corner of the continent. Some would arrive seeking alliances. Most would arrive seeking you.
The prospect amused you more than it excited you.
“Protecting my daughter is not merely a matter of strength,” your father’s voice boomed through the hall. “It demands unyielding discipline and absolute loyalty. You will each face three trials. The princess herself will accompany you, so that you may prove your worth in her presence.”
Your eyes swept slowly across the line of knights standing before the throne, a faint mask of boredom kissing your beautiful face, certain that none of them would truly be able to handle you.
For years, entertaining yourself at the expense of knights had become something of a pastime. A lingering touch against a gauntleted hand, a mere whispered compliment that left disciplined warriors suddenly forgetting their own names. Watching them struggle to maintain their composure was endlessly amusing.
You had notoriously toyed with men like this, living wildly beneath the weight of your royal title, and your father knew this better than anyone. That was precisely why he had designed these trials.
He wasn’t simply looking for the strongest sword arm. He wanted a knight with sharp intellect and the rare ability to withstand your constant attempts to live life on your terms rather than as a perfectly mannered princess.
A small, intrigued smile played on your lips when the first few knights stepped forward. They were impressive in brute force, but you could already tell they would crumble the moment you decided to play.
Then he stepped forward.
Sir Jeon Jungkook.
Even fully armored, with only his dark, piercing eyes visible through the narrow slit of his helmet, once his unflinching gaze met yours for a brief second, a strange spark ignited low in your belly. You tilted your head, studying those dark eyes with growing interest.
The first trial took place that very evening in the smaller banquet hall. Only a select few courtiers were present. You sat at the high table beside your father, sipping from a jeweled goblet.
Unknown to the competing knights, the King had arranged for one of the wine pitchers to be laced with a powerful sleeping draught. Harmless, but potent enough to leave the princess disoriented and vulnerable. Only the King, a few trusted advisors, and the princess herself knew of the plan.
The knights had been given only one instruction: protect the princess. No further details.
As the evening progressed, the effects of the draught began to take hold. Your thoughts grew pleasantly hazy, movements slower. The jeweled goblet nearly slipped from your grasp once before you caught it. A second time, you laughed at something that had not been particularly funny.
Several knights noticed. Some were too busy trying to appear vigilant, eyes constantly scanning the room for imaginary assassins.
A few noticed your condition and drew dangerously close. One insisted on helping you stand despite the fact that you had not asked for assistance. Another rested a hand against your lower back almost inappropriately while guiding you through the room. One knight even smiled when he realized how heavily you leaned upon him after stumbling.
The courtiers watched everything. So did the King.
You were beginning to feel genuinely annoyed when a tall figure stepped silently between you and yet another overeager knight.
Sir Jeon Jungkook.
Unlike the others, he had not hovered around you all evening. He had remained where a royal protector belonged, close enough to intervene, distant enough to respect your space.
Dark eyes studied your face through the narrow opening of his helmet. “The princess has had enough wine,” he declared.
The knight beside you scoffed. “She seems perfectly fin—”
“She does not.”
You watched surprise flicker across the other knight’s face.
Sir Jungkook’s hand briefly closed around your forearm as you swayed, steadying you before immediately letting go the moment your balance returned.
Within moments he had summoned two ladies-in-waiting to accompany you back to your chambers. When another knight offered to carry you himself, Sir Jungkook declined on your behalf before you could even answer.
“Her reputation is as important as her safety.”
For the first time all evening, genuine curiosity stirred within you.
Most men saw opportunity when they looked at you. Some saw beauty, a few saw a future crown. Yet somehow, Sir Jeon Jungkook seemed to see only his duty.
As the ladies guided you toward the doorway, you glanced back over your shoulder.
“How noble of you, Sir Jungkook,” you teased, voice softened by the draught. “Are you always so resistant to temptation?”
His gaze never wavered. “My duty is to protect Your Highness.”
For reasons you could not quite explain, that response lingered in your thoughts far longer than any flirtatious remark ever had.
The final trial was, by all appearances, the simplest.
After weeks of staged attacks, hidden tests, the remaining candidates expected one final demonstration of skill. Some anticipated a duel. Others believed they would be sent to defend the princess from another fabricated threat. Instead, the King announced that the last trial would consist of a single week of personal duty beside the princess. No further explanation was offered.
The knights were disappointed.
You, however, knew exactly what your father was doing.
The trial was not designed to test strength or intelligence. It was designed to test restraint.
Most of the candidates failed within days. Some became overly eager whenever you requested their company.
Others ignored palace protocol the moment you suggested bending the rules. One knight allowed you to wander through the city market without informing the royal guard because he was too eager to please you. Another accepted an invitation to share wine in one of the palace balconies despite knowing perfectly well how improper it appeared. Every failure was carefully observed and quietly recorded.
Only one knight remained infuriatingly impossible.
Sir Jeon Jungkook.
The more you watched him, the more determined you became to discover his weakness. Surely he had one. Everyone did.
At first, your attempts were harmless. During walks through the palace gardens, you lingered beside him instead of remaining ahead as protocol dictated. During meals, you directed most of your conversation toward him. More than once, you deliberately brushed your fingers against the steel of his gauntlet while speaking. Other knights would have turned crimson. Some would have stumbled over their own words.
Sir Jungkook merely stepped aside and continued his duties as though nothing had happened.
Perhaps it was the way every other knight had spent the past weeks attempting to impress you, the King, or the court.
Where others sought favor, he sought only to fulfill his duty. And thus, when the day of the final judgment arrived, the outcome surprised absolutely no one.
Your father rose slowly from his seat.
“Sir Jeon Jungkook,” he declared, voice echoing through the hall. “You have successfully completed all trials. You have shown not only strength and intellect, but the rare ability to anticipate danger and resist… temptation.” His gaze flicked briefly to you. “From this day forward, you are hereby appointed as the princess’s personal royal knight and protector. Guard her with your life. And may the gods help you.”
A murmur rippled through the court.
You turned toward Sir Jeon Jungkook, stepping just close enough that your crimson gown brushed his armor.
“Welcome to my service, Sir Jungkook,” you whispered so only he could hear. “I do hope you’re prepared. Resisting me may prove to be your greatest trial yet.”
His dark eyes held yours with unshakable strength. “I was under the impression I had already passed that one, Your Highness.”
—
Having Sir Jeon Jungkook follow you around all day wasn’t ideal.
It had not even been three months since his appointment as your royal knight, yet his constant, silent presence had already begun to grate on your nerves. He was always a towering shadow in dark armor, never more than a few steps behind. What annoyed you most was his utter lack of reaction.
No matter how boldly you flirted, no matter how you tightened your corset in front of him until your breasts nearly spilled over, no matter how many times you “accidentally” brushed against him, he remained perfectly composed.
What bothered you most of all was that you still had no idea what he looked like. Only those dark, intense eyes visible through the narrow slit of his helmet. The rest of him remained hidden behind steel, a constant, frustrating mystery.
The journey to the neighboring kingdom for the grand alliance celebration had been long and stifling. You rode in the royal ornate covered carriage borne by four strong horses and guarded on all sides. The extravagant gown you wore was beautiful but suffocating, the tight corset pressing against your ribs and making every breath feel like a struggle. Boredom weighed on you like lead.
Your dearest friend, Lady Isolde rode beside you in her own litter. She was to be wed in a month, and the two of you had spent the journey giggling like girls again, whispering behind silk curtains.
“He’s so tall,” Isolde teased, peeking through the gap toward where Sir Jeon Jungkook rode steadily beside your litter. “And those eyes… I wonder what the rest of him looks like under all that steel. Do you think he’s handsome, or just another brute?”
You laughed softly, though your gaze lingered on the narrow slit of Jungkook’s helmet, where those dark, intense eyes remained fixed forward.
“As if,” you replied, laced with mock boredom. “He’s far too proper. I could tighten my corset until my breasts nearly spill, and he wouldn’t even glance.”
Isolde giggled. “You should try. For science.”
Sir Jungkook’s eyes flicked toward the litter for the briefest second before returning forward. You smirked. Annoyed as you were by his constant, unflinching presence… you were also undeniably intrigued.
That night, after the feasting and music had died down and the royal party made camp near the forest’s edge, you slipped away, desperate for even a moment of peace, and determined to test just how far his restraint could stretch.
The air had grown chilly, carrying the faint bite of early autumn as you made your way to the forbidden stretch of the deep bend where the river water ran swift and dangerously deep. No one was permitted here after dark, especially not the princess.
You knew he would follow.
The heavy footsteps of armor soon echoed behind you on the rocky bank.
“Your Highness,” Sir Jungkook’s deep voice rang out, firm. “This area is strictly prohibited at night. The currents are treacherous and the water is far too cold. We must return to the palace at once.”
You barely looked at him. Your eyes were fastened upon the vast expanse of the river, moonlight dancing across its dark surface like scattered diamonds. You wanted nothing more than to feel the cool waves kissing your bare skin, to swim freely under the moon with no eyes judging you in, except his.
A small, unusually kind smile touched your lips as you turned toward him.
“Why don’t you join me, Sir Jungkook?” you asked softly, your voice carrying on the gentle night breeze. “Just for a little while. The water looks so peaceful tonight.”
Sir Jungkook stood like a statue in his dark armor. “Your Highness… that would be highly improper,” he replied, voice low. “I am here to protect you, not to… bathe with you.”
You let out a soft, melodic laugh and began walking toward the river’s edge, the hem of your gown brushing the grass.
“Well, I suppose then…” you bit your lip, your fingers moving to the laces of your gown with aching slowness. “I shall swim, and you will stand guard like the loyal knight you are.”
You could feel his intense eyes watching through the narrow slit of his helmet as you loosened the ties. The rich fabric slid from your shoulders like liquid silk, pooling at your feet.
Completely bare under the moonlight, you wore nothing beneath. Your skin glowed luminous and your full breasts rose and fell with each breath, nipples already stiff from the cold night air. The curve of your waist flared into soft hips, and the smooth, delicate skin between your thighs was on full display.
Sir Jungkook immediately turned his head sharply away, staring fixedly into the dark trees.
“Your Highness!” His voice was strained. “This is highly inappropriate. I cannot allow—”
“You don’t have to allow anything,” you cut him off, dripping with defiance. “You’re not permitted to touch me while I’m bare. So you’ll just have to stand there.”
You waded into the river with a soft gasp. The icy water bit into your skin, but the thrill of rebellion pushed you forward. You swam out deeper, the cold making your body hypersensitive.
You glanced back at the bank. Sir Jungkook stood like a statue, head turned away, refusing to look at your naked form even once. His armored fists were clenched tightly at his sides.
A thrill of satisfaction ran through you.
You felt exhilarated. Free. And wickedly aware that the most disciplined man in the kingdom was standing on the bank, fighting not to look at you.
“Are you really going to stand there all night, Sir Jungkook? The water feels wonderful… and I’m all alone out here.” You swam further out, the cold water caressing every inch of your bare skin. A soft, content sigh escaped your lips.
It would be a plain lie if you said you weren’t at least a little relieved that he had followed you. The deep bend was no joke. its treacherous currents and deadly depth were feared even by The King. Yet here you were, aching to tear down the walls of the knight who refused to bend to your charms.
You floated lazily on your back, letting the moonlight kiss your bare skin. Then, with a mischievous glint in your eyes, you took your chance.
Once a subtle current tugged at your legs, you gasped dramatically, flailing your arms and letting out a soft, helpless cry. “Oh—!”
You fought back a giggle, pretending to be a damsel in distress, knowing the current wasn’t strong enough to truly endanger you. You wanted to see if you could finally crack his composure.
But the gods had other plans.
Without warning, a far more treacherous undercurrent slammed into you like a living beast. It dragged you under violently, twisting your body, filling your mouth and nose with icy water. Real panic surged through you as you lost your breath and sight in the black depths.
“Jungkook!” you screamed, the sound barely coherent as water rushed into your lungs. This time, it was no act.
Sir Jeon Jungkook did not hesitate for even a fraction of a second. He plunged into the river fully armored, cutting through the violent current with powerful strokes. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, yanking your naked body against his steel chest as he fought the river with raw, expert strength. You clung to him desperately, coughing and gasping as he dragged you back to the rocky bank.
The moment he pulled you ashore, his helmet caught on a low hanging branch and was ripped clean off.
You lay on the grass, gasping for air, when your eyes finally focused on the man hovering above you.
And you forgot how to breathe.
Sir Jeon Jungkook was devastatingly, unfairly handsome.
Wet raven black hair clung to his forehead and sharp, sculpted cheekbones. Water droplets traced the strong line of his jaw and dripped from sensual lips. His dark eyes, now fully exposed, were intense and beautiful, framed by long lashes and thick brows. A faint scar graced his left eyebrow, adding a rugged edge to his otherwise perfect masculine beauty.
Before you could speak, he swiftly grabbed his crimson cloak and draped it over your naked body, covering you completely with careful reverence. His gaze remained locked strictly on your face, never once drifting to your exposed skin.
“Are you okay, Your Highness?” he asked, voice rough with concern. A faint blush colored his cheeks as he noticed the way you were staring at his now-bare face.
You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. The combination of the dangerous current, the shock of nearly drowning, and the overwhelming sight of your knight’s true face left you dizzy and speechless.
Your vision blurred. You passed out in his arms.
Sir Jungkook pulled you closer against his armored chest, one large hand gently brushed your wet hair away from your face, his touch surprisingly tender. He lifted you effortlessly, cradling you like a warrior carrying his lady, your head resting against his broad shoulder, body wrapped securely in his cloak, legs draped over his arm as he carried you back to his mare.
He mounted carefully, keeping you nestled safely against him as the horse began the journey back to the palace through secret paths.
You woke briefly as he laid you down on the thick rug before the hearth in your royal chambers. The fire was already roaring. You were still wrapped in his cloak, beneath it only a thin silk bandeau now clung to your body, the delicate material barely containing your breasts, pressing them together in a deep, soft cleavage that rose and fell with each shaky breath.
You trembled from the cold and the lingering shock of the river.
Sir Jeon Jungkook remained kneeling by the fire, his movements precise as he stoked the flames. Water dripped from his raven hair onto his armoured shoulders. Then he rose to his full, imposing height, towering, broad shouldered.
Without a word, he reached for his helmet, which rested upon a nearby oak chest, clearly intending to conceal his face once more.
“No,” you whispered, your voice soft yet commanding as you pushed yourself up on one elbow. “Do not put it back on.”
The knight paused, gloved hand hovering above the helm. His dark eyes met yours, intense and conflicted.
“Your Highness… it is not fitting for me to stand before you unveiled,” he said, his voice carrying the formal cadence of a sworn knight. “I must maintain the dignity of my position.”
You sat up fully, the cloak slipping slightly from one shoulder, revealing the smooth curve of your skin and the edge of the silk bandeau. Despite the cold still clinging to your bones, warmth bloomed low in your belly as you gazed upon his face, truly beheld it for the first time.
“Come closer,” You rose to your knees on the rug, the cloak parting further as you reached for him. “Let me see you properly.”
He hesitated, every line of his powerful frame taut with restraint. Yet he obeyed, lowering himself once more to kneel before you. Even on his knees, he remained nearly at your eye level, so tall and broad was he.
You lifted a delicate hand and brushed your fingers through his damp raven locks, pushing them back from his forehead. A contented sigh escaped your lips.
“You are far too pleasing to look upon, Sir Jungkook,” you whispered, almost in awe. “I had wondered what lay beneath that steel. Never did I imagine such a face.”
Sir Jungkook remained perfectly still on his knees before you. His hands rested tensely on his armoured thighs as he fought to keep his gaze fixed on your face and not the way your breasts strained against the thin silk bandeau.
“You flatter me, Your Highness,” he replied, voice low. “But I am your knight. Nothing more. Please allow me to restore my helmet.”
You shook your head slowly, refusing to let him hide again. Instead, you leaned closer, your fingers still buried in his damp raven hair.
A new, overwhelming wave of admiration and obsession washed over you. This man... this mature, hardened, breathtakingly handsome knight was kneeling before you like a devotee. The realization sent a fresh rush of heat between your thighs.
“You’re older than me, aren’t you?” you murmured softly, continuing to caress his hair with gentle strokes. “Hardened by battles and years I haven’t yet seen.”
You wondered how many more scars he carried beneath that heavy armor hidden across his broad chest, his strong back.
“I am twenty eight, Your Highness,” he answered quietly, his deep voice carrying that disciplined tone you were growing addicted to.
“Tell me something personal,” you said, your voice turning playful yet curious. Your fingers trailed from his hair down to trace his cheekbone once more. “Have you ever been with a woman, Sir Jeon? Truly been with one?”
His jaw tightened visibly. The question crossed every boundary a knight was sworn to respect.
“Your Highness… such questions are not appropriate for me to answer,” he replied. You leaned in even closer, still stroking his hair tenderly, your breath brushing against his skin.
“But I want to know,” you whispered. “Have you ever touched a woman the way a man touches a lover? Ever kissed one?”
Jungkook’s breathing grew slightly heavier. His dark eyes stayed locked on yours with iron discipline, though you could clearly see the storm brewing behind them.
“I have not, Your Highness,” he finally answered, voice low and honest. “My duty has always come first.”
A thrill ran through you at his confession. You let your fingers drift lower, brushing along his sharp jawline. “And if a woman wanted you… desperately?” your voice dropped to a near whisper. “If she wanted your mouth between her thighs… your tongue tasting her, would you deny her?”
The impure question hung heavy in the air between you. You shocked even yourself with how boldly it slipped out, but the vivid image, his devastatingly handsome face trapped between your legs, mouth glistening with your arousal made the heat bloom even more slick between your thighs.
Sir Jungkook’s hands clenched tighter on his armored thighs. A faint flush colored the tips of his ears and neck, but he remained on his knees.
“Your Highness,” he said, reverently, “I am sworn to protect you. Not to… indulge in such thoughts.”
You smiled softly. Then you leaned back on the bed, letting the crimson cloak fall open completely. The thin silk bandeau was the only thing left covering you, and even that felt too much now.
“Then I command you,” You looked down at him, this powerful knight on his knees before you, and felt a rush of pure need. “I want your mouth on me, Jungkook. Right now.”
“Your Highness, I—”
“Touch me,” you breathed, cutting him off. “Please, Jungkook…”
You reached down and grabbed his gloved hand, bringing it to your chest. Slowly, you pressed his large palm over the thin silk bandeau, letting him feel the soft, heavy weight of your breast. Your nipple was already painfully hard beneath the fabric.
Sir Jungkook’s breath hitched sharply. His entire body tensed, the muscles in his arm flexing under the armor as he fought against every instinct.
You didn’t stop there, dragging his hand lower, sliding it down your stomach until his fingers rested between your thighs. You were soaked. your petals slick and hot against his gloved fingers.
“Feel how damp you make me,” you whispered, voice shaking with need.
Sir Jungkook let out a low, strained groan. His dark eyes were fixed on your face, but you could see the violent war happening behind them.
The most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on — the princess, the future queen, was laid out before him in nothing but a flimsy silk bandeau, legs spread, pressing his hand against her dripping cunt.
“Your Highness…” he rasped, albeit desperate. “This is beyond forbidden. You are royalty. I am sworn—”
“I don’t care,” you whimpered, grinding slowly against his gloved fingers. “I need you. I’ve never felt this way before. Touch me now, my knight. Please.”
His hand trembled. For a long moment, he simply rested there, feeling your wetness soak through the leather of his glove. Then, with a broken exhale that sounded like surrender, his fingers moved.
He stroked along your soaked folds, parting the delicate petals of your most secret flower. And what a flower it was... a lush, glistening rosebud blooming only for him. Your outer lips were soft and swollen with need, flushed deep, delicate like the first blush of dawn.
As he gently spread you open, the inner petals revealed themselves: silky, and impossibly tender, layered like the finest rose in full bloom after a summer rain. At the center lay your sweetest nectar, dripping and honeyed, flowing abundantly from your aching entrance.
The knight didn’t know what came over him, but your pulsing heat and slick, puckering folds had him utterly entranced. His breathing grew ragged. You could see the way his throat worked, the way his tongue unconsciously darted out to wet his lips. He was drooling.
“May I lick you, Your Highness?” he asked hoarsely, voice thick with barely contained hunger. “Please… allow me to taste you.”
The desperate plea from such a disciplined man sent a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you.
“Yes,” you breathed, spreading your thighs wider for him, your voice trembling with raw need. “Use your mouth on me, Jungkook. Lick your princess until she cannot think.”
The moment the words left your lips, something in him broke. Sir Jungkook leaned in and dragged his hot, wet tongue slowly up your soaked slit. The first full taste of you pulled a deep, guttural groan from his chest. You were intoxicatingly sweet and dripping with arousal. He licked you again, slower this time, savoring every slick fold as if he were drinking the finest wine in the kingdom.
You cried out sharply, back arching off the bed as overwhelming pleasure flooded your body. The sensation was brand new, so intense it made your legs twitch violently.
“Oh... Jungkook!” you moaned, fingers digging into his raven hair.
The knight’s tongue circled your swollen clit before sucking it gently into his mouth, then plunged inside your tight heat, ravishing you with slow, deep strokes. The wet, filthy sounds of his mouth eagerly eating you echoed through the chamber, obscene, and shameless.
The most beautiful woman he had ever known, the future queen, was thrashing beneath him, legs shaking uncontrollably around his head, soft whimpers and loud moans spilling from her pretty lips.
Your hips rolled desperately against his face, coating his tongue, lips, and chin with your sweet release. Sir Jungkook drank every drop you gave him, groaning against your cunt as his own cock strained painfully against his armor.
He had never tasted anything so addictive.
You were already twitching, gasping, legs trembling so hard they threatened to close around his head. The pleasure was too much, too new, too overwhelming for your body.
Suddenly, Sir Jungkook pulled back slightly, his lips glistening with your juices. His dark eyes looked up at you, breathing ragged.
“Should I continue, Your Highness?” he asked hoarsely, voice thick with lust and devotion. “Tell me… do you want more?”
You could barely form words. Your body was shaking, pussy throbbing, dripping onto the mattress beneath you.
“Please don’t stop,” you whimpered desperately. “Keep licking me... please...”
The knight obeyed instantly. He buried his face back between your thighs and attacked your clit with relentless strokes of his tongue. Two thick fingers pushed inside you, curling perfectly against that sensitive spot while he sucked hard on your swollen pearl.
The pleasure hit you like a storm.
Your entire body seized up. A loud, broken scream tore from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you violently. Your thighs clamped around his head, hips bucking wildly against his mouth as you gushed on his tongue. Wave after wave of intense pleasure ripped through you, leaving you shaking uncontrollably, vision blurring at the edges.
You nearly passed out from the sheer intensity of it. body twitching, chest heaving, soft cries still falling from your lips as the pleasure refused to let go.
Sir Jungkook stayed between your thighs through every tremor, drinking down every last drop of your release like a man who had finally found salvation.
When your body finally went limp, trembling and oversensitive, he gently kissed your inner thigh before pulling back, his handsome face flushed and glistening with your arousal.
You could barely speak, still catching your breath as you stared at the sight of your proud, disciplined knight with your release shining on his lips.
—
“The Princess requires her knight’s escort to the eastern tower for stargazing.”
The message was innocent enough on paper. But the court had begun to notice how often you summoned Sir Jeon Jungkook for these private “duties.” Some whispered that the Princess trusted no one else. Others envied the knight who had earned such unwavering favor from the realm’s greatest beauty.
They had no idea what really happened once the tower door was bolted.
In the eastern tower under the stars, you would push Sir Jungkook against the cold stone wall and demand his mouth on you again. He always hesitated at first, “Your Highness, we mustn’t…” but the moment you looked at him with those wide, needy eyes and whispered “Please, Jungkook… I ache for you,” his resolve crumbled.
He would drop to his knees in full armor, push your skirts up to your waist, and bury his face between your thighs. The sounds he made while devouring you were filthy and desperately loud. wet slurps and deep groans as he drank every drop of your arousal. You quickly learned to muffle your loud moans against your own arm or his shoulder, thighs shaking violently around his head as he brought you to shattering orgasm after orgasm.
He never asked for anything in return at first. But one night, after he had made you come so hard you saw stars, you dropped to your knees in front of him, hands trembling as you freed his thick, aching cock from his breeches.
You had never seen the knight fully bare, but you had tasted him.
You took him into your mouth with clumsy but eager hunger, sucking and licking until he was groaning your name like a prayer, his gloved hand gently cradling the back of your head. When he spilled down your throat, you swallowed every drop, looking up at him with wide, adoring eyes.
The tension between you only grew hotter, more forbidden.
You began creating excuses just to be close to him.
You “accidentally” wandered into dangerous parts of the forest during hunts. You “lost” your way in the palace corridors at night. You deliberately teased foreign dignitaries until they grew too bold, all so Sir Jungkook would have to step in, pull you protectively against his armored chest, and hold you there while scolding you with his low voice.
Each time, you nestled your head against his chest plate, breathing in his scent, feeling safe in a way you had never felt with anyone else.
One quiet afternoon in the royal rose gardens, while the other knights kept their distance. The summer blooms were at their peak, rows upon rows of crimson roses spilling over marble trellises in a riot of color and fragrance. Courtiers often compared them to you. You had heard the comparison so many times throughout your life that it had long since lost all meaning.
Your attention was elsewhere when Sir Jungkook paused beside a rose bush heavy with crimson blooms. Reaching out, he selected a single flower and turned it thoughtfully between his fingers before approaching.
“A gift?” you asked.
“If Your Highness would accept it.”
The answer surprised a smile from you.
He stepped forward and tucked the rose behind your ear. His gloved fingers lingered only for a second before withdrawing, but even that brief touch seemed to affect him more than he wished to admit.
When you looked up, his gaze was fixed upon the flower. “Beautiful things are dangerous,” he said quietly.
You laughed. “I believe roses are dangerous for everyone except gardeners.”
His expression didn’t change.
“I wasn’t speaking about the rose.”
Your heart fluttered so violently you had to look away. it was becoming impossible to deny how deeply you were falling for him.
The kisses grew sloppier, more desperate with every stolen moment.
In the abandoned library, your knight would press you against the bookshelves, helmet removed, and kiss you like he was drowning, tongue sliding against yours, hands gripping your waist as if afraid you might vanish. You kissed him back just as hungrily, tugging at his hair, moaning softly into his mouth while your hand palmed the hard bulge in his breeches.
Your hunger for him was insatiable. You ached for his presence constantly. The court noticed how you lit up when he entered a room, how you instinctively moved closer to him during gatherings. They saw devotion, they saw trust.
They never saw the way you both held each other’s eyes like lovers who knew their time was stolen.
The relationship was utterly forbidden. Your father would banish him, or worse, if he ever discovered the truth. But neither of you could stop. Something real was blossoming between you.
The knight admired your wild, rebellious spirit. You admired his quiet strength and unwavering honor. In the darkness, you were no longer just princess and knight. You were becoming each other’s secret salvation. And it was only a matter of time before the tension finally snapped.
—
The Coronation.
The kingdom was in full celebration. Banners of the finest gold flew from every tower. The greatest event in decades had arrived, your coronation as Queen.
Princes from across the realms had come in droves, each more eager than the last to win your hand and the throne beside you. They brought lavish gifts, performed in grand tournaments, and showered you with compliments. The entire court watched with bated breath, waiting for you to choose.
You sat upon the raised dais in a breathtaking gown of white, looking every bit the ethereal queen-to-be. But your eyes kept drifting to the tall, armored figure standing silently behind your throne, Sir Jeon Jungkook.
He had become even more composed in public, yet you could feel the storm raging beneath his helmet. Especially when you decided to play your cruel little game.
Prince Min of Veina leaned close during the feast, whispering sweet nothings about your beauty. You laughed brightly, placing a hand on his arm, letting your fingers linger, leaning in just enough for your neckline to offer him a generous view of your breasts.
From the corner of your eye, you saw Sir Jungkook’s gloved hand tighten around the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white.
Another prince, a golden haired lord from the eastern isles, offered you a rose during the garden promenade. You accepted it with a coy smile, twirling it between your fingers while glancing toward your knight.
Sir Jungkook’s dark eyes burned behind the helmet. You could feel his jealousy like a living thing, hot and barely contained.
That night, after the feasting and dancing, you summoned him to the eastern tower under the usual pretense.
The moment the door closed, he was on you.
The knight pinned you against the cold stone wall. The single rose you’d been idly twirling between your fingers, a gift from one of the many princes, fell forgotten to the floor.
Sir Jungkook’s dark eyes burned with something almost feral.
“You will be wed off soon?” he growled dangerously, breath hot against your ear.
You looked up at him, heart racing. Your long, wavy hair had finally been let down after the long day, cascading over your shoulders and hips like dark silk. The tight corset of your white coronation gown was already loosened, the fabric slipping slightly off one shoulder, revealing the smooth curve of your skin.
“What do you think about Prince Min?” you asked sweetly, tilting your head. “I think he’s quite lovely. So charming. He even said he would worship me every night once we’re wed.”
Sir Jungkook’s jaw clenched so hard you heard it crack. The jealousy that had been simmering all day threatening to explode.
“Doesn’t it drive you mad, Sir Jeon?” You leaned in closer, letting your breasts brush against his armored chest. “Knowing your princess, the one you’ve been secretly devouring every night, is wanted by so many powerful men? That they all dream of putting a ring on my finger and taking me to their beds?”
“It is exquisite torture, Your Highness,” he growled, eyes burning. “Watching them look at you like they have any right to you. Knowing I’m the only one who’s ever tasted you, the only one who’s ever made you scream.”
His raw honesty sent a sharp thrill through you. You bit your lip, loving the way jealousy sharpened his features, making his dark eyes appear even more intense. He was possessive and barely holding himself back. And you wanted to push him further.
You stepped away from the wall with a teasing smile, walking over to the tall, gilded mirror that stood near the fireplace. The white gown still clung to your body, hair cascading in long, wild waves down your back. You picked up a silver brush and began slowly running it through it, watching him in the reflection.
Sir Jungkook followed you like a shadow, stopping just behind you. His tall, powerful frame loomed in the mirror, twice your size, radiating heat and restrained fury.
“Does that bother you, my knight?” A teasing smile played on your lips. “Knowing that soon I might have to let another man—”
You didn’t get to finish. Sir Jungkook’s large hand closed around your wrist, stopping the brush mid stroke. He plucked it from your fingers and set it down with a deliberate clack. His other hand gripped your hip, pulling your back flush against his armored chest.
Your breath hitched. The playful boldness you’d been wielding all night vanished in an instant.
“Enough,” he growled low against your ear, “You’ve teased me enough tonight, Your Highness.”
His dark eyes burned into yours through the mirror. The intensity there made your knees weak. This wasn’t the restrained, obedient knight anymore. This was a man who had finally reached his limit.
He reached around you and slowly began unlacing the rest of your corset. The white gown loosened further, slipping down your shoulders. You watched in the mirror as he tugged it lower, exposing your full breasts to the cool air and the warm firelight. Your nipples were hard, flushed, and sensitive.
Sir Jungkook’s hand cupped one breast possessively, squeezing it as his thumb brushed over the stiff peak. You gasped, arching into his touch.
“Look at yourself,” he ordered quietly, voice rough. “Look how beautiful you are. How perfect. And yet you let them think they could ever have this.”
He pinched your nipple, rolling it between his fingers until you whimpered. His other hand slid down, gathering the fabric of your gown and pulling it up to your waist, fully exposing your bare cunt in the mirror.
Your face bloomed bright red as you instinctively tried to close your legs, suddenly overwhelmed with shyness at the sight of yourself so lewdly displayed, flushed and completely bare in the golden firelight.
But Sir Jungkook wouldn’t allow it. His large hand gripped your thigh firmly, spreading you open again as he pressed his body harder against your back.
“Don’t hide,” His dark eyes met yours in the mirror, intense and commanding. “Look how filthy and wet you are for me.”
You shivered, unable to tear your eyes away from the reflection. The contrast was obscene, your ethereal white gown bunched around your waist, breasts exposed and heaving, legs spread wide while his armored body loomed behind you like a dark, possessive shadow.
Sir Jungkook’s hand returned between your thighs. Two thick fingers slid through your slick folds, parting them slowly so you could see everything in the mirror. You whimpered at the sight, embarrassed yet unbearably aroused.
“So beautiful,” he breathed as he circled your swollen clit with his fingertip. “This is what belongs to me. Not to any prince. Not to anyone else.”
He pushed two fingers inside you without warning, curling them deep. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry as he began ravishing you with slow, deliberate strokes that made wet, obscene sounds echo in the quiet tower.
You tried to close your legs again, overwhelmed, but he held them open with ease, his grip firm and unyielding.
“Watch,” he ordered softly, voice dark with lust. “Watch how easily I can make my princess fall apart.”
Your eyes stayed glued to the mirror as his fingers plunged in and out of your soaked cunt, his thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit. Your cheeks were flushed deep crimson, lips parted in shameless moans, breasts bouncing slightly with every thrust of his hand.
The pleasure built fast and merciless. Your legs started shaking, thighs trembling violently as you fought to stay upright.
Sir Jungkook’s fingers curled deeper, stroking that perfect spot inside you while his thumb pressed firm circles on your swollen clit.
You came hard with a broken cry, arousal gushing down his wrist and dripping onto the stone floor beneath you. Your head fell back against his armored shoulder, body convulsing as wave after wave of intense pleasure tore through right after.
The knight dragged his arousal coated fingers from your pulsing heat and brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean while his dark eyes stayed locked on yours in the mirror. The obscene sight made you whimper, legs pressing together instinctively. This time, he allowed it.
You pulled away from him shyly, legs unsteady as you walked toward the wide couch near the fireplace. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to cover your bare breasts, suddenly overwhelmed with embarrassment.
Sir Jungkook approached you ever so slowly. His heart was pounding. you could see it in the rise and fall of his broad chest. The way your flushed cheeks and shy posture made you look so adorable only made his desire burn hotter.
He stopped in front of you, towering over your smaller frame. Without a word, he gently uncrossed your arms, exposing your breasts again. You tried to cover them once more, but he caught your wrists softly.
“You’re too beautiful to hide, my love.” he murmured, voice low.
He leaned down and took one sensitive nipple into his hot mouth, sucking gently at first, then harder. You gasped sharply, hands flying to his shoulders as overwhelming sensitivity shot through you.
“Jungkook... it’s too much...” you whimpered, lightly pushing at his shoulders, cheeks burning with shyness.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark with lust and affection. “You’re so sensitive here,” he whispered, almost in awe. He flicked his tongue over your nipple again, watching your reaction closely. “So angelic when you tremble like this.”
He sucked harder, alternating between your breasts, licking and biting softly until you were a whimpering mess, pushing at him weakly while your body arched into his mouth.
You grew frustrated at the unfairness, nearly naked while he was still fully armored. With a small, determined huff, you pushed him back slightly and began tugging at the straps of his armor.
“It is not fair,” you muttered, cheeks still flushed. “You get to see all of me, but I still haven’t seen you.”
The knight let you undress him, helping you remove piece after piece until he stood completely bare before you for the first time.
Your breath caught.
He was magnificent. Broad shoulders, powerfully sculpted chest marked with old scars, some long and faded, others newer. A few dark tattoos adorned his left pectoral and ribs. His abdomen was ridged with muscle, leading down to narrow hips. His cock hung heavy between his legs, thick and already hard.
You stepped closer, running your hands over his bare chest, tracing every scar with reverent fingers, exploring the strong lines of his back, more scars mapping his battles. He stood perfectly still, letting you admire him, though his breathing had grown heavier.
“You are… so manly, my knight,” you breathed, barely coherent, as your hands returned to his chest, sliding down the hard ridges of his abdomen. “So big… so perfect.”
The room had grown hotter, heavier. The air between you felt charged with months of suppressed longing. Your breaths mingled as you stared into each other’s eyes... yours wide with awe and desire, his dark with barely restrained hunger.
Sir Jungkook’s control finally snapped. He lifted you and laid you down on the wide couch near the fireplace, pinning your exploring hands above your head with one large hand, holding them there firmly before his body hovered over yours, powerful and imposing, thick cock resting heavy against your inner thigh.
“Look at me,” he commanded, voice low and rough.
You did, heart hammering.
“Tell me what you want,” he demanded, eyes burning into yours.
You squirmed beneath him, aching and desperate. “Take me,” you pleaded, trembling. “Please, Jungkook… give it to me. I need you inside me.”
Sir Jungkook let out a low groan at your words. He positioned himself at your entrance, the thick head of his cock pressing against your soaked folds. He was big, almost intimidatingly so. You felt the stretch even before he pushed in.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Your Highness,” he whispered, voice strained with worry and barely contained lust. His dark eyes searched yours, torn between desire and restraint. “You’re so tight...”
You trembled beneath him, legs parted wide around his hips. “Please,” you begged softly, cupping his face. “Don’t hold back. I need you. All of you.”
The knight exhaled shakily and began to push inside.
The stretch was intense. You gasped sharply as the thick head of his cock breached you, slowly forcing your walls open. Inch by thick inch, he sank deeper, filling you in a way you had never experienced before. It burned sweetly, bordering on too much, making your nails dig into his shoulders.
“Ah... Jungkook…” you whimpered, tears pricking your eyes at the overwhelming fullness.
He paused halfway, breathing hard, jaw clenched tight. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he rasped, rough. “I’ll stop. I swear it.”
But you shook your head, wrapping your legs around his waist.
“Don’t stop,” you pleaded, voice breaking. “I need you deeper… please.”
With a low groan, he pushed the rest of the way in, burying himself to the hilt. The fullness was devastating. You felt so stretched, so completely claimed, that for a moment you could barely breathe.
Sir Jungkook stayed still, letting you adjust, pressing soft kisses to your tear stained cheeks.
“You’re taking me so well,” he murmured, voice filled with awe and lust. “Such a good girl for me.”
When the burn finally melted into aching pleasure, you rolled your hips experimentally.
“Move,” you whispered. “Please… ruin me.”
That was all it took.
Sir Jungkook’s control snapped completely. He pulled back and thrust into you hard, setting a deep, punishing rhythm. Jealousy and months of pent up desire fueled every powerful stroke. The wet, filthy sound of his thick cock slamming into your soaked cunt filled the tower, mixing with your loud, broken moans.
He was a knight sworn to protect the crown, now utterly ruining the very sovereign he had pledged his life to shield.
“Mine,” Sir Jungkook growled, biting down on your neck hard enough to leave a dark mark. “Not theirs. Never theirs.”
He ravished you relentlessly, claiming you, marking you. His mouth was everywhere: sucking bruises into your breasts, biting your collarbone, licking the tears from your cheeks. He pinned your wrists above your head again, hips snapping against yours with raw need.
You came hard the first time, screaming his name as your walls clenched violently around his thick length. But he didn’t stop. He took you through it, then flipped you onto your hands and knees, on the wide couch.
First, he worshipped.
The knight dropped to his knees behind you, his large hands spreading your cheeks reverently. He leaned in and pressed slow, open mouthed kisses along the curve of your royal backside, lingering presses of his lips that made your breath hitch. He kissed lower, then lower still, until his tongue dragged hot and wet over your soaked folds from behind.
“So beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, breath hot and heavy. “So divine. And yet I am going to ruin every sacred inch of you.”
Then the worship turned into ruin.
He rose, gripping your hips with white knuckled force, and thrust into you from behind in one deep, devastating stroke. You cried out sharply at the stretch, the thick length of his cock forcing your walls open, filling you so completely it stole your breath.
You sobbed in pleasure, fingers clawing at the cushions as he drove into you relentlessly. The power he exerted over you was intoxicating. this hardened warrior, dominating you utterly while still worshipping every tremble of your body.
“You belong to me,” he rasped, ruining you with slow, devastating strokes now. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” you whimpered, voice breaking. “Only yours, Jungkook... ahh!”
By the third round, you were a sobbing, whimpering mess, tears streaming down your face from overwhelming pleasure, body covered in his marks, cunt swollen and dripping with your combined release.
He took you in every way he could: against the wall, bent over the couch, riding him as he sat on the edge of the seat, then finally on your back again with your legs over his shoulders as he drove impossibly deep.
All night long, the tower echoed with your moans, his deep groans, the obscene wet sounds of your bodies joining. He claimed you utterly and completely devoted.
When he finally came for the last time, buried deep inside you, he held you tight, spilling pulse after pulse of hot seed into your womb, filling you until you felt impossibly full, claimed from the inside out.
Sir Jeon Jungkook pressed his forehead to yours, his lips brushing against yours with every word.
“You command the entire kingdom, my lady,” he whispered reverently, “but here in this hidden place… you are mine to ruin.”
You could only tremble in his arms, utterly spent, legs wrapped around his waist, heart pounding wildly as the fire crackled beside you.
The weight of what you had just done, and what it meant for both of you settled uncomfortably in the air. But in that moment, wrapped in his powerful arms, marked and filled by your knight, nothing else in the kingdom mattered.
The days that followed were a delicate illusion of peace.
It was late morning when you found yourself in the secluded royal bathing pool fed by a gentle river, surrounded by floating lily pads and white blossoms that drifted lazily on the current. The water was warm, scented with rose and lavender oils poured in by your maids. Sunlight filtered through the overhanging willow branches, casting soft, dappled light across the surface.
You leaned back against the smooth stone edge, your long dark hair floating around you like ink in water. Your body still carried the secret marks of the previous night, faint bruises on your hips, love bites hidden beneath the waterline, and a persistent, delicious ache between your thighs that reminded you with every shift who had claimed you so thoroughly.
Your maids, Elara, Verra, and old, wise Selyse moved around you carefully. They had raised you since you were a babe, more mothers than servants. They knew you better than anyone.
Elara poured another stream of warm water over your shoulders, her sharp eyes catching the faint flush that still lingered on your cheeks.
“You are glowing again this morning, my lady,” she said lightly, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “One might think the moon itself had kissed your skin.”
Verra, younger and bolder, laughed softly as she massaged oil into your scalp. “Or perhaps a certain tall, dark eyed knight has been keeping you… well attended.”
You felt your face heat, but you couldn’t stop the small, secret smile that curved your lips.
Selyse, the eldest, clicked her tongue but her eyes were soft with affection. “Hush, you two. Our princess has always been radiant. Though…” she tilted her head, studying you, “there is a new light in her eyes these days. And a certain weariness in her step that speaks of long nights.”
You bit your lip, sinking a little lower into the water as lily pads brushed against your skin.
“It is nothing,” you murmured, though the flush in your cheeks betrayed you.
“Nothing?” Vera teased, wading closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially.
“We have seen you grow from a wild little girl into this breathtaking woman. We know your heart. And we know it does not belong to any of those puffed up princes parading through the halls.”
You reached out, squeezing Elara’s hand, then Verra’s, your voice dropping to a shy, trembling whisper.
“It is true,” you confessed, cheeks burning hotter than the midday sun. “I have given myself to Sir Jeon. Body and heart. He is the only man I have ever wanted. The only one who has ever touched me.”
For a heartbeat, silence fell over the bathing pool. Then came the gasps.
Elara’s eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth. Verra let out a delighted little squeak, nearly dropping the oil vial. Even old Selyse, usually so composed, looked momentarily stunned before her face broke into a warm, knowing smile.
“Oh, my sweet girl,” Elara breathed, scandalized, thrilled. “You wicked little thing! With your own knight? Right under the King’s nose?”
Verra giggled uncontrollably, splashing water playfully in your direction. “And here we thought you were simply fond of him! All those late night ‘stargazing’ trips… you minx! Was he gentle? Was he… big?”
“Verra!” Selyse scolded, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. She turned to you with motherly affection. “Though I must admit, we have suspected for some time. The way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching… that man is utterly gone for you, my lady.”
You buried your face in your hands, mortified but unable to stop the shy, giddy smile spreading across your lips. Your gaze drifted across the river to where Sir Jeon Jungkook stood guard a respectful distance away, half hidden among the willow trees.
Even from here, you could feel the weight of his stare. He stood tall and imposing in his armor, but his dark eyes were fixed on you with a quiet, burning intensity that always made your stomach flutter.
You bit your lip, still flushed from both the warm water and the memory of his mouth, his hands, his body claiming you so thoroughly the night before.
“He is… everything,” you whispered dreamily, more to yourself than the maids. “Strong. Honorable. And when we are alone… he worships me like I am his entire world.”
Verra let out another delighted laugh. “As he should! Our princess deserves nothing less. Though if the King ever finds out…”
Selyse gently squeezed your shoulder, her voice softening with both love and concern.
“Then we will protect your secret as fiercely as we have protected you all these years,” she said. “You deserve to love who you love, my dear. Crown or no crown.”
You looked back at Sir Jungkook again. He hadn’t moved from his post among the willow trees, tall and steadfast in his armor, but your heart ached with a sharp mix of fear and wonder.
If The King ever discovered the truth, he would not spare your knight. Sir Jungkook would be banished, or worse. And you… you would be married off immediately to seal the wound.
The thought disturbed you deeply.
You turned back to the water, forcing a smile for your maids, but the warmth of the bath could no longer chase away the chill settling in your chest.
—
The rumors had begun to spread like fire through the palace corridors.
A lesser knight claimed he had seen “suspicious movement” near the eastern tower. One of the visiting princes mentioned, with a sly smile, that the Princess seemed unusually attached to her personal guard. Nothing concrete, nor proven. But the whispers were growing louder.
Your maids noticed your distraction immediately. During your morning dressing, Verra fastened the laces of your gown with unusually tight pulls, her voice urgent.
“My lady… you must be more careful,” she whispered. “Some of the king’s men have been asking questions about Sir Jeon. They say he spends too many nights away from the barracks. And one of Prince Min’s retainers swears he saw a tall figure slipping into your wing after midnight.”
Elara’s hands paused on your hair. “The knight is being cautious now. He avoids being seen with you as much. But you… you still look at him like he hung the moon. It is only a matter of time before the King hears something he cannot ignore.”
Selyse placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, her eyes full of love and worry. “You are playing with fire, sweet girl. And fire does not care how much you love it.”
Your heart clenched with fear. You hadn’t seen your knight alone in a week. He had been deliberately distant, protecting you both by keeping his distance. The absence gnawed at you like hunger.
That night, you sent for him under the pretense of needing extra security for a private walk in the inner courtyard.
The moment the hidden door to your chambers closed behind him, you were on him.
You pushed Sir Jungkook against the wall, frustration and fear pouring out of you in a desperate kiss. Your hands fisted in his tunic, tugging him closer.
“Where have you been?” you demanded between kisses, voice shaking. “I was scared. I thought something had happened to you. I thought my father had already—”
“I’m here,” he whispered against your lips, rough with emotion. He pulled you closer, arms wrapping around you. “I’m right here, my love.”
But then he pulled back slightly, forehead pressed to yours. His dark eyes were filled with pain.
“I cannot stay,” he said quietly. The words hit you like a blow. “Your father has ordered me to lead a company to the western borders. There have been reports of raiders. He says it is to prove my devotion to protecting the realm… and you. He also made it clear I can no longer linger so closely around you. The rumors are growing too loud.”
You stared at him, heart shattering.
“No,” you whispered, then louder, “No. You cannot leave me. Not now. Not after everything.”
Tears stung your eyes as the hurt poured out.
“After our first night, you pulled away. You kept your distance like I was poison. And now you’re leaving entirely? What if something happens to you out there? What if I lose you forever? I can’t take it, Jungkook. I won’t survive it.”
Your hands moved frantically, tugging at the straps of his armor with desperate, angry fingers.
“I don’t care about the king. I don’t care about the borders. I only care about you.”
Piece by piece, you stripped him. The armor fell to the floor with heavy clangs until he stood completely bare before you, broad chest, scarred skin, powerful frame looking every bit of the warrior he was. You shoved him back onto the bed and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips.
Sir Jungkook’s hands moved instinctively to the laces of your corset, trying to free you fully, but you slapped his hand away, tears already glistening in your eyes.
But the knight was patient. He sat up slowly, your legs still wrapped tightly around his waist, and gently cupped your face with both hands. His thumbs brushed away the tears on your cheeks with heartbreaking tenderness.
“My love,” he whispered, voice soothing, “Let me worship you. Let me take care of you tonight. Please.”
He leaned in and captured one of your sensitive breasts in his mouth, sucking slowly. His tongue swirled around your stiff nipple, drawing a shaky moan from you. He moved to the other, giving it the same devoted attention, sucking and licking until your back arched and fresh tears slipped down your cheeks, this time from overwhelming sensation and emotion.
Holding you close, then gently but firmly, Sir Jungkook leaned back, gripping your hips and guiding you upward. In one rapid motion, he pulled you over his face, settling you directly onto his waiting mouth. Your soaked folds pressed flush against his lips and tongue, your thighs framing his head as he looked up at you with pure hunger.
“Use me,” he growled against your dripping folds, the vibration sending sparks through your core. “Pleasure yourself on my tongue love. I want to drown in you.”
You hesitated for half a second, still shy and nervous, cheeks burning hot even as your body screamed for more. But the frantic ache between your legs won out. You lowered yourself more fully, your slick cunt sliding over his mouth, his nose buried against your clit. He groaned loudly, the sound muffled and obscene as he immediately speared his tongue deep inside you, licking and sucking at your juices like a man starved.
You started moving almost desperately, grinding down with frantic little rocks of your hips. Shyness still flickered in your chest, making you whimper and bite your lip, but the pleasure overrode everything. Your hands braced on the headboard as wet, filthy sounds filled the room, the slick slide of your cunt over his tongue, his eager slurping and moaning, the way he sucked your swollen clit between his lips and flicked it mercilessly.
“Oh gods...” you gasped. Your thighs trembled around his head as you grew bolder, grinding harder, smearing your arousal all over his face. He gripped your cheeks, spreading them, holding you down so you could use him exactly how you needed. His tongue ravished in and out of your dripping hole, then flattened to lap broad strokes from your entrance to your clit, devouring every drop.
But it wasn’t enough.
You lifted off his face with a wet pop, strings of your arousal connecting you to his glistening mouth. His eyes were dark, lips swollen and shiny with your juices. Before he could speak, you slid down his body impatiently.
You straddled his hips, wrapped your hand around his thick, throbbing cock, and sank down onto him in one frantic motion.
The stretch made you cry out, but you didn’t stop. You rode him hard, bouncing on his length with frantic, emotional need, your breasts bouncing heavily with every harsh drop of your hips.
“Don’t leave me,” you sobbed, riding him faster, tears falling onto his chest. “Please, Jungkook… I can’t lose you. Not after this. Not after you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”
He thrust up to meet you, matching your desperate rhythm, his strong hands gripping your hips to guide you deeper.
“I don’t want to go,” he rasped, voice breaking with the same pain. “But I must. Your father commands it. I have to prove my loyalty… so I can stay by your side.”
You leaned down, kissing him messily through your tears, riding him like you could keep him here forever if you just moved fast enough.
“Then stay inside me,” you begged, voice cracking. “Fill me up. So deep that a part of you stays with me even when you’re gone. I want to carry you with me when they try to take you away.”
Sir Jungkook groaned deeply. His hands tightened on your hips as he suddenly flipped you onto your back, pinning you beneath his powerful body.
He made love to you then, with deep, devastating strokes that reached the very core of you. His mouth never left your skin, sucking marks into your neck, whispering promises between every thrust.
“You are mine,” he breathed against your lips, hips rolling deeply. “I will come back to you. I will fill you again and again until you swell with our future.”
You wrapped your arms and legs around him, clinging desperately as another orgasm built inside you. When it finally crashed over you, you sobbed his name, walls pulsing tightly around his thick cock.
Sir Jungkook followed right after, burying himself as deep as possible with a low, guttural groan. He came hard, flooding your womb with thick, pulsing ropes of his seed, holding you so tightly it felt like he was trying to merge your souls together.
Even after, he stayed buried inside you, pressing soft kisses to your damp forehead, your cheeks, your trembling lips.
“I don’t want you to go,” you whispered, small and broken. “I love you too much.”
Sir Jungkook pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his arms never loosening. “I know, my love,” he murmured. “And that is why I must return to you. No matter what.”
The weeks following Sir Jungkook’s departure had stretched into an endless gray fog.
You moved through your royal duties like a ghost wearing a crown. You sat through council meetings with a straight spine and a hollow smile, listening to nobles bicker about alliances, trade routes while your mind wandered back to your knight’s strong arms. Every night since, your bed felt too large, too cold. You would press your face into the pillow he had once used and fight the ache in your chest.
You missed him with a desperation that bordered on madness.
This morning was no different. You had barely kept your breakfast down before the maids helped you into a heavy velvet gown the color of deep wine for yet another assembly with potential suitors. The princes and lords from neighboring kingdoms were growing impatient. Your coronation was only a month away, and the pressure to choose a consort was mounting like a noose around your throat.
By midday, the nausea returned with a vengeance. You barely made it through the formal greetings before excusing yourself to the private solar, hand pressed to your mouth.
Elara followed quickly with a basin. You retched violently into it, eyes watering.
“Your Highness…” she whispered, rubbing gentle circles on your back.
“I’m fine,” you rasped, waving her away. “Just… something I ate.”
But it wasn’t.
Later that evening, after the day’s obligations were finally over, Vera and Selyse insisted on the usual massage to ease the tension in your shoulders. They helped you out of your gown until you lay on the wide cushioned table in nothing but a thin silk shift.
The moment Selyse’s skilled hands moved over your breasts, the older maid froze.
Verra, who was working on your legs, also stilled.
“…Your Highness,” Selyse said carefully, “Your breasts… they are fuller. Tender, yes?”
Your breath hitched. You had noticed it days ago but had tried to ignore the swelling, the sensitivity. The way even the softest fabric sometimes made you wince.
Verra’s hands gently pressed against your lower belly, not quite a touch, more an assessment. “And the sickness every morning… the fatigue… the way you’ve been crying in your chambers…”
Your eyes filled with tears. You turned your face into your folded arms, shoulders shaking.
Selyse knelt beside the table, taking your hand gently. “My lady… are you with a child?”
You didn’t answer at first. Then a broken sob escaped you.
“I think so,” you whispered. “I… I don’t know for certain, but the timing…” Your voice cracked. “It would be his. Sir Jungkook’s.”
Both maids exchanged a heavy glance. This changed everything.
Verra spoke softly, “My lady... with your coronation approaching. The lords are already circling like vultures, pushing their sons at you. If this comes out before you choose a prince…”
“I know,” you said, voice muffled. Fresh tears slipped down your cheeks. “I know what it means. But I can’t… I can’t just marry one of them. Not when I’m carrying the child of the only man I’ve ever loved.”
You sat up slowly, clutching the silk shift to your chest, arms wrapped protectively around your still flat stomach.
“My dear knight...” you sniffled. “He is out there fighting gods-know-what, and I’m here pretending to be the perfect princess while my body betrays our secret.”
Selyse brushed a strand of hair from your face with motherly tenderness. “We can hide it a little longer, Highness. Looser gowns. Ginger tea for the sickness. But you must decide soon what path you will take. The child… it will not stay hidden forever.”
You nodded, but your heart was breaking all over again. The thought of choosing one of those cold, ambitious princes while carrying Sir Jungkook’s child made you feel ill all over again.
Selyse pressed a kiss to the top of your head, her voice firm with loyalty. “We pray he returns soon, my lady. And until then, we will guard you and this little one with our lives.”
—
The weeks blurred into months as winter settled over the kingdom like a heavy white shroud. Snow blanketed the towers and gardens, turning the world soft and silent, yet inside your chest, the storm only grew louder.
Sir Jeon Jungkook had not returned.
Your belly had swelled noticeably now, a gentle but undeniable curve that marked the life growing within you. With the help of Elara, Verra, and Selyse, you hid it beneath layers of loose, flowing gowns and heavy cloaks lined with fur.
The rich fabrics concealed the truth for now, but you could no longer ignore the way your body changed, the tender fullness of your breasts, the occasional flutter of movement beneath your skin, and the constant, bone deep exhaustion.
You had begun excusing yourself from the suitors’ assemblies more frequently, claiming headaches or matters of state. But the King, grew increasingly impatient.
In the grand throne room one frost laced afternoon, he fixed you with a stern gaze as snow fell outside the tall windows. “You cannot delay any longer, daughter,” he spoke, heavy with royal command. “Prince Min of Viena is a strong candidate. The coronation is weeks away. You must choose a consort soon. The realm needs stability.”
You bowed your head, hands clasped tightly over your hidden belly beneath the voluminous velvet. “Yes, Father,” you murmured, the lie tasting like ash. Inside, your heart screamed for the only man you wanted.
Every few days, with your maids’ help, you sent letters. Verra would sneak them to a trusted rider, sealed with your private wax. You poured your soul onto the parchment; how much you missed him, the way your body was changing, the secret you carried, your love that only deepened with every passing day. Yet no responses ever came. The silence gnawed at you, feeding nightmares of him lying wounded on some distant battlefield or worse.
The worry became unbearable.
One bitter winter morning, wrapped in a thick hooded cloak that concealed your swollen middle, you slipped away from the castle with only Elara and Selyse accompanying you. The three of you rode through the snow dusted forest to a modest stone cottage on the outskirts of the kingdom, the home where Sir Jungkook had grown up.
When the door opened, an older woman with kind eyes and streaks of silver in her dark hair stood before you. Sir Jungkook’s mother. She froze at the sight of the princess on her doorstep, her hand flying to her chest.
“Your Highness…?” she whispered, stunned. “Surely I do not deserve to be blessed with your presence at my humble door. Please, come inside before the cold takes you.”
She ushered you, Elara, and Selyse quickly into the warm cottage, the scent of pinewood and baking bread wrapping around you like an embrace. The fire crackled merrily in the hearth as she helped you remove your snow dusted cloak. Only when you were seated by the fire did her gaze drop to the unmistakable swell of your belly beneath the loose gown.
You took a steadying breath, your hands resting protectively over your rounded stomach.
“I carry his child,” you said softly, trembling with emotion. “Your son’s. Sir Jungkook’s. He does not know yet… he has not returned, and I… I needed to feel close to him somehow.”
Jungkook’s mother, Maera, stood completely still for a long moment, her eyes wide with shock. Then her hand flew to her mouth as tears welled up in her eyes.
“Oh… gods above,” she breathed, her voice cracking. “A grandchild…? From my Jungkook?” Fresh tears flowed freely as she dropped to her knees in front of you, taking your hands in hers with deep reverence. “My lady… my princess. You honor me beyond words. You honor my son. To think that you, a royal daughter, would carry his child… I am stunned. Truly stunned. And so deeply moved.”
She pressed her forehead to your knuckles, weeping quietly with pure joy and emotion. When she lifted her head again, her eyes shone with fierce affection.
“You are already family to me,” she whispered. “Come here, sweet child.” She rose and pulled you into a warm embrace, cradling you gently as if you were made of glass. “You must be so frightened, carrying this secret alone while he is away. But you are not alone anymore. Not while I draw breath.”
You felt safe in her arms, the weight on your heart easing just a little as winter wind howled softly outside the cottage walls.
After composing herself, Maera wiped her tears and fetched a small wooden chest from a shelf. She sat beside you, opening it with trembling hands.
“Look,” she said tenderly, pulling out several treasured items. She showed you a faded sketch of a chubby baby with dark, serious eyes —Sir Jungkook as an infant. Another portrait showed him as a sturdy little boy of four, holding a wooden sword with determination. There was even a lock of his soft baby hair tied with a ribbon.
“He was always so intense, even as a babe,” she said with a watery laugh. “Strong and quiet… but when he smiled, the whole world lit up. Just like I imagine your little one will.”
You traced the portraits with gentle fingers, tears slipping down your own cheeks. Seeing these glimpses of him as a child made your love for the knight swell even deeper. You could so clearly picture your baby with his eyes, his strength, his rare smile. The thought made your heart ache with both joy and longing.
Maera kept one hand over yours, cherishing you openly. “Thank you for coming to me,” she murmured. “For trusting me with this precious news. We will wait for him together, my daughter. And when he returns, he will be the happiest man alive.”
The two of you sat by the fire for a long while — his mother and the mother of his child, talking softly as snow continued to fall outside, bound by love for the same man.
The days after your visit to Maera’s cottage only deepened the ache in your soul. Winter grew harsher, and so did your impatience. Every morning you woke with your hands on your swelling belly, feeling the strong kicks of his child, and the longing became unbearable.
One evening in the royal chambers, you fell to your knees before the King, tears streaming down your face. “Father, please… I beg you. Bring Sir Jungkook back. I need him. I cannot do this without him.”
The King frowned, confused by your desperation. “Daughter, he is leading my forces on the border. The realm needs him there. Why this sudden insistence on one knight?”
You could not tell him the truth. “I just… need him,” you whispered brokenly. “Please.”
He did not relent. The pressure to choose a suitor only intensified.
And then the sickness took hold.
Your body ached constantly. deep soreness in your back, hips, and breasts that made every movement painful. The baby’s kicks, once a comfort, now left you breathless. You grew feverish and weak.
Elara, Verra, and Selyse rarely left your side, forcing herbal teas and bitter medicines down your throat while piling warm blankets over you. For nearly a week you were bedridden, barely able to leave your chambers, hidden away from the court under the excuse of a winter chill.
One cold, silent night, as snow tapped gently against the window panes, you drifted in and out of a fevered haze. The herbs made the world soft and blurry around the edges.
You thought it was a dream when the heavy door to your chambers opened with a quiet creak and a tall, familiar figure stepped inside, shedding his snow dusted cloak. The firelight caught on his sharp jawline and those intense dark eyes.
Strong arms slipped beneath you, lifting you carefully as he climbed into your grand bed. A warm, calloused hand gently cradled your swollen belly. You felt the press of soft, reverent lips against the curve of your stomach.
“My love…” The knight’s deep voice whispered against your skin, rough with emotion. “I’m here. I finally came back to you.”
“Jungkook…?” you murmured drowsily, eyelids heavy, unsure if this was real or another cruel dream born of longing and medicine.
“It’s me,” he breathed, pulling your body flush against his solid chest. He was real. warm, solid, smelling of snow, leather, and the faint scent of campfires. “I’ve been aching for you every single day. Your touch, your voice… it kept me alive out there.”
His large hand stroked slow, soothing circles over your rounded belly, feeling the baby shift and kick beneath his palm. He lowered his head, pressing his lips directly to the taut skin.
You let out a tired, broken sound. “You left me… You promised you’d come back sooner. Look at me… I’m so sore, so heavy with your child, and you weren’t here…”
Sir Jungkook chuckled softly, the sound warm against your skin, even as his eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I know, my princess. I deserve your scolding. I’m deeply sorry.” He kissed your belly again and again, soft open mouthed presses wherever he could reach. Then he trailed his lips higher, attaching his mouth gently to the swollen, aching curve of your breasts, sucking lightly and kissing away the soreness with such care that you whimpered in relief.
His hands never stopped moving, massaging the deep ache in your lower back, cupping and gently holding your heavy breasts to ease their weight, stroking your hips and thighs. He intertwined his fingers with yours, holding your hand tightly as if afraid you might vanish.
“You are unreal, my love.” he murmured, voice hoarse with awe as he looked at you. “Your glow… it’s deeper now. The way pregnancy has changed you… you’re beyond anything I could have imagined. You shine like starlight. Carrying our child has only made you more radiant, more mine.”
You clung to him weakly, drowsy but desperate for his touch. “The baby… it kicks so much. I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl… but it feels like you. Strong and stubborn.”
Jungkook smiled against your temple, one hand still resting warmly over your belly. “This child is the product of our love. A piece of both of us. I already love them more than life.” He kissed you deeply, slowly, pouring months of aching into it. “Every battle, every cold night, I thought only of coming home to you like this… holding you, feeling our baby move, worshipping the body that’s creating our future.”
He continued kissing every place that ached... the sides of your breasts, the curve of your belly, the inside of your wrist, his mouth soft and devoted. You melted into him, the pain easing under his gentle care as he held you close.
“Stay…” you whispered tiredly, already slipping back into sleep.
“I’m here right now,” he promised, lips brushing your ear. “Sleep, my love. I’ve got you both.”
When morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, you woke slowly, body still aching but strangely comforted.
The bed beside you was cold. No warmth lingered. No cloak on the chair. No scent of him on the pillows. Only the faint memory of strong hands, whispered words to your belly, and soft kisses remained.
You touched your swollen stomach, feeling another firm kick, and tears filled your eyes.
Was it a dream? A fevered hallucination woven from medicine, longing, and love? Or had Sir Jungkook truly returned to you in the dead of night… only to disappear again before dawn?
The herbs and medicines your maids prepared worked their magic. The fever finally broke, the deep soreness in your body eased into a manageable ache, and the constant nausea faded. Though you were still tired, your strength slowly returned. Your belly continued to grow rounder and heavier, the baby’s kicks becoming more insistent and lively.
One quiet winter evening, when the moon hung full over the snow covered palace, your maids turned your chambers into a secret sanctuary.
Accompanied by Sir Jungkook’s mother, they had worked together in absolute secrecy. No one outside your trusted circle knew. They had decorated the large private solar adjacent to your bedroom with soft candlelight, evergreen boughs, and winter white roses. Warm furs and silk pillows were arranged in a luxurious nest near the hearth. Incense of myrrh filled the air, and a small table held gifts wrapped in fine cloth.
They helped you into a loose, flowing gown of the softest ivory silk that draped beautifully over your swollen belly, leaving your shoulders bare. When you stepped into the room, all four women bowed their heads in reverence.
Selyse took your hand and guided you to the center of the soft pillows. “Tonight we celebrate you, my lady. And the precious life you carry. No one else will know of this blessing. It is ours alone.”
They treated you with deep adoration, as though you were sacred.
Elara gently massaged your feet with warm scented oil while Maera brushed your hair until it shone. Verra offered you sweet honeyed fruits and warm spiced milk, foods meant to nourish both you and the baby. Selyse laid her hands lightly on your rounded belly and spoke soft blessings for a safe birth and a strong child.
Selyse, ever wise, placed a small crown of dried herbs and winter berries on your head. “You are the vessel of love and life,” she murmured. “Even in these uncertain times, you bloom. We honor you as our princess… and as the mother of Sir Jungkook’s heir.”
You felt tears prick your eyes as they presented their secret gifts: tiny embroidered blankets, a soft knitted cap in deep green, a small silver pendant shaped like a blooming rose, a symbol of motherhood.
Vera leaned her cheek against your belly for a moment, grinning when the baby kicked in response. “He or she is strong already. Just like their father.”
You placed both hands over your swollen stomach, feeling another firm flutter. The warmth of their love and the secret celebration soothed the constant ache of missing your knight.
“Thank you,” you whispered, “All of you. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
Elara kissed your temple. “We will keep you and this little one safe until Sir Jungkook returns. And he will return.”
The warmth of the secret celebration lingered on your skin as you returned to your chambers that night. The maids had just helped you out of the ivory silk gown when a royal messenger knocked urgently.
“The King demands your presence immediately, Your Highness. In his private study.”
You had no time to prepare. Still glowing from the love and blessings of your maids, you wrapped yourself in a heavy velvet robe that concealed your very swollen belly and followed the messenger.
The moment you entered the study, the atmosphere turned icy. Your father stood behind his desk, several of your letters spread before him.
“Daughter,” he spoke, controlled. “I have given you time to come to me yourself. I know you have been sending letters to the front lines. To Sir Jungkook, specifically.” He turned to face you, his expression stern but not yet furious. “I know of your… admiration for him. Speak truthfully now. What is this attachment?”
Your throat tightened. This was the moment. With your belly heavy with his child and your heart aching, you could no longer hide everything.
“Father…” you began, voice trembling as you stepped closer. “It is more than admiration. I love him. Sir Jungkook is the only man I want.” Your hands instinctively moved to cradle your stomach. “And I… I am carrying his child.”
Silence crashed over the room.
The King’s eyes widened, then narrowed sharply as his gaze dropped to the unmistakable swell beneath your gown. His face darkened with shock, then rage.
“You what?” he hissed. “A knight’s bastard? While I have been parading princes before you? While the entire realm waits for you to secure the throne with a proper alliance?”
“Father, please,” you begged, tears filling your eyes. “It is his. Our love is real. If you would only let him return, we could—”
The King’s face twisted with fury. “You dare speak such filth to me? A royal princess swollen with a common knight’s bastard?”
You rebelled, voice shaking but defiant. “It is not filth. It is love. I will not marry Prince Min. I will not let you use me as a pawn for alliances while I carry the man I love’s child.”
“Enough!” The King slammed his fist on the table, making you flinch. “I have been patient with your childish infatuation, but this is treason against your bloodline. You will do as you are told! Your fate is sealed. You will marry Prince Min before the month ends.”
Later that same night, before your maids could even calm you, you found your most trusted rider in the stables. With tears streaming down your face and snow falling around you, you whispered your final message: “Tell him… tell Sir Jungkook that I will wait for him. No matter how long it takes. My heart is his alone. I will wait.”
The rider bowed and galloped into the night. No response ever came.
The next weeks were a nightmare.
Prince Min visited often, his eyes raking over your body with open lust and infatuation. He complimented your “ethereal glow”, clearly aroused by your pregnant form, but his arrogance disgusted you. He spoke openly of claiming the throne through you, of bedding you the moment you were his. You hated him with every fiber of your being.
You fought your father harder than ever, refusing to attend meetings with Prince Min, screaming that you would rather die than marry him. But the King had reached his limit.
One brutal afternoon, he summoned you again and placed a bloodied cloak and a forged letter before you.
“Sir Jeon Jungkook is dead,” he said flatly. “He fell in battle two weeks ago. This is proof.”
The world shattered.
You collapsed to the floor, a guttural sob tearing from your throat. The baby inside you kicked as if sensing your pain. From that moment, you broke completely.
You refused to eat. You barely slept. You stopped speaking, even to Elara, Verra, and Selyse who begged you through tears to think of the child. You lay in bed for days, staring at nothing, your once radiant glow fading into pale exhaustion. Your maids feared for both your life and the baby’s.
Despite how numb you had become, when your maids gently suggested taking you to Maera’s quiet home on the edge of the forest, you agreed without protest. You were taken there in secret under the cover of night.
Maera, a strong but grieving woman with the same dark eyes as her son, took you in without question. She cared for you with quiet hands and even quieter words. You didn’t speak much to her either, but you accepted her care wholeheartedly. After all, she was mourning the loss of her son, and you were mourning the loss of your lover and the father of your child.
The King, despite his fury, still sent guards to watch over you from a distance. You were still royalty, still carrying what he believed might be his grandchild. But you could only think of the protection you once had... the strongest, safest pair of arms that had ever wrapped around you.
You mourned deeply. But you couldn’t be completely selfish with a baby on the way, restless and eager to come into the world.
The labor came on a stormy night.
The pains started suddenly and violently. Maera and your maids worked frantically around you as you screamed and cried, gripping the sheets until your knuckles turned white. The King himself had ridden out in secret when he heard you had gone into labor, standing outside the cottage with a face pale with rare fear.
He didn’t know how to comfort you. He only knew one thing, his daughter was calling for her knight in her delirium.
Even though he viewed the child as the product of a sinful affair, something in him softened at the sound of your broken sobs. He could not lose you.
Inside the cottage, you gave birth to a baby girl.
She was small, chubby, with a shock of raven hair and big, dark eyes that looked exactly like her father’s. The moment the midwife placed her on your chest, fresh tears streamed down your face.
“She looks like him…” you whispered, hoarse and broken. “My little love… she has his eyes.”
You held her close, sobbing softly as the pain and grief mixed with a fragile, overwhelming love. Even in your exhaustion, you couldn’t stop crying. You believed Sir Jungkook was dead. The thought that your daughter would never know her father tore you apart.
Maera wept beside you, gently stroking your hair. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered. “Just like her mother.”
Outside, the King stood in the rain, waiting.
When the door finally opened and the midwife stepped out, he demanded to know if you and the child were alive. Upon hearing they both were, something in his hardened heart shifted.
He turned to his captain without a word and gave the order.
“Send riders to the western borders at once. Bring Sir Jeon Jungkook back. Tell him… his princess has need of him.”
It would take time. The borders were far, and the roads were muddy from the storms. A week, perhaps a month.
In the quiet warmth of the cottage, you held your newborn daughter against your chest, wrapped in soft linen.
You rocked her gently as she fussed against your breast, nursing hungrily. Your maids and Maera moved around you, bringing broth, fresh cloths, and ever soft words. But you barely spoke. The grief had hollowed you out.
“I wish you could meet your father,” you whispered to the baby one quiet night, voice cracking. Tears slipped down your cheeks as she latched on again. “He would have held you so carefully. He would have loved you more than anything in this world. He would have protected us both…”
Maera sat beside you, her own eyes red from mourning. She placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “He would have been so proud,” she said softly. “Of both of you.”
You could only nod, throat too tight to speak. The emptiness inside you felt endless. Every time the baby cried, every time she looked up at you with those familiar dark eyes, the pain returned like a fresh wound.
The King demanded your return to the palace, as you were still royalty, still bound to your father’s will despite carrying a child out of wedlock. He wrote letter after letter insisting you resume your duties and prepare for the inevitable marriage to Prince Min. You refused to answer most of them.
Your maids tried their best to comfort you, but even they could not reach the depths of your sorrow. The only light in your world was your daughter. Tiny, perfect, with Jungkook’s dark eyes and a tuft of raven hair. You held her constantly, whispering stories about her father, singing lullabies with a voice that often broke halfway through.
You mourned him deeply. The King had not even granted him a proper funeral. No rites. No chance to say goodbye. Just a bloodied cloak and a cold declaration.
One quiet evening, Maera left the cottage to fetch groceries from the nearby village. Your maids had been called back to the palace on the King’s orders, duties they could not refuse. For the first time in weeks, it was just you and your baby in the small, warm cottage.
You sat by the window, cradling her in your arms. She cooed softly, tiny fingers wrapping around yours as you gently rocked her. For a few precious minutes, you allowed yourself to smile a real, soft smile as you played with her little hands and kissed her forehead.
“My baby,” you whispered, “The loveliest babe. Don’t tell the queens and princesses, I think they’d be terribly jealous.”
The baby blinked up at you. “Oh, yes,” you continued solemnly. “Especially of those cheeks.”
You leaned back in the chair as exhaustion eventually won over you, your eyes growing heavy. With your daughter nestled safely against your chest, sleep claimed you quickly.
When you woke, the cottage was awfully quiet.
Your arms were empty.
Panic slammed into you like a physical blow. You shot upright, heart hammering wildly as you looked around the room.
The baby was gone.
“No… no, no, no...” you gasped, stumbling to your feet, voice rising into a broken sob. “Where is my baby?!”
You searched frantically, under the blankets, behind the chairs, near the hearth, terror clawing at your throat. Your mind spun with nightmarish possibilities. Had someone taken her? Had the King sent men to steal her away?
Then you saw him.
A tall figure standing near the doorway, cradling your daughter gently in his strong arms. She was sleeping peacefully against his chest, tiny fist curled into his tunic.
Your knees buckled.
It was Sir Jungkook.
He looked exhausted, travel worn, mud on his boots, shadows under his eyes, but he was alive. Real. His dark eyes met yours, filled with unbearable love and pain.
You stared at him, trembling violently, refusing to believe what you were seeing.
“No…” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, no, this isn’t real. You’re dead. They told me you were dead. This is another dream. You always come in my dreams and then you leave me again—”
Your voice cracked into a sob as you backed away, hands clutching your chest.
“You left me,” you cried, tears streaming down your face. “You left me and our child. I mourned you. I almost died mourning you. Please… don’t do this to me again. I can’t take another dream. I can’t wake up to find you gone again.”
Sir Jungkook’s face crumpled with anguish. He took one careful step forward, still cradling your daughter like the most precious thing in the world.
“My love,” he said hoarsely, voice breaking. “It’s not a dream. I’m here. I’m real. Your father… he lied. He sent me away to the borders to keep me from you. But I came back the moment he allowed it. I rode without stopping.”
You shook your head harder, tears falling faster, refusing to believe it even as your heart screamed at you to run to him.
“You’re dead,” you repeated, voice small and shattered. “You have to be dead… because if you’re not, then you let me believe it. You never answered my letters. Not one. I wrote to you every single day, pouring my heart out, begging you to come back to me, to our child… and you never...”
Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks as the pain twisted deeper.
“You were in on it, weren’t you?” you whispered, voice breaking. “You let my father tell me you were gone. You left me here to rot in grief while I carried your child alone. How could you?”
The knight’s face crumpled with agony. He took a step forward, but you flinched, and he stopped immediately, hands trembling at his sides.
Before he could speak, your daughter stirred in his arms. As if sensing the suffocating tension in the room, she let out a sharp, hungry cry, her little lips puckering, tiny fists waving.
You moved without thinking, reaching for her. Sir Jungkook gently handed her over, his hands lingering for a moment as if afraid to let go. You turned away from him, sitting on the edge of the bed and loosening your dress to feed her. The baby latched on eagerly, her cries softening into small, contented sounds.
The knight stood there, watching you in silence. He looked lost, this battle-hardened soldier, returned from war, now completely unsure how to comfort the woman he loved. He slowly lowered himself to his knees in the middle of the room, head bowed.
“I wrote to you,” he admitted hoarsely. “Every chance I had. Your father… he made sure none of my letters reached you. He wanted you to believe I was gone. I fought every day to come back to you. I almost died trying to get word to you.”
You didn’t look at him. You kept your eyes on your daughter, tears falling silently onto her soft hair.
“I mourned you like a widow,” you whispered, voice thick with pain. “I almost died. And now you’re here… acting like you didn’t abandon me when I needed you most.”
The words cut awfully deep. Sir Jungkook’s shoulders slumped, but he stayed on his knees, silent and respectful, giving you the space your wounded heart demanded.
Your daughter stirred in your arms, letting out a small, distressed whimper as if she could sense the storm raging between her parents. You rocked her gently, pressing a kiss to her soft raven hair.
“Shh, my sweet one,” you cooed softly, “Mama’s here. You’re safe.”
Sir Jungkook’s hands twitched at his sides, aching to reach out, to touch you, to hold both of you, but he remained still, jaw clenched tight. He was no longer in full armor, only a worn tunic and breeches, his appearance shambled from the long ride, fresh bruises blooming across his knuckles and jaw.
You turned away from him, focusing on the small tasks that had become your life in the cottage. The rain outside grew heavier, pounding against the roof like a relentless drum.
You moved about the space, stirring the pot of stew over the fire, folding fresh linens, anything to keep your hands busy and your mind from breaking completely.
Hours passed in heavy silence. When your daughter finally grew fussy again, you nursed her by the hearth until her little eyes fluttered shut. You laid her gently in the wooden cradle Maera had prepared, stroking her cheek one last time before covering her with a soft blanket.
Only then did you notice movement near the door.
Sir Jungkook was standing there, cloak in hand, quietly preparing to leave.
Something inside you fractured. You stepped toward him, voice cracking. “You’re leaving again?”
He turned slowly, eyes filled with torment. “I was only going to check the perimeter. The rain is heavy, and I… I didn’t want to burden you further.”
You stared at him, this warrior who had survived hell just to return to you, and the dam finally broke.
“Come here,” you whispered.
He obeyed without hesitation.
You led him to your bed and with trembling hands, you began removing his tunic, revealing the damage the war had left behind.
New bruises painted his ribs and shoulders in shades of purple and blue. Fresh scars, still healing, cut across his chest and abdomen. He looked harder, a man who had walked through fire and barely returned.
Your lips trembled, but you forced yourself to stay steady. You turned away briefly, gathering clean linen strips, salve, and a bowl of warm water. When you returned, the knight stood perfectly still, letting you see all of him, the bruises, the brutal evidence of everything he had endured just to return to you.
You began tending to him in silence, your hands gentle as you cleaned a particularly nasty cut along his side. But the more you looked, the more the dam inside you cracked.
“What have they done to you, Jungkook?” you whispered, voice breaking. Tears spilled down your cheeks as you carefully wrapped a bandage around his ribs. “You’re… you’re covered in pain. All of this… just to come back to me?”
He stood motionless, letting you care for him, but his dark eyes never left your face.
“I would go through it a thousand times more,” he said softly, “if it meant coming back to you and our daughter.”
You shook your head, fresh tears falling as you pressed a bandage over another wound. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that. I can’t bear thinking of you suffering like this. I thought you were dead. I thought I would never see you again, and now you’re here… broken because of me.”
Sir Jungkook slowly lowered himself to his knees in front of you, even though you were still trying to tend to him. The powerful knight, the man who had survived war, knelt before you like the loyal protector he had always been.
“Your Highness,” he murmured, head slightly bowed, voice thick with emotion. “I failed you. I wasn’t here when you needed me most. I wasn’t here when you carried our child. I wasn’t here when you gave birth. I wasn’t here when they told you I was gone. Forgive me.”
You dropped the bandages and pulled him into your arms, holding his head to your chest. His arms wrapped around your waist instantly, clinging to you like a man who had almost lost everything.
A broken sob tore from his throat.
Your knight, your warrior, the strongest person you had ever known, cried against your chest like a child. Deep, shuddering sobs that shook his powerful frame as his arms tightened around you.
“I thought I lost you,” he choked out, voice muffled against your skin. “Every night on the border, I prayed I would make it back to you. To both of you.”
You held him tighter, fingers threading through his raven hair, your own tears falling onto his head.
“You’re here now,” you whispered, rocking him gently. “You’re here. You came back to us. That’s all that matters.”
For a long time, the only sounds in the cottage were the rain outside, the crackling fire, and the quiet, heartbroken sobs of a knight who had finally returned to his princess.
—
The rain had not eased by the middle of the night. It hammered against the thatched roof like an impatient army. You had fallen asleep in Jungkook’s arms on the narrow bed, your daughter nestled safely in her cradle beside you. For the first time in months, your sleep was deep and dreamless.
A sharp knock on the cottage door shattered the peace.
Sir Jungkook was awake in an instant. He slipped from the bed silently, pulling on his tunic and reaching for the sword he had left by the door. His body was still tense from war, every muscle ready for threat.
“Stay here,” he whispered, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “I will see who it is.”
But you already knew.
A cold certainty settled in your chest. You rose, wrapping a shawl around your shoulders, and followed him despite his warning. Your daughter stirred but remained asleep.
Sir Jungkook opened the door, sword half drawn, rain pouring behind the figure standing outside.
It was the King.
Your father stood in the downpour, cloak heavy with water, face pale and drawn. Guards waited at a respectful distance, torches flickering weakly in the storm. His eyes moved past your knight and landed on you.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then the King stepped inside without invitation, water dripping onto the wooden floor. His gaze softened when it fell on you — his only daughter, still pale from childbirth, carrying the weight of grief and motherhood.
“My child,” he said, voice rough. “You must return to the palace. You are still royalty. Still my blood. You do not belong in a cottage like this.”
You stood straighter, even as exhaustion and lingering pain made your body ache.
“I belong where I choose,” you replied quietly, but firmly. “And I will not return without Sir Jeon. He is my knight. He is the father of my daughter. He stays with me.”
The King’s jaw tightened. He glanced at Jungkook, who stood tall and silent beside you, sword now lowered but ready.
“I know what you are to each other,” the King said heavily. “I have known for some time. Prince Min is a fool and a coward, but his bloodline is strong. The alliance—”
“I will not marry him,” you cut in, voice steady despite the tears gathering in your eyes. “I will return to the palace. I will perform my duties as princess, as future queen. I will be the ruler this kingdom needs. But only if Sir Jungkook remains at my side. As my knight. As the man I have chosen. As the only man with any right to me.”
The King looked at you for a long time. He saw the woman you had become, not just his rebellious daughter, but a figure of quiet strength. The people in the surrounding villages spoke of you with reverence. They told stories of the princess who helped common women, shared food during hard winters, who listened to their troubles as if they mattered as much as any noble’s.
The King exhaled slowly, defeated but not broken.
“Very well,” he said at last. “Sir Jeon will return with you. He will remain your personal knight. But this… affair… must remain hidden from the court. For now.”
You nodded once, relief flooding through you.
The King’s gaze drifted to the cradle where your daughter slept. He had not yet seen her. You had kept her away from him, protecting her with every fiber of your being.
He took one hesitant step toward the cradle, then stopped, as if afraid.
The King’s shoulders sagged. For the first time in years, he looked truly old.
“Bring her home,” he said quietly. “Both of you. We will find a way.”
When the heavy door of the cottage finally closed behind your father, you let out a huge, shaky sigh. The weight of the conversation pressed on your chest like a stone. You turned and walked to the cradle, gently lifting your daughter into your arms. She stirred but settled quickly against your chest.
Sir Jungkook followed silently behind you, his presence warm.
“I would not trust him,” you whispered, voice laced with bitterness. “My father lied. He did all of this, told me you were dead, kept us apart, made me believe I had lost you forever. How can I believe a single word he says now?”
Jungkook stepped closer. He gently wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on the top of your head as you held your daughter.
“Petal,” he murmured softly, the old endearment slipping out like a balm. “Your father is a hard man, but he is not as cold as he pretends to be. He sent for me the moment he learned you had gone into labor. He could have kept me away forever. But he didn’t.”
You turned slightly in his arms, eyes wide with disbelief.
The knight continued, low and calm.
“There was one night… when you were still heavy with our child and very sick. I rode through a storm to reach you. Your father allowed it. He let me see you. I held you while you slept, fevered and restless. I whispered to you. I kissed your forehead and promised I would return. But I had to leave before dawn. He made me swear not to wake you. He said it would only make the pain worse when I had to go back to the borders.”
You stared at him, stunned. Tears welled up again.
“That night… it was real?” you whispered. “I thought it was a dream. I thought I imagined your arms around me.”
“It was real,” he said gently, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I was there. And I have regretted leaving you every single day since.”
You turned fully toward him, still cradling your daughter. The baby had woken and was fussing softly. You loosened your dress and began to feed her.
Sir Jungkook watched the two of you with such open love and longing that it made your chest ache.
“She has your eyes,” you said softly, brushing a finger over your daughter’s cheek. “So dark and beautiful. Just like yours.”
Sir Jungkook’s expression softened further. He reached out, gently stroking the baby’s tiny hand.
“And she is as beautiful as her mother,” he murmured. “I hope she grows to be as strong as her. As kind. As full of fire and love.”
For a while, the only sounds were the soft suckling of your daughter and the rain pattering against the roof. Sir Jungkook stayed close, one arm around your waist, the other lightly resting near the baby.
Eventually, after your daughter had fallen asleep again, you made the decision.
“We will return to the palace,” you said quietly. “Together. As a family. I will not hide anymore.”
The next morning, after tender farewells to Maera, who hugged you both tightly and kissed her granddaughter’s forehead with tears in her eyes, you left the cottage.
—
Three Months Later,
The palace had transformed around you.
After your return, the finest healers in the realm were summoned, learned men and women versed in herbs and ancient remedies. They tended to you with the utmost care, restoring the strength you had lost in grief and childbirth. Slowly, the hollow exhaustion faded. Color returned to your cheeks. Your body healed, and with it, your spirit bloomed once more.
You were treated not merely as royalty, but as something sacred. The people whispered that the Princess had returned more radiant than before, as if the earth itself had blessed her.
Your maids, Elara, Verra, and Selyse, were beyond ecstatic to have you back. They fussed over you constantly, brushing your long hair until it shone, dressing you in the finest silks, and whispering prayers of gratitude for your safe return.
The kingdom now knew the truth: the child was Sir Jeon Jungkook’s. The scandal had spread like wildfire, but instead of outrage, most of the people embraced it. They saw their princess glowing, and fiercely protected.
Prince Min had tried to slander you upon his return, calling you impure, unfit, a disgrace for bearing a knight’s child out of wedlock. Sir Jungkook had nearly killed him in the great hall before the King’s guards pulled him back. Prince Min was expelled from the kingdom that very day, the alliance shattered. No one mourned his departure.
It was a warm evening when you returned to the royal bathing pool, surrounded by floating lily pads and fragrant white blossoms. The water shimmered under the sunlight as your maids helped you undress. Your daughter, now three months old and full of life, babbled happily in Elara’s arms, reaching for you with chubby little hands.
“Come here, my sweet,” you cooed, taking her into the warm water with you. She immediately nestled against your bare chest, tiny fingers grasping at your long, wavy hair as you gently rocked her. She was a needy little thing, always wanting her mother’s warmth, her scent, her voice.
Verra smiled as she poured scented oil over your shoulders. “She adores you, my lady. Look at those big, bejeweled eyes.”
You glanced toward the far bank where Sir Jeon Jungkook stood guard, as always. He was no longer forced to hide. He remained your personal knight, ever watchful and devoted. His gaze met yours across the water, soft with love and quiet pride. He had become even more protective since your return, rarely leaving your side unless duty demanded it.
The King had grown strangely silent on the matter of your relationship. Seeing you flourish and beloved by the people, had turned him into something of a coward when it came to opposing you.
He doted on his granddaughter in private, though he still struggled to fully accept the circumstances. Yet he no longer pushed for any other marriage. He had seen what happened when he tried to separate you from your knight.
Bit by bit, your beauty had deepened into something almost otherworldly, skin luminous, eyes bright with life, a gentle fullness to your figure from motherhood that only made you more captivating. You moved through the palace performing your duties with grace while still finding time to help the common women who came to the gates seeking aid. You had become more than a princess.
At night, when the palace slept, Sir Jungkook was yours completely.
He would slip into your chambers, shed his armor, and worship you with slow hands and mouth. He made love to you like a man who had walked through hell and returned only for this. You clung to him every night, whispering how much you loved him, how you had chosen him long before the crown ever mattered.
Your daughter babbled softly, pulling at your long hair again with her tiny fist, drawing a soft, delighted laugh from you.
“Oh, my little one,” you cooed, gently untangling her fingers from your waves before pressing a kiss to her chubby cheek. “You are going to pull Mama’s hair right off if you keep that up, aren’t you? Such a strong little flower.”
She giggled in your arms, reaching up to pat your face with her small, uncoordinated hand, her big dark eyes, exact replicas of her father’s, sparkling with pure joy. The resemblance was almost startling even at such a young age. She was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.
Elara sighed dreamily as she poured warm water over your shoulders. “Look at her, my lady. She is perfection. She already has the whole palace wrapped around her tiny finger.”
Verra nodded, gently massaging oil into your hair. “And you, my princess. You glow like the sun itself these days. Motherhood suits you more than any crown ever could.”
Selyse, ever the wise one, glanced toward the bank where Sir Jeon Jungkook stood guard, fully armored but with his helmet removed today. A small, teasing smile tugged at her lips.
“And that one over there… he can’t take his eyes off the two of you. Look at him, standing there like a lovesick fool in steel. Our fierce knight, brought to his knees by a baby and her mother.”
The knight’s ears turned faintly red, but he didn’t deny it. His gaze remained soft, locked on you and your daughter with quiet awe and devotion.
Later that evening, in the royal rose gardens where he had once walked beside you as your new knight, Sir Jungkook carried your daughter in his arms.
He was still in full armor, crimson cloak draped over his broad shoulders, but he held her with such careful gentleness it made your heart melt. The baby was dressed in the softest cream colored gown embroidered with tiny golden flowers, a little bonnet tied under her chin. She looked like a living doll against his armored chest.
She reached up with both hands, grabbing at the edge of his armor, babbling excitedly as she tried to pull herself closer to his face. When he leaned down, she patted his cheek with a wet, sloppy kiss.
Sir Jungkook’s entire expression softened into something almost boyish. He smiled, genuine and devastatingly handsome.
“My little love,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
You walked beside them, heart full as you watched your daughter play with the buckles on his armor. Every time he lowered his head to let her see his face, she lit up. But when he playfully put his helmet back on for a moment to tease her, she immediately fussed, letting out a small, indignant cry and reaching for him with both arms.
“No helmet,” you laughed softly. “She hates it. She wants to see her father’s face.”
Sir Jungkook removed it immediately, tucking it under one arm while cradling her with the other. He leaned down so she could press her tiny palms against his cheeks and give him another sloppy kiss on the jaw.
The maids watching from a distance cooed and teased him lightly.
“Look at that,” Verra whispered loudly enough for him to hear. “Who would have thought the man who survived the western borders would be brought down by tiny hands and gummy smiles?”
Later that night, the heavy oak door to your royal chambers was barred, only the soft glow of candles and the low fire in the hearth illuminated the room.
You stood before the tall mirror, slowly changing into your nightgown. The fabric whispered against your skin as it slid down your body. Your gaze caught on the beautiful ring on your finger, the one Sir Jungkook had slipped onto your hand in secret weeks ago, a quiet promise between the two of you. You turned it gently, a small, private smile touching your lips.
Your daughter lay nestled against your bare chest, warm and content, her tiny fingers curled around the edge of your loosened gown. She babbled softly, her big dark eyes full of adoration for her mother.
Sir Jungkook stood a few steps behind you, fully armored except for his helmet, watching the two of you with quiet awe. The firelight danced across his face, highlighting every healed scar and the lingering shadows of war that still clung to him.
You gently laid your daughter in her ornate cradle, pressing one last kiss to her forehead as she drifted into sleep. Then you returned to the mirror, picking up the silver brush to run it through your long, wavy hair.
Sir Jungkook followed without a word. He stopped behind you, his large hands resting lightly on your waist. Slowly, he leaned down and began pressing soft kisses along your bare arms, from shoulder to wrist, as you continued brushing your hair.
You giggled softly, cheeks flushing with that familiar shyness even after all this time.
“Jungkook…” you murmured, breathy. “You ought to distract me.”
“Good,” he whispered against your skin, kissing the curve of your shoulder. “I have missed you all day. I need my darling.”
He dropped to his knees behind you with a quiet clink of armor, bowing his head in his familiar, devoted way. You turned to face him, running your fingers through his raven hair, then tracing the sharp line of his jaw and the faint scars that remained on his face.
You saddened for a moment, remembering the brutality he had endured.
But he looked up at you with such pure worship that it took your breath away. To him, you were more than a princess. you were his salvation, the very source of life that had healed him.
You pulled him closer, and he rose, lifting you effortlessly into his arms and carrying you to the grand bed.
The knight laid you down gently, then began to worship you with slow, reverent hands. He unlaced your nightgown with painstaking care, peeling the silk away until you were bare before him. His mouth found your breasts immediately, sucking softly on one sensitive nipple, then the other, drinking the sweet milk that flowed for him with deep, grateful groans.
You moaned softly, fingers threading through his hair as he fed from you, his tongue swirling, lips sealed tight around your peak. He drank like a man who had been starving for you, savoring every drop as if it were the very essence of life itself.
Sir Jungkook groaned deeply against your breast, the sound vibrating through your chest as he drank almost desperately. His large hand cradled the soft weight of your breast, squeezing gently to draw more from you while his other hand stroked your side with reverent tenderness.
“So sweet,” he whispered against your skin, voice hoarse and worshipful. “You give me life, my petal. You heal what war tried to break.”
You whimpered, arching into his mouth, overwhelmed by the intimate, sacred act, fresh heat blooming between your thighs.
When he finally released your nipple with a wet pop, his lips glistening, he looked up at you with dark, adoring eyes.
“You are my salvation,” he murmured, kissing the valley between your breasts before moving lower. “The mother of my child. The light that brought me home.”
When he finally moved lower, he spread your thighs with firm hands and settled between them. He looked up at you once, eyes dark with devotion, before lowering his mouth to your core.
He worshipped your flower, seeking nectar with slow, deep licks that made your back arch, followed by gentle suction on your swollen clit. His tongue delved inside you, tasting every inch, groaning at your sweetness as if it were the most sacred thing he had ever known.
You whimpered and moaned, hips rolling against his handsome face as pleasure built in waves. He was relentless yet tender, bringing you to the edge again and again before letting you tip over.
When you finally begged for him, voice trembling with need, Sir Jungkook rose above you like a knight before his altar.
He did not rush. Instead, he sat back on his heels, dark eyes drinking in every inch of your bare, flushed body with such raw hunger that it made your skin burn. You felt vulnerable and impossibly desired under that gaze. A shy, breathless giggle escaped your lips as heat flooded your cheeks.
Sir Jungkook reached out with one large, calloused hand and traced a single finger slowly down your body, from the delicate line of your throat, between your heaving breasts, over the soft curve of your belly, and down to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The touch ever so feather light, yet it left fire in its wake.
“You are a goddess made flesh,” he whispered, voice hoarse with awe. “And I am but a mortal who has been granted the honor of kneeling at your feet.”
He leaned down and pressed his forehead to your thigh in a gesture of pure worship, eyes closed, breath warm against your skin as if he were praying to the only deity he had ever believed in.
Then he moved over you, settling between your spread thighs. His thick cock pressed against your entrance, hot and heavy. He looked into your eyes as he slowly pushed inside, inch by thick, stretching inch, filling you so completely that your mouth fell open in a silent cry.
You dug your nails into his back as he began to move, first slow and loving, then harder, deeper, claiming you with every thrust.
“I love you,” he groaned against your neck, hips snapping forward. “I love you more than life itself.”
When you came, it was with his name on your lips and tears of overwhelming pleasure in your eyes. Jungkook followed moments later, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a low, broken groan, filling you with pulse after pulse of his release.
In the quiet that followed, with the knight’s arms still wrapped around you and the weight of the world momentarily forgotten, it was strangely easy to remember the day he had first knelt before the throne.
The impenetrable knight clad in steel, sworn to protect a princess draped in silk. and protect you he would, as though it had been carved into the marrow of every breath he would draw, for eternity.
editing thid in a few hours. thankyou so much for reading!! comments and reblogs are very much appreciated mwah love you all 🫶💋
synopsis: the guy of your dreams finally asks you on a date. the problem? you've barely had your first kiss—and he looks like he definitely knows what he's doing. panicking, you ask the campus resident playboy, choi yeonjun, for lessons. strictly practical. no feelings. no strings. except yeonjun isn't as experienced as everyone thinks.
✧ pairing: playboy student!choi yeonjun x student!reader
✧ genre/warnings: explicit sexual content (smut with plot, 18+ mdni), rom-com, college au, sexual exploration, coming of age, fwb, teaching trope, sexual themes & sexting, clumsy intimacy, love triangle-ish, smoking, alcohol/party settings, virgin/inexperience themes, anxiety/second-hand embarrassment
✧ word count: 10.8k
✧ status: completed
✧ playlist | series masterlist | main masterlist
soobin: back next month
soobin: wanna go for dinner?
soobin: i’ve missed you
You stare at the screen until your eyes start to sting. Dinner. A normal word. A normal plan. A normal boy you’ve wanted for an unreasonable amount of time.
You should be thrilled. Your chest does flutter—soft, stupid, familiar. Then your stomach drops, because the version of you Soobin thinks he’s meeting at that dinner is not you.
Not really.
You’ve wanted him since you were sixteen and he was already the kind of boy teachers praised too eagerly and girls liked too openly. You wanted him while he had a girlfriend—pretty, polished, untouchable—so you learned how to want him quietly. You got good at it. You made it a background process in your life. A hidden tab.
Then university happened. He went to Switzerland on exchange. You told yourself it was a clean ending.
Distance didn’t end it. It loosened you. Because somehow, over the last few months, Soobin started talking. Properly talking.
Not just polite check-ins. Not just how’s class? and did you eat today? but messages that didn’t stop at midnight. Calls that started as five minutes and ended with the sky lightening outside your window. A private, dangerous kind of closeness where he starts saying your name a little slower, a little softer, until you can’t pretend it’s nothing.
It starts as flirting. Then it turns into sexting.
And you—who have no business to—kept up.
Because you were safe behind a screen. Because he was far away. Because your thumbs were braver than your body. Because he kept responding like he wanted more.
You didn’t just flirt. You performed. You told him you weren’t shy. You told him you’d done things. You told him you were good at things. You told him a body count that sounded impressive instead of honest.
And he believed you.
Your phone buzzes again before your brain can recover.
soobin: i want your mouth
soobin: i’m serious about dinner
soobin: and i’m serious about what you promised me
Your throat goes dry so fast it hurts. You sit up, duvet sliding down your waist, and for a second you’re too hot in your own skin. Your heart is loud. Your hands are damp.
Promised.
That’s the word that ruins everything, because you didn’t just talk. You bragged.
You scroll up.
You don’t want to. You do it anyway, thumb dragging the chat back through weeks of late nights and bad decisions. There you are—bold, filthy, fearless on paper.
you: i’m not going to be sweet about it
you: i’ll get on my knees if you ask
you: i’m good at swallowing. don’t underestimate me
you: i can take you
you: i won’t tap out
You stare at your own messages with a slow, horrified disbelief, as if someone else typed them. Someone with experience. Someone with practice. Someone with a real history and not—you stop.
Because the truth is humiliating in its simplicity.
You have never given anyone head in your life. You have never even seen a dick in real life that wasn’t in a medical diagram or an accidental photo someone flashed in a groupchat.
Your lips have kissed exactly one boy in your entire life and it barely counts. Year Four. A snotty boy with glasses. A thank-you kiss meant for his cheek. You misjudged the angle and pecked him on the mouth. You remember the sound he made—half gasp, half offended squeak. The way you both froze, staring at each other with the shared expression of two people who’d just committed a felony. The way you ran home and swore off boys forever, as if you’d been personally wronged by God.
You, age nine—already dramatic. You, age twenty-one—still dramatic. But now with consequences. Real ones.
Your phone buzzes again.
soobin: you’re not going to ghost me now, right?
soobin: i’ve been counting down
soobin: i want you
You make a sound that’s halfway between a laugh and a noise of actual pain. “Jesus,” you whisper, voice thin.
Your brain starts sprinting ahead without you. Dinner, walking you home, his hand at your waist, him leaning in with confidence because you taught him to expect it. And you—you going rigid. You kissing him back wrong. You revealing yourself in the worst, most embarrassing way—not with a confession, but with your body freezing because it doesn’t know what to do.
You toss your phone onto the bed like it’s cursed. Then you grab it again immediately, because you’re weak and because seeing his name does something soft and stupid to your chest.
You type. Delete. Type again. Delete again.
You draft confidence and erase it. Draft flirtation and erase it. Draft something filthy—something that matches the girl you pretended to be—and erase it so hard your thumb aches.
Finally you type, yeah.
One word. Small. Safe. Harmless. A lie, considering the persona you’ve been feeding him at 2am.
You hover over send and consider adding something bolder. A wink. A threat. A promise. Your fear wins. You hit send. The message delivers.
You stare at it in silence for two seconds. Then you smack your forehead with the heel of your hand hard enough to make your eyes water.
“Why did I lie?” you whisper to the empty room.
No one answers. The room just holds you there—sitting upright in your bed with your phone in your hand, realising you have officially talked yourself into a situation you do not know how to survive.
Your friends answer instead—because they always do, and never gently. Cute little vultures with groupchats.
It’s Thursday night—which means someone’s flat, music too loud, cheap alcohol poured into plastic cups, bodies pressed into every corner of a living room. The air tastes of vape, perfume, sweat, and whatever fruity mixer is being spilled onto the carpet and ignored.
You’re perched on the arm of the sofa, clutching a cup you’ve had for twenty minutes without drinking. You’re not thirsty. Your anxiety has simply occupied every available body function and reassigned your hands to cup duty so they don’t start shaking.
Beomgyu is in his element. Beomgyu is thriving. He’s sitting cross-legged on the rug with smug confidence. He has an audience. He has momentum. He is about to ruin you for entertainment.
“And then,” Beomgyu says, raising his voice so half the room can hear, “she tells Soobin her body count is eleven.”
You make a sound that is half groan, half prayer. “I didn’t tell him. It just came out.”
“It just came out,” Beomgyu repeats, delighted. “Right. A natural phenomenon. An act of God. You tripped and fell face-first into lying.”
Mina’s eyes go wide. “Eleven is wild. Babe.”
Yuna squints at you. “Eleven is also—not even sexy. You could’ve said four. Four says I have a life without saying I run an underground operation.”
“I panicked,” you hiss. “He was flirting. It escalated. And I—”
“And you decided to go full porn star,” Beomgyu finishes, grinning.
“Beomgyu!” you yelp, lunging for the nearest cushion. You throw it at his face.
He catches it without looking. Smug bastard.
Yuna points at you, horrified and amused. “What else did you lie about?”
“I lied about everything,” you whisper, because there’s no point pretending now. Your face is on fire. “I lied about my body count. I lied about being experienced. I lied about—skills.”
Beomgyu slaps his knee. “Skills.”
“Stop saying it like that,” you beg.
Beomgyu is practically vibrating. “No, because this is insane. Soobin is coming back next month expecting you to be this confident, filthy menace, and you’ve never even—”
“Don’t,” you warn, voice shaking. “Don’t finish that sentence.”
Mina tries to be helpful and fails. “Okay, but what exactly did you promise him?”
You squeeze your eyes shut. “I promised him a whole night.”
Beomgyu snorts. “A whole night of what? Sudoku?”
Yuna makes a choking noise. Mina throws her head back, laughing.
You glare at Beomgyu. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” he says, grinning. “You need me. I’m your emotional support bully.”
“You’re my emotional support executioner.”
Beomgyu raises his hands. “I’m just saying, you didn’t just flirt. You wrote him a brochure. You made claims.”
Mina wipes at her eyes. “What claims?”
Beomgyu smiles, evil. “She told him she’d get on her knees the second he asked.”
“Beomgyu!”
“She told him she likes it doggy.”
“Beomgyu!”
“She told him she could take raw.”
Yuna screams, “STOPPPPPP.”
You bury your face in your hands. Your entire body tries to fold into itself. “I was delusional,” you say into your palms. “I was horny and delusional and he was in Switzerland and it felt fake and safe.”
Mina’s laughter softens a notch. “Okay. Okay. So what’s your plan? Are you going to tell him the truth?”
You lift your head slowly, eyes stinging. “Absolutely not.”
Yuna blinks. “Then what happens when he tries to kiss you?”
Your stomach flips. “I’m going to die,” you whisper.
“You’re not going to die,” Beomgyu says cheerfully. “You’re just going to be exposed.”
“Can you stop saying that sentence,” Mina says, laughing and wincing at the same time.
Across the room, the music shifts. People keep dancing. People keep drinking. Your life is falling apart and nobody even pauses the playlist.
You stand up because you can’t sit still. Your skin feels too tight. Your lungs won’t fill properly. “I need air,” you say, not asking permission.
Beomgyu waves you off. “Go practise being mysterious.”
Mina calls after you, still laughing, “Go practise telling the truth!”
You flip them off without turning around.
Cold air hits your face and your lungs finally expand. The night is damp, streetlights turning the pavement glossy.
Your eyes sting. You tell yourself you are not crying at a party. You are not going to be that girl. You are going to be normal and composed and grown—your throat tightens anyway. You swipe at your cheek, annoyed at yourself, and step further out so the doorway light can’t expose your face.
And then you see him.
Choi Yeonjun.
Leaning against a lamppost with a cigarette between his fingers, shoulders loose, posture relaxed in a way that feels unfair. He’s with a few friends, but he stands half a step apart—present, included, not chasing attention. He laughs at something, and it’s easy. It sits on him naturally.
His hair falls into his face in messy pieces, dark and thick and grown out on purpose. It shadows his eyes when he looks down. When he lifts his gaze there’s sharp attention there—observant, not arrogant. The kind that makes you feel clocked even from across the pavement.
A silver hoop catches the light at his ear when he turns his head. His sleeves are pushed up, forearms bare, lean muscle moving when he brings the cigarette to his mouth. He exhales smoke into the cold and doesn’t look like he’s performing for anyone.
“Bro,” one of them laughs, loud enough that anyone with ears is now involved, “you cannot keep saying you’re taking a break when you’re still getting your dick sucked every other day.”
Yeonjun doesn’t even flinch. He takes a drag, exhales slowly, and says, deadpan, “I’m not keeping track.”
“You’re lying,” another one says immediately. “You absolutely keep track. You’re the kind of man who knows his Google Calendar password.”
“Yeah, you just stumble into it,” the first friend snorts. “Accidentally. Tragic. You fell down the stairs and landed in someone’s throat.”
“Shut up,” Yeonjun says, but it’s lazy. Practised. Like he’s said it before and enjoyed it every time.
A third friend shoves his shoulder. “Nah, he’s actually evil. He’ll flirt for twenty minutes, act all chill, then go, Do you want to come upstairs? like it’s a cuppa tea.”
Yeonjun flicks ash off his cigarette. “It’s not evil. It’s called being direct.”
“It’s called being a slut,” the first friend corrects, delighted. “Campus public transport. Tap in, tap out.”
Yeonjun turns his head slowly, brows lifting. “I’m not public transport.”
His friends erupt. Yeonjun rolls his eyes, but he’s smirking now, and it’s the kind of smirk that says he knows exactly what they’re doing and he’s letting them anyway.
“Okay,” the second friend says, catching his breath. “Serious question. Aftercare?”
Yeonjun exhales, unimpressed. “I’m not a psychopath.”
“Oh my God,” the third friend groans, laughing. “He’s a whore with ethics.”
Yeonjun shrugs, too calm. “I’m a man with standards.”
“Your standards are, she wants you and she’s breathing.”
Yeonjun’s eyes narrow. “She wants me. I want her. Nobody’s pressured. Everybody’s clean. Everybody’s fed. That’s the whole list.”
“The whole list,” the first friend repeats, wheezing. “He said fed. This man is handing out orgasms and snacks.”
Yeonjun taps his cigarette against the lamppost. “You’ll understand one day when someone actually enjoys having you around.”
“Yeonjun,” someone gasps, scandalised, “that was personal.”
He just smirks again—unbothered and comfortable in his skin—while your stomach tightens, because hearing him say it out loud makes everything in your head feel painfully real.
Your brain supplies everything you’ve heard about him without you asking.
Your chest aches with something humiliating. Not for him. For what he seems to have. For how he seems to exist without fear. For how he looks like he could teach confidence the way people teach a language.
The idea lands hard. You stare at Yeonjun—at the cigarette, the smirk, the calm—and you think, with awful certainty, I’m going to ask him for help.
You don’t do it at the party.
Because you are many things, but you are not walk up to the campus whore in front of witnesses and ask him to teach you how to suck dick insane.
So you try to be strategic. You try to be normal.
You fail.
The next day, you find Yeonjun alone in a lecture hall—back row, legs stretched out, phone in his hand. His hair is pushed back just enough to show his forehead, but it still falls forward in stubborn pieces. He looks expensive without trying.
You stop in the doorway too long. A girl brushing past you mutters, “Move,” and you jolt as if you’ve been caught committing a crime.
You march down the aisle anyway. Your brain is screaming ABORT. Your feet ignore it. Yeonjun doesn’t look up when you sit beside him. Of course he doesn’t. Of course the man who allegedly gets laid on weekdays doesn’t bother looking up at anything.
Your heart is punching your ribs. Your palms are damp. You swallow. Hard.
You stare at the front of the lecture hall like it owes you answers. Your throat keeps tightening every time you try to form a sentence.
Hi. Sorry. Weird question.
No.
Hi. I’ve been watching you smoke outside parties.
Absolutely not.
Hi. I lied to this guy named Soobin who’s on exchange in Switzerland and he’s about to come back and asked to go on a date and then do things but I have no idea how to do these things because of course I lied so now I need a man with a reputation to save me.
Jesus Christ.
Yeonjun scrolls on his phone, thumb moving slow, relaxed. He’s close enough that you can see the edge of his screen. Something brainless. Sports highlights. A meme. A girl’s name in his notifications.
You glance at him once. Sharp jaw. Lazy mouth. Heavy lashes. The faint scent of laundry, smoke, and something clean under it—soap, cologne, whatever. It makes your stomach do that humiliating drop it does when you remember you’re a sexual being and not just an anxious blob with student debt.
You look away fast. Too fast. Your neck twinges.
You sit there rigid for the entire hour, rehearsing one sentence over and over until it loses meaning—Can you teach me how to sex?
The lecturer says something about post-modernism. Somebody asks a question nobody cares about. Someone’s laptop fan starts screaming. Life carries on while you silently drown.
Yeonjun doesn’t look up once.
At the end, people stand. Bags zip. Chairs scrape. Yeonjun stands too, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.
He walks past you without a glance.
You sit there for a full minute after everyone leaves, staring at the whiteboard as if it’s going to spit out confidence. “Okay,” you whisper, furious with yourself. “Tomorrow.”
Tomorrow arrives and Yeonjun is outside, cigarette between his lips, lighter flicking open and shut in his hand.
Your feet carry you there before your brain can file an objection. And then, at the last second, your body betrays you and you dive behind a bush.
A bush. You are hiding behind a bush on a university campus because you are terrified of a man with good cheekbones. You crouch there, peering through leaves, the damp smell of plant and dirt filling your nose.
Yeonjun inhales. Exhales. Smoke curls into the cold air.
You tell yourself, Go. Walk up. Speak. Use words. Ask him. Say “I need help, please.”
You don’t move. Yeonjun finishes the cigarette. Lights another.
You tell yourself, If you don’t go now, you’re going to end up on a date with Soobin pretending you know what you’re doing. He’s going to kiss you. He’s going to touch you. He’s going to expect your mouth to do the things you promised. You’re going to panic. You’re going to ruin everything.
You still don’t move. Your phone vibrates. You freeze, because the universe has a sense of humour and it hates you.
Yeonjun shifts slightly. His gaze flicks toward the bush.
Your soul leaves your body.
He stares for a beat then turns to his phone. Yeonjun finishes the second cigarette, tucks the lighter away, and walks off.
You remain behind the bush. You press your forehead to a leaf.
“Why am I like this?” you whisper.
The day after that, you decide you need a new strategy. A better one. A less humiliating one. Something with dignity.
So you go to the cafeteria with sunglasses on and a newspaper lifted to hide half your face. You look like a woman trying to commit fraud.
You spot Yeonjun across the room—sitting alone, phone in one hand, sandwich in the other, taking bites in between texts. He looks irritatingly relaxed. He looks annoyingly hot doing something as unsexy as eating cheese and mayonnaise.
You pretend to read the newspaper. You turn a page too aggressively and it makes a loud snap. The guy next to you flinches and stares. You stare straight ahead, as if you are not a lunatic wearing sunglasses indoors at lunchtime. You lower the newspaper by half an inch.
Yeonjun is still scrolling. Still chewing. Still minding his own business.
You tell yourself: Stand up. Walk over. Say “Hi.” Say “I need help.” Say “I lied.” Say “I need lessons.” Say “Before my date, I need someone to teach me how to not embarrass myself in bed.”
Your mouth goes dry. Your thoughts trip over each other. Just walk up. Just say it. Just—your sunglasses slip down your nose. You push them up too fast, flustered. The newspaper wobbles. You panic and lift it higher.
Someone behind you laughs. You don’t know if it’s at you, but your body assumes it is.
Yeonjun finally looks up. His eyes flick over the newspaper, the sunglasses, the tension in your shoulders. He pauses mid-bite. Then, very slowly, he goes back to his phone.
You exhale into the paper, miserable. “This is not going well,” you whisper.
And somehow—despite the humiliation flooding your face, despite the dread crawling up your spine—you already know the worst part. You’re not stopping.
By day five, Choi Yeonjun is done pretending this is normal.
He can handle the usual stuff. People staring. People whispering. People acting brave in front of their friends and then sending him titty pics at 2am with you up? and a location pin.
He can handle being a rumour. It’s easier than being a person. But even rumours don’t come with a five-day stalking schedule.
It starts small. Then it gets stupid.
Lecture hall—you sit next to him and sweat through your shirt. Outside—you appear near his smoke break and then vanish behind a bush. Cafeteria—you wear sunglasses indoors and hold a newspaper upside down to your eyebrows.
Yeonjun is not flattered. Yeonjun is not charmed.
Yeonjun is thinking, is this a dare? Am I about to end up on somebody’s private story with a caption that says caught the campus slut? If I ignore it, you’ll keep doing it. If I confront it, it becomes a scene.
Then there’s the men’s toilets. That’s when it stops being funny.
He’s half-awake, caffeine-deprived, walking toward the door, and there you are—posted up near it, pretending you’re waiting for someone.
You are very obviously not waiting for someone. You are waiting for him.
He slows. You freeze. Your eyes meet for half a second and your face does this whole panic spiral in real time—guilt, fear, shame—then you look away so fast it’s a neck injury. Yeonjun walks past because he’s not starting a public fight outside a toilet.
But he washes his hands longer than necessary, staring at his reflection. He looks normal. He looks calm. He looks exactly like the guy everyone thinks he is.
He doesn’t feel calm.
He feels watched. He feels set up. He feels one wrong move away from being a screenshot.
So by day five, he makes a decision. If you want to be weird, you’re going to be weird to his face.
He’s outside for a cigarette when he spots you again.
There you are, half-hidden behind a lamppost, doing a terrible job at pretending you’re just standing there. You’re stiff, shoulders high, eyes wide, cheeks already flushing because you know you’ve been seen.
Kian follows Yeonjun’s gaze. “Oh my God,” he laughs. “It’s her. The spy.”
Milo squints. “Is she the newspaper one?”
“Yeah,” Kian says, delighted. “Newspaper and sunglasses indoors. Absolute criminal.”
Yeonjun flicks ash off his cigarette. “Shut up,” he says, stepping away from them.
He just walks. Straight toward you. Your eyes widen further as he closes the distance. You look trapped.
He stops in front of the lamppost. He keeps his voice flat. Calm. No drama. “Are you following me?”
You blink. “What? No.”
Yeonjun nods once. “Okay.”
You exhale, relief flickering.
“And I’m the Pope,” Yeonjun adds, deadpan. “Lecture hall. Cafeteria. My smoke breaks. Outside the men’s toilets.”
Your face drains. “Oh my God,” you choke out. “No—no, I wasn’t—I wasn’t—”
Yeonjun lifts a brow. “Finish that sentence.”
You swallow. Your fingers clamp around your bag strap.
Yeonjun doesn’t soften. Not yet. He scans your hands. Your phone. The angle of your body. The way you keep flicking your eyes around the pavement. He says it plainly. “Are you filming me?”
Your head jerks. “What? No!”
“Is this a dare?” Yeonjun asks. “Are your friends watching from a window? Are we doing a prank? Do you want me to say something embarrassing so you can post it?”
Your eyes go glassy. “No. I swear. I’m not trying to do anything to you.”
Yeonjun’s mouth twitches at that. “Bold sentence to say to a stranger you’ve been stalking.”
You flinch. “I wasn’t stalking. I was—”
“What,” Yeonjun cuts in, voice low, “were you doing?”
You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. Yeonjun waits. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t rescue you. He just stands there and lets the silence choke.
Your voice comes out messy. “I have a date.”
Yeonjun blinks once. “Congrats.”
You keep going anyway, words pouring now that the dam’s cracked. “He’s coming back next month. This guy. Choi Soobin? I don’t know if you know him but—but he asked me out and I—I’ve been texting him for months and I said things and now he’s actually going to be here and I’m going to embarrass myself so badly I’m going to have to drop out.”
Yeonjun’s eyes narrow. “Soobin—as in Soobin the guy that went to Switzerland on exchange?”
You nod so hard it’s frantic.
Yeonjun keeps his face blank. “And what does any of this have to do with me?”
You inhale sharply and then blurt the proposition in the worst possible words. “I need you to teach me how to suck dick.”
The pavement goes silent in Yeonjun’s head. Not because he’s shocked. He’s heard worse. He’s been offered worse. Because your delivery is so mortified and sincere that it doesn’t even sound seductive. It sounds desperate. It sounds panicked. It sounds… insane.
Yeonjun stares at you. Then he says, very clearly, “Excuse me?”
Your whole face turns red. “Not—not here. Oh my God. Not on the street. I just—I meant—I need help.”
“You think you can just walk up to me and say that?” Yeonjun asks, voice sharper now. “You think I’m a public service? A campus tutorial?”
“No!” you say too loudly. Then quieter, frantic. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be disrespectful. I just—I lied to him.”
Yeonjun crosses his arms. “About what.”
You squeeze your eyes shut. “About—everything.”
“Give me specifics,” Yeonjun says. “Because everything can mean you lied about being rich or you lied about loving anal.”
You make a strangled noise. “I—I lied about being experienced.”
Yeonjun tilts his head. “Define experienced.”
You look like you want the earth to open up and swallow you. “I told him I’m good at oral,” you whisper, barely audible. “I told him I like it. I told him I’d swallow. I told him I could take him. I told him I—” you choke, then force it out anyway because you’re already dying, “—I told him I’m not shy—and I can take it raw and my body count is eleven—and yeah.”
Yeonjun’s jaw tightens. Not because he’s offended. Because now he understands the real problem. You wrote a sexual resume you can’t back up, and you’re about to get audited in person.
Yeonjun exhales slowly. “So your solution is… me.”
“Yes,” you say, voice cracking. “Because everyone says you—you know what you’re doing.”
Yeonjun lets out a single laugh. It isn’t warm. It’s disbelief. “Everyone says a lot of shit,” he replies.
“I’ll do anything, I’ll—I just need three lessons.”
Yeonjun’s gaze sharpens. “Three.”
You nod. “Three.”
“Tell me what you think a lesson is,” Yeonjun says. “Because right now it sounds like you want to practise on me so you can go impress another guy.”
You go rigid. “That’s not—I mean—yes, technically, but—”
“I don’t mean it like that,” you say quickly, panicking again. “I mean I don’t want to freeze. I don’t want to look stupid. I don’t want to panic when he touches me. I don’t want to be that girl who wrote porn and then shows up in person and can’t even—”
You stop. Swallow.
Yeonjun watches you shake. Not in a cute way. In a she’s actually about to cry way. He looks over his shoulder once. His friends are watching, grinning, clearly expecting entertainment.
Yeonjun turns back. His voice drops. “This is suspicious as hell.”
Your shoulders slump. “I know.”
“It’s also risky,” Yeonjun continues. “For me. For you. For both of us. If someone finds out, it’s not you they’ll call a creep.”
You nod fast. “I won’t tell anyone. I swear on my life.”
Yeonjun’s eyes narrow. “Swear better.”
You swallow. “Swear on my mother.”
Yeonjun holds your gaze, checking. You don’t flinch. He asks, “How old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Are you drunk?”
“No.”
“Are you on something?”
“No.”
Yeonjun pauses. He should walk away. He should tell you to go be honest with that Soobin and accept the consequences of your own mouth. He should tell you to stop stalking strangers. He should—instead, he asks, “What exactly are the three lessons?”
You falter.
Yeonjun waits.
You force it out, mortified, barely meeting his eyes. “Kissing. Oral. Sex.”
Yeonjun’s throat tightens. He keeps his face steady. “So you want me to teach you how to fuck.”
You nod, face burning. “Yes.”
“And then you go on a date with another man,” Yeonjun says, dry. “And what, you thank me for my service and disappear?”
You look at him, panicked. “It’s not—I’m not trying to use you. I just—I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Yeonjun studies you. The way you’re trembling. The way you’re not flirting. The way you’re begging with your whole posture. You don’t look manipulative. You look scared.
Yeonjun could tell you the truth.
You’ve got the wrong guy. I don’t know what I’m doing either. I’m a virgin. I’ve never kissed anyone in my life, let alone—
But you’re looking at him like he’s the answer. Like you have so much ridiculous faith in him, it makes his chest ache in a place he doesn’t want to examine. And Yeonjun has spent years learning that correcting people is exhausting. That admitting you don’t fit the story makes them laugh, or pity you, or lose interest entirely.
So he does what he knows best. He lets the story win.
He exhales. “Okay. Here’s the thing.”
Your eyes flick up, hopeful.
Yeonjun doesn’t give in yet. “I don’t do lessons with someone who can’t even say hello without hiding behind a bush,” he says. “If you want this, you’re going to act like an adult.”
You nod quickly. “Okay.”
Yeonjun continues, firm, “No more stalking. If you want to talk to me, you walk up. You use your mouth for words first.”
Your face goes crimson. “Okay.”
Yeonjun watches you struggle to hold it together. He says, “If I say yes, it’s on my terms. No audience. No phones out. No screenshots. No bragging. No hinting. Nothing.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” you whisper.
Yeonjun stares at you for a long beat. Then he says, “And if you catch feelings, we stop.”
Your eyes widen. “I won’t.”
Yeonjun’s mouth twitches. “Everybody says that.” He takes one last look over his shoulder at his friends. They’re still watching. Still laughing. Still hungry for drama. Yeonjun turns back to you and makes the choice anyway, because there’s something in your panic he recognises too well.
“Fine,” he says, clipped. “Tomorrow. My place. Drop me a text and I’ll send you the address.”
Your whole face changes—relief so huge it’s embarrassing.
“Thank you,” you breathe.
Yeonjun holds up a hand. “Don’t thank me yet.”
You nod quickly, almost trembling.
Yeonjun’s voice drops, sharp with warning. “And if you ever follow me near the men’s toilets again,” Yeonjun adds, deadpan, “I’m calling campus security.”
You make a strangled sound. “I’m sorry.”
Yeonjun steps back, flicking his cigarette away. He walks toward his friends with his shoulders loose and his face bored, because that’s the only way he survives campus. Because if he stops and thinks too hard, he’ll have to admit the truth, he has no idea what he’s doing.
Because three lessons sounded neat when you said it outside. Three is a number you can count. Three is a deadline. Three is a plan.
But now it’s lesson one. Now it’s his flat. Now you’re coming over.
His mate being away should feel convenient. Empty flat. No interruptions. No one walking in and clocking the fact Yeonjun is about to get exposed as a fraud.
Instead, the silence is loud as hell. The walls feel nosy. The sofa looks judgemental.
He checks his phone again.
psycho stalker: omw
psycho stalker: pls don’t laugh at me
psycho stalker: i swear to god if you laugh at me i’ll die
Yeonjun snorts, because of course that’s what you’d text. Full panic. Full honesty. Zero seduction. You’ve been stalking him for a week and still somehow texting him like he’s a dentist.
“Okay,” he says out loud, because there’s nobody else here and if he doesn’t talk he’ll combust. “Okay. Lesson one. Kissing. That’s it. Mouths. Easy.”
He pauses.
Then he adds, quieter, “Not easy.”
He showers once. Normal. He showers again because he imagines you stepping close and clocking sweat and going ew the campus fuckboy smells like sweat. He showers a third time because his brain thinks soap is protection. Soap will save him. Soap will erase the fact he has no idea what he’s doing.
When he steps out, the mirror’s steamed. His hair is damp, falling into his eyes. He drags a towel through it and it still looks the same.
He brushes his teeth. Once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth time his gums sting. He spits and sees pink. He stares at the sink, personally offended.
“Great,” he mutters. “Perfect. Sexy. Don’t bleed in her mouth, Yeonjun.”
He rinses. Swallows. Leans both hands on the counter and breathes like he’s trying to calm down before a fight.
He walks into his bedroom and immediately starts cleaning as if cleanliness is going to replace experience. Sheets off. Sheets on. Then off again because the first set feels wrong and he hates that his body is having opinions. He smooths the duvet. Fluffs the pillows. Picks up a sock. Picks up another sock. Finds a receipt he doesn’t remember. Wipes his desk. Wipes his bedside table.
He’s not cleaning.
He’s stalling. His phone is open on the bed again because he’s weak.
Reddit. A thread titled, first kiss tips.
He reads out loud in a mocking voice, because sarcasm is the only thing keeping him upright. “Don’t overthink it.” He snorts. “Yeah, brilliant. Thanks.”
“Use your hands.” He stares at his hands like they’ve betrayed him. “Which hands. How. Where. Be specific.”
“Don’t shove your tongue down her throat.” He winces. “Okay. Great. So I’ll just—keep my tongue in my pocket.”
He scrolls.
“Ask if she likes it.” He reads that one twice. Then a third time.
Ask.
He can ask. He’s not an idiot. He’s not going to do anything you don’t want. He’s also terrified you’ll say no and then look at him differently.
He backs out of the thread and types, how to french kiss without being shit He stares at the search bar. Hates himself. Hits enter anyway. A list pops up—angles, lips, tongue, breathing, pace. He throws his phone onto the bed again.
“Okay,” he says, pacing. “Okay. I can do this. People kiss all the time. Teenagers do it behind bins. It’s not rocket science.”
His phone buzzes again. He ignores it. Then it buzzes again. Then it buzzes again.
He grabs it, annoyed, expecting the groupchat.
It’s you.
psycho stalker: i’m actually gonna throw up
psycho stalker: don’t say lol or i’ll never recover
Yeonjun exhales through his nose. His chest does something irritating. Soft.
He types back.
yeonjun: i’m not saying lol
yeonjun: you’re fine. you’re safe. and if you want to bail, you bail. no one’s forcing you
yeonjun: you still coming?
Three dots appear. Disappear.
psycho stalker: yes
psycho stalker: i hate myself
psycho stalker: but yes
Yeonjun stares at that for a second. He should tell you to stop sexting Soobin and just be honest. He should tell you to stop dragging strangers into your panic. He should tell you to stop.
Instead, he changes his outfit.
Plain tee. Too normal. Button-up. Too I’m trying. Hoodie. Too boyish.
He strips again and stands there half-dressed, staring at the mirror like he’s waiting for the confident version of himself to show up and take over.
He puts on a tank. White ribbed. The one that makes people look at him and assume things. He fixes his earrings. Runs a hand through his hair. Checks his jawline like that matters when he’s about to be kissing someone for real.
His phone buzzes.
psycho stalker: i’m outside
Yeonjun’s stomach drops so fast it feels physical. He moves too quickly—nearly trips over a hoodie, mutters fuck, and catches himself on the wall. He looks around the flat one more time. The cleaned surfaces. The made bed. The whole place pretending this is normal.
He checks the mirror. Hair messy enough to pass as effortless. Face calm enough to sell it. Eyes half-lidded enough to look confident instead of terrified. He practises his playboy expression for half a second.
It looks convincing. That’s the problem. He’s good at looking convincing.
The doorbell rings.
He walks to the door with measured steps, because if he runs he’ll feel insane. He opens it.
And there you are.
Shoulders high. Hands clenched around your bag strap. Mouth parted like you’ve rehearsed bravery all day and it still didn’t stick. Your eyes flick over him once and then immediately drop, embarrassed.
Yeonjun smiles first, because that’s what the rumour does. “Hey,” he says, voice smooth.
You swallow. “Hi.”
Yeonjun steps aside. “Come in.”
You hesitate for half a second, then cross the threshold.
The door clicks shut behind you.
You step over the threshold and immediately realise you might be the dumbest person alive.
Not in a cute way. In a I have willingly walked into a man’s flat to learn how to kiss and give blowjobs so I don’t get exposed to a boy named Soobin way.
The place smells clean—laundry, soap, and whatever Yeonjun put on his skin that’s expensive enough to make your brain lag. It hits you as he moves past you, shoulder brushing the air. Your throat tightens.
You force your shoes off with fingers that don’t work properly.
“Just—uh.” Yeonjun glances down at your feet, then back up, as if he’s pretending this is casual. “You can… put them there.”
Your voice comes out too fast. “I’m not tracking mud in, don’t worry. I’m not here to disrespect your—” You stop yourself. Blink. “Why am I talking about mud? Oh my God.”
Yeonjun’s mouth twitches. He looks like he’s trying not to smile. “Breathe,” he says. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m not shaking.” You look down at your hands. They’re shaking. You curl them into fists. “I’m vibrating. Different thing.”
Yeonjun huffs a laugh under his breath, then clears his throat as if that was an accident. He shifts his weight and leans his back against the door like he’s done this a hundred times.
He’s in a white ribbed tank that makes him look unfairly real. Not a rumour. Not a story. Not the guy people point at outside parties and say I heard he fucked—but a man in a small flat, broad shoulders, collarbones you have to actively not stare at.
Low-slung jeans sit on his hips. His underwear waistband flashes when he moves. Hoop in one ear. His hair falls into his face in soft, messy curtains—the kind that looks accidental but somehow frames him perfectly. Dark. Thick. A little too long, like he’s grown it out on purpose just to give people something to stare at. It shadows his eyes when he tilts his head down. His mouth—you cut the thought off before it becomes a problem.
Your brain tries to reboot itself into Normal Mode.
It fails.
Your what-ifs line up instantly.
What if you freeze? What if you do something wrong? What if your teeth clack into his? What if he kisses you and you panic-laugh? What if he thinks you’re basically a nervous Victorian child?
And then the one you keep trying to swallow—is this cheating?
You and Soobin aren’t together. You’re not official. You’re not anything except a history and a chat thread full of crimes. But he’s called other girls casual in the same sentence he called you special, and you hated how easy he sounded when he said it.
Still.
You’re here. In someone else’s flat. With the door shut.
Yeonjun watches your face like he can read the panic word-for-word. His voice goes softer without him meaning to. “You can back out,” he says, plain. “Right now. No weirdness.”
Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “I’m not backing out.”
Yeonjun raises an eyebrow. “Confident.”
“I’m terrified,” you correct immediately. “I’m just—terrified with commitment.”
He snorts, then catches himself, like he didn’t mean to be human. “Okay. Um. Come in,” he says again.
You nod too hard, cheeks burning, and follow him.
The hallway is narrow. Your footsteps sound loud. Your whole body is aware of him in front of you—tank clinging to his back, shoulders moving under the fabric, the casual way he walks as if he’s not leading a girl to his bedroom to—your brain tries to say it out loud.
To learn how to kiss and suck dick and fuck.
It lands in your head so bluntly you almost trip.
Yeonjun glances back. “You good?”
“Yes.” You nod. “No. I mean—yes. I’m good.”
He stops outside a door and turns slightly. “Just so we’re clear,” he says, and his tone shifts into something more serious. “I’m not here to pressure you.”
Your throat tightens, inconveniently. You nod once.
He opens the door.
And the bedroom is—normal. Painfully normal.
No half-naked posters. No porn shoved under the bed. No gross bikini shrine. No weird anime tits staring into your soul.
Just a made bed. A desk with a laptop and a mess of chargers. A hoodie on a chair. Books stacked neatly. A speaker. Warm light from a lamp. The scent of fabric softener and whatever body wash he uses.
Your chest loosens without permission.
You glance at Yeonjun, then back at the room, then back at Yeonjun as if you’re checking for a hidden camera.
He catches your expression and immediately goes defensive, which is weirdly adorable. “What?” he says. “You disappointed?”
You laugh once, sharp. “No. I just thought your room was going to look like PornHub HQ.”
Yeonjun’s eyes widen a fraction, then he laughs—real, quick, then he bites it back, as if he’s worried laughing makes him look less… whatever he’s supposed to be. “Jesus,” he mutters. “That’s what you think of me?”
“That’s what the campus thinks of you,” you correct, because you can’t help yourself. “Apparently you’ve got a queue system. A waiting list. A loyalty card.”
Yeonjun rolls his eyes, but his ears go a little pink. “Shut up.”
“I’m being serious,” you say, then immediately regret saying serious in a bedroom with a man you’re paying in embarrassment. “I mean—okay, I’m not being serious. But you know what I mean.”
Yeonjun scratches the back of his neck, the movement flexing his arm. You notice. You hate yourself for noticing.
“So,” he says, forcing his voice into something cool. “Do you—wanna get started?”
Your mouth opens. Your voice comes out pathetic. “Yeah.”
Yeonjun takes a step closer.
Then another.
Your pulse starts hammering in your throat. Your palms sweat. You can feel every inch of your own skin. You make yourself stand still and not flinch because you are twenty-one years old and you did not walk into this man’s flat just to fold at the first two steps.
Yeonjun stops close enough that you can smell him properly—mint and soap and that expensive cologne sitting on his throat.
He leans in.
You lean in too because if you don’t, you’ll die.
His breath brushes your mouth.
You’re right there. You’re about to kiss him.
And then you jerk back so fast it’s almost violent. “Wait,” you blurt. “This feels—weird.”
Yeonjun freezes. Then he exhales a laugh that sounds like the relief he tried to hide. “Thank fuck,” he says, automatically. Then he coughs, like he’s remembering he’s meant to be suave. “Yeah. Bit weird.”
You stare at him. “Did you just say thank—”
“No,” he lies instantly. “I didn’t.”
“You did.”
Yeonjun’s lips twitch. “Okay, yeah. I did. Because you scared the shit out of me.”
“Me?” you splutter. “You’re the one who—you’re the Choi Yeonjun.”
Yeonjun lifts a brow. “Oh, so now we’re doing the myth.”
“I—” you stop. Your face heats. “I’m doing the reality. You’re standing in front of me. In a tank top. In a bedroom. You look—” You cut yourself off before you say hot out loud because you will actually evaporate.
Yeonjun watches you struggle, and his voice drops into something more normal. “We don’t have to rush it,” he says. “We can talk first.”
The idea makes you pause. Because talking is where feelings start. Talking is where people become people instead of bodies and rumours. But also—talking is where you can breathe.
“Should we,” you say, then hesitate because your own rules echo in your skull—no feelings, no strings, no emotions—“should we get to know each other first?”
The second it’s out, panic spikes. You’ve basically just asked for intimacy in the most dangerous format—conversation.
Yeonjun blinks at you, then nods like you asked whether the sky is blue. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ll order pizza. Because if I’m about to—” he gestures vaguely between you and his bed, “—teach you how to do—all that, you can at least tell me if you hate olives.”
You stare. “You’re hungry?”
“I’m always hungry,” he says. Then he looks at your face and adds, deadpan: “Also I need carbs before I ruin my reputation.”
Your eyes widen. “You’re not going to—”
“I’m joking.” He holds up his hands. “Mostly. Sit.”
You hover, then sit on the edge of his bed with your spine too straight. He sits opposite you, elbows on his knees, phone in hand, scrolling delivery apps as if this isn’t insane.
“What do you like?” he asks, glancing up.
“Pizza,” you answer immediately, because your brain is still stuck on one thought—I almost kissed him and didn’t die.
Yeonjun’s mouth twitches. “Okay. Toppings. And also—you know. Anything.”
You blink. “Anything in life?”
He shrugs, pretending it’s casual. “Yeah. Unless you only exist for sexting and fear.”
You laugh—real, startled—because it lands. Because he said it out loud. Because you feel seen and you hate that you like it.
And the weirdness eases, just a fraction enough to breathe.
And that’s how it starts.
“Pepperoni,” you say. “And—I don’t know. Jalapeños?”
He hums. “Spicy. Brave.”
“I’m not brave.”
Yeonjun’s mouth twitches. “You were brave when you stalked me outside the men’s toilets.”
You groan, immediate. “Stop saying it like that.”
“How should I say it?” He taps the screen. “Dedicated. Persistent. Sexually motivated.”
“I wasn’t sexually motivated,” you protest.
Yeonjun glances up slowly, deliberately looking you over in a way that makes your stomach drop. “Sure.”
“Don’t—” You point at him, flustered. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That—thing.”
Yeonjun leans back on one hand, tank pulling tight over his chest. “The thing where I exist?”
You hate him. You also feel your face warming.
Yeonjun hits confirm on the order and tosses his phone onto the duvet. Then he looks at you properly—head tilted, eyes sharp, posture loose. He’s giving calm. He’s giving control. He’s giving I’ve done this before. “You good?” he asks, casual.
You swallow. “Define good.”
“Do you want to leave?” he asks, still casual. “Do you want to stop? Do you want me to stop talking?”
You blink. “No.”
Yeonjun nods. “Okay. Then breathe.”
You glare. “I am breathing.”
“You’re breathing like you’re about to sit an exam,” he replies. “Relax. I’m not going to jump you.”
You snort. “That’s literally why I’m here.”
Yeonjun smiles, fast and cocky. “Yeah. I know.”
It shouldn’t do anything to you. It does. Your body reacts before your pride can catch up.
Yeonjun watches your reaction and looks pleased with himself. Then—because he’s infuriating—he softens it before it tips into too much. “Ground rules,” he says, tapping the mattress once between you. “You say stop, I stop. You say slow, I slow. You say no, it’s no. You don’t owe me finishing a lesson because you asked for help. Understand?”
Your throat tightens. “Yeah.”
Yeonjun’s gaze holds yours, serious now. “Good.”
The door buzzer goes. Pizza. Yeonjun stands and walks out like he didn’t just say something that made you feel safer in a way you weren’t expecting. He comes back with the box and two cans, drops them on the bed between you.
“Romantic,” you say, because sarcasm is your emergency exit.
“This is not a date,” Yeonjun replies, popping a can. “This is a professional consultation.”
“You’re literally charging me in pepperoni.”
“I’m expensive.”
You take a slice so your hands have something to do besides shake. Yeonjun takes one too, biting into it with the confidence of a man who has never once feared crumbs on a white tank.
For a minute it’s just chewing and the quiet hum of the flat.
Then Yeonjun glances at you. “So. Soobin.”
Your stomach flips. “What about him?”
“What exactly did you tell him?” Yeonjun asks, too calm.
You choke. “Why are you asking me that?”
“Because you showed up at my door,” he replies, deadpan, “so I’m allowed to collect context. Also I’m nosy.”
You swallow. Your eyes flick away. “I said—stuff.”
“Stuff,” Yeonjun repeats. “You’re making me drag it out of you.”
“Good,” you mutter. “Suffer.”
Yeonjun smirks. “Alright. Let’s play.”
He wipes his hands on a napkin and leans forward a bit, elbows on his knees. It’s all posture. He looks relaxed on purpose. “True or false,” he says. “You told him you like giving blowjobs.”
Your soul tries to leave your body. “Oh my God,” you whisper.
Yeonjun’s eyes brighten. “That’s a yes.”
“I hate you,” you say, but you’re laughing because if you don’t laugh you’ll start crying.
“True or false,” he continues, enjoying himself, “you told him you like it raw.”
You cover your face with your hands. “Can we not do this?”
“We can,” he says easily. “But you also can’t keep turning into a corpse every time someone says the words out loud.”
You drop your hands. “You’re saying the words out loud!”
“Welcome to being an adult,” Yeonjun replies. “Sex involves words.”
You stare at him.
Yeonjun stares back, completely unbothered.
“You’re insane,” you mutter.
He grins. “You already knew that.”
Another beat. The air shifts again—still playful, but with tension under it.
Yeonjun looks away first, reaches for his speaker. “Music.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not sitting in silence with you while you spiral.” He scrolls, then glances at you. “What do you listen to.”
You hesitate. “Uhm—Joji?”
Yeonjun pauses, looks up. “No shit.”
“Some Chase Atlantic,” you add, bracing for judgement.
Instead, Yeonjun lets out a short laugh. “Okay. So you’re into sad horny music.”
You choke. “That’s not what it is.”
“It is,” he says, hitting play. “It’s fine. I respect it.”
The song starts. You recognise it immediately. Your eyes widen a fraction.
Yeonjun notices. “You know it.”
“Yeah,” you say. “I—yeah.”
He nods, satisfied, and steals a jalapeño off your slice without asking.
“Excuse you,” you say.
Yeonjun chews, unbothered. “You’re the one who picked spicy.”
“That was for me!”
“You can fight me for it.”
You squint at him. “I will.”
Yeonjun’s smile goes sharp. “Please do.”
It’s dumb. It’s flirty. It’s too easy. It pulls you out of your head before you can stop it.
You end up talking while the music runs—classes, lecturers, people you can’t stand. He complains about a seminar that makes him want to headbutt a wall. You complain about your group project and he immediately says, “Drop the names. I’ll bully them.”
“You can’t bully my group mates.”
“I can,” he says. “I’m a public service.”
“You’re not a public service,” you shoot back. “You’re more like, I don’t know, campus rumour.”
Yeonjun arches a brow. “And you’ve been stalking a rumour. That’s crazy behaviour.”
“I wasn’t stalking.”
“You were behind a bush.”
“Stop.”
“You were holding a newspaper indoors.”
“Stop.”
“You were—”
“Yeonjun.”
He shuts up, still grinning. “Okay. Sorry. I’m being a dick.”
“Yes.”
He points at you. “You’re smiling.”
You wipe your face, offended at your own body. “No, I’m not.”
Yeonjun doesn’t argue. He just looks at you—steady, amused—and the look makes the room feel smaller.
Your phone buzzes. A notification lights your screen. Yeonjun’s eyes flick down automatically.
You grab your phone too fast. “It’s nothing.”
Yeonjun’s expression doesn’t change, but his voice loses the tease. “Is it him?”
You freeze. “No.”
Yeonjun watches you for a second, then nods once. “Okay.”
That’s it. No interrogation. No claim. No taking the mick. Just okay. It unsettles you more than any teasing. To save yourself, you blurt, “Do you watch anime?”
Yeonjun looks up, instant interest. “Depends. Are you about to judge me?”
“Yes,” you say.
He snorts. “Then no.”
“Liar,” you say. “Answer.”
Yeonjun takes another bite of pizza, chews, then says, “One Piece.”
You stare at him.
Yeonjun stares back, waiting.
“No,” you say finally. “No way.”
Yeonjun’s smile grows. “Yes way.”
“I love One Piece,” you say, suddenly too loud.
Yeonjun points at you like he’s caught you committing a crime. “See. You’re not normal either.”
“What arc are you on?” you demand.
Yeonjun leans back, smug. “Caught up.”
Your jaw drops. “Shut up.”
“I’m serious.”
“Favourite Straw Hat.”
“Luffy.”
“Basic,” you say immediately.
Yeonjun gasps. “That’s insane. Who’s yours?”
“Zoro.”
Yeonjun pauses, then nods once with genuine respect. “Okay. Great taste.”
You blink. “You’re a nerd.”
Yeonjun scoffs. “I’m not a nerd.”
“You are.”
Yeonjun leans in a little, grin returning. “Careful. I’ll start charging you extra for insulting me.”
“You’re already charging me in pepperoni.”
“I’m worth it,” he says, and you hate that your body reacts to his voice.
He watches that reaction again, eyes dropping to your mouth for half a second, then back up. He looks exactly like the guy everyone talks about—the one who’s probably kissed a hundred girls, made them beg for more. Your stomach tightens anyway, a weird flutter you don’t quite understand.
Yeonjun pauses the song mid-track. The quiet lands heavy. He sets his slice down, wipes his fingers on a napkin. Then he looks at you, his gaze making your skin heat up. “Do you still want to do lesson one?”
Your mouth goes dry, but something pulses low in your belly, unfamiliar and insistent. “Yes.”
Yeonjun nods with calm confidence. “Okay.” He shifts closer, not rushing, but not hesitating either—giving you time to back out, maybe.
His knee bumps yours, and he doesn’t move it away. The contact feels too warm, too much. “Last chance to bail,” he says, voice low, like he knows exactly how to make it sound sexy.
“I’m not bailing.”
Yeonjun’s smile returns, brief and a little knowing. “Good.” Then he leans in.
It’s slow. It’s deliberate. It’s confident enough that it makes your heart sprint and your body tingle in places you weren’t expecting. He must know what he’s doing—everyone says he does.
His mouth stops a breath away from yours, his warm exhale tickling your lips—making them feel strange, sensitive.
“You good?” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver through you.
You swallow hard, your chest feeling tight. “Yeah.”
“Tell me if you want me to stop.”
“I will.”
Yeonjun hums, the sound vibrating oddly in your core. “Good girl—” He catches himself, eyes flicking up to yours, testing if he’s gauging if that’s too far.
But it hits you weirdly, making your thighs clench without meaning to. Your breath stutters, heat rushing to your face—and elsewhere. “Yeah.”
Your brain blanks out in a haze of confusion and heat, your body reacting in ways you don’t get—warmth pooling between your legs, making you shift uncomfortably.
His lips press against yours, soft but firm, and you freeze for a second. His hand settles at your waist, fingers gripping awkwardly at first, adjusting his hold.
You grab his tank top on instinct, bunching the fabric because everything feels too floaty, too unreal.
Yeonjun kisses you again, deeper, his tongue poking out hesitantly, brushing your lips before retreating. You part your mouth, bumping teeth lightly, and he makes a soft noise—maybe surprise?—but pushes forward anyway, his tongue slipping in too fast, too wet.
It’s messy, saliva dribbling a bit at the corner of your mouth, and you swipe at it embarrassed, but he doesn’t seem to notice, or care.
You make a sound—a quiet gasp—and your hips twitch without warning, seeking something.
Yeonjun pulls back just enough to breathe against your lips, his chest rising and falling unevenly. “Still okay?” he asks, voice a little rough.
You nod, breathless, your body buzzing. “Yeah.”
Yeonjun’s eyes hold yours for a beat—dark, intense—then he kisses you again, and it’s sloppier this time.
Your noses bump as you tilt your head wrong, but he adjusts smoothly—his hand sliding up your side, fumbling over your ribcage before brushing your breast by accident. You jolt, a spark shooting straight down. His fingers pause, then squeeze tentatively—too light at first, then too hard, pinching without meaning to. You whimper into his mouth, not sure if it’s good or weird, but your nipple hardens anyway, aching.
Your own hands slide down his chest, fingers catching on his tank before dropping lower, grazing his thigh. You feel the hardness there, pressing against his jeans, and you falter.
He shifts closer, his knee wedging between your legs, and when he rocks forward, his bulge grinding against your hip.
You try to meet him, but your core rubs against his thigh too high. It’s frustrating, your body chasing something it doesn’t know how to catch, panties sticking damply as you both fumble, breaths hitching.
He groans softly against your neck, nipping at your skin—too sharp, then too soft—like he’s teasing you on purpose.
His hand drops lower, cupping between your legs over your clothes, fingers rubbing haphazardly in the wrong spot. You buck into it anyway, a needy whine escaping, even as it doesn’t quite hit right.
When you break apart, it’s not because you want to. It’s because you need oxygen, your head spinning, body throbbing with unmet need. You stare at each other, both breathing too hard. His lips are red, messy with spit. Your mouth feels swollen, raw.
You feel wrecked in the most confusing, aching way, your pussy clenching around nothing.
Yeonjun’s gaze drags over your face as if he’s checking you out, composed despite the flush on his cheeks.
You force out, “That was—“
Yeonjun swallows, voice roughened. “Lesson one.”
You let out a shaky laugh. “You’re such a loser.”
Yeonjun’s grin flashes. “You came to my house for sex lessons and I’m the loser?”
“Yes,” you say, still breathless. “You’re unbearable.”
Yeonjun leans back onto his hands, relaxed again. “Good. Because we’ve got two more lessons.”
Your stomach flips at the bluntness of it, that unfamiliar heat flaring again. Yeonjun watches you swallow, watches your throat move, and his eyes drop for half a second before he forces them back up—smooth, unreadable. “Drink,” he says, nodding at the can. “Before you pass out on my bed and I have to explain to campus security why you died during a consultation.”
You snort, grateful for the stupidity. You take a sip with shaking hands anyway.
And you hate that you feel safer now, sitting on his bed, with pizza grease on your fingers and his mouth still tingling on yours.
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a/n: hiii my loves!! thanks so much for reading. i was meant to post this earlier but my laptop has been lagging all day and its been a pain to even type two words at a time. i've had sm fun writing this fic, i've been wanting to do a yeonjun fic forever now and lately i've been deep into the no labels content so you know where this is coming from lmao. this is my first time writing something this horny so any feedback is much much appreciated. the next chapter will be only escalate in terms of smut lmao as you can tell!! to any new readers, hello and welcome <3 so my existing readers, yes i promise unfortunately yours and ellipsis is coming, i did not forget bout my babies because i was too busy staring at yeonjun's abs
target: since i have the next chapter written out, i thought it'd be fun for us to do a notes target! as soon as we hit 250 notes, i will immediately post the next part, no questions asked! if we don't, i'll still post it next weekend hahaha. but if you want it sooner, spam me in the comments, with reposts and asks! love you <333
taglist: please drop me an ask or comment on the series masterlist
hey hey hey… shhhh! please DO NOT, interrupt my rom-com-silly-coming of age-spicy-fluff- time. we’re talking business here. i’m committed okay?
Okay, where do I start? I don’t even know where to begin, there are so many thoughts… Let’s start with you, @words-in-purple.
I’m completely obsessed with Choi Yeonjun, and I needed to start my reading with something I could trust and I couldn’t have chosen anyone better. One of the best storytellers we have around here. I’m talking about immersive writing.
God, you have no idea how your fanfic made me feel, but I really want to tell you. And also, thank you, my baby @merakoo for promoting it using Wet Dreamz. I was hooked instantly.
I saw a post today, and it reminded me of your fanfic. It said:
And I completely agree. You've brought together so many incredible elements in a single work that I'm already on Chapter 3 and I'm already suffering from anticipation because WHERE WILL I GO when this story ends? What will become of me?
Both characters are wonderful. Totally misfit, imperfect, and human. It’s so nice to read something that makes you laugh, that entertains you, you know? In a world like ours, I take the act of having fun very seriously.
I loved how everything has unfolded so far! it’s so refreshing to see a female character with a real personality. She’s anxious, hilarious, and oh my god… so clumsy. She could be any one of us.
The fact that their intimacy is so messy and immature makes everything feel so real. Because in real life, we also overthink things, we also feel insecure, and we also start out inexperienced and seeing that portrayed here was actually really, really cool.
I feel so terribly single reading this. God, please make something romantic happen to me and if possible, before the end of the year 😭😭😭
Seriously, I felt like a teenager watching them kiss…it almost felt like I was the one kissing Choi Yeonjun 😭😭😭
(currently manifesting a hot makeout session 🪬 hmmm 🧘♀️ please god boy girl anyone hmmm)
Anyway… I want to thank you for bringing this beautiful work into the world. You brightened up my afternoon and my evening. I love you
Guys, I don’t know if I’ll be sharing any other recommendations besides BTS from now on (i want to) but if you want to have some fun and are open-minded, I STRONGLY RECOMMEND THIS FANFIC
