[jungblue]

an essence of gold | 01 (m)

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: alien!jungkook, fated mates (sort of), smut, fluff

warnings: multiple orgasms, pheromones, blood play, biting, binding, jealousy, gratuitous use of bodily fluids, use of venom that acts as an aphrodisiac

word count: 27,372

description: It’s Remembrance Day. The one day a year when the inhabitants of Earth live and party how humans of the Old World used to before the people of a distant planet came and changed their lives for the better. However, when a friend stumbles upon a game humans used to play a millennia ago called seven minutes in heaven, things get interesting—A particular alien has his eye on you, and the reasons go so much deeper than you could have ever imagined.

NOTE: This story was originally written to be one part, however, the format is too large for tumblr to allow me to post it. The second part is already written and complete. It will be posted soon after this one!

"We're already late. Hurry up!" You yelled over your shoulder, motioning for Jimin to pick up the pace. 

He ignored you, instead rummaging for something inside of one of the many, many pockets on his jacket. It was a denim material that matched his pants. The style had apparently been very popular a millennia ago. You couldn't understand why, since you were also wearing the denim on denim attire. You didn’t see the stylistic appeal. But you had to remind yourself when you were getting ready earlier in the night that personal taste wasn't what this night was about. It was about remembering the Old World—fashion aside.

"Oh, you're rushing me?" Jimin asked when he finally caught up to your hurried steps. "Guess I won't share my contraband then."

You stopped dead in the middle of the street. You turned slowly to face him. He smiled devilishly as he patted all of his pockets. Now that he was closer you could see the way the material bulged slightly.

"You're sneaking Veridian alcohol into Namjoon's Old World party?" You scoffed, but still held your hand out for a taste. "You know how serious he takes it. You'll be lucky he doesn't sniff it out the second you walk through the door."

Jimin shrugged, opening one of the flaps on his jacket and pulling out a small vial of pink-tinged liquid. "If he does I'll just butter him up about how, as a Veridian himself, I'm simply honoring his species for bringing such a delicacy to our obsolete planet a thousand years ago.

"I don't think that'll work, but I'm glad you’re willing to try." You popped the cap, downing the extraterrestrial recipe in a quick gulp. No burn, just a sweet warmth that enveloped your entire body. Not like human-made alcohol that scorched your throat as you forced it down.

The reason for the sneaking of this brew was simple—It was Remembrance Day.

It was the one time a year where people all over Earth recollected on the past. A time when technology was simpler, life more mundane, and most importantly, when the inhabitants of this planet were all… human.

It was hard to imagine a time before the Veridians were here. You, after all, were born almost a thousand years after they first arrived, so to you, this was always what life had been like. To grow up with their technology, their medical advancements, and of course, their vastly superior alcohol.

Of course, the praise everyone sang for them now wasn't always the case. Their first couple of decades when they came to Earth were rocky, to put it lightly. According to the history you and all children, Veridian and human alike, learned growing up was of all the politicking and fear. Humans of the Old World were not keen to let an new species dock onto their home so easily.

The Veridians home planet of Veridia had been compromised temporarily. While their achievements had been wondrous compared to human standards at the time, it had come at a cost. Their planet was now fighting back. The climate change from their rapid technological scaling had become too much for it to bear, resulting in it slowly becoming uninhabitable for the Veridians themselves. Once they realized what was happening, they tried to reverse course, but it was too late. Instead they were forced to find a new home within the next decade while their planet healed from scars they had left on her—and that new proposed home had been Earth.

They needed a planet with oxygen. They needed it to breathe and live just like us. So of course, when they discovered Earth during their intergalactic search, they decided it would be the perfect place. Unfortunately, it was already taken. Luckily, the Veridians were not a warring sort. A small fleet of them came at first, meeting with the leaders of the world. They wanted a place to stay for the next century or so while Veridia healed. The Earthen politicians refused profusely, of course. However, when just a sliver of Veridian technology was thrown at their feet, they folded.

Veridians had learned their lesson, however. They knew the level of technology they could safely produce without compromising yet another planet. But even that stunted knowledge had vastly dwarfed what humans had done up until that point.

And again, it was rocky as the Veridians slowly began to migrate here. Ships came in waves over the years. Humans were wary of them. They looked like humans for the most part, but there was an otherworldliness about them. They had been beautiful, infatuating, completely captivating to some of the humans of the Old World—making some people of Earth more distrustful of them.

Eventually, however, things settled. The Veridians integrated. They transformed the planet into something different, with the knowledge of how to balance advancements with the safety of the planet in mind. 

A  century or so passed, and Veridia was once again ready for them to come home; her climate healed. However… Not all of them wanted to go. At that point, almost every Verdian that was still alive had been born on Earth. They knew Veridia as just this distant thing that their elders spoke of, so many of them stayed, while others returned to their homeworld. Even some humans migrated to Veridia. What once had been a precarious relationship between two intergalactic planets, was now an intertwined mesh of two species who were now bound to one another by trade and a place once shared. And while the Verdian population on Earth was nowhere near what it once was as more and more of them began to migrate back to their home planet, there were still a decent amount: about one to every thousand humans. But that number fluctuated frequently as humans and Veridians alike traveled between the planets freely—the ones with a lot of money of course. You unfortunately did not have the funds for space travel as a college student. You didn’t know if you ever would have it actually, but you could dream. 

But regardless of being stuck on Earth, you still made the most of it. As you were right now, attending an Old World party on Remembrance Day, even if it reminded you of how painfully dull the world must have been once. 

It became a tradition many centuries ago to honor the way we were able to live now due to the Veridians, by taking a day to live life as it once was. And while most people simply took the day to turn off their Holographers or dress in clothing that was from various eras of the past… Namjoon took it a bit more seriously. 

No Verdian technology or creation whatsoever. This included their alcohol, unfortunately. Which was the reason for yours and Jimin’s little heist. 

Once you both finally approached Namjoon’s home—though, the mansion was more accurate—you stuffed the empty vial of Veridian spirits back into Jimin’s empty pocket. “Holographer off?” You asked, having already turned yours off when the two of you first transported into the neighborhood. 

Holographers were every living being's primary communication device both in Veridia and on Earth, but it was used for a variety of things other than that. It allowed the user to project things, such as videos or texts onto a holographic screen in front of them. One could even project a live image of their body to the person that they were trying to talk to. Making it almost seem like you were in the same room while having a conversation.  

“Yes, my access to the outside world is cut off,” He grumbled. 

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, how will you ever survive? Everyone we know is here anyway. Unless… you’ve met someone I don’t know about?” You looked at him curiously. 

He smirked slightly, downing his vial of alcohol quickly. “Maybe.” 

“Why didn’t you bring them?” 

He shrugged. “Still early. Plus,” He paused, throwing an arm around your shoulder as he began to walk us up the long driveway. “I didn’t want to be distracted in my mission to help my dear friend finally break her spell of celibacy.” 

You rolled your eyes. “It’s only been six months. Don’t be dramatic.” 

“Still, that rat that you considered your boyfriend did a number on you.” 

You bit the inside of your cheek. Yes, your last relationship had not gone so swimmingly. He had been a player through and through. Though, you stupidly thought you’d tamed him. That thought was shattered when you walked in on him with a girl writhing on top of him after a class half a year ago. You still weren’t sure what she was losing her mind over exactly, he had never made you feel like that in bed.  

You shook the image from your mind. “I’m not avoiding sex because of him. I just haven’t found anyone I find very interesting.” 

“Well, you’re in luck. Plenty of interesting people inside.” He motioned with the hand not around your shoulder. “Plenty of Veridians inside. You know, with Namjoon being the host and all.” 

You shook your head. You should've known this was where he was going with the conversation. “You know I’ve never slept with a Veridian, and I don’t plan on changing that tonight.” 

“I don’t see why not. One night with a Veridian and you won’t even be able to remember what’s his face’s name.” Jimin wiggled his eyebrows at you with a smirk. 

You snorted, but the words made you grow a little hot. “Like every human on Earth, I’m very aware of their reputation.” 

Again, while Veridians looked like humans for the most part, they had some key differences. They had pointed ears, tongues that were a bit longer than a human’s, and their canines were slightly elongated, almost vampiric. They had an increased sense of smell as well. But one of the most interesting traits they possessed was something called their essence: markings on their skin that only showed when they were feeling particular emotions. They could show up in various colors, unique to each Veridian. Some purple, pink, blue, any color really. You remembered the first time you saw it as a child. 

You were in school, and a Verdian boy cried because he had accidentally broken his toy. His face suddenly lit up with sage green lines. One thick, long line appeared across the bridge of her nose, with a shorter one below that, and two more followed along either side of her jaw. They appeared elsewhere on the body, but you didn’t know where considering you had never had the opportunity to witness a naked Veridian. You had seen it in movies, sure, but you weren't sure where exactly those lines ended beneath all the clothing. 

There were also those interesting appendages they had bursting from between the center of their shoulder blades; three on either side of their spine, six in total. They were a couple of feet in length and flat, almost like tendrils of silk fabric cascading out of their backs, and they were very, very strong. They called them their fringes, and well, let’s just say that you had heard interesting stories of what they could do with said fringes.

But speaking of that, besides the physical differences between the species, they also had more intense… sexual proclivities, you could say. Though, you didn't know how accurate your ideas of it were. Your lessons on Veridian sexual practices were limited to the bare bones educational classes from when you were younger, and they weren’t exactly the most detailed. Just general anatomy and an overview of how their hormones worked. It was just supposed to be so that you didn’t have absolutely no knowledge on the other species you shared the Earth with. But other than that, it was just what you assumed were exaggerated tales from various media depictions or human gossip. The Fertility Solstice they had back in Veridia was of particular interest to humans who had never visited Veridia for the holiday. The rumors of what went on were completely unbelievable. However, you did know one thing for sure, and that was that their venom was considered utterly intoxicating. 

Veridians possessed a venom of sorts that they could mix into their saliva at will. A venom that they could also produce through their fangs and flood through your body with a bite to a vein. Everyone knew the stories of the euphoria that it held, and everyone was curious… even you. Though, you had just never been given the chance to partake in it. The idea of being with a Veridian just seemed incredibly overwhelming. You know, with the venom, the fringes, oh, and who could forget about the blood drinking! Though, it wasn’t something they did to sustain themselves, it was purely sexual apparently… They liked it. There was also just their genitalia in general—no, you weren’t even going to get into that. For the men at least, just bigger—much bigger, and—no, no, no, again, you weren’t getting into it. 

You cleared your throat, trying to chase the vague idea of what a naked Veridian man looked like from your head. “It’s not like you’ve ever slept with a Veridian either. Most humans haven’t.” 

Like you said before, on Earth the ratio was highly skewed towards humans. Though, certain areas were more densely concentrated. Your college had a higher population than usual due to a lot of Veridians spending a few years here for schooling. 

“Oh, don’t pretend like you aren't curious just like the rest of us,” Jimin replied simply, and he would have probably continued, but thankfully you were finally in front of the large double doors of Namjoon’s house. You could hear the music thumping from inside, and of course it was from the last millennium. Namjoon wanted everything on theme, always. 

“You ready?” You asked. 

Jimin patted the pockets of his denim jacket, making sure nothing was showing. “Let’s party like the old days, I guess.” 

—————

It took all of ten minutes for Namjoon to sniff the two of you out. You were both mingling with some classmates, when a hand wrapped around both yours and Jimin’s shoulders. You both stiffened, turning to face him with fake smiles plastered on your mouths. 

“Namjoon, g-great party!” You beamed, giving him a hug, trying to distract from the fact that you’d been caught smuggling Veridian alcohol into his Old World party. 

He crossed his arms, giving you a disappointed look. His pointed ears even seemed to bend in annoyance. “Firstly, you’re late, and secondly you brought banned alcohol into a party where the host was definitely going to notice it.” He tapped his nose. 

Jimin pursed his lips. “Well, technically, if this is an Old World party where we’re supposed to live like before Veridians arrived, then your keen senses are also off limits… Right?” 

Namjoon narrowed his eyes down at him. “Touché.” 

“We’re sorry. Don’t hate us.” You put your hands together in a pleading gesture. 

He waved your worries away. “Ah, it’s whatever. Just getting people to turn off their Holographers for the night is hard enough. I guess I can let a little alcohol slide. Though, if you guys are feeling festive later, there is plenty of Old World alcohol in the kitchen.” 

“Uh, yeah. Later. Totally.” You agreed, fakely. 

Namjoon smacked his lips, indicating he didn’t believe your lie. “Well, anyway. You guys made it just in time for the game.” 

“Ugh, what is it this year?” Jimin asked. “Manhunt, capture the flag? Something drunk people are not good at as always, I assume?” 

You snickered, remembering last year when you and Jimin had both fallen asleep outside in your hiding spots, the sun finally waking you; dirt, branches, and bugs in your hair. 

“No, though I think you’re just being a sore loser because your team never wins.” He smiled, giving Jimin a soft flick between the forehead. 

“Ouch, motherfucker.” He rubbed at the spot that had barely been hit. “So what is it then?” 

Namjoon tongued at the inside of his cheek, the hint of a smirk causing one of his dimples to appear. “It’s called seven minutes in heaven. I came across it in some old book a couple months back. Thought it’d be a nice change of pace for my party games.” 

“What do you do in this… what was it? Seven minutes in heaven?” You asked, repeating the strange name. 

“You’re about to find out.” He smiled, simply handing Jimin a scrap piece of paper before suddenly asking. “You’re not dating anyone right now, are you?” 

Jimin’s brows furrowed. “Uhm, I’m kind of seeing someone, actually. Why?” 

Namjoon seemed to deflate at that. “Ugh, you can’t do the game then.” He grabbed the paper back, throwing it into one of the two bowls he was carrying around. 

“Guess you’ll have all the fun this year, Y/N. Well, if you want to, that is.” He winked at you, shoving a different piece of paper into your hands and strutting away before you could ask any questions. 

“What the hell? Why would dating someone stop you from being able to play the game?” You asked, utterly confused. 

You watched as Namjoon made his way to the front of the living room. He brought two fingers to his lips, making a loud whistle noise ricochet throughout the house. A couple dozen heads snapped their attention to him at the sound. 

“Listen up, guys. Gonna explain the game,” Namjoon yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth. “So, it’s pretty simple. Everyone has a piece of paper with a number written on it.” 

You unfurled your paper and glanced down. Seven was your number. Seems fitting for the game, you thought to yourself.

“There is someone in this room that has your matching number. I’m gonna call people up here. They’ll reveal their number and the person with the same number is going to join their partner.” He paused, walking over to a door that you hadn’t noticed behind him. He opened it, motioning towards the inside. It was a tiny room. A closet from what you could tell. “And the two of you will get to spend seven uninterrupted minutes in here. Spend it however the two of you agree. Alright, who wants to go first!” 

Your mouth dropped open, but several people around you were murmuring excitedly, their hands raised for Namjoon to pick them. 

“He can’t be serious!” You scoffed, turning to face Jimin who was doubled over in laughter. 

“I actually think it’s genius. Much prefer this to hiding behind a tree trying not to get tagged all night.” 

“Says the man who doesn’t have to do it.” You pouted, hands crossed over your chest. 

“I mean you really don’t have to. You can just walk away or not go up there if your number is called.” Jimin paused, biting his lip. “But for the record I think you should do it.” 

“Why? What if I’m not interested in whoever I get paired with?” 

Jimin shrugged. “Then have a stimulating conversation for seven minutes. He didn’t say it had to be sexual. Just implied that it could be if you both wanted to.” 

You gnawed at the inside of your bottom lip, mulling it over when Namjoon was suddenly making another announcement. 

“Oh, forgot to mention. If you’re Veridian and you get paired with a human, do not, and I repeat do not give  them your venom. You all know why that isn’t allowed. I will kick your fucking ass before I make you leave. Got it? He paused, seeming to think of a caveat. “Unless they want to—actually no, not even if they want to. We have to keep this room clean for a while, and there’s plenty more upstairs if anyone wants to continue after the timer runs out. So yeah, no venom, not for anyone. Okay?” 

You knew why he had to make the announcement. Again, you had no idea what the effects felt like, as you’d never been subjected to them, though you knew several humans who enjoyed them in a consensual setting. Namjoon simply wanted to make it clear that permission needed to be given. 

“So, what’s the verdict?” Jimin asked, breaking you from your thoughts. “In or out?” 

You watched as Namjoon picked a girl towards the front of the room. She was dressed in punk style clothing. She handed her paper to Namjoon. 

“Number thirteen.” He waved the paper over his head and a guy right next to you perked up. He had a disco outfit on, his pants swaying at the bottoms slightly as he made his way to the front of the room. They both smiled as they entered the room, Namjoon shutting the door behind them. “Seven minutes starts now!” 

Your heart raced a bit, but there was something else mixed in with the anxiety. Thrill? Intrigue? You weren’t sure, but you couldn’t lie and say you weren’t interested to see who you would get paired with. As Jimin had pointed out earlier, you had been avoiding interactions involving relationships or sex for some time now. Maybe it was time to not necessarily change that, but maybe get your feet wet. A simple kiss with someone couldn’t hurt, right?

You released a deep sigh. “Fuck it, why not.” 

Jimin pumped his fist in victory before shouting across the room. “Namjoon, let Y/N go next!” Namjoon gave a thumbs up, motioning for you to come forward. 

You punched Jimin’s shoulder, giving him a look that could kill. “What the fuck?! I’m not ready!” 

“You’re just gonna psych yourself out. Just get it over with. If it sucks then you have the rest of the night to forget about,” He said, pushing you through the crowd of people. 

You couldn’t really argue with the logic. It was kind of like going first in a presentation for school to just get it out of the way. The waiting only made the pressure more intense as time went on. 

You dropped your paper in Namjoon’s hand as you and everyone else waited for the timer to run out. It had already been three minutes. See, this was nothing. It had felt like no time at all and the first couple’s turn at the game was almost over. 

“What made you decide to do this type of game this year? You usually like the silly, kid stuff.” You asked him as you stood staring at the room you would enter in a short amount of time. 

Namjoon shrugged. “Just liked the idea of playing matchmaker. Even if it’s just one or two pairs tonight. Knowing I got two people who maybe never would’ve talked get together seemed like a nice idea.” 

“You’re a sap.” You chuckled. “But I guess that’s why I love you.” 

You had met Namjoon a few years ago during your first year at school. He was one of the kindest and most genuine people you had ever met, so his reasoning behind this game fit his personality perfectly. 

“I hope you’re one of those people, you know? That maybe you get someone that makes you interested beyond the game.” He nudged your shoulder. 

You gave him a small smile. “I doubt it, but I appreciate it anyway.” 

“Well, let’s find out.” He slammed his hand on the door to the room at the same moment that the timer he set went off. “Time’s up. Out!” 

It took a couple of seconds, but the door finally opened. You had to stifle a laugh as the two emerged, looking much more wrecked than they had just minutes ago. Lipstick was smeared, eyeliner smudged, clothes askew. They had definitely made the most of their seven minutes. You would give them that. 

“You said the second floor?” The guy asked, his mouth looking swollen. 

“Yup, have fun.” Namjoon pointed towards the staircase. 

They hurried up the stairs quickly, hands all over each other. The curl of anxiety quickly began to kick back in. You feared your exit would not be as exciting as that one. 

“Okay, your turn, Y/N.” Namjoon unfurled the paper to look at the number. You scratched at the side of your temple, looking at all of the possible matches spread out before you. “Alright, who is the other lucky number seven?” Namjoon shouted across the room. 

Everyone looked around at each other. Waiting to see who was going to step forward. For a moment there was no one, and you thought maybe you got lucky and your partner had left the game. But that would be too easy, because suddenly everyone started to break away, letting someone emerge from the back of the crowd. 

Your breath hitched in your throat. You had to physically clamp your teeth down on the inside of your cheeks to keep your mouth from falling open, because the guy currently walking towards you, the guy that you were going to be stuck in a tight, enclosed space for seven entire minutes with, was absolutely… gorgeous.

He was wearing jeans and a tight tank top beneath a leather jacket. The fringe of his black hair was hanging over his forehead with a backwards cap on top. He wasn’t really dressed as any notable human era, which was the theme for this party, but hey, when you looked like that, who cared? Namjoon probably, but that was besides the point. 

“Jungkook, once again I have to say your lack of commitment to Remembrance Day is disappointing.” Namjoon tsked, confirming your inner thoughts. 

Jungkook was his name then. You said it inside of your head a couple of times for some reason. You just liked the way it sounded, you guessed. 

“Sorry to disappoint you, my friend.” Jungkook chuckled before suddenly glancing at you. His eyes were almost black, and  they felt trance-like the way you couldn’t stop staring at them. “Nice to meet you, by the way. Guess I should say that before Namjoon shoves us into that closet together.” He paused, a slight smirk on his lips. “Though, I’m not complaining.” 

“You shameless flirt.” Namjoon rolled his eyes, pushing you both forward before you could give him a response. 

Suddenly you were both in the tiny space, and he was staring down at you. You felt like you weren’t breathing, and that feeling only worsened as Namjoon began to close the door. 

“Y/N’s a good friend, by the way, Jungkook.” Namjoon suddenly interjected, just as he was about to close the door all the way. “You better be respectful.”

Jungkook was still looking at you, the corners of his lips tilting upward. “I’ll only do what she asks,” He whispered, his voice so low and close to your face, that your stomach did a flip. You were so distracted by the feeling you didn’t even realize Namjoon had finally shut the door completely. 

“Seven minutes starts now!” You heard him yell from the other side of the door, and there was a little cheer from the crowd that had accumulated in the living room to either participate or watch the game. 

You finally broke eye contact, not being able to bear it any longer without feeling like your skin was going to catch on fire. You cleared your throat before finally speaking. “Also nice to meet you. I didn’t get a chance to say that before Namjoon pushed us in here.” 

“That’s okay.” There was a pause, and it made you stare up at him again. He was seriously so good looking. It was almost unfair. 

“So, Y/N,” He started again, and suddenly his hand was reaching out, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. The sensation of his skin touching yours made a chill race up your spine. “Since we’re short on time here, I’m just gonna be blunt with you. What’re you wanting out of me for these seven measly minutes?” 

“I…” You trailed off. You didn’t know why you were hesitating. You had just talked yourself up about how you wanted to do this to test the waters of being with someone again, even if it was just a kiss. He seemed to notice your dilemma, because he was taking a half a step back. He might have taken more, but the shelves that lined both sides of the closet prevented him from doing so. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make this awkward—though, this game is incredibly fucking awkward. I mean I can’t believe people actually used to play this.” 

He chuckled, leaning back against the shelf. “No need to be sorry. That’s why I asked. We can talk, or I can just stand here in silence while you keep staring at me like you wanna lick my face.” 

Your eyes widened. “What? I-I was not—I mean I was just looking at you normally—” You cut your words off, choosing to not humiliate yourself further with your rambling. 

When you finally got the confidence to look at him again, you didn’t find the cocky smile you were expecting. Instead he held a patient expression. Like he just knew how this was obviously going to go, and he was just waiting on you to catch up. 

You took a deep breath. You were overthinking this. It was just a little kissing, right? Nothing crazy. So, fuck it. You were just gonna go for it. 

You stepped forward, closing the space Jungkook had created just a moment ago. “You told Namjoon just now that you’d do whatever I asked, right?”

“I did.” He nodded. “So what do you want to ask me to do for you?”

You bit at your bottom lip, his eyes tracking the movement. “I know this is gonna seem a bit juvenile… but I’ve been in a bit of a rut lately, when it comes to stuff like this. Ever since my last relationship ended. So I just want a good kiss—a really, really good kiss. You look like the type of guy that could give that to me.” 

“Hm, big expectations.” He did a closed-mouth smile as his hands found the sides of your ribs. You released a slight gasp as he suddenly pulled you both down to your knees on the carpeted floor. His mouth hovered over yours as he began to whisper. “But I won’t disappoint you.” 

Jungkook’s lips found yours, and it was as if your body was immediately taken over by some foreign entity. Your skin was buzzing, a sensation that sent shockwaves down the entire length of your spine in an instant. You opened your mouth, his tongue sliding along your own in such a seductive way that moans suddenly barreled up your throat. It felt different than usual too, like he was twisting his tongue around yours in ways you didn’t even know was possible. You felt his smirk against your mouth as your hands immediately found the sides of his neck, your thumbs caressing at his jaw as he coaxed you through this completely enrapturing kiss. You started feeling dizzy after a minute, like your brain was melting from his touch.

“You need to breathe.” You heard his gentle words in between each slant of his lips, making you realize that you were in fact not breathing. You pulled back with a gasp, his dark eyes glancing down to the rapid rise and fall of your chest. That was also when you noticed that you had climbed on top of his lap at some point during this entanglement. 

“Yeah, breathing would be a good idea.” You nodded, glancing away in mortification that you had been so into this interaction that you had forgotten to perform a basic bodily survival skill. You didn’t know what was happening. It was like your soul was saying you just needed more of him, oxygen be damned. 

Your face was suddenly being twisted so that you couldn’t hide your shamed expression. Jungkook shook his head gently from side to side, his other hand lifting to press his thumb against the skin between your furrowed brows. “Don’t be embarrassed.” 

You threw your fingers over your eyes, hiding from his placation. “Ugh, I’m really out of practice with this sort of thing.” 

He chuckled beneath you and then pulled your hands down. You forced yourself to keep eye contact as he cupped the side of your face. “Keep practicing with me then.” 

It was like his voice had a direct line to your body, because you were immediately leaning in again. His lips brushed yours once more, and this time you reminded yourself to pull it together and breathe. You heard the hum against your mouth, as if he was praising you for remembering this time. You weren’t sure how he was so aware of the inhales and exhales that passed through you, like he was intrinsically linked to your lungs. 

His tongue swept against your lip, leaving what felt like a trail of electric sparks behind. The sensation had you throwing your arms around his neck, your hips grinding down onto the fabric of his pants. You could feel him growing beneath you… And growing… Still growing. Fuck, how big was his dick? The thought swept through you just as you suddenly felt something tickle your wrist. You opened your eyes, scared that maybe a bug or something had crawled on you in this tiny closet space, but what you saw wasn’t a bug at all—It was a gold-colored fringe. 

“What the—” You pulled away immediately, almost falling backwards off of Jungkook’s lap. But he caught you by both sides of your open denim jacket and pulled you back upright before you could give yourself a concussion by slamming into the shelves behind you. 

Your eyes were wide with shock, and Jungkook’s mouth suddenly curved into a wide grin, exposing his elongated canines in a pleased expression. The sight of them made your heart leap. Then before you could stop yourself, you were yanking his hat off, revealing pointed ears peaking through the tufts of his hair. Each shell was adorned with a line of black jewelry. 

“Y-you’re Veridian?” You stuttered, one of your fingers reaching out to push his top lip up to get a better look at what was essentially a fang, while your other hand grabbed at the tips of one of his ears. 

He quirked a brow at you. “Some people might take prodding like this to be a bit rude, you know?” 

You immediately snatched your hands back, slapping one over your mouth. “I’m so sorry. You’re right.” You tried to climb back off of his lap, clearly having offended him, but before you could move even an inch he had your hips pinned in place on top of him. 

“I was kidding. Well, some Veridians would find it rude, so I wouldn’t go around doing that. But in my case, I like you touching me.” He paused, looking back over his shoulder. Your mouth fell open as you watched all six of his fringes snake up the back of his jacket. The golden color of them making a shiny iridescence dance across the darkened space. “Seems they like it too.” 

They were like snakes dancing behind his head, curling and twisting. Some attempted to sneak down his torso to get near you again, but Jungkook smacked them before they managed to reach you. “Stop that.” He hissed, the rogue fringes quickly slithering back into his clothes, while the ones that behaved continued to levitate above his head. 

You tilted your head to the side, staring at them with increased interest as they continued to comb through the air. You had seen these curious little appendages before, but most Veridians on Earth chose to keep them hidden away. You had known Namjoon for years and only seen his a handful of times. Of course, there were some Veridians that let them roam free as they walked around. They wore backless shirts or clothing with slits that allowed them to be seen. Other than that, movies and shows were the only exposure you’d had to them. You didn’t realize as you were watching them that your hand had slowly started to drift towards one of them. You snatched it back immediately. God, what the hell was going on with you tonight? It was like your self-control had completely dissipated. 

“Did you want to touch them?” He asked, not seeming annoyed by the fact that you had tried to prod at him again.

You scratched your cheek awkwardly. “Sorry, I don’t mean to keep doing things like that. I’ve just never been in a… situation like this with a Veridian. I’m just… curious, I guess.” 

Jungkook gave you a small smile, like he found your naïveté amusing. “Well, since we don’t have much longer in here, can I propose an idea?” Jungkook looked towards the door that would soon be opening. At this point you couldn’t have more than a minute or two left. 

“What’s the idea?” You asked. 

“If you’d like, we could continue your lesson on Veridian anatomy and etiquette upstairs.” 

You felt yourself tense up, because going upstairs implied sex. And as much as you had enjoyed the kiss between the two of you, there was no way you were ready for that. It felt as if every nerve ending in your body had been on fire just from his mouth. You couldn’t imagine what actually having sex with him would be like. Also, you were absolutely in no shape or form ready to take whatever the hell had been growing in Jungkook’s pants a moment ago. 

“As curious as I am, I wouldn’t wanna give you the wrong impression by me going up there with you.” You answered honestly.

“I wasn't implying we had to sleep together, but now that I’m thinking about it, I guess the phrase anatomy lesson can only be seen as sexual in this context.” He laughed, and you relaxed a bit at the joke. 

“So, what? You just wanna go up there so I can… poke at you?” You asked, not believing he was actually agreeing to this. 

Jungkook was suddenly lifting himself off of the ground, bringing you with him so you were both in a standing position. He leaned forward, and him being in your airspace once again suddenly had you feeling light-headed. “I told you, I like you touching me. Plus, my fringes are going a bit crazy right now because I stopped them from reaching you a minute ago. It would calm them down.” 

Your eyes widened, and you leaned over to glance at his back, and you were surprised to see the rambunctious movement beneath Jungkook’s clothes, like they were truly fighting beneath the material. 

“You can’t control them?” You asked. 

You knew that a Veridian’s fringe had a connected but almost separate nervous system compared to the rest of their bodies, but you didn’t think that meant they actually had a mind of their own. You thought that was just a detail that movies and books added for a fun flare. 

“I would answer that, but—” Suddenly you heard Namjoon’s voice on the other side of the door, and you felt your heart sink. “I think our time’s almost up.” He glanced from the door to you. “So, what’s it gonna be, darling? Do you want me to teach you?”  

“And done!” Namjoon yelled. 

Jungkook reached over and opened the door. “Come on,” He whispered against your ear, giving you a quick peck on the cheek before reaching down to pick up the hat you’d ripped off his head earlier. Then he grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the room. Namjoon was standing right in front of you of course, but it seemed Jimin had also decided to join him during the seven minute wait. And of course there was the giant crowd of people craning their heads in every direction to get a look at the two of you. 

You watched Jimin’s eyes widen as he took in Jungkook’s pointed ears. His mouth transformed into the widest grin you had ever seen on your friend’s face as he turned to look at you. He shot you an expression that asked, what the hell happened in there?

“Have fun, you two?” Namjoon asked, motioning his head towards yours and Jungkook’s hands that were still intertwined. 

You glanced down at your fingers, but the weird thing was you had no desire to let go. You didn’t understand why. You two had just met after all. You were lost in the strangeness of it when you suddenly felt a squeeze against your hand, making you look at Jungkook. His eyebrow was cocked, the question from before that had been left unanswered reflecting in his eyes. 

Do you want me to teach you?  

You had known the answer to that question the second it had passed his lips. You felt the response in your bones that were, again, refusing to let go of him. You actually wished that you were back in that tiny closet with him still chatting as you straddled him. The desire for that suddenly had you reaching up, grabbing his pointed ear and dragging his head down to where it was positioned against your lips. 

“Teach me, darling,” You whispered with your eyes closed, dragging out the term sarcastically, but you felt a sudden wave of heat pass over your palm from where you were touching Jungkook’s skin. You released your hold on him and watched as he stood straight up, rubbing at his jaw and nose for some reason. You glanced over at Namjoon who looked… bewildered? Intrigued? You weren’t sure. 

“What is it?” You asked Namjoon. 

He shook his head. “Nothing.” He shrugged casually, but you could see the way his teeth were biting down on his bottom lip to suppress a smile. 

You were about to ask again why he seemed so surprised, but before you could, Jungkook was leaning down next to your ear this time. “Ready?”

You felt a chill of goosebumps flash across your skin from where his breath had ghosted along your flesh. It made the question you were about to ask just a moment before fade away into the back of your mind. You would have to come back to it another time, because you were already answering. 

You nodded. “Ready.” 

—————

That walk upstairs had been awkward to say the least. Not because of anything Jungkook was doing, but because of the cheers that followed from the crowd still partaking in the game. You felt a sense of relief once you found an empty bedroom upstairs and closed the door behind the two of you. 

“So… how do you know Namjoon?” You asked. The two of you should know a little bit about each other at this point. Probably should’ve happened before, but hey, seven minutes doesn’t exactly give you time for small talk. 

“We’ve been friends since we were kids. Our parents both work at the same tech company, so we were constantly moving between Earth and Veridia growing up, depending on where they needed them.”

That was interesting. You knew Namjoon had spent a lot of time on Earth growing up, so he was used to humans by the time he had decided to stay here for a couple of years for his studies. You also knew his parents were higher ups in the tech sector, hence his insane living arrangements. You wondered if Jungkook lived a similarly lavish lifestyle. 

“Are you just visiting then? I’ve never seen you around campus, so I assume you don’t go to our school. I definitely would’ve noticed you.” Maybe it was a bit shameless to say that, but it was the truth. 

Jungkook smiled. “I haven’t been back long. I don’t start classes for a few days. I decided to hold off on schooling for a couple of years. I’d already been to Earth so much, it just wasn’t something I was interested in, but when the new year started my parents pushed me. They thought I might find some inspiration for what I want to do.” Jungkook paused, tilting his head in your direction. “And trust me, if I’d been here, I would’ve found you way before you even had the chance to notice me.”  

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Well, you probably would’ve been disappointed when you found me looking like a mess in some room on campus covered in paint or oils.” 

His brows furrowed. “Paint?” 

“Yes, my area of study is art. I know, not exactly as useful as tech,” You said the word with a bit of ire. It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate it. You used it just as much as everyone else. However, you enjoyed the analog things in life just as much, and those things were dying—or already dead, honestly. Barely anyone did things by hand anymore. So you expected Jungkook to give you the spiel you had heard hundreds of times in your life, about how you were wasting your time, but instead, he surprised you. 

“I love that,” He said, and for some reason you didn’t think he was saying it to placate you. He seemed genuine. “It’s a lost skill. We’ve reached the highest point of optimization on both our planets. There’s not really anything left to do technology wise. It’s why I held off on school for so long. What else is there to do at this point? So yeah, I think what you’re doing is much more interesting.” 

“Thanks…” You said it almost in disbelief. That wasn’t the reaction you got most of the time. 

“Maybe you could teach me some time?” Jungkook asked, a smirk curving along his lips as he started to pull his jacket off before tossing it on the floor. “Though, you did ask me to teach you first when we were downstairs, so I guess I should do that before asking any favors.”

“Hey,” You pointed at his chest, taking a step back. “We agreed no sex.” 

He chuckled. “Yes, and I intend to keep that promise. But it would be harder for me to show you the Verdian things you seemed so very interested in earlier while all of my clothes are on.” 

You pursed your lips. “That’s… true.”

“Okay, so now that it’s out of the way that this is strictly educational, I’m gonna take my shirt off now.” He grabbed at the bottom hem. 

“Strictly educational?” You asked, because even though you had put the line at no sex, you were still tingling from the kiss downstairs. You wouldn’t be opposed to that happening again. Jungkook smirked, because you were clearly wearing your thoughts on your sleeve. “Aw, you sound disappointed by that.” 

“Well, I mean if you’re educating me on all things Verdian, I figured that could also encompass other… things.” You were being vague, but that was because you were curious about something. 

That kiss from earlier had felt like no other you had ever had in your life. It was otherworldly, which was fitting for the alien in front of you. But you wanted to know if the kiss had just been that good or if any of his Veridian aphrodisiac-inducing venom was involved. Namjoon had strictly forbidden it, but you couldn’t come up with another reason it had made you feel so… insatiable. Probably wasn’t the smartest decision to come up here with him not knowing whether or not he actually had used any biological trickery on you, but you figured Namjoon would’ve sensed it if he had. 

“Other things?” He quirked a brow. “Such as?” 

Your tongue slid along the edge of your teeth. You had to know the answer. “Can I ask you a question first?” 

“Anything,” He said as he slid his shirt up his torso, revealing a body that had you suddenly clenching your jaw to prevent a mortifying reaction from slipping though. He was so muscular, veins wrapping around his large biceps and bulging beneath the skin right below his abs that then disappeared under his pants. God, he was perfect. 

You closed your eyes for a moment, shaking your head as you chose to sit on the edge of the bed to try and ground yourself a little bit. But when you opened them, Jungkook was standing right in front of you, his fringes slithering in a halo around his body. Your eyes bounced around to each one. They were dancing gently behind him and seemed to have calmed down from earlier. 

“You had a question?” He asked, breaking you from your wonder towards the little creatures. 

You had no idea how long you had been staring. You cleared your throat to cut through your awkwardness, pulling your legs beneath you on the bed. “Uhm, I was wondering if, when we were kissing earlier, if you…” You bit your lip trailing off. 

Jungkook’s eyes widened momentarily. “You think I used my venom on you?” 

“So you didn’t.” You confirmed. “I’m sorry for asking. I just—It felt…” You weren’t even sure how to possibly describe how it felt. 

“No, it’s fine.” He was sitting next to you on the bed now. His closeness made your stomach start to squirm incessantly. “It’s flattering that you think I did, though.” He smiled, his shoulder brushing against yours. “But I would’ve if you’d wanted me to. Fuck Namjoon’s rules. I would’ve done anything you asked me to in that room.” 

Your breathing was getting heavier now, your eyes flitting down to his mouth that held a curling grin that showed off the glint of his teeth. “What does the venom feel like?” 

“Everyone is different,” He answered, laying down on his side and propping his head up on his elbow. You followed him to mirror the position. “Movies and stuff make it seem like all humans react the same to any of us, but it’s a bit more complicated than that. Everyone’s genetic makeup is different. Some humans and Veridians don’t affect each other much. Maybe the kiss or bite just seems a bit more intense than compared to the usual sex between two humans. While other pairings… It feels a bit like a frenzy. Like you can’t get enough of each other. But some humans even have negative side effects with certain Veridians, like they’re rejecting that particular venom completely. It can make them very sick until it’s passed through their system. It’s all up to how your body reacts to our foreign DNA inside of you.” 

You took in the information with extreme intrigue. Again, your knowledge on Verdians was lacking to put it lightly. You now wished you had maybe picked up a book that wasn’t a romance novel at some point in your life to get the actual facts instead of the dramatized version. 

But now that you knew it wasn’t a one size fits all sort of scenario, you were curious. “So… how do you think your venom would affect me? Can you tell? Would I get sick?” You hoped that wasn’t the case.

Before Jungkook could answer, one of his fringes slithered between the space between the two of you. It was waving back and forth, its golden shimmer reflecting off the black of Jungkook’s eyes. You reached a hand up slowly, and when you finally touched it you couldn’t help the way your breath hitched in your throat. It was a strange texture, almost ticklish against your fingertips. You were still playing a little game of tag with it when it slowly began to slither up your arm, the edge of the ribbon-like appendage gently caressing your bottom lip. 

Your eyes widened as you looked at Jungkook for what to do. However, he simply laughed before pulling it back, though it kept tugging in his grip like it wanted to keep going. And you kind of wanted it to. It was almost like an adorable little snake. 

“Remember when you asked me downstairs if I could control them?” He reminded you of your question from when his fringes had been acting antsy beneath his clothing after your kiss. 

“Yes.” You nodded. 

“Well, I can usually control them completely without much thought. We learn to do that when we’re pretty young. But if my mind is preoccupied with something important or I simply release my control of them, they sort of act like my subconscious. They have their own nerve endings and senses, they sometimes know things before I do.” He paused, releasing the fringe he had captured, and the golden strand took the opportunity to zip forward and ensnare your wrist, wrapping itself in a bow like it would not be taken away so easily this time.

“Aw, it’s so cute.” You poked your lip out, gently petting at the little present it had turned itself into. 

“They are when they want to be.” He sighed, joining you in stroking the little strand. “But this little show it’s putting on right now is one of the ways I know how you’d react to my venom.” 

Your movements paused momentarily, but the fringe started wiggling like it was annoyed that you stopped, so you quickly started the petting motion once again before asking Jungkook, “How?” 

“Like I said, they have their own senses. They started going crazy when they noticed you. I had to concentrate to get them to stop acting as if their world was going to end if they didn’t get to touch you. They were very upset with me when I stopped them.” He chuckled, a couple of his other fringes peeking over the side of his ribs like scolded children. 

“Why would they do that?” You asked, though the idea of that made warmth spread up your neck. That these little alien creatures wanted to be near you so badly, and that by Jungkook’s explanation of them being his subconscious and all, so did he. 

“They would only act like that if they sensed someone compatible with my venom nearby.” 

You hummed, curious as to what that entailed. “And what did they sense from me, exactly?” 

“All living creatures give pheromones off, humans just don’t feel them to the degree that we can. And well, yours…” Jungkook trailed off, his tongue sliding across one of his fangs as he inhaled a deep breath, and you watched in shock as all of his fringes shuddered in unison. “They seem to be uniquely made for me. A perfect match.” 

The idea that some biological chemical was the reason behind this entire situation coming to be was strange to you. Because it wasn’t something that you personally could feel in the way that Jungkook could, so it made it hard to believe. But then again, there was that kiss. The kiss that had felt indescribable, like there had been something on a higher level going on, and maybe this was the explanation for that. Could everything feel that way with him? Like your skin was on fire in the best of ways, while your insides buzzed with electric tremors. 

You wanted to find out. 

“A perfect match, huh?” You pursed your lips, mulling a proposal over in your head. You let your hand drift forward, your thumb grazing along the edge of Jungkook’s collarbone. He looked down at where you were touching him, his chest rising a little faster. The reaction from him emboldened you to say your idea out loud. “Can we test that theory?” 

Jungkook stilled, his eyes meeting yours. “And how would you like to test it?” 

You swallowed before answering. The words seemed to get stuck in your throat. After all, this was as exciting as it was terrifying. “Well, you said that some Veridian’s venom doesn’t work that strongly on some humans. And you said your fringes wouldn’t have gone as crazy as they did unless I was a human that would react, uhm, strongly, to yours. I wanna see if that’s true.” You tried shrugging casually, but you were breathless as you said the last part. “I want you to use your venom on me.” 

Jungkook stared at you for a moment, biting at his bottom lip as if he had to contemplate on something before finally answering you. “I’m not sure that's a good idea tonight.” 

Immediately you glanced down at the bed, looking away from him. You were surprised by the denial. After all the talk of pheromones and such, you figured it was a safe request to make without much chance of being humiliated. You started to move back along the bed, trying to put a little bit of distance between the two of you now that things had gotten a little awkward in your end. Suddenly though, his hand darted out, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to look at him once more. 

He was tsking at you with that smug grin on his face. “For someone who made me promise I wouldn’t fuck you tonight, you seem surprisingly sad about not being given a venom that would make that promise very difficult to keep.” He caressed his thumb along your mouth. “If I had it my way, I’d drown you with it.” 

Oh, so that was why he was refusing. You would say that it calmed your racing heart, knowing that you hadn’t embarrassed yourself from asking, but his words had actually made it worse. Suddenly you felt hot, your breathing shallow like his hand was around your throat instead of your face. 

After giving yourself a moment to collect yourself you cleared your throat, trying to sound confident as you spoke again. “You don't have the self control to not give in?” You asked. 

He chuckled, letting his hand wander to gently pet at your temple. “It’s not my self control I’m worried about, darling.” 

Your brows furrowed and you laughed at the insinuation. “Me? You’re worried about my self control?” 

He nodded. “You’ve never experienced it. You don’t know what it feels like. It’s intense. Especially since I know you’d react strongly to mine. And I wouldn’t be able to stand having to just sit there and watch while you were in pain.” 

“In pain?” You asked, confused. “I thought you said your venom was a perfect match for me? That it would feel… good?” You said the last word hesitantly. 

“It would,” He said with all the confidence in the world. “And yes, you’d feel euphoric—at first. Your body would be flooded with this sense of desire that can be overwhelming, and it sometimes makes you act like you normally wouldn’t. More forward, almost a little animalistic. But once that initial high wears off, if you aren’t being satisfied by someone—if the venom has nowhere to go—it will start to hurt. Badly. And I don’t want that for you at all.” 

You took in the information that he was telling you. That this thing that you thought would be amazing could possibly be painful if not done in the right way. It should’ve scared you away. It should’ve prompted you to immediately ask him to disregard your initial proposal. But something in you wanted to just have some sense of what this connection between the two of you truly was. Plus, you weren’t even sure if you’d ever see Jungkook again after tonight. So you decided to change course. 

“So just to be clear. When you said I would need to be satisfied, that means an orgasm, right?” You didn’t know why your skin felt so hot asking him that. After all, you were the one that had asked to be flooded with an aphrodisiac just moments ago. 

“Yes, but if enough venom is in your system, simple touching isn’t gonna cut it. Just using my hand or tongue isn’t gonna be enough for you, unfortunately.” 

He gave you an apologetic frown, but now all you were thinking about was his hand or head between your legs. The visuals had you squeezing your limbs together. He definitely noticed by the flare of his nostrils and the slight dart of his eyes below your waist.  

You decided to ignore that and cut to your next idea. “You said if enough venom is in my system. You can control the amount, right? What if it’s just a tiny bit.” 

He smiled at you. His hand that was holding his head up, threading through his hair like he was getting tired of holding back. He leaned forward across the small gap between you, his forehead touching yours. When he started speaking, his breath danced across your mouth and it sent a tremor through your entire jaw. “You’re making it very difficult for me to say no, when you’re basically begging me to eat you out with my fingers inside your pussy. That’s what you’re asking me to do, right? When the venom is making your skin feel like it’s on fucking fire because it needs me to touch it so badly. When your cunt is dripping and won’t stop until you’re coming around me over and over again. Is that what you want?”

A moan slipped up your throat, and you had no shame in hiding it. You were far beyond that at this point. After hearing those dirty words from his mouth, there was nothing that could deter you from seeing this through. 

You nodded, your forehead still pressed to his. “Yes, I want that, but are you just gonna tell me it’s still not a good idea?” Your voice sounded almost like it was in agony at the concept not getting to experience what he had just described. 

But suddenly you were being pulled on top of Jungkook, straddling him. Your hands found his shoulders for balance as he sat up, his hands cupping either side of your face. “I’m done telling you no. I didn’t wanna tell you no in the first place. I was just trying to be decent, but I’ve wanted to do so much more than just fucking kiss you since the second I saw you—since the second I smelled you.”

Your breaths were coming in short pants now. “Good,” You said simply. You wouldn’t have been able to get much else out. 

“Ready?” He asked. “Some humans find the call a bit scary.” 

You knew what he was talking about. When Veridians summoned the venom to seep into their saliva there was a clicking noise that thrummed from the back of their throats, it was referred to as ‘the call.’ It was almost like the rattle of a snake. You had only asked Jungkook earlier if he had used his venom on you in the closet, even though you hadn’t heard the noise, because you weren’t sure if a small amount could be conjured without such a showy action. Clearly the noise was required regardless of the quantity if he was telling you it was about to happen. You had heard the sound before, but it was in movies or occasionally at a club between two people kissing on the dance floor. Never had you heard it with the intention of it being used on you. 

You took a deep breath. “I’m ready. I won't be scared.” 

“Good, because you have nothing to be scared of.” He pulled your head closer to his, your noses brushing lightly. “I’m gonna make it feel really nice for you, okay?” 

You gave him a small smile. “Okay.” 

Jungkook closed his eyes, his jaw tensing as a sudden vibration began to rattle up the base of his throat. Your heart skipped a beat. It was just such an… alien sound. Which was obvious, but still something that was tugging at your very core. Again, you had known what this was going to sound like, but having it happen right beneath you was a completely different experience entirely. You had to stop yourself from looking over your shoulder, as if there was something in the room prowling you. It was as if the clicking-rattle was coming from every direction. But it wasn’t scary per se, if anything the sound was almost… strangely arousing? However, as quickly as it started, it was over in a moment. The sound dissolved around you. 

Jungkook opened his eyes, looking up at you with a glassy, hungry expression. He didn’t ask if you were ready this time. He simply used his thumbs that were still holding both sides of your face and pulled your mouth open before slanting his lips across yours. 

The taste hit you in an instant. It made you suck a sharp breath in through your nose. It was sweet, like honey dripping down your tongue. You moaned as Jungkook shifted his hand to the back of your head, deepening the kiss. It had only been a couple of seconds, but you felt… something. It was like a warmth spreading along your gums and down your throat before it settled in your stomach. That warmth intensified so quickly that it had you yanking back from the embrace. You screwed your eyes shut, letting the feeling trickle throughout your body. Your limbs felt light, but also incredibly sensitive. You were suddenly very aware of the jacket covering your arms. It was like tiny prickles all over your body every time the material of your clothes grazed your skin. It was almost like a scathing burn that somehow left goosebumps in its wake. You shoved the jacket off quickly and threw it on the floor. 

Your eyes snapped open, and to your surprise, Jungkook was looking at you like you were the alien in this situation. Well, technically, to him you were one. But not one that possessed powers of pheromones and aphrodisiacs. 

He continued staring at you, clearly stunned by something. His fringes were poised around you like some magnetic force. You could tell he was holding them back as much as he could, maybe sensing the overwhelming sensations ricocheting through your body. But suddenly his essence began to pulse, bright and gold across his face and down his body—and what a sight it was. 

Two marks appeared across his nose bridge while thick lines with tapered ends followed the sharp outline of each side of his jaw. They crawled down his neck, curving down his shoulders and wrapping around his arms in bands. There were slashes of gold covering his ribs. More appeared from behind his back, curving around his waist and dipping beneath his pants. You probably could’ve studied them for hours. Just tracing the shapes with your eyes… But you were a bit preoccupied at the moment, because something was definitely happening

“It feels…” You trailed off. 

You didn’t have to look in a mirror to know your pupils had suddenly dilated, it was as if you just knew based on the way everything sharpened. Jungkook as a whole was now focused in such clarity. He truly was beautiful. 

“What the fuck? I barely used any. It shouldn’t have affected you this much.” Jungkook looked as concerned as he did enamored as his hands dropped to your hips, squeezing the flesh through your pants. “You're dripping—I can fucking smell it.”

Under normal circumstances you probably would’ve glanced down at your lap to see if that evidence had soaked through your clothes already, but you were too focused on his face, or his mouth more specifically. You didn’t have a second to think before you were rushing forward, twisting your fingers into his black hair and reclaiming his kiss. He groaned as you began to grind against his lap, you could feel his dick beneath you. It was so big. You wanted to see it. You reached down between your bodies, palming at his crotch, but as quickly as you touched it, your hand was snatched away, Jungkook breaking the kiss. 

“That’s not happening tonight, sweetheart. I made you a promise.” He pressed his fingertips gently at your temple. “Remember?” 

Of course you remembered. You just didn’t care. It seemed like such a stupid request now. “So you’re not gonna fix this… this feeling?” You asked, almost whining, the idea making your heart race in a panic. Your shame was nonexistent in this state. 

He shook his head back and forth. “No, no, no, that’s not what I’m saying at all.” He immediately pressed a palm to your chest, laying you flat on the bed. His body hovered over yours, his essence still fully lining his entire face and body. “I’m gonna fix everything that you’re feeling right now, but I’m only gonna do it the way you agreed you wanted it done.” 

He was already unbuttoning your pants, and you shivered as a high-pitched noise slipped past your lips as the material of the jeans passed over your skin. You watched as his fringes helped pull your pants past your ankles and threw them to the ground with your jacket.

“Can I not change my mind on that?” You asked, breaths heavy as the cool air suddenly made contact with your soaked underwear and thighs. 

Jungkook leaned over, holding your face in his hand. He was giving you a sad smile. “No, you have to decide that before, not after the venom. You’re not thinking straight.” 

You huffed in annoyance, lifting yourself up on one arm as he hovered over you with one knee on each side of your hips. “I get that. Trust me, I'm clear headed enough to get why you’re refusing. But…” You trailed off, your fingertips following the lines of his essence along his jaw. His eyes closed slowly as you caressed them, like a satisfied cat. “I don’t think you understand how badly I want you to fuck me right now.” Jungkook released an almost growl-like noise. It made your stomach flip and another rush of heat ran down your panties that were already completely soaked. 

Suddenly he was on top of you, grinding his cock against your center. Even through his clothing it made you gasp. He kept pressing his hips up and down against you, his length catching your clit a couple of times. You felt it building in your stomach so suddenly, and it crashed through you in an instant. You let out a scream as you came, your body twitching uncontrollably. What the hell? You just came from ten seconds of him dry-humping you. What were you? A goddamn teenager?

Once your breathing returned to normal, that rising warmth in your stomach started to return again. It looked like just once was not going to be enough. But it seemed Jungkook expected that because he was leaning down, pushing a couple of wild strands of hair from your face as he told you exactly how he felt. 

“I don’t understand how badly you want me to fuck you right now?” He laughed sarcastically. “You don’t understand how badly I want to.” He grabbed your jaw, squeezing as he forced you to look him in the eyes. “You’re pussy’s so fucking wet right now. All I want right now is to stretch you out over my cock so I can watch you cry about how good it feels. I wanna watch myself fuck in and out of you because of how well I know you’d take me—Even though I know you’ve never had a dick this big inside that sweet fucking cunt of yours. I want my fringes to pin you down so I can make you come again and again and again, until you just can’t take it. Then I wanna bite that pretty neck of yours to flood you with more of my venom so that you can take more, and I know you’d be so fucking happy about it too—I want to drink your damn blood.” Jungkook was breathless as he finished. “So, trust me, I understand perfectly.” 

His essence pulsed violently, like it was overloaded with the thoughts he was having. Maybe you also should’ve been overwhelmed by them, but in this moment, what he had described to you sounded like heaven. But now that you had achieved some level of relief through your orgasm, your thoughts were a bit more even, though still a bit fuzzy. 

“I’m sorry,” You said, knowing that you had been selfish asking him to break the promise he had made to you. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

Jungkook was suddenly blinking over and over, shaking his head, like he was coming out of a daze. He slid a palm down his face. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have said all that to you. I’m not upset with you at all. It’s just that I gave you the smallest amount of venom that I possibly could have, and you’re… You’re just reacting like I gave you a lot more than I did. So, no, I’m the one that’s sorry.” 

He started to lift himself off of you, like he was guilt-ridden over his confession. You hooked an arm around his neck, pulling him back on top of you before he could get away. 

“You don’t have to be sorry either. I… liked what you said to me. I really liked it, actually.” Jungkook’s features softened, a flicker of surprise flashing across his face. “And as for the mishap with the venom, well, you did say that I seem uniquely made for you. Looks like you were right.” You smiled, placing a light kiss on his lips. You felt his mouth curve upwards as he returned your affection. 

It was going nicely when you suddenly pulled away because a sudden cramp in your stomach had you slamming your head back against the bed. You palmed the spot in your lower abdomen that was suddenly going haywire. “Fuck, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts,” You repeated, teeth grinding together as your heels dug into the bed.

Jungkook jumped up in a second, his fringes yanking the underwear you were still somehow wearing down your legs. You watched a string of arousal follow it. God, how wet were you? You hadn’t even felt for yourself. That thought actually made the pain in your stomach stutter for a moment, so you were immediately gliding your fingers along your center. You couldn’t help but gasp at just how much there was. 

But then there was another sensation joining your own explorations. You opened your eyes to see Jungkook moving your hand away and replacing it with his own. “We talked too long. Let me help you.” He laid down on his side next to you, one hand rubbing your clit with the other wiped a bead of sweat from your forehead. “Is that better?”

You felt a build in your belly that was no longer painful. You nodded, breath hitching as the pressure rose quickly. “Yes, so much better. Don’t stop, please, please, please.” You begged, eyes screwing shut as you felt yourself about to come again from just a few seconds of his touch.  

“Don’t worry, I won’t stop. You’re gonna come like this, and then again around my fingers, and then with my tongue on your pussy. You’re gonna come again and again until I’m done taking care of you. Okay?” Jungkook’s words had you free-falling over a steep edge, and you nodded with tears in your eyes in a silent ‘yes, I want that.’

“Come here, baby,” You felt your body shutter half from recovering from the orgasm, the other half from the pet name. 

He pulled you onto your side so that you were both facing each other. He gently coaxed your leg over his hip before his fingers slipped further down until they were settled at your entrance. He pressed two of them inside with ease, the stretch had you grabbing onto anything, which happened to be his hair. 

“Fuck, I can’t wait to slide you down my cock next time,” He said through clenched teeth. 

At the mention of it, you couldn’t help but glance down, and Jungkook’s pants genuinely looked like they were actually about to burst at the seams. He was thrusting lazily, but not against anything, just out of instinct. 

“Don’t worry about that,” He said, tipping your chin back up. “Just keep looking at me.”

That was probably the easiest request he could have possibly made. Your eyes darted around his face. His essence had become a permanent fixture along his skin for some time now. You traced the golden lines in your head like you were in a trance. 

“They’re pretty,” You whispered, but you hadn’t meant to say it out loud. 

He smiled, even as his fingers started to gently pump in and out of you. “I’m happy you think so.” 

“Doesn’t everyone think so?” You started to move your hips to meet his movements, your hand still tangled in his hair as you felt your release build again. You still couldn’t get used to how quickly these were coming. It was as if you only needed a few seconds of contact for it to all come crashing down. 

“Some, but not all. Sometimes when you’re in a situation like this, when a human sees it and suddenly realizes they’re naked and vulnerable with something much different than them, they can get scared. Like when they see my fringes or hear the call. It reminds them I’m not human.” He didn’t look sad about that. Just a simple fact that he had come to accept, but you yourself couldn’t understand that way of thinking. All of his Veridian traits were like little gifts to you. 

“I didn’t think they were s-scary. Oh, f-fuck,” You stuttered when Jungkook’s fingers curled inside of you, making you come again so easily. You threw your head into his bare chest, shallow breaths racking your lungs as he settled a hand on the back of your head. 

“Good,” He patted your hair a couple of times as your body worked through the violent shudders. “Like I told you before. You have nothing to be scared of when it comes to me.” 

Once you were able to inhale properly again, you looked up at him, his eyes landing right on yours, seemingly like they were waiting for your gaze to return. “I know I don’t,” You said honestly. You had just met Jungkook but somehow you knew he was being truthful. “I mean, you already know I like your essence and your fringes.” You paused as they began to slither across his bare ribs as if you’d called them. But they stayed a distance away, and you could tell by Jungkook’s hardened, trained gaze on them that he was actively keeping them away. Probably for your benefit, since he more than likely thought you were already overstimulated from the venom being more potent than expected. “And even your call. It was…” You weren’t sure how to tell him it had made you feel. That noise was almost erotic, in a way you had not expected it to be. 

“It was what?” He asked, his brow raised with a smirk, clearly curious about what you were going to say, or maybe he already knew what you thought but just wanted to hear you say it out loud. 

“It was…” Your tongue licked the flat edge of your teeth. “I just liked the way it sounded.” 

He tilted his head to the side, looking at you expectantly, like he was waiting for you to tell him what you actually meant. 

You rolled your eyes. “I think the sound is hot, okay? Happy?” 

Jungkook chuckled, leaning in to give you a peck on the lips, stifling the sliver of annoyance. And then he was rolling you onto your back, settling himself on his knees between your legs. You gulped loudly at the sight. He dipped his head down, pushing your shirt up your ribs as he began to kiss his way down your torso. 

“Ahhh,” You sighed, fisting at the blankets beneath you. 

“I would do the call again for you, just to hear how hard it makes your heart beat like it did before, but,” He paused, his teeth nipping at the side of your inner thighs. “I’m about to finally eat you out like I’ve wanted to since I first saw you, and unfortunately getting any venom down here would just take us right back to the start, and I can tell you’re already exhausted. It makes you tired very quickly the first time you experience it, unfortunately.” 

You were in fact exhausted, it took all the energy you had to prop yourself up on your elbows so you could look down at him. The sight of his essence staining his back, and his golden fringes waving in the air above him like wings. He flashed his fangs at you when he noticed your staring, the sight of them making you bite your lip. It was like there was a devil between your legs, or an angel. 

“The venom is okay down there too?” You asked through your haze of biblical comparisons to the alien about to ravage you. 

“Yes,” He said simply. You got the feeling that he didn’t want the two of you talking for too long to cause another wave of pain like earlier, the way he kept glancing between you and your center. “I’ll show you next time.” 

“So there will be a next time?” You asked even though he had said there would be already. You found yourself just wanting to confirm. 

Jungkook’s brows furrowed, like he was confused. “Yes? Unless you don’t want there to be.” 

You shook your head immediately. “No, no, I do,” You said, maybe a little too rushed. 

“Good.” He smiled. “Now lay back.” 

You didn’t get a chance to do that yourself because one of his fringes suddenly whipped forward and pushed you flat on the bed, while two more wrapped completely around your thighs and spread them wide open. You didn’t even have a moment to be shocked by the cool sensation of the fringes before you felt Jungkook’s lengthened tongue slide along your heat. 

“Oh my g-god,” You eyes went wide as you stared at the ceiling, your entire body trembling with each glide of his mouth. “That feels s-so good.” 

Jungkook groaned against you, pulling back for just a moment. “You taste so fucking good.” Then he was back on you, his lips sucking around you clit in a way that had your lungs seizing. Your teeth chattered and it was almost as if remembering how to inhale had been completely lost on you for the second time tonight. Every time his tongue started a new stroke against you, your chest flexed like it needed air but just couldn’t figure out how to get it. 

You thought for a brief moment that you might die like that. With just Jungkook’s mouth on you as you suffocated. You honestly might have if suddenly there wasn’t a tiny golden fleck that snatched your attention in the corner of your eyes. Everything was hazy, but you could tell it was one of his fringes. It started to caress your cheek, while you felt another slide along your chest and neck, until it was tapping at your mouth. It repeated the motion again. That’s when you realized what it was telling you. 

Breathe. 

You suddenly gasped, oxygen finally filling your lungs right before you felt the gentle graze of a fang against the sensitive flesh between your legs. It was instant. You came so hard your vision went completely black. Your palms covered your face and mouth, because your ears were ringing, and you were trying to muffle whatever sounds you might’ve been making. You couldn’t even tell if you were making any noise, but if you were, you were positive they were beyond lewd. 

But then suddenly… It felt like you were nowhere. Had you fallen asleep? Actually blacked out? Maybe you taking a breath had been an illusion and you actually had died. You were trapped in a place where your senses didn’t work and you couldn’t tell how much time was passing. Sometimes you felt something, like your body was moving around in the space, but you weren’t sure. You continued to be stuck there, and the only reason you remained calm is simply because you had no energy left to spend on being frantic. But eventually, you truly weren’t sure how long, you started to hear a faint whisper of something in the darkness. 

Terravina. You’re okay. You’ll wake up soon. 

Who was Terravina? You had no idea who was talking to you, and why they were calling you a name that you had never heard of. 

More time passed, and you continued to drift. 

—————

Your eyes fluttered open, eyes adjusting to the dimmed light of the room you were in. Where were you again? You stared at the ceiling. Memories came flooding back. You had been staring at this exact ceiling with Jungkook below you. That was right. Jungkook. Jungkook that you met during the game at Namjoon’s party. Jungkook, the Veridian. The one who had pleasured you so thoroughly that you had lost consciousness. Suddenly panic jolted through you. Where was he? How long had you been out? You tried sitting up, but your body felt so sore. Everything was tender. You were about to try one more time to heave yourself into a sitting position, when a hand suddenly pushed against your shoulder, keeping you in place. 

You flinched away, your head snapping to whoever had just touched you. But you were immediately flooded with a sense of relief when you recognized the face in front of you. The face still streaked with gold. 

“It’s okay. It’s just me,” He whispered, kneeling on the ground beside the bed. 

You rolled onto your side to face him completely. “What… what happened?” You asked, groggily. 

He stroked the side of your face, his eyes studying you like he was making sure you were okay. “It’s rare. But sometimes when it’s a human or Veridian’s first time ingesting venom from someone new, after all of it’s burned off, they can drift into a liminal state of sorts. They aren’t sure why it happens. It’s not dangerous, but I’ve heard it can be a bit terrifying.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry.” 

“It wasn’t scary,” You said, trying to remember exactly what it had been like in there. Darkness, soundlessness—no not that, you did recall hearing something, but what was it again? Someone had said something to you. Called you something. You truly couldn’t find the word. “I think I was too tired from everything to be scared.” You laughed, trying to ease the guilt on his face. 

Thankfully he laughed, even if only slightly. “I’m glad,” He said, and you watched as his essence suddenly faded from his face. You wondered why it had been there in the first place. He had just been watching you sleep after all. What strong emotions had he been feeling for them to still be lingering on his skin? 

“How long was I out for?” You asked, deciding to delegate the question about his essence for another time. 

It could’ve been days for all you knew, but considering Jungkook was still in the same clothes from the party, you figured it hadn’t been. His shirt and jacket were back on as well now. You also noticed you had some silky sleeping pants on now. Those definitely weren’t yours since you had arrived in those denim jeans for your Old World outfit. 

“About two hours,” He answered. 

Your eyes went wide. “Just two hours? Wow, it felt a lot longer than that.” 

“Yeah, I changed the bedding while you were out. They were a bit… soaked after everything. Couldn’t have you lost in time and space on sheets like that.” He chuckled. 

You looked down, and yes these were in fact a new set of sheets and blankets. You wondered where he got them. “Ugh, did you have to go and ask Namjoon for these?” You asked, a little embarrassed by the idea of him knowing the room he’d offered the two of you had been so thoroughly degraded that a change of bedding was needed. 

“Well, I was planning on just going into an empty room that wasn’t being used and just taking clean ones from there, but I ended up running into him in the hallway.” He grabbed the back of his neck with a sigh. “He was a bit mad at me at first.” 

“Why would he be mad at you?” You asked. All the two of you had done was take him up on his offer. 

He clicked his tongue a couple of times before responding. “Well, when I ran into him looking for a room, he could smell just how much of your scent was all over me. He thought I’d flooded you with venom on your first time. He was seriously about to punch me. Not that I’d blame him for doing it if I had. But anyways he ended up giving me some new bed stuff and some pants for you to wear.” 

You smiled softly. “I’ll talk to him. Make sure he knows what actually happened. 

“It’s okay. I explained it already. You don’t have to if you think it’ll be awkward.” 

You shrugged. “Still I think it’d make him feel better if he heard it from me too.” 

Jungkook nodded, agreeing with you. “Yeah, he’s one of my best friends, but he’d definitely still beat my ass if I’d done something fucked up like that.” 

You smiled. “Good to know.”

“Here, drink some water. You’re probably really thirsty.” Jungkook stood from his kneeling position and plucked a glass off the side table and handed it to you. 

You didn’t realize just how parched you were until the liquid hit your mouth. You downed the entire drink in just a couple of seconds. You were definitely going to need more. Jungkook took the glass from your hand and sat down next to you on the bed. 

“Look, I really hate to do this,” Jungkook started, a serious look returning to his face from when you first woke up. “But I have to go.” 

You felt your heart drop for some reason, that sickly feeling swirling in your stomach. Why did you feel like this? You and Jungkook barely knew each other, and it wasn’t like he was doing anything wrong. He was just leaving after a hook-up. That was totally fine. That was normal. It was when Jungkook’s thumb started massaging into your chest that you realized you hadn’t spoken yet, and he had also probably noticed the shift in your emotions through his Verdian senses. The same ones that could tell when you had stopped breathing or when your pulse had started racing from hearing his call. 

“Trust me, I wanna stay with you tonight. I really fucking do. I need you to know that.” He paused, licking his lips, like he was hesitant to continue his explanation. You were about to tell him you didn’t need one. If he wanted to leave that was his choice, he didn’t have to give you an excuse but then he continued. “I have to go home and… take care of myself.” 

You were confused at first. Take care of himself? You were about to ask what he meant when he shifted in the bed and that was when you noticed the front of pants bulging to the point that you didn’t even know how he was still wearing them. You weren’t sure how you hadn’t noticed before, but it was probably because the lights were dim and his jeans were dark. However, now that he was this close you couldn’t help the way your eyes bugged as you noticed the monstrous length of him through the constricted material. It easily went down to the middle of his thigh. It hadn’t been that big in the closet during seven minutes in heaven, and it hadn’t even been that big while he had been working you through the venom. Oh my god, was it going to get even bigger? 

“Oh—oh! Okay, yeah, yeah. I totally get it,” You rushed out quickly, the idea that this wasn’t even all of him had you rattled. 

Jungkook’s eyes crinkled, clearly amused by your reaction. “An unfortunate Veridian biological flaw. Once we’re hard, it’s done. It’s not going down until we come. And well, it’s been like this for a while, so it’s starting to hurt.” 

“Wouldn’t it be better to not wear tight clothing if you know that’s a possibility?” You asked, genuinely curious. Your eyes still flitting down to his thigh, seeing if you noticed any more growth. 

Jungkook laughed loudly at that. “Yes, but male Veridians learn intense self-control when it comes to this when we’re younger so that it doesn’t affect our daily lives. But unfortunately—no, fortunately—I met you tonight, so there was no helping it.” 

That made sense. There were a lot of things young Veridians had to learn to assimilate here on Earth it seemed. You wondered how all of this worked on Veridia. Was it more free? You decided you would save those questions, because you remembered that Jungkook said he was hurting, and you didn’t want to keep him here if that was the case. You remembered all too well the pain from the venom scorching your blood after the two of you had taken a break for longer than expected earlier. 

“Why’d you stay? You didn’t have to. If you’re hurting, you should’ve left,” You said, motioning at the door. 

“I couldn’t,” He whispered, his hand lifting to trace the seam of your mouth. “I didn’t want you to wake up confused. I didn’t want you to think I just left you after you passed out.” 

You smiled beneath his touch. “I appreciate that. But I mean, couldn’t you have used a spare room or something? There had to have been other options than waiting for me to wake up.” 

Jungkook shook his head, pushing some of his hair back, and you could see a trickle of sweat beading against his skin. Oh my god, he truly was in pain. But you never would have been able to tell with how gentle he was being right now. 

“It’s gonna take… a while. It’s not gonna be a quick thing now that it’s gotten to this point without any relief in between. Plus, I wouldn’t have been able to concentrate knowing you were in here alone, maybe waking up at any second.” 

That sinking feeling in your heart from earlier had long been replaced with a sense of elation, even if that was selfish. It had you forgetting about the soreness in your muscles, and you were sitting up, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. 

“Thank you for staying with me,” You whispered into his mouth. 

“I don’t think I could’ve left even if I wanted to. My fringes would’ve tied me to that chair in the corner over there before leaving you.” He smiled. 

You giggled at the idea of his fringes tying him up like that… Maybe an idea for another time. You shook your head, washing the image from your head. No thoughts of that right now, Jungkook needed to get out of here. 

“You can go. I’m fine, I promise. Go… take care of it.” You pushed at his back, urging him to get off the bed. 

“Okay, okay, I’m going.” He stood up, adjusting his pants with a grimace. “When I leave do you want me to see if I can find your friend? The one I saw you with Namjoon earlier during the game. I can send him up here.” 

“Uhm, yeah. That’d be good actually. His name’s Jimin.” 

He nodded. “Jimin, got it.” 

Jungkook started to head for the door when you suddenly realized something. “I don’t even have your Holograph information.” You said it almost like it was a ridiculous statement. The idea that you didn’t even have the most basic way to contact him after everything that had just happened. 

“I already exchanged them. Yours was still in your pants pockets. I turned yours on and connected it to mine already.” He pointed towards a desk that had your jeans and jacket folded and your Holograph on top of it. He grabbed the door handle with a smile, narrowing his eyes. “You really don’t know what you’ve done to me if you think I’d leave without that.” 

You suppressed the grin that wanted to break out across your face. He was just about to open the door when one final question passed through your mind. Again, you were being very selfish right now, but you had to know. So that you could, you know, prepare. 

“Wait! I’m so sorry. I know you’re hurting, but I have to ask one more thing and then you can leave.” You grimaced, hating the fact that you were delaying him. 

“You can always ask me anything,” He said, with all the patience in the world. 

You decided to just come out and ask bluntly. You didn’t want him to have to keep staying here longer than necessary. “Okay, I’m just gonna say it. That’s as big as your dick gets, right? It’s just I’ve noticed it’s already grown like three times, so I just wanna know for… future reference.” You bit at your lip. Would he think you were terrible for wasting his time on such a frivolous question. 

Jungkook smirked. His teeth glinting at you in the darkness. “Yes, this is it. Promise.” 

You sighed in relief. “Oh, thank god.” 

He chuckled, twisting the handle and taking a step into the hallway. It seemed for a second that he was going to leave without saying anything else, but just as he was about to shut the door behind him, he stopped. Jungkook leaned his head against the doorframe, his eyes finding yours. 

“Sweet dreams tonight… Y/N,” He whispered, and then he was gone. 

You were finally alone, but Jungkook had left a strange feeling suddenly slithering through your mind in his immediate absence. When he said your name just now, for some reason, you thought that he had wanted to call you something else. 

—————

You were alone for all of five minutes before a series of hurried knocks started to clamor from the other side of the door. 

“Y/N? You in there?” Jimin yelled, but you didn’t get a chance to say anything before he swung the door open. And even in the darkness, you could already see his face was that of pure intrigue over what had transpired in this room. 

“Fucking finally!” He was immediately raising the dimmer, filling the room with a bit more light so that you could see each other more clearly. That was when you noticed the glass of water in his hand. “Here, he asked me to give this to you,” Jimin said, walking over and offering you the drink.

“Thanks.” You gulped the entire glass down, just like you had the first time. 

Jimin shoved his jacket off before laying down on the end of the bed. He was looking at you with the biggest smile you had ever seen on him. “So… how was it?” 

You scoffed. “Wow, not even gonna ask if I’m okay? Just straight to the details?” 

He motioned towards you. “Well, you’re clearly fine.” 

You crossed your arms. “It’s the principal.” 

Jimin rolled his eyes. “Are you okay?” 

“Fantastic. Tired, but fantastic.” You smiled as he playfully hit your foot beneath the covers. 

“Seriously, I’m dying of anticipation over here, so what the hell happened?” He asked. 

You figured you should get the most important part out of the way first. “Well, I’m sure this is going to be very disappointing for you, but we didn’t have sex.” 

Jimin’s mouth dropped open. “What the hell? You’ve been up here for hours. So you guys have just been… talking this whole time?” 

“Well, I was asleep for most of it.” 

“Asleep!? Jimin exclaimed, suddenly crawling up the bed to lay next to you. “Okay, explain yourself.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction, but you also couldn’t continue this schtick of being vague. You wanted to talk about what happened just as badly as he wanted to hear it. You were still trying to wrap your head around it yourself. 

“The reason I was asleep was because… He gave me his venom and made me come more times than I can even remember, and apparently sometimes it can make you pass out afterwards and go to some freaky purgatory space. So… yes, I was sleeping—sort of, I don’t know. I was conscious but not awake. I don’t know how to explain it.” 

Jimin was staring at you in stunned silence, but only briefly before he was suddenly shaking your shoulders, jostling you from side to side. “Now that’s more like it!” 

You grimaced, your muscles screaming beneath his touch. “Hey, I’m still sore. Be careful.” 

“Shit, sorry.” Jimin dropped his hands quickly. 

“It’s fine,” You said, wiggling further beneath the covers. The fatigue was starting to hit you again. It seemed your body was ready for some actual sleep. 

You were about to tell Jimin that the gritty details about tonight were going to have to wait until tomorrow, when another knock rattled the door. Your mind went straight to Jungkook. Had he come back? Your heart did a little leap at the idea. That tiredness from just a second ago faded slightly. Unfortunately, it was not his voice that called out. 

“Hey, Y/N. You good in there?” Namjoon asked. 

“You can come in,” You yelled, though you were planning on this being a quick interaction. Your eyelids were growing heavy again now that you knew it wasn’t Jungkook coming back. 

Namjoon opened the door, but the second he stepped into the room he flinched. “Fuck, it reeks in here. It’s like a damn pheromone bomb went off.”

You felt heat creep up your neck. “Well, that’s rude.”

Jimin sniffed the air next to you. “I don’t smell anything.” 

Namjoon rubbed his forehead, like he was getting a headache, and then you watched him actually shove his nose beneath his shirt. Okay, now this was just getting humiliating. 

“Excuse me, can you not act so repulsed by my scent when I’m literally right here.” You scowled at him.

Namjoon waved his hands in the air, dropping his shirt back down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it in a bad way. It’s just… a lot.” 

You bit your lip. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t supposed to be.”

Namjoon walked closer, his face thankfully neutral now. “Yeah, Jungkook told me about the venom mishap.” 

“Venom mishap?” Jimin asked, his brow lifted in curiosity. 

“Uhm, yeah. He gave me a small amount, but I reacted like it was a lot more than it actually was.” You remembered that feeling vividly. The sudden rush of pure desire that had invaded every inch of your body. 

“Just out of curiosity, before he gave you the venom, do you remember how long his call lasted?” Namjoon asked, arms crossed over his chest. 

It seemed like an odd question, but you thought back on the moment. That all encompassing noise that had felt like it was coming from within your own head. “I mean I wasn’t counting, but if I had to guess… three seconds.” You shrugged. 

“Three seconds!? That’s almost nothing!” Namjoon seemed shocked.  

“So?” You shrugged, not understanding what he was getting at. 

“You reacted like this,” He motioned to the room, clearly still referring to whatever the room smelled like to his Veridian senses. “To a couple of drops of his venom.” Namjoon gave you a look of absolute bewilderment.

You weren’t sure how to respond to that, so you tried to play it off. “Maybe I’m just particularly sensitive to it in general. Not just his.” You knew Jungkook had said you and him were compatible in that sense, but maybe you were just more receptive than most humans. 

Namjoon shook his head at your theory. “Not how it works. It’s because it was specifically you and him together. It wouldn’t have affected you even a fraction as much if it had been any other Veridian giving you that tiny amount.” 

You figured as much. You hadn’t thought Jungkook was lying before, but having it confirmed by a third party made you feel an array of emotions that you weren’t quite sure how to pin down yet. “Well, he did say I seemed uniquely made for him. Though, I'm still not sure how I feel about that.” 

Jimin made a disgruntled noise next to you. “That sounds like some fated lovers bullshit. Like come on, that's ridiculous.” 

“Not fate,” Namjoon corrected. “It’s just biological chance. Which I know doesn’t sound as romantic to humans, but it’s different for Veridians. We crave that. We seek it out in everyone we meet. Most of us go our entire lives without finding someone that is completely compatible with us. Sure, we’ll meet other Veridians or humans that are close, but not fully… Not like whatever this seems to be.”

Namjoon’s explanation had your pulse hammering. All of this sounded very serious for someone you barely knew. Being with Jungkook tonight was amazing, but you didn’t know the first thing about him. He was still essentially a stranger… Albeit a stranger who you had just been incredibly intimate with. 

“Okay, enough with all this biology, compatibility talk. I need sleep.” You pulled the covers higher, but honestly you weren’t even tired anymore. Your thoughts were speeding out of control, but you needed to be alone to try and relax after everything. 

“Come on, Jimin. Let’s go.” Namjoon snapped his fingers, not hesitating for a second after your request.

“Ugh, fine.” Jimin groaned. “But we’re finishing this conversation tomorrow.” Jimin jumped off the bed and grabbed his jacket before leaving the room. 

You were about to turn over to try and calm your mind to get some rest, but Namjoon’s voice had you pausing. 

“I know it sounds really intense, but it’s… Ah, it’s just so hard to explain to humans without it sounding like we’re animals.” He laughed. 

You snorted. “Yeah, kind of just sounds like an alien found a human toy that turns him on more than most?” 

The second it came out of your mouth you regretted it, especially when Namjoon’s mouth straightened into a firm line. You hadn't meant for it to sound so harsh. It wasn’t that you were angry about it. After all, you had come up here with Jungkook having certain intentions. 

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—” You started, but Namjoon held a hand up, stopping you. 

“You don’t have to apologize. I get it. You just don’t understand that part of us. The one that looks for someone who can draw out our instincts completely.” He started to walk towards the door, but he paused before leaving.“But it goes both ways, you know?” 

“Both ways?” You asked, confused. 

He looked at you over his shoulder, a small smile gracing his lips. “He was uniquely made for you too.” 

He dimmed the lights and closed the door behind him, but you didn’t think sleep was going to find you anytime soon after that proclamation. 

—————

Jungkook 

Nothing was working. He had been at this for hours, trying everything to get enough of a release to stifle the agonizing pain currently plaguing his cock. He had managed to come a couple of times, but it wasn’t happening fast enough to offer much relief. His body only wanted the touch of one person, and it was not happy with anyone else’s—including his own apparently. 

“Fuck, this is miserable.” Jungkook huffed, pushing his hair off his forehead that was beading with sweat. He squeezed the base of his dick hard, keeping the pressure as he stroked himself all the way to the tip. It had been a while since he had gotten himself to this length. Veridians didn’t usually grow to their full size, even during sex. It took an immense amount of arousal to do so, but that happened to be exactly what he had experienced tonight. 

He hadn’t been entirely honest with you earlier, about the timeline of him noticing you. He had made it seem like it was when you were called up for the game together, but in truth, he had become aware of your presence the second you approached Namjoon’s house. He couldn’t see you, but he could sense you. Fuck, could he sense you. It was like you were already right in front of him, his face buried in your neck. He even knew the second you downed a vial of Verdian alcohol outside, your blood morphing with it. He regretted remembering that, because suddenly another sharp pulse flooded through his member at just the thought of your blood. 

“Dammit,” He gritted through his teeth. It looked like he was going to have to take drastic measures, because any time his mind drifted to you for even a second, he was back at square one of trying to fix this problem. 

He flicked his hand in the air, the screen from his Holograph appearing before him. He was putting an order in for the only thing that was going to help him at this point. It was a medication that all Veridian males had taken at least once in their lives. It could prevent any arousal from happening, which was sometimes necessary in certain important situations. Though, that was typically a problem for younger Veridians, whose self control wasn’t as good. Or it could help end the problem completely, if relief was not possible given the situation. He was of course in the latter category at the moment. It would only take a couple of minutes for it to appear in front of his door, but just as he was about to buy it, someone’s face began to flash across the projected screen in front of him. 

“Seriously?” Jungkook smacked his lips, tapping his finger against Namjoon’s picture to answer the call, making sure it was audio only. “What is it?” He asked, gruffly. 

Namjoon chuckled. “Someone sounds testy. Hm, wonder why you aren’t letting me project in to see what’s going on over there?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. The Holograph had the ability to project holograms of users to the places of whoever they were trying to contact. Which was nice when you wanted to feel like you were hanging out in person with friends or family that were far away, but not so nice when you were completely naked, hard, and covered in sweat and cum. So no, Jungkook would not be letting Namjoon into his room. 

“You fucking know why. Now unless you have something important to tell me, I’ve gotta go. I was in the middle of… a purchase.” Jungkook mumbled the last part.

Namjoon howled in laughter, the loud noise making Jungkook flinch. His head was pounding. “You’re still hard? Fuck, she got you good, huh?” 

Jungkook tensed up at just the implication of you. “Please, don’t talk about her right now. I’m fucking dying over here.” 

“Unfortunately, that’s the entire reason I called, so it’s not an option, but…” Namjoon paused, and Jungkook could hear him doing something on the other end of the line. “I just sent you something that should help.”

Jungkook immediately heard the chiming noise echo through his house that indicated something was trying to be sent through his teleporter. Jungkook sat up, grimacing with every step that caused his dick to sway. 

“This better be what I think it is,” Jungkook said as he walked downstairs completely naked and approached the device that allowed things to be teleported directly into one’s home. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the image of a pack of medication that he had just been about to buy himself. He accepted the request and within seconds it was appearing on the flat silver surface. 

“You’re welcome,” Namjoon said in a sing-song voice as Jungkook immediately ripped open the packaging and swallowed down the pills. 

“Fuck off,” He grumbled, collapsing on the chair closest to him. The medication was fast acting thankfully. After about a minute, he could already feel his muscles loosening and his length shrinking. He breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Why the hell did you wait so long? Or ask if I had any before you left?” Namjoon asked when he sensed that Jungkook was starting to relax. 

“You know it doesn’t exactly feel good to have everything repressed by that shit. I don’t like taking it. Haven’t had to in years. So I thought I could handle it, but…” He had severely underestimated his ability to not think about you; his progress unraveling every time it happened.

“So… about Y/N.”  

Oh yeah, that was why Namjoon said he called. “Right, uhm, what’s going on? Is she okay? Did something happen?” He felt his heart race at the idea of that. 

It was one of the main reasons he couldn’t leave earlier. He had heard of humans and Veridians falling into half-conscious states after receiving venom for the first time from someone new, but it had never happened to him or anyone he had slept with. It was said to be harmless, but he still couldn’t bring himself to leave without making sure. And again, it was also said to be rare, only happening in very particular pairings—perfect pairings. 

“No, no, she’s fine,” Namjoon said quickly, probably sensing his concern. “I did talk to her after you left though.” 

Jungkook felt himself tense up again. Had you ended up hating the experience after you were finally alone and had time to reflect on it? 

“What did she say?” He asked, bracing himself for the worst. 

“Nothing much. It was more of her listening to me explain certain things about us that a human wouldn’t really understand,” He answered, and Jungkook felt a little relief at that. 

“I explained it to her too… But that was before I realized what such a small amount of my venom was gonna do to her.” Jungkook could still vividly remember the way your body had shuddered on top of him the second he kissed you after bringing forth his call. It was barely any at all, so when he could suddenly smell your blood rippling beneath your skin as if he’d flooded you, it was a shock. A pleasant one, but a shock nonetheless. 

“Oh, trust me, I know,” Namjoom said. “I thought it was bad enough when I ran into you in the hallway. I literally almost passed out when I walked into the room to check on her after you left.” 

Jungkook couldn’t help but laugh. He ran a hand down his face, the images of tonight seared into his brain. 

“I’ve never reacted that way to someone in my entire life. We hear stories about it our whole lives, but you really can’t describe what it feels like to meet your…” He trailed off, the idea of it still seeming so unbelievable. 

“Your Terravina?” Namjoon finished for him, and Jungkook could tell that he was smiling when he said it. 

Jungkook bit his lip. He had spoken the word out loud earlier when you were still in that strange half dream state. But saying it to someone that was actually listening felt oddly personal. However, if there was anyone he could talk to about this, it was Namjoon.

“Yes, she is,” He said, and it sent a pleasant stir through his chest. “I knew it the second I sensed her.

Terravina. It was a word created by Veridians after they came to Earth and began to meet particular humans. Humans that called to them. All Verdians craved that person that was a perfect match to themselves. Someone whose blood sang to them, someone who made their fringes feel as if there was now an extension outside of their own body that they wanted to protect—someone who was uniquely made for them. And if you were lucky, you found them—but most didn’t. After all, it was a gamble of chance and luck. Unfortunately, there just might never be someone born that is completely compatible with you. However, when Veridians started migrating to Earth, something interesting happened. Veridians who had not found their true matches back home were suddenly becoming enamored with certain humans who set off every biological instinct inside of them. 

Eventually, they created a word for the human in these pairings. The first Veridians that came here decided to use words from an old Earthen language to come up with the new term. It came from the latin words for Earth and their galaxy that they called the Milky Way. Terra and Via Lactea. While finally ending with the shortened version of the Veridian word for match: Narina. It was an affectionate term. One that Jungkook never in his wildest dreams thought he would use—not until tonight. 

“Of course you would find your Terravina just three days into being back on Earth. That’s just not fair.” Namjoon joked. 

Jungkook shrugged, but he was also smiling now. Your Terravina. Jungkook liked the sound of that. 

“Maybe go back to Veridia some time. The Solstice is in a couple of months. Been a couple of years since you’ve come back to participate. Your Narina might be waiting for you to show up.” 

The Fertility Solstice: a day where the nearby planets aligned with Veridia, causing a spike in hormones and lust in the Veridian population. It made the senses more keen, made blood flow with more vigor. Many Veridians gathered in large cities for the celebration, allowing you to meet new people, and maybe, if you were lucky, your Narina. It was a very… passionate day for of age Veridians, to say the least. Humans typically found the concept of it quite wild, though some liked to join in the festivities. 

“Yeah, maybe, but not exactly like it’s likely. Most of us aren’t so lucky.” Namjoon said, but with a wilt to his voice. “Can’t believe the luck that you’d have Y/N’s same number for the game.” 

Jungkook grimaced at his observation. What he wasn’t going to tell Namjoon was that he actually hadn’t been your original partner for the game. 

He sensed you immediately tonight. You hadn’t even walked in the door yet before he was searching for you, and when he finally did find you, it was like his entire axis shifted. He wanted to touch you, breathe your air, hear your voice. His fringes started yanking at his back, urging him forward, writhing under his clothes. He had to concentrate hard to stop them. He couldn’t exactly just walk up to you, a human, and start explaining biological chemistry. It just would make him look like a horny lunatic. Not that he had done a good job at making you not think that tonight. But you had asked for those things, and he would’ve done anything to please you. 

Regardless, he happened to be standing next to the guy that was going to go in with you for the game. He wasn’t paying attention when Namjoon called the number, so Jungkook may or may not have used his fringe to snatch the paper from his hand. Honestly, he would’ve done it even if the guy had been paying attention. While he didn’t like doing it, a simple bare of the fangs usually sufficed in getting a human to back off.  

“But anyways, this isn’t about me,” Namjoon said, cutting off the replay of Jungkook’s heist, and thankfully he no longer sounded quite as melancholy. “The reason I actually called was because I have a piece of advice.” 

Jungkook raised a brow. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

There was a beat of silence before he answered. “I’d give Y/N some space.” 

Jungkook’s eyes widened. Stay away from you? That was not what he had been expecting at all. “Uhm, why?” 

“Ugh, she’s gonna be pissed at me if she finds out I asked you to do this, but I think it’s for the best. I could hear how fast her heart was beating when I was talking to her earlier. She just doesn’t understand what you see her as. Not fully. I said she didn’t say much when I talked to her, but she did make… a comment,” Namjoon said, hesitantly. 

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. “What was the comment?” 

“She may have said…” Namjoon cleared his throat, “She may have said that you were an alien who found a human toy that turns you on more than most.” 

Jungkook flinched hard. He was suddenly standing up, pacing around the room. “That’s how she thinks I was looking at her tonight? Like a toy? That wasn’t what it was at all.” He hated the idea that you thought tonight was just a case of a Verdian latching on to a scent that they found enjoyable. Not that he didn’t like your scent. It was utterly intoxicating to him, but it was more than that. 

“I know, I know. She said it more as a joke than anything, but she might think it’s true to some degree.” Namjoon said, cutting through Jungkook’s spiraling thoughts. “You know that they don’t understand it fully. To them, the venom, the pheromones, everything just seems so sexual, like that’s all we want from them. They don’t get the other parts of it. The desire to just be near someone whose essence brings out our own.” 

Jungkook ran his hand through his hair in frustration. It wasn’t as if he could disagree. The two of you were aliens to one another, so it was easy to get wires crossed. Veridians by nature were more sexually inclined than humans, but they didn’t get that everything they saw as sexual—the venom, the pheromones, the blood—wasn’t exclusively used for sex. All of those things in combination created a Veridian’s essence. 

Humans could only see the essence through markings that appeared on the skin. But Veridians considered, not just the physical manifestation of the glowing patterns, but also everything within, to be one’s essence. However, there was more to it than that. The colors seemed random, but they weren’t, and not in a genetic way. Many Veridians didn’t have the same essence as their parents, because that wasn’t what determined it. It was everything inside of them. Some say it’s the soul of the Veridian in physical form. Jungkook wasn’t sure how much he believed that, but he knew it was something deeper. Feeling that essence was the way Veridians communicated and connected with one another, even outside of intimate situations. Friends, family, strangers, they could sense who you were, what you were feeling, all through the essence. And if you were lucky enough to find someone who called to your essence like a siren, who spoke to those things inside of you without even trying, well, there was simply nothing better to a Veridian than for someone to influence them so intrinsically. So no, it wasn’t just for sex. Though, Jungkook had no idea how he was going to explain such an abstract concept to you. Especially since Namjoon’s advice was to stay away. 

“So what do I do?” He whispered. 

“Just give her some time. If you go to her again so soon she’s just gonna think you wanna sleep with her. And for her, maybe that is all she wants, just a good time. But for you… I know you want more than that from her. But you can’t say that to her without her finding it strange. You guys just met. So yeah, give it some time.” 

Jungkook pinched the bridge of his nose and it was hot to the touch. He looked down at his arms and torso. He hadn’t even realized his essence was pulsing wildly across his skin in golden waves. 

“Hello?” Namjoon asked when he didn’t get a response. 

After a minute or so of silence, Jungkook finally spoke. “Fine, I’ll stay away—for now.” He bit the words out, feeling truly defeated that he had found someone that spoke to him on every level but apparently couldn’t go near. 

—————

One week turned into two and then two weeks into three. That was how long it had been since Remembrance Day. That was how long it had been since you had last spoken to Jungkook. 

That lying, stupid… gorgeous goddamn Veridian.

He had invaded your mind like a parasite. You thought about him everyday. His eyes, his face, his fringes, his head between your—no, no you weren’t doing that anymore. You were going to scrub that night from your mind. Forget it ever happened, though it was proving to be quite difficult. 

Because sure, even though he had been the one to exchange Holograph information with you while you were passed out, apparently he didn’t have any intention of using it. And by the time you had worked up the guts to want to contact him, too long had passed and you didn’t want to seem desperate. Plus, there was the small detail of you kind of being terrified at the idea of actually having sex with him, so you had been waiting on him because you didn’t think you would have the courage to throw yourself into the lion’s den. You needed a push, and it seemed Jungkook was no longer interested in giving you one. 

You huffed, wiping the back of your hand over your forehead. You felt the paint slide across your skin, making you clench your hands in frustration. You looked at the canvas in front of you, completely dejected at what was staring back at you. It wasn’t good, though you thought none of your works had been good the past few weeks. You were going to choose to blame that on Jungkook as well. 

You decided not to torture yourself any longer, gathering your things to head out for the day. It was already pretty late, the burnt orange skyline shining in through the window of one of the studio rooms on campus you’d trapped yourself inside of since that night. 

You walked slowly, not really in a rush to get home. It wasn’t as if you had any plans. You exited the building, thinking about what you wanted for dinner when you turned a corner and ran straight into someone. 

“Shit, sorry.” You looked up, only to find Namjoon staring down at you, a look of surprise on his face. He smiled at you after collecting himself, but you didn’t return it. He had been avoiding you ever since his party. “Hey, stranger.” 

His mouth dropped, looking frazzled at being called out. “Sorry, just been busy lately.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”  You waved him off, continuing in the direction of the transporter that went to your apartment complex. It might have seemed like you were being rude, but you had seen Namjoon multiple times a week for three years, and suddenly after a night of hooking up with his friend, he was now silent. That wasn’t a coincidence. 

Namjoon jogged to catch up to you. “Hey, I’m sorry about dodging your calls and not meeting up like usual. I was just… giving you space after the party and everything.” You knew he was lying by the twitch of his lips. Namjoon was an absolutely terrible liar. Which was probably why he was avoiding you in the first place. If you had to guess, Jungkook might have told him he was no longer interested and Namjoon wouldn’t have been able to tell you that in a nicer way without it being completely obvious that he wasn’t being honest. 

You stopped, narrowing your eyes at him. “Namjoon, cut the shit.” 

His shoulders sagged, dropping his head. “Look after the thing with Jungkook—”

“Nope,” You cut him off, pretending to plug your ears. “He is currently being scrubbed from my memory. No talk of him. It’ll interrupt the process.” 

Namjoon gave you a confused look. “The process?”

“Of forgetting about his existence.” You shrugged simply, but Namjoon’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. 

“Uhm, why are you doing that exactly? Are you mad at him? You guys haven’t even been talking.” 

You touched your finger to your lips before pointing at him. “Interesting that you know that, considering I haven’t told you we haven’t been talking, so you must have heard that from him.” He tugged at his bottom lip as he was caught red-handed. You rolled your eyes. “Not like he implied us hanging out again several times that night or anything. But whatever, things change, I guess.” 

You started walking again, but Namjoon kept in stride right beside you. “Maybe he was just giving you space. It was a lot to take in that night. He probably didn’t want to rush you.” 

“‘Space,’ would’ve been a couple days, not three weeks. That’s I’m-no-longer-interested territory. Which is totally fine, but this is the one thing I’ll say. I find it very rude to make a girl come that many times only to just never speak to her again.” 

Namjoon was looking stressed for some reason. Why would he be? It was just a case of two of his friends not working out. 

“Uhm, let me talk to him,” Namjoon offered. 

You reared your head back in disgust. “Are you crazy? I don’t want you convincing him to give me a pity fuck.” You decided not to mention that the idea was still a bit scary. 

Namjoon wiped both hands down his face, and to your surprise, the glowing lines of his lavender essence began to flare. It surprised you. In the years that you had been friends with Namjoon, it was something that you’d only seen two or three times.

“I gotta go,” He said abruptly, and you couldn’t even get a word in before he was running towards the part of campus that you knew didn’t hold the transporter to his neighborhood, so where was he going?  

“What the hell has him so worked up?” You whispered to yourself. 

—————

Jungkook

Music was currently blasting throughout Jungkook’s house. It was helping to distract him from the same thoughts that had been plaguing him for weeks now. 

Since starting classes, things had become complicated. As if the memories of Remembrance Day weren’t bad enough, he was able to scent you across campus. He knew when you were there when he was, and he knew when you weren’t. He knew when the two of you were close to crossing paths, forcing him to change course. It had been fucking torture. Especially since he could tell by the rush of your blood every time he was close enough to you that you had been incredibly irritated as of late. He wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to be able to keep this up. 

Jungkook was pondering the amount of time he thought he could reasonably wait, when he suddenly heard the chime of his doorbell cut through the music he was playing. 

“What the hell?” He said, pulling up his Holograph. It showed Namjoon at the front door, looking strangely… panicked? 

Jungkook went to the door and opened it. Namjoon shoved his way inside before he could even ask why he was here. 

“Uhm, hello to you too,” Jungkook murmured. 

“I may have fucked up.” Namjoon said as he settled on the couch. Jungkook joined him. 

“Fucked up what?” He asked. 

Namjoon looked at him hesitantly. “Uhm, so I ran into Y/N just now.” 

Jungkook’s ears perked up at just the sound of your name. “Okay. Did she say anything about me?” 

Namjoon bit on his bottom lip. “Yeah… uhm, she’s kind of pissed at you.” 

Jungkook’s heart felt like it plummeted. “What the fuck? Why?” 

Namjoon scratched at his chin awkwardly. “Well, I know you guys didn’t have sex, but it’s kind of like when you fuck someone and then never try to talk to them again afterwards. She kinda feels like that right now, so she may have mentioned trying to scrub your existence from her mind since you are apparently not… interested in her.” Namjoon grimaced. 

Jungkook sat there, momentarily stunned, and then he was angry. “Namjoon, what the fuck? You’ve known her longer than I have so I thought you’d know best. You said giving her space was the right decision. Now she wants nothing to do with me because she thinks I had my fun that night and just ignored her.” Jungkook ran his hand through his hair, his essence flaring bright and hot. “Fuck this. I’m calling her.” 

“No, you can’t do that!” Namjoon slapped Jungkook’s arms down, stopping him from pulling you up on his Holographer. 

“And why not?” He asked, smacking his friends arms away. 

“Because I was literally just with her. She’s gonna think I told you she was upset with you and you’re just contacting her because you feel bad. She’ll be even more mad.” 

Jungkook’s jaw clenched. “Why didn’t you just tell her that you were the one that told me to stay away? That would’ve cleared everything up pretty quickly.” 

“Look I really thought giving her space was the right thing to do at the time. She seemed really overwhelmed that night.” He paused. “And I don’t want her to get mad at me either.”

“Oh, great, so now she’s just mad at me.” Jungkook’s mouth straightened into a firm line. 

Namjoon was quiet for a moment before speaking. “I have an idea.” 

Jungkook scoffed. “Sorry to tell you, but your ideas kind of fucking suck as of late.” 

Namjoon's mouth tightened. “Just be ready to go out tonight. I’ll fix this.” 

Jungkook rubbed at his temples. The realization that these miserable weeks of waiting had only made you think the worst of him, and that had his blood boiling. Namjoon said he was going to fix this? Fuck that, he was. 

—————

“Why are we here again?” You asked Jimin as you made your way into the bustling club. It was completely packed, barely any room to move as the two of you slid through the crowd. You kept having to pull the dress down that you were wearing. It was a dark red color, a little too short, but it looked good on you. 

“Because all you’ve been doing the past three weeks is sulking in your room or being stuck in the studio on campus. You need to get out.” Jimin pointed towards a table in the far corner that looked to be the only empty one left. 

“I’m not sulking,” You hissed, though it was definitely a complete lie. You didn’t want to come out tonight, but Jimin had insisted. It seemed he was over your moodiness. 

“Yeah, whatever,” He said, rolling his eyes as the two of you approached the high top table. 

You were about to grab the back of one of the chairs, but suddenly a fringe whipped in front of you, grabbing it before you could. The sight made your stomach flip, but it was quickly filled with disappointment as you realized the fringe was not even close to being gold. It was red, almost the same shade as your dress. Not that you should be disappointed by the fact that it wasn't his. 

You turned towards the Verdian who stole your chair, the sight of him temporarily stunning you. He was hot. With full lips and dirty blonde hair on top with black underneath. His red fringes drifted behind his shoulders now. 

“Excuse me?” You asked, shaking off the distraction of his good looks from the fact that he’d just taken your seat. “I was gonna sit there.” 

“Of course,” He said, his voice deep even with the loud music pulsing around you. “I was pulling it out for you.” He motioned for you to sit. 

“O-oh,” You stammered, a little flustered. “Thanks.” You sat down and he pushed the chair in towards the table. 

“Taehyung, by the way.” He reached his hand out. You took it, giving it a shake. 

“Y/N,” You replied.

“I’m gonna get us some drinks,” Jimin whispered in your ear. “Maybe second time’s the charm.” 

You tried to give him a light punch but he was lost in the crowd before you could do it. When you turned your attention back to this new Veridian named Taehyung, he was already staring at you. 

“So, I’ve never seen you around before? Newly back to Earth?” You asked, trying to make conversation until Jimin came back. 

He leaned against the table, dipping his head towards you, probably because your human ears weren’t as equipped to hear what he was saying over all the noise. Though, now that he was this close, you couldn’t help but compare him to the first time you met Jungkook. 

You remember when you first saw him that night, the way your mind and body had latched onto him like it didn’t want to let him out of your sight. How your fingers had twitched at your sides because they wanted to touch him—a complete stranger at the time. With Taehyung it was different. He was nice to look at, but you didn’t feel that otherworldly pull to him. But he was an attractive guy, so you didn’t pull away from his face inching closely to your own. 

“Yeah, a couple of days ago,” He answered. “Just visiting some friends. Not staying very long.” 

You noticed the way all of his fringes calmly swayed behind him, not hiding beneath his clothes like most Veridians chose to do. And you couldn’t help but notice how content they seemed. Not trying to reach for you as Jungkook’s had. 

“Hm, well, hope you have a good time mingling with us humans while you’re here.” You gave him a polite smile. 

He propped his elbow onto the high top table, settling his cheek into the palm of his hand as he nodded towards your exposed neck with a smirk. “Would you be interested in being a human that I mingle with?”

You let out a laugh of disbelief. These Veridians really got straight to the point. It wasn’t that the idea wasn’t interesting, but you still weren’t prepared for a night with one of them. There was also the fact that you were still feeling particularly jaded from your previous experience. 

You were about to tell him as much when you felt the familiar tickle of something draping itself across your neck. Your breath hitched, your hand immediately flying up to grab at whatever it was. However, when you brought the material that was fisted between your fingers up to your face, your eyes widened. 

Gold. 

You turned slowly in the direction that the fringe was coming from. Your lungs inhaled a deep, shaky breath. He was standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes burning into your own, his essence glowing brightly against his skin. You thought you had memorized everything about him that night, but it felt like you were seeing him for the first time all over again. You wanted to reach out and trace every feature on his face, the point of his ears, the tendrils of his black hair. You were imagining doing that when your mind suddenly remembered that you were fucking pissed at him. 

You shook your head, dropping his fringe from your grip, but it stayed drifting in front of you. It wilted slightly when you refused to touch it. You felt a wave of guilt, but you weren’t going to give in. The fringes may seem like cute little animals, begging for pets and affection, but they were still him. 

“Jungkook, take it back.” You motioned to his fringe that was still levitating in front of you. His jaw hardened, but you watched the fringe immediately pull back and slither away beneath his shirt. “Thank you. Now you can leave.”  

You turned away from him, Taehyung still leaning on the table, though with a bit more distance from you due to Jungkook’s little show. Why the hell had he done that? He hadn’t tried to contact you for weeks, but the second he saw you talking to someone else he felt the need to step in?

Taehyung looked amused at first as his eyes darted between the two of you, because Jungkook was in fact not leaving like you’d asked. But then you watched the way Taehyung’s nostrils flared, his head rearing back at whatever scent he’d caught. He stood up, walking straight over to Jungkook. 

“Down boy. You can put the essence away.” He smirked. “I know she’s yours.” And then he disappeared onto the dance floor. 

You scoffed. She’s yours? Un-fucking-believable. You turned away from Jungkook. Where the hell was Jimin with your drink? You were in desperate need of one right about now after that absolutely insane interaction. You were gnawing on the inside of your cheek when you felt a whisper right against your ear, goosebumps erupting violently across your entire body. 

“Y/N, can we talk?” He asked. 

You closed your eyes, releasing a heavy sigh past your lips. “What’s there to talk about?” 

He shifted to where Taehyung had been standing over you before, his face right in front of yours now. His essence was gone. 

“You’re angry at me,” He said matter of factly. No question in his voice. 

You shrugged, avoiding eye contact. “We don’t have to talk about this. You realized you weren’t interested, that's fine.” 

“You have no idea how untrue that is.” Jungkook gave you a sad look, his brows furrowing. “I’m so sorry I made you think that.”

You rolled your eyes, annoyed that he was trying to turn this around. “Only becoming interested again because I was talking to someone else doesn’t count.” You scoffed, laughing. “What? You saw me just now and remembered that you like the smell of me or whatever? Didn’t like the idea of another Verdian getting a taste after you ghosted me?” 

Jungkook’s mouth formed a firm line. You stilled as he leaned even closer to you, his face just an inch from your own. “Yes, I can’t fucking stand the idea of that. Seeing that motherfucker staring at your neck? Sensing just how badly he wanted to sink his teeth into you and drink your blood?” His lips curled in disgust at the idea. “And no, I’m not just suddenly interested again because I saw you tonight. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.” He glanced down at your mouth. “You don’t understand how badly I want you.” 

Your eyes widened, breath halting in your chest. Why was he saying these things? He hadn’t tried to contact you for weeks. It didn’t make any sense. Was he playing you? It wouldn’t be the first time you’d been fooled, the ending of your last relationship replaying in your mind. 

“You have a funny way of showing it,” You mumbled, glancing down at the table, his words still rattling you. 

You heard him smack his lips together. “Fuck it. He’s just gonna have to deal with you being mad at him.”

Your brows furrowed, completely confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He sighed, pointing over his shoulder. “Namjoon called me after I left that night. He told me that I should give you… space.”

You whipped your head around immediately, eyes wide in disbelief. “What?” 

You glanced over at the bar on the opposite side of the club. Your eyes immediately found Namjoon staring at you, Jimin right beside him. He quickly turned around, hands fisting into his hair while Jimin simply laughed at him. It seemed Namjoon had caught him up on what was going on. 

“Don’t be mad at him. He thought he was doing the right thing. That you were overwhelmed. He thought you might think it was too much, too fast. But I’m done waiting.” He paused, seeming as if he was contemplating how to word something. “There’s more to all of this that I need to explain to you, but I just need you to know this first. That I didn’t leave that night thinking it was some casual thing. That I just got something out of you and forgot about it.”

You had to take a minute to organize your thoughts. Spending weeks so angry at Jungkook, only to find out that he was just following the advice of a friend. You understood that Namjoon probably thought you needed some time to process everything, but that didn’t change the fact that he should’ve talked to you about it first. Sure, everything that had been thrown at you that night was intense, but that didn’t mean you had wanted Jungkook to pull away completely. Not after what happened between the two of you. 

You ran your fingers through your hair. You wanted to be frustrated. Annoyed at Namjoon. But all you felt was… relief. Your chest felt light with joy. Knowing that you hadn’t made your time together more than what it was.

You leaned in, Jungkook’s hair brushing against your forehead. “I don’t even know what to say right now. I was so mad at you.” 

“I know, and I’m sorry I made you think that night was nothing. It wasn’t. Not at all.”  He tilted his head, his lips just a breath away from your own. “Honestly, I’d probably terrify you if I told you how you make me feel, when you barely know me at all.” 

Your heart started to race. You could feel your pulse pounding in your chest, fingers, head—everywhere. It seemed Jungkook could too, by the way his eyes danced across your body. 

“Try me,” You whispered, desperate to hear his thoughts. 

There was glint in Jungkook’s eyes, and then he was burying his face into your neck. You gasped at the feeling before choking as the sharp edge of his canines pressed against the sensitive flesh. 

“Fuck, being this close to you again…” He inhaled deeply, running his nose up the column of your throat until he was nuzzling it beneath your jaw. “So you wanna know how you make me feel?” You could only nod in short jerks, your voice trapped. He shifted, his mouth right on top of your ear now. “It was torture leaving you that night, you know? I wanted to stay, lay next to you and wrap you in my fringes until you couldn’t move. It’s all I could think about when I got home. How you should’ve still been with me. How I’d just met you, but in my head you already belonged next to me.” He paused, moving to press his nose into your hair. “It felt so fucking wrong, touching myself with your scent all over me while you weren’t there. Did you know I couldn’t even get myself off that night? Not completely at least. All I could think about was you. Imagining you coming down my dick, just dripping from all the venom I could feed you. I needed you so badly.” He said the last part with pain infused in his voice as one hand snaked into your hair. Your eyes fluttered closed, a shaky breath rattling past your teeth. “But I wanna make sure you know that I’m not just thinking about sex when it comes to you. It’s hard to explain to humans, but everything about you is intoxicating to me. Your touch, your smell, your voice. It’s like you can reach inside of me and force my essence out without even trying. It’s drawn to you in a way that I’ve never felt in my entire life. And trust me, I know that sounds intense, but I can’t help it. It’s in our nature—to find the one that ruins us for everyone else.” 

Jungkook shifted back slightly, allowing you to finally look at each other again. His essence had returned, the golden lines shining beneath the dim lights. Your breathing had become almost ragged at some point during Jungkook’s confession. 

You probably should’ve been scared. Scared that he was speaking of you as if you were his, no intention of letting you go now that he’d found you. Yes, you should’ve definitely been scared… but that wasn’t what you were feeling at all as he continued to stare down at you. Patiently waiting as you processed everything he’d said. Instead, all you felt was a warmth that spread across your chest in pleasant waves. You moved without thinking. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him down until his lips crashed against yours. 

You felt a pleased hum vibrate against your mouth. He grabbed both sides of your face, tilting your head from side to side with each slanted kiss. His tongue was sliding against your own when you felt the skim of something along your inner thigh. You pulled away, glancing down at your lap, one of his fringes playing at the edge of your dress, trying to wiggle its way between your legs. Your stomach tingled at the idea of being touched down there by it. 

Jungkook smirked, his hands suddenly grabbing your waist and pulling you to the edge of the chair. You had to grab onto his shoulders to keep your balance, but you immediately froze as his fringe began to gently brush against your underwear. 

“I can’t wait to show you all the things I can do for you,” He whispered against the side of your face—and then you heard it. 

His call.

The music from the club was still thumping loudly around you, but you could still somehow hear it with perfect clarity. That snake-like, alien hiss that seemed to have a direct line to your heat. You snapped your thighs together, accidentally trapping his fringe there as you felt yourself begin to pulse between your legs. And as if that steadily building ache already wasn’t bad enough, the sudden slide of his venom-covered tongue across your neck had you trembling as you buried your head in his shirt to try and muffle the cry that you couldn’t stop. 

It wasn’t the same as when you had actually ingested the venom. It didn’t flood your entire body, but instead left the most spine-chilling tingle in its wake. 

You were still trying to catch your breath when Jungkook was suddenly pulling away… Or being yanked away? You shook your head, the abruptness of his absence giving you a chance to clear your head. It had been as if the two of you had been in your own little world for a moment. You adjusted your dress which had ridden up quite high. You probably should’ve been embarrassed, but all you were really concerned with was what was happening in front of you. Namjoon had his lavender fringe knotted around Jungkook’s shirt from where he’d pulled him away from you. 

They were talking to each other, but it was too loud for you to hear what they were saying. You would’ve tried to walk over to see what was going on but you didn’t trust that your legs wouldn’t collapse beneath you. You were about to call out to them when a voice startled you from behind. 

“Someone’s being naughty.” Jimin laughed, sliding a drink in front of you. 

Your entire body was shivering as you grabbed the glass, taking a quick sip. You also decided to ignore his comment. “What’s going on?” You asked, motioning to Jungkook and Namjoon. 

“I think Namjoon just wanted to stop Jungkook before he bent you over that table and fucked you.” Jimin smirked at you over his drink. 

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “That wasn’t going to happen. We were just… kissing.” 

“Yeah, well he said he could smell the two of you all the way at the bar. Decided to step in before you had every Veridian in here circling you.” 

You gave him a confused look. “What’re you talking about—” You cut yourself off, suddenly very aware of all of the Veridian eyes on you. There were probably a dozen or so. They were keeping their distance, but their essences were on display as they stared at you. They were dispersed between humans who didn’t have a clue what was going on. You averted your gaze, heart pumping even faster from all the attention. A hand landed on the back of your neck, making you flinch, but you relaxed when you realized it was Jungkook. 

“Hey, it’s fine,” He murmured, rubbing his thumb across your lips. “You’re with me. You’re good.” 

“Why’re they looking at me with their essences out like that?” You asked. 

Jungkook moved to shield you from their view. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have gotten us both so worked up. Our pheromones are mixing, and together it’s just a very strong scent. As for the essences, they’re… turned on.” 

“Oh, my god.” You slapped your palms over your face, mortified. 

You heard him chuckle. “Come on, darling. Let’s get you out of here.”

He grabbed your hand, pulling you off the chair. He positioned you in front of him, all six of his fringes darting out in front of you, acting as a makeshift wall as he began to walk you towards the entrance. The crowd parted with ease. As you walked, you heard a deep, reverberating sound at your back. The Veridians that had been watching dipped their heads as you passed them.

You looked back at Jungkook whose hand was hooked around your waist. “Are you… growling?” 

He shrugged with a smile. “It slips out sometimes.” 

The two of you made it outside pretty quickly. Namjoon and Jimin followed right behind you. It was pretty empty outside, but Jungkook’s fringes still drifted around you. 

“You can put them down now,” You said. 

“They’re doing it on their own,” He replied, but they dropped and slipped underneath his shirt as he said it. Though, now that they were gone, you did feel strangely exposed. 

“Well, that was exciting. I’m glad you invited us out tonight, Namjoon. Would’ve hated to miss that show.” Jimin said. 

“Wait, what?” You shot him a confused look. You didn’t say we were meeting Namjoon when you asked me to come out earlier.” 

“Yeah, he said to not tell you because he had a surprise or some shit. Didn’t know it was him or I would’ve told you—probably why he didn’t tell me.” 

Namjoon was looking at you sheepishly, avoiding eye contact and dragging his shoe against the ground. 

“Anything to say?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest. 

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m really, really sorry. I thought you needed time to just sort out how you felt about the situation.” 

You scoffed. “Yeah, maybe a day. Not weeks.” 

You were still scowling at him when you felt Jungkook press against your back. He ducked his head down next to yours, talking low. “Come on, it worked out in the end. Just forgive him. He already got enough shit from me earlier.” 

Your face relaxed. It had just been an extremely annoying situation to deal with. But, like Jungkook said, it had worked itself out, so what was the point in continuing to be angry. 

“Fine.” You huffed. “But don’t ever do something like that again. I know you were just trying to give me time to think because I’m human and new to this, but I’d rather just figure it out as I go.” 

“Absolutely!” He clapped his hands together, a smile of relief spreading across his face. “Never again!” 

You couldn’t help but smile back. It was impossible to stay mad at him. 

“Well, now that we’ve cleared that up,” Jimin started. “Are you guys staying or leaving? I was gonna go back in for a bit. Though, maybe not. There might be a giant orgy going on in there by now because of the two of you.” 

You felt heat rise up your face. “Shut up!”

Jungkook simply laughed behind you, pressing his nose into the crown of your head. “It’s actually a compliment to you, if that makes you feel better.” 

Your face was burning. You didn’t want to talk about this with everyone around. You flicked your hand at Jimin and Namjoon. “You guys can go back inside if you want. I need to talk to Jungkook for a minute.” 

“Have fun.” Jimin winked, twisting on his foot and pushing Namjoon in front of him as they walked away. 

You turned around slowly once they were gone. “So, uhm, what did you want to do?” You asked, hesitantly. 

“That’s up to you. We can stay or I can take you back home, if you want. Make sure you get there alright.” 

You gave him a puzzled look. He phrased it like he wasn’t planning on coming inside. “All that talk a minute ago about how much you wanted me—how much you needed me—just to let me go so easily?”

Jungkook chuckled. “Trust me, I meant everything I said tonight. I would love to stay with you, but I don’t want to force all of this on you. I know that seems crazy to say after the stunt I pulled in there. Running that Veridian off because I was jealous. I didn’t give you much of a choice.” He paused, settling his hands on your waist. “So, now I’m giving you one. What do you want?” 

You wanted him—desperately. That was an undeniable truth. However, going back to his place or yours implied things. Everything between the two of you had been amazing so far, but you were still hesitant about the idea of sleeping with him. That was something that you wanted to go into with a bit more time to prepare, not just on the whim of seeing him unexpectedly tonight. Maybe if you had actually been talking the last few weeks you would be ready by now, but Namjoon’s good intentions had prevented that. You bit at your lip, weighing your options. 

“I want to stay with you tonight, but I-I don’t think I’m ready for…” You trailed off, dropping your eyes to the ground. God, you couldn’t believe you were having this conversation with him again. It made you feel so inexperienced, granted, you were when it came to being with a Veridian. 

“Hey, Y/N, look at me.” He cupped the side of your face, and your eyes slowly met his. “Listen, I know I can be a bit forward with how I talk to you. Describing what I fantasize about when I look at you.   So I know it’s my fault you’re thinking that I’m gonna expect sex from you because of that. But I want you to know, it’s not like that. We can do whatever you want. We can just talk, kiss, it’s up to you. However far you want it to go.” 

You instantly felt lighter in that moment. Not so stuck in your own head about your perceived shortcomings.You looped your arms around his neck, nudging your nose against his. He inhaled, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. 

“I want us to talk for sure. I think we should get to know each other better. It’s a little overdue, honestly.” You paused, your thumb reaching up to trace his bottom lip. You wanted to leave with him so badly, but you couldn’t help but remember the last time the two of you were completely alone. You had experienced a mind-altering state of pleasure, all while Jungkook had been in pain. You didn’t want him to experience that again. “But if we went home together I’d want you to do more than just kiss me, and I don’t think that’s fair to you. I don’t want you hurting again like you were at the party just because I’m still nervous about the idea of having sex with you.” 

His essence flared back to life. “I don’t give a fuck about the pain. I’d do whatever you wanted me to. Eat you out all fucking night if you asked. The pain would be worth it to get to taste you again.”

You grinded your teeth together, stopping the noises that wanted to claw their way up your throat. It was so hard to stand your ground when he said things that had arousal surging in your belly, making your legs turn weak. 

“Jungkook…” You gave him a pleading look to stop chipping at your thin resolve. 

His face softened immediately, his essence sinking back into his skin. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” You pressed a hand to his chest. “I know it seems stupid to take things slow after everything we’ve already done… but I want the next time we’re together like that to be something we can both enjoy.” Jungkook opened his mouth, and you already knew what he was going to counter with. “And before you say you’d enjoy it regardless, remember you just said you were giving me a choice, and my choice is to not be selfish.” 

Jungkook’s lips formed a small smile, a defeated sigh slipping past them. “Oh, how I wish you were selfish.” He draped an arm around your shoulder. “But for now, can my selfless human show me the way to her transporter so I can make sure she gets home safely? Since she refuses to let me protect her from the comfort of laying next to her in bed.” 

You laughed, giving him a curious look. “Protect me from what exactly?” 

“Nothing in particular.” He shrugged. “It’s just in our nature to want to guard things that we care about.” 

You pursed your lips. “I don’t want this to sound dismissive… but how can you care about me? You barely know me?” 

Jungkook’s eyes searched your face in silence for a moment. Eventually his thumb came up, caressing a line across the bridge of your nose. “I do know you, Y/N. Maybe not in a way that humans understand, but I do know you. I know you in the way that a Veridian finds more important than anything.” 

You felt your heart stutter. You wished you knew what he meant, and you felt a twinge in your chest at the fact that you probably never truly would. Two different species, with different ways of experiencing life. 

“I wish I could understand,” You whispered. 

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You will. Just give me some time to show you.”

You smiled into his chest, the sentiment easing that unsteady feeling from just seconds ago. You glanced up at Jungkook to find him staring at you with an almost overwhelming look of affection. As if you were already so precious to him. You wanted to know how he could look at you with such unwavering certainty. At someone who was basically a stranger. But you realized he probably felt the same confusion as you. He wasn’t human. He didn’t know how you traversed life without it speaking to you through scents and blood, to just instinctively know things. 

“I don’t have the same abilities as you,” You started. “To see something that isn’t physically there, but to know that there is something.” Jungkook nodded, understandingly. “But even though I can’t do that, I still want to get to know you in the ways that I know how.” You reached down and grabbed his hand. “Let’s take a walk before I go home. Get to know each other like humans do.”

“I’d like that,” He whispered. 

—————

Two weeks later.

“You’re not very good at staying still, you know?” You chided, the pencil you were using to draw a general outline stilling on the canvas. 

“Oh, don’t be mad at them. You know they can’t help it when you’re around,” Jungkook replied. 

His eyes flitted to the left to look at his fringes without actually moving his body. He was laying flat on the floor, and they were splayed out around him in golden tendrils. Unruly tendrils that had been slowly creeping towards you with every passing minute since you’d decided you wanted to draw him. 

You hadn’t planned on starting a project on him today. He had asked several times over the last few weeks, and he was always sad when you refused. You kept using the excuse that there was a lot of pressure in recreating someone’s likeness, but that wasn’t the actual reason. It was simply because you weren’t sure if you could possibly do him justice. 

But today was different. When the sight of the beautiful alien you had been dating for the past few weeks laid down in front of you, waiting for you to finish, as he did almost every day, you couldn’t help yourself for once. Maybe because it was later than usual, the sun shining in directly through the window and refracting the gold of his fringes across the room like dancing jewels. Maybe it was because he had accidentally fallen asleep for a moment, his hands beneath his head as his mouth twitched at whatever he was dreaming of. Or maybe it was simply because you were completely enamored with him. Though, all of those things in combination was probably the actual truth. 

When he woke up from his brief nap, you had already begun, telling him not to move. He grinned when he realized what was happening. And while his body remained perfectly stationary… his fringes had become restless. 

You hummed. “And who controls them, again?” 

His mouth curved into a smile. “You.” 

You bit your bottom lip to stop the grin that wanted to spread across your face. “You are so…” You trailed off, because you really couldn’t describe what he was. 

You had seen each other almost everyday since that night two weeks ago. You had walked together for hours that night after leaving, just talking and getting to know one another. You had discovered that he was actually incredibly sweet when he wasn’t saying every crass thing that passed through his head. Not that you minded that. Though, you were thankful he had tampered his vulgar words since then. It made it easier not to give into the desires that were brimming beneath your skin every time you saw him. You wanted him to do more than just gently touch or kiss you. You wanted to be beneath him, his venom slipping down your throat as his fingers curled into your heat. You wanted his head between—

“You know, It’s very hard to keep still when I can smell the sort of… thoughts that you’re having.” Jungkook smirked. “What’re you thinking about, darling?”

You blinked a couple of times, your mind returning to reality. You set the pencil down on the table next to you. There was nothing else that was going to get done today now that your thoughts were a mess of all the way you wanted him to touch you. 

You stood up, walking towards where he laid on the floor. He didn’t move his body, but his fringes began to curl around your legs like snakes. You glanced down at them affectionately. You had come to adore the little things. How they tugged and prodded at you for attention. 

When you met Jungkook’s eyes he was staring at you. He was breathing deeply through his nose, his essence slowly mapping its way across his skin. It was like a shining beacon that had you dropping to your knees on either side of his hips. His hands found the back of your thighs, but he didn’t pull you down on top of him.

Jungkook had not been as forward with you as he had in the start. Your conversation from that night after reuniting made him more cautious. He was trying not to rush you, to give you time to become comfortable with the idea of being with him. He had shown great patience. However, your patience was now wearing thin. Even with the thunder of nerves still echoing in the back of your mind, you didn’t want to wait anymore. You wanted him to show you how a Verdian could make you feel. How he could possibly enrapture you more than he already had. 

You put your hands on either side of his head and leaned down to settle next to the shell of his pointed ear. The jewelry adorning it, pressing into your lips. “I would like to spend the night at your house tomorrow. If that’s okay.” 

He sucked in a sharp breath beneath you, his face turning towards you. He looked at you for a moment, studying your expression that you hoped was insinuating what you meant by your proposal. 

He gave you a small smile, his fingers rising to caress your jaw. “It doesn’t have to be like that. You could just spend the night, nothing else. I would be okay just having you in my bed, sleeping and getting your scent all over my sheets. Never know, might wake up and find me rolling around in them like a dog.” He laughed, but you had a feeling he wasn’t actually joking.

“I know you would, and I appreciate that. But… I’m also getting tired of waiting. I’m still nervous, don’t get me wrong, but being with you these past couple of weeks and getting to know you… I’ve decided that I trust you to know what you’re doing. That you won’t let it… hurt.” You felt your expression pinch at the last word, because even though you meant what you’d just said, the images of all the ways it could go wrong spiraled through your thoughts. 

All humans had heard stories of what being with a Veridian was like, but most were more interested in the venom aspects of it. Just the intense feelings of euphoria that came from it. The actual act of having sex, at least for male Veridians being with female humans, caused a bit more pause. The size of them was… intimidating, to say the least. But from what you had heard over the years, most of the ones that wanted to experience it ended up loving it. That there was no comparison to it. However, there were exceptions. Some Verdians forgot themselves, not remembering that they could inflict pain easily on humans if they weren’t familiar or simply didn’t care. These thoughts were still spinning wildly when you felt Jungkook’s thumb brush across your cheek. 

“Hey, look at me,” He whispered. Your gaze flicked towards him hesitantly. There was a soft look in his eyes. “I don’t like that you’re scared that I’ll hurt you, but I understand why you are. It’ll be a bit different than what you’re used to, but not in a bad way. I know what I’m doing. You won’t be in pain, not even for a second.” 

His complete confidence made you curious. You narrowed your eyes at him. “Have you slept with a lot of human women?” 

He bit at his bottom lip, seeming to mull the question over. “Is this that thing humans do when they ask a question even though they know the answer will annoy them?” 

“No, you just seem very sure of not hurting me. I just wanted to know if you have a lot of experience with us.” You shrugged, but you did feel a hint of jealousy swirling inside of you and he hadn’t even answered yet. It looked like he noticed, because his expression said that he didn’t believe you. But after a moment he simply sighed and gave you your answer. 

“Yes, I’ve had sex with many human women.” He paused. “And, uhm, they definitely weren’t in pain.”

The twinge in your chest was immediate. “Many? Wow, such a human Casanova.” 

He clicked his tongue. “Hey, you said that wasn’t a trick question.” 

He was right. You had been the one to ask, so you couldn't be mad at the response. It should make you feel better knowing he was experienced with your kind, but it just made you feel bitter. 

“You’re right, you’re right. Thank you for telling me,” You said with a tight smile. You went to stand up, but before you could, Jungkook had one hand pressed to the center of your chest, guiding you onto the floor. You gasped when he flipped himself onto you to settle between your legs, his face hovering over yours with the intense glare of his essence shining down at you. 

“Y/N, do you know what this is?” He asked, motioning to his glowing skin. 

“Your essence?” You answered, a little breathless from the sudden change in position. 

“My physical essence, yes.” He took the hand that wasn’t holding him up and began to trace the lines. “And what do you know about it?” 

“It shows when you’re experiencing intense emotions or sensations.” 

He nodded. “That’s part of it, but do you know why it happens?”

You squirmed a little beneath his gaze, suddenly embarrassed that you honestly didn’t know the answer to that question. 

You shook your head. “I don’t. I’m sorry.” 

“No, it’s okay.” He smiled down at you, his thumb smoothing out the concern between your brows. “I don’t expect you to know everything about how being a Veridian works. But we’ve spent the last few weeks getting to know each other like humans do, so now I think it’s my turn to teach you how getting to know each other works for Veridians.”

Jungkook had spent all this time becoming close to you in the ways that you were familiar with, and you had been incredibly grateful for that. It made you comfortable with him in a way that wasn’t so conceptual as it had been before. All those talks of compatibility and such. But he was right that it was his turn now. To show you his way. 

“Okay, tell me. I wanna know everything,” You said. 

He was immediately sitting back, pulling you off of the floor and onto his lap. Then he quickly started to tug his shirt over his head. 

“What’re you doing?” You asked, confused at the sudden stripping. 

“I’m showing you—” He paused as the fabric passed over his face. “—What you do to me as a Veridian in a way that no one else can.” 

He threw the shirt to a corner of the room. He was now naked from the waist up, the only thing still on his upper half was a thick necklace resting against his skin. Though, that wasn’t what you were focusing on. You had seen this sight before, the night you’d first met or the couple of times in the last few weeks when your makeout sessions had gotten a bit intense. It was his essence, not only on his face and neck, but traveling down his arms and etched onto his abs in a golden river of lines. It was beautiful, the way they traversed his flesh in intricate patterns. 

“What do you mean in a way no one else can?” You asked, curious about the way he worded it as if it was a definite fact. “I know you said we’re a good match, but there has to have been other Veridians or humans that you’ve felt the need to be close to.” 

As much as you liked the idea of being special to him in some way. You weren’t dumb enough to believe it was exclusive to you. However, Jungkook clearly didn’t like you thinking that way.

“Perfect match. Not a good match—perfect.” He corrected you, an intense seriousness gleaming in his eyes. 

“Perfect,” You repeated the word. 

“Yes, and it’s very, very hard for us to find someone like that. We meet a lot of humans or Veridians that are close, but never actually perfect. There’s always something missing. Just a small part of us that isn’t drawn out by them. Which doesn’t stop us from finding someone that makes us happy, but it is always something that we crave. To have someone that can call to every part of us completely. My venom, my pheromones, my blood, my instincts—all of those things make up my essence. You just only get to see the part of it that shows up on my body. But it’s more than that. It’s everything that makes me me.” He grabbed both sides of your face, leaning in so that your foreheads were touching. You were breathing hard and fast, but he kept going. “You’ve never met a Veridian whose essence you’ve seen as much as mine, right?” 

You shook your head against his. “No.”

Jungkook smiled where his lips were slightly touching yours. “That’s because you’re the only person I’ve ever met in my entire life that can control my essence like it was your own. I couldn’t stop it from showing even if I wanted to.” He paused, leaning back onto the floor with his bare body stretched out in front of you. You were still sitting on his lap as his beaming essence and fringes formed a vortex of gold around you. You stared down at him in awe as you shifted to straddle him. “This is yours as much as mine now… Terravina.”

You crashed your mouth against his. Nothing sweet or romantic like the words he had just spun beneath you, but it was the only way you could express what he had just done to you. You twisted your fingers in each other's hair, desperately pulling each other closer—as if that were even possible. 

You tried to stifle your moan as his hand dropped between your legs, pressing and grinding it against you. Your brain had not turned to complete mush, so you were still aware of the fact that you were in a tiny room that anyone could walk into at any moment. There weren’t locks on these doors. Probably to prevent these very scenarios from playing out. 

“Jungkook…”

“I know, I’m not gonna try anything. I just wanna… Fuck, I just wanna feel you for a second.” 

He kissed you again, his tongue licking inside of your mouth. He kept palming you, the motion catching your clit with every movement. You had to press your mouth even harder into his to stop any noises from escaping. 

“That’s not happening at my house tomorrow night, just so you know.” He took his other hand that wasn’t between your thighs and pinched your bottom lip. “I’m gonna hear everything. How you feel when I have my tongue on your cunt. When I’m fucking you and you realize how good it could’ve been this entire time. When your cum is just running down my dick because you can’t stop coming around me. Fuck, you’re gonna be so messy. I’m gonna make you feel so good, I promise.” 

You were actually throbbing between your legs, and this time you were not successful in holding back the aching moan. Jungkook seemed to delight in this, grinning so hard his canines gleamed at you like a monster who had just caught their prey. 

“That’s it. Good girl,” He whispered. 

He tried to kiss you again, but you were quickly scrambling off of his lap. You tried standing up but almost immediately fell. He was on you in a second, holding you in place as your legs steadied themselves. 

“Let’s stop there for today. It’ll… ruin the suspense or whatever for tomorrow if we keep going.” You shrugged, trying to come up with any excuse not to let him take you right here on this floor covered in paint, charcoal, and who knew what else. 

He chuckled, throwing an arm around your shoulder and pressing a gentle peck to your temple. “Okay, we’ll stop.” 

You nodded, trying to shake the feelings of lust that had had your body literally trembling. You tried to turn your mind to anything else, and that was when you were reminded that there actually was something you wanted to ask him. 

“What, uhm, what…” Your brain actually had turned into mush after all it seemed. “That word you called me just now. What was it? Terravina? I’ve heard it before.” 

His brows furrowed. “Where? 

“It was when I passed out in the room at Namjoon’s party. A voice was talking to me. They called me something, but I couldn’t remember what it was after I woke up. But when you said it just now… that was the word. I’m sure it was.”

Jungkook’s confusion turned into a soft smile. “I called you that. I didn’t realize you could hear me.” 

“That was you?” You asked, surprised that he had been able to get through to that dark abyss you had been stuck in. “Well, what does it mean?” 

Jungkook didn’t answer at first. He walked over to grab his shirt that he’d taken off earlier and pulled it over his head. Once it was back on he stopped in front of you, his hands cupping your face. 

“It’s a rare word. It’s one we use on humans that we consider our perfect matches. It’s an affectionate term. One I would like to use on you sometimes. If you’re okay with that.” 

There was a warmth that spread through your chest at the idea of that. Something that encompassed his feelings towards you as a human and him as a Veridian in one simple word. 

You nodded. “Yes, I think I’d like that.” 

“Good.” He kissed you, light and gentle. “Now let’s get you home.” 

[jeonfatuation]

you’re the worst: four

“Your girl’s so bad. Let me have her.” The address Jungkook provides ends up being a house of esoteric pleasure, and the rabid fangirl within you threatens to escape the horny jail when you realize who runs the place. (8.3k)

cw (18+): major warnings only. see mlist for the general scope and please read at your own risk. Free use, livestreamed sex

content. masterlist | one | two | three | four

The car that costs your whole life and then some has been on the road for twenty minutes, yet Jungkook still hasn’t come back to earth, still slouched in his seat, and still with a dumb smile on his face. His afterglow is like neon plasma, so blindingly bright that it’s about to turn the pitch-black sky into midnight blue. Neither of you talk, but the silence isn’t tense anymore—Jungkook’s harlot jams playing in the background make for a super chill ambiance.

“Super chill” doesn’t mean you’re not about to have a flooding problem soon.

Could be the slow beats reminding you of the rhythm you’ve been fucked to all night long, or his hand lazily caressing your inner thigh that keeps you so wet. Or maybe it’s your delusional mind playing a short film where Jungkook softly croons those hypersexual lyrics in your ear, fingering your dripping pussy somewhere he absolutely shouldn’t, ordering you not to cum while fully gunning for a messy ending, then smiling like the demon he is when you inevitably cream all over his fingers.

In any case, something’s going to drip down your legs when you stand up again.

You pull over in front of a sign that reads “Vanitæ” written in a seductive font, the unknown on the horizon making butterflies take flight in your stomach. Jungkook is the first to get out of the car, now fully bounced back from his ecstatic crash, and you follow after him. He picks up a duffel bag from the trunk, then slams it shut, and the car locks with an ear-piercing beep.

“Am I still on mute?” you ask.

Very pleased that you reminded the teacher there was homework, he breaks into a proud smile and gently holds your chin.

“You’re on recess but still on my terms. I’ll tell you what to do to earn a good girl sticker very soon,” he places a small peck on your lips, then intertwines his fingers with yours. “Come with me.”

Does this man NOT hear the kinda shit that comes out of his mouth? Or can he AT LEAST practice SOME impulse control so you won’t go insane? Fucking please and thank you?!!

Neither the name nor the structure of the venue gives away what it really is. It has a window like a store front, but the mannequins look more like an art installation than a window display. Mismatched costumes, chains, random-looking objects… You don’t know what is being sold, or if there is anything being sold at all. You’d think a store would be more welcoming to make as many Benjamins as possible, but you can’t just push the door and walk in as you please. Only when Jungkook enters a code on a number pad does the door unlock with a loud clank, briefly stealing the attention of the…

Patrons?

It’s not crowded inside; there are maybe only ten people scattered around, browsing merchandise, and somehow they all look like characters straight out of an erotic thriller. At least your business casual kinda helps you save face next to the borderline black-tie dress code, but rather than “high-end cocktail”, the vibe is giving “secret society eerie”. The room is dipped in champagne golds and warm beiges—it’s definitely upscale, smells like privilege, walks like luxury fashion but talks like pleasure dungeon. The more you look around, the more you can’t figure out where you’re at. It could very well be a boutique, a museum, or an atelier.

Of a depraved artist, that is.

“What even is this place?” you quietly ask Jungkook, your brows stitched together as your eyes jump from one “accessory” to the next. “You’re not gonna make me join a sex cult, are you?”

“Solid idea,” he grins, “but no.”

At the far end of the room is a suit-clad man with his back turned, explaining something to the couple next to him in lowercase letters. They seem to be comparing the three types of ropes before them, all in different colors and all tied into a different knot. When Jungkook spots him in the distance, his steps quicken, and when the clicks behind him are at their loudest, the rope whisperer finally turns around.

“Welcome t— Oh, hi,” he flashes an alluring smile at Jungkook. “Long time, no see.”

SHUT THE FUCK UP THERE IS NO FUCKING WAY!!!

With the arrival of the new “guests”, the couple thank their guide with graceful smiles and leave. The man greets Jungkook with a tight handshake, and you have to deploy every single drop of your self-restraint to resist the urge to squeal. You are elated and extremely confused in the same breath because Jungkook knows this is your all-time favorite…

Pornstars are technically models, right?

And just like that, you have so many questions that require immediate answers to keep breathing!

“Fuuuck me, the Kim Taehyung in the flesh,” you let slip through a stuttering breath, spacing the hell out into the man’s chiseled-by-gods features.

“Always a pleasure to meet a fan,” he reaches for your hand and places a kiss on it.

“You’re like… so much hotter in person, sir. I–I mean…”

“Sir?” he softly laughs, then turns to Jungkook. “Please tell me this is a gift for me?”

“Sure. Would you like to die of natural causes?” Jungkook replies with an equally charming smile.

The two men chuckle at each other as if this is just business as usual, and neither has the decency to acknowledge the tuxedo-wearing elephant in the room trumpeting “Fucking address me!”. At the absolute limit of your patience after that five-second lull, you decide to take the matter into your own hands.

“How do you even know each other?” you ask, exerting significant effort to not sound like a rabid fangirl.

“Might sound made up, but we actually went to law school together,” Jungkook answers, landing a loud slap on his friend’s back. “Then my man did the right thing and got into attention whoring business instead.”

“Your picks are in cabin two,” Taehyung points towards an arch leading into darkness.

“Your picks?” you cock a brow at Jungkook. 

“Come on,” he leads you to the back, leaving Taehyung to be a whip whisperer for the next couple in line.

This section does feel boutique-y with the changing rooms, albeit maybe in a strip club. The bright red neon lights illuminate the dark corridor on each end, giving it a cliché pleasure district vibe. As per the extravaganza dripping off the walls, even the changing rooms are actually rooms—so spacious, three people can easily fit in there and use it as a private lounge. Not that there is any reason for three people to chill in a changing room.

At least you can’t think of any PG ones.

The “picks” in question are clothing items hung on a rack, none of which can end up in your wardrobe of your own volition. They are all made of leather, entirely unwearable in public, and barely wearable within four walls, to be frank. You put on the first set and check your reflection, but it’s as if a stranger is staring back at you. With the bright red neon lights illuminating even the mirror frame, you look no different than a pleasure district merchandise on display.

“Need some help?” Jungkook’s voice reaches you through the thick curtain.

“Uh… Not really, but…” you answer him hesitantly, “I wouldn’t say I wore something.”

“Come out. Let me see.”

You open the curtain and show yourself, trying to play it cool and not make your embarrassment too obvious. It’s just a red strapless top and a micro mini skirt over fishnet stockings, but Jungkook still whistles a crass catcall followed by a two-syllable “damn”, shamelessly ogling you from head to toe.

“Mm, the devil’s mistress,” he puts his hands on your waist, slowly sliding them down to your hips. “I’ve always wanted to know what sin tastes like.”

He dives into your lips headfirst, and your knees give way so quickly that if you didn’t hold onto his Pacific-ass shoulders at the last second, you would be kissing the floor instead. The entire day, he’s been melting you with his random and deep deep DEEP kisses, and at this rate, nothing’s gonna be left of you when the clock strikes midnight. He doesn’t even give a fuck, deliberately making loud wet noises and caressing your pussy to make you moan into his mouth.

You got half a mind to bend over against that wall and ask him to blow your back out.

“What are you doing?” you giggle. “Someone’s going to see.”

“Shh, hold this,” he hands you his phone. “Record me.”

“R–Record you?”

“Yeah, the lights are really pretty here, don’t you think? It’ll be like you lured me into your lair,” he kneels before you, licking his lips at the sight of your slick folds. “And I begged you to keep me hostage for your pleasure.”

Then he fucking goes for it.

You turn the camera on and switch to video mode, legitimately wishing you were in the adult entertainment business because this footage right there is a certified gold mine. An insanely sexy man is on his knees for you, his arms wrapped around your legs, his eyes closed, slurping on your pussy like it’s fucking ayahuasca, just utterly entranced. You zoom in on how his tongue glides all over your clit, and even though you’re the one in the frame with him, he looks so hot that you throb harder with each lick.

“Mmm… Oh fuck, Jungkook, you really know how to use that tongue…”

“Dinner in my house and I’m not invited?”

“OH MY GOD!”

You yeet yourself back into the cabin and harshly pull the curtain when Taehyung’s voice suddenly blares in your ears. You’re about to DIE of mortification, yet the two men are not even slightly fazed, just giggling as if a cute accident has just taken place.

“Would you be able to resist this?” Jungkook wipes the corner of his mouth, gently pulling you out of your makeshift panic room. “Just look at her.”

Taehyung’s eyes land on you, but that’s not looking, nuh uh. The man eats you alive and leaves no crumbs with his gaze alone. He takes a few unrushed steps, circling around you, appreciating every nook and cranny like he’s appraising a rare piece of art for his debauched museum. As he completes his lap, he notices the letters behind your ear that look like custom branding, and it makes him break into the most perverse smile.

“Your girl’s so bad,” he lets out a longing sigh, staring at your lips with narrowed eyes. “Let me have her.”

The way they talk about you like you’re the pleasure object of the century should feel offensive, but context is everything. When it’s their vulgar attention on you, it makes you feel like the most powerful bitch in the universe, and you don’t remember ever being this flattered. Who in their right mind wouldn’t? It’s Kim fucking Taehyung openly declaring he wants to have you.

And rare are the things the prince of pleasure has hungered for and not devoured.

“Change into the black one. I’ll choose some accessories for you,” Jungkook instructs, pointing at the rack behind you. “Ditch the underwear.”

The two men leave the area, and although Taehyung moves as calmly as always, the brighter lights of the main lounge work like a spotlight, cast directly on the erection pressing against his slacks. Jungkook wears a shit-eating grin on his lips when he notices it, amused that old habits indeed die hard.

“How’d you like it?” he asks, flipping through a rack of cuffs with custom lettering options.

“Would pair the latex with a whip, but to each his own, I guess,” Taehyung offers his expert opinion.

“Yeah, that’s totally what I asked.”

Jungkook decides on a pair of black leather cuffs, then reaches for the sleek box right above the rack. He picks three diamond-encrusted letters and pierces the wristbands with them, devilishly smiling at the friendship bracelet from hell he’s just made. Satisfied with his little creation, he leans into Taehyung’s ear, finally divulging the purpose of his visit.

“Clear the place and lower the shutters. We got some business with you.”

“So it is a gift for me?” Taehyung smirks.

“You’re asked to be a guest, not the host,” Jungkook fakes a smile. “Play nice before I castrate you.”

Taehyung just chortles at Jungkook’s antics, amused that old habits indeed die hard, and does as told. In less than five minutes, the place is closed for a “private showing”. Ever the man of manners, he pours two glasses of his finest scotch, and the old friends get to reminiscing as though this is a casual visit to catch up, sprawling on the obscenely comfortable sofa that looks like it’s smuggled from a lesser-known palace.

Their conversation goes into mandatory intermission when your voice finally emerges from the back of the room.

“Um… Jungkook? Could you help me with this?”

“Come out here, baby. Let me see.” 

Is this man trying to fucking kill you? Like, is that the end goal for today?

“I uh… I don’t think I can,” you hesitantly speak.

“Come out, it’s just us. There’s no one else here.”

The vague wording makes you think that it’s just you and Jungkook, but you don’t even know why you’re surprised to see the homeowner with him. Of course he would be present. The only problem is…

When Jungkook said “Ditch the underwear”, turns out it was for practical purposes since what you’re wearing is a leather leotard. The piece is actually rather tasteful, beautifully designed with intricate straps around the chest, but it’s… carved out in strategic places, such as the opening that starts from your mound and reaches all the way to your tailbone. When you spread your legs, your pussy is out in the open to be licked and fucked to any heart’s content.

A depraved prince’s, for example.

Jungkook’s face falls in awe when you walk into the room. He downs his entire glass and sets it aside, then walks up to you to admire you closer. The mask over your eyes, the over-the-knee boots with ridiculously high platforms, all handpicked to make him lose his damn mind. Which he’s about to.

Then he goes ahead and puts the cuffs adorned with diamond “JJK”s on your wrists as if he wants to overdose on arousal.

“Gorgeous,” he holds your hand and spins you around. “Wouldn’t you say so?”

“Not even close to expressing how mesmerized I am,” Taehyung concurs, “but let’s just leave it at yes for now.”

“Which would be very wise of you,” Jungkook subtly threatens, wrapping an arm around your waist. “So anyway, we’re also making our porn debut and—”

“What?!” you and Taehyung exclaim in unison.

“Focus, I need a professional opinion here,” Jungkook deadpans. “I have a persona in mind, and…”

Then he rambles on about stuff you’re hearing for the very first time. It’s either bait, or there’s some understanding between them to roll with stuff under certain twisted circumstances. As Jungkook delivers his scarily elaborate pitch, you can’t help but wonder if this is indeed an in-the-moment improvisation, or if he’s actually thought about you as adult performers with an “incubus/succubus couple” schtick at some point in time. Taehyung attentively listens, silently goes to the rack where various restraints are displayed like fashionable leather belts, then picks a collar attached to a chain with large hoops. 

“Undress him,” he calmly instructs you. “Just the top.”

Jungkook doesn’t say a word, but his excitement is written all over his face in comically large letters, making him light up like all Times Square jumbotrons at once. You put your hands on his collar and cascade his blazer off his shoulders, then take your sweet time unbuttoning his shirt. The more skin you expose, the crazier your heart beats, and it reaches tachycardic heights when his tattoo sleeve enters the frame in its full glory. Once he is naked from the waist up, Taehyung attaches the collar around Jungkook’s neck and hands you the chains with a smirk. 

“Pull on it,” he demands.

You do, and Jungkook staggers towards you, almost crashing into your lips. Taehyung moves behind you and rests his chin on your shoulder.

“You see the vision, right?” he rhetorically asks you, his eyes glued to Jungkook. “Wanna take this upstairs? If you want a dress rehearsal, I’ll give you a platform.”

“Aww, you’d do that for us?” Jungkook coos with hyperbolic endearment. “Would your audience be into it?”

“My audience is 95% women, and 5% men with extremely good taste,” Taehyung drops his stats. “And 100% swing both ways violently.”

“Then lead the way.”

As Taehyung disappears into the dark corridor, Jungkook grabs you by the wrist to stay behind. He has those devilish lights flickering in his eyes again, and it makes your heart skip a few beats.

“Recess is now over,” he declares.

“So, back to do not disturb mode?” you ask.

“I think this should be more interactive, so you can keep speaking, but we still have rules in place,” he starts playing with your hair. “Three, in fact.”

“Listening?”

His face suddenly turns more stern, wordlessly letting you know that whatever he’s about to say is no joking matter.

“Don’t forget that your allegiance lies with me,” he emphasizes. “Don’t think about playing tricks or ganging up on me. You listen to me, not him.”

You nod.

“You don’t initiate physical contact. You wait for my commands,” he continues, “but feel free to go crazy while executing them. React as much as you want, however you want. Moan. Scream. The more you enjoy yourself, the happier you’ll make me.”

You nod again.

“But whatever you do,” he speaks very very slowly, slightly frowning, “you do NOT moan his name. The only name you’ll ever moan is mine. Is that clear?”

How can it NOT be clear when bro dropped it like fucking law?

When he said “The only name you will…”, he could have just stopped there. In fact, he should have stopped there, but it was a choice to say “will ever”. The only name “you will ever moan” is his. As in… not only for tonight, but like… forever.

You nod for the last time.

“Good girl,” he pecks your lips as your first well-deserved sticker. “Now let’s play.”

You follow the trail Taehyung has drawn with his cologne, and climb two flights of stairs in the dark corridor. It feels familiar when you walk into the lavish room dripping in reds and blacks; you remember it from a few livestreams. You can’t really tell if he actually lives here—it does look like a prince’s bedchambers, but he also has quite the set going on, at least a semi-professional one with all the expensive equipment lying around.

And to no one’s surprise, his choice of lighting for his den of sin is neon reds.

Jungkook settles on one of the armchairs right by the edge of the bed and volunteers to be your seat, pulling you into his lap. Taehyung returns with what looks like a few lavender-colored pills in his palm and offers them to Jungkook.

“You still partake, I hope. Will be a major buzzkill otherwise,” he speaks in the key of their degenerate memories together. “Hit two if you need it.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Jungkook readily accepts with a hearty laugh. “Man, my dick’s gonna hurt like a motherfucker tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“As it should. ‘I need a minute to get hard again’ isn’t exactly giving living legend of live porn,” Taehyung scoffs, his eyes glowing like orbs of fire fixated on you. “Every good thing has a price.”

“Indeed it does,” Jungkook proclaims, caressing your bottom lip with his thumb. “Stick your tongue out for me, baby.”

There could be fucking heroin in there, but you oblige with sheer enthusiasm, sucking on the finger that pressed the lavender pill on your tongue. It’s not because you are entirely blinded by your lust—Jungkook has asked you a question earlier that day, which sounded deceptively lighter despite the colossal weight it carried.

Do you or do you not trust me?

And when you said “I do,” you very much meant it. The “why” is not something explainable by words; you can only feel it. You can only feel that even if you’re going 200 mph in the wrong lane, this man would never let a single strand of your hair be harmed. Because whenever you’re with Jungkook, “danger” never truly exists.

It’s just an extra in the backdrop for the thrill.

“So… How much for a private show?” Jungkook asks, smile cocky, posture relaxed as if Taehyung is the visitor here. “My girl kinda loses it over that dick, you know.”

“WHAT NO I DO NOT SHUT UP!!!” you shriek at the top of your lungs, your scandalized reaction making both men howl with laughter.

“As you’re also intimately familiar, no show can do me justice,” Taehyung eventually responds. “I have to be experienced.”

“What do you say, baby?” Jungkook looks up at you. “Down for the full Kim Taehyung experience?”

It’s a once-in-several-lifetimes moment—could be an opportunity to seize or a bullet to dodge depending on how you wish to interpret it. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Taehyung stares at you with hooded eyes, head tilted, palms pressed on the mattress, then extends a hand like he’s daring you to come play.

Or set your fucking life on fire.

“Don’t mind if I do,” you respond at long last, reciprocating his serene smile.

“Give me a kiss,” Jungkook tugs on your wrist.

At least this time he has the courtesy to let you know rather than going straight for the jumpscare. When you lean into him, he damn near inhales you, kissing you with the kind of passion he never has before.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d suspect… it’s to send a petty message to Taehyung… or something.

“Go sit on his lap for me,” he whispers into your lips, forehead pressed to yours, tucking your hair behind your ear.

It takes a few seconds for you to come out of that trance, but you follow your orders. As you make your way to him, Taehyung spreads his legs even wider, letting you decide which thigh you would like as your new throne. You pick the left spot that has a magnificent Jungkook view and get comfortable, putting one arm around Taehyung’s shoulder while he curls his around your waist.

“Tsk, something’s not right,” Jungkook purses his lips, allegedly looking for the tiny but maddening flaw in his painting. He then snaps his fingers as if he’s finally spotted it. “Undress him. Just the top.”

You remove Taehyung’s blazer with zero rush, and he seems to enjoy his own striptease a bit too much. With every button you undo, you feel him grow bigger and harder under you, and when you finally reveal the gorgeous canvas you’ve only perceived through a screen, your lips part in disbelief that you’re merely inches away from painting it messy with your own hands.

If you had the luxury to initiate anything, that is.

“Now show me how wet you are for me,” Jungkook demands, slouching in his seat more.

His request is nothing that obscene, but when you’re wearing what you’re wearing, it feels like he’s asking you to gangbang a room full of people. You spread as wide as you can, and Jungkook lets out a stuttering exhale, biting his lips on instinct when the neon reds make the thick gloss coating your pussy glisten.

“Theeere you go,” he approves the final draft, contently nodding.

“So you lose it over me,” Taehyung holds your chin and turns your head towards his. “How?”

“I don’t remember ever confirming that,” you respond.

“Oh, come on, I don’t always get to hear direct feedback,” he attempts a playful persuasion, caressing your thighs lovingly but very much shamelessly.

“Direct feedback,” you repeat sarcastically. “Must be the most professional pseudonym I’ve heard for raging praise kink.”

Jungkook looks so entertained, grinning from ear to ear like he’s watching his team win in a tournament. Well, presently not much is at stake, so it’s not exactly giving championship game.

Doesn’t mean the semifinals are any less important, though.

“Is it… how I eat pussy?” Taehyung insists, hungrily staring at your folds as his touch climbs dangerously close to where he’s dying to be.

“Maybe,” you keep your ambiguous streak.

“But which one do you like better?” he tightens his grip around your waist. “How I lick, or how I fuck?”

“I like both very much, but the way you make out with a pussy takes the cake for me.”

“Oh, she likes both very much,” he lets his cheekbones rise to the stratosphere, orgasmically pleased with the answer he’s received. “Greedy. I like that.”

You can’t help the sighs you heave as he runs his hands all over your body. You know how mean this man can be when he wants to, but even when he gets too excited, unable to help the roughness of his touch, it’s the furthest thing from crude. There is this strange finesse to it, even a bit of worship in there if you squint.

And you still have no idea if you love being the object of his carnal desires just because it’s Taehyung, or because Jungkook is watching your every move.

“I don’t know why this is doing things to me,” he brushes his fingers on the fake tattoo behind your ear. The look in his eyes is indecipherable, but it visibly radiates sinister intent when he turns to Jungkook. “I need an answer. Gonna let me have her or what?”

“Have is a strong word. Let’s say I’ll allow you to experience her,” Jungkook rectifies. “Now that’d make one hell of a show. You should roll your cameras.”

“You’re actually gonna go through with it?” Taehyung questions, not even attempting to hide his enthusiasm.

“You’re the one that said you would give us a platform,” Jungkook reminds him. “I just have one condition.”

“Of course you do,” Taehyung snorts.

“Since we’re the talent tonight,” Jungkook divulges, “the stream’s revenue is ours in its entirety.”

“Fucking deal,” Taehyung instantly agrees, then points at the dock resting to Jungkook’s right. “Bring those to me.”

The dock holds two phones, one black and one white. Once he receives them, Taehyung opens the same app on both devices, one with a more elaborate dashboard, and begins his tutorial.

“These are the ‘dynamic cams’, and this phone is your control room,” he hands the black phone back to Jungkook. “You can switch between feeds, or choose multiple to broadcast. The static cams are located here, here, and here.” He points at the ceiling, the headboard, and the gigantic TV right across the bed. “They have motion sensors. If you’re not gonna film, just switch to auto mode, and they’ll do the work.”

“Not sure if I wanna know where you found those cameras,” Jungkook squints with a knowing smile, then looks around the room. “Before that, though, do you have any… accessories I can borrow? Preferably unused.”

“Top shelf,” Taehyung points at a large, black, safe-like cabinet right across him.

The chain around Jungkook’s neck jangles with each step he takes. The cabinet door opens with a metallic rattle, revealing some perverse treasure trove inside. It is what one would expect—all kinds of sex toys are exhibited on professionally lit shelves, some of which actually within display cases, and everything’s bedazzled with jewels.

And a voice at the back of your head tells you they’re not knock-offs at all.

“These are not fucking acrylic, is it?” Jungkook asks as if to confirm your theory, showing the bases of two blackish metal anal plugs. “Guess the red is ruby. What’s the black one?”

“Diamond,” Taehyung proudly answers. “If I’m gonna put something up my ass, it better fucking cost at least four digits.”

“Black diamond sounds A LOT more than four digits.”

“I said at least.”

Jungkook cracks up and continues his product review. “Very smooth finish,” he runs a finger on the shaft, then pulls the shelf out to show you all your options. “Point, baby. Which one do you like?”

You have to bite the inside of your cheeks to not laugh because this is fucking hysterical. Just this morning, you were pointing at pancakes, and now you’re supposed to point at what you think is the prettiest option to take up your ass as if this is goddamn Tiffany’s.

Your smirk grows bigger as you stare at him, and knowing his penchant for everything black, you point at the one with the diamond base.

“Your girl’s got taste, huh?” Taehyung places a soft kiss on your shoulder.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Jungkook pushes the shelf back in and closes the cabinet door. “What’d you expect when she fucks me on the regular?”

You what?

No, you goshdarn NOT! What does he mean rEguLaR, it happened ONE TIME! Well, one time after you made your arrangement official. Well, one time as in this is the very first installment of the said arrangement.

IT’S NOT LIKE YOU’VE BEEN COUNTING YOU’VE FUCKED TWELVE TIMES TODAY!

The questions in your head are about to drive you crazy. Is this for real, or is it a bit? Has Jungkook given him some instructions beforehand, and Taehyung’s just sticking to a script? Does Taehyung know what you and Jungkook actually are?

Do you know what you and Jungkook actually are?

Lost in the depths of your existential crisis, you haven’t even noticed Jungkook has made his way back to you. You gasp in surprise when he suddenly pulls on one of the chest straps and lets them unravel on their own to fully reveal your breasts, heaving a deep sigh at the sight.

“Rock hard,” he caresses your nipples with his thumbs. “God, it would look sexy as fuck with piercings. I’d cum untouched all over your pretty fucking face.”

He kneels to your left and wraps his lips around the hardened flesh, making you sigh just with sucks on your nipple. Taehyung follows suit on your right. With every deep exhale you let out, they moan a bit louder against your skin, and their soundwaves seep through you, rushing in your veins faster than your own blood.

“Come to my bed, beautiful,” Taehyung whispers into your ear. “Let’s get cozier.”

Don’t think about ganging up on me. You listen to me, not him.

A wave of panic washes over you, and you instantly look at Jungkook to gauge his reaction since defying him is not even the last thing you want. Much to your surprise, he gives permission with a nod, lightly pushing your chest to climb on the mattress. Taehyung rests his back against his headboard and pulls you into his lap, making you sit right between his legs. Your heart’s about to give out watching Jungkook crawl towards you, your blood pressure through the roof as he wraps his arms around your thighs.

Then he hits one lick from your clit, and your entire life flashes before your eyes.

A warm sensation starts spreading from your core to the rest of your body. Taehyung’s feather-like touch on your skin feels like he’s groping you as hard as he can. Jungkook’s tongue feels like he has three of them, making you flow a river in his mouth. Fuck ruining the sheets, you’re probably soaking through the mattress, and you are suddenly hit with these intense cravings. You want it to get worse, get harder, messier. You want it to get to a point where you have to beg for mercy. And you want them to turn a deaf ear and keep going until they both have their fill with you.

The lavender culprit is caught red-handed in the middle of a home invasion.

“What a good boy, isn’t he?” Taehyung softly chuckles, handing you the chains of Jungkook’s collar. “But I think he can eat better. What do you say?”

Your eyes find Jungkook as a knee-jerk reaction, and when he nods again, you wrap the chain around your hand and tug on it as harshly as you can. Instead of getting ticked off, he smiles into your pussy, absolutely loving this, and starts flicking his tongue on your clit with double the speed.

“Shh, no cumming,” he warns when your breathing quickens.

Then you find yourself in yet another ceaseless loop.

He brings you to the very edge, then stops. Brings you to the edge, then stops. Every time you’re about to cum, you force yourself to move away from him, and you do, but not because you can. Only because he lets you. Only because he can’t get enough of watching you lube yourself up.

“I said,” he sternly repeats, “no cumming.”

“Please,” you hold his head in between your hands to stop him. “P–Please slow down. I c— I can’t…”

But he doesn’t stop. Of course he doesn’t stop. He just keeps eating as if he wants to emboss your taste on his tongue permanently, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You just listen. You just take. You just selfishly receive just like he asked you to, and collect your good girl stickers one after the other.

Something within Taehyung snaps so abruptly that he suddenly spreads your legs even wider apart, heavily breathing down your neck.

“Faster,” he demands, growling through his gritted teeth like he’s the one being relentlessly stimulated. “Make her fucking come apart.”

“Please, don’t, I c— I can’t hold i— JUNGKOOK, PLEASE, FUCK!!!”

Maybe Taehyung’s body is covered in kerosene and Jungkook’s tongue is an arson-worthy match, and they call this shit normal when they set people’s bodies on fire just because they can. You can’t pinpoint the origin point of the blaze, though. Part of it is lust; you can tell that much, but there seems to be some other stuff lacing it.

“Aww, embarrassed?” Jungkook hands you the answer himself, more affectionately than taunting. “Did it feel too good?”

That orgasm was a fucking brain freeze—you have a slight headache and a complete blank slate in your head. You can’t produce a single word. All you can do is nod, but you’re dreading the punishment that’s going to follow for stepping out of line.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s okay,” he pacifies you, kissing all over your thighs. “Now Tae needs to keep your legs up for me, okay? Don’t worry, he’s gonna take very good care of you.”

You nod again.

“Good girl,” he steals a quick peck from your lips, adding one more sticker to your little scrapbook.

As Jungkook ties the straps on your chest back up, Taehyung loosens his death grip on you, his large hands tenderly massaging your sore thighs, and he drowns you in kisses all over your neck, your cheeks, and your lips. He’s pampering you so much that you might just fall asleep in his embrace. He pulls you back to earth with a little bite on your ear and spreads your legs again, holding them from behind your knees, and lifts them up. The strategic carving puts both your holes on full display for Jungkook, and it makes you feel a little too vulnerable.

And he absolutely drooools at the sight.

“I’m gonna fucking pass out, just look at this. Made to be used,” he hisses in delight, rubbing the tip of the plug against your drenched folds to get it wet. “You’re throbbing. You like it when I do this?”

If you could talk, you would throw some snark like, “Oh, I don’t know, is water wet, headass?” That tank crash of an orgasm paired with Taehyung’s kiss coma has turned you into an absolute puddle, and of course it makes you clench when this motherfucker talks to you like that.

“Do you want to be stuffed full, baby?” he stares at you like a starving hyena. “Craving your man’s cock again?”

Oh, he needs to shut the FUCK UP!

You know Jungkook to be a very smart man, if not the smartest one in your personal directory. He is perfectly capable of doing risk analyses, as well, so how come he can’t see how fucking dangerous his word choices are?!

How come he can’t see you’re trying so hard to stop yourself from believing that… that he…

“I’m gonna give it to you just the way you like it very very soon,” he places a soft kiss on your clit, then gently spreads your cheeks. “Now let’s make you prettier.”

He keeps dragging his tongue up to your oozing entrance, then down to your hips, smearing your slick everywhere. Your tensed thighs start to relax, but you still flinch with each lick into your tighter hole, no matter how careful he is.

“Deep breaths, beautiful,” Taehyung soothes you, his kisses still at work like a cozy blanket. “Focus on the pleasure. Doesn’t his tongue feel so fucking good in there?”

You fervently nod, no longer possessing enough strength to even open your eyes. You bask in that false sense of security Jungkook’s languid rhythm gives you, then properly jolt when he traps your clit between his lips again. He sucks on it with the happiest hums, and you finally feel the cold of the metal gingerly prodding your hole, soaking wet with your slick. He reaches for your hand, tightly locking his fingers with yours, and with each shallow thrust, the plug sinks a bit deeper inside you.

“Just like that. You’re doing so great. Look how happy you’re making hi— Theeere you go,” Taehyung keeps comforting you, grinning bigger when Jungkook swims back up to the surface again. “Looks beautiful, doesn’t it?”

“Sexiest fucking thing. I’m getting her one of these for daily use,” Jungkook damn near froths at the mouth with all the excitement crawling under his skin, then he leans into your face. “Comfortable?”

“I’ll… I’ll adjust,” you take another deep breath.

“Yes, you will. Of course you will. You’re so good for me,” he gives you a deep kiss, worth at least five stickers, then turns to Taehyung. “Let’s get this shit started.”

He hands Taehyung his phone, then pulls the armchair to the side of the bed, sitting on it with his legs resting on the mattress. As he’s testing the connection quality of his “dynamic cam”, Taehyung sets up the stream with what he thinks is a catchy title.

borrowing his girl bc i lost my fleshlight

“How does it feel to know we’re gonna make thousands of people cum tonight?” Taehyung pulls you under his arm.

“Kinda scary to realize how much I’m loving this,” you honestly respond.

He breaks into a satisfied smile, holds the phone up for you to see the screen, and finally hits “Stream”.

It’s just him in the frame for now, but you can see the flood of comments, flying by so fast that it’s impossible to catch a single word, let alone read them in full. Merely thirty seconds in, the viewer count is already at five digits and counting, and only then do you comprehend what a huge reach Taehyung actually has.

In your defense, who the fuck checks engagement stats when gooning?

“Hello there, my hellhounds. I have a really special treat for you tonight,” he greets his rabid fanbase. “An old friend is visiting with his girlfriend, but the thing is, they are a bit of an… experimental couple.”

What the FUCK kinda insane wording is that?!

This again. You just can’t tell if Taehyung is winging it or following instructions, but unfortunately, you don’t have the time to freak out about this right now. You shake your head and channel all your attention to the chat. The comments have slowed way down now; only Taehyung’s top subscribers have the privilege to stay on screen long enough to be noticed by him.

“So something interesting will take place here,” Taehyung shifts the camera to include you in the frame, showing you wave at the screen. “You get to fuck this beauty with me.”

ohhh pretty 🥰 are u set on 🍆 queen bc I'd wife the shit out of you. RESPECTFULLY! is the other half in the bed with you?

“He is filming us right now,” Taehyung turns to his director. “Say hi.”

Jungkook switches the feed to his POV, showing you and Taehyung snuggling on the bed, and wiggles his fingers in front of the lens. When the greeting is that veiled, of course it would leave the catastrophically horny audience unimpressed.

standard cuck or confident king? need deets tae hotness scale 1 to 100 🎤

“Oh, infinity. He’s so hot you’d fucking cream yourselves with a single look,” he instantly confirms. “Ripped body. Super charming. Tried hitting that myself actually, but he just doesn’t put out.”

All three of you laugh lazily, but it’s like Jungkook’s volume is somehow amplified in your ears. And even that much is enough to make your clit buzz as if he’s still vehemently munching on it.

What even…?

caaaap show us the body vids or it didn't happen

“Tsk, what did I even do to deserve this distrust?” Taehyung sighs, shaking his head in disapproval. “Get your tight ass up. They won’t believe me.”

Jungkook sets the phone down and stands up, and Taehyung orchestrates the perfect reveal. That mouthwatering physique is even more gorgeous under the red lights, and the tattoos look like a glow-in-the-dark map showing exactly where to lick. It’s not an unfamiliar sight by now, but the chain around his neck still makes your pussy throb, and his hard on pressing against his pants is about to make you cum untouched. As if to agree with you, the comments go off.

But it makes your feelings murky.

A part of you feels a bit of thrill that people find him this sexy, but another part of you feels insanely jealous for the very same reason. It’s nothing logically explicable. You simultaneously want everyone to drool over him, but also to not perceive him whatsoever.

HOOOOOLY FUCK 🫦 tae if ur fucking his girl someone should fuck him too its only fair hi im someone whats his name? 👀

“His name is… JK,” Taehyung divulges. “Shall we get started?”

Jungkook sits back down and takes control of the feed, nodding to signal your cue. Taehyung sets his phone to the side and shifts your body to straddle him.

Then something really weird happens.

You have masturbated to this man’s porn countless times. You still do on insomniac nights to tire yourself out. You have thirsted over him online and offline using excessively crass language, talking about what you would let him do to you day in and day out, whenever he wants, however he wants. The very same man just touches your face, but your heart still falls out of your chest. Because it feels like you’re cheating on Jungkook.

But WHY?

“He wants to watch you enjoy yourself, otherwise he wouldn’t bring you here,” Taehyung discreetly whispers in your ear, strangely reassuring. “Trust me.”

When he pulls away, you stare at his lips for a few seconds, forcing your brain into a hard reset, and submit your request.

“Then let’s see what all the full experience hype is about.”

He reciprocates your grin with an equally dangerous one, and when he takes your lips within his, the lavender culprit hijacks the feed of your brain. Whatever worry has started to bubble up is immediately put out when his tongue swirls around yours, and you let yourself go, just savoring Taehyung’s taste on your palate. It almost makes you laugh to notice he actually kisses like he eats pussy—with so much gusto, a little messy, and the wet sounds making you tingle in certain places.

“If that’s how you taste everywhere, I’m in fucking trouble,” he barely opens his eyes when he breaks the kiss, flashing an already fucked out smile.

“Then lucky for you, I don’t. Otherwise you would have tasted my man’s cum on my tongue.”

You have NO IDEA where the fuck that even came from, but with your inhibitions taking a nosedive, you don’t feel as embarrassed as you think you should. Heck, why should you? Jungkook was the one calling himself “your man” to your face, and so what if you’re just going along with it? HA!

Embarrassment may not be there, but you are still dead scared to look him in the eye. You just don’t want to see his reaction, especially if it will make you feel bad, so you deploy everything in your power to pretend he’s not there at all.

Then he goes ahead and forces you to acknowledge his presence, that motherfucker.

Oh, you hear him alright. You hear him loud and clear. You hear the way he hisses in delight as if he wants you to know he’s about to overdose on arousal, and it’s getting to your head so bad that he’s like this because he’s watching another man pleasure you.

Oh, you’re sooo fucked…

“So thoughtful of you. How did you know I like my donuts glazed?” Taehyung speaks politely like the royalty he is, catching you completely off guard when he suddenly flips you over. “You really shouldn’t have.”

And this is why Taehyung is called a prince. The prince of the nether realm, but still… He slithers down between your legs, but he is very cognizant that you had a feral animal going to town on you just moments ago. He works to soothe your body first, gives plenty of attention to your thighs, to every inch of your labia, just leaving very soft kisses all over. Only when he deems you are ready to endure his tongue does he cannonball into your pussy.

Also like a feral animal…

Of course you have wondered if he fakes it at all; the man performs for a living, but turns out Taehyung’s just a bona fide munch-ficionado. He completely loses himself in your taste, and you cannot believe you have the privilege of watching him make out with a pussy in 4K times infinity. From front row center!

“Mm, creamy,” he looks up at you expectantly. “Would you say I really know how to use that tongue, too?”

“Not bad at all,” you smile back at him.

i will NEVER get tired of watching this man eat pussy that clit 🫠 sooooo lickable 😮‍💨 zoom please!

Ever the fanservicing director, Jungkook zooms to the maximum, capturing the tongue-to-clit connection perfectly.

“Just tease it with the tip of your tongue. Don’t put any pressure.”

WHAT THE FUCK HIS VOICE???!!!!! sir you shutting up is a crime against humanity tf PLEEEEEASE DO A LIVE COMMENTARY

“Live commentary?” Jungkook chortles. “Your audience is way too horny, T.”

“Of course they are,” Taehyung loudly slurps on your slick. “Why do you think we vibe so hard?” 

“Give me a good angle. Cheek to thigh. Theeeere you go,” Jungkook approvingly nods, then switches the feed to your cam. “Show us how he munches on that clit, baby.”

Sure, would he like you to fucking DIE, as well?

You pick up Taehyung’s phone, filming him from the most salacious angle possible, and you suddenly hear a belt unbuckling to your right. Your clit throbs for whatever reason, and when you instinctively turn to the source of the sound, you almost combust seeing Jungkook stroking his girth.

Needless to say, it makes you throb harder.

“Gotta give it to you, Taeritorrials, your man knows how to eat,” he confesses to the audience. “Got me hard as fuck just watching.”

“Hear that?” Taehyung smirks, dying of ego inflation. “Tell him how my tongue feels on your cunt.”

“God, it feels fucking incredible…”

SUB GUYS FTW OH MY GOD YOU GOOD BOI YOU jerk it jk what else turns you on 👉👈

“Me? Everything about this girl turns me the fuck on.”

You kinda hate that you can’t see the comment feed because you’re dying to know what the context of this cursed conversation is. Meanwhile, Jungkook puts his own cam feed next to yours, showing how he lazily strokes his cock.

“I get so many intrusive thoughts about fucking her, I should be institutionalized. Look at what she does to me.”

omg simp SIIIIIMP taeritorrials adopt u jk <333

“Well, thank you,” he giggles. “Don’t you think your man should also jerk it while eating my girl’s pretty pussy?”

Well, no one has to tell Taehyung twice. His tongue not leaving your clit for one second, he unbuckles his belt and gets rid of his pants, giving Jungkook the perfect material to zoom in on.

will never not make my pussy throb that fucking SIZE need to sit on it rn  rn? try EVERY DAMN DAY

Jungkook has endured so much worse than this before and managed to stay perfectly unrattled. He is inclined to blame the lavender culprit for his silent spiral because every moan you let out, he feels it reverberate all over his body. Every glance you steal from him, he hears it as you calling out his name. Every time you touch Taehyung, he deludes himself into thinking you yearn to touch him instead.

And on the seventh-minute mark, he finally fucking loses it.

<< previous

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[bloodred-jk]

Wrong Passenger | JJK

Summary: The road trip was supposed to be with your best friend. Instead, you're stuck driving 500km with Jungkook—her infuriating older brother and the one person you love arguing with.

Genre: Enemies to Lovers • Road Trip Romance • Smut

Pairing: Jungkook × Reader

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content • Strong Language • Sexual Tension • Rough Scenes • Mild Angst • Fingering

Listen To:

ᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧ☾ ˖°˖☆ ˖°˖☽ᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧ ᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧ☾ ˖°˖☆ ˖°˖☽ᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧ

The plan had been simple.

You and your best friend had been talking about this music festival for months. The only downside? It was nearly 500 kilometers away.

Instead of taking a train or booking a flight, the two of you had agreed on something much more exciting—a road trip.

Just the two of you.

A whole weekend filled with loud music, overpriced gas station snacks, singing at the top of your lungs.

At least, that had been the plan.

You carried the last cooler out of the house, carefully placing it into the trunk of your car next to your already packed duffel bag.

"Perfect," you mumbled, shutting the trunk with a satisfied grin.

Your phone suddenly buzzed in your pocket.

The caller ID made you smile.

Mina ❤️

"Hey, I'm just about to head over to your place."

Silence.

"...Y/N."

The smile on your face slowly faded. "You sound way too serious."

"I know... and I'm really, really sorry."

Your stomach dropped. "What happened?"

You heard her sigh on the other end. "My manager just called. One of my coworkers called in sick, and they need me to cover the entire weekend."

You frowned. "What? No. Tell them you already have plans."

"I tried."

"And?"

"They basically told me it wasn't optional."

You closed your eyes, rubbing your forehead."You've got to be kidding me."

"I wish I was."

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

"So..." you muttered. "I guess I'm going alone."

"Actually..." Mina hesitated. "I already found someone to take my place."

You froze. "...What?"

"I didn't want you driving all that way by yourself."

"Mina."

"So... I asked my brother."

Your grip on the phone tightened. "...Which brother?" She had 2 brothers.

"...Jungkook."

You stared at your driveway. "Mina."

"He already agreed!"

"Mina."

"He should be there any minute now."

Your eye twitched. "I would literally rather drive five hundred kilometers alone than spend a weekend trapped in a car with your brother."

A nervous laugh echoed through the speaker. "Yeah... he kind of said the same thing about you."

Before you could answer, the sound of a car pulling into your driveway made you slowly look up.

A black SUV rolled to a stop in front of your house. The driver's door opened.

Jungkook.

Hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, looking just as unimpressed as you felt.

You stood there for a second, completely frozen, hoping this was some kind of joke. It wasn't. Jungkook shut the driver's door behind him, slinging a backpack over one shoulder before glancing at you with the same indifferent expression he always wore around you.

A frustrated sigh escaped your lips.

Of all the people Mina could have asked, it had to be him.

You and Jungkook had never gotten along. Ever since the day you met him, every conversation somehow turned into an argument. One sarcastic remark always led to another until one of you walked away annoyed. You couldn't remember a single interaction that hadn't ended with at least one eye roll, a scoff, or a muttered insult.

Which was exactly why none of this made any sense.

Why had he agreed?

He disliked you just as much as you disliked him.

You marched across the driveway until only a few steps separated you, crossing your arms tightly over your chest.

"I'm not getting in a car with you."

Jungkook barely reacted. His eyes briefly met yours before he looked past you at the packed trunk. "Hello to you too."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

Your jaw clenched. "No way in hell am I spending an entire weekend trapped with you."

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, and somehow that irritated you even more.

"Trust me," he said calmly, "it wasn't exactly my first choice either."

"Then why are you here?"

He shrugged as if it wasn't worth discussing. "Mina asked."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

You let out a humorless laugh, throwing your hands in the air. "Unbelievable."

He watched your little outburst without saying a word, almost amused by how quickly you were losing your patience.

"You could've just said no."

"And leave my sister worrying about you driving five hundred kilometers alone?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I would've been perfectly fine."

"I'm sure you would've."

The hint of disbelief in his voice made your blood boil.

"I don't need you to babysit me."

"And I don't remember offering."

Silence settled between you, thick enough to cut with a knife. You glared at him while he simply stared back, unfazed as always. Somehow that calm expression of his was more infuriating than if he had argued back.

Your phone buzzed again.

Mina. You answered immediately.

"Tell me you came to your senses and sent him home."

Instead, all you heard was your best friend's guilty sigh.

"Mina," you said through gritted teeth, pinching the bridge of your nose as you turned your back to Jungkook. "Tell me this isn't actually happening."

"I know, I know," she sighed for what felt like the hundredth time. "Please don't be mad."

"Oh, I'm way past mad."

"I just... I didn't want you driving all that way by yourself."

"I would've survived."

"I know you would've," she replied softly, "but I'd spend the entire weekend worrying. At least with Jungkook there, I know you'll be safe."

You glanced over your shoulder.

Jungkook hadn't interrupted once. He simply stood beside his car, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, giving you the space to finish the call.

"Mina, you know I can't stand him."

"I know."

"And he can't stand me."

"I know."

"We argue about literally everything."

"I know."

"Then why would you do this to us?"

A quiet laugh escaped her before she immediately caught herself. "I'm sorry."

You let out a long, exhausted breath, closing your eyes for a moment. The silence stretched between the two of you until Mina spoke again, her voice noticeably smaller. "..Please?"

You'd known Mina long enough to recognize when she genuinely felt bad, and right now she sounded absolutely miserable.

Your shoulders slowly dropped. "You owe me."

"I know."

"If this weekend ends with one of us getting arrested, I'm blaming you."

She laughed, relief flooding her voice. "I'll take full responsibility."

You shook your head, unable to suppress the small smile threatening to appear. "You're unbelievable."

"I love you too."

"Yeah, yeah."

After ending the call, you stared at your phone for another second before slipping it back into your pocket.

This was, without question, the worst idea Mina had ever had.

With a defeated sigh, you grabbed the handle of your suitcase and dragged it toward Jungkook's SUV.

He watched you approach without saying anything, though one corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly.

"I wouldn't smile if I were you," you muttered, stopping beside the trunk. You shot him a glare sharp enough to kill.

He simply reached for your suitcase. "I've got it."

"I can carry my own bag."

"I'm aware."

"Then don't touch it."

Ignoring your protest entirely, he lifted it into the trunk with effortless ease before closing it.

Jungkook leaned against the car for a second before looking at you. "Ready?"

You looked from him to the passenger seat, then back again.

A whole weekend. Five hundred kilometers. One car.

You had a feeling this was going to be the longest—and most exhausting—weekend of your life.

The first twenty minutes passed in complete silence. The only sounds filling the car were the steady hum of the engine and the occasional rush of passing traffic as other vehicles sped by. The highway stretched endlessly ahead, disappearing into the horizon beneath a cloudless sky.

You rested your elbow against the door, absentmindedly watching the scenery blur past the window. Fields, bridges, exit signs—it all looked the same after a while.

You stole a glance at Jungkook. One hand rested loosely on the steering wheel while the other tapped lightly against his thigh to a rhythm only he seemed to hear. His gaze never left the road, his expression calm and unreadable.

With a quiet sigh, you reached toward the dashboard and switched on the radio.

Music instantly filled the car.

A pop song. You wrinkled your nose. "No."

A country song. "Absolutely not."

Heavy metal. You grimaced. "Seriously?"

Station after station, your finger continued pressing the button, giving each song barely two seconds before dismissing it.

A soft scoff escaped Jungkook, though he kept his eyes fixed on the road. "You always this picky?"

You ignored him and skipped another station.

A love song. "Ew."

Just as your thumb reached for the button again, a warm hand suddenly wrapped around your wrist.

The unexpected contact made your breath catch.

Without looking away from the road, Jungkook gently but firmly pushed your hand away from the radio.

"Leave it." His voice was calm, almost lazy, but carried enough authority to make you pause.

You slowly turned your head, staring at him in disbelief before looking down at where his hand still rested against yours. "So now you get to decide what we listen to?"

"I get to decide that we actually listen to something before you skip it after two seconds."

"I knew you had terrible taste."

"And I knew you had no patience."

You folded your arms across your chest, leaning back into the passenger seat with an exaggerated huff. "This song is awful."

Jungkook merely allowed the smallest hint of a smile to tug at the corner of his mouth.

"You know," he said after a moment, "for someone who didn't want to come with me, you seem awfully comfortable acting like you own the passenger seat."

You let out a dry laugh. "And for someone who supposedly didn't want to come either... you're smiling way too much."

"I smile when I'm entertained."

"And what's entertaining?"

He finally glanced at you for the briefest second. "You."

That single word lingered in the air far longer than either of you expected.

Silence settled over the car once again, heavier than before. Neither of you made another attempt to speak, almost as if an unspoken agreement had been made. You turned your attention back to the window, pretending to be fascinated by the endless stretch of highway rushing past. Beside you, Jungkook remained focused on the road.

You were determined to ignore him.

And judging by his complete lack of interest in starting another argument, he seemed equally determined to ignore you.

At least, that's what it looked like.

Every now and then, almost against your own will, your eyes drifted toward him. Just a quick glance. Nothing more. The way the sunlight filtered through the windshield, catching the dark strands of his hair. The relaxed grip he had on the steering wheel. The quiet concentration written across his face.

The moment your gaze lingered a second too long, he glanced in your direction. Your eyes snapped back to the window.

There was something strangely unsettling about sharing such a confined space with someone for hours. You became hyperaware of every movement he made—the subtle shift of his shoulders, the quiet sigh that escaped him, the way he adjusted his hand on the steering wheel. It was impossible not to notice him.

You looked over once more, only to find his eyes already on you. Then he looked back at the road as though nothing had happened.

You frowned.

"If you're going to keep staring," you muttered, still looking out the window, "at least try to be subtle."

A brief chuckle escaped him. "I was about to say the exact same thing to you."

You turned your head, narrowing your eyes. "I wasn't staring."

"No?" One brow arched ever so slightly. "Then why do you keep looking at me?"

"I was checking if your eyes were still on the road."

"Mhm."

"They were."

"Good to know."

You scoffed, folding your arms tighter across your chest. "You're insufferable."

"And yet," he replied with the faintest hint of amusement in his voice, "you've looked at me at least six times in the last ten minutes."

Heat crept into your cheeks before you could stop it. "I have not."

"You have." His lips curled into a smug smile.

You tore your gaze away from him before he could notice the faint warmth creeping into your cheeks. It was ridiculous, really. You'd known Jungkook for years—through Mina, family dinners, birthdays, and countless occasions where your paths had inevitably crossed. If there was one thing you had never denied, even to yourself, it was that he was attractive. Painfully so. The kind of attractive people couldn't help but stare at. Dark eyes, effortless confidence, an annoyingly pretty smile.

Unfortunately, his personality had always managed to overshadow all of that.

Or at least, that's what you liked to tell yourself.

His arrogance, his sarcastic remarks, the way he always seemed to know exactly which buttons to push—it was enough to make you forget every objectively attractive thing about him within seconds. He had an infuriating talent for getting under your skin, and somehow that had become the only thing you associated him with.

Still...

Being trapped in a car with him for hours made it surprisingly difficult to ignore the details you usually overlooked. The way the sunlight caught the soft strands of his dark hair whenever the car passed beneath an opening in the trees. The veins running along his forearm as his hand rested casually on the steering wheel. Even the quiet concentration on his face as he drove was... annoyingly attractive.

You frowned at yourself.

Get it together.

Maybe that was exactly why the two of you had never gotten along. Every conversation somehow turned into a competition. It didn't matter how harmless it started—within minutes, one sarcastic comment would lead to another until the two of you were arguing over something completely ridiculous. Neither of you ever backed down. Neither of you ever admitted defeat.

"You know," you said, absentmindedly tracing your finger along the edge of the window, "for someone who claims to be bored, you're awfully invested in counting how many times I look at you."

Jungkook's grip shifted on the steering wheel. "You were making it easy."

You turned to him with an incredulous expression. "So now it's my fault?"

"I didn't say that."

"You did."

A quiet sigh escaped him, one that sounded suspiciously close to amusement.

"See?" he said. "This."

"What?"

"This is exactly why talking to you is exhausting."

You stared at him. "Talking to me is exhausting?"

He finally glanced at you, one eyebrow raised. "Did I stutter?"

A disbelieving laugh escaped your lips. "That's rich coming from someone whose personality consists of being annoyingly arrogant."

"I'm not arrogant."

"You absolutely are."

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You're stubborn."

You folded your arms across your chest. "I'm not."

Jungkook looked at you for a brief moment before the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

You clicked your tongue in annoyance, turning away ore he could see the reluctant smile threatening to appear.

"I hate you."

His answer came without hesitation. "I know."

"...Good."

"Good."

The tension inside the SUV had become almost tangible, stretching between the two of you like a wire pulled too tight. Every glance lingered a little too long, every sarcastic remark carried a little more weight than it should have. There wasn't a single conversation the two of you could have without it ending in an argument. It was almost impressive.

Mina had once jokingly compared the two of you to magnets with the wrong poles—destined to push each other away no matter how close you got.

She wasn't wrong.

You couldn't stand the way Jungkook always had an answer for everything. The infuriating calmness in his voice. The confidence that bordered on cockiness. The stupid little smirk that appeared whenever he knew he'd gotten under your skin.

And judging by the way he occasionally glanced in your direction before looking away again, the feeling seemed entirely mutual.

Neither of you understood the other. Neither of you particularly wanted to.

Yet somehow, after barely two hours on the road, you already knew one thing for certain.

Five hundred kilometers had never sounded so painfully long.

The highway had grown noticeably quieter by the time the fuel warning light flickered onto the dashboard. The digital clock read 9:53 p.m., and exhaustion had begun to settle over both of you. Even your arguments had lost some of their fire, replaced by tired sighs and the occasional sarcastic remark.

Without saying a word, Jungkook steered the SUV toward the next gas station and parked beside an empty pump. He switched off the engine before unbuckling his seatbelt.

"We need gas," he said, glancing at the fuel gauge. Then his eyes met yours for the first time in several minutes. "Look for a motel while I fill up. I'm not driving all night."

You nodded, already unlocking your phone. "Fine."

Jungkook stepped out, letting the door fall shut behind him, leaving you alone with nothing but the glow of your screen.

You opened several booking apps, your thumb scrolling through one accommodation after another. Most were either fully booked or outrageously expensive. The few affordable ones had ratings bad enough to make you question whether you'd wake up with all your belongings still there.

After a few more minutes, one listing finally caught your attention.

"...You've got to be kidding me."

Only one room remaining.

You stared at the screen for a long second before rubbing your temples.

Out of every possible scenario, this had to happen.

The passenger door opened, pulling you from your thoughts. Jungkook slid back into the driver's seat, setting a small plastic bag on the center console before fastening his seatbelt.

"Find anything?" he asked as he started the engine.

"...Yeah."

He glanced at you briefly. "Well?"

You hesitated. "There's a motel about an hour from here."

"Sounds good."

"...There's only one room left."

For the first time in a while, he actually looked at you. "So?"

You blinked. "So?"

"Yeah."

You stared at him in disbelief. "Jungkook, there's one room."

"I heard you."

"...Meaning we'd have to share it."

He shrugged as though you had just informed him it might rain tomorrow. "And?"

"And?" you repeated, almost laughing. "That's your response?"

He pulled out of the gas station and merged back onto the highway. "I don't see the issue."

You looked at him as though he'd completely lost his mind. "I do."

"It's one night."

"One night in the same room."

Another shrug. "If it bothers you that much, I'll sleep on the floor."

You frowned.

"I've slept in worse places." His answer was so casual it almost irritated you more than if he'd argued back.

"You really don't care?"

"No."

You let out an exasperated sigh, leaning back against your seat. "This is literally my worst-case scenario."

A quiet chuckle escaped him. "I figured."

"I was looking forward to having at least one place where I didn't have to look at your face."

He smirked without taking his eyes off the road. "That's a shame."

"And don't think sleeping on the floor suddenly makes you some kind of gentleman."

"I wasn't trying to." His calmness only made your frustration worse.

With an irritated huff, you folded your arms across your chest and looked out the window again.

One more hour until you would be forced to spend the night in the same motel room as the one person you could barely tolerate.

This weekend just kept getting better.

You buried yourself in your own frustration, stubbornly staring out the passenger window as the headlights carved through the darkness ahead. The thought of sharing a motel room with Jungkook replayed in your head over and over again, each time sounding worse than the last.

Just as you were mentally preparing yourself for what would undoubtedly be the most uncomfortable night of your life, Jungkook cleared his throat.

"Oh," he said casually, keeping one hand on the steering wheel. "I almost forgot."

You didn't bother looking at him. "What now?"

"I brought you something."

Your brows knitted together. Slowly, you turned your head. "What?"

Without another word, he reached for the plastic bag resting between the seats and pulled out a familiar can before placing it carefully in the cup holder beside you.

Your favorite energy drink.

Then came a bag of your favorite chips. And finally, the chocolate bar you always bought whenever you stopped at a convenience store.

You stared at the small pile in silence, your mind taking a second longer than usual to process what you were looking at. "...What is this?"

"I told you," Jungkook replied simply. "I brought you something."

You blinked. "I... didn't ask you to."

"I know."

"Then why did you buy it?"

He shrugged, his eyes never leaving the road ahead. "You forgot to." His answer caught you completely off guard.

"You noticed?"

"You were too busy looking for a motel."

A quiet silence followed. Your gaze drifted back down to the snacks.

He had bought your favorites.

"How did you even know these are my favorites?"

This time, Jungkook actually glanced at you before returning his attention to the road. "You always buy them."

"I do?"

"Every time Mina drags us into a convenience store. A faint smile tugged at the corner of Jungkook's mouth.

You shook your head, trying to suppress the small smile threatening to betray you. "I still think you're annoying."

For the first time since the trip had begun, the corners of your lips lifted ever so slightly.

Long enough for Jungkook to catch it.

You couldn't explain why, but the gesture stayed with you.

It wasn't the snacks themselves. It was the fact that he had remembered. Somewhere between years of sarcastic remarks, eye rolls, and endless arguments, Jungkook had somehow noticed the little things about you—the same way you had absentmindedly remembered his favorite banana milk.

The realization unsettled you more than you cared to admit.

Your fingers curled around the cold can of your energy drink as you stared at it for a moment before quietly opening it. The familiar hiss broke the silence inside the car, followed by a small sip.

"...Thanks," you said, your voice noticeably softer than before.

Jungkook kept his eyes on the road.

Another brief silence settled between you.

"I just..." You looked down at the can in your hands. "I wasn't expecting that."

He shrugged lightly. "It wasn't a big deal."

But somehow it felt like one.

"So..." he said, his tone unusually relaxed. "Which artist are you looking forward to seeing the most?"

You blinked, surprised by the genuine question.

"The Rose," you answered without hesitation. "I've wanted to see them live for years."

He nodded thoughtfully. "They're good."

You looked at him. "You know them?"

He gave you a sideways glance. "What? You think I only listen to gym playlists?"

A quiet laugh escaped you before you could stop it. "I kind of did."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

You smiled faintly, shaking your head. "What about you?"

He thought for a second. "Probably DPR Ian."

"Really?"

"Mhm."

"I honestly didn't expect that."

He laughed again, this time without a sarcastic remark to follow.

The conversation continued surprisingly naturally after that. You talked about previous concerts, embarrassing festival experiences, terrible food at music venues, and the absurd prices of merchandise. Every now and then one of you would tease the other, but it never escalated into one of your usual arguments. There were no sharp remarks, no need to prove who was right, no stubborn refusal to let the other finish a sentence.

It was... nice.

An hour later, the glowing neon sign of the motel finally appeared at the side of the road.

Jungkook pulled into the nearly empty parking lot before switching off the engine. "We're here."

You glanced outside. The building had definitely seen better days. The faded sign buzzed quietly above the reception office, and the pale red lights along the balconies flickered every few seconds. It wasn't exactly inviting, but after nearly 4 hours on the road, you doubted either of you cared anymore.

Inside the reception, check-in took less than five minutes. The elderly receptionist handed Jungkook a single keycard with a polite smile. "Room twelve. End of the hallway."

You exchanged a quick glance with Jungkook.

One room.

The room wasn't luxurious by any means, but clean enough for one night. A queen-sized bed occupied most of the space, a small wooden nightstand stood between the bed and the wall, and an old television hung opposite it. Near the window sat a tiny round table with two mismatched chairs, while a narrow door led into a surprisingly tidy bathroom. The wallpaper looked slightly faded, and the air carried the faint scent of fresh linen mixed with industrial cleaner, but after a full day of driving, it felt more than acceptable.

You slowly set your bag beside the bed before turning to Jungkook.

Neither of you said a word.

Your eyes moved from the bed to him.

And suddenly, the peaceful drive during the last hour didn't seem nearly as important anymore.

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to look anywhere but at him.

"I... I'm going to change," you mumbled, reaching for your overnight bag. "I'm not sleeping in jeans."

Jungkook, who had just set his backpack down beside the wall, gave a small nod. "Go ahead."

Without another word, you disappeared into the bathroom, quietly locking the door behind you.

The moment you were alone, you let out a long, exhausted breath. Your palms rested against the edge of the sink as you stared at your own reflection.

The cool bathroom light only emphasized how tired you looked. Your hair was slightly messy from hours in the car, and there were faint signs of exhaustion beneath your eyes.

You inhaled slowly...

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, trying to ignore the uncomfortable knot forming in your stomach. It wasn't fear—far from it. It was simply the awkwardness of the situation. You and Jungkook could barely survive a ten-minute conversation without arguing.

Now you were expected to share a room.

"Fantastic," you muttered under your breath.

After changing into an oversized T-shirt and a pair of comfortable shorts, you splashed some cold water on your face before finally unlocking the door.

You stepped into the room and immediately froze.

Jungkook stood a few feet away with his back facing you, apparently in the middle of changing his shirt.

Broad shoulders. Defined muscles stretching beneath warm skin. Dark ink traced across his arm and continued over his shoulder blade. The tattoos caught your attention before you could stop yourself, intricate against the soft glow of the bedside lamp.

Your breath hitched almost imperceptibly.

Oh... God.

Every coherent thought vanished from your mind.

You had always known Jungkook was painfully attractive.

Your eyes lingered a second longer than they should have.

"You're staring." His voice broke through your thoughts so suddenly that you nearly jumped.

Before you could deny it, Jungkook turned around, one eyebrow raised as he met your gaze. There wasn't any mockery in his expression—just the faintest hint of amusement.

Heat instantly rushed to your face. "I wasn't staring," you replied far too quickly.

His lips curved into a subtle smile. "No?"

"No."

He folded his shirt over one shoulder, clearly unconvinced. "You've been standing there for at least ten seconds."

"I was..." You searched desperately for an excuse, your eyes flicking anywhere but directly at him. "...thinking."

"About my back?"

You groaned, covering your face with one hand. "Can you not make this worse?"

A quiet laugh escaped him. "I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to."

For a brief moment, neither of you spoke. Then Jungkook reached for a clean T-shirt lying on the bed and slipped it on without another comment.

He had caught you looking.

And judging by the amused smile he wore as he sat down on the edge of the bed...

He wasn't going to let you forget it anytime soon.

You climbed into bed without another word, pulling the blanket up to your shoulders as you settled onto the far edge of the mattress. Every movement felt oddly calculated, as if getting too comfortable would somehow make the situation even more real.

Across the room, Jungkook grabbed one of the spare blankets from the closet and spread it across the carpet before placing a pillow beneath his head.

Just like he'd said he would. He simply made himself comfortable—or at least, he tried to.

The room fell silent.

The only sound was the quiet hum of the old air conditioner struggling against the summer heat.

You stared at the ceiling, hands folded beneath the blanket, but sleep refused to come.

His broad shoulders. The defined muscles across his back. The dark tattoos on his arm.

You squeezed your eyes shut.

Seriously?

Of all the things your brain could replay, it had chosen that.

A quiet rustling pulled you from your thoughts. You glanced toward the floor.

Jungkook shifted onto his side before letting out a low sigh.

A minute later, he turned again. The blanket crinkled beneath him every time he moved.

Apparently, the floor wasn't nearly as comfortable as he'd made it sound.

He stretched one arm beneath his head, adjusted the pillow, then quietly muttered something under his breath before rolling onto his back again.

You watched him for another moment.

A small knot of guilt settled in your chest.

You weren't heartless.

Another few minutes passed.

You finally let out a quiet breath. "...Jungkook."

His movements stopped. "Hm?"

You hesitated, almost regretting opening your mouth. "...Come up here before you throw your back out."

He slowly lifted his head to look at you. "Are you sure?"

You nodded, avoiding his eyes. "Yeah."

He raised an eyebrow. "I thought sharing a room was already your worst nightmare."

"It still is."

A faint smile tugged at his lips. "Then what changed?"

You sat up with an exaggerated sigh. "I'm trying to be a decent human being."

He chuckled softly. "That's new."

You shot him a look. "Don't make me change my mind."

"I'm getting up."

He pushed himself off the floor and walked over to the other side of the bed while you immediately reached for every spare pillow you could find.

"What are you doing?" he asked, watching with clear amusement.

One by one, you stacked the pillows down the center of the mattress, carefully creating a ridiculously uneven barrier between your side and his.

You took one last pillow and squeezed it into the gap with a satisfied nod. "There."

Jungkook stared at your creation for several seconds before letting out an unexpected laugh. "You are such a child."

"It's called setting boundaries."

He climbed into bed anyway, careful not to disturb your masterpiece. "I wasn't planning on invading your side."

"Good." You couldn't help the tiny smile tugging at your lips.

Jungkook settled onto his back, folding one arm behind his head as he looked up at the ceiling. "You know," he said after a moment, "that wall isn't going to stop me if I decide to cross."

You turned your head so quickly you nearly knocked one of the pillows over. "What?"

A grin spread across his face. "I'm kidding."

You glared at him. "You're not funny."

"I thought it was."

"Go to sleep."

"Yes, ma'am."

You rolled your eyes before turning onto your side, facing away from him.

The room fell quiet once more.

You lay there in the heavy silence, the makeshift pillow wall a flimsy shield against the growing awareness of him. The air felt thicker now, charged with the kind of tension that made your skin prickle. Despite your best efforts, your mind kept replaying fragments of the evening—the way his muscles had flexed under the dim light, the dark ink trailing down his skin. You squeezed your eyes shut, annoyed at your own weakness.

A low, amused hum broke the quiet. Jungkook shifted onto his side, the mattress dipping under his weight as he faced the barrier. His voice cut through the darkness, smooth but edged with that signature arrogance.

"You know," he said, his tone lazy yet pointed, "I saw the way you were staring at me earlier. When you came out of the bathroom. Couldn't keep your eyes off my back... or lower." He let out a soft, mocking chuckle. "What was it, exactly? The tattoos? Or were you imagining what else was hiding under those sweatpants?"

Your eyes snapped open, heat rushing to your face in a fierce blend of embarrassment and indignation. Your heart stuttered, then raced, a confusing knot of irritation twisting in your chest. How dare he call you out like that—especially when you’d been trying so hard to forget it yourself?

"You’re delusional," you shot back, your voice sharper than intended, though it wavered slightly. You turned toward the pillows, glaring at the shadowed outline of his face. "I wasn’t staring. And even if I glanced, it was only because you were taking up half the room like the arrogant prick you are."

Jungkook’s grin was audible in his reply, low and provocative. "Liar. Your eyes lingered. I felt it." He reached out, his fingers lightly tracing the top of one pillow as if testing its stability. The casual movement sent an unwelcome spark through you, your body betraying your words with a subtle flush of warmth. "It’s cute how you’re pretending you hate every second of this. But that little pause you had... tells me otherwise."

You sat up slightly, propping yourself on one elbow, the blanket slipping down your shoulders. Frustration simmered beneath your skin, mingling with an unwanted flicker of heat low in your stomach. Part of you wanted to shove the entire pillow wall onto him. Another part—the traitorous one—wondered what would happen if you didn’t.

"Don’t flatter yourself," you muttered, though your gaze involuntarily traced the strong line of his shoulder visible above the pillows. "I still can’t stand you. This doesn’t change anything. You’re still the same insufferable jerk who drives me insane."

He laughed quietly, the sound rich and annoyingly attractive in the dark. "Yeah? Then why’s your voice shaking?" Jungkook’s eyes locked onto yours through the narrow gap, dark and intense, holding a challenge that made your pulse thunder. "Keep telling yourself that. But I bet if I knocked this pathetic wall down right now, you wouldn’t stop me as fast as you’d like."

The words hung between you, thick with suggestion. Your breath hitched, a confusing rush of anger and reluctant desire warring inside you. You hated how your body reacted—skin tingling, thighs pressing together instinctively—while your mind screamed at you to push back.

"Try it," you challenged softly, your tone defiant even as heat pooled deeper. "And I’ll make sure you regret it."

Jungkook’s smirk deepened, but he didn’t move closer. Instead, he settled back against his pillow, watching you with that maddening mix of amusement. "We’ll see about that."

The room fell quiet again, but the peace was gone. Tension crackled in the air, the pillow barrier suddenly feeling far too insignificant against the pull of emotions neither of you wanted to name.

The tension in the room had grown almost unbearable, thick and electric, pressing down on your chest like a physical weight. Every breath felt heavier, the air between you charged with something dangerous and unspoken. The pillow wall, once a childish declaration of boundaries, now seemed laughably fragile—a pathetic attempt to hold back the inevitable.

You lay rigid on your side, staring at the shadowed ceiling, but your mind refused to quiet. Every inch of you was hyper-aware of him: the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth radiating across the divide, the low, mocking timbre of his voice still echoing in your ears. God, you wanted to forget it all—the arguments, the resentment, the years of mutual irritation. You wanted to reach out, tear the pillows away, and let the storm break. But you hesitated, fingers clutching the blanket as if it could anchor you.

"Still pretending?" Jungkook murmured after a long silence, his voice low and rough, laced with that infuriating smugness. He shifted closer to the barrier, the mattress creaking softly under him. "I can practically hear you thinking over there. What's it going to take for you to admit you're curious?"

You turned sharply toward the pillows, heart pounding furiously against your ribs. Anger flared hot and familiar, a shield you desperately needed. "Curious? About you?" you snapped, though your voice came out breathier than you intended, betraying the heat pooling low in your belly. "Don't make me laugh. You're the last person I'd ever want like that. Arrogant, self-absorbed—"

"Yet you couldn't stop staring," he interrupted, cutting through your tirade with effortless precision. A soft chuckle followed, dark and velvety. "Your eyes were practically devouring me earlier. Tell me, did you like what you saw? Because I sure as hell noticed."

The words sent a fresh wave of embarrassment crashing over you, mingling with a traitorous spark of desire that made your thighs press together instinctively. You hated him for it—for seeing through you so easily, for making your body react when your mind screamed to push him away. Everything inside you was screaming for him right now: the ache building between your legs, the way your skin flushed with need, the overwhelming urge to rip that ridiculous wall down and feel his hands on you.

"Shut up," you hissed, sitting up abruptly and hugging your knees to your chest. Your hands trembled slightly as you adjusted one of the pillows, reinforcing the barrier even as you longed to destroy it. "This doesn't change anything. I still can't stand you. You're infuriating, Jungkook. Always have been."

He propped himself up on one elbow, his dark eyes gleaming in the faint moonlight slipping through the curtains. The smirk on his lips was visible even in the dimness, but there was something hungrier beneath it now, a tension mirroring your own. "Yeah? Then why are you breathing like that?" he asked, his voice dropping lower, rougher. "Why haven't you told me to fuck off and sleep on the floor again?"

You opened your mouth to retort, but the words caught in your throat. The atmosphere refused to shift, no matter how much you tried to cling to the familiar comfort of arguments. The charged silence wrapped around you both, heavy with unspoken want, making every small movement feel intimate and loaded.

"I... I should," you whispered finally, frustration and longing twisting together in your chest. Your gaze lingered on the strong column of his neck, the way his shirt clung to his shoulders.

Jungkook watched you intently, his own breathing uneven now. "But you won't," he said softly, almost like a dare. "Because deep down, you feel it too. And it's driving you crazy."

The tension stretched tighter, almost unbearable, the air thick with possibility and resentment. Neither of you moved to break the wall, but the mood between you had irrevocably changed—heated, restless, and impossible to ignore.

Your heart hammered relentlessly, a chaotic rhythm of resentment and raw, unwanted desire. You wanted to hate him—needed to—but your body betrayed you at every turn, aching in ways that left you dizzy and frustrated.

Jungkook’s eyes never left yours through the narrow gap in the pillows. Slowly, deliberately, he sat up fully, the mattress shifting under his weight. Without a word, he reached out and began pushing the pillows aside, one by one, his movements calm but insistent. The barrier you had so carefully built crumbled between you, exposing the small space that suddenly felt far too intimate.

“What are you doing?” you whispered sharply, though you made no move to stop him. Your voice trembled with a mix of defiance and anticipation.

“Getting tired of this game,” he murmured, sliding closer until his body hovered near yours. The heat from his skin radiated against you, intoxicating and dangerous. He leaned in, his broad shoulders blocking out the faint moonlight, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. “You’ve been fighting this all night… but I saw how you looked at me. Bet you’re already wet just thinking about it, aren’t you?”

His low, filthy words sent a violent shiver racing down your spine. Heat flooded your core, sharp and insistent, making your thighs clench involuntarily. You hated how easily he unraveled you, how his voice—husky and confident—made your breath hitch and your mind spiral.

“Jungkook…” you protested weakly, but the sound came out more like a plea. Your hands fisted the blanket, torn between shoving him away and pulling him closer.

He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your ear as he brushed his lips lightly along the sensitive skin just below it. “That’s what I thought,” he whispered, his voice dropping even lower, dripping with sin. “I bet if I slipped my hand between those pretty thighs right now, I’d find you soaked for me. All that attitude, and your body’s begging for my cock.”

A soft, involuntary whimper escaped your lips, equal parts fury and overwhelming need. Your cheeks burned, your pulse thundered in your ears, and every inch of you felt electrified. You hated him—God, you still hated him—but the ache between your legs had become unbearable, a throbbing emptiness that screamed for relief.

“I can’t stand you,” you gasped, even as your body leaned toward him, traitorous and desperate.

“I know,” he breathed against your ear, nipping lightly at your lobe. “But you want this anyway. Say it.”

The last of your resistance shattered. With a frustrated, needy sound, you turned your head and finally gave in. Jungkook didn’t hesitate. His hand cupped the back of your neck, firm and possessive, as he captured your mouth in a searing kiss.

The kiss was anything but gentle—hungry, demanding, and laced with all the pent-up irritation and desire that had been building between you. His lips moved against yours with bruising intensity, tongue sweeping in to claim you as his free hand slid down your side, gripping your hip and pulling you flush against his hard body. You moaned softly into his mouth, fingers tangling in his shirt, torn between digging your nails in and melting completely.

His kiss deepening as he pressed you back against the mattress, his weight settling over you in a way that made your head spun.

Jungkook’s mouth moved against yours with deliberate hunger, his tongue teasing and claiming until your head spun. When he finally pulled back, his breathing was ragged, dark eyes burning into yours with a mixture of irritation and raw desire.

Without breaking eye contact, he pushed your shirt higher, exposing your breasts to the cool air of the room. His large hand cupped one breast, thumb brushing slowly over the sensitive nipple until it hardened under his touch. He leaned down, warm breath ghosting across your skin before his tongue flicked out, circling the peak with torturous patience.

You arched into him, a soft, reluctant moan slipping from your lips. “Jungkook…” The name came out half-warning, half-plea.

He hummed against your skin, then closed his mouth around the nipple, sucking gently at first, then harder, alternating between slow, sensual licks and sharp little bites that sent jolts of pleasure straight to your core. His fingers found your other nipple, rolling and pinching it with just enough pressure to make your thighs press together, seeking relief.

“You’re so sensitive here,” he murmured against your breast, voice low and rough. “Bet I could make you come just from this if I wanted to.”

Your fingers threaded through his hair, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. The conflicting emotions swirled inside you—frustration, hatred, and a deep, aching need that refused to be ignored.

His hand began its descent, sliding down your stomach with deliberate slowness. He slipped beneath the waistband of your pants, fingers gliding over your soaked folds. A low groan escaped him.

“Fuck… you’re dripping,” he whispered hotly against your ear as one thick finger traced your entrance. “All this arguing and your body’s been aching for me the whole time.”

You bit your lip hard, refusing to answer, but your hips rolled forward instinctively. He pushed one finger inside you slowly, savoring the way your walls clenched around him. He curled it gently, stroking that sensitive spot with maddening precision while his thumb found your clit and began slow, teasing circles.

The sensation built gradually, wave after wave of heat spreading through your body. You moaned softly, hips moving in time with his hand as he added a second finger, stretching you open.

“Look at you,” he breathed, lips brushing your ear again. “Riding my fingers."

The filthy words made you clench harder around him. Your breathing grew ragged, pleasure coiling tighter in your belly. He kept the pace slow and deep, drawing it out until your thighs began to tremble.

When your orgasm finally washed over you, it was intense and shattering. You cried out, back arching as your walls pulsed around his fingers. He didn’t stop until every last tremor had faded, watching your face with dark satisfaction.

Before you could fully recover, Jungkook moved lower, pulling your pants and underwear completely off. He settled between your thighs, spreading them wide. His tongue replaced his fingers, licking a long, slow stripe up your center. You gasped sharply, fingers gripping the sheets.

He took his time—lapping at your folds, circling your clit with the flat of his tongue, then sucking it gently into his mouth. Every stroke was deliberate, every flick designed to drive you higher. He groaned against you, the vibrations sending fresh sparks through your overstimulated body.

“fuck,” you whimpered, one hand fisting his hair.

He pinned your hips down with strong hands, holding you in place as he devoured you with slow, devastating focus. Another orgasm built gradually, deeper this time, until it crashed over you in powerful waves. You came with a broken moan, thighs shaking around his head.

Jungkook didn’t give you time to recover. He stripped quickly, his cock hard and heavy, then flipped you onto your hands and knees. He gripped your hips hard and thrust into you in one powerful stroke, burying himself to the hilt.

“Fuck— so tight,” he groaned, voice rough.

The sudden fullness was overwhelming. He felt impossibly deep, stretching you perfectly. He started thrusting hard and deep, hips slamming against your ass with every stroke. The angle allowed him to hit that sensitive spot relentlessly, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body.

“Take it,” he snarled, one hand fisting your hair and pulling your head back. “Take every fucking inch like the stubborn little brat you are.”

You pushed back against him, meeting his brutal thrusts with equal force, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing loudly in the room. The hate and desire mixed into something explosive. Every harsh thrust sent you higher, your moans growing louder and more desperate.

He reached around and rubbed your clit roughly, pushing you toward the edge again. “Come on my cock. Let me feel how much you need this even though you can’t stand me.”

You came hard, walls clenching violently around him as stars burst behind your eyes. Jungkook growled in satisfaction but didn’t slow down.

He pulled out, turned you onto your side, and spooned behind you. Lifting your top leg high, he slid back inside you, the new angle letting him sink even deeper. His thrusts were slower but incredibly powerful, grinding against you with every stroke. One hand wrapped around your throat lightly, the other squeezing your breast as he fucked you with possessive intensity.

The position made every thrust feel intimate and devastating. Pleasure built slowly but intensely until you came again, trembling in his arms.

Jungkook stood and pulled you up. He pressed you against the wall, lifted one of your legs around his waist, and drove back into you with a single brutal thrust. The new position forced him impossibly deep. He fucked you hard against the wall, hips snapping forward with raw power, the cool surface contrasting sharply with the heat of his body.

“Such a good little slut for me,” he groaned, pounding into you mercilessly. “Taking my cock so well even though you can't stand me. Say it— tell me how much you love hating this.”

“Can't stand you,” you gasped between moans, nails digging into his shoulders. “I still fucking can't stand you”

Your words only seemed to spur him on. He fucked you harder, deeper, until another orgasm ripped through you.

Finally, he carried you to the armchair and sat down, pulling you on top. You sank onto his thick cock slowly, feeling every inch stretch you open again. Bracing your hands on his chest, you began riding him with fierce, rolling movements—grinding down hard, taking him as deep as possible.

Jungkook’s hands gripped your ass tightly, guiding your movements as he thrust up to meet you. “Ride me.” he demanded, voice strained with pleasure.

You moved faster, bouncing on his cock with desperate intensity. He slapped your ass sharply, the sting pushing you even closer to the edge. His dirty words never stopped—praising how tight you were, how wet you were, how perfectly you took him.

When your final orgasm hit, it was devastating. You clenched around him hard, moaning his name as waves of blinding pleasure crashed over you. Jungkook followed right after, burying himself deep and coming with a guttural groan, filling you completely.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you breathing heavily, bodies slick with sweat. The intense mix of hatred and overwhelming pleasure left you trembling. The air was thick with the scent of sex and the weight of everything still unresolved between you.

Neither of you spoke for a long time

You remained collapsed against Jungkook’s chest, your breathing slowly returning to normal. His heart thundered beneath your cheek, strong and steady, while his arms stayed loosely wrapped around your waist. The room smelled of sweat, sex, and the faint trace of summer heat still lingering in the air. For several long minutes, neither of you moved or spoke. The silence felt heavier than any argument you’d ever had.

Reality began to creep back in, cold and unsettling. This was Jungkook—the man who had driven you insane for years. The arrogant, infuriating person you swore you couldn’t stand. And yet, here you were, still joined with him, your body humming with the aftershocks of pleasure you had never expected to feel with him.

You shifted slightly, intending to pull away, but his arms tightened for a brief moment before he let you go. You climbed off his lap on unsteady legs and reached for your discarded clothes, suddenly hyper-aware of your nakedness. Jungkook watched you in silence, his dark eyes unreadable as he slowly sat up straighter in the armchair.

The tension that had exploded between you earlier now settled into something quieter, more dangerous. A fragile kind of vulnerability neither of you knew how to handle.

You pulled your shirt over your head and finally found the courage to look at him. “This… this doesn’t change anything,” you said softly, though the words felt hollow even to your own ears.

Jungkook let out a low, tired chuckle, running a hand through his messy hair. He stood up slowly and stepped closer. “Yeah?" His voice was rough, but there was no real mockery in it this time—just a quiet intensity that made your stomach flutter.

You swallowed hard, crossing your arms over your chest. “I mean it, Jungkook. This was… a mistake. A really intense, stupid mistake.”

He stopped just inches away from you, close enough that you could feel the heat still radiating from his skin. His gaze searched your face, lingering on your swollen lips and flushed cheeks. For once, the usual arrogance had softened into something more genuine, almost uncertain.

“Maybe,” he murmured. “But you weren’t exactly pushing me away. And I sure as hell wasn’t imagining how perfectly you fit around me.” He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness. “Hate me all you want tomorrow. But right now… stop pretending this didn’t happen.”

Your heart twisted painfully. Part of you wanted to lash out, to rebuild the walls higher than before. Another part—the part still trembling from his touch—wanted to lean into him and forget everything else.

You looked away, biting your lip. “What happens now?”

Jungkook exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek before he dropped his hand. “That’s up to you. I’m not going to pretend I didn’t want this. Want you.” His voice lowered. “Even if you drive me fucking crazy.”

The confession hung between you, raw and honest in a way that terrified you. You met his eyes again, seeing the same storm of emotions reflected back at you—frustration, desire, and the terrifying possibility of something more.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you stepped forward and rested your forehead against his chest for a brief moment, breathing him in. Jungkook’s arms came around you carefully, not possessive this time, but almost protective.

Neither of you knew what tomorrow would bring. The hatred was still there, simmering beneath the surface. But for tonight, in the quiet aftermath of everything you had shattered and rebuilt between you, it felt strangely okay to just exist in this fragile, complicated peace.

“Get some sleep,” he whispered against your hair, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to the top of your head. “We can go back to hating each other in the morning… if you still want to.”

You let out a shaky breath, a small, reluctant smile tugging at your lips despite everything.

“We’ll see.”

ᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧ☾ ˖°˖☆ ˖°˖☽ᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧ ᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧ☾ ˖°˖☆ ˖°˖☽ᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧ

Moodboard

[red-ink-blog]

Mad Dog

Boxer Jungkook x y/n (Part One)

In the underground underbelly of Seoul’s premier boxing circuit, Jeon Jungkook wasn't just a fighter; he was a predator trapped in a cage of his own making. And when he lost, the cage shattered.

The dressing room door didn’t just open, it practically flew off its hinges, bouncing off the concrete wall with a crack.

You didn't flinch. You had learned exactly twelve months ago that flinching was an invitation for him to press harder. Instead, you kept your eyes trained on the floor, your hands methodically folding his white towel.

"Get out," Jungkook snarled, his voice a rough, breathless rasp. He wasn't talking to you. He was talking to his head coach, and the two PR reps who had foolishly followed him down the corridor trying to handle the fallout of his first major defeat in three years.

"Jungkook, we need to address the media—"

"I said, get the fuck out!"

A heavy, leather gym bag flew across the room, smashing into the water cooler. Water erupted across the floor. The entourage scrambled backward, slamming the door shut behind them.

Then, there was only the sound of his ragged breathing.

Jungkook was huge. The papers called him a heavyweight talented mad dog. His broad shoulders heaved under the sheen of sweat and bruised skin, his knuckles, even wrapped in blood-stained tape, looked lethal.

Slowly, his dark, blown-out pupils drifted through the room until they locked onto you.

"You're still here," he spat, stepping into your space. The heat radiating off him was oppressive.

"I am," you said softly, keeping your tone perfectly level. Monotone. Unbothered. It was the only armor you had.

"Why?" He loomed over you, his shadow swallowing you whole. "You love seeing me like this, don't you? Fucking happy that the great Jeon Jungkook finally hit the canvas."

You didn't answer. You stepped forward, entirely bypassing his glaring gaze, and reached up. Your small, pale hands contrasted sharply against the brutalized canvas of his body as you began to unlace his boxing gloves.

He didn't stop you, but he didn't make it easy either, keeping his forearms tense as iron bars.

This was the dance you had performed for a year. While five previous assistants had quit within their first week, driven out by his temper, his flying fists, and his verbal cruelty, you had stayed. Because to you, this Jungkook wasn't a shock.

You had known him back at school and at university. Back then, before the millions he made and the championship belts, he had been the school’s golden boy bully, and you had been his favorite target. He used to knock your books out of your hands just to watch you scramble on the floor. Now, he threw gym bags and water coolers.

The stage had changed, the years had passed, but the monster remained exactly the same. And ironically, knowing the worst of him from before was exactly why you were the only one who could survive him currently.

"Eat," you murmured, nodding toward the meal prep container sitting on the bench. "Steak, sweet potatoes, greens. I prepared it three hours ago."

Jungkook let out a dark, mocking laugh, the sound scraping against his throat. With a brutal swipe of his wrapped hand, he sent the container flying. The grilled steak and vegetables scattered across the dirty floor, mixing with the spilled water.

"I don't want your fucking food," he growled, stepping closer until his chest almost brushed your nose. "I just lost a split decision to a nobody, Y/N. My career is crumbling right now, and you're handing me a Tupperware container?"

You looked down at the ruined food, then back up into his eyes. There was a raw, dangerous flash of darkness in his gaze, the same look he used to give you in the high school hallways before making your life hell. He wanted a reaction. He starved for you to scream, to cry, to give him a reason to shatter the rest of the room.

"I will clean it up," you said, your voice entirely devoid of emotion. "And then I will prepare another one. Because tomorrow at 5:00 AM, you have roadwork. And if your body lacks glycogen, you will lag. And if you lag, you will lose again."

The word lose struck him like a physical blow.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched so hard a vein throbbed in his temple. He grabbed your upper arm, his grip rough that would undoubtedly leave bruises on your skin by morning. He pulled you flush against him, forcing you to look up at his face, a cut above his eyebrow was leaking a slow trail of blood down his cheek.

"You think you're so smart," he whispered, his breath hot against your lips. "You think because you knew me when I was a kid, you can predict me? You’re just a maid, Y/N. A glorified servant I hired because nobody else could stomach the sight of me."

"I am," you agreed, refusing to let your voice show the deep rooted fear you have towards him. "I am exactly what you pay me to be. Now, let me get the ice."

For a long, agonizing moment, he didn't move. The tension in the room was a living, breathing entity, thick with a year's worth of unspoken history and dark, twisted codependency. He hated that he needed you. He hated that you were the only person in his entire empire who didn't look at him with fear or greed—just a cold, unyielding perception.

Slowly, his grip loosened. Not out of kindness, but out of a sudden, exhausted defeat.

He sat onto the leather bench, burying his face in his wrapped hands. The great, terrifying Jeon Jungkook looked small for a fraction of a second, swallowed by the silence of the locker room.

You didn't offer words of comfort. You didn't tell him he did his best. You knew him too well for that. Instead, you grabbed a fresh cloth, wet it with ice water, and stepped between his heavy thighs.

Gently, firmly, you pressed the cloth to the bleeding cut on his eyebrow.

Jungkook flinched, his eyes snapping open, burning into yours. But he didn't pull away. He sat perfectly still, letting you clean the blood from his skin, his massive hands resting heavily on his knees, gripping the fabric of his shorts until his knuckles turned white.

He let out a long, ragged exhale, his eyes tracking the movement of your lips before shifting back to your unreadable eyes. "You really hate me, don't you?"

You pulled the cloth away, throwing it into the laundry bin with a dull thud. You grabbed his gym bag and slung it over your shoulder.

"I don't have the luxury of hating you, Jungkook," you said, looking back at him over your shoulder. "I'm on the clock."

The rhythmic, bone-deep thud-thud-thud of leather tearing into the sandbag had been the sole soundtrack to your night.

It was 4:15 AM. Jungkook's private gym was illuminated only by the harsh, buzzing fluorescent tubes directly above the boxing ring. The air was thick, hot, and smelled heavily of sweat, iron, and a desperate, toxic pride.

He hadn't slept. You knew this because you hadn't slept either. You had spent the last six hours in the adjacent breakroom, monitoring his vitals via the smart-tracker synced to your tablet. You watched his heart rate spike into dangerous, red-lined zones hours ago, staying there like a flatline of pure fury.

Now, you stood at the edge of the mat. In your hands, you held a fresh gallon of electrolyte water and a cold compress.

Jungkook was a vision of raw, unchecked self-destruction. His shirt was long gone, discarded somewhere in the dark corners of the room. His massive back, mapped with thick, dense muscles that was slick with a layer of sweat. He was throwing combinations at the heavy leather sandbag—brutal, terrifying shots that echoed through the empty facility like gunfire.

"You should take a rest," you said. Your voice was flat, cutting through the heavy, rhythmic violence of the gym.

He didn't even acknowledged you. A sharp punch rattled the heavy steel chains anchoring the bag to the ceiling. Crack.

"Jungkook—"

"Shut the fuck up!" he growled, his voice a gravelly bark. He didn't break his rhythm. He threw a devastating right cross, the sheer velocity of the impact violently distorting the shape of the dense sandbag. He was punching with enough force to shatter his own bones, completely disregarding the fact that his hands had been wrapped for nearly twelve hours straight.

You took a deliberate step forward, standing between him and the sandbag.

"You pay me to ensure you have exactly what it takes to win," you said, looking him dead in his bloodshot eyes. "I am doing the job I am paid for. You need to do a lot of things if you want that belt back, Jungkook. And it starts with resting."

Jungkook’s chest heaved, his ribs expanding violently as he fought for oxygen. The sheer size of him was overwhelming up close; dense, unyielding muscle locked and right now, every single inch of him was vibrating with a dangerous warning, he didn't mind punching you.

"I pay you to follow my fucking orders," he snarled. "Don't forget your fucking place."

Before you could draw a breath, his wrapped hand shot out, grabbing you by the collar of your shirt. His damp, sweat-soaked hair fell over his eyes, casting his face in shadow, making him look less like a man and more like a monster, a real mad dog, an effect only amplified by the staggering size difference between you.

You didn't flinch. You looked straight through the curtain of his hair, into his dark, burning eyes.

"You used to be aggressive back in school because it was the only way you knew how to grab attention," you said, your voice steady, hitting him with the precise weapon of your shared history. "And now you're doing it again. You're rough, you're aggressive, pushing your body to the edge because you're terrified that no one will ever look at you if it wasn't for your wins."

Jungkook growled, a low, animalistic sound tearing from his throat. With terrifying ease, he lifted you off the floor by your collar, driving you backward until your spine hit the concrete wall. Your toes barely scraped the floor.

"What did you just say?" His voice was laced with a cocktail of self-hatred, the agony of defeat, exhaustion, and above all, pure spite that the quiet, weak girl he used to bully was the one stripping him naked to his core.

"You heard me—"

BOOM.

His free fist slammed into the concrete right beside your head, the shockwave vibrating through the wall and into your skull. He didn't let go of your collar. Instead, the hand he had just cracked against the wall shifted, his large, taped fingers gripping your jaw tightly, forcing your face up.

"Don't act so strong," he whispered, his hot, ragged breath wiping across your skin, "when we both know how fucking pathetic you are."

"I know exactly how pathetic I am, Jungkook," you retorted, refusing to let the trembling in your bones reach your voice. You reached up, your small hands wrapping around the thick wrist holding your jaw. "I live with it. I face it every day, and that's why I'm stronger than you. You can't even face a single loss. Please..."

He clenched his jaw, his thumb pressing dangerously hard into your cheekbone.

"I hate you," you whispered, looking past the beast to the boy who used to ruin your childhood. "But I hate seeing you lose this pathetically even more. So let me do my job. Let the coach do his. Allow your body to actually get ready to win. Because your loss last night wasn't because of weakness. No you are pure muscle Jungkook, a real mad dog. But... your ego was just too high to notice the hit coming."

For a long, agonizing second, the gym fell completely silent. The only sound was the erratic, heavy thudding of his heart beneath his ribs. You could feel the raw tremor in his grip—not from weakness, but from the sheer, exhausting effort it took to keep himself from breaking you. He wanted to break something. He wanted to break you. But the absolute truth in your words had pierced through him.

Slowly, his hand slipped from your collar, and your feet hit the solid ground again.

He didn't walk away. He lowered his forehead until it rested against your shoulder, his massive, sweating body slumped against yours, letting his dead weight lean into you. It was an incredibly heavy, stifling embrace, born out of pure exhaustion and a toxic, twisted dependency he would never admit to.

"If I lose the rematch," Jungkook muttered, his voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt, dark and lethal, "I'll tear this whole place down. And I'll start with you."

"You won't lose," you said softly, your hands remaining on his wrists, feeling the heavy, steady pulse of the predator finally calming down.

Please support my journey and leave a Tip🍭! Ko-fi

Click for part two

[writingdose]

this and also the only difference between fanfic writers and writers who sell their own original works as careers is that fanfics aren’t monetized. that’s all.

being a “professional” writer doesn’t mean your works are inherently better than fanfics. I’ve read so many fics that are more professionally written than some published books.

whether or not a piece of writing is monetized has nothing to do with its quality.

[apoemaday]

The Darkest Hour

by James Baldwin

The darkest hour is just before the dawn, and that, I see, which does not guarantee power to draw the next breath, nor abolish the suspicion that the brightest hour we will ever see occurs just before we cease to be.

[merakoo]

──── 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗽 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱 | 𝗷𝗷𝗸 ⧽ ONE

𓄲  "Was?" You echo, arching a brow just enough to disclose your interest. Cassian nods, his expression betraying nothing of what he felt. "Daddy doesn't sleep in there anymore." 

전정국 x f!reader ˖ ࣪ ꉂ🗯˙ ‹— cw dilf!jungkook single dad jungkook nanny!reader 1980s au slowburn fluff angst (eventual) explicit content age gap (jungkook is 30, reader is 20) oc!cassian/oc!rayne (jk's children)

⧽ word count ⋮ 5.7k average reading time ⋮ 30 minutes

── [ ✉️ ] this part focuses a lot more on the reader together with the children to introduce them into the story and set up the plot. jungkook will have a much bigger role in the upcoming chapters, so don't worry!

series masterlist | next part

chapter 01 — "daddy doesn't sleep in there anymore."

Mansard roofs were quite ugly. They had this abrupt sort of feeling to them as they sloped down on each side of the house. One could even suggest that such a roof be carved out of foam, that was how utterly simplistic the shape was. 

As you stand just short of the gate, you peer up at said disappointing sight. The house before you was plain as could be. White concrete walls run three floors high. All complimented with large windows which appeared to hold no movement inside. A burglar might think the estate was empty and make for a break in. 

Though you were hardly a burglar. There was too much risk going into a profession like that, and you could hardly open a window without fuss, let alone smash one to pieces. No, you were just looking to make some extra money, and starting today — you suppose you could call yourself a nanny. 

The prospect of looking after kids never did entice you if you were being honest. They were cheeky little bastards, always finding new ways to slobber all over important documents or shove non-edible objects into their drooling mouths. 

But your monthly budget was currently stretched thin enough to rip. The hours you spent cleaning tables at the restaurant downstairs to your apartment only gave so much and you were growing all the more desperate for a second income. 

That's when Mr Jeon's advertisement had so conveniently fell into your lap. "Help Wanted — Nanny Position" True to your previous words about children, you had been prepared to brush past the simple post when your gaze had landed on the pay — and holy shit was it too good to pass up on. 

Now, there were two reasons someone paid such a ridiculous sum for the simple act of babysitting. They were either absolutely loaded, or, the kids in question were absolute nightmares. Though judging by the eerie stillness of the house in front of you, your hopes were rising in favor of the former option. 

The note in your pocket had become somewhat crinkled during your journey and you flatten it out in your palm as you read the address one last time. Your eyes flicker between the number on the paper and over to the cursive '7' that sits next to the front door. This was the place. 

Without further contemplation you push the gate open and make your way over to what could potentially end up saving your current financial predicament. 

The three stone steps leading up to the front porch are climbed with ease and you make sure to straighten out your wrinkly coat before ringing the bell. You can hear the soft tune as it carries through what could only be a maze of rooms inside, alerting the residents of your arrival. 

To say that you were nervous would unfortunately be quite the correct statement. It wasn't like you weren't used to meeting new people. The long mornings spent out on the floor of the restaurant had you sure to be greeted with at least two angry customers each day. And yet you find yourself exhaling sharply through your nose as your nails dig into the heel of your hand. 

In front of you wasn't Mrs Lee waiting to argue about the pickles in her food — but more money than seven hours spent cleaning tables would ever get you. This had to go well, for your financial state might just depend on it. 

The wait is long and unbearable when, in reality, it was a mere ten seconds until the door was swung open. Sucking in a quiet breath, your eyes snap up to meet with who you could only presume to be Mr Jeon himself. He's dressed in all black, his hair slicked back to expose his forehead and the thick brows that were already set into a most judgemental frown. 

He doesn't say anything and only when the silence becomes dangerously prolonged to you manage to clear your throat. "Hello, I'm here for the—," 

"You're the nanny," He simply states, not bothering to hear you out as he steps aside to make room for you beside him on the threshold. Talk about a pleasant greeting, you thought to yourself as you made your way inside. 

The hallway is a lot warmer than the unforgiving October air and you let out a shuddering exhale. Somewhere behind you, the sound of a lock clicking into place is heard and before you can blink, Mr Jeon has walked past you and headed down the hall. "Shoes by the door," He gruffly calls before rounding a corner and disappearing entirely from sight. 

You rush to get your old sneakers off, grimacing when you have to place them next to his neatly polished shoes. The carpet is soft under your feet and you curl your toes in an attempt to hide the hole in your sock. There's two pairs of considerably smaller shoes alongside yours, which you could only presume to be the children's. 

Not wanting to waste more time, or money, lingering by the entrance, you carefully start making your way down the hall which Mr Jeon had disappeared. The house was absolutely breathtaking inside, much contradictory to its plain exterior. Its high ceiling had a sparkling chandelier hanging from it and your gaze lingered on the detailed wall trims that ran along both sides of the hallway. 

When rounding the same corner Mr Jeon had just a moment prior, you suddenly find yourself in a grand living room. The space enough made your entire three room flat look pathetic and you almost scoffed as you regard the expensive looking vases that held nothing at all, effectively defeating their purpose. 

The head of the house himself waits by the fireplace, shoulder leaning against the cold brick and his arms folded across his chest. From there, he looked every bit the rich and arrogant upper class he was. "Have a seat," He gestures toward one of the pristine armchairs, and by the tone of his voice, it was clear he wasn't making a suggestion. 

You oblige without complaint, sinking down onto the cushion before folding your hands in your lap. It smelled faintly of lavender, a most soothing scent which you generously inhaled. Letting your gaze wander across the room, your attention lingers on the tall bookshelves, all neatly organized. 

In fact the entire living room was freakishly clean. There wasn't as much as a single speck of dust to be seen, not one feather out of place. You wondered if perhaps he had a hired maid — no way could a home with children be this spotless without a pair of extra hands. 

Mr Jeon shifts where he stands by the fire place, clearing his throat enough to bring your eyes back on him in an instant. "You got my email I presume," He says, not waiting for a response as he continues in a brisk manner, "I won't waste our time by going through the contents." 

He pushes himself off of the fireplace and takes a step in the direction of the large windows which looked out into the garden. His hands find their way back into his pockets, the crease between his brows had yet to ease up. 

"Today's meals are already prepped, they're in the freezer with a note on each," He points vaguely toward the archway leading into the kitchen. "Cassian is lactose intolerant, don't feed him dairy." 

Then he turns and nods toward the TV. You follow his gaze, eyes widening when they fall on the black screen. You had never seen something like this inside a home before, growing up television had been a luxury your family had been unable to afford. But Mr Jeon shrugs it off like it was nothing but an inconvenience. "Feel free to use it as you please when the children are asleep, though they are not to spend time in front of it." 

"Homework hours are between four and five thirty in the afternoon. They study Mandarin for an additional thirty minutes after that. They eat their dinner between six and six thirty before washing up. Have them in bed by seven and turn the lights off no later than seven thirty." 

As you listen to him ramble you recount the details of the email he'd sent you that same morning. It had included a lengthy and detailed list of things the children weren't allowed to do as well as an attached scheduled counted down to the second where not as much as a single moment was spent in vain. 

It all seemed a little… extreme, but you were in no position to judge a father for the way he raised his kids. You were only the nanny, after all. 

Mr Jeon turns back to you, his lips pressed into a thin line as he regards you with dark and calculating eyes. "Any questions?" 

You shake your head, forcing a small smile. "No, I think I've got it. Thank you for this opportunity Mr—" 

"Call me Jungkook," He grunts, arms flexing slightly against his sides. Straight past the formalities it seemed. You weren't opposed, titles did make things awkward after all. 

Before you can proceed to thank him for the position, he's already walked past you and headed for the hall once again. "I'll be at work until nine, you can reach me on the number in the notebook next to the phone." He pauses, throws a pointed look over his shoulder at you, "You do know how to use one?" 

The question makes you splutter and you twist in the chair. "I— Of course I do!" 

Jungkook clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth before giving an almost unnoticeable nod that was more a jerk of his head. "The children are in their rooms upstairs," He pauses, "Third floor is not in use so there's no point in you going up there." 

Then he's turned on his heel and disappeared down the hallway. A moment later you hear the front door open and close, the sound of the lock mechanism falling into place following shortly. 

The house is eerily silent after that, with only the ticking of the old clock by the fireplace to fill the quiet air. You remain sitting on the armchair a moment longer, thumbs rolling over one another absentmindedly as you glance around the living room one more time. 

He was certainly a character. You could only wonder what his kids would be like, if they were anything at all like their father then you were in for a ride. With a sigh you heave yourself from the comforts of the plush cushion, wandering back down the hall to discard yourself of your coat. 

So far this seemed like an easy enough job — especially considering the pay. All you would have to do was follow the strict plan Mr Jeon— Jungkook, had laid out for you, and leave with your check by the end of the night. Piece of cake, really. 

With that you turn your attention toward the stairs by the end of the hall. Past them awaited the children. You quietly brace yourself as you approach, one hand wrapped around the railing, you begin the journey to the second floor. 

The upstairs did not disappoint. It matches the running theme of the house, an expensive carpet going down the hall where doors lined both of the walls. Two of them were left ajar, the kids' rooms you guessed. 

When reaching the first one you stop to peer inside. The room looked nothing like that of a child's. With plain tapestry and only a bed, bookshelf and a desk to occupy the space. By the desk sits a young girl, her back is turned to you and she's hunched over what you presumed to be a book. From here you could only make out her long, black hair that was gathered into a neat ponytail. 

Hand curled into a loose fist, you give the doorframe a light knock. She turns to face you, big and round eyes meeting yours. "Hi," You smile, stepping over the threshold as you greet her. She doesn't appear surprised by your sudden appearance, in fact she seems almost annoyed with your presence and she quickly turns back to whatever held her attention on the desk. 

You frown, your steps faltering slightly as you regard her backside a moment longer. Jungkook had not bothered to introduce you to his children which you had found odd, but his daughter's lack of response was all the more concerning. 

Walking up to her, you come to a halt beside her chair. "Rayne, was it?" You hum, sliding your hands into the back pockets of your jeans. 

The girl mutely nods, her gaze firmly fixed to the book laid out on the desk. Her arms are folded over the table and tucked against her chest as she reads. "You're the new nanny," She states in a monotone voice without taking her eyes off of the pages in front of her. 

You nod, rocking back and forth on the sole of your feet as you peek at the contents of her book. "That's right," You muse, wondering what could possibly be so interesting that she couldn't spare you as much as a glance. It takes you but a minute to realize that this wasn't a children's book. The words on the page were far too advanced for any child before high school at least to be indulging in.

"What are you reading?" You can't help but ask, leaning just a bit closer as you skim through one of the paragraphs. 

Rayne shrugs, "The Great Gatsby." She said it like it was the most normal thing in the world for her to be reading something like that one afternoon. 

Your eyebrows shoot high on your forehead, your jaw slacking just a little as your gaze flickers between the open book and her. "Rayne, how old are you again?" 

She sighs, clearly fed up with your questions as she pushes back in her chair. "I'm seven," She simply states, "I'll be eight in December." 

Seven years old and she's reading The Great Gatsby, for fun? Sure, her father seemed strict about the television and you did suppose it was beneficial for kids to be reading rather than consuming mindless nonsense on a screen. But wasn't this a little extreme? 

Rayne peers at you through the corner of her eye when she notices that you're still here. "You should go check on Cas," She huffs, "He's probably getting himself into trouble now that father isn't here." 

"I…" You blink, stunned by the fact that she had just dared give you such a blunt command. "I guess I should." Straightening back up, you throw her book one last skeptical glance before heading back out into the hallway. 

Cassian's room was next to his sister's. And it was just as plainly decorated, save for the stuffed teddy bear that sat on top of his neatly made bed. Repeating the same procedure as you had with Rayne, you give the doorframe a quiet knock before stepping inside. 

Perched on the edge of the mattress, Cassian sits with his legs swinging back and forth aimlessly as his hands pick at a loose thread on his pants. His gaze is downcast but at the sound of your approach he lifts his head to look at you. 

You nearly falter in your steps, eyes widening a fraction as you take in his appearance. He was the spitting image of his father, with the exception of a gentleness to his eyes that his dad lacked. 

Just like his sister, he doesn't seem surprised by your arrival. He gives but a tiny nod when you greet him. "Are you our new nanny?" He wonders, his voice is surprisingly soft, not at all what you had expected after your conversation with his sibling just moments prior. 

"Yes, I am." You smile, crouching down in front of him where he sits. Your attention drifts back to the teddy bear and you reach for it. "This one's cute, does it have a name?" Fingers brushing over the small bow that sat around its neck, you boop the plushie's tiny nose. 

Cassian only shrugs, not sparing the toy as much as a glance when he says, "It's nothing special." 

His dismissal makes you hesitate and you carefully place the teddy bear down. When turning back to him, you find that he's gone back to picking at his pants with his tiny hands. "Don't do that, you'll ruin your clothes," You hum in an attempt to grab his attention. 

He lets his hand drop to his side, dark eyes meeting yours through his lashes. "Your sock has a hole in it," He said, like he was one-upping you for commenting on his fidgeting. 

The remark makes you grimace and you shift slightly where you crouch on the floor. Kids were too perceptive for their own good. Throwing a glance toward the clock on his nightstand, you realize that it was already past four. "How about we go down to the kitchen and do homework?" Slapping your hands on your knees, you prepare to rise from your crouch when Cassian suddenly interrupts you: 

"We study in the library." Is all he says. And with that he jumps off of the bed, walking over to his desk by the window as he gathers a couple of books in his arms along with a notepad and pencil. He doesn't wait for you to follow along as he heads through the still open bedroom door. 

Stunned into silence, you watch after his retreating figure. You had expected him to put up a little more of a fight, given that he was only five, but Cassian seemed indifferent about the prospect of homework. 

You found that the children were awfully independent. They took to studying like it was second nature, never once letting their attention stray from their work nor complaining about the time. On the contrary, you found yourself awfully bored as you sat on a chair beside them for two hours, watching as they worked diligently. You could not remember ever putting that much effort into something so mundane. 

When you had asked them if their dad made them study everyday they simply nodded. Neither of them made an attempt to indulge in any conversation with you. For all you knew, you could have been a ghost in their presence, nothing but a shadow left to linger in a corner. 

Homework finally came to an end by six pm and you urged them downstairs for dinner — eager to have something to do and perhaps get to know them better. 

Though you were quickly dumbfounded when standing in front of the microwave, trying to reheat the meals that were left prepared inside glass containers. Cassian and Rayne are both standing behind you, their eyes boring into your back as they study you silently. 

The frown between your brows only grows and you pull your lip between your teeth as you try to decode the variety of buttons on the damned electric box. How difficult could it be? Just as your finger hovers over a suspiciously round button, Rayne suddenly speaks up. 

"Do you even know how to use it?" 

You scoff, "Of course I do." A brief pause follows before you dare a glance over your shoulder, "It's this button, right?" 

Rayne rolls her eyes but gives a curt nod. You press it and the microwave beeps to life. Breathing out a small sigh of relief, you slump back against the counter. 

"Daddy never cooks our food in the microwave," Cassian suddenly quips from where he stands next to his sister. His lips were pressed into a small pout as he regards the container behind the glass. 

"Well," Giving a small shrug, you turn toward the children, "You'll find that me and your daddy are quite different." 

Neither of the kids seem very impressed with learning that. Instead they wordlessly begin rummaging through a close by drawer for cutlery. They set the table themselves, leaving you to guard the food in the microwave which felt like a completely useless task, though you followed through with it nonetheless. 

The children spoke even less as they ate, with only the sound of knives and forks scraping against porcelain to fill the stiff silence. Their table manners surprised you, both of them chewed with their mouths closed, wiping their lips with the corner of a folded napkin between bites and sipping their water elegantly. 

You found yourself watching them like some sort of wildlife documentary. Their behavior was almost uncanny, nothing at all what you would expect of a five- and seven year old. 

Halfway through their meal, Cassian finally speaks up. "How long will you be staying?"

You frown, "What do you mean?" 

But Cassian has already taken another bite of his food. His sister answers in his place, "My brother is asking how long you plan on working here." She takes a sip of her water before putting the glass down without making a sound. 

"Well I… I don't know. For a good while I hope," You hum. The pay was too good for you to let the offer just slip from your grasp, not that the kids needed to know that. "Why do you ask?" 

The small boy shrugs, picking through his vegetables mindlessly. "Our last nanny came only twice." He sends you a glance, "Will you come three times?" 

Twice? Was he implying that their last caretaker had worked a total of two days before taking their leave? You blink, shifting uncomfortably in your seat as you think of a way to answer his question. 

"Father will probably fire her tomorrow," Rayne shakes her head. 

Fire you? Sweat beads on your forehead at the thought of losing your job just as quickly as you had gotten it. What on earth were these kids telling their dad to have him fire their nannies. It had to be only the worst of a child's imaginative mind. "Why do you say that?" You ask, unable to hide the concern in your voice. 

Rayne only sighs, like the answer was written in the stars, "Because that's what he did to the last ones." She sends you an almost condescending look, "What makes you any different?" 

That one snide remark made you walk on eggshells for the remainder of the evening. You brought the kids upstairs, helped them wash up and laid out their pajamas on their beds before fussing with the pillows — all the while Rayne's words kept playing on loop in your head. 

The children were just as obedient when it came to brushing their teeth as they had been with their veggies and homework. Not as much as a frown or a single complaint left their lips and you wondered what kind of military training their father had put them through to have them act like this, with a nanny no less. 

And though you would admit that your knowledge on kids went no further than your own cousins, which you had babysat a handful of times — even you could tell that there was something seriously wrong with these two. 

So you stand outside the bathroom upstairs, arms folded across your chest as you glance up and down the hall whilst Cassian used the toilet. Rayne had already retired to her bedroom, insisting that she would be heading straight to bed and that there would be no need for you to check on her. 

The house is unnervingly quiet. Outside the sun had set, leaving only the chandelier above to light up the long hallway. Your gaze drifts from the shut bathroom door and down toward the window by the very end of the hall. There, to the left, was a door you had yet to walk through. 

You had kept your word and stayed away from the third floor, trusting that it held no more than dust and spiderwebs — which you were not too keen on exploring. But this door was on the second floor, and Cassian was in the bathroom. 

On tip toes you pad over, throwing a glance over your shoulder, you make sure that Rayne was still in her room before reaching the closed door. It looked no different from any of the others, its white paint staring back at you without an ounce of emotion. You regard the doorknob, the invitation waiting on the tips of your fingers. Wrapping a hand around the cold metal, you inhale a shuddering breath before twisting the handle. 

Nothing happens. 

Puzzled, you try the doorknob again. But the door is locked. That was odd. Jungkook had not mentioned anything about any locked doors, nor had he forbade you from going inside any of the rooms, long as they weren't on the third floor. 

In the midst of your confusion, you fail to catch the sound of a toilet being flushed and the running water of the sink. A moment later the bathroom door is swung open and tiny feet pad down the hall. 

"Miss, what are you doing?" 

Whirling around, you nearly give yourself whiplash as you turn to face a wary-looking Cassian. He takes a couple of steps toward you, small hands drying themselves on the pants to his pajama as his dark eyes flicker between you and the locked door. There was a deep crease between his brows, showcasing his suspicion toward you. 

"Oh," You exhale, wiping your clammy hands on your thighs as you swallow. "I was just—" Gesturing between yourself and the door, you send him a smile you hoped convinced him of your innocent intentions. 

When Cassian remains silent, you take it as your window to shoot a tentative question. "What's behind that door?" You didn't expected him to even respond, he was scarily smart for a five year old — undoubtedly seeing right through you. 

He regards you a moment longer, the frown between his brows deepening. Finally he sighs, giving a small nod in the direction of the locked door. "It was mommy- and daddy's room," He simply states, bringing his mother up for the first time since your arrival. 

Taken aback by the mention of her — you almost brush over one of the key details he'd used. "Was?" You echo, arching a brow just enough to disclose your interest. 

Cassian nods, his expression betraying nothing of what he felt. "Daddy doesn't sleep in there anymore." 

He yawns then, stretching his tiny arms over his head before blinking up at you tiredly. "I need to sleep now," He murmurs before turning on his heel and heading down the hall toward his own room. 

You're left standing with a gaping mouth as your gaze flickers between the child and the door which you had just attempted to break through. Shaking off the confusing thoughts that Cassian's statement had left behind, you turn to follow him inside his room. 

It's silent as you tuck him in, your hands moving gently across the blanket when you pull it over his tiny frame. Cassian sinks back against the pillow and you can feel his big eyes on you as you fiddle with the corner of the duvet. 

"Will you be alright?" You hum, glancing over at him where he lays hugging his teddy bear. For a second it looks as though he's about to say something, his lips are parted and there's an almost anxious edge in the way his gaze darts around the room. 

A moment later though, he's nodding his head, murmuring a quiet 'yes' as he snuggles closer to the plushie. Choosing not to prod further, you settle for a gentle pat to his cheek before flicking the bedside light off. 

It was seven forty five and even though you had the entire house to yourself for at least another hour, you found yourself curled up in the same armchair you had been sat in just a few hours earlier. Having busied yourself with cleaning up after dinner and scrubbing the kitchen until it was spotless — you now had nothing left to distract your thoughts with. 

Could it really be that Mr Jeon would fire you that following morning? Had you not done a good of enough job — perhaps the children were dissatisfied with you, would they tell him that? Chewing anxiously on your bottom lip you walk yourself through all kinds of possible scenarios, each one of them ending with your possible termination. 

Your mind wanders back to the locked door by the end of the hall, Cassian's words resurfacing the longer you thought about it. "Daddy doesn't sleep in there anymore." Neither him nor Rayne had brought up their mother at all today, come to think of it, Mr Jeon hadn't either. 

Had she passed away? Would that be insensitive to ask? Probably. It would be best to refrain from prying, you tell yourself as you settle back against the cushion. 

The hour ticks by faster than you would have hoped. None of the kids come down — and when you went up to check on them, they were both peacefully asleep in their respective beds. Perhaps you had nothing to worry about after all?

By nine pm sharp, the sound of keys rattling inside a lock can be heard. Shooting up from the armchair, you turn toward the hallway as you listen to the front door opening and closing. His punctuality was quite terrifying. 

You make your way out of the living room, turning down the hall just in time to see Jungkook hanging off his coat. He crouches down to undo the laces on his shoes, a few loose strands of hair falling down his forehead. Quietly approaching, you come to a slow stop next to the dresser on which the phone rested. You had yet to call him all night, mostly because nothing eventful had happened — you could only hope he wasn't upset with you for not being in touch. 

But Jungkook appears indifferent as he places his shoes next to the children's' with a small huff. He straightens up, then he turns to you. "Everything went okay?" He phrases it like a question but when it reaches your ears it hardly sounds like one. 

Nodding, you hum out a small 'yes' as you rock back and forth on your feet awkwardly. It is then you remembered the book Rayne had been reading previously that afternoon. "Rayne was reading The Great Gatsby", You say, unable to mask the frown that crept its way onto your face. 

You expected him to be at least slightly surprised, but Jungkook simply shrugged when he heard that. "Then that's good," He muses as he fishes up the car keys from his pocket and throws them onto the dresser — that was probably the biggest mess the house had seen all day. 

"You're not… worried?" You ask, turning to follow him with your gaze as he walks past you. 

Jungkook scoffs, "Why should I be? Kid's just reading." 

You wanted to argue that his seven year old daughter was reading literature someone her age should not even think about touching. Not to mention the fact that his two children were behaving like tiny adults, you hadn't seen either of them crack as much as a smile all day — and they hadn't even suggested playing with any kind of toys at all. That was not normal. 

And yet you keep silent. Because for all you knew, this could cost you your job. That, you were not ready for. 

Jungkook had disappeared down the hall, leaving you to wallow in silence for a moment before he returned with a small envelope in one hand. He comes to a stop before you, close enough to where you could pick up the musky scent of his cologne. Wordlessly he hands you the envelope and you take it with a nod. It feels heavy in your palm — your promised payment rewarding as it rests between your fingers. 

"I need you to come by around noon tomorrow," Jungkook says as his hands slip inside his pockets. 

That makes you pause, your gaze lifting from the envelope and over to meet his dark eyes. "Noon?" You splutter, perplexed by the idea of arriving nearly four hours early the day that followed. That wouldn't work, because outside of working part time at the restaurant under your apartment, you were a med student. It just so happened that noon tomorrow was in the middle of one of your three classes a week. 

Jungkook cocks a brow, "Is that a problem?" 

Ah. Well. You rub the back of your neck sheepishly, avoiding his piercing gaze to the best of your abilities. Now might be a good time to mention the last bit of his lengthy email — the one tiny, tiny paragraph stating that he would not hire a high school graduate.

Suppose you might have stretched the truth a little when you called to apply for the position… You justified the lie by telling yourself that you desperately needed the money, that any sane person would do this, that the idea of refusing to hire someone simply because they were a high school graduate was ridiculous. And it wasn't like you didn't have a degree. You would have it. In about eight months. That still had to count for something, right? 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you quickly shake your head. "No! No, no, not at all. Noon is perfect for me!" You give an enthusiastic nod, silently praying that he couldn't see the inner turmoil soaring through you. Noon would be just fine — when you figured out how to attend both class and watch over his children at the same time without surgically splitting yourself in half. 

But then you're reminded of the heavy envelope in your hand. Your fingers curl a little tighter around it. Think about the money. Think about the money. You could figure this out, you would figure this out. 

Jungkook hums, his dark eyes peering into yours for a moment too long to be comfortable, "I'll see you tomorrow then." 

[jungkoode]

ALTARS IN SHALLOW WATERS

"devotion"

"Altars crumble faster in shallow water. But he still knelt like it was sacred. No one ever warned you that worship could look like love. Or that love could look like drowning."

next | index | wc: 2.9k

↦author's note : Before we even begin, let me say this loud and clear: This story explores dark themes, toxic dynamics, and morally fucked behavior. If that's not your vibe or you're in a vulnerable place right now, please prioritize your mental health and click out. I have a trigger warning + author intro linked above in pink—read it before diving in. Know what you're getting into. Once you scroll past this note, you're responsible for engaging thoughtfully. This is not an endorsement of anything. This story is an exploration, not a statement of belief. Don't absorb it at face value. Think critically. Or log off. Either works. Okay now that the serious voice is out of the way—WELCOME TO ASW. Yes. We're doing this. Yes, Taehyung. No, I don't know why either. He just… is. This fic has been rotting in my brain like a cursed wine cellar, and he fit the flavor of psychological mess I needed. It's the velvet-soaked, morally gray, low-light, mid-cigarette kinda vibe. And you're invited. This isn't a longform fic like Fuck Me Up—it's a series, a slower, tighter pace, same chaos engine running under the hood (hi, it's me, Kiki Nation). If you've read my stuff before: buckle in. If you're new: …I swear I've written fluff before. Maybe. No but seriously, if you like character-driven, trauma-informed, unhinged-but-meticulous messes with literary undertones, welcome. You've found your swamp. Also. I beg you to listen to the ASW playlist I linked. It's essential. Think: Paris—but not "Emily in Paris." More like the kind of Paris where you haven't slept in three days and your eyeliner's smudged and some man with secrets is staring at you across a neon-lit dive bar while Edith Piaf plays from a busted speaker. That Paris. See you on the other side. You've been warned.

Worthless.

The word sits in Taehyung's skull like a rotting tooth.

Not painful anymore—just there, decayed into the bone, a permanent fixture. Worthless. His mother's voice, twenty-something years later, still echoing.

Sometimes he imagines cutting into his brain, finding where that word lives, and scrubbing it clean. But nothing ever gets clean enough.

Paris is outside—pavement slicked with cold, the breath of a morning rain barely dried. In here, the air is flat. 

Fluorescent. 

Everything smells faintly of mop water and dying batteries. 

He exists behind the counter, with his wrists tucked close, thumbnail grinding against the seam where the plastic laminate splits. It’s not a conscious movement. The itch just collects there—under his skin, inside his jaw, everywhere his mother’s voice ever landed. 

(worthless)

The shelf by the door coughs out its contents: a can rolls, then a bottle, another bottle, a clatter that jars the pulse behind his eye. Sticky leaks on the tiles. No one looks at him—customer, manager, pink-haired girl behind the second register sketching with a dried-out pen. He’s the quiet one. The shadow. The clean-up.

He counts the droplets on the ground. One. Two. The stain widens. Beer and cola. A chemical amber, eating its way along the grout. His fingers twitch for the cheap blue rag balled up under the till. Sticky spots, dirty dots, broken thoughts. Three. Four. Five. It’s spreading. Marcel’s voice always comes before the panic does.

“Kid! Clean that shit up, come on! Clients don’t have all day.”

He sees the world in surfaces and stains. Every footprint etched in last night’s grime. Chewing gum slicked flat under a boot near the cooler. The way someone’s fingernails left half-moons in the tape over the torn cereal box. Small atrocities. He is intimately acquainted with the way filth lingers—in the cracks, yes, but also in his chest, in the language of his own hands.

He moves without thinking: rag in hand, knees bending. The bottle neck is sticky. His palm leaves a ghost on the glass—oily, ugly. 

(dirty, dirty, dirtydirtydirt)

He swears he can hear her voice; the echo that raised him sharper than any cradle song. 

He wipes too hard, more circles than necessary, like there is any chance of making the world new.

One. Two. Three. Seven. Seven. Seven again. If the number is right, the feeling dulls. 

Nothing makes it right. 

The rag soaks up sugar, cheap wheat, that thin acrid scent that reminds him of old men on metro benches. The stickiness clings to his fingers, seeping past skin and nail, as if he’s absorbing the world’s waste molecule by molecule. 

If he had a choice, he’d bleach the whole city. Himself first.

Someone steps around him—he feels the shadow before the person—a grunt, a grumble in French about the mess, about incompetence. He shrinks into the crouch. Tries to take up less space. 

Sometimes, he wonders what it would take to be truly invisible. 

Sometimes, he thinks he’s halfway there already.

(worthless) 

He doesn’t know when the word started looping. Was it, really, at two years old? Maybe three. Maybe four, when he dropped a bowl and she made him hold the shards, blood trailing into the grout as proof of his clumsiness. 

‘If you were worth anything, you’d be clean. You’d be careful. You’d be quiet and good and wanted.’

He’s quiet. He’s careful. He’s so good at disappearing he startles himself when Marcel barks his name—the only time he hears it, sandpapered into a reprimand. 

Sometimes the sound of it makes him nauseous.

He presses the rag into the floor. Bleach sting in the back of his throat. Nails scrub until knuckles ache, the line between diligent and desperate lost years ago. He likes this better than standing—the way knees grind bone against bone, the ache that says he’s solid, present, here. 

It almost feels like penance.

He glances up—Sophie sketches him again, glancing once, twice, pausing on the curl of his neck. He will become a line in her notebook, a story she tells at parties, a tragic fixture in the background of her real life. He hates that he has thoughts about being observed. If anyone really saw, they’d peel back layers until nothing was left but the word. 

(worthless)

The store’s radio coughs static. Some old pop song limping its way through a broken speaker. The world blurs at the edges—what is Paris, if not concrete and piss and distant sunlight, leaking slowly across linoleum? He wishes the tiles here would just dissolve. 

Wishes his skin would too.

He wrings the rag out in the bucket, watches beer foam swirl with grime down the cheap plastic drain. His hands are pink, raw, stained with the same feeling that never quite leaves. His fingertips burn. Sometimes they bleed. That’s good. 

Pain is clean. Pain is honest.

Marcel doesn’t say thank you. Doesn’t look at him. Sophie tucks her drawing away, eyes flickering elsewhere. Taehyung straightens, wipes his palms on his trousers, and returns to the counter. He exists to erase.

Counting in his head—seven steps to the end of the aisle. Seven minutes until the shift ends. Seven letters in the nine his mother wrote under his skin:

Worthless.

Sometimes he thinks it’s the only word he’ll ever earn.

And outside, the city is gray. Inside, he is nothing. Inside, he is clean.

(For a moment. For seven counts. That’s all.)

The water makes patterns like fractured light.

His shift ends like they always do—uneventful, almost unregistered in the library of his mind. 

Paris is set in a brooding mood, rain stalking down the windows carelessly. Taehyung watches each droplet make its slow descent, leaving dirty trails on the glass he'd scrubbed this morning. 

Seven hours ago. The bleach has worn off. Everything wears off eventually.

He'll have to clean the windows before going home. Marcel doesn't really care. Clean windows mean cleaner space. Cleaner space is good for Marcel's business. Or its reputation at least. Not that Taehyung cares about reputation or lack thereof, he just needs to quiet down the bubbling pressure that builds in his chest when the water droplets remove the bleach he's injected into the glass this morning.

The streak marks form constellations he doesn't know the names of. Names have never mattered much to him. Except when they belong to ghosts.

(worthlessworthlessworthless)

The register drawer sticks when he pulls it, a metallic scrape that makes his molars ache. He counts the bills by sevens—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Again. Again. The rhythm is comforting, like a metronome he can set his pulse to. His fingers leave no prints on the paper. He's careful about that. So careful.

Sophie comes by his counter, as she usually does at this time. Her hair is wet at the ends, dripping onto her shoulders. The moisture makes him twitch. He knows the pattern, knows how her hand raises to pat him in the shoulder, so he moves. Just lightly. A shift to the left. His body tilting away from contact like a plant bending from shadow.

She notices. She always notices. But she never says anything about it.

"Marcel left early," she says, tapping her pen against her lower lip. "Something about his daughter's recital. You know how he gets about that little prodigy of his."

Taehyung doesn't respond. He doesn't know what it's like to have a father proud enough to leave work early. He doesn't know what it's like to have someone watch you with anything but disappointment.

Sophie sighs into the silence. The sound scrapes against his eardrums. He counts the register one more time, even though the numbers are perfect. They're always perfect. He makes sure of it.

"You should really come to the dinner tonight. Would do some good for you to socialize," she says with a grin that shows too many teeth. 

Her lipstick is smudged at the corner. Imperfect. He wants to hand her a tissue but his hands stay where they are, counting, ordering, fixing what isn't broken.

He doesn't blame her for trying. He doesn't blame her for the invitation that comes every Friday, the same words in slightly different arrangements. He doesn't blame her for not understanding that socializing feels like drowning with an audience.

Taehyung doesn't respond, simply nods. He's learned the minimum requirements for human interaction. Nod. Blink. Breathe. Exist without being noticed.

She sighs, signals two fingers over her forehead as she exits the store, all while saying, "Don't stay too late, and close before you leave!"

Taehyung didn't need the reminder. He always checks seven times before he leaves, that the door is closed. 

Sophie knows. He knows she knows. He still doesn't say a word, just nods. Then, Sophie is gone.

Solitude, at last. 

Empty store, peace restored.

His fingers move to the cloth under the register. It's damp from earlier, beer and soda and whatever else the world tracked in. He should get a fresh one. Clean things with clean tools. His mother taught him that, at least, between the lessons about worthlessness.

The rain comes down harder now, drumming against the glass. The windows will need extra attention.

The rain comes down harder now, drumming against the glass. The windows will need extra attention. He can already feel the itch building under his skin, the need to make everything spotless. He checks the time. Heavy rain until midnight. He puts the keys back in his pocket. He isn't leaving. He never leaves when the sky is like this; he’d rather sleep on the floor of the back room than step out into it.

He’ll have to wait it out until he can go back to into his apartment, where everything is already clean but never clean enough.

He moves methodically. Counts each step. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Again. The mop bucket rattles as he pulls it from the back room. Water sloshes against plastic sides. He measures the bleach precisely. One cap. Two caps. The smell burns his nostrils, familiar and comforting. It smells like absolution.

The store is empty now. Just him and the endless task of erasing evidence that anyone was ever here. He likes it this way. Prefers it. People leave messes. People notice things. People try to touch his shoulder and invite him to dinners where he would have to speak and be seen and remembered.

No one remembers the person who cleans up after them. That's the beauty of it.

The mop makes wet streaks across the floor. He counts each stroke. Seven in one direction. Seven in the other. The pattern matters. The rhythm matters. If he gets it wrong, something terrible might happen. He doesn't know what. He just knows the fear tastes like metal at the back of his throat.

The windows come last. He saves them because they're the worst. Because they connect inside to outside. Because they're never truly clean, no matter how hard he scrubs.

He sprays the glass, watches the solution drip down in rivulets that mirror the rain on the other side. Seven sprays. Seven wipes. Seven circles clockwise, seven counterclockwise. The ritual matters. The counting matters.

When he's done, the store gleams under the harsh lights. No evidence that anyone has been here. No evidence that he exists at all, except in the absence of dirt.

Then, a sound.

 It comes from behind the door nobody opens.

Not the storeroom where Marcel keeps the cigarettes he thinks no one knows about, not the employee bathroom with its perpetually damp floor—the other one. The abandoned space where even Marcel refuses to go.

Taehyung freezes mid-wipe, cloth suspended against glass. The sound isn't loud. Just different. A disruption in the pattern of silence he's grown accustomed to.

He finishes the seventh circle, completing the ritual. Can't leave it unfinished. Bad things happen when rituals break. His mother taught him that—one of the few lessons that wasn't delivered with a slap or that word.

(worthless)

The sound comes again. Not a crash or a thud, but something lighter. A scrape, perhaps. The shuffle of something being moved after years of stillness.

His bleach bottle is nearly empty. The level has dropped below the label, and the thought of finishing his cleaning without it makes his chest cave inward. The supply closet—the forbidden one—holds what he needs. Marcel put the cleaning supplies there because no one else wants them. Because Taehyung is the only one who uses them. Because Marcel knows he'll go, no matter how much it terrifies him.

The handle feels wrong under his palm. Not cold or hot, but somehow both. The metal leaves an impression on his skin that he'll need to scrub away later. Seven times. With soap that smells like nothing.

The door creaks—not dramatically like in films, but with the quiet protest of hinges that have forgotten their purpose. The smell hits him first: dust and mildew, ancient paper, and something underneath it all that reminds him of childhood. 

Not his childhood—someone else's. Someone who was allowed to be happy.

Taehyung doesn't step fully inside. He hovers at the threshold, one foot in darkness, one in light. Liminal. The word appears in his head unbidden. He knows it from somewhere. A book, maybe. Something he read in the quiet hours when sleep refused to come.

The bleach is stacked against the far wall. Seven bottles. Always seven. Marcel orders them in sevens now without being asked. It's the only kindness Taehyung has ever noticed from the man.

He'll have to cross the room to get there. Step fully into the space that feels wrong. 

His skin prickles with contamination.

One step. The floor creaks.

Two. Dust motes dance in what little light filters through a grimy window.

Three. His breathing shallows.

Four. The sound comes again, clearer now. Not from this room, but beyond it.

Five. His hand twitches at his side, wanting to count on fingers but knowing better. Counting out loud is for children. Counting visibly is for the insane.

Six. He sees the wall isn't solid. There's glass embedded in it, cloudy with years of neglect.

Seven. He stops, right where he needs to be. The bottles wait, patient as saints.

He crouches, careful not to let his knees touch the floor. It's filthy here. Beyond salvaging. The kind of dirty that lives in the bones of a place, too deep for even bleach to reach. He imagines gutting the room—tearing out floorboards, scraping walls down to bare structure, burning it all and starting fresh. The fantasy calms him enough to grab a bottle.

That's when the melody starts.

Piano notes, distant but clear. A practice scale, then something more complex. The music doesn't filter through the wall—it seems to emerge from it, as if the plaster itself remembers a tune.

Taehyung stands, bottle clutched to his chest. His eyes find the glass panel naturally, drawn by the sound. It's a mirror, he realizes. Or it was meant to be. Years of grime have turned it into a cloudy barrier between this space and whatever lies beyond.

Curiosity is dangerous. His mother taught him that too. But the music pulls at something in him—a thread he didn't know was loose.

He approaches the glass, steps measured in sevens. The closer he gets, the clearer the sound becomes. Not just piano now. There's movement.

Without thinking, he raises his free hand—the one not clutching bleach like a lifeline—and wipes a small circle in the grime. The action is so automatic, so ingrained, that he doesn't register the contamination until it's done. 

His palm is gray with dust. He'll need to wash it. Scrub it. Make it clean again.

But then he sees through the cleared space, and everything else falls away.

The room beyond isn't abandoned. It's alive with light—not the harsh fluorescence of the convenience store, but something softer. Golden. The floors are wood, worn but cared for. Barres line the walls. A practice room.

And in its center, a figure moves.

You don’t dance to the piano. 

You are the music. 

(worthyworthyworthy)

Your body creates shapes he doesn't have names for. Arcs and lines that make his breath catch.

Taehyung doesn't know ballet. Doesn't know dance at all. But he knows beauty when he sees it. Knows holiness. Recognizes glory.

The glass, he realizes, isn't just dirty. It's one-way. A mirror on your side, a window on his. You can't see him watching. Don’t know you’re being witnessed.

The knowledge makes him feel profane. He shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be seeing this. It's too intimate, too sacred for someone like him.

(worthless)

But he can't look away.

Your hair is pulled back, severe and perfect. No strand out of place. Your leotard (is that the word? he thinks it might be) clings to a form that seems impossible—all angles and curves existing together in defiance of what bodies should be able to do.

When you turn, your face catches light. Features like a doll. But your gaze is nothing like that. Eyes focused on nothing but your reflection. On perfection. On control.

You are everything he is not.

Clean. 

Worthy.

Then, a series of turns that make his head spin just watching. You’re counting, he realizes. Your lips move slightly with each rotation. One, two, three... he can't tell how high you go. Can't follow the complexity of it.

The bleach bottle is cold against his chest. His palm still dirty. His breath fogging the small clear spot he's made in the glass.

He should leave. Should run. Should take his bleach and go back to his world of sticky floors and meaningless tasks. Should never come back here again.

But even as he thinks it, he knows he will. Knows that he'll return tomorrow, like he has to now. And the day after. And every day the store is open. Just to stand in this filthy room he can't bear to be in. Just to watch you move like water, like air.

Like everything pure in a world of contamination.

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[jungkoode]

OUT OF LINE | 01

“gominola”

"Some people are immune to charm, allergic to arrogance, and completely uninterested in your particular brand of expensive chaos. Today you meet one of them."

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↦author's note : Okay. Okay. I really went and did it with this one. And I regret absolutely nothing. First of all. Just had to make that clear up front. No apologies will be issued at this time, thank you for your concern. Second of all—and this one's been cracking me up for days—I've been texting Vani like "I'm so sorry. I fear this is my Wattpad fic." Because... it is. Like, it really is. I've gone full ✨she's unimpressed, he's cocky✨ and I need you all to understand: I am aware. I see the trope. I live the trope. And I embrace the trope. This is not innovative. It's not genre-defying. It is what it is, and I'm standing ten toes down in it. Sometimes life sucks and you deserve to indulge in a fuckboy right-back getting stonewalled by a girl in a hoodie and a death glare. Guilty pleasures are called pleasures for a reason. Let me live. That said... this is still a Kiki fic. So yeah, it's Wattpad-coded, but it's also packed with trauma, psychological complexity, and enough repressed emotion to make a therapist cry. Because I can't write fluff. I can't write people who fall in love cleanly. I can only write emotional warfare and painfully specific coping mechanisms. So if you're looking at Taehyung like "he's insufferable," just know that's the point. He is! He's also deeply lonely, emotionally stunted, and addicted to being wanted because he thinks admiration equals worth. (Spoiler: it doesn't.) And her—god. She is not here for the male ego parade. She's grown up in Spain, she's grieving, she's displaced, and she has zero energy for Real Madrid's locker room of dopamine-deficient mascots. That hoodie isn't just a hoodie. It's distance. It's defiance. It's a tether to a home she was pulled from too fast, and a warning sign to anyone trying to get too close. Don't get me started on the symbolism because this will get way too long. Vani knows firsthand. Now. Leo? Oh, Leo. He's the Real Madrid maknae and a walking cautionary tale. He wants to belong so badly he'll mirror whatever's around him. Which, unfortunately for him, is Taehyung and Marco. He's twenty. Impressionable. Already being warped by the dynamic of party-first, care-later. I love him. I want to save him. I might not. Also, let's talk about Jesús—because I had to sneak that conversation in. Chapter 1 is heavy on Taehyung's POV, which means you get all his projection and testosterone-induced decisions and derailed internal monologue. But the dad scene was non-negotiable. I needed you to see her from the inside. The quiet way she's holding herself together with routines, ferrets, gominolas, and the desperate need for control. She's not cold. She's scorched. And her dad? He's trying. He's trying so hard. And maybe that's the saddest part of all. Also—linguistics side note because I'm annoying—I very intentionally wrote her dialogue with Jesús in Spanish (with translations) because I will die on the hill of language realism. It would make zero sense for them to speak English to each other at home. She's grown up in Spain. Her dad's Spanish. That's their intimacy language. Meanwhile, the Real Madrid players default to English—the club is international, and not everyone speaks Spanish fluently (Taehyung included). So yes. In this fic, she's the one speaking a different language. And yes. He's going to learn. Because nobody does language kink intimacy like I do. 🫦 So yes. He's awful. Intentionally. Aggressively. Satirically. This is not a "he's so cool because he's toxic" situation. This is "I am raw-dogging you his character flaws on a silver platter so you can watch him fumble in real time." Let's all unpack that together. Anyway. Welcome to Out of Line. Vani's Between the Lines sister story. My trauma-coded cliché monster. My ode to messy boys and girls who pretend they're fine until they implode. Please buckle your seatbelts. Hold each other's hands. Consider investing in therapy. I know I am.

The new physio better be hot.

That's the first coherent thought Taehyung has after forty-five minutes of mindless drills. Not that he's complaining about the mindless part—muscle memory's doing all the work while his brain checks out, cataloguing last night's blonde (Marta? Maria? Started with an M, ended with her screaming his name, details irrelevant).

The September sun's brutal on the pitch, turning the grass into a furnace, and Coach keeps barking orders like they haven't run this same formation a thousand times.

"Fucking hell," Marco grunts beside him, bent over with his hands on his knees. "If I have to do one more suicide drill, I'm actually going to commit one."

Leo laughs—that nervous kind of laugh he does when he's not sure if Marco's joking. Kid's still too green, still thinks there's some magic formula to fitting in. Taehyung remembers being twenty and giving a shit about what the older players thought. Now he's twenty-four and the only opinion that matters is his own.

And right now, his opinion is that training's boring as fuck.

"New physio starts today," Leo offers, like that's supposed to make the sweat stop pooling in uncomfortable places. "Jesús something. From Barcelona."

So… A man. Boring.

Marco spits on the grass. "Great. We now got a Barça prick to tell us we're stretching wrong."

Taehyung's about to add his own commentary—something about how Barcelona's medical staff couldn't fix their players' egos, let alone their hamstrings—when movement in the bleachers catches his eye.

Hello.

There's someone up there. Female someone, from the shape. Not unusual—girlfriends, agents, journalists, they all hover around the complex like expensive flies.

But this one's different.

This one's got nose in a book (okay, miss 'not like other girls'), completely ignoring the show on the pitch.

And that's…

Interesting.

He shifts his stance, trying to get a better angle without being obvious about it. Hair pulled back, oversized university hoodie despite the heat, legs crossed at the ankle. Can't see your face from here, but the way you're sitting—spine straight, pen moving across the page in quick, efficient strokes—suggests you're not here for the view.

Which is fucking absurd, honestly.

He's shirtless. Marco's shirtless. Hell, half the team's shirtless, and you're more invested in whatever's on that page than twenty-two professional athletes in peak physical condition.

"Oi." Marco's elbow catches him in the ribs. "You checking out the competition or planning to actually train today?"

"Who's that?"

He doesn't point—he's not twelve—but tilts his head toward the bleachers.

Marco squints, then grins. That specific grin that means he's already mapping out his approach strategy.

"Oh shit. That's the new physio's daughter."

So a man—with a daughter.

The information slots into place like a puzzle piece.

Barcelona physio. Daughter in tow. Probably forced to tag along while daddy gets settled into his new job, bored out of your mind, killing time with—he squints—whatever the fuck that textbook is.

"Dibs," Marco says automatically.

"You can't call dibs on people," Leo protests, still adorably convinced that ethics apply to their world.

"Watch me." Marco's already running a hand through his hair, activating what he calls 'the panty-dropper smile,' which Taehyung's seen work on models, actresses, that prosecutor who definitely should've known better. "I give her two days before she's begging for a private tour of the facilities."

Taehyung watches you turn a page, pen tapping against your bottom lip. The gesture is unconscious, academic, completely unaware of the attention you're drawing.

Something about it makes his mouth quirk up.

"Hundred euros says she doesn't even give you her number."

"You're on." Marco's already moving, that swagger in his step that says he's never met a woman who didn't eventually cave. "Watch and learn, boys."

But Taehyung's not interested in watching Marco crash and burn. He's already moving, cutting his friend off with the kind of casual interception that works just as well off the pitch as on it.

Marco's protests fade into background noise—something about fair play and bro code and other shit that stops mattering the second Taehyung gets a clear view of your face.

You're pretty.

Not Instagram pretty, not 'done up for the cameras' pretty. Just… pretty. The kind of face that probably looks the same at 6 AM as it does at midnight. No makeup that he can see, just skin and eyes and a mouth that's currently frowning at whatever you're reading.

He leans against the barrier separating the pitch from the stands, letting his weight settle into the metal. Close enough now to smell something sweet—not perfume, something else. Candy, maybe. The artificial cherry kind kids eat.

You don't look up.

He's standing three feet away, shirtless and sweaty and radiating that post-workout testosterone that usually has women tripping over themselves, and you don't even glance his way.

What the fuck.

He raises an eyebrow, even though you're not looking to see it.

Clears his throat.

Nada.

You make another note in the margin of your textbook, and he catches a glimpse of the page—medical terminology, diagrams that look like someone exploded a knee joint and tried to map the debris.

A physio's daughter studying what looks like physio stuff. Following in daddy's footsteps. Cute.

He waves a hand in front of your face. Not aggressive, just enough movement to break your concentration.

And finally—finally—you look up.

Your eyes are darker than expected, the kind that turns black when annoyed.

Which, judging by the expression on your face, is exactly what you are right now.

He smirks. Can't help it. It's automatic at this point, the expression that says 'yeah, I'm that guy, you're welcome.'

"Hey."

You blink at him. Once. Twice. Then go back to your book.

What.

"Studying?" He tries again, because maybe you're one of those delayed reaction types.

Maybe the neural pathways from eyes to brain to mouth need a second to fire up.

Nothing.

He glances at the textbook again.

The words swim in front of him—Spanish, mostly, medical Spanish at that. His comprehension tops out at ordering beer and asking where the bathroom is. Carmen tried to teach him once, spent hours conjugating verbs while naked in his bed, but all he remembers is that 'cama' means bed and 'más' means more.

"I guess you already know my name."

He leans harder against the barrier, angling his body to block the worst of the sun from your page.

See? Thoughtful.

"But it's Kim. Taehyung. First name Taehyung."

You raise your eyes from the textbook. Slow, like it's costing you effort. The look you give him is so flat it could resurface a parking lot.

"And I should care because…?"

It's not quite a question because you clearly don't expect an answer. Or want one. You're already turning back to your book, dismissing him as efficiently as a referee's whistle.

He blinks. Opens his mouth. Closes it.

"Tae!" Marco's voice cuts across the pitch. "Coach wants us back!"

But Taehyung's still processing. Still standing there like an idiot while you scribble another note in that incomprehensible textbook.

You've got a red pen now, underlining something like nothing else matters in the world—not even him.

That makes him frown.

The barrier digs into his forearms but he doesn't move. Can't quite figure out why you're not looking.

You're just… sitting there. Ignoring him. Like he's furniture.

Sweaty, expensive furniture that you have zero interest in purchasing.

"Taehyung!" Marco again, louder this time. "Unless you want extra laps—"

Right. Training. The thing he's paid millions to do.

He pushes off the barrier, but not before catching one last detail—a small bag of those candies peeking out from your hoodie pocket.

"Any day now, princess," Marco calls, and that gets a laugh from the others.

Taehyung flips him off, and he knows, technically, the smart thing would be to walk away. Get back to training. Forget about the physio's daughter who clearly has better things to do than stroke his ego.

But Taehyung's never been particularly smart about these things.

"You know," he says, loud enough to make sure you hear him, "most people at least pretend to be interested when someone introduces themselves."

Your pen stops moving. Just for a second. Then continues its path across the page.

"Most people," you say without looking up, "introduce themselves when there's a reason to."

It's so casual, so dismissive, that it takes him a second to realize you've just called him irrelevant to your existence.

Him. Taehyung Kim. Real Madrid's starting right-back. A hundred and thirty-six million Instagram followers. Face of three luxury brands and that unfortunate cologne campaign his agent swears was artistic.

Irrelevant.

"Taehyung, I swear to god—"

"I'm coming!" He shouts back at Marco, then his eyes move back to you.

He glances at your hoodie pocket again, at the candy, sweet-shaped things you're chewing.

"What's that?"

You look up slowly, like you're completely done with this, and he kind of likes the little groove appearing between your eyebrows.

"What's what?"

He nods at the small red jellybean thingy between your fingers.

"That."

"It's called gominola," you say, flat as concrete, like you're explaining colors to a toddler.

Gominola. Spanish word.

He's heard it before, maybe, but Spanish flows past him like water most days.

"Right." He nods like he totally knew that. "Gominola."

You're already deep in your textbook again, like the last two minutes didn't happen. Like he didn't happen.

He runs his tongue over his teeth, tasting salt and something sour. When he finally turns back to the pitch, Marco's wearing that shit-eating grin that means he watched the whole thing.

"So," his friend says as Taehyung jogs back to formation. "How's that hundred euros looking?"

"Shut up."

"No, really. I want to know what kind of flowers to send to your funeral. Roses? Lilies? Something that says 'here lies Taehyung Kim, murdered by a girl who didn't give a fuck'?"

Leo's trying not to laugh and failing. Even Diego looks amused from his spot near the goal, and Diego hasn't been amused by anything since 2018.

"She's playing hard to get," Taehyung says, grabbing his water bottle and taking a long drink.

The sun's turned brutal while he was standing there like an idiot, and his shoulders are probably fried.

"Right." Marco stretches the word into three syllables. "And I'm playing hard to get with Scarlett Johansson."

"Different game entirely."

Taehyung caps the bottle, eyes drifting back to the bleachers. You're highlighting something now, yellow marker moving in precise lines.

"Trust me."

"Oh, this is gonna be good." Marco's practically bouncing on his toes. "Taehyung Kim, rejected by the physio's daughter who'd rather read about—what was that, tendons?—than talk to him."

"I wasn't rejected."

"You literally just stood there while she acted like you didn't exist."

"She was just busy."

"That's what we're calling it?"

Taehyung grins, and it's the one that usually makes Marco nervous. The one that appears right before he does something spectacularly stupid and somehow makes it work.

"I'm calling it round one."

Because here's the thing—he's been bored. Genuinely, mind-numbingly bored.

Same training, same parties, same faces in his bed.

Madrid's full of women who know his name before he opens his mouth, who laugh at jokes that aren't funny and pretend to be fascinated by stories they've already heard from three other players.

But you? You looked at him like he was blocking your light.

So he spends the rest of training with one eye on the bleachers, and you don't look up once, not even when Leo completely botches a penalty kick and Marco screams creative Italian profanity at the sky.

You just keep reading, occasionally popping one of those gominolas into your mouth, completely absorbed in a world that has nothing to do with the spectacle fifty feet away.

By the time Coach calls it, the sun's turned the pitch into a sauna and everyone's dragging.

Taehyung grabs his shirt from the bench, pulling it on while trying to look like he's not watching you pack up your things.

You move like you have all the time in the world—book into bag, pens into case, everything in its place.

Then you're walking down the bleachers, taking the steps two at a time like you've got somewhere better to be.

"So what's the plan?" Marco appears at his shoulder, following his line of sight. "Flowers? Jewelry? Groveling?"

"Don't need a plan."

"Everyone needs a plan."

"No," Taehyung corrects, watching you disappear through the exit without a backward glance. "Everyone else needs a plan."

Marco laughs, but it's the kind that suggests he thinks Taehyung's lost it.

"She didn't even tell you her name."

True.

But he noticed the way your fingers tapped against the book when you were thinking.

Noticed the three different colors of highlighter in your bag, organized by size.

Noticed how you bite your lip on the left side when concentrating, leaving the faintest indent in the pink.

Details.

The kind that matter when you're mapping out a challenge.

"She will," he says, and means it.

Because Taehyung Kim doesn't do rejection.

He does persistence, charm and strategy wrapped in a smile.

And you, with your medical textbooks and gummies and complete inability to give a fuck about his existence?

Oh. You're gonna be fun.

Nube’s stealing your socks again.

You watch her drag the pink cotton across the hardwood floor of your bedroom, tiny paws working overtime to claim her prize.

She’s gotten bold since the move—probably stress-induced kleptomania.

Can’t blame her. You’ve been stress-eating pikotas like they’re a food group.

"That’s my good pair," you tell her, but she’s already disappeared under the bed with her treasure.

Hari’s less ambitious in his criminal endeavors. He’s sprawled across your stomach like a furry hot water bottle, occasionally chittering when you stop petting him. The sound vibrates against your ribs—small, warm, alive.

Better than the silence that fills this house most days.

Your phone’s face-down on the nightstand because checking it leads to Barcelona rabbit holes, and Barcelona rabbit holes lead to wondering what Dani had for breakfast or whether Jungkook’s figured out how to use the coffee machine without flooding the kitchen.

Pointless thoughts. Dangerous thoughts.

The knock on your door is soft, tentative. Dad’s signature.

Mom used to say he knocked like he was apologizing for existing.

"¿Sí?" (Yeah?)

"¿Puedo pasar?" (Can I come in?)

Hari perks up at your father’s voice, whiskers twitching. Traitor. You scoop him up anyway, settling him against your shoulder before nodding toward the door.

"Adelante." (Come in)

Dad enters like he’s entering a crime scene—careful, observant, ready to back out if needed. His hair’s still damp from the shower, smelling like that medicinal soap he uses. The scent of competence and sterile environments, you figure.

"¿Cómo van los estudios?" (How’s the studying going?) He settles into the chair by your desk, the one that’s supposed to be for studying but mostly holds laundry you’re too lazy to put away.

"Bien." (Good) You scratch behind Hari’s ears, feel him melt against your palm. "La anatomía es anatomía. Da igual si estás en Barcelona o en Marte." (Anatomy’s anatomy. Doesn’t matter if you’re in Barcelona or Mars)

He smiles at that, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Never does anymore.

Not since the move.

Not since Mom.

"Bien. Eso está bien." (Good. That’s good.) His fingers drum against his thigh—nervous habit he developed after Mom died. "Oye, sé que este cambio ha sido… difícil. Para los dos." (Listen, I know this change has been… difficult. For both of us.)

Here we go. The conversation you’ve been avoiding for three weeks. The one where he apologizes for taking the job, for moving you from everything familiar, for choosing survival over sentiment.

"Papá—" (Dad—)

"No, escúchame." (No, listen to me.) He leans forward, elbows on knees. The posture of a man confessing sins. "Sé que no querías irte de Barcelona. Sé que esto te parece una traición." (I know you didn’t want to leave Barcelona. I know this feels like betrayal.)

Betrayal’s too strong a word. Abandonment fits better.

But you don’t say that because he already carries enough guilt for both of you.

"No pasa nada." (It’s fine.)

"Sí que pasa." (It’s not fine.) His voice gains edge, that firmness he uses with players who claim they’re not injured when they’re obviously limping. "Pero era necesario. Y a lo mejor… a lo mejor es bueno. Cambio de aires. Nuevas perspectivas." (But it was necessary. And maybe… maybe it’s good. Change of air. New perspectives.)

New perspectives. Right. Because what you really needed was exposure to Madrid’s particular brand of arrogance and entitlement.

Hari shifts against your shoulder, tiny claws pricking through your shirt.

Even he’s unconvinced.

"¿Y los jugadores?" (And the players?) The question comes out careful, as if he were asking about your opinion on the weather rather than your thoughts on his new colleagues. "¿Qué te parecen?" (What do you think of them?)

You consider lying. Consider diplomacy. Consider all the ways you could soften the truth to make it easier for him to swallow.

Instead, you shrug.

"Pues qué voy a pensar, papá. Son gilipollas." (What would I think, dad? They’re jerks.)

He barks out a laugh—sharp, surprised. The first genuine one you’ve heard from him since you got here.

"Joder, hija." But he’s grinning now, shaking his head. "No te cortes." (Shit, sweetie. Tell me how you really feel.)

"Me has preguntado." (You asked.)

"Es verdad." (That’s true.) He sobers slightly. "¿Todos?" (All of them?)

You think about it. Really think about it.

Xavi seems decent enough—quiet, professional, treats staff like humans rather than furniture. Diego’s got that aggressive competence thing going on, but he’s respectful. Even Marco, for all his obvious fuckboy tendencies, at least has the decency to say please when he wants extra ice.

Then there’s… him.

Taehyung.

With his lazy smirks and designer everything and complete inability to understand that the world doesn’t revolve around his stupid abs.

"La mayoría." (Most of them.) The admission feels like charity. "Algunos son simplemente… más gilipollas que otros." (Some are just… bigger jerks than others.)

Your phone buzzes against the nightstand. Face still down, but the vibration makes both you and Hari jump slightly.

Ignore it.

It’s probably Instagram telling you Dani posted another story, or your university group chat discussing assignment due dates, or some other notification designed to pull you back into a world you’re trying to navigate without drowning.

It buzzes again.

"¿No vas a mirar?" (Won’t check?)

"No es nada." (It’s nothing.)

But your dad’s looking at you with that expression. The one that says he knows you better than you know yourself, and lying to him is like lying to a mirror.

You flip the phone over.

@𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐨: BOMBAZO: 𝙱𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚊𝙱𝚊𝚛𝚋𝚒𝚎 𝚢 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚂𝚌𝚘𝚝𝚝, ¿𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚟𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚓𝚊? 𝙻𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚖𝚊́𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚕 𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 (BOMBSHELL: BarcaBarbie and Blake Scott, new couple? The pictures that confirm the romance)

The thumbnail is grainy, paparazzi-quality garbage, but unmistakably them. Blake’s hand around Barbie’s waist, pulling her close. Her face is hidden by her hair, falling between them and the camera.

They’re close. Too close.

The kind of close that could be a kiss or could be an almost-kiss or could be nothing at all, but the angle makes it impossible to tell and that’s exactly what sells magazines.

You stare at the screen longer than necessary. Feel something twist in your chest that you refuse to name.

It’s not jealousy. It’s not longing. It’s just… surprise.

Because Blake is a Barcelona player, and Barbie is Dani’s sister—and the implications are already enough without you having to explicitly connect the dots.

Your thumb hovers over Dani’s contact. The urge to text him hits like muscle memory—does he know about this? how’s he taking it? is he okay?—but then your heart does that thing. That stupid, treacherous thing where it speeds up just thinking about typing his name.

Because he has a girlfriend now.

Carla. Sweet, pretty Carla who met him with a press badge slung around her neck and a voice recorder in hand. Who writes match reports and profile pieces that are perfect and looks genuinely happy in her soft-filtered couple photos.

Of course he would fall for her. 

Of course she’s the kind of girl who gets the story and the guy.  

Carla who never had to compete with a dead woman’s memory or a teenage crush that should have died years ago.

You swallow the impulse. Bury it under three layers of rationalization and practical thinking.

Instead, you open Jungkook’s chat.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍? 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚞𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝙱𝚊𝚛?

You wait 2 seconds max before the response makes its way through the chat. Well, of fucking course. It’s no secret Jungkook's always been surgically attached to his phone.

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚗𝚊𝚑𝚑𝚑 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚒𝚜

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚜

Relief floods your system before you can stop it.

Which is stupid.

Why should you care if Barbie and Blake are together? It’s not like their relationship status affects your life in Madrid.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚑𝚘𝚠’𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚒? 𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕?

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚕

The response comes quick. Too quick. Like he’s trying to move past the topic before you can dig deeper.

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚋𝚝𝚠 𝚑𝚘𝚠’𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚍?

And there it is. The subject change.

Jungkook’s always been good at reading minefields and stepping around them.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚍?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚘𝚘𝚏

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, because…

You could tell him about Taehyung. About the smirk and the shameless showing off and the way he looked genuinely confused when you didn’t fall over yourself to talk to him.

But that would require admitting you noticed him at all.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢’𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚛? 🤔

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚎

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚔𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚔𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚜

Despite everything, you smile.

Because he’s not wrong.

Barcelona players at least have the decency to look good while being insufferable.

"¿Todo bien?" (All good?) Your dad’s voice pulls you back to the room, to Hari’s warm weight against your shoulder, to the conversation you abandoned to spiral over Barcelona gossip.

"Sí. Solo… amigos siendo amigos." (Yeah. Just… Friends being friends.)

"¿Amigos de Barcelona?" (Barcelona friends?)

The question lands heavier than it should.

Because yes, Barcelona friends. The ones you left behind.

The ones who are moving on and coupling up and living their lives while you’re stuck in Madrid petting ferrets and avoiding eye contact with shirtless footballers.

"Sí." (Yes.)

He nods, understanding more than you wish he did.

"Está bien echarlos de menos. Es normal." (It’s okay to miss them. It’s normal.)

"Lo sé." (I know.)

"Y está bien… hacer nuevos amigos aquí. Aunque sean gilipollas." (And it’s okay to… to make new friends here. Even if they’re jerks.)

You look at him then, see the worry lines around his eyes, the way his shoulders carry tension like a physical weight.

He’s trying so hard to make this work. To make this place feel like home instead of just a house where you happen to sleep.

It’s not fair to him, to make it feel like it’s all his fault.

"Tal vez algunos sean menos gilipollas que otros," you concede. (Maybe some are lesser jerks than others.)

He smiles. "Sí, tal vez." (Yeah, maybe.)

Your phone buzzes again.

More Barcelona updates, probably.

More reminders of the life you’re not living anymore.

You let it buzz.

Because right now, in this sterile Madrid bedroom with your stress-thieving ferrets and your guilt-ridden father, you’re exactly where you need to be. Even if it feels like exile.

Even if every instinct tells you that Madrid players are trouble, and certain shirtless right-backs are the worst kind of trouble.

Even if your heart still does stupid things when you think about blue and red jerseys and boys who used to treat you like family.

"¿Cena?" (Dinner?) Your dad stands, stretching joints that probably ache from years of fixing other people’s bodies. "Estaba pensando en pedir de ese sitio argentino de la calle." (I was thinking of ordering from that argentinian place down the street.)

"¿El de las empanadas?" (The one with the empanadas?)

"Ese mismo." (The very one.)

Hari chirps at the mention of food, because ferrets are basically tiny, furry garbage disposals with boundary issues.

"Vale. Pero mañana cocinas tú. Esto de la comida a domicilio se está poniendo caro." (Okay. But you’re cooking tomorrow. This takeout thing is getting expensive.)

"Trato hecho." (Deal.) He pauses at the door, hand on the frame. "Y cielo…" (And sweetheart…)

"¿Qué?" (What?)

"Dale una oportunidad a Madrid. Solo… una pequeñita." (Give Madrid a chance. Just… a small one.)

You scratch Hari’s head, feel him purr against your palm. Outside your window, the sun’s setting over a city that still feels foreign, painting everything in shades of gold and possibility.

"Ya veremos." (We’ll see.)

It’s not a yes. But it’s not a no either.

And for now, that’s enough.

Twenty-two minutes and she hasn't cum yet.

Not that he's counting. Except he is, because Marco's got a thousand euros riding on twenty minutes max, and Taehyung doesn't lose bets. Especially not when the evidence is currently wrapped around his cock, lips stretched wide, dark eyes looking up at him through thick lashes like she knows exactly what she's doing to him.

Fuck.

Her tongue does this thing—this swirl around the head that makes his thighs tense—and he threads his fingers through her curls. Not pulling. Guiding. There's a difference, and he's not an amateur. The curls are soft, springy, wrapping around his fingers like they belong there.

His phone buzzes on the nightstand. Screen lights up with Marco's name and some emoji combination that probably means he's balls deep in his own conquest downstairs.

Good for him. Great. Love that for him. Now fuck off.

He swipes at the notification with his free hand, types back without looking. Whatever he sends, it's probably not words. Doesn't matter. Marco speaks fluent 'leave me the fuck alone' by now.

She hums around him and his hips jerk. Shit. He tosses the phone somewhere—bed, floor, shadow realm, who gives a fuck—and gets his other hand in her hair. Both hands now, cradling her head like she's precious cargo. Which she is. Absolutely fucking is when she's doing that thing with her tongue again.

"That's it," he breathes, helping her with shallow thrusts.

Nothing too deep. He's not trying to choke her. Not unless she asks, and even then—

The phone buzzes again.

Jesus fucking Christ.

He ignores it. Focuses on the wet heat, the way her nails dig into his thighs when he hits the back of her throat.

She's good at this. Really good.

Like, 'might actually get her number after this' good. The kind of good that makes him forget about—

Another buzz. Another. The screen keeps lighting up like a fucking disco.

She pulls off with an obscene pop, lips swollen and shiny.

"Popular tonight?"

"Always am."

He guides her back down before she can respond, and she goes willingly. Eager, even. Takes him deeper this time, nose almost touching his pelvis, and he has to close his eyes.

Close, close, close—

The orgasm hits like a penalty kick to the gut. He spills down her throat with a grunt that's probably too loud for a hotel room with thin walls, but that's what they get for booking cheap venues for these sponsor parties.

He wipes it away with his thumb (gentle, see? he's a gentleman), and she catches his wrist, sucks the digit clean.

Yeah. Definitely round two with this one.

The phone starts actually ringing this time. Marco's ringtone—some reggaeton bullshit that makes him want to throw the device out the window.

"You need to get that?"

She's already climbing onto his lap, straddling his thighs like she owns them. Her dress rode up during the festivities, bunched around her waist.

No underwear. Smart girl.

"Nah."

He grabs her hips, pulls her closer. She's warm and soft and smells like coconut oil and that floral perfume every girl in Spain seems to own.

"Got better things to do."

She grins, reaching between them to wrap her fingers around his cock. Still sensitive, but already showing interest again. Twenty-four years old and blessed with the recovery time of a teenager.

Thank fuck for good genetics.

"Another round already?" She strokes him slowly, base to tip, twisting her wrist on the upstroke.

He smirks up at her, lazy and satisfied. She's gorgeous like this—dark skin gleaming with a light sheen of sweat, curls wild from his hands, lips still swollen.

The belly dancing show earlier didn't do her justice. All that hip movement on stage was just advertising for this, for the way she rolls her body like water.

"Hmm." He nips at her shoulder, tastes salt and coconut. "Think you can handle it?"

She laughs, breathy and confident, already reaching for the condoms on the nightstand. His mouth finds her shoulder, teeth grazing the skin as she rolls the latex down his half-hard cock. Already getting there. Give him two minutes and—

The phone buzzes again. Then again. Then—

"Jesus fucking Christ." He snatches it up, ready to block Marco's number permanently.

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭👼: 𝙲𝙾𝙳𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙳

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭👼: 𝙲𝙰𝚁𝙻𝙾𝚂 𝙸𝚂 𝙿𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙴𝙳

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭👼: 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭👼: 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭👼: 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎

She's positioning herself over him, one hand braced on his shoulder, the other guiding him to her entrance. Wet. Ready.

Twenty-three minutes and counting, but who's keeping track?

"Ignore it," he mutters, tossing the phone aside again.

His hands find her waist, her lower back, steadying her as she sinks down.

Tight. Fuck, she's tight. Or maybe he's just bigger than her usual.

Either way, the way she gasps and digs her nails into his shoulders suggests this is working for both of them.

"Fuck," she breathes, bottoming out. "You're—"

"I know." He rolls his hips up, cutting off whatever compliment she was about to give.

Doesn't need to hear it. Knows exactly what he's working with.

She starts moving, slow at first, finding her rhythm. He lets her set the pace initially, hands roaming her back, her ass, her thighs. Cataloging reactions.

She likes it when he grips her hips. Loves it when he scrapes his teeth across her nipple.

Mental notes. He's nothing if not a student of the game.

The phone won't stop buzzing.

Fuck Marco, fuck Carlos and fuck the universe, honestly.

Change of plans.

"Gotta make it quick."

He grabs her hips, flips them in one smooth motion. Her back hits the mattress with a soft gasp, legs automatically wrapping around his waist. Better angle anyway.

He braces one forearm next to her head, uses the other hand to push her thigh back toward the mattress. Opens her up just right. Deep. The way he likes it.

"Oh fuck—"

She arches under him as he starts moving. None of that gentle buildup shit. They're twenty-four minutes in and he's got places to be, apparently.

He finds his rhythm quick. Hard, deep thrusts that have her gasping with each one. The headboard's probably banging against the wall but that's what happens when you book the cheap rooms for overflow guests.

Should've sprung for the suite.

One of his hands slides between them, finds her clit. Circles it with his thumb in time with his thrusts.

"Come on," he mutters against her neck. "Come on, come on, come on—"

She's close. Can feel it in the way her pussy flutters around him, the way her breathing goes ragged. Her nails rake down his back, probably leaving marks his physio will question tomorrow.

Whatever. Battle scars.

"Tae—" She can't even finish his name, too busy falling apart underneath him. Her whole body goes taut, cunt clenching around him like a vice.

Twenty-five minutes.

He'll tell Marco nineteen.

He fucks her through it, chasing his own release. Three more thrusts and he's done, spilling into the condom with a groan that's mostly relief.

Mission accomplished. Everybody wins.

No time to bask in it. He pulls out, ties off the condom, and makes the perfect throw into the trash can across the room.

Three points. Still got it.

"I gotta—"

"Yeah, I figured," she says, already reaching for her dress.

No hurt feelings, no "will I see you again?" Just a woman who got what she came for and seems pretty satisfied with the transaction.

He loves Madrid.

He's dressed in record time. Shirt half buttoned but who's checking? Shoes untied. Wallet, phone, keycard. The holy trinity of hasty exits.

The elevator ride down is a lesson in personal grooming. He tries to fix his hair in the mirror, gives up. Checks his phone instead.

Fifteen texts from Marco. Three from Carlos. One from his brother asking if he's seen the news.

What news?

The elevator dings at the lobby and Xavi's right there, still in his training kit because he's Xavi and probably sleeps in it.

"Bro." His teammate's eyes go wide. "Carlos is pissed. Like, nuclear pissed."

"Yeah, I got that from the fifty fucking texts." He's already moving toward the conference room Carlos commandeered for these lectures. "What's his problem now?"

"Check your Instagram."

"What?"

"Just check it."

He pulls up the app while walking.

A ferret account pops up on his discovery page first—weird? Then he checks his last IG story—mirror selfie, hair slightly wet at the tips after showering, navy sweater, gold and white make-shift belt around the loops as a wink to his team—has blown up.

Then his notifications, DMs…

@𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞: 𝚋𝚘𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚔 𝙸𝚖𝚊𝚘𝚘

Taehyung flicks his eyes upwards, seeing the story attached in the group chat he has with Marco and Leo in their private accounts.

Some girl from the party, video of him in the background. He's clearly drunk, clearly has his hands on C-something's ass, and clearly doesn't give a fuck who sees.

But that's not the worst part.

The worst part is the red lipstick mark on his neck that's visible in HD clarity. The same one he's sporting right now. The same one that makes it very fucking obvious what he's been doing while Carlos texts and calls and slowly loses his mind.

He swipes at his neck, fingers coming away red.

"Fuck's sake."

"Yeah, it's not looking too good, disappearing from your own sponsor event to—" Xavi gestures vaguely at Taehyung's everything. "—whatever this is?"

"It's called having a good time." He spots the hotel bar, makes a beeline. "Maybe you should try it sometime."

"I have a good time. With my fiancée. Singular. Who I've been with for eight years."

"Boring."

"Stable."

"Same thing."

Marco appears from nowhere, blonde still attached to his arm like a designer handbag. His best friend takes one look at him and whistles low.

"You're fucked."

"Thanks for the insight." He nods at Marco's companion. "Mind if I borrow him?"

She pouts but detaches, wobbling away on heels that should require a license to operate. Marco watches her go with the satisfied expression of a man who's had a very good night.

"Isabella know about your extracurriculars?" Taehyung asks, still trying to rub the lipstick off his neck.

"Isabella knows what Isabella needs to know." Marco produces a tissue from somewhere—the man's always prepared. "Here. You look like you got mauled by a Sephora display."

"Fuck off."

"I'm serious. Carlos is going to have an aneurysm. Something about brand image and Nike and I stopped listening after he mentioned lawyers."

Great. Fantastic. Another lecture about representing the club and thinking about his future and all that shit that goes in one ear and out the other.

He's twenty-four, not forty. If he can't fuck random chicks at hotel parties, what's the point of being famous?

"How bad?"

"Scale of one to ten?" Marco grins. "Fifteen. He used your full name. Twice."

Shit.

"Did you at least win the bet?"

Taehyung grins. "Nineteen minutes."

"Bullshit."

"You don't know how to count."

"I have a fucking engineering degree."

"From where, clown college?"

The conference room door is closed but he can hear Carlos pacing inside, the aggressive click of designer shoes on marble.

Taehyung takes a breath, straightens his collar, and tries to look less like he just railed someone into a mattress.

"Good luck," Marco says, already backing away.

"Fuck you."

"Love you too, princess."

He pushes open the door to find Carlos mid-rant on his phone. His manager—all 5'9" of stress and designer suits—spins around and actually growls.

"Finally! Do you have any idea—" Carlos stops, takes in his appearance, and closes his eyes like he's praying for patience. "Is that lipstick?"

"No?"

"Kim Taehyung, I swear to God—"

"Okay, yes, but—"

"Sit. Down."

He sits. Carlos continues pacing, phone clutched like a weapon.

"Do you know what I've been doing for the past hour? Damage control. Do you know why? Because my client—my professional footballer client who makes seven figures a month—decided to get filmed grabbing ass at a party where half of Madrid's press was in attendance."

"It's not that bad—"

"Nike called." Carlos cuts him off. "They're concerned about your 'brand alignment.' Do you know what that means?"

"That they're uptight?"

"It means," Carlos says slowly, like he's explaining to a child, "that they pay you three and a half million euros a year to be a role model, not Madrid's most notorious fuckboy."

Fuckboy seems harsh. He prefers 'socially active'.

"I'll do an apology post," he offers. "Something about focusing on football and growth or whatever."

"No, you won't. Because that admits wrongdoing. We're going with 'private moment taken out of context.' Maria is drafting it now."

Of course she is. Carlos has contingencies for his contingencies.

"Fine. Can I go?"

"We're not done." Carlos finally stops pacing, fixing him with that look that means a PowerPoint presentation is coming. "This is the third incident this month. The referee thing, the Instagram live disaster, and now this."

"The referee deserved it."

"That's not the point!"

"Then what is the point?" He's getting irritated now, the post-orgasm calm evaporating. "I'm not breaking any laws. I'm not missing training. I'm playing the best football of my career—"

"The point," Carlos interrupts, "is that you're one scandal away from losing everything. Nike, TAG Heuer, the Korean skincare deal—they all have morality clauses. And you keep pushing boundaries like you're trying to find the limit."

He doesn't respond to that. Mainly because it's true.

"I need you to be smarter," Carlos continues, voice softer now. "I know you're young. I know you're having fun. But this isn't sustainable."

"Noted."

"I'm serious, Taehyung."

"So am I." He stands, ready to end this conversation. "I'll be more careful. Scout's honor."

Carlos doesn't look convinced, but he waves him off with a sigh that's more a cry for help than anything.

"Go. And for God's sake, wash your neck. You look like a crime scene."

He escapes before Carlos can launch into lecture phase two.

The hotel bar's still going strong—Madrid doesn't sleep, just shifts into different versions of awake.

He needs something to wash down the taste of Carlos's disappointment. Not whiskey though—that’s what old men drink when their wives leave them.

Vodka and tonic. Clean. Sharp. Doesn't linger.

The bartender's already pouring before he reaches the counter. Benefits of being recognized everywhere—people anticipate your needs, or at least pretend to.

He knocks back half of it in one go, ice cracking against his teeth.

There's a brunette at the end of the bar. Legs for days, red dress that he bets would look amazingly good on the floor of his bedroom.

She's been tracking him since he walked in—he can feel it without looking, the weight of female attention.

He's already mentally prepping—three minutes of conversation, five if she plays hard to get… His place or hers? Hers, probably. Easier to leave when—

"Tae!"

For fuck's sake.

Leo stumbles out of the elevator looking like someone killed his puppy. No, worse—like someone killed his puppy and posted it on TikTok. The kid's got his phone clutched in both hands, that specific brand of panic that only comes from relationship drama.

Why. Why can't the universe let him get his dick wet in peace? Just once. Just one fucking night without—

"Bro, I need your help." Leo shoves his phone in Taehyung's face. "Sofia saw—there was this brunette—someone posted—"

Instagram story. Leo with his tongue down some brunette's throat, hand up her skirt, zero subtlety. 47 views and counting.

He takes another sip of vodka, holds up a finger to the red dress at the bar—one second—and turns to Leo with what he hopes passes for sympathy.

"Breathe."

"I can't breathe! She posted a story. There's a hand. On her thigh. In a car. A man's hand!"

Leo shoves his phone in Taehyung’s face again.

Instagram story. Some girl’s thigh in a car, masculine hand placement that’s definitely not Leo’s. Caption: upgrade season 💋

"Okay."

"It's not okay! And the girl from tonight, she wants breakfast. Breakfast, Tae. Like, together. In public. She's talking about some place that does açaí bowls."

Christ. Açaí bowls. The official food of women who think one hookup equals a relationship contract.

"And Sofia's probably with that guy right now, and if she finds out I'm getting breakfast with—"

"You're not getting breakfast with anyone." He smiles to the brunette with gritted teeth. "Rule one: never do breakfast."

"But I already said—"

"Rule two: your word means nothing after 2 AM."

"That's fucked up."

"That's reality."

The brunette’s definitely listening now.

Great. Nothing kills the mood like babysitting a teammate through his first real fuckboy crisis.

He catches her eye, mouths "work emergency" with an apologetic shrug. She smiles. Understanding. Patient.

Fuck, she’s perfect, and he’s stuck playing guidance counselor to Spain’s most panicked midfielder.

The bartender slides him a fresh drink. Stronger pour this time. Bless.

"Where is she?"

"Room 412. She wants to leave at nine for this place in Malasaña that apparently has the best—"

"Stop." He's getting a headache. Or maybe that's just the vodka hitting an empty stomach. "You're going to go up there—"

"I can't, man. I can't face her. What if she cries?"

Jesus. Was he ever this young? This fucking soft?

"She texts asking where I am every five minutes." Leo shows him the screen—twelve messages, escalating from casual to concerned to the early stages of psycho. "What do I say?"

He looks at Leo—really looks at him. Sees himself at twenty, before he learned that feelings are just chemicals and breakfast is just carbs.

Before he figured out that the only way to win is to always play defense.

"Give me your room key."

"What?"

"Your key. I'll handle it."

"You'll—how?"

"Just trust me." He stands, checks his reflection in the bar mirror. Lipstick's gone but he still looks freshly fucked. Perfect. "What's her name?"

"Natalia."

Of course it is. It's always Natalia or Valentina or some other name that sounds like a telenovela character.

"You owe me." He grabs Leo's shoulders, makes sure the kid's paying attention. "You owe me so fucking big."

"Anything, man. Anything."

"In five minutes, you go wait in the lobby. And try to look heartbroken."

They need Marco. Marco’s good at this shit—turning disasters into comedy, making women laugh when they should be throwing drinks.

So he texts him.

𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: 𝚋𝚊𝚛. 𝚗𝚘𝚠. 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭👼: 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏𝚏, 𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚢

𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: 𝚕𝚎𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙. 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭👼: …𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚊𝚍?

𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚏𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕 𝚋𝚊𝚍

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭👼: 𝚓𝚎𝚜𝚞𝚜. 𝟸 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚜

Marco appears exactly 4 minutes later (see, he can’t count for shit)—shirt half-buttoned, hair suggesting recent activities.

He takes one look at Leo’s face and laughs.

"Breakfast? Really?"

"Her name’s Natalia," Leo defends weakly.

"They’re all named Natalia." Marco claps him on the shoulder. "Alright, wait in the lobby. Look heartbroken."

"That’s exactly what Taehyung said."

Marco lifts his eyebrows and then smiles at him.

"Great minds think alike."

Room 412 is four floors up.

They take the stairs because Marco insists—‘builds character’—but really it’s to workshop the lie.

By the third floor, they’ve got it sorted.

"Family emergency," Marco’s saying, taking the steps two at a time. "Classic. Timeless. Nobody questions sick grandmothers."

"Too heavy." He’s already winded. When was the last time he took stairs? "She’ll want to comfort him. Send flowers or some shit."

"Work emergency?"

"At 5 AM?"

"Good point." Marco pauses at the landing, finger to his lips like he’s contemplating world peace. "Ex-girlfriend."

"That’s what I was thinking."

"Specifically, ex-girlfriend in the lobby with new boyfriend. Leo sees them, gets emotional, can’t possibly do breakfast while having a mental breakdown."

Sometimes he forgets why he keeps Marco around, but then shit like this happens, and it all makes sense.

The knock on 412 is soft, nothing about it screams ‘your hookup sent his boys to break your heart.’

She answers in a hotel robe, hair already curled for this breakfast that’s never happening. Of course she’s exactly what he pictured—pretty in that forgettable way, hopeful in that dangerous way.

"Leo?"

Her face falls when she sees them.

"Where’s Leo?"

"Downstairs." Marco’s got his concerned friend face on. Oscar-worthy. "Having a bit of a moment."

"A moment?"

"His ex." Taehyung leans against the doorframe, lets exhaustion sell the story. "She’s here. With her new guy. Showed up right as we were leaving and just… yeah."

"Oh." Her expression shifts from confusion to sympathy.

Incredible, how women always want to fix broken men.

"Oh god, is he okay?"

"He’s…" Marco glances at him, perfect comedic timing. "Processing."

"He wanted to come up himself," Taehyung adds, "but he’s not really in a state to see anyone. You know how it is. First love and all that."

She nods like this makes perfect sense. Like Leo—sweet, fumbling Leo—is the type to have dramatic ex-girlfriend encounters at 5 AM.

Though, considering the whole Sofia bullshit, that might not be too far-fetched.

"Should I go down? Talk to him?"

"No." Too quick. Marco softens it with a sympathetic head tilt. "He’s embarrassed. Grown man crying in a hotel lobby isn’t exactly his finest moment."

"Tell him…" She’s twisting the belt of her robe, searching for words. "Tell him I understand. And last night was really special."

Special. What a powerful word. One that turns hookups into expectations.

"We’ll make sure he gets the message," Marco promises, already backing away. "So sorry about this."

They maintain the bullshit until the elevator doors close.

Then Marco breaks, laughing so hard he has to brace himself against the wall.

"Did you see her face? ‘Last night was special.’" He wipes his eyes. "Fucking hell, Leo really stepped in it."

"He owes us."

"He owes us his firstborn. His kidney. His—" Marco stops. "Is that brunette from the bar still down there?"

"Probably." He checks his phone. 5:23 AM. The night’s officially crossed into morning, that grey area where bad decisions start looking like destiny. "Why?"

"Because you’ve got that look."

"What look?"

"The ‘I’m going to salvage this night if it kills me’ look."

Is he that predictable?

Don’t answer that.

The lobby’s thinned out—just the diehards and the professionals now. Leo’s slumped on a couch, still clutching his phone.

"Natalia?" Leo jumps up when he sees them.

"Sorted," Marco says. "Told her you’re emotionally compromised. She sends her understanding."

"You’re both lifesavers." Leo looks between them like they’ve just cured cancer. "I don’t know how to thank—"

"Learn from this." He claps Leo on the shoulder, harder than necessary. "Next time, no names. No promises. And definitely no fucking breakfast."

"But what if I actually like—"

"Then you’re in the wrong profession."

He can see the exact moment Leo’s moral compass realigns. The kid straightens up, nods like he’s just learned something profound.

Another one corrupted. Madrid’s finest at work.

"Thanks, guys. I mean it."

"Don’t thank us." Marco’s already eyeing the exit. "Thank Sofia for posting that thigh pic. Girl did you a favor."

Leo’s face falls. "Shit. Sofia."

"Tomorrow’s problem," Taehyung says firmly. "Tonight, you go home. Alone. Post nothing. Like nothing. Become invisible."

"But—"

"Go." He sighs. "Now."

Leo goes. Thank fuck. One crisis managed, one brunette to salvage—

She’s gone.

The barstool’s empty except for lipstick traces on her glass. When the fuck did she leave? He was watching her the whole—

No. He was playing mentor to Madrid’s most incompetent Romeo.

"Brutal." Marco murmurs at his shoulder. "She was hot too."

"There’ll be others."

"Always are." Marco stretches, joints popping. "I’m out. Got a hot thing waiting who thinks I’m getting ice."

"It’s been thirty minutes."

"I’m a very thorough ice-getter." He winks and disappears, leaving Taehyung alone with the growing certainty that tonight’s cursed.

But he’s Kim fucking Taehyung. He doesn’t accept defeat.

He spots her immediately—the blonde from earlier? No. Different blonde. Taller. Legs for days in a silver dress that catches light like a disco ball.

She’s typing on her phone, bottom lip caught between her teeth.

He doesn’t think. Just moves.

"Lost?"

She looks up. Blue eyes, the kind that photograph well. Her smile’s immediate, recognition flooding her features.

"Just waiting for my Uber." American accent. Of course.

They always love the accent combo—Korean face, Spanish lifestyle, English to make promises he won’t keep.

"Cancel it."

"Bold assumption."

"Safe bet." He leans against the pillar beside her, close enough to smell her perfume. That floral thing again. "Unless you’ve got somewhere better to be?"

She studies him for a long moment. He knows what she sees—designer clothes, professional athlete build, trouble written in every line. Her thumb hovers over her phone screen.

"I don’t even know your name."

Lie. She knows exactly who he is.

But he plays along because that’s part of it. The dance. The pretense that this is spontaneous rather than inevitable.

"Taehyung."

"Sarah." She cancels the Uber. "So what now?"

"Now?" He grins, the one that usually seals deals. "Now we get better drinks than whatever shit they were serving upstairs."

By 7 AM, he’s learned three things: Sarah’s flexible, she’s got a tongue piercing, and she looks fantastic in his sheets.

He’s also confirmed what he already knew—he’s still the best at this. Even when the universe tries to keep him in line, he finds a way.

She’s tracing patterns on his chest, already talking about breakfast, when he deploys the usual.

"Early training. Coach will kill me if I’m late."

"On a Sunday?"

"Every day during season." He kisses her forehead. Gentle. Final. "I’ll call you."

He won’t. They both know it.

But she gets dressed anyway, calls her own Uber, leaves with the kind of dignity that makes him almost respect her.

The sun’s coming up, painting his bedroom gold.

Two hours until he has to be human again. Two hours to sleep off whatever tonight was.

He’s already drifting when his phone buzzes.

𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨🍗: 𝚂𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚊 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛

𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨🍗: 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝙸 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚢𝚎𝚜?

He doesn’t respond. Leo will figure it out. Or he won’t.

Either way, that’s tomorrow’s problem. Tonight—this morning—whatever the fuck this is—he’s done.

Won a black girl, played mentor, lost a brunette, found a blonde, maintained his record.

The universe tried to knock him off his game and failed.

Because he’s Kim Taehyung.

And he’s simply the best at everything.

next | index

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© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[jungkoode]

FIVE SECONDS TO FREEDOM | PROLOGUE

"debts unpaid"

"In Tokyo's underground, there are only two currencies that matter—respect and reputation. When someone threatens to take both, you don't just race them. You destroy them."

next | index | wc: 3.5k

↦author's note : Soooo here we fucking go. I've been obsessing over this story for months—I think we all know that lmaooo I think I posted the teaser like a couple months ago and I was devastated because it barely got 50 notes. But you know what, this was still in my head so I did write some drabbles—and I kind of shaped the prologue, which is what you're gonna read below hahaha. "But Kiki we just sent you 45 asks telling you to rest" AND I SAID SIKE??? No actually, I'm okay I promise! Usually writing different stories is what prevents me from burning out, because I get frustrated with the same storyline so it's like… I write something else and my brain goes 'yay thanks'. You know, ADHD—shiny new toy, mind dances to the music. Anyways, so. I love this. I love this because as always I get to experiment with different personalities and psychological backgrounds and what I fucking love about these two is the masks they wear and how opposite they are. He's cocky and arrogant, but in a different way FMU!jungkook is. She's determined and ambitious, always pushing for more, but still very distinct from all my other Y/N's because she's handling different situations (you'll see in later chapters). And Hachiroku and Jaque aren't just racing personas—they're escapes. And what makes this delicious is that they're running from opposite lives. One from privilege, one from struggle. Both finding freedom in the same five seconds at the starting line. And yes, the cars matter. They're not just vehicles; they're extensions of identity. The AE86 is legendary for a reason—not the most powerful, but perfectly balanced in the hands of someone who knows exactly what they're doing (sound familiar?). Meanwhile, the R34 Skyline is raw, unapologetic power held in check by someone who understands precisely when to unleash it. AS ALWAYS—READ THE AUTHOR INTRO AND TW listed in the index post. This is a must before reading this story. Fair warning: this isn't going to be a clean race. These characters are messy. They make decisions that will make you want to scream at them. They'll crash into each other's lives and leave debris everywhere, and the kind of attraction that feels like a guardrail giving way on a mountain pass. But that's the point, isn't it? The most interesting stories happen in the dangerous curves. So buckle up. We've got a long road ahead. Ready? Light's about to turn green.

Edit: prologue takes place 6 months before the main storyline!

Respect isn't given in Tokyo's underground—it's paid in cash or blood.

You roll the cherry lollipop against your teeth, counting seconds in your head like engine timing.

Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours since you left Kalo and his overpriced Supra in your rearview on the Hakone downhill, his taillights disappearing around the corner while you took the perfect line through the hairpin that everyone else brakes too hard for.

It's nighttime at Daikoku.

You cross one leg over the other, letting your heeled boot dangle casually off the edge of your AE86's hood. The mini skirt wasn't a random choice. Neither was showing up without your racing gear.

Because tonight isn't about driving—it's about collecting.

"Kalo's nowhere to be seen," Maya says, leaning against your car's hood, arms crossed. "Dipped hard."

You don't bother looking at her, just shift the lollipop to the other side of your mouth with your tongue. The neon from nearby signs reflects off the polished black and white paint of your 86.

"What?" Maya catches your expression. "I'm just saying. Word is he's been avoiding this spot since you embarrassed him."

"While still flashing cash at that club in Roppongi," you add, voice flat. "Buying drinks for anyone who'll listen to his bullshit version of what happened on the mountain."

You tug at one of the layered chains around your neck, watching the crowd that's gathered tonight.

The usual suspects are here—wannabes with more money than skill taking photos of each other's cars, veterans huddled around hoods talking suspension setups, scouts looking for the next race.

Everyone except the one person who should be here with your money.

"So what's the plan?" Maya nudges your shoulder. "Just gonna sit here looking pretty until he magically appears?"

You roll your eyes. "Since when do I just sit and wait for anything?"

"Fair point." She grins that wolfish grin of hers. "So?"

"So I track his ass down." You twist the lollipop stick between your fingers. "He owes me fifty thousand yen. But more than that, he owes me the respect of paying up and admitting I smoked him fair and square."

Maya snorts, exactly as you expected. "Called it. Knew you wouldn't let this slide."

"It's not about the money." You straighten up, adjusting your cropped leather jacket. "It's about the principle. You lose a race, you pay your debts. That's how this works. You don't just disappear like some amateur who can't handle defeat."

"Especially not when he talked all that shit beforehand," Maya adds, picking at her black nail polish. "What was it he said again? Something about how no girl could ever handle his—"

"'No girl could handle my power on the downhill,'" you quote dryly. "Right before I passed him on the outside of that corner everyone brakes for."

The memory brings a slight smile to your face.

The shock in his eyes when you appeared in his side mirror where no car should have been able to fit.

The desperate overcorrection that sent him nearly scraping the guardrail while you smoothly accelerated away.

"Exactly." Maya pushes off your hood. "So what's the first move? Hit his usual spots?"

You pull the lollipop from your mouth with a pop. "Already did. Club Seventh in Roppongi. The garage where his uncle works in Setagaya. That ramen shop he's always at in Shibuya."

"Stalker much?" Maya raises an eyebrow.

"Thorough," you correct her. "There's a difference."

A brief silence falls between you as you both watch a metallic blue GT-R roll into the lot, bass thumping hard enough to vibrate the pavement.

Not Kalo's crowd—these guys run with the Yokohama crew.

"Kenji might know," you say finally, referring to your mutual friend who somehow knows everyone's business in Tokyo's racing scene. "He mentioned Kalo's been hanging around some new spot in Meguro the past week."

Maya pulls out her phone. "Want me to text him now?"

"Already did." You tap your boot against the bumper of your car. "He's supposed to meet us here in—" you check the time on your wrist "—fifteen minutes ago."

"Typical." Maya rolls her eyes. "That guy couldn't be on time if his life depended on it."

You're about to respond when you spot a familiar face weaving through the crowd. Kenji, with his signature sunglasses despite it being well past midnight, making his way toward you.

You straighten up slightly, not wanting to appear too eager for information.

"Ladies," he greets with that irritating smirk of his, adjusting his sunglasses even though there's absolutely no need. "Looking dangerous tonight, Y/N. Someone's not here to race."

"Just tell me what you know about Kalo," you say, cutting through his bullshit.

Kenji leans against your car without asking—a liberty you allow only because he's useful.

"Direct as always. That's what I like about you."

"Kenji," you warn, patience already wearing thin.

"Fine, fine." He holds up his hands in surrender. "Your boy's been hanging at this new garage in Meguro. Place called Midnight Rush. Trying to get in with that crew that runs the Wangan on weekends."

You raise an eyebrow. "The twins' territory? That's desperate even for him."

"After what you did to his reputation?" Kenji shrugs. "Man's gotta find somewhere to start over."

Maya laughs. "Not how this works. You don't just reset when you lose."

"Exactly." You shift your weight, boot heels clicking against the pavement. "So he's there tonight?"

"Should be. They're prepping for some big run tomorrow. Word is there's serious money changing hands. He's trying to buy his way in."

The conversation halts as the distinctive growl of an approaching engine cuts through the night.

Not just any engine—something with a tune you've never heard before.

Sharp. Aggressive. Perfectly balanced.

Heads turn as a midnight purple Skyline R34 GT-R glides into the parking area, before coming to a stop under the harsh parking lot lights.

"Who the hell is that?" Maya straightens up, suddenly alert.

Kenji's expression shifts from boredom to interest in an instant—a rare change for him. "New player. Goes by Jaque."

You study the car, assessing rather than admiring.

Aftermarket body kit, but tasteful. Custom wheels. The stance is aggressive but functional.

Whoever built this wasn't just throwing money at it—they knew exactly what they were doing.

"Jaque?" you repeat, keeping your voice neutral despite your curiosity. "What kind of name is that?"

"Latino guy. Showed up about a month ago." Kenji lowers his voice, shifting into the gossip mode he lives for. "Been cleaning up. Undefeated so far."

Your eyebrow rises slightly at that.

Undefeated is a bold claim in this scene.

"Never heard of him," Maya says, voicing what you're thinking.

"That's because he's been running mostly on the Wangan line. Outrunning cops, taking stupid risks. The kind of shit that gets you noticed fast." Kenji's eyes remain fixed on the car. "Word is he beat Hayato's record on the C1 loop last week."

That gets your attention, though you're careful not to show it.

Hayato's record has stood for three years.

This guy has broken it in a month.

Who the fuck is this?

Your question is answered when the driver's door opens, and the crowd's murmur intensifies. A figure emerges, oozing the confidence of someone who knows they belong anywhere they choose to be.

Not tall, but with a presence that fills the space around him. Dark hair, sharp jawline, and a smirk that suggests he's already three steps ahead of everyone else.

"He drives like he's got nothing to lose," Kenji adds, a note of genuine respect in his voice that you rarely hear. "Like he doesn't care if he crashes or dies. It's... I don’t know man. Something else."

You watch as the driver—Jaque, apparently—leans back against his Skyline, surveying the crowd like he's taking inventory.

His gaze sweeps across the parking lot, until it lands on your group.

Or more specifically, on you.

He gives you a small nod, as if acknowledging territory.

"Looks like you've got an admirer," Maya mutters, nudging your ribs.

You shrug, unimpressed. "Looks like another ego with a nice car."

But you don't look away, and neither does he. It's a standoff of sorts, neither willing to be the first to break eye contact.

You've played this game before with countless racers who thought they were hot shit.

You've never been the first to look away.

"Don't dismiss him so quickly," Kenji warns, surprising you. "I've seen him drive. I’m dead serious, it’s not normal."

"Nobody's unbeatable," you say, finally breaking the staring contest to look back at Kenji.

Just because you had to look back at Kenji.

"Maybe." Kenji shifts uncomfortably. "But this guy... he doesn't race like a normal person. It's like he's got some kind of death wish, but with the skill to back it up."

You scoff, though something about Kenji's tone—the genuine concern beneath his usual bullshit—gives you pause.

"Death wish or not, a car's a car, and physics is physics. There are rules to this game that nobody breaks."

Maya's watching you with that knowing look she gets when she can tell someone's gotten under your skin, even just a little.

"You want to find out, don't you?"

"I want to find Kalo and get my money," you correct her, though your eyes drift back to the Skyline against your will. "That's why we're here."

You scoff at Maya's knowing smirk, about to tell her to shut it when fragments of conversation float over from where the newcomer stands. One word cuts through the ambient noise of engines and chatter.

Kalo.

Your head snaps toward the source.

The Skyline guy—Jaque—leans against his car, talking to a small circle of racers. His hands move expressively as he speaks, gold bracelet catching the neon light.

"Kenji." You cut him off mid-sentence. "Who exactly is this guy talking to?"

Kenji follows your gaze. "Nobody important. Some Yokohama kids trying to get noticed." He adjusts those stupid sunglasses. "Why?"

"He just mentioned Kalo."

Maya straightens beside you. "You sure?"

No mistaking it. Not when you've been hunting that name for two weeks.

"Excuse me," you say, already moving.

Maya sighs behind you. "Here she goes again."

You don't look back. Your boots click purposefully across the pavement, moving slowly. Not rushing—you never rush. But determined.

Three guys surrounding Jaque glance up as you approach, their expressions shifting from interest to wariness. They know who you are.

He doesn't turn immediately. Keeps talking, voice carrying a rhythm unlike anything you've heard in Tokyo. An accent that doesn't belong here.

Only when you're close enough to count the stitches on his leather jacket does he acknowledge your presence.

And even then, it's just a partial turn. Forty-five degrees. Neck cradling slightly to look at you sideways.

Performative, if anything. Like he knew you were coming before you did.

You cross your arms, weight shifting to one hip. His mouth twitches upward at the corner, eyes traveling from your face down to your boots and back up again.

Not subtle about it at all.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this sight?" Velvet slides from his lips.

One eyebrow quirks upward, the slightest movement. His Japanese is fluent but different—consonants softened, vowels stretched in places they shouldn't be.

You narrow your eyes. "You mentioned Kalo. What do you know about him? What's your relationship?"

He studies you for two full seconds. Not answering. Just looking. Like he's trying to read something written in small print.

Then he chuckles, using two fingers to move a thin strand of dark hair that's fallen across his view. The movement is unnecessary. Theatrical. Done for effect.

"Why so serious, princesa?"

It’s Spanish, the last word. You know that much, know from the way the word rolls off his tongue, deliberate, inserted where it doesn't belong. Like he’s testing boundaries, hoping for a reaction.

"I asked you a question." You keep your voice unimpressed.

"And I asked you one too."

He turns to face you fully now, leaning back against his car with the casualness of someone who's never been afraid of anything.

"But since you came all this way... Kalo. The Supra guy, right? The one who races like he learned driving from a video game?"

The description is so accurate you almost smile.

Almost.

"I hear he owes someone money," he continues, watching your reaction carefully. "Someone who smoked him on the mountain course two weeks back. Embarrassed him so badly he's been hiding like a scared rabbit."

His three companions take subtle steps backward, no longer interested in being part of this conversation.

Smart.

Maya appears beside you, silent backup. Though her presence changes nothing in his demeanor.

"And how would you know about that?" you ask.

He shrugs one shoulder.

"People talk. I listen." His accent thickens when he adds, "Es lo que hago." (It’s what I do)

"Is that right?" You don't react to the Spanish. "Interesting that someone who just showed up knows so much about other people's business."

"I'm observant."

His eyes lock with yours.

"For example, I observe that you're not here to race tonight. That outfit? Those heels?" He clicks his tongue. "You're here to collect. To make a point."

Something cold slides down your spine. Not fear—you don't do fear. Something else.

Being read so easily isn't a sensation you're familiar with.

"What's your name again?" You ask it like you've already forgotten, though you haven't.

"Jaque." He says it with a slight emphasis on the second syllable. "And you're Y/N. The 86 driver who hasn't lost a mountain race in what, two years?"

"Nineteen months," Maya corrects automatically.

You shoot her a look.

Jaque's smile widens. "Nineteen months. Impressive."

"If you're done wasting my time," you say, turning slightly, "I have a debt to collect."

"From a guy who isn't here."

He pushes off his car, closing the distance between you by half a step. Not enough to be threatening. Just enough to make his presence unavoidable.

"And won't be. Not tonight," he adds.

"And you know that how?"

"Because I passed him on the expressway heading in the opposite direction. About twenty minutes ago." He taps his wrist where a watch would be. "Running scared, looked like."

You clench your jaw. If he's telling the truth, you've wasted your night. Another dead end in your hunt for the coward who owes you.

"So you just happened to recognize a stranger's car?" Maya asks, skepticism heavy in her voice.

"A white Supra with that terrible aftermarket body kit and the Rising Sun decal on the hood?" He makes a dismissive gesture. "Hard to miss. Hard to forget, unfortunately."

That description matches Kalo's car exactly; and the sick feeling in your stomach tells you he's not lying, as much as you'd like him to be.

"Well," you say, voice cooling by several degrees, "thanks for the information."

You turn to leave, disgusted at having your time wasted. First by Kalo's absence, now by this newcomer who clearly just wanted to get your attention. Another night, another waste.

"I'll pay you double what he owes you."

The words stop you mid-step.

You turn back slowly, measuring every movement.

"Excuse me?"

Jaque's expression hasn't changed, but something in his eyes has.

They’re gleaning.

"Fifty thousand yen, right? I'll make it a hundred." He says casually, like offering to buy a coffee. "If you beat me."

Maya makes a small sound beside you, something between a scoff and a laugh.

"And why would I race someone I don't know for money I don't need?"

You almost laugh. As if this is about the money. You were born into more yen than he’s ever seen—this is about respect. About principle. About owning your loss when someone beats you clean. No excuses. No saving face. Just bow your head and pay what you owe.

But he’s not done.

"Because you're curious." He says it like it's obvious. "Because you've been the best for nineteen months and you're bored. Because you want to know if I'm as good as they say."

"As good as who says?" You roll your eyes. "I've never heard of you before tonight."

"Then I must be doing something right." His smile shifts, becomes syrupy. "But if money doesn't motivate you, how about this—I win, I get to run with your crew. Race in your territory."

You can't help it—you laugh. Short and dismissive.

"That's not how this works. You don't just buy your way in." Your eyes flick to his car. "No matter how pretty your GT-R is."

"I'm not buying," he corrects, that accent slipping into his Japanese again. "I'm earning. Difference."

You narrow your eyes.

Maya leans close to your ear. "You're not seriously considering this?"

You should walk away. This guy is nobody. A newcomer with a nice car and too much confidence. The racing scene sees them every month. They come, they crash, they disappear.

But.

Something about the way he stands there, utterly certain of himself, gets under your skin.

Like he already knows your answer before you do.

And maybe it's the wasted night. Maybe it's two weeks of hunting Kalo with nothing to show for it. Maybe it's just the need to put someone in their place.

"One race," you hear yourself say.

Maya's head whips toward you in surprise.

"One race," you continue, "and when I win, you pay double what Kalo owes me, and you don't bother me again."

"And when I win," he counters, not missing a beat, "I race with your crew. Simple."

"If," you correct.

"When." He doesn't back down.

One calculated step closer brings his scent into focus. Leather, naturally, but beneath it something that doesn't compute. A scent that belongs to ryokan inns and meditation halls, not this arrogant foreigner.

Hinoki.

"You're awfully confident for someone who knows nothing about me or how I drive."

"And you're awfully defensive for someone who's supposedly unbeatable." His voice drops lower, meant for your ears only. "What are you afraid of, princesa?"

The Spanish word again. A barb. Challenging.

"Afraid?" You match his tone. "I'm trying to save you the embarrassment. And the money."

He laughs, so genuine that it catches you off guard. "So it's settled then. You and me. Tonight."

From the corner of your eye, you see Kenji approaching, drawn by the developing scene. Others are watching too.

Word travels fast in this world.

"Fine." You extend your hand, a formality in this world of verbal contracts. "My terms. My course."

He takes your hand. His grip is firm but not aggressive. Just right. His palm warm against yours.

"Your course," he agrees. "But I pick when."

You raise an eyebrow. "When, then?"

His smile widens, showing teeth. "Now."

Death has a rhythm.

Tonight, it sounds like Daddy Yankee.

The mountain is yours—every curve, every shadow, every inch of guardrail. You've memorized each crack in the asphalt like the lines on your palm.

Yet as you sit at the starting line, engine purring, the midnight purple Skyline beside you blasts "Gasolina" loud enough to vibrate your windows.

He's not even looking at the road.

Jaque's got hand on the wheel, the other tapping the window frame in rhythm.

Kenji stands between the cars, arms raised.

You grip your steering wheel tighter.

Focus. Calculate. This is your mountain. Your rules.

"Ready!" Kenji shouts.

You check your gauges, settle into position, drop your breath rate. Your 86 is an extension of your body.

"Set!"

Jaque turns to you—actually turns his head away from the road—and winks.

Winks.

What the fuck is his problem?

Your jaw clenches so hard you hear teeth grinding.

"GO!"

You snap into the first gear immediately, launching forward as your tires bite into asphalt. Perfect traction. Perfect release. Your 86 shoots ahead exactly as calculated, exactly as it always does.

The Skyline stays even.

First corner approaches—tight right-hander with a nasty camber that catches amateurs by surprise. You brake at the perfect moment, downshift, feel the weight transfer as you clip the apex.

Textbook. Flawless. The corner you've taken hundreds of times.

The Skyline mirrors you exactly, staying in your blind spot. The bass from his music is still thumping through the night air.

Second corner. Third. Fourth. Each attack perfect, each line immaculate. And still, he's there. Not gaining, not falling behind. Just... present. Like a shadow you can't shake.

"What the hell is this guy playing at?" You mutter, taking the next hairpin with a controlled aggression that should give you an advantage.

Should.

Doesn't.

The Skyline follows, its midnight paint swallowing the moonlight instead of reflecting it. Through the next three corners, it continues—you lead, he follows, neither gaining ground.

Until the straightaway.

The road opens up, and you floor it. The 86 responds instantly, pushing you back into your seat. This is where your lighter weight should shine.

But the Skyline surges forward, twin-turbo engine unleashing a growl that slices the night.

He passes you.

Not aggressively. Not dangerously.

Just... efficiently.

Like it's the most natural thing in the world.

For the first time in nineteen months, you're staring at someone else's taillights.

"No fucking way."

You push harder, finding speed you rarely tap into. The gap closes slightly on the approach to the next corner—a sharp left with a cliff drop on the outside.

No guardrail. No room for error.

Normal people brake early here.

Jaque, as it turns out, is not normal people.

You don't brake until the last possible microsecond, throwing the 86 into the corner. The tires scream, traction at its absolute limit. You can feel them searching for grip, dancing on the edge of adhesion.

You exit the corner a car length behind him.

"Come on!" You slam the gearshift, pushing for more.

The next section is technical—five corners in quick succession. Your territory.

It's where precision matters more than power.

You close the gap. Corner by corner, inch by inch. Three more and you're on his bumper. Close enough to see his fingers still tapping against the frame slightly to the rhythm.

The next hairpin is your chance. The inside line is risky—there's barely enough room—but it's your mountain.

You know exactly how much space you need.

You dive for the gap.

For one beautiful moment, you're alongside him. Equal. Your front bumper inches past his door.

Then he does something impossible.

Instead of defending the line—instead of doing what any rational driver would do—Jaque throws his car into a drift so aggressive it sends the back end swinging wide, nearly touching the guardrail.

The move creates an arc that cuts you off, forces you to brake or crash.

You brake.

The maneuver costs him speed, should give you another chance to pass on exit.

But before you can capitalize, he's already accelerating out of the drift, the Skyline's all-wheel drive finding traction where none should exist.

"What the actual—"

The move was insane. Suicidal. The kind of thing that ends with twisted metal and sirens.

And he pulled it off like he was parallel parking.

For the final stretch—three corners and the last straightaway—you throw caution aside. Push beyond limits you usually respect. The 86 responds, giving everything it has.

It's not enough.

The Skyline crosses the finish line two car lengths ahead. You slam your palm against the steering wheel.

The taste of defeat is metallic in your mouth, foreign and despised.

You bring the 86 to a hard stop, tires protesting at the sudden deceleration.

The music still pounds from his car. That same goddamn song.

You throw open your door, adrenaline and anger propelling you forward. The cool mountain air hits your flushed face as you storm toward his car.

Because that last move? It wasn't just reckless—it was deadly. The kind of stunt that gets people killed on these mountains.

Words build in your throat. Sharp words. Words about respect for the mountain and death wishes and arrogance.

His door swings open as you approach. The music blasts louder without the barrier of glass and metal. He slides out with that same casual grace you saw when he called you princesa, when he winked before accelerating.

And something stops the words in your throat.

He shakes his head slightly, dark hair falling across his eyes before he pushes it back with one smooth motion. His other hand remains on the Skyline's roof, some golden ring catching the moonlight.

When he turns to face you, there's no triumph in his expression. No arrogance.

Just... satisfaction.

Like he's found something he's been looking for.

His eyes meet yours across the short distance. That smile appears again—not the cocky smirk from earlier, but something more genuine. Lips curved just slightly at the corners.

"Thanks for the adrenaline rush, mami," he says, voice carrying over the pounding beat of Daddy Yankee.

You've never hated Spanish music more in your life.

next | index

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[jeonfatuation]

timeshare.

jungkook x reader (f) x yoongi: cartel boss!yoongi, right hand man!jungkook who is down horrendous and concerningly horny for mc, established relationship to more

wc: 4.2k

cw: jungkook is down horrendous, hotwifing disguised as cuckolding, obsessive undertones, voyeurism/exhibitionism

It’s definitely not a conventional look for a birthday party: the birthday boy is cuffed to a chair, watching his girl get railed flat by his second-in-command. The birthday boy is The Serpentines’ psycho boss Min Yoongi, and he is enjoying the fuck out of it.

The atmosphere in the ostentatious hotel suite is positively buzzing with anticipation.

Yoongi walks into the room in a crisp suit, sporting snake monograms on his cufflinks, pure elegance dripping off of him not unlike any given day. You gaze at his sexiness from the accent chair you’re reading a magazine on with your legs crossed, trying not to crassly drool, and in return, he gawks at the mesmerizing sight of his girl that massively overshadows the neon nightscape behind her. He gallantly reaches for your hand and places a kiss on it as if this is your special day.

He is very appreciative that you have generously indulged his requests for the night—wore his handpicked selection of attire all the way down to your shoes, put on the jewelry he had specially flown in, painted your nails in his preferred color…

You look so fucking gorgeous that if he can’t get a hold of himself, he’s going to ruin his appetite before dinner. 

“Like what you see, birthday boy?” you throw your arms around his neck, discreetly rubbing yourself against his crotch.

“Don’t tempt me or I’ll fuck you right in front of them,” he heavily exhales and nods towards the security detail by the door. “I’m barely holding it together.”

“You’ve wanted this that much?” you chuckle into his ear, gently biting his earlobe. “You seem more… enthusiastic than usual.”

“It’s you,” he gropes your ass with one hand while the other brings your fingers to his lips for a bite, opting for a kiss at the last second. “It’s always you.”

There is a reason he has dolled you up like a luxuriously packaged gift tonight. Although it is his birthday, the present is for someone else to open. 

And he’s never looked forward to something this much.

A knock interrupts the sultry melodies playing over the speakers. Yoongi glances at the door, then at you, and smiles.

“It’s showtime, baby,” he slaps your ass as you disappear to wait for your cue.

Jungkook enters the room flanked by two of his men looking like loyal hounds, cocky swagger of owning half the city dripping off of him. 

“Happy birthday, my liege,” he dips his head with the respect he reserves for less than a handful of people in the universe, then immediately cracks up once he absorbs the opulence cradling the room. “Jesus, you’d fucking die if you weren’t obnoxiously extravagant for once, wouldn’t you?”

The boss and his right-hand man slam their hands against each other for a firm shake and pull each other into a brief hug. They sit down by the gargantuan windows and engage in empty chitchat as they sip on the most expensive scotch money can buy. The weather. The game last night. Whether they should branch into solicitation for murder or not.

“What is this good news you kept teasing the entire week?” Jungkook taps his index finger on the glass resting on one leg folded over the other. “If it’s not a sizeable increase in my cut, I’ll be very upset. You hit fifty million thanks to me.” 

“Funny you should say that,” Yoongi presses two fingers on his temple. “It is about a reward I feel like giving you.” 

“Is the first digit finally a two?” Jungkook smirks with contentment.

“Even better,” Yoongi grins wider. 

“Gentlemen.” 

You make your entrance like the main character you are, hips swaying with radioactive temptation, and when he looks to his right, Jungkook confirms it’s not an auditory hallucination. He visibly falters, not expecting to see you tonight at all, and he is doing a terrible job of hiding the fact that he is mentally undressing you, jaw dropped, poise in shambles. He watches the way your heels kiss the rug with every step you take, and he realizes he is fucking jealous of the floor you walk on. 

It’s a miracle he manages to snap out of it.

“Is this a fucking prank or something?” he creases his brows at his boss. 

“I’m just showing hospitality,” Yoongi gracefully brings his scotch glass to his lips. 

Jungkook starts fighting for his life when you sit right on his lap, your arm flung over his wide shoulders inducing the kind of panic that can easily send him to the ER. He is sure he is no longer the man he was before your ass made contact with his thighs.

“You know, I hear everything that goes on under my roof. Tell me if this quote seems familiar to you:” Yoongi lounges back, his smile faint but amused to the high heavens, “I’d fuck her so good she would make me her side bitch on the first thrust.” 

Jungkook chokes on air. It doesn’t help that you are also chuckling into his ear.

“Look, I can explain…” 

“No need,” Yoongi shakes his head without an ounce of his usual tranquil fury. “Here’s your chance.”

That just CANNOT be possible. 

It’s a loyalty test, isn’t it? It’s not like he’s going to offer him his princess on a silver platter on his goddamn birthday or anything…

“You want me to fuck your girl?” he arches his brows in genuine surprise.

“If you’re interested, of course.” 

IN

TE

RES

TED?!

It’s not even remotely enough to describe his willingness levels. If he were any more interested, he would have to check himself into a psych ward for lust-induced psychosis. He lives for this. He eats, sleeps, and thinks this. If you knew how many times he jerked off to you in the past three days alone, you would issue a restraining order against him in the blink of an eye. 

The first time because you wore his favorite sundress, the second time because you touched his arm while laughing at one of his jokes, the third time because you moaned through a yawn, the fourth time because he imagined what you’d look like pregnant, and fifth time to exorcise himself for the fourth time…

He is your self-proclaimed number one fan, entirely obsessed with you, and you getting even more comfortable on his lap, playing with his curls, watching him crumble under you has to be the biggest fanservice in the history of everything.

“What? You’re scared he’s gonna shoot you?” you purr into his ear. 

“You don’t just hand things out,” Jungkook turns to Yoongi. “What’s the catch?” 

“There isn’t one,” he shrugs, perfectly serious. “Unless you call me being present a catch.” 

Years he has spent jerking off to you in shameful silence, and you are being offered to him just like that? This is a trap. It has to be a trap. Or a once-in-five-lifetimes miracle. 

Possibly both.

“That’s… That’s it?” 

“Well, there is one more thing, and I can’t stress how important it is,” Yoongi adds, letting the moment linger in the air to drag on the suspense. “You have to act like you’re doing this against my will.” 

Jungkook is bewildered out of his mind, utterly incredulous of the words coming out of this man’s mouth. 

Okay.

Fuck, okay.

God, okay, fuck, jesus!

He is already half-hard under you. He might last four minutes, six if he can force himself to imagine the unsexiest things his mind can possibly render. He’s desperately thinking of ways to sustain himself longer so he doesn’t wake up from the horniest wet dream of his life extremely prematurely.

“What are my limits?” he asks as he clears his throat.

“Nothing’s off limits. The worse, the better,” Yoongi answers. “Anything she accepts, you can do.” 

“How long do I have?” 

“However long you can last, but the second you cum, it’s over.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be, like, crazy loyal to your man?” Jungkook turns to you, his on-brand cockiness slowly waking up from the chokehold.

“Who says I’m not?” you answer leisurely. “Loyalty isn’t about what I put inside me.” 

He charmingly smiles, stealing the briefest glance from Yoongi’s way in the meantime. 

“Then here’s what we’re going to do.” 

Your neck is right there for him to kiss, but he needs to break his five-year record and wait for five more minutes. He whispers his scheme into your ear, doing his best not to fucking pass out because of your perfume in his nose. Then he stands up to bring a chair for his boss to sit, changes the song to one of his favorite bedroom jams, and orders you.

“Dance for your man, beautiful.”

To every other person on the planet, Yoongi is an unreadable enigma, the embodiment of calm control and velveteen menace, but you can tell from the glint in his hooded eyes when something starts awakening within him. You climb onto the birthday boy’s lap and slowly roll your hips to the rhythm, every curve of your body wrapping around him as you move. The drag of his tongue across his lips devolves into a bite as he admires the tattoo between your tits. He has half a mind to say fuck it to everything and bend you over to fuck your wits out of you until he fully decimates you.

He is so hypnotized by the devil’s slutty bride grinding on cock that he doesn’t even realize his hands are cuffed behind his back until he hears a click.

“Honors?” Jungkook gives you two more pairs to tie Yoongi’s ankles to the legs of the chair.

“Just how many pairs of cuffs do you walk around with?” you chuckle. 

“There is always an opportunity if you know where to look,” he nods towards the door and points at the security detail, “and yours is right over there.” 

The man of the hour is properly pinned to his place. Jungkook sprawls on the couch right across him, then takes your hand and pulls you closer.

“Now, where were we?” he smiles at you like a man in possession of the uppest of hands.

Because he did.

Credit where credit is due, he fakes the most convincing composure of all time as he fights the raging urge to grope you everywhere, treating you like the queen you are with the sublest of touches. Hands coarse from handling guns become a pair of feathers tickling your body, gently sliding from your back down to your waist. He is so lost in the sheer sight of you that he can’t even register Yoongi’s presence in the room. 

“You have a rep among us lowlifes, you know,” he softly kisses your shoulder. 

“How so?” 

“Call me crazy, but every time I keep post outside, you suddenly feel this need to fuck your man for some reason. Then you scream so loud that one would think you’re doing it on purpose to get me horny,” his hands reach your ass and he gives it a firm squeeze, “which you do by the way.” 

“Yeah, you’re fucking crazy,” you chuckle.

“Damn straight,” he responds, dead serious, not smiling at all. “I’m fucking crazy about you.” 

He heaves a deep sigh, lips parted, devouring you with his eyes. The warmth of his breath tickles you, and you feel the first drops of your slick starting to pool between your legs.

“He has an army of guys at his disposal,” he brushes your cheek with a single knuckle. “Why do you think he asked for me?” 

His hands keep exploring your body. With each curve he feels under his touch, he turns a little more feral, grows a little bigger, and breathes a little heavier, biting his lips not because he is turned on, but to tame himself.

“Because he knows you get me weak as fuck,” he whispers against your skin.

“I get you weak?” you chortle. “How come I’ve never known this?” 

“When it’s a cartel boss’s princess in question, you can’t really declare that shit out in the open on account of wanting to live,” he says matter of factly, “but since I have a free pass tonight, I can say whatever the fuck I want.” 

His mouth ghosts on your collarbones, but he fails to practice restraint. His lips are momentarily pressed on them, drawing a wet trail from one side to the other. He leaves his own body and watches himself from afar as he slowly drags the bust of your dress down. Not all the way, just enough to tease himself with the sight of your cleavage. He can’t help himself and licks a stripe between your tits. When he makes you moan for the first time, he immediately thinks he’s not built for this. You’re too much temptation, and he is too weak for you, willing to collapse this entire cartel if it means you’ll ride him for five more seconds.

“Fuck being a princess,” his rampant jealousy morphs into a desperate plea as he pulls your face closer. “Come be my queen instead.”

You take his lips between yours, and he loses all control.

What was meant as a teasing peck instantly turns into a very heavy makeout session. Messy. Wet. Pornographically loud. Your hands in his hair, his fingertips sunk into your thighs, his cock throbbing harder under you every time your teeth tugs at his lips. You remember that hunger from somewhere.

The creak of the chair and the sound of metal clinking steal your attention. You break the kiss and turn around to witness a very tense Yoongi, the only other man who kisses you like this.

“If you’re flinching just with a kiss, we’re gonna have a fucking problem later on, boss. This is going to get a lot worse,” Jungkook warns him, then grins like a maniac. “I’m about to go all the way with your girl.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but there’s an equally deranged smile on his lips. 

“Nervous?” you coo at Jungkook. 

“Wouldn’t you be if your favorite pornstar was perched on your lap like this?” he licks his lips. “I’m a huge fan.” 

He reaches into the inside pocket of his blazer and takes out a miniature vial filled with white powder, then draws a line across your tits. He snorts the coke so deeply like it’s his backup supply of oxygen, and when he looks up at you again, his blown pupils almost completely eclipse his irises. You are pleased. You are aroused. You are loving this, and you want to see how much more feral he can get over you.

“Which one of my movies do you like the best?” you cradle his face. 

“Prison guard,” he answers without a beat. “By a landslide.” 

“It’s the latex, isn’t it?” 

“It’s everything about you,” he growls, jaw clenched with animalistic desire. “Fucking step on me.”

His fingers brush against the blackletter S tattoo right between your tits, and his face contorts upon the mental image he created for himself.

“It’s okay. I know a guy,” he kisses your chest. “It’ll be a J in no time.” 

He pulls you into another kiss, this time a lot deeper, messier. You moan into each other’s mouths, and the slurping sounds echo in the suite. You grind faster on his lap, stuck between wanting to tease him and making him cum untouched for you. 

“I always imagine it’s you when I get my dick sucked. I can’t help it,” he confesses into your ear, voice almost like a whimper as he sneaks one hand between your legs to caress your supple thighs. “I don’t care if it’s for one night, you’re finally mine.” 

He finally starts unpacking you, dragging down the straps of your dress first. Slowly, still teasing himself as if he’s not gonna die if you so much as kiss his cock. Then he yanks your bust down and reveals your breasts, almost passing out at the sight.

“I can be your side bitch. That could be my new job,” he fondles them, falling in love with the way they feel in his palms. “Now that would be the promotion I fucking deserve.” 

“Being his right-hand man doesn’t cut it?” you sneer. 

“No, but you being my wife would.” 

He traps your nipple in between his lips and starts sucking on it, his tongue stealing a couple of licks every now and then. He stays latched to you as you undress him. Blazer off, shirt off, belt off. Before you take his pants off, he trades places with you and makes you sit on the couch, then kneels before you like a faithful servant. Your thighs make a sticky sound as he spreads your legs, and he gulps way too thickly when he sees just how wet you are. 

“You’re not gonna cry, are you?” you tease, tangling your fingers into his locks again.

“I might, actually. You into ruining hot men?” he asks, face way too serious for it to be a joke. “No worries if not. I’ll just get my tear glands removed.”

He wraps his arms around your thighs and gets into position, staring at your folds just like a predator looks at its prey. 

“Look into his eyes when I eat your pussy,” he instructs. “Show off your new fucktoy.”

He licks one stripe across your cunt, and the sound that rips from your throat is unholy. 

He starts giving you the deepest, sloppiest, and loudest head of your goddamn life like he is trying to prove something. Your eyes meet Yoongi’s, and it thrills the shit out of you to watch him watch you. His eyes are all hooded, snitching on how he’s dying of arousal as his spoiled princess gets pleasured out of her mind by a total simp, his cock straining his pants. It’s almost art, the way it goes down. No sight in the world can be this fucking sublime. 

“Look at him. He fucking hates how much he loves this, but he can’t do anything about it,” Jungkook chuckles into your pussy. “He can’t go anywhere. He acts all tough, but we both know what a fucking simp he is for you.” 

Two fingers curl into you as he licks a slow drag from your slit to your clit, giving it a strong suck at the end. You spit on your fingers and play with your nipples, riding his face faster for as much friction as you can get. He pins you in your place and spreads your lips, then starts flicking his tongue on your clit so fast that a buzzing sensation sets in.

“D–Deeper… Fuck me deepe— Yes. Now suck harder. Spit on it, baby, get it slipp— God, yes. Yes. YES, HARDER!!!”

You fall apart on his tongue, getting sucked hard and fingered deep just like you’ve ordered. He doesn’t let go until he reaches that sweet spot of overstimulation, enjoying the sight of you squirming for him just for a little while. 

“But if he wants to be with you, he’s gonna have to watch me wreck you,” he rises on his knees, chin covered with your slick, and pulls you close to let you taste yourself. “Now sit on my cock, beautiful.”

He stands for you to undo his pants first, and you swallow hard when you face his crotch, fully salivating when his cock springs free. Leaking. Flushed. Huge. Raging erection staring at you to devour it. You lean in and steal a taste from his tip. Low, almost quiet sounds of pleasure escape his lips as you tease his slit, but when you lose control and choke on his girth, he full-on growls. 

“God, you’re fucking killing me,” he throws his head back, eyes fluttering shut like your lips were rimmed with morphine.

He wants to fuck your throat and your cunt, and it’s driving him crazy that he can’t do both at the same time. If he lets you blow him any longer, he’s gonna grab a fistful of your hair, and god knows what will follow afterwards. He barely manages to peel himself away and sits back down, pulling you onto his lap again. 

“Into me,” he pulls your body closer, your back flush against his chest. “Spread wide so your man sees everything perfectly.” 

You gasp when his tip prods your entrance, and it turns into a drawn-out moan when he starts sinking into you, inch by thick, delicious inch. As Yoongi watches another man take what’s his, he makes the kind of sound grown men are not supposed to make. He is so fucking into it, leaking at the sight of Jungkook’s thick cock stretching you, wet squelch of your pussy complete music to his ears. A part of him is riddled with jealousy, but the part that is infested with fatal amounts of lust consumes it at record speed like flesh-eating bacteria. 

It doesn’t matter how much time Jungkook takes to disappear into you; he is still actively losing a piece of his mind permanently. His lips are latched to your neck, your arm is thrown back behind his nape, his hands are fondling your tits, and his cock is buried six feet under you, fucking you so hard like he’s going to die within the next ten minutes. He can’t believe you’re actually falling apart on his lap, screaming horrendous profanities with eyes squeezed shut. A sight he’s dreamed of, drooled over, jerked off to, now in technicolor, rushing in his veins worse than the coke he snorted and getting him twice as high. 

“You’re gonna kill me. God, you’re gonna fucking kill me,” he keeps repeating, voice faded as fuck as he licks into your ear. “Should I call over one of my boys to eat your pussy, too, huh? Do you wanna be a proper slut for me?” 

He shoves his fingers inside your mouth and collects your spit, then starts rubbing your clit, swollen and sticky, desperately fast like a starved animal. Nothing else exists in this moment. It’s just him and you, and this is all about how he’s the one you’re crumbling over, how he’s the one making you drool with your eyes rolling back, and how you’re moaning his name. 

RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOUR MAN!

“That’s it. Let go. Show him who’s really the boss. Show him who you really want,” he orders, laughing more deliriously as his arousal peaks, seconds away from snapping. “I love you. God, I fucking love you. I’ll fill you up so good, then I’m gonna watch him eat it. Milk me. Milk it out of me, baby, you’re fucking KILLING ME WITH THIS!!!” 

Jungkook assumed it would be you, but it’s Yoongi who reaches the finish line first, cumming untouched simply by watching this beautiful disaster. You can’t believe what has just unraveld before you, and he looks so fucking good, all fucked out without a single touch, that it pushes you over the edge. Jungkook senses the danger when you clench too hard around him and forces himself to his absolute limit to hold it. Until he makes sure those rhythmic pulses around him are fully involuntary. When he finally lets go, an inhumane sound rips from his throat, so guttural it could be a scream of agony. His orgasm gives him a terrible instant headache like a brain freeze, and you can feel the warm wetness gushing out of you, making you wonder just how large that load was.

A dense hush of pure satiation falls over the room, and your faded chuckles and heavy breathing are the only thing that echoes for a while. This is bliss. Utter and unmitigated bliss. You rest in Jungkook’s embrace until your limbs are loaded with some strength again, then you carefully pull him out of you. You stand up, thick strings of cum dripping down your thighs, and undo Yoongi’s restraints, soothing his cuffburns with soft kisses. 

“You got a bit carried away there with the confessions, Jeon,” he smirks at Jungkook. 

“Hey, what happens in the scene, stays in the scene, man,” Jungkook answers, one arm draped over his eyes, still trying to catch his breath. 

“So if I asked you to tag team her with me right now, you wouldn’t do it. Is that what you’re saying?” 

Jungkook removes his arm and looks at him, trying to assess how serious he really is, but all he can see is yet another enigmatic smile. Yoongi rises to his feet, reclaims your lips for himself again, then gallantly reaches for your hand and places a kiss on it as if this is your special day. As if you’re not all disheveled, covered in cum and spit. 

“I’ll take over the pussy worship duties for a while,” he declares. “Join us if you can manage to recover.” 

You cross the threshold to the bedroom hand in hand, and Jungkook watches you kiss Yoongi while removing his blazer. Then undo his belt. Then he watches Yoongi wrap the belt around your wrists and lay you down on the bed. Even though he just came, his cock faintly throbs. He might have accidentally picked up an addiction worse than cocaine tonight. 

Fifty million can’t hold a fucking candle to this narcotic delight.

[jeonfatuation]

you’re the worst: one

“It’s not that my body doesn’t react at all; it’s what it reacts to.” The regular appointments you keep with the best damn attorney in the city have nothing to do with pending litigation—you and Jungkook get together once a month to catch up and blow off steam. Your only expectation for tonight is to attend a concert, but as the night progresses, a side of him you’ve never known to exist starts to unravel. And just like that, your long-standing “friendship” starts turning into something too hot to handle. (8.8k)

cw (18+): major warnings only. see mlist for the general scope and please read at your own risk. repressed feelings, sex work roleplay in public, choking (m rec), heavy creampie obsession fetish

Sometimes it feels like the correct word to describe Jeon Jungkook hasn’t entered the language yet. Enigmatic? Charming? Egomaniacal asshole? Whatever you can think of somewhat does the job, but none is quite it. 

Maybe that’s why you were immediately drawn to him when you first met all those years ago. 

He blurts out all his intrusive thoughts whenever he damn pleases as if he doesn’t have the correct operating system to install a filter on his tongue. You have waited and waited for the big reveal as to why he’s like this, but it has never arrived. Born into a loving family, no underlying tragic trauma, nothing like that. He just loves himself, but like LOVES himself, sometimes to an off-putting degree, and that’s it. If you think about it, it’s quite admirable, actually.  

Self-loathing comes a lot easier to most than shaking hands with themselves, let alone full-on loving. 

It’s fascinating how stacks of polar opposites can coexist within the same body. The man argues million-dollar cases for a living, but is the most tactless person you’ve ever seen. Drops TMI bombs on the most trivial matters, but is extremely secretive about anything with juicy gossip potential. The socialest butterfly, but has no one to call a “friend”.

Well, except for you.

One would expect this kind of volatility from a confused teenager at the peak of their angst phase, but to think that this is a grown-ass man who is a well-respected attorney makes it even funnier. To this day, he looooves bragging about being the youngest associate that ever made partner at his firm. He has a ginormous set of accolades under his belt, but that one he refuses to let go for some reason. It reminds you of a smug jock opening party conversations with “Have I ever told you how we won the championship game, beautiful?” to impress the girls he wants to bed. And the story somehow gets more dramatic with each retelling. 

How would you define Jeon Jungkook? Contradictory? An anomaly? Plain lonely?

If he ever heard that you were occasionally hosting self-debates to come up with an all-encompassing adjective, he would directly address your brain like, “Objection, Your Honor, hearsay. Also get a life.”

He is a charming egomaniacal asshole, but he is also… there. He always has been. No matter what happens in your lives, no matter how swept up you get in work—and frankly not much else—you just know he’s always there. But just knowing isn’t enough sometimes. You feel the need to see him. 

Thus the reason you’ve forced Destressfest on him.

It’s exactly what it sounds like—just a promise to meet once a month and do something to destress. No requirements, anything goes. A nice dinner, boxing class, playing pool, slot machines… It’s not like you’re severely derailing his life, but whenever it’s his turn to “host”, he keeps bitching about what a needless idea this is. Every time without exception. Oh, he will need to carve out time just to come up with an idea now when he could be drafting a deposition instead. Oh, he will need to find just the right venue because he is a man of excellent standards and blah and blah and blibbity blah. 

Yet for so much bitching, he always crafts unforgettable experiences, and rather than unamused, he looks proud when he sees your reaction. 

The only problem is this man doesn’t know how to do normal, so whenever you’re the “guest”, you mentally prepare yourself for something WAYYY over the top, and hope you don’t end up in a) a hospital, b) jail, or c) some remote corner of the world as hostages to warlords.

The last time he said, “Meh, we’re just gonna get pizza”, he had chartered a fucking jet to Rome, so you never know. 

Which is why it’s strange that he just wants to go to a concert this time. No world-class act in a huge stadium, no private performance in an obscenely expensive villa, it’s literally a no-name band at a small club downtown. It’s not the expectation of a costly gesture that makes the choice odd; normal just isn’t the way he operates. If he gathered trash from the street and said, “We’re gonna make soap bombs at a public park,” it would be a lot more on brand for him.

Can litigators sue themselves for illicit activity? Like, is that a thing? 

“Considering your itinerary for tonight, I am required to do a mental health check,” you lean against the bar counter and tilt your head. “You good, bro?”

“The audacity just because I didn’t take you skydiving,” he tsks. “Rude.”

“Well, at least the crowd is very attractive here tonight, but I thought you said this was a rock concert,” you examine the room, then face him again with increased embarrassment. “So my follow-up questions are, one—we look super out of place with our biker gang-adjacent fits, so what the hell were you thinking? And two—what kinda band plays a damn Michelin restaurant?”

“The show is obviously someplace else,” he deadpans. “We’re just grabbing a few drinks here.”

“Oh… Well, in that case,” you scan the cocktail menu, “I feel like vodka cranberry is a mandatory accessory to the OOTD right now.”

“Well, I think limoncello will be a more refreshing choice, but we can have those after if you want,” he raises his hand to signal someone at the far corner of the bar, and the man promptly arrives with an ice-cold yellow bottle as if he had an epiphany about what Jungkook’s order was going to be.

“The D’Amalfi Supreme you requested, Mr. Jeon,” he pours the drinks with utmost respect. “Enjoy.”

The scandalized gasp you let out thankfully suppresses your originally planned reaction—a roaring “SHUT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK UP!”—which would be a bit too pedestrian for such an upscale venue.

“Um… Mr. Jeon,” you imitate the bartender, forcing a smile only a raging psychopath would flash. “What are you doing?”

“Ordering drinks?” he states the obvious.

“No, no. No, no, no, no. No. You’re laundering money.” Your smile fades in an instant, and you open hellfire from your eyes, hissing at him through a loud whisper. “That bottle is worth fucking 44 MILLION, man, what the hell is the matter with you?!”

“Now you know why we’re going to a hole-in-the-wall club after this,” he raises his glass with an ultra amused smile. “Cheers, baby.”

Thoroughly aghast, your jaw drops because this kinda money demands a chalant reaction. Yup, he’s lost it. He is going through something he’s not telling you and trying to make up for it with impulse purchases, but his income bracket is so damn high that he doesn’t fucking know what would attract the FBI’s attention! 

If you wake up to frozen assets tomorrow, you’re gonna kill him. At least then you won’t feel sorry about jail. 

“Relax, I won the defamation case for that bitch of an idol, so the firm came into some goooood money,” he gloats, genuinely expecting a gold star from you. “So what if I wanted to splurge a bit?”

“Then get a goddamn Rolex!” you howl. “Or a girlfriend with a shopping addiction. Still a much cheaper alternative.”

“Why? Don’t I already have you?”

Your heart must be playing hopscotch with the beats, the way it skips so many at once.

You know it doesn’t mean anything; he says shit like this all the time, that charming egomaniacal asshole rizz machine. It’s just that your heart doesn’t understand what nuance is, and your unwavering, bane-of-existence levels stupid crush on one Jeon Jungkook, Esq. has no intention of dying down anytime soon.

You’ve lost count of how many years it’s been by now.

“I meant it as in… Retail therapy is just bootleg dopamine epipen. If you had someone to have regular sex with, you wouldn’t spend a small country’s external debt on fucking limoncello,” you attempt a weak explanation, somehow managing to sound convincingly sassy. “It’s not even scotch, man, come on. You’re better than this.”

“So you’re saying I should get a girlfriend because you won’t have sex with me?”

You’re so flustered, your mind momentarily halts all activity. No banter material all of a sudden. Not one good comeback candidate. You so wish you were in a mockumentary so you could get out of the scene to yell, “DOES HE KNOW HOW WET I AM?!” at the camera.

“I’m kidding,” he breaks into a giggle fit upon your silence, but his tone quickly turns serious as if he’s stating a grim fact. “Though your argument is flawed since it’s based on the assumption that the existence of a girlfriend equals having sex.”

“Thanks, counselor. Now please switch to layman’s terms on the grounds that this ain’t your courtroom,” you deride with a saccharine smile. “And yeah, I figured two plus two would equal four. What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s Catch-69,” he continues seriously. “I allegedly need to be in a committed relationship to have regular sex, but anyone who is sexually active would not go for a guy who doesn’t have sex.”

“Doesn’t hav—? I’m sorry, what?” you knit your brows, leaning in closer to make sure you didn’t go temporarily deaf. “We went to the same college, motherfucker. I know your body count.”

“I didn’t say I don’t know how to have sex,” he corrects. “I just haven’t had any in like three years.” 

“THREE YEARS?!”

Well, that did it. The shock is so real that you can’t help that scream, and now the entire dining room is staring at the shrieking batgirl by the bar.

“Goddamn, your jaw didn’t drop this hard when I showed you my tattoo sleeve the first time,” Jungkook turns his gaze to the space between you, face contorted in absolute judgement. “That hole on the floor is at least halfway to China.”

“How the fuck is this even possible?!” you look at him like he has told you the earth is not only flat but also rectangular. “I’ve seen a woman walk into a streetlight because she couldn’t stop staring at you.”

“My dick prefers lips over eyes, baby,” he smiles into his drink. 

“Why don’t you say it louder so a lucky listener can have the chance to volunteer as tribute?” you quip. “Which you could use, it feels like.”

“Nah, I’m good,” he purses his lips in sheer disinterest.

Now you’re even more confused. The sex god among mortals has been celibate for three whole years for reasons unknown, and he doesn’t seem the least bit interested in revving the horny engine again. Which makes NO goddamn sense because back in college, during the two weeks you had to share an apartment, you were inadvertently subjected to A LOT OF TMI regarding what this man did with his dick on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, seven days a week. 

With seven different people.

“What is this really about? You’re literally the only guy I know who’d refuse getting his soul sucked out of him,” you press further. “Oh, god, wait, it’s not health-related, is it?”

“Would you be sad if it was?” he grins at you.

“DON’T EVEN JOKE ABOUT THAT!” you punch his arm as hard as you can.

“Niiice jab. Aim lower next time,” he proudly compliments the hit with feedback attached. “I’m healthier than a pure-bred stallion in its prime, don’t worry.”

“Then?”

“The kinda head game that’s up to my standards just can’t be found in the wild anymore,” he nonchalantly shrugs, pushing your annoyance to dangerous heights.

“How many ways can there possibly be to suck dick?” 

“Infinity if you’re creative enough,” he proclaims. “Can we drop this now?”

No, you absolutely can’t because you just can’t wrap your head around it, pun fully intended. What does creative enough even mean? You literally try to think of ways that’s beyond putting a dick in your mouth and bobbing your head, but your imagination can’t render anything. Does this mean you are not creative enough? Are you a closeted prude? Should you be offended by this?

Why does it suddenly feel like you are… not good enough?

“That’s like saying there are infinity ways to eat soup,” you continue to pry, now squinting. “So, what, like, is it about what you can use instead of a spoon?”

“Or not using anything at all,” he responds in an unusually deeper voice. “Straight from the bowl. No hands.”

No hands.

Your sponge of an imagination immediately absorbs the words and starts to paint a brand new scene for you in crisp detail. 

A cozy room. Maybe even a fireplace. Lights dimmed to a sultry lumen. Jungkook in a suit. Jungkook in slacks and nothing else. You in a dress. You in a torn dress. Tied to a chair. Hands cuffed behind your back. Blindfolded. Jungkook holding his belt. Jungkook holding all control. Jungkook holding your life in a chokehold. Jungkook smearing his precum all over your lips. Jungkook ordering you to open wide. Jungkook fucking your face as hard as he wants. Jungkook drenching you in his cum… Jungkook. 

Jungkook. 

Jungkook.

Oh… GOD!!!

IS THIS GODFORSAKEN LIMONCELLO 150 PROOF OR SOMETHING? 

“Refreshing”, my ass… Not only is it doing a terrible job of keeping you chill, but it seems to fuel the fire that has just broken out on your face. You HOPE the heat is at least contained within your body and Jungkook can’t feel it from where he’s sitting.

“So what if you can’t find it in the wild? You know the red light district exists, right?” you casually comment as if you’re not having the horniest mental breakdown.

“I don’t pay for sex,” he sternly counters.

“Don’t you have like five different porn subscriptions?” you sneer. 

“Along with six other streaming platforms, yeah, what’s your point?”

“Fine, smartass, why not hookup apps then?”

“No one really swipes right with the kinda shit I put on my profile,” he heaves a bored sigh. “I mean, if they did, I’d probably have to call the cops to report a raging lunatic at large.”

“Doesn’t that also make you a raging lunatic?”

“Precisely. One is enough.”

“Puh—lease! You so have the pretty privilege,” you snort loudly. “Bitches would swipe right today just to climb your hot ass body even if your bio said ‘There’s a true crime documentary about me on Netflix’.”

“Which is why my avatar picture is a stoic capybara. Showing the goods up front is amateur hour minute one,” he declares matter-of-factly, then annoyingly smirks. “So you think my body is ‘hot ass’, huh?”

“So you are on digital brothels, huh? Which means you are actively searching,” you immediately block the door so the topic wouldn’t even dare to change. “How come you’re not hitting that every lunch break?”

“Why would I do that when I can just get high and rub one out instead?” he scoffs. “Did you know weed makes lunch break feel like three hours?”

“Why are you being so evasive?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“This. I’m asking a very simple question,” you draw a circle around his stupid gorgeous figure, your voice swelling with your patience running thin fast. “I know you’ve calmed down a lot over the years, which is suspicious as fuck by the way, but just what the hell kinda ‘standards’ do you have that no one in the universe seems to meet them?”

Jungkook’s lips faintly curl as he swirls his drink in his hand. You’re the only person in this world he feels something akin to trust for, yet he could never bring himself to talk about any of this even with you, not that he never came close  to on particularly drunk nights. He is immune to strangers getting scandalized now, calling him names, borderline running away screaming as if he put a gun to their heads, but just the thought of you being nauseated by him, being disappointed in him in whatever capacity fucking kills him inside. He can’t afford to lose you. He’s never been able to.

But something about you insisting on squeezing this out of him is doing things to him because god fucking knows he wants you to squeeze a lot more things out. Things that have been forced into dormancy for years. Things he couldn’t say, things he couldn’t feel, things that physically hurt him because of how heavy they have grown inside him. So heavy that sometimes it feels like if you touch him the right way just once, it will induce such an intense release that he will cry with unbearable relief. 

Why don’t you squeeze some bodily fluids out of him while you’re at it? Preferably aim it at your ridiculously beautiful face that haunts his every waking minute so he can reach nirvana.

He doesn’t know why he’s getting such a kick out of it; maybe it’s the pregame drinks he’s rolled too fast, but it’s dangerous. It’s so damn dangerous that he can feel the control he always holds in a death grip slipping through his fingers like butter on sizzling iron. There’s a reason he never talks about these things with you because every time you’re around, the angel and the devil on his shoulders start making out heavily out of nowhere instead of giving him any sage advice. 

“Maybe it’s better if I just showed you,” he knowingly smiles, then finishes his million-dollar drink in one go and leaves the stool. “Come on, we’re gonna be late for the show.”

When Jungkook said hole-in-the-wall, you didn’t expect an actual hole in the wall. Not only is that literally the name of the venue, but the entrance has also been designed like a cave carved into a brick wall. Once you are admitted inside, your biker gang-adjacent fits suddenly make a lot more sense since no one in the audience wears any color. The closest thing to a pigment is the mid-shades of grayscale, which look like the official color of morals in the room. 

Or the lack thereof. 

The first notes of the opener blast from the gargantuan speakers, and this already feels less like a concert and more like an orgy lite with background music. The trio on the stage riles up the crowd with a setlist that only gets more and more obscene, faster rhythm, harder kicks, louder screams. With each song, the sweaty bodies surrounding you seem to wrap tighter around each other under the guise of dancing, kissing, touching, damn near fucking with clothes on. Their attempt to hide behind deafening decibels is a complete failure because your ringing ears still pick up moaning around you. You wonder if Jungkook is noticing these people, too, or if this is a violent lust-induced hallucination on your part. Everywhere you turn your head, it’s like you’re looking at what you and Jungkook could be doing right now. Should be doing right now.

You’re about to go insane. 

Jungkook moves from standing next to you to behind you, and soon you feel a pair of thick arms wrapped around your waist. The closer you feel his body, the more you want to risk it all. You’re a bit buzzed and slightly high thanks to the heavy smoke in the air—if there’s any chance for you to sneak a kiss, it’s right now. If it backfires, you can always blame your lowered inhibitions like “Haha, I know, right? I don’t know what I was thinking.”

You know exactly what you’re thinking. 

You want that wet-dream fuel nest of sin he calls a mouth pressed on your skin. You want it on your lips. You want it on your neck. You want it on your pussy. In some way. You don’t care if it’s a brush, a peck, a kiss, or a throat culture swab performed by his tongue. Anything goes as long as you get to taste him. Once. Just once. Just to see it in 3D if his lips really feel like what you always imagined them to be. To find out if you’ll really cum if he kisses you once. Once. Just once!!!

But Jungkook doesn’t make a move.

You’ve been waiting for a sign, the vaguest allusion to a green light, but it never comes. He is behind you, but there is still this space between you even if it’s maybe only a few inches. You don’t feel his chest on your back. You don’t feel his crotch on your hips. Despite the lowered inhibitions you were banking on, you can’t find it in you to jump the gun. Maybe you’ve spectacularly misread the whole vibe and were indeed seeing things. 

Fuck your life if you make the first move. 

Before you know it, the band’s short set comes to an end, and after thanking the crowd for their passionate enthusiasm, they disappear backstage. When the lights change, Jungkook moves away, and you can’t think of what to do next. Do you say something? Do you suggest something? Do you ask his hand in marriage?

What?

He doesn’t ask for it, but he does grab your hand and drag you towards the bar for some post-game drinks this time. No million-dollar limoncello, just regular beer. The little lamp on the bar counter illuminates his face just enough to show you how he has magnificently sweated, and it’s absolutely infuriating that he still looks this good while this disheveled.

You’re not gonna attempt a kiss, but he’s still given you some ammunition tonight to open fire.

“So,” you initiate the conversation, hoping your embarrassing thirst isn’t showing that much. “Are you gonna show me yet?”

“Show you what?” he takes a huge sip from his beer.

“The playing dumb thing is getting a bit tiring, just saying,” you press your tongue inside your cheek.

“I’m not playing dumb,” he says, but with a smile so vexing that you get a violent urge to pinch his cheeks.

“I asked you what your unattainable standards were, remember? And you said it’d be better if you just showed me,” you jog his memory.

“I said maybe it’s better, and I didn’t say anything about showing you things tonight,” he responds triumphantly, thinking he has the perfect loophole to refute you.

Oh, you fucking snap.

You grab him by his collar and yank him close, only a single inch away from your face, your eyes seeing nothing but red. It’s like watching yourself from afar—even as you move, you can’t fully grasp what you’re doing. 

Meanwhile, Jungkook is so taken aback that he almost loses his balance on the stool he’s perched on.

“Do not treat me like I’m one of your bimbo clients, Jeon, I’m fucking warning you,” you threaten, your jaw clenched so hard that it’s about to break. “Piss me off some more, and I swear to fucking god I’ll tie you to an MRI table with all your piercings still intact.”  

Jungkook’s life starts flashing before his eyes.

He gulps, eyes wide open, suddenly breathing way heavier. The little lamp on the bar counter illuminates his face just enough to show you his pupils are dilated so much that it looks like his eyes are actually black. Did you actually manage to scare a man who once had a pet tarantula into a panic fit? Or…? 

Or does this mean…?

“S–Sorry, I’m…” you take a step back, raising your voice to banter levels again to shoo the awkwardness away. “You’ve made me really mad, okay?!”

He shakes his head to snap out of it because if he stays in that headspace for five seconds too long, he doesn’t know what will come out of him, either. He closes his eyes, exhales heavily through his nose, and the long-awaited TMI bomb finally makes landfall.

“I have trouble getting hard, and if I do, I can’t sustain it for too long. There, happy?” he confesses, hints of embarrassment still audible through his aggravation. 

You look at him blankly, thoroughly unable to process the information you’ve just received. You can’t be sure if you’ve heard correctly because you were totally expecting something utterly radical like, “I’m training to be a monk.” 

NOT dick no get big.

“That’s–That’s it?” you keep blinking through your confusion, almost disappointed at how anticlimactic that was. “Having erectile dysfunction was your hush-hush secret?”

“I’d say it’s more of an affectile dysfunction. It’s not that my body doesn’t react at all; it’s what it reacts to,” he offers an unsuccessful alternative explanation, his voice waning into a barely audible volume by the end of it. “Or doesn’t anymore, for that matter.”

“Which is?”

He gives up. You’re not gonna let this go, he knows, and there is only so much verbal account he can give. He told you he would show you, so he will show you. He chugs his drink and slams his glass on the counter. 

“Come with me.”

You follow after him with furrowed brows, having absolutely no idea what to expect. Jungkook pushes through the crowd and makes it to the backstage area. The bodyguards flanking the door seem to know him; they greet him with big smiles and friendly hugs. When they open the door, the faded neon blue light hits your retinas first. You cross the threshold and turn right, and that’s when you feel a falling sensation in the pit of your stomach. Your lips part, but not because you’re shocked, per se; your body just doesn’t know how to react to a stimulant this foreign.

You have never seen a real-life orgy before.

There must be about fifteen people inside, and nobody in the room gives a fuck. Everybody acts like this is just standard party decorum, and all they do is drink, eat, and have fun. Well, there are things being eaten here and there, but it feels… unfamiliar. Your mind can’t process a scenario where sex is a social activity. 

You turn to Jungkook, and an uneasy feeling settles in your chest seeing him like that, completely devoid of emotion. He seems so used to this—too used to this to the point of jaded, actually—that there isn’t a shred of excitement in his blank eyes. Words can always lie, but the body seldom can; you can’t fake that kind of numbness in front of something like this unless you actually can’t feel anything. 

“It wasn’t a transition from 0 to 100; I started at 100,” he divulges in the flattest voice you’ve ever heard him use. “Most of my early twenties were spent in places like this.”

“So… things like this don’t excite you anymore,” you paraphrase. “You don’t find them novel.”

“The first few times were of course memorable. I remember where I was, what I was wearing, even the people in the room, even though it was quite crowded. After some time, it just turned into another Tuesday night,” he reminisces, minus the delight. “When this is your vanilla threshold, the things you crave start becoming—”

“JEON!”

A man that has honey for skin approaches with a big albeit faded as fuck smile. You recognize him as one of the performers, and he wears sunglasses in a room that’s already way too dim. You wonder if he and his entourage were getting a room full of people that horny earlier as an audition method for the raunchfest in progress.

“Long time, no see, man! We miss you around here,” he gives Jungkook a big hug, then lowers his glasses to make direct eye contact with you as he greets you. “Well, hello ther—”

“Paws off, we’re not here for that. Just saying hi before we leave,” Jungkook slaps the man’s hand away, doing a quick introduction. “This is Namjoon.”

“Damn, all about that monogamous life now, are we?” Namjoon knowingly grins, his eyes still on you.

“You could say that,” Jungkook responds.

That’s COMPLETELY false information, yet Jungkook does not correct it. You don’t know what to do with yourself. The fire on your face thing from earlier tonight returns again, and this is the WORST place it can happen. If Jungkook feels it, he will totally get the wrong idea.

The wrong idea being your willingness to participate in group sex right now, not your devastatingly strong feelings for him.

“Actually, so am I,” Namjoon’s sleazy grin unexpectedly melts into the wholesomest dimples. “I’m getting married.”

“FUCK, SERIOUSLY? CONGRA—! Wait…” Jungkook’s elation suddenly crashes into a wall and breaks into rage. “If you’re creeping behind Rina here, I swear to fucking god—”

He points towards the back of the room at who you assume to be his bride, currently getting her pussy eaten by both his bandmates and another girl riding her face. You have looked as a total knee-jerk reaction, but you immediately avert your eyes. Despite being welcomed in here, it still feels like you’re intruding. 

“Yeah, we fuck around, but we only love each other,” he lovingly looks at her as if the scene depicts her picking fresh spring flowers. “She’s the one, man.”

“Then I’m very happy for you both,” Jungkook pats his shoulder.

“Which is WHY you guys are obligated to be present for this legendary day we never thought would come,” Namjoon declares with amped up enthusiasm. “Bachelor party in two weeks, ceremony in six. If you wanna bail on the reception, you totally can, but you are required to get me multiple items from the registry.”

“I’ll get you the whole list, just don’t bring me to a family function where I’ll have to converse,” Jungkook grimaces. “Talk to you next week, then?”

“You got it.” 

“Congratulations,” you celebrate the groom-to-be, and after politely nodding in acknowledgement, he returns to hosting his guests.

Once you walk out from the back door into the alley, Jungkook lights up a joint and leans against a wall. You smoke in silence for a while, passing the cigarette back and forth. You can’t be sure if you just hallucinated. What even was that? What even was this whole night?

“So um…” you hesitantly begin. “If one wants to… say, surpass a Tuesday night…” 

Jungkook looks at you and waits for you to finish your sentence, but you don’t. The faintest smile appears on his lips, and he answers you based on the pretty accurate sophisticated guess he makes.

“They aren’t things found in your average romance book; I can tell you that much,” he puffs out the smoke and hands you the cigarette again.

“Not commenting on the cringe levels, but dark romance books also exist, you know,” you respond before your big inhale. 

“Yeah? And what are they about?” he chuckles somewhat derisively. “Missionary while holding hands with the fuckboy CEO?”

“I’ve read one where the main character could only cum when threatened with a gun,” you submit the most apt example you have in your repertoire. “A fake one, of course.”

“WHAT?!”

It seems to be Jungkook’s turn to clutch his pearls now, and you’re the one being weirdly nonchalant. A gun? You read books that have people cumming to guns in them?

Are you fucking HEARING yourself?!

“I’m sorry, were you under the impression that you were the only person in the world who had unconventional fantasies?” you stare at him stoically. “Go on Reddit sometime.”

“You don’t find that… uncomfortable?” he asks with deep creases forming between his brows.

“Why would I? Cum to the thought of sandpaper for all I care,” you shrug. “In my experience, as long as you don’t spring it on someone, anything your partner greenlights goes.”

“In your experience?” 

“Why are you acting like I’m citing blasphemies back to back?”

Because you are, and it sends him reeling. What do you mean in your experience? What do you mean why would I? Are you even AWARE what this is doing to him? 

Not necessarily the what, but you are aware something is making him short-circuit. 

“I’m going to ask you a question, but don’t give me that law school bullshit again. I want a direct, to-the-point answer from you,” you earnestly request. “Are you really not having sex because everything feels too vanilla for you now?”

“It’s part of it,” he replies.

“What did I just say about being dir—?”

“It’s not that easy, okay?!”

Jungkook never raises his voice at you unless it’s in a heated debate context, but this time he does. Because you’re pushing it. You’re pushing it too much. He can’t say it exactly as it is, just why can’t you get it?

Why can’t you just figure it out already?

“Then help me understand it,” you take one step closer. “Whatever you might be into, I’m sure there are like whole ass communities around it. Rule 34, you know.”

He inadvertently bursts out laughing. This is exactly why a part of him hates you. Because you know exactly what to say to make him laugh when he’s in the middle of a full-on spiral. You know exactly what to do to make him forget everything that happened five seconds ago, and he hates you for that. Because hating you is the only way it doesn’t hurt. 

Hating you is the only way he can accept there is no chance of you ever waking up together.

“So what is it that makes you step away from it all completely?” you softly ask.

“Just because you’re into something doesn’t mean you want to do it with anyone willing,” he answers, staring at the pebbles on the ground.

“How come?”

“A lot of things are at play. Attraction…” he explains, then pauses before his next item. “Trust.”

“Or,” you emphasize the word, “maybe you’re looking at this all wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know that cliché, It’s not what you say, but how you say it?”

“Yeah?”

“Then maybe it’s also not what you do, but how you do it.” 

Your high has permeated all corners of your body by now. You feel lighter, but your mind feels weirdly clearer, and you definitely feel more courageous. It was just weed, not speed, yet it still feels like you can do everything, all the time, and achieve great results.

“Maybe you’re dismissing it because it’s so simple,” you put your hands on his chest, then start playing with his collar. “You’re so convinced you can only sate your hunger with complex, expensive dishes with the rarest ingredients that you can’t see what’s right in front of you.”

“And… w–what would that be?” he stammers.

“Soup,” you whisper into his lips. “But straight from the bowl. No hands.”

You finally press your lips on his, and your entire world gets rocked. You can’t fucking believe you’re kissing Jungkook. The Jeon Jungkook. It doesn’t seem likely that you’ll cum from kissing once, but you do feel the texture of his lips in 3D.

Oh, it’s everything you always imagined it to be. 

Bootleg or not, Jungkook feels like he’s been injected with hundreds of adrenaline shots all at once. It’s your lips within his. Your lips that he’s kissing, and he can’t control how rapidly it’s escalating. He feels so good. He feels so high. He feels so thrilled. He remembers this feeling. 

It’s lust.

“We… We could have done this inside,” he pants into your mouth when he manages to stop to catch his breath.

“But everyone’s doing it inside. We’re not supposed to do it outside,” you oppose. “Public indecency is against the law, you know.”

Your attention sways towards the main street when you hear a quick siren, and a cop car stops in front of a coffee shop. So many lightbulbs go off in your head that your brain looks like a Christmas tree visible from outer space. 

“So is sex trafficking,” you mumble to yourself with a smile growing on your lips as you stare at the officers having coffee, then turn to Jungkook again. “Do you have any cash on you?

“Huh?”

“Don’t think. Just check it.”

He reaches for his wallet and opens it. You pull out a single hundred dollar bill and lean against the wall behind the dumpster. Your whole demeanor changes all of a sudden. You look unimpressed. Bored even.

“Fine, I guess. This buys ten minutes of my time. What do you want?” you look at him with blank eyes, then tap at your wrist impatiently. “Hurry up, I don’t have all day.”

Mr. I-Can’t-Get-Hard looks so fucking feral, you should call animal control.

He slowly approaches you, trying to regulate his breathing but failing, and checks you out from head to toe. He’s eating you alive with his eyes. He’s licking every corner of your body with his gaze, and you can feel it. 

“How many clients did you see before this?” he asks in that unusually deeper voice again.

“I was at a bachelor party,” you smirk at him. “Do the math.”

“Did anyone cum inside?”

“I don’t know, did they?”

He rests one hand on the cold brick wall behind you, and runs the other up your bare thighs excruciatingly slowly. When he hits a warm dead end, he slides your underwear to the side and swipes a finger on your folds. It’s so wet that his eyes flutter close on their own in delight, and he licks his lips just imagining that taste.

“How… many?” he slowly asks again, somewhat threateningly. 

“All… of them,” you reply in the same rhythm.

He hooks his fingers to the sides of your underwear, but instead of dragging it down, he rips it off of you completely. The loud sound of tearing makes you gasp. He curls the fabric into a ball and puts it in your mouth. 

“Bite on it,” he orders.

So you do. 

Eyes glued to yours, he kneels before you, trying to brace himself for what he’s about to witness, knowing damn well he won’t be able to. He has thought about this, dreamed about this, driven himself to the brink of insanity about this for so long that it doesn’t feel real. He spreads your sticky thighs apart with unrushed movements, and it takes every drop of his willpower not to swallow you whole.

Not even his most vivid fantasies compare to the real thing.

The sheer sight of your soaking wet pussy fills his entire mouth with saliva, and he thickly gulps, instinctively wiping the corners of his mouth. Such a feast spread before him, and he can’t decide which course to start his meal with. Maybe just a taste from your swollen clit. Maybe just a few licks from your slick folds. Maybe nothing whatsoever and just tease you to death until you snap and shove his face into your cunt.

All… of them.

Your voice suddenly echoes in his head again, and he buries his tongue into your oozing hole like an intrusive thought. 

You immediately grab fistfuls of his hair to keep yourself in place because you are severely weak at the knees. You can’t believe it’s real. Jungkook is actually between your legs, going at it like a starved animal, tongue hard at work with flicks so fast that at this rate, he is going to end you within seconds. 

“You told them to use you as a cumdump, didn’t you? You told them to breed your cunt, and you fucking liked it,” he growls into your pussy. “Look how creamy you are, fucking cumslut. You’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

No one has ever kissed your lips the way Jungkook makes out with your clit. It’s obscenely wet, dangerously vehement, yet the pressure is just right. He is being strangely soft when he wraps his lips around it, gently sucking on it, so damn happy just to be able to cover his chin with your arousal, but when he goes back to your dripping hole, it’s a different story. He slurps with all his might like he’s actually trying to taste a bachelor party’s worth of cum in there. You understand exactly why he wanted to put a silencer on your mouth because the more he moans into your cunt, the harder you scream. You can’t help rolling your hips into him, seeking as much friction as you can possibly get before you go certifiably insane. He sticks his tongue out and flattens it, hands firmly on your ass, and makes you ride his tongue. It’s warm. It’s slippery. It’s addictive, and it feels so fucking good. 

“Now you’re gonna cream for me,” he demands. “You’re gonna give me everything.” 

He puts one leg on his shoulder and sucks on his fingers, sliding them inside you with eager ease. He hooks his fingers upwards and moves with beguiling care, slow, calculated, alert like he’s searching for something. He must have found it because even though he looks up at you with blank eyes, you can clearly hear the curls on the corner of his lips going, “Oh, it’s over for you now.” 

Then he closes his mouth on your clit and starts fingering you so fervently that pressure rapidly builds inside you, albeit in uncharted territory. It’s nowhere near the surface like it always is; it’s charging at you from somewhere too deep, a spot you didn’t even know existed. He beckons. He beckons as he licks your pulse on your clit. He beckons as he hums years’ worth of shameful confessions into your core. He beckons your demise closer when he clings to your hand and intertwines his fingers with yours, jarringly contrasting the rawness of his animalistic grunts. Everything that happened tonight, the lemon drinks, the sex playlist, the dancing, the backstage orgy, the grassy high, the ravenous lust he devours you with, everything, everything morphs into a ball of pure fire and scorches your sanity away as he makes you squirt in his mouth.

You can’t tell if you’re falling apart or falling deeper in love.

Without giving you a moment’s respite, Jungkook springs back on his feet, quickly unbuckles his belt, and takes his cock out. You’re fucking drooling at his size, and just imagining that looming stretch makes your pussy throb. You want him. You want him. You’ve never wanted something this much in your life, and now you know how creative you can get. No hands, with hands, sideways, upside down…

Turns out you just needed the right… muse. 

“I still got two minutes,” he checks his watch. “Now give me my money’s worth.”

He rams himself into you with such force that you’re seeing stars with every thrust. His face twists with unbearable amounts of pleasure, and he’s trying really hard not to go off the rails. Not yet. Not right now. But you’re making it almost impossible for him. The way your eyes are rolling back, the way your moans come so deep from your throat, the way you cling to him, groping him, scratching him.

He fucking loses it.

“Don’t be gentle,” he urges you as he takes your hand and puts it around his throat. “Go for it, you can’t hurt me. Harder.”

You start closing your fingers around his throat, and the magnitude of his moans suddenly triples. He starts fucking you with afresh fervor like he wants to pass through you, and you get the weirdest thrill out of being trapped between him and the cold wall. He reaches for your makeshift gag out of nowhere and removes it from your mouth, and gives you your final order to end his life.

“Bite my lips.”

You sink your teeth so deep into his flesh that you taste a hint of iron on your tongue, and he cums so hard that you watch his soul leave his body. You instantly backtrack and take his lips within yours as if to soothe him, letting him ride his high for as long as he wants with his forehead pressed against yours. You don’t know how long it takes for him to come back, but even when he calms down, every breath he takes still comes out as a faint moan. With every breath he takes, something swells bigger in your chest.

And your little euphoric bubble loudly pops when a scream approaches closer.

“HEY! WHAT’S GOING ON IN THERE?”

When you turn to the source of the voice, the flashlights aimed at you almost turn both of you blind, and the officers activate your fight or flight mode. Jungkook grabs your hand, and you start booking it, laughing your asses off for who knows how many blocks.

“This is exactly why I don’t pay for sex!” he roars when you finally stop in another alley. “Fucking christ, my life literally flashed before my eyes just now.”

“Relax, will you? This is not in their juris–dick–tion.” 

The reaction comes out as quiet wheezes. You’re both so tired that you can’t even laugh anymore. You take a minute to fully recover, now at least sober thanks to the adrenaline jumpstart, then hail a cab to head home.

“Maybe instead of a bunch of activities, we should just have sex from now on,” you suggest, trying to pass it as a super chill remark.

“Yeah, I’ve heard somewhere that it regulates dopamine and whatever, right?” he casually comments. “Not to mention fiscally responsible.”

“I said regular sex; I didn’t say anything about regulate,” you snort. “Your dopamine levels are likely permanently fucked up because of your workaholism.”

“Wanna permanently fuck me up, too?”

HE LITERALLY NEEDS TO SHUT THE FUCK UP BECAUSE, YES, YOU VERY MUCH DO!

“Wait, are you…?” he squints. It’s only dawning on him right now that you might not be joking at all. “Are you serious?”

“I mean, yeah… I had a lot of fun tonight,” you answer, but your face starts falling upon his lack of reaction. “Unless… you didn’t. Then we don—”

“I DID! God, I so did, it’s…” he raises his voice in panic. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

How to properly word this? Well, maybe it’s not that bad—you’re the one who reads gun smut after all. But reading is something, doing is something else. What if you think there is something fundamentally wrong with him? What if this damages your perception of him so bad that you don’t want anything to do with him anymore? What if this permanently fucks up your friendship instead, IF it hasn’t already, and he will have to drift through this life all by himself again? He can’t imagine a life without you, and nothing is worth taking that risk, but it feels like the window has long closed on the “Never mind” grace period. 

When his urges only lived in his fantasies, they weren’t this maddeningly itchy, but he knows what you taste like now.

“Remember what I said at the club?” he fidgets with his fingers. “When I said if this is your vanilla threshold…”

“You didn’t,” you counter. “You said, ‘the things you crave start becoming—’ then got interrupted by that dimpled Squirtle.”

“That’s Joon’s actual nickname, you know. Rina gave it to him after their squirtathon,” Jungkook shares with a super straight face, making you giggle.

“Then complete your sentence right now,” you encourage him. “The things you crave start becoming…?”

He has backed himself into a corner. There is no turning back from this now. If he senses that this is going to massively blow up in his face, he will deploy everything at his disposal to erase this conversation from your mind, this whole night, all of it, and will never ever talk about anything even remotely reminiscent of it. He will forever keep your taste at the back of his palate as the one souvenir from tonight, though.

He takes a few seconds, then finally lets it rip.

“Sicker,” he confesses through a heavy sigh. “This is progressively gonna get worse.”

“Define worse,” you start an impromptu deposition, appealing to his “Objection!”-loving Phoenix Wright side. “Does it involve anything other than consenting adults? 

“No.”

“Does it involve coercion of any kind?”

“No.”

“Does it involve anything illegal at all?”

“Except for my dealer whom you call more than I do, no.”

“Does it involve anything that can only be found on the dark web?”

“GOD no, what?!”

“Had to ask. Since you have a particular fascination with loopholes,” you shrug. “The rest is negotiable.”

“So you’re fine with this?”

“Again, go on Reddit sometime,” you advise as a cure for his extreme caution. “If it’s going to benefit my pleasure also, then yes.”

No.

No, you’re bullshitting.

There is no way you meant it. You’re just saying things because you feel bad for him. It will maybe be fine for like three times, and then he’s going to hear the inevitable, “Yeah, listen, I don’t think I can do this”, and then it’s going to be unsalvageably awkward between you.

He has to stress test it.

“In that case, I regret to inform you that once a month is NOT enough,” he firmly declares. “My opening offer is five times a week.”

“Five–Five times?” 

“Well, I was actually gonna say every day, but figured your pussy needs some downtime, too.”

“EVERY DAY?!”

“I have three years to catch up on, and you’re surprised I wanna fuck 25/8 now? You’re the one who poked the bear,” he protests. “Fine, I’m willing to negotiate. Four times a week.”

“ONCE IS FINE!” you shriek. “I can’t come up with a production like this four times a week.”

“Three times then.”

“Once.”

“Twice?”

“I said once!”

Jungkook wheezes his lungs out, and it’s such a pleasant sound to your ears that you’re actively thinking of ways to stay mad at him. He has no business being this endeared, but he loves it when you’re ticked. He can’t help it. 

And even though he doesn’t want to load too much meaning into it, he does notice you insist on “once” instead of rescinding your offer altogether on the grounds of “This is sus af.”

“What’s so damn funny?!” you snap.

“Granted, it would depend on the agenda, but even once a week is pushing it,” he answers rather seriously. “We can just get together once a month like we always do. Any time you wanna pass up on sex, just say it, and I’ll blow like 100k on some golden hotdog or something instead.” 

“Why did you stress me the fuck out then?!”

“I wanted to see if you really knew the difference between caring and caving,” he tucks your hair behind your ear. “You don’t owe me anything just because we’re close.”

You want to keep yelling at him, but something in your chest sizzles all of a sudden. Not only are you not used to him being solemn like this, but also… Of course you don’t owe anything to him, it’s just that… It’s just that you…

Ugh, fucking charming egomaniacal asshole.

“That’s manipulation,” you scorn, a lot more calmly than you intended to.

“I believe the correct term is occupational deformation,” he quips. 

“I mean… we can do like twice a month at least,” you purse your lips. “You have three whole years to catch up on after all.”

His lips slightly part in surprise, but the façade only lasts for like two seconds.

“Wow, dick so good you can’t wait to get back on it, huh?” he slowly nods with narrowed eyes, exasperatingly proud of himself. “Or was it my insane pussy eating skills?”

“Oh, fuck you, Jeon!” you groan and punch his arm, a lot lower this time. 

He bursts out laughing and pulls you close entirely instinctively. In a momentary lapse of sanity, he has completely forgotten what he is and is not to you. His body seems to have gotten used to your skin so scarily fast that, for a second there, it actually made him think he has the liberty to kiss you whenever he wants. If he didn’t stop himself at the very last minute with a panic-ridden “WHAT AM I DOING?!” who the fuck knows what would follow that? 

You, on the other hand, get heart palpitations, butterflies in your stomach, and a headrush all at the same time simply because you’re this close to him.

This motherfucker is going to kill you before you can eat soup with no hands even once.

“I’m dying to,” he quietly speaks into your lips as the cab comes to a halt. “Keep it wet for me until I come to collect.”

thank you for reading! if you've enjoyed this, your reblogs and feedback would motivate me very much to keep going ♡

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[jungkoode]

FUCK ME UP

↪︎𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔: "if you could curse one day of your life, it would be the day you met him. because him—he's fucked up fucking for you, forever."

↪︎𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: roommates, smut, fwb, fuck buddies, angst, fluff, slow burn ↪︎𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: here ↪︎𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: jungkook x reader ↪︎𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒔: ongoing | 𝒘𝒄: 257k+ | 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔: 30/? ➜ estimated: 60+ ↪︎𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒔: ao3 | wattpad | taglist

the fic is not ending anytime soon, so if you’re waiting for it to be completed to read… don’t (｡•́︿•̀｡)

⋆｡°✩ chapters ✩°｡⋆ | * = smut

#01 | #02 | #03 | #04 | #05 | #06 | #07* | #08* | #09 | #10 | #11 | #12* | #13 | #14 | #15 | #16 | #17 | #18* | #19* | #20 | #21 | #22 | #23 | #24 | #25* | #26 | #27 | #28 | #29 | #30* | #31 |

⋆｡°✩ plot ✩°｡⋆

When your search for affordable NYC housing leads you to apartment 6B, you think you've hit the jackpot. That is, until you realize your new roommate is the guy from that one wild night on January - the one who ruined you for anyone else. Now you're stuck sharing walls with the living embodiment of your worst mistake, and the sexual tension is thick enough to choke on. Between his emotional damage and your trust issues, this arrangement is a disaster waiting to happen.

But hey, at least the hate sex is phenomenal.

⋆｡°✩ drabbles ✩°｡⋆

➵ that first night: her POV* ➵ that first night: his POV* [WIP] ➵ rules of engagement (yeji meets irya) ➵ griffin’s survival guide on stupid humans ➵ the great coffee war ➵ whiteboard chronicles ➵ polaroid memories (tae and jk) ➵ coming out of the cage (yoonmin) ➵ dial tone*

⋆｡°✩ extras ✩°｡⋆

✧ playlists: • fmu the soundtrack • songs fmu!jk plays on his 🎸 ✧ moodboards: general | characters | relationships | drawings ✧ floor plans: layout • jungkook's bedroom • 6B visuals (vid) ✧ asks : ask the disasters (open) | asks about the fic ✧ readers’ requests ➜ through asks! ⤷ pov reversals (requests: open) chapter 8 (eating you out, jk’s pov)

⤷ drabbles (requests: open)

✧ social media: jungkook’s letterboxd

✧ d͟i͟s͟c͟l͟a͟i͟m͟e͟r͟ ✧ please be reminded that members are purely used with visual purposes. this is a work of fiction merely written for entertainment purposes.

© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[jeonstudios]

dextrocardia | 01

Dextrocardia. Originally a medical term, but also a way to describe someone who's got their heart in the right place.

"She's been moved to another operation to help out. This pairing is necessary because you'll be undercover as spouses. I know you two can be professional about this."

"What?!" It's Jeongguk's upset voice that sounds, and for once, you share his displeased opinion.

Spouses.

pairing: cop!jk x f detective!reader

genre: undercover cops, fake marriage, e2l au, angst, fluff, maybe smut down the line but a big MAYBE NOT so don't read if you only want smut or if you're a minor or just don't read smut

word count: 5.3k

warnings (serious):a ton of sexist (police) men (jk included), there will be different kinds of assault in later parts, more specified warnings will come but probably don't read if you have traumas and feel bad reading about stuff like that

warnings (less serious): jk is hawt. tattooed, strong police man who dislikes wearing shirts, also he's mean :(

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 1/? 

<previous | next>

© dextrocardia is copyright jeonstudios. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

The station is filled with the familiar scent of coffee and the comforting sound of printers, small talk, and footsteps.

Some mornings, it reminds you more of a typical office than a police station, your own two feet contributing to the sounds as you walk along with the chief, careful to keep your distance from the tall man even when some of the hallways are a tad bit too narrow.

"And since a neighbor just moved out, we've decided that there's an invaluable chance here.”

You hum, feeling the male officers' snarky gazes and eye rolls as you reach the office space where they all sit, their desks organized into landscapes. To say that you’re not very liked in these parts of the station is an understatement.

“What about my current case? The–”

"–It’s on hold for now. We're gonna have to move quickly, so you'll be shipped out in a few days. Move in next door to the Jungs and hopefully solve this thing once and for all. I've already picked out an officer to go with you."

There’s no time for you to ask questions before the chief opens the dark wooden door located at the back of the room and motions for you to enter his personal office first.

You do, but the sight of what’s inside nearly causes you to stop and the chief to bump into you from behind. The sight of who’s inside.

Jeon.

“Are you kidding,” you hear him mutter under his breath, and it’s obviously not because he’s so elated that his detective is you. No, it’s because he despises you.

Disgusted eyes burn holes in the side of your face as you follow the chief's command and sit down next to your colleague from another division.

The tension definitely doesn't go unnoticed, but Jeon Jeongguk isn't an exception; you know that all male officers feel more or less the same way about you. It's the reason that the tension goes unmentioned and why you’d hoped for your usual female detective partner to sit there.

"Where's Jihyo? I assumed we'd work together as usual," you question, ignoring your own annoyance and the immature man next to you, who you know is doing his best to let you know just how much you appall him purely by facial expression. 

"She's been moved to another operation to help out. This pairing is necessary because you'll be undercover as spouses. I know you two can be professional about this."

"What?!" It's Jeongguk's upset voice that sounds, and for once, you share his displeased opinion.

Spouses. Not only has the chief dismissed a really important case that you’ve been trying to get flying for a long time, but you’re supposed to play… spouses? Unfortunately, you know better than to anger the chief more than necessary, so you focus on suffocating the most urgent fire.

"I'm sure that's not needed," you argue calmly, attempting to sound like the more mature one in the room. "One of us could go alone, or I could go with Sana? People are much more accepting of same-sex couples nowadays."

"Of course, you man-hating lesbian."

"Oh, grow up, you fucking child,” you bite in Jeon’s direction before returning your hopeful (and desperate) eyes to the chief. “She and I could be roommates? Cousins?"

"Stop it," the chief warns half a second before you can suggest acquaintances, and it’s easy to see that the slightly above middle-aged man feels like he's talking to two preschoolers. 

"Look, I'm not going to argue about this. We don't send anyone out alone, you know that,” he berates lazily from behind his desk with a pen pointed in your direction.Rumor has it that he’s set to retire in a few months, and you’re sure he’s looking forward to it more than ever at that moment.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen. You two are newly-weds, moving in basically across from the Jungs. It's a bit of a religious neighborhood, but like, weirdly so, so you'll be a housewife and Jeon a lawyer. It allows you to stay home during the days to get to know the neighbors, and Jeon can say he's taken a week or two off to help settle in."

Your jaw clenches as the details keep coming, and you know, without even looking, that even if he’s just as upset as you are, at least your "professions" are amusing to Jeongguk. He’s probably even smirking.

“What about him then?” you question, nodding toward Jeongguk while keeping eye contact with the chief, “He’s got his whole arm covered in tattoos, won’t that be a problem?”

“No, a lot of the suspects have them too, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, so it’s only a trip back in time for women, got it,” you seethe. It can't get any worse than this.

The chief ignores your comment, "Look, this is what we've deemed the most inconspicuous; a young, married, heterosexual couple. You'll blend right in, and being recently married, it'll give you an excuse to seem a little… distant."

You understand perfectly well what he’s implying, but you can't help but question it. "And what does that mean?"

The chief sighs and lowers his head a little, "It means that you two need to put on your happy faces and act like you're madly in love and like keeping your hands off each other is harder than the donuts Officer Kim brings on Tuesdays. That way, sneaking off together and whispering in each other’s ears, as well as a missed neighborhood barbeque or two, might go unnoticed. Or at least seem… well, inconspicuous."

A scoff sounds from beside you. "I don't get why I have to be the one to go with her? Isn't there another detective to do all that pretend lovey-dovey shit with her?"

Apparently, that's the thing that really upsets Jeongguk, and even though you find him self-centered and immature, it still hurts a little to know that even fake being in love with you is unmentionable.

"No. Like I said, I won't argue. Time is of the essence here; I need a man and a woman that can pass as a couple and work together. You're a great officer, and she's a great detective."

"You sure about that? And what about my safety, then? I don't want to "accidentally" get shot because I'm a man and she feels inferior to me!"

Ah, there it is. The reason you're so insanely disliked. A mission ends with a gunshot wound to the thigh of your former detective partner–now officer and Jeon’s best friend–and suddenly everything’s your fault and everyone’s turned against you. It wasn’t your fault, and it’s not like you ever wanted or planned for it to end that way!

For the first time, you turn your head to really look at the man beside you, your glare powered by years of anger and frustration. His face is flushed, revealing just how irritated this whole ordeal is making him.

In another universe, one in which men don't have personalities, you'd for sure want him. There's no denying the attractiveness that oozes from him, but masculinity is both a blessing and a curse.

He's gorgeous, raven hair parted to expose his just as dark eyebrows and his forehead. He’s got cheekbones and a jaw from another world, and it looks like he's wearing the black pants of his uniform but has foregone the shirt in favor of a dark blue sweatshirt with the police academy's print on it. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his veiny forearms–one of which tattooed– and hands are on display, and it's hot.

He's hot. Intimidating and hot. 

But he's also so… mean. So spoiled and entitled and just such a man. It’s been less than a year, maybe eight months or so, since he transferred from another district, and during those months, you've never spoken more than a few sentences to each other.

Still, you’ve known of him since before he even put his foot in the building, his reputation preceding him. Unfortunately, he's one of the best officers to grace this part of the country in a long time; his accomplishments piling up like golden trophies.

It's harder to measure for a field officer, still, the dude has an unbelievable rate of cleared and successful cases, surprisingly few complaints made against him, and the fitness competitions held every year among the officers are just another opportunity for him to improve his previous impressive record. He could probably bench five times your bodyweight and kick in whichever steel-reinforced door he wants. Everything turns to gold underneath his skilled fingertips, and it makes it all exponentially worse.

Perhaps he deserves some of the praise, but you still stand by the fact that Jeongguk is spoiled and entitled and just such a man. Almost all the males inside this building are. Pumped full of the worst kind of drug, produced by their own body—testosterone—and you're so fucking tired of it. 

Before you can defend yourself, bite back that he needs to shut the fuck up, you're interrupted.

"She's still not allowed to carry,” the chief clarifies calmly. “You've done mostly field, and she's done investigating. You'll work together, combine your strengths and eliminate your weaknesses. Okay?"

"Fine," you huff, "but I'm bringing my dog."

When you leave the room—Jeongguk exiting behind you only to be greeted by another male officer—you hear it.

“You’ll put her in her place, right, Jeon? Put an end to all of this and show her it’s a man’s world she’s living in?”

“Of course,” he replies just as confidently, “I’ll show her.”

And you know you might as well start writing your will.

 

Three days later, you’re sulking in the passenger seat of a sleek black car, being driven by none other than Jeon Jeongguk himself. It’s not his personal car, and it for sure doesn’t belong to you; yours is still at the repair shop where it’s been for faulty brakes three times in the last six months. 

You wanted to drive, but apparently, your fake new neighbors are so sexist that you can’t be seen stepping out of a car after driving your “husband” around. Because everyone knows driving is a man’s job, right?

Jeongguk has a big suitcase in the backseat. You have two, one containing clothes and whatever you need for your stay and another that holds food and other dog stuff. In the actual trunk, inside a crate–because you value his safety over everything–your Doberman sits.

You don’t know much about the house except that it’s big and mostly empty. The basic furniture has apparently already been moved there yesterday, but the rest of “your” furniture and possessions are scheduled to arrive within the next few days.

Ideally, you’ll manage to solve the case before the moving trucks pull up, sparing you the work of hauling heavy objects inside when you know it’s just for show and that someone’s gonna want them back eventually. If that happens anyway, you’re already contemplating leaving it to Jeongguk since he wants to be the man so badly. He’s obviously not happy about being partnered with you, but it at least brings him joy to see you have it worse. Except for having to be around you, he’s living the dream, getting to be a lawyer and have a housewife to be serviced by.

Among the chief's instructions is a dress code, and so today, Jeongguk is wearing black slacks and a white, crispy button-up shirt while you’re wearing a dark blue off-the-shoulder sundress. Unsurprisingly, you need to look put-together at all times which makes you hate your new fake neighbors even before meeting them. Well, a few of them are suspected to be some of the most successful bank robbers in the country’s history, but besides that.

The thought makes you huff quietly, and even with your gaze out the windshield, you see from the corner of your eye how Jeongguk glances at you. Probably giving you more of a glare, if you’re being honest.

There hasn’t been much going on conversation-wise either. The arguing of who was to drive happened an hour ago, and after that, you’ve laid a few comments on his choice of roads, and he’s answered them with just as much attitude as you’ve muttered them. You see this adventure ending in one or two ways–you and Jeongguk becoming friends isn’t one of them.

At five p.m., you pull up in front of your new house, and at first glance, it’s lovely. The entire neighborhood is. Big, pristine houses painted in white with green, mowed lawns and backyards, and white Picket fences. Your house is no different.

When the engine’s silenced and the key in Jeongguk’s right palm, you start feeling nervous. But you can’t let him know, so you focus on the task at hand. 

Your hands are a little sweaty, and to lessen the tremors, your fingers play with the diamond on your ring finger. It’s fake, but they’re done so well these days that even a professional would have a hard time differentiating. There’s a ring decorating Jeongguk’s finger too, a gold wedding band that you have to admit really suits his brand. 

Another thing he has with him is a gun, something you’re not allowed. But joke’s on anyone who thinks you’d willingly go unarmed. You have razor blades with you, sometimes a blade lies in your bra, protected in a plastic case. Other times, it’s strapped to your thigh. Like now.

As soon as you open the car door and step out with a fake smile on your face, you head to the trunk to get Fenrir. It’s unnerving how you can see your closest neighbors peeking out through their windows already, and you know instantly what kind of neighborhood this is. The brown Doberman jumps out, wagging his undocked tail and stretching after the drive.

“Since people are watching,” you hear Jeongguk from behind you. When you turn around, you almost lose your breath.

As he’s grabbing your bags to carry them inside, he’s wearing a smile that looks so incredibly genuine you’re almost left speechless. But of course, you can tell by his gritted words that he’d gladly let you carry them yourself if there weren’t witnesses. Actually, if no one was around to see, he’d probably just deck you with one of them.

“Fuck you, I can bring them myself,” you mutter through a sweet smile of your own, head tilted slightly.

“Just go inside before anyone can come here and start interrogating us, we still have things to go through.”

“Fine,” you snap, and together with Fenrir, you walk toward the entrance, unlocking it.

Jeongguk isn’t far behind, dumping your bags by the door that he closes behind him before turning to you.

You’ve gone through a few things regarding your disguise, but a lot of details still need to be agreed on.

Jeongguk is Kim Jaehyun and you’re Kim Yeji, high school sweethearts that married just a few months ago. The honeymoon was set in Paris at Jeongguk’s request, making you roll your eyes at the laziness. Jaehyun is just such a romantic.

But only a few minutes after the door is closed, a gentle but firm knock is placed on it. You exchange somewhat panicked looks with Jeongguk before inhaling and exhaling deeply and reaching for the door.

On the other side, dressed in colorful blouses and flowy skirts and with a plastic container each, two women stand.

“Hi,” you start, trying to channel your shy but polite inner housewife.

“Hello! Welcome to the neighborhood!” one exclaims happily, nudging the other subtly with her elbow.

“Yes, hello! Such a surprise to see new neighbors already! I’m Jung Eunha and this is Min Hyeji, we live just across the street. Or at least I do, Hyeji is your next door neighbor!” she nods toward the other woman.

“Oh, uh, nice to meet you,” you greet, hoping that the discomfort behind your smile isn’t visible. “I’m Kim Yeji, and this is my husband Jaehyun.”

Improvising, you turn around hastily and go to… well, touch him somehow, but he’s closer than you expected and so your hand bumps into his shoulder, and you just… keep it there somewhat awkwardly before slowly dropping it.

“Nice to meet you,” Jeongguk starts, his focus laying beyond you. “Yeah, we’ve been looking for a new home for a while, and when we saw this, we just fell in love immediately. Such potential and with a really nice neighborhood.”

“Yes,” Hyeji smiles proudly, “Perfect for when you get little ones!”

You feel yourself hurling on the inside, disgusted by the thought of having kids with someone as vile as Jeongguk, but he manages to keep his cool even though you assume he’s taken by surprise as well. How can they already know that you don’t have children? Unless they really supervised your entire arrival?

“Yeah, we’re not really there yet, but I agree; it’ll be perfect for our future kids, right, honey?”

He looks down at you. They all look at you.

Honey.

“Oh, yeah, absolutely!” you smile, trying to blink away the image of your archnemesis gazing at you so fondly. You would’ve never guessed it, but when they’re not overflowing with murderous disgust, Jeon Jeongguk has the prettiest brown eyes. Soft, brown eyes.

“Well, it’s so nice to meet you, but we gotta run. Here are some cookies,” Eunha excuses, taking a step closer to push her container in your hands. Hyeji follows, stacking hers on top. “We’ll see you around soon!”

And then, they’re gone, and the door’s closed.

You remain silent for a moment, just to make sure no one’s lingering and hearing stuff they’re not supposed to.

“Dude, what was that?” Jeongguk asks, and when you meet his eyes this time, the softness is gone, traded back for that familiar hatred.

“What?” you question with an irritated whisper, still paranoid the women might stand with their ears pressed against the door.

“I thought you were supposed to be a good actress?! Yet you touched me like I was your new colleague? ‘H-hi, I’m K-kim Y-yeji and th-this is m-my husband J-Jaehyun.’”

“Shut the fuck up,” you grit, walking away to place the containers on the kitchen counter.

“Maybe you don’t understand, I wouldn’t expect you to, but we need them to believe us. Either you touch me like you love me or you don’t touch me at all.”

After a few more digs at each other, you split up. Jeongguk disappears somewhere further into the house while you unpack Fenrir’s bowls, the gifted containers left on the counter. The big dog follows you closely to the kitchen sink, propping his snout in between you and the counter and hoping you’ll fill his bowl with something tasty.

“No food now,” you explain, setting the water-filled bowl down in an appropriate spot in the kitchen. “There you go, you must be thirsty.”

Although surely disappointed, Fenrir sniffs at the bowl before lapping at the water. You take a step back, watching him with a crease of worry between your eyebrows.

This whole arrangement has you incredibly nervous. You’re used to spying on people and such, but it’s usually just... observing. Many times, you’re seated inside a car with binoculars, or you’re tailing someone through the mall. Rarely, you even have to talk to the suspects, and now? You’re living next door to them, trying to get to know them.

You don’t even know what’s worse; living in the house next to your enemy, or living with your enemy. For all you know, Jeongguk might suffocate you in your sleep with a pillow over your face before the armed robbers even get the chance at taking you out.

“You’re the only man I can trust,” you coo, scratching Fenrir behind his ear when he approaches, a few leftover water drops making it onto your dress.

But with a sigh, you accept the fact that you’re stranded in the house for the coming days, and so you might as well follow your partner’s lead and look around.

It’s a nice house, you conclude. Not the very biggest, but still spacious enough. On the ground floor, there’s the kitchen, a dining area, and living room, all equipped with the basic necessities.

The dining area has a large dining table and eight chairs surrounding it, and the living room harbors a huge, gray couch and a very nice wooden coffee table. A wooly blanket hangs over one of the armrests, and a huge tv is mounted on the wall opposite the couch. 

What you don’t necessarily like is the fact that it’s... open. There aren’t really any separating walls except for around the kitchen, which means that if you need to hide from someone, you can’t. Well, maybe you can lock yourself in the bathroom, and hopefully, the bedrooms also have doors with locks.

The stairs creak a little under your feet, and you definitely take notice of it as you climb them to check out what’s upstairs.

To your surprise, the first thing you see is Jeongguk’s back. Confusion sets in as you watch him. He’s looking inside one of the two bedrooms, frozen with his hand on the handle.

You approach carefully, not sure you want to one; be so close to him, and two; know what’s gotten him so... confused? Confounded? Surprised?

Maintaining as much distance as possible, you peek inside. But it’s just a room? You can’t see the entirety of it since you’re not about to squeeze yourself through the doorway with Jeongguk still in it, but it looks… normal? Nice, actually.

There’s a queen-sized bed placed against the cream colored wall, drowned in beige linen bedding with an oak nightstand on each side. On the opposite side, to your left, there are doors leading to a built-in closet, an oak dresser, and a gray, empty plant pot, standing in the corner.

“You... like this one, or…?” you turn your head to glance toward the other door, leading to the other, unexplored, bedroom. 

You don’t want to let him choose before you’ve seen both because you know he’d rather die than give you the better one without a fight, and you’re not about to sleep in a bed covered in rat shit or something.

But before you can even walk toward that other door, Jeongguk opens his mouth.

“Yeah, well I have to, since this is the only room with a bed.”

At his surprisingly casual words, your heart drops. No. That can’t be true. Your steps are quick, and when you glide the door open, you curse to yourself. The room is empty, completely barren.

With your hand still on the handle, you turn your head toward Jeongguk, horrified. “I’m not sleeping with you.”

“And you think I’d wanna fuck that?” he snaps, eyeing your body with disgust. 

You hate him, you really fucking hate him, and you wish his words didn’t mean anything to you, but they do. The dress you’re wearing makes you uncomfortable, it makes you feel vulnerable under his gaze, and you wish you were allowed to wear your own comfortable clothes and not the ones given to you.

It’s beautiful, it really is, but you loathe that it leaves your shoulders, arms, and lower legs exposed. You hate that you’re supposed to be pretty for your ‘husband’ and even other men, and you hate that they always have to look, that they have to judge. Your value as a woman lies in the way you look, you learned that at a young age just like everyone else, and you hate it. You just don’t wanna be perceived.

Despite already being well aware that the number of men willing to date you would be close to zero—if you’d even want to date, that is—you feel like he’s stabbed you right through the heart.

It especially hurts because he’s so goddamn beautiful, so of course, you respond with the usual anger. “I didn’t mean it like that, you fucking idiot, but yeah, the feeling’s mutual.”

Briefly, you see how Jeongguk rolls his eyes before he lets go of the door and steps back. “So what do we do? I’m not sleeping next to you; I heard you carry a knife wherever you go.”

Well, it’s not technically a knife, but he might as well continue believing that. “Yeah, well there are men everywhere I go? And don’t tell me you’re stupid enough to believe I’d come here unarmed?” you question. How many brain cells does he have? One? “And there’s a couch, so I suggest one of us just takes that.”

You glare at each other. He knows, just as well as you do, that no one is going to volunteer. “Fine. We’ll take turns.”

Sleeping on a couch isn’t necessarily the worst thing that could happen, you just don’t want to sleep out in the living room and feel so exposed and vulnerable. But you’re also tired, fighting with Jeongguk has taken so much of your energy already, and by the looks of it—of him—he’s not gonna give in very easily.

You sigh and roll your eyes, “Fine, you can take the first night.”

He smirks victoriously, immediately going downstairs to retrieve his suitcase to unpack his clothes. Since a neighbor could visit literally any second, you need to be able to keep the act up inside the house as well, and so, as soon as Jeongguk is finished unpacking his clothes, you bring yours. And you hate seeing them hang next to his in the closet, just like you hate him.

Just a few hours after your arrival, there are more knocks on your front door. You’re upstairs when you hear it, descending the stairs to see Jeongguk at the door, talking to one of the women from earlier with a small bouquet in his hand. Eunha.

“We’d love it if—oh, hello again!” she greets when you come to stand next to him. “I was just telling your husband about the barbeque we’re throwing on Saturday! You’re more than welcome to join us if you want. Get to know your neighbors and all that,” she smiles excitedly.

“Well, we can’t pass up an opportunity like that,” Jeongguk chuckles, “Right, honey?”

You’ll never get used to it. The way he looks down at you so fondly, with warm brown eyes and a sweet smile. It both melts your heart and sends an ice cold shiver down your spine.

“Yeah, no, of course,” you smile, looking forward as you try to ignore Jeongguk wrapping his arm around your waist.

Meanwhile Eunha just watches the two of you with heart eyes, smiling when you meet her gaze. “We’ll bring meat of some kind, some... chicken? Maybe?”

“Great idea, and some beer,” Jeongguk adds, finally tearing his eyes from the side of your face. You breathe out. He’s just so intimidating, no less when he’s as close as he is, his disguised scrutinizing gaze on your face and his warm hand on your waist.

“Great, see you then!” she nods, taking a few steps back.

“See you, and thanks again for the flowers,” Jeongguk grins before closing the door and thrusting the bouquet in your hands.

“Excuse me?”

“Be of use and trim the stems and put them in water.”

“There are few people ruder than you, Jeon Jeongguk,” you hiss quietly. “Very few people I hate more.”

“It’s not as if you’re very liked, so go ahead,” he scoffs.

Asshole, you think, but still move toward the kitchen with the flowers in hand. They’re actually very pretty, and you turn the bouquet around to admire them. You’re not very familiar with the different sorts of flowers, and the only kind you can identify are daisies. They’re  blended together with other kinds in a variety of colors and sizes. There are light yellow ones, pink ones, and a few tall, blue ones. You especially like those blue ones.

Trim the stems and put them in water, Jeongguk said. You open a drawer in search of some scissors and find a pair that looks like they could get the job done.

Then you start cutting. It’s harder than you thought; the stems are much thicker and the scissors aren’t sharp enough.

What you don’t notice is Jeongguk, standing behind you and peering down over your shoulder.

“Oh my God, step aside,” he exclaims in annoyance, making you jump. Before you know it, he’s grabbed a knife from a drawer and pushed you to the side. “Have you never gotten flowers or what?”

You back away, scissors lowered uselessly. “Shut the fuck up, you idiot.”

“So, you haven’t?” he taunts, “I don’t know why I’m surprised, flowers are for pretty girls after all.”

Lips pressed together in frustration and humiliation, you watch his back as he finishes the job, clearly happy with his remarks.

You hate it so much, how there’s nothing for you to retort with. Jeon Jeongguk is gorgeous, he’s smart, and he’s talented. He learns a new skill in the blink of an eye, and can get anyone to like him. And the worst part is that he’s very aware of it. He knows he’s unmatched, and there’s nothing you can say that would hurt him.

“I hope you get kicked so hard in the balls that they rupture.”

Jeongguk winces slightly at your words, not long before he rummages through another cupboard and produces a glass vase to store the flowers in. “Rough,” he comments, and you roll your eyes.

“By the way, you know that dress looks horrible on you? You don’t have the tits for it.”

You swallow, feeling your heart break further and your confidence that’s already ninety percent anger, crumble. You feel even uglier around him than usual, humiliated to have to be perceived.

More than anything, you wish that you could just rip your clothes out of that closet, stuff them into your suitcase, take Fenrir, and go the fuck home, but you can’t. You know you’re one misstep away from being fired, and you wouldn’t exactly get the best of recommendation letters with as much shit as you’ve accidentally stirred up. Not that it was your fault. Still, no one in your field is going to hire you, so it’s better to stay, even if that means Jeon Jeongguk will be the death of you.

“We need to plan,” you mutter, subconsciously folding your arms over your chest to hide yourself. “The barbeque is in two days.”

Jeongguk carries the vase to the dining table and sets it down in the middle before turning to you. You make sure to maintain enough distance and focus your eyes on his face and not the way he’s leaning back against the table–his weight supported by his arms–or the way his shirt strains over his chest. Ridiculous how he can be so pretty but so vile.

At least you’re relieved that he seemingly turns his professional mode on as he bites his lip, thinking.

“Well, we know the ultimate goal is to—”

“—Get inside the Jungs’ house.”

“Yes,” Jeongguk agrees. “We need to figure out a way to get inside the house so we can bug it. That’s gonna be the best chance, and hopefully, we’ll get some kind of confession. Maybe they’ll even lead us to the money.”

It takes you ten minutes to plan for the next two days. It’s a bit rough, mostly open to let you see what happens and adjust accordingly, but it’s a good start.

In forty-eight hours, give or take, you’ll show up at the Jungs’ house for the barbeque. You have a feeling Jung Eunha isn’t that involved in her husband’s criminal adventures, but she could be sitting on valuable information. If not about the heists or money, then at least on how to get inside their house. 

So, your focus lies on her and the other wives, while Jeongguk will try to get close to the men, and thus, Jung Hoseok, himself.

You pack away the blue dress.

<previous | next>

author's note: so that's the first part, please tell me what you thought, i decided not to do tag lists for this series <3<3

[missenu]

in the frame (prologue)

synopsis: your skills as a videographer gets put to the test when your friend, who happens to be in the same profession, falls victim to double-booking. problem is, you only specialized in weddings, not adult films. despite your initial reluctance, you take the job. cue the lights … you meet jeon jungkook, a pornstar, on set — in his world. you just never expected him to play a part in yours.

pairing: pornstar!jungkook x wedding videographer!fem reader

wc: 4.7k

genre: s2l, pornstar au, smut, angst, fluff

cw: crack-ish, slice of life, inaccurate adult filming industry discourse/depiction, 18+ ONLY, sexual guilt/shame, virgin oc, masturbation (f&m), oc watches porn for “research” purposes

a/n: wip since 2025 and finally making its debut! muah

masterlist | act i.

“You owe me!” Taehyung flails, feet stomping underneath the dining table like a tempered toddler.

Wedding season peaked in the fall — both a blessing and a curse. Hence, you only liked two things after being bombarded with back to back bookings: 1. a sweet treat 2. spending time with your friends. After weeks of tearful vows and hours of rigorous editing, seeing Taehyung, one of your closest friends since college, should be a blessing. 

Should be.

“When have we ever kept tally on owing shit? And for the last time, Tae,” you rub your temples, “I'm not helping you film. Can't you just cancel or reschedule with one of your directors?” 

In any other circumstance, you would have taken up this project.

You and Taehyung have a long-standing history starting as bright-eyed film students in the same cohort. You’d eventually discover his innate skills and very (heavy emphasis on the very) eccentric visions in film. He was different — highly cherished and praised by the university's faculty. You, on the other hand, put in extra hours only to barely skim the baseline.

You were just … good. Which isn’t a bad thing, but in a room full of endless potential and creativity, you felt like you didn’t belong. 

Taehyung never saw an issue in your style and passion, stereotypical or not.

Even though your classmates awarded him with the title “Most Likely to Win an Oscars,” he did quite the opposite. Everyone, including yourself, expected greatness from Kim Taehyung — whether it be through starting his own production company or winning a Sundance Film competition. 

But … his passions took a turn. 

Of all the spaces he could’ve wound up in, he landed himself in the adult film industry.

Yes. Porn.

When he broke the news on his career switch, you smiled and nodded, praying you didn’t display a single ounce of disdain. He’s been nothing but supportive in your journey and career. The least you can do is swallow and hide your judgment in favor of supporting your best friend.

Minus this particular tall ask. 

He frowns. “Please? I really need your help. You’ll do just fine, I promise.”

“I’m literally a wedding videographer.” You deadpan. 

“And you’d be perfect for the job!”

You shake your head vehemently, choosing to redirect all the attention to your untouched plate of chicken wings. They're cold now, time wasted on Taehyung's bizarre request.

“Come on.” He pleads. “I never ask you for these types of favors …”

"What about the time you asked me to stick a thermometer up your ass?"

"That was a medical emergency!"

You both continue listing crazy requests you’ve done for each other, inevitably leading to the same response: no, you didn’t want to film porn on his behalf. 

Boundaries existed for a reason and Taehyung knew when to throw in the towel. The last thing he'd want to do is make you uncomfortable.

Still, his shoulders drop, eyes hung low in disappointment. “Alright, I’ll let the director know I’ll have to miss out on this project.”

Bam, case-closed, you both can resume the night as intended.

Utensils scrape and clatter against the plates among other tables in the restaurant, but the silence and tension rings louder between you and your best friend. He purses his lips and looks away, unwilling to meet your eyes or say what’s weighing on his mind. 

You sigh. “Can I ask you something?”

"Sure, whatever." 'Sure? Whatever?' Now, that's teetering close to fighting words …

“Why this field? Our professors always loved your work—”

His bitter laugh cuts through your words. He leans against his chair and tips his head back.

“Spare me the judgment. I expected this from other people, not from my best friend.”

“I’m not judging—”

“You are.”

This was supposed to be a carefree night. 

No drama.

Instead, it seems to be leading right to the dreaded Talk™. Which, unfortunately, is anything but carefree.

“You’re right.” You concede, catching a flash of his frown. "Only because we've always tip-toed around this topic."

“What do you want me to say?”

“The truth. Tell me why you decided on this route.”

“Dude, you can’t even say ‘sex work’ or ‘porn industry’ without looking like a deer in headlights. What makes you think I wanna talk to you about it?” Taehyung rolls his eyes. 

You grimace. Has your discomfort always been this apparent?

Hold on. Pause. 

“But you want me to help film?” You press.

“Well, I was wrong for trying to bring my friend out of their shell. There’s more out there besides weddings.”

Silence.

“W-wait.” He stammers. “That’s not what I meant. You know I respect–”

You hold a hand up. 

"I know.” You say, keeping your voice as leveled as possible. That was a talk for another time.

“Just tell me why you chose this route, Tae. I only ask because I genuinely care and want to know.”

You do.

Both you and Taehyung know that's all you do … too much sometimes, but that's what he loves about you.

“It’s just,” He starts, visibly uncomfortable and awkward, “I’m burnt out from all these expectations. You said it yourself ... ‘All the professors loved your work.’ I can’t fuckin’ keep up.”

“Filming porn is easy." He continues. "There’s no second-guessing. And … it's different. Makes me feel special.” He sniffs and wipes at his nose. “I'm happy there.”

You grab his hand, squeezing gently while he looks at you with a guilt stricken expression.

“I'm sorry for being short with you.” He apologizes. "You're right too. We keep dodging this topic."

Your thumb traces the top of his hand, “I think I’m just a little biased about that—the porn industry.” You correct yourself. “For the record, I'll always support you.”

Taehyung scoots closer to your chair and wraps his arms around you.

“I really did mean it when I said you’d be perfect for the job.”

You laugh. “I don’t think they need a wedding videographer’s touch for that sort of production, but thanks.”

The night continues as intended: lighthearted and free. Waitresses and nearby patrons stare in fascination (or in annoyance … you can't tell nor do you care) whenever a laugh rings a little louder at your table. You always feel fuller after being around your best friend.

“Proud of ya,” he drunkenly confesses after one too many drinks. “Love seeing you in your element.” 

Funnily enough, Taehyung had also dabbled into the wedding industry. Let's just say his clients didn't appreciate his … visions. Not everyone was keen on a Carrie themed wedding announcement, okay?

That's the difference between you and Taehyung. Tried and true versus abstract and risky. There's much to learn from each other, which is why the friendship works.

And you do have a thing or two to learn from Taehyung. 

Hell, you’ve always played it safe – never tested boundaries. You went to school, got decent grades, and now you run your own business. Everything was fine. Too fine.

The world was your oyster; yet, you’ve never made a quest to seek out for more. Point is, you’re comfortable and that’s what makes you uncomfortable.

Substituting for one of Taehyung’s gigs wouldn’t mean you’re forever locked in to that field … right? Makes you wonder, should you just do it? 

“Fuck it,” you mumble to yourself. 

“Hm?” Taehyung looks up from his phone after placing an order for a cab.

“I’ll do it. I’ll help you.”

“Huh? What are you—”

“Filming. Just this once.” You say, more definite in your words.

“Wait, uh, are you serious? You don’t have to, really. I was kidding when I said you owed me.” Taehyung waves his hands frantically.

“No shit.” You grin. “We’re friends. There’s no such thing as owing each other favors. I want to help you because I do. It’s important to you; therefore, important to me.” Self-growth, you tell yourself, because you needed that too.

He stares at you and shakes his head. 

“Let’s talk again when we’re both sober, okay?”

“But …”

“Sober.” He says, final and definite.

One week later

“Not too late to back out.” Taehyung’s voice blares through your phone speaker. 

Actually, it was too late and highly unprofessional if you were to back out the night before. 

“Why would I do that?”

He says your name sternly, “You don’t have to do something you’re uncomfortable with.” 

“Then why would you even ask me to do it?” You stare at your phone, hands slowing as you rub your moisturizer into your skin. 

“Honestly? Didn’t think you’d actually agree …” 

Hard to believe since he damn near dropped on his knees begging for your help.

“Well … surprise.”

“Okay, thank you. Seriously. You really are doing me a huge favor.” He sighs. “Let me know if you need any pointers.”

“Think I should be okay.” You lie. One way or another, you'll get through this project. Similar to your wedding bookings, you'll go in blindly. And similar to your bookings, everything has an opportunity to end beautifully … or not.

Again, you remind yourself to keep an open mind.

“I’m still shocked about this whole ordeal.” He confesses. 

“How so?” 

“You've never seen someone else's genitalia in the flesh.” He snorts.

“I know what a penis and vagina looks like, Tae.” You roll your eyes. 

“You know what I mean.” 

Celibacy at your age was nothing groundbreaking. Remaining a virgin at twenty-nine, however, was not something you accounted for. Your parents' strict dating policy as an adolescent residing under their roof had lots to do with it, but you had full reigns of your romantic life in college. Thanks to your fixation with school, dating never happened; consequently, sex never happened either.

Though, you had many close "fuck it" moments and contemplated randomly hooking up with a stranger to say you've at least experienced sex. Again, never happened. Your first time should be with someone you trusted and cared for. Plus, physical attraction played a huge role and there wasn’t anyone you felt particularly drawn to like that.

At the end of the day, virginity was a social construct. Life goes on. Who cares whether you've been sexually active with another person? 

Hint: you do. And secretly, so does the rest of society.

“So what?”

“Kind of poetic if you think about it.”

What was so poetic about filming porn as a virgin?

“Whatever you say, Shakespeare.” You scoff.

“That's a compliment." You don't have to see him to know he's got a prideful smirk plastered on his face. "But alright, I won’t keep you up any longer. Big day ahead of you tomorrow. Text me if anything comes up.”

“Mmkay, will do. G'night.”

Your clock reads a quarter after eleven. Too late to be doing any editing, but your mind buzzes with one too many thoughts to allow for respite. 

Settling into bed, you crack open your laptop. Might as well be productive and work out your inquiries and schedule for the upcoming month.

Emails? Replied.

Bookings? Confirmed.

Stomach? In knots.

You sink deeper into your mattress. Maybe this was all a mistake, but it's too late to back out now. 

Laptop still perched on your stomach, you groan before immediately clicking into your private browser tab to type in the infamous website you frequented in your early college years when curiosity got the best of you and hormones ran high. 

The first thing you saw were the flashing ads. ‘WANNA JERK OFF? YOU WON’T LAST FIVE SECONDS.’ Next came the tits. And by god, there were lots. You’ve never seen anything more perfect and round than the ones on your screen. A hand leaves your keyboard to grip your covered breast. Hm, yeah, definitely smaller than the ones you see — nipple far from perky like theirs.

More random thumbnails of lewd images pop up as you soak in the page. Your heart races and palms sweat, exhilaration coursing through you as you type in the production company’s name: RkivedShots.

“This is all for educational purposes. Like studying the night before an exam. Yep.” You reason.

Laying against your headboard, your knees prop up to steady your laptop. Hands reaching for your wired earphones, you lower the volume on your speakers in the event you accidentally clicked on something. 

You didn't live with any roommates, but this felt private. In the off chance your neighbors had super hearing powers, you preferred keeping all potentially explicit sounds to yourself.

'Director Kim is different. I like his vision. Totally my style.' Taehyung recounted during a coffee run last week.

Within ten seconds of being on the company’s channel, you concluded one thing: RkivedShots was … odd.

You hover over a thumbnail appearing as a clam, later transforming to a vagina. The title of the video read: reborn as a mussel like aphrodite spawning in sea foam [cum as sea foam].

What the hell.

‘we found god in each other’s genitals’

‘possessive possession — don’t worry, we have a shaman on site’

‘if you were clay, i’d mold you into the prettiest vase [hardcore bdsm]’

Your eyes widen at all the titles, which progressively worsens with the video’s preview containing trippy transitions and themes. Oh, you feel sick.

The idea of filming porn was no easy feat as is, let alone editing afterwards. But if you can’t even stand looking at RkivedShots’ thumbnails, how were you going to survive being on set tomorrow?

Fuck, you have to persevere.

‘fucking the patriarchy out of a conservative [not clickbait]’

Seems normal … ish.

You click on the video out of curiosity.

Big mistake.

Let's paint the scene: Two men at the Oval Office. One man, rather on the thinner side, dressed in hipster clothing with a matcha latte in one hand and a book in another while he had, what you presume, an older politician bent over a desk. 

“SAY YOU LOVE FEMINISM OR ELSE I WON’T FUCK YOU.”

“OH FUCK, I LOVE FEMINISM!!! PLEASE DON'T STOP!” The politician begs and fucks himself back.

Book tossed onto the desk, the hipster pours his iced matcha latte onto the politician’s back and begins going to pound town while the national anthem played in the background.

Your jaw drops.

With a grimace and a quick 'ew,' you frantically search for the back button to free yourself of whatever was playing. Says a lot when you feel more relief on the company's main channel than you had on that one video.

“God, what was that?” You mumble, finger swiping at your mousepad to sift through other videos. Your eyes land on another video titled ‘grapefruit.’ Short and simple. You’re not chancing it though and would rather edit a twenty hour long footage than watch someone potentially fuck a grapefruit … or whatever Director Kim came up with.

Finally, you reach a video appearing "normal" based on the title and thumbnail alone, only showcasing a half naked man in boxer briefs, face cut from view. His tattooed arm rests on his torso, hand cupping his groin area. 

‘relax with me after a long day [JK 🐰]’

You swallow. 

Thirty minutes long. A simple masturbation video. In comparison to all the hour long videos on this channel, this felt like an anomaly. Heart hammering in your chest, you click on the thumbnail.

You made a mental note to call it a night if you see even one crazy transition. You're hopeful though — hopeful the video would do exactly as the title suggested.

To relax — ease your mind a little after being exposed to nothing but oddities this evening.

Maybe, this one will be normal. 

But this begged another question: was porn normal?

Your breath hitches once the video begins, soft piano music playing in the background. The man on screen stirs something in the depths of your stomach. The piercings, sharp jawline, and angled brows paired with his round eyes? Every part of his face was a contradiction. And yet, you were undeniably captivated by his beauty. 

Eyes talk and his spoke to you without words. 

Unlike the video’s thumbnail, he’s completely clothed. The production style mirrored a vlog, except there's the looming knowledge of what's yet to come. Probably him. No, undoubtedly him. 

“Hey.” He greets with a lopsided grin. You increase the volume on your earphones a little higher, eager to hear more of him. 

The video cuts to him cooking a meal, eating, watching television, and working out. Mundane life stuff. Every segment was less than three seconds long. Short-lived. That is, until the next clip cuts to him showering.

The all-glass shower and camera angled modestly leave viewers with wandering thoughts. Even with the steam blurring the shower glass, there's urgency in his movements — longing to rejoin the camera.

The sight of him emerging from the shower stall has you clenching your thighs together. Camera still propped at the same angle, you're only able to make out his upper half. Which, honestly, was more than enough for your mind to dip into darker territories. And fuck … his dripping wet hair and body does things to your poor heart … among other parts of your body. 

As he dries his hair, you catch his eyes. 

Again, no actual words get exchanged. He keeps you entranced.

He’s on a light brown couch now, appearances matching the video’s thumbnail. 

Fumbling with the camera, he props it on the table. Not even one second after he backed away, the camera falls face down. He chuckles, rich and full of life. You bite back your own giggle having related to his struggle plenty of times in the past. 

“Whoops, sorry—dropped ya' on accident.” He says as he moves the camera upright. Seated back, that's when you see it. 

The outline of his hard cock. 

How’d he get like that? You’re not sure.

What you’re sure of, though, is how your body reacts as he smirks. Given any other man you've encountered online with this exact demeanor, you'd immediately rule them as overly confident, borderline cocky — only deserving of being ignored. Yet, you stay for him.

He knows he's hot.

And maybe for that reason, he needs no formal transition or introduction to what he does next. Your eyes follow the hand trailing down his torso and past the waistband of his boxers. Still covered, he wraps his hand around his hard length. The outline of his closed fist moves slowly, tugging until he releases a shaky breath.

“Fuck—ngh,” he tosses his head back, moans coming out sporadically — the slight lift in his voice damn near mimicked a whine.

Tongue heavier in your mouth, you watch him pull the front of his boxers down to expose his cock. It slaps against his abdomen. Thick. Hard. Flushed. 

He’s so beautiful. It’s only natural every part of him matched his perfection. The vein running on the underside of his cock matched with the ones on his hand.

You really should click out. 

Really. 

You shouldn’t dip your hand down your front.

Shouldn’t cup your still-covered pussy only to feel your arousal has seeped through your panties. 

Shouldn’t press your middle finger down your covered slit.

Shouldn’t whimper when he pauses to spit into his hand only to go back to jerking his length, legs spreading wider.

“Wish you were here with me.”

You’re not sure who he was referring to. Certainly not you, but the admission was enough coercion to give into your needs. 

For a moment, you forget why you're even on this site. "Research" purposes. Right. Yeah … and you're in the exploratory phase now, searching aimlessly for some form of relief.

You deserved it.

He wants you to.

Why else would the video be titled that way? 

The handsome man on your screen seems to contribute to your reasoning, giving you one more reason, one last go ahead. His honey voice resounds in your ears. “Want you to play with yourself too. Can you do that for me?”

The softly spoken request sends a shock wave down your spine, and if you weren’t already so aroused you would be ashamed at how fast your body reacted.

Your brows pull together at the bare contact of your middle finger and clit. 

You moan as you rub your clit in small circles, relieved from the motion. The occasional wet sounds reach your ears when you move a little quicker to match his pace.

You’re determined to do so, especially when he keeps voicing his praises. “Good. So good. Can you keep up with me?”

The laptop's fan whirs on your stomach, heat keeping you warm. Your forearm knocks and shakes the laptop. Still, you had the perfect view of him.

Another shaky breath slips past your lips.

His hips lift from the couch, hand paying extra attention to the top half of his shaft. He knows what he likes. What gets him shuddering — what gets him wanting more.

A clear, translucent liquid builds at his slit the more he jerks himself off. Doesn't touch it though — no, not yet. Lets it build until it dribbles down the edge of his length on its own, and he lets out a particularly raspy moan at the sight.

"Fuck." You choke, arm slipping down lower. Your middle finger stops just at your entrance.

Penetration was not your thing, but tonight, you entertain the fantasy of him inside you. Middle finger teasing your entrance, you push and prod, imagining his tip kissing your entrance. Would he beg to enter inside of you, whine and groan the same way he does while playing alone with himself? Smear and mark his precum all over your entrance to claim you as his?

Truthfully, the concept of something entering in you felt better than the actual act. You've tried fingering yourself in the past — hurt and burned like hell. Could never get the position right. And honestly? Who cared knowing the clit was right there?

But the thought of the man on screen pushing his length inside — stuffing you, fucking you, filling you up good … god, you needed to feel something, anything, inside you. 

Arousal trailing down your slit and ass, you wedge your arm down even lower. Your finger pushes against your entrance with a little more purpose, the first knuckle slipping in with little resistance.

Eyes shut, you bite the inside of your cheeks. You don't linger inside for long as a result of the stinging sensation.

A sigh of relief tumbles out as your finger goes back to its happy place.

Again, tried and true.

“Wanna cum with you so badly.” He breathes, jaw going slack before he wraps his lips around the digits of his other free hand. You watch with anticipation, teeth biting down your bottom lip at the sight of his wet, glistening fingers tracing around his nipple. 

T-shirt tucked underneath your chin, you shudder from the cold air, but copy what the man does. Imagine it’s his lips enclosed over your hardened nipples, the cold metal piercing making contact against your skin. He’d look up at you, smile prettily like he has in the video, and worship your body as he likes.

Fuck. 

There’s a certain numbness you feel at the bottom of your stomach signaling your end. You tense, fingers moving faster over your clit. 

His once pushed-back wet bangs are now dried and wavy on his forehead. If not for all the sinful acts he’s doing to himself neck down, he’d look like someone you could see hanging out with and talking to — a friend. Let’s be real … how good of a friend can you be to someone you’re about to cum with? 

He's not faring any better. His impatient whines grow louder, bleary eyes fighting to stay open as he jerks himself off faster. Everything tells you he’s going to cum: the blush on his chest, the tightness in his balls, the freshly bitten lips. 

Oh, you want every bit of it. Want, no, need to see how he finishes and how he loses control of his body in his climax. 

But just at the last second, he pulls away. Cock resting flushed and firm against his stomach, he laughs. Breathless, akin to a mock. Your hand comes to a halt as well, clit twitching against your fingers. There's no gratification in cumming if the experience was stolen and watered down.

“Sorry,” he breathes. “Still with me? Didn’t finish yet, right?”

A soft, yet frustrated whine leaves your lips. Technically, you didn't need him — could finish the job yourself. But you wanted this … wanted to end with him.

You wait patiently, body reeling in excitement as he wraps his hand around his length again. Your fingers remain stagnant, afraid one minor movement might lead to an unsatisfied orgasm.

“Want you to finish with me. Please?” His head falls back as he wanks himself again, speed ramping up. 

He does this multiple times. Gets himself all worked up. Teases himself—teases his viewer. Gets close. Stops. 

Rinse and repeat.

He edges himself near the point of punishment — excels at it like it’s his favorite sport.

And you follow after him every time because it feels good to be led like this. You’re so fucking wet, fingers coated with your slick. You're sure if you move from where you’re laying, there would be a damp spot on your bedsheets, a clear indicator of your arousal.

“You wanna cum with me so badly, huh?” He husks. “Been so good for me, yeah? Would be so nice to cum together, right baby? I’ll give you what you want.” 

His words earn another moan from you — and fuck, you don’t think you can last a minute longer. Quickly, your mouse hovers at the time bar again, eyes scanning for any indication of the most played segment. 

28:37. The video peaks right there — the finish line.

And you're deserving of every bit of this victory.

He wets his lips with his tongue and smiles. The glint of his lip piercings catches the light and then—

"Oh fuckfuckfuck, I'm gonna cum—"

You've been so good, so obedient. To hell with your goal of a timed orgasm to match his … you have to put yourself first. Toes curled, your body loses all control as you finish before him. 

It's enough, though. His whines, the stutter of his chest, the speed of his hand. And when his cum paints his abdomen and dribbles over his veiny fist, your hand flattens on your mound, four fingers rubbing vigorously to extend every second of your long-awaited orgasm. Back arching off your headboard, your body withers from the impact: gut-punching, velvety … practically soul-sucking.

You lay there shaking and sensitive from your earth-shattering orgasm for a couple seconds before pulling your hand out of your pants. It's then you realize how numb and achy your arm got from all the exertion. You raise your poor hand to your face, light catching and displaying a clear sheen of the aftermath of your intense orgasm. Before your mind could register what you had done, a breathy laugh cuts through the silence.

“Fuck. That was a good one.”

Whelp, there it is: post-nut clarity.

You’ve never ripped your earphones out and closed a browser faster than you have now. Shame heats up the back of your neck at the realization you had just beat off to a random stranger online. Sure, you’ve done so before in your early twenties, but you’ve grown since then (so you think). There were many alternatives to getting off without watching other people. 

You shake your head in embarrassment, forearm coming up to cover your eyes. 

Every part of your body feels weightless, tension no longer present in your muscles after finishing the way you did. As tempting as it was to just go to sleep, you know you’ll regret not cleaning up the mess between your legs and fingers in the morning. 

Another minute goes by before forcing yourself to look for a new pair of underwear and sleep shorts. The clean up and change in the bathroom is quick only because you can’t bear looking into the mirror. 

So afraid you’ll unearth and confront your true feelings of the time spent with the video: You liked it. Specifically, you liked how safe you felt behind the screen with that man. 

Sleep comes with little effort tonight … all thanks to a boy with eyes that spoke without words.

a/n: ty to my lovely betas @takeitawaykenny & @lovieku!! yall both saved my life with ur eagle eyes and big brains. this couldn’t have happened without your guys help and input 🥺 tytytytytyyyy

now.. gentle readers, thoughts/predictions? im editing ch1 atm, so any encouragement would be greatly appreciated ♡ i anticipate posting in a couple weeks. toodles!!

edit: no taglist for this series!

act i.

[jeonstudios]

anatomy of a vampire | 01

a young man returns to a small town he hasn't seen in years, and a house he hasn't lived in since before the last president was born, only to find that a stray cat has given birth to kittens in his closet.

pairing: vampire!jk x nerdy f veterinarian!reader (with a special interest in the science and biology aspect of the supernatural lol)

genre: sorta scifi-ish, fluff, minor angst, some smut later on

word count: 4.7k

warnings: none in this part (maybe anatomy talk/vet talk?), but there's gonna be like... inspection kink-stuff later on 🤪 more detailed warnings to come <3

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 1/? 

<previous | next>

© anatomy of a vampire is copyright jeonstudios. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

You’re halfway through your lunch when Namjoon pokes his head into the break room, a stethoscope around his neck and thick-rimmed glasses low on his nose.

“Reception just got a call about a home visit.”

“Today?” you ask, your mouth full of chicken sandwich as you glance at your wristwatch. You and Namjoon are way too close for you to care about being ladylike.

“Mhm.”

You pause. Not many clinics in your small town offer home visits, and even fewer do it on short notice. For your clinic, it’s usually about an old dog being put to rest at home—incredibly sad, but not an emergency. 

“Is it urgent?”

“Not on the minute, but needs done today.”

You glance at the patient chart on the table in front of you. “I think this’ll be quick. I’ll go after this one.”

“You sure?” Namjoon asks. “Technically, it’s my turn.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. You should see Oakley when he comes; he’s not very fond of me.”

Oakley, a returning patient with chronic stomach issues, has managed to spray paint you a yellowy brown on three different occasions. From both ends. It’s like he aims.

Namjoon snorts. He hasn’t been hit once.

Checking your watch again, you push the last bite of your sandwich into your mouth, chewing it while you grab the chart. Namjoon is already on his way to greet another patient and their owner, and you take a second to swallow and wipe any crumbs off your scrubs before you follow his lead, heading into the waiting area.

“Millie?” you call, smiling when a young woman rises from a chair, her red dachshund's nose practically glued to the clinic floor.

It’s two-thirty when you pull out of the clinic parking lot, the clinic’s old station wagon rattling faintly as you steer onto the main road. The address in the confirmation email is farther out than you expected but still technically within the town limits, and you watch the short apartment buildings give way to larger, more spaced-out houses as you drive.

You don’t often find yourself in this part of town these days, although you’re very familiar with at least one house here. Many Halloweens were spent here back in the day, kids dressed up as various creatures daring each other to fight through the overgrown lawn and peek inside the dark windows. Countless stories were told about the abandoned house, each one slightly more insane than the last. Of course, you were like… eight, and a large, seemingly empty white house with a big, black gable was doomed to be haunted.

Still, you’re very surprised when you stop at the red pin on your phone’s screen, and it’s outside that very house. Momo, who works the reception, must’ve forgotten to fill out the pet owner’s name on the confirmation form she sent you, so all you have is this address and a brief line of patient info.

Even though the sky is gray—fittingly enough threatening September rain—it’s not as scary as you remember. Probably because it’s not a dark Halloween night, and you’re not a kid anymore. It also doesn’t actually seem to be abandoned. To be fair, it was never really run-down aside from the lawn, but now there’s a big black SUV parked outside. 

Getting out of the car, you grab the rectangular veterinary kit bag, accidentally shutting the trunk a little too hard. The sound echoes down the quiet street, letting anyone who wasn’t already aware know of your arrival. A chilly breeze has you pulling your softshell jacket tighter over your light blue scrubs as you lock the car. When you turn back to the house, you pause to take it in once more. It’s a pretty house—two-story, painted white probably a long time ago but still holding up surprisingly well. Black shutters frame the dark windows, and the tall, black gabled roof reaches impressively toward the gray sky. The lawn has either been trimmed within the last few years, or your childhood imagination really exaggerated it because you can clearly recall it looking more like a thicket with tall grass than just… an overgrown lawn. You distinctly remember more... shrubs.

Climbing the shallow steps, you stop in front of the black-painted door and raise your hand to knock. As you wait, you tilt your head back, once again letting your gaze linger on the house. Who exactly are you here to meet? Maybe it’s some introverted old woman who rarely leaves her house? Or a grumpy old man? But then again, the SUV looked awfully modern. Maybe the ancient resident has a grandchild visiting?

A short moment later, the door opens with a slight creak.

It’s not an old lady; it’s a young man. A tall young man—probably the most attractive one you’ve ever seen—looking down at you. He’s broad-shouldered and lean, visibly fit even despite the thick, black hoodie and baggy jeans he wears. You try not to stare at the shadow created in the fabric between his pecs, or the way the oversized hoodie still somehow manages to cling to the top of his bicep as he keeps one hand on the door handle. His black, relatively straight hair doesn’t look styled, just like it naturally falls into its part, the sides of it a little shorter than the top. Everything about him screams effortless, like he just wakes up looking like that.

One thing’s for sure: he wasn’t who you expected to open the door.

“Uh, hi,” you introduce yourself, telling him your name, “Did you… call for a vet?”

For some reason, he looks almost as surprised as you. “Hey. I did, yeah. I’m Jeongguk.”

Though he smiles politely, he doesn’t offer his hand for you to shake. It’s not something you dwell on. Quite a few of the pet owners you meet prefer not to shake hands.

“Come in.”

You nod and step inside, having to almost squeeze past him in the narrow hallway as he shuts the door behind you. Like always when you enter a strange man’s home alone, you say a little prayer in your head. If it came to it, you’ve got a bunch of pointy things in your bag, but you’d still prefer it if he wasn’t crazy to begin with.

As you move past him, you’re almost surprised that you don’t… smell him. Men—at least in this town—are very fond of their colognes and sprays, but you don’t catch even the slightest whiff of him. You wouldn’t say that you particularly enjoy the strong… scents, but the total lack of one from a hunk like this is almost disappointing.

When you go to slip your shoes off, he stops you. 

“Keep them on,” he says, voice kept low due to the distance. Or rather, the lack thereof. “It’s… not very clean.” 

There’s something in the casual smile he gives you besides an attractiveness you’ve never seen before. Maybe it’s a tad of… sheepishness? It doesn’t matter; your skin still heats under his gaze

“Oh, okay,” you say, trying to remain unbothered and professional while waiting for him to take the lead. Luckily, you don’t think he notices.

Even with the heads-up, you’re not sure what surprises you more as you follow him into the house—the layers and layers of dust, or the Edwardian, neoclassical interior design. The faded, beige walls are paneled, and as he leads you toward a staircase, you catch a glimpse of what appears to be the living room through an open archway. In it, you spot a pale green velvet sofa and two upholstered armchairs, fitting right in. There’s also a rectangular fireplace, a gold-framed mirror above it, and what catches your interest the most: a chandelier. Its size is impressive, and so is the fact that it looks like it was made for real, live candles. The same goes for the brass wall sconces placed on either side of the fireplace. You’ve only ever seen those in movies.

“They’re up here,” he says, and you nod, reaching for the wooden railing as you follow him up the stairs.

The steps creak loudly beneath your weight—another reminder of just how old this house probably is. At the landing, he turns, leading you to a bedroom. It’s surprisingly small for a house this size, but it’s cozy and warm in a way you weren’t expecting. You guess the clouds outside have eased up a little because the smallest ray of sunlight filters through the practically sheer beige curtains and highlights the dust particles floating in the air.

The four-poster bed is made from dark wood, its canopy rails bare and the headboard curled softly. Like most things, the white sheets appear pretty much untouched, and the only real signs of life are the footsteps disturbing the dust on the floor. You've followed a path all the way from the door, and when you look closer, you see paw prints venturing outside it.

Noticing your lingering gaze, Jeongguk scratches the back of his neck.

“I haven’t been here in a while.”

You figured. It doesn’t look like anyone’s been here since… the late 1800s. Although it’s certainly a stylistic choice—and one you wouldn’t have expected from someone so young and otherwise modern-looking—it has its charm. Even if you’re not sure there’s even electricity or running water.

“I arrived earlier today and found them here,” Jeongguk continues, approaching a standalone wooden wardrobe placed against the wall. One door is already slightly ajar, but when he carefully opens it wider, you see them. The cat with kittens. “I read that you’re not supposed to move them.”

The mother cat, who looks to be all black, has made a little nest on top of a crisp white shirt that’s fallen from its hanger above.

“Oh,” you breathe, crouching slowly to get a better look. “They’re brand new.”

“Yeah. And I think one is smaller than the others.”

Your eyes travel over the small beings, each with varying patches of white to go with the black. None of them, from what you can tell, have even opened their eyes yet. The mother cat stops licking one of the kittens to give you a warning hiss. You listen, rising to your feet and turning away, a plan already in mind.

“Okay, I brought some food that might help lure her out,” you say, setting the bag down on the floor and crouching to reach into it. “This stuff’s usually pretty irresistible…”

But when you look back at the man—a jar gripped in your hand—he’s already holding the mother cat. Just straight around her middle, as if he’s never held a cat before. She doesn’t seem to mind very much, just hangs there, looking around.

Jeongguk looks at you, a little surprised too.

“Oh, okay. She seems to like you better,” you smile. You can’t help but think that he looks… sweet. A big, clearly very muscular and attractive man who’s liked by animals? It’s definitely both a green flag and a personal weakness for you.

The food goes back into the bag, and you reach for the equipment you’ll need instead. With a stethoscope around your neck, a small kitchen scale, and a thermometer, you kneel in front of the wardrobe. In the meantime, Jeongguk sits down on the bed, the cat perched on his lap. He keeps his large hands around her, gently keeping her in place in case she changes her mind.

Very gently, you reach for the smallest kitten first. It squirms in your hands, mouth open and paws sticking out in a silent protest. 

“Sex is notoriously tricky to tell on kittens, especially this small, so I’m not even gonna try,” you say with a smile, giving the kitten a general once-over before focusing on its face. It’s a sweet little thing, crying a little as you inspect it. This one is mostly black but with two white front paws.

“Well, I’d definitely say they’re only a day or two old. This one has a suckle reflex but hasn’t opened its eyes yet. That usually happens between day five and fourteen. The umbilical stump is still attached too, and that usually falls off around day two to four.”

“So that’s… good?” Jeongguk asks, and when you look at him, the mother cat is bumping her head against his abdomen. He peers down at her on his lap, extending his veiny hand in a wordless offer. She accepts it, rubbing her head against his palm and letting him pet her.

“Yeah. That’s normal.”

You return your focus to the little being in your hands, carefully looking into its mouth again to check its gums and palate. 

“Pink gums and no cleft. That’s good, too.”

With one hand, you grab the stethoscope from your neck, putting the earpieces in place. Getting a clear heart or lung reading on kittens this tiny isn’t easy. Their heart rate is fast, making it easy to miss abnormalities, and their small, wriggling bodies make it hard to even position the chestpiece properly in the first place.

Focusing, you hold the kitten still, placing the stethoscope on the left side of its chest just behind the elbow. Then you listen closely, trying to ignore the soft purring from the adult cat.

It sounds… good. Alright, at least. Shifting the stethoscope slightly, you first listen to one lung and then the other. You don’t notice anything abnormal there, either.

“Heart and lungs sound okay,” you declare, slipping the stethoscope back around your neck.

“What’s next?”

“Temperature,” you answer, reaching for the digital thermometer.

“What should their temperature be?”

“Somewhere between thirty-six and thirty-six point five degrees Celsius.”

“Isn’t that a little low? I mean, compared to a human?”

“Adult cats are more similar to humans, but kittens generally run a little colder,” you explain, focusing on getting the reading right. “They don’t have the ability to regulate their body temperature properly for the first couple of weeks.”

The thermometer beeps.

“Thirty-six point two,” you mumble. “So that’s within the range. A little low, but not necessarily dangerous.”

With one hand, you reach for the kitchen scale, setting it on the floor in front of you. It powers on, and once it’s ready, you place the kitten on it, keeping your hand floating above in case the little animal tries to wiggle off the tray.

The number settles, and you read it out loud. “Eighty-one grams.”

“Too small?” Jeongguk wonders.

“On the lower side, but not dangerously so. At least not yet.”

You take the kitten and carefully place it back in the makeshift nest for the moment. Before reaching for another kitten to examine in the same way, you grab a small notebook in your bag, quickly jotting down the numbers so you don’t forget them.

Jeongguk looks on as you inspect the rest of the four kittens, occasionally asking another question. It’s not unusual for pet owners to ask questions, but considering these aren’t even his cats—and from what you gathered, he only found them today—it makes your chest warm. Not everyone would go to such lengths for stray cats. It also doesn’t help your growing soft spot that you get to talk about animals and their anatomy to someone who seems to want to listen. After all, you’re a bit of a nerd, and this is your number one fascination.

One by one, the kittens get their clean bill of health and are placed back on the shirt, and then you shift your focus to their mother. She’s standing on Jeongguk’s lap, still headbutting his chest. While she’s preoccupied, you quietly reach into your bag for the microchip scanner, but the moment you try to get close, she notices and hisses. 

“Give it a try, please?” You hold the scanner out to Jeongguk, keeping as much distance as you can. “Press this button and move the scanner over her, focusing on her neck and back.”

Jeongguk takes the scanner from your outreached hand, doing as you instructed and pressing the button. It beeps, and he begins to move it over her.

“Like this?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowed almost angrily as he focuses.

You nod encouragingly. “Yeah.”

“Is it to see if she has an owner?”

“Yes. But sometimes, even if they are microchipped, there's not a registered owner. But we can hope.”

He continues to search for a chip, but when nothing happens, he looks at you with those dark eyes, silently asking what to do.

“Try her belly and even her legs. Sometimes, they migrate.”

Adjusting his grip on the scanner, he moves it lower.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” he says a moment later, handing the scanner back to you.

“Yeah,” you sigh, taking it to put it back in the bag. Although disappointed, you’re not surprised. “Would you mind helping me check her out? She seems to really like you. A whole lot better than she likes me, at least.”

He matches the soft smile you give him. “Sure.”

“Okay, well, she seems to be in okay condition, but I need to rule out any birth-related injuries. 

“What do I do?” he asks, scooting closer to the edge of the bed, the cat still happy to receive his attention. 

“Just… hold her like that… Yes, exactly. And with your other hand, move her tail away for me?”

A little awkwardly, he follows your instructions again, and while you don’t think the cat particularly enjoys it, she doesn’t fight it. You move closer, trying to get a better look while doing your best not to stare at his veiny hands instead. In any other setting, they’d be way too much of a distraction, but knowing that this cat depends on you to evaluate her health, you divert your gaze.

“Alright… I don’t see anything... unusual, no swelling, no blood, no discharge. If she were injured, you’d usually spot it, but she’s not thrilled with me, so I won’t push it,” you chuckle, leaning back.

Having animals dislike you is unfortunately part of the job. Sometimes, it hurts your heart a little, but when you remember that it’s easy for an animal to associate the scrubs or equipment with something unpleasant and maybe even painful, it makes more sense. Briefly, you wonder if this cat has ever been to a vet or if her dislike for you stems from something else. It’s definitely normal for new mothers to have a bit of an attitude, but you’d think that would include every human in the room. Or maybe she doesn’t dislike you in particular; maybe she just really likes Jeongguk. Which... you know, fair.

Almost as if sensing that the examination is over, the black cat jumps down from Jeongguk’s lap, leaping past you to get to her babies. 

“Alright,” you say, wiping your hands on your pants before you stand up. “It’s important not to disturb them too much, but they’ll still need some supervision—especially the small one—just to make sure they continue to eat and grow. And they’ll need a better place to nest, somewhere a little warmer, softer, and less… dusty. No offense.”

Jeongguk chuckles, standing up as well and brushing some cat hairs from his hoodie. “None taken.”

“So, if you want me to, I can take them with me. We have a foster program and a few great volunteers.”

Jeongguk looks down at you, his brows furrowed in confusion this time. “I thought they were too small to be moved?”

“Yeah,” you nod, bending down to quickly gather the rest of the used equipment and put it back in the bag. “Ideally, they wouldn’t need to be. But I understand if you can’t or don't want to look after a stray cat and her kittens.”

“No, it’s… uh… It’s fine,” he says, appearing to land in a decision and sticking by it, his eyes traveling to the little bodies nestled into the white shirt. “It’s not that hard, right? Just keep an eye on them? If you think I can do it, of course. I already have a litter box.”

You blink, a little surprised. “You just happened to have a litter box?”

“No, I asked some neighbors after I called you. I figured you'd have some tips about the other stuff. Like food and such.”

Your smile grows as you watch him. He is… oddly endearing. “Yeah. Of course,” you say, your voice softening. The fewer cats and kitten taking up the very limited space at the volunteers', the better. “Okay.”

You begin drafting an email to send to him. It includes everything you've talked about plus cat food recommendations for the mother cat and a link to a cat bed that’s cheap but comfortable enough for a nursing litter. While you write, you talk him through everything again, like what to watch for, when to weigh them, and what to do if anything seems off.

He asks a few questions, making it very clear—if it wasn’t already—that he doesn’t really have any experience with animals. While he’s never appeared scared or nervous during your visit, you can tell that he’s not quite sure what to do. He moves slowly, almost a little awkwardly around the cats, but it’s more like he doesn’t want to scare them.

“You really like animals,” he points out, watching you tuck your notebook back into the bag.

You glance up at him. His tone isn’t mocking but more... curious. Still, you nod, a little self-conscious of how nerdy you can be.

“Yeah, animals are incredible. Not only because they’re such good companions—some of them at least—but, they’re so fascinating? How they function and how they’ve evolved.”

But there’s something else in his curious gaze that you finally pick up on, and it dawns on you.

“You think I’m a freak too, don’t you?” you say with a smile, pulling the stethoscope you’d forgotten to pack from around your neck and tucking it into the bag as well.

“No, no,” he shakes his head.

You lift an eyebrow. “But you know about it? My paper?”

His eyes are so dark. “Yeah…”

You look away, trying not to let it affect your professionalism. Speaking about it brings up memories you’d rather not be reminded of. “I thought you said you hadn’t been here in forever?”

It’s weird, right? If he doesn’t live here and hasn’t been around in a long time, how would he know the gossip?

“Town called a few years ago. About the electrical wiring needing to be upgraded. So I came here to fix it.”

Oh. That makes sense, you guess. A few years ago was when it first happened. That’s probably also why the yard looked different from what you remembered.

“And you heard about it?”

He smiles apologetically. “Yeah. It’s a small town, I guess.”

“It’s not like I think Ariel is real. Or that dragons roam the sky or that Dracula lives in a dark castle somewhere, wearing a black cape over a white, frilly shirt,” you defend, slinging the bag over your shoulder. “I just wrote about how much we don’t actually know about the living organisms around us and how some of the 'supernatural' traits aren't really that crazy, anatomically speaking.”

“No, I get that,” he assures, sounding like he genuinely didn’t mean to upset you. “I found it very interesting.”

“So is that why you looked so surprised to see me? Because you recognized me?”

“No. Or… well, yeah. I spoke to the receptionist, and she told me a man’s name—Namjoon, I think—would come.”

“Oh.”

“But I did also vaguely recognize you, I think. From the image.”

Lifting your wrist, you glance at the watch. “I should start to head back. Lock the clinic up.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Jeongguk says, and when you meet his dark eyes again, he looks genuine. “I don’t think you’re a freak, I promise.”

“It’s alright,” you say, offering him a quick smile. “I’m not supposed to be out this long anyway. I have to get back and finish up the bill. I’ll email it to you along with the advice, is that okay?”

He nods, clearly accepting that he did in fact upset you to some degree. “Okay. Thank you for the help.”

You smile again, relaxing your shoulders and taking a deep breath. Maybe you should cut him some slack. Technically, he wasn’t even the one to bring your paper up; that was all you. And besides very, very handsome, you haven’t once thought of him as anything other than sweet.

"No problem."

The drive back to the clinic is quiet. You don’t even turn the prehistoric radio on. It doesn’t matter because your thoughts are loud enough anyway, circling back to one thing. One thing and one person.

The paper you wrote in vet school was a mistake. Not that it was bad per se—it was a perfectly science-based paper, focused on the more unusual biological traits found in the animal kingdom. 

Unfortunately, you made the grave mistake of connecting some of those traits to various mythical creatures and their ‘unbelievable’ biology. Some of your peers—predominantly men—found it absolutely ridiculous and teased you for it. The more you tried to defend yourself, the funnier they thought it was.

You’d think it at least would’ve stayed within whatever small circle vet med is, but when your small town happens to be known specifically for the vet med program, a surprisingly large chunk of the population has some connection to it. You’re lucky that not many wish to stay in town after graduating, or you would’ve been last on the list to get a job. You still remember your current boss’s inspecting eyes as she interviewed you, trying to make sure you weren’t actually batshit crazy. That was maybe five or so years ago, and you haven’t really had to think about the paper in probably at least a year. 

Until today. Again, it wasn’t Jeongguk’s fault, you don’t think he even meant for it to be brought up. It still caught you off guard, though, because even if you don’t know him, he didn’t give off the same vibe as the people who laughed at you. And now, you can’t stop thinking about him. About his build, and how the oversized clothes hung off his strong, muscular body. Or his large, veiny hands as he gently pet the mother cat. His dark eyes, sharp jaw, and strong eyebrows. Even his nose—with its straight bridge and softly rounded tip, creating such a striking, masculine profile—had a way of completely mesmerizing you.

Not only is he probably the most attractive man you’ve seen in a long time—maybe ever, but he seemed… warm. You wouldn’t expect a man like him to care for a stray cat and her newborn kittens, much less call a vet out to help, but he did.

Back at the clinic, you take a seat in front of the desktop computer, typing your notes into the chart and updating the bill. Besides the obviously tragic parts of dealing with sick and injured animals, the worst part is probably billing the owners. You need money to live just like everyone else, but you’ll always feel wrong charging worried owners to care for their family members. Even now, as you’re adding the services to… Jeon Jeongguk’s bill, you think about how the cats don’t even belong to him.

The cursor hovers over his name. Who is he? How did he come to be the owner of that house, and why own it if he’s not living there or at least visiting regularly? Why bother even fixing the electrical wiring if it’s just gonna stay empty? And just how long had it been empty?

The questions whirl in your head. Though it’s not really any of your business why he returned, maybe you could’ve at least asked him where he’s from? It would’ve been acceptable small talk, right? Could you also have asked why he felt the need to take care of the cats, even when you offered to take them off his hands, or would that have been rude? 

Realizing that you’re not getting anywhere, you bill him for a standard home visit of half an hour—even though you stayed closer to one—and for the gas just so you don’t lose money on the visit. You don’t add the same day fee or charge him for the used materials.

<previous | next>

author's note: i hope you liked it and are excited for the rest because i think it's gonna be good!!! i also had some moodboard pics of the house made so let me know if you'd like to see them <3

[hunnismokah]

then i did hiromi higuruma and got shadowbanned on tiktok for it!