you’ve been lusting after your brother’s best friend for a while now, ever since you met him at a house party, flirting it up a storm as you failed to realise who the other was. That was months ago now and things are still awkward, but you can’t ignore the sexual tension that’s simmers between the two of you…and it keeps getting worse…
pairing | kim seokjin x reader
genre/warnings | smut, dirty talk
words | 11,158
Genre: Dark Romance, Mafia Romance, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Forced Proximity, Angst, Mature
Sypnosis: One witness. One mistake. One man who should have ended it immediately. Instead, Kim Seokjin lets her live inside his world where danger breathes behind every wall and trust is the most expensive thing you can offer. She thinks she is surviving him. She does not realize she is becoming the only thing he refuses to lose.
A/N: Hi, my lovelies! This Seokjin × Y/N story is a little surprise for you all and one that’s very special to me. This piece was actually commissioned by a lovely reader who trusted me with her idea and gave me the chance to bring it to life. I’m so, so grateful for your support and for allowing me to share this story here so others can experience it too.
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The café always feels smaller at night. There's something about the quiet presses in closer, like the space itself is exhaling after holding its breath all day. The laughter is gone. The rush is gone. What’s left is the hum of the refrigerator, the soft clink of porcelain, and you.
You stand behind the counter, sleeves pushed to your elbows, fingers damp from the sink as you rinse the last cup of the night. The water runs lukewarm now, barely comforting, barely anything, but you let it spill over your skin a second longer than necessary, just to feel something.
The smell of coffee clings to everything. Bitter, burnt at the edges. It seeps into your clothes, your hair, your bones. You wonder, not for the first time, if this is what your life smells like now, spent beans and long hours.
You turn off the tap. You’ve always told yourself that silence means peace. Silence means no one asking for anything, no one expecting anything, no one looking at you like you owe them something you don’t have. Still… tonight, it lingers a little too long.
You dry your hands slowly, eyes flicking to the clock mounted above the menu board.
11:47 PM. Later than usual.
A small sigh escapes you, quiet enough that even you barely hear it. You move through the motions automatically, stacking chairs, wiping surfaces already clean, double-checking the register. Routine is a kind of armor.
By the time you reach the door, keys already in hand, the world outside looks… different. It always does at this hour.
The streetlights cast long, uneven shadows across the pavement, stretching everything into something unfamiliar. The city doesn’t sleep, not really, but it softens. Edges blur. Sounds carry farther.
You lock the door behind you, the click echoing louder than it should. For a moment, you hesitate. It’s instinct, more than thought. A pause you can’t quite explain, like your body is catching onto something your mind hasn’t yet understood.
Then you shake it off. You’re tired. That’s all.
The main road is longer, brighter, safer. But the alley cuts your walk home in half, and you’ve taken it enough times to know every crack in the pavement, every flickering light overhead. You tell yourself it’s fine.
And you turn into the alley. The shift is immediate. The air feels cooler here, heavier somehow. The faint buzz of the street fades behind you, replaced by something quieter.
Your footsteps echo softly, uneven against the concrete. You tuck your hands into your jacket, pulling it tighter around yourself as you move.
Halfway through, you hear it.
A voice. Low and strained. You stop.
It’s not loud—if anything, it’s too quiet. The kind of quiet that forces you to listen harder, that makes every nerve in your body sharpen without permission.
“…I told you—I don’t know anything.”
You recognize that voice. Your neighbor, Mr. Choi.
You’ve passed him in the hallway a dozen times. Exchanged polite nods. Once, he helped you carry groceries up the stairs when the elevator broke. He always smelled faintly of cigarettes and something sharper, something you couldn’t quite place.
Another voice answers. Calm. Measured.
“People who know nothing,” the man says softly, “don’t usually run.”
Something in the tone makes your skin prickle. You take a step closer before you can stop yourself, drawn by a mix of concern and curiosity. The alley bends slightly ahead, shadows pooling where the light doesn’t quite reach. You shouldn’t look, you know that. But you do, and everything changes.
There are four men. Three of them stand around your neighbor, their presence are heavy. They don’t fidget. They don’t speak. They don’t need to. Their silence feels practiced, like it belongs to them. And then, him.
He stands a few feet away, not touching, not crowding, but undeniably in control of everything unfolding. Tall. Composed. Dressed too well for this part of the city at this hour. His coat falls perfectly against his frame, dark fabric catching what little light there is. One hand rests casually in his pocket, the other holding nothing—no weapon, no threat. Your neighbor is shaking.
“I swear,” Mr. Choi says, voice breaking now, “I didn’t tell anyone. I don’t know where it is.”
The man tilts his head slightly.
“You’re wasting my time,” he replies, almost gently. And that, more than anything else, is what makes your chest tighten.
There’s no anger in him. No frustration. Just a quiet finality, like the decision has already been made and everyone else is just catching up.
You should leave now. Before they notice you. Before you become part of something you don’t understand.
Carefully, you take a step back. Then another. Your breath feels too loud. Your heartbeat even louder, thudding against your ribs like it’s trying to give you away. You keep your eyes down, movements slow, controlled. Almost there, almost.
Your shoe catches against a loose piece of gravel. The sound is small, insignificant. But in the silence, it might as well be a gunshot.
Everything stops. You freeze. For a split second, nothing happens. Then, “Someone’s there.”
Your blood turns cold. You don’t wait. You don’t think. You turn, and run straight into him.
You don’t even see him move. One second, the alley is empty behind you. The next, he’s there, close enough that you stumble back, breath knocked from your lungs as your shoulder collides with his chest.
Strong. Unyielding. A hand closes around your wrist before you can recover. Firm enough that you know immediately, there’s no breaking free.
Your head snaps up, and for the first time, you see his face clearly. He’s… not what you expected. There’s no visible cruelty. No obvious threat carved into his features. If anything, he looks composed. Almost… refined. Dark eyes steady as they take you in, sharp and assessing in a way that makes you feel like you’re being read, line by line. Like a problem he hasn’t solved yet.
You try to pull your hand back. His grip tightens just enough to stop you.
“Please—” The word leaves you before you can stop it, breathless, unsteady. “I didn’t see anything.”
A lie. And both of you know it. His gaze lingers on your face for a moment too long.
“You shouldn’t have come down this alley tonight,” he says quietly.
Behind him, you hear movement, your neighbor’s voice rising, panicked now, cut short by something you don’t want to imagine. You flinch. His eyes don’t leave yours.
“Let me go,” you whisper, the words trembling despite the effort you put into steadying them. “I won’t say anything. I don’t even know who you are.”
A pause. Something flickers across his expression. He releases your wrist, Only to take your hand instead.
Your breath catches. The gesture is almost… polite. But the message is clear. You’re not going anywhere.
“Come with me.”
You shake your head immediately, panic rising sharp and fast. “No. No, I— I have to go home—”
“You won’t make it there tonight.”
Still calm. Still certain. Your chest tightens. “You can’t just—”
“I can.” He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t step closer. But the space between you feels smaller anyway, suffocating. Your pulse stutters as you look at him, searching for something—mercy, hesitation, anything you can use.
“Please,” you try again, softer now, your voice betraying you. “I won’t tell anyone. I swear.”
Another pause. Then, almost thoughtfully “That’s not the problem.”
Before you can ask what is, his grip shifts, firmer now, guiding you forward. Leaving no room for refusal. You stumble once, then fall into step because you have no choice. There is no gun pressed to your head, no shouted threats, no chaos unraveling around you. The world continues as it always has, distant traffic humming somewhere beyond the alley, a stray light flickering overhead, the night carrying on without caring what happens to you.
That is what unsettles you the most. If this were a nightmare, it would be louder. But this is quiet. And the man standing in front of you feels like the kind of danger that does not need noise to be understood. His hand still holds yours. Not in a way that leaves bruises or forces tears out of you. It is controlled, like everything about him. You test it once, just a small pull, more instinct than intention. He does not react immediately. But his grip adjusts, subtle and unyielding, like a reminder rather than a warning.
You swallow. Your heart is beating too fast, too hard, like it is trying to make up for the silence around you. You look at him again, searching for something human enough to cling to. Fear has a way of sharpening details. You notice the way his coat sits perfectly on his shoulders despite the situation, the way his expression barely shifts, the steadiness in his gaze that never once flickers away from you.
He looks like someone who has already decided how this ends. And you are just… waiting to find out. You expect him to say something that confirms it. A threat, a command. Something that draws a clear line between what you are now and what you are about to become.
Instead, he studies you. It is not a quick glance, not the kind people give strangers they have already dismissed. It lingers, thoughtful in a way that makes your chest tighten. His eyes move over your face like he is memorizing it, or maybe measuring it against something only he understands.
You feel exposed under it. Not in the way you would under a leering stare, but in a way that feels worse. Like he is trying to figure out where you fit in a situation you do not belong in. His thumb shifts slightly against your hand, almost absentminded.
“You’re shaking,” he says, quietly enough that it feels like something he noticed rather than something he meant to point out.
You don’t respond. You do not trust your voice to come out steady. You do not trust yourself to sound anything but afraid.
Behind him, the alley feels darker now. You do not dare look back, but the absence of your neighbor’s voice is louder than anything you heard earlier. It presses against your ears, thick and suffocating. Something inside you twists. You force yourself to speak anyway.
“I told you,” you manage, the words thinner than you want them to be, “I didn’t see anything.”
This time, he exhales. “I know what you saw,” he replies, his tone unchanged, as if your denial does not matter either way. The way he says it makes your stomach drop. Because it sounds like the truth is irrelevant now.
Your throat tightens. “Then why am I still here?”
It is a simple question. But it carries everything you are too afraid to say outright. Why aren’t you dead yet?
His gaze does not waver. For a moment, you think he will ignore you. That he will simply move on, drag you somewhere else without bothering to explain. You brace yourself for that, for the helplessness of being handled like an object in a situation you cannot control.
Instead, he answers. “Because I haven’t decided what to do with you.”
He says it the same way someone might comment on the weather, or the time, or anything equally ordinary. Your fingers curl slightly, your nails pressing into your own palm as if the sensation might ground you. You shake your head, a quiet, desperate motion.
“I’m not something you get to decide on,” you say, and this time there is more force behind it. Fear is still there, sitting heavy in your chest, but something else pushes through it. Anger. “I’m a person. You can’t just take me because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
For the first time, something shifts in his expression. Not much. Just the faintest narrowing of his eyes, the smallest pause in his stillness. Like you have said something… interesting.
“You were in the wrong place,” he agrees, calmly. “That part is true.”
Your breath catches. “And now?” you press, even though every instinct is telling you to stop, to stay quiet, to not push someone like him. “What does that make this?”
His gaze lingers on you for a second longer. Then, finally, he lets go of your hand. Relief floods through you so quickly it almost makes you dizzy. But it lasts only a moment. Because his next words take its place.
“It makes you my responsibility.”
You stare at him. The sentence does not make sense in your head. Not the way it should. Not in a way that feels safe or reassuring. Responsibility is supposed to sound like protection, like care. But from him, it feels like ownership.
“I don’t need you to be responsible for me,” you say, your voice sharper now, steadier in your own ears. “I just need you to let me go.”
“No,” he says.
Your chest tightens. “You can’t just decide that.”
“I already did.”
Before you can respond, before you can find something to say that might break through whatever wall he has built around himself, he turns slightly, his attention shifting just enough to signal something to the man behind him.
They move immediately. Whatever was happening before is over now. And so are your chances of walking away from it.
When his attention returns to you, there is nothing hurried in the way he looks at you, nothing chaotic in the way he moves. He steps closer, not enough to corner you, but enough to make it clear that distance will not save you.
“Dont make this harder,” he says, quieter this time.
Every part of you resists, rooted in place by fear, anger, disbelief. This cannot be real. People do not just get taken like this. Not without a fight. Not without someone noticing.
But the alley is empty. The night has already swallowed everything that happened here.
“No,” you repeat, more firmly now, even as your voice trembles at the edges. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
For a second, you think he might grab you again. He doesn’t. Instead, he watches you. Like he is giving you space to make a choice he already knows the outcome of.
“You can walk,” he says, his voice low, even, “or I can carry you.”
Your stomach drops. It is not said as a threat. It is said as a fact. And somehow, that makes it impossible to argue with.
Your nails dig deeper into your palm. Your mind races, searching for an opening, a way out, something you can use to turn this in your favor. There is nothing.
Only him. Only this moment. Only the understanding settling deep in your chest that whatever happens next is not something you get to control.
Your shoulders stiffen. And slowly, unwillingly, you take a step forward.
The car is waiting at the end of the street. Black. Polished. Out of place in a neighborhood like yours. One of them opens the door before you even reach it. You hesitate, your gaze flicking between the open space inside and the man standing behind you. He does not touch you this time.
You get in. The door closes with a soft, final sound. The city moves past you in a blur after that. Streetlights streak across the window, buildings shifting from familiar to unfamiliar too quickly for you to track. You sit rigidly, your hands clenched in your lap, your reflection faint in the glass.
He sits beside you. Close enough that you are aware of him. The silence stretches. You cannot stand it.
“Where are you taking me?” you ask, your voice quieter now, worn down by everything you cannot control.
“Somewhere safe.”
The answer almost makes you laugh. Nothing about this feels safe.
His place is nothing like yours. You realize that the moment you step inside. The space is vast, open, almost painfully clean. Everything is sharp lines and muted tones, glass and marble and soft lighting that feels too deliberate to be comforting. There is no clutter. No signs of life beyond what is necessary. It does not feel like a home. It feels like a place designed to be controlled.
Your shoes echo faintly against the floor as you step further in, your chest tightening with every second that passes. The door closes behind you, quiet but heavy, and something about the sound makes it feel like the world outside has just been cut off completely. You turn to him immediately.
“What is this?” you ask, your voice stronger now, fueled by everything you have been holding in. “You bring me here and expect me to just what, stay?”
He removes his coat with unhurried precision, draping it over the back of a chair as if this is any other night, any other routine.
“You will stay here for now,” he says.
“For now?” you echo, disbelief breaking through. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
Your hands clench at your sides.
“No,” you say again, louder this time, the word echoing slightly in the open space. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to decide that I just disappear into your life because it’s convenient for you.”
He turns to face you fully then.
“You didn’t disappear,” he says, his voice still calm, still controlled. “You were seen.”
The words hit harder than they should.
“You think I wanted that?” you shoot back. “You think I chose this?”
“No,” he replies, and there is something quieter beneath it now, something almost thoughtful. “But it doesn’t change the situation.”
Your breath falters. You take a step toward him, your frustration spilling over now, too big to contain.
“Then change it,” you demand. “Let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I don’t even understand what I saw. I just want to go home.”
The word home feels fragile in your mouth now. Like something that might not belong to you anymore. For a moment, he just looks at you. Then, slowly, he shakes his head.
“I don’t make decisions based on what people want,” he says.
The finality in his tone settles deep in your chest. You stare at him, anger and fear tangling together until you cannot tell where one ends and the other begins.
“Then what do you base them on?” you ask, your voice quieter now, but no less intense.
His gaze holds yours. And for the first time, there is something in it you cannot quite name.
“Risk.”
The word lingers between you. And suddenly, you understand. This is not about you as a person, this is about what you represent. A variable, a mistake, a problem he hasn’t decided how to solve. Your throat tightens.
“So what,” you whisper, “I just stay here until you decide I’m not one anymore?”
He does not answer immediately. But he does not deny it either. And somehow, that silence says everything.
You do not sleep. You try. You lie on the edge of a bed that is far too soft for a place that feels this cold, staring at a ceiling that does not belong to you, counting seconds that refuse to pass fast enough. The sheets smell clean, unfamiliar, like something expensive and untouched, and every time you shift, the silence follows you. It is not the comforting kind, it is the kind that listens back.
You turn onto your side, then your back, then your side again. Your body is exhausted, your mind wired so tightly it almost hurts. Every time you close your eyes, the alley comes back in fragments. Your neighbor’s voice. The way it cut off. The way he looked at you like you had already stepped into something you could not leave.
And then him, always him. The calm in his voice. The certainty in his eyes. The way he said no as if the word was not meant to be questioned. You sit up abruptly. Breathing feels easier when you are not lying still.
The room they put you in is larger than your entire apartment. Floor to ceiling glass stretches along one wall, the city spread out beyond it in glittering lights that feel too far away to reach. Somewhere down there, life is still happening. People are laughing, arguing, going home to places that belong to them.
You wonder if anyone would notice you are gone. The thought sits heavier than it should. You push it away and swing your legs over the side of the bed, your bare feet meeting the cold floor. The chill runs up your spine, grounding you in a way the silence cannot.
You cannot stay here. The realization is not new. It has been sitting in your chest since the moment that door closed behind you. But now it sharpens, takes shape, becomes something you can act on.
You stand slowly, listening. Nothing. No footsteps outside the door. No voices, no movement.
Carefully, you cross the room and reach for the handle. It opens. The hallway beyond is dimly lit, soft lights set low against the walls. Everything looks the same as it did when you walked through it earlier, pristine and controlled, like nothing exists here without permission. You step out.
Your heart starts to pick up again, but this time it feels different. Less panic, more focus. You keep your steps light, measured, your eyes adjusting to the space as you move.
There are no guards in sight, no one stops you. For a moment, hope flickers. Maybe he underestimated you. Maybe he thinks you will just stay put, obedient, quiet, waiting for him to decide what happens next. You are not that person. You move faster.
The living area opens up in front of you, all glass and shadow and sharp edges softened by low light. It looks like a place that exists outside of time, untouched by anything messy or human.
The front door is there. You see it immediately. Your steps falter for only a second before you push forward, every instinct in you narrowing to that one point. You do not think about what happens after. You do not think about where you will go, how you will get home, what you will do if someone sees you. You just need to get out.
Your hand closes around the handle. You twist. Nothing. You try again, harder this time, your grip tightening as you force the handle down, your shoulder pressing slightly against the door like that might make a difference.
It doesn’t move. Locked. Of course it is. Frustration surges through you, hot and immediate. You pull back, your hand lifting to hit the door before you can stop yourself. The sound echoes too loudly in the silence, sharp and out of place.
You freeze. Listen. Still nothing. Your pulse races. You turn quickly, scanning the room for something else, another way out, another door, anything. The windows stretch wide, but you already know they will not open. A place like this is not built for escape. It is built for control.
You move toward the nearest panel anyway, your fingers searching for a latch, a seam, anything that might give. The glass is cool under your touch, solid and unyielding. You press your forehead against it for a second, your breath fogging the surface.
“Think,” you whisper to yourself, the word barely audible.
There has to be something. People do not live in cages like this without a way in and out. There has to be a system, a code, something you can figure out if you just take a second to look closer. You step back, scanning again, slower this time. That is when you hear it.
“Trying to leave without saying anything.”
His voice does not startle you. Because something in you always knew he would be there. You turn slowly.
He stands near the entrance to the hallway, one hand resting lightly against the wall as if he has been there for a while, watching. He is dressed differently now, the sharp edges of earlier softened slightly, his sleeves rolled just enough to expose his forearms, his posture relaxed in a way that feels almost deceptive. There is no anger in his face. No surprise, only quiet awareness.
“You locked the door,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel, refusing to let him hear the panic that was there seconds ago.
“I did.”
He does not move closer. Does not raise his voice. He simply confirms it, like it is the most natural thing in the world.
You let out a breath, shaking your head. “Then what was the point of letting me walk out of that room? You could have just locked me in there too.”
His gaze lingers on you for a moment, thoughtful.“I wanted to see what you would do.”
The answer lands somewhere between insulting and unsettling.
“And this is supposed to prove something?” you ask, your frustration pushing forward again. “That I don’t want to stay here? Congratulations. You already knew that.”
A flicker of interest crosses his expression.
“You didn’t hesitate,” he says. “You didn’t check if anyone was watching. You didn’t look for another option first.”
Your brows draw together. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“It tells me how you think.”
You let out a short, disbelieving breath. “You kidnapped me and now you’re analyzing me like I’m part of some experiment.”
“I didn’t kidnap you.”
The correction comes easily, almost reflexively.
“You gave me no choice,” you shoot back immediately. “That’s the same thing.”
He considers that for a second. Then, quietly, “No. It isn’t.”
Your hands clench at your sides. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re predictable.”
The words hit harder than you expect. Your chest tightens, anger flaring again, sharp and immediate. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“No,” he agrees calmly. “But I know enough.”
Silence settles between you for a moment, heavy and charged. You take a step toward him, closing some of the distance, refusing to let him stand there like he holds all the control without being challenged.
“Then tell me,” you say, your voice lower now, steadier, cutting through the space between you. “What exactly do you think you know?”
His gaze drops briefly, not in dismissal, but in thought, like he is choosing his words carefully. Then it returns to you.
“You’re not reckless,” he says. “If you were, you would have screamed in the alley. You would have run without thinking. You didn’t.”
Your breath catches, just slightly.
“You observed first. You tried to leave quietly. You only panicked when you realized you were already involved.”
You hold his gaze, refusing to look away.
“And now?” you ask.
Something shifts in his expression again, subtle but there.
“Now you’re angry,” he says. “Which is better than afraid.”
The words catch you off guard. You hadn’t realized it, not fully. The fear is still there, sitting deep in your chest, but it is not the only thing anymore. It has changed shape, twisted into something sharper, something that pushes back instead of freezing.
“Don’t act like you’re doing me a favor,” you say, your voice quieter now but no less firm. “You’re the reason I’m here in the first place.”
“I’m also the reason you’re still alive.”
The room stills. The words settle between you, heavier than anything else he has said.
“You think that makes this better?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper now.
“No,” he replies.
Honest. Simple. It throws you off more than any lie would have. For a moment, neither of you speak. The city lights flicker faintly behind you, reflected in the glass, turning the space into something surreal. You become aware of how close you are now, the distance between you no longer safe, no longer easy to ignore.
He does not step closer, but he does not step back either.
“Go back to your room,” he says after a moment, his voice quieter now, less like an order and more like something else you cannot quite name.
You don’t move. “I’m not going to stay here forever,” you tell him.
“You can’t keep me locked in like this.”
"I know."
Your frustration spikes again. “Then why are you doing it?”
This time, he does not answer immediately. His gaze holds yours, steady and unreadable, but there is something beneath it now, something that feels heavier than before.
“Because letting you go right now would be a mistake.”
The honesty in it leaves no room to argue. Your chest tightens.
“And keeping me here isn’t?”
A pause. Then, quietly, “That depends on you.”
The words settle deep, unsettling in a way you cannot quite explain. You stare at him for a long moment, searching for something, anything that might give you an opening, a weakness, a reason to believe you can still turn this in your favor. You find nothing. Only that same calm certainty. That same control.
Your shoulders stiffen. And slowly, reluctantly, you step back. Because, for now, you understand something you didn’t before. This is not a cage you can break out of in one night. And he is not a man you can outmaneuver without learning how he thinks first.
You turn without another word and walk back toward the hallway, your footsteps quieter this time, your mind already racing with something new. Not just fear, not just anger. Strategy. Because if he thinks he understands you already, he is wrong. And you are going to prove it.
Morning comes without warmth. It slips into the room through the glass walls in pale, indifferent light, stretching across the floor until it reaches the edge of the bed where you’ve barely slept. You don’t remember closing your eyes. You only remember thinking too much, feeling too much, replaying everything until exhaustion blurred it into something dull. You sit up slowly, your body heavy, your mind already awake in the worst way.
The first thing you feel is the emptiness in your stomach. The second is your pride. You ignore the first.
The food is already there when you step out of your room. You don’t know who brought it in. You didn’t hear anything, didn’t notice anyone moving through the penthouse. It sits neatly on the long dining table, steam still rising faintly from the food arranged with quiet precision.
It looks good. Too good. Warm rice, something savory, fresh fruit, coffee.
Normal. Like you’re a guest. Like last night didn’t happen. Your fingers curl at your sides. You walk past it, you don’t even slow down.
You expect him to mention it. He doesn’t. He moves through the space like everything is exactly as it should be, like nothing about your presence here disrupts his routine. He is already dressed, already composed, already stepping into his day as if you are just another detail he has accounted for.
He glances at you once. His gaze flicks briefly toward the untouched food, then back to your face. He says nothing. And somehow, that irritates you more than if he had forced you to sit down and eat.
You last until midday. By then, the hunger has sharpened into something uncomfortable, something distracting. It coils in your stomach, pulling your focus away from everything else, making your thoughts slower, heavier.
Still, you refuse. You sit on the far end of the couch, arms crossed, eyes fixed somewhere past the glass walls, pretending the city below matters more than the quiet presence behind you.
You hear him before you see him. The soft sound of a glass being set down. The faint rustle of movement that always feels too controlled, too deliberate.
“You should eat.”
His voice is calm. Of course it is. You don’t turn.
“I’m not hungry.”
The lie is obvious. You know it. He knows it. Neither of you pretend otherwise. There’s a pause behind you, not long, just enough to feel intentional.
Then, “That’s not how it works.”
You let out a quiet breath, something between a laugh and frustration, and finally turn to face him.
“Everything about this doesn’t work,” you reply, your voice sharper now, thinner at the edges from lack of sleep and food and patience. “So forgive me if I don’t follow your rules.”
His expression doesn’t change. But there’s something in the way he looks at you now, something more focused, more attentive.
“They’re not rules,” he says. “It’s a necessity.”
“For who?” you challenge immediately. “You?”
“For you.”
You shake your head, pushing yourself up from the couch, your irritation spilling over now.
“You don’t get to decide what I need,” you tell him, stepping closer, your voice gaining strength the more you speak. “You brought me here against my will. You don’t get to act like you care about what happens to me after that.”
“I don’t act,” he replies quietly.
The words land heavier than you expect. You stop in front of him, your chest rising and falling faster now, your emotions sitting too close to the surface.
“Then what is this?” you press. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like control.”
His gaze holds yours, steady and unflinching.
“It is control.”
The honesty knocks the air out of you for a second. No denial. No justification. Just the truth.
“And you think that makes it better?” you ask, your voice dropping slightly, something more vulnerable slipping through despite your effort to hold it back.
“No,” he says again.
Always honest. Always calm. It’s infuriating. Your hands curl into fists at your sides.
“Then stop pretending this is anything else,” you snap. “You’re keeping me here because it’s convenient for you. Not because you care if I eat or sleep or breathe.”
Something shifts then. Subtle, but there. He steps closer. Enough that the space between you changes.
“You’re still refusing to eat,” he says, his voice lower now, quieter, but somehow more present. “That’s not defiance. That’s self-destruction.”
Your breath catches, just slightly.
“Maybe I don’t care,” you shoot back, even though the words feel thinner than you want them to.
“You don’t know anything about me,” you say again, but it sounds weaker this time.
His gaze doesn’t waver.
“I know you’re still here,” he replies.
The words land differently. You don’t answer. You can’t. Because some part of you understands exactly what he means.
You don’t eat that day. He doesn’t force you. He doesn’t threaten you, doesn’t drag you to the table, doesn’t turn it into a battle you can fight head-on. He simply… doesn’t bend.
Meals appear. Meals disappear, untouched. And every time, his gaze lingers just a second longer than before.
Not angry. Not frustrated. Watching. Waiting.
You try to escape again. You wait for a moment when he’s not in the room, when the penthouse falls into that same eerie stillness. You move faster this time, more careful, your eyes sharper, your mind piecing together patterns you didn’t notice before.
The door is still locked. The windows still don’t open. You search deeper. Drawers. Panels. Corners of the space that might hide something useful.
You almost miss it. A keypad near the side entrance, subtle enough to blend into the wall if you’re not looking for it. Your heart starts racing. Finally.
You step closer, your fingers hovering over it, your mind already working through possibilities. Codes. Patterns. Something you can guess, something you can break. You don’t hear him this time. Not until it’s too late.
“Still trying.”
The words brush against your ear, low and close enough to make your breath catch sharply in your throat. You turn too quickly and your back meets something solid. You hadn’t even realized how close you’d gotten to the wall until now.
Your pulse spikes instantly, your body going rigid as his presence settles behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat of him without him touching you.
“You’re persistent,” he continues, his voice quieter now, closer than before, each word deliberate. You force yourself to breathe.
“Move,” you say, trying to step forward, but there’s nowhere to go. The wall is in front of you. He is behind you. You are caught.
“You’re getting careless,” he replies.
“I’m getting out,” you snap back, even as your voice wavers slightly under the pressure of his proximity.
A soft exhale brushes against the side of your neck.“You’re not ready to leave,” he murmurs.
Your skin reacts before you can stop it. A shiver runs down your spine, sharp and unexpected, your breath hitching in a way you hate.
“Don’t,” you warn, your voice lower now, strained in a way that has nothing to do with fear.
“Don’t what?”
He hasn’t touched you. That’s the problem. If he had, you could push him away. You could fight it, turn it into something physical, something tangible. But this, this is something else.
“You don’t get to stand this close to me like this,” you say, your words coming out slower now, more careful, as if choosing the wrong tone might shift something you don’t fully understand yet.
“And you don’t get to keep trying to leave without consequences.”
The word lands heavy. Consequences. Your throat tightens.
“And what,” you challenge, even as your heart races harder, “this is your version of punishment?”
There’s a pause. Then, quietly, “No.”
Your breath falters. His hand lifts. You feel it before it happens, the shift in the air, the subtle movement behind you. His fingers brush lightly against your wrist, enough to turn your hand away from the keypad. The contact is brief, but it lingers.
“Punishment would be harsher than this,” he continues, his voice steady, controlled, as if he’s discussing something distant rather than the way your body is reacting to his presence.
You swallow.Your mind spins, trying to catch up, trying to make sense of the tension building between you, of the way your body feels too aware of him, too aware of everything.
You hate it. You hate that he can stand this close without touching you and still affect you like this. You hate that part of you doesn’t want him to move.
“Step away,” you say, but it comes out softer than you intend.
He doesn’t. For a moment, the world narrows to just this. Your breathing. His presence. The space between contact and something more.
Then, slowly, he steps back. The distance feels colder than before. You turn quickly, your chest rising and falling as you face him, your emotions tangled and sharp and impossible to separate.
“Don’t do that again,” you tell him.
His gaze holds yours. Calm. Unreadable.
“You should eat,” he replies instead.
The shift is so sudden it almost makes you laugh. You stare at him, anger and something else burning under your skin. And for the first time, you realize something that unsettles you more than anything else so far. This is no longer just about escaping. This is about enduring him. Learning him. Surviving him. Because the way he looks at you now, it’s not just about risk anymore. It’s about control. And something far more dangerous. Interest.
What unsettles you the most is not the danger. It is not the memory of the alley, not the knowledge of what he is capable of, not even the quiet understanding that your life has been reduced to a variable in someone else’s hands.
It is him. You expected cruelty. You expected raised voices, threats that would corner you into obedience, the kind of force that leaves no room to question who is in control.
Instead, he watches. He waits. He lets you push, lets you resist, lets you test the limits of something invisible and suffocating. And every time you expect him to snap, to show you the kind of man he must be beneath that calm exterior, he does the opposite.
He steps back. He chooses silence. He lets you exist inside his space without crushing you under it. And that… confuses you more than anything else. Because it forces you to look closer.
You start noticing things. At first, it happens without intention. You are restless, constantly aware of the walls around you, of the doors that do not open, of the life outside that continues without you. There is nothing to distract you from him, from the way he moves through this place like it belongs entirely to him.
Because it does. He wakes early. Earlier than you expect. By the time you step out of your room most mornings, still heavy with exhaustion, he is already dressed, already moving, already stepping into a routine that feels too precise to be accidental.
He takes calls you are not meant to hear. Low voices. Measured words. Names that mean nothing to you but carry weight in the way they are spoken. You catch fragments sometimes. Locations. Numbers. Decisions that sound final even when you do not understand them.
He never raises his voice. There is something about the way he speaks that makes people listen. You find yourself listening too. Even when you do not want to.
He eats regularly. At the same time every day, alone. He does not ask you to join him again after the first few attempts. The meals still appear. Still disappear. But he stops looking at you when they remain untouched, as if he has decided something about you and moved on from it. That irritates you more than his persistence ever did.
You start eating eventually. Not for him, for yourself. You tell yourself that over and over again as you sit at the edge of the table one afternoon, forcing down a few bites under the weight of your own pride.
He notices, but he says nothing. And somehow, that feels like a victory you cannot quite claim.
The distance between you shifts in small, almost invisible ways. You stop flinching every time he enters a room. You stop watching the doors quite as obsessively. You start watching him instead. The way his sleeves are always rolled just enough when he is working, like precision matters even in the smallest details. The way he pauses sometimes, just for a second, before answering a call, as if choosing his tone before his words. The way he exists in silence without discomfort.
You wonder what it takes to become like that. You wonder what kind of life carves that kind of control into someone.
You try to escape again. Because staying still feels like surrender, and you are not ready to give him that.
It happens late. The penthouse is quiet again, the city outside dimmed into distant lights and muffled sound. You move carefully, slower than before, your eyes sharper, your steps more deliberate. You have learned. That is your advantage now.
You avoid the obvious. The front door. The main panels. The places you know he expects you to try. Instead, you search deeper. A secondary hallway you had not paid attention to before. A door near the back that blends too easily into the wall.
It opens. Your pulse spikes. For the first time, something gives. The room beyond is darker, less polished than the rest of the penthouse. Storage, maybe. Or something else he does not use often. You step inside.
Your breath comes faster now, anticipation mixing with adrenaline, your mind already racing ahead. This could be it. There has to be another exit. A service door. A stairwell. Something less controlled, something overlooked.
You move quickly. Your foot catches on something you do not see in the dim light, and before you can steady yourself, your body pitches forward. Your hand shoots out instinctively, catching against the edge of a metal surface.
Pain slices through your palm. You suck in a breath, your body going still as the sting spreads, your fingers curling reflexively. For a second, you do not move. Then you look down. Blood. Dark against your skin, slipping between your fingers, trailing slowly toward your wrist.
Your stomach twists. You press your other hand over it instinctively, trying to stop it, your mind scrambling to refocus. You need to keep moving. You need to find a way out before he notices. But your breathing is uneven now, your thoughts slipping, your body reacting faster than your plan can hold.
And then, “You’re getting worse at this.”
His voice fills the space behind you, quiet and certain, like it has been waiting for you to fail. You close your eyes for a second. Not now. Not when you were this close.
You turn slowly.He stands in the doorway, his presence filling the room without effort, his gaze already fixed on your hand. On the blood. Something shifts in his expression.
“Let me see.”
It is not a command. But it feels like one.
“I’m fine,” you say immediately, even as your voice tightens slightly, your grip on your hand pressing harder.
You are not fine. And he knows it.
“You’re bleeding,” he replies, stepping closer.
“I said I’m fine.”
Your back hits the edge of the table behind you, your body tensing as he closes the distance, your instincts flaring again even as something else begins to stir underneath it.
He does not argue. He does not raise his voice. He simply reaches for your wrist. You try to pull back. He catches it easily. Firm enough that you cannot slip away.
“Stop,” he says quietly.
And something in the way he says it makes you still. Your breathing feels louder now. He lifts your hand slightly, turning it just enough to see the cut more clearly. Blood continues to slip through your fingers, slower now but steady, the sting pulsing in time with your heartbeat.
His touch is careful. Precise. Like he has done this before. Probably has. The thought sends something strange through you.
“You need to clean this,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.
“I can do it myself,” you insist, but your voice has lost some of its edge.
He does not let go. Instead, he guides you out of the room, his hand still around your wrist. You should pull away. You don’t.
The bathroom is too bright after the dimness of the storage room. You blink against the light as he turns on the faucet, the sound of running water filling the silence between you.
He releases your wrist then. Only to take your hand again, more deliberately this time, holding it under the stream.
The sting sharpens instantly. You inhale sharply, your body reacting before you can stop it.
“Stay still,” he says, his voice low, steady.
You bite back the urge to pull away, your fingers tightening slightly as the water runs over the cut, washing away the blood in thin, swirling lines.
He is close. Closer than before. Close enough that you can feel the heat of him beside you, the faint brush of his sleeve against your arm, the subtle shift of his breathing in the quiet space.
Your focus starts to slip. Not from the pain. From him. His hands are steady. Warm. Careful in a way you did not expect from someone like him.
Your chest rises a little faster. You hate it. You hate the way your body reacts to proximity, to the quiet control in his movements, to the absence of force where you expected it most.
“Why do you keep doing this?” he asks suddenly, his voice softer now, almost thoughtful. You swallow.
“Trying to leave?” you reply, your tone weaker than before.
“Yes.”
You let out a small breath.
“Because I don’t belong here.”
The words feel heavier now. His hands pause for a second. Then continue.
“You’re still here,” he says.
It is not an argument. Just a fact. You look at him then. His focus is on your hand, on the way he wraps it carefully, on the precision in every movement. There is something intimate about it, something that settles too deep under your skin.
“You don’t even look at me like I’m a person,” you say quietly.
His gaze lifts, meets yours. And for a moment, the space between you shifts.
“I look at you exactly as you are,” he replies.
Your breath catches.
“And what is that?” you ask, softer now.
His eyes linger on yours, something darker moving beneath the calm surface.
“A risk,” he says.
Your stomach tightens.
“But not just that anymore.”
The words settle slowly. Dangerously. You feel it then. The shift. Not in the room. In yourself. The way your pulse changes, the way your awareness sharpens, the way your body becomes too conscious of how close he is, of how easily he could step closer, of how little distance there is left between you.
His hand moves again, adjusting the wrap around your palm. Your fingers twitch slightly. He notices. A faint pause. Then his thumb presses lightly against your wrist, just enough to feel your pulse. Your breath stutters.
“You should be more careful,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, closer.
Your heart is racing. You know he can feel it. And something in the way his gaze lingers tells you he understands exactly why.
Heat creeps up your neck, unwanted, unfamiliar in this context, in this place, with him. You pull your hand back slightly. Just enough to remind yourself where you stand.
“Don’t,” you say, your voice quieter now.
“Don’t what?”
The same question. The same tone. But this time, it feels different. More dangerous.
You hesitate. That is all it takes. A small shift. A small crack. His gaze sharpens just slightly, something almost knowing settling into it.
“Interesting,” he says softly.
Your chest tightens.
“I’m not…” you start, but the words don’t land the way you want them to.
He doesn’t interrupt. The silence stretches, filled with everything you are not saying. Everything he is already noticing.
He steps back first. The distance returns. But it feels different now. Colder.
You exhale slowly, your body catching up with the moment, your thoughts scrambling to rebuild the walls you feel slipping.
“I’m not staying here,” you say again, more firmly this time.
He watches you. Calm. Unmoved.
You look down at your bandaged hand, then back at him, something shifting quietly inside your chest.
Because he is right. You are not chained. There are no locks on your wrists. No visible restraints. But every door leads back to him. Every path circles inward. And the worst part is not the control.Not the danger. It is the way your body reacted just now. The way your mind faltered. The way something unfamiliar and unwanted stirred under his touch.
You straighten slightly, forcing your expression back into something guarded, something firm.
“This doesn’t change anything,” you tell him.
His gaze holds yours for a second longer.
Then, quietly,
“We’ll see.”
And somehow, that feels less like a threat and more like a promise.
The air still clings to your skin when you step out of the shower. Warmth lingers in the quiet space around you, steam curling faintly along the mirror before fading into nothing. For a moment, you stay there, your fingers brushing against the edge of the sink, grounding yourself in something simple, something real. Everything else feels too complicated.
You reach for the clothes he gave you the first night you arrived. You remember how it felt then, wearing something that belonged to him without understanding why it unsettled you. Now, as you pull the loose shirt over your head, the fabric falling past your thighs, soft and unfamiliar but no longer entirely foreign, the feeling shifts into something quieter.
It still belongs to him. That thought lingers longer than it should. The boxers sit low on your hips, brand new, untouched before you wore them, but still chosen by him, still part of a space that revolves around him whether you want it to or not. You push the thought away. You don’t have the energy to sit with it.
The penthouse is dim when you step out. Evening has settled fully now, the city outside glowing in scattered lights that reflect faintly against the glass. Everything feels quieter at this hour, like the world has slowed just enough for the smallest sounds to carry.
You walk toward the kitchen without thinking. Halfway there, you hear his voice. It stops you immediately.
“This is Kim Seokjin.”
The words land before you can process them. Your breath catches, your steps slowing until you come to a complete stop just outside his office.
Kim Seokjin.
For a second, it doesn’t feel real. You’ve been here long enough to know him, to understand the way he moves, the way he speaks, the way everything around him bends to his control, but you’ve never heard him say his name out loud. And suddenly, he feels more real than he did before.
“Yes,” he continues, his voice calm, steady in a way that makes every word feel deliberate. “The transaction is moving as planned. There won’t be any delays.”
There’s a pause. You can’t hear the other voice, but you can feel the weight of the conversation anyway.
“And Mr. Choi is no longer a concern.”
Your chest tightens. Your neighbor. The name alone is enough to pull you closer without thinking, your body leaning slightly toward the door, your breath quieter now.
Another pause. Longer this time, then—
“She stays where she is.”
Your stomach drops. You don’t need him to say your name. You know.
“She saw everything,” he continues, his tone shifting just slightly, not softer, but more deliberate. “And right now, she’s safer under my control than anywhere else.”
Safer. The word lands differently this time. Not dismissive. Not empty.
“There are people already asking questions,” he adds. “If they find out I was the one who took Choi, they’ll trace everything connected to him.”
Your grip tightens slightly at your sides.
“She was there,” he says. “Which makes her a liability to them before she is one to me.”
A pause. Then quieter, more final, “And they won’t hesitate to use her if they get to her first.”
Your chest feels tight. Not from fear. From understanding. Because now, it makes sense. Everything. Why you’re here. Why he hasn’t let you go. Why every exit feels impossible no matter how hard you try.
It’s not just about him. It’s about everyone else. And what they would do to you if you walked out that door.
You step back slowly, your thoughts moving too fast, your emotions catching up all at once. You don’t hear the rest of the call.
The door opens. He sees you immediately. There’s no surprise in his expression, no hesitation in the way his gaze settles on you, like he already knew you were there, like this was inevitable.
For a moment, neither of you speaks. You don’t know where to start. So you don’t ease into it.
“You think keeping me here makes me safe?”
The question comes out sharper than you expect, your voice cutting through the quiet space between you.
His gaze doesn’t waver.
“You heard enough,” he says.
You step closer, your emotions pushing forward now that everything is out in the open.
“You could’ve told me,” you press. “Instead of letting me think I’m just some problem you haven’t decided how to deal with.”
“I did tell you,” he replies calmly. “You just didn’t listen.”
Frustration flares instantly.
“That’s not the same,” you argue, your voice tightening. “You don’t explain anything. You just expect me to stay here and trust you.”
“I don’t expect you to trust me.”
The honesty stops you for a second.
“Then what do you expect?” you ask, quieter now, but no less intense.
His gaze lingers on you, “Cooperation.”
The word feels heavier than it should. You let out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh, but there’s no humor in it.
“So this is what this is?” you say. “Protection with conditions?”
“It’s survival,” he corrects.
You shake your head, stepping closer again, your chest rising faster now.
“You don’t get to decide that for me,” you say. “You don’t get to lock me in here and call it protection just because it benefits you too.”
He doesn’t react the way you expect. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t argue. Instead, he moves. Fast enough that you don’t process it until it’s already happening.
Your back meets the wall. The impact isn’t rough, but it’s enough to knock the breath from your lungs, enough to still you instantly as his presence closes in, leaving no space to move. Your pulse spikes.
“You’re still thinking like this is about what you want,” he says, his voice lower now, closer, every word deliberate. “It’s not.”
Your breathing is uneven now, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.
“You don’t get to—”
Your words falter. Because he steps closer. Close enough that the space between you disappears, close enough that you can feel the heat of him, the quiet control in the way he holds himself back. His hand comes up, not rough, not forceful, but firm enough to keep you exactly where you are.
“You walk out that door,” he murmurs, his voice brushing against your skin, “and you don’t get the chance to argue about it later.”
Your chest rises sharply.
“You don’t know that,” you manage, even though your voice is weaker now, caught somewhere between defiance and something else.
“I do.”
The certainty in his tone settles deep. Your breath catches. His face is close now, closer than it has ever been, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes, something darker moving beneath the surface.
“You think I’m the problem,” he continues, quieter now, his voice steady but heavier, “but I’m the only reason you’re still breathing without someone holding a gun to your head.”
The words should scare you. They should push you back into anger, into resistance. Instead, your body reacts differently.
Your pulse is racing, your breath uneven, your thoughts slipping in ways you don’t understand. You can feel him. Every inch of space he takes up. Every second he stays this close. It does something to you. Something you hate. Something you can’t ignore. Your eyes flick to his lips before you can stop yourself. Just for a second. But it’s enough. Because he notices. Something shifts in his expression, subtle but unmistakable, something almost knowing settling into the way he looks at you now.
Your chest tightens. You should push him away. You don’t. He leans closer. His breath brushes against your neck now, warm, steady, too close, and it sends a sharp shiver down your spine that you can’t hide.
“You’re stubborn,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, softer in a way that feels more dangerous than anything else he’s said. “You keep pushing like you want to see what happens when I stop holding back.”
Your fingers curl at your sides. You hate the way your body reacts to his voice, to his proximity, to the quiet control in every movement.
“I’m not afraid of you,” you say, but it doesn’t sound the way you want it to. There’s something else in it now. Something he hears immediately. A faint shift. Something almost like amusement flickers in his gaze.
“No,” he agrees quietly. “That’s not the problem.”
“Then what is?” you ask, softer now, even though you don’t mean to be.
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his hand shifts slightly, just enough to tilt your chin up, just enough to keep your gaze locked on his. The contact is minimal. But it lingers.
“It’s that you feel it too,” he says.
Your heart stutters. The words hit harder than anything else he’s said. Because you do. And he knows it.
You shake your head instinctively, but your body betrays you, your breath uneven, your pulse too fast.
“You’re wrong,” you insist.
But your voice lacks conviction. His gaze lingers, slow, deliberate, like he’s taking his time now, like he already knows how this plays out.
“Keep telling yourself that,” he murmurs, his breath still warm against your skin, still too close, still making it impossible to think clearly. “But don’t push me just to prove it.”
Your chest rises sharply. “What happens if I do?” you ask before you can stop yourself. The question hangs there.
His lips hover close enough that you feel it, not quite touching, but close enough to blur the line.
“Then I stop being patient.”
The words are quiet. But they settle deep. Your breath falters. For a moment, everything narrows.
The space. The silence. The way your body reacts before your mind can catch up. You hate it. You hate that part of you doesn’t want him to move. You hate that you don’t want this moment to end. And that is what scares you the most.
Then, he steps back. Just like that. The space returns instantly. Cold. Sharp. Controlled. Like he never lost it. Like he never would.
You inhale slowly, your body still caught in the aftermath, your thoughts struggling to catch up. He looks at you for a second longer, his expression unreadable again, like the moment never happened.
“Stay inside,” he says, his voice back to calm, back to controlled. “It’s the only reason you’re still alive.”
Then he turns and walks away. Leaving you standing there, your back still against the wall, your pulse still racing, your thoughts tangled in ways you don’t understand. Because now, you know the truth. You are here because he is protecting you. And somehow, that makes him even more dangerous than before.
Morning arrives differently here. It doesn’t rush in or demand attention. It slips through the glass in soft, pale light, stretching slowly across the floor, climbing the walls, settling into every corner of the penthouse like it belongs there. The city below is already awake, distant and alive, but up here, everything feels suspended, quiet in a way that doesn’t match the world outside.
You wake before you mean to. Not from noise, not from movement, from thought. Last night lingers in your body before it reaches your mind. The memory of his voice, low and controlled, the way he stood too close, the way your breath betrayed you, the way your body reacted in ways you don’t want to examine too closely.
You sit up slowly, pushing the sheets aside, your fingers brushing against fabric that doesn’t belong to you.
His shirt. It slips against your skin when you move, loose and soft, the sleeves falling past your wrists, the collar dipping just enough to remind you how easily it shifts when you’re not careful. You exhale slowly, pushing yourself up, trying to ground yourself in something simpler. It doesn’t work.
The kitchen is already occupied when you step in. You don’t hear him at first. You feel him. There’s a difference now, something subtle but impossible to ignore, the way your body reacts to his presence before you even see him. It settles into your awareness like a quiet pull, something that sharpens your senses without asking permission.
He’s standing at the counter. Sleeves rolled, movements precise, controlled in a way that feels effortless. There’s something almost disorienting about it, the way he exists in this space, the way everything he does feels deliberate even when it looks simple. He doesn’t look like someone who orchestrates danger. He looks like someone making breakfast. The normalcy of it unsettles you. He glances at you, just once. But it lingers. Not long enough to call it out, but long enough that you feel it settle under your skin.
“You’re awake,” he says, his voice steady, like this is expected, like you walking into his space dressed in his clothes is just another part of his routine.
You lean slightly against the counter, folding your arms without thinking, trying to ignore the way his gaze flicked over you a second longer than necessary.
“I didn’t realize you cook,” you reply.
It’s a small thing to say. But it fills the space.
“I don’t,” he answers simply. “Not usually.”
Your brows pull together slightly.
“Then what is this?”
He doesn’t look at you when he replies.
“An exception.”
The word lingers. You don’t ask why. You’re not sure you want the answer. You stay where you are. You don’t leave. That realization comes quietly, settling into your chest in a way that feels heavier than it should.
You could walk out. Go back to your room. Avoid this entirely. But you don’t. Instead, you watch him. The way his hands move, steady and precise, the way he handles everything like it matters, even something as simple as this. There’s no rush in him, no wasted movement, just quiet control in everything he does.
You hate that you notice. You hate that it draws your attention the way it does.
“You’re staring.”
His voice pulls you out of it. You blink, your gaze snapping back to his face.
“I’m not,” you reply immediately.
He looks at you. His gaze moves over you slowly, deliberate in a way that makes your breath catch despite yourself. It lingers at your shoulders, at the way the fabric of his shirt slips slightly when you shift, at the way it falls against your skin like it belongs there. Your pulse picks up.
“You’re still wearing my clothes,” he says.
It’s not a question. It’s not even an accusation. Just a statement.
“You gave them to me,” you counter, your voice steady even as something in your chest tightens.
“I did.”
The way he says it feels heavier than it should. Something shifts in the silence that follows. You don’t move. Neither does he. For a moment, it feels like everything slows, like the space between you has narrowed without either of you stepping closer. Then he turns back to what he’s doing. The moment breaks. But not completely.
You sit down when he sets the plate in front of you. You don’t argue. That’s new. You notice it immediately. So does he. But neither of you says anything about it.
The chair feels too close to where he stands, too aware of his presence, too aware of the way your body reacts every time he moves within your space.
You pick up the fork slowly, your fingers brushing against it as you try to focus on something normal. Something simple. It doesn’t work. You can feel his gaze on you. Enough that it settles into your awareness, enough that it makes every movement feel more deliberate than it should be.
“You’re quiet,” he says after a moment.
You glance up at him. “So are you.”
“That’s not unusual.”
A faint exhale leaves you. “No,” you admit. “It’s not.”
Silence stretches again. But it’s different now. Not tense. Not sharp. Something else. Something heavier. You don’t realize how close he is until he’s there. One moment, he’s across from you. The next, he’s beside you. Close enough that the shift in space is immediate. Your breath catches slightly, your body reacting before your mind can catch up. He reaches past you. But the movement brings him closer than necessary, his arm brushing lightly against yours, his presence settling into your space in a way that feels deliberate even if it shouldn’t. Your fingers tighten slightly around the fork.
“You’re distracted,” he says quietly.
“I’m not,” you reply, but it comes out softer than you intend.
His gaze lingers on you. “You are.”
Your chest rises a little faster.
“And whose fault is that?” you ask before you can stop yourself.
The words hang there. He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studies you, his attention sharper now, more focused in a way that makes it harder to breathe normally.
“You tell me,” he says finally.
Your pulse spikes. You don’t respond. You can’t. Because you don’t trust what might come out if you do. The silence stretches again, but this time it feels different. Closer. He doesn’t move away. And neither do you.
You can feel him. Your body reacts before your mind can catch up, awareness settling into every inch of space between you, your breath uneven in a way you can’t hide. You hate it. You hate how easily he affects you. You hate that he knows it.
“You’re still fighting it,” he murmurs.
Your gaze snaps to his. “Fighting what?”
His eyes hold yours, steady, unreadable in a way that feels intentional. “This.”
The word lands heavier than it should. Your chest tightens. “There is no this,” you say, but your voice lacks conviction.
Something shifts in his expression. Subtle. Knowing. He leans slightly closer. Not enough to touch. Just enough to make the distance feel intentional. Your breath falters.
“You can keep telling yourself that,” he says quietly. “It doesn’t change anything.”
Your heart is racing now. You should step back. You don’t. Because part of you doesn’t want to. And that realization hits harder than anything else.
He moves first. But this time, it’s not to step away. It’s to straighten slightly, to create just enough distance to break the moment without fully leaving it behind.
“You should eat,” he says, his voice steady again, controlled, like nothing just happened. Like he didn’t see it. Like you didn’t feel it.
You stare at him for a second longer, your chest still rising unevenly, your thoughts tangled in ways you don’t want to untangle. Then you look down at your plate. Because staying in that moment feels more dangerous than anything else.
The rest of the morning passes quietly. But something has changed. You feel it in the way your thoughts linger on him longer than they should. In the way your body reacts every time he steps into your space. In the way the silence between you feels less like distance and more like something waiting to break. And the most dangerous part is not him. Not what he is. Not what he’s capable of. It’s you. Because you’re starting to want things you shouldn’t. And you don’t know how to stop.
Sleep doesn’t come. It refuses you completely, no matter how many times you close your eyes, no matter how long you lie still and try to force your body into rest. Your mind keeps moving, circling the same moments, replaying them with a clarity that feels cruel.
The way he said your name. The way his breath felt against your skin. The way your body reacted before you could stop it. You turn onto your side, then your back again, frustration building slowly, tightening in your chest until staying in bed feels impossible.
You sit up. The room is quiet, dim with only a faint glow from the city filtering through the curtains. For a moment, you hesitate, your thoughts catching up with your actions.
You shouldn’t go looking. You already know enough. But that thought doesn’t stop you. Because knowing isn’t the same as understanding. And right now, understanding feels like the only thing that might steady you.
You step out into the hallway. The penthouse is silent, the kind of silence that makes every movement feel louder than it should be. You move carefully, instinctively aware of the space around you, your senses sharper in the dark.
You glance toward his room first. The door is closed. You walk closer, slower now, your hand hovering just slightly before you test the handle. Locked. Of course it is. You let out a quiet breath, something between frustration and expectation. Then your gaze shifts. His office. The door isn’t fully closed. You step inside carefully.
The room feels different at night, heavier somehow, like everything inside it carries more weight in the absence of light. The desk sits exactly as it always does, clean, organized, nothing out of place. Too perfect. Too controlled.
You move closer. Your fingers brush the edge of the desk before you pull open the first drawer. Nothing obvious. Documents. Clean. Minimal. You try another. And another. Your heartbeat starts to pick up, your movements quicker now, your breathing quieter as if that might hide what you’re doing. There has to be something. Something that tells you who he really is. Something that tells you who is looking for you.
A paper slips slightly as you pull it free, your eyes scanning quickly, trying to make sense of names, numbers, fragments that feel important but incomplete, “Looking for something?”
The voice behind you stops everything. Your breath catches sharply, your body going still before you even turn. He’s already there. Standing in the doorway. Watching you. You don’t have time to explain. You don’t even try.
“I need to know what I’m involved in,” you say instead, your voice tighter than you intend, your grip still holding the paper.
He doesn’t move immediately. He just watches you, his gaze slow, taking in everything without rushing. Then he steps forward. You step back instinctively. Your hip hits the edge of the desk. There’s nowhere else to go.
He closes the distance. Fast enough that you don’t react until it’s too late.
The papers slip from your hands, scattering across the floor as his presence presses into yours, his hand braced against the desk beside you, effectively trapping you there without force. Your breath stutters.
“You don’t stop,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, closer, the words settling into the space between you in a way that feels heavier than they should. Your chest rises unevenly.
“I’m not going to just sit here and wait for something to happen,” you reply, even as your voice softens under the weight of his proximity.
His gaze lingers on you.
“You’re really testing my patience,” he says. His other hand moves to rest against the desk, close enough that you feel surrounded without being touched. Your pulse races.
“You think digging through my things is going to change anything?” he continues, his voice quieter now, slower, like he’s taking his time.
“I think it might give me a chance,” you answer.
“A chance at what?”
“At not being completely in the dark.”
His eyes hold yours. And something shifts. Not anger. Something deeper.
“You’re not in the dark,” he says softly.
Your breath catches.
“Then why does it feel like I am?”
He leans in slightly. Close enough that the space between you disappears. Your back presses more firmly against the desk, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.
“Because you don’t like the answers,” he murmurs.
The words brush against your skin. You should push him away. You don’t.
His gaze drops briefly, just enough to make your breath falter, just enough to make you aware of how close he is, how easily this could shift into something else.
“You keep pushing,” he continues, his voice lower now, softer in a way that feels more dangerous than before. “Like you’re trying to find a line.”
Your fingers curl slightly against the edge of the desk. “Maybe I am.”
The admission slips out before you can stop it. His gaze sharpens.
“And what happens when you find it?”
Your heart is racing now. “I guess we’ll see.”
For a moment, neither of you moves. Then his hand lifts. Enough to tilt your chin slightly upward, forcing your gaze to stay on his.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he says quietly.
Your breath trembles. “Then show me.”
The words hang there. Dangerous. Unavoidable. Something shifts in his expression. Subtle, but unmistakable.
He leans closer. Your breath catches. You feel it before it happens, the change in the air, the shift in tension, the way everything narrows to just this moment.
His lips hover close. Too close. Your pulse pounds. And then, he stops for a second that feels longer than it should. Like he’s giving you time. Like he’s letting you choose. You don’t realize you’ve reached for his shirt until your fingers curl into the fabric.
That’s all it takes. The distance disappears. His jaw brushed the curve of your ear, the faint rasp of stubble sending heat skimming across your skin before his teeth closed in a slow, deliberate bite. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to make your breath catch, a quiet, helpless sound slipping past your lips before you could stop it.
You hated this. Hated how easily he unraveled you. How your body answered him without permission, pulse stuttering, thoughts dissolving into something reckless and unsteady. Every touch felt like a question you shouldn’t want to answer, yet here you were, leaning into him as if you already had.
Even with that small spark of resistance still flickering in your mind, your body betrayed you. Your head tilted back just enough, exposing the line of your throat, a silent challenge wrapped in a breathy whisper. There was defiance in it, sharp and tempting, the kind that drew something darker out of him.
He didn’t hesitate. His mouth found your skin as if he had been waiting for permission you never truly gave. Slow. Intentional. Each press of his lips along your neck felt measured, like he was taking his time learning every inch of you. When his tongue brushed against your pulse, tasting the warmth there, your breath faltered despite your effort to keep it steady.
Every brush of his mouth against your pulse sent a tremor through you, a soft, unguarded sound slipping free before you could swallow it down. It was quiet, but it was there, betraying the heat coiling low in your body, tightening with every second he refused to stop.
Your fingers curled against the edge of the desk, grip tightening until your knuckles blanched, as if holding on to something solid might keep you grounded. It didn’t. Nothing did. Not when your body leaned into him without permission, not when your breathing turned uneven no matter how hard you tried to steady it.
His mouth found yours without warning, firm and unyielding, the kind of kiss that didn’t ask, only took. It stole the air from your lungs in an instant. Leaving you breathless as his hand tightened just enough to keep you exactly where he wanted you. There was heat in it. Possession. Something dangerously close to hunger.
You tasted the faint trace of whisky on his lips, rich and intoxicating, but there was something deeper beneath it, something darker that pulled you in before you could think to resist. When his teeth caught your lower lip, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch, a quiet sound slipped from you, soft and unsteady. And the worst part was how easily you gave in to it.
A slow, aching heat spread low in your body, pulsing with a need you didn’t want to name. It made your breath uneven, your thoughts hazy, every nerve tuned to him and nothing else. Before you could think twice, you were on the desk, the edge pressing faintly against you as he stepped closer. Your legs parted without permission, a quiet, instinctive movement that welcomed him in ways your mind still tried to resist.
Your hand slid into his hair, fingers threading through the dark strands, tightening just enough to pull. To challenge. The sound that left him was low and rough, something felt more than heard, vibrating through you like a warning you had no intention of listening to.
The kiss deepened, turning messy and urgent, his mouth moving against yours with a hunger that made it hard to tell where you ended and he began. His tongue traced every response from you, slow one second, relentless the next, until your breathing broke into something uneven and fragile.
Your bodies pressed together, heat bleeding through every layer, every inch of space between you disappearing beneath the weight of it.
He pulled back just enough, your lips still brushing, his breath warm and unsteady against your skin.
“You’re so fucking stubborn,” he murmured, voice low and rough, laced with something dangerously close to frustration. “Always pushing me like this." His voice a low, gravelly whisper that sent a jolt straight to your cunt.
Your hips moved against him, slow at first, then with more intention, feeling the hard bulge of his cock through his jeans. A soft gasp slipped out, unsteady and unguarded, as the friction sent a rush of sensation through you.
Clothes quickly turned into nothing more than barriers between you, clumsy and frustrating in the heat of the moment. Your fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt, unsteady but determined, while he lost patience entirely, dragging the fabric over his head in one swift motion.
For a second, you stilled. The sight of him, all defined lines and tension, his chest rising and falling a little heavier than before, pulled something tight in your chest. Your gaze followed the shape of him, down to where his waistband sat low on his hips, and you felt that same dangerous pull all over again. Like you were already too far gone to stop.
The space around you seemed to close in, his office shrinking until it felt like there was nothing left but him and the heat building between you. The air turned thick, heavy with every unsteady breath, every quiet sound of movement as fabric slipped and fell forgotten to the floor. Soon, you were both stripped bare, your skin flushed and slick with sweat under the low glow of the lamp, every inch of you exposed to his hungry gaze.
He didn't waste a second, his mouth descending to your breasts, lips wrapping around one hardened nipple as he sucked hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak while his fingers pinched and rolled the other, drawing out a string of desperate whimpers from you.
You hated how easily he got under your skin, how completely he took over your senses until nothing else mattered but him.
His hand roamed lower, sliding between your thighs to find you already soaking wet, his fingers teasing your slick folds with deliberate strokes that made your back arch off the desk.
"Fuck, you're dripping for me," he growled, his voice thick with lust as he looked up at you, eyes dark and intense. The words sent a thrill through you.
He dropped to his knees, the cool air hitting your exposed skin as he spread your legs wider, his breath hot against your pussy. His tongue flicked out, tracing the edges of your swollen clit with agonizing slowness, the wet, slurping sounds filling the office as he lapped at you like a man starved. Each stroke was deliberate, building the tension until you were writhing, your fingers knotting in his hair as he added a finger, then two, thrusting them deep inside your tight, dripping cunt.
His fingers curling to hit that perfect spot that made stars burst behind your eyes, the rhythm steady and unrelenting as he sucked your clit harder, his other hand gripping your thigh to hold you in place.
Time blurred in a haze of heat, every moment pulling you closer to the edge you couldn’t quite step over. His attention didn’t waver, as if he had all the time in the world to unravel you piece by piece.
The office felt distant now, reduced to shadows and muffled sounds, while your breath broke in uneven rhythms you could no longer control. Every reaction betrayed you, every quiet sound giving away just how far gone you already were.
You'd never felt anything like it, the way his tongue swirled and flicked, the obscene squelching of your juices coating his fingers as he pumped them in and out, faster and deeper with each thrust.
When it finally broke through you, it felt like everything inside you gave way at once, tension snapping clean through your body. Your pussy clenching around his fingers as waves of ecstasy crashed through you, your cries muffled only by the palm you slapped over your mouth.
He didn’t let it end there. Even as your body finally began to soften against him, breath uneven and strength draining from your limbs, he lingered, unrelenting in the way he kept you anchored to the moment, as if he refused to let the intensity fade too quickly.
The aftershocks still moved through you in quiet, uncontrollable waves, leaving you unsteady, suspended somewhere between exhaustion and lingering heat.
And when you finally looked at him, there was no satisfaction of having finished. Only hunger. Still there. Still watching you like he wasn’t done with you yet.
He straightened slowly, the movement unhurried, like he was giving you time to change your mind even though neither of you really believed you would.
Reaching into the desk drawer, he retrieved something without breaking eye contact, the silence between you tightening again, heavy with understanding rather than words. He tear it open and roll it down his thick, throbbing cock. The sight of him, veins bulging along his shaft, precum glistening at the tip, made your mouth water, but there was no time to think as he positioned himself between your legs, the head of his dick pressing against your entrance.
He slid into you slowly at first, inch by inch, stretching your sensitive pussy around his girth until he was buried to the hilt, a groan escaped him as your walls gripped him tight.
"Fuck, you feel so good, so fucking tight," he rasped, his hands gripping your hips as he began to thrust, each movement deep and powerful, filling you completely. His cock hitting that sweet spot inside you with every stroke, the wet slap of skin against skin mingling with your mutual moans.
He flipped you over, the new position allowing him to pound into you harder, his balls slapping against your clit with each forceful drive. You met his rhythm, pushing back against him, the raw intensity of it all pushing you toward another peak as he growled filthy words in your ear. "Take it, you dirty little thing, cum all over my cock."
It went on, unrelenting and all-consuming, as if neither of you could find the will to pull away. The position shifted again, the desk chair creaking softly beneath the weight of it all, the room filled with nothing but breath and movement and the steady unraveling of control between you. His hands on your tits as you bounced on his length, feeling every vein and ridge drag against your inner walls.
Sweat dripped down your bodies, the air thick with the scent of sex, until finally, with one last, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you and came, his cock pulsing as he filled the condom, your own release crashing over you. For a moment, there was only silence. Heavy. Lingering. Unavoidable. And neither of you moved to fill it right away.
The office feels different now, not because anything has changed physically, but because something invisible has settled into the space, something you can feel in the air between you and him. The city outside continues to glow beyond the glass, indifferent and distant, while inside, everything feels too close, too aware of itself.
You are still on top of him. Close enough that if either of you moves first, the moment might shatter into something else entirely. But neither of you does. That silence stretches. Not uncomfortable. Not peaceful either. Something in between, something suspended, like the world forgot to tell you what comes next.
You realize your hands are still pressed against his shoulders. He notices. His gaze doesn’t move away from you, not even for a second, but there is no urgency in it now, no pressure, just that same steady awareness that has always made it impossible for you to ignore him.
“You’re still thinking too much,” he says finally. His voice is lower than before, quieter in a way that feels less like control and more like something closer to honesty.
You exhale slowly, looking at him properly now.
“I’m still trying to make sense of all of this,” you admit softly.
A faint shift passes through his expression, not quite amusement, not quite agreement.
“You should stop trying to understand everything all at once,” he says.
Your throat tightens slightly.
“That’s easy for you to say,” you reply.
His gaze holds yours.
“It’s not,” he answers. “It’s just necessary.”
That word lingers longer than it should. You look away for a moment, trying to steady your breathing, trying to bring yourself back into something that feels normal. But nothing about this feels normal anymore, not the room, not the silence, not the way your thoughts keep circling back to him even when you try to push them away.
“What happens now?” you ask quietly.
It is the first time you say it out loud. The first time you acknowledge that something has shifted between you, something neither of you can pretend didn’t happen. He studies you for a moment before answering.
“That depends on you,” he says.
You let out a small, almost disbelieving breath.
“Me?”
His voice doesn’t change.
“You can keep fighting me,” he says. “Or you can start trusting that I’m not the one you need to be afraid of.”
The words land differently now. Not like a command. Not like manipulation. More like something carefully placed in front of you, left for you to decide what to do with.
You push yourself off him slowly, your feet finding the floor again, your body feeling slightly unsteady in a way you refuse to acknowledge.
“I don’t know how to trust someone like you,” you admit.
There is no accusation in it. Just truth. He watches you for a moment longer.
“I didn’t ask you to trust everything,” he replies. “Just enough to stay alive.”
That sentence settles deeper than anything else tonight. You look at him again, and for the first time, you don’t just see control or distance or danger. You see responsibility. Heavy. Unshaken. Something he carries without asking for permission. And that changes the shape of everything you thought you understood.
You step back slightly, the space between you widening again, and something in your chest tightens at the loss of proximity more than you want to admit.
“I should go,” you say softly.
He nods once. No argument. No attempt to stop you. That, somehow, feels louder than anything else.
Your room feels colder than usual when you enter it. Or maybe it only feels that way because the warmth you were just in hasn’t faded from your skin yet.
You close the door slowly behind you, leaning against it for a moment without moving further inside. The silence here is different from his office. Less charged, less heavy, but somehow more isolating now that you’ve been reminded of what it feels like not to be alone in it.
Your fingers brush lightly against the fabric of his shirt again without you realizing it. You should change. You don’t. Not immediately. Because your mind is still replaying everything in fragments you cannot fully organize. His voice. His gaze. His touch. The way he spoke to you like the world outside your existence was something he was constantly calculating against.
You sit down slowly on the edge of the bed, your thoughts catching up to your body piece by piece. You should feel confused. You do. You should feel scared. Some part of you still is. But neither of those emotions feels complete anymore. Because there is something else now, something softer and more dangerous at the same time, something that settles in quietly when you are not paying attention.
You realize it only when you stop resisting it. You didn’t pull away from him tonight. Not when you had the chance. Not when you should have. And even now, sitting alone in your room, you are not sure if you regret it.
That thought stays with you longer than anything else. Outside your door, the penthouse remains silent. And somewhere beyond it, Kim Seokjin continues to exist in the same space as you, as if nothing between you has fully ended. As if it never really will.
Morning arrives without urgency, slipping through the glass like it has nowhere else to be except here. The city outside is already awake, already moving, already living a life that feels far removed from the quiet heaviness inside the penthouse. Up here, everything feels slower, like even time is careful not to disturb what has changed between you and him.
You wake before you want to. Because your body refuses to fully stay inside it. There is a dull ache in your limbs, not sharp enough to demand attention, but present enough to remind you that last night did not end the way ordinary nights end. You stay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling as if it might explain what your mind keeps circling back to.
It does not. Instead, what returns is him. The way he looked at you without distance. The way silence between you no longer felt empty. The way you did not leave when you should have. You sit up slowly, pulling the sheet aside, and the room shifts with your movement in a way that feels too loud for how quiet everything is. The fabric of his shirt falls naturally against your skin when you move, familiar now in a way that unsettles you more than it should. It does not feel like borrowed clothing anymore. It feels like something that belongs in this space the same way you do, even if you are still trying to reject that idea.
You exhale quietly and push yourself out of bed. There is no escape in staying still. The kitchen is already occupied when you step out. You know before you see him. It is not sound or movement that gives it away. It is something else, something that has started to settle in you without permission. Awareness. That quiet instinct that reacts to him before your thoughts can form properly.
He is there, standing by the counter, the early light from the city falling across his frame in a way that makes everything feel too composed to be accidental. Nothing about him looks rushed. Nothing about him ever does. Even the simplest movements carry that same controlled precision, as if everything he does is measured against something only he understands.
For a moment, you just watch him. Because your body does it before your mind can decide otherwise.
He glances at you once when you enter, and it is enough to shift something inside your chest. Not surprise. Not acknowledgment. Something quieter. Something that feels like awareness of a shared space that no longer belongs entirely to either of you.
“You’re awake,” he says.
You move closer slowly, stopping near the counter without fully committing to sitting yet.
“I didn’t think you were the type to make breakfast almost everyday,” you say.
A faint pause follows your words, not from confusion but from consideration.
“I am not,” he replies.
You nod slightly, absorbing that without fully understanding why it feels like more than it should. Because nothing about him is usually simple.
You sit down. He places a plate in front of you without ceremony before taking the seat across from you. The distance is familiar now, but it carries a different weight than before. Less like separation. More like something carefully maintained.
You do not eat immediately. Neither does he. For a while, only silence exists between you. It is not the kind of silence that feels empty anymore. It is full in a way that makes it harder to pretend nothing has changed. It carries memory without needing to speak it.
You break it first.
“You didn’t sleep properly,” you say quietly.
“I did,” he answers.
Your eyes lift slightly toward him, reading him more carefully now.
“That is not what it looks like,” you reply.
A brief pause follows.
“It was enough,” he says.
That answer tells you more than a longer explanation would have.
You set your fork down, attention fully on him now even if you are not sure you want it to be.
“You said I am safer here,” you say carefully. “But you never told me what I am actually safe from.”
His gaze stays on you without shifting.
“That depends on what you already know,” he replies.
A small tension builds in your chest at that.
“You mean Mr. Choi,” you say.
The name changes the air immediately. He does not avoid it. Instead, he leans into it in the same calm way he always does when he decides something will not be softened for your comfort.
“Mr. Choi was involved in things you were never meant to be close to,” he says. “He was trading information. Movement schedules. Access points. Things that don’t stay small once they enter circulation.”
You listen without interrupting, even though something in you resists every word.
“So he was not just some random neighbor,” you say slowly.
“No,” he replies.
The honesty is immediate. Unfiltered. Final. Your fingers rest against the table without moving.
“And you took him because of that,” you continue.
“I took him because someone else would have taken him worse,” he says.
You look at him more sharply now.
“That is supposed to make me feel better,” you say quietly.
“It is supposed to make you understand context,” he replies.
The distinction matters more than you want it to. Silence returns again, but it feels heavier now, filled with things you are only beginning to piece together.
You exhale slowly. “So where do I fit into all of this,” you ask, “because I am still not seeing how I become part of something like that just by being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
His gaze does not leave you.
“That is where you are wrong,” he says.
Your chest tightens slightly at the certainty in his voice.
“I did not choose to be part of this,” you reply.
“I know,” he says.
That is what unsettles you the most. Not denial. Not disagreement. Acknowledgment. A quiet acceptance that you are already inside something neither of you can fully reverse.
You lean back slightly, your thoughts moving faster than your ability to organize them.
“Then why keep me here,” you ask, softer now.
For the first time this morning, his expression shifts in a way that is not immediately readable. Not distance. Not calculation. Something more restrained.
“I stopped seeing you as something I could simply remove from the situation,” he says.
The words land quietly, but they do not fade. You stare at him for a moment longer than you intend to.
“That does not sound like a reason,” you say.
“It is the only one that matters,” he replies.
The silence that follows is no longer empty. It feels like something held carefully in place, like both of you are aware that one more question might change the shape of everything again.
You notice your own hesitation. That is what scares you more than anything else. Not his world. Not the danger outside it. But the fact that you are no longer reacting to him purely with resistance. There is something else there now. Something you do not want to define too quickly.
You stand slowly, breaking the stillness.
“I need time to think,” you say.
He nods once. No argument. No attempt to stop you. That should feel like distance. It does not. It feels like permission. You walk toward your room, but you stop at the doorway without meaning to. Because for a moment, you realize something you have been avoiding all morning. You are not trying to escape him the way you used to. You are trying to understand what happens if you stop running at all. And behind you, he remains where he is. Not following. Not calling you back. Just watching quietly as if he already knows you will not leave the same person you were when you walked in.
Weeks pass in a way that no longer feels like waiting. Time does not drag inside the penthouse anymore. It moves quietly, naturally, like something that has finally settled into the shape it was always meant to take. There are no dramatic shifts, no sudden realizations that arrive like thunder. Instead, everything changes in small, almost unnoticeable ways until one day you realize you are no longer the person who once stood at that door, wondering if escape was the only answer.
Now the door is always unlocked. And you no longer look at it. That becomes the quiet truth of your days.
Seokjin leaves in the morning without saying much, his world still calling him back into places you are only beginning to understand. But the difference now is not in his absence. It is in what he leaves behind.
Freedom. Not as something distant or unreachable, but as something placed gently into your hands, as if he trusts you to decide what to do with it. And every day, without saying it out loud, you choose the same thing.
You stay. You find your own rhythm inside his space. It becomes your space too before either of you ever says it.
Some afternoons, he returns to find you in the library, curled into one of the deep chairs with a book resting open in your lap, your attention somewhere between the pages and the quiet comfort of knowing he will walk through the door eventually. Other nights, he steps inside to the soft glow of the television, your figure half-lost in the couch, a blanket loosely draped over you as if you never intended to fall asleep but did anyway.
And sometimes, like tonight, he finds you in the kitchen. Flour dusted lightly across the counter. A faint sweetness in the air. Your sleeves pushed up, your focus fixed on something you are trying to get right without entirely knowing if you will. He stops in the doorway when he sees you. Not announcing himself. Not interrupting. Just watching. Because this is the part of you he did not expect to matter as much as it does.
“You went out,” he says after a moment.
You glance over your shoulder, a small smile forming without effort. “I did,” you reply. “Your men were very serious about it.”
A quiet huff of amusement escapes him, barely there but real.
“I trust you,” he says, stepping further inside. “I do not trust them to leave you unguarded.”
You nod slightly, turning back to what you are doing.
“I figured that much.”
He leans against the counter, watching you more closely now.
“What is this,” he asks.
You hesitate for a second, then answer honestly.
“I saw something online,” you admit. “I wanted to try it.”
That earns a pause.
“You are experimenting,” he says.
“I am learning,” you correct softly.
Something shifts in his expression at that, something that lingers longer than it should.
Dinner ends up forgotten. Postponed by something neither of you plans but both of you recognize the moment it begins. You offer him food. He looks at you instead. “I am not hungry for that,” he says quietly.
The way he says it changes the air between you. The space between you disappears slowly, naturally, like it has done this too many times to be uncertain anymore. The connection is no longer something that surprises you. It feels known, like something your body understands before your thoughts can catch up.
Later, the kitchen fades into memory. The couch becomes the place where everything settles again. You are tangled together, the city lights dim behind you, the world outside reduced to something distant and unimportant compared to the quiet rhythm you share here.
Neither of you speaks at first. But eventually, your thoughts return to something that has lingered in the background of all this change.
“Seokjin,” you say softly.
He shifts slightly beside you, his attention already on you before you finish.
“What happened to him,” you ask. “Mr. Choi.”
The name feels different now. Less like a mystery. More like a piece of a story you have already stepped into.
He is quiet for a moment before answering.
“He is alive,” he says. “Somewhere far from here.”
You turn your head slightly to look at him.
“Alive,” you repeat.
“Yes,” he continues. “New name. New life. No connections to what he was involved in.”
You study his face carefully.
“You let him go.”
“I removed him from the equation,” he corrects.
That answer makes more sense for who he is.
“And the people who were looking for him,” you ask.
His gaze darkens slightly, not with anger but with something colder.
“They are no longer a problem,” he says.
You hold his gaze. “All of them?”
“The one who mattered is in custody,” he replies. “The rest are not in a position to reach you.”
You exhale slowly, letting that settle.
“For good,” you say.
He does not answer immediately. Then, quieter than before, he says, “For as long as I can control it.”
That honesty matters more than a promise. You shift closer to him, your hand resting lightly against his chest.
“You did all of that,” you say.
His gaze softens slightly.
“I did what was necessary,” he replies.
“For me,” you press.
A pause. Then, finally, “Yes.”
The word is simple. But it carries everything. Silence follows again, but it is different now. Warmer. Full. You study him for a moment longer before speaking again.
“You know,” you say quietly, “I could have left at any point.”
His gaze shifts slightly at that.
“I know,” he replies.
“I did not,” you continue.
He does not interrupt. Because he understands that this matters.
“I stayed,” you say, your voice softer now. “Because I wanted to be here.”
That changes something in him.
“I stopped asking myself when I would leave,” you add. “I started asking myself why I would.”
His hand moves slightly against yours.
“And what answer did you find,” he asks.
You meet his gaze fully.
“You,” you say.
The word settles into the space between you like it has always belonged there.
He exhales quietly, something shifting in his expression that he does not hide from you anymore.
“You are the only thing in this place that does not feel temporary,” you continue. “Everything else still feels like it could disappear if I look away long enough.”
His voice lowers.
“I am not going anywhere,” he says.
“I know,” you reply. “That is why I stayed.”
He studies you for a long moment. Then, quietly, “I used to think keeping you here was about control,” he admits.
You tilt your head slightly.
“And now,” you ask.
“Now I know it was about not wanting to come back to nothing,” he says.
That lands deeper than anything else. You smile softly, your hand brushing lightly against his cheek.
“You do not have to come back to nothing anymore,” you say.
His gaze holds yours. “I know,” he replies.
A pause. Then, softer, “I come back to you.”
The kiss that follows is not rushed. It carries everything that has been said and everything that has not needed words at all. And when you settle back into him, the world outside feels smaller than it ever has. Because it no longer matters in the same way.
The first time you step outside his world is not quiet. Everything about it carries weight, history, consequence. The kind of night that exists long before you arrive and will continue long after you leave. You feel it the moment you stand in front of the mirror, the city stretching endlessly behind you through the glass, your reflection unfamiliar in a way that makes your chest tighten just slightly.
You do not look like the person who once tried to escape this place. You do not feel like her either. There is something steadier in the way you hold yourself now. Something that has learned where it belongs, even if the path here was never something you would have chosen at the beginning.
Seokjin stands behind you, his presence filling the space without needing to announce itself. You catch his reflection before you turn, his gaze already fixed on you in that quiet, unwavering way you have come to understand.
“You do not have to do this,” he says.
His voice is calm, but there is something beneath it you have learned to hear. Not doubt in you. Concern for what this night might demand.
You turn to face him fully, smoothing your hands down the fabric of your dress, grounding yourself in the moment.
“I know,” you reply softly.
He studies you for a long second, searching for something he cannot force out of you.
“Once we walk in there,” he continues, “there is no separating you from me in their eyes.”
You step closer.
“I am already not separate from you,” you say.
The words settle between you, steady and certain. His gaze lowers slightly, taking you in like he is memorizing something he does not want to lose.
“You understand what that means,” he says quietly.
“I do,” you answer.
And you do. It means you will be seen. Measured. Judged. Not as a guest. Not as a stranger. But as something far more dangerous in a world like his. You will be seen as his.
The venue is exactly what you expect and nothing like it at the same time. Elegant in a way that feels calculated rather than welcoming. Conversations that sound polished but carry something sharper underneath. Eyes that linger a little too long, noticing everything without appearing to.
The moment you step inside with him, the room shifts. You feel it in the way conversations pause just slightly before continuing. In the way glances turn into stares that are quickly hidden behind practiced composure. In the way space seems to adjust itself around him, around you, as if the entire room is recalibrating to account for your presence.
His hand finds yours. And you realize then that this is not just about them seeing you. It is about him standing with you in a space where nothing is ever simple.
“You can still leave,” he murmurs quietly, just enough for you to hear.
You look at him. At the man who once kept you inside walls you hated. At the man who now gives you every choice and still hopes you stay.
“I walked in with you,” you say. “I am not walking out without you.”
Something shifts in his expression at that, something he does not hide.
“Good,” he says.
People approach. One by one. Conversations begin that feel more like assessments than introductions. Names are exchanged, but you quickly understand that names mean less here than alliances, than history, than power that exists beneath everything being said.
You stand beside him through it all. And slowly, something changes. At first, they look at you like a question. Then like a possibility. And eventually, like an answer they do not like but cannot ignore.
Because Seokjin does not correct their assumptions. He does not distance himself from you. He does not soften your presence. He lets it exist exactly as it is. And that is what makes it undeniable.
At some point, the conversations fade into the background. The noise of the room becomes distant, replaced by something quieter between you and him.
You step slightly away from the crowd, toward a space where the city is visible again through tall glass, the lights stretching endlessly into the night. He follows without being asked.
For a moment, neither of you speaks. You just stand there, side by side, the reflection of both of you faintly visible against the glass.
“This is your world,” you say softly.
“It is,” he replies.
You glance at him.
“And now I am in it.”
He turns slightly toward you.
“You have been in it for a while,” he says.
You shake your head faintly.
“No,” you correct. “I was surviving in it. This is different.”
He studies you carefully.
“How.”
You take a breath, letting the weight of everything settle before you answer.
“Because I am not here by accident anymore,” you say. “I am here because I chose to be.”
The words feel heavier spoken out loud. His gaze does not leave yours.
“That changes everything,” he says.
“It does,” you agree.
Silence follows, but it is not empty. It is full of everything that has led you here. Everything that could have ended differently but did not.
You step closer, your voice softer now, but no less certain.
“I used to think you were the worst thing that could happen to me,” you admit.
A faint shift crosses his expression.
“And now,” he asks.
You do not hesitate.
“Now I think you are the only thing that ever made sense after everything stopped making sense.”
He exhales slowly, something in him giving way in a way you have only seen in rare moments when he allows himself to be unguarded.
“You make this place feel different,” he says quietly.
You tilt your head slightly.
“How.”
“Less like something I have to control,” he answers. “More like something I want to come back to.”
Your chest tightens at that.
“You always had something to come back to,” you say.
He shakes his head faintly.
“No,” he replies. “I had responsibilities. Power. Territory. None of that is the same thing.”
His gaze softens just enough to shift everything again.
“You are,” he adds.
The words stay with you. Settle into you. And for a moment, the world outside the glass feels smaller than the space between you.
You reach for him first this time.
“I love you,” you say.
It does not come out as a confession. It comes out like something that has been true for longer than you have allowed yourself to say it.
His eyes hold yours, steady and unshaken. For a second, he says nothing. And then, quietly, like it belongs in this moment and nowhere else,
“I love you too.”
No hesitation. No distance. Just truth. The kind that does not need to be repeated to be understood.
When you step back into the room together, everything feels different.
Because whatever exists between you is no longer hidden, no longer uncertain, no longer something either of you can walk away from without losing something real.
They see it now. All of them. In the way you stand beside him. In the way his hand finds yours again without thought. In the way neither of you looks away.
And for the first time, you do not feel like someone caught in his world. You feel like someone who belongs in it.
End.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading all the way through. I truly appreciate you spending your time with something I created.
A special thank you again to the lovely reader who commissioned this fic and generously allowed me to post it publicly so everyone else could enjoy it too. Thank you for trusting me with your idea and for supporting my work.
If you enjoyed this story, I’m currently open for fic commissions. Any genre is welcome! You can come to me with a detailed plot, a favorite trope, a character pairing, or even just a small idea, and I’ll be happy to help build the story with you.
Thank you again for reading, supporting, and sharing my work. See you in the next story.
Pairing: Husband!Jin x Content_Creator!Reader
Genre & Warnings: Established relationship, Domestic Fluff, Jin pouting-sulking-whining for attention, fun and teasing, smut-ish touch, suggestive smut at the end
Rating: 18+ | Minors DNI
Word Count: ~1.4k
Inspiration: JK's last Live
A/n: The amount of things this man makes my single ass feel is the only proof I have left that I'm still attracted to men. 💀 lol. This little drabble was inspired by JK's last live, where he had me completely losing my mind, and my sanity off-course. Enjoy!
[MASTERLIST]
The ring light casted a gentle glow over your bedroom as you sat cross-legged on the bed, camera focused on your smiling face.
You were not live, just recording a storytime video for your channel.
“So a lot of you have been asking in the comments about the brand collab video I posted a few days ago,” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “The one with the espresso coffee? Okay, so the behind-the-scenes was actually chaotic. First of all...”
You continued with the story for few minutes until the door creaked open.
You paused mid-sentence, heart doing that familiar little flip it always did when Seokjin came home.
He looked exhausted, hair slightly messy, black shirt rumpled, sleeves pushed up his forearms, but still unfairly handsome.
He kicked off his shoes without a word, crawled onto the bed, and flopped down beside you... head resting near your lap, one arm draped lazily across the pillow, chin propped up slightly as he stared up at you with those warm, tired eyes.
“Hi, baby,” you whispered, smiling down at him.
He didn’t answer right away. Just let out a long, dramatic sigh and nuzzled closer, his cheek brushing your thigh.
You tried to keep filming, but your focus was already wavering. “Jinnie, I’m almost done. Just five more minutes?”
He pouted.
Full, glossy lower lip pushed out, eyebrows drawn together in the world’s most devastating sulk. “Five minutes feels like five hours when I’ve been counting down to this exact moment since lunch.”
You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “You’re so dramatic.”
“And you’re so mean,” he whined softly, voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. His fingers traced lazy circles on your knee.
“I came straight home. Skipped the team dinner. Ignored three calls from my manager. All because I wanted to bury my face in my wife’s neck and sleep for ten years.”
Your stomach fluttered.
You kept one hand on the camera, trying to salvage the storytime. “Just let me finish this story real quick—”
Seokjin shifted, rolling onto his side so his broad chest pressed against your leg. He looked up at you through his lashes, pouting harder. “You love your subscribers more than me. I see how it is.”
“Jin.”
“Come here, Baby.” His voice dropped into that low, teasing register that always melted you. “I’m dying here. Starving for cuddles. Look at me. I’m practically withering away.”
You snorted. “You’re literally the most beautiful man alive right now and you know it.”
He grinned for half a second before the pout returned, even stronger.
“Then why won’t you hold your beautiful husband? Hm?” His hand slid higher under the hem of your shirt, tracing slow circles just below your breast, thumb deliberately brushing the soft skin where your waist meets your ribs.
He was testing you, seeing how long you could keep talking while he was clearly trying to distract you. “I’ve been good. I deserve rewards.”
The suggestive little touch sent warmth rushing through you.
His thumb brushed slow, deliberate circles against your side, and you had to fight the urge to shiver. “Jin, I’m recording... I will have to retake if you keep going...”
“Record me complaining then,” he mumbled, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your thigh.
He pressed another slow, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, tongue flicking out just enough to make your breath hitch.
His lips moved higher, dangerously close to the hem of your shorts, hot breath fanning over your skin. “Tell them how cruel you are. ‘My husband came home tired and I made him wait.’ They’ll cancel you for me. I’ll be trending.”
You laughed despite yourself, the camera shaking in your grip. The footage was completely ruined now—your cheeks were flushed, your voice breathy, and Seokjin was making it worse by nuzzling closer, lips brushing higher.
“Ugh, fine. This is useless anyway.” You clicked the camera off, set it on the nightstand, and turned fully toward him. He immediately brightened, arms opening wide like a needy koala.
You slid down into his embrace.
His arms wrapped around you, but one hand immediately slid down to grip your ass, squeezing firmly as he pulled you flush against him.
He let out the happiest little hum, burying his face in the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. “There she is. My wife. Finally.”
You could already feel him half-hard against your thigh.
“Fuck, I missed this,” he groaned, grinding slowly once against you.
“Rough day?” you asked softly, threading your fingers through his dark hair.
He nodded against your skin, lips brushing your pulse point. “The worst. Client meeting that was supposed to be thirty minutes turned into three hours. They kept circling back to the same pointless slides. I fake-smiled so much now my face hurts.”
He pressed a slow, wet kiss just below your ear, then another, sucking gently until you felt the faint bloom of a hickey. “And all I could think about was coming home to you.”
You melted, tilting your head to give him better access.
His hand roamed your back, slipping under your shirt again, palming your breast and rolling your nipple between his fingers as he left a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your neck.
“Mhmmm... Jinnie…” you breathed, half-warning, half-plea.
“Mmm?” He nipped at your collarbone, soothing it immediately with his tongue. The touch was lazy and possessive, full of tired affection. “Missed you so much. Wanted this exact thing. You in my arms. Smelling like home.”
You cupped his face, pulling him back just enough to look at him. His eyes were heavy-lidded, lips slightly swollen from kissing you. “Did you eat anything?”
He shook his head, pouting again. “No time. Rushed straight here as soon as meeting ended like a lovesick fool.”
“I’ll cook something quick...”
“No.” His arms tightened around you instantly, pulling you flush against his chest. One leg hooked over yours, effectively trapping you in the coziest cage imaginable.
“I’m not that hungry. Not for food, anyway.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, then ruined it by yawning adorably.
You giggled, kissing the tip of his nose. “You need to eat, baby.”
“Later,” he murmured, voice turning husky as he rolled you both so you were half beneath him, his weight warm and comforting.
“I’ll order takeout in a few minutes. Thai? Pizza? Or that fried chicken you like? Whatever. But right now?” He dipped his head, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss that tasted like longing and exhaustion and love.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “Right now I just need you. Your cuddles. Your voice. Your hands in my hair. Let me stay like this until the food arrives. Please, my pretty wife?”
How could you possibly say no to that?
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down so his head rested on your chest. “Okay. But only because you’re cute when you whine.”
“I’m always cute,” he mumbled happily, already sounding half-asleep.
His fingers slipped under your shirt again, tracing idle patterns on your lower back, roaming around waist, promising more once he wasn’t running on fumes. “Tell me about your day while I recharge on you. Did the storytime go well before I ruined it?”
“You ruined it in the best way,” you laughed softly, scratching his scalp the way he loved. “I was telling them about the espresso brand collab incident.”
He hummed, pressing another wet kiss to the swell of your breast over your shirt. “Tell me instead. I’m a better audience. I give kisses as reward.”
You spent the next ten minutes recounting your day while Seokjin alternated between sleepy cuddles and teasing little nips along your neck and jaw, occasinally along the swell of your breasts.
Every time you tried to wiggle free to grab your phone and order food, he whined and tightened his hold.
“Five more minutes,” he’d murmur, echoing your earlier words with a mischievous grin. “Just five more minutes of this. Need you... Your skin. Your little sounds. Let me stay between your legs for a while, yeah?”
You melted under him, cheeks warm but still teased, “You need to eat actual food, baby.”
Seokjin gave you that devastating pout again.
“I’d rather eat you,” he whispered, nipping at your bottom lip. “I’m so fucking tired… but I still want to bury my tongue inside you until you’re shaking on my face. Then I’ll feed us. Deal?”
His fingers played with the waistband of your shorts, dipping lower teasingly, brushing over your panties as he waited for your answer.
⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:〝 after a long night of revising for finals, and somehow being caught in the rain, seokjin decides to warm you up in the best way possible. 〞friends to lovers au. college au.
❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: seokjin x reader
❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: fluff ⋆ smut ⋆ pwp
❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 10k 🗿
⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: hard dom!seokjin, big cock!seokjin, sub!reader, possessive sex, public sex, teasing, marking, brief breast play, praise, dirty talk, fingering, pussy eating, cum eating, cum sharing/cum swapping, unprotected sex, standing sex, wall sex, scratching, biting, standing sex, standing doggy style, window sex, exhibitionism, hair pulling, choking, nipple play, masturbation, multiple orgasms, creampie
➵ 𝑎/𝑛: listen i know i said open commissions were capped at 5k,,, but its SEOKJIN OKAY!! I COULDN’T HELP MYSELF!! I tRIED to keep it at 5k but he WOULDN’T LET ME okay thank you
⏤ commissioned by @megahwn in exchange for a blm donation! // this fic was edited by best boy @mindays
With unfocused eyes, you stare at the bright screen of your laptop. The words of the paper glare back at you, though, for the life of you, you can’t make any of them out. It’s been a solid three hours since you’ve been revising for your final exams. Next to you, an old exam paper sits, the last question you’d attempted partially incomplete - from when you’d stopped in order to look up a particular reference. Nonetheless, it’s been a good fifteen minutes and you have yet to go back to it. For no other reason than the fact that you can barely make out the words on the page.
Of course, you’re reading them - your eyes coasting over the words pixelated in black on the white screen - but that doesn’t mean you actually understand what they mean. No. Your brain had stopped functioning fully a little while back. You’ve spent almost the entire day revising - from after lunch, all the way to now. In fact, you’ve been studying so long, you barely even remember the time. With a quick glance to the clock on your screen, however, you realise it’s almost 2am. Wow. Has it really been that long? Almost fourteen hours now.
content/warnings: fuckboy!jeongguk; pov shifts, swearing,mentions of sex, fingering
a/n: no this is not apart of the fic series I’m currently writing—but! I wanted to do something for koo’s bday. So here’s something ancient from the drafts! It’s not finished yet so expect a part 2 soon.
word count: 2.4k
♪ Tell me tell me baby, that it's all mine ♪
♡ next part ♡
You wake up to the sensation of soft kisses trailing down your back. Eyes still closed, you breathe out a sigh of content. Fingers dance across your body, brushing against your cheek, dragging across your side, before finally smoothing across your thighs, sparking a memory of the night before. You remember exactly where those hands have been; touching and feeling all over you, inside you. And though you had already come down from the highest of highs, your body still tingled from his kisses, the feeling of his skin on yours, and the way your name sounded rolling off his tongue.
Slowly, you opened your eyes, giving yourself a moment to adjust to the light. Golden rays peaked through the curtains, warming your already heated skin. You pulled the sheets against your bare body and turned around, coming face to face with velvety brown eyes.
“Good morning,” you whispered.
Jeongguk smiled at you. “Actually, it’s early afternoon. You slept all day.”
Something about the way he said it made you smile, too. All day. There was a tease in his voice. As if the concept of you sleeping for so long was strange and out of the ordinary. Like he hadn’t kept you up all night. You rolled your eyes, “Gee, I wonder why.”
Truthfully, this was the norm and had been for some time now. You couldn’t exactly remember when your relationship changed from being best friends to friends with benefits, but you weren’t complaining. In fact, crossing that line might have been the greatest thing you ever did.
The thing about best friends is that they know everything about you. Jeongguk was no exception, there were no secrets between you two. You told each other everything and that included your sexual preferences. He knew what you liked, what you didn’t like, and exactly how to turn you on.
His touch was like a match and every time he touched you, you felt fireworks.
So you found yourself waking up in his bed again, and again, and again.
Staring at him now, you couldn’t imagine how this hadn’t happened sooner. Jeongguk was gorgeous, even now when he wasn’t trying to be. He lay in bed propped up on one arm, the other raised as he ran a hand through his raven locks. The lighting was perfect, sunlight was hitting him just right, his skin practically glowing. Your eyes pass over his bare chest, taking in the sight of his lean body and you bite your lip. In this statuesque pose, Jeongguk looked absolutely heavenly.
You mused over the thought of him being a son of Apollo in your head when Jeongguk arched an eyebrow, altering your perfect image. “What are you thinking about?”
“You,” you said, leaning in to kiss his pink lips. “And how good you look in natural sunlight.”
Jeongguk hummed against your lips and kissed you back with no hesitation. God, you loved the way he kissed you. He kissed you with purpose, speaking words without saying anything at all. This kiss said thank you. It was slow, and soft, and you melted when you felt him smiling against you at your previous compliment. But the sweetness only lasted for a second. Jeongguk kissed you deeper, tongue swiping against your bottom lip as his hands wrapped around your waist, bringing you closer. You could feel what was happening, the rush of heat, and you quickly drew away. “I should go.”
Jeongguk never stopped his advances, he simply relocated, placing kisses across your collarbone. “Stay,” he commanded.
The thought was tempting. You’d spent many days just like this, wrapped up in Jeongguk’s arms, the two of you in nothing but your underwear--or nothing at all. But you couldn’t stay, you already made plans for the day.
“I would if could--” you protested, trying to separate from his grasp “--but I’m meeting someone.”
All movement stopped as Jeongguk froze. “Oh.”
There was a beat of silence, then Jeongguk pulled away. He turned from you, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. Untangling yourself from the sheets, you started to get ready, picking up your clothing spread all across the floor. You threw on a t-shirt, then turned around in search of your bra when you noticed him.
Jeongguk sat on the bed, shoulders hunched over, jaw clenched tight. He had that same tense look in his eyes, the way he always did when he was upset. You stopped getting dressed.
“What's wrong?”
He shook his head, not meeting your eyes. “Nothing.”
Jeongguk was lying. He was feeling a lot of things right now, but ‘nothing’ wasn’t one of them.
He never liked this part. When you’d leave each other. Even though he slept around, he was never really the type for one night stands and early morning disappearances. He actually liked waking up next to the same person he’d been with the night before—especially when it was you. He couldn’t see why you would want to leave him for someone else after the night you spent together.
Jeongguk didn’t open up to people easily. Others thought him to be quiet. He could be friendly, sure. But never personal. You were the same way. It was one of the reasons why you were such good friends. You understood each other on a level no one else did. He could trust you with his deepest thoughts and eventually, Jeongguk came to trust you with his heart. You were his best friend and he never felt more right then when he was with you. Lately, you were the only person he wanted to be around. If he could spend all his time with you, he would.
So why didn’t you feel the same way?
He was angry and you could feel it. “Seriously, what's wrong?”
“I said, it’s nothing. Hurry up and get ready or you'll be late for your date.” He muttered, biting off the end of his sentence.
You picked up on the change in his tone instantly. “Woah, where's all this attitude coming from?”
Jeongguk didn’t answer you. His eyes were glued to the floor.
“Hey,” you said, moving to stand in front of him so you couldn't be ignored. “Don’t do that. Don’t ice me out. A hundred percent, remember?”
Hearing the words Jeongguk let out a grunt of annoyance. A hundred percent. It was your thing. You both made promises to be a hundred percent honest with each other, no matter what. It was the foundation of your friendship and he couldn’t break that promise even if he wanted to.
“Fine. Fine. A hundred percent.” He sucked in a breath, then looked you directly in the eye.
“I don’t like you going out with other guys.”
This time it was your turn to freeze up. You expected Jeongguk to be a little grumpy about you leaving so early, but this? This you were not expecting.
The first time you had sex it was incredible, too good to pretend it didn’t happen. Too hot to say it wouldn’t happen again. You were both single and free to do whatever (and whoever) you wanted. There were no ties or rules. It just so happened that what you both liked doing the most was each other. And you both knew that. Or so you thought.
At first you tried to laugh it off. This had to be some kind of joke. There was no way Jeongguk was actually jealous right? But your laughter died out when you realized he wasn’t laughing with you. You could tell by the look on his face he was dead serious.
“Jeongguk,” You started. “You know what this is--”
“--Yeah, I know what this is,” he snapped, standing up. For a moment, you were distracted by the sight of him in only his boxers, eyes ghosting over the faint lines of his abs. He was so tall you had to tilt your head up to see his face, but when you did you knew he was pissed. “We’re not together, so you can just go fuck whoever you want after you’re done with me, right?”
His words came out like a slap. You took a step back, bracing yourself from their impact.
Jeongguk sighed, frustrated. He didn’t mean to say it like that, but now the words were already out there and he couldn't take them back. He watched you process them, eyes blinking rapidly as your face flickered from shock, to hurt, then anger.
“What the fuck is your problem?” You yelled. “Since when do you talk to me like that? And you’re right. We’re not together. So yes, I can fuck whoever I want.”
Turning on your heel, you stormed away from him, snatching clothes off the floor and angrily putting them on. “You of all people, should not be giving me shit for this, Jeon Jeongguk!” As if he had any right to judge you. Jeongguk was a playboy in every sense of the word. Girls flocked to him, and in all the years you’ve been friends you’d never seen him turn anyone down. You once caught him sleeping around with two different girls on the same day.
Yet here he was, calling you out for going on one date? “I can’t believe you…” You grumbled.
“(Y/n), look I’m sorry, okay? Don’t leave like this. Stay.”
You stopped what you were doing and spun around to face him. “Why the hell would I want to stay here with you?”
Jeongguk squares his shoulders, hands bawling into fists. “Why the hell would you want to leave?” He snarled, taking a step towards you. His voice grew deeper with every word.
“Whoever you’re going to see, he’s not enough. Not for you.”
You frowned at him, annoyed. “You don’t even know him.”
“No, but I don’t have to.” Jeongguk taunted, eyes dark as he stepped towards you. “I know you. He’ll keep your interest for a week, maybe two, but sooner or later you’ll come right back to me because I’m the only one who can keep you satisfied.”
You stared at him, completely at a loss for words. You didn’t know where all this was coming from but you couldn’t deal with it. Not now. He was getting in your head, trying to work you up before your date and it was working. His words had you flustered. “Okay, I don’t have time for this—whatever this is.” You said, gesturing in the air with your hands. “I’m leaving.” Brushing against his side, you strided away from him, making a bee-line for the door. But before you could make it out of the bedroom, Jeongguk was standing in your way.
“You’re not going anywhere.” He growled.
Suddenly, he was all over you. He had you pressed against the door, teeth biting into your bottom lip as his hands slid under your shirt. You gasped, and Jeongguk took the opportunity to slip his hot tongue in your mouth.
Moaning at the taste of him, your hands acted on their own accord, wrapping around his body and pulling him tight against you.
It didn't make sense. You knew what he was trying to do. He wanted to keep you here, keep you distracted and away from your date. But you still couldn't stop yourself from kissing him back. Not when he was kissing you like this. With a passion and intensity you never felt before. Jeongguk was only ever gentle with you, sweet kisses and soft caresses. But now, the way he buried his hand in your hair, how his fingers dug into your skin—Jeongguk was being anything but gentle.
Jeongguk’s kiss was fierce and demanding as his hands reached up to cup your face. You found yourself melting at his touch, giving into every sensation. His lips were possessive, you could barely keep up with him—let alone breathe.
You put your hands against his chest, pushing him away but he grabbed hold of your wrists and pinned them against the door.
“Jeongguk,” You panted. “Let go.”
“No. I'm tired of sharing you with other men and I'm not going to do it anymore.”
That pissed you off. “You don't control me, Jeongguk. I've got my own mind. I do what I want. I sleep with who I want. I'm my own person. You don't own me.”
“You’re right. I could never control you.” He said, looking you in the eye. “But we both know I own your body. The things I do to you…” He chuckled and his lips curled into a smirk. “Your body is mine.” He reached in between you and cupped your heat through your jeans.
“This, is mine. . .”
Your entire body was on fire. You looked away, refusing to meet his gaze.
Jeongguk unbuttoned your jeans, his fingers slipping inside your panties. You tried to squeeze your thighs shut, to conceal your obvious arousal but it was too late. “Mhmm, that's what I thought. You're already so wet for me.”
He rubbed his thumb against you, applying the most delicious pressure. You covered your mouth to muffle your moans. As much as you hated it, he was right. Something about his touch always made you weak. He had you wrapped around his finger when it came to sex, but you'd be damned if you were going to admit that to him now.
Jeongguk wasted no time, gliding his fingers down your folds to plunge two fingers inside you. You tried to hold in your moans at his fast pace, beginning to feel the familiar sparks that always followed whenever Jeongguk touched you there. Eyes closed you let yourself go, giving into the feeling, but as quick as his movements started--they stopped.
Frustrated, you opened your eyes, taking in the sight of Jeongguk’s smug grin.
“Admit it, Y/n….” His soft lips tickled your ear as he whispered against it, “that sweet little pussy of yours is all mine.”
He leaned back, face inches away from your own as his eyes bore into yours.
“I want to hear you say it.”
His confidence had you dumbfounded. “You’re kidding me right? I’d have to be out of my mind before I’d ever say anything ridiculous like that out loud.”
Jeongguk smiled at you. “That can be arranged.”
Then he crashed his lips to yours.
One minute you’re pressed against the wall and the next Jeongguks grabbing you by the hips, lifting you onto his arms and tossing you into the bed. And just like that you’re under his spell again. Desperate for his kiss, his touch, anything he can give you. You rise on your forearms, chasing after his lips but Jeongguk pushes you down against the bed, straddling your hips. His stare is hot and heavy as his gaze rakes down your body and you know you're not in control of this situation anymore, he is.
summary: looking for a decent job, you stumbled upon jungkook’s job posting on instagram, what could go wrong?
warnings: playfuldom!jungkook x fem reader, explicit sexual content, clit rubbing, pussy eating, edging, spitting, degradation, dirty talk, multiple positions, detailed smut, jk is very playful in a degrading way, oral sex, camera sex, pussy slapping, choking, praising, usage of slut, cum eating, marking, multiple orgasms, rough sex, crying, overstimulation, fingering, nipple spitting, penetrative sex, creampie.
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“How about being a barista again? There’s a job opening at Moonlit Cafe down the street,” Hari suggested while you sat hunched over your laptop, endlessly browsing through job postings.
You were still a student, graduating next year with bills clawing at your throat. When college started, you wanted independence so badly it ached beneath your skin. An apartment near the university. Your own keys. Your own groceries. Your own life.
Your parents had offered to cover everything without hesitation, gentle and loving as always, but guilt settled heavily in your chest whenever you thought about it. They were already paying your tuition fees. You wanted them to live comfortably too, without worrying about whether their daughter had enough money for rent or food. So you smiled and told them not to worry, drained your savings account for the apartment, and picked up multiple part-time jobs just to prove to yourself that you could survive on your own.
And for a while, you did.
The first two years of college went smoothly enough. You found decent jobs, saved enough money to live comfortably, and even bought yourself a flat-screen TV after months of careful budgeting. Your days blurred into exhausting routines—classes in the morning, shifts at the coffee shop at night, and weekends spent organizing shelves as a bookstore assistant.
You were tired all the time, but it was a satisfying kind of tired. The kind that made you feel accomplished.
Independent. Adult.
Until the coffee shop let you go.
Budget cuts, they said apologetically, avoiding your eyes while handing you the notice. Part-time workers were the first to go.
You still had the bookstore job, but the pay barely stretched far enough to cover groceries, let alone rent, electricity, and university expenses. Asking your parents for help would’ve been easy—too easy—but stubbornness rooted itself deep inside you. There were thousands of job postings online. Surely one of them would take you.
Only they never called back.
Two months had passed, and your savings were bleeding out faster than you could stop them. Every day followed the same suffocating routine: school, assignments, cheap instant dinners, and hours of doom-scrolling through applications until your vision blurred from the brightness of your screen.
You groaned quietly, rubbing your tired eyes before glancing over at Hari, who sat cross-legged beside you on the couch with a milk tea in hand. She had shown up at your apartment earlier carrying takeout bags and your favorite boba, worry written plainly across her face after noticing how little you’d been eating lately.
“I already applied there,” you muttered with a pout, dragging your gaze back to the laptop. “But they want someone full-time.”
Hari sighed dramatically, setting her drink down on the coffee table. “You seriously need to rest. You’ve been staring at that thing for hours.”
Before you could protest, she grabbed your boba and pushed it into your hands. The cold plastic pressed against your palms pleasantly.
“Drink,” she ordered. “And let me do the scrolling before you spiral into another existential crisis.”
A laugh bubbled out of her as she pulled the laptop from your lap, and despite the anxiety twisting endlessly inside your chest, you felt your shoulders loosen just a little.
You pouted lightly, sipping your boba while Hari busied herself with your laptop. Your brows slowly furrowed when you noticed her opening tab after tab with alarming confidence.
“Why are you on Facebook?” you asked with a quiet chuckle, watching her click somewhere else before another page loaded. “And now Twitter? Instagram too?”
Hari rolled her eyes dramatically, her face illuminated by the screen’s pale glow. “Because the jobs on LinkedIn are painfully boring,” she scoffed. “There are tons of part-time job offers on social media. I swear I saw one yesterday.”
She narrowed her eyes at the laptop suspiciously, scrolling with the intensity of a detective solving a murder case.
A laugh escaped you as you leaned against her shoulder, chewing on the tapioca pearls you had missed more than you cared to admit. You’d been saving every spare dollar lately, cutting out small comforts one by one until even buying boba started to feel irresponsible.
“But you don’t even know if those are legit,” you pointed out, tilting your head at her. “The sites I applied to are safer from scams and stuff.”
“I know,” Hari replied instantly. “That’s why we’re looking for jobs with a pay-first policy if it’s online.” She clicked onto another account before adding casually, “And if it’s onsite, we’ll bring a gun in case things go wrong or something.”
You burst out laughing at that, nearly choking on your drink.
“Hari!”
“What?” she laughed too, grinning shamelessly. “I’m just being prepared.”
You shook your head at her usual nonsense, warmth blooming faintly in your chest despite the stress that had been suffocating you for weeks now. Hari always had a way of dragging you out of your own head, even if only for a little while.
The apartment suddenly felt less heavy with her around.
You were honestly relieved that semester break had finally arrived. One whole month without classes. No early morning lectures. No deadlines. No professors piling work onto your shoulders.
But instead of resting like a normal person, you had thrown yourself deeper into job hunting.
Hari hated that.
As your closest friend, she had spent the last week trying to convince you to take a break—to go shopping with the girls, take an out-of-town trip, do literally anything that didn’t involve staring at job applications until three in the morning.
You declined every single invitation.
Your friends understood your situation, but they also thought you were driving yourself insane. Which, honestly, you probably were.
That was exactly why Hari showed up tonight carrying your favorite food and overpriced boba tea, determined to drag you away from your spiral. She kept trying to tempt you into going on a girls’ trip with them, insisting that one weekend away wouldn’t kill you.
But every time you thought about relaxing, all you could picture were your bills piling quietly on the kitchen counter. So instead, you stayed curled up on the couch beside her, stubbornly searching for a job you desperately needed.
Hari was beginning to look almost as desperate as you. Maybe not for herself, but for you—for the way your shoulders had slowly grown heavier these past few months, for the exhaustion permanently shadowing your eyes. She wanted you to land a job already so you could finally breathe again without worrying about rent and unpaid bills swallowing you whole.
Which was exactly why she was now doom-scrolling through Twitter with frightening determination.
“I really don’t think you’re gonna find a job there,” you muttered skeptically, watching her open an alarming amount of random threads. “Most of those look like scams.”
“Wait, wait—look at this!”
Hari suddenly grabbed your arm and pulled you closer to the screen, quickly setting her milk tea down beside her like she was preparing for something serious.
Her eyes widened.
“Okay, this one actually looks promising.”
You leaned in slightly as she read aloud.
mnijungkook on ig posted: i’m looking for someone who can take insanely good videos and photos [of me]. i’ll somehow figure out the equipment myself..! please somehow reach out to me! lol, looking for someone to film for me, seriously. and if you’re good at editing too? let’s go on tour together
“There are so many likes and retweets,” Hari said immediately, already opening another tab to search for the original Instagram post. “This has to be legit.”
The second you recognized the username, you nearly choked on your drink.
Laughter burst out of you uncontrollably, your shoulders shaking as you clutched the cup tighter. Hari blinked at you in confusion while your eyes watered from laughing too hard.
“Hari,” you wheezed out, “That’s Jungkook.”
She stared blankly. “Huh? The boss?”
Another laugh escaped you.
Hari genuinely knew almost nothing about K-pop or Korean artists in general, and moments like this always reminded you just how different the two of you were.
Meanwhile, you had once been painfully obsessed.
You used to stay up until dawn watching livestreams, memorizing lyrics, collecting photocards you definitely couldn’t afford, and keeping up with every tiny update posted online. Back then, being a fan felt like a second full-time job.
But life eventually became busier.
School consumed your mornings, work consumed your nights, and somewhere in between surviving deadlines and paying bills, your fangirl phase quietly faded into the background. You still listened to their music almost daily, still smiled whenever one of their songs shuffled into your playlist, but you no longer kept up with every post or appearance the way you once did.
You guessed you had simply grown up.
Even so, seeing Jungkook casually asking for a videographer and editor on Instagram felt surreal enough to make you laugh all over again.
Not updated enough to know that Jungkook was apparently posting job offers on Instagram now. Or that he was even on tour.
“No,” you laughed, shaking your head as you finally calmed down a little. “That’s Jungkook. From BTS. They’re, like… insanely famous, Hari. This is probably some kind of joke or publicity thing.”
Hari’s brows knitted together in confusion before realization slowly dawned across her face. She clicked onto the Instagram profile, eyes widening at the blue verification check and the terrifying number of followers sitting beneath his username.
Nearly thirty million.
“Ohhh, BTS,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Wait—I think I’ve seen him before.” She squinted at one of the photos. “Wasn’t he in a Calvin Klein ad or something?”
You snorted. “Yeah. That’s him.”
Honestly, you expected her to laugh it off after realizing who posted it. Maybe call the idea ridiculous and move on to another job listing.
Instead, Hari clicked onto his Instagram story again with alarming seriousness.
“That means…” she trailed off.
“It’s probably a joke,” you interrupted immediately.
“This is good pay,” she said at the exact same time, eyes practically glittering now.
Before you could stop her, she pressed the reply button beneath the story.
Your lips parted slightly. You genuinely couldn’t tell if she was being serious or completely delusional right now. Probably both. But either way, you let her continue typing because there was absolutely no chance Jungkook himself would ever see it.
He probably received thousands of messages every minute. Millions, even.
The thought alone felt ridiculous.
“Whatever,” you muttered with a helpless chuckle, giving up entirely. “I’m heating up the rice bowl.”
Hari waved you off distractedly, already multitasking between your laptop and her phone like this had suddenly become her personal mission.
You shook your head fondly before standing from the couch, grabbing the takeout container she bought earlier. The apartment filled with the quiet hum of the microwave a moment later, warm light spilling across the tiny kitchen while Hari continued aggressively applying for a job that definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent was never going to happen.
-
You woke up to the shrill sound of your alarm, already preparing yourself for another long day of job hunting.
Hari went home late last night after spending an absurd amount of time DMing Jungkook and scrolling through social media for more “opportunities,” as she called them. Somewhere between laughing at ridiculous job listings and sharing takeout on your couch, the two of you ended up watching an old Disney movie to help you relax.
She still tried convincing you to go on the girls’ out-of-town trip. You still refused.
No matter how badly you wanted a break, your priorities were painfully clear right now. You needed stability first. A stable paycheck. A stable life. Then maybe you could afford to breathe.
After showering, you made yourself a decent cup of coffee and opened your laptop with a tired sigh, mentally preparing to send out another batch of applications that probably wouldn’t get answered.
Then your phone buzzed beside you. An Instagram notification lit up the screen.
You snorted softly to yourself. “This must be Jungkook,” you joked under your breath, absentmindedly opening the app.
What the fuck.
Your heart nearly stopped when you saw the message sitting in your inbox. The coffee suddenly tasted bitter in your mouth.
What the actual fuck?
“Hari!” you practically shrieked the second she answered your call. “Fuck! I don’t even edit videos! I only know basic stuff! I can’t even record properly without my hands shaking!”
You paced around your apartment while panicking into the phone, one hand gripping your hair as you reread the messages over and over again in disbelief.
Sometime after you went to the kitchen last night, Hari had apparently taken it upon herself to completely ruin your life.
She sent Jungkook your entire curriculum vitae.
Not only that—she also wrote and attached a full cover letter explaining why he should hire you.
The realization alone nearly made you pass out.
And when you discovered she had changed your insta profile picture into a formal-looking one while you weren’t paying attention?
You almost laughed and cried at the same time.
It genuinely looked like you had desperately prepared for this opportunity your entire life.
Your eyes skimmed through the cover letter again, horror slowly mixing with something embarrassingly emotional. Hari had written your entire backstory in there—about struggling financially, balancing school and work, trying to stay independent despite everything.
And then she started lying. Blatantly.
Apparently, according to Hari, you were “highly skilled in video editing” with “experience in cinematography.”
Cinematography my ass.
“Hehe… well,” Hari giggled shamelessly through the phone, completely unbothered by your spiraling. Noise echoed behind her, voices and music blending together enough for you to realize she was already with the girls on their trip. “You have to fake a few things to get accepted sometimes, right?”
“Ugh, I can’t do this!” you cried dramatically, pacing back and forth around your apartment while gripping your phone tightly. “I literally don’t know anything about filming! And what if he sues me for faking my skills? He’s famous and influential, Hari!”
Your eyes darted back toward your laptop sitting open on the table, Jungkook’s message glowing on the screen like a ticking time bomb ready to ruin your entire life.
Hari only laughed harder through the call.
“Girl, just try!” she said between giggles. “Watch a tutorial on YouTube or something. Besides…” her tone suddenly turned suspiciously persuasive, “It’s really good pay.”
“Hari!” you screamed again, horrified.
“God, I still can’t believe he actually replied to you,” she continued teasingly. “You must’ve impressed him with your amazing cinematography skills.”
You groaned so loudly you nearly scared yourself.
The worst part was that she wasn’t wrong about the pay.
Your eyes had nearly bulged out of your skull when you saw the amount attached to the offer. There were so many zeros that your brain genuinely short-circuited for a moment.
That was exactly why you couldn’t let it go.
Out of everyone who probably replied to his story, Jungkook somehow answered you.
You. The probability alone felt absurd.
Thousands of people would kill for this opportunity right now, and meanwhile you were pacing around your apartment like you were preparing for a court trial instead of a job offer.
At first, the teenage fangirl buried deep inside you nearly exploded from excitement. The situation dragged you back to years ago—staying up until four in the morning streaming music videos, binge-watching funny compilations, memorizing choreography you could never actually dance, spending money you absolutely shouldn’t have spent on albums and photocards.
Back then, BTS had practically consumed your life. But time passed.
Somewhere between work shifts, college deadlines, and trying to survive adulthood, you slowly stopped keeping up with them. You still listened to the music, of course, but you no longer knew where they were, what they were doing, or how much they had changed over the years.
Curiosity eventually got the better of you. So you stalked Jungkook’s Instagram a little.
And oh.
Oh, he had changed.
A full sleeve of tattoos now wrapped around his right arm, dark ink decorating skin that used to be bare. Silver piercings glinted against his face in ways that somehow suited him unfairly well. His frame had broadened too, shoulders stronger, body lean and built with the kind of maturity that made him almost unrecognizable from the boy you remembered.
You were used to soft brown hair, oversized hoodies, black skinny jeans, clean arms, and those wide doe-like eyes that made the entire internet lose their minds.
Now he looked mature. Sharper. More dangerous somehow.
A man instead of a boy. And annoyingly enough, it looked really good on him.
“Fuck,” you muttered to yourself, finally realizing you’d been staring at a motorcycle video he posted for far too long.
You immediately locked your phone and pressed it dramatically against your forehead.
“I cannot fangirl right now or I’m seriously gonna lose it.”
Hari kept telling you to just go for it. “You literally have a whole month off from school,” she argued over the phone while you spiraled for the hundredth time. “This is basically the perfect sideline job.”
Sideline job. As if working for Jungkook of BTS was equivalent to tutoring kids after class.
Your stomach twisted anxiously as you stared at the message again. Every second that passed made you feel like the opportunity was slipping farther away. With the amount of people probably flooding his inbox right now, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t change his mind the moment someone actually qualified replied to him.
Your eyes skimmed over his message again, pulse quickening embarrassingly fast.
mnijungkook: hey, i saw your cv ㅎㅎ you really didn’t have to explain everything, but i’m glad you did. i can tell you’re being genuine about this. even without samples, the way you talked about cinematography/editing made me feel like you actually care about it and pay attention to details. sometimes that matters more to me than someone trying too hard to look “professional”
also i get the whole semester break thing. a month is still enough time to try something fun and see if we work well together
don’t stress too much about equipment either because i barely know what i’m doing there yet lol
for payment, don’t worry. if you end up coming with me, i’ll make sure you’re paid well — probably around $20-30k usd for the month depending on the schedule + travel and hotel covered.
send me your contact info? we can talk more properly :))
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“I am not passionate about cinematography,” you nearly whimpered to yourself, dropping your face into your hands. “To hell with cinematography.”
The amount of lies in Hari’s cover letter was genuinely evil.
And now Jungkook thought you were some hidden creative genius with an artistic eye and a deep love for filmmaking when in reality you barely knew how to stabilize a phone camera.
You felt sick.
But then your eyes drifted back to the payment offer. Twenty to thirty thousand dollars. Travel covered. Hotels covered. Your bank account practically screamed at you to shut up and take the opportunity.
So with trembling fingers and the overwhelming sensation that you were actively ruining your own life, you began typing a reply. A reply that dug your grave even deeper.
You agreed with him. You agreed that you were a “good editor.”
You added your contact details while simultaneously praying that YouTube tutorials could somehow transform you into a professional videographer overnight.
Your fingers hovered above the send button before you forced yourself to press it.
You: thank you so much for even considering me :D i really do believe i’m a good editor, especially when it comes to making things feel natural and cinematic instead of overdone.
i’d genuinely love to work for you if you’ll have me. i’m willing to learn fast, adjust to whatever style you want, and work hard during the whole month of my semester break.
my contact details are below, thank you so much!
The message was sent instantly.
You stared at the screen in silence afterward, horror slowly settling into every inch of your body.
Yeah. You were doomed.
-
“Wow, what the hell.” Your eyes widened the second you stepped into the hotel room Jungkook had booked for you.
The past few days had moved so fast it almost gave you whiplash. After you sent your contact details, Jungkook immediately messaged you about schedules, filming dates, locations, and travel arrangements as if hiring strangers from Instagram was a completely normal thing for him to do.
Everything had already been prepared before you could even panic properly.
Your plane ticket? Booked.
Hotel room? Paid for.
Transportation? Arranged.
Food allowance? Included.
All you had to do was pack your bags and somehow learn how to film and edit professionally before embarrassing yourself on an international scale.
Easy.
“I am so spoiled,” you muttered in disbelief, slowly stepping farther into the room. It was huge.
Bigger than huge, honestly. The hotel suite looked almost the size of your apartment back home, warm lighting spilling across polished floors and neatly arranged furniture that looked far too expensive for you to even breathe near.
Then your attention landed on the large table sitting near the windows. And your soul nearly left your body.
Equipment. So much fucking equipment.
Two massive black cameras rested neatly beside a smaller handheld one. There was an iPad, a laptop, tripods, microphones, chargers, lighting equipment, and cables so intimidating they looked like they belonged inside a spaceship instead of a filming setup.
Your luggage slipped from your fingers onto the floor with a dull thud as you walked toward the table cautiously, like the devices might explode if you touched them incorrectly.
Your eyes widened even more.
For the past several days, you have been desperately teaching yourself how to edit videos and film cinematic shots. Watching tutorials until sunrise. Memorizing transitions. Learning random camera terms you barely understood.
But you had been practicing with your phone. Your fucking phone.
Meanwhile these cameras looked expensive enough to pay your rent for the next ten years.
You carefully picked one up with both hands, terrified you’d somehow damage it through sheer incompetence alone.
Honestly, you were still shocked Jungkook never asked for samples of your work.
If he had, your career would’ve ended immediately.
The only thing you could’ve shown him was a mediocre CapCut edit with dramatic black-and-white filters slapped over it to make it look “cinematic.”
You groaned loudly, dropping your forehead against the edge of the table.
“Oh my God,” you whispered into the expensive wood. “I’m actually a fraud.”
You nearly lost balance holding the enormous camera in your hands, quickly tightening your grip before your entire future shattered onto the hotel floor in high definition. “Woah, this is heavy.”
Your eyes stayed locked on the equipment nervously as you adjusted the strap around your wrist, trying your best to look like someone who actually knew what they were doing. Because if Jungkook realized how painfully inexperienced you were, he might personally send you back to your country on the next available flight.
You wouldn’t even blame him. The past few nights had been brutal.
You barely slept at all, surviving almost entirely on instant noodles, caffeine, and pure fear while desperately teaching yourself editing techniques through YouTube tutorials. Your laptop had become an extension of your body at this point, constantly running sample footage you filmed around your apartment just so you could practice transitions, lighting adjustments, stabilization, and color grading.
You even studied Jungkook’s editing style specifically.
The pacing of his vlogs.
The soft cinematic filters.
The random zoom-ins.
The casual, natural feeling of the clips.
You analyzed everything like your life depended on it because technically, your rent kind of did. You were getting paid for this. A ridiculous amount, too.
And there was absolutely no way you could afford getting exposed now.
“Okay…” you muttered slowly while fiddling with the camera settings. “This is kinda… easy?”
You said it more like a question than a statement. Still, you forced yourself to keep going.
You searched up tutorials for the exact camera model, watched setup guides, practiced adjusting focus and lighting, and filmed random clips around the room like an aspiring film student fighting for survival.
At some point, you even started taking artistic shots of your coffee cup near the hotel window. For practice, obviously.
Tomorrow was your first official filming day.
According to the schedule Jungkook emailed you earlier, you’d be accompanying him to a golf activity before the concert. He wanted behind-the-scenes footage for the fans—small moments throughout the day, casual interactions, preparations before performing.
And apparently that was only the beginning. Over the next few days, you’d also be filming soundchecks, backstage moments, errands, workouts, rehearsals, and random snippets of his daily routine while on tour.
Basically, your entire existence now revolves around documenting Jungkook’s life aesthetically.
No pressure.
You used his latest vlog as your main reference while practicing, pausing every few seconds to study angles and editing choices carefully. Honestly, the style itself wasn’t impossible to recreate. It leaned more natural than overly polished, which helped calm your nerves slightly.
The problem was you. You weren’t skilled.
And the more you thought about his expectations, the more your stomach twisted itself into knots.
But backing out wasn’t an option anymore.
Not after the cover letter.
Not after the hotel.
Not after the plane ticket.
Definitely not after seeing the paycheck.
So instead of panicking yourself into quitting, you threw every ounce of energy into learning. Practicing. Training.
Like you were preparing for the Olympics instead of secretly faking your way into being Jungkook’s videographer.
You almost had a heart attack when your phone suddenly buzzed while you were testing the cameras.
The heavy device nearly slipped straight out of your hands as Jungkook’s name flashed across the screen.
Your pulse instantly skyrocketed.
Jungkook: hey, i left all the equipment on the table in your hotel room because i had to leave early for rehearsal. camera batteries are charging already, memory cards are inside the small black case, and i think i accidentally tangled all the wires together so… good luck with that honestly ㅎㅎ
there’s also a pass hanging on the chair for backstage access. don’t lose it or my manager’s gonna kill me lol
take your time checking everything first before we head out tomorrow. and if anything’s confusing just call me :))
You stared at the message for a moment longer than necessary, a smile unconsciously pulling at your lips.
His personality somehow translated perfectly even through text messages alone—easygoing, playful, ridiculously approachable despite being one of the biggest celebrities in the world.
It reminded you exactly why he used to be your ultimate bias years ago. There was something naturally charming about him. Something warm.
You quickly typed a reply before you could overthink it too much.
You: yes! i am checking them out hehe.. the batteries are currently charging, the cards are safe, and i’m currently fighting for my life trying to untangle these wires hahaha
good luck with rehearsal!! see you tomorrow!
The second you pressed send, immediate regret flooded your body. You stared at your message in horror.
Why did I sound like that?
Your cheeks burned violently as you reread the multiple “hehe’s” and unnecessary laughter typed into the conversation like a teenager texting her crush for the first time.
You physically covered your face with your hands.
“Oh my God,” you groaned into your palms. It wasn’t like you were trying to flirt.
Or maybe… just a little bit.
Which honestly made the situation infinitely worse.
You used to be an incredibly dedicated ARMY once upon a time, and frankly, this entire situation was making your heart malfunction.
Working for Jungkook.
Texting Jungkook.
Meeting Jungkook.
It all felt unreal in the most dangerous way possible.
But you forced yourself to set the fangirl part aside before it completely consumed you. You needed to stay professional. Calm. Composed.
Otherwise, you were genuinely convinced you’d suffer a stroke before filming a single decent piece of content for him.
So instead of spiraling, you spent the entire night practicing.
Testing the cameras.
Learning the settings.
Adjusting lighting.
Checking the microphones repeatedly to make sure the audio sounded clean.
You edited random sample clips until your eyes burned from exhaustion, determined to familiarize yourself with the equipment enough to at least fake confidence tomorrow.
And somehow, by pure fear-driven determination alone, morning arrived faster than expected.
You woke up early to practice filming one last time before leaving, moving around the hotel room with nervous energy buzzing beneath your skin. You were oddly dedicated now—almost desperate—to prove that hiring you wasn’t a mistake.
After showering, you dressed carefully in clothes that screamed “professional videographer” despite the fact that you absolutely were not one.
A black long-sleeved polo, dark slacks and black shoes. You even tied your hair back neatly, staring at yourself in the mirror afterward like you were about to infiltrate the FBI instead of filming golf content.
A knock sounded at your hotel door.
“Good day, Ms. Y/N. Are you ready?”
You immediately straightened up before opening it, greeted by one of the bodyguards Jungkook assigned to escort you. His black shades reflected your visibly nervous expression back at you.
“Yes,” you answered quickly, trying to sound more confident than you felt.
Before leaving, you double-checked everything one last time—the batteries, memory cards, laptop, chargers—making sure nothing important was missing before following the bodyguard downstairs.
Outside, a sleek black car waited for you.
Your heartbeat quickened the moment you stepped inside.
You were scheduled to arrive an hour earlier than Jungkook so you could prepare the equipment and set everything up properly before filming started. Which meant you had an entire hour alone to panic in peace.
The ride itself was painfully quiet. Only the soft hum of the air conditioner filled the car while city lights blurred past the tinted windows. Your hands rested stiffly over your bag, fingers nervously tapping against the expensive camera inside while your thoughts spiraled endlessly.
You swallowed hard. “I can do this,” you whispered quietly to yourself.
Though honestly, you sounded unconvinced. The moment the golf course entrance came into view, your stomach twisted so violently you almost gagged.
Oh God. This was actually happening.
The bodyguard escorted you inside shortly after, guiding you toward the smaller private golf area before leaving you alone to prepare your setup.
The silence that followed felt enormous.
You slowly placed the equipment down, inhaling deeply as the morning breeze brushed against your face. The golf course stretched beautifully beneath the early sunlight, calm and expensive and intimidating all at once.
And somewhere in the middle of unpacking tripods with trembling hands, one horrifying realization settled heavily into your chest.
Soon, Jungkook was going to arrive.
You looked around quietly, taking in the golf course while trying to calm the violent beating of your heart.
The place felt tucked away from the rest of the world somehow—small, peaceful, almost unreal in its stillness. Unlike the massive championship courses you usually saw online, this one felt more intimate. The holes were laid out closer together across smooth fairways trimmed so perfectly they looked like green velvet beneath the morning sun.
Small sand bunkers curved around the landscape, soft hills rolling gently beneath clean white flags planted in the distance.
No screaming crowds. No cameras flashing endlessly. Just the distant rustling of trees, the muted hum of golf carts somewhere farther away, and every now and then, the satisfying thunk of a golf club striking a ball cleanly through the air.
Though, it would’ve been relaxing if you weren’t moments away from throwing up from anxiety.
Your hands were already sweaty as you unpacked the equipment carefully, trying not to look like you had absolutely no clue what you were doing. You adjusted the camera repeatedly, searching for decent angles while silently thanking every higher power possible that there weren’t many people around.
Only a few locals occupied the course, minding their own business.
Good.
Less witnesses for your downfall.
You became so focused on testing camera movements and practicing steady shots that you completely failed to notice someone approaching behind you.
It wasn’t until you angled the camera upward during practice that your soul nearly exited your body.
Jungkook stood directly in frame, smiling right into the lens. Your heart stopped.
“Hi,” he greeted warmly, amusement flickering across his face as he glanced at the camera in your hands. “Looks like you’re having fun already.”
A black sports bag rested beside your equipment now, meaning he must’ve walked over while you were too busy pretending to be a professional filmmaker to notice.
Your eyes widened instantly. “Oh my God—”
You almost tripped over your own feet while hurriedly lowering the camera, panic rushing through your body all at once.
“I was just, um—checking the angles,” you explained nervously, mentally cursing yourself for sounding so awkward. “Nice to meet you! I’m Y/N.”
You quickly wiped your damp palms against your slacks before offering your hand to him politely.
Up close, he somehow looked even more unreal. Tall, broad-shouldered, with beautiful tattoos curling around his arm, silver piercings catching the sunlight softly whenever he smiled.
And unfortunately for your sanity, he was even more handsome in person. Ridiculously so. The kind of handsome that made it difficult to think properly when he looked at you for too long.
He chuckled softly before taking your hand in his. His grip was warm.
Your brain short-circuited immediately.
Dressed in a fitted white polo shirt and black Nike shorts, a black cap resting low over his dark hair in a way that somehow made him look both ridiculously expensive and effortlessly casual at the same time.
The shirt did absolutely nothing to hide how built he was.
You could see the outline of his muscles beneath the fabric every time he moved, his shoulders broad enough to almost completely block the sunlight from where you stood.
“Hello,” he said warmly, shaking your hand once. “I’m Jungkook. Nice to meet you too.” Your cheeks instantly burned.
Seeing him through a screen was one thing. Seeing him in person felt entirely different.
He was so much more charismatic up close it almost irritated you. His bunny teeth peeked out whenever he smiled, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners while he spoke in that easy, friendly tone that made it impossible not to relax around him.
His entire aura felt bright somehow. Light. Dangerously charming.
You were absolutely screwed.
“I’ll leave the filming techniques up to you,” he continued casually, walking over toward the cooler nearby. “Feel free to film me however you want. No pressure.”
No pressure.
As if your nervous system wasn’t already collapsing in on itself.
He grabbed a cold bottle of water before offering another one toward you naturally, like this entire situation wasn’t surreal at all.
“Thank you,” you answered quickly, taking the bottle before immediately setting it aside again. “Uh—I’ll start filming now!”
You lifted the camera again with almost aggressive determination, eager to gather as much footage as possible. More clips meant more editing options later. More editing options meant a smaller chance of exposing yourself as a complete fraud.
Jungkook raised an amused brow at your sudden seriousness, his gaze briefly traveled over your outfit before returning to your face.
“You sure?” he asked lightly. “You don’t wanna eat first? I still have to stretch and stuff anyway.”
You shook your head immediately. “Nope.”
Your grip tightened around the camera slightly. “I wanna include behind-the-scenes snippets too, so…” you explained, trying your best to sound professional despite your racing heart. “This would actually be good footage.”
The determination in your voice made Jungkook smile again. And for some reason, that tiny look of approval made your stomach flip harder than it should have.
Jungkook chuckled softly. “Alright,” he said easily. “Just tell me if you need specific details or angles.”
Then he walked toward the side of the golf course to begin stretching.
You immediately followed after him with the camera clutched in your hands exactly the way you practiced all night, quickly pressing record before your nerves could stop you.
At first, things seemed to be going surprisingly well. You filmed everything.
His warm-ups were slow, deliberate—like he was already in control of everything around him.
The way he adjusted his gloves with quiet precision. The subtle flex of his arms as he set up his iron, muscles shifting beneath fabric like something effortless and practiced. The clean, confident swing of the club cutting through air before striking the ball with a sharp, satisfying sound. The soft crunch of grass beneath his shoes as he shifted his stance, grounding himself between each shot.
Then the stillness between it all.
Him sitting down beneath the shade, momentarily retreating from the sun. Him lifting a bottle of water to his lips, throat moving as he drank, the back of his hand brushing sweat away from his neck without much thought.
You practically documented his entire existence.
At one point, you even almost followed him toward the restroom before your brain caught up with your body at the last second.
You genuinely thought you were doing an amazing job.
From your perspective, more footage meant more options later during editing. You didn’t want to miss a single moment that could potentially look cinematic or useful.
But from Jungkook’s perspective… It was a little concerning.
At first, he simply watched quietly. He noticed the small mistakes immediately—the way you held the camera too stiffly sometimes, the awkward adjustments of the lens, the shaky transitions between movements.
Still, he tried convincing himself that maybe you were just getting comfortable with the equipment. Maybe you simply needed time.
But as the day continued, realization slowly settled in. Especially when he caught you aggressively zooming into completely unnecessary details before quickly rotating the lens too fast, creating footage that would probably look dizzying when played back.
Beginner.
The word settled into his thoughts almost instantly. You followed him everywhere with unwavering focus, constantly checking the framing, adjusting settings, filming from different angles even when your hands visibly started struggling beneath the camera’s weight.
By the time he returned from the restroom later that afternoon, he paused slightly at the sight of you near the equipment table.
You were rotating your shoulders carefully with a tired grimace, trying to ease the soreness from carrying the camera all day. Sweat clung lightly against your forehead beneath the heat of the sun, and your fingers looked faintly red from gripping the equipment for hours.
Still, the moment you noticed him approaching again, you instinctively reached for the camera.
“I think you have enough footage for today,” Jungkook said quietly before you could pick it up again.
His voice carried something firmer now. Your hands froze mid-motion.
You blinked at him in confusion. “Huh?” you asked, adjusting your grip on the camera. “But you’re not done yet.”
He was still in the middle of playing. There were still shots left, more footage you could take, more angles you could practice.
But instead of continuing, Jungkook simply placed the iron back onto the rack with a quiet sigh.
Something about his body language had changed. Subtle, but noticeable.
The playful brightness from earlier dimmed slightly, exhaustion settling into the slope of his shoulders as he rubbed the back of his neck.
And suddenly, anxiety crept beneath your skin.
Was he disappointed?
The answer was yes. Not angry—he wasn’t angry. But disappointed enough to realize the truth little by little throughout the day.
You don’t have any clue on what you were doing.
The way you handled the camera, the inconsistent framing, the random zoom-ins, the awkward adjustments every few seconds—it was painfully obvious that you were inexperienced.
And for a brief moment, ugly thoughts crossed his mind despite himself.
He trusted you.
Even without polished sample reels or impressive portfolios, he still chose to trust you. Your cover letter had been painfully sincere, especially the part about wanting independence. Wanting to do things on your own so you wouldn’t burden your parents. Wanting to make them proud. Wanting to stand on your own feet.
That part stayed with him longer than it should have.
A lot of people sent him impressive applications. High-quality edits. Cinematic videos. Professional portfolios crafted carefully to catch his attention. Thousands of direct messages flooded his account constantly, most of them blending together into meaningless noise after a while.
But yours stood out somehow.
Maybe it was the formal profile picture that made him laugh- looked strangely earnest among the endless stream of unserious messages. Maybe it was the desperation hidden between your carefully written sentences. Or maybe it was simply because your letter resonated with him more than he expected it to.
He understood that kind of desperation.
That overwhelming need to prove yourself to the world.
He had been independent from a young age too, forced to grow up far earlier than most people ever had to. He knew what it felt like to carry pressure so heavy it started shaping the person you became.
But still—
Maybe you lied just to get close to him.
Maybe you wanted the money.
Maybe you were just another person trying to take advantage of him somehow.
God knew he had already met far too many people like that.
But every time those thoughts surfaced, they disappeared almost instantly the second he looked at you again.
Because you were trying so hard. Too hard, honestly.
The determination written across your face all day felt painfully genuine, from the way you followed him around with aching arms to the sweat gathering near your forehead while you forced yourself to keep filming despite your obvious exhaustion.
You looked less like a manipulative opportunist and more like someone desperately trying not to fail.
Still, disappointment lingered quietly beneath his ribs. A dull ache he couldn’t quite shake away no matter how sincere you looked trying to impress him.
And instead of sending you home immediately, another thought slowly crept into his mind.
Something dangerous.
Something mean.
Something dirty enough to make his pulse slow.
He wanted to punish you for it.
Not enough to truly hurt you—never that—but enough to make you understand exactly what happened when you lied to him. Enough to leave you breathless beneath the weight of his attention, overwhelmed by the consequences of trying to fool him so boldly.
Jungkook had always been competitive for a reason.
He hated losing, hated being made a fool of.
And now that you had managed to slip past his guard so easily, there was no way he was letting you walk away untouched by it.
Oh, he was going to have so much fun with you.
“I wanna film something,” he finally said instead, voice quieter now. More serious.
Your breath caught slightly at the sudden change in tone. The warmth from earlier had faded into something calmer. Harder to read.
“Oh,” you answered softly, momentarily caught off guard. “Okay! What kind of content?”
You quickly stood up and began fixing the equipment into your bags, noticing him grab his car keys from beside his sports bag.
“You’ll see,” he said simply, before turning toward the exit.
Your own brows furrowed in confusion. The schedule he sent clearly stated golf content for today. Nothing else.
Still, you followed him quietly anyway. When he told you to ride with him instead of the escort vehicle, your confusion deepened even more, though you didn’t question it aloud. Maybe he wanted driving footage or some cinematic clips for the vlog.
That had to be it.
Your heart thumped nervously as you climbed into his car beside him, immediately noticing how sleek and absurdly expensive the interior looked. The soft scent of fresh mint lingered in the air, clean and comforting somehow.
The realization that you were sitting inside Jungkook’s car with Jungkook himself nearly made your soul leave your body.
Your hands instinctively reached toward the camera bag.
“No,” Jungkook chuckled softly the moment he noticed. “You’re not gonna film here, pretty girl.”
Pretty girl.
Your entire brain stopped functioning. Heat rushed violently into your cheeks as you slowly pulled your hands away from the bag.
“Oh,” you answered weakly. “Okay…”
You bit your lip afterward, turning slightly toward the window to hide your expression while curiosity twisted tighter inside your chest.
Where exactly was he taking you?
The moment you saw the familiar hotel building come into view through the windshield, confusion settled deeper into your chest.
You followed Jungkook quietly through the lobby, nerves buzzing beneath your skin with every step.
He had gone strangely quiet after golf. Still calm, still composed—but not as bright as before. The easy smiles disappeared, replaced by something heavier lingering beneath his expression, and it made your stomach tighten painfully.
“Uhm…” you started carefully while standing beside him inside the elevator. “Are you gonna get a few more cameras or something?”
The elevator doors slid shut. Jungkook glanced at you briefly, his doe eyes half-lidded in a way that made your throat suddenly feel dry.
“Take a guess.”
Your heartbeat stumbled. Something about his tone made nervousness crawl violently through your body. And when the elevator finally opened onto your floor, Jungkook grabbed your wrist without warning.
You gasped softly, he dragged you out impatiently, long strides carrying the two of you quickly down the hallway toward your hotel room. His grip wasn’t painful, but firm enough to make your pulse race uncontrollably beneath your skin.
By the time you stopped in front of your door, your mind was already spiraling. Jungkook looked down at you expectantly, his pupils dilated, still holding your wrist while waiting for you to unlock the room.
Did he figure it out? The thought struck so hard your chest physically tightened.
Your fingers trembled slightly while pulling out the keycard. Guilt flooded your system all at once, thick and suffocating.
You were scared.
Scared he’d yell at you. Scared he’d confiscate the equipment. Scared he’d have you booked on the next flight home before you even had a chance to explain yourself.
Completely unaware of the way his dark, playful mind worked. Completely unaware of how badly he wanted to punish you.
“Jungkook, I—”
But the words died immediately when he walked past you instead.
He took the camera bag from your hands and moved straight toward the table, pulling out the camera you used earlier before checking the rest of the equipment you left behind.
You blinked in confusion. Huh?
Jungkook grabbed another camera calmly before setting up one of the tripods with practiced ease. The way his fingers moved across the equipment was fast and precise, adjusting settings effortlessly while rotating the camera into position like second nature. His shoulders flexed beneath the white polo each time he lifted the tripod, veins bulging faintly along his tattooed forearms while he fixed the lighting behind it.
Your lips parted slightly without meaning to. He looked ridiculously good doing something as simple as setting up cameras.
“W-What are you doing?” you stammered, confused.
Jungkook glanced back at you over his shoulder while tightening something near the tripod head.
“Sit on the bed for me.”
Your stomach flipped violently. “H-Huh? I mean okay,” you answered quietly, swallowing hard before slowly moving toward the bed.
You sat carefully near the edge while watching him continue adjusting the setup.
With one hand alone, Jungkook lifted the heavy tripod effortlessly and positioned it directly in front of the bed, angling the camera downward toward where you sat.
The veins along his arms flexed again beneath the strain.
Your throat went completely dry. The room suddenly felt much smaller than before.
Hotter too.
You watched silently as he grabbed another tripod, this time placing it to the right side of the bed. Both cameras pointed directly at you now. And for some reason, the sight made your heartbeat pound harder than ever before.
He looked through the camera lens carefully, head tilting slightly as he adjusted the angle. “Lay down on the bed.”
Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “What—”
“Lay down.” he commanded sharply.
This time, his tone came out firmer. Serious. Leaving absolutely no room for argument.
And somehow, the way he looked at you through the camera lens sent a sharp shiver crawling down your spine.
To your own horror, excitement slowly started mixing with the fear curling inside your stomach.
You almost wanted to slap yourself for it.
You swallowed hard before slowly slipping your shoes off, awkwardly climbing farther onto the bed until your back rested against the headboard.
Every movement suddenly felt painfully self-aware beneath the cameras pointed directly at you.
Jungkook poked the inside of his cheek thoughtfully while studying the frame through the viewfinder, eventually stepping forward again to move the tripod closer.
Before you could shift yourself lower against the mattress, he suddenly walked toward you instead. Your breath hitched the second he crouched down in front of you holding the clip-on microphone.
He leaned in close enough for you to catch the faint scent of mint lingering on him.
“You forgot these earlier,” he said lightly, though there was something mocking beneath the softness of his voice now.
“Oh,” you answered weakly. “Uhm… I was in a rush, so…” Your cheeks burned instantly from embarrassment.
Of course you forgot the microphones!
Jungkook raised a brow slowly. “You were in a rush?” he repeated with a quiet chuckle before standing back up again.
Then he walked toward the table and grabbed the smaller digital camcorder, casually aiming it toward you.
The amount of cameras pointed at you now made your stomach twist uncomfortably. Instinctively, you tried sitting up straighter, but Jungkook stopped you immediately.
“Stay still,” he said calmly. “I wanna test the cameras.”
“Test the cameras?”
“I think you need a little demo, baby.” Your heartbeat stopped. “You weren’t doing a very good job earlier.” The teasing mockery in his tone hit you like a truck.
And suddenly everything crashed down at once. Your eyes widened in horror.
Fuck.
He knew.
Of course he knew!
Heat rushed violently into your face and neck, humiliation crawling across your entire body so intensely it almost hurt. Your chest tightened painfully while tears burned behind your eyes before you could stop them.
You looked away instinctively, shame flooding every inch of you.
God, this was so embarrassing.
“J-Jungkook, please,” you stammered quickly, panic slipping into your voice. “I’m not trying to scam you or anything, it’s just that—”
He stepped closer until his knees brushed against the edge of the bed.
And somehow, that almost satisfied look on his face made your stomach twist even more.
You looked so shy. So cornered. Like a poor little thing unknowingly walking straight into his hands.
His gaze lingered on you with dangerous amusement, as though you had already become his favorite test subject for the cameras.
Dark lazy eyes dragged slowly across your body, taking their time, shamelessly roaming over every inch of you while his imagination sparked vividly to life. You could almost see the thoughts forming behind his eyes—every filthy thing he wanted to do to you, every position he wanted to bend you into, every sound he wanted to force out of your mouth while the cameras kept recording.
And somehow, what excited him even more was the thought of filming it all. Editing it afterward. Watching you fall apart for him frame by frame.
“Shh,” he murmured softly. “It’s okay.”
Your watery eyes lifted toward him immediately. “I’ll teach you how to film, hmm?” he said mockingly.
“W-What?” Your lips parted in disbelief.
Jungkook tilted his head slightly, dark eyes fixed on yours with an unreadable expression.
“Gonna show you the right angles, baby,” he cooed. “What do you think?” He smiled without humor.
The contrast made you shiver. “B-But…”
“Will you cooperate with me?” he asked, voice smooth and almost condescending, like he was speaking to a child. His fingers tapped lightly against one of the cameras beside him. “We wouldn’t want these cameras to go to waste, would we?”
Your throat tightened. Part of you wanted to disappear completely. To book the next flight home, apologize profusely, and somehow repay every expense he wasted on you.
But another part of you—the younger version buried deep inside your chest, the girl who once stayed up all night watching his videos and smiling at her screen—couldn’t let go of this moment.
Because despite everything, Jungkook still hadn’t thrown you out.
He wasn’t yelling at you.
He was giving you another chance.
And maybe that meant you still had an opportunity to prove yourself.
Thousands of people probably wanted your position right now. Yet somehow, he was still here. Patient enough to teach you himself.
Completely unaware of how dangerous that patience actually was.
Because the lessons Jungkook had in mind were nothing like the ones you were expecting.
So slowly, you nodded.
Hope flickered weakly beneath your embarrassment while your thoughts tangled themselves around one desperate need: to impress him somehow.
“Okay,” you whispered nervously. “I—I learn fast when someone’s teaching me and…”
Jungkook raised a thick brow at you. “Pretty girl’s a fast learner, huh?”
Your cheeks immediately reddened again. You nodded shyly despite the obvious teasing in his tone, unconsciously pouting a little from embarrassment.
His eyes went down to your lips, eyes darkening. “Can you count the cameras for me?” he asked a bit impatiently.
You glanced around quickly toward the setup.
The two cameras mounted on tripods.
The camcorder in his hand.
“There’s three,” you answered softly.
Jungkook chuckled under his breath. “Good job, baby.” he slowly lifted the camcorder higher, zooming the lens closer toward your face.
“Now look here.”
You shyly looked into the camera lens, your cheeks dusted with pink beneath the warm lights.
The way Jungkook stared at you through the camcorder made you shrink into yourself slightly, suddenly aware of every little movement you made on the bed.
He tilted his head slowly. “So pretty.”
Your breath caught in your throat. Heat crawled up your neck as you shifted uncomfortably against the mattress, fingers curling slightly into the sheets. The entire situation suddenly felt strangely intimate, and for a second your thoughts drifted somewhere dangerous before you quickly forced yourself to focus again.
This is just a demo.
He’s teaching you.
Nothing else.
“Open the first few buttons of your top,” he said, voice quieter now as he continued looking at you through the camcorder.
Your eyes widened instantly.
Did I hear that right?
“W-What?” you nearly choked out, pulse quickening embarrassingly fast despite how badly this entire situation could end for you.
And somehow, against all logic, excitement started curling through your stomach.
“Need you to cooperate, baby,” he answered smoothly. “Come on, do a nice show for me.”
The teasing edge in his tone made your stomach twist nervously.
You hesitated for a moment before slowly bringing your shaky fingers toward your top, feeling painfully aware of the cameras pointed at you from different angles.
Jungkook watched carefully through the lens, adjusting the focus ring slightly while observing the framing.
“That’s it.” he encouraged.
You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, fingers trembling as you slowly undid the first few buttons of your blouse. Heat crawled up the back of your neck, burning the tips of your ears as the reality of the situation settled deeper beneath your skin.
He’s filming a sex tape.
You were so fucking stupid because instead of panicking properly, instead of running or completely losing your mind, you were following him blindly. Worse—you were getting excited.
Fuck, you should’ve been crashing out right now.
But the way he looked at you— God.
It felt like he wanted to devour you whole. His dark eyes dragged over every inch of exposed skin with quiet hunger, liquid heat pulsed embarrassingly between the gap of your thighs before you could stop it.
“Open your eyes baby, stare at the camera.” he said firmly, an obvious edge underneath it.
You slowly opened your eyes. Your cheeks were already burning, breath uneven as you finished unbuttoning the last one, revealing just enough of your chest to make your thoughts scatter. The camera lens felt heavier now, more invasive, like it was watching you breathe, waiting for you to make the wrong move.
“Hmm…touch your breasts baby, give it a nice squeeze for me.” he whispered, still holding the camcorder, directing it with the ease of someone who knew exactly what every angle captured.
Completely under his control, you obeyed, your hands moving hesitantly at first before you held yourself through the fabric, giving a light squeeze that made your breath hitch. You bit down on your lower lip, trying to stay steady, trying to keep your eyes locked on the camera like he told you, even as your vision softened at the edges and your body betrayed your focus.
The room felt smaller now. Heavier.
You were getting so wet.
Jungkook let out a low groan, eyes still fixed through the lens.
“Remove your top, wanna see your pretty nipples.”
Your ears burned red at the filthy undertone. With shaky hands, you slowly pulled your top off, revealing the white lace bra beneath. The delicate fabric hugged the soft swell of your breasts perfectly, and the moment Jungkook’s eyes settled on them through the camera lens, another wave of heat rushed through your body.
You slowly tugged at the first strap, then the second, freeing your breasts as your nipples hardened, flushed and sensitive against the cool air.
“That’s it,” he instructed, voice steady. “Roll those pretty nipples for me.”
You obeyed, pinching them gently before rolling them between your fingers. Your lips parted at the rush of sensation that followed, breath catching as your panties got more stickier with your arousal.
When your gaze dropped, you noticed the strain in his black shorts—the obvious tent pressing against the fabric. A shiver ran down your spine at the realization that despite his composed, professional expression as he filmed you, he wasn’t unaffected.
He groaned, zooming in on how you were rolling and pinching your nipples, his cock throbbing at the sight, precum leaking from its mushroom tip.
“Bring your hand to your mouth,” he ordered, directing the camera at your face. “Now, spit on it.”
You whimpered. Like a good girl, you gathered your saliva and spat thickly onto your palms, showing it to him after.
He bit his lower lip, his cock getting so hard from your submissiveness. “Good girl, now rub it on your nipples—make it nice and wet for me,” he rasped.
You rubbed the spit on your breast, the warm, sticky fluid on your nipples feeling so raw and dirty, spreading the saliva messily as he watched you through the lens with hooded eyes.
You were getting so horny, the dirty act turning you on so much that you could feel your panties sticking to your core.
“Look at you,” he chuckled, slowly reaching toward you. “I bet you’re so wet right now.”
You looked so pretty—your neatly done hair now slightly disheveled, cheeks flushed from all the things he’d been instructing you to do, pebbled nipples glistening under the camera lights. Your legs trembled slightly, aching to be touched, your lips parting every now and then as your breath turned uneven, eyes hazy and unfocused.
The sight made Jungkook’s cock throb painfully hard.
His pretty little doll.
He handed you the camcorder. “Hold this, baby. Show them who’s making you this wet.”
With shaky hands and glossy eyes, you took the camera and tried to point it toward him, your eyes rolling back when he removed his white polo shirt and black shorts, leaving him in his gray Calvin Klein boxers.
You whimpered as you could see the outline of his huge cock, precum leaking at the tip, wetting the center of the cloth.
“Your angle is wrong,” he raised a brow, noticing how your shaky hands were failing a bit at holding the camera properly.
You panicked. “I’m sorry,” you rushed out, trying to straighten it, ignoring the painful pulses between your legs—your body begging to be touched.
He chuckled, leaning over you. “It’s okay, baby. That’s why we have another camera.”
His hands came up to your cheeks, gently holding and angling your face to the right so you could look toward the second camera set up by the side of the bed. “I bet you’d look so good getting fucked from that angle,” he whispered.
His grip on your cheeks tightened slightly, squishing them just enough as the camera captured everything—the way your eyes fluttered, the way your nipples hardened under his gaze, the way your legs shifted restlessly, searching for any kind of friction.
You gasped loudly when his free hand went down to cup your pussy through your pants, your eyes rolling back as he felt the wetness through the fabric.
“Fuck, let me see how wet you are, yeah?”
With one hand, he unzipped your pants, pulling them down in one forceful motion while his other hand remained on your cheeks, keeping your gaze fixed on the camera. Your other hand trembled as it tried to capture what he was doing below.
“Capture this, baby,” he breathed, guiding your hand holding the camcorder to angle it downward, towards your wet pussy.
You almost dropped the camera when he suddenly slapped your cunt, your panties nearly see-through from how wet they were with your arousal.
“Jungkook~” you whimpered.
He sat up and held both of your legs, spreading them wider until your ankles were almost on either side of the bed.
“You’re so wet, I can see your cute little slit through your panties baby.” He chuckled, leaning down and hollowing his cheeks to spit right above your clothed clit, making it even messier.
You whimpered, your toes curling at the sensation, gripping the camcorder tightly as you felt him crouch down, spreading his spit over your panties. His warm tongue then licked along your pussy through the fabric, slotting between your folds, the wet material pressing inside your slit.
“Make sure the camera can see how good I’m gonna eat this pussy.” He whispered while looking at you, flipping your panties to the side and groaning when he saw how wet and pink you were, his jaw slackening as he took almost your whole pussy into his warm mouth.
It was so wet and messy, and you could see him through the mini screen of the camcorder, maintaining direct eye contact with the lens while eating you out, making sure to pull back your hood so the camera could capture how his lips would wrapped around your swollen clit.
He suctioned around it, spreading more spit, sucking as if his life depended on it, then moved down to gather your juices before sliding his hot tongue inside you, coaxing more from you. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, showing you how he drank every bit of your wetness.
“That feels so g-good.” You moaned, trying to zoom in on how his tongue played with your folds.
He hummed, the vibrations making you twitch in pleasure.
“Yeah? This feels good?” he asked, sucking harshly on your clit as your eyes rolled back, your release building up fast. Your pussy throbbed, your clit growing more sensitive with every passing second.
“I’m gonna-’’
You moaned loudly when he buried his face deeper, never letting go of your throbbing clit, his head moving from side to side as he groaned low against you. When he finally let go of your clit, you gasped as he gathered a thick amount of saliva, hollowing his cheeks to spit harshly down on you, then leaning back in with his tongue out to spread it in slow, kitten-like licks.
When he looked up again at the lens, you exploded, your orgasm so intense you could feel your pussy pulsating so hard you almost saw stars.
‘’Stop, please!” You whined, overstimulated as he kept licking your cunt, your legs shaking from the oversensitivity.
His chin and nose were soaked, his lips slightly red and pouty, his dark locks messy, and his pupils dilated. You gasped when he suddenly removed his boxers; his cock was hard and pretty, curving slightly upward, decorated with thick veins and a red, swollen mushroom tip.
Jungkook took the camera and angled it towards you, wide glossy eyes looking up at him weakly.
“Say… thank you for making me cum, Jungkook.” He breathed, his other hand gripping his cock as he spread the precum along his shaft.
“Thank you for m-making me cum, Jungkook.” You croaked, your legs still trembling from your intense orgasm.
He smiled proudly. “My smart girl, very good at following instructions,” he praised, placing the camcorder down beside you and angling it so it could capture how his mouth leaned down to suck your nipples, while his free hand squeezed and rolled the other bud between his fingers.
“Jungkook—” you moaned as his tongue twirled and sucked around your breast, just like he had done to your clit—messy and pouty with saliva.
He bit your nipple playfully, earning a soft whimper from you, his tattooed hand reaching down to cup your swollen pussy.
You gasped when he inserted his middle finger, your walls tightening around the intrusion.
“You’re so tight and warm.” He murmured against your nipple, letting it go with a soft pop before moving to suck on the other one.
You whimpered, your pussy growing wetter from the way he sucked and played with your nipples, the pad of his middle finger brushing against your spongy spot, making you writhe in pleasure.
“Please- too much.” You moaned, his middle finger going so deep that his knuckles were hitting your ass, his finger curling in a “come here” motion inside you, rubbing your spot deliciously as your tight hole produced more juices, the feeling of your previous release being pushed inside you making you tremble.
He let go of your nipple and leaned in immediately, pouty lips capturing yours in a hungry kiss. His tongue slipped into your mouth, messy and demanding, tangling with yours as the kiss deepened and turned overwhelming.
At the same time, his other hand moved up to your throat, fingers wrapping gently around the column of your neck, giving it a light squeeze as he held you in place.
Your lips parted in response, and he took the opportunity to push his tongue deeper, exploring every corner of your mouth, sucking on your tongue and swallowing your whines and protests.
His hard cock pressed against your inner thigh, impossibly close to your wet pussy, grinding lightly as he shifted. You could feel his precum, warm and slick, and the firm pressure of his mushroom tip against your skin made you bite back a shaky breath, a mix of pleasure and nerves twisting together inside you.
Your walls tightened around his finger, making it almost impossible for him to move it from how tightly your pussy gripped him.
He groaned, biting your lip and nudging your thighs wider with his legs, inserting another finger and making you gasp from the mix of pain and pleasure. He swallowed your moans, almost bruising your tongue from the way he was kissing you, the air in your lungs growing limited every time he squeezed your throat.
“Shh, behave for the camera.” he whispered, his thumb caressing your throat while his middle and ring fingers rubbed your spongy spot in slow circles.
Tears fell from your eyes, the overstimulation and edging making you cry from pain. You had already come, but you wanted to cum again so badly, your pussy aching and throbbing for another release, his fingers brushing your g-spot in a teasing, ticklish way, making you shake and move your legs in protest.
“Let me cum again, please, please…” you pleaded, fat tears rolling down your flushed cheeks.
He gripped your throat a little tighter, making you gasp for air. “Aww, you wanna come again?” he cooed.
You nodded desperately, moving your hips to meet his fingers. “Yes, please.”
He chuckled at you. “So polite.” he said, lazily grabbing the camcorder from the side and angling it down towards your spent pussy. “Spread wide, baby.”
You immediately held your ankles, making yourself completely open for him, desperate for release, your body aching from denied pleasure.
He angled the camera at your twitching hole, filming how your wetness dripped down the sheets. He held his hard cock, spitting down onto his shaft and pumping it a few times before angling himself towards your wet cunt.
You gasped loudly when his blunt head entered your hole, biting your lip harshly at the foreign intrusion, the stretch nearly overwhelming you from his swollen mushroom tip alone.
“So big…” you whimpered, holding your ankles tightly as a new wave of tears gathered in your eyes.
Your breath hitched, trembling as you tried to adjust, the sensation stealing every coherent thought from your mind.
Jungkook cursed under his breath, zooming in on your wet cunt to capture how your walls were sucking him in.
“Your pussy looks so good on camera baby, so tight and pretty.” He grunted, pushing halfway in and earning a loud moan from you.
His bangs stuck to his forehead, his lip ring catching the light as he bit down on his lower lip. His broad chest rose and fell heavily, veins tracing along his neck, flushed and taut with effort. Even like this, he held the camera with unnerving steadiness, like nothing about the moment could shake his focus.
So steady and professional at producing sex tapes.
When he bottomed out, you almost fainted, the stretch overwhelming—painful yet intoxicating—as he pressed fully against you. His balls settled deep, his pelvis flush with yours, the soft trim of hair brushing your clit each time he rolled his hips.
He groaned harshly. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, his jaw clenching as your walls enveloped him.
“Relax, baby—you’re gripping me,” he groaned weakly, this time angling the camera toward your face.
You whimpered, trying to cover your face with your small hands, but he caught both of your wrists and pinned them above your head. His sudden hard thrusts made your body bounce slightly with every movement, leaving you breathless.
“Don’t be shy, baby—show your pretty face to the camera,” he drawled lazily, angling it towards your flushed expression.
“Show them how good I’m making you feel.” He grunted, rolling his hips against you. The curve of his cock hitting your g-spot perfectly, buried so deep that he barely pulled out at all—only circling his hips, grinding in a way that made it feel like he wanted to push even further. The sensation drew a sharp arch through your back.
His gaze stayed locked on you through the screen, lips parted, breath uneven—like he was caught between control and losing it. The way your pussy gripped him made his cock throb, his expression darkening with something possessive and unspoken.
“Look at you, whimpering like a pretty little slut.” he said in a condescending tone.
“I-I’m not a slut.” You pouted, your walls tightening around him at his degrading tone.
He raised a brow. “Oh really? You think a lot of people won’t agree once I upload this?”
Your eyes widened, panic flashing across your flushed face as his thrusts turned harsher and sloppier, the rhythm giving away how close he was getting. You were almost impressed that he was still managing to keep the camera steady.
“N-No, you are not gonna do that,” you panicked, your eyes wide and glossy, your small hands trying to push the camera away.
He grunted, his cock throbbing as he felt your pussy tighten around him. He shifted just enough to avoid the camera when you reached for it, tightening his grip around both your wrists so you couldn’t move.
“You like that, huh? Come on, pretty—let me film you properly.” He snapped his hips harder, angling the lens toward you while your bodies met in sharp, rhythmic collisions.
The friction made your breath hitch, your clit brushing against his pubic hair in a way that sent jolts of pleasure racing through your body. His grip tightened around the camcorder, breathing uneven as he watched you come apart through the screen, completely drunk on the sounds you were making for him.
“Moan louder.” he commanded.
You moaned loudly, your chest rising and falling as his harsh movements made your body react against him. His eyes rolled back slightly from the way you kept pulsating around him, every drag sending him deeper into overstimulation.
He bit his lip. “My dirty girl, getting fucked on film.” he rasped.
Then, abruptly, he let go of the camcorder and set it aside.
A soft sound escaped him as he pulled out, the sudden emptiness making you whimper. Before you could fully register it, he was already moving you—pulling your body forward and repositioning you in front of him.
He settled behind you, guiding you into place so that you were now facing the cameras on the tripod, your body fully on display while his broad chest and hard cock pressed close from behind.
“You see those two cameras baby?’’ he whispered behind your ear, spreading your legs wide.
“Yes.” you replied weakly.
You gasped loudly when he entered you from behind, your body settling against his lap as his thighs kept your legs spread wide, positioning you so the camera could clearly capture the way he entered you.
“Smile for them baby, need some footage from this angle.’’ He cooed softly, thrusting his hips upward while his other arm circled around your waist to keep you steady.
You moaned, trembling so badly when you saw how the lights caught both of your bodies—the glittering sheen of sweat, your smudged makeup, and his tattooed colored arms all captured in high definition under the harsh glow.
"My pretty pretty girl, should I post this? show them how I fuck?" he murmured against your skin before pressing a kiss to your cheek, his tongue brushing lightly over the dampness left behind by your earlier tears.
The tenderness of it contrasted so badly with the hunger in his voice that it made your breath hitch. His hand cradled your face carefully, thumb stroking beneath your eye as though he was soothing you and provoking you at the same time, and the way he looked at you through half-lidded eyes made heat rush straight to your chest.
He suddenly grabbed the clip-on mic from your necklace, your eyes widening as you realized he was angling it downward—towards where his cock met your pussy.
“Need to test the mic baby, let the viewers hear how much of a nasty slut you are.”
The mic was so close that every sound was picked up clearly—the wet, obscene squelches echoing as he pushed and pulled inside you, the way he dragged against your tight heat sounding even more intense through the recording. The noise alone felt almost sinful in how loud and wet it was.
“I bet they can hear how tight your pussy is.” he grunted, putting the mic closer to your cunt.
He could feel how slick everything had become, wetting his balls each time he pushed, your arousal makes each movement messier.
“Gonna cum, oh gosh.” You moaned, your body growing hypersensitive as your clit throbbed with the pressure of an approaching orgasm.
He grabbed both of your cheeks when he noticed your head starting to fall back from pleasure, forcing you to look straight at the camera in front of you. “Be a good girl and look at the lens, don’t want my content to be bad quality.’’
His other hand clipped the mic back onto your necklace before sliding down again, rubbing slow circles over your clit. You moaned loudly, your back arching as your orgasm edged closer and closer.
“Cum for me baby, show them your cute little juices.”
Your legs were shaking when you finally reached your orgasm, your clit throbbing so intensely, your limbs giving out as your body hit its peak. Your swollen bud pulsed uncontrollably in fast, erratic heart beats, your walls clenching around his cock as he was still thrusting inside you.
Your eyes rolled back into your head when you felt your orgasm stretch further from his deep thrusts, his mushroom tip brushing against your g-spot and dragging you straight into another wave. You came again, consecutively, your body twitching as overstimulation took over, your legs instinctively trying to close.
"J-Jungkook I can't anymore."
Jungkook forced your legs to stay open, his index and middle fingers spreading your pussy lips apart for the camera, showing how your clit pulsed beneath the warm lights while his cock remained buried deep inside you.
''Mhm.. spit on your clit baby, make it extra wet before I use you." he whispered.
You squirmed, obediently leaning down as his fingers kept you spread open. With trembling breaths, you gathered saliva on your tongue before letting it drip down onto your clit, both cameras capturing the filthy sight in sharp detail.
A low curse slipped past Jungkook’s lips at the view, his grip tightening instinctively as he watched you, completely consumed by the way you willingly put yourself on display for him.
He quickly flipped your body down to chase his own pleasure, entering you again and sloppily thrusting into your wet used walls, pushing your cum deeper and deeper inside you. You were so weak, your heart still racing as you weakly reached for the camcorder to film him.
When he saw what you were doing, he groaned harshly, his grip on your hips tightening so hard it bordered on bruising as he held you down.
“My smart girl, you learned well huh?” He praised you, thrusting fast and hard, the camcorder shaking in your grip as you tried to capture his deep strokes.
"Your little brain functioning well with my cock deep inside you.'' he muttered darkly, thumb brushing against your cheek as he watched your expression unravel for him.
“A-Am I doing a good job?” you asked softly, biting your lip as you adjusted the camera to capture his face this time.
He let out a low growl in response, movements losing their rhythm slightly as pleasure started pulling him apart at the edges. “Uh-huh,” he breathed heavily. “You can be my personal little porn star. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
A loud moan escaped you at the thought, heat rushing instantly to your cheeks as you tightened your grip on the camcorder, suddenly far too eager to keep filming him.
“Gonna fuck you anytime I want,” he breathed, dilated eyes locked on you through the lens. “Film it however I like.”
With a harsh final thrust, he came inside you, grunting as he pushed through the last of it, staying buried as he finished, his body still tense with the release. You could feel his cock pulsing inside you, warm cum spilling and pooling, some of it leaking out and staining the sheets beneath you while he stayed balls deep.
The camcorder slipped from your grip, forgotten as you breathed heavily beneath him. You were completely spent, still sensitive as his hips gave a few slow, instinctive movements, as if trying to push his cum deeper despite his softening cock.
“Jungkook?” you asked weakly, fingers absentmindedly playing with the soft ruffles of his hair.
“Hmm?” he hummed against your neck, lips pressing lazy kisses there, his cock still buried deep inside you. The red recording lights on the cameras kept blinking steadily in the background.
“A-Are you really gonna post this?” you bit your lip, glancing back at the two large cameras perched on the tripod.
Jungkook let out a quiet chuckle, teeth grazing your skin in a teasing bite. “Mhm. I still need to edit it though.”
“Jungkook!” you squealed, panicking again.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and sharp with need, still carrying that lingering haze of desire. “Do you even know how to edit?” he asked, eyes squinting in playful doubt.
Your eyes widened. “I can edit,” you insisted quickly. “I learned a few things… I kinda know the basics.” Your voice softened at the end, almost uncertain.
A small smile tugged at his lips as he slowly pulled out, earning a shaky breath from you before he reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness.
“Hmm. Okay…” he murmured softly, lifting the camcorder slightly between you. “Edit this video for me, then.”
“What, r-really?” you blinked, surprised that he was letting you work for him.
“Uh-huh,” he said casually. “Then we’ll see if I have to keep you or not.”
You pouted instantly at that, but he was already shifting away from you, looking at the camcorder and checking the footage with the ease of someone far too experienced at this.
The screen’s glow reflected faintly against his handsome face as he replayed a few clips, brows slightly furrowed in concentration. Even now, completely relaxed, he somehow still looked annoyingly professional.
“Okay…” you mumbled softly, a little disappointment slipping into your voice before you could hide it.
He noticed immediately. Of course he did.
A smirk pulled at his lips as he lifted the camcorder slightly, teasing you with it. “Make sure you include your pretty moans, baby,” he drawled. “Or else we’ll have to retake this again.”
He stood up then, completely unbothered, removing the cameras from their tripods like the decision had already been made long before you realized it.
⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:〝 decidedly, teasing the CEO of your company was a bad idea. because now, he’s decided to teach you a lesson about behaving yourself in his presence. 〞hybrid au.
❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: cat hybrid!seokjin x reader
❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: smut ⋆ pwp
❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 7k
⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: dom!seokjin, sub!reader, seokjin is like a casual hot dom, slight pet play, dirty talk, teasing, degradation (use of slut), fingering, spanking of various natures: pussy slapping, thigh slapping, tit slapping, ass slapping - oh yeah that’s right the whole shebang! -, cunnilingus, praise, nipple play, nipple torture, use of nipple clamps, slight edging, overstimulation, squirting, anal fingering, anal play, use of anal plugs, pet play?, doggy style, seokjin has a big cock xx, unprotected, double penetration, manhandling, multiple orgasms, forced orgasms, creampie
➵ 𝑎/𝑛: look it’s that cat in the hat au like two people fucking asked for and considering the bee movie au,,,, i couldn’t just,,, not write it jfnrognr. i have 0 shame and too much crackhead energy - not to mention i’m far too impulsive to have NOT written this owo
⟶ 𝑎/𝑛 𝟤: lowkey i also wrote this because of miss @honeymoonjin who said ‘not even you [aka me] could make a ‘Cat In The Hat’ au hot’ and being the absolutely bRAT i am who hates being told what I can or can’t do, i took that as a challenge and HERE WE ARE!!!
⇥ unedited because i’m trash x
⏤ Part of The Cursed Series
“_____,” comes the voice of the CEO. Cheekily, you turn your head, looking at him over your shoulder. Plush pink lips are pulled into a thin line, his hardened glare levelled at you as a tremor of excitement skims over your skin. Tongue swirling around the lollipop, you place the papers on the table, beside the copier, and stand straight. Seokjin’s eyes narrow when the curve of your back straightens, no longer drawing attention to your luscious ass. Spotting his gaze, you adjust your skirt - your short skirt before sending him an innocent, almost coy, smile.
“Get in,” Seokjin hisses as he holds the door to his office open. The muscles of your abdomen clench intensely at the ire in his voice. He doesn’t wait for you, instead just turning and storming into his office: knowing full well that you’ll follow him. You do. Eyes trained onto his back, you take in his figure. The muscles of his back are stiff - a red and black striped shirt hanging loosely off his enormously broad shoulders. The silky material billows as he walks, drawing attention to his deliciously thin waist and narrow hips. Tantalisingly, his black tail swishes behind his back, sitting just over his tailbone and highlighting the swell of his ass in his back slacks.
Turning back to you, he gestures towards one of the seats by his desk. A small, teasing smile on your face, you take a seat. You lean back, keeping your posture relaxed as you stare at the cat hybrid before crossing your legs. The movement causes your skirt to rise higher, giving Seokjin an ample view of your thighs, your leg bouncing lightly. Seokjin’s inhales deeply before hissing, his eyes following the motion of your leg - not unlike a cat’s. Internally, you cheer in victory, pride swelling inside your chest at his preoccupied gaze.
🎃 summary: seokjin was a pretty good best friend, that is until he starts sabotaging every date and chance you have with another guy. though you only find out when he really royally fucks things up for you and everything after that is history.
🎃 requested by: anon #1 - “Hmm ok, maybe for Jin’s kinktober-He’s your bff who keeps sabotaging every date you go on bc he’s jealous af and in love with you, and one day he just snaps and gets real dominant and dirty with you?” + anon #2 - “Could I get some smut with Jin please 🙈”
🎃 music: can’t even - the neighborhood + beg for it - chris brown
🎃 author’s note: clearly this got away from me bc i love kim seokjin and this au was fun af to write so thanks to that rad anon for the really great prompt! coughiwannawritemorepizzaboy!jincough
Summary • 𓂃𝜗𝜚 There were ten million reasons why Kim Seokjin was World Wide Handsome, everybody knew that −but, there were some things that only you knew...
Pairing • 𓂃𝜗𝜚 idol!seokjin x f!reader
Word Count • 𓂃𝜗𝜚 5.5k (I could have gone on and on, and on −you get the idea!)
Elements • 𓂃𝜗𝜚 calling Seokjin Jjan; breast play; nipple play; nipplegasm; choking; no panties; thigh riding; praise kink; 🔞; world wide handsome; big dick Seokjin; dirty talk
Author's Note • 𓂃𝜗𝜚 anon, you had my mind filling up with all kinds of dirty, hot, naughty, filthy things. actually, I’ve written a few fantasies with similar themes (Jin does something crazy to me when it comes to getting down and dirty −hardcore bias wrecker) but those have never been posted. they’re just for my eyes only, hehe −but I did revisit a couple of them for this one, which was an absolute turn-on to write, so thank you for this request. I hope it meets with your approval. As ever, please excuse any errors I may have overlooked. it’s so totally unfair how badly Kim Seokjin wrecks me, ugh. the man is HOT in bold, capital, 72+ font and then some −and he’s getting f***ing hotter…
**finally, this ‘author’ claims no responsibility over wet p*****s caused by the Seokjin thirst in this fic 😉
**This is meant as a work of fiction and does not reflect the artist’s views/behaviour in any real way.
•𓂃𝜗𝜚 bts masterlists ( ❛ p a r t • o n e ❜ ) | ❛ p a r t • t w o ❜ )
•𓂃𝜗𝜚 seokjin masterlists ( ❛ p a r t • o n e ❜ ) | ❛ p a r t • t w o ❜ )
• 𓂃𝜗𝜚 ( ❛ bts taglist ❜ )
There were ten million reasons why Kim Seokjin was World Wide Handsome, everybody knew that -but there were some things that only you knew.
Only you knew how he could bite you just so to be the right side of excruciatingly pleasurable, or exactly how his plump, overripe strawberry lips could reduce you to tears with a simple little suck. It was so unfair, the way he had you squirming with shameless need with the softest kisses, and the gentlest, tenderest caresses in all the right places.
God surely had created him solely to ruin you.
From where you sit on his lean, muscular, Gucci-clad thigh, you look across at the most beautiful face you had ever seen. Every perfect, latte-coloured inch of luminous, smooth skin worthy of his self-given title, and then some. It wasn’t the lotions and potions he endorsed that did that, oh no, in Seokjin’s case, it was all divine intervention.
Soft, expressive, almond eyes, with hues of the most decadent chocolate rain, cleanly framed by exquisite, well-defined brows look back at you. You could get drunk in his eyes, intoxicated in the desire you see brimming deep within those deep, stormy depths.
A man like that could ruin anyone with one look. You should know.
“Dirty girl,” he whispers in your ear.
The effect on your body is instantaneous −igniting like a match to gasoline, spreading over you, head to toe, your every nerve on fire as you grind down over his thigh.
You had already slipped off your panties for him the moment he had got home −two weeks waiting for him to get back from continents away had made you a living nymphomaniac running on pure heat, who had thought of nothing else apart from when the next time you would be able to feel Seokjin’s brutally devastating mouth on you.
The friction against your bare cunt as you slide over his leg is the sweetest sensation you had felt in over a fortnight.
“You’re such a slut for me, hmm?” he murmurs, nuzzling into your neck, silky hair tickling at your throat, teeny-tiny nips made at the hollow of your throat provoking breathless puffs out of you in suffocating, short bursts.
That, and the way it seems so illegally filthy whenever any cuss word came out of that innocent, pretty-ful mouth.
“Jjan−,” you sigh, hands digging into his thick, feather-soft hair, tugging firm against his scalp.
You lean down to bury your face against the top of his head, inhaling the musky, masculine scent of his all over wash that you love to use when he’s away, just to feel like he’s still beside you. Because missing him feels like half of you is gone.
You feel him smile against your neck, his hands threading under the shirt you wear to find and cup your breasts. “It’s so cute when you call me that, jagi.”
His voice always dips at least two octaves deeper, sometimes possibly three, when he’s being intimate with you. It takes on a sensual, almost lazy quality that you feel reverberating right into your soul, one that gives his moans a seductive, drug-like, high effect you can never get enough of.
Those moans are an aphrodisiac you couldn’t buy in any store in the world, and they’re just for you. You hum proudly, placing a series of loving kisses at his brow.
Seokjin squeezes the soft flesh of your breasts with just enough pressure that you whine, your grip on him tightening, your cunt pushing down onto his leg as you chase more friction. You’ll be making a right mess on his pants, you can already feel how much slick has started to pool between your legs.
“I love your tits,” he tells you, smishing his face just where your shirt is left open by two buttons, giving just enough of a view to the top of the valley of your breasts. “So soft, so bouncy −so perfect for me.”
His finger and thumbs place simultaneously on both sides to pinch at your nipples, and you arch your head back, exposing the column of your throat, calling out his name once more in the way that he liked to hear.
Stirring sensations pulse through you under his touch, and he begins rolling your nipples slowly between his fingers, pulling and twisting until you are writhing and rutting on him as if you were on some bucking bronco.
If the world could see you now. Kim Seokjin playing with your tits while your cunt leaked like a faucet left open on full, all over his expensive Gucci slacks. Hell, you’d let him fuck you in front of God himself. Call it appreciation or something of His best creation.
“You like it when I play with your tits, don’t you baby?” Seokjin says, delivering a series of sucking kisses over your collarbone as he continues to elongate your nipples. “Want me to play with them, hmm?”
“Yes!” you breathe desperately.
It’s true. Intimacy with him was perfect. So soft and tender, rich with passion, yet devastatingly obscene at times it made your head spin, the slightest reminder of the kinds of things you would let him do to you making your body thrum with excitement.
Seokjin takes his hands away from your breasts, bringing them up to the first done up button of your shirt. It’s his shirt actually. You had thrown it on straight after showering in your eagerness to have him back as soon as possible, impatient for your man.
His large, pristine white designer shirt (Seriously, at least four sizes too big on you. He had those infamous broad shoulders, you know) that had been hanging at the back of the door since he’d left had been your choice of a welcome home outfit.
Deciding to lose all your underwear had been the surprise gift, something you had never been brave enough to try before, but one that watching his delight when he’d discovered it made it what you credit as a good call. It had been a turn on seeing you standing there in just his shirt, but he’d gotten hard instantly the moment you’d sat astride him and given him a peek under it.
With deft fingers, Seokjin loosens the first couple of buttons. You hadn’t done them all up, he’s halfway through. Your body tenses with that excited apprehension as the shirt starts to fall open to reveal your exposed breasts to him.
As the final button comes apart, he draws in a sharp intake of breath when he parts the material, his eyes feasting on what he always tells you are your ‘beautiful tits’. He makes no secret of how much he adores them, and for you, it’s exquisite heaven.
Having him devote that hungry mouth and his capable hands to your breasts repeatedly, never tiring of them, taking a whole lot of pleasure from stimulating you that way brings an entire new level of arousal to you that drives you to delirium.
Seokjin eases the shirt away from your shoulders and you shrug it back without removing it entirely, knowing that the visual would turn him on. Seeing you in his shirt, naked and needy for him, would turn his cock rock hard for you.
You reach between his legs, knowing just what you would find. He hisses, followed by a soft, throaty moan as you palm over his protruding, massive bulge with a deliberate stroke. Only once, you didn’t want to give away too much too soon.
Your mouth waters at the thought. Seokjin’s cock was a work of art, even when it just hung between his legs like a dormant monster −but erect? Now that was painfully, achingly desirable. The way it was shaped and sized so well that he hits it right where you wanted it to bring you to earth-shattering heights, not just once or twice, but as many as three times sometimes. He was so fucking good, and his cock a blessing you’d counted more times than you’d had kisses.
Your walls clench around nothing and you groan in frustration, rocking yourself a little faster on him.
With the ready access to your body, his hands are drawn to your breasts again as he claims your lips in a long, open-mouthed kiss. His tongue dances over yours, tasting like strawberries and cream from the sponge cake you had made for him earlier, as he kneads you gently. You reciprocate, mouth parting obediently under his searching one, giving him what he wants.
When he pulls back, your breasts already feel heavy and swollen from his attention. Seokjin lets them weigh in his palms, raw want in his expression as he takes you in. The jutting peaks of your puckered nipples, tautly stretched as if straining for something, sensitive to the slightest touch as he glides his thumbs over them, and the lightest quiver of your stomach as you work your cunt against him under his lustful gaze.
“Such beautiful tits,” he coos, biting at the puffy corner of his lower lip in the manner that drives you crazy. “So sweet… mm… so sweet I want to taste you.”
“God, Jjan!” you cry, his words eliciting a surge of arousal in you.
Your hands fly forward, resting on his shoulders, fingers clutching at the fabric of his black shirt. But you want the heat of his skin beneath your fingertips, longing to feel the expanse of the muscles of his back.
“Yes, baby, I’m right here,” he says, voice low and husky as he kisses your neck again, mouth lowering, making a beeline for your breasts torturously slowly, leaving you wrecked and brokenly moaning, the wait excruciating.
The moment you feel his lips touch the swell of your breast, you shudder, your clit pulsing.
“That’s right,” Seokjin says softly, voice laced with seduction. “You’re soaked already, I can feel your wetness on me, baby.”
Your face flushes furiously, his words making you blush like red roses on white canvas. You cover your face with your hands instinctively, but Seokjin brings them down again slowly.
“Uh-huh −it’s too late to be shy, baby girl,” he tells you sternly. “You’re the one who greeted me without panties.”
The way he can go from schoolteacher to nerd in zero point one second never fails to impress you. You love it, it means there is never a dull moment with him, and you want the dark side as much as you want the lighter side of him. Both came with a supersized cock and that pure but dirty mouth, so as far as you were concerned, it was win-win.
Seokjin lowers his hands to your waist and adjusts you on his leg, giving him more room to worship your breasts. He squeezes them together, bringing them up, the corner of his tongue pink and wet, suspended at the corner of his mouth, just peeking out. The sight is too much.
“Please−,” you plead, your body already too weak to chase your release with as much fervour as you had been.
“Please, what?”
He’s in dark mode now. Knowing how this anticipation would be needling you with an insatiable craving to feel his mouth on you. Wanting to hear you beg for it, not because he was arrogant, but because having the one and only World Wide Handsome put your tits in his glorious mouth was worth getting on your knees for −metaphorically speaking or otherwise.
He pulls at your nipples, pinching a bit harder. He’s a master at build-up, with the patience of at least ten saints. He can keep that raging hard-on that way for as long as he needed to when he really wanted you to work for it. You on the other hand have none. You’re dripping and aching and gagging for him. You’d sell your soul for him when he made you like this.
Gospel.
“Please suck my tits,” you manage to get out through ragged breaths.
Seokjin smirks. “There, now that wasn’t so hard now, was it, hmm?”
You resume your grinding on him, renewed with the urge to control your release before you combusted right here on Seokjin’s lap far too early.
He tuts, pinching at your nipples harder, long fingers closing around your breasts to squeeze harder. “You’re making a right mess, aren’t you?” he chides. “So eager for me, baby. I like it.”
Holy fuck. He could really use that fucking tongue of his in so many ways, all of which had your body screaming inwardly, scorched and burning with need for him. He had the extraordinary ability to have you hurtling so close to the edge armed with nothing but those filthy words that rolled so easily off his weapon of a tongue.
Kim seokjin should come with a warning. Several warnings, an alarm and flashing lights.
You grab at the collar of his shirt, pulling him forward hard, leaning in to bite a kiss at those soft, juicy lips. Why should you suffer alone? But he’s strong, so much stronger than you, and without breaking a sweat, he cups your face, dark eyes so alluring arresting yours with a look so intense it winds you and you gasp.
“Jin,” you whisper, slipping into what you usually called him. “I need you. I need to cum, baby. Please.”
His hands roam down over your body, leaving your breasts momentarily to grasp at the curve of your ass. He grabs on, pulling you over him, guiding your movements as you gyrate over him, moaning as your cunt is stimulated.
It’s always so much better when he does things.
“So wet,” he says, eyes on your cunt, travelling up and back to your breasts. “Mm… I love to watch you like this. So sexy for me like this.”
His fingers dig into your ass harder, forcing you down, lifting his thigh slightly to increase the rub on you. “You wanna cum?” he says hotly. “You wanna cum all over me like this, hmm?”
“Yes, please,” you choke out in a half-sob as your pleasure mounts. “Jin, please, please.”
“You make that word the sexiest word on earth,” he says, “I could listen to you say it over and over until I−.”
You close your mouth over his, swallowing the word with a kiss, your climax abandoned for now. It’s an innate reaction, you can’t bear the thought of ever being without him, and that word was banned. He should know better, he was the one who had made banning the D-topic a thing. You were just upholding his rules.
He kisses you sweetly and softly in a way that you can taste his smile, lovingly stroking your hair in gentle, affectionate motions. Reassuring you he knows, recognises what he is to you. The same as you are to him −everything.
This time when his head dips, he takes your breast into his mouth without hesitation. You aren’t expecting the wet heat of his tongue so instantly, and you cry out as you feel his mouth envelope you.
The first suckle is strong −his jaw is strong. He had told you he had a good bite, and he hadn’t been exaggerating. When Seokjin gave love bites, they bloomed and marked your skin for days on end in red, blue and purple hues, evidence of his claim on you.
Working at you with both his hands and mouth, you relax into the sensations he elicits from you. You look down, hands caressing his hair, watching as his mouth hollows and latches onto you, his tongue flicking over your nipple on one side, fingers stimulating the other.
He looks up as he switches sides, flicking out the tip of his tongue to lap at you. He makes you think of a baby fawn −innocent, bright eyed and beautiful. But he’s not fragile, you know better than anyone that he can be a wolf.
Oh, but the feeling of his mouth on your breasts is a delight. It feels divine. Seokjin’s every touch was nothing short of ecstasy. Mouth, hands, tongue, cock −whatever it was, he always did it just right.
You find a slower rhythm now as you circle your clit against him, moaning in gentle sighs as your sensitive bud tingles, your walls tightening. Seokjin leans into you more, his head heavier on your chest, resting against you as he places kisses between your breasts, hands still tugging at your wet nipples.
“Fuck, baby,” he grunts, teeth closing over one nipple while his tongue eases the pain into pleasure. “If I suck your beautiful tits for long enough, do you reckon you might milk for me eventually?”
“Jjan,” you whimper helplessly, your grinding temporarily increasing. “I can’t−.”
“You can’t what, baby? You can’t milk for me?” Seokjin asks, brushing over your nipples with the back of his hands and making you mewl, straining forward for his touch. “No matter, I’m sure you will someday. I’ll make sure of it.”
His promise excites you, the prospect of it adding another dimension to your arousal. His velvet mouth starts to suckle you again, this time harder, pulling on your breast, biting at your nipples while his hand never fails to give the other attention. All the while, you work yourself over him, cunt verging on overstimulation from the fabric and intensity of your grinding, your climax nearing.
Your eyes close now, your attention completely concentrated on the deep sensations of pleasure that had begun to come more frequently. A heady mixture of pain and pleasure from the overzealous demand of his teeth and the soothing, searching hungry need of his wet, entrancing mouth, swollen lips providing soft tender touches to your starved, aroused skin.
You become aware of a rising feeling that starts to unfurl within you, beginning at the very core of you, tightening and coiling like a viper waiting to strike at any second. You feel sexual, powerful, back arched as you lean back, pushing your body all the way up to his so his erection can feel you hit it every time you rock forward over his thigh.
“Such pretty tits,” he moans, “I want to wake up every morning with these in my mouth.”
You groan lewdly, sounding like a porn star. If Seokjin recorded and sold himself saying things like this, he’d have an easy number one, with women all over climaxing to the sounds of his dirty talk. He could make reading a telephone number sound like he was asking you to finger fuck yourself for his eyes only.
And damn, where was that dirty imagination from?
A bite on the underside of your right breast steers you back on course, and once more you continue to make that climb. The feeling starts up again and your eyes flicker open in surprise.
This wasn’t just some getting you in the mood, start-up from him sucking your breasts. You honestly feel like you could actually orgasm from him playing with you like this. It’s the craziest revelation you had reached. You had heard snippets of it being a thing here and there, but it had never happened to you before. Honestly, you had never thought it was possible, convinced that those who had claimed to have experienced it were exaggerating about their sex lives in order to brag.
But now, with the wet pull of Seokjin’s mouth on you, the devoted attention of his hands on you, looking at you with all that longing reverence and raw, unabashed lust, it doesn’t seem so impossible. Going by the way your body was feeling, wrought with an ache that cried out to be released, you were on your way.
“God, don’t stop, Jjan−,” you urge suddenly, hips working rhythmically over him. “It feels like I might−.”
Seokjin looks up at you, rapture mixed with disbelief etched on his handsome face. “What− seriously?”
“Yes,” you breathe. “I can feel it, I don’t know. It’s never happened before −just don’t stop, okay?”
He smirks again triumphantly, full of pride that he might just accomplish something that had never been done before. “Oh, you will cum for me now, baby−” he says, “Even if I have to play with your beautiful tits all night long.”
Yeah, Kim Seokjin was top of the class when it came to dirty talk.
He doesn’t waste any time, back working at your breasts with determination. Your legs open more, looking to extract yet more from the strength of his thigh, while he suckles on you like a man possessed.
Sure enough, you can feel his stimulation find the right points, that tension that had lay taut and waiting inside you was nearing the verge of snapping.
Suddenly you feel Seokjin’s hand wrap around your throat firmly, pushing your back further, fingers pressing down lightly on you.
You gasp, adrenaline soaring, your pulse jumping in that state between thrill and fear as your body relents to him. His mouth is still fixed on your left breast, tongue prodding at your aching, sore nipple, lips softly brushing over your skin.
“Jjan, don’t stop!” you implore desperately, speeding up your movements, your thighs shaking, muscles tightening. “I need to cum −please. Fuck. Please, don’t stop.”
His thumb runs over your lips, pushing into your open mouth, running over the ridge of your teeth. You lick at the digit, his fingers closing tighter around your neck, mouth sucking harder over your breast. Your heat and slick pool faster, walls tensing, your climax beckoning.
Fuck Seokjin’s Gucci slacks.
You’ve never felt more sexual. Dirty, hardcore, like a desirable goddess, all just for him. Your Seokjin. Nobody else’s.
“Jjan− I’m close,” you grunt, lifting a hand to cover his at your throat. He takes your cue, tightening his grip, almost choking you but not quite. Enough to lift your arousal towards breaking point.
“That’s right, let it go for me, Y/N−” he murmurs. “Show me how you cum for me, my sweet slut.”
He whispers something else afterwards, something in Korean you don’t understand, but you know it’s something filthy. Whatever it is, he sounds so fucking sexy, and your hips roll purposely over him. His hands come away from your throat and wrap around your waist.
And then, he does just enough, licking your nipple once, twice, sucking once, then twice. He blows over the wet, stiff peaks, his breath making them ache painfully. It feels so good you want to cry.
The soft suction of his plump lips is exquisite, the pull on your skin agonizingly slow, and eliciting all manner of delightful sensations that poured forth from your every nerve, maddening and completely addictive. As if everything were all chained together in one delicious link that he yanked on relentlessly, pulling forth every pleasurable response your body could deliver.
He owns you like a musical maestro on his instrument, playing all the right notes, gearing up higher, evoking such depth of feeling with his fingers until he reached the final, magical crescendo.
“Jin−,” you implore in the faintest, breathiest moan, your nerves stretched thin now, hovering weakly on the edge right before the descent, “−Please Jin, don’t stop, −please!”
Seokjin lifts his head slightly, taking in your flushed, rapture-filled face, eyes glazed and almost teary, skin tinged with the rush of blood, thin film of sweat beading your brow, and your mouth parted in the praying mantra of his name.
When you look back at him, he’s so beautiful your heart aches. Willingly you would put yourself on the altar of sacrifice for him, let him take what he wanted from you, break you, fill you and devour everything you had to give him. Belonging to him in every way you could.
He can see you’re close, knows it from the wild look in your eyes that he’s brought you to that point where you’re ripe for the taking. The smallest smirk plays about his plump, pink lips.
“Oh God −Jjan!” you cry pathetically, tugging at his shirt so hard you hear one of the buttons snap off.
But you don’t care. You would buy him another ten if he wanted. You’re too gone to think straight, needing to feel his skin under your touch, needing that closeness as your fingers make contact with his chest.
He doesn’t seem to care either.
“Fuck, I want you,” you wail, frenzied with your need for him, unable to form any sort of sensible thought that doesn’t revolve around Seokjin and how he can make your body obey him like a devotee.
“I know, baby,” Seokjin whispers hotly.
You’re delirious, falling deeper into that vortex of rising pleasure, the sensations his touch on you gives so sharp and sweet at once, his scent consuming you, his salacious mouth relentless on your breast.
He sucks and licks you altogether one final time so perfectly you come apart with a force that gives you no warning as it rips through you like a tornado. Your walls convulse, legs shaking, your mind blanking into nothing but white, bright spots dancing behind your eyes, as your climax thunders and ravages through you.
“Jin!” you scream, unable to hold back as you grasp whatever is nearest, not even knowing what it was, your fingers gripping until your knuckles had whitened. “My God, Jin, −oh fuck! God, I can’t…”
You dissolve into a babbling, incoherent mess, barely lucid. All you know is him, only your Seokjin.
It’s like lightning, volts of electricity running up and down your spine, your body juddering uncontrollably in his arms. Seokjin continues to lavish attention on your breasts, holding you tightly as you cum, your body pulsing in deep, long bursts as you experience one of the most shattering climaxes you had ever had.
When it’s finally over, he kisses you softly, murmuring soothingly as he holds you, stroking your back. “That good, huh?” he asks, pushing back a strand of your hair from your face and feeling his soaked pant leg with amusement.
You can’t even barely speak, still contracting in your post-climax stage, and shocked it had even been possible. You nod weakly, eyes hazy, your body entering that comedown that made you sleepy, but still unsated, wanting that high to go on forever.
“You’re so handsome,” you sigh, touching his lips with the lightest touch you can muster, as if you were afraid anything more might destroy them.
You could look at him for an eternity. Your perfect prince.
“You look so fucking ruined,” Seokjin tells you with a smile that melts your soul, the cuss word spurring on a fresh wave of longing in you. “I’ve completely spoiled you now. I suppose you’ll be wanting one of those more regularly now, hmm?”
Your eyes widen, gleaming mischievously, suddenly invigorated at this possibility. “You bet, World Wide Handsome,” you say with a playful wink.
Seokjin’s got that look in his eye now, the one that gives you tremors that flutter deep inside your cunt. He’s kept himself hard for you, just like he always did, but it’s his turn now. Without another word, he reaches down to unbuckle his belt, zipper down without any fuss, his gaze pinning you with intent, his face dusted with a rosy-pink hue as he reaches into his slacks and takes out his beautiful cock.
You swallow, groaning audibly as he reaches for you with strong arms, pulling you to him, hands cupping your ass as he manoeuvres your body over his crotch where his thick, towering erection waits.
You’re so wet that you slide just over halfway down without difficulty, your stimulated cunt taking him in hungrily. Seokjin starts to lower you onto him further, pushing his length into you, impaling you bit by bit, accompanied by soft, whispery, ragged moans that should be forbidden.
Your cunt stretches obediently around him, scrambling to adjust to just how engorged and swollen he is inside you. The tightness as he goes further causes him to slide into impatience and his next few thrusts come a little faster, more eager, concentration etched on his handsome face as he attempts to fit his entire massive cock into your cunt.
“Jjan,” you breathe, “Go a bit slower, baby. You’re so−.”
“Y/N,” Seokjin interjects darkly, voice taut, warm hands caressing over your thighs, your shirt lifting as he goes further up until he’s bracketing your waist, ready to dictate the speed. “I’ve waited so long to feel this. I need to be inside you.”
You give a sharp cry of agony and ecstasy as he edges himself in a little more, rocking you against him slowly, his hips rotating, working at you, angling you for his own pleasure. The discomfort gives way quickly to the satisfaction of feeling full inside, the beginnings of that familiar ache sparking as the head of his cock reaches your cervix.
“Fuck−,” you whine, clinging to him, pushing down, feeling the walls of your cunt stretch to breaking point as you wonder whether he was going to split you apart at any moment. “You’re so fucking big!”
Your words buoy him with pride and the last of his restraint ebbs away as he clutches you, slamming his hips up into you, burying his cock balls deep in you. “You know I love to make you sore,” he tells you, reaching down to brush his thumb over your clit with precision. “So you’ll feel me for days inside you, just the way you like it.”
“Yes, yes −Jin!” you sob, the pleasure and pain that consumes you an instant high. You do want more. You want him to destroy you on his glorious cock. He’s so right, you love it. “Fuck me, baby −please, please.”
Your pleas and pants come thick and fast, and Seokjin is only too willing to oblige as he does indeed fuck into you. You start to grind down onto him, riding him until you’ve almost forgotten every reality except the way his cock feels inside you.
“That’s right, give me another,” he urges, pressing firm strokes over your bud while he hits your depths. “Cum for me, my dirty girl.”
It doesn’t take long for him to bring you to climax, the second one almost as intense as the first, almost bringing you to tears as you feel yourself soak his cock, the sounds of your skin slapping against him lewd and explicit.
The clenching of your walls around his cock and the sight of you wild-eyed and wrecked climaxing over his cock is enough to have him letting go, and you feel his cock pulse, throbbing and releasing, filling you with hot spurts of his cum.
“Oh fuck!” he moans, breathing heatedly at your neck, kissing and nipping needily as he holds you in place, letting every drop flow into you. “Too good, baby. So good.”
His slacks are an absolute cum-soaked mess. You too are a mess. Seokjin however, in his post-cum bliss, face flushed, eyes glassy, mouth parted, is even more enthralling than ever as he looks up at you.
You steal a quick kiss from his beguiling mouth, earning you another of those exquisite tugs on your nipples. You grumble, unsure how you could possibly manage a third finish despite your body still reacting as if you were on heat at his slightest touch. Who were you kidding, the man could take you apart with a lot less than he’s giving you now.
“Jjan?” you ask softly, a teasing smile tugging at your lips, brushing back his hair that falls over his forehead boyishly and kissing the top of his head, fingers playing with the strands that curl at his nape.
Having your World Wide Handsome wanting you the way he did, fucking you so damn good, was a thrill money couldn’t buy. It just got better with him every time. You couldn’t imagine anything could satisfy you except him.
“Mm?” he answers, distracted with your breasts again, kissing the tops as he holds you.
Summary: "I've wanted you for so long," Jin whispers, mouth only a hair away from your own. You can't move, can't look away, helpless against this spell he's weaving around you. You can almost believe this is a sweet, romantic little moment. If only it was that simple. "And you're finally mine."
Word Count: 7,251
Warnings: Smut, NON CON, PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. Kidnapping, restraints, forced orgasms, R word.
AN: I was never going to post this on Tumblr for obvious reasons but... well, here it is lmfao. Seriously I have no excuses, this is just me being depraved. Please DO NOT READ if any of the themes above are not your thing.
~~~~~
You wake up to golden sunlight streaming across your face, in a plush bed that is decidedly not your own. Groggy and disoriented, you sit up and look around a luxurious bedroom with heavy, expensive looking furniture. The bed itself is one of those fancy four-posters you've only seen in movies, with a princess style canopy and silk sheets.
As you come to your senses, you note with relief that you're still wearing your clothes from yesterday. Then you frown. Yesterday? Yesterday was your first date with the guy of your dreams, and everything was perfect, until… what had happened, exactly?
"Hey sleepyhead, you're finally awake."
Your heart flutters at the familiar voice, and you look to see Kim Seokjin in the doorway, beautiful and broad and looking positively adorable in gray sweatpants and a plain white tee. He's giving you a soft look that makes you both giddy and nauseous, and you feel a sudden stab of panic at your lack of memory. Did you drink too much and black out? Did you do anything embarrassing?
Wait, no. You definitely didn't have more than a couple glasses of the wine Jin insisted on getting a bottle of. So why do you feel so hungover?
"Um… what happened?" you asked timidly. Seokjin smiles, sweet and gentle, and yet something about it makes your chest prickle with unease.
"I drugged you, silly" he responds so matter-of-factly you find yourself laughing at his joke. It slowly dies away when you realize he hasn't joined you in your mirth, and that's when you finally realize there is a leather cuff around your ankle.
"J-Jin, what the fuck is this," you say with a laugh much weaker than the one before. "This isn't funny."
Seokjin gives you another sweet smile and walks into the room to sit on the bed next to you, and you resist the urge to shy away. This is just some weird prank, right? It has to be.
"I just wanted to be safe," he murmurs, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and drawing you close to place a kiss on your temple. You stiffen in surprise and discomfort, stomach beginning to roil with a different kind of anxiety. You give an experimental tug at the rope connecting your leg to the bedpost, and it holds firm, much to your dismay. This is the least funny joke you have ever been subject to.
"Jin, please tell me what the hell is going on," you plead as your breath comes in shorter and shorter gasps. You yank harder, and the rattle of the chain taunts you with its cold, metallic laughter. No. No, no, no.
"You just looked so beautiful last night, I couldn't let you go," Jin murmurs, nuzzling his nose into your hair as you tug futilely at your ankle.
You freeze, feeling your stomach churn and bile rise in your throat. This can't be real. Maybe it's a weird dream your subconscious came up with because you've been fantasizing about this man too much.
To test your theory - and because perhaps you're a little more panicked than you realize - you slap yourself in the face as hard as you can. Your head rings like the alarm bell you're desperately hoping to hear, but when your vision clears, Jin is still there, cupping your face with gentle hands and looking at you with a concerned look in his warm, gorgeous chocolate eyes.
"Baby? Is everything okay? Why did you do that?" he asks frantically, thumb brushing delicately over the patch of now very tender skin on your cheek. It burns under his touch, the heat at complete odds with the icy daggers of realization that pierce your chest.
Oh no. This isn't a dream.
Suddenly the insanity and gravity of your predicament hits you, and dread and nausea surge through you in equal measure. You open your mouth to respond, but all that spews out is last night's dinner, all over Jin's crisp shirt and the bed.
"Fuck," you groan, both at the way your stomach is still roiling, and the situation at hand. Instead of reacting in anger or chagrin, Jin rubs your back soothingly, and you're torn between jerking away and accepting the proffered comfort. Then he clambers off the bed and takes his soiled shirt off.
"What are you doing?" you ask in trepidation, trying not to eye the sun-kissed skin on display. You are not going to admire the physique of someone who fucking drugged and chained you to a bed. You're better than that.
"I don't want to get you dirty," Jin replies simply, before unlocking your cuff and scooping you in his arms as if you're a baby lamb. You give a feeble protest, but you're too weak and disoriented to take advantage of your newfound freedom. By the time your head stops spinning, he's brought you into a bathroom that's frankly absurd.
A white marble counter lines one wall, while the other is taken up by a gorgeous mosaic shower and gigantic jacuzzi tub that looks big enough to belong in a bath house. The sheer ridiculousness of it is almost enough to snap you out of your stupor.
"Do you still feel sick? Maybe I gave you too much."
"Huh?" you mumble dazedly, knowing you should scream, fight, anything. Instead all you do is lay in his arms, wondering how you can feel so cold when your heart is pounding so fast.
"I've never done this before," Jin says with a shy smile and pink ears that would have been cute if he wasn't talking about drugging a human being. He gently sets you on your feet, smiling when you automatically set a hand on his shoulder to steady your trembling legs. He's solid and warm under your clammy hand, and you want to hate him for it.
"I should hope not," you respond, though you're suddenly so exhausted that it comes out without the bite you intended. Jin seems to take it as a joke, because he chuckles and brushes some hair out of your sweaty face.
"Don't worry, sweetheart. I only have eyes for you."
You close your eyes and swallow repeatedly to force down another wave of nausea at the sickly adoration in his voice, and he seems to misread it as an invitation to brush his plump, silky lips against your own. You shy away from the petal soft contact, thinking of the first excuse that comes to mind.
"I - I just threw up," you mutter, looking down so he can't see the fear in your eyes. Jin's fingers come under your chin to tilt your face up, and you hate yourself for the way your cheeks heat under his tender gaze.
"Your lips are sweet enough to make up for it," he says with a charming grin that almost makes you forget your current circumstances. Thankfully, he leaves it at that and proceeds to show you the toiletries he got - especially for you, he adds with another blush - and how the shower and tub work. Then, to your surprise, he leaves you in private to clean up. Apparently he's still a gentleman, in his own twisted little way.
With your captor gone, your heart rate settles into something more bearable. You rest your hands on the counter and take several deep breaths as you stare in the mirror.
Your sickly, gray-tinged face stares back, pupils blown wide, and your hair is a sweaty mess. You feel like a wrung-out paper towel, and it shows. It would have been flattering, the way Jin still looked at you as if you were the most beautiful woman in the world. At least, it would have been flattering if he wasn't a fucking lunatic.
Part of you considers not brushing your teeth, because if he's gonna try to kiss you again he deserves the flavor. But your own comfort wins out, and you scowl at your reflection as you use the expensive electric toothbrush he had so considerately gotten you.
Then, deciding you aren't ready to deal with whatever the fuck is going on on the other side of the door, you turn to the spacious, tiled shower. You begin to remove the silky black dress you had slept in, before eyeing the bathroom door and striding across the room to lock it. No doubt Jin has a key or something, but it makes you feel better, at least. No way you're going to get naked with the door unlocked when a deranged Romeo thinks this is some cute domestic situation.
Steam begins to fill the room and you test the temperature before letting your dress pool at your feet and stepping out of it. Your underclothes go next, and you step under the stream. The hot water beats at your back with irritatingly perfect pressure, and as some of the fogginess leaves your brain you do your best to make sense of what the fuck is happening.
Despite everything you've been hit with today, it's still hard to wrap your mind around the fact that Kim Seokjin drugged you. And… kidnapped you? Are you kidnapped? You woke up with a fucking ankle cuff, but he also didn't seem too worried when he unlocked it and left you alone in here.
With a start, you wonder what happened to your phone. Does he have it? Has anyone called to check in on you? That should be your plan A.
The situation is utterly insane, and a hysterical giggle bubbles out of your chest before you can stop it. What the hell is this? If you got out of the shower, got dressed, and walked out of his house would he even stop you? Was this some weird roleplay scenario Jin got way too invested into?
You've known Seokjin for a year now, had a crush on him for most of that time, and there had been nothing to indicate that something like this would happen. Your friend groups overlapped, and when he had finally asked you on a date everyone had been thrilled. Maybe this is all some strange misunderstanding, that would make more sense than anything else.
Something in your gut tells you to be careful, though. Even if it seems ridiculous, if there's even a miniscule chance that this isn't a joke, then he could react… poorly to certain things you say. Before this, Jin had never been anything other than sweet, kind, and respectful. But you've known enough men who seem that way at first only to change completely when faced with something they didn't want to hear, and self-preservation has taught you to soften your words, skirt around sensitive subjects, and flatter egos.
Even if Jin's behavior makes you uneasy, you really don't have enough information to understand what's happened. He drugged you, but considering you woke up fully clothed on top of a made bed indicates that nothing physical happened. The weirdest thing - other than him saying he drugged you - is the ankle cuff. And with the concern in his eyes when he looked at you… well, at least it doesn't seem like he's going to hurt you.
You've also read enough thrillers and movies to realize that if you run out of this house - apartment? - screaming or looking like a crazy person, someone as handsome and charming as Seokjin could scoop you back up in a heartbeat. You remember reading about that exact situation happening with a serial killer who managed to convince the police to return his victim to his clutches.
Better to wait, to go with the flow and see what paths are available to you. Planning is never a bad idea, after all.
That decided, you finish washing off and step out to dry yourself in a fluffy white towel. You feel a little more grounded now, uncomfortable but at least calmer with the makings of a game plan. You'll first try to figure out what he did with your phone.
You put your old clothes back on with a grimace, because the idea of encouraging Seokjin by coming out in just a towel is even more distasteful. With the way he's acting like you're somehow already some established couple, he'd probably take it as an invitation.
When you nervously peek out the door, however, the bedroom is empty. Which is as suspicious as it is relieving.
The dirty sheets have been stripped off the bed, and some folded clothes sit atop the bare mattress. It's clear Seokjin means for you to wear them, and you briefly contemplate defiance before deciding there's no point antagonizing someone you clearly don't know as well as you thought.
You pick up the folded pair of sweatpants, and something falls to the ground. It's a familiar piece of fabric, and your blood freezes in your veins.
With trembling fingers, you kneel to pick up the pair of lacy cheeky underwear you thought you lost at the laundromat months ago. You had lamented its loss, because it had been one of your few splurges, a gem amongst your Fruit-of-the-Loom multipacks.
Why does Seokjin of all people have them? How? What the fuck. What the fuck.
Body shaking, you inspect them, desperately hoping that for some inexplicable reason he just happens to have the same brand, model, and size on hand. Your worst fears are confirmed when you see your initials on the tiny tag, written so your shitty roommate couldn't claim them as her own. Oh how you wish you were home, fuming about her dirty dishes taking up the sink.
They look clean, but you take a cautious, fearful sniff before relaxing slightly. Then a giggle bubbles out of you. You're trapped in a crazy guy's house, and you're relieved your stolen underwear just smells like laundry detergent. Maybe you're losing it.
It's all officially too much for you to process on your still pounding head. So you go by instinct - not that it fucking did you any good before - and change into what Seokjin has so kindly left you.
Of course his sweatpants fit you around the waist, because his own is stupidly tiny. You have to roll up the legs a little, and the shirt is decidedly baggy, but at this point you have more important things to worry about.
Like what exactly you're supposed to do now. You test the door knob, and are only slightly disappointed to find it locked. Perhaps Seokjin isn't quite as convinced of this lovey-dovey scenario as he seemed.
Mentally exhausted, you flop back onto the bed, legs dangling off the edge. Unbothered by the lack of sheets or your wet hair, you stare sightlessly up at the gauzy canopy above you. Your mind doesn't stop racing, but nothing really sticks out other than more repeated "what the fuck"s.
A knock startles you out of your haze.
"Are you dressed?" Seokjin calls, and you make a wordless noise of assent as you sit up. So nice of him to ask before entering the room he locked you into. There's a soft click before the knob turns, and he walks with damp hair, fresh clothes, and a warm smile that does nothing to dispel the cold unease in your gut.
"You look cute," he says with a happy grin, clearly enjoying the way you look swaddled in his clothes. You feel your face heat up at the admiration in his tone and remind yourself this fucker stole your underwear.
"How are you feeling?" he asks sweetly, and you blink. That is quite the loaded question, one you're not sure how to answer.
"Better," you respond, deciding to settle for a simplified version of the tumultuous thoughts taking residence in your head. You do feel a little more human now that you're clean, though you also certainly feel nowhere near the vicinity of good.
"I'm glad," says Seokjin with a relieved smile, striding towards you with his long legs and reaching forward to stroke your cheek. "I would never forgive myself if something happened to you."
An incredulous scoff bubbles from your throat unbidden, and your mouth moves before you can think the better of it.
"You mean like getting drugged and kidnapped?"
As soon as the words pass your lips you regret it. The flare of satisfaction at speaking your mind isn't worth any potential backlash when you have no idea how he'll react.
Seokjin just smiles at your outburst, bringing his other hand forward to cradle your face, shuffling closer so he's standing between your legs.
"I'm sorry if I scared you," he murmurs, leaning forward to rest his forehead against your own. The woody scent of his cologne wafts over you and you do your best not to let your gaze trail to his plump lips. "I just couldn't wait any longer."
"What do you mean?" you ask in a soft, quivering voice, unsure if your heart is racing from fear or something else. Despite the present circumstances, you've pined after Jin for so long that his proximity and touch is enough to pin you into place.
"I've wanted you for so long," Jin whispers, mouth only a hair away from your own. You can't move, can't look away, helpless against this spell he's weaving around you. You can almost believe this is a sweet, romantic little moment. If only it was that simple. "And you're finally mine."
Then he's kissing you, slow and sweet. His lips are just as soft as before, silkier than the sheets you woke up on, and your mind goes blank as you gasp against him. He takes it as an invitation, running his tongue across your lower lip before licking into your mouth with deliberate strokes that make your head spin.
You bring your hands up to his chest to push him away, but then his right hand shifts from his cheek to the back of your head, deepening the kiss. Instead, your fingers tangle into his shirt as an involuntarily whimper escapes your lips, and you find yourself pulling him closer.
His groan nearly does you in as he pushes you further up the bare mattress so he can climb over you, mouth never leaving yours. You tell yourself you're going along with this to appease him, to lull him into a false sense of security to make it easier for you to escape later. It's not because his warmth and scent have consumed you, that you're so pathetically starved for his touch that you're willing to ignore the warnings in your brain.
"I know you want this too," Seokjin breathes as he pulls back, staring down at you with swollen lips and dark eyes and looking far too gorgeous for someone who would resort to kidnapping. His hands begin to push up the hem of your - his - shirt, and you instinctively tug it back down, some tiny part of your brain still aware enough to keep you reluctant.
"It's okay, sweetheart," Jin croons, pushing your hands aside to let his fingers dance beneath the shirt, sending shivers and tingles across your skin. "You're beautiful."
His hands snake up higher despite the feeble way you grip his arms, your half-hearted attempt to stop him doing absolutely nothing to deter his questing touch. When his palms come to rest at your breasts, thumbs brushing over the lace covering your nipples, you bite your lip to hold back a gasp. Jin's eyes zero in on the movement and his lips quirk into a devastating smirk.
"Sensitive here?" he asks nonchalantly, and you shake your head as the final shreds of your self respect attempt to make a futile last stand.
"No-oo!" your protest ends in a squeak as he gives you an experimental pinch, sending a spark of desire between your legs. His eyes darken and his grin spreads as your body betrays you, and before you can react he's yanked your shirt up and over your head.
You don't even have time to try to cover your exposed skin before his hands are on you again, the cups of your bra shoved down to give him full access.
"W-wait," you gasp as he begins to knead at your skin in earnest, his pinches and caresses making your head fuzz and your blood simmer. Jin chuckles and leans in to nuzzle your ear, giving the shell a hot lick that draws another needy noise from your throat.
"You're being so shy, it's cute," he murmurs, and at his words a spark of irritation and anxiety breaks through the warm fuzz clouding your mind. You open your mouth to tell him you're not being shy, that you don't want this, but then he begins to suckle at your neck and all that comes out is another moan.
"J-Jin," you try again, attempting to formulate words while his teeth nip at your sensitive skin. He pulls away, but your relief at the reprieve vanishes when he replaces one of the hands at your chest with his mouth instead. He rolls his tongue around your nipple and you jolt, bucking your hips up against his hard erection, making him hiss.
Seokjin's free hand begins to trail downward to the hem of your sweatpants, and you feel another spark of panic mix with the fire in your chest. This whole situation has spiraled wildly out of your control, and you're not sure if there's anything you can do to stop it. If you ever could at all.
"D-don't," you gasp weakly, one hand tugging at his hair while your other grips his wrist in another pathetic attempt to keep him from going further. He easily ignores your struggles, dipping into your pants and underwear to drag wicked fingers along your dripping folds.
"Oh fuck," he groans, releasing your nipple with a wet pop in favor of watching your open-mouthed expression. "You're so wet for me."
You make a noise that was supposed to be a protest but only encourages him, and he gathers the arousal along your entrance before beginning to rub light, teasing circles around your clit. Your eyes flutter shut as you bite your lip, trying and failing to muffle the sounds of pleasure and distress that his motions are pulling from you.
"P-please s-stop," you hiccup even as your traitorous body bucks against his palm, wet and aching as he alternates between rubbing your swollen bud and running his fingers teasingly against your folds. You're still trying to push his hand away, though with such little force that even you can tell you're no longer putting any effort into it.
"You're dripping, baby," Jin groans with appreciation as he slides his middle finger into you. You mewl at the way his thick digit stretches your walls, hands falling to scrabble at the mattress as you try not to arch into his touch. He pumps his finger in and out of you, completely ensnared by sweet moans spilling out of your kiss-swollen lips, testing different motions and angles to see what other pretty sounds he can pull out of you.
"Oh fuck," you keen softly when the pad of his finger curls into something that makes your entire body tense. Jin locks onto it like a predator targeting his prey, giving another rub that brings a high-pitched "ah!" of pleasure from your throat.
"Yeah?" he asks hoarsely as he drinks in your expression. He adds a second finger, feeling his cock twitch painfully when you let out a ragged moan. "You like that?"
"P-please," you beg through teary eyes, unsure if you're asking him to stop or keep going. Your body feels hot and heavy, brain swimming with cotton as you try to remember why you had been pushing him away in the first place. You bring your hands up to grab Jin's shirt, pulling him closer and he obeys, expression wild and reverent.
He crashes his lips onto yours, devouring you as you pant and gasp against his mouth. His tongue slides sloppily against yours as he fucks into you with relentless fingers and you arch your body shamelessly as liquid fire pools through all your limbs, thick and unescapable.
"Jin," you gasp, hips stuttering against his hand as the pressure in your veins becomes overwhelming. Seokjin growls, grinding the heel of his palm against your clit as he rubs insistently at your walls. You snap with a choked cry, body quaking beneath him as your cunt spasms around his fingers.
"That's it," Jin rasps as he presses his hand hard against you, letting you rub yourself against him as you ride out your climax.
He only relents when you scoot your hips away, fucked out and quivering with oversensitivity. Before you can regain any modicum of sense or sanity, he's pulling off your sweatpants and (stolen) underwear.
"I need a taste," he breathes, running a finger down your swollen, sensitive lips. "You'll let me, right?"
Seokjin - shockingly - doesn't wait for your answer before diving in, licking a broad stripe up your slit and making you twitch futilely against his face.
"T-too much," you whimper as his tongue sends electric jolts throughout your body, hands fisting in his hair as you try to push him off.
"Sorry baby, you're just too sweet," he groans, burying his face deeper between your legs and gripping your thighs to keep you from wiggling away. "I can't get enough."
Jin laps mercilessly at your clit, long slow strokes that soon have your toes curling and your protests melting into weak gasps. And when he presses his fingers back into you, thrusting and twisting just so, you know you're done for. You're already twitching and oversensitive from his earlier attack. All he has to do is continue his steady ministrations and before long your thighs are clenching around him as he forces you over the edge yet again, yanking on his hair and grinding your pussy against him as his fingers dig bruises into your soft flesh.
You lay there panting and trembling, staring as Seokjin sits back on his heels and wipes your juices off his glistening chin. You'd be embarrassed if you had any capacity for thought, but the only thing on your mind is a hazy "holy shit." No one has ever been so single-handedly determined to get you off, or been attentive enough to be able to do it so effectively.
He's staring at you with an expression that makes you flush, as if you somehow did something incredible when he was the one who had reduced you to incoherent babbles.
"You're perfect," Jin says, so sincerely that you feel your heart flutter again despite - what were you upset about, again? Then it comes crashing back - the drugging, the kidnapping, the fucking ankle cuff that's still on the bed and you feel anxiety cut through the bliss clouding your mind.
It only rises when he pulls off his shirt, revealing perfect golden skin and lean muscle that almost distracts you from the bulge in his pants and the wet spot that's formed. Attraction and anxiety well inside of you, and instead of trying to get away like a rational person you find yourself frozen to the spot, watching him kick off his sweatpants.
His cock springs free, long and thick and leaking precum and you swallow as you stare in disbelief.
"Um," you say stupidly, wondering when he's gonna say "surprise" and reveal his real, normal-sized penis. Then he begins crawling toward you and it becomes apparent that yes, apparently Seokjin is blessed in every single area except his sanity. The feeling begins to return to your limbs and you find yourself scrambling away, panic at fitting that inside of you finally tipping the scales to self preservation.
Seokjin grabs your legs with a carefree laugh that sends a chill down your spine, pulling you back towards him.
"Being shy again?" he teases, pressing a soft kiss against your ankle as you try to yank yourself out of his grip.
"Jin, please stop," you beg, heart hammering as you try to push him away. "I can't - I don't want to -"
"I'll take it slow," Jin says soothingly, pulling you snug against him. You gasp as the head of his cock brushes against your entrance, before redoubling your efforts and trying to kick at him.
"Baby, I know you're scared, but-"
"Of course I'm scared, you asshole," you snarl, finally pushed past the point of self-preservation as your patience snaps. "Let me go!"
To your increasing confusion and alarm, Seokjin just gives you a gentle smile as he pins your legs with his, then grabs your flailing arms with his own. He transfers them to one large hand and you try to wrench them out of his grip, to no avail.
"I didn't want to do this, but…"
He trails off and reaches above your head and to the side. Fear bubbles in your chest as you wonder what he might do - drug you again? Fuck you while you're unconscious?
Jin lets one of your hands free while he wraps something around your wrist and you immediately try to go for his eyes. Unfortunately he's prepared and catches you easily, with another obnoxious chuckle as if he thinks you're being cute. When you try to yank free again you realize your right hand is now bound in a cuff that matches the one on your ankle earlier.
"W-what the fuck?" you screech, writhing against him as he snaps another into place around your formerly free wrist. "Jin, what the fuck?"
"I know you're just scared," Seokjin coos lovingly, a manic glint shining in his eyes as he leans in to brush tender kisses along your jaw. You jerk your head away and he just sighs, diverting his attention to your neck and shoulder instead.
His hands begin stroking at your breasts and sides again as you try to buck him off, but with his weight on your legs it's a useless effort. You clench your jaw shut as he begins to nip and suck at your skin, trying to will your body not to react to his ministrations.
"It's okay, baby," he murmurs soothingly, rolling a nipple between thumb and forefinger and sending unwanted sparks down your spine. He scoots back, setting his hands on your thighs before you can kick at him, and begins trailing slow, lazy kisses down your stomach. "I'll take care of you."
"Jin, please stop," you try, anger fading into dread as it truly hits you that you're not going anywhere he doesn't want you to. He meets your gaze from between your legs, smiles, and you feel your heart sink.
"N-no," you whisper, trying to squeeze your legs closed. His tongue begins to prod at your entrance, and you bite your lip as you yank uselessly at your wrists. Jin's hands knead tenderly at the meat of your thighs as he licks up and down your slit, eyes sharp for every change in your expression.
You try not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, try not to reveal the way every flick of his tongue makes you ache for more. But it's obvious in each jerk of your hips, the way you can feel yourself practically dripping onto his lips.
Tears prickle your eyes at how utterly useless you feel, intermingled with shame at how you are enjoying this despite your efforts not to. If you had managed to keep yourself together earlier, could you have prevented this? Was it your fault for being too starry-eyed to notice any red flags before?
"J-Jin, please," you sniffle, wriggling helplessly in his grip as he forces you to take what he's giving you. Your plea has the opposite effect you wanted, only making him groan and double his enthusiasm as you writhe in pleasure and anguish. His tongue delves deep into you, lapping up everything you have to offer, and a moan wrenches itself from your throat as his nose rubs against your clit.
Your previous two orgasms have already left you sensitive and weak, and you whine pitifully as he fucks you open with his tongue. The sounds coming from between your legs are obscene, sloppy and wet as he eats you out like a man starved. It's like he's found an oasis between your legs and he's determined to drink you dry.
It's only a matter of time, really, before the pleasure pooling in your gut threatens to overflow, and your muscles tense as you try to hold yourself back.
"N-no," you choke, trying to jerk away for the umpteenth time as Jin's treacherous tongue brings you higher and higher. "I - I don't want-"
One of his hands leaves your thigh to press gently on your clit and your voice dies as pleasure pulses through you. Your legs lock around Jin's head as you come hard on his face, mouth open in a silent scream as his tongue fucks you through another orgasm you didn't ask for.
You're still panting, still trembling from the aftershocks when you feel the insistent nudge of something thick and blunt against your swollen folds.
"Wait," you begin, trying not to moan when Jin drags his heavy cock up and down your entrance. Each time the head rubs against your clit you feel your bones turn to jelly, and by the way Jin licks his lips, he can tell exactly what he's doing to you.
"You're so wet, baby," he breathes raggedly, eyes on your dazed expression as he lines himself up. He drives his tip into you, so thick that despite the slide the burning stretch forces a treacherous moan from your throat. "So perfect for me."
"Oh my god," you whimper as he forces his way further inside, eyes rolling back as you arch into his chest. He's too fucking big, overwhelming in horribly delicious ways, every vein and ridge snug against you and threatening to rob you of your sanity.
"Fuck, so tight," Jin hisses, cock twitching inside of you as you clench around him. For a moment it seems like your walls won't let him any further, and you quiver beneath him as he pulls out just enough to fuck you open a little more.
The friction is sinfully, devastatingly perfect and all you can do is lie there and take it, lips parted as you gasp and whimper at the overwhelming pressure in your core. If he keeps going, something is going to break, and it might be you.
"It's too much," you choke as he gives another experimental thrust that sends your unshed tears spilling over your cheeks. "J-Jin, I can't, you're too big, I-"
He cuts you off by pressing his lips against yours, the softness of his kiss at complete odds with the way he's splitting you open.
"You're being so good for me, baby," he murmurs in a voice that sounds almost as ragged as yours. He cradles your face in his hands, brushing your tears away with gentle thumbs as you sniffle and hiccup beneath him.
Then he shoves into you another inch, and the words die in your throat, replaced by a broken whimper that makes him freeze above you.
"Shit," he curses, and your foggy mind has a split second to wonder what he means before he pulls out, leaving you a conflicted mixture of relieved and achingly empty.
"Wh-"
Jin rams into you in one vicious thrust, ripping a scream from your throat as he buries himself to the hilt. He fucks into you fast and hard, giving you no time to recover and leaving you sobbing and begging for him to slow down.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he pants as you struggle uselessly beneath him, legs kicking out as he drives himself into you again and again. His eyes are wild, pupils blown out as he drinks in your tear-stained face, and a twisted part of you thinks you've never seen anything more terrible and beautiful. "You feel too good, baby, fuck."
When he brings his hand between the two of you to rub at your clit you think you might actually die. It's all too much, he's too much, his stupid giant dick is too much, fucking every thought out of your head except that you have never felt so much at once, pain and pleasure and fear and arousal all blending into some primordial mixture that has you helpless and pliant beneath him.
The look on your face must be something, because it makes Jin's eyes widen for a split second before he's yanking your legs up over his shoulders and thrusting into you even more frantically than before.
This new angle makes you scream again as black spots dance in your vision, and you're unable to formulate any words other than the broken babbles Jin is forcing out of your lips.
"Fuck, you're taking me so well," Jin growls, the slap of skin against skin filling the room as he slams into you over and over again. You can only cry out, your throat almost as raw as your trembling wrists.
"Pleasepleaseplease," you sob helplessly, hating the way he's fucking every rational thought from your head. "Fuck, slow down, please."
In a miraculous turn of events, Seokjin actually listens to you, and lets your legs splay back down around his hips. But then he thrusts into you even deeper, grinding his cock into you as far as it can go and you choke at the sensation. The pain is overshadowed by the way his pelvis presses against your clit and you feel yourself spasm around his length.
"Oh, fuck," Seokjin groans, repeating the movement, and you feel like if you weren't currently speared on his dick you might float away into nothing. All you're aware of anymore is the way Jin's cock is rubbing nerves you didn't know existed, the gooey fire he's grinding out of your clit and sending out to every finger tip.
You're not sure how long you're in that haze, how long Jin's hips are rutting against yours as curses at the way your traitorous walls are sucking him deeper. But the pressure keeps building, and building, and building, and a faraway part of you panics, thinks that if you go over the edge you'll never stop falling.
"Cum for me, baby," Jin growls, eyes glued to your face as you fight the inevitable. You screw your eyes shut, but there's no escaping the steady, mind-melting friction as he mercilessly grinds his cock into you.
"N-no," you slur in a broken voice that doesn't even sound real anymore, your core throbbing with need. You're too fucked out too move, tied up and unable to do anything but let him keep rubbing you raw. The pressure is unbearable and you feel more tears spill down your face. "No, I can't, I can't."
Jin just moans in appreciation as he watches your rapidly unraveling expression. You look absolutely debauched, eyes wet and glassy, a trickle of blood running down from where you've bitten into your lip, chest rising and falling in pants and moaned protests.
"No," you hiccup as he works you over, relentless and insatiable. He's ruthless in his quest to discover everything you have to offer, his filthy sweet words and praises only adding to the tempest overwhelming your body. You sob for him to stop as the pressure of his stretch and the relentless friction on your clit consume you. "Nonon-ohhhmygodddd!"
Your protests end in a wail as the dam bursts, your entire body spasming uncontrollably as Jin lets out a destroyed groan. You don't hear him, lost to the waves of color wracking your frame as you cum and cum and fucking cum.
"Holy shit baby," Seokjin gasps as you drench his thighs and mattress, hips bucking against him as you ride out the heat flooding your veins. You're barely aware of it, though when he starts fucking into you again you let out a sweet little whine that just drives him more wild.
"You feel so good," he grunts, pace unsteady your cunt clamps down on his pulsing cock. "Squeezing me so tight, like you want me to fill you up."
You gasp in alarm as his words register through your fading high, and Jin smirks down at your glazed eyes.
"You like that?" he asks roughly, hips stuttering even more as you writhe beneath him. "You want me to make you mine?"
You try to protest, but nothing comes out of your mouth but humiliating, wrecked moans each time he thrusts into your twitching cunt. His motions grow rougher, more erratic and when you try to wiggle your ass away all he does is slam you back onto him so hard you see stars. It's clear he's blown straight past any potential stop sign, and the desperate grunts coming from his throat are enough for your body to betray you as your walls clamp down on his length once more.
He buries himself deep with a wrecked groan and you feel his cock twitch as he empties himself inside you. You let out a strangled sound halfway between a protest and a moan, spent and defeated as Jin pants and collapses onto you. He buries his face in your neck, pressing soft kisses against your skin and you're torn between enjoying his tenderness and wanting to scream.
"God, you're so perfect," he sighs as he nuzzles your ear. You can't speak, still trying to get your brain to form a coherent thought. At least it's over, and he can hopefully leave you to your shame and horror as you try to unpack what he's done and your own body's reactions to his ministrations.
Seokjin hoists himself up to his elbows, still inside you, and gives you a smile so sweet and adoring you find it hard to reconcile him with the man who just fucked the living daylights out of you.
"I didn't know you could do that," he says with a grin, and you blink at him in confusion. He laughs and kisses your nose, before gesturing to the giant wet spot you're both currently laying in.
"Oh," is all that comes out. You're too exhausted to even be surprised or grossed out that you're right on top of it. "Me neither."
"Just for me, huh," he murmurs lovingly, eyes darkening as he traces your cheek with his fingers. You feel his cock begin to swell inside of you and your eyes widen in alarm despite the whisper of ecstacy it sends through you.
"Jin, I can't handle another round," you plead pitifully, fear filling you at the thought of surviving another session like that. Your throat is raw from screaming, your wrists are chafed from your struggles, and your poor pussy is swollen and sore, unused to so much punishment.
"Of course you can," he replies, giving a shallow thrust that has your traitorous body arching into him again. The squelch from the mixture of his seed and your own arousal makes you want to cry. "See?"
"Please," you beg again, as if it had worked at all the previous times you had tried. He just smiles, one hand cupping your cheek lovingly as the other trails down to where the two of you are connected.
"It's okay, baby," he soothes, brushing his fingers lightly over your abused clit and swallowing your moan with his lips. "You're perfect for me, after all."
Welcome back to his bed. Office hours just got a lot more complicated — turns out your academic rival holds a grudge... and knows exactly where to put it.
warnings: smut, professor x student (uni), explicit sexual content (18+), enemies with lingering desire, angst + hate sex, power play lite
⚠️minors dni ⚠️
part 1
“Dan, we still need to finish the last section on long-term liability in biotech patenting,” you said, brushing his hands away from your thighs, which he had been happily trailing over for the last several minutes. His touch lingered as if he wasn’t quite ready to let go, but you stayed firm, refocusing your attention on the open document in front of you.
The deadline was creeping closer with every passing day. You fixed your gaze on the glowing document, its cursor blinking accusingly in the half-light of your apartment. The rough edges of your arguments still needed smoothing, paragraphs still gasping for breath between citations. It wasn’t ready. And for you, “not ready” might as well have meant “unacceptable.”
Because here's the thing about girls like you: you've spent your entire existence proving you're not just a margin note in someone else's autobiography.
The idea of putting your name on anything less than exceptional felt like a kind of personal betrayal. Published work was permanent; once your name was on it, there was no taking it back. And this paper, that carefully laid the path toward your WHO internship, had to be perfect.
“Come on, babe,” Dan murmured, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear as his fingers slipped back toward your waist. “We’ve got time. Let’s take a break, yeah?”
But you turned your face away, lips tightening, and pushed him off more forcefully than before.
“Dan,” you said, voice low but ironclad with warning, “if this paper ends up making us look like complete idiots, I swear to God I will end you. That’s not an empty threat.”
To his credit, Dan was far from stupid. He had learned early on that your soft smiles had sharp teeth when it came to your work. He understood that nothing could come between you and your academic goals, especially when those goals were the only thing standing between you and the life you had promised yourself.
“Do you want to stop by Professor Jeon’s office tomorrow?” he asked after a moment, trying to sound helpful.
“No.” You answered too fast, the word came out like a blade. You felt it, the immediate shiver that raced down your spine at the mention of that name. Jungkook.
Even now, the thought of him sent something trembling and traitorous through your chest, and you hated that your body still reacted before your brain could reason with it.
Dan raised an eyebrow, a little surprised at your tone. “You’re too hard on him, you know,” he said, still unaware of what he was stepping into. “He’s honestly a good guy. He helps everyone, gives solid feedback. I mean, he really knows his stuff.”
If only he knew that your involvement with this project hadn’t been about curiosity or opportunity. It had been a beautifully calculated act of war. You’d chosen to partner with Dan for this paper because Jungkook would hate it. Because it gave you a reason to say no to him, again and again, until maybe it started to hurt.
“Let’s just manage on our own,” you said coolly, shutting the conversation down with a finality that Dan recognized. “There’s two of us, that’s already more than enough.”
He nodded, leaning back slightly, sensing the invisible wall that had dropped between you. You turned your gaze back to the screen, typing a few words that didn’t really matter, if only to ground yourself again.
You had gone nearly a month without crossing paths with Jungkook. Not once had your schedule overlapped, you never stumbled into him by accident. You had been meticulous in your avoidance, down to memorizing the digital faculty calendar and rerouting your campus routes accordingly.
You had no intention of letting the universe deliver you back into his orbit. Not when you had worked so hard to break out of his gravity.
***
The deadline for your research paper submission to the International Undergraduate Ethics Review was drawing closer with every breath. But to your own surprise, you weren’t drowning in anxiety the way most students would be when something of this academic magnitude loomed over their heads.
On the contrary, your mind was eerily still, collected in a way that only ever happened when you knew that you had done everything in your power to meet the standard you held yourself to. Every line of the paper bore the weight of your precision; every argument had been sharpened, cross-checked, and burnished with the careful polish of sleepless nights and obsessive editing.
You had pulled examples from cutting-edge biotech policy, traced precedents in medical case law, unraveled frameworks of utilitarian versus deontological ethics until they bled into your notes, and in the process, you had given more than anyone had asked of you.
And because of that, there was no fear. There was only the quiet conviction that whatever happened next, your name would belong on that paper.
Which is why the endless cascade of notifications lighting up your phone made your jaw tighten and your patience run thin. You glanced at the screen, and for what felt like the twentieth time this week, it was that one unsaved but unforgettable number flooding your inbox again. Jungkook.
It had reached a point where you were seriously considering tossing the entire phone across the room or out the window, into traffic. Whatever it took to make the buzzing stop.
You had grown used to the occasional message, always arriving on the days you should have been sitting in his classroom, listening to him break down conflict theory. It had almost become a strange sort of ritual that made your stomach turn each time it happened, but still, a ritual. You might have even found yourself a little disoriented if those messages stopped altogether. But today? It was too much.
The flood of texts had turned from quiet reminders into something that felt uncomfortably close to obsession, and the moment your screen lit up again with his number. You exhaled sharply and swiped them all away. You didn’t even open them this time.
Your thumb hovered for just a second longer than it should have over the block button. Were you scared? Perhaps it was just a phantom ache.
But then you tapped it, and the screen went still. You had blocked him. You won’t let Jeon Jungkook claw his way back into your life.
***
“I have bad news,” Dan said, standing in your doorway looking pale as snow, his voice flat in a way that made your stomach tense before your brain had the chance to catch up.
You frowned slightly, watching him as he hovered like a shadow in your space. “Go on,” you replied, careful not to let your tone betray the rising unease building in your chest.
You were in your room, and Dan had shown up unannounced which was something completely out of character for the both of you. The rules of your arrangement were clear from the beginning: you weren’t close, you weren’t dating, and more importantly, you didn’t owe each other casual drop-ins or emotional indulgences. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you weren’t even sure you wanted to keep Dan in your life once this project was done. And yet here he stood, pale and uncertain, holding something that already tasted like disappointment before it left his mouth.
“I just got the response from the committee,” he said, pausing like the words might collapse if he rushed them. “Our paper didn’t pass moderation.”
You froze in place, as if your brain had misheard him or misfired entirely, because what he’d just said didn’t make sense. It wasn’t just surprising, it was straight up absurd. The idea that the committee had rejected the paper didn’t fit into any version of reality you were prepared for, because you had never even considered that possibility. You had treated moderation like a rubber stamp on something already finished and polished beyond reasonable critique.
“That can’t be right. That’s nonsense,” you muttered, shaking your head as you reached for your laptop with shaking hands, logging into your inbox.
“They’re not going to publish us,” Dan repeated, as if that clarification added anything new to the burning wreckage he’d just dropped at your feet.
“Shut up, Dan,” you snapped before you could stop yourself, the words coming out sharp and venomous. But the email sat there, plain as daylight in your inbox, its subject line innocuous and devastating all at once.
“Your co-authored submission has not been accepted. Comments attached.”
The sentence was polite, like it wasn’t casually unraveling a month’s worth of your obsessive labor. You had poured your nights into this research, skipped plans, forfeited rest, ground yourself into the work like it was the only thing tethering you to the future you wanted. You hadn’t complained, not even once. Even when Dan showed up underprepared or distracted. You had believed that effort mattered.
“What the fuck is this,” you muttered under your breath, opening the attachment with a hand that trembled despite your best efforts to hide it.
“I’m sorry,” Dan offered behind you, his voice a useless blur against the roaring in your head. “But maybe we can try again? There’s still a chance if we rewrite something, maybe we can submit before the next window closes–”
“Shut up, Dan,” you snapped again, sharper this time, spinning to face him with eyes full of fire. “We spent a month working on this, and you think we can salvage it in three fucking days? Are you out of your mind?”
He opened his mouth to answer, but you were already turning back to your screen, skimming through the comments left in the margins of the PDF. Your vision was clouded with rage and disbelief, and even though most of the feedback looked logical at first glance, you couldn’t absorb a single sentence without feeling like something vital inside you was unraveling. You would go back to each one later, dissect them line by line, find every hole, every bias, every flawed counterpoint that dared to undermine the work you had sacrificed so much to create.
But just as you moved to close the document, something stopped you.
A single line near the bottom caught your eye, not because of its critique, but because of the name that followed it.
Your eyes narrowed as you scanned the section again, and this time, you saw it clearly.
Review by Jeon Jungkook.
There were other names listed beside his, but none of them sent the blood rushing through your veins the way his did.
You stared at the screen like it had personally betrayed you.
Of course it was him.A bitter laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it, dry and sharp, the kind that tasted like metal. You slammed the laptop shut, the sound ringing out like a slap in the silence of the room. Without another word, you stood from your desk, grabbed your bag, and stormed toward the door.
Behind you, Dan called your name, confused and still trying to understand what the hell had just happened, but you were already gone.
***
You pounded your fists against the door with a kind of furious desperation that should have startled you, had you not been too consumed by the heat flooding your chest. The noise was reckless, the kind that would inevitably draw attention, but you no longer gave a damn. It wasn’t about caution anymore. You came here for release.
The door swung open faster than you'd expected, though it made sense, anyone would come running after a racket like that. And there he stood, with those same impossibly large eyes of his, that familiar Bambi-like gaze you’d grown to hate yourself for still noticing.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice low but lined with the tension of a panic and confusion.
“Oh, surprised?” you shot back, a smile curling at your lips, sharp and false. “You sent your address, remember? So here I am.” You didn’t wait for permission, stepping past him into the apartment that smelled like him.
“Y/N, calm down,” he said, shutting the door behind you as though that could keep the chaos out. Or maybe lock it in with you.
“Oh, how sweet. So I’m not your ‘sugar’ anymore?” you sneered, shoving him with both hands, not even trying to restrain yourself. “What the fuck, Jungkook?”
He didn’t fight back. He stood there and took your fists, small and shaking, landing against the hard plane of his chest like pathetic echoes of all the words you didn’t know how to scream.
“All because I dropped out of your goddamn class, so you’d stop screwing with my grades?"
“You’re wrong,” he said calmly, like his control was something to be proud of, like it wasn’t the very thing driving you to madness.
“Oh, am I?” you barked out a laugh. “Then why did the rejection letter that killed the article I bled for have your fucking signature on it?”
His expression shifted then, something twitching at the corner of his mouth, like he was trying to keep the mask in place but couldn’t quite manage it. “I was doing you a favor.”
You recoiled slightly, blinking at him, as if you’d misheard. “A favor?” The disbelief in your voice didn’t even begin to cover the fury rising up in your throat. “You think sabotaging the one opportunity I’ve been working toward since high school was your idea of protecting me?”
“I wasn’t gonna let them publish garbage under your name,” he snapped, his own temper finally bleeding through. “You think that was good enough? You think that was you?”
Your silence was immediate and sharp. “You don’t get to decide what is me. You have no idea who I am.”
He stepped closer. “Did you even read what you submitted?” he asked, and now he was spitting fire too, making you wish that he was yelling at you instead of this emotion that was bordering with cold disappointment. The kind of tone that sounded like every time someone told you you weren’t enough. “Dan’s part was garbage. It would’ve dragged you down with it.”
You tried to hit him again, but he caught your wrist mid-swing. His fingers wrapped around your skin like iron and regret. “Let go of me!”
“I tried to warn you,” he said, voice cracking around the edges. “But you shut me out.”
“Because you wouldn’t leave me alone!” you shouted, eyes burning now. “You didn’t just critique my work. You tore it apart, with all my hard work.”
He stepped closer still, close enough now that you could feel the tension radiating off of him, that same old gravitational pull you thought you’d finally escaped. His hands found your elbows, gently but firmly, as if he was trying to hold together the pieces you didn’t remember shattering.
“I didn’t want this,” he whispered, eyes wide, full of something almost fragile. “God, you have to believe me! Hurting you was the last thing I wanted.”
“But you did,” you said, and the words landed like stones. “And you keep doing it. Again and again. And then you show up and ask for me like it’s a right instead of a choice I don’t owe you.”
He let go then, and for a moment neither of you spoke. The silence was so heavy it could’ve knocked you over. And when he finally spoke again, it was with that same worn-out tone people use when they know they’ve already lost. “I wasn’t going to let your name be tied to something mediocre.”
You stared at him for a long beat. “Do you hear yourself?” you asked, voice quieter now. “You want me to thank you. For what? For deciding I couldn’t handle my own career? For stepping in like some self-righteous savior?”
“Yes,” he snapped, eyes flashing. “Because you abandoned my class and teamed up with someone who didn’t care about your work. Because you didn’t trust yourself enough to do it alone. Because you didn’t trust me.”
There was a moment when something inside you unraveled. Something that had been strung too tight for far too long.
“You want to know why I left, Jungkook?” you asked, and your voice was no longer angry, just tired. Devastated in a way that felt too old for your body. “Because you broke my heart when I was fifteen. And ever since then, I’ve spent every minute of my life trying to prove that I was worth wanting. That I was more than the girl you didn’t choose. And now every time I see your face, I remember exactly how that felt.”
The silence after that felt endless. His mouth opened, then closed, but no words came. Whatever he might’ve said was already too late.
You turned toward the door, your pulse loud in your ears, heart a metronome set to survival. But just as your fingers brushed the handle, his hand was on your wrist again. And then he pulled you back.
And kissed you.
It was violent and desperate, wrong in so many ways but for a single breath, it was also everything you had ever wanted.
So this was it: the thing you used to dream about when you were young and stupid and still believed that wanting was enough. Back then, in your reckless, delusional little fantasies, you used to imagine what it might be like to kiss him. You’d spin entire cinematic stories around it, built from glances and maybes and impossible hope. But this wasn’t a dream. And reality, as it turned out, hit harder than anything your starved imagination could have conjured. It wasn't gentle.
The kiss was raw, electric, and so devastatingly alive that every nerve in your body lit up like it had been waiting for this moment its entire life. Nothing you ever dreamed of even came close.
The kiss spirals out of control almost immediately becoming wet, reckless, messy in the way only suppressed feelings can make it. His mouth collides with yours like it’s trying to rewrite history, all tongue and teeth and desperation, all the sharp edges of anger made soft by want. You bite his bottom lip hard enough to draw a gasp, maybe even a groan, and he gives it to you like he owes you that sound.
Neither of you are pretending this is tender, like both of you are trying to win. His hands find your body, slipping beneath your shirt, fingers spreading wide against your spine like he wants to memorize it. You arch into him without thinking, the heat blooming between your legs making it impossible to pretend. Your body betrays you, leaning into every touch like it still belongs to him, like it never stopped.
When he lifts you, his grip is hard and possessive, as if he’s reclaiming something that was always his, and before you can even catch your breath, you’re sitting on the cold surface of his kitchen table, legs falling open for him without a second thought. His mouth leaves yours just long enough to yank your shirt over your head, his eyes dark with something dangerous. It’s closer to reverence, twisted with resentment.
And then his mouth is on your chest, hot and open, his tongue circling your nipples as his hands knead your breasts like he’s desperatet. You gasp, one hand braced on the edge of the table, the other buried in his hair, pulling him closer, because you don’t want this to be sweet. That’s just not the way things have been between you two. You want to feel ruined.
"Fuck," you whisper as his teeth graze you just right, and it’s only then you realize you’re grinding your hips against him, trying to ease the ache building too fast between your legs.
He drops to his kneeslike this is what he was always meant to do. His fingers hook into your underwear and drag them down, slow and with intent. When he parts your thighs, it feels like confession.
And then his mouth is on you, warm and wet and filthy, and your head tips back with a moan that you try to swallow but fail. He starts slow, languid, like he wants to draw it out, but it’s all a lie. The moment you buck against his tongue, he groans into you, and everything shifts. He eats you like he’s starving, like you’re his first real meal in months, and it’s obscene: the sounds, the heat, the way his hands grip your thighs like you might try to pull away when you’re doing the exact opposite.
He moans when your hand tangles in his hair and pulls, and you swear you feel it everywhere. Like his pleasure is somehow wired to yours, like making you come is the only thing holding him together.
When he slides two fingers inside you your body seizes around him. Your thighs shake, your nails dig into his shoulders, and something desperate claws its way out of your throat. You try to say something like you shouldn’t be doing this, or this won’t fix anything, maybe even just Jungkook; but whatever you meant to say dissolves on your tongue the second he sucks your clit again and your vision goes white around the edges.
“Oh my god,” you choke out, voice strangled and near tears. “You…fuck, you shouldn’t…We can’t…”
But the words die on impact, shattered by the orgasm tearing through you, your body arching, breaking, unraveling under his mouth like he was made to wreck you.
You don’t remember what you were trying to argue. You don’t even remember your own name for a second. There’s only his mouth, his breath, the wet sounds of your pleasure echoing off tile, and the way he doesn’t stop even when you come, not when you twitch, not even when you whimper his name like a warning. He stays right there, tongue slow now, savoring the aftershock, like he wants to make sure you remember this the next time you try to forget him.
You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s on you again.
Jungkook rises from between your legs like the taste of your orgasm only made him hungrier. There’s a gleam in his eyes now, darker than anything he’s ever said, something that has nothing to do with affection and everything to do with obsession. You’re still trembling, thighs damp and aching, but he doesn’t give you time to recover. His mouth is back on yours in an instant and it tastes like the frustration you both carry like ghosts stitched into your bones.
He kisses you like he wants to ruin your mouth for anyone else, like he’s punishing you for making him wait, like you belong to him and he’s reclaiming you one bite at a time.
“I’m not done with you,” he growls against your lips, the words sliding out half-whisper, half-threat, his breath hot as it ghosts over your flushed skin. His hand curls under your thigh, lifting you easily, and you cling to him because every part of you is still shaking and still burning for him. He carries you through the apartment like you weigh nothing, like you’re a part of him he forgot how to live without.
The bedroom is darker, quieter enough for something to shift. The air is heavier here.
He lays you on the bed with a gentleness that shouldn’t match the hunger in his eyes, and for a moment, you’re still.The sheets are cool under your back, but your skin is flushed and damp, trembling. You watch as he pulls off his shirt with one fluid motion, and you see the way his body moves, the way his muscles shift under inked skin, the way his chest rises and falls like he’s holding back a storm.
Your eyes fall lower, trailing down the lines of his stomach, to the waistband of his pants, to the heavy bulge beneath it already thick andstraining. When he pushes them down, slow, letting you see what you want, your mouth parts around a breathless gasp. His cock springs free, long and hard and perfect, and for a moment you can’t think, your body only able to ache.
“Jungkook,” you whisper, voice hoarse with desire, your legs falling open again without permission, your hands reaching. “Please. I can’t, just…I need you. Now.”
His gaze burns through you as he crawls over your body, every movement slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring this moment because he knew you’d beg for it eventually.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice low and filthy as he lines himself up between your thighs, brushing the swollen head of his cock against your slick entrance. “So fucking desperate for me. Always mine, right?”
And when he pushes in slowly at first, just the thick tip stretching you wide, your entire body arches, a broken moan clawing from your throat. He fills you inch by inch, until the stretch is unbearable, until he’s buried to the hilt and breathing like he’s trying not to come already.
“Fuck,” he groans into your neck, hips grinding down, cock hitting that devastating spot inside you like he was carved just for this. “You feel even better than I imagined. So fucking wet but tight. You need me this much, sugar?”
You can’t answer, granting him only a gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders, your thighs locked around his waist as he begins to move deeply, steady, brutal in how perfectly he angles himself. Every thrust hits your g-spot like a cruel miracle, making your toes curl and your spine lift from the mattress, your entire body pulled taut with unbearable pleasure.
“Yes, fuck, yes, right there,” you moan, voice ragged and high. “Don’t stop, Jungkook, please, don’t you dare stop.”
He fucks you like he’s trying to replace every bad memory with the sound of his name falling apart on your lips. His thrusts grow harder, messier, each one pushing the breath out of your lungs and making your cunt clench around him. He leans in, kisses you like it’s war, like he’s drowning and you’re his last breath, and you take it, losing yourself in it.
“You’re mine,” he pants against your mouth, sweat dripping down his neck. “Fucking made for me. Say it.”
You’re so close it hurts. Every nerve in your body is tightening like a wire about to snap. “I’m yours,” you gasp, barely able to speak through the moans spilling from your mouth. “I’m– I’m fucking yours, Jungkook, please! I’m gonna–”
And then he hits that spot again – just right and deep enough, and your world implodes.
You come with a cry, body convulsing under him, walls pulsing around his cock, and that’s what breaks him. He thrusts twice more, deep and brutal and lost in it, and then he’s spilling into you with a guttural growl, mouth pressed to your collarbone as he moans your name like it’s the only thing he’s ever known.
And for a moment, everything goes quiet.
Your bodies collapse into each other, breath tangled, skin hot and wet and trembling, and you lie there all wrecked with him still buried deep inside you, his arms around your waist, his mouth brushing the edge of your jaw.
Your body is draped across his, your cheek pressed to the damp warmth of his chest, breath slowing in tandem with his. Neither of you has moved much, as if the smallest shift might break whatever spell you’ve both collapsed into.
You feel his fingers: soft and lazy circles traced along your spine and shoulder, the dip of your waist. His touch is featherlight now, reverent in a way that feels almost bashful after everything you’ve just done. It makes your skin burn in a different way.
“You should come back to my class,” he murmurs eventually, voice rough around the edges, low enough to vibrate right through your ribs.
You let out a breath, half-laugh, half-exhausted sigh. “It’s too late,” you say, eyes fixed on the ceiling, blinking slowly. “I have missed too many classes now, remember?”
His hand doesn’t stop moving. He trails a fingertip across your stomach, the soft curve of your hip, and then leans in, lips brushing your temple as he speaks again.
“Then maybe we make our own rules,” he says, the words with sinful undertone. “Private classes or extracurriculars. As many as you want.”
You snort, shaking your head against his shoulder, but the smile that tugs at your mouth betrays you. You’re not mad really. “That’s wildly inappropriate, Professor Jeon.”
He hums against your hair, kisses the crown of your head. “I’m all yours,” he says simply, and it almost doesn’t sound like a joke.
That settles in your chest with a strange kind of warmth. Is this it? Do girls like you really get happy endings?
The streetlight outside casts a faint glow through the blinds, striping the room in dim silver. You lie there with him, tangled limbs and tangled history, and for the first time ever with no plan for what comes next.
>
I couldn’t let go of these two either… so here’s a bonus chapter Extra credit 🎓
SYNOPSIS: After moving into a new apartment, Y/N hopes for a quiet start until she meets her neighbors, a couple living next door. Jungkook, the husband, is everything she shouldn't want: kind, gentle, and already taken. Yet their paths keep crossing, drawing her into a connection she tries to deny.
GENRE: Forbidden Romance | Slow burn Obsession | Toxic | Manipulation
WC: 22.3k
You had just moved into the new apartment small, quiet, and perfectly close to your university. The morning sunlight spilled through the thin curtains, washing over the boxes still waiting to be unpacked. It felt peaceful here, safe even. The kind of place where no one knew who you were or what you'd left behind.
Your neighbors were kind surprisingly kind. The old lady two doors down always brought you something warm to eat, her hands smelling faintly of jasmine and soap. She'd ask about your classes, your part-time job, and remind you to rest more. You liked her voice, soft and familiar, the way she made you feel seen in a city full of strangers.
And then there was him.
The man next door.
Jeon Jungkook.
You still remember the first day how he appeared out of nowhere when you were struggling with the heavy boxes, his sleeves rolled up, smile effortless. "Let me help you," he'd said, and before you could argue, he was already carrying half your things inside. You didn't even notice how your heart stuttered then maybe you did, but you told yourself it was just gratitude.
He was married. A husband. A father.
And yet, there was something about him that felt different from the rest maybe the way his voice softened when he spoke to his daughter, or how he always greeted you with a polite smile that lingered a second too long. His daughter, Hana, was adorable curious, bright, and too comfortable wandering into your apartment. Sometimes she'd sit on your floor, crayons scattered everywhere, while you watched her, pretending to study but stealing glances at the door. Waiting, maybe, for him to come pick her up.
On weekends, you'd share donuts or ice cream with her, listening to her innocent chatter about school, her mom, and how her dad made the best pancakes. You smiled every time she mentioned him even when you didn't mean to.
Jungkook often returned the gesture, sending over food or desserts his wife prepared. You thanked him each time, your fingers brushing his when you took the plate, your voice softer than usual. His wife was rarely around busy, devoted to her work, someone you only saw in glimpses. You respected her, you really did. But sometimes you wondered what it would feel like to have what she had.
It wasn't love. You told yourself that often. It was just admiration. Just curiosity.
But your heart had already begun memorizing the rhythm of his footsteps in the hallway and you hated how much you noticed when they stopped in front of your door.
------
You were standing just outside your apartment, staring at the dull light that had long since given up on your living room. The evening air was cool against your skin, brushing softly as if nudging you to hurry. You hadn't expected anyone to be around, yet your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching.
It was Jungkook. Just back from work, his shirt slightly creased from the day, hair still a little tousled, the faint scent of cologne mingling with the evening breeze. You watched him from the corner of your eye as he carried himself effortlessly, the ease in his stride making him seem larger than life.
"Hey," he greeted, a small smile tugging at his lips as he noticed you standing there. "What are you doing out here?" His voice had that calm, low quality that somehow made the mundane feel significant.
You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should admit the triviality of your errand. "I... I came out to get a bulb," you said, gesturing vaguely to the darkened interior behind you. "The one in my living room stopped working."
He raised an eyebrow, a faint amusement flickering in his eyes. "Really?" Then, before you could respond, he added, "I actually have an extra at my place. You can take it if you want."
You blinked, slightly taken aback by his offer, but nodded quickly. When he handed you the bulb, your fingers brushed for the briefest moment, and you felt a curious jolt, a warmth that made your chest tighten just slightly.
"Do you... need help putting it in?" he asked, watching you carefully. His tone was casual, but there was an undercurrent of concern, like he could see the hesitation in your movements even before you realized it.
Without thinking, without really analyzing why, you found yourself saying, "Yes." The word escaped your lips almost involuntarily. Of course you did you couldn't possibly reach that high. You told yourself it was purely practical, that it was simply the height that made it necessary to ask for help. But deep down, there was something else: a secret thrill in having him close, his presence so near, his tall frame bending slightly to reach the ceiling alongside you.
Jungkook moved with quiet precision, adjusting the bulb and securing it into place. Every motion was fluid, practiced, but to you, it felt mesmerizing. You found yourself unable to look away, your eyes tracing the line of his arms, the way his fingers gripped the bulb, the slight tension in his shoulders as he worked. You told yourself you were just observing practical, surely but a small, unacknowledged part of you felt captivated.
Finally, he stepped down from the stool, brushing his hands lightly against his thighs. He turned to you, a soft, effortless smile tugging at his lips. "All done," he said, his voice calm but warm, carrying that quiet assurance that always seemed to draw you in.
You blinked, momentarily dazed, and murmured, "Th... thank you." Your words felt insufficient, almost clumsy, compared to the simple perfection of his presence.
Your gaze lingered on him as he straightened his office clothes, the neatness of his shirt and the slight crease of his trousers contrasting with the casual ease of how he just fixed the bulb. He had come straight from work, and here he was, helping you without complaint. The thought made your chest tighten in a way you didn't quite understand.
"Are you... sure you don't need anything? I mean, I'm sorry... you just came from work, and I... I took your help when you probably needed to rest," you said, your words tumbling out in a mix of concern and something closer to fascination.
Jungkook's smile widened just a fraction, easy and reassuring. "It's fine," he said simply, shrugging as if the effort had been nothing.
You hesitated, then offered, almost reflexively, "Would you like something to eat? I can make something-"
He shook his head, a small chuckle escaping him. "No, my wife just made kimchi fried rice with fried chicken," he said, his tone light but the mention of his wife striking a tiny pang in your chest you didn't acknowledge. "But I'll bring some fried chicken for you too," he added, smiling as he made his way to the door.
You watched him leave, standing frozen for a moment, the faint scent of him lingering in the apartment. There was a strange mix of admiration and something deeper you couldn't yet name, a pull you didn't fully recognize. Your fingers absentmindedly brushed against the countertop where he had stood, and you caught yourself staring after him a little longer than necessary, heart quietly stirring at the thought that he had come, just for you, to fix something as simple as a lightbulb.
You shook your head slightly, almost laughing at yourself. "It's just a bulb," you whispered, but your gaze stayed on the door a moment longer, lingering on the space where he had been.
-------
It was a quiet weekend afternoon, the sunlight streaming softly through the curtains of your apartment. The usual calm of your space was now punctuated by little giggles and the soft clatter of plastic as Hana settled herself on the carpet with her Barbie dolls.
"I'm bored," Hana announced dramatically, plopping herself down beside you. "Mama had work to do and didn't want to play with me. So... I came to play with you!"
You smiled, watching her energetically arrange the tiny outfits and accessories for her dolls. There was something endearing in the seriousness with which she treated her tiny world, as if each piece mattered immensely.
You leaned over slightly, watching her busy hands and the concentration furrowing her little brow. "You look so much like your daddy," you said softly, a playful lilt in your voice.
Hana paused, eyes widening briefly before she shook her head emphatically, returning her attention to her Barbie. "Nooo! I look like mama. I want to look like mama," she said, carefully adjusting a doll's dress as if it were a matter of utmost importance.
You raised an eyebrow, curious. "Why?" you asked, tilting your head slightly, genuinely intrigued by her reasoning.
Her face lit up in a proud, mischievous grin. "Dada likes mama," she said, speaking with the innocent certainty only a child could have. "She's beautiful. She's the most beautiful woman in the world. That's what dada said. I want to be like mama too... the most beautiful woman in the world," she added, letting out a small, giggling squeal as she twirled one of the dolls around.
You couldn't help it her words, so matter-of-fact and earnest, made you roll your eyes with a mixture of amusement and affection, though a faint warmth crept up your chest. "Hana," you said gently, reaching over to ruffle her hair, "you're already the most beautiful girl I have ever seen."
Her eyes lit up instantly, a small gasp of delight escaping her lips. "Really? Thank you, Y/nie! You're pretty too!" she exclaimed, her giggle infectious as she went back to fussing over her doll.
You laughed softly, shaking your head at her adorable seriousness, and found yourself caught in the moment a quiet, happy bubble of laughter, innocence, and warmth, the kind only children like Hana could bring into a room. Watching her, you realized that beauty wasn't just about appearances; it was in moments like these, in giggles, in admiration freely given, in tiny hands clutching a plastic doll as if it were a crown.
You paused for a moment, setting down the Barbie you'd just been helping Hana dress. The living room was quiet except for the soft rustle of plastic as she arranged her dolls, but your mind was elsewhere. Normally, weekends were Jungkook's time he dedicated to Hana, playing with her, taking her out, or just being present. Yet today, the apartment felt slightly different, almost empty without him.
Curiosity tugged at you, and you leaned slightly closer to Hana, tilting your head in a gentle, casual way as if the question were just passing conversation. "Hana... where's your dad?" you asked softly, careful to keep your tone light, though inside, a small flicker of concern or perhaps curiosity stirred.
Hana didn't look up immediately, focused intently on making sure her Barbie's hair matched the tiny plastic brush in her hand. After a moment, she looked up, her face lighting with a small, innocent smile. "He went out with Tae uncle," she said cheerfully, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
You blinked, slightly taken aback. Tae uncle? That name didn't ring any bells. You nodded slowly, trying to process it, curiosity blooming in your chest. Who was this Tae uncle? Was it someone from work? A friend? Somehow, it made your mind wander wondering why Jungkook wasn't home today, and yet, hearing Hana's carefree voice, you felt a twinge of unease you couldn't quite place.
You forced yourself to smile, ruffling her hair gently. "Oh... I see," you said, trying to keep your tone casual while your thoughts quietly lingered on Jungkook. Even in his absence, he seemed to have left an imprint, a presence that lingered in her words, in her mention of him.
-------
You were walking down the quiet street with Jimin, the evening breeze gently brushing against your face. The two of you had left work together, as usual, and Jimin had once again offered to walk you home. It had become a comforting routine, something you didn't think much about until moments like this made your chest feel a little warmer than necessary.
Holding your hand lightly, Jimin glanced down at the contrast between his palm and yours. "They're so small," he said with a soft chuckle, fingers squeezing yours gently as if testing the reality of it.
You immediately pulled your hand away, pretending to be annoyed. "Yah! Your hand is small too!" you snapped, though the playful tone betrayed your smile. Jimin only laughed, his eyes sparkling with mischief, and you couldn't help but roll your eyes as you reached your apartment building.
As you stopped at the entrance, Jimin leaned slightly closer, his expression suddenly tender. "I'll miss you," he said, giving you those puppy eyes that always had a way of making your heart flutter.
"Stop with that face," you said, though your voice lacked conviction, your cheeks betraying the faint warmth creeping over them.
"Bye bye, I'm going," he said, moving to leave but before you could react, Jimin pulled you gently toward him and pressed a quick, playful kiss to your cheek.
You froze, stunned for a brief moment, fingers instinctively hitting his shoulder. "Yah! What was that?!" you exclaimed, half-scolding, half-laughing.
Jimin just grinned, brushing it off with a casual wave. "Bye!" he said before jogging away, the corners of his lips curved in that infuriatingly charming smile of his.
Then a voice broke through your daze. "Awww, that was so cute."
You turned sharply, your annoyance immediately flaring. Min-seo, Jungkook's wife, was standing there with that familiar bright smile. Behind her, Jungkook appeared, tall and composed as always, walking beside her.
"Is he your boyfriend? You both look cute together," Min-seo said, her tone teasing. She looked at you like she expected a flustered answer.
You blinked at her, a flicker of irritation in your chest. "He- He's not my boyfriend," you said quickly, voice tight as your gaze drifted instinctively to Jungkook, standing silently beside her.
Min-seo only smiled wider, leaning slightly toward him. "Ah, come on! I remember being shy at the beginning too," she said, her words directed at you, but it felt like a jab.
Your hands curled slightly at your sides as you forced yourself to stay calm. "I- I should get going," you muttered, turning sharply and walking away, your steps faster than necessary, each one a silent protest against the little spark of annoyance Min-seo had ignited.
Behind you, Min-seo whispered under her breath, "I guess she's shy."
Jungkook, however, didn't speak. He simply watched you leave, his expression unreadable, and something in that quiet intensity made your chest tighten in a way you didn't fully understand. You didn't notice, but your lowkey fixation on him tugged at you as you disappeared into your apartment, irritation and something unacknowledged swirling together in your mind.
--------
The knock on your door pulled you from a blissful sleep, one of those rare mornings where your dreams felt warm and endless. Groaning, you buried your face deeper into your pillow, cursing whoever had dared disturb the perfect rhythm of your rest. Another knock came, sharper this time, jolting you upright.
Dragging yourself out of bed, hair a tangled mess and eyes half-closed, you shuffled to the door and opened it only to be greeted by a face that made your grogginess instantly collide with awareness. Jungkook. Handsome, annoyingly so, yet impossibly cute with that soft, bunny-like smile.
Why did someone have to be both handsome and adorable at the same time? you thought, blinking at him in disbelief.
"I'm sorry... did I just wake you up?" His voice was soft, genuinely concerned, and your stomach twisted. Shit. He'd seen you like this hair sticking out, eyes half-open, face probably bloated from sleep. You were sure you looked absolutely horrendous.
You froze for a moment, debating your options: slam the door and flee, or accept your fate and face him head-on.
"No- I just... yeah, I was sleeping," you muttered, voice barely above a whisper, eyes darting down. Your brain betrayed you, and panic flared in a small, irrational wave. Did your breath stink? You couldn't remember brushing before bed... You hoped to God it hadn't.
Jungkook chuckled softly, a sound that somehow made your heart race and your embarrassment multiply.
"May I come in?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, the soft curve of his smile making your resolve weaken.
Straightening your posture, you hesitated, glancing at the mess behind you. Living room in chaos, dishes half-washed, clothes scattered... if he came in, he'd definitely judge you. Maybe even laugh at how... pathetic you looked right now.
"Y/N?" he called again, patience laced in his tone.
"Oh, yeah... sure..." you stammered, stepping aside as he entered. As soon as he did, his eyes swept across your apartment, noting the small disarray without judgment.
"Looks like you didn't have time to clean your room," he commented casually.
"I was just... too lazy," you mumbled, embarrassed yet trying to laugh it off.
"No... I get it. I know you've been tired," he said, that smile softening as he looked at you. "Managing uni and your part-time... it's difficult."
Your chest warmed at his words, the way he noticed things without needing them spelled out. Then, as if on cue, he held out a small plate. "I just made pancakes, and Hana helped. She wanted me to give them to you."
"Oh my God... that's so sweet of you both. Thank you!" You felt your cheeks heat up, suddenly aware of his presence so close, and the way he moved effortlessly through your apartment as though it were familiar. Jungkook placed the plate on your counter with a gentle smile, glancing around the clutter with an ease that didn't make you feel judged but only slightly self-conscious.
"Do you want me to help with cleaning?" he asked, tilting his head as his eyes swept the living room.
"Oh no, it's fine. I can do it," you said, forcing a small smile, though the exhaustion still clung to your movements. "You should go... I'm sure you have things to do."
Jungkook nodded, his smile warm but unreadable, before making his way toward the door. As soon as the click of the closing door echoed, you bolted to your bedroom, heart pounding.
You looked at yourself in the mirror, cheeks burning, hair sticking out in every direction. Shorts, an oversized shirt, no bra and Jungkook had just seen you like this. Your mind spiraled, imagining every possible thought he could have had, every little judgment you were sure he silently passed. You looked homeless. Messy. Embarrassingly real.
-------
It was a bright, breezy afternoon, the sun warm but not too harsh, and you were scrolling lazily on your phone when a familiar voice broke your quiet.
"Y/N! Wanna come out with us? Hana wants to go to the park," Jungkook called cheerfully from the doorway, Hana tugging at his hand with her usual excitement.
You blinked, sitting up. Your schedule was free, nothing planned, and honestly... the idea of spending time with Jungkook and Hana sounded pleasant. You smiled softly. "Yeah... I can go. Sounds fun."
Hana squealed immediately, clapping her little hands. "Yay! Let's go, Y/nie!" She bounced on her toes as Jungkook chuckled, picking up her little backpack and holding the door open for you.
The park was lively but not crowded. Children's laughter mingled with the rustle of leaves in the gentle wind. Hana immediately ran toward the playground, her giggles ringing out as she climbed the slide and swung herself on the swings. You followed behind, Jungkook walking beside you casually, his presence calm, familiar, yet somehow magnetic.
"Do you want to get ice cream?" he asked as Hana tugged at his hand again, her eyes bright with excitement.
"Sure!" you said, smiling, as he led the way to the small ice cream stand near the fountain. Hana jumped in front, pointing to a bright pink cone. "I want strawberry!"
Jungkook laughed, ruffling her hair lightly before handing her the ice cream. "Good choice," he said. Then he turned to you with that gentle smile. "What about you?"
You felt your pulse quicken, suddenly aware of the warm afternoon sun and the soft shadow of his presence beside you. "Chocolate... please," you murmured.
He bought both cones, handing yours over carefully. "Here, careful with the mess," he said, his voice calm and kind. Hana immediately took a big bite, sticky pink ice cream smudging the corners of her mouth, and you found yourself chuckling at how adorably earnest she was.
You brought your cone closer to your lips but couldn't resist sneaking glances at Jungkook as he helped Hana sit on a bench, wiping her hands carefully with a napkin. You noticed a small smear of ice cream near the corner of his lips and your heart skipped.
"Y/N, why are you staring?" His voice was casual, but the teasing edge made your pulse hammer.
You blushed, fumbling slightly. "Uh... you've got ice cream... right here," you said, pointing near the side of his lips.
Jungkook glanced down, trying to lick it off himself, but he couldn't quite reach the corner. "Huh... I can't get it," he muttered.
Before you could stop yourself, you reached forward with a finger, brushing it gently against the ice cream. "Here... I can help," you said softly, leaning just a little closer. His warm scent reached you, making your chest flutter. Carefully, you wiped the corner of his lips, your fingers lingering slightly more than necessary.
Without thinking, your finger brushed your own lips subtly as you licked it clean, hoping he didn't notice. Your heart raced, every simple motion magnified in significance, every smile of his sending a quiet thrill through you.
Hana, meanwhile, was oblivious to the tension, giggling as she squished the ice cream between her tiny fingers. "Y/nie, look! I made a snowman with my ice cream!" she exclaimed, holding up her sticky creation proudly.
Jungkook chuckled, crouching slightly to Hana's level. "That's amazing, Hana. You're so creative!" He gently tapped her little nose with a bit of the ice cream, making her squeal in delight.
You watched him interact with her, his calm patience and warmth pulling you in further. You found yourself unconsciously leaning a little closer when he laughed, your eyes lingering on his lips a moment too long, your chest tightening in a way that both thrilled and terrified you.
Hana squealed again, pointing at a squirrel scampering nearby, and Jungkook's attention immediately shifted to her, scooping her up gently as she wriggled happily in his arms. You stood there, ice cream forgotten for a moment, silently aware of how much you wanted to be nearer to him, to share those small, ordinary moments, even as he simply smiled and laughed at Hana's antics, entirely unaware of your feelings simmering quietly.
The afternoon stretched lazily, filled with laughter, sticky fingers, and the warmth of the sun and something unspoken, delicate, and growing between you and Jungkook, though he remained simply kind, friendly, and completely unaware of the silent pull you felt.
--------
You stood there, heart pounding so loud it almost drowned out your thoughts. The air between you and Jungkook felt heavy thick with the weight of all the things you'd been holding back for too long. He looked at you with that same calm, kind expression he always had, unaware that every glance, every word, every smile had slowly consumed you.
"Mr. Jeon," you began, voice trembling slightly, "I've been feeling something for the past few days... no, longer than that. From the moment I met you, I-" you paused, breath hitching, "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you."
Jungkook blinked, his brows furrowing as if he didn't quite hear it right. "What?" he asked, his tone sharp, startled.
"I know this is wrong," you whispered, trying to steady your voice, "but I love you. I really love you."
There was silence. His eyes widened, disbelief flashing through them. "Do you even know what you're saying, Y/N?" he said finally, his voice firm, but you could tell he was trying to stay calm.
"I do. I know exactly what I'm saying," you replied, stepping closer, trying to meet his eyes. "I love you."
He took a step back, his breath leaving him in a rush. "Y/N... I'm married. I have a family. You can't-" he stopped, his voice breaking slightly before it hardened again. "This is wrong. Completely wrong."
But your heart was louder than reason. "I know, but I can't help it!" you pleaded, eyes glossy. "I can take care of your daughter; I can even be your second wife if that's what it takes. I'm not asking you to leave your family. I just want a place in your heart. Please, Jungkook..."
Your voice cracked at the end as you reached for his hand, but he pulled away as if your touch burned him.
He stared at you, disbelief and anger flickering in his gaze. "You've lost your mind," he said under his breath, voice filled with something you couldn't bear to hear disgust. "I never thought you'd be capable of something like this."
"Jungkook, please-"
"No." His tone was final this time. He turned away, running a hand through his hair as he exhaled sharply. "I treated you with kindness, Y/N, but I never gave you any reason to feel this way. You've crossed a line." You could barely breathe. You wanted to reach out, to make him understand that your feelings were real, but before you could say another word, he turned his back to you.
"Jungkook, please don't go" you whispered, tears threatening to fall.
-------
"NO!" you scream, bolting upright in bed. The echo of your own voice bounces off the walls, your chest heaving as the remnants of the dream cling to your skin like a second layer. For a moment, you can't tell where you are, the thin veil between dream and reality still trembling. Your sheets are tangled around your legs, your palms damp, and your forehead slick with sweat. The air feels heavy, too still, as if the world itself has stopped to watch you crumble in confusion.
You bring a trembling hand to your lips, heart pounding. Did I really dream that?
Confessing to Jungkook, him? your neighbor of all people. The same Jungkook whose laughter drifts through the thin walls of your apartment when he plays with his daughter. The same man whose gentle voice always seems too kind, too warm.
You press your face into your hands, mortified. "God... what's wrong with me?" you whisper. The dream replays in flashes. Jungkook is married.
He has a wife who waits for him every evening, a daughter who calls his name with pure joy. You shouldn't even think about him that way. It's wrong, you know it's wrong yet your chest aches with something you can't name, something that feels dangerously close to longing.
You throw the blanket aside and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. The morning light creeps through the curtains, faint and indifferent, brushing across your face as if mocking you for what your mind dared to conjure. You force yourself to breathe, to move, to forget.
"This is ridiculous," you mutter, stumbling toward the bathroom. The cold water hits your face, shocking you back to reality. You stare at your reflection in the mirror eyes wide, hair sticking to your temples and try to see the person who had that dream. But all you see is someone caught between guilt and something unspoken.
You need to stop this.
You make up your mind right then, you'll avoid him. No more helping his daughter with her drawings, no more lingering conversations at the gate, no more smiles that last a second too long. Whatever this strange feeling is, you'll bury it deep, where it can't find you again.
With a sigh, you grab your bag and step out the door, the morning breeze brushing against your skin like a quiet reminder. You have university to attend, a life to live and Jungkook to forget.
-------
You have been trying to focus on university, on work, on anything that doesn't have Jungkook's name attached to it. Your days have become a blur of lectures, deadlines, and late-night study sessions, all serving one purpose distraction. The door that was once always open for Hana, his bright-eyed daughter who used to run into your living room with her toys, now stays firmly shut.
Every time you hear her small knocks and that sweet little voice calling, "Unnie, can I come in?" your heart twists painfully. You'd force yourself to answer through the door, keeping your tone light, "I'm a bit busy right now, Hana. Maybe later, okay?"
And then silence followed by the sound of her tiny footsteps retreating down the hall.
You hate it. You hate how avoiding them feels like cutting off a piece of warmth from your life. But what choice do you have? Each time you see Jungkook his kind smile, the way he waves when you pass by, or that soft tone he uses when thanking you for helping Hana, you feel that uncomfortable pull inside your chest again.
You promised yourself, You won't fall for him.
So you hide behind excuses. Behind your books. Behind work.
Even when Jungkook knocks on your door in the evenings, holding a small box of sweets or a neatly packed dinner, you freeze in place. Sometimes, you wait in silence until the sound of his footsteps fade. And when you finally gather the courage to peek through the peephole, he's already gone leaving behind the food on your doorstep with a folded note.
"You've been working hard again, haven't you? Please don't skip dinner." - Jungkook
You stand there, the warmth from the neatly wrapped container seeping into your palms as you hold it, your chest tightening with guilt and something else you refuse to name. You don't even have the strength to return the gesture anymore.
Days pass this way him leaving food, Hana waving from a distance, you pretending not to see. It's as if you're watching your own life from behind a glass wall safe, detached, and unbearably lonely.
But even in your efforts to keep him away, Jungkook's presence lingers in the faint smell of his cooking that drifts through the corridor, in Hana's laughter echoing through the walls, and in the quiet ache that grows heavier every time you turn away and yet, you tell yourself again and again, This is for the best. Because no matter how much your heart betrays you, some lines were never meant to be crossed.
-------
The evening air is thick with the scent of rain-soaked pavement as you climb the stairs to your apartment, exhaustion weighing on every step. Your bag digs into your shoulder, and your fingers are stiff from hours spent typing and sorting files at your part-time job. You just want to collapse maybe take a long shower, maybe forget the world for a while.
As you reach your floor, a familiar voice calls out, warm and crackling with age. "Y/N, dear! You're back late again."
You turn to see Mrs. Kim, your elderly neighbor who lives two doors down. Her grey hair is tied neatly in a bun, and she's holding a small basket of fruits. She smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling.
"Working yourself too hard again, aren't you?" she says, her voice gentle, motherly. Before you can respond, she presses the basket into your hands. "Here, take these. Fresh apples and pears. You need to eat properly, child. You look tired."
You try to smile, your throat tightening at the unexpected kindness. "Thank you, Mrs. Kim... I'll make sure to eat them."
"Good girl." She pats your arm, her eyes soft with concern. "You remind me of my granddaughter. Always running around, trying to do everything alone. Don't forget to rest, hmm?" You nod, smiling faintly as she waves and shuffles away down the hall. For a brief moment, the air feels lighter until you turn toward your apartment door and see someone walking down the hallway.
Jungkook.
He's carrying a small paper bag in one hand, hair slightly tousled as if he just returned from an evening out. His steps are slow, relaxed but the moment his eyes meet yours, you feel the world stop for a heartbeat.
"Hey," he says softly, a small smile curving his lips. "It's been a while since I've seen you."
Your grip tightens on the basket. "Oh... yeah," you murmur, trying to sound casual, even as your pulse hammers in your ears.
He stops in front of you, close enough that you can smell the faint trace of his cologne warm, subtle, painfully familiar. "How have you been?" he asks, his tone carrying that same easy kindness that used to make you feel safe... and now only makes it harder to breathe.
"I've been... fine," you manage, eyes fixed on the floor.
He chuckles softly. "Hana's been asking about you, you know. She says you don't play with her anymore. She even tried to draw you a picture last week but said she didn't know when she'd get to give it to you."
The guilt slices through you cleanly. You force a small smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes. "I'm sorry. I've just been... busy. With work and university. I didn't mean to ignore her."
Jungkook studies your face for a moment, his expression unreadable something quiet, almost wistful, flickering in his gaze. Then he nods slowly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"I get it," he says softly. "You're working hard. Just... don't forget to take care of yourself, okay?"
Before you can react, he lifts his hand gently, almost hesitantly and pats your head. The gesture is simple, but it makes your heart skip painfully. His touch lingers for just a second before he pulls back, stepping past you toward his door.
"Good night, Y/N," he says over his shoulder, voice calm and low.
You watch him go, the hallway lights casting a soft glow on his back as he disappears into his apartment. You're left standing there, clutching the fruit basket like it's the only thing holding you together. Your chest feels heavy, your throat tight. You tell yourself it's just exhaustion that's all. But deep down, you know the truth.
No matter how far you try to run, Jungkook's voice, his kindness, and that quiet warmth in his eyes keep finding their way back to you.
-------
The next morning arrives slow and quiet, the kind of weekend morning where sunlight filters lazily through the curtains, turning the air golden. For once, you don't have to rush anywhere. No lectures. No part-time job. No excuses. You're in the middle of washing the breakfast dishes when a soft knock echoes at your door.
"Unnie?"
That small, hopeful voice makes your chest tighten instantly. You wipe your hands on a towel and open the door to find Hana standing there her hair slightly messy, clutching a sketchbook in her arms. Her round eyes shine up at you, full of hesitation and hope.
"Can I come in?" she asks quietly, her lower lip jutting out in the faintest pout.
You hesitate only for a heartbeat before sighing softly and stepping aside. "Of course, Hana. Come in."
Her whole face lights up as she skips into your apartment, her laughter instantly filling the space that had felt so still these past few weeks. You find yourself smiling genuinely, maybe for the first time in a while. She spreads her sketchbook across your coffee table and shows you her latest drawings colorful scribbles of her family, her school, and even you.
"This one's you, unnie!" she says proudly, pointing to a figure with long hair and a pink dress.
You laugh softly. "It's beautiful, Hana. You're really good at this."
"Daddy said the same thing!" she giggles, eyes sparkling. "He said you used to help me color better than him, though."
The mention of Jungkook's name makes your stomach twist, but you try to push it away. The next few hours pass easily Hana drawing, you helping her cut paper stars and butterflies, the apartment filled with the sound of crayons scratching and little bursts of laughter. You'd almost forgotten how comforting it felt to have her around how warm and light everything seemed when she was near.
Time slips away unnoticed until the clock strikes four. You're helping Hana tie her shoelaces when there's a firm knock at your door. You freeze for a second. That knock steady, familiar sends your pulse racing before you even turn the handle.
When you open the door, Jungkook is standing there. He's dressed casually loose black hoodie, hair slightly messy but the sight of him still steals the air from your lungs.
"There you are," he says, relief softening his voice as his eyes find Hana behind you. "I was starting to think you'd run away or something, kiddo."
Hana giggles, darting past you to cling to his leg. "Daddy! I was playing with Y/N unnie! We made stars!"
Jungkook smiles, crouching down to smooth her hair. "Ah, so that's where you were hiding. You should've told me, sweetheart. I didn't want to bother Y/N."
You shake your head quickly, forcing a polite smile. "She wasn't bothering me. I... actually had fun."
His gaze shifts to you then calm, steady, but there's something else beneath it. Something that makes your heart stumble. "It's nice to see you both laughing again," he says quietly. "Feels like it's been forever."
You look away, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Yeah... I guess it has."
He studies you for a moment longer eyes soft but unreadable before he nods. "Thank you for spending time with her. I know you've been busy."
"It's nothing," you murmur. "She's... she's a sweet kid."
"I know," he says with a faint smile, resting a hand on Hana's shoulder. "Anyway, I'll get her out of your hair. You probably want to rest."
You shake your head again. "It's fine." As he turns to leave, Hana waves at you cheerfully. "Bye, unnie! I'll come again tomorrow!"
You smile faintly, waving back. "Okay. I'll be here."
Just before Jungkook turns the corner, he glances back once more his expression softer than you've seen in a long time. "You should smile like that more often, Y/N," he says quietly. "It suits you."
And before you can think of anything to say, he's gone walking down the hall with Hana's tiny hand tucked into his. You close the door slowly, your heart fluttering in that same, dangerous rhythm you swore you'd forgotten. The apartment feels too quiet again, the laughter fading into the walls.
You rest your back against the door, staring at the ceiling as your fingers brush the small paper star Hana left on your table. It's simple uneven edges, a little wrinkled but somehow, it feels like it carries everything you're trying so hard not to feel and as the sunlight fades from your window, you can't help but wonder if staying away from them was ever truly possible.
------
The following weekend feels quieter than usual. Hana insists you join her and Jungkook for a small picnic in front of their apartment building. You hesitate at first, but her pleading eyes and infectious grin make it impossible to refuse. So now you're sitting on a soft blanket under the fading afternoon sun. Hana's tiny hands are sticky with juice as she munches on cut fruit, while Jungkook sits across from you, sleeves rolled up, laughing softly at his daughter's endless stories.
It feels normal. Warm. Easy in a way you hadn't felt in a long time.
"So," Jungkook says, leaning back on his palms. "How's university going? Still keeping yourself too busy to rest?"
You smile, rolling your eyes. "Someone has to work hard. Not all of us get to nap in the afternoon like Hana's dad."
He gasps dramatically, pretending to be offended. "Hey, I don't nap- I just rest my eyes."
You laugh, the sound surprising you. You hadn't realized how much you'd missed this the banter, the comfort, the way he always made everything feel lighter.
The afternoon drifts on with easy conversation and Hana's chatter filling the pauses. She eventually dozes off between you two, her small head resting on your lap, one hand still clutching a half-eaten piece of bread.
You gently brush her hair from her face, smiling softly. "She's out cold."
Jungkook leans closer to check on her, his shoulder brushing yours. The contact sends a spark up your arm subtle, yet impossible to ignore. You glance at him, intending to move away, but he looks up at the same moment. For a second, your eyes meet. The world seems to blur around that single moment the soft wind, the sun dipping low, his gaze too close, too gentle.
You realize, too late, that you've leaned in slightly. That your breath has hitched. That Hana's head is the only thing keeping you from moving closer and then a sharp voice cuts through the still air.
"Jungkook."
You both flinch.
Standing a few steps away is Min-seo, Jungkook's wife. Her expression is composed, but her eyes are cold, distant. She takes in the scene before her Hana asleep, your hand still hovering near her hair, Jungkook leaning too close.
It looks wrong.
You open your mouth to explain, but no words come out. Jungkook quickly sits up straighter, guilt flashing across his face as he murmurs, "Min-seo, it's not what it looks like-"
"I see," she interrupts quietly, her voice clipped, polite in that dangerous way only anger can be. "You seem... comfortable."
The silence that follows is unbearable. Hana stirs in her sleep, and you slowly lift her head from your lap, gently setting her on the blanket. Your hands tremble slightly.
"I should go," you whisper, avoiding both their eyes. "It's getting late."
"Y/N-" Jungkook starts, but you're already standing, brushing invisible dust off your clothes, forcing a shaky smile that doesn't reach your eyes.
"It's fine," you say softly. "Good night, Jungkook. Bye, Min-seo." You turn and walk away quickly, the sound of your own heartbeat drowning out everything else.
Behind you, you hear Min-seo's voice again low, calm, but edged with something sharp. "She seems very close to you."
And that's the last thing you hear before you disappear into the building, the evening air pressing heavy against your chest. When you close your apartment door, your reflection in the dark glass looks like someone else, someone caught between guilt and longing, both too afraid and too late to understand what's happening.
-------
That evening, the quiet of your apartment feels heavier than usual. Through the thin wall you can hear muffled voices not clear, but sharp enough that you know it's coming from Jungkook's home. Min-seo's tone is controlled at first, then rising, her words edged with something brittle.
"I come home early one day and see you sitting there, laughing with her like you don't have a family waiting inside!"
Jungkook's reply is lower, rough around the edges. "It wasn't like that, Min-seo. She was just spending time with Hana. You're twisting it."
"Am I?" she snaps back. "You never used to talk about her, and now Hana can't stop mentioning her name! You don't even notice how it looks, do you?"
The sound of something a chair, maybe scrapes against the floor. Then silence. You stand frozen near your window, heart hammering, feeling like an intruder in something you never meant to be part of. You tell yourself to turn away, to stop listening, but you can't. Every word feels like it's pressing directly against your chest.
"Min-seo," Jungkook says after a long pause, his voice softer. "You're being unfair. Y/N's a good person. She's been helping Hana because she cares, not because of me."
"Maybe," Min-seo answers, her voice trembling now. "But it's you who doesn't see the line anymore."
The door slams. The sound makes you flinch. Then, quiet again. A few minutes later, you hear light footsteps down the hall. You know before he knocks.
You open the door just as Jungkook raises his hand to do the same. He looks tired dark circles under his eyes, expression drawn tight. "Sorry," he says quickly, voice low. "I didn't mean to bother you. I just wanted to make sure... this doesn't make things awkward."
You shake your head, though your pulse won't settle. "It's fine. I didn't mean to cause trouble. I should've been more careful-"
He cuts you off gently. "You didn't do anything wrong, Y/N." His eyes hold yours steady, but weary. "Min-seo just... she worries. I'll handle it."
You nod, but inside, something uneasy stirs. You want to believe him, want to pretend that the argument didn't happen, that the look Min-seo gave you wasn't full of quiet accusation.
After he leaves, you linger by the door for a long time. Your reflection in the glass looks pale, restless. You tell yourself to stop thinking about him about his tired eyes, his voice, the way he defended you but the thought of him keeps circling back like a tide that won't pull away.
Your friends would call it a crush. You know better. It isn't love, not exactly. It's something quieter, sadder the way loneliness finds a home in the wrong places. You lie awake long after midnight, hearing the faint sound of a door closing somewhere down the hall, and wonder if Jungkook is awake too wondering about you.
--------
You've been overthinking again.
About him. About that day. About the fight you were never meant to hear.
No matter how hard you try, Jungkook keeps slipping into your thoughts uninvited, unavoidable. He lingers in the small moments of your day: the quiet hum of the elevator, the sound of footsteps in the hallway, the faint laughter of Hana somewhere below. Every reminder pulls at a thread you're desperate to cut.
You've told yourself again and again that it means nothing that what you feel is just confusion, attachment, guilt tangled up into something that only feels like more. But the lie is beginning to unravel. You see him everywhere. When you leave for university, when you return from work, he's there sometimes at the stairs, sometimes in the corridor, sometimes stepping out of the elevator just as you walk in.
He doesn't speak much now. Just a brief glance, a small nod, and that faint, polite smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. Then he's gone again walking past you like a stranger who happens to share the same building and that hurts more than you expected.
Because you remember a different Jungkook, the one who used to laugh with you over the smallest things, who'd tease you gently for working too hard, who always looked soft despite the tattoos that lined his arms. That warmth, that easy comfort, has vanished, leaving behind a quiet that feels too cold to bear.
You try to convince yourself it's for the best. That distance is safer. Cleaner. Easier. But every time you catch that flicker of hesitation in his eyes the almost-smile that fades before it begins your chest tightens with something sharp and unspoken.
Then there's Hana. She doesn't come by anymore. No soft knocks on your door. No drawings slipped under it. When you pass her on the stairs, she looks away. Her little hand tightens around her mother's as if afraid to even wave.
And Min-seo, she doesn't need to say a word. The coldness in her gaze is enough. Her once-courteous nods have turned into silence, and the air between you feels heavier every time your paths cross.
You tell yourself you understand. That she's protecting what's hers, that you were the one who blurred the lines first, even if unintentionally.
But understanding doesn't make it hurt any less. You bury yourself in work and studies, pretending not to notice the ache that follows you home. You read, you write, you scroll through your phone trying to distract yourself, but the moment your mind quiets, his voice echoes again.
The memory of him calling your name. The way he'd said, "You didn't do anything wrong, Y/N." You close your eyes and wish you could believe that. Because lately, even when you tell yourself to forget him, your heart refuses to listen.
------
Jimin had been watching you carefully for days now. The sighs. The way your gaze would drift to nowhere in particular. The way your fingers fidgeted against your notebook at work, or how you'd forget what someone had just said to you.
He'd catch you staring blankly at the wall some afternoons, shoulders slumped, lips pressed together like you were holding back something you didn't dare say aloud.
Every time he asked, "What's wrong?" you'd force a smile and murmur, "Nothing." But he wasn't fooled.
Jimin let himself into your apartment, two six-packs of beer swinging from his hand. "I'm here to save you from yourself," he announced, dropping the bag onto your kitchen counter. "You've been operating at about 30% efficiency for a week, and I'm pretty sure you tried to staple your own hand to a memo this morning. You need a break. I brought beer and company."
You mentally rolled your eyes but couldn't help the small, genuine smile that tugged at your lips. He was right. You needed this. "Fine, Park Jimin," you sighed, grabbing two glasses. "Don't say I didn't warn you if I get maudlin."
A few hours and several beers later, the atmosphere in your living room was warm, hazy, and thick with unspoken feelings. You were definitely drunk, the room swaying just slightly, and the usual tight knot in your chest had loosened into a dull ache. Jimin, while clearly tipsy, was attentive and focused entirely on you.
"Seriously, though, Y/N," he murmured, his voice soft, resting his chin on his knees as he watched you. "What's going on? You keep looking like you've lost your best friend. Talk to me."
You shook your head, staring into your glass. You'd spent so long pretending it was nothing, you didn't know how to start. The silence stretched until a sob escaped you, wet and unexpected. Tears suddenly spilled over, hot and immediate.
Jimin was instantly beside you, gathering you into a warm, strong embrace. You clung to him, burying your face in his shirt. You didn't talk, you just cried, letting the deep, soul-shattering sadness wash over you.
When your tears finally subsided, you pulled back just enough to look at him, your vision blurry. "I can't do this anymore, Jiminie," you choked out, your voice a fragile whisper. You squeezed your eyes shut, leaning your forehead against his chest again. "I just... I want to forget him."
The statement hung in the air, heavy and loaded. Jimin's arms tightened around you. He didn't know who "him" was, but he didn't need to. He just knew someone had hurt you, someone you clearly loved, and that thought ignited a protective, burning anger in his chest.
"Hey," he said, gently tipping your chin up so you had to meet his gaze. His eyes were sincere and slightly clouded with drink, but utterly earnest. "Whoever he is, he doesn't deserve you. Look at you. You're kind, you're smart, you make everyone around you better. You don't deserve this kind of pain."
He brushed a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb, and the touch sent a curious warmth through you that had nothing to do with the alcohol. It was the physical proof of his care, of the feelings he'd been holding onto for you for months.
"You said you want to forget him?" he asked, his voice low, his face inches from yours. You nodded mutely, still aching.
"Then let me help you," he whispered, a daring, desperate light flickering in his eyes. "Let me give you something else to think about. I can make you forget him, just for tonight. I can give you a moment where you only think about me."
The vulnerability and yearning in his expression was impossible to ignore. You knew what he was offering a distraction, a way out of your own head, and a path into something you knew was always simmering between you two. In your drunk, broken state, you didn't have the strength to resist him, or the wisdom to deny yourself this small, fleeting comfort.
"Jimin..." you breathed out, the name a sigh of acceptance.
He didn't wait. He closed the remaining distance, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was both tentative and consuming. It was clumsy and soft from the beer, but held a rush of built-up tension and genuine affection. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close against him, and for the first time all night, the image of the person who broke your heart finally started to fade at the edges.
He gently shifted, guiding you both off the sofa and toward the hallway, a trail of discarded clothes and promises left behind in the dim living room. There was only Jimin, and the sweet, comforting reality of his arms around you, keeping the darkness at bay.
------
When sunlight slipped softly through the curtains, Jimin was already awake. You were still asleep beside him, face relaxed and peaceful for the first time in days. The faint rise and fall of your chest made him smile. He didn't want to wake you, not when you finally looked at peace after weeks of exhaustion and hidden tears.
Quietly, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his touch lingering just a second longer than he meant it to. "Sleep well," he whispered, a small smile tugging at his lips.
He slid out of bed carefully, making sure not to disturb you, and padded toward the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, he scanned the shelves, nearly empty. A carton of milk, half a lemon, and a few packets of instant noodles. He sighed softly and chuckled to himself.
"Of course. Nothing to work with," he murmured.
After a quick thought, he grabbed his keys and quietly stepped out of the apartment, locking the door behind him. The hallway was calm and still, morning light streaming through the narrow windows. He decided to grab a few things from the nearby store maybe some eggs, bread, and coffee. Something simple, something warm.
When he returned a few minutes later, paper bags in hand, he noticed a man walking just a few steps ahead of him tall, broad shoulders, sleeves pushed up to reveal tattoos winding across his arms. He was carrying a small basket of milk and breakfast items, probably for his family.
Jimin smiled faintly to himself. Family man, he thought. Must be nice. But as he approached his door, your door he realized something that made him pause. The man wasn't walking past. He was standing right there, next to your apartment. Unlocking the one just beside it.
Jimin slowed, glancing briefly at him.
The man, Jungkook looked up at that exact moment. Their eyes met. For a second, neither said a word. Jungkook's expression was unreadable, calm but sharp, his gaze flicking briefly toward Jimin's neck where a faint mark, barely visible but unmistakable, showed beneath the collar of his shirt.
Recognition flashed in Jungkook's eyes. Then a pause. Then something else.
"You..." Jungkook began, his tone steady but low. "You must be Y/N's boyfriend, right?" Jimin froze for half a heartbeat, caught off guard.
Then he laughed softly, scratching the back of his neck, cheeks tinting pink. "Uh- yeah," he said after a second. "Yeah, I am."
It wasn't true, not yet. But saying it out loud made his heart race in a way that surprised even him. Maybe it was wishful thinking. Maybe it was hope. Jungkook just nodded once, expression unreadable. "Nice to meet you," he said curtly before turning and disappearing into his apartment.
The air felt strange for a moment heavy, uncertain. Jimin stood there, watching the door close behind him, a small crease forming between his brows. "Weird," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he turned back toward your door. He unlocked it quietly, stepping inside with the groceries. The faint sound of your breathing filled the still apartment, and his expression softened again.
--------
Inside his apartment, the familiar hum of the morning filled the air, the faint sound of the coffee machine, Hana's soft humming as she drew on the floor, and Min-seo flipping through a magazine at the dining table. But Jungkook barely heard any of it. He closed the door behind him, resting his hand on the doorknob a moment longer than needed. His heartbeat was loud, too loud echoing in his chest like it didn't belong to him.
Y/N's boyfriend.
The words kept circling in his mind, sharp and heavy, as if they carried more weight than they should have. He didn't know why he asked. He didn't even know why it mattered. He set the groceries down on the kitchen counter, trying to steady his breathing. "I got the milk and bread," he said, forcing his voice to sound normal.
Min-seo barely looked up. "Hmm," she hummed nonchalantly, flipping a page. "Leave it there."
Hana looked up instead, smiling. "Daddy, can I make toast?"
Jungkook turned to her and smiled or tried to. "Yeah, sure, kiddo. Just be careful, okay?" But his mind wasn't there.
It was next door. He could still picture it, Jimin standing in front of your door, groceries in hand, that faint smile on his lips. The way he said "yeah, I am" so casually, so sure. It shouldn't have bothered him. You were free to do whatever you wanted. He knew that.
But something about it, about the thought of someone else being there with you, someone else making you breakfast, someone else seeing that soft side of you that he used to see, made his stomach twist painfully. He poured himself a cup of coffee, staring blankly into the dark liquid as Min-seo's voice cut through the silence.
"You're quiet," she said flatly. "Something wrong?"
Jungkook looked up. "No. Just... tired." Her eyes lingered on him for a second longer than usual. "You've been saying that a lot lately."
------
The sunlight was a glaring, unwelcome intrusion. You groaned, your head registering a dull, pulsing throb that confirmed the success of last night's mission to get thoroughly drunk. The first thing you noticed was the pleasant, unfamiliar scent of roasted coffee and cooking butter. The second thing you noticed was the distinct lack of a warm, heavy body beside you.
You opened your eyes. You were tangled in your blankets, wearing what you vaguely recognized as one of Jimin's soft, oversized t-shirts. The memories of the previous night the tears, the whispered confession about wanting to forget someone, and the blurring, intimate tenderness with Jimin, rushed back in a mortifying wave.
You slowly sat up, trying to gather your dignity. You needed to face him, but the shame was a palpable, heavy weight. You looked around, found your clothes balled up near the end of the bed, and quickly dressed in something more appropriate than a borrowed shirt.
You took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen. Jimin was standing at the stove, looking unfairly put-together despite the circumstances. He was wearing the same jeans as last night, but had found your apron and was humming softly, expertly flipping pancakes.
He glanced over his shoulder, and his face broke into a genuine, bright smile. "Morning, sleepyhead," he said, his voice easy and warm, utterly devoid of awkwardness or judgment. "Just in time. Everything smells better after coffee."
You leaned against the doorframe, still feeling heat creep up your neck. "Jimin, about last night-" you started, your voice barely a whisper.
He turned off the heat and walked over to you, gently taking your hand. "Shhh," he said softly, giving your knuckles a reassuring squeeze. He looked you straight in the eye, his expression sincere. "Don't apologize. Not even a little bit."
He let go of your hand and gestured toward the counter. "Look. There's a lot going on in your head right now, I know that. But here's what you need to focus on: I'm making pancakes, and they are excellent. We're going to eat, we're going to hydrate, and we're going to figure out your coffee order."
He nudged you toward the table, which he had already set for two. "Nothing happened that you have to be ashamed of," he murmured, his voice dropping slightly. "It was... good. And I wanted it, Y/N. I really did. So, let's just be present for the pancakes, okay?" The sincerity and sheer normality of his demeanor instantly melted some of the ice around your embarrassment. He was treating this not as a shameful mistake, but as a lovely, albeit tipsy, event.
--------
The door clicked softly behind Jimin as he left, his hand raised in a lazy wave. "Text me if you need anything, yeah?" he called over his shoulder, his grin light and warm.
You smiled faintly, nodding. "Yeah, I will."
For a moment, you just stood there in the hallway, watching him walk away, his figure fading into the soft morning light at the end of the corridor. The quiet that followed felt strange, too still after his laughter had filled your apartment all morning. You were about to turn back inside when you froze.
Jungkook was there.
Standing just a few feet away, his expression unreadable. He must've come out of his apartment just moments ago or maybe he had been there for a while. You couldn't tell. Your heart skipped painfully, a wave of surprise flooding through you. "J-Jungkook- I didn't see you there."
He tilted his head slightly, lips curving into a faint, almost polite smile. "It's nice seeing you," he said, his tone calm but edged with something you couldn't quite name. "Along with your boyfriend."
The word hit you like a stone.
"He-" you started, shaking your head, "he's not my-"
But Jungkook cut you off, his voice smooth, almost too casual. "But it would be nice if you both kept it down next time," he said, his gaze steady, unflinching. "These walls aren't soundproof."
For a moment, you couldn't even process what he meant. You blinked, heat rising to your cheeks. "I- I'm sorry," you managed, voice small, unsure.
He let out a short laugh not mocking, but distant, cold in a way you hadn't heard from him before. "It's fine," he said, eyes softening but not quite warm. "That's how couples are. Young and wild love. I understand. You don't need to be sorry."
You stared at him, words caught in your throat. There was a tightness in your chest you couldn't describe a strange ache that burned and stung all at once.
You wanted to tell him he was wrong. That Jimin wasn't your boyfriend. That nothing happened. That the only person who made your heart twist like this was him.
But you couldn't say any of it. You just stood there frozen, small, feeling the distance in his eyes like a wall you could never climb. He gave you one last look before turning away, his voice low. "Have a good day, Y/N." And then he was gone. You stood there long after he'd disappeared inside his apartment, the echo of his words replaying in your head. Young and wild love.
Jungkook had noticed the subtle shift before he could even name it. Min-Seo's distance.
At first, he thought it was work long hours, late nights, stress he could only imagine. But now it had become undeniable. She didn't give him the warmth she once had. She barely spoke at dinner, and when she did, her words were clipped, measured, almost indifferent.
Hana was starting to feel it too. Her bright little smile dimmed when her mother was late again, the excuses piling up into hollow routines. Dinner was eaten in silence, homework left untouched, and bedtime stories reduced to a hurried "goodnight" before Min-Seo disappeared behind her bedroom door.
Jungkook tried, as he always did.
"Min-Seo," he began one evening, the soft glow of the kitchen light illuminating the tension in his shoulders, "can we talk?"
She barely glanced up from her phone. "About what?"
"About... us," he said carefully. "Hana misses you. I miss you. You've been distant. I just want to know why."
Her eyes flicked toward him briefly sharp, guarded, and then gone. "I'm tired, Jungkook. I don't owe you explanations every time I come home late."
"Late? Drunk again?" he asked, voice low but steady. "This isn't just about work. You've barely been here, and Hana-"
"She'll survive," she interrupted, standing. Her movement was abrupt, final. "You act like everything's my fault. Maybe you should focus more on how you spend your time."
He froze, heart tightening at the bitterness in her voice. "How I spend my time?"
"Yes," she snapped, suddenly fierce, her nails gripping the edge of the counter. "Like how you spend time with her. With the neighbor. Always hanging around her, always smiling at her, always..."
"Min-Seo!" Jungkook's voice rose sharply, a mixture of frustration and disbelief. "That has nothing to do with her. You're twisting it. I love you- I love you. Y/N doesn't matter. She's a neighbor. That's all."
She laughed a sharp, hollow sound that cut through the room like glass. "Don't lie to me. Don't act like you don't enjoy her company. You've been more attentive to her than to me lately. And Hana notices it too, you know. She talks about her all the time, and you just encourage it."
Jungkook ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly, fighting the rising anger and guilt. "I didn't encourage it. Hana asked, and I said yes because it makes her happy. Nothing more. I've never wanted... I've never looked at her that way. She's a kid, Min-Seo. You're the one I love."
Her eyes blazed now, a mixture of hurt and fury. "You think saying that makes it okay? That I should just trust you blindly? You think your excuses erase the way you act around her?"
Hana, standing quietly behind the doorway, peeked in. Her small voice trembled as she asked, "Mommy, are you and Appa fighting?"
Jungkook's heart twisted painfully. He knelt down to her, brushing her hair back gently. "No, Hana. Nothing like that, okay? Mommy's just tired, that's all."
Min-Seo didn't soften. Her jaw tightened, and she turned toward the door. "I need space. Maybe some time to think. I can't-"
"You can't what?" Jungkook demanded, standing now, voice sharp but controlled. "Ignore your family because you're angry at me? At me for being a father, a husband, for trying to keep things normal?"
She didn't answer. She just left. Jungkook closed the door behind her and sank against the wall, head in his hands. His chest felt tight, heavy with frustration, helplessness, and a creeping sense of guilt he didn't deserve.
Hana came over, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck. "Appa... she's mad at you."
"I know, kiddo," he murmured, holding her close. "I know. But I promise... I'm not going anywhere. And I'll make sure you're okay."
Yet as he rocked her gently, the echo of Min-Seo's words lingered. Always smiling at her. Always encouraging her. Jungkook couldn't shake the thought. He wanted to scream, to beg, to explain, but every word seemed useless. Min-Seo's jealousy her fear, her anger had built a wall he didn't know how to climb.
---------
It was late, later than usual when you heard the soft knock at your door.
You opened it and froze. Jungkook was standing there, his expression tight with worry, Hana clinging to his hand. Her small face looked up at him with a mixture of hope and confusion.
"Y/N," he said quickly, voice low but urgent. "Can you... take care of Hana for a while? I need to go look for Min-Seo."
You blinked, heart stuttering. "Huh? Wait... what do you mean?"
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration and anxiety mixing in the sharp lines of his face. "She hasn't come home. I've tried calling, and I've checked her usual places. She's... she's not answering. I need to find her, and Hana can't stay out there all night waiting."
Your chest tightened, a strange twist of jealousy tightening along with concern. 'So he's leaving his daughter with me, so he can go find his wife? ' The thought dug uncomfortably at your stomach, even as you forced yourself to nod.
"Of course," you said softly, voice almost trembling. "I'll take care of her. Don't worry."
Hana clung to your side immediately, like she already knew this was her safe place. You smiled weakly, ruffling her hair, but your mind kept racing. 'He's going to pick her up, and... and maybe they'll have a date. They'll go out, laugh, maybe... together.'
You shook your head, pushing the thought down. You couldn't think like that. But your heart betrayed you, twisting tight at the idea of him enjoying himself while you were left behind.
Jungkook crouched down, brushing a strand of hair from Hana's face. "Thank you," he said softly. His eyes flicked to yours for a brief second, but you caught a flicker of something in them worry, pure and unmasked.
And then he was gone, leaving you alone with Hana.
You tried to busy yourself reading, letting her play with her toys, offering snacks but the thought of Jungkook out there, somewhere searching for Min-Seo, kept gnawing at your mind. 'And she's probably laughing at him somewhere, and... and he's...'
You pushed the thought away again, focusing on Hana, who eventually grew tired. She yawned, her small body curling up under your blanket, eyes drooping. You let her sleep, not wanting to wake her. She couldn't stay awake all night waiting for her parents.
You watched her for a long moment, your chest tightening again not because of the worry for her, but because of the quiet apartment, empty except for you and her. You couldn't stop picturing Jungkook leaving you there like this so he could be with Min-Seo.
Is that really it? you thought, biting your lip. Or is something else going on?
The image of his worried eyes as he left flashed in your mind again so different from what you imagined. It wasn't excitement or anticipation. It was concern, pure and raw.
But that didn't stop the jealousy from creeping in. You hugged the blanket around Hana a little tighter, your thoughts twisting in a way you didn't want to admit.
'He's out there looking for her and I'm here, stuck watching his daughter sleep. I shouldn't care, but... why does it hurt like this?'
Hours passed. You heard the faint sounds of the city outside, distant traffic, occasional footsteps in the corridor. You checked the clock repeatedly, each minute stretching longer than the last.
When the door finally clicked open again, you looked up to see Jungkook standing there, relief and exhaustion etched into his face. Hana stirred slightly but didn't wake, still curled up in your arms.
His gaze immediately found yours. It wasn't the look of a man enjoying a night out with his wife. It wasn't playful, it wasn't casual. It was worry, deep and consuming, the kind that made your chest twist and ache in ways you weren't ready to admit.
You swallowed, realizing in that instant that your jealousy irrational as it felt wasn't about dates or fun. It was about him, about the way he moved through the world, the way he cared, the way he still belonged somewhere you weren't allowed to touch.
And even though Hana slept quietly in your arms, even though the night had passed in silence, your heart refused to let go.
Because Jungkook, that man you'd dreamed about, the one you shouldn't want had just reminded you, in the smallest, quietest way, that he wasn't yours.
------
Jungkook sank into the couch, Hana curled up quietly on the other side of the room, still asleep. His shoulders slumped, exhaustion and worry etched into the lines of his face.
"I went everywhere," he murmured, voice low, almost broken. "I went to her workplace, her friends' places... I even checked the streets near the park. I don't know where she is, Y/N. I- I can't find her anywhere."
You watched him carefully, hiding the pulse of satisfaction that twitched behind your chest. His panic, the raw fear in his voice, made your heart thrum in ways you couldn't name.
"Maybe..." you said softly, tilting your head, pretending to hesitate. "maybe she's just... out there somewhere, doing something she wants. She's been distant lately, hasn't she?"
Jungkook's head shot up, eyes sharp and glimmering with worry. "Distant? You mean... she's been avoiding me? That's- that's nothing. Min-Seo... she loves me. She can't do this... she can't just disappear like this. She wouldn't-"
You let your voice drop to a whisper, almost conspiratorial, leaning slightly closer to him. "But she has been distant, hasn't she? Maybe... maybe she's seeing someone else."
His brow furrowed, panic threatening to override his calm. "No," he said quickly, a desperate edge creeping into his tone. "No, she wouldn't do that. Min-Seo... she loves me. She can't- she wouldn't cheat on me."
You bit your lip, tilting your head as though considering his words. Your mind raced, each thought sharper than the last, darkly pleased at the effect you were having. 'She's not the one he's supposed to care about. I am.'
Internally, you whispered to yourself, 'He can't see it. He can't see that I love him too... why can't he see me?'
You reached out slowly, your hand brushing his, hesitating just a second before grasping it firmly. His eyes flicked down at your hand, tension visible in the way his fingers twitched.
"I know the truth hurts," you said softly, your voice honeyed, almost tender. "But we- we aren't sure where she is. Or if she's... cheating on you."
You let your eyes meet his, letting the words hang there, tasting the panic and confusion that shimmered behind them.
"I just..." you continued, letting your voice soften, almost comforting. "I just hope she's fine. And comes back to you."
Jungkook's grip tightened slightly on your hand, and you felt it, the small quiver in his body, the raw emotion he couldn't mask and even as you said it, your mind twisted the scene in ways he couldn't see. You were the one here, calm, steady, "caring" while he panicked over a wife who was distant and mysterious. You were the one giving him comfort and yet, planting seeds of doubt.
His eyes searched yours for answers, but you didn't give them. Instead, you just held his hand a little longer, letting him lean on you letting him depend on you while thinking about someone else.
And deep down, you smiled quietly to yourself. Because he was yours, whether he knew it or not.
-------
The apartment was quiet, save for the soft rise and fall of Hana's breathing. Her small body was curled beneath the blanket, peaceful and completely unaware of the tension hanging in the air.
"You should sleep here tonight," you said softly, glancing at Jungkook. "Hana's already asleep... you'll rest better if you stay."
He hesitated, eyes flicking toward the sleeping child, his mind clearly racing. "I... okay," he said finally, his voice low. The exhaustion etched into his features was unmistakable worry, tension, and too many thoughts crowding his head.
You nodded silently, letting him make his way to the couch. He moved carefully, like he didn't want to disturb the fragile peace of the room. You watched him settle, the familiar line of his body softened in slumber, and then turned toward Hana, settling back beside her as she shifted slightly and murmured in her sleep. You let the night stretch out quietly, the soft hum of the city beyond your window filling the apartment.
-------
Morning arrived slowly. Light spilled into the room, warm and golden, brushing across the furniture and illuminating the quiet apartment.
You stirred first, blinking sleepily and stretching. But your attention was immediately drawn to the couch.
Jungkook was there. Curled up, body slightly twisted, his arm tucked under his head. His expression, even in sleep, was tight, almost guarded a faint frown lingering between his brows, evidence of a restless night.
Something inside you stirred a spark of something you couldn't name, excitement mixed with longing, a twist in your chest that made your heartbeat quicken. You found yourself unable to look away.
Carefully, you leaned closer, drawn to the curve of his jaw, the slight furrow of worry in his face. Your fingers lifted slowly, brushing gently against his cheek. The skin was warm, soft beneath your touch.
Then, almost instinctively, you traced a finger along the bridge of his nose.
A soft stir, a quiet murmur escaped his lips, and he shifted slightly.
Your heart jumped. Panic hit in an instant. You straightened immediately, stepping back as if the contact had been nothing, though the heat thrumming through your chest told you otherwise.
Jungkook blinked, slowly coming awake. His eyes, tired and slightly dull, met yours. There was a softness there, yes, but also exhaustion a weight you could almost see pressing down on him.
"Good morning," you said, your voice quieter than usual, catching slightly at the edge.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes, and murmured back, "Good morning." His voice was low, rough from sleep. But the dull look in his eyes, the tension still lingering in the set of his shoulders made your chest ache in ways you couldn't name.
You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close you were, how intimate the apartment felt in that quiet morning light. Hana remained asleep, oblivious to the tension, while you and Jungkook shared a moment that felt fragile, electric, and impossible to define.
Even as he adjusted himself on the couch, preparing to fully wake, you couldn't tear your eyes away. Something in you buzzed, a dark thrill under your ribs, as you realized just how much this him, his presence, the exhaustion he couldn't hide had already rooted itself inside you.
-----
Jungkook gathered Hana in his arms, her small head resting against his chest, still drowsy from her long night. She murmured softly, half-asleep, and you felt a pang of something, jealousy, perhaps, and longing, curling tight in your chest.
"Are you taking her back?" you asked softly, your voice barely hiding the tremor in it.
He paused at the door, adjusting Hana so she wouldn't wake. "Yeah... she needs her routine," he murmured, rubbing her back gently.
Your fingers twitched, itching to reach out, to offer, to keep him here. "I can make breakfast... for both of you. You could stay. You wouldn't be bothering me."
He shook his head quickly, a faint, apologetic smile tugging at his lips. "I can't... You've already done so much. I don't want to bother you. Hana and I will go."
Your chest constricted. But then a spark of something dark, thrilling, and dangerous flickered in your mind. 'This is it. This is my chance. My sign. This time, I won't back off.'
You watched him walk out, holding Hana close. Your fingers curled slightly around the edge of the doorframe, as if you were physically holding onto him, your thoughts spinning. 'He's mine... if I want him, he'll stay. He has no idea how much I want him.'
------
As Jungkook stepped into the corridor, his steps slowed. And there she was. Min-Seo, standing at her door, arms crossed, eyes sharp and cold as she looked at him. The sight of her made the muscles in his jaw tighten.
"Where... where have you been?" he asked, concern heavy in his voice. "I've been worried."
Her lips curved in a harsh, dismissive smirk. "That's none of your business," she snapped. "And what exactly were you doing in her home?"
His chest tightened, hesitation flickering across his face. "Hana... she was asleep there, and-"
He stopped. How could he possibly explain the truth? That he had slept there, in your apartment, because you had insisted and Hana had needed him? That he had spent the night so close to you? His throat tightened; words failed him. He just shook his head slowly, eyes apologetic.
Min-Seo's gaze sharpened further, and she shook her head in frustration. "You spent the night with her, seeing I wasn't there. Not just you... but Hana along with you."
His shoulders stiffened. "It's not what you think," he said quietly, but firm. "I... Hana was asleep, and I didn't want her to wake up alone. That's all."
She took a step toward him, eyes narrowing. "Don't lie to me, Jungkook. I can see it. You stayed there, and you-" Her voice faltered just slightly, but her tone remained sharp. "You didn't think about me at all, did you?"
He opened his mouth to argue, to explain, but she turned sharply and walked inside, slamming the door behind her. The echo bounced down the hallway like a judge's gavel.
Jungkook stood frozen, Hana still in his arms, the weight of her accusation and her anger pressing on his chest. His heart was twisting, tangled between worry, frustration, and the unspoken truth he couldn't tell that his actions had been innocent, necessary even, yet they had only fed Min-Seo's suspicions.
------
The apartment felt smaller somehow, as if the walls themselves were closing in on the two of them.
Jungkook's hands were clenched at his sides, jaw tight. "Where were you, Min-seo? You didn't answer your phone, you didn't come home... Hana and I were worried sick!" His voice trembled slightly, a mix of anger and fear.
Min-Seo's eyes were cold, distant, like daggers slicing through the air. She didn't answer immediately, and the silence between them stretched, sharp and suffocating.
"I asked you a question!" Jungkook's voice rose, cracking with frustration. "Where were you?"
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Why do you even care?" she shot back, her tone cutting, venomous. "It's not like it's any of your business."
He took a step closer, the desperation in his movements obvious. "It is my business! You're my wife! Hana's mother! Don't you see how worried I've been? How she's been waiting for you?"
Min-Seo shook her head sharply, her hair falling into her face as she turned away slightly, refusing to meet his eyes. "You're so pathetic sometimes," she spat. "Always so... obsessed. Always hovering over her, over Y/N. Maybe if you paid attention to me for once, I wouldn't have to go anywhere!"
The words hit him like a punch to the gut. His chest tightened painfully, and for a moment he could barely breathe. "That has nothing to do with Y/N! Stop blaming her for us! I love you. I love you, Min-Seo!"
Her laugh was bitter, hollow. "Love? You call that love? You spend more time worrying about Y/N and playing house with her than you do with your own family. Maybe I don't even matter to you anymore."
The sharpness of her accusation stung, a wound deeper than anything physical. Jungkook opened his mouth to argue, but she wouldn't let him speak. Her eyes flashed, her arms crossed like a wall he couldn't penetrate.
"You don't understand anything," he said finally, voice low, controlled but breaking at the edges. "I'm not... I'm not ignoring you. I didn't go to her home because I wanted to... I went because Hana was asleep, and she needed me. Nothing else."
Min-Seo shook her head, cutting him off again. "Don't lie to me, Jungkook. Don't pretend you're just doing this for Hana. You like being there. You like her. And I... I can see it. I see everything!"
Her words, sharp and accusing, reverberated through the apartment. Hana, curled up on the couch with a small blanket over her shoulders, stirred and let out a soft whimper. Her small face crumpled, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. "Appa... Mommy... stop," she whimpered, voice trembling.
Jungkook's heart twisted violently. He moved toward her immediately, lowering himself to her level. "Hana, hey, it's okay, okay? I'm right here, sweetheart." He pulled her into his chest, feeling her little arms wrap around him tightly.
Min-Seo didn't relent. "You think you're a good father? You're pathetic! You can't even manage your family!"
Hana cried harder, small sobs shaking her body. "Stop! Please!" she wailed.
Jungkook felt something inside him break, a mixture of helplessness, rage, and desperation. "Min-Seo!" he shouted, voice cracking. "Do not yell at her! Stop! Hana doesn't deserve this!"
For a moment, the room was heavy with silence. Hana crying softly against Jungkook's chest, her tiny hands clutching his shirt, Min-Seo glaring at him with sharp, angry eyes, and him staring back, chest heaving, voice broken.
"I... I just wanted to know you were safe," he said quietly, almost pleading, looking at her with a mix of desperation and pain. "That's all. Is that so wrong?"
Min-Seo didn't answer. She turned abruptly and stalked toward her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. The sharp sound echoed through the apartment, leaving an oppressive weight in the air.
Hana sniffled against Jungkook's shoulder, tears dampening his shirt. "Appa... why are you both fighting?" she asked softly, voice small and frightened.
He hugged her tighter, pressing a kiss to her hair. "I don't know, Hana... I don't know," he whispered, heart heavy, knowing that the fight wasn't over and that the tension between them had only just begun.
-------
Jungkook had been trying.
Every evening, every quiet moment, he tried to bridge the distance that had grown between him and Min-Seo. He approached her softly, carefully, with gentle words, small gestures, a cup of tea waiting for her on the counter, a quiet touch on her shoulder, attempts at conversation during dinner.
But she ignored him completely.
She buried herself in her phone, scrolling endlessly, her eyes glazed and distant. Even when he tried to catch her gaze, she would look past him, or away, as though he didn't exist. The few times she came home late, she smelled different heavy, strong cologne that was not his. Not the faint lingering scent he loved on her before, the one that clung subtly to her hair or wrists. This was sharp, almost artificial, and it pricked at him like an alarm.
At first, he tried to push it away. It can't be happening, he thought, shaking his head as he remembered the words you had planted in his mind weeks ago 'Maybe she's seeing someone else... maybe she's cheating on you.' He dismissed it, because Min-seo had been his wife for years, and he loved her. He couldn't imagine it.
But the doubt lingered, gnawing at him like a slow, insistent itch.
And then he noticed the faint marks.
A shallow bruise near her wrist, tiny scratches along her collarbone, delicate yet unmistakable. He tried to rationalize maybe she'd hit herself, maybe it was nothing but the combination of the smell, the distance, and the marks made his chest tighten painfully.
He found her in the bedroom one evening, phone in hand, eyes half-closed from exhaustion or perhaps indifference. His voice was careful, but carried a sharp edge of fear he tried to suppress.
"What have you been doing lately, Min-Seo?" His fingers twitched at his sides, tension coiling in his shoulders. "Is there... someone else?"
She glanced up, a slow, deliberate smile curling her lips. Her eyes sparkled with amusement, cold and unreadable.
"You don't need to know," she said lightly, chuckling, as though his panic was something entertaining.
The sound of her laughter cut through him like a knife. He could feel it in his chest, in the tightening of his stomach, in the ache behind his ribs. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, a desperate mix of frustration, fear, and disbelief bubbling to the surface.
"I... I don't understand," he said quietly, voice breaking. "I've tried... I've tried to be here for you. I've tried to make things better."
She leaned back, shrugging lazily, her smirk never fading. "Maybe you just aren't enough for me right now," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm and teasing cruelty.
Jungkook's chest constricted painfully, a low ache spreading through him. He swallowed hard, trying to maintain control, trying to hold onto the love he still felt but now, doubt had slithered in, seeded by the faint whisper of your words and Min-Seo's actions.
And he couldn't shake it. He had always trusted her.
But now... what if she's not who I thought she was?
He clenched his jaw, eyes flicking to the faint marks on her skin again, his mind spinning and somewhere in the back of his mind, he couldn't stop hearing your voice soft, coaxing, insidious. Maybe she's seeing someone... maybe she's cheating on you...
The thought made his chest ache, his hands shake slightly, and for the first time in a long while, Jungkook felt truly lost.
--------
You spotted him near the stairs, the faint morning light catching on the edge of his jacket as he paused mid-step, waiting for the elevator. Your heart thumped faster than it should, each beat echoing in your chest.
"Jungkook," you said softly, stepping closer, forcing a sympathetic smile onto your face. "I... I need to tell you something. Can we talk... privately?"
His brow furrowed, curiosity and caution flickering across his face. "What is it, Y/N?"
You swallowed, your voice lowering, heavy with a carefully crafted sense of concern. "It's about Min-seo."
His hand paused on the railing, his posture stiffening. "What about her?" His voice was calm, but you could see the tension coiling in his jaw, the slight narrowing of his eyes.
You stepped closer, tilting your head slightly, eyes soft and apologetic. "I... I didn't want to tell you. I really didn't. But... I couldn't hide it from you anymore. I... I saw her."
He frowned, a quiet unease creeping over him. "Saw her... where?"
You hesitated, letting the words sink before you let them out, each one measured to twist the knife just right. "When you were out for work... I saw Min-seo with a man. At first, I thought it was normal maybe just a friend, maybe someone she met. But... then I saw them kiss."
His expression faltered, the faintest shadow of something heavy crossing his face. He had feared it, in some quiet corner of his mind, but hearing it spoken aloud still hurt.
"She... she was at a café too," you continued softly, letting your words drip like honey, both cruel and tender. "I saw her there, with him, when I was out with my friends. I didn't want to say anything... I really didn't. But... I couldn't keep it from you. You deserve to know."
Jungkook closed his eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of his nose, a sharp exhale escaping him. Pain, betrayal, frustration all rolled into a tight knot in his chest. Yet somewhere, deep down, he had seen this coming. Somehow, even before you spoke, he had known, had felt the shift, the distance, the unspoken secrets.
He opened his eyes again, voice low, steady despite the weight pressing down on him. "It's not your fault, Y/N. You didn't do anything wrong. This... this isn't on you."
You watched him carefully, heart racing, satisfaction flickering quietly under the surface. Even as he tried to mask it, you could see it the hurt, the confusion, the sudden uncertainty. It made your chest tighten with an excitement you tried to hide.
He ran a hand through his hair, gaze flicking away, then back to you. There was silence for a moment, thick and heavy, filled with unsaid words and the tension of a secret now unveiled.
You forced a small, almost innocent smile. "I... just wanted you to know. You deserve the truth, Jungkook."
-------
You were at work, your focus flickering between the numbers on your screen and the storm that had been brewing quietly inside your chest since that morning with Jungkook. His face, his voice, the way he’d looked when you told him about Min-seo, all of it clung to your thoughts like a shadow you couldn’t escape.
You were supposed to be typing, but instead, you caught yourself staring at nothing, lost in the replay of his expression that heartbreak, that disbelief, that faint tremor in his voice. You had caused it, yet it made you feel closer to him somehow.
You didn’t even notice Jimin watching you from across the desk.
He’d been noticing you a lot lately the way you’d sigh softly between tasks, the way your fingers lingered over your phone screen as if waiting for a message that never came. There was a quiet sadness about you, one he couldn’t ignore.
By the time everyone else had packed up for the day, the office was bathed in the soft glow of evening light, and only the hum of the air conditioner filled the silence. Jimin lingered by your desk, pretending to scroll through his phone before finally clearing his throat.
“Y/N,” he said softly.
You turned, blinking out of your daze. “Hm?”
He looked nervous hands buried in his pockets, eyes darting briefly to the floor before meeting yours. “Can we… talk for a second?” You nodded, unsure where this was going.
He took a breath. “I’ve been meaning to say this for a while now. I just… I didn’t want to make things awkward between us.” His voice trembled slightly but held steady. “I like you.” You froze.
He gave a small, hesitant smile, stepping a little closer. “At first, I thought it was just concern, you know? You’ve been distant, lost… and I hated seeing you like that. But lately, I realized it’s more than that. I care about you. A lot.”
The words hung between you, warm and gentle words that might have made your heart flutter at another time. But now, they only left a strange ache in your chest. You wanted to respond, to say something kind, but Jungkook’s face flashed in your mind again his tired eyes, his broken voice. And suddenly, you couldn’t breathe right.
“Jimin…” you began softly, eyes lowering to your hands. “You’re… you’re really sweet. You’ve always been there for me. But I can’t.”
He blinked, confused. “Can’t?”
You nodded, forcing a small smile. “I just… I don’t feel that way. I’m sorry.”
You could see the flicker of hurt cross his face, quickly masked by an awkward chuckle. “Ah… I see.” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to laugh it off, but the sound came out hollow. “It’s him, isn’t it?” Your eyes lifted, startled.
He smiled not angry, just sad. “You don’t have to say it. I can tell. Whoever he is… he’s the one you’re still thinking about.” You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.
Because he was right. As Jimin turned away, the guilt settled heavy in your chest, but beneath it was another feeling one darker, quieter, and far more dangerous. The image of Jungkook’s hurt expression replayed again, and something inside you twisted with satisfaction.
You didn’t need Jimin’s love. You already knew who you wanted and now, Jungkook’s heart was starting to crack and you were right there to catch the pieces.
--------
Your phone buzzed against the table, the faint vibration echoing through the quiet of your apartment. You turned it over Jungkook.
“When are you coming home?”
That one line was enough to pull a crooked smile from your lips. He’d been leaning on you more these days emotionally, quietly, almost helplessly. You liked it. You liked the way he trusted you now, how he came to you when everything else in his world was falling apart.
It had been a week since things between him and Min-seo started unraveling completely. The home that once radiated laughter soft voices, Hana’s giggles, the sound of their lives blending into warmth had turned into something else. Something raw.
Now, all you heard through the thin walls were the sharp edges of their arguments. Raised voices. Breaking glass. Hana’s soft crying that carried into the hall until she ended up here, in your apartment curled against your lap, her small hands gripping your sleeve, whispering that she didn’t want to go home.
You’d tell her stories until she fell asleep. Sometimes, she’d wake up asking for her father, and you’d soothe her back to dreams. A part of you ached for her. Another part darker, quieter whispered that this was what had to happen. That this was how things would finally start shifting in your favor.
It all came crashing down yesterday.
Min-seo had shown up at your door angry, wild, her voice echoing down the corridor. “Why is my daughter here?” she’d screamed, pointing at Hana who was sitting quietly behind you, tears streaking down her cheeks. “She’s my child, not yours! Keep her out of your twisted little games!” You had frozen, not out of guilt, but calculation waiting, knowing Jungkook would come and he did.
“Stop it, Min-seo,” he snapped, his tone like ice. “You’re ruining Hana’s peace. You’re ruining everything. She’s fine here, she’s happy here. I don’t want her caught up in your mess.”
Min-seo’s face had twisted in fury, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. She stormed away after that, slamming the door, her perfume and rage lingering in the air like smoke.
Now, it was the next evening, and Jungkook sat on your couch shoulders heavy, fingers tangled together. You watched him silently from across the room, your heart thudding with anticipation.
He exhaled, voice low, rough, defeated. “Y/N… we’re getting divorced.”
You blinked once, slowly pretending to be shocked, even though your pulse raced with quiet satisfaction. “Oh,” you whispered, crossing the room toward him. “I… I’m so sorry, Jungkook.”
He didn’t look up, just stared at the floor. “It’s for the best,” he said, more to himself than you. “It’s been breaking us… breaking Hana. I can’t keep pretending anymore.”
You sat beside him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his body. You placed a hand gently on his arm, your tone careful, sympathetic though inside, your mind was electric.
“You deserve better than that, Jungkook,” you said softly. “You’ve always done everything for her, for your family. And if she couldn’t see that… that’s her mistake. You’re a good man. You don’t deserve to be treated like this.”
He finally looked at you eyes red, tired, hollow. You saw it, the cracks. The space opening. The quiet dependency that had begun to form. He nodded, voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you… for being here.”
And then he moved a slow, uncertain shift and suddenly he was leaning forward, arms wrapping around you. His head pressed against your shoulder, his breath uneven, trembling. For a moment, you froze, caught between surprise and something darker. Then your hands rose, almost instinctively, curling around his back, holding him close.
It felt too right. Too natural. Like this was where he was supposed to be all along. His pain, his exhaustion you could feel it all bleeding into you. You wanted to whisper that it was okay. That she didn’t deserve him. That you understood him better than anyone ever could.
But you stayed silent, letting him cling to you. Because this moment this crack in his armor was yours and you weren’t going to let it close again.
-------
The day arrived faster than anyone expected. The air outside the courthouse was sharp, thick with the kind of silence that only comes before something permanent. You stood by the cold marble walls, watching Jungkook from a short distance his posture straight, his expression unreadable, but his eyes they were hollow.
And then you saw her. Min-seo, immaculate as ever, her hair styled perfectly, her lips painted red standing beside him.
Jung Hoseok.
The man she’d chosen. The one she’d been sneaking around with while Jungkook was trying to hold his family together. He stood beside her confidently, his hand resting at the small of her back a gesture too intimate, too public. They looked like a couple who had nothing to hide, while Jungkook stood there like a shadow, silently watching the life he built slip away piece by piece.
Your jaw clenched. You didn’t even hate Hoseok not really. He seemed fine. Charming, maybe even kind. A perfect match for her, you thought bitterly. The kind of man Min-seo would choose to flaunt, just to prove she’d moved on.
But for Jungkook? No. He deserved someone gentler. Someone who actually understood him who knew how deep his loyalty ran, how quiet his heartbreak could be.
Someone like you.
The hearing began. You sat behind Jungkook, your fingers twisting together as the judge’s voice filled the courtroom detached, procedural, heartless. Words like “irreconcilable differences” and “mutual consent” echoed between the walls, turning their once-lively marriage into a pile of legal terms.
Jungkook didn’t flinch when the divorce was finalized. He just nodded, eyes cast downward, his hand gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles went white. But the moment custody was mentioned, everything shifted. Min-seo straightened, her voice confident. “Your honor, I can take care of Hana. She’s my daughter, she needs her mother. I have a stable job, a supportive partner, and a home ready for her.”
You could see Jungkook’s shoulders tighten. He looked up then, his voice cracking as he spoke. “Your honor, I’ve always been there for Hana. I’ve taken care of her every day. I can’t just lose her.”
His words trembled not with anger, but desperation. You could feel it radiating off him, that quiet panic of a father on the edge of losing everything that still gave him purpose.
But the court didn’t care about emotions. The judge’s tone was clinical, dismissive. “While both parents appear capable, the child’s welfare and emotional development are often better served under maternal care. Mr. Jeon, you are a single parent with work obligations. The child requires consistent supervision and emotional support.”
You saw the flicker in Jungkook’s expression the disbelief, the sting of humiliation. He was already broken by betrayal; now they were stripping away what little he had left. Min-seo’s lawyer smiled faintly confident, victorious. And you could see Hoseok’s hand slip into hers under the table, the gesture subtle but mocking.
You wanted to scream. To stand up and tell them that she wasn’t the one who held Hana when she cried, that it was Jungkook who stayed awake all night when his daughter had nightmares, that it was you who had seen them together father and daughter healing quietly while Min-seo was out living another life.
But you couldn’t. Not here. Not yet. The gavel struck. “The hearing is dismissed for today. Custody will be reconsidered in the next session.” and that was it.
The sound echoed like a death sentence.
Jungkook sat there for a moment after everyone else stood still, silent, as though his body had forgotten how to move. You could see his jaw working, his eyes glassy with frustration. Then, slowly, he rose and turned to you. You forced a faint smile, trying to keep your voice from trembling. “Hey… it’s not over yet.”
He nodded weakly, his voice a whisper. “Yeah… I know.”
But you could see it the cracks widening. He wasn’t just losing a marriage anymore. He was losing himself and as you looked at him standing there in the wreckage of everything he’d loved something inside you stirred. Pity. Affection. Obsession.
You weren’t sure what to call it anymore. You just knew you’d do anything to make sure he didn’t lose Hana.
--------
The corridors outside the courtroom felt colder than they should have. You watched Jungkook walk ahead, his pace slow, heavy like every step dragged the weight of something broken. His shoulders were slumped, his hands trembling slightly as he ran them through his hair. The silence between you was thick, the kind that hurt to breathe through.
“Jungkook…” you called softly. He stopped but didn’t turn. You could see his reflection in the glass wall the faint trace of tears in his eyes, the exhaustion painted across his face. When he finally faced you, his voice cracked.
“They’re taking her away from me.” You stepped closer. “They might. Not yet. You can still fight this, Jungkook.”
His laugh was bitter, empty. “Fight? You heard them. I’m a single dad, they don’t care how much I love her. They think she’s better off with that woman and her boyfriend.” You flinched at the venom in his tone, but deep inside, it thrilled you. Because for the first time, Jungkook was no longer defending Min-seo. He was resenting her.
You gently touched his arm, your voice calm, coaxing. “Then don’t let them win. We’ll prove you’re the better parent. Hana needs you, Jungkook. Not her. You can’t give up on her like this.” He looked at you, really looked as if your words were the first thing that made sense in hours and then, slowly, he nodded. “What do I even do?”
You smiled faintly, masking the satisfaction blooming beneath your chest. “Let me help you.”
--------
The days that followed were chaos. You were with him through it all building his case, organizing documents, tracking every record that showed Jungkook’s role as a father. School reports, doctor visits, even old photos of Hana clinging to his arm you compiled everything.
You helped him meet a better lawyer, one with a heart someone who’d see beyond the cold paperwork. You spent nights at his kitchen table, helping him sort files while Hana slept quietly in her room. Sometimes, Jungkook would fall asleep right there, his head resting on folded arms, and you’d just watch him.
Every breath he took. Every twitch of his lips. You memorized it all. Because somewhere between the court papers and sleepless nights, you stopped helping out of sympathy and started helping because you couldn’t bear to imagine his life without you in it.
-------
Then came the second hearing. This time, Jungkook didn’t sit defeated. He looked composed ready. You sat behind him again, hands folded tightly in your lap as the judge read through the updated reports.
His lawyer spoke clearly, passionately. “Mr. Jeon has been the child’s primary caregiver since birth. He has demonstrated emotional stability, financial capability, and consistent parental involvement. Meanwhile, the child’s mother has been documented engaging in frequent late-night absences and inappropriate behavior in the child’s presence.”
You saw Min-seo tense. Jungkook didn’t even look at her. His gaze stayed steady directed toward the judge, not the woman who betrayed him and when Hana’s teacher testified that Hana often cried for her father, saying she wanted to “stay where it felt safe,” something in the courtroom shifted.
For once, Jungkook’s pain wasn’t invisible. The verdict came quietly but powerfully. “Full custody of the minor child, Jeon Hana, is hereby awarded to her father, Mr. Jeon Jungkook, with visitation rights to the mother.”
You could feel your heart race. Jungkook froze, lips parting slightly disbelief flickering in his eyes before relief flooded in like a wave.
He turned to you. The moment your eyes met, he exhaled, shaky and raw. You smiled soft, controlled the way you always did when you wanted to hide too much emotion. When he pulled you into a hug, it wasn’t gentle. It was desperate. His arms tightened around you, like he was holding onto the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
“Thank you,” he whispered against your hair. “I couldn’t have done this without you.” You hugged him back, your eyes fluttering shut as a slow, dangerous smile curved your lips.
'I know', you thought. 'You’ll never have to do anything without me again.'
-------
It had been weeks since the court granted Jungkook full custody of Hana. The chaos had finally settled, but the silence that followed was heavy too heavy for him.
Jungkook had stopped smiling the way he used to. He still laughed for Hana’s sake, still worked hard, still kept himself busy — but you could see it. The emptiness behind his eyes every time she ran into her room or fell asleep early. The loneliness that lingered when he thought no one was looking.
You started visiting them often. Sometimes to help with Hana’s homework, sometimes just to drop off dinner. You told yourself it was just kindness, but deep down, you knew it wasn’t. You needed to be near him and maybe, just maybe he needed it too.
One evening, you stood at Jungkook’s door holding a bowl of soup. Hana had caught a small cold, and you’d promised to bring her something warm. Jungkook opened the door, wearing his usual black tee and sweatpants, his hair slightly messy and damp he’d probably just showered.
“Hey,” he greeted, voice tired but softer than before. “Hey,” you replied, smiling. “I brought some soup for Hana. And for you too, if you’ve eaten nothing again.”
He chuckled faintly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You caught me.” You walked inside, placing the food on the table as he followed you. The apartment was dim, faintly glowing from the TV light, cartoons still playing even though Hana was already asleep on the couch, curled up in her blanket.
“She fell asleep waiting for you,” Jungkook said quietly, watching his daughter.
You smiled. “She looks peaceful.”
He nodded, his eyes soft. “She sleeps better now, maybe because she knows things won’t fall apart anymore.” You turned to look at him, your chest tightening. He said it so sincerely that it made you ache.
“You’ve done a good job, Jungkook,” you said softly. He exhaled, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Some days, I feel like I’m just pretending I can handle it.”
“Then don’t pretend,” you whispered. “Just… let someone help you.” When his eyes lifted to meet yours, something flickered there something raw. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The world outside felt far away.
-------
It started with small things after that. Jungkook began to text you more little things like “Hana says she misses you” or “Thanks for the dinner yesterday.”
He’d ask you to join them for movie nights, or for walks to the park. Sometimes, he’d bring Hana to your place just to “hang out,” even when he didn’t need help.
You’d catch him watching you when he thought you weren’t looking that same quiet stare, thoughtful and unreadable.
The tension between you both wasn’t loud; it was slow, steady, almost invisible to anyone else. But you felt it. Every time his hand brushed yours while reaching for a cup. Every time his gaze lingered a second too long. Every time you caught him smiling softly when you laughed.
-------
One rainy night, you three were sitting in your living room. Hana was asleep in the next room, her small snores faint. The rain pattered softly against the window, and the dim light made the air thick with unspoken things. Jungkook sat beside you on the couch, holding a cup of tea you’d made him. His fingers brushed yours when you handed it to him and this time, neither of you moved away.
“She really loves you,” he said quietly. “Hana. She says you make her feel safe.”
Your heart skipped. “She’s a sweet kid. You’ve raised her well.”
He smiled faintly. “Not alone, it seems.”
You turned to him, the corner of your lips twitching. “Are you saying you need me now, Jungkook?” He chuckled under his breath, but there was something serious in his eyes something softer, darker. “I think I already do.”
You froze for a second. His words weren’t flirtatious they were vulnerable, stripped of pretense. You wanted to say something, anything, but the words died on your tongue when his gaze lingered on your lips for just a heartbeat too long.
The air between you burned. Neither of you crossed the line that night. But you both felt it the shift, the pull and as he got up to leave, his hand brushed against yours again this time, deliberately. “Goodnight,” he murmured.
You watched him go, your heart pounding in your chest, a soft smile curving your lips.
------
It was one of those evenings again the kind that stretched lazily into night. The faint hum of the city outside, the soft glow of your lamp, Hana’s laughter echoing from the next room where she was playing with her dolls. You and Jungkook were sitting by the window with mugs of tea, the quiet between you oddly comfortable. It had become a habit now — he’d drop by with Hana, stay for dinner, help clean up, and sometimes stay just a little longer than necessary.
Tonight felt different though. He looked at you more than usual, his gaze lingering as though trying to read something he’d missed before.
“Hey,” Jungkook said suddenly, his tone light but eyes sharp. “When was the last time you talked to your boyfriend?”
You blinked, caught off guard. “My… boyfriend?” “Yeah,” he said, his lips quirking slightly. “That guy I met once Jimin, right?” The mention of his name pulled something in your chest. You hadn’t seen Jimin much lately. He’d stopped calling after your quiet rejection that night.
“Oh, that.” You gave a faint smile. “We weren’t really official. Just… seeing each other, I guess.” Jungkook leaned back, taking a sip of his tea, eyes still on you. “So you’re not together anymore?”
You shook your head. “Not really. We stopped talking.” There was a flicker of something in his eyes surprise, maybe relief. He didn’t say anything for a moment, only nodded slowly.
“Did you like him?” he asked quietly. You hesitated. “I thought I did,” you said, watching the steam curl from your cup. “But… no. Not really.”
He tilted his head. “Why not?”
You laughed softly, but it sounded more tired than amused. “Because it didn’t feel real. He was kind, but I never felt connected to him. Not like-” You stopped yourself, your heart hammering in your chest.
“Not like what?” Jungkook asked, his voice low, almost careful. You looked up at him then his dark eyes meeting yours, steady, curious. You could feel the air between you shift, that slow burn returning again.
You smiled faintly, masking everything you wanted to say. “Not like how I feel when things matter.” He didn’t press. But his gaze lingered a moment longer before he nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“I get that,” he said quietly. “It’s rare to feel something real these days.” He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. The closeness was dizzying you could feel the warmth radiating off him, smell the faint trace of his cologne mixed with rain and coffee.
“You know,” Jungkook said, his tone softer now, “I don’t really know much about you.”
You blinked. “What do you mean?”
He smiled faintly. “You know everything about me, my mess, my marriage, my kid, my bad days. But you… you never talk much about yourself.” You looked away, feeling your cheeks warm. “There’s not much to say.”
“I don’t believe that,” he murmured. His voice was low, sincere the kind that makes your stomach twist in a way you can’t explain. He was looking at you like he wanted to understand you, like he was seeing you for the first time and you liked that. Too much.
“Then ask,” you whispered.
He chuckled softly, leaning closer. “Okay… what’s one thing you’ve never told anyone?” You tilted your head, eyes flicking to his lips for just a second before meeting his gaze again. “That I get attached too easily.”
The corner of his mouth curved into a small, knowing smile. “That sounds dangerous.”
“Maybe,” you said, smiling back. “But maybe I like danger.” His expression flickered amusement, curiosity, something darker. He leaned back again, his hand brushing yours as he set his cup down. For a moment, silence stretched only the faint sound of Hana humming in the next room.
“Maybe that’s what makes you… different,” Jungkook said finally, his voice low. “You feel things deeply.” You looked at him, heart pounding. “And you don’t?”
He smiled faintly, but there was something in his eyes something fragile. “Not until recently.” The words hung in the air between you. You didn’t need to ask what he meant, you already knew and for the first time, you felt that shift turn into something real.
-------
It was late evening. The clock ticked softly on the wall, the only sound echoing through the quiet apartment. The table was set two plates, one for you and one for Hana but the seat where Jungkook usually sat remained empty. He had messaged earlier: “Working late tonight. Don’t wait up.”
You sighed, staring at your phone for a moment longer than needed. The food was starting to cool. Hana sat quietly beside you, poking at her rice, her little brows furrowed. You could tell something was bothering her. “Hey,” you said gently, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You okay?”
She looked up at you, her big eyes shimmering. “I miss Mom,” she said quietly. The words made your chest tighten not from sadness, but from something sharper. You forced a soft smile.
“I know, sweetheart,” you said carefully. “But sometimes, adults… make choices that are hard to understand.” Hana’s eyes dropped to her plate. “She said she’ll come see me soon. She calls me after school and brings me chocolates when I visit her.” You hesitated, feeling that familiar sting in your chest. You didn’t want to take that away from her, but hearing her defend Min-seo, the woman who had torn Jungkook apart made your stomach twist.
“Your mom loves you,” you said slowly, “but she’s… living a different life now, Hana. She made a decision to be somewhere else, with someone else. And sometimes, when people do that, they start to forget things they shouldn’t.”
Hana frowned. “Forget?” You nodded softly. “Like how to be there all the time. Like how to make you breakfast in the morning, or tuck you in at night.”
The little girl’s eyes grew wet, her lip trembling. “But she said she’ll always love me.”
You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Of course she does, honey. But love isn’t always enough to stay, you know? Your dad… he’s the one here, taking care of you every day. And I’m here too, right? We both love you very much.”
She sniffled and nodded, leaning against your arm. You wrapped an arm around her small shoulders, feeling her body relax into yours. You pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. “You don’t have to stop loving your mom, Hana. Just remember who’s here for you now.”
Her little voice came out muffled against your arm. “I like being with you more.” You smiled soft, careful, but somewhere deep inside, satisfaction curled like a secret flame.
“That means a lot to me,” you whispered. “You’re my favorite girl.” Hana smiled faintly, eyes half-closed, and soon after, she drifted to sleep on the couch.
You sat there for a while, holding her hand gently, your expression unreadable. Outside, rain began to fall again the sound filling the apartment with a calm that felt almost deceptive. You glanced toward the door Jungkook would soon walk through, and a thought flickered in your mind.
-------
The soft hum of the refrigerator was the only sound that filled the quiet apartment. You sat across from Jungkook on the couch, the dim light of the living room casting golden shadows across his face. His sleeves were rolled up, his tie loose, a half-empty wine glass dangling lazily between his fingers. “Gosh,” he sighed, leaning back, head tipping against the couch. “A wine after working my ass off at the office feels so good.”
You smiled faintly, watching the way his jaw flexed as he took another slow sip. “You deserve it,” you said softly. He set the glass down and turned his gaze toward you warm, tired, and just a little too sincere. “Did Hana have her dinner?”
You nodded. “She did. She’s asleep now.”
Jungkook’s lips curved into a lazy smile. “We should go somewhere soon. All of us. It’s been a long time since we did something fun. Hana must be missing that.” The way he said we so casually, so naturally made something flutter quietly in your chest. You tried to play it off with a small laugh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah… I guess she would like that.”
He poured another glass for himself, then another. The night stretched on, quiet and soft, filled with the faint sound of the rain tapping against the windows and Jungkook’s voice lower now, a little slurred, his guard slipping away with every sip.
“I don’t think I’ve ever told you,” he murmured, staring into his glass, “but I’m grateful for you, Y/N.”
Your breath caught. He went on, voice barely above a whisper. “When everything was falling apart, when Min-seo left… when Hana was crying every night… you were just there. You helped me stand again. Helped Hana smile again.”
You didn’t know what to say. Words felt too small. You watched him, eyes tracing the softness in his expression the exhaustion, the quiet ache in his smile, the faint redness that wine had painted across his cheeks. You loved him. You had for a long time. Quietly, painfully, patiently. You loved how gentle he was with Hana, how his voice softened when he spoke to her, how he looked at you sometimes without realizing it, like you were something steady in his storm.
And now, sitting here, you could almost hear the sound of your heart pounding in your ears.
“Stop staring at me,” he said suddenly, his voice low, almost teasing but something about it made your breath hitch. “Like I mean something to you.”
You froze. Your gaze dropped to the floor, shame and longing tangling deep in your chest. “You should get some sleep,” you said quietly, your voice trembling just enough for him to notice.
He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Sleep,” he repeated. “Yeah, maybe I should. But…” He looked at you again, really looked at you and the air shifted. His eyes were dark, glossy with wine and something heavier.
“I don’t want to feel this, Y/N,” he murmured, each word sounding like a confession he’d been holding for too long. “But I think I’m falling for you.”
Your heart stopped. His gaze dropped, his voice roughening. “Even though it’s wrong.” You stared at him, speechless, your pulse echoing in your throat. You had imagined this moment before in stolen glances, in quiet dreams but hearing it out loud, feeling the weight of it between you, was something else entirely.
You took a slow breath, the kind that hurt on its way in. “Then…” You swallowed, your voice barely a whisper. “Then don’t stop yourself.”
In an instant, Jungkook closed the distance. His lips, softened by the wine and a deep, surprising earnestness, met yours. The kiss wasn't careful; it was a desperate, long-awaited admission from two people who had been circling each other in the dark for far too long.
The shock that first hit you quickly gave way to a consuming wave of desire a beautiful, fierce recognition of a wish finally coming true. You didn't just kiss him back; you leaned in fully, your hand instinctively rising to cup his jaw, your fingers brushing against the soft curve of his ear. The subtle scent of his cologne, mixed with the sharp, warm tang of the red wine, flooded your senses, anchoring you completely in the moment.
-------
The morning light crept gently through the half-drawn curtains, painting soft gold across the living room floor. The faint scent of wine still lingered in the air, the empty bottle on the table, two half-drunk glasses left from the night before. You stood by the kitchen counter, absentmindedly stirring a cup of coffee, trying to quiet the rush of thoughts in your head. The memory of last night replayed over and over Jungkook’s voice, low and unsteady, confessing words you had longed to hear.
“I think I’m falling for you.” You had barely slept. Not because of what happened, but because of what might come next.
The sound of soft footsteps behind you broke your thoughts. You turned to see Jungkook standing by the doorway, his hair a little messy, eyes heavy with sleep. He looked… lost. Like someone still trying to make sense of a dream he couldn’t shake off.
“Morning,” you said quietly, forcing a small smile.
He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Morning.”
For a moment, there was silence heavy, uncertain. The kind that filled every corner of the room. Then Jungkook took a step closer, his voice hesitant. “About last night…” Your heart skipped a beat. You looked up, meeting his eyes. They were soft but serious, a mix of fear and something rawer, deeper.
“I meant it,” he said. You froze.
“I remember,” he continued, his words trembling slightly. “What I said last night. And I meant every single word of it.” Your lips parted, but before you could say anything, he reached for your hand desperately, as if he was afraid you’d pull away. His grip was warm, trembling slightly.
“Don’t,” he said suddenly, voice breaking. “If you’re going to reject me, please… don’t say it.” Your heart clenched. The desperation in his voice, the way he looked at you like you were something he couldn’t afford to lose, made it hard to breathe.
He took a shaky breath, eyes locked on yours. “Just… give me a chance, Y/N. Please.”
You stood there, stunned. You didn’t know if he remembered everything, the way he confessed, the words that slipped out, the way you had looked at him but part of you didn’t care. Maybe he only remembered enough. Maybe fate had finally bent toward you.
For a moment, your heart wavered between guilt and something darker, triumph. The man you loved was standing before you, asking you to stay, asking you to try. You nodded slowly, hiding the flicker of a smile that threatened to show. “Okay,” you said softly. “Let’s… try.”
Relief washed over his face. Jungkook let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his thumb brushing lightly over your hand as if to make sure you were real and as he smiled a tired, hopeful, broken kind of smile you knew.
You had finally won.
-------
Days began blending into something warm and familiar, something dangerously close to what you’d once only dreamed of. Jungkook was around more than ever. He’d come over after work, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, looking exhausted but always soft when he saw you and it wasn’t just the casual visits anymore. There was something unspoken blooming between you both, quiet glances that lingered too long, laughter that felt too intimate, the way he’d touch your hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
He’d kiss you now sometimes out of nowhere. In the kitchen, while you were reaching for a glass; in the hallway, while you were saying goodbye; sometimes, right in the middle of your sentence. A quick, deep kiss that left you breathless and flushed, your thoughts scattered.
You’d push at his chest, half-laughing, half-shocked. “Jungkook!”
He’d just grin, voice low and teasing. “Couldn’t help it.”
And you secretly loved it that he couldn’t help it.
You could feel him changing, too. The man who once tiptoed around emotions was now bold confident in what he wanted, and he wanted you. The way his eyes found you in a crowded room, how he’d stand too close when you were talking, his hand always brushing yours, claiming space that had once been only friendly.
One night, when Hana had fallen asleep early after dinner, Jungkook was sitting beside you on the couch, scrolling through his phone as you folded laundry. The quiet hum of the night wrapped around you both.
“Y/N,” he said suddenly.
“Hmm?”
He looked up from his phone, a strange seriousness in his eyes. “You let Hana sleep with you again?”
You blinked. “She had a nightmare, Jungkook. She wanted to.”
He sighed, setting his phone aside and leaning back, head tilted slightly. “You spoil her too much,” he muttered, then glanced at you with a small, crooked smile. “I’m jealous.”
You turned toward him, surprised. “Jealous? Of your own daughter?”
“Yeah,” he said without hesitation, voice low. “She gets to sleep next to you, hug you… while I can’t.”
You froze, the words sinking in. He wasn’t teasing this time. His gaze held yours, steady, warm, and something darker flickering beneath it. Possessive. Your heart pounded as you tried to laugh it off. “You’re ridiculous.”
He smirked faintly, leaning closer. “Maybe. But I’m serious.” His hand brushed your arm, fingers tracing lightly up your skin until your breath hitched. “You have no idea what you do to me, Y/N.”
You turned your face away, smiling despite yourself, cheeks burning. “Stop saying things like that…”
He chuckled softly, his voice dropping just enough to make your chest tighten. “Why? You don’t like it?”
You looked at him, the playful glint in his eyes, the faint smirk tugging at his lips, the warmth radiating off him, and realized you didn’t just like it. You loved it. You loved how protective he’d become, how he’d frown when other men looked at you, how his arm would naturally slide around your waist in public as if to remind everyone you were his.
He made you feel wanted. Needed and somewhere deep down, the part of you that once schemed and waited was finally, content. You leaned back against the couch, close enough for his shoulder to brush yours. “You ask too many questions, Jungkook.”
He smirked, voice barely above a whisper. “Only because I care too much.” And when he turned to kiss you again slow and certain you didn’t stop him. Because this time, it didn’t feel like a victory. It felt like home.
--------
You were rushing through the office, files clutched in your hands, laptop bag slung over your shoulder. The fluorescent lights reflected off the polished floors as you hurried toward the exit, your mind racing with deadlines and half-finished tasks. You had stayed late again longer than usual and now, with the night air settling outside, your exhaustion pressed against your bones.
“Y/N!” Jimin’s voice called out from behind you. You turned to see him jogging lightly, worry etched across his face.
“You okay?” he asked, concern lacing his tone. “You’ve been here forever. Need a drop home? I can take you.”
You hesitated. Your phone buzzed in your bag, a message from Jungkook: I’ll come pick you up. Don’t worry about leaving Hana alone. You paused, thumb hovering over the screen. You didn’t want to disturb him; Hana was asleep, and he had been tirelessly caring for her all day. The thought of making him leave her side tugged at your heart.
“Uh… thanks, Jimin,” you said finally, deciding. “That’d be great. I… I’ll be quick.”
His relieved smile warmed your chest. “Hop in,” he said, gesturing toward the car parked outside. You felt a flutter of nervousness as you climbed in, trying to ignore the tiny pang in your chest that came from leaving Jungkook behind.
------
When you finally stepped into your apartment, tired and half-dazed, your phone buzzed again. Jungkook.
Why are you with Jimin?
Your heart skipped. You hadn’t expected him to notice so quickly.
You hurriedly typed a reply: I was late… Jimin offered to drop me home. I didn’t want you to leave Hana.
A few moments passed before he responded: I see…
You felt your chest tighten as the door clicked behind you, and a shadow fell across the room. Jungkook stepped in, his dark eyes flicking between you and the bag in your hand. His expression was unreadable at first tense, unreadable, like he was holding back a storm.
“Jimin?” he asked, voice low.
You nodded, a little defensively. “He just… offered to help. I didn’t want to make you leave Hana.”
He ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight. “You… used to see him, right?” His words were careful, but you could feel the faint edge of jealousy lurking beneath the surface.
Your chest fluttered, a shiver of excitement traveling down your spine. He was jealous subtle, quiet, but it made your heart race in a way you hadn’t expected.
Before you could think too much, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, feeling his tension melt slightly into your touch. “Jungkook,” you whispered softly, pressing your forehead to his chest. “I only have my eyes on you.”
He exhaled slowly, the possessive edge in his voice softening as he wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you close. “Only me?” he murmured, voice low, almost a growl.
You smiled, hiding against him. “Only you,” you repeated, feeling the warmth of his body settle around you.
For a moment, silence wrapped you both, but it was the kind of quiet that spoke louder than words. You felt him relax against you, the jealousy fading into something more vulnerable, more human.
Maybe… you thought, your heart twisting in delight, Min-seo’s betrayal made him like this. He’s growing… possessive. Loving me. And I like it.
A slow, dark thrill ran through you, and you knew, with certainty, that he was yours entirely, and perhaps more than even he realized.
-------
You were sitting on the couch, Hana playing quietly in the corner, when Jungkook appeared in the doorway. His eyes flicked over you, lingering just a moment too long. Something about the way he carried himself, the slight slump in his shoulders, the deep crease between his brows made your chest tighten.
He came closer, sitting beside you, but not too close careful, tentative, as if measuring whether you would pull away.
“Y/N…” His voice was low, almost hesitant. “I… I don’t know if I should be doing this. Being with you.”
You tilted your head, curiosity and concern mixing in your chest. “What do you mean?”
He ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight. “I’m too old for you. You’re… you’re vibrant, young, full of life. I’ve been broken, I’ve made mistakes… and what if you lose interest in me too? Like Min-seo did?”
A pang of anger shot through you not at him, but at the audacity of Min-seo and the shadow she still cast over his heart. You reached out, gently brushing your hand against his cheek. He flinched slightly, but didn’t pull away.
“Min-seo?” you said softly, voice steady, tinged with defiance. “She was just… insecure. That’s all. She wasn’t confident in herself, in the relationship, in what she had with you. And what did she do? She cheated. That was her choice. Not yours.”
His eyes darkened, searching yours as if trying to find some truth he couldn’t quite believe.
You leaned closer, heart pounding, your voice dropping into something intimate, something meant only for him. “I… I love you, Jungkook. I’ve loved you for a long time. Older men like you… they’re my type. Someone who’s strong, someone who’s been through life, someone who knows what they want. I want you. Only you.”
His lips parted slightly, as if to speak, but no words came. Instead, he exhaled slowly, a mix of relief and disbelief washing over his face. His hand found yours, gripping it firmly, possessively. The small, heated pressure of his fingers sent a shiver down your spine.
“You really mean that?” he murmured, voice low and rough.
“I do,” you whispered, leaning closer until your shoulders brushed. “Every word. Don’t ever doubt it.”
For a long moment, the room was silent, save for Hana’s soft giggles and the faint hum of the city outside. But the tension between you the quiet, simmering electricity was palpable, wrapping around you both like a storm.
Then he moved, slowly, deliberately, closing the distance just enough to rest his forehead against yours. “I… I don’t want to lose you,” he admitted, his voice raw. “Not now. Not ever.”
You smiled, heart fluttering, a warmth spreading through your chest. “You won’t,” you said confidently. “Because you’re mine now.”
A small, dark chuckle escaped him. “I don’t know if I deserve that,” he murmured, but the possessive edge in his grip, the way he lingered so close, said otherwise.
And you couldn’t help the thrill that ran through you, knowing that his heart, his mind, even his jealousy, were all slowly, irrevocably yours.
“You do,” you whispered back, pressing your hand against his chest. “All of you. And I’ll make sure you know it every single day.”
⚠︎ this is a warning! never accept a drink from a bad boy. especially if you’re at jeon jungkook’s house ⚠︎
SYNOPSIS: during a party jungkook's house the rich and popular boy on campus, you tried to isolate yourself by the poolside but ended up becoming jeon's target. he offered you a purple drink (energy drink mixed with vodka) and the only thing you could picture after one sip was the boy with his face between your thighs drowning in your wetness.
kat's note: hi there. this is my first time writing something about jungkook set in my teenage years. i’m nervous but maybe i went a little too hard on this one. i didn’t come up with this theme alone, my boyfriend helped me because he’s obsessed with kendrick lamar. so yeah xoxo <3
Parties were never really your thing — especially when they happened at some rich college kid’s mansion.
But your friends liked them, and they hated leaving you out of the week’s plans.
Even when those plans involved parties.
“How many times do I have to say I still think this is a bad idea?” you muttered, adjusting yourself in the backseat of the Uber beside your two friends.
Lara and Megan.
“And why would it be a bad idea?” Lara shot back with a giggle. “Relax. There’ll be plenty of cute guys there… including the owner of the house.”
Jeon Jungkook. Just hearing his name sent a chill down your spine. Not because you hated him or anything. Saying his name smelled like cigarettes, liquor, money, and sex. A lot of sex.
A sigh slipped past your lips.
“Just this once, y/n. We promise we’ll stay with you, okay?”
The purest lie.
The second you stepped inside the house, you found yourself alone. Alone in the middle of bottles scattered everywhere, half-finished drinks, people making out shamelessly, and familiar faces from campus.
The house was huge — ridiculously luxurious. You wondered if Jungkook was brave enough to throw a party like this in his own home. It would be insane if someone broke something or trashed the rooms for one night of fun.
Or maybe you were just being uptight.
You pushed through the crowd, giving up on finding Lara or Megan, until the shimmer of the pool in the backyard caught your eye. It looked peaceful.
A few people were hanging around there, talking, drinking, while some iconic 2000s song blasted through the speakers.
“At least there’s oxygen out here…” you breathed in deeply and sighed. “I don’t even know why I keep trying to believe this is gonna be fun.”
Giving your surroundings a quick scan, you decided to sit on a lounge chair tucked away in a dark corner near the edge of the pool, glowing under a purple light.
It was the most livable place to be at the moment — though what you really wanted was your bed immediately.
You pulled out your phone and spent a good part of the party there, hidden away and distracting yourself with your screen. The clock read 2:30 a.m. and everything was still the same. Noise, the smell of alcohol, drunk people, loud laughter. And you stayed in your own little world, trying to seem invisible to everyone there.
But not quite unnoticed.
A strong masculine fragrance filled the space around you, and before you even looked up to see who was approaching, a voice cut through.
“Why are you hiding out here? Did someone do something to you?”
Jungkook.
Your eyes left your phone screen, and in the dim lighting by the pool, you could make out his bright eyes, the silver gleam of his piercings, and his skin glowing against the purple reflection from the water.
Jungkook wore a loose jacket slipping off his shoulders enough to show his tattoos, and you had to admit — he was really handsome. Too handsome.
And he was holding a red cup filled with something.
“Oh… hi, Jungkook. I just wanted to be alone, nobody did anything.” You adjusted your posture. “It’s just my friends vanished off the face of the earth.”
Jeon let out a soft laugh and nodded, sitting down on the ground beside you.
“You’re not really into parties, right? First time at my place?”
You nodded.
“Yes and yes. They insisted a lot that I come, and I kinda thought you were some sort of celebrity on top of being the popular guy at college.”
He laughed louder this time, and his laugh was unexpectedly pleasant.
“That’s almost true. But don’t refer to me as just the popular guy — I’m more than that and, well…” he grinned. “Since it’s your first time here, I should welcome you.”
You laughed.
“Welcome to the Jeon mansion. I live alone and I have a dog named Bam,” he continued.
“Wait… you leave your dog here with all this noise?”
“Oh, no, no. I leave him at a friend’s house who also hates parties. I’m not irresponsible on that level.”
Jungkook was oddly specific. You didn’t remember meeting another guy like him before. Even with the motorcycle, the money, the tattoos, the piercings, and the whole party-host thing… he was still specific.
And kind of funny, somehow.
“That’s a relief. I live alone too, and I have a kitten — she’s only four months old.”
He made a little aww sound and smiled wide.
A brief silence settled between you after exchanging a few more words, and your gaze drifted to the cup in his hand. You pointed at it with your chin.
“What are you drinking?”
Jungkook looked at the cup, then back at you.
“Vodka mixed with purple Monster. Don’t remember the flavor. Grape, maybe?” He took a small sip.
You frowned.
“That’s going to kill you in your sleep. You could have a heart attack.”
Jungkook’s eyes widened and he stared at the cup again.
“I… I’ve heard that before but from my mom,” he said with a soft laugh. “Ya, don’t worry. I’ve been drinking this since I was nineteen and I haven’t died yet.”
He took another sip, a longer one this time.
“Yet.”
“Do you want me to die or something?” he asked playfully, looking at you with a teasing little smile.
“Definitely not. But that thing smells way too sickly. I’m the one who’s gonna end up dying.”
Jeon let out a laugh, the two silver piercings on his lower lip catching the light.
He took another sip before extending the red cup toward you.
“Try it.”
Your body tensed at how close his arm suddenly was, the scent of the drink hitting you stronger. You frowned, staring at him for a moment, and he urged you on with that same smile.
At the few parties you’d been to, you’d never had anything spiked or strong enough to actually get you drunk—more alive, more reckless. You didn’t know that feeling.
The feeling of your head spinning, spinning, spinning, while the music in the background grows louder.
And the offer coming from Jeon Jungkook of all people left you completely confused. You had felt invisible just moments ago, unnoticed by the most popular guy around—but now he looked at you like a predator locking onto its prey.
Like a fox. Clever. Careful.
“Don’t want it? That’s fine.” He started to pull his arm back. “I’m not gonna force you to dri—”
Without a word, you snatched the cup from his hand and took long gulps, not even giving yourself the chance to taste it. It was cold, a large cube of ice clinking inside, the fizz of the energy drink mixing with the bitter bite of vodka.
The drink spilled down the corner of your lips, and when you finished, you handed the now-empty cup back to Jungkook, who stared at you wide-eyed.
“Girl, what the hell was that?” he laughed loudly, looking at the empty cup with its lonely piece of ice. “I should warn you that’s not fucking juice.”
Breathing a little heavier, you met his gaze and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.
“It’s good…”
Jungkook raised an eyebrow.
“Want more? I can make you another one and I won’t put anything weird in it, don’t worry. I just wanna get you out of that dark corner.”
He got up from the ground and held out his hand for you to stand from the lounge chair.
It felt wrong—but if everything always felt wrong, then nothing would ever feel right.
You were at a party, after all. The host himself was giving you more attention than your own friends. You didn’t have much to lose — and the drink was actually good.
“Okay.” You took the hand of his tattooed arm. “But Jungkook…”
“Hm?”
Now standing beside him, he didn’t seem nearly as intimidating as he did on campus. Maybe you had misjudged Jeon Jungkook this whole time.
“Won’t people… think it’s weird?”
“Weird? What do you mean weird? You drinking? That’s the most normal thing at a party, pretty.”
You sighed.
“That’s not it. It’s just… you’re popular, and maybe being seen with a girl like me might start rumors.”
“Would that be bad for you?” he turned to face you. “Would it make you uncomfortable?”
You opened your mouth to answer, but ended up just shaking your head slowly.
Jungkook smiled.
“Then that’s it. Ignore everyone. If I have to kick everyone out of here just to make you feel okay, I will.”
That sounded strangely appealing.
You didn’t know his real intentions. You didn’t know him well enough to say he secretly had a crush on you — that would be ridiculous. Or would he really throw everyone out of his own house for your sake?
You had never been that close… so why would he do that? Why did your feelings suddenly matter?
Your thoughts snapped back into place, and when you realized, you were already following him inside his house. Loud music, people drowning out their own problems, the smell of weed and cigarettes, others using things in the background and Jeon Jungkook moving ahead of you toward the kitchen.
It felt like some kind of underworld, but you didn’t care about that. You cared about him.
A small smile slowly formed on your lips, and in the distance, you spotted Megan and Lara distracted with three other people. They had no idea who was paying attention to you now.
“Does the noise bother you?” he asked, pulling two bottles from the massive fridge.
“A little…” you stepped in, eyes scanning every detail. “The music annoys me. How do people even like this?”
“Yeah, I get that. If my playlist were playing, I’d definitely be the DJ.”
You both laughed, and he started fixing a drink on the counter, cluttered with cans, bottles—and some white residue.
“Fucking hell. Doing coke on my counter? What the fuck.”
He muttered under his breath, exhaling sharply.
“Mind holding these bottles while I clean this up? I don’t want you touching that shit.”
You didn’t question it—you just did as he asked. He grabbed some paper towels and carefully wiped down the counter. Careful enough for you to notice just how strong he was.
He complained about the heat, and to your surprise, he shrugged off his jacket—revealing tattoos covering his entire arm, his broad back, and a white tank top that clung tightly to his torso.
“I didn’t know you had that many tattoos.”
Jungkook glanced at you with a grin.
“Think I overdid it?”
“Mhm. You should get more. They suit you.”
He held your gaze for a few seconds, then nodded, taking the bottles back from your hands.
“Maybe.”
Jungkook prepared everything carefully, always warning you not to overdo it. He didn’t stay out of it himself. downing drinks in one go, ignoring his own advice.
It didn’t take long before both of you were tipsy, dancing together on the makeshift dance floor in the middle of his huge living room. “Party Monster” by The Weeknd started playing, bringing a wave of excited screams and reddish lights with it.
You looked around, distracted, your vision slightly slow from the alcohol in your system. And that was when Jeon Jungkook pulled you by the waist and, without giving you time to think, pressed his lips to yours in a firm kiss, sharing more of that sweet, addictive taste that had already clouded your mind.
Without trying to pull away or resist, you melted into his soft lips, that faint metallic hint from his piercing lingering between you.
You never imagined you’d be kissing Jeon Jungkook in the middle of so many people, but there you were—gripping the strands of hair at the nape of his neck tightly.
His hand slid up until it found your neck, squeezing just enough to make you gasp against his wet lips. Your eyes met under the red lighting, and you could’ve sworn you saw a completely different expression from the one you had witnessed earlier by the pool.
"Is the noise bothering you now? Say yes..." he murmured, burying his face in the side of your neck and leaving wet kisses along your skin.
You closed your eyes, feeling your body threaten to melt in Jeon’s arms, but you kept yourself under control.
"No, Jungkook… I can’t do anything with you with this many people here."
Thinking Jungkook would give up, you let out a quiet sigh, slightly regretting what you had said. You even imagined him leaving you alone again.
But this was his house.
And when he wanted something, he got it.
"That’s exactly the motivation I needed to kick everyone out. Won’t take long, baby."
He lightly nipped at your skin before heading toward the DJ area, taking your curious gaze with him. Everyone seemed to ignore your presence after you’d just kissed Jungkook—simply because they were all caught up in their own worlds.
However, Jungkook had other plans for how the night would end.
He signaled for the DJ to cut the music, and as soon as the loud sound stopped, a chorus of boos erupted toward the booth. Jungkook wasn’t intimidated; he simply grabbed the microphone, a subtle mischievous smile playing on his lips as he began his act.
"I need everyone to leave my house immediately! The party’s over! The police are coming!"
Your eyes widened, your heart racing.
"What the hell is he—"
As Jeon’s voice echoed throughout the house, a small chaos broke out. Screams, running, laughter, drunk people being dragged along—everyone seemed to appear from random corners of the house.
You pressed yourself against a wall to avoid being knocked over.
He repeated, "The police are coming!" five more times before the sounds of motorcycles, cars, and rushing footsteps began to fade into the distance.
Within minutes, the house fell completely silent. What had once been filled with young adults was now scattered with bottles, cans, confetti, shoes, pieces of clothing, and even abandoned phones.
The DJ was the last to leave, calm and unbothered—he was Jungkook’s friend and knew he just wanted everyone gone.
"Are you insane?" you asked when you realized it was just the two of you left.
"Hmm… I admit it. Maybe." He raised his hands in mock surrender.
"What if those people get into accidents? No one’s sober, Jungkook."
"I don’t give a two fucks about those people. Relax. Just say ‘police’ and any idiot sobers up."
He shrugged and slowly approached you.
"So… is this comfortable enough for you now? The vibe’s still like a party, but just imagine it’s only you and me left in the world."
You crossed your arms and let out a small laugh.
"All this just to sleep with me?"
"Hm? Sleep with you? You want to sleep with me?" he feigned surprise. "Wow! Of course this is all to sleep with you. I wanted you to make your friends jealous."
He started circling you slowly.
"The guy who kicked everyone out of his own party just to have fun? No, no… just to let you have fun."
He stopped behind you, bringing his lips close to your ear as his hand slid up to your neck. Your whole body shivered—and it only got worse when you felt his erection pressing against you.
"There’s a clean place I never let anyone use during parties… and maybe you’ll like it, angel." Jeon glanced toward the outside. "Ever thought about having someone fuck you on the edge of a pool?"
It was as if evil itself were whispering in your ear, slowly guiding you toward the most profane sin of your life.
You weren’t drunk enough to think you were hallucinating, right? You hadn’t had that much to drink. Jungkook had really kicked everyone out of his house because he wanted you to feel comfortable alone. Why would he do that?
According to him, it was to make your friends jealous.
And that’s when everything began to change. The scene shifted. Suddenly, you were at the edge of the pool, with Jeon Jungkook between your legs, using his mouth as a tool of pleasure against your most intimate area. You felt the cold of the piercing against your skin and were surprised to discover there was another one.
Hidden on his tongue.
And you found that out in the best way.
“J-Jungkook… what if… there are still people here?”
He stopped his movements for a moment and looked up at you.
“There aren’t. I recognized every face that walked through my door. We’re completely alone, babe. For now, just enjoy it like it’s your party.”
Jungkook gave you a sly smile and went back to pleasuring you with more precision, before slowly sliding two fingers inside you.
A moan slipped softly from your lips as you let yourself be carried away by the sensation of having the campus’s famous popular boy almost bowing before you. It was curious, but if life gives you lemons, make a lemonade.
Your eyes opened, and your view was the night sky filled with stars shining above you. You smiled and let out a small laugh.
Jungkook knew you were letting yourself loosen up and have fun, and he was going to do everything to turn it into a rollercoaster of emotions.
“Are you enjoying it?” he asked, lifting his face and moving his fingers inside you with both agility and care.
“I am… I don’t know why you’re doing this, and I don’t think I want to know anymore. Just fuck me, please.”
Jungkook felt his own heart race but chose to blame the energy drink, thinking he’d had too much.
“Asking like that, I won’t deny you anything, sweet.”
The two of you managed to overcome the coolness of the early morning and turn it into the hottest night of the year. The purple light reflected on both your faces, making it feel like you were in another universe.
He didn’t want to take you in the pool, since it could make the movements uncomfortable. And besides, you were already wet enough that it would feel like diving in.
“Before we start, I need to ask something important.” He looked at you. “Are you a virgin?”
You met his gaze, your cheeks a little warm, but you answered.
“Ah… no, I’m not. I had a boyfriend until five days ago.”
He raised his eyebrows and broke into an even wider smile.
“A recent breakup? What was the reason?”
“Cheating.”
And in that moment, Jungkook felt entitled—no, obligated—to shake you in a pleasurable way, to make you addicted to his touch in just a short span of the night, even if the next day you’d both have to be on campus for another day of classes.
Jungkook kissed and sucked at your chest, touched you until you trembled, making him smile, and at no point did he ask for anything in return.
He just wanted to touch you and feel you. And that’s exactly what he did.
“Fuck… what the hell are you?” he groaned as he slowly pushed into you.
Your legs were spread, and you held onto them with your hands to help him move better against you.
He was big, and he knew it, which is why he went slowly, making you feel every inch of him inside you, warm and pulsing. while he enjoyed the way you tightened around him.
You closed your eyes again, letting Jungkook take you as his size throbbed inside you. He practically slid with how much wetness had built up.
He spread your legs wider and began thrusting slowly, almost like a form of torture. You were still wearing your underwear, pushed to the side. Your clothes were still on your body only what was necessary was exposed so Jungkook could reach you.
“Jeon… my God… you’re big.”
He laughed.
“Big, huh? That’s what you needed. A big cock inside you not sitting around alone.”
He drove into you more roughly, pulling a loud moan from your lips.
“Now I’m going to fuck you properly. Hard, fast and I’ll make you come as many times as you want.”
And after that promise, Jungkook started moving inside you with everything he said — strength, speed — and your only response was your moans, soft and needy, mixed with dirty words. Jeon held your neck with his tattooed hand and let a few light slaps land on your face with the other, making you smile.
Yes, smile.
You were enjoying it. It felt like you were in the pool even though you weren’t. You felt soaked without ever diving in.
You wanted to feel like a shameless, reckless girl for one night, in the hands of the bad boy — who, honestly, wasn’t all that bad.
You moaned under the moonlight, not caring about anything at all. Jungkook lived in a secluded place, and even if the neighbors could hear, you’d show off—after all, you were fucking Jeon Jungkook.
He pulled you up and sat on the edge, with you now in his lap.
Your body was weak with pleasure, your eyes heavy—just like his—but he held you firmly, guiding you to bounce against him, making that wet sound echo through the entire pool area.
“Bitch, you’re soaking me,” he muttered. “I’m not fucking you, I’m swimming in you.”
You laughed and looked at him with that excited, playful gaze, making Jungkook hook his hand into your hair and pull with controlled force, speeding up your movements.
“Don’t look at me like that, girl. I can be gentle, I can take care of you but right now I’m fucking you. If you want to tease me, you’ll have to handle the consequences.”
“Jungkook… I want you to go faster, faster, faster—until you come inside me, fill me up…”
He looked at you seriously.
“Are you sure about that?”
“Didn’t you say the party was mine now? Then fulfill my wishes.”
He looked at you seriously, but soon went back to thrusting into you with force, landing a few slaps on your face and tightening his grip around your neck. He had found his favorite place to keep his hands.
“Then I’m going to come inside you. You better know what you’re doing I’m not planning on having any babies.”
“I’m on birth control, Jeon. I know what I’m… mmh… asking for… God…”
You stayed in that position for a while, but Jungkook had the perfect way to push both of you to the edge.
He guided you to the lounge chair, laying down and pulling you on top of him with your back against his chest, spreading your legs wide as he slid himself back into the spot where your underwear had been pushed aside. Maybe it was a fetish of his.
“You better hold on tight. I’m not planning to stop until I fill you up.”
From that point on, all you felt were his thrusts hitting you as if he were trying to become one with you. Both of you moaned loudly, and all you could feel was more and more pleasure — wetter, more desperate, wanting to be with Jungkook for the rest of your life. It was terrifyingly good.
“Fuck me just like that, Jungkookie…”
“Fuck, you feel so good… I’m gonna come…”
As expected, Jungkook let his warm release fill you from the inside, and with a few final thrusts, he stilled, his muscular body growing more exhausted.
What felt like minutes had actually been two hours. You were both completely drained.
Breathing heavily, Jungkook sat down on the lounge chair with you on his lap and gently held your chin, making your eyes meet his.
“Never forget this night. And if possible, show up to more parties. I promise I won’t kick everyone out next time but I won’t promise we won’t do anything.”
And just like that, your night had come to an end.
(BONUS)
....
You were sitting outside the cafeteria during break, your lunch in front of you.
Beside you, Lara and Megan looked exhausted, dark circles under their eyes showing they hadn’t slept at all— makeup couldn’t even hide it.
“I think I’m going to pass out from sleepiness. I should’ve skipped today!” Lara complained with a sigh.
“Skipping again this week isn’t an option, Lara. We’re already close to leaving,” Megan replied, then glanced at you, who was quietly eating. “You don’t seem tired.”
You looked up.
“Should I?”
“That’s not what I meant. I think we owe you an apology for leaving you alone… you went home before everything, right?”
“Before what?” you asked, pretending not to understand.
“Oh, you definitely did,” Lara added. “That idiot Jungkook kicked everyone out saying the police were on their way, but there weren’t any sirens!”
“Exactly! Just when the party was getting good, he ruined everything. I bet it was just so he could hook up with some girl who practically worships the ground he walks on.”
Hearing that, you let out a small laugh and straightened your posture.
“Well, I’m glad I left early then. And how was it getting out? Was it chaotic?”
“Totally! I almost lost my phone, and someone stepped on my new sandals…” Megan pouted.
You could only smile and nod as if you knew nothing.
The two of them kept talking about the party and everything that happened after they left, while all you could think about were flashes of what had happened by the edge of the pool — without ever having to actually dive in.
A few meters away, Jeon Jungkook watched you with his arms crossed, a sly smile on his lips. It took a moment but your eyes finally met his.
You held each other’s gaze and he gave you a wink before turning and walking off.
“It’s such a shame he did all that… that’s why I don’t like parties.”
You commented with a smile, going back to your food.
synopsis; You’ve a plan — trying to dominate your extremely dominant roommate who also happens to be your friend with benefits.
warnings: oral sex [female and male receiving], spanking, strong language, spanking, cream pie, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, degradation kink [kind of]
genre: fluff, smut
words count: 8.5k
A/N: I haven’t seen a lot of aus where Jin is younger than a reader so here it is. Seokjin calling you Noona because you’re older than him. I also got carried away a little bit with smut so let me know what you think about it. Don’t forget to check out my masterlist for more!
Agreeing to become friends with benefits with your overly annoying but overly hot roommate probably wasn’t one of your proudest decisions. How did you become roommates? Easy — you couldn’t afford to live on your own and it seemed like a good idea, at that time. How did you become friends with benefits? Let’s just say, you don’t have time for any dating at the moment and well, your roommate is probably the hottest creature walking on this planet. You both got sexually attracted to each other easily and it just happened. It wasn’t like you planned it. You definitely didn’t expect your roommate to be younger than you. It’d be fine if he wasn’t a total brat making your life miserable — not counting the time when both of you’re preoccupied with each other.
◦ summary ↠ studying with your tutor should be simple, but distractions can lead to unexpected lessons. who knew cramming for exams could get this... heated? (requested by anon)
◦ pairing ↠ seokjin x reader
◦ word count ↠ 5.9k
◦ genre ↠ fluff, smut
◦ content warning(s) ↠ tutor!seokjin, student!reader, suggestive/explicit content, dirty talk, penetrative sex, ejaculation, f. and m. orgasm, oral sex, a lot of making out, unprotected sex, handjob, tit sucking
a/n: this is for the anon that requested a oneshot with seokjin and his lovely lips <3 ik you said kinda spicy but i accidentally made it very spicy lol, hope you don't mind!
masterlist
The clock on the library wall ticked in perfect sync with your growing anxiety. You had been staring at the same problem for ten minutes, the numbers on the page blurring together into a mess of indecipherable hieroglyphics.
“I’m going to fail,” you muttered under your breath, slumping further into your seat.
Your professor’s voice from last week echoed in your head: “You should really consider a tutor. It might help clear up some of the confusion.”
And now, here you were, waiting for your supposed savior to arrive and pull you from the depths of statistical despair.
The door creaked open, and you glanced up just in time to see him step inside.
“Sorry I’m late,” the newcomer said, setting his bag on the table with a soft thud. “The café line was longer than I thought.”
He was tall, dressed in a cozy gray sweater that looked as soft as a cloud, and his black-rimmed glasses perched perfectly on the bridge of his nose. But what truly caught your attention—against your better judgment—were his lips. They looked… soft. Pink. Kissable, even.
“I’m Seokjin,” he said, his voice warm and smooth. He offered a smile, and oh, that just made it worse. His lips curved in the kind of way that could make angels weep.
You snapped out of it, suddenly realizing he was waiting for you to introduce yourself. “Oh! Uh, hi. I’m—um—Y/N.”
He nodded, pulling out a notebook and pen. “Alright, so what’s giving you trouble?”
“Everything,” you admitted, gesturing dramatically at your textbook.
Seokjin laughed, the sound light and easy, but your eyes betrayed you and flicked to his mouth. The way his lips moved when he laughed—it was almost hypnotic. You mentally slapped yourself. Focus. You’re here to pass this class, not ogle your tutor.
“Okay, let’s start simple,” he said, flipping through your textbook until he found a page filled with diagrams and formulas. “Here’s a problem. Walk me through how you’d solve it.”
You nodded, trying to focus on the numbers. But Seokjin leaned closer to point something out on the page, and suddenly, your brain short-circuited. His lips were so close you could see the faintest shine of lip balm.
“So, what do you think?” he asked, looking at you expectantly.
You blinked. “Huh?”
He tilted his head. “The problem?”
“Oh, uh…” You scrambled to come up with something that didn’t sound ridiculous. “Yeah, I… totally get it now. Thanks!”
His brows furrowed, but the corners of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to laugh. “Really? Because you just wrote the wrong formula entirely.”
Your face flushed. “Oh. Right. I was just… testing you?”
Seokjin laughed again, the sound sending your heart racing. “Sure you were. Don’t worry, I’ll explain it again.”
By the third time Seokjin explained the problem, you had made some progress. But honestly? Your brain was running on fumes.
"See? It's not that bad," he said, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin. "You’re getting the hang of it.”
You managed a weak smile, still hyper-aware of the way his lips moved with every word. How was it possible to explain statistics and look that good doing it? It should’ve been illegal.
"Yeah, sure," you replied, tapping your pen against your notebook to distract yourself. "I mean, I still hate it, but at least it makes slightly more sense now."
Seokjin chuckled, his shoulders shaking just enough to make his sweater shift in the most distracting way. You were about to tell yourself to get it together when he suddenly leaned forward again, his elbow propped on the table and his chin resting on his hand.
"So," he said casually, "why did you really sign up for tutoring? You don't seem like the type to give up easily."
You froze. Was he teasing you? His tone was light, but his eyes held genuine curiosity.
"Um," you stalled, trying to come up with a reasonable answer that didn’t involve your professor practically begging you to get help. "I guess I just… wanted to make sure I didn’t fail? You know, for my GPA."
He nodded thoughtfully, and for a moment, you thought you’d gotten away with it.
"Fair enough," he said. But then his lips quirked into a smirk. "But you might want to stop zoning out so much during our sessions if you really want that GPA to survive."
Your face burned. "I don’t—" You cut yourself off, realizing how defensive you sounded. "I’m not zoning out."
"Really?" he said, tilting his head. "Because every time I look up, you’re staring at me like I just said something in Greek."
"Maybe it’s because statistics is Greek," you shot back, desperate to steer the conversation away from your very obvious distraction.
He laughed again, and this time, it was louder, filling the quiet library room. His laughter wasn’t polished or quiet; it was unfiltered, almost boyish, and far too contagious.
“Well, maybe I should start explaining in actual Greek,” he teased, closing your textbook with a soft thud. “Or we could call it a day. You’re making progress, but your brain looks like it’s about to overheat.”
You opened your mouth to protest but realized he wasn’t wrong. “Fine,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “But next time, you’re bringing snacks. Brain fuel and all that.”
Seokjin raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a smirk. “You’re really bold for someone who just admitted to hating this entire subject.”
“And yet,” you shot back, gathering your things, “you’re still tutoring me. So, who’s the real fool here?”
His laughter bubbled up again, softer this time, and you felt a small swell of pride at having made him laugh. It was quickly replaced by a flutter of nerves when he reached over to tap the corner of your notebook.
“Same time next week?” he asked, his voice a little quieter.
“Yeah,” you said, suddenly feeling warm under his gaze. “Thanks, Seokjin.”
He smiled, a soft, almost shy thing, and nodded. “Anytime.”
The following week, you found yourself looking forward to tutoring. Not because of the subject (God, no), but because of him. Every time you walked into the library and saw him waiting there, his glasses perched on his nose and a soft smile playing on his lips, it was like a little jolt of electricity.
This time, Seokjin greeted you with a coffee cup and a small bag of pastries.
“Fuel,” he said, holding them out. “For the overworked student who claims to hate stats but keeps showing up anyway.”
You blinked at him, surprised. “You actually brought snacks? You know I was just kidding.”
He shrugged, but there was a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “I thought it might help. Plus, bribery works wonders for focus.”
You couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”
“Only when I have pastries,” he replied, sliding one toward you.
For the next hour, you worked through problems, your frustration ebbing slightly thanks to the sugar and Seokjin’s patient explanations. Still, your focus wavered every now and then, especially when he leaned closer to check your work, his glasses slipping down his nose just enough to make your heart race.
“You’re doing better,” he said, his tone genuinely impressed. “See? I told you it wasn’t hopeless.”
“Maybe it’s your teaching,” you replied without thinking, and then froze when his ears turned pink.
“Maybe,” he said softly, his gaze flicking to yours for just a moment before he cleared his throat. “Okay, let’s try this one.”
But as the session went on, you noticed it wasn’t just you who seemed distracted. Seokjin kept fiddling with his pen, his eyes lingering on you a little longer than usual. When he leaned closer to point something out, you thought you caught him glance at your lips before quickly looking back at the page.
By the time the session ended, your heart was pounding, and you weren’t sure if it was from the stats or something else entirely.
The next morning, an email from Seokjin had come in.
Hey, just a heads-up—I’m not going to campus today, but if you still want to meet, we can do the session at my place. Let me know if that works.
It had taken you all of five seconds to reply.
That’s fine, I really need this session. Text me the address.
And now here you were, standing outside Seokjin’s apartment with your notebook clutched to your chest and a slight flutter of nerves in your stomach.
You knocked twice, and within seconds, the door swung open.
“Hey,” Seokjin said, his usual soft smile in place. He was dressed in a simple hoodie and sweatpants, and somehow he looked even better like this—comfortable and casual, with his hair slightly tousled as if he’d just run his hands through it.
“Come in,” he said, stepping aside to let you in.
His apartment was small but cozy, with warm lighting, a neatly arranged bookshelf, and a faint scent of coffee lingering in the air. There was a laptop open on the coffee table and a few notebooks stacked beside it.
“You didn’t have to bring all your stuff,” he said, eyeing the books tucked under your arm.
“I didn’t know what to expect,” you admitted, setting your things down on the table. “But I’m not taking any chances with finals week coming up in a couple weeks.”
He chuckled, gesturing toward the couch. “Well, you’re in luck. I even made coffee. Or tea, if that’s more your thing.”
You sat down, trying not to notice how close he was when he joined you. The couch wasn’t exactly huge, and the way his knee brushed against yours when he shifted sent a jolt through you.
“Okay,” he said, pulling a notebook onto his lap. “Let’s start with the practice problems I sent you last week.”
At first, it was just like any other session, with him explaining concepts, you trying to keep up. But the proximity was impossible to ignore. Every time he leaned over to point at your notebook or correct something, his voice seemed lower, softer, and his presence far too distracting.
“Almost,” Seokjin murmured, his hand brushing yours as he reached for your pencil. “You just forgot to divide by the total here.”
You froze, watching the way his fingers wrapped around the pencil. They were long and elegant, and when he looked up, his face was only inches from yours.
“Oh,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
His eyes flicked to yours, and for a moment, the air between you felt heavier. You could see the faint pink on his ears again, the way his lashes fluttered just slightly when he blinked.
“Here,” he said, pulling back and clearing his throat. “Try it again.”
You nodded, forcing yourself to focus on the problem. But as the session went on, the tension only grew.
At one point, you leaned over to grab your eraser from the table, and when you straightened up, your shoulder brushed against his. It was such a small thing, but the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his hoodie lingered.
“Sorry,” you muttered, though you weren’t sure why.
“No, it’s fine,” he said quickly, his voice a little tighter than usual.
By the end of the session, you were both more relaxed, or at least pretending to be. The stack of practice problems had dwindled, and Seokjin leaned back against the couch, stretching his arms over his head with a groan.
“You’re actually getting good at this,” he said, his voice teasing but genuine. “See? Told you stats wasn’t impossible.”
“Only because you’re a good tutor,” you replied, surprising yourself with how easily the words came out.
Seokjin paused mid-stretch, his eyes meeting yours. There was something unreadable in his expression, but it disappeared quickly as he smiled.
“Thanks,” he said, sitting up again.
The conversation might’ve ended there, but then you noticed a small smudge of ink beside his cushiony lips—probably from when he’d been jotting down notes earlier.
“You’ve got…” You hesitated, gesturing vaguely at your own face. “Ink. Right there.”
“Where?” he asked, frowning as he touched his cheek, missing the spot entirely.
“Here,” you said, leaning forward without thinking. Your hand brushed against his jaw as you wiped at the smudge with your thumb, and you felt him go completely still under your touch.
When you realized what you were doing, you froze too, your eyes locking with his. His gaze flicked to your lips, and for a second, you thought he might close the distance between you.
“Got it,” you said quickly, pulling back and trying to ignore the way your heart was pounding.
“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice lower than before.
The rest of the session ended in a flurry of awkward goodbyes and hurried packing, but as you left his apartment, you couldn’t shake the memory of how close you’d been or the way his lips had looked in that moment, soft and impossibly inviting.
After the first session at Seokjin’s apartment, the two of you fell into a new rhythm. Instead of meeting at the library, you started alternating between your places. It was more convenient, and though neither of you said it out loud, it felt comfortable. Familiar. Like a natural evolution of whatever this was between you.
For your next session, Seokjin arrived a few minutes early, balancing a bag of takeout in one hand and his ever-present notebook in the other.
“You didn’t have to bring food,” you said, stepping aside to let him in.
He shrugged, setting the bag on your coffee table. “Consider it payment for making me leave the house on a Saturday.”
You rolled your eyes but smiled, sitting beside him on the couch. As the session began, you noticed how different it felt having him here, in your space. The way he looked so at ease, leaning back against your cushions, his long legs stretching out in front of him.
At one point, you got up to grab your water bottle, and when you came back, Seokjin had a mischievous grin on his face.
“Do you always study with a giant stuffed bear on your couch?” he teased, holding up the plushie you’d forgotten to hide.
Your face burned. “It’s comfortable, okay?”
“I’m not judging,” he said, his grin widening. “I’m just saying, you could’ve warned me I’d have competition.”
You groaned, grabbing the bear from him and tossing it aside. But the playful banter eased the tension, making the session feel more like hanging out than studying.
By the time you’d finished the practice problems, Seokjin stretched his arms over his head and let out a dramatic sigh.
“Okay, enough stats for one day. My brain is fried,” he declared.
“Yeah same,” you sighed before raising an eyebrow. “Is this how you treat all your students?”
“Only the ones who threaten to fail without me,” he shot back, smirking.
Your next session was set to be at your apartment again, with Seokjin arriving at your apartment looking as put-together as ever. You were already flustered—having barely managed to shove your laundry into a basket to make the place look semi-presentable.
"Don’t judge," you warned as he stepped in, glancing around your living room.
“I’m not,” he replied, amused. “I’ve seen worse.”
The session went smoothly enough, but at some point, Seokjin needed a pen.
"Do you have another one?" he asked, looking up from his notebook.
"Yeah, let me grab one!" you said, heading toward your desk.
Before you could, though, Seokjin leaned over the arm of the couch to grab your backpack—and froze, pulling out an article of clothing instead.
"Uh…" His voice trailed off as he held it up—a lacy, bright-colored bra that you’d obviously forgotten to hide.
You whipped around, horrified. “Oh my God, Seokjin, put that down!”
But instead of being embarrassed, he smirked, dangling the bra by one strap.
“Well,” he said, his tone teasing but his ears betraying him with a hint of redness, “I didn’t know tutoring came with such… unexpected discoveries.”
“Stop!” you yelped, lunging forward to snatch it from him.
He laughed, holding it just out of reach. “Is this what you’ve been distracted by during our sessions? Should I start dressing fancier to compete?”
“Seokjin, I swear—”
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” he relented, handing it back to you with a grin. But the way his eyes lingered on your flustered expression made your heart pound.
“Next time, I’m hiring a professional tutor,” you muttered, stuffing the bra into your laundry basket.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Sure you will.”
A couple days later, Seokjin had invited you over again, this time for a movie. Although, if you were being honest with yourself, the movie was probably the last thing on either of your minds.
"Okay, so you’re telling me you’ve never seen this movie?" Seokjin asked, holding up the DVD case like it was a sacred relic.
“Not everyone’s a walking encyclopedia of rom-coms,” you shot back, leaning back against the armrest of his couch.
“It’s not just a rom-com,” he argued, waving the case in front of you like it was the most important thing on the planet. “It’s a classic. You’ll thank me later.”
With a dramatic sigh, you gave in, letting him pop the DVD into the player. Soon enough, you were both nestled comfortably on his couch, a bowl of popcorn between you.
The movie started off fine enough, but as it went on, your attention started to wander. Seokjin’s proximity—the feeling of his body so close to yours, the way his arm rested casually along the back of the couch, his knee brushing against yours whenever he shifted—was far more distracting than the plot.
The soft glow of the TV illuminated his face, casting gentle shadows across his features, making him look even more attractive. His lips, soft and slightly parted as he laughed at some of the jokes, became the sole object of your focus.
"You’re quiet," he murmured during a lull in the movie, glancing at you sideways with a teasing look.
"Just… paying attention," you mumbled, not daring to look at him.
"Are you, though?" he teased, shifting slightly to face you. "Because you’ve been staring at me for the past ten minutes."
Your face immediately heated up. “I have not!”
“Hmm,” he hummed, clearly enjoying your reaction. His smirk widened as he leaned in just a little closer, his face filling your vision. “You sure about that? I wouldn’t mind.”
Your breath caught in your throat as you couldn’t help but look at his lips. His voice had dropped a few notches, and his gaze softened, no longer playful but searching—waiting for something unspoken. The noise of the movie faded as the tension in the air between you two thickened, heavy and palpable.
“Seokjin,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.
“Yeah?” His voice was soft, but the way he looked at you—intent and steady—sent a shiver down your spine.
Your eyes darted to his lips for just a moment, and that was all it took. His playful smirk faded, and his expression shifted to something far more sincere, far more urgent. Slowly, his hand lifted, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face before lingering near your cheek, his touch light but warm.
Then, without a word, he closed the distance. His lips met yours in a kiss that started gentle, tentative, almost like a question. You froze for a split second, heart racing, but your body moved on instinct. Your hands gripped the front of his sweater, tugging him closer as the kiss deepened.
The movie continued in the background, but neither of you were paying attention anymore. Seokjin's hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you closer, his lips moving against yours with more urgency. You kissed him back, eager, your body instinctively pressing against his.
His thumb traced the curve of your jaw, then moved to your lips, caressing them softly before slipping back into the kiss. The sensation was intoxicating—electric. You could feel his heart racing against yours as his lips grew more demanding, his kisses coming faster, deeper.
The soft glow from the TV flickered across his features, making everything feel dreamlike, surreal, as if this moment wasn’t really happening. His hand slipped to your waist, pulling you toward him until your bodies were flush against each other. The heat of his chest, the firmness of his body, left you breathless as you melted into him.
Then, just as the kiss grew more heated, a dramatic swell of music from the movie blasted through the speakers, breaking the spell.
Seokjin pulled back slightly, his lips barely an inch from yours, eyes dark with desire. He glanced toward the screen, looking a little amused before turning back to you.
“We won’t be needing this anymore,” he murmured, his voice low as he reached for the remote, never breaking eye contact. The click of the TV turning off was the only sound in the room now, the sudden silence making everything feel more intense.
Before you could even process what had just happened, Seokjin leaned in again, his lips crashing into yours with renewed fervor. His hands found their way to your back, pulling you even closer, if that was even possible. His lips were hotter now, more demanding, as if he couldn’t get enough of you.
Your hands roamed up to his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his shirt, before you slid your hands into his hair, tugging him closer. He groaned against your lips, his fingers digging into your back as the kiss deepened further, passion igniting between you. The sensation of his lips moving against yours—of his body pressing closer to yours—made your head spin.
You could feel his hands exploring your body, his fingertips brushing the curve of your side, making your breath hitch. His mouth never left yours, the kiss turning into something desperate, almost frantic, as if neither of you could wait any longer. Seokjin’s breath was shallow, his chest rising and falling rapidly as you both lost yourselves in the kiss.
Your bodies were tangled in the soft cushions of the couch now, the world outside fading into oblivion. Every kiss, every touch, felt like an invitation to something more.
Seokjin finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing heavily. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, his voice husky with desire, his thumb brushing along your jaw.
You nodded, trying to catch your breath. “I’m more than okay,” you whispered, your voice shaky but full of longing.
Seokjin’s eyes searched yours, his thumb still brushing along your jaw as if grounding himself in the moment. Just as you opened your mouth to say something, a glance at the clock over his shoulder made your heart drop.
“Oh my god,” you gasped, sitting up abruptly. “I have class in fifteen minutes!”
Seokjin blinked in surprise, then let out a soft laugh. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not!” you exclaimed, frantically gathering your scattered belongings.
He leaned back against the couch, arms draped casually along the cushions, watching you with a grin that made your heart race all over again. “You sure you don’t want to skip? I mean, we were in the middle of something really important.”
You shot him a glare, though the heat in your cheeks probably made it far less intimidating. “Nice try, Seokjin. I can’t fail this class because of you.”
“Fair,” he conceded, standing to walk you to the door. But as you reached for the doorknob, he tugged you back, planting a quick, heated kiss on your lips that left you breathless. “Hurry back when you’re done,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.
From that day on, a pattern emerged. Every time you came over—whether to study, watch a movie, or just hang out—the two of you would inevitably end up tangled together, lips locked and breaths mingling. It didn’t matter if it was before or after you hit the books; somehow, the boundaries between tutoring sessions and heated makeout sessions blurred until they were almost nonexistent.
It became your guilty pleasure, a secret routine that neither of you dared to acknowledge aloud. And then, finally, the day of the exam arrived.
You walked into the lecture hall with butterflies in your stomach and left with a grin you couldn’t contain. A 91! You had passed, and not just barely—you’d crushed it. The first thing you did after checking your grade was text Seokjin, your fingers flying over the keyboard as you told him the news.
His response was instant: Come over. We’re celebrating.
You didn’t need to be told twice. Within minutes, you were at his door, and before you could even step inside, Seokjin was pulling you into his arms, his lips crashing into yours.
“Congratulations,” he murmured against your lips, his voice warm and full of pride.
But there was no time for further words. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that sent sparks shooting down your spine. You barely registered the door closing behind you as the two of you stumbled into the apartment, too caught up in each other to care.
His hands roamed over your body with an urgency that made your heart race, slipping beneath your shirt to explore the bare skin underneath. You tugged at his hoodie, eager to feel more of him, and he obliged, pulling it off in one fluid motion before his lips found yours again.
This time, there was no stopping, no holding back. The couch cushions were a familiar backdrop as Seokjin pressed you down, his body warm and solid against yours. His kisses grew deeper as his fingers dipped beneath the hem of your shirt, his eyes flicking up to yours for permission. When you gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, he didn’t hesitate.
With a swift motion, he tugged your shirt up and over your head, tossing it onto the floor. His eyes darkened as they roamed over you, lingering on the lacy bra you’d decided to wear that day.
“Well, well,” he murmured, his tone teasing as his fingers ghosted over the edge of the fabric. “You wore this? Almost like you were expecting to celebrate.” he teased, his fingers grazing the edge of your lacy bra. His smirk was back, though it softened as he leaned in, brushing his lips against your collarbone.
“Shut up,” you managed, breathless and flustered, though the way your hands gripped his shoulders betrayed your eagerness.
Your face burned, and you tried to turn away, but his hand cupped your chin, gently guiding your gaze back to him. His grin widened, clearly enjoying your flustered state.
“I wasn’t—” you started, but he cut you off with a laugh.
“Relax,” he said, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I’m not complaining. In fact…” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “I think it’s perfect.”
His mouth moved lower, leaving a trail of soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, his hands sliding up your sides as he explored every inch of you. When his lips finally returned to yours, the kiss was deeper, hungrier, his body pressing against yours as if he couldn’t get close enough.
Your hands found their way to his shirt, tugging at the fabric until he got the hint and pulled it off. You couldn’t help but let out a soft gasp as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you even closer.
“Still think I’m the one who expected this?” you teased, emboldened by his reaction.
Seokjin paused, his lips hovering over yours as he chuckled, low and rich. “Oh, I definitely did. But I’m glad you were prepared too.”
With that, he captured your lips again, the playful banter melting away as the moment grew even more heated. The air between you was thick with desire, every touch, every kiss igniting a fire that neither of you wanted to put out.
As the kiss deepened, Seokjin's hands roamed over your body, his fingers tracing the curves of your waist, the swell of your hips. Your own hands were just as busy, exploring the contours of his chest, the broadness of his shoulders.
The room around you melted away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the heat of the moment. The darkness was almost palpable, a living thing that wrapped itself around you, holding you close. You felt like you were drowning in Seokjin's eyes, those piercing brown orbs that seemed to see right through to your very soul.
And yet, even as you felt like you were losing yourself in him, you knew that this was exactly where you wanted to be. This was what you had been waiting for, what you had been hoping for all along.
Seokjin's lips left yours for a moment, and he gazed down at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "I want to see all of you," he whispered, his voice low and husky with desire. "I want to touch every inch of your skin."
You felt a flush rise to your cheeks as he spoke, but you couldn't help the way your body responded to his words. You nodded slowly, and Seokjin's eyes flashed with excitement.
With gentle fingers, he reached behind you and unfastened the clasp on your bra. The straps slid down your arms, and Seokjin's eyes widened as he took in the sight of your bare skin. He reached out a hand and cupped one breast in his palm, his thumb tracing circles around the nipple until it hardened beneath his touch.
As Seokjin's hands continued to caress your breasts, his mouth descended upon them, his plump lips wrapping around one nipple with a gentle reverence. The softness and fullness of his lips were almost distracting, making you wonder how something so visually appealing could also feel so incredible. He kissed the nipple softly, his lips molding around it as he sucked gently.
He switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention, his lips tracing circles around the nipple before wrapping around it again. The sensation was exquisite, and you felt yourself arching your back, pushing into his touch as he continued to kiss and suckle your breasts.
After lavishing attention on your breasts, Seokjin's mouth began to kiss down your stomach, his lips tracing a path of fire along your skin. With each kiss, you felt anticipation build within you. He teased you with each touch of his lips, getting closer and closer to the heat between your legs but never quite reaching it. The suspense was deliciously agonizing.
Finally, Seokjin returned to your lips, kissing them with a fervor that left you breathless. His tongue danced against yours as he deepened the kiss. He didn't stop there; his mouth wandered to your neck, leaving behind a trail of hickeys as he sucked and nibbled on the sensitive skin.
"Your lips are so fucking perfect," you whispered into his ear, running your fingers over their full shape in awe. "They feel as good as they look."
Seokjin chuckled low in his throat but didn't stop kissing and sucking on your neck. After a few moments of this sensual assault on your senses, he pulled back slightly and whispered against your earlobe.
"Enough of my lips; time to see what yours can do."
With that tantalizing promise hanging in the air between you like an unfinished challenge waiting for resolution - Seokjin stood up from where they had been sitting together on couch pulling both pants & boxers all way down letting them pool at feet before taking seat once more now fully exposed
You got onto your knees between his legs spread wide and proceeded to give him a blow job. You began by licking his quivering length, taking its head into your mouth. You started sucking gently, gradually increasing suction pressure and movement speed.
Your hand rose to begin stroking his shaft up and down while continuing to suck on it, your fingers wrapped tightly around base, moving in the opposite direction of your head bobbing. You made sure to pay special attention to the ridge just beneath where the head of his cock meets the shaft, knowing the extra sensitivity there.
As you continued to stroke and suck, Seokjin's eyes remained locked on yours, besides when he'd occasionally draw his head back in rawr pleasure. His hands rested on your head, gently guiding the pace but letting you set the rhythm. The sensation of his fingers in your hair, combined with the taste and feel of him in your mouth, was incredibly erotic.
You could feel his excitement building, his breathing getting heavier, and his muscles tensing under your touch. Encouraged by his reactions, you deepened the suction slightly, moving your head in a steady bobbing motion while your hand continued to stroke the base of his shaft.
Seokjin's moans filled the air, soft at first but growing louder as he neared climax. His hands tightened in your hair, not pulling but applying gentle pressure as if urging you on without wanting to disrupt the perfect rhythm you'd established.
Just as it seemed like he was about to come, Seokjin suddenly pulled back, his chest heaving with exertion. "Not yet," he whispered hoarsely, "I want to come inside you."
He gently helped you up from your knees and led you back to the couch. This time, as he sat down, he pulled you onto his lap so that you were straddling him. The position was intimate and vulnerable at the same time.
With deft hands, Seokjin guided himself into you, filling a void that had been aching for fulfillment since this encounter began. As he entered deeper into you, your warmth enveloped around him fully. Everything else faded away, leaving only the sensations between two people completely lost within another.
The movement started slow but was soon quickened, as he grew more desperate. The two of you lost track of the time or your surroundings, solely existing in the moment of moving bodies seeking release.
As the movements became more rhythmic and intense, the connection between you and Seokjin deepened. Every thrust, every sensation, seemed to be amplified.
Your hands were on his shoulders, his around your waist, holding you close as you moved together. Seokjin's eyes locked onto yours, filled with raw desire. Yet, there was also a tenderness there, a care that made this feel like more than just a physical act. It was as if he was seeing into your very soul, and you into his.
The pace quickened, the intensity building until it felt like everything was going to shatter apart at any moment. But instead of fear or anxiety, there was only anticipation - a desperate longing for that release.
And then, in an instant that seemed to stretch out forever, it happened. Seokjin's body tensed beneath yours, his muscles hardening as he came inside you. The sensation triggered your own climax, waves of pleasure crashing over you like a stormy sea.
For what felt like an eternity, you just sat there, wrapped in each other's arms as the aftershocks of pleasure continued to ripple through your bodies. It wasn't until your breathing began to slow that reality started seeping back in - the feel of the couch beneath you, the sound of your heartbeats slowly synchronizing back into separate rhythms.
Seokjin's arms loosened their hold on you slightly but didn't let go. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed your forehead softly before whispering against your skin.
"Looks like all our hard work paid off. Congrats on passing, beautiful."
a/n: wahoo! feel free to leave feedback, hope you all enjoyed!
