in which... being with Jungkook means competing with the city that owns him. you tell yourself it isn't serious, but suddenly you’re not so sure anymore.
pairing: jungkook x f!reader ✶ ( nightwing / superhero au )
word count: 2.9k
content warning: smut ( mdni ) ✶ angst ✶ mentions of bruises, fights, sex, drinking, and cursing.
note: so- it's been a while now since I've been meaning to write jungkook as a superhero... I had a spider draft, but wasn't feeling it somehow. I wanted something darker, and well, what's darker than gotham? he's also been strangely into the black and blue combo, so- I present you nightwing jungkook :) enjoy!
𝑰𝒕’𝒔 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆. Gotham’s got that swampy heat in the air again—the kind that crawls down your collar and soaks into your skin. You smell like someone else’s cologne and alleyway grime. That’s what tailing a cheating husband through half the Narrows and back does to you. Your boots are sticking to the floor by the time you make it to your apartment door.
You’re done. Over it. Your spine hurts. Your knees ache. You want stillness. Maybe pour black vodka over that lemon ice cream someone left on the back of your fridge and call it dinner. Maybe take a long, hot shower and then stare at the smog-laced skyline until it blurs.
But your hand freezes on the doorknob.
There’s light inside.
A flicker. Warm and low.
You didn’t leave anything on.
The air shifts. The hair on your neck rises.
Was it that mobster’s nephew you tailed in Blüdhaven? Or one of the undercovers you blew last week? Gotham is known to hold grudges like it holds haze, thick and choking.
Keys slip quietly into your palm. You curl your fingers around the one with the sharpened tip. You’re tired, but you’re definitely not careless.
Door creaks open. The scent hits you first—savory, spicy, familiar. Garlic, gochujang, and creamy butter.
Your pulse stutters.
You exhale sharply. “You broke in, again.”
He doesn’t even look up at first. He’s at your stove—hair damp, hoodie rolled up to the elbows, tattooed hand stirring something thick and bubbling. Like he lives here. Like this is normal.
“I used the key you gave me this time,” Jungkook says calmly. Then he glances over his shoulder, eyes soft but shining, that smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Technically, it’s not breaking in if it’s romantic.”
You toss your keys onto the counter harder than necessary.
“It’s not romantic. It’s borderline stalker behavior.”
He shrugs. “I made carbonara tteokbokki, your favorite. Plus, you say that every time, but you never kick me out.”
You walk back toward the entrance to take off your boots and your coat, “That’s your new favorite, JK, not mine.” You're not even sure your apartment carried the sound of your voice back to him as the city is still so loud outside. Gotham has teeth, at all hours of the day—especially at night.
“And you’re late by the way,” he says when you show by the kitchen again, then nods toward a plastic bag with a smiley face on the counter. “Makgeolli and… Snickers. A vending machine broke on my way here. I did not break it. I just—happened to be nearby when it cracked.”
God he’s insufferable—
This is the bastard's peace offering.
You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, cardigan still clinging to your damp skin. Your voice is quiet but sharp. “You know what I saw on the news tonight?”
Jungkook turns off the stove and finally turns to face you fully, spatula forgotten. He knows. You can see it in the way his shoulders roll back, slow and wary.
“Explosion in Blüdhaven. Chemical warehouse. Unmarked trucks. Five people hospitalized. Nightwing sighting right before the blast.”
Silence stretches between you.
“I was fine,” he says, voice low.
“That’s not the point.”
You move into the kitchen now, slow and calculated, like approaching a bomb you’re not sure has stopped ticking. You stop right in front of him, chin tilted up.
“You can’t keep showing up here with a full body count of bruises and a bag of snacks like that makes it okay.”
His eyes flick across your face—scanning. Measuring. He’s good at that. Too good.
“You worried?” he says, too casually. Too amused, if the way the corner of his mouth starts to tilt up is of any indicator. That sets a fire ablaze inside your ribcage.
“I’m pissed,” you lie.
He smiles, just a little. “Because I didn’t call, or because someone almost caught me?”
“Because someone will, eventually,” you snap. “You’re a detective in Blüdhaven by day and a vigilante by night. You don’t even bother separating them anymore. You’re too visible, Jungkook. People aren’t stupid.”
“I’m careful.”
“No, you’re not. You’re fucking obvious.”
That gets him. His smile fades.
“Taehyung? No one would ever look at Kim Taehyung and think ‘Batman.’ Because he plays the part of a rich playboy. He’s got a mask on and off. He’s the opposite of what he really is. But you—" You shake your head. “You walk around with your fists clenched and a busted lip and a badge that screams ‘I’m hunting the same people at night that I interrogate by day.’ It’s reckless.”
He steps closer, eyes darkening. “You think I don’t know how to play the part?”
“You don’t want to. That’s the problem.”
Your back hits the counter. You hadn’t noticed him moving until you felt him against you—warm and charged, rain still clinging to his hoodie like static.
“I told you who I was,” he says quietly. “You’re one of the only people I ever told.”
“And I didn’t ask you to.”
“You didn’t walk away either.”
Your breath stumbles. The weight of him—so close, so Jungkook—crowds the space around you. He smells like soap and rain and your undoing.
“I told you this wasn’t serious,” you say, but your voice lacks conviction.
His hands plant on either side of you, trapping you. You should step away. You don’t.
He leans in, breath brushing your jaw. “And yet I’m here. Making dinner. In your kitchen. After nearly dying.”
“Oh so now it was ‘nearly dying’—” a snort escapes your lips. “Flirting with death turns you on now?” you murmur.
“No,” he whispers, “you do.”
You don’t have time to bite back before he kisses you.
It’s never gentle with Jungkook. At least not at first. It’s desperate, a little angry, soaked in that slow-burn tension that’s been building since the first time he smirked at you across a crime scene.
You fist his hoodie, dragging him closer. His tongue slides against yours, and you swallow the sound he makes. Your hips roll into his without thinking, and he groans into your mouth, hands finding your thighs, lifting you onto the counter like you weigh nothing.
“You should be fucking resting,” you breathe between kisses.
“I’ll rest when I’m dead,” he mutters against your skin, lips trailing down your neck, tongue hot and wicked. “Right now, I need you more than I need sleep.”
You laugh—low, breathless, already lost.
Something faint stirs in the room. A ripple of static, you think, a thin thread of sound that tries to pull him away. But it dies against the crush of his mouth on that soft spot behind your ear.
You feel it again as a moan escape your lips. A buzz in some distant part of your brain, like a match sparking underwater.
But then there’s a soft thud as your head falls back against the cupboard and his teeth catch your skin—sharp, reverent. Jungkook’s hands squeeze at your hips, greedy, before he rolls you onto him again, fully, body nestled between your thighs like it’s where he always belonged. Your cardigan slips off one shoulder and his mouth is on yours again, hungrier this time. Not just kissing but consuming. The kind of kiss that tastes like apology and anger and every word you two never say.
And you can’t think. Don’t want to.
But then you slide your palms up beneath his hoodie, over the hard lines of his waist, and he hisses against your mouth—his hands tremble, just barely, like he’s holding it together with string and spite.
You tug at his bottom lip, meaning for him to stop but gaining another throaty moan from him instead. Your hands still.
“Jungkook,” Your voice is but a dazed whisper. You can’t muster the will to push him, not when his lips go immediately to work their magic on your jaw, on your neck.
He doesn’t answer at first. Just breathes against your skin. You feel it though, the war in him. He doesn’t want to stop. To aknowledge what you’re about to point out.
“Jungkook,” you insist, this time firmer, fingers tugging at the hairs at his nape. He finally looks at you. “You can’t keep doing this. Let’s just— Let’s just rest, how ‘bout that?”
He lingers on your mouth, too long, too openly. The kind of stare that feels like a thumb pressed to a bruise.
Then he leans in, nudging your nose with his, breath slipping against yours in a soft, stolen overlap. He sighs when you tug him closer, his left hand sliding beneath your cardigan—warm, unapologetic, claiming skin he already knows too well. You let him. You even huff a laugh against his ear, the smallest peace offering you’re capable of tonight. A truce wrapped in breath and proximity, despite the anger that still thorns under your ribs.
Then—
that sound again.
A faint, electric crackle.
Stronger this time.
You go still. Push gently against his chest, searching the room for a threat you can’t name. But it’s him—of course it’s him—touching his left ear, eyes sliding away from yours like he’s already guilty.
A comm, you notice.
Seriously?
“Nightwing. We’ve got movement in the Narrows. The Bat isn’t available. We need you.”
Your heart drops like someone cut the cord holding it up.
Jungkook closes his eyes, jaw tightening.
“No,” you say. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
“I have to—”
“Jungkook, I can’t even touch you right now without you flinching. Are you seriously going to pretend you can swing one or drop off a building right now?!”
“They need me.”
I need you rises up your throat like a flammable rocket, but you swallow it, grinding your teeth instead. You meet his gaze, sharp, unyielding. If you weren’t so tired, so frightened in ways you refuse to name, you’d toss him off the balcony yourself.
He sees it, the fight in you. So he hesitates.
A tiny, devastating pause.
And you see the want in him, the pull toward you, the ache to stay. That’s somehow worse than him leaving outright.
“You told me you were ok with this— When we met—” He’s scrambling, reaching for the version of you who let him in, trying to scale emotional walls you didn’t even realize you were rebuilding brick by brick.
But your arms cross before you can stop them, defensive instinct locking into place to shield the soft, trembling part of you that threatens to spill out every time he looks at you like he’s breaking in half. “Yeah, I told you a lot of stuff, including that I suck at this.”
His comm crackles again, impatient, but he doesn’t even flinch this time. He’s restless now, caged, pulled taut between two impossible choices. For a heartbeat, he’s still here. Still yours. Still something like safe.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He steps back like your words slapped him. “What are you saying?”
“That maybe this isn’t working anymore.”
He takes another step, forward this time, stumbling toward you with something close to panic. “Wait— Are you serious?”
You can’t look at him. Not when he sounds like that.
So you slide off the counter, the cold floor biting your feet as you retreat toward the sink, grabbing the nearest object just to give your hands a purpose.
“Just give me a second!” you hear him barking into the comm—raw, fraying.
“Just go, JK. They obviously need you and you’re obviously not done for today so–” Your voice doesn’t land where you meant it to. It slumps.
Exhausted.
Defeated in a way you hate.
You feel him behind you, hovering. A shadow with a heartbeat, uncertain and heavy.
And then the weight of it licking your spine disappears.
He leaves without another word.
The front door clicks shut, merciless, like a gunshot.
Silence swallows the apartment, leaving only the ghost of rain on his clothes and the lingering sweetness of tteokbokki hanging in the air. You stand in the middle of it all, suspended in the space he emptied, and wonder whether you should want him to return, or worse, whether he ever will.
You had refused to eat alone.
Ten minutes after Jungkook left, you recomposed yourself, cleaned the kitchen, and downed two Snickers and the bottle of Makgeolli.
It only made you worry for him in a way that hurt.
You showered after. Let the hot water steam the worry from your skin. Let it bead down your spine, sluicing over your collarbones, your thighs, the place between. And yet even then, you could still feel him—not physically, but in the ache behind your sternum. The ghost of his fingers on your waist, the phantom of his mouth at your neck.
The kind of missing that bloomed in your bones.
And then sleep came not all at once, but slowly, like a wave dragging you under. You collapsed into bed in only your panties and a dress shirt, partially unbuttoned and clinging half-heartedly to your damp skin. The windows were still open. A breeze drifted across your bare legs. Somewhere far off, a siren wailed and faded into the hush of the city.
You didn’t know how much time passed.
Just that the bed shifted.
The air changed.
And then a hand—warm and calloused—slid over your hip.
You knew it was him before your mind could even form a thought. Your body already knew the shape of his. His chest, bare and solid, pressing to your back. His thigh sliding between yours, parting them slightly, possessively. He smells like the night—leather and metal—and the clean soap he uses when he doesn't want to smell like blood.
His breath hits your neck. Deep and slow. Exhausted.
Then he nuzzles you. Presses a kiss to that curve just beneath your ear.
You let him hold you.
You always do.
"You can't keep breaking in, JK. Especially not when I'm mad at you." Your voice is soft, hoarse with sleep, but the edge of irritation still clings to it.
Jungkook chuckles, low and sinful in your ear. “You won’t kick me out. You’re too sleepy.”
"Watch me." You make to shift forward, to put even an inch of space between you, but his arm locks around you, firm as a shackle.
He has always been stronger than you; than anyone really. Not because of powers—he doesn’t have those. Just grit and muscle and years of training, the kind of body built to survive. To shield.
You resent how safe you feel in it.
His mouth finds your neck again. This time, much slower. A kiss, then another. A breath. Then teeth—just enough pressure to make you gasp quietly, to make heat unfurl low in your belly.
"I didn’t go, baby. They covered for me." Jungkook’s voice comes out ragged on your neck. “It just took me a while because I was showering and patching myself properly… Bam also needed to eat.”
You still at that. Your fingers brush the tattooed arm he has wrapped around you. A sigh leaves your lips, part relief, part frustration.
"Still, you—" you begin, but then his teeth graze your ear, his hand sliding up to palm your breast through the white dress shirt.
You moan softly, involuntarily, hips rolling back into him on instinct.
He chuckles again, a sound that drips down your spine like honey. “Still…?”
You bite your lip, keeping your eyes closed. “You just—you can’t—”
But this time, his hand drifts low. Fingers skating down the soft plane of your belly, slow, unhurried, until they slip under the elastic of your panties.
He groans against your neck the second he feels you—warm and slick.
His fingers move gently, teasing your folds, brushing the bundle of nerves with maddening precision. Your breath catches in your throat, and your hips tilt into his touch with a desperation you haven’t given yourself permission to feel.
“You’re already so fucking wet,” he murmurs, kissing the shell of your ear. “God, I missed you.”
You don’t answer.
Don’t need to.
You are still half-asleep, half-aching, floating somewhere in the thick of sensation and feeling. Jungkook’s fingers stroke you with the kind of familiarity that makes you burn. He knows exactly how to make you tremble. How to pull the sounds from your throat that you try to swallow down.
Then you feel him shift.
He pulls your panties down, just enough to free you, and you hear the soft rustle of fabric behind you as he pushes his boxers low.
His cock presses against your ass, thick and ready.
And then—
He pushes in.
Slow, deep, deliberate. You gasp at the stretch, fingers fisting into the sheet as he fills you.
He doesn’t stop until he is seated fully inside, his body flush against yours, breath hot on the back of your neck.
Then he starts to move.
Not rough. Not rushed. But deep. Steady. Measured like a vow.
You whimper, hand searching blindly for him. He finds it, threading your fingers together, squeezing once before letting his free hand slide back under your dress shirt, up your ribs, to roll your nipple between his fingers.
Your whole body trembles.
"You make me feel like a madman," he whispers, thrusting again, slow and devastating. “I fucking needed you— I still need you bad.”
You press your face into the pillow, barely able to speak. “You’re such an asshole,” you murmur, flushed and breathless.
He kisses your shoulder and laughs. “But you let me in anyway.”
Synopsis: Your boyfriend comes back from a trip from Paris and you guys have fun with the new camera he bought.
Alternatively: Tae loves taking pictures of you during sex.
WC: 2000~
Warnings: barely proofread (sorry, not sorry), he's down for you, overuse of petnames (baby, jagi specifically)
Smut Warnings: erotic photography, praise, oral (f. and m. rec), fingering (f. rec), unprotected p in v, pullout method, brief nipple play
EXTRA SMUT WARNING: Please wrap it before you tap it. It is not fun or cool to have unprotected sex. My telling of it here is for FICTIONs sake. Having unprotected sex can result in pregnancy or STDs. Then again, I am not your mother. I cannot stop you, but you have been warned :)
AN: I totally meant to post this 2 days ago but it has been a super duper crazy week, sobbing. But thats why its barely proofread. Hope yall enjoy anyway?
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MATURE CONTENT UNDER THE CUT. MDNI 18+
“Jagiya!”
You hear your sweet boyfriend’s voice through your shared apartment. You are quick to rise to your feet to greet him as he has been in Paris for 3 days now working on yet another campaign.
He scoops you up, your legs wrapping around his waist like a koala but he loves it. Hands supporting you by your thighs as he peppers your neck and shoulder with kisses.
“Tae!” you shriek with a giggle as he bites the spot that is ticklish at the crook of your neck.
“Can’t help it. I missed my baby.” He says with an all too proud smile as he sets your feet back down on the floor, his hands finding home as your hips as he pulls you in for a proper kiss this time. You sigh into it, his kiss is like coming up for air after drowning for three days. Dramatic? Yes, but not as much as him. Because when he pulls away, it’s not without leaving a kiss or ten on your cheeks, forehead and nose.
“You want to see what I bought for us?”
Your brows raise in curiosity. He always likes to bring home little souvenirs and gifts so you are curious to see what he brought back this time. Last time it was a bracelet. This time-
He pulls out a camera. A Polaroid to be more specific. Your brows furrow now, a soft pout on your lips as you go from curious to confused. You have plenty of cameras. To be fair, not a Polaroid but still… What is he planning?
“A camera?”
He nods excitedly, pulling it out of its case and turning it on.
“A Polaroid!”
He says proudly. Boxy grin on display as he brings the camera up to his face.
“Say cheese, jagi!”
You can't help but smile at his antics. Just what he wanted as the camera clicks, a small flash coming and going quickly. The picture rolls out only a few seconds later and before you know it, you're able to see it.
“Oh, look how pretty you are. My pretty baby.”
He says fondly, eyes affectionate as he shows you the picture. Your cheeks flushed from the compliment. He pockets the picture and puts the camera away.
“If you're still confused, I want actual pictures to take with me when I go on trips. Something to help me get by.”
Your heart warms but you can't help but give him a look anyway. One brow raised as you look at him skeptically. Like you know what kind of pictures he's wanting to take.
“Not like that!” He laughs nervously. You never said you were against it. He just… assumes now. “Okay, maybe a little like that. But only if you want to.”
“Tae! What if TSA sees them? Or you accidentally leave them out and the cleaner sees them. Or worse! Jungkook!”
You're not yelling per say just taken aback. You and Tae have definitely indulged in wilder fantasies but this one could easily get messy in ways you wouldn't want them to.
“I wouldn't. You trust me right?”
And you do, you do trust him which is why later that night…
“Fuck, baby. You look so pretty with your mouth full of my cock.”
You're drooling around him, hair messed up from the grip he has on you. A click and a flash makes you blink a fresh set of tears down your cheeks, black streaks following from your mascara.
The picture rolls out a moment later, he grabs it and shows it to you. The picture developed through blurry eyes. It sends another gush of warmth down between your legs at the sight of you choking around him.
“My beautiful, jagi. Can you take more, hm?”
He asks as he shoves himself down your throat even more til your lips hit the base of him, nose pressed against his skin as you gag around him. Holding you in place with his free hand tangled in the back of your hair.
“Stay right there.” Click. Flash. “Good girl.”
You pop off with a gasp of air. He doesn't even take the new picture, just lets it fall to the floor as he helps you up and onto the bed.
He lays you on your stomach then pulls your hips up into the air, dripping pussy right on display for him.
“Jagi… you're dripping.”
You whine, your hips moving impatiently and that only stirs him on more. He already went 3 days without his pretty princess, how can he make you wait any longer? Well, except for another picture.
Click. Flash.
He doesn't even care about the picture for now as it falls to the sheets a moment later, taking his free hand to run a finger through your folds. Your hips instinctively buck back, trying to take his long digit in.
“Please Tae. Don't tease me.”
“Of course, pretty baby. You are doing so good for me.”
His sinks two long fingers into your desperate hole making you moan out, fingers gripping the sheets as you hold back from fucking yourself on his fingers.
Click. Flash.
Another picture that is starting to not phase you anymore. Perfectly capturing how your desperate pussy pulls his fingers in, covering them in your slick.
“Go ahead, sweetheart. Be a good girl and show me how much you missed me.”
You rock your hips back, feeling his fingers reach deep inside you before shifting back forward til they almost come out. You hear him groan behind you.
“You're soaking my fingers, baby.”
You rock your hips faster. He curls his fingers to hit just the right spot eliciting a lewd moan from your lips.
“You're doing so good. You going to make a mess on my fingers, hm?”
“Yes. Wanna cum on your fingers.”
He props his thumb out, the pad hitting your clit every time you rock back only making you fuck yourself on his fingers even faster.
“Good job, jagi. You look so good like this. So pretty.”
Your hips stutter and he takes over. Fingers thrusting in and out of you, thumb now pressed down perfectly on your clit. Your walls flutter around him as your orgasm nears. Moans spilling out of you and into the sheet under your cheek.
“Right there, Tae. ‘M so close.”
“I know, sweetheart. Gonna make such a pretty mess on my fingers.”
His thumb rolls perfectly against your clit as he fingers go even deeper, curling just right to make you shatter.
“There you go, baby. Ride it out. So good.”
Your hips twitch, your walls clamp around his fingers as you ride out your orgasm. You're full of breathless moans as you come back down. Only when your walls stop fluttering does he pull his fingers out. He admires the slick you left all over his fingers before putting them in his mouth with a satisfied groan.
“God, you taste so good, jagi.”
You whine, as you look over your shoulder to see the lewd show he is putting on. Sucking on his fingers to make sure he gets every last drop of you.
“Tae, need you. Please.”
That brings him back to his senses. A soft “I've got you, baby. Don't worry. I'll make sure my good girl gets what she wants.” before he sits up on his knees and lines his still aching cock up with your leaking hole.
And god you're so sensitive with the orgasm he just pulled from you. He groans as you mewl when he sinks into the hilt. The tip is able to just kiss your cervix from the position.
“Fuck, you feel so good. Still so tight too.”
He thrusts slowly to savor the feeling but also not overstimulate you, make it as pleasurable as possible without overdoing it.
Click. Flash.
He had to capture the white ring you are making around the base of his cock from the leftover slick of your orgasm.
“So pretty. My beautiful angel. Wish you could see yourself like this.” He grunts out.
His hips go faster when your whines turn into moans again. Hips snapping against yours, balls hitting your clit as his tip hits far inside you. His large hands grab your ass, feeling the plush and using it for stability to go harder.
“T-tae! So deep! M’ gonna cum again!”
And he knows. He knows when your knuckles go whiter than the sheets. He knows when he can feel your walls fluttering as your body instinctively tries to keep him inside. He knows when your moans get higher and your face slightly scrunches up.
Click. Flash.
He knows the picture will be blurry. He doesn't care. He is in love with the sight of you. Right before you cum. During. After. He needs to capture it.
“Go ahead, jagi. Cum on my cock. Wanna feel you.”
You shatter around him again with a cry. Walls pulling him in as he struggles to hold back himself. He rocks slowly to help the both of you. Edging himself as you go through your orgasm.
He pulls out just to flip you onto your back. He leans down to capture your lips in a messy kiss. All teeth, tongue and soft moans. He doesn’t pull away as he sinks back into you in one thrust, swallowing your moan. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth before sitting up on his knees, wrapping your legs around his waist. One hand gripping your waist as the other holds his camera because he knows he’s not done with it quite yet.
He starts slow, of course he does. Dragging his cock in and out of you to make you both go mad.
“Feel so good, baby. Can’t get enough of you.”
“Tae, please. Faster.”
“Hold on, baby.”
Click. Flash.
Again, he wasn’t done. He hasn’t gotten a picture of you in this position yet. Laid out beneath him, hair a halo on the pillow, skin flushed and glistening, nipples perked into the air and your greedy pussy dripping around him from 2 orgasms and still wanting more.
He tosses the camera onto the bed haphazardly. He shifts your position again, hooking your ankles over his shoulders before finally showing your poor hole no mercy. Snapping his hips against yours as he finally chases his high and hits that delicious spot inside of you.
“Fuckkkk. Right there! Oh god, right there!”
Your hands grip anything they can find purchase to as your head taps the headboard with every thrust. Your back starts arching off the bed as this position makes you see stars.
He’s getting close too. Cock twitching inside of you as he desperately tries to hold back for you. But dammit, he already edged himself once, he missed you and how is he supposed to hold back when you feel and look like heaven personified?
He reaches one hand toward your nipple, rolling it with expertise to get you right there.
“G-gonna cum again, tae!”
“Cum for me, jagi. You look so pretty when you fall apart on my cock.”
He hits the perfect spot in you while giving your nipple one good pinch before you fall apart yet again. Seeing stars as your back arches off the bed on your third orgasm. He has to will himself with every last bit of restraint he has to not cum in you.
But he manages to hold back until your back finds the sheets under you again. He pulls out, stroking himself just twice before he’s painting your chest and tummy with white warm ropes. He groans in approval at the mess he made on your and the sweet release that comes with it.
Once he empties himself almost to the point of overstimulation, he picks up the camera again.
“Say cheese, sweetheart.”
You give him a blissed out smile. He knows this one will be his favorite when he’s alone on his trips.
⠀“She owns every inch of him — and tonight she’s proving it.”
⠀Taehyung comes home exhausted, drops to his knees the second she crooks a finger, and lets his wife take him apart with soft commands, deep kisses, and teeth on his throat. Slow worship of her breasts, desperate pleas of “Please, Noona,” and when she finally whispers “I’m all yours” while riding him to the edge… he comes undone harder than ever before.
tags: gentle!dom; sub!taehyung; married bliss; marks; rings n' the sweetest aftercare.
C; 6k words.
The sound of the key in the lock was slow, almost dragging. She looked up from the book she was reading on the sofa, a soft smile gracing her lips as she recognized the familiar sound of her husband arriving home, exhausted. The door opened and there stood Taehyung, his executive suit slightly wrinkled, his tie undone, and his large, expressive eyes clouded with a weariness that went beyond the physical.
"Sweetheart," she called to him, with that soft, melodious voice that always melted him from the inside.
Taehyung didn't even answer with words. He just let out a faint groan, a pitiful "hm," and let himself drift down the hallway to the living room, where he collapsed beside her on the sofa like a dead weight. His head instantly sought refuge in her lap, burying his face in the soft fabric of her pajamas.
She laughed quietly, a sound like an auditory caress, and set her book aside. Her fingers immediately sank into his dark hair, massaging his scalp with firm, loving movements.
"You've had quite a day, my love," she murmured, not as a question, but as a statement full of empathy.
Taehyung nodded against her lap. "Horrible," he managed to say, his voice muffled by her shorts. "Everyone is so... demanding. And the boss..." he pouted.
She smiled. Even though he was thirty years old, in moments like this, Taehyung seemed like a giant, adorable teenager. His famous pouts, which captivated the world on screen, were for her alone in the intimacy of their home. A secret language of discomfort that only she knew how to decipher and heal.
"My poor baby," she whispered, leaning down to place a kiss on his temple. Her fingers moved from his hair to the nape of his neck, kneading the accumulated tension. "My hardworking man, coming home so worn out... So good to me, enduring all that without complaint."
Taehyung made another sound, this time more of a purr than a groan. He was melting under her words and her caresses. He always had. She was his safe harbor, his lighthouse.
"You're so strong for the world, my love," she continued, her voice dropping to a more intimate, silky register. "But here, with me, you don't have to be. Here you can be just mine. My pretty boy. The love of my life."
It was at that precise moment. When the words "my pretty boy" left her lips and her hand slid down to caress his cheek, she felt Taehyung's body tense in a different way. It wasn't the tension of stress, but that of alertness, of desire suddenly igniting. He turned his head slightly, and his dark eyes, once clouded with fatigue, now shone with a new intensity. A blush crept up his neck to his ears.
She saw it. She knew every one of his rhythms, every sigh, every shift in his energy. A slow, confident, and slightly mischievous smile spread across her face. Her fingers, which were caressing his cheek, slid downward to his neck, tracing a line of fire over his skin.
"What's wrong, darling?" she asked, feigning innocence while her thumb drew circles on his Adam's apple. "Do you like it when I baby you? When I remind you that you're mine?"
Taehyung swallowed, unable to articulate a word. He just nodded, his gaze fixed on her, devoted and full of longing. The atmosphere in the room had completely shifted. The tenderness was now tinged with a palpable, spicy electricity.
"You are mine, aren't you, Taehyungie?" she asked, and this time there was no sweetness, but a soft yet firm authority in her tone.
"Yes," escaped his lips, a barely audible gasp. "All yours, Noona," he added, using the term that only came out in his most submissive moments, a code that ignited something primal in both of them.
Her smile widened. She leaned in until her lips were centimeters from his ear. Her warm breath made his skin prickle.
"Then, my good boy is going to be very obedient for me tonight, isn't he?" she whispered, and her hand left his neck to take his chin, gently but firmly, guiding his gaze to hers. "You're going to let me take care of everything. Of helping you relax... of making you feel good."
Taehyung felt the air burn in his lungs. The fatigue had vanished, replaced by an electrifying anticipation that shot down his spine. He nodded again, faster this time, his submission a silent, burning offering.
"Alright," she whispered, releasing his chin only to place a kiss as soft as a breath on his lips. Then she pulled back, stood up, and extended her hand. It wasn’t an invitation; it was a command wrapped in velvet.
"Come. The night is still young, and my sweet boy needs his wife to remind him just how precious he is."
Taehyung’s heart was pounding wildly, every trace of pout long gone, replaced by a burning devotion. He took her hand and let himself be led. Because only in her arms, under her loving dominance, did he truly find his strength. She was his safe harbor, his bliss, the one place where he could surrender control and simply be hers.
The walk to the bedroom was a whisper of footsteps and heated glances. Taehyung followed, his hand in hers like an anchor, until the edge of the bed brushed his legs and he sat, waiting. The mattress dipped under his weight, and she moved like a panther, settling into his lap with a grace that was both possession and caress.
Her black silk pajamas (tiny shorts and a button-up top) felt cool and luxurious against Taehyung’s overheated skin through the fabric of his dress pants. He immediately felt the soft, plush curve of her ass nestling onto his thighs (a delicious, familiar pressure that tore a shaky sigh from him). His cheeks burned crimson, but his trembling hands didn’t hesitate. They slid up her sides, from hips to waist, then down again to worship that generous, bouncy ass with a devotion that bordered on prayer.
"So eager, my love," she murmured, gently removing his fogged-up glasses. With a playful smile, she slipped them onto her own face. The world might be blurry to her now, but she saw him with perfect clarity: submissive, burning, utterly hers.
One hand on his chest, she pushed him gently back until he lay flat on the mattress. He yielded instantly. She followed, straddling his hips like a goddess in black silk and golden skin. Leaning down, she claimed his mouth in a kiss that wasn’t a question (it was a statement). Slow, deep, wet. Taehyung moaned into her, fingers digging into her hips, silently begging for every touch, every sweet name she breathed against his lips.
"My pretty boy… my treasure… my everything…"
Her playful fingers left his hair and traveled down to his shirt. With expert ease she undid the buttons one by one, revealing warm golden skin and a firm chest beneath. Every inch exposed became territory she claimed with the pads of her fingers.
"Please…" Taehyung begged, voice hoarse and broken with need. His dark, pleading eyes locked onto hers through the glasses she now wore. "Noona, please… mark me. I want to feel your teeth on my skin tomorrow."
She paused, fingers still on the last button. A slow, dangerous smile curved her lips.
"You want me to mark you, sweetheart? So everyone knows even if they can’t see it that you belong to someone?"
"Yes," he gasped, arching toward her. "I’m yours. Completely yours. Only yours."
That confession, repeated like a sacred mantra, lit the fire. She straightened, sitting tall in his lap, and the sight stole Taehyung’s breath. He surged up, desperate for her lips again, unable to bear even a second apart. As they kissed with renewed urgency, her hands didn’t stay idle. Slowly, deliberately, she began unbuttoning her own silk top.
One. Two. Three.
The black silk parted like theater curtains, revealing a delicate black lace bra beneath —fine straps, intricate patterns—. It was armor made of seduction, a brutal contrast to the tenderness of the moment. The lace framed her full, perfect breasts, the soft swell rising above the cups like a promise that made hunger roar inside Taehyung.
He kissed her harder, hands clutching her waist through the silk as if she might vanish. The whole room smelled of her perfume, of desire, of a night where love and surrender would melt together in a bath as hot as it was tender. She sat atop him like a queen on her throne, wearing his glasses and a satisfied goddess smile, holding absolute control and Taehyung wouldn’t be anywhere else in the universe.
His desperation was a living flame. His mouth chased hers, but his true hunger lay just inches lower: those breasts barely contained by black lace, soft, generous, a masterpiece he ached to worship. He dreamed of weighing them in his palms, teasing them until her breath hitched, burying his face between them and losing himself forever.
He was about to close the distance, mouth open and starving, when her hand pressed gently but firmly against his chest, stopping him.
"Look how desperate my baby is," she teased, voice dripping with affection and amusement. The glasses still perched on her nose made her even more irresistible. "So eager to play…"
"Please, Noona…" Taehyung whimpered, body arching toward her in silent plea. "Let me… I need…"
But she was already moving. With serene elegance she slipped the silk shirt off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor like a dark whisper. Now she wore only the lace bra and matching shorts.
"You’re not ready yet, darling," she said, and somehow it sounded like the sweetest praise. "You’re still wearing far too many clothes."
The command was clear. Hands shaking with urgency, Taehyung shrugged off his open shirt and tossed it aside. He knelt before her, torso bare, breathing ragged, tie still hanging absurdly and sexily around his neck.
She prowled closer like a feline, and with one smooth motion slid the tie from his collar, pulling it slowly before letting it drop. Her warm breath ghosted over his skin as she leaned in.
"My beautiful man," she whispered, lips brushing just below his ear. "So strong… and so, so good for me."
Taehyung moaned deep, raw, vulnerable. Her words always turned him to butter. Every praise, every tender nickname unlocked another level of surrender, leaving him weak, pliant, achingly hard. A shiver raced down his spine; warm wetness soaked the front of his boxers.
She eased him back until he lay on the soft duvet, then straddled him again, thighs framing his hips. She laced their fingers and pinned his hands beside his head. In the lamplight, their wedding rings glinted (two golden circles pressed together), silent proof of the bond that owned them both.
"All mine," she breathed against his skin, then lowered her head and sank her teeth gently but firmly into his collarbone.
He arched off the bed with a sharp gasp. The sweet sting was everything he craved: a brand of ownership. She continued down his neck with soft bites and wet kisses, each accompanied by a whisper: "My life… my precious boy… my husband."
While she marked him, Taehyung driven by primal need slid his hands to her hips. Fingers hooked into the elastic waistband of her silk shorts and tugged them down over her perfect ass, helping her kick them free.
She let out a low, approving purr. "God, you’re so desperate tonight, my love," she teased tenderly, arching to make it easier.
Now she knelt over him in nothing but the matching black lace set: bra and panties, both delicate and devastating. The sight was overwhelming. Her curves glowed against the dark fabric in the dim light. Inside his tight dress pants, Taehyung’s cock throbbed painfully, begging for release only she could grant.
With infuriating calm she leaned back on her elbows, half-reclining on the sheets, displaying herself like a masterpiece. Every shadow, every curve was deliberate temptation.
Taehyung whimpered, fists clenching the sheets. The pressure in his pants had become torture. "Noona… please," he begged, voice cracking. "Let me touch myself. I can’t take it."
Her gaze dropped to the obvious strain in his lap and her lips curved in satisfaction.
"So impatient, my angel," she murmured, voice like warm honey. "All right. Take off your pants. Get completely naked for me. And if you do… I’ll give you exactly what you’re dying for."
The promise wrapped in that loving authority shattered what little control he had left. Hands trembling, Taehyung stripped off his pants and boxers in record time, kicking them away until he was gloriously bare, skin prickling in the cool air.
While he undressed, she unclasped her bra with a flick of her fingers. And there they were: her breasts, free and breathtaking (full, round, perfect), dark nipples already hard and begging for his mouth.
With the same effortless grace she slid her soaked lace panties down her legs. As the fabric peeled away from her core, a thin, glistening string of arousal stretched and broke proof of how desperately wet she was for him.
Now both completely naked, the air crackled. Taehyung was on the verge of breaking, hypnotized by his wife (still wearing his glasses), gazing at him with possessive love and raw hunger.
Her eyes traveled down his trembling body and locked on his cock: thick, heavy, pulsing with need. She wrapped her soft, sure hand around him.
"Ah!" The cry tore from Taehyung’s throat high, helpless. He was so sensitive that the first touch sent lightning through him. Precum spilled freely, slicking her palm as she began slow, expert strokes.
Words failed him completely. His head fell back, hips rocking into her hand on instinct. They’d been too busy, too long apart, and his body reacted with months of pent-up longing.
Then came the praise —his personal drug—.
"Such a good boy… so sensitive for me," she whispered, hand moving with devastating tenderness. "Look at you, so beautiful… all mine. My perfect husband. This is all mine, isn’t it?"
Taehyung could only nod frantically, continuous moans spilling from his lips. Every sweet name dragged him deeper into blissful surrender.
She shifted, and before he could process it, her mouth (that source of loving commands and devastating kisses) sank down onto him. The wet heat was so overwhelming that a broken, almost virginal cry ripped from his throat.
She didn’t hold back. She sucked him hard and deep, unraveling him completely. Taehyung’s hands flew to her hair (not guiding, just anchoring himself in the storm). Her fingers stroked his inner thighs, soft against the intensity, until her jaw finally needed a break. She pulled off with a soft gasp and climbed back into his lap.
Taehyung dragged her to his chest instantly, burying his flushed, overwhelmed face between her breasts (his favorite sanctuary). His legs wrapped around her waist like vines, craving every inch of contact. He was trembling, lost in sensation, the world reduced to her scent, her warmth, her heartbeat.
She cradled his head, stroking his hair and nape, murmuring soothing words. She knew better than anyone he was teetering on the edge. Gently she lifted his face. His eyes were glassy, tears of overstimulation threatening, lips parted and panting. Pride and love surged through her at the sight of the red-purple marks blooming across his collarbone and neck, her marks.
"My life… my love," she whispered, voice like velvet. "Tell me what you need, baby."
The question he’d been waiting lifetimes for.
"Inside," he breathed, barely audible. "I need to come inside you, Noona… please."
She sealed the plea with a slow, soul-deep kiss.
"You’ll have it, my king. Anything you want," she promised, pulling back just enough. "But first, get comfortable for me, okay? I want you perfect."
Taehyung was meticulous about this. Coming inside his wife wasn’t just release it was sacred. He needed the position that let him feel her deepest, skin to skin, heart to heart. He arranged the pillows with reverent care until his head was perfectly cradled (his altar of surrender.
She knelt over him, knees bracketing his hips, ready. But first, with infinite tenderness, she asked:
"Are you sure, my love? If you ever want to stop, just say the word. What’s our safe word?"
He smiled soft, trusting, radiant. "I don’t want to stop," he panted. "I’d die if I couldn’t be inside you right now."
That was all she needed. With eyes blazing with endless love and fierce desire, she began to sink down, guiding him home.
She lowered herself with divine grace, her perfect ass settling fully into his lap. As she rose tall. back arched, ebony hair cascading like a curtain, her hand slipped between them. She wrapped her fingers around his throbbing length, coating him in their combined slickness, making sure every inch was soaked so there would be nothing but pleasure.
As she leaned forward, her left breast brushed his face. The tip of his nose grazed her nipple, drawing a shared gasp. Taehyung, driven by pure instinct and worship, placed his large warm hands over hers on his hips. Their fingers intertwined for a moment before he gently but firmly helped her descend.
He knew his size knew how thick he was. To him, her body was a temple, and entering it was the highest privilege. He would never let it be anything less than perfect for her.
A deep, guttural moan tore from them both as he finally filled her completely. She stilled, letting her body adjust to the exquisite stretch, breathing shallow. Taehyung’s eyes fluttered shut, lost in the tight, wet heat that felt like heaven itself.
While she held still, his tongue playful, starving found her nipple. He licked, then devoured it with pure adoration, sucking gently until it hardened further against his tongue, worshiping the soft, sweet skin that surrounded it.
“That’s it, my love,” she encouraged, her voice a melodic gasp as her fingers sank into his hair. “They’re all yours… only yours. Play with them, suck them good. You love it, don’t you? They’ve always driven you crazy.”
Taehyung moaned in answer, the vibration humming against her skin in total agreement. That little obsession of his, that delicious weakness she knew by heart, went all the way back to their teenage years—to those first dates when his big, expressive eyes couldn’t help drifting again and again to her neckline, no matter how modest or daring it was. It was a worship that had only grown over time, refined into this act of pure, reverent devotion.
While he lost himself in her chest, she kept pouring sweet praise and teasing words over him, mixing them with the filthy, beautiful sounds filling the room: wet kisses, greedy sucks, gentle nips, and whispered love.
“I’d be so proud,” she suddenly murmured, voice dreamy and thick with lust, “to carry your baby in my belly… to feel my breasts swell with milk to feed him… your milk, my love. All for you.”
The words crashed over Taehyung like a wave of molten heat, melting him even further. His right hand, which had been stroking her hip, slid up to cup her other breast, squeezing and caressing it with the same fervent attention, making sure neither was ever neglected. He squeezed his eyes shut, drowning in the triple sensation: his tongue worshipping one nipple, his palm kneading the other, and his cock buried deep and throbbing inside the warm, snug heaven of his wife, waiting for their ritual to reach its peak.
While Taehyung stayed blissfully lost in adoration, she slipped her hand between their joined bodies. Her own fingers found her swollen, pulsing clit and began tracing tight, precise circles.
Taehyung felt it instantly. Even with his lips sealed around her nipple, her whole body jerked against him, and a raw, unfiltered cry tore from her throat. She threw her head back, face tilted to the ceiling, eyes squeezed shut. It was divine overload: electric tingles shooting from her nipples, the thick stretch of her husband filling her completely, and now the blazing focus on her clit. In the middle of that storm, one crystal-clear thought cut through: God, I love him so much.
After letting the wave of self-pleasure crash over her for a few breathless minutes, she gasped out a warning. “Baby… I’m gonna… I’m gonna move.”
Taehyung released her breast with a wet pop, eyes hazy with need. He nodded, voice hoarse and worried. “Yes… but… go slow, okay? Don’t rush.”
Instead of keeping her dominant perch, she collapsed to his side, turning to face him. Her face sank into the pillow beside his, and she began rolling her hips in a slow, sensual rhythm. It was deliberate friction, a languid dance that dragged every inch of her inner walls along Taehyung’s thick length.
That was the beauty of their dynamic. Taehyung craved slowness, the prolonged caress, the gradual climb. Deep down, she hungered for hard, possessive intensity. It hadn’t always been this way. At the start of their relationship, Taehyung had been the one in charge—fiery, commanding. But the mental exhaustion of his career had taken its toll. Stamina and mutual satisfaction had suffered, positions tried and discarded in frustration. Until one night, heart in his hands, Taehyung confessed he wanted to explore his submissive side, to hand her the reins.
It had been a revelation for both of them. Their very first testing ground? Ironically, Namjoon’s pristine, obsessively tidy apartment. That leather sofa they later had to deep-clean of every trace of their fluids had witnessed a wild night of discovery and liberation—one playful secret Namjoon, thankfully, never found out about.
Now, in their own bed, gasps and moans mingled with the slick slap of sweaty skin. She rolled her hips, bouncing her ass against his lap, and every downward glide made Taehyung feel himself swell even more inside her, stretching her in a way that drove her insane.
“I love you… I love you so much,” she whispered hotly into his ear. “You feel so good… you’ve got me so wet, my love. You’re perfect.”
Obscene and sweet at once—the exact combination that wrecked him. Taehyung answered with a long, broken moan, fingers clawing the sheets. She was plucking the deepest string of his fantasies.
Then she pushed up, straddling him again without breaking rhythm. Her breasts swayed with every roll of her hips, hypnotic. His glasses, fogged and crooked, still sat on her nose. She looked down and locked eyes with him, drinking in the beautiful mess she’d made: flushed face, lower lip trapped between teeth to stifle screams, damp hair plastered to his forehead.
With fierce tenderness she laced their fingers and pinned his hands beside his head on the pillow, trapping him in her gaze and her touch. Her hips moved deeper, more deliberate—each one a vow renewed. The air was thick with the scent of sex and love, and climax, now inevitable, loomed like a tidal wave.
She knew him better than anyone. She could tell he was on the edge because his usual restrained moans dissolved into incoherent babble, choked little whimpers that came from the depths of his soul. He wasn’t a man of dirty talk or elaborate phrases in bed; his pleasure poured out as raw, vulnerable sound that laid him completely bare. And to her, that was worth more than any speech.
His silence wasn’t shyness—it a gift of absolute trust. This was the same man who, with trembling hands, had once built her a sanctuary of white roses and candles to propose. The one who proudly took her last name, Everhart, wearing her elegance like a badge of honor. The one who, on their first anniversary, gifted her the Bichon Frisé puppy she adored because he knew her laughter would fill their home. Taehyung loved her so deeply that surrendering control in their intimacy was simply another way of saying “I’m yours.”
“Are you there, my life?” she asked, voice a thread of tenderness and lust as she stroked his sweaty cheek.
Taehyung, eyes glassy, voice a jumbled rush of broken syllables, nodded frantically. Words were beyond him, but his body spoke volumes.
“Me too… Baby, I’m gonna come!” she cried, and her whole body began to shake.
That was the permission he’d been waiting for. With a guttural growl, Taehyung thrust upward, driving deep and hard, hitting that spot inside her that shattered her completely. He felt her walls clamp down in violent spasms, a rush of warm wetness flooding around him as she collapsed onto his chest, trembling uncontrollably.
She was the most erotic sight he’d ever seen: glasses fogged and crooked, midnight hair plastered to her temples and half-covering her breasts, eyes slitted in bliss as they met his.
And then, in that husky, feminine voice that always melted his soul, she whispered the three words that undid him completely:
“I’m all yours.”
It was the final trigger.
A long, raw, relief-drenched moan tore from the depths of Taehyung. His back arched off the bed as he came in thick, powerful jets, flooding her with everything he had, as if years of longing were pouring out at once. His hips kept jerking, milking every last drop into the warm sanctuary of his wife, claiming her in the most primal, loving way possible. It wasn’t just an orgasm; it was a renewal of vows, two souls fusing in the sweaty, breathless silence of their bedroom.
A huge, slow, salty kiss sealed the battle their bodies had just fought. It tasted like shared victory, like love reaffirmed in every gasp. They parted panting, spent, the warm evidence of their lovemaking still slick between their thighs.
Slowly she lifted her hips; a pearly trickle escaped, sliding down her inner thigh. Taehyung’s spent cock lay soft against his stomach, utterly exhausted. She collapsed onto his chest, cheek over his racing heart, trying to catch her breath. Taehyung was more wrecked than she was; he couldn’t remember coming that hard, that completely, in years.
After a moment she rolled gently to his side and opened her arms. Taehyung crawled into them instantly, burying his face in the crook of her neck. The storm had passed, leaving only deep calm and a flood of devotion.
“I love you,” he mumbled against her skin, voice hoarse and sleepy. “You’re mine… all mine. And I’m yours. Only yours. No one else gets to touch you… I take care of you, only me.”
She laughed softly, the vibration humming through him. “There they are again, those adorable fake jealousies of yours,” she teased, carding fingers through his damp hair.
And it was true. Taehyung had a fiercely protective streak that flared whenever they went out. The stares other men couldn’t hide, the ridiculous pickup lines, and worst of all, the occasional cocky waiter slipping his number across the table—those were guaranteed triggers. Taehyung would fix the offender with an icy glare, pick up the scrap of paper, put it in his mouth, and spit it dramatically into the napkin holder, a caveman move that never failed to make his wife dissolve into laughter. His over-protectiveness was as much a part of him as his surrender in the bedroom.
Now, completely spent, he curled into her like a child seeking warmth. She pressed kisses into his tangled, sweaty hair, cradling him in the quiet.
“You okay, my life?” she whispered into the dimness.
Taehyung nodded heavily, already half-asleep. But even on the edge of dreams, his care for her came first. “Didn’t… didn’t hurt, right?” he mumbled, barely audible.
“Everything was perfect,” she answered, sealing it with another soft kiss to his closed eyelids. “Sleep, my love.”
She pulled the sheet over them both, shielding them from the cool night air. Taehyung’s arms stayed wrapped around her as if he’d never let go, and he slipped into deep, restorative sleep. Watching his peaceful, satisfied face, she let her own eyes drift shut, lulled by the slow rhythm of his breathing. In the hush of their room, still scented with love and lust, the two spouses fell asleep entwined, whole and utterly at peace.
in which... you thought you absolutely hated your co-worker, the insufferable Jeon Jungkook. but then you slept together, you avoided him—and now he's at your door. -—ᯓ✶ read part one ( here ) or not, this can also be a standalone !
pairing: jungkook x f!reader ✶ ( secret agents au )
word count: 9.5k
content warning: smut ( mdni ) ✶ angst ✶ mentions of blood, cuts, bruises, fights, sex, and lots of cursing.
a/n: if the first part was inspired by "do I wanna know", this one's all lana's version of "you can be the boss". I'd also like to sincerely thank everybody who read it, and especially the ones who took the time to leave such amazing feedback—this would still be a single oneshot if not for you. hope you like this one as much !
𝒀𝒐𝒖’𝒅 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕 Jungkook to be pissed about it. And if he was, you’d have to admit he had a shred of right.
After all, you’d started it. Kissed him like you meant it, touched him like you owned him. Let him touch you like you were fragile and ruin you like you’d begged for it.
And then you left.
Crept out of his bed with first light spilling like confession over your bare skin. Not like a street cat, no—more like a coward. A traitor to your own hunger.
Because the truth? You were scared.
That night, you thought you were scratching an itch—one born from years of tension, of mission-night adrenaline, of too-close brushes and unspoken dares. You told yourself it wasn’t lust. That it wasn’t him.
But the lie collapsed the moment he slid into you, and your world sharpened to the shape of him. This wasn’t just hate, wasn’t just need—it was a burn, a bind. A dangerous craving with teeth. A tether you didn’t want, not with him.
Because if you stayed, if you let that moment become more than heat and fury, it might become something else entirely.
And that? That was terrifying.
Because how the hell could it work between you and Jungkook? You were field agents, ghosts in the night. Partners whose existence hinged on silence and steel. There was no room for this—not when death stalked you like a shadow, not when one blink could mean gone.
Or worse, it had meant nothing to him. Just a night. Just a slip. A mistake he'd wipe clean without a second thought.
You knew his reputation. The smirks in the breakroom. The trail of wreckage with red-lipped grins.
Before you could spiral further into that hellscape of doubt, a knock shattered your thoughts.
You blinked. Shit. Yoongi.
Your neighbor-slash-informant. Supposed to stop by with intel. Beer and greasy wings—your agreed-upon cover for the handoff. One you were supposed to go through with Jungkook. Supposed being the operable word.
You’d dodged every attempt he made to meet. Ghosted him. Not out of spite. Not out of professionalism.
But because being near him now? It felt like dancing barefoot on broken glass—beautiful and brutal and destined to bleed.
No way in hell you’d sit beside him in some surveillance van with his knee brushing yours. Or worse—straddle his bike again, chest to his back, arms tight around his waist like you had some right.
Besides, it had been reckless going to him that night. The remaining ghosts from the hard drive job were your cross to bear, not his. You couldn’t risk dragging your partner into your unfinished business. So you used the time to hunt, to try and rewind your thoughts to a time when your hatred was clean and easy.
You weren’t counting on Revenant assigning a new job three days later—blowing your cover and your plans. Recon was easy to duck, but you’d eventually have to face him. You knew that. You just needed time. Time to build armor again.
You yanked the door open. “Yoongi, I—”
And stopped breathing.
Jungkook.
Leaning against the frame like the devil come to collect, his black hair a mess, frustration stitched into every strand, mouth carved into a blade.
A sleeveless black t-shirt clung to him, flashing the edge of ribs and the brutal lines of his ink-laced arm. Heat shimmered at his throat. Those baggy jeans—anchored by a punk belt, the kind that made you think of things you shouldn’t.
His eyes—glazed and wild, sharp enough to slit open every lie you’d wrapped around your heart.
And you—idiot that you were—stepped right into it.
“Not Yoongi—whoever that is,” he rasped, voice rough and scorched, like he’d been yelling or drinking. Or both.
He shifted, revealing the beer pack in his hand. Bottles clinked like accusations. He didn’t wait for permission. Just brushed past you—his arm grazing yours like a dare. Like a scar reopening.
And gods, you hated the part of you that ached at the sight. That stupid, traitorous ache that whispered he fit here.
You shut the door slowly, as if trying to cage a hurricane. “Are you… are you okay?”
There were a dozen better things to say. Like How the hell do you know where I live?
But of course Jungkook knew. You were Revenant’s best tracker—but he came close second. Only best when it came to haunting you.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he shot back, eyes glinting like broken mirrors.
You gestured at the bottles, pathetic.
He scoffed. “I can hold my liquor just fine, thanks.” But his gaze didn’t linger on you—it prowled your space like he was hunting ghosts. Like he was searching for signs you'd moved on.
You were suddenly, viciously aware of the worn band t-shirt clinging to your frame and the male boxer shorts riding up your thighs, rolled at your hips. No makeup. You looked like you would if he was coming back home to you. Which he wasn’t.
And he—he was a wrecking ball made of ink and silence.
“Why are you here, Jungkook?” Your voice was a whisper already bracing for pain.
This had to be it. His confrontation. His judgement. You running. You fucking him and leaving. Cowardice with a kiss. Like the stitches down your side, a reminder carved into you like art. Like consequence.
Or—worse and somehow better—he was here on Revenant’s orders. You’d been dancing on the edge these past two weeks, and you doubted he’d covered for you on callback day.
You were becoming a stray. And strays didn’t get mercy. They got leashes—or bullets.
But instead of a knife, he dropped the beers on your coffee table with a thud and turned.
“To work,” he said. “Thought I’d show up instead of waiting for you to.”
The guilt slithered up your throat like smoke. You took the hit without flinching.
Maybe you were being paranoid. A cocktail of no sleep and the weight of those men still hunting you. Of too many hours spent remembering the shape of Jungkook in your hands.
You weren’t being unprofessional, you inhaled as you reminded yourself.
You were still doing your job—tracking, reporting, filing notes. You just… needed space, while the field work wasn’t necessary. Distance. Needed to breathe. To exist in a room without drowning in him.
Without unraveling.
Jungkook reached into the six-pack and popped the cap off with a flick of his thumb, muscle memory smooth as murder. “Might as well drink while we sort this crap out,” he said, nodding to the files sprawled like landmines across your coffee table.
He called it crap. You could’ve laughed.
Revenant missions were never casual. They were shadows with knives, cover stories written in ash, warfare so deniable even your heartbeat lied. Blood-on-your-hands kind of work, buried intel with bodies. And the files between you now? They were preludes. Invitations to the next disaster.
You eyed the bottle like it was a loaded gun.
One rule left unbroken.
Don’t drink with him.
Because when walls thinned, and eventually came down—you knew what followed. Chaos. Heat. Want that left bruises.
And you were barely holding.
“Fine,” you muttered, grabbing one like it didn’t spell your undoing.
Another line blurred. The last one.
You ended up on the floor beside him, backs against the couch, knees brushing in the kind of proximity that shouldn't feel like drowning. Between you—snapshots of death, scribbled intel, faces frozen mid-breath. Your handwriting scratched across the margins like shrapnel.
War lived in your pen. Jungkook had always said that. Like he knew you wrote in rage.
The beer dulled the razor-edge of your posture, but not your perception. Not around him.
Jungkook wore calm like a disguise—like a bomb under a silk napkin. He exhaled cool detachment, but you could smell the lie on him along with the bourbon lurking on his breath. He was trying to be casual, but the effort showed in the curve of his jaw, in every brush of his leg against yours that never pulled back.
Every move was a push.
And you were breaking.
The tension between you snapped tighter, breath by breath. The air was too thick. Too still. One glance too long and you'd combust.
You reached for a grainy photo—light blown out, figure indistinct—and his fingers brushed yours. Featherlight. Incidental.
But it detonated something in your chest.
He didn’t look at you. Just took a swig like he hadn’t set you ablaze.
And you hated him for that. Hated the flex of his throat, the stark line of his jaw, the way his veins caught the light. That fucking light scar on his cheekbone. Hated the heat pooling in your palms, the part of you that screamed to crawl into his lap and burn all over again.
He was still Jungkook.
And you were still hopelessly tangled in the memory of that night.
His mouth on your throat, hands in your hair, breath whispering your name like a curse—those were not ghosts you could outrun.
Silence wrapped around you like a noose. He didn’t speak. Didn’t touch.
But he was there.
A shadow that never left.
Focus, goddammit.
You forced your eyes to the files, to the pattern you could solve with one hand tied behind your back. Easier than untangling the way his fingers tapped that bottle, like they ached for something else to press into.
He leaned forward, pulled a folder closer. Bit at the metal glint of his lip ring.
You seized the moment to snap yourself out of it. Your voice—measured, steady. Barely.
“That shot was taken two days before the drop. The guy in the background—you recognize him?”
“Mhm,” he said. “One of Choi’s henchmen. Shows up like mold. Slimier, too.”
You huffed, dry. “Perfect. Another one to track.”
He slid a page your way, fingers grazing your wrist longer than necessary. “This spot—see it?”
You did. The pattern was clear. The message clearer. “They’re circling back.”
“Exactly.” He leaned in, voice lower. “You’d think they’d learn. But rats don’t stop running into traps, do they?”
Your spine stiffened. You weren’t sure if he meant the target.
You weren’t sure he didn’t.
The space between you quivered. A standoff without a gun. It was a fragile balance—this cold war between you. The space where hate blurred into want. Where loyalty slipped its collar and curled up next to need.
You were staring at his eyes, trying hard not to dip them to his lips like he was watching yours.
But you cracked first—anything to break this spell he had you under. “Thought the superiors sent you to keep me in line, not drink and share a slumber party.”
His mouth twitched, slow and wicked. But there was heat behind it—undeniable.
He didn’t even look up. Just murmured, “Pretty sure you were supposed to leash me. But hey, who’s counting casualties?”
The words hit like a bullet—subtext woven through every syllable.
You didn’t answer.
Because you didn’t trust what would come out of your mouth.
Then—ding.
The doorbell split the air like a blade.
You stiffened. Instantaneous. A tripwire pulled in your spine.
Jungkook’s head snapped up at the same moment. His gaze cut from the door to you—catching everything. The flicker. The twitch you hadn’t meant to let show.
He didn’t ask. Didn’t need to.
He was already rising, fluid and dangerous, moving like the door was his to shield. Like you were.
And that—
That was what you couldn’t fucking stand.
You weren’t a damsel. Not a kept thing.
You didn’t need saving. You were his partner for fucks sake!
You moved fast. Intercepted him. Your palm met his chest—not harsh, but hard enough to stop.
Hard enough to remind him.
His body didn’t yield, but something behind his eyes shifted. That burn—low and dark—ignited again. The kind you didn’t dare name.
“You’re not my bodyguard,” you snapped, blade-edged, jaw locked.
His jaw clenched. The muscle under your hand tensed like it wanted to defy you. “No… I’m not.”
And there it was. That weightless second where neither of you moved, both too proud, too furious, too wired.
You knew his tells. He knew yours.
You pushed him just enough to block the door from his view, then yanked it open.
And there was Yoongi.
Leaning against the frame like the world owed him something and he planned to collect in charm. Hoodie half-zipped, eyes glittering with unbothered precision. A smirk pulled at his mouth like he knew he could get away with anything.
“Damn,” he said, low and deliberate, amusement bleeding into every syllable. “If I knew you were answering doors looking like that, I’d have brought dessert.”
His gaze trailed over you—lazy, unapologetic. From the defiance in your stare to the shirt clinging too well and the heat blooming in your throat. He drank it all in.
And for once, you didn’t bite back. Didn’t spit your usual venom. Because you felt Jungkook before you saw him.
His presence unfurled behind you like a stormcloud. Heavy. Electric. Half of his chest brushed your spine, his breath grazing your neck—hot and possessive. Not touching, but near enough to feel the warning in it.
Mine, it seemed to say.
Yoongi’s smirk faltered. Just a little. Just enough.
“And who’s this?” he asked, head tilting like it mattered.
You answered too fast, too sharp. “My partner. And you’re late.”
Yoongi’s brows ticked up, but he didn’t push. He just held out the chicken wings delivery bag, fingers loose, like he wasn’t dropping dynamite between two unstable elements. “Got the intel. Movement patterns. You’ll want to check the second location listed. It’s all inside, like always.” he pointed the packaging with his chin.
You reached for it, but Jungkook was faster.
He moved around you, body encaging yours like a wall of heat and intent, hand closing over the bag strap—over Yoongi’s fingers. Not hard. But pointed. Held it a beat too long.
A message without words: Back off.
Yoongi didn’t blink. Just arched a brow, amused. “Didn’t know you’d been having company.”
“Didn’t know I needed to check in with you about that,” you said, slicing your voice thin and cold. Ice over a fire.
Behind you, Jungkook went still.
Like you’d just lit a match and dropped it in gasoline.
Yoongi chuckled, stepping back, unbothered. But his gaze lingered—bouncing between you like he could read the unsaid. And maybe he could.
“Guess I’ll let you get back to… whatever this is,” he said, voice wry.
He lingered just long enough to grind his heel in it.
“I’ll be up in my apartment if you need me.”
The weight in his stare as he said it was intentional. You gave a small, polite smile—sharp-edged. Dismissive.
But Jungkook—through your periphery you saw the way his tongue pressed into his cheek like it was trying not to bite through.
Yoongi vanished into the hall.
The door shut behind him with a snap.
And then you turned.
You were on him before he could breathe.
A weapon unsheathed.
Your movement cut through the silence, quick and decisive, and just like that your chest was brushing his. Standing on the tip of your toes so your faces were just inches apart, eyes locked on the black pools in front of you. You could see everything—every flicker, every fracture.
“Do not make me check you.”
Jungkook’s eyes flared wide. But it wasn’t fear. No—what lived there was something hungrier. Darker. His breath shivered. His fists clenched.
He wanted to break something.
Or take you apart.
He was vibrating with restraint. With that desperate, wild thing that had clawed its way loose the moment you slipped out of his bed like a thief. He hadn’t gotten to chase you. To claim what you took with you.
Now? He was seconds from snapping.
“You had me once,” you whispered, venom-laced velvet. “Once. Not even long enough to piss and mark territory. Don’t forget that.”
Then you turned.
Cold. Precise. Beautifully cruel.
Like you hadn’t just sliced him open with your teeth.
You walked away with purpose, spine straight, blood roaring beneath still skin. Left him there in the ruins.
He didn’t follow.
Didn’t speak.
But you could feel him—rage coiled tight in his gut, heat rising like a fever. When you sank into the couch, you didn’t have to look to know he was gripping the air like it betrayed him.
“I shouldn't have come,” he muttered finally. “It was a mistake.”
His voice—low, scraped raw—crackled through the room like static. He stalked toward the table, dropped the delivery bag and snatched up his keys. His stride was all anger and ache.
But before he reached the door, your body moved without thought catching up.
“Wait—Just wait.”
Your hands lifted to your hair, dragging through with frustration. “We should talk about this. We’re partners, Jungkook. We can’t let one night get in the way of our work.”
He stopped like you’d shot him.
Tension rippled through his frame. When he turned to face you, it was slow. Dangerous.
“One night…” he repeated.
Voice like gravel. Like regret. As if it tasted like blood in his mouth.
“God, you must really hate me…” he huffed, the dimples appearing as he gnawed at his bottom lip. “Is that what it was for you? Just one night?”
And there it was.
The air between you thickened. Dense. Combustible.
Every breath you shared was a threat.
A challenge.
A lie neither of you could keep telling much longer.
Then—
Clang.
A metallic thud slammed through the stillness.
The fire stairwell.
Adrenaline sliced through the haze like a blade to the jugular.
The heat between you evaporated—consumed by instinct. No words, no delay. Just the clean, brutal snap of motion as both of you shifted gears like twin chambers firing. He pivoted. You dropped to the shoe bench near the front door, lifted it with practiced efficiency. Underneath—your weapon. And the spare you always kept, just in case. Just for him.
You tossed the Glock in his direction.
He caught it without looking—like your hand and his were parts of the same weapon, forged to work in tandem. His keys hit the ground, but neither of you so much as flinched.
This wasn’t chaos. This was code.
You and Jungkook moved like a language only your bodies remembered. Poetry written in violence. He stepped left as you went right. Breaths synced. Limbs mirrored.
Partners indeed. But not just that.
The stairwell door creaked again.
You moved into the hallway, silent as ghosts.
“One. Downstairs,” you murmured, voice razor-thin.
Jungkook nodded, just once. “They’re running scared.”
Then the chase detonated.
You sprinted down the concrete steps, the cold biting into your bare feet like punishment. Jungkook’s boots struck beside you, each step deliberate, brutal. Every movement between you practiced, precise, deadly.
You hit the garage’s lower level. Shadows clung to the corners like predators watching from the dark.
Jungkook’s hand snapped to your lower belly, half his fingers grazing bare skin beneath your t-shirt as he halted you. The touch seared, more dangerous than anything else in the room. Your breath hitched, traitorous.
Focus.
Ahead—a figure, caught mid-motion. The guy turned—saw you.
Recognition flared in Jungkook’s voice. “Guy from the photo. Snake tattoo.”
The man bolted.
Jungkook fired. The shot rang clean, ruthless. The SUV’s tire exploded before the target’s foot even left the ground. Rubber shrieked against pavement.
But it wasn’t over.
Two—no, three—more.
Armed. Unafraid.
Professionals.
“Split,” Jungkook muttered, low and lethal.
You peeled right, vanishing behind a beam. Gun raised. Heart hammering. Jungkook ghosted left—faster than light, heavier than wrath.
First one came at you with a crowbar, the arc whistling death.
You ducked the blow and fired—right into his thigh. His scream echoed off concrete. Another came behind him, bulletproof vest thick on his chest. Your second shot knocked him back but didn’t drop him.
You barely adjusted before Jungkook slammed into the guy, body to body, sheer force. The man hit a car hood with a sickening crunch.
You turned—
Too slow.
Another came in low, fast. Trained.
Fuck.
Your arm lifted, but his hand was already there, wrenching your wrist wide. Pain sparked. You fought back—knee snapping up, breath a growl—but his grip held.
And then you felt him.
Sudden, fierce. Jungkook’s hands on your waist, lifting, flipping you back over his hip. Your body hit the ground—hard.
But his body cushioned it.
Your breath stuttered.
He was under you. Hot and solid. Every muscle taut, every breath ragged. His fingers lingered too long just below your ribs, brushing over skin no one should be touching. Heat bloomed.
Time stopped.
“Show off,” you muttered, lifting your arm. You fired. The man dropped, clean.
“I like dramatic entrances,” he replied, his voice low and a promise, his eyes all flame.
Another guy emerged from the shadows, slipping behind a van with his gun already raised.
Jungkook moved instantly.
No hesitation, no question—just his body between yours and the threat, shielding you like instinct. The shot rang out, ricocheting off metal, too close. Jungkook didn’t flinch. He grabbed you and rolled you both behind the SUV’s bumper, one fluid movement, his arms tight around you.
Your hand clutched his bicep. His thigh wedged between your legs. His arm beneath your head. The concrete should have been cold, but all you felt was him—hot, tense, grounding.
Your heart thundered. His echoed it.
“Close one,” you breathed, shaken, eyes locking with his.
His breath washed over your lips. “You okay?”
“You’re on top of me.”
A slow grin tugged at his mouth. Dangerous. “Yeah. Not complaining.”
You shoved at him—but it lacked force. Like you needed to push him away before you did something worse.
Jesus. You were still on the clock.
You rolled to a crouch, nodded toward the final attacker. The heat in his gaze vanished. The smirk? Gone. He snapped back into mission mode like it was a second skin.
The last man bolted.
Jungkook pursued.
You followed.
Your heels slammed the concrete. Pain screamed up your legs, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Your blood roared in your ears. Jungkook closed in first, tackled the guy without mercy, slamming him into a pillar so hard the echo cracked down the garage like thunder.
The man fought hard—rage in every limb, desperation in every move. Jungkook was still buzzed from the alcohol, still bleeding—but still stronger. You reached them in a blur. Drove your elbow into the guy’s spine. He dropped like a felled beast. Motionless.
You stood over the body, breath jagged. Heart roaring. Body trembling with more than just adrenaline.
Jungkook leaned against the pillar, bruised and split-lipped. Blood painted a line down the side of his face—sharp, bright, and brutal. It caught the light like a vow. He looked like a tornado just barely held in place.
“You’re bleeding,” you said, voice tighter than you meant.
“I’m fine.”
“You always say that.”
He looked at you. And for a beat—under the flickering garage lights—he wasn’t your enemy. Or a mistake made in a night, the one you’d run from. Or even just your partner.
He was everything you feared you wanted.
His chest heaved. Yours mirrored it.
And then he stepped closer.
You didn’t move.
“You hesitated,” he said quietly.
You blinked, thrown by the shift. “When?”
“When that cameo scumbag came at you. You looked at me first.”
Your jaw locked. “So?”
His gaze didn’t waver. He stepped closer until you could taste the bourbon on his breath. Blood and sweat clung to the air between you like incense in a burning church.
“So don’t,” he murmured. “Next time, just take the damn shot.”
Your spine stiffened. “You saying I can’t handle myself?”
That dangerous smirk flickered again. But this time, softer. Less weapon, more wound. He reached out—and his fingers brushed your jawline. Just barely. Just the edge of it—slow. Intentional. Reverent. As if memorizing the shape of your defiance.
“I’m saying I notice everything you do,” he rasped. “Especially when it’s for me.”
Your breath caught mid-throat. The confession gutted you more than his touch.
But before you could speak—
A grunt. Wet and gurgled.
One of the bodies on the ground wasn’t quite done dying. He writhed, breath rattling like a broken instrument.
You both turned.
Jungkook stepped back.
Not far. Not enough for the space to cool. Just enough to draw his pistol. Calm and quiet, his fingers wrapping around the grip like it belonged to him, like it knew the shape of him.
And he fired.
One shot. Final.
The silence that followed wasn’t empty—It throbbed.
It hit harder than the bullet. Not because of what he did. You’d both done worse. God knows you were past redemption.
But you stared. Not at the body. At him.
Because this?
This was different.
This was standing in the middle of the fire. Not running. Not denying. Just… burning.
“We—we need to deal with the bodies,” you said, but your voice sounded mechanical, hollow. You could feel the revelation of your feelings sending your body into shock. “If they trace this back here... I can't—The ones from the hard drive job, they’re still out there. I can’t risk—”
“Shut up.”
The words hit like a whip and you froze.
The bastard knew it. Knew your body, your mind like it was his.
“I got this,” Jungkook said, eyes gentle, steady, locking onto yours. “Take the guns. Check on your informant. I’ll be up in a few.”
Your mouth was dry. You couldn’t leave him, you needed—
“You’re hurt. Not to say drunk,” you bit out, more afraid than angry.
He gave a short laugh—lacking energy, his body was betraying him too. “I’ve had worse.”
You narrowed your eyes. “And yet.”
“I have contacts too, you know. I’ll burn the mess before anyone smells it. Go upstairs.” Then he looked at you again—really looked. And everything in you fractured.
“Trust me.”
And you did. You fucking did.
That was the real problem.
It wasn’t the blood or the mess or the ghosts that haunted you.
It was that.
You trusted him more than you feared what your feelings for him could do.
You’d checked on Yoongi.
Safe. No tail. Still smirking like the devil had given him his lines personally.
By the time you returned to the apartment, the sky had bled into ink—thick, suffocating. One of those nights that clings to your skin, whispers against your pulse. The kind that knows your secrets. The kind that feels sentient.
You’d been pacing ever since. Barefoot. Restless. Your heartbeat ticking like a landmine.
You kept glancing at the window without realizing. At the door. At your phone. Not checking it. Just… listening. As if some part of you knew the kind of mess Jungkook possibly walked into and hadn’t come back from. As if your body was betraying the fear your mouth refused to voice.
Then—
Three knocks.
Soft. Deliberate. One pause. Then two more.
His rhythm.
Always his.
You opened the door before your mind caught up. Like instinct had already laid out the red carpet for your ruin.
And there he was.
Relief hit you like a sharp exhale. Not loud. Not visible. But it bloomed in your chest like pain. You didn’t let it reach your face—didn’t dare. You still hadn’t decided what scared you more: the idea that something had happened to him… or the fact that you cared that deeply if it had.
Bruised. Bloodstained. Sweaty strands of dark hair plastered to his temple like shadows, eyes heavy-lidded and shining too dark in the hallway light. He looked like the aftermath of a war—and yet, you couldn’t look away.
“It’s sorted,” he said. “I identified two of them as Choi’s underdogs, but it’ll take a while to—”
You didn’t let him finish.
“Let me check that cut on your brow,” you said, already grabbing his wrist and pulling him inside. The door shut behind him with a quiet finality.
If something serious had happened, he would’ve led with it. Jungkook was nothing if not brutally efficient—he didn’t bury the lede. Which is exactly why, despite the wreckage on his skin, your focus stayed on him. Not the mission. Not yet.
He followed wordlessly. Heavy-footed. Letting you lead him toward the bathroom like he was tied to you by something ancient and binding.
You rummaged through the cabinet, refusing to look at his face too long, refusing to feel that heat that still hadn’t left your skin from earlier.
Behind you, he laughed—a lazy, low, lopsided sound. The kind that always came with trouble. The kind that curled into your belly and settled there, warm and invasive.
“Baby, it’s a tiny cut,” he drawled, voice syrupy and wrapped in alcohol. His eyes edged something like endearment through the mirror. “I just need a shower. Don’t worry about it.”
Baby.
That nickname again, cutting like a silk against bare skin. A reminder from that night together. A trigger. A temptation.
You turned.
Just in time to catch the sway in his stance. One shoulder slumped against the doorframe. His pupils were dilated. Lips slightly parted. And God, he looked feral—like want was eating him alive from the inside out.
“You’re too drunk,” you said, your voice low and clipped. “How much did you drink before coming here on your fucking bike like a lunatic—before continuing to drink?”
You glared at him, jaw tight. “And don’t even deny it. I saw the damn thing parked out there.”
He grinned, all teeth and danger—boyish and wicked. “Just a bit.”
You let out a short, bitter laugh. “You fucking—”
You moved before the thought even formed, your hand going straight to the exposed skin above his belt—where his shirt had ridden up. Palm flat. Skin too warm. Muscles tight beneath.
You shoved him back. A push that lingered too low. Too intimate.
He stiffened. But didn’t stop you, kept walking back.
His breath grew shallow. His eyes dropped—to your mouth. The air around you turned charged, electric.
“I told you I can hold my liquor,” he murmured, voice fraying at the edges. “I am holding it. Barely. I’ll admit that. But God, you—”
His hand hovered near your throat, clawed fingers curling just short of contact. Not grabbing. Just wanting.
But didn’t.
“You’re— Fuck.” he struggled.
Your knees nearly buckled. That memory—his hands on your throat, mouth on your skin—flared so bright you could taste it.
“You look at me like you want to kill me,” he said. Voice cracking on something too real. His hand dropped. A surrender. But not defeat.
“And maybe I do,” you snapped, though your hand stayed where it was—gripping his side like you needed the anchor. Like you didn’t want to let go. Your nails curled slightly between his belt and his V line. He shivered beneath the pressure.
His pupils dilated further, eyes locking on yours as if remembering everything you too were failing miserably to forget.
And then—he reached.
His hand slid behind your neck, fingers threading into your hair. Not yanking. Not dragging.
Just there. Claiming without question.
Breath warm against your lips.
Your heart stuttered.
Then you reached behind him—found the faucet—and yanked.
Water exploded over both of you, steam rising instantly, curling around your limbs like smoke from a fire you couldn’t put out.
He gasped, startled. His shirt clung to him instantly, outlining every line, every inch, water running in rivulets down the slopes of his body.
“What the—?” he started.
“You said you needed a shower. I agree,” you cut him off, hissing. Stepping into the spray with him, heat crawling down your spine. “You need to sober the hell up.”
He stared at you for a breath, stunned.
Then that look flickered into place.
Dark. Amused. Dangerous.
Water traced a slow path down his jaw, dripping from the cut above his brow. Down his throat. His chest. His voice came low and rough, barely more than a growl.
“Careful,” he murmured. “Or I’ll begin thinking the secret to have you under me is getting you wet.”
You pressed your finger to his cut meaning to hurt—to shut his mouth—, hovering close enough to feel his pulse beneath the skin. Your own shirt was soaked through, clinging to your curves like a dare, and you were suddenly too aware.
He grunted but didn’t pull away. Instead, he smiled. That insufferable, knowing smirk that said he could read every inch of your skin. Worse, that he could get under it.
“You wish,” you snapped, pulling your hand away.
His laugh was low and rough, soaked in sin. “I did,” he said, leaning in until the mist between you was all but gone. “And look at you now. Drenched. Again.”
Silence collapsed over the bathroom like a loaded gun.
You stared at each other like it was war. Like one word, one twitch of muscle, would set the whole damn room on fire.
His gaze locked with yours, dark and searing. Possessive. Like he’d never stopped seeing you as his. Like he knew every thought crashing through your mind in that moment.
And you wanted him.
God, you wanted him.
But the wanting didn’t make it less dangerous.
It made it worse.
You wanted his hands on you. His mouth. His body pinning you to the wall so hard you forgot your name. You wanted him to ruin you—devour every inch, mark every part, leave nothing untouched, nothing sacred. Just like he did that night.
You wanted him because you weren’t supposed to.
Because it would burn everything you’d built—every wall, every rule, every lie. And still, you’d do it again.
His voice broke the silence, rough and low, like a sandpiper doing his best to lure you in.
“I killed them.”
The words crashed into you like thunder.
He didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. Just stared, soaked and still, letting the truth settle slowly in your lungs like you were taking a drag from one of his cigarettes.
“The rest of the guys from when I…stitched you,” he said, voice hoarse, eyes hollow and burning. “Every last one of them. You don’t have to worry about that anymore.”
Your breath caught—snagged hard in your throat.
“What? When?” The whisper barely passed your lips.
His jaw flexed, twitching like he was chewing on the weight of it. “I had a lot of time on my hands the past two weeks,” his chest kept rising and falling, eyes unrelenting. “A lot of anger to burn.”
You lost yourself in the black pool of them, able to catch your reflection, thinking that the better question would be why, but you knew the answer. And it wasn’t because Jungkook would always have your back, because you were partners. It was the something more.
Whatever thin, frayed thread had been holding you back—snapped.
For a second you had to remind yourself—it’s okay to want something that might ruin you. To crave what cuts. And maybe you were already bleeding.
Your hand reached his collar, tugging. He let himself be pulled, leaning down like a storm bending toward you, moving slow, steady, devastating—giving you time to run. But you didn’t.
Because you wanted him to kiss you.
The moment his lips caught yours, everything burned off like fog meeting sun. The ache. The exhaustion. The war.
The kiss was slow at first—sinful, soaked in longing. The kind that studied every edge of you. Then your teeth caught his bottom lip, dragged with just the right pressure. He moaned—a dark, low sound that made your insides twist.
Jungkook leaned his forehead against yours, breathing heavy through the water falling over your heads.
“This is a bad idea,” you whispered, eyes closed as he teased your lips.
He trailed a hot path toward your ear, fingers curling around your hips. “Since when do we follow good ones?”
A bite on your lobe, soft. You lost control.
You pressed into him harder, hand locked in his jaw, seizing his lips completely. He shuddered, fingers coming to slide from your temples through your damp hair. Clutching, desperate. Your bodies taut with desire, tension razor-thin.
You moved, hands falling on his shoulders, then a push—you climbed him without mercy. His hands immediately under your thighs, squeezing. You were dizzy—drenched in him—just like that night, feeling feverish. Each kiss made your thoughts blurrier, your skin tighter, your breath more ragged.
Jungkook slammed you against the tile wall like he could read your mind, his hips grinding against yours. God, he was so fucking hard. You moaned, he grunted. Water rained down, steaming over your flushed skin, making every nerve feel electric.
You gasped with another roll of his hips, body trembling with every throb of want.
Fuck, you needed out of your clothes.
Needed them gone—
One leg came down, then the other. You shoved him back, his raven eyes searched for yours, dizzy. Almost supplicant.
Your lips parted, clit throbbing as you stripped the soaked t-shirt clinging to you. It peeled away slow, like silk over embers, baring you to the heat of his stare.
Jungkook froze.
Breathing heavy. Watching.
His gaze licked your chest, then fell to the stitches still holding on your side, right underneath your ribs.
“You should’ve taken those out,” his was voice low, raspy, “Now it’ll leave a scar,” and you caught the way his teeth found his lip, that damned dimple deepening—like he was already claiming it. His name etched in flesh.
Good, that had been your intention.
“No shit…Sherlock,” your lips curled into a knowing smirk. A laughter almost fell from your lips when you saw the realization befalling his eyes. His knuckles whitnening, balled in fists.
That fuelled you.
Your fingers fell to strip the boxer shorts next, leaving you only in your black lace panties. You stood bare before him, water sliding down your curves like an offering.
He stared in a daze, gulped.
Like you were a sin too beautiful to resist.
And he was ready to confess the only way he knew how—with worship and destruction.
Jungkook’s inked fingers found the back collar of his shirt, pulling it off in one fluid motion—water trailed down his chest like a whisper. Boots thudded to the tile, cast aside like fallen armor. Still, his gaze never left yours.
Your thighs pressed together as you took him in.
He was bare but for drenched jeans, dangerous and unguarded. The belt fell next, with a splash, and then his fingers found the button—until you closed the distance, taking over. You dragged his zipper down, slow, eyes piercing his.
His breath hitched.
Not even blood had undone Jeon Jungkook like this. This wasn’t vulnerability. It was exposure. Raw. His chest rose hard; pierced lips parted, begging for that final push—like if you did so, he’d come undone right there.
And you liked the feeling.
You liked the power humming beneath your fingers. The way he vibrated with the effort of not losing it.
Just to test him, to twist the wire tighter, you dropped your hand after unzipping him, let the distance stretch—mocking a retreat. Your steps pulled back, every line of your body begging to be chased.
“Don’t—Come here. Now,” Jungkook snarled, one step faltering.
You chuckled, slow and dangerous, stopping. Your eyes stayed on his, playful and defiant.
Jungkook could twist your mind into knots. Wreck your logic with a look.
But two could play.
And you had fire in your lungs now.
You stalked back toward him, eyes never dropping, and slid to your knees with the kind of poise that could unravel a man.
Tilting your head, biting your lip, you murmured, “Is this what you wished for? When you kept thinking to yourself I’d crawl back to you? That I was yours to keep?”
His breath was wrecked. His jaw flexed.
“Yes,” he said, the word broken with need. “That—and so much more.”
The confession hit the air like a lit fuse on dry kindling.
You smiled—slow and knowing, like a promise draped in danger.
“Really?” you whispered. “And what else did you wish I’d do?”
Your hand slid up his thigh—slow, commanding—knuckles brushing soaked denim, the heat of his skin bleeding through. You felt the muscle tense beneath your palm, a quiet shudder betraying his restraint.
Jungkook’s eyes flared—black, volatile, molten. Then he moved. Fast.
He surged forward, seized your waist with fingers that dug into flesh like he was claiming a victory he hadn’t yet earned. He yanked you upright, effortless, like your body weighed nothing to him—like control was already his.
You barely had time to blink.
With a grunt, he flipped you over his shoulder, and the air rushed from your lungs. Your wet hair clung to your back, your cheek pressed to the plane of his spine. A yelp caught behind your teeth.
Then—smack.His palm fell to your ass like a whip, loud and ruthless.
You gasped, startled and electric, the sound swallowed by the hiss of steam and the wet splash of water against tile. The sting bloomed through your skin and burrowed down into heat.
"You're a fucking menace," he muttered, voice rough and thick with something darker than amusement—like each word had been dragged over gravel, heavy with the battle he was losing against himself.
Your laugh came out breathless. Aroused. Dangerous. "Funny, you seem to like it."
He growled—actually growled—and the sound lit up your nerves like dynamite. With one hand steady at your thigh, he reached out and turned off the shower, then walked you out like a man done pretending.
He carried you down the hall like a stolen prize, like something sacred and savage he’d fought to win. No hesitation. No falter. His gait was confident, practiced—and yet you’d never walked this route together before. He still knew exactly where your bedroom was.
The door creaked open and shadows welcomed you. Moonlight spilled across the sheets like it, too, had been waiting.
The room pulsed.
He didn’t lower you gently. He tossed you down like a challenge, like he was daring you to run again so he could catch you all over.
You landed with a bounce, limbs splaying, hair a halo across the bedding, lips parted. The moment held, thick with the throb of everything unsaid.
Then he was over you.
Jungkook’s body came down like a waterfall—damp denim scraping over lace, his weight pressing you into the mattress, heat bleeding through every inch. His arms caged your head. His breath ghosted over your cheek.
He was everywhere.
You arched into him, chasing friction like it might answer the ache inside you. His skin was slick with water, warm and wild. His jeans rubbed with exquisite cruelty between your thighs.
And his eyes—God, his eyes were flame.
He dipped his head, brushing lips to your throat—once, soft enough to almost hurt. Then he bit. A sharp press of teeth that said mine, that said run again and I’ll follow.
“You left, you ghosted me,” he pulled the soft skin beneath your ear between his teeth, like it was penance.
“Ah,” you moaned, your head tipping back, hair plastered to your face, his heat bleeding into you as steam still clung to your skin. One of his hands slid to your breast, bold, hungry, and you could barely think around it.
“I—I’m…”
But the words died in your throat. Thought scattered.
Jungkook’s breath stuttered against your mouth. Hot. Shaking. And then—
He moved.
Devastating.
One hand wrapped around his cock, dragging it out of his jeans with a groan that sounded broken. The kind of sound that could tear open ribcages. The kind that made your breath catch, knees press inward, thighs shake.
The other—
He hooked rough fingers into the lace clinging to your soaked skin, yanking your panties aside like they’d offended him by existing. No finesse. No delay.
You spread your legs before you realized you had. The want in your chest curled like claws—sharp, urgent, feral.
Then he thrust.
Hard. Deep.
You cried out. His name caught on your tongue like a spell gone wrong. He filled you—inch by inch—with a slowness that wasn’t mercy, but control. You arched. He didn’t stop. Buried to the hilt, the stretch a brand, a claim.
He felt perfect. Like he’d been made to wreck you.
You remembered—fuck.
The condom. It hit you mid-moan, a flash of ice through the heat. You weren’t on the shot—you never were. Not with how it messed with your body, your reflexes. Not in your line of work.
Your hands flew to his hips, trembling as you tried to stall his rhythm, tried to choke out words through the haze.
“JK—ah, fuck—Stop. Wait—”
He started to pull back, the motion sudden, his breath sharp, panicked. His eyes found yours and they pleaded.
“No. No, please. Baby, please—”
A breathless laugh fell from your lips. You couldn’t help it. His desperation—it was fucking adorable. You dragged your nails down his back, slow, soothing. “We forgot the condom.”
Relief transformed him, but he didn’t waste a second. He slipped out cursing under his breath, and was on his feet in an instant, already moving.
“Bathroom,” you said, still catching your breath. “Second drawer.”
He came back fast, foil in hand, eyes locked on you like a man starved.
You were already on your knees, waiting for him at the edge of the bed, panties gone. One hand curled around the back of his neck, pulling him in. The kiss was slow, deep. Sin-drenched. You toyed with the damp strands at his nape, shivering at how they curled against your fingers.
Jungkook pushed his soaked jeans off. Finally. Your mouth watered. The white boxers clung, transparent, and left nothing to the imagination. You licked your lips.
You helped take them off too. Then his inked hand found your chest, pressing you back into the mattress. A smirk playing on his lips. The condom hit the sheets a second after. You chuckled, low, breathless.
And then he was on you.
His weight pressed into yours, lips at your ear, voice low.
“Tell me again what you said that night.”
“What?” you breathed. You could barely remember your own name.
“That you hate me,” he bit your jaw. “Lie to me again, and tell me that you hate me.”
“I hate you,” you said—except it came out soft. Like a kiss. Like a confession.
His mouth traveled down. Kisses trailed heat. You whispered it again.
He sucked one nipple.
“Fuck, I hate you.” and again.
His chest rumbled, a dark chuckle as he closed his eyes and trailed down. He dragged his teeth through your lower belly. It coiled. You fisted the sheets.
“Mhm, I hate you.” you kept chanting like a shield.
He reached between your legs and moaned into you.
“Ah— I fucking hate you,” you gasped, back arching, fingers clawing at his hair, desperate to keep him there.
“I hate your mouth…Those goddamned hands,” and as if on command he squeezed your thighs, his tongue circled, teased, playing with your rationale. “I hate— I—” you started losing yourself, hips undulating, trying to meet his pace.
Jungkook groaned—devouring you like he’d never tasted anything real before. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Just moaned, begged, burned.
“Don’t stop,” you panted. “Jungkook—”
He didn’t. He ate like a man dying. Sucked and swirled and bit until your body broke, splintered into light, your orgasm ripping through you like it had claws. You cried out, one hand fisting the sheets, the other holding him there.
“Oh, God— Fuck!”
He looked at you from between your legs, licking you through it, slow.
Then he rose with one last long lick, grinning like a feline, crawling back up, mouth crashing into yours—letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You kissed him back hard, wild, lips swollen, mind reeling.
He groaned into it, and the condom was in his hand in a second. He ripped the foil and rolled it on. His eyes—blown and wild—never left yours.
His hands found the back of your knees, and he pulled, fast. Like he couldn’t bear to wait a second longer.
He dropped.
And thrust into you—no warning, just heat and pressure and that tight, perfect stretch.
Your mouths clashed. You kissed like addicts, like two people who had tried everything else but nothing ever came close to this.
Your nails sank into his shoulders, searching for something to hold as he drove into you. Over and over.
Jungkook moaned. Deep and raspy. Feral. One arm braced beside your head. The other—he slid under you, gripping your ass, dragging your hips up to meet every punishing thrust.
He fucked you like he was possessed. Like he wanted to possess you.
Your orgasm started building again—fast, feral. He felt it. The way you clawed at his back, your moans climbing in pitch against his neck.
“You thought we were done?” He wrapped that hellish inked hand around your throat—not tight, just there, a tether. His pace slowed. Unbearably slow. His eyes dark, locked to yours. “I’m not done. Understand?”
You barely had time to gasp before he slid out, flipped you like you weighed nothing.
A whimper escaped your lips, thighs clenching.
He reached out, his hand gripped your jaw, angling your head back to him. His breath came hot over your lips. “Head down. Ass up.”
You stared at him, defiant—because you could. Then, slowly, you leaned even more toward him, let your tongue flick his lip piercing. A challenge.
“I’ll let you be the boss tonight, then.”
You caught how his tongue poked his cheek. How rage and lust twined in his eyes, before going on all fours and sinking your head further into the mattress, tauting him.
“You—” he shook his head, jaw tight. He gripped your waist with one hand, the other guiding him to your entrance. “I swear you’ll be so spent you won’t be able to run. Not tonight.”
Then he slammed into you.
The sheets muffled your moan. Your clit throbbed as he forced your knee out and drove in again—Hard, fast, vicious.
“JK…” you cried out.
His hand fisted in your hair, tugging, arching you flush against his chest. Mouth to your ear. “Ngh, fuck, baby—it keeps getting better–”
He pounded into you. You could barely breathe. Barely think.
“Yeah,” was all you managed, and you squeezed your eyes shut, taking it.
Your walls clenched. Hands pressed into the sheets, rocking back into him, chasing every stroke.
You arched again, his hands pulled, squeezed—slick skin on his thighs, water still clinging to both of you, and all you could think about was that you could be doing this for two weeks had you not been such a coward.
He hit deep. Again. And again.
“Harder,” you whimpered. “Ah, right there—!”
He grunted and gave it to you.
“Jungkook, I— Mhm–” You shattered. Your orgasm burst white-hot and ruined you.
He kept going, chasing his own end. His hand closed around your breast as he came, groaning against your back, filling the condom with that sexy, throaty moan of his. It echoed deep in your core.
You both collapsed—sweat and steam and aftermath.
“Fuck,” he panted against your shoulder blades.
A second passed, just your breaths filling the bedroom, then—
“JK… You’re crushing me.” You chuckled against the sheets, and he pulled out, breath ragged, rolling onto his back beside you.
You stretched out your legs, sore and blissed out. Watched as he rolled the condom off, tossed it toward the bin.
Then he dragged you to his chest. Lazy grin. Warm eyes.
You kissed him—lazy, honey-slow. His throat rumbled with a sound that made your stomach flip.
“Stay with me,” he breathed against your lips. “Just—”
“I missed you,” you whispered, fingers sinking into his damp hair.
You felt more exposed than when you were beneath him, neck bare and exposed.
“I missed this.”
He went still. Eyes finding yours. Then—he kissed you again, deeper, longer. You wondered if it would ever stop being this… head-spinning.
When he pulled back, he nuzzled your nose. “I fucking missed you too.”
You lay there. Still breathing. Still burning. Still tangled.
“They can’t know. No one can.” your voice was barely a whisper.
You didn’t say why. You didn’t need to. Jungkook knew.
If your superiors caught wiff of it—worse, if whoever was your enemy next did… You’d both have a grave marked with your names.
“I know,” he said. Then added—grumbling, “But that informant of yours should. The nerve on that guy!”
You snorted. Rolled your eyes. One hand untangled from his hair to cover his face, pushing gently.
He bit your palm with eyes closed. Dragging the flesh there. The vision did something stupid to you.
In a swift motion, you straddled him.
And he looked up at you like you were everything. Just laid there beneath you, round eyes ravaging on the shape of your body on top of his.
Your hands slid to the space between his chest and abs, feeling him, pinning him. He started to breathe hard, slowly hardening under you again.
Holy fuck.
His grip returned—your hips in his rough palms. Fingers curling.
You arched, dipping towards his mouth. Brushing, featherlight, teasing.
“You should know by now I’m not the most patient guy,” he grunted, fingers running along the expanse of your legs. You laughed against his mouth, low, satisfied.
Then you bit. His lip. His jaw. His throat.
When you returned to his mouth and he tried to kiss you—eager, barely in check—you stopped him. Smiled. Your lips just hovering, his breath rough.
You held him there, hand on his jaw.
Then you rolled your hips on his cock, slow, hard.
Jungkook moaned, head tipping back.
“My turn,” you clashed your mouth against his.
A faint rustle broke the silence.
Cold air kissed your bare skin—an empty space beside you where warmth used to be. Your arm instinctively reached out, fingers curling into the mattress before you stirred, eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks.
Jungkook…?
You blinked awake. He was sitting at the edge of the bed, lit only by the soft morning sun sneaking in through the curtains. His back was to you, spine a canvas of light and shadow. He bent forward, pulling something from his jeans. The screen of his phone lit up once, a low buzz vibrating through the silence.
Shit. You’d soaked his phone the night before. Please be working—
He answered it with a rough, still-sleep-heavy “Yeah?”
You moved before your thoughts could catch up—sliding across the sheets like you were weightless, drawn by the scent of him, the pull of him. Your body folded around his, forehead pressing to his shoulder, your mouth tucked into the space just beneath his jaw, breathing him in. He smelled like sweat, like cotton, like you.
He shifted, pulling you closer.
Jungkook was so deliciously warm it hurt.
“You owe me, you know,” a voice crackled through the line—male, lazy drawl layered with something sharp underneath. “You dropped a bomb on me last night. Took me four hours to cover it. I want answers.”
The contact.
You hadn’t known a name, hadn’t needed to. But Jungkook had mentioned someone last night. Someone who could clean up a mess. Now, the puzzle was whole.
Jungkook’s fingers found your thigh, skimming over your skin like it was habit. Like he didn’t need to look to know where you were.
“You’ll get them, Taehyung,” he muttered, mouth brushing your hair as he spoke. “Got anything for me?”
A pause. “Yeah. I have what you wanted. Meet me in thirty.”
He turned, lips catching yours—barely there, like he couldn’t not kiss you. Then his hand slid lower, slipping between your legs, teasing, slow and confident.
“Make it two and a half hours,” he said into the phone, voice quieter now, voice that always made you ache.
“Two and a half? What the hell are you—”
“I’m busy.” A smirk tugged at his mouth. “Send the address.”
He ended the call without waiting, phone thunking softly onto the nightstand. His body turned fully, slow and heavy with sleep and want. He looked at you like you were the only thing that had ever made sense.
“Morning,” his lips found your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “Where were we?”
You laughed into his skin, teeth grazing the scar on his shoulder—the one you’d given him that first mission, when you didn’t trust him and he’d called you reckless.
“You were just about to take off my stitches and then make me breakfast.”
Jungkook grinned, unrelenting. “Then round three in the shower?”
You groaned, but you were already folding, fingers running through the soft and haparzed strands of his hair again, lips catching his.
“Regroup. Round three now, everything else later.”
And he was already on top of the situation. Already on top of you.
synopsis. soon to be betrothed to a neighbourhood kingdom, you escape into the woods toward your freedom. there you find your calling in the hold of a dark and troublesome stranger instead.
pairing. jungkook | you + yoongi | you
genre. royal au, angst, smut, fluff
word count. 7.1k
rating. M
warnings. ❗️steamy scene, violence, threats, mention of rape❗️
a/n. chapters will be coming out whenever I'm able to post and they may vary in word count greatly ♡
chapters. 1 × 2 × 3
Freedom didn’t last long.
You managed to hold your own through the night, running and fighting against your dress that stubbornly would entangle in the branches of the tall bushes, draining you throughout. You barely caught on any sleep, trying your best to keep walking and pushing yourself toward your new-found goal—the borders of Keirn’s citadel.
But once the first rays of light greeted you, and the shadows of the night were long gone, even the woods couldn’t protect you from your father’s cunning.
The tall walls surrounding the kingdom seemed tranquil on this side of the border; completely unoccupied saved by the chirping birds that flew by. You had been counting on it since you knew this to be one of Keirn’s blind spots.
You approached the wall carefully, your head paranoidly snapping at any sound. It loomed above you, imposing and seemingly insurmountable. Inhaling deeply you reach for the dagger Yoongi had given you, its weight a comforting reminder of his promise. Holding it tightly, you find a small crevice in the wall, just wide enough for your fingers.
With a deep breath, you begin to climb. The rough stone bites into your hands and feet, but you press on, using the dagger to wedge into cracks for leverage. Each movement is deliberate, your muscles burning with effort. The climb feels endless, but the thought of Yoongi and the freedom that awaits you on the other side keeps you going. You think instead this is just the customary climb toward the tall window of the castle you grew up running from in the middle of the night.
Finally, you reach the top, pausing for a moment to catch your breath and scan the horizon. No movement. The kingdom lays quiet beneath you. You allow yourself to close your eyes even if for an instant, breathing the scent of the pine trees your home is known for, and the faint one of lilies. Arden’s borders are just there, waiting for you.
You open your fingers wide on a lazy morning stretch, and a smile, even if bittersweet, tugs at the corners of your mouth. You did it.
Carefully, you begin your descent on the other side, your grip firm on the dagger.
As your feet touch the ground, you swiftly place the dagger back in the strap around your thigh, relief flooding through you. Even with no belongings besides the dagger, or plans, that is what you feel, relief. You could make a life for yourself in the borders of Arden, you were sure of that.
But the respite is short-lived. Before you can take another step, a group of soldiers emerges from the shadows, their armor glinting menacingly in the early morning light. Leading them is the face of your eldest brother, Seokjin.
You gulp down the tears that threaten to blur your vision. In the space of one single night both of your brothers, the brothers you loved so dearly and thought to have a deep bond with, pierced a sword through your heart.
There is really nothing nor no one that beats the loyalty to your father, the fearsome king of Keirn.
“Y/n,” he calls out, his voice carrying a mix of authority and if you didn’t know better, sorrow. “Did you really think you could neglect your duties?”
Heart pounding, you take a step back, only to feel the cold steel of a blade pressed against your back. One of the soldiers had moved in behind you with lightning speed.
“Seokjin, please,” you plead, your voice trembling. “I can’t go back. I won’t.”
Your brother’s expression softens for a moment, a flicker of something—perhaps regret—crossing his face. But it is gone as quickly as it came. “The King has ordered your return. You know I can’t disobey him.”
You clench your fists, the dagger in its sheath a cruel reminder of your fleeting freedom. Your fingers tap gently the fabric of your dress as you ponder retrieving it and trying to fence your way through. But who are you kidding? Even if great with a blade, and sure you could turn tables with the odds you’re being dealt with, you could never hurt Seokjin.
You love him too greatly to strip the life out of him. And that’s what this situation would come to, as you know his soul well enough to ignore how he would only disobey your father’s orders if death were to fall upon him. “And what about what I want? He’s selling me like cattle!”
Seokjin sighs, stepping closer. “Sometimes, our duty is more important than what we want. Come quietly, Y/n. Don’t make this harder than it has to be…Please.”
The soldiers close in, their grip on your arms unyielding. As they lead you away, your mind races, searching for a way out. You glance back at the wall, the symbol of your almost-achieved freedom, and silently vow that this will not be the end. Yoongi’s promise echoes in your mind, giving you a glimmer of hope amidst the despair.
“I’ll find you,” you whisper to yourself, the resolve in your voice strengthening with each step you take back toward the castle. “No matter what.”
The journey back to the castle was a blur of rough handling and harsh words. Seokjin stayed by your side, his presence both a comfort and a constant reminder of your impending fate. The soldiers led you through the familiar corridors, and though your surroundings felt like home, each step deepened your sense of captivity.
Once inside the walls of your childhood home, you were taken to your chambers. The air was thick with the scent of lavender and rose, but it did nothing to soothe your frayed nerves. Servants you barely recognized bustled about, drawing a bath and laying out garments on your bed. The dress chosen for you, which you could pinpoint to be your father’s doing, was beautiful, but it felt like a cage, its silk and lace suffocating you.
You bathed quickly, the warm water doing little to wash away your anxiety. Every moment you spent in the tub, your mind raced with plans and desperate schemes to escape. But when you emerged, the sight of guards posted outside your door and under the tall window sill crushed any fleeting hope. It made you question if all these years going on silent escapades was indeed merit of your skills or just a jest your father allowed.
It made you feel like a farce.
The dress fit perfectly, of course, but it wasn’t yours. Although its silk was made of the softest blue, a color you were peaceful with, you had never worn it. Ever since you were little, you always dallied through bold and sometimes dark colors that enhanced your features. You weren’t made for the delicatessen this soft blue suggested, or better, you weren’t made for the role this color, the color of Ilya, demanded of you.
And so its fabric clung to your body, a constant reminder that even your own appearance was no longer under your control.
Servants that were never appointed to you before tightened the corset, fastened the clasps, and stepped back to admire their work. All the while being silent like stones. You felt like a doll, dressed up for display and to be ignored entirely.
Sat in the comber as the youngest of the maids fight your stubborn hair, you notice through the mirror more guards approach the hallways, blocking every possible exit. Your father had spared no effort in ensuring you had no means of escape.
Your thoughts go to Yoongi and his well-being. You don’t know what happened to him after fleeting his hut, nor do you find yourself brave enough to ask for information seeing that even your greatest confider has betrayed you so easily. So you hold onto the hope of Yoongi having managed to escape if his face not being amidst the guards is of any indication.
You are snapped out of your thoughts as you are dragged through the halls of the palace by a stern-faced soldier instead. He is also the one informing you that you will be having your lunch inside the carriage that will take you to your doom instead of the dining hall, as you protest in his arms.
The words sting, and you can’t suppress a shudder. Not that you would want to see his face at the moment, but your father didn’t even allow you to say goodbye to anyone else who mattered to you. Not to Binna, the cook who had raised you like a mother since you were an infant. Her warm smile and gentle presence had been a constant comfort… How could you imagine life without her and the sticky buns she made every time you were sad?
The thought of leaving without a farewell is not only a bitter pill to swallow but unfathomable.
As you are dragged your feet start caving a ragged track in the rough path of the entrance, you frantically scan the fleet that will escort you to Ilya. You see Seokjin leading it, sitting proudly atop his white stallion. What you don’t see is your own horse, Solas.
“Where’s he, Seokjin?!” you shout exasperated, the hands of the guards tightening around your arms as you mention diverge the path toward your brother. “Where’s Solas?” your throat gets hoarse from the sudden strain.
Seokjin doesn’t spare you a glance. And as he tries so hard to look forward instead of you, the message is clear and is delivered to you like a punch in the gut.
Solas won’t come.
They are forcing you to abandon everything, even the treasured things that could travel with you.
This is a lesson from your father. A way to say from now on you either abide by the rules or you won’t be allowed to have anything at all.
The thought of Solas’ gentle eyes and the way he nuzzled you for treats plague your mind, an invisible hand squeezing at your heart so hard you think you might stop functioning. And in a way, you do.
“Please,” you grab one of the maiden’s hands as you’re about to be pushed into the carriage. “Tell my brother- Tell Taehyung to take care of my horse. Please!”
Taehyung.
It’s only then that you realize you aren’t seeing your younger brother either. You choke on your words, your heart almost coming to a stop.
The pain of not being able to see his face or feel his embrace one last time is almost unbearable. Who knows when or if you will ever get the chance to do so again?
Taehyung had been more than a brother, in ways that Seokjin hadn’t been so; he had been your confidant, your rock, but more than that, the two of you shared a bond that words couldn’t fully capture. From a very young age, you had learned to communicate with just a glance, understanding each other’s thoughts and feelings without a single word. His absence now was a gaping wound in your heart, and you couldn’t help but wonder if you would ever experience that kind of connection again.
You steal one last glance at the castle, hoping against hope that Taehyung might be there, watching from the shadows. But there is nothing, just the cold, impassive stone walls and the unwavering gaze of the guards.
You settle into the plush seat of the carriage deflating, the door closing with a finality that echoed in your soul. The carriage lurches forward, and you feel a heavy weight settle in your chest. Would Taehyung not even attend the wedding? Would you ever find someone who understands you as he did, who could communicate with a mere glance like best friends do?
As the castle fades into the distance, your eyes close, your head rocking with the shake of the carriage. Everyone you love, the life you were building for yourself, and everything that you are is being left behind.
This journey may as well try to break you… But it won’t.
That is your promise to yourself.
You won’t marry the King of Ilya.
You won’t ever not try to escape this fate.
Even if you have to die trying.
Your breath quickens as you find yourself enveloped in Yoongi’s arms. The both of you lie in a secluded glade, the moonlight filtering through the trees, casting a silvery glow over everything.
His touch is electrifying, sending shivers down your spine as his hands roam over your body. His lips trailing hot, and tortuous slow kisses along your neck.
“Yoongi,” you call for him like a beacon, your voice trembling with desire. His name is like a prayer on your lips, a plea for more.
He immediately responds with a low, hungry growl, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that leaves you momentarily dizzy. Your bodies press together, and you can’t help but claw at his back.
You feel feverish as his hand slides down a sinful path between your breasts, fingers deftly unfastening the laces of your nightgown. You gasp against his mouth as the cool night air brushes against your bare skin, but his warmth quickly replaces it.
His touch is everywhere—tender, demanding, setting you aflame.
You arch into him as he squeezes your inner thigh, your own hands tugging at his hair, exploring the feel of his muscles taut under your touch.
“Don’t stop,” you breathe, your eyes half-closing in ecstasy. Yoongi’s lips curve into a Cheshire cat smile as he obliges, his mouth tracing a path down your collarbone, his hands lifting you higher into his embrace.
You wrap your legs instinctively around his waist, feeling the heat and hardness of him through the thin barrier of your clothes. Pushing his hips down with your heel you almost unravel at the sound he makes.
Your head falls back, a moan escaping your own lips as he whispers your name, his voice thick with need. You are lost in the sensation, the world around you fading into nothingness as the both of you move together, driven by mad desire.
But then, something shifts.
The cool night air seems to grow colder, the moonlight dimming. Yoongi’s touch begins to fade, his presence becoming insubstantial.
Panic surges through you as you try to hold onto him, but he is slipping away, his form dissolving into mist.
“No,” you cried out exasperated, your hands grasping at nothingness. The glade around you begins to blur and dissolve, being replaced by the dim, familiar surroundings of the carriage now moving into the night. You are alone inside, sat at an erroneous angle, your body aching with unfulfilled longing.
It was just a dream.
The realization hits you like a splash of cold water, leaving you breathless and disoriented. You adjust yourself as you hear the clip-clop of the horses outside, staring up at the ceiling, your heart pounds in your chest. The vividness of the dream lingers, the sensation of Yoongi’s touch still ghosting over your skin.
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as the ache of loss settles in. You quickly wipe away the tears, you haven’t allowed anyone the satisfaction of seeing you crumble ever since you left Keirn.
It’s been two days now on the road. Every time you closed your eyes you had seen Yoongi’s eyes staring back at you, felt him, his touch, his kisses.
Every time he is ripped away from you by the cruel reality you swear to yourself this is just a reminder of what you are fighting for.
“No matter what it takes,” you mumble.
Not a second passes before you hear Seokjin’s voice coming from outside, “Y/n? Do you need something?”
During the day and the occasional breaks you take to eat and rest, he has been keeping his distance. Either because that’s the order he received from your father or because he feels guilty about it all, you don’t know. But at night, he always falls back to help guard your carriage, and every time you so much make a movement inside the damned thing he always checks on you.
You sigh, tired of the monumental turn your life made, and consequently your relationship with your elder brother. “No, I’m quite satisfied in my confinement, thank you.”
He says nothing else, and just like the previous night, you find solace instead in the soft melodies the hooves of the horses make against the gravel.
Your heart sank as soon as morning came and you saw yourself passing through the gates of Ilya’s castle. Looking through the small window of the carriage, Ilya’s kingdom revealed a breathtaking view that under different circumstances you would have been captivated by.
The castle’s towering spires seemed to reach toward the sky, adorned with intricate carvings that told tales of a rich and ancient history. Lush gardens surround the structure, filled with soft-colored flowers and meticulously pruned hedges that showcase the kingdom’s prosperity and attention to detail.
Everything seemed to fall into order, even the crystal-clear streams that flowed through the gardens, their gentle babble almost soothing. Almost.
You step out of the carriage once a sea of castle workers line up to greet you. You can’t help but notice every and each of them is impeccably dressed, not a thread out of place or a crooked button in sight. Their eyes to the floor, hands clasped behind their backs, all ready to serve.
Your stomach flips with the sight. Your memories float astray before your eyes. Binna with her apron full of flour, Jina, and Peggy all smiles with shaggy flower crowns on their heads.
Everything feels wrong.
You don’t even notice as Seokjin takes your hand and helps you out of the carriage, entwining your arm around his as he walks you to the front doors.
“Y/n,” he says as his eyes keep focusing forward, his voice tight with urgency. “This will be as far as I’m allowed to go. I’m expected at the front lines…I won’t be able to make it to the wedding.”
Your eyes widen with the news, heart pounding in your chest. “What do you mean front lines? We didn’t declare war on Arden yet and—” you pause as the puzzle pieces all fall in place. Suddenly the rush of your wedding doesn’t feel so strange.
You remember Yoongi commenting on how they weren’t gaining territory over Arden at all, on the contrary, they were rioting and pushing the soldiers back. With this marriage, your father gained the men needed to make a difference on the front lines. They would be attacking soon before the surprise effect lost its spark.
“Oh,” is all you manage to say.
Seokjin comes to a stop and you follow suit. He turns to face you now and you see how his throat bobs. “I’ll do my best out there, so you do your best out here.” he chants something you used to say as kids and you force your jaw shut trying to fight the tears.
He’s going to the front lines.
Suddenly you’re back at being five, finding his already big for his age shoulders to be the only thing you needed to fight your fear of storms. “What if- What if something happens-”
Seokjin doesn’t pull you into a tight embrace like he used to, shielding you from the world. Instead, he flicks your nose, out of custom. Something he only does when you accomplish something that makes him proud. The smile on his face is measured and yet so full of meaning.
His eyes say it all.
“You’ve always been braver than you think. Don’t stop now,” he adds. “We’ll see each other again.”
You don’t have time to react as he turns away, taking long strides toward his horse and away from you.
He is going to the front lines. Your brother is going to war.
Your head starts spiraling again. It’s been an avalanche of farewells, and suddenly, against better judgment, you don’t think you can hold yourself together.
With tears welling up in your eyes, you watch him mount his horse and ride away, followed by his fleet. The sound of hooves echo through the courtyard as a maiden holds you by the arm keeping you from hitting the ground.
Seokjin is headed into the danger of war while you are left to face a different kind of battle.
Each and every attempt of yours to glean information about the King of Ilya, as you hadn’t met him yet, was met with tight-lipped silence. No maiden dared spill anything, not even a description of said man.
Their refusal to answer your questions only heightened your apprehension.
You tried to search your mind after your father’s comments about the other kingdoms and their rulers but came out short-handed. The only thing you managed to remember him saying about Ilya was that its last king had died in an unfortunate altercation and his son took over.
Although sure his son, the new King, was about your age, your heart was already entitled to another.
You did not want this marriage, the alliance, and the burden it came with. Not only because you didn’t even know the King, but mainly because he didn’t know you.
If he did, he would spare the trouble, or at the very least understand you are not the type of woman to sit and be ordered around, and therefore no marriage would happen in the first place.
For the entirety of the day, you were shown around the accommodations. You were fed and bathed, and as soon as the latter activity was over, you were locked inside your pompous excuse of a room in nothing but a nightgown and Yoongi’s silver dagger that you managed to hide like a swindler.
The balcony served you with no comfort. As soon as you stepped foot on it you realized it was too high of a fall for you to even attempt climbing off it. And even if you were desperate enough, which you are, there was no wall close enough, no crevice, to hold on to on your way down.
Or a bed sheet, and even a curtain wide enough to help. You had checked.
The wedding was to be held at night, that much you were told.
And was only when the sky started to get painted a darker blue that the maidens walked into your room once more.
You stood before a large mirror, on top of a small platform, as the girls dressed you in layers of delicate fabrics. You were in shades of yellow and hues of gold from head to toe. Even the jewels were composed of yellow sapphires.
You liked what you saw in the reflection. This color made you feel at home, but as you caught your eyes you saw that they were nothing if not urgent and alert. You didn’t have time to admire the somewhat modern cut of the dress and how it hugged you in every right way, no. This was the only time you had to think about finding a way to escape. To at least postpone the wedding to get to know the castle better, its exits, its people.
One of the maidens tugs at one strand of your hair, trying to secure the last hairpiece. Your eyes fleet to her figure.
The girl didn’t appear much younger than you. Perhaps she was Taehyung’s age, exactly seven months your junior, who knows. She had been quiet just like the others, but her eyes always lingered a bit on yours before aiming for the floor. She didn’t ignore you intently like everyone else.
Her fingers tremble slightly as she works, and suddenly you notice the sapphire hairpiece slipping from her grasp and clattering to the floor.
“Forgive me, Princess,” she says, bending down to retrieve the piece. As she does so you notice that she sends an authoritative glance toward the others, and as they exchange glances, they discreetly exit the room.
The inked-haired girl rises to her feet, the sapphire piece in hand, and yours travel instinctively toward your thigh where the dagger is sheathed safely. She accompanies the movement with determined eyes.
“Your Highness, there won’t be a need for that,” she starts and a friendly smile eases her complexions. “I apologize for the startle, but I needed a moment alone with you.”
You eye her with suspicion still, “Go on…”
She takes a deep breath. “We’re not friends or better acquaintances- You don’t even know my name. Yet I can’t help but sympathize with what I see in your eyes.”
You cock your head at that comment. You never bothered with people’s assumptions regarding you, but it didn’t mean you liked it nevertheless. “And that would be…?”
The girl seems unfazed by the gesture, and if she fears the disparity in status, she doesn’t show. Instead, she continues. “I know what it means to love someone and be forced apart. Or at the very least, know the feeling of being imposed with a life you don’t want to yourself. Am I close?”
At the lack of a response on your end, she takes one step closer to you. “I want to help you, your Highness. I can assist you in escaping.”
You swear your heart skips a beat and for a moment you think you are hearing wrong. “Why would you risk such a thing?”
What if this is just a ploy of yet another cunning King?, you think to yourself. Why would a maiden risk her neck to save mine? She doesn’t even know me.
“Because I have someone I love, too,” she confesses, and something in the way she says it gives you a feeling that she for a fact is speaking the truth. “I can’t stand by and watch someone else be denied their happiness. If there’s a chance to reunite you with the one you love, or what you want, I will do everything in my power to help you.”
You always thought of yourself as having a high judgment of character. Never once have you failed to do so, but things lately have turned into a mess.
“I don’t have the means to pay you and if you get caught-”
“We don’t have much time,” the girl interrupts your poor excuses, her voice urgent. “Tonight after the final preparations, I will come for you. Be ready.”
You nod at the warning, dismissing second thoughts as a flicker of hope ignits within you.
The maiden carefully secures the sapphire hairpiece in place, and you stand tall once more facing the mirror.
The girl comes to stand by your side and as your eyes lock in the reflection of the both of you she says in a whisper, “You can call me Hana, your Highness.”
You don’t think you had ever been so nervous in your entire life. Not even when you lied through your teeth that time Taehyung vanished for two days and you covered for him with your ruthless father.
It isn’t an easy feature to put your life in the hands of someone else, especially not blindly.
Hana had left you with the other maidens, claiming she would come for you, but nothing else was said. You didn’t exactly know what would be the plan, you just knew she would come for you.
But as you are escorted to the chapel to bind your life to the King of Ilya in front of his order and his guests, you start doubting if Hana is ever going to show.
You are one step away from the staircase that will lead you to the entrance where the spectacle awaits when said girl carves a path between the guards and maidens to reach you.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, your Highness,” she huffs and two guards come to drag her away.
In sudden fear, you shout at them, “Leave her!” and they do as you command.
Hana straightens her simplistic dress before coming closer to stand in front of your figure. “Will these do, your Highness?” she opens her hands in front of you, head down in a theatrical display for the others, as she shows you the most scintillant sapphire earrings. They are composed of two pieces, one polished yellow stone at the top and another one hanging, only secure by a bird’s claw that tightly embraces it.
It’s beautiful.
Your hand is like a ghost as it touches your ears, unaware they had been bare until now. “Yes, these will do.”
Hana presses down a smile at your astonishment for the piece, and if you were in Keirn, where you had power, you’d be pushing her in a playful jest.
But you are not in Keirn, and you recognize this is the moment she will somehow execute the plan. It has to be.
Your eyes are laser-focused on her as she comes even closer, trying to secure one earring on your ear. You can barely understand as she whispers, “Open your mouth slightly- Not like that. Gentler.”
You do as you’re told, and in a flash, when she swifts her hands to your left ear, something is inside your mouth.
Immediately you close it and your tongue goes out to inspect what appears to be a capsule.
“Once you’re to say your vows, crack the capsule and fall. I need you to appear faint,” she whispers again, stalling the insertion of the earring on your ear as the soldiers start to get agitated.
You search her eyes for more but she only says, “Trust me. Don’t open your eyes until I’m with you and I tell you so. Just play dead.”
And then she steps away, saying loudly, “All done, your Highness!” and you’re back moving toward your doom.
You feel the capsule hidden under your tongue as you start walking down the aisle of the cathedral.
Rows of guests turned to gaze upon you, their eyes filled with curiosity and judgment. The whispers and murmurs seemed to close in around you, but you kept your head high, determined to see through with the plan.
Just play dead, you think, easy enough.
Your dress, the exquisite creation of silk, seemed to shimmer in the soft candlelight, each step causing the delicate fabric that only cinched in your bust and waist to ripple like waves. The scent of fresh flowers filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of incense.
Your attention however floated elsewhere as you finally dared to look ahead, your eyes catching the ones of the man you are being sold to.
Standing at the altar, the King of Ilya awaits you dressed in all white, a vision of purity and grace. As you see his honey gold hair cascading around his equally gold crown, you understand the choice of color for your dress.
His features are delicate, almost ethereal, with a softness that belies the power he holds.
Coming closer, almost reaching him, you notice how his plump lips curve into a beautiful smile, one that takes you by surprise. Somehow you’d imagined it to be faker, or filled with ill intentions, but none of that is present.
You see yourself fleetingly wishing that you could have met him under different circumstances. If you were a friendly visitor to Ilya, or perhaps meeting him as a future ally, one that had ascended to the throne of Keirn instead. You would’ve wanted to know him better.
You wondered what kind of person he was beneath the crown, what dreams and fears he harbored.
But those thoughts are quickly overshadowed by the reality of your current situation. As you reach the altar, the King kindly extends a hand to you, his smile never faltering. You accept it, feeling the warmth of his touch, and look deeply into his eyes.
You don’t know if it’s nervousness about what you’re about to do, but you can’t read him.
“My bride,” he says gently, kissing your knuckles without ever breaking eye contact. If you had more time to ponder, you’d risk saying he was finding amusing the way you were analyzing him.
He guides you to stand face-to-face with him, and from between you, you hear the priest proclaim, “Without further ado, we are here today to be testimony of the sacred matrimony between Y/n, previous princess of Keirn, and our beloved King Jimin, ruler of Ilya.”
The whole room filled in with, “All hail King Jimin,” as if it were a prayer.
You take that as your cue to bite the capsule.
The bitter taste of whatever content was inside it makes you pull a face, and as you open your mouth a bit distraught by the liquid now swirling in your tongue, you see droplets of red falling.
King Jimin frowns, scanning your complexion. “My dear, are you feeling under the weather?”
You don’t waste any time before rolling your eyes back and falling heavily onto the ground.
It’s a hard task not to wince at the blow your head suffers once it meets the cold stone beneath you, but it had to look credible. You do your best to look lifeless as you hear Jimin shouting for assistance, kneeling beside you while holding your hand tightly.
Or when the crowd goes into a frenzy when Jimin does the same path you just minutes ago walked, as he bravely carries your limp body to a private room escorted by his royal cavalry.
You keep playing dead even after he gently places you on top of what appears to be a wooden table. “Get me a healer. Now!” he commands frantic.
There’s the clink of steel and then a new pair of footing making noise on the cold stones.
“Your Highness,” it’s Hana’s voice, you believe.
Jimin who was still holding your hand, seemingly guarding you like a lion, places your limb on top of your own belly, softly caressing your temple before walking away.
“Where’s the healer?!” he inquires, closer to losing his temper, if he already hadn’t done so.
“He’s on his way, your Highness,” you now know for certain to be Hana as she says meekly. This must be yet another facade of hers as you can gather by now she is nothing but meek. “I came as the priest ordered me to. Your Highnesses are not yet married to the eyes of the lord, you can’t be alone in a room.”
She waits patiently as you hear Jimin sigh and grunt, pacing in what you can imagine a furious state, contrasting greatly with the image you built of him earlier on the altar.
“I’ll be right outside,” He warns. “Don’t you even dare breathe near her. We don’t know as of yet what this could be, I don’t want…Nothing happening to her. Do you hear me?”
“Of course, your Highness. I’ll stand over here.”
You wait until you hear his footsteps growing further down the hall. And then the wooden door slamming.
You wait as Hana’s feet come closer.
And only when she whispers, “And… Wake!” on your ear do you rise like a ghost.
As you do so, still a bit overwhelmed to have pulled such a display, you’re met with Hana’s smile.
She guides you out of the table and gestures for you to keep quiet, indicating for you to follow her.
You do it readily, watching as she opens a secret doorway hidden behind a tapestry, leading into a dark tunnel.
Both inside it, Hana closes the door behind you, cutting your eyesight completely. In instinct your hands shoot before you, feeling under your fingers the musky stone walls.
“Listen to me closely,” Hana murmurs, and by the proximity of it, she’s standing right to your left. You try to look her way. “Down this tunnel, at the very end of it, you will find a horse strapped in a tree. I packed it with food and some things for your journey,” her speech is rushed, you can sense neither of you has much time.
“This is as far as I can take you,” she says finally.
“Thank you, Hana, truly,” You try to put every sense of gratitude in the small words you can offer. “If we ever cross paths again, I hope we can call each other friends. If not, I’ll carry you with me with the utmost gratitude. I need you to know it.”
You can hear her smiling in the dark, “Go before there’s nothing else to thank me for, Princess, but alas- If it’s not asking much, could you smash my head in the stone in a friendly way? It’s no hard feature, you just have to-”
You chuckle, “I’m well acquainted with that, don’t worry. Just show me where your head is.”
Hana swiftly takes your hand and guides it toward her skull. She then proceeds to get closer to the wall and you tag along to execute the move.
“To make you black out or…?”
“Christ, woman!” she hushes, “No. Just to give me some kind of excuse when the King barges in and finds me alone when I should be looking over the future Queen of Ilya.”
“Oh!” you exhale, wincing at what you’re about to do. It won’t be that hard but it will hurt anyways. “I do this with the utmost gratitude.” You feel the need to add.
“Just do it—!”
You smash her head before she can say anything else, and as you leave her trying to suppress a wave of screams and curses, you do your best to navigate in the dark to the end of the tunnel.
For her.
For Yoongi.
For you.
You found the horse Hana had left you with ease. The white stallion was hard to miss.
Your mind raced as quickly as your heart as you guided the animal toward the dense forest. The night had been pitch black, the canopy of the trees above you blocking out any light from the stars. Navigating your way out of Ilya’s kingdom and toward the borders of Arden was proving to be an arduous task, made all the more difficult by your bold attire.
Your yellow wedding dress, though beautiful, was a cumbersome hindrance in a survival mode meant not for a party. Its skirts tangled in the underbrush and caught on every low branch. It looked like a beacon.
Keeping the mount atop the white beast had been also a struggle, the dress snagging and pulling at you with every movement. But you kept holding on.
You missed Solas. He was not only swift but pitch black as the night itself. Riding him had always been like a thrill, the wind whipping through your hair as you galloped across open fields and dense woods. This poor animal beneath you, that you didn’t even have a name for, by contrast, was a gentle and slower beast. Its white coat was visible even in the peering darkness, its pace frustratingly sedate.
You clung to the reins through the entirety of the night. The adrenaline that had fueled your escape was waning, replaced by exhaustion, a throbbing head, and a lack of sleep.
You hadn’t slept properly in days, and the weight of the past travels pressed heavily on your body. The steady, rhythmic plod of the horse’s hooves was almost lulling, and you found yourself fighting to keep your eyes open as you steered the beast Southwest.
You just have to keep going southwest, all the way. Then Arden will be there, your mind swirled with drowsiness.
Something sharp and unyielding wraps around your waist, yanking you violently from the saddle. You have barely time to gasp before you’re thrown to the ground, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs.
The horse, startled, rears up and bolts, disappearing into the morning light.
You lie on the forest floor, stunned and disoriented. Your vision is a blur of soft shades of orange and blue, indicating you have indeed snoozed somewhere along the night.
You begin to panic as the throbbing pain oozes off and a stranger points an arrow at your head.
“I wonder what kind of insanity consumed Ilya that now they are letting their Queens go on crusades into the woods alone,” his voice is rough, with a deep undertone that makes your nails claw at the earth beneath you. “Get up. Slowly.”
You take the opportunity to do so, with the dress you are wearing, it’s better if you are on your feet than in full display to your enemy.
Rising to your feet, you take that your foolish and careless act of rendering yourself to sleep awarded you with your captivity. Jimin must have ordered his men to search for you as soon as he saw the empty room, and as you slept through the night, you lost terrain on them.
Idiot. Idiot. idiot!, Guilt gnaws at you.
“You better kill me now,” you say through gritted teeth. “I won’t go back!”
“Kill you?” the strange soldier dares to look amused and a chill climbs down your spine. Oh Gods, he’s going to have his fun with me first, you panic. “Oh no, my Queen. I have better plans,”
“No!” you grunt, fumbling with the silk of your dress to get a hold of your dagger.
“I wasn’t asking.” he exudes confidence in his statement and you feel your blood boil.
He lowers his bow, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he starts taking slow and assured steps toward you.
This is a play for him. He’s having fun.
His eyes are a deep sea of black and he pins you with it, his stare so intense it’s like you’re drowning in tar.
But then they turn round and alert, snapping to look in the direction of a rust of leaves.
You feel the hairs on the back of your neck prickle, but you can’t take your eyes off him.
In a quick and sudden move, he grabs you by the waist, taking you by surprise at the ease he does it as he rolls the both of you to take refuge at a large trunk of a tree.
Your body is caged between the tree and his own, which feels like warm steel as he presses it further on you. When he covers your mouth with his hand, pinning you with his eyes once more, you notice his cloak.
A brown ragged thing that now serves as a disguise for both of you when he pulls the hood to shield his face. He can’t be a soldier, is the first conclusion you make.
Not one from Ilya.
His nose is so close to yours that it tingles.
And from this close, you can see a deep scar on his tanned cheekbone. You gulp.
“Do not make a sound, Honey,” he whispers, his nose brushing your own.
Ⓒ bluenpjm — all rights reserved. do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.
synopsis. faced with decisions that can change the course of her career, the art director of the cloud9 agency decides it is time to act and reignite the flame she had once lost. and all because of an intern…
genre. non-idol au ; slice of life au ; intern!jungkook ◦ fluff ◦ angst ◦ smut
pairing. JJK x OC
rating. M
wordcount. 4.8K
warnings. foul words, sad vibes and life not making sense, drinking, arguing, lying, just a lot of different feelings!
a/n. after months without being able to form a sentence, I couldn't be more pleased to be able to continue this series. to everyone waiting, thank you so much and I hope you enjoy this rollercoaster!
chapters. 4 — 5 — 6
Just as he had promised, Jungkook texted Carolina the day after. He continued doing so the day after that, and the one that came next. Slowly but swiftly, he attained Carolina’s friendship back.
Some days, their exchanges would be as simple as the man sending something funny he saw online. Others, especially when the messages deepen into the night, they would text for hours. They had comfortably conquered a perfect streak ever since that day in Carolina’s apartment.
Today, however, Carolina hadn’t had the opportunity to reply to Jungkook’s message. In fact, her head was in a twist over the message he had sent her the night before. I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever. Let’s hang out. She was up for it, no doubt. But she already had plans that were impossible to cancel. And if she said so, he would ask. Jungkook was as curious as he was shameless. So, she struggled between simply pretending she didn’t see the message and unequivocally not telling the truth.
Could it really be considered misleading if she was omitting information? In Carolina’s textbook, yes, omitting information was, indeed, a synonym for a bad thing.
Inside Carolina’s apartment, the energy is a mix of anticipation and enthusiasm as she and her friends busy themselves preparing for Jae’s surprise birthday party. Their situation over the last month had turned… complicated, to say the least. It somewhat resembled the chaos that had taken over her home.
Balloons in various colors cover every available surface, some swaying gently in the air while others lazily drift on the floor.
Deo had done the favor of gracelessly opening up yet another bag of balloons, despite the ones unattended at the table, with such force that resulted in them spilling all over, creating a small hazard that Hyori rushed to solve. Lu and Sarah were neatly hanging streamers crisscrossed along the walls, filling the room with bursts of color. They had also raided Carolina’s stash of fairy lights, draping them around the room like twinkling stars, the perfect feed photos already forming in their minds.
A makeshift photo booth had been set up in one corner, complete with an assortment of quirky props and a backdrop adorned with glittering stars and shimmering curtains. “This is going to be a great makeout spot,” Deo muses as she admires the final result, the old curtains brushing on the floor providing full privacy inside.
“My room is off limits,” Carolina says loud and clear for the room of single ladies.
“Noted,” Sarah pretends to take a pad and pen from her jeans back pocket and scribble on it. “Hookups on the balcony and bathroom only.”
“And photo booth,” Lu adds with a smirk.
“Kitchen counter could also be a good spot.” Hyori's giggle sounds far more innocent than her statement and if the girls in the room hadn’t been acquainted with her already, they would be shocked as the words didn’t match the delicate and innocent features of the girl.
The owner of the apartment can’t help but laugh at the witty comebacks of her friends. Drifting away from the photo booth, her gaze wanders deeper into the living room. There’s still a soft smile adorning her features as she surveys the space around her. She’s pleased with what they had done so far, but something was still missing. Determined, she approaches the coffee table, hands reaching out to grasp its edges, only to be met by another pair.
“Let me help you,” Lu’s smile reaches her eyes as they carry out the one-person job.
Removing the coffee table opens up the space for people to move around the sofa and as they rest it near the corner, their hands fall to their hips, admiring their not-so-hard work. Carolina purposely ignored Lu's curious stare on her, focusing instead on the task at hand. However, Lu's intuition couldn't be ignored for long.
“What's up?” Lu asks, her voice soft, contrasting against the backdrop of laughter and chatter. Their eyes met briefly and the girl senses there’s something on Carolina’s mind. “You seem a little lost—more than usual, at least.”
Carolina hesitates for a moment, her smile faltering slightly before she replies, "All good. Just thinking about how to make sure everyone has a good time tonight." Her attempt at reassurance fell a little short.
“You guys okay?” Lu's question hangs in the air.
“Oh, yeah! Peachy,” Carolina tries to brush off the concern, knowing that the photographer would see right through her. The room was too crowded and if a single word from this conversation was caught by any of the other girls present, Carolina would be in trouble. Although everyone meant well, she did not feel like chatting about this right now—or ever, for a matter of fact.
“I won’t press…” Lu sighs, helpless, sensing Carolina’s discomfort. “But you know I’m here.”
The last sentence is barely heard as Deo’s voice calls out from the kitchen. Seizing the opportunity, Carolina steps away.
“Thank God,” Carolina whispers as she reaches the youngest in the room. “What do you need?”
Ignoring the initial comment, Deo goes straight to the point, “We’re out of ice. You should text one of the boys so they can bring it.”
“Why don’t you do it?” Carolina raises her eyebrows, suddenly amused. “You have Hobi’s number.”
“I am currently in the process of getting over him and the feelings I made up in my mind. If you want all your drinks to be warm, don’t ask for ice.” The passive-aggressive phrase is accompanied by an all-aggressive smile. “Also, can I borrow your phone to put on some music? Mine’s about to die.”
Carolina nods and Deo takes the phone. The owner of the device notices as she texts Hobi first before searching for the music app. She rolls her eyes fondly at the stubbornness of her friend. “You should at least give him a chance.”
“Mind your own business,” Deo sings as her eyes scan through the playlists. “He’ll be nothing but trouble.”
As Deo’s about to return the phone, a new notification pops up, immediately catching their attention. jjk.97 sent you a video slides on her screen, a silent reminder of the text that was pending an answer from her end. Despite the turmoil, Carolina suppresses the urge to scream.
Deo remains silent as she waits for action. Just a few nights ago, they had discussed this whole Jungkook and Jae situation. On one side, the latter was dependable and gentle, a signal of safety that Carolina had started to enjoy. He was a sort of human Golden Retriever that always seemed to make her days better. On the other side, though, loomed Jungkook. Despite the pain that Carolina had somewhat managed to forget, Jungkook still had the power to evoke butterflies with his simple, albeit silly, texts.
Without exchanging a single word, Carolina silently navigates through her phone settings, silencing all notifications from Jungkook for the next 12 hours. Her heart feels a little lighter.
“Let’s see if that’ll be enough to take him off your mind,” Deo sticks out her tongue before disappearing into the living room.
“Brat,” Carolina shakes her head before moving into the living room and continuing the preparations for the party.
Not too far from Carolina’s kitchen, Jungkook was at his friends’ apartment. The room’s loud, filled with laughter and chatter from the two tenants, but if he had to be honest with the pair, he hadn’t heard a single word for the past half hour. Sitting on the edge of the couch, phone in hand, Jungkook had been scrolling through TikTok. He would always do this, but he had spent today’s watch time in stealth mode, carefully selecting the best ones to send to Carolina. Their chats would leave the message apps just to be continued on the video platform and he loved it. Teasing Carolina with videos had easily become one of his favorite hobbies and it was his way of keeping the conversation alive, of staying connected to her.
Today, however, there was no response. For the millionth time, he unlocks his phone and glances at his messages. No reply and no bubble signaling typing. She had left him on read and it was gnawing at him. He missed her. He wanted to see her. And he was too close to throw a tantrum.
Of course, every possible scenario had crossed his mind. At first, he assumed she was busy. She fell asleep during their conversation last night and today had a packed schedule. It had happened before. But then he got to thinking about whether something was wrong. And after he had gone through all the probabilities, he started to freak out. Was she avoiding him?
Jungkook’s fingers hovered over his phone screen, contemplating sending another message, when he was jolted back to reality by a sudden snap. Jimin’s fingers were right in his face.
“Hey, what do you think, JK?” Jimin asked, his eyes searching his for a response.
“Huh?” He sinks onto the couch and finds Taehyung looking at him as well. “I wasn’t listening.”
“The plan for tonight,” Jimin clarifies, raising an eyebrow. He hated when he had to repeat himself. “You’ve been zoning out for a while now.”
“Yeah, sorry man.” Jungkook runs a hand through his hair. “I was just… thinking.”
“About the art director?” Taehyung is quick on his feet. He might’ve forgotten the girl’s name, but he sure was curious to know more about her. She got Jungook talking about his feelings out in the open and that was a first in the long years they’ve been friends.
“Yeah,” Jungkook smiles sheepishly just thinking about her and immediately regrets letting his guard down as his friends’ eyes widen and they suddenly become interested in whatever kind of confession could come out of his mouth. “I just… haven’t heard from her all day.”
“Oh, I remember her!” Jimin remarks but he lies. Regardless, he’s excited. “So, what’s the deal with you two? You like her, she likes you..?”
Jungkook hesitates, glancing at his phone again as if waiting for some sort of rescue from it. “Well, we’ve been texting a lot. And I think we got a good thing going. But it’s still unclear.”
Taehyung crossed his arms over his chest after ditching his phone that wouldn’t stop ringing on the coffee table. “So, what are you waiting for? A signed letter of forgiveness? Maybe she’s just busy today and didn’t have the time.” He gets up, rilled up after seeing Jungkook so sadly slouching his shoulder. “Why not just drop by?”
“What?” Jimin and Jungkook ask at the same time, confused.
As Taehyung strides from one side of the room to the other, his hand falls into his pocket, an idea forming in his head. “Yeah, grab her some flowers or some food and drop by.”
“What about our plans?” Jimin whines and Taehyung is quick to dismiss him.
“I don’t know man. I don’t want to come off as too pushy or desperate.” Plus, Jungkook knows that Carolina most likely wouldn’t dig the flowers.
“Dude, you miss her right? Sometimes, you gotta go for it.”
Jimin nods in agreement. “Sometimes all they’re waiting for is a gesture. So, show up and tell her how you feel. It’s been more than time.”
Jungkook looks between his two friends, their excitement infectious. And if he stopped to think about it, it hadn’t been the first time that showing up unannounced to Carolina’s apartment had paid off. “You really think so? What if she’s got plans?”
Taehyung’s phone buzzes on the table again. “Jesus Christ man, who’s trying to catch you?” Jimin comments annoyed at the noise before turning his attention to Jungkook again. “You just gotta roll with it. At least she’ll see you’re serious about wanting to spend time with her.”
Jungkook exhales, “Alright. Maybe, I will.”
“Atta boy!” Taehyung claps him on the shoulder, smirking. “Just be yourself. She already likes you, man.”
“Yeah—yeah, you’re right!” Chest filled with his inflated ego, Jungkook smiles confidently. “I’ll drop by her place later.”
Jimin cheers, throwing his hands up. “That’s the spirit! Now, let’s finish this game, and then you can go win your girl.”
As the game resumes, Taehyung adds, “And remember, if all else fails, just be extra charming. It works for me... sometimes.”
The banter continues and Jungkook, amongst the sound of laughter, the buzz of the city outside, and the support of his friends, starts to believe that maybe—just maybe—tonight could be the night he finally tells Carolina how he feels.
Electricity can be felt in the air as everyone rushes to hide. The sound of hushed whispers and stifled giggles fills Carolina’s apartment, blending with the soft rustle of fabric as friends duck behind couches and crouch next to the available furniture.
Carolina’s heart raced widely from the moment she got Jae’s call. She’d lied effortlessly, telling him that, as per usual, she was running late and invited him to wait inside. It was a white lie, but still, it had left her nervous. In reality, she had been nervous about this party and her feelings for Jae for some time now. Everything was a whirlwind of emotions that made her head spin and made her feel lost. The silence in the apartment was almost oppressive, the only sound Carolina was able to make out was her own shallow breathing and the pulse pounding in her ears.
Jae knocks on the door, and Carolina feels like her heart is going to leap out of her chest. She quickly opens it, the darkness inside the apartment swallowing him up as he steps in. For a brief moment, it’s like the world freezes. Then, in a synchronized shout, everyone screams, “Surprise!”
The lights are immediately flicked on, revealing the grinning faces of friends and the vibrant decorations hung around the room. Jae’s eyes widened in genuine surprise, his face lighting up with a joy that made Carolina’s heart swell. Everyone in the room can tell that he is touched by the gesture, and his smile is infectious.
Without hesitation, the birthday boy crosses the room and pulls Carolina into a tight embrace. As his lips met hers, the world seemed to tilt slightly. The kiss was everything one would expect from a rom-com—passionate and heartfelt—, yet something’s missing for Carolina. The room erupts into cheers and Hyori swoons the hardest right by Namjoon’s side.
Carolina can hear the whoops and hollers, the clapping and laughter, but it all feels distant, like background noise. With her mind racing, she notices how Jae’s kiss is warm and soft, his hands gentle as they cupped her face. She is aware of the dozens of eyes on them and it makes her feel exposed and vulnerable in a way she hadn’t anticipated.
Breaking the kiss slightly before Jae does, Carolina’s cheeks are flushed not just from the kiss but from the intense scrutiny of the audience. “Let’s drink!” The hostess tries to act nonchalantly and Jae looks at her with a mix of happiness and adoration, oblivious to her inner conflict. He’s beaming, clearly thrilled by the surprise and the kiss, while Carolina forces a smile, hoping to match his enthusiasm.
The party quickly shifts into full swing. Laughter and chatter fill the apartment as drinks are poured and people mingle. The living room is a blur of color, the decorations the girls had worked so hard on during the afternoon glittering under the lights. The sound of clinking plastic glasses and upbeat music create a backdrop to the best surprise party of the year.
Carolina found herself slowly relaxing as she moved through the party while making sure everyone was having a good time. Deo, Hyori, Sarah, and Lu soon gather around the karaoke machine, pulling her with them.
The opening notes of Wannabe by Spice Girls fill up the room.
Deo took the lead, carrying out the iconic lines shamelessly after only a couple of drinks in her system. Hyori and Sarah danced along, their voices harmonizing perfectly. Lu added her own flair to the performance, twirling and striking poses that had everyone laughing. Carolina joined in but mostly with her phone, as this was a moment she did not want to forget and needed to record it.
Meanwhile, the other guests enjoy drinks and chatting in small groups. The photo booth, as predicted, was a hit. A couple stumbles out of it, laughing and clutching a strip of photos, their faces red from the flash and the drinks. The party’s alive with energy.
As the song comes to an end, the room erupts into applause. And, of course, Carolina and her friends took exaggerated bows, their faces flushed with laughter and exhilaration. Carolina is quick to pass the microphone to the next singers as her body slumps onto the couch with Lu and Sarah by her side, their laughter still ringing in their ears. They lean back, slightly breathless.
“That was amazing! I felt like I was 15 again,” Lu giggles, eyes sparkling with excitement.
Sarah nods, still catching her breath. “I still can’t believe I remember the lyrics. We should form our own Spice Girls tribute band.”
Carolina laughs, outfits already forming in her mind to fit every one of the girls. “We’d be a hit at every party.”
Lu grins, nudging Carolina with her elbows. “Speaking of hits, this party is fantastic. Look at everyone having such a great time. You did an incredible job organizing it.”
Carolina smiles and looks around the party. She easily spots Jae across the room, chatting warmly with Namjoon and Hyori who had run back into the latter boy’s arms. Meanwhile, Deo and Hobi had lost themselves on the balcony, taking cute pictures together, their giggles so loud they occasionally drifted back inside. “Thanks, Lu.”
“You really nailed it, Cece,” Sarah adds, leaning back with a satisfied sigh as she too adored her hard work. “This is exactly what Jae needed.”
Carolina nodded, taking in her words. “I’m glad everyone’s having a good time. I’m going to grab a drink from the kitchen.”
As Carolina returns to her friends, cup in hand, she notices something amiss. The front door to her apartment is swung open, a crude light ruining the party’s ambient. Jae is standing there, looking into the apartment with a curious expression. Standing in the doorway, looking equally confused, was Jungkook, his face twisted into an awkward smile.
“Oh shit,” Carolina’s heart skips a beat, a sick feeling washing over her as she rushes to them. The two boys who had taken over her heart were facing each other without even knowing who the other was. She felt a lump form in her throat as she approached them.
“What’s up, guys?” She does her best to sound casual despite the rising panic.
Jae turns to her, a puzzled look on her face. “I was just about to come find you. Heard someone knock, and then found him at the door.”
Jungkook’s smile falters slightly as he looks between Carolina and Jae. “I tried calling but couldn’t reach you. I didn’t know you were having a party,” He tilts his head slightly and Carolina can tell that he’s trying his best to understand everything happening inside her apartment. “Just dropped by to see how you were doing.”
“Come on in, man! It’s my birthday and this lovely lady over here decided to surprise me.” Jae side-hugs Carolina, his arm wrapping around her shoulders.
“Good thing I brought this, then!” Jungkook hands a bottle to Jae without even looking at him. His eyes are laser-focused, trying to burn into Carolina. She never mentioned this guy before and a million questions were starting to form in his mind. “Happy birthday—”
“Jae.”
“Jungkook.”
They shake hands, the tension palpable as their eyes meet briefly.
“So, how do you know each other?” Jae asks as Jungkook enters and closes the door behind him.
At that moment, Deo appears, her eyes widened by the sudden sight. Before Carolina can even begin to form a word, Deo swings her arm around Jungkook’s and says in the most friendly tone possible, “Through me! JK and I are long-time friends. Come on in, I’ll introduce you to everyone!”
Deo quickly leads Jungkook into the party, her arm still looped through his. Carolina only has time to trade some glances with Deo, silently thanking her for the quick save, before Jae steals her attention yet again.
“Great guy!” Jae is chipper, oblivious to who Jungkook is and what he means to Carolina.
At that moment, it was like time stopped and the lump in Carolina’s throat had gotten so big that it was keeping her from breathing. Things were already bad—she didn’t like the fact that she had been masking it for the past weeks, and now amplified by Deo’s well-intentioned but ultimately disastrous lie, it was gnawing at her insides. She felt like she was about to explode. Her mind was rushing with thoughts and emotions, each one more overwhelming than the last.
Ultimately, Carolina’s biggest wish was to march up to Jae and tell him the truth—about Jungkook, about the lie Deo had just plastered in their faces, about them, and her feelings. She wanted to clarify that, although they’d been having fun and he was a great guy, it wasn’t fun anymore. Yet, to have her peace of mind, she would have to ruin the party—the party that she had painstakingly planned. She had planned every detail to ensure Jae had the perfect birthday, and now it was all teetering on the brink of disaster.
Putting on a brave face, she plasters a smile and nods along as she finally loses Deo and Jungkook in the crowd. But inside, she was unraveling. Pretending that someone had called her, she quickly excused herself, “I’ll be right back,” she said, her voice strained but steady. “Go have fun.”
Carolina refuges herself in the kitchen. Out of all the places at the party, it was the quietest, and finally, she’s able to let out the breath she had been holding. It’s shaky and she tries to dig her nails into the napkins. The facade drops and she feels the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Bringing her cup to her lips, she downs the liquid in one gulp, the bitter taste numbing her from the chaos in her mind. She immediately pours herself another drink. “Get a grip!”
As the evening wore on, the party showed no signs of slowing down. The apartment was alive with a symphony that consisted of laughed and animated music. The vibrant atmosphere was almost enough to mask the tension Carolina felt.
Eventually, the moment everyone had been waiting for arrived: the birthday cake. The lights were dimmed, and the room filled with the flickering glow of candlelight. A hush fell over the guests as the cake was brought out, candles blazing atop it. Jae stood at the center of the room, his eyes twinkling with delight as he took in the scene.
As the familiar strains of the birthday song filled the air, Jae reached out for Carolina, pulling her close to his side. He wanted her there, wrapped in his arms, as everyone serenaded him. Carolina felt a pang of discomfort and forced a smile, trying to match the joyous energy of the moment, as she could feel Jungkook’s gaze on her, heavy and intense, like daggers piercing through her.
As the song drew to a close, Jae took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and made a wish. His face lit up with a beaming smile as he blew out the candles, the room erupting into applause and cheers. Carolina clapped along, forcing a smile, but her mind was elsewhere.
Jae turned to her, his eyes sparkling with gratitude and affection. He gave her a quick squeeze, his joy evident in every gesture. “Thank you for this,” he whispered in her ear, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. Carolina nodded, her smile faltering slightly as she glanced around the room.
The guests began to dig into their slices of cake and Carolina took advantage of the fact that everyone’s focus was on the sweet to slip away from Jae’s side.
Carolina steps out onto the balcony. The city stretched out before her, its lights twinkling like a starry sky. Leaning against the railing, her slice of cake droops in its plastic plate, forgotten in her hand. Chocolate cake—Jae’s favourite. She sighs as she closes her eyes, the cool night air a welcoming friend from the heat and noise inside.
“Quite the party you got going here.” Jungkook’s voice startles Carolina. Her hand flies to her chest as the sliding door of the balcony is slammed behind him. “My invitation must’ve gotten lost.”
“What are you doing here, Jungkook?” Carolina’s voice is stern, her patience running thin. It was the same tone she used when they worked together. Jungkook hadn’t seen it often, but each time it happened, he knew he ought to tread lightly.
“I came to check in on you.” His eyes are sincere as he takes a step towards her. “I honestly got worried that something was wrong.”
Carolina huffs at his response, her irritation bubbling over. Of course he did. She turns to face the city again, her back to him.
Jungkook doesn’t appreciate the lack of response so he continues, now standing right by her side, close enough that their arms brush. “Had I known you were throwing your boyfriend a party, I wouldn’t have come, obviously.”
“Excuse me?” The sarcasm in Jungkook’s voice makes Carolina see red. If she could, she would have punched him in the face right then and there. “First of all, he’s not my boyfriend. And even if he was, I don’t remember you being the boss of me, so I don’t have to inform you of anything.”
The answer doesn’t exactly please Jungkook and he presses his lips before gaining the courage to speak again. “You’re right.”
Carolina sighs deeply, fingers finding her temples and massaging them for a while. “You should leave—”
“Do you like me?” Their eyes meet briefly only for Carolina to roll them. Impatient, Jungkook continues, “Or him? Do you like him?”
“It’s complicated.” She replies. “And—again—none of your business.”
Apprehensive, Jungkook decides to face the city. “Do you remember the first time we kissed? In my car, when I took you home?” Carolina hums in response and takes the opportunity to admire his side profile. She notices how he plays with his lip piercing and how much darker than the night sky his eyes are. “I had been wanting to do that for months. I had the biggest crush on you ever since the moment I laid my eyes on you.”
“I—” Carolina tries to speak, but Jungkook cuts her off.
“Then I fucked up and you already know the whole story. My point is that in all that time, I never stopped thinking about you. And now, that we’re friends—can I say we’re friends?”
“Sure,” Carolina bites her lip, slightly flustered at the man’s monologue. Jungkook gives her a small smile.
They are engulfed by silence for a second. “I actually came in here to do more than check up on you.” His head hangs low and he laughs, suddenly feeling shy. “I want to be more than your friend. I want to kiss you again like we did in my car. And after the club. I can’t take you out of my mind. And I don’t want to hide this from you anymore.”
“I appreciate you finally disclosing what you want or what you feel. I really do.” They are back at facing each other. “You have been a pain in the ass to deal with and I hated the fickle thing you made this to be—I made this to be. Because it’s not. and yet I can’t give you more than this at the moment.” Realizing the course of her words, Jungkook can’t help the frown that falls on his features. “It’s not fair for Jae. Or for me for that matter. He’s not my boyfriend but he came close to being something for me, so I need the time to think about this mess. You can’t just barge one day in my life when you’re finally ready and just—you get the gist.”
For a moment, Jungkook is at a loss for words. “I understand that. Yeah—I get it.” He speaks almost in a whisper. “We’ll speak soon then, Cee.”
“Jungkook,” Carolina calls out. He looks heartbroken and it’s painful to see.
“Great party, man.” Jungkook doesn’t look back and his words to Jae who was standing on the other side of the door aren’t accompanied by a smile.
synopsis. soon to be betrothed to a neighbourhood kingdom, you escape into the woods toward your freedom. there you find your calling in the hold of a dark and troublesome stranger instead.
pairing. jungkook | you + yoongi | you
genre. royal au, angst, smut, fluff
word count. 1.2k
rating. M
warnings. ❗️so far yn is only angsty about changing her fate❗️
a/n. chapters will be coming out whenever I'm able to post and they may vary in word count greatly ♡
chapters. 1 × 2 × 3
You had been waiting for this little escapade since you’d heard your father announce your marriage to the King of Ilya earlier that day.
The world came tumbling beneath your feet as soon as you heard it. No matter how much you protested your father, the King, was irresolvable. You were not shielded behind your title like your brothers… Unlike the youngest heir of Keirn who wanted nothing to do with the crown besides partying and living it up to his rake title, you would give a finger to rise to the throne. And yet, the oldest of you, your brother Seokjin, who would eventually sit atop of it wanted nothing to do with it as well.
You did not doubt that if you had been announced as a boy as soon as you’d been born your father would have done whatever it took to put you on the throne. He had always favored you. And not because you were a girl, but because Seokjin did not possess the natural leadership you demanded whenever you entered a room, and because Taehyung did not possess the cold heart needed to rule a kingdom.
And yet your father did not think twice before offering you as a form of alliance with the powerful kingdom of Ilya.
He did not think of his daughter but of the kingdom. He put the nation of Keirn first, as you still wage a war with Arden’s great warriors and struggle to advance on territory.
The worst part is as a born ruler you can understand why he made the trade. With Ilya’s help, the unfortunate middle position on the map of your kingdom becomes nothing but a past worry. The soldiers can concentrate on upholding only one side of the borders.
But as a daughter, as a woman of your own, you can’t fathom why your once-loving father would deny you the only thing you ever dreamed of having—your freedom.
The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across the stone walls of the tiny cottage belonging to your secret lover. You met him years before this, thanks to his father’s high-rank position in your dad’s order.
Like his deceased father, Yoongi is also a commander; a general. His scars tell tales of many battles, yet his eyes, the soft ones he has only for you, tell you of everything he wishes your lives could be instead of this. That’s why in your rampant need to escape your newfound obligations, you found yourself atop your trusted horse, riding toward this. Toward him.
The air inside is thick with the sweet scent of pine and the lingering warmth of the fire. Your breath comes in soft, heated gasps as you press yourself against Yoongi. Your fingers tangling in the dark hair you worship, his hands roaming your back, pulling you closer, as your lips meet in a fervent unyielding kiss.
Breaking the kiss you rest your forehead against his, your eyes brimming with determination. “We could leave tonight,” you whisper, filled with hope, much different from the condition you arrived at the cottage. You had been a storm of betrayal and raging tears before Yoongi dwindled everything with his caress and soft-spoken words. “We could escape the castle, make a life for us in the woods… Just the two of us. No one would find us past the clearing.”
Yoongi’s eyes search for yours, his expression a mix you know of too well. Longing and apprehension. You could bet your own eyes were telling the same secrets. “Y/n, your father would never stop looking for you.” His knuckles caress gently your cheeks. “He would send all of the fleet to every damn corner of the kingdom, you know that.”
“They wouldn’t find us. You’re the best at what you do and I—”
“My love,” he pins you down with his eyes. There’s nothing but sadness in them. “You’re now to be-” He stiffens, if only ever slightly. “You’re to be Ilya’s queen. They won’t ever let you go.”
He won’t fight for this, for you. Why won’t he fight for you?
“But we’d be free,” you insist, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Free to be together, to do whatever we want of our lives.”
Yoongi’s eyes close in a thoughtful wish. Maybe his resolve could wave after all. He pulls you into another kiss, deeper this time as if trying to pour all of his emotions into this very moment. “I want that more than anything,” he murmurs against your lips. He sighs and eyes you closely before adding, “We’ll have to be smart about it if we’re even to attempt it.”
You smile against his lips.
You didn’t think your heart could possibly be more his, and yet…
A sudden noise from outside breaks your wishful dreams. Your intimate bubble bursts as the unmistakable sound of boots crunching on gravel reaches your ears, followed by the clang of armor.
Yoongi is up in a second, his grip on you tightening as he steps to shield you even if the enemy is still outside the cottage.
“No,” you whisper, your voice trembling. The only person to have ever known about you and your knight in shining armor was Taehyung. If your father’s soldiers were here… “They- They found us.”
Your spirit is crushed.
Not letting you dwell on what could have happened, Yoongi turns to face you, his expression hardened. This wasn’t your Yoongi, this was the general demanding your attention. “You have to go,” he says urgently, his eyes locking into yours with fierce intensity. “I’ll find you. I promise I’ll find you no matter what, but you have to escape. Now, Y/n.”
Tears well up in your eyes. You can’t leave him, you don’t want to. But you learned the same techniques as Yoongi did when little. You know that if you don’t split now they will catch you both. And you also know that it’s your freedom put in jeopardy, not his.
There’s no time to argue.
Yet you do.
“I can’t leave without you-”
His large hands are cupping your cheeks in a second. All of the resolve in the world swirling in his cat-like eyes. “No one will ever set us apart, My love. You’re blood of my blood,”
You are caught by surprise as he chants the words. But there’s no time to spare, and so you finish reciting the vows you know by heart. “…And bone of my bone.” You answer him gently. “I’ll give you my body, that we two might be one.”
“I give you my spirit until our life shall be done.” He finishes with a bittersweet smile.
As you rest your forehead on his cheek, inhaling for one last time everything that he is, he places a cold piece on your palm and a kiss on your temple.
“Please be safe,” you whisper close to his lips, your voice breaking.
Yoongi gives you one last, searing kiss before pushing you towards the back door. “I’ll find you,” he repeats reassuringly.
You can still taste him on your lips as you slip out of the cottage, your heart pounding in your ears as you sprint into the dense forest. Behind you, the sound of soldiers crashing through the door and Yoongi’s defiant shouts fill the air.
You don’t dare look back, trusting in his promise as you disappear into the darkness, praying that once the sun rises yet again, you will be not only reunited but in charge of your fates.
In your palm rests the reassurance.
A silver dagger in the form of a wedding ring.
taglist. comment down bellow if you want to be part of it ♡
Ⓒ bluenpjm — all rights reserved. do not repost, translate or claim as your own.
synopsis. faced with decisions that can change the course of her career, the art director of the cloud9 agency decides it is time to act and reignite the flame she had once lost. and all because of an intern…
genre. non-idol au ; slice of life au ; intern!jungkook ◦ fluff ◦ angst ◦ smut
pairing. JJK x OC
rating. M
wordcount. 4.8K
warnings. foul words, violent thoughts, sad vibes and life not making sense, drinking, arguing, just a lot of different feelings!
a/n. a really really late birthday gift to my #1 supporter of this story. happy late birthday lulu, you're the best! 🥺💛🌻
chapters. 3 — 4 — 5
It hadn’t been the first time someone had disappointed Carolina. It had been, however, the first time she had allowed someone to get too close too quickly. And that was a mistake she wouldn’t be committing again anytime soon. After all, you learn from your mistakes. At least you should.
She storms towards the elevator, her anger seething within her.
Carolina doesn’t care to collect any of her belongings that stay laid in her office—and for the sake of everyone in that entire building, it would be best that her little purple troll with neon green hair would be in the box with her stuff the next day. Horace—the troll—had been her companion throughout the most challenging moments of trite; that, and her camera. Cassandra never bothered to replace the agency’s old one that, for the entire time Carolina had been with Cloud9, had been broken and merely acting as yet another item in her glass office to be left to collect dust.
Already inside the elevator, she faces the crowd for the seconds it takes the doors to close—some people had already started whispering, others dispersed once faced with Cassandra, while the one intern that she cared about didn’t move; her eyes are on him and she doesn’t look away until the doors close. As she begins its descent, she’s met with her reflection in the steel doors. She wants to scream and punch someone. Wholeheartedly, she wouldn’t mind punching both Jungkook and Cassandra straight in the face. “Stupid Jungkook,” she mutters under her breath, hands falling to her hips. “Fuck you and your meaningless empty words.”
Her chest keeps rising and falling as she crouches on the floor, practicing her breathing exercises to calm her racing nerves, as the box keeps on dinging, signaling that she is closer and closer to the ground level.
Stepping out of the tall building that had been her workplace for the last couple of years, Carolina stood on the bustling sidewalk, the busy street teeming with people despite the hour. She hated early meetings. In fact, she hated all sorts of meetings. There was no need to have an entire team stop their days so that they could waste 45 minutes of their busy schedules to speak about something that could easily be an email.
Her work day was managed according to her own will. The team that worked closely with the creative director was used to her being offline in the morning and extremely active during night hours. Her brain became electric after midnight and they had all been able to coordinate a pretty balanced work schedule so they could communicate effectively.
With its modern design, the towering building loomed above her. Car horns, the hurried footsteps, and the chatter of pedestrians created a symphony of urban chaos that served as background noise for the audio message she was recording for her best friends, trying her best to veil her frustration and disappointment as she recounted the situation. She knew she didn’t have to lie; in fact, it only worried her that her friends would jump Cassandra in the street or key her car. It wasn’t like her to openly discuss her feelings. Instead, she made some jokes.
“But yeah—” She pauses briefly, phone momentarily touching her lips. “I’ll be seeing you guys at 8 pm. As usual. Peace out!”
She hits the green button, sending her audio through, before immediately typing a quick message so they don’t rush to listen to her recording. 15 entire minutes of her ranting about her day so early in the morning would definitely alarm them.
Her ride finally arrives and she lets out a sigh of relief as she climbs into the backseat. The added feature of no conversation was a blessing as her mind throbbed with frustration. Leaning back against the comfortable leather seats, Carolina closes her eyes and lets the soothing melodies of the music playing on the radio wash over her. As the car began its journey, the towering buildings of the city gradually faded into the background, replaced by the familiar sights of her own neighborhood. The streets became lined with quaint houses and small local businesses.
From time to time, she would open her eyes, checking that the normal-looking guy who was driving her home didn’t have a little bit of Joe Goldberg in him and took a detour to his secret layer where he would try to murder her. She had been devouring true crime podcasts and it had quickly taken over her mind—whichever situation she found herself in could be the perfect crime scene. Sometimes she even found herself looking for ways to leave clues behind so that the investigative team could find her body.
But as her paranoid mind came to ease, she couldn’t help but appreciate the contrast between the hectic city and the peacefulness of her neighborhood. The cool breeze gently brushed against her face as she peered out of the window, and her home was just around the corner. She longed for a cold shower, a chance to wash away the stress and frustrations that had been weighing on her shoulders.
Successfully arriving home without being kidnapped, Carolina takes the stairs up to the third floor. The elevator in her building had been making weird noises and after getting stuck there twice, she decided not to put her luck to the test any longer. The angels were probably worrying about someone else because she was having one hell of a day.
She feels exhausted and defeated. As she closes the door behind her, one of her shoes is already flying as she swiftly takes it off. The other follows suit. Tossing her keys on top of her bag that had also been thrown to the floor, she moved with automatic precision toward the bathroom.
The soothing sound of running water fills the room as Carolina turns the faucet, letting it pour into the bathtub. The cold shower is replaced by a warm bath that would hopefully serve as a place to unwind and let go of the stress that had accumulated throughout her morning. The day had barely started and she was feeling drained.
Stepping into the warm water, she lets out a sigh of relief as it caresses her skin, the tension in her muscles slowly melting away. But the feeling of betrayal kept lingering in her mind, as she could still vividly picture Jungkook’s doe eyes stuck to the floor, the question of why he hadn’t backed her up as he promised haunting her. Closing her eyes, Carolina submerges herself in the water, wanting nothing more than the world surrounding her to fade away.
By the time Carolina left her bathroom, she was surprised to find her living room dimly lit, washed in tones of orange as the sun had already begun to set. She fetched her phone and wasn't surprised by the thousands of messages her friends had sent her, both on their group but also in the private chat. She was expecting them to explode by the news—that, and that they were going to kill her because of the lack of communication.
Her wrinkly fingers wouldn't allow her to leave a fingerprint behind, making it impossible to unlock her phone. Her attention fell on the time displayed on the screen instead and she knew she had to hurry if she didn't want to be yet again late to their dinner date.
Carolina’s encounter with her friends that evening was based on venting frustrations and only after she had some drinks and shared some laughs, they discussed her situation with Cassandra and Jungkook. As she had expected, the two girls immediately began a plan to make the lives of the two people who were tormenting her friend’s mind a living hell.
As the evening drew to a close, Carolina managed to put her friends in their respective cars, calling one for herself while feeling grateful for them. She knew that with the two she would never be alone in her struggles and that they would always be there for her. But as she arrived home, she couldn’t help but check her phone for any missed messages. Despite still being upset with Jungkook, deep down she craved to have something from him—some sort of explanation for his reaction earlier. Scrolling through her social media, the feelings only grew inside her and she decided it was time to call it a day. Setting her phone down, the silence in her room is deafening and it feels like it’s spinning. She just wanted to close her eyes and forget this day ever happened.
As days turned into weeks, Carolina’s rage faded down.
After quitting her job, her days settled into a monotonous rhythm. Her once bustling schedule was now a simple sequence of actions that played out in the confined space of her house. The path she treaded between her bed, the fridge, and the bathroom would soon start to feel worn, like a well-trodden trail that could be found in the woods.
During the initial days of her newfound routine, Carolina found a peculiar comfort in the limited space, as if the world beyond was too vast and too overwhelming to face. Deep down, she had been craving this alone time; this silence—a relief. The constant ringing of her phone, which had once been a constant reminder of work-related stress, was now replaced by a soothing quietness. For the first time in a while, she was able to breathe in the stillness of her surroundings.
However, a sense of emptiness began to creep into her life. Despite the wanted freedom, an undeniable void had emerged. Her phone became a reminder and creator of chaos in her mind. Whenever it chimed, her heart would skip a beat, anticipation rising in her chest. Her thoughts darted between who could be the culprit behind the sensation of the mini heart attack she suffered with each buzz. Most times, it would be her friends. But those weren’t the calls or messages that she craved; her mind darted to the possibility of it being him.
Jungkook crossed her mind endless times per day. The man who, somehow, had vanished from her life. His absence, although appreciated at first, started to gnaw at her, the frustration and anger that had been her initial response giving way to more complex emotions. She started feeling helpless. The more shows she binged, the more she started to realize that her life, in that moment, was stripped of sense.
Carolina’s thoughts seemed to gravitate towards Jungkook with every passing day. She would catch herself wondering where he was, what he was doing, and whether he was thinking about her as much as she thought of him. And every time, she would end up feeling ridiculous by occupying her mind with someone whom she believed she didn’t mean half as much to.
“So,” At the sound of her friend’s voice, Carolina’s gaze left the blurry images that were displayed on her screen to face the girl sitting on the other end of the couch.
“Oh no…” She sighed, fighting the urge to massage her temples. “what is it this time?”
“How’s that portfolio coming along?” Deo eyed Carolina through her eyebrows as she sipped on the noodles that were fuming from the cup in her hand.
“It’s coming.” The short answer was an easy indicator of the lack of interest regarding the topic. “Ya’ know.”
The friend hummed and Carolina pursed her lips together. Her friends had been bugging her for the past week so that she would get some work done. Deep down, she knew that this was their attempt at making her leave the somewhat depressing state she had allowed her body to grow into. She wasn’t like this—the type to back down; cross her arms while the world revolved and she remained still. She was a force of nature to be reckoned with. And so, it was odd to see her so defeated.
That night, however, after saying goodbye to her friend, she didn’t go to bed. She didn’t slouch on her couch either, as usual, Netflix playing on the screen of the TV with the most recent drama until she either finished it, the sun rose or she fell asleep. Instead, she managed to take all the clothes that laid on her desk’s chair and moved them to her bed, allowing her to sit in front of her laptop for the first time in weeks.
The first couple of times she hit the power button, it wouldn’t turn on, completely drained of power. So, Carolina lost a couple more minutes looking for the charger.
It took some minutes for the machine to reboot and for the screen to make her dark eyes glow. Opening the first drawer of her desk, she fetched an old dotted notebook and started to outline a strategy. In her mind, it wasn’t that clear yet, but Carolina had started to define, step by step, how she was going to get control of her life again and make it incredible.
The visual identity of her very own agency wasn’t done that night. The sun rose and she continued glued to her screen. And after a couple of days, she contacted previous clients, explained her new situation, and offered her services. She planned to start her very own agency, offering her creative mind to those in need. A modern-day superhero, if one could say.
The first couple of months were hard—harder than Carolina had anticipated. Regardless, she was in a good place. After a long day, her mind didn’t wander back to Jungkook; she didn’t think of him at all. He had become a wound that healed—a thought that she managed to wipe completely from her mind.
Someone once said that the most beautiful parts of life were in the small things. Carolina’s small thing lately was the group of people who acted as her employees—some freelancers that she hired to help out on her projects. The group worked weirdly in sync together and they had been a constant in her life in the last weeks.
Lu, a photographer with a keen eye for art and amazing drawing skills, had become a close friend. The other girl in the group was Sarah, a writer who would often pitch in Carolina’s social media strategies. The three girls were walking to the bar after hitting the dance floor of a club for the past thirty minutes.
“Are you official, yet?” Sarah nudged Carolina on her side, head tilting to a table where 5 guys were sitting. The latter’s eyes followed and landed on the one who was trying to vent some air through his black shirt. Jae. Carolina laughed. “Exclusive, then?”
“We’re playing a dangerous game already,” Carolina turned her back to the table, viewing the ludicrous wall of liquor. “Giving it a label will only make it more complicated.”
“Those big round eyes—he looks just like a lost puppy,” Lu’s speech is slurred.
“Getting strays off the streets is more your scene. How’s Lucious?” Carolina joked wittedly, remembering that just last week the girl had sent her a photo of a stray cat that she rescued from the streets. It would be kitty number four now and she was certain that the it’s just temporary—until I find someone to take him talk was a big fat lie.
As the conversation develops between the other two girls, Carolina’s eyes fall on the subject of their previous conversation. If anyone had asked her about him, she would most likely say he's nobody—better yet, a work colleague; someone that she hired now and then to help her out on her gigs. But when her friends asked, it had become quite evident that their little rendezvous after work, which usually resulted in her doing a walk of shame back to her apartment the next morning and ignoring his texts for the next couple of days until work brought them together had become more and more common and Carolina was trying her best so that people wouldn’t notice how he messed with her head and heart. Their eyes meet and Jae gives Carolina a giant smile, which she shyly reciprocates before turning around to face the bar yet again.
People-watching was one of Carolina’s favorite hobbies. Her creative mind would go wild, creating stories according to the faces of the people in her sight, sometimes even roaming into the dialogues they were having. Lucky for her, the area is packed.
A woman, not much older than her—or at least she guessed—playfully twirled her hair between her fingers, a radiant smile on her lips as she talked to a guy next to her. He had the puffiest lips Carolina had seen that night and it was evident by his body language that he hadn’t kissed or been kissed enough that night.
Another man sat not so far away and, in contrast to the people next to him, he was gloomy. Head was swinging up and down as his focus was on catching the attention of the barman to ask him for another drink. That one certainly would have a hard time finding a taxi home. And that is of course if he wouldn’t end up sleeping on one of the benches outside of the club.
The barman that the gloom wanted to attract was busy taking the orders of a young man over the loud noise of the music. The man was leaning his whole body on the counter in a kind of boyish manner, trying his best to speak clearly despite his eyes already appearing somewhat foggy. As he finally finishes, the barman gives him an assertive nod and the man smiles. And suddenly it clicks… that smile. It sends Carolina down a spiral and she has to control the pulsating need that rushes through her body.
“Hey, you’re feeling ok?” Lu rapidly asks but gets no response. “Are you going to throw up?”
Carolina focuses on the man’s movements and sees how he licks his lips as his back hits the counter, attention dispersing to something—or someone—in the crowd. His silhouette was unmistakable amidst the sea of gyrating bodies now that she had found him. Her eyes dart from his profile to the back of his head and it’s like she has laser vision and it’s starting to burn a hole in his head as his hand comes to caress the area. It’s at that moment that their eyes meet for brief seconds.
“I’ll be right back,” Carolina speaks through gritted teeth, not noticing the man taking a double look at her.
“Where are you going?” Sarah’s concern is palpable in her voice as she watches Carolina dart through the crowd.
The pulsating bass of the music reverberated through the dimly lit club, creating a rhythmic throb that seemed to synchronize with Carolina’s racing heartbeat. The air had suddenly become dense with laughter, chatter, and the occasional clink of glasses.
Carolina’s eyes finally meet the man’s surprised ones again. Determination fueled her steps as she pushed through the tightly packed room, navigating the ocean of people that ebbed and flowed around the bar. Each step felt heavy, like a battle against a roaring sea, the tide pushing her back in the shape of warm bodies that added to the suffocating atmosphere. The scent of perfume, sweat, and spilled drinks mingled in the air; it felt nauseating, the surge of emotions of seeing him after so long threatening to spill over.
Her breaths came in shallow gasps as emotions threatened to consume her, and yet, the determination to confront the man she had managed to extinguish from her mind propelled her forward. Carolina stands before him, hands resting on her hips as her eyes lock into his. The world seemed to quiet for a moment, the surrounding chaos fading into the background as she prepared to unleash the torrent of emotions that had simmered within her.
“Carolina, I—” And as her name rolls out of the man’s tongue, she almost crumbles, getting hit by sudden nostalgia. His shaky eyes scan her entirely and she restrains her body from moving. Jungkook is only steps away from her and where she thought hurt would lay, a sense of antipathy is born.
"Cat got your tongue?"
Yet again, they were face to face. Had she been completely honest, Carolina was terrified. Her life was decent—good, even. She was healthy, and happy, and enjoyed what she was doing. She was proud of her projects. She would even wake up some mornings and go for a jog. But encountering Jungkook at the club and being with him in the intoxicating setting such as his car, with all those memories and all those emotions, made her swing back and forth between maintaining her cool and ignoring the feelings that hadn’t been dealt with and, instead, shoved deep down into her core.
“I am sorry.” He paced slightly from the end of the couch he was sitting on to the window. For a few seconds, he stared outside. And then he noticed she hadn’t even blinked. “I am.”
A long sigh escaped Carolina’s puffy lips. She wondered if he was trying to make her believe his words or if he was trying to realize if he meant them. “So you’ve said.”
“I mean it.” Jungkook sat back down on the couch. He stared intensely deep into her eyes, trying to reach the warmth of her soul, sincerity pouring through his, while she gazed at him back, void of emotion. “I really do.”
“Can’t exactly say your word means much.” She reclined back into the armchair. While Jungkook was sitting on her couch, she had decided to take aid in the singleness of her armchair, far enough that he couldn’t reach her. “You say a lot of stuff, but it doesn’t seem to have much meaning.”
Carolina knew that her harsh words and unfiltered sincerity were one of the things that bothered Jungkook. It was probably one of the things that always made him feel like he was walking on eggshells around her. He was the complete opposite. Politically correct, even. His expressions could fail him—although rarely—but he would always say the nice thing, or not say anything at all. Carolina would be truthful if regarding something she was passionate about, even if it meant saying something the other person wouldn’t enjoy.
“I know what I did to you—the way I acted,” Jungkook stopped mid-sentence, almost as if trying to collect his words, afraid that if he said the wrong thing, Carolina would throw him out of the window. She had already pictured that scenario only minutes after he had entered her apartment. “it was wrong, and you deserved better.”
“And yet…” She gesticulates with her hands, emphasizing their position. “here we are.”
He just wasn’t saying the right thing. And if Carolina could be honest, she wasn’t sure there was a right thing to say. Maybe there was nothing that he could say to make up for the heartache she felt. For the humiliation. And seeing him hide his face between his hands as his head hung heavy between his legs, just made her want him gone. And almost as if reading her mind, Jungkook asked “What do you want me to say? I am really really sorry and I haven’t stopped thinking about it and you ever since.”
And that last sentence was like a punch to the gut. “Ya’ know what? I forgive you!” Almost as if Carolina had been suddenly hit with a wave of good spirits, she gets up from her armchair, her tone chipper. “You are forgiven for being an absolute asshole and a liar. I am completely over the fact that you betrayed my confidence.” Her hands fell to her hips and Jungkook’s eyebrows furrowed. “So, please, leave. We don’t have anything else to discuss.”
Grabbing him by the arm, Carolina almost hauls Jungkook from his seat. “Wait,” his manifests are in vain though, because only when he enforces his stance she stops. “I think I loved you,” Jungkook’s eyes are glued to the floor. “and that freaked me out.”
“Oh, give me a fucking break.” Arms in the air, Carolina turns to face her wall. She takes a deep breath. “You loved me so you played me and then never spoke to me again. Can’t imagine what kind of father you’d be!”
He ignores her comeback, “I wanted to be with you every second of my day. I wanted to stay until late in the cloud room with you just noticing how the colors made you look more and more beautiful. You were messing with my mind and I was allowing myself to fall for you, even though it wasn’t appropriate.”
Carolina’s hand doesn’t move from the front door’s handle and she has to strain the laugh that threatens to leave her lips. Jungkook’s stance is incredulous as he doesn’t dare to look her in the eye as he professes what seems to be his undying love for the girl.
“You’re different and you’re weird and you have a funky taste and it scares the living shit out of me. You made me feel. When you smiled at me. When you trusted me with assignments…” Completely ignoring the girl’s wishes for his departure, Jungkook sits back on the couch again, this time on the armrest, his body facing her. “And then I get to the office, late as fuck, already freaking out, and see that scene. I was shocked. And when I finally came to my senses, I felt too embarrassed to reach out to you.” He speaks fast and his lisp is noticeable. Carolina sees how truthful his words are, his tongue poking the inside of his mouth as he faces the empty wall. “I was ashamed that I let you go like that, let you go through that situation with everyone looking at you and I didn’t stand my ground immediately like I should have.”
Jungkook stands up and Carolina’s grip on the handle falls. “So, you have every right to hate me. You can even punch me if you’d like if that would make you less hurt…” he walks closer to her, stopping only a couple of inches away, somewhat afraid that she would take on the offer. He gives her a small smile. “although I would prefer you wouldn’t. You look like you have a mean hook.”
She finally lets out a dry laugh, focusing everywhere but on the man in front of her. She’s trying to remain defensive, fighting the urge from her body to give in to his speech, to believe that he’s saying the truth, that maybe—maybe—this time, things can take a different turn. “So… past tense, huh?”
He ignores her sarcasm completely, as if switching roles and him being the serious one. Jungkook wants to take her hand that hangs mindlessly in the air but restrains himself from doing so. He fights the urge to run his hands through her fluffy hair like he had done so the previous night in his car. His brain can still recall how soft it felt on his fingers and how it smelled of lavender. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I know it’s my fault and I just want you to know that I feel like garbage for hurting someone who meant—means—so much to me.”
Carolina purses her lips together, focusing on the dirt that stained the white of his Converse.
“Can we start over? Friends?” Her eyes land on his extended hand and travel all the way up to his face. He’s hopeful and she can’t wait to touch his skin again, so she shakes it. He smiles radiantly as if a little kid who just won the biggest fluffiest teddy bear at a fair. “I’ll text you tomorrow.” Jungkook wants to sound certain but Carolina senses the shakiness in his voice.
“Just don’t spam me.” Carolina rolls her eyes while they finally let go of each other’s hands. Jungkook gives her one last look, providing her with a silent chance to change her mind and as she doesn’t, he nods, pleased, before leaving.
Carolina’s hands fly to her head, fingers massaging her temples as she is dazed by the event she has just lived. She closes her door, back hitting it for support and her focus relies on outside her window, how the sun had already set and the night had taken over instead, the sky painted dark navy blue while some stars shone in the distance.
There’s a knock on her door and she rushes back to open it, reason completely out of her mind, “Jun—” She stops mid-word. “Jae! I was not expecting you.”
“In my defense, I did text you. Not my fault you don’t look at the thing.” As he makes his way inside, chuckling, he gives her a small peck on the cheek. “Brought food.”
“Great!” Before closing the door, Carolina glanced at the empty corridor, trying to shake the weird feeling that left her stomach turning. It doesn’t go away, not even after she ate the ramen Jae brought. And so she takes this sudden unwell state to send him off. The drawers inside her mind were all messy; she had some organizing to do.
[ chapter 5 ]
☁ want to be tagged in the next part? comment below or send me an ask!
warnings: drabble short n simple, smut, mentions of sex and fingering in public, dirty talk, reader gets slapped, voyeur (?)
☆ note: my second drabble! again, english is not my first language in case of writing mistakes. pics edited by me. :)
jungkook is pissed.
after a very long time, he finally asks his sweet girl to a date. he chose his best clothes, the perfume you always say that smells good while sniffing his neck aggressively, bought you flowers..
he did everything!
and now there's a random man flirting with you while singing some romantic shit in the middle of the restaurant, on top of a small stage.
jeon didn't like the way he was staring at you, smiling, eating his girl only with eyes. liking even less of how you were giving all of your attention to that bastard.
things get worse when that guy picked up the microphone, saying loud and clear:
"this song i'll sing right now, i'd like to dedicate to that beautiful girl right there!" and pointed at you.
then the instrumental of 'careless whisper' started.
hah.
jungkook let the tongue touch the inside skin of his cheek, arms crossed right in front of chest while watching you getting all flustered, smiling shyly.
how adorable.
he's definitely doing something about that.
"babe?" you called confused about the feeling of your chair being pulled, and suddenly you're sitting by him.
"stay quiet."
jungkook's hands, decorated with rings, went up under your delicate dress, squeezing your thigh right before touching that place, making small shapes there.
"people will see!"
"so let them see."
when he knew your pussy was wet enough, two of the longest fingers was already inside, getting out and in quickly.
"koo.." you let a moan scape, covering your mouth with one hand after that.
looking at jeon with certain difficulty, he watched with a smirk that guy singing, his eyes open wide. probably noticed what was happening between you two.
and now, all makes sense.
your boyfriend was jealous.
that makes you want to tease him, but let him show you are his for everyone at the same time.
"you look so cute when you're mad, know that?"
"yeah, let's see if i'll still cute when i fuck you in that bathroom until you scream, perrita."
and jungkook really did that.
he fucked you silly in there, his fat dick eating you from behind, forcing your head back only for you to see your own face, that was a completely mess, full of sweat and tears. your butt? all red from his strong slaps.
jeon growled in your ear things like:
"you're all mine."
"that pretty hole of yours is mine to eat. only mine."
"see that messy face? mine."
"am i cute now, love?"
and he was happy now with the thought of everyone, especially that motherfucker, hearing your moans, hearing you scream his name; nobody else's.
Happy New Year guys and thank you so much for liking and reblogging my work. ♡ Creating this blog was the best decision I made this year.
→ Part of Rated R series (masterlist not yet available).
Pairing: Model!Taehyung x Stylist/Fem!Reader
Genre: New York in the 90s AU, strangers to lovers, smut
Summary: Taehyung tells himself every time he sees you how much he doesn't like you. He hates how you're so caring, kind and pretty much the opposite of his ex who he's still obsessed over. One day, he dares to taste you and that's when he realizes his hatred for you is transforming into love.
Word count: 9.5k
Warnings: tae is kinda mean at first, French tae again, dom tae/sub reader, unprotected sex, oral (f), face sitting, masturbation (m), breeding kink because why not.
A.N.: It's long but maybe not enough? The story goes fast, but it's only to make it easy for me because I don't want to make a series out of Taehyung's storyline and I don't have the strength to write 15k+ words lol.
Playing: Elle ne t'aime pas
"You do know that it'll kill you someday, right?" Taehyung spits the smoke out of his mouth, the cigarette inked between his index and middle finger.
He reads today's news with his delicious cup of coffee that sits on the table in front of him. He takes sips from time to time when he feels the tiny bit of energy he has leaving his body. He hopes his sunglasses hide his dark circles properly as people pass by them on the sidewalk, adjusting the pair on his nose when it slides a little bit down.
If only his agency didn't obligate him to pose for 6 hours straight, perhaps he wouldn't have to wear sunglasses outside during cloudy weather. He wouldn't have to party until the time indicates 4 a.m. or smoke a pack of cigs a day to release his stress.
Taehyung sighs, his head raises to look at his friend, himself reading the newspaper. "If love doesn't do it before." His words spill with melancholy and sore souvenirs are quick at coming back into his mind.
He sees her again, screaming insults at him, her face twisted by anger. Or at least that's what he thought she was feeling like. She's at his entry, telling him how much she despises him, but the second after she's hanging on his lips. His mind goes blank, fortunately, before he can imagine further things. Oh, combien je te méprise.
"Mh, what a poet." The other man hums, crossing his legs. He leans his elbow on the coffee table while he winks at a group of two women, giggling as they continue their path. "Why do you still think about her when there are plenty of beauties everywhere?" He plays with his pencil between his two fingers, his gaze following the girls behind. When they are out of sight, he turns around to write letters down on the newspaper's crossword.
"New York girls don't pick my interest." Taehyung responds simply, carrying his cigarette to his pink lips. He looks down at the article on page three, the title big and bright, begging to be read.
"They will when you'll no longer miss Paris." He rolls his eyes at his friend's statement.
His childhood city is not the problem, neither are the girls. No, if he misses something, it is the delicate touch of a woman he loves. Not his ex, even though he thinks about her more than he would like to, but someone who'd make his heart beat again.
Beats like the time where he played soccer with his primary school's team. Sometimes, he can still feel the wind flowing through his brown locks. Running with the ball at his feet, approaching the goal. He liked soccer, he liked winning games. He liked making his dad proud.
He doesn't know what he would think of him now, if being a rich model in New York is something up to his standards. It probably is, considering the fact that Taehyung left the poverty he was born in. The only thing his parents had ever wished for him is to do better than them and he did. If it isn't for his handsome features, he doesn't know who he would have become.
"I'm not like you, Jimin." The said man laughs wholeheartedly, Taehyung could really be delusional sometimes. He can agree that he is much more salacious than his dear friend, but let's not forget who accompanies him at parties hosted by rich young people.
"And who's me?" Jimin questions him, cocking one eyebrow. He smiles playfully, he already knows how Taehyung is going to describe him.
"A city boy." He says, his eyes not looking up from the journal. "A womanizer." He adds, an arrogant smirk on his lips.
The man in front of him chuckles. "Come on, aren't you one as well?"
Once a time, he would have agreed. Back in France, when he was nothing else than a cute face, he didn't care about his reputation he had with women. 'Le coureur de jupons', he was called.
The skin of a girl against his own was what he was living for, why he woke up in the morning with the intention of going clubbing at night. Their personality was no importance, a good fuck history of feeling something. A glimpse of intimacy he never had because nobody really bothered to befriend the poor boy.
At least he could brag about hooking up with every woman he desired. A chance that none of his friends had.
It's only after he was engaged in his first modelling agency that he stopped. It was also the time where he met his ex-girlfriend.
"I'm not." He takes a gulp from his coffee, licking the excess from his lips with his tongue. He finally looks up at Jimin when he puts back his cup on the table. "But guess who is. Apart from you." He lifts his journal from the wooden surface, pointing at the title of page three.
"The local rockstar caught in the arms of a fan." He reads the title out loud, scoffing when he realizes what it implies. "Don't tell me it's-"
"Jeon Jungkook. Yup." The man confirms, letting the newspaper fall on the table. He grins at the thought of his friend being scowled for sleeping with a groupie once again.
"He's not like me. I'm a heartthrob and he's just an horny teenager." Jimin defends himself, shifting his hand in the air.
"He's twenty-five." Taehyung rectifies, raising his eyebrows at him.
"Same thing." The two men sneer, mocking the famous boy who's always in some type of scandal. Jungkook is not the one to follow the rules of society and surely not the one who'd say no to sex, no matter if it's one of his fans or not.
Jimin gets a look at his watch, his eyebrows raising up when he realizes that he's late. "Fuck. Gotta go, but see you around, yeah?" He slips his wallet in the inner pocket of his leather jacket and leaves a ten dollar bill on the table. He secures the paper by putting his empty cup of coffee on it so it won't fly away. "Call me or something."
Taehyung nods as his friend waves him goodbye. He disappears in the crowd of New Yorkers, avoiding the bodies that are walking in his way. The man sighs, lifting his glasses up to his head to rub his eyes as he yawns deeply.
He got a new contract, one with Guess. His manager concluded that it was a good deal and Taehyung doesn't really mind for who he's posing for. Honestly, he has very little to say, but with his popularity, pretty much every brand wants his model skills.
The photoshoot is at one p.m. so he needs to come back home before he runs late.
She never loved him and it's like Taehyung had no clue of it. It was always love and hate between them, but he thought it was normal. He also thought that she was dressing for him when in reality his name didn't even cross her mind.
Sooner or later, he did. He understood that her kisses weren't for him. Her lipstick wasn't chosen for him. Her eyes didn't reflect his person. Her laughs weren't meant for him.
He had to let her go, and he eventually did, but for a long time he thought she was the last person he had in his life. She haunted his dreams because he thought she was the only possible key to his heart. She wasn't.
His heart isn't a locked door nor a broken vessel. It's pumping fast in his chest, screaming to him that his ex isn't the solution but rather the problem. He wishes she's still thinking about him in her apartment, falling asleep with his face engraved in her mind. She's not and he knows it, but his lonely soul would do anything for his wish to become true.
"Shit! I'm so sorry! Oh, God..." His eyes fall on the feminine figure kneeling in front of him, wiping a liquid off the floor. "I'm so clumsy, I can't believe it." Taehyung blinks several times, wondering what just happened. He looks over his chest and he notices a big stain of coffee. Why bother for the floor when his shirt is dripping in coffee?
He frowns, observing you standing up with paper towels in your hand. You look at the mess you made by dropping your coffee on him and your face is filled with shame. You bring the towels to his chest, trying to fix the damage you have done on Taehyung, but nothing works except getting worse.
"I can't believe it either." He says, exasperated. He steals the paper towels from your hand and decides to wipe the excess of coffee himself. If you're silly enough to spill your drink on him, he better clean it himself. "Who hired you? Bet you're a trainee." He scoffs, the incompetence certain people have will always amaze him.
"I'm sorry, really. I wasn't looking where I was going." You apologize again and you seem genuinely sorry. It was probably nothing but an accident, but Taehyung is very exhausted. He can't deal with trainees who only have 'bringing coffees' as their daily task.
"Yeah, learn to fucking walk." As he spits his anger on you he lifts his gaze on your form and he feels a tiny bit of guilt poking at his heart. Truthfully, he wasn't looking either. He was lost in his thoughts again, walking to his dressing-room by memory.
You open your mouth to say something, to defend yourself because he has no right to talk to you like that. But you close it. 'If you have nothing kind to say, don't say anything.'
He gives you back the soiled paper towels, pushing them on your chest so you can feel the wetness of them. Just to be mean, just a little revenge. He doesn't need revenge, quite frankly. You are trying your best, it's obvious, but Taehyung is so tired. It's the last thing he needed today.
Slumped on the couch in his dressing-room, he browses through an Elle magazine. His mom has always loved this magazine, she had one in her hands every week. He admired all the women that were featured on the first page, finding their poses and their model face so interesting. He loved the way they were dressed, how their makeup embraced their unique features.
They were beautiful, like his mother. He wanted his mother to be a model, to show to the world how pretty she was. On the other hand, she didn't want to. She was too shy, but when her son became a model instead, she was delighted. It was still a win because Taehyung was cherishing a part of her beauty.
"Tae, come on." His manager instructs him to follow with a wave. "It's your turn."
"Coming." He throws the magazine on the low table in front of him as he gets up on his feet.
"What happened to your shirt?" The man points the big brown stain of coffee on his chest.
Taehyung sighs, rolling his eyes as he shoves his hands in his pockets. "An employee dumped her coffee on me. I have nothing else with me, so I guess I'm going out like that." His manager only hums, walking where the photoshoot takes place.
He sees you again, fumbling through clothes and giving people directives. Why would you tell them what to do when you're just a trainee?
Makeup artists and hairstylists all rush to Taehyung, touching up his contour and his bangs. A woman applies some powder on the entirety of his face while he closes his eyes and scrunches up his nose due to the brush getting in sensitive areas of his face.
"Ok!" A man yells and suddenly everyone backs away from him. When he opens his eyes again, you're right there, clothes in hands. You're standing next to the photographer, which Taehyung supposes was the person that just yelled. "I want the jeans to be done. We have a shit ton of them. That's good for you, Yn?" You open your mouth to respond, but you're cut off right away. "We don't have a choice anyway. Come on, let's go!"
The photographer literally doesn't give a shit. Taehyung already feels the monstrous hours he'll spend trying fucking jeans and shirts. He would complain to his manager, but he knows it's not worth it.
"You- You can get rid of your clothes." His eyes shift down to you, your own avoiding him. He then realizes; you're not a trainee, you're the stylist. Of course you are. "And put those on." You hand him a stack of clothing. "I mean, just those jeans. For now." You point him a pair of pants. "With the shirt, obviously..."
Are you naturally that silly or has he this effect on you? It wouldn't be the first time a woman crumbles down over his looks.
Taehyung inspects the room, but there's no place for him to change. He has to do it in front of every eye because no one cares about his intimacy. It's not the first time he has to, usually it's like that for fashion shows since the time is running out fast. It's like nobody minds because anyway, he's showing his body to the world, why would it matter to have privacy?
As he is unbuttoning his shirt, he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns around and he sees you again, smiling because it would be rude not to. "I can ask for a screen. We have them in the back, they always seem to forget about it..."
Why are you being kind? He cursed on you not even an hour ago. You have other things do to than to care about him and he doesn't want your sympathy or whatever this is.
"Taehyung! What's taking you so long? Come on!" The photographer yells again, adjusting his camera, not even glancing his way.
"I'm sorry..." You apologize in a small voice, stepping away like a little mouse running back to its hole in the wall.
After three hours, the photoshoot is finally over. He has already another one booked with Guess, and fuck, he wanted to refuse so bad. He wants to lay in bed and do absolutely nothing, but is it his job to decide what to do? Not really.
He dresses himself back up, wincing when he takes the soiled shirt in his hands. Most of the employees have left while the photographer is reviewing the pictures carefully, spotting any unfavourable details. His manager is talking with someone, probably discussing the next appointment.
And you, you are tidying the precious clothes back on the rack and neatly folding them. You do it with an impressive precision and he can't believe that someone so perfectionist can knock him over, spilling a cup of coffee on him. But at the same time, working for such an important brand seems new to you, it stresses you out. You're scared to be told you're not doing good, not doing a perfect job.
But he doesn't know you and he doesn't want to. Taehyung shouldn't be wondering about your life. You don't pick his interest at all.
In his dressing-room, he hears small knocks on his door. It can't be his manager nor the photographer since they both left not long ago. Could it be you? You were the last one here, still occupied with folding pairs of jeans. No, why would it be you? Heck, why is he even thinking it could be you?
He opens his door, without a shirt on because he's not wearing the one that you have stained. Oh, it's you. "Hey, sorry to bother you..." You laugh awkwardly and he would say that you are uncomfortable around him, but for some reason you keep bugging him. "There." You show him a white dress shirt on a hanger. "Since I... Well, since I accidentally ruined yours."
He takes it from your hand, looking at it by turning the hanger around. There's a tag on, the logo of the famous brand written on it. Size medium.
You stand there, surely because you expect him to say thank you, but you quickly realize that he won't. "Again, I'm really sorry-"
Taehyung lifts a hand in the air, indicating you to stop. You do, closing your mouth with a confused expression on your face. Right now, you think that he is an asshole, that no matter how kind and respectful you are, this man doesn't want to hear from you.
"You keep apologizing. Stop."
"Sorry-"
"Stop." He repeats, this time sounding annoyed. You gulp and nod, finally leaving.
"Do you know how fucking crazy this is?" Jungkook exclaims, his boots squeaking on the marble floor of the expensive store. "Like, DGC, man. They only sign with legends." He is sporting the biggest smile ever. Taehyung finds that he looks like a kid, nothing comparable to the rockstar that he is.
"Mhm." Taehyung mindlessly checks through the Ralph Lauren polos and shirts.
His friend sits in a chair, his ankle placed on his knee as he wiggles his foot. If he wasn't JK, he would have been thrown out of the store really quickly. His tattoos and his piercings often send the message that this man isn't distinguished, but since he has money, they let him in.
"Dude, are you even listening? I swear, we should leave this place. I don't like how they are staring at me." Jungkook is referring to the employees, not minding their business as they keep their eyes on the famous man.
"They stare because you're a celebrity, Jungkook. Or because you're loud and drag your dirty boots everywhere." Taehyung smirks as he looks behind his shoulder to see his friend's offended face.
He pouts and repositions himself in the chair. "Don't talk about my Docs like that."
Taehyung laughs at him, shaking his head from left to right. He finally picks a long-sleeve polo off the rack, inspecting it from every angle. It looks like the one he bought for his father not a long time ago for his birthday. He had taken a break, flying off to France.
The house he had grown up in hadn't changed a bit. His room was in the same state he had left it in, his toys hidden in a box under his bed and his posters of AC/DC and Queen still plastered on his wall. When he was a teenager he was really into rock, it was starting to get popular after all. The younger him wouldn't have believed he'd become a fan of jazz.
When he gifted the polo to his father, he had looked at him in a strange way, an emotion he couldn't decipher passing through his eyes. He had taken off the price tag so he couldn't know the price, but his father wasn't stupid. Ralph Lauren is expensive and his parents refuse categorically to buy out of price clothings.
So that's the one he'll buy today. "I found what I was looking for." He says while walking to the cashier with Jungkook following behind.
But something - rather someone - cuts him in his tracks. "Taehyung, hi!" He snaps his head in the direction of the feminine voice, his sharp eyes finding yours instantly.
You're wearing a floral jumpsuit with heels. An odd choice considering your small height, but it suits you well. It makes you unique. He bets if you were in a crowd full of people, you'd be the first he noticed.
You avoided him the last time he went posing for Guess. You gave him the outfits without saying a word and went on with your work. You didn't bother caring for his privacy nor did you say the word 'sorry'. He would never admit it to anyone, but he watched you from far away anytime he had the chance to. Your superiors didn't seem to have any respect for you, never acknowledging your opinions. Taehyung felt sorry for you. He knows what it's like to be belittled.
Now, why are you giving him your attention, though?
"Hi... Yn." He greets you with little - indeed no enthusiasm. However, Jungkook seems very enchanted to see you, eyeing you up and down as if you were a piece of art hanging on a wall. Taehyung sees the interest that his friend has for you, and for unknown reasons, he doesn't like it.
"What a surprise to see you here! I mean, I- I didn't think I would run into you here..." Your nervousness around him would endear him if he didn't know you as the silly girl who spilled coffee on his shirt. He knows for a fact that you would have apologized again for the incident if he hadn't told you to stop doing it before.
"Yn... What a beautiful name you have." Jungkook outputs his seducing skills and Taehyung hopes you don't know him or you're not one of his fangirls. Your eyes shift on his friend and he has the impression that they didn't want to leave him. "Never heard it before."
He flashes you a smile. You can't help but giggle at that and Taehyung hates this sound. "Really? Thank you." You answer shyly and he rolls his eyes. You're too smart to fall for that, he tells himself.
"Do you know who I am?" You raise your eyebrows at Jungkook's question and Taehyung holds back a laugh.
"Well, you're JK, right?"
"Exactly." He smirks and Taehyung can't believe it when he sees him winking at you. His friend has no shame.
You laugh, but it sounds forced a little. Is it possible that you are actually not falling for Jungkook and his miserable way of flirting? Your gaze is quick to remain to Taehyung and it feels right, somehow. It feels like your eyes are meant to look at him and no one else, but it's non-sense. He doesn't want you to look at him. Does he?
"I was wondering... Is your contract finished or...?" You ask hesitantly, not finishing your question so it seems more innocent, like it's simple curiosity.
"No, actually it ends whenever they decide to." He doesn't seem to understand the implications or he just doesn't mind them. Taehyung is not the type to complain, but it's beginning to look bad. His ex would have told him he's dumb for not reacting at how he gets treated, at how he's not even considered like a human being at this point.
But you, you just frown, showing your emotions instead of telling them. You don't know him enough to say anything anyway, but the way your expression tells him everything, is just astonishing.
"I have to pay. Goodbye." Jungkook scoffs at Taehyung's coldness toward you, looking at him like he's crazy to leave you behind when you offer him your kindness.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" His friend shouts at him as he puts his article down on the counter and takes out his wallet. "She was begging you, Tae. You're blind or what?" He doesn't respond and watches the cashier pack his polo in a paper bag with the brand name on it. Suddenly, Jungkook snaps his fingers, making Taehyung turn his head in his direction. "She's the stylist, isn't she?"
"You're fucking annoying."
"She is!" He groans at that, wishing he didn't tell his friends about the coffee incident. It's not even that important, why did he tell them? Jungkook is walking excitedly beside his friend, enjoying how much Taehyung hates this moment, but he has to talk about it, unless the man wants to pass out on his soulmate. "Invite her out."
Outside of the store, the usual sounds of cars and honks are heard. The pavement is so large it can fill a lot of people, the absolute contrary of Paris. The two cities have a lot of similarities, like being the most popular and populated cities of their respective countries, but they are also very different on a lot of aspects.
They are both dirty and filled with rats, but Parisians are less stupid than New Yorkers. Though, New Yorkers are less pretentious and rude than Parisians. Everyone has their flaws.
"No. Why would I?"
Jungkook chuckles as if the answer is obvious. Right, maybe it is, but he doesn't want to know it. "She has a crush on you and how long have you been single, remind me?" He counts on his fingers and Taehyung laughs at the absurdness. "Two years and six months! When was the last time you got your dick sucked?"
"Jesus. Jungkook, you're-"
"Don't tell me it was at my party! You didn't fuck since three weeks?" In reality, he didn't even pull any women at Jungkook's party. He wasn't in the mood for a hookup and it wasn't worth his time, but his friend doesn't have to know. He'll annoy him even more if he tells him the truth.
"I don't have groupies that are waiting for me to sleep with them and even if I had, I wouldn't touch them with a fucking stick." Jungkook shoves him away and they both laugh together.
"Come on, my fans are the most freaky. You wouldn't believe half of the stuff they want me to do to them."
"I would, actually."
It wouldn't be such a bad idea when he thinks about it. He talked about it with Jimin after he hung out with Jungkook and he believes the same. You seem interested, and Taehyung hates to say it, but you're pretty too. Not his style, but pretty.
He looked at you today, though. You made eye contact more than once and he could tell it made you flustered. He enjoyed that, how he can turn you into a stuttering mess with one simple look.
He knows you're still there, as always. You stay late, after everyone. You want to finish your work or whatever you're really doing at the back. He just has to ask you to come inside and there's a big chance you'd accept.
He hears footsteps passing by outside and that's the sign he needed to finally get up. He opens the door, "Hey." You turn around, startled. You didn't expect him to still be here and talk to you. "Can you come in?"
Your legs move hesitantly toward him in your pair of flare jeans. They hug your thighs deliciously, and you might think your tummy is less visible in them, but it's not. And Taehyung finds it attractive.
When you're standing next to him, your lips part from each other, your upper teeth showing. "Is everything alright?" You ask and he hates how you care about him as if you were both friends.
You haven't spoken to him since you ran into him at the store and you approach him like he didn't turn you off twice. You should stop being kind, you should not let people walk over you. Who is he anyway to give advices when he doesn't bother to stand up for himself?
He tilts his chin to the interior of his room, walking in silently as you follow him without asking any more questions. He closes the door behind him and gets closer to you, locking his eyes with yours. There's a part of him that hopes you'll run away from him or slap his face for the words that'll leave his mouth soon. Another part wishes you'll make him forget about his ex-girlfriend.
He takes small steps closer to you until your back hits the wall beside the door. Your eyes look up at him in awe while his reflects nothing expect for your small figure trapped under him. "Are you into me?"
Your eyes widen open. "What? Uh- No... no."
"Don't lie to me." He towers over you and he hates how small you are compared to him.
"Who... isn't?" You breathe out shakily, arms secured to your sides. "Why are you asking me that? I thought... you didn't like me."
He thought so too. Taehyung is selective, he doesn't want to waste time by building a relationship he knows isn't worth it. But that's the thing, he can't know if you deserve his time or not if he pushed you away. He wants to give the impression that you annoy him because that's the only way he can persuade himself that his heart isn't free.
If his love doesn't belong to her, it belongs to nobody else, but he's wrong on that and you need to make him realize it somehow.
"It's not like that." He exhales, closing his eyes for a second before opening them again. "Be honest with me." Say the truth to him so he knows real love exists, so he understands that holding back can't always benefit him.
It's weird how he hates this conversation and can't seem to end it at the same time. Maybe he doesn't know what hate means. Your shampoo is invading his nostrils, a soft odour of green apple tickling his senses. You smell good, yet he tells himself that it's an intolerable smell.
"Yeah, but it's nothing." You shrug and chuckle, but Taehyung doesn't find it funny. You look down at your feet and your hair follows your movements, gracing the sides of your face.
His hands move up on each side of your head on the wall and he slowly leans down. He glimpses at your lips and wonders what they taste like. Can he know without getting attached?
You look at his lips too, but you don't chase them, you let them come to you. You whimper when Taehyung crashes his mouth on you, taking your breath away.
He places his hands on your hips, bringing you with him. He breaks the kiss as he sits on the couch while you stay up between his legs. He palms your thighs with his big hands and his slender fingers squish your flesh through your jeans. "Tae-Taehyung..." You call him with an unsteady voice, gulping as his face is really close to your crotch. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing." He reuses your word, his palms coming up to touch your butt. His gaze lifts up and he looks unfazed like he wants to make you believe that it's really nothing. The reality is that he's scared this will mean more than nothing to you or to him.
Love is scary, but that's the feeling he craves the most. If he could, he would go back to his ex and beg her on his knees. He can't so he's ripping it out of you like your heart has always been his property, like your love is due to him. But he shouldn't do it if he doesn't intend to give it back to you.
He unbuttons your jeans and works on your zipper to pull it down. "Wait! I'm not- I didn't..." His dark pupils raise up again, observing your bottom lip being bitten by your teeth. "Shave." You say quietly like you're ashamed of it, as if he'll push you away in disgust.
Taehyung isn't the one that'll tell you you're beautiful and that society's beauty standards are non-sense, cruel towards women. He's not here to help you achieve the level of self-love that you deserve. It's not his job, but he will surely not let that insecurity get in the way of having sex.
"Does it matter?" He tugs on your pants, lowering them to your mid-thighs. If he wasn't good at hiding his emotions, you would see lust dancing in his eyes and hear groans leaving his throat. Your pink cotton panties with a bow in the middle is the sweetest thing he has ever seen. You weren't expecting to have any sexual intercourse and it turns him on so much. "Because it doesn't to me."
He brings his middle finger to your core, your panties are drenched, a slightly darker shade of pink crowning the area around your hole. He swipes his finger along your pussy and he can feel your lips spilling out of it. You grip his shoulders when he brushes over your clitoris, pressing slow circular motions on the little bud of nerves with his digit.
He elicits sweet moans out of you, his free hand holding on your thigh harder, his nails sinking in your meaty flesh. He leaves sloppy kisses on your stomach, just over the band of your panties. Your skin is as sweet as your sounds and soft to the touch.
You whine as his annular joins his middle finger on your clit, gently flickering it and bringing you closer to your orgasm. "Remove them, please, please..." You form fists into his shirt, gasping when he presses harder on your sensitive bud.
He continues his movements while he looks up at your face, mouth half-open and eyebrows furrowed. "What? Want me to remove your panties?" His tone of voice could resemble to him teasing you, but he knows that his question is exactly what you want.
"Yes." You nod rapidly and he smiles.
He tugs your underwear down, your core sticking to it as he settles them over your jeans. His eyes then focus on your hairy cunt, moving his palms on the meat below your ass, squeezing it softly. "What a pretty pussy." He purrs at you and his hot breath tickles your skin.
He pulls you closer and he can smell you, smell your arousal. The odour of sex is really strong, but he likes it, unlike your shampoo. He supposes you're dripping wet, and just to prove his thoughts, he slides a finger through your folds, collecting an enormous amount of arousal.
He rubs his wet digit on your clit again and you buck your hips into his face, demanding more. He accepts, giving your bud a lick with his tongue. You moan out, burying your fingers in his dark brown hair. He kisses you where you need him, to warn you or to soothe you, whatever fits better your fantasies.
He sucks on your clit and you whimper, clenching around nothing but air. His hands continue to knead your thighs and ass, giving your pussy a well deserved treatment. Taehyung has always liked giving women cunnilingus just because he knows they don't receive them often. He can please them with so little, yet it represents so much to them.
Your nails dig into his scalp as his tongue moves side to side against your bud of nerves and he groans from the pain you're inflicting him. "Taehyung?" You say his name in a high-pitched voice, whining after his tongue presses harder on your clit.
"Mh." He hums against you, feeling your legs shaking under his palms. Your thighs clench around his head by reflex and you shove his mouth harder against your pussy, making Taehyung groan again.
You squirm and whimper while he sucks on you fervently. "Ah!" You gasp when he slaps your ass cheek, looking into each other's eyes as you unclench your thighs to leave him space to move. "I'm sorry... Just that-" You grip his hair tighter and you fuck yourself on his face.
He flattens his tongue on your cunt as your pleasure takes you over. You rut your hips against him, closing your eyes and moaning out as he holds you by your thighs. You tilt his head back by his hair and he winces from the pain, but he keeps his tongue out, suffering gladly for you.
From this angle, he can see your face entirely, capture every expression. He finally feels his hardness trapped in his pants, his tip leaking pre-cum and damping his boxers. He wants to take it out and bury it in the warmth of your pussy, hearing the wonderful wet sounds your hole will make with his dick pounding inside.
The sight of you humping his tongue desperately makes his erection twitch angrily in his pants and right now, he thinks he can never get enough. Enough of your body, of your smell, of your voice, of you. Enough of the way his mouth makes you see stars, the way your eyes nervously find his on the other side of the room, the way you smile at everybody despite their indifference for you.
"I'm gonna cum!" You tell Taehyung as you use his tongue to get you off, the knot in your belly exploding. Your thighs shake while you drive out of your orgasm, rubbing your clit on his pink muscle. You moan, throwing your head back and gripping his hair as a poor way of holding you from breaking apart. "Oh, my God..." You breath out shakily.
You slowly detach yourself from Taehyung, your hands trembling slightly from your intense orgasm. He wipes off your lust from his chin with the back of his hand, licking the excess off from his lips as well. You sigh as you look at him, incredulous from what just happened. Though, he's not done with you and you understand it when he begins to unbutton his shirt.
You then remove your shoes and slide your clothes down your legs, getting rid of your jeans and panties in a second. His shirt still hangs on his shoulders when you push him aside on his back and straddle his hips, your bottom half totally naked.
He frowns when you make eye contact and he hears what his heart is saying. It asks him; 'are you ready to feel alive again?'. As his black orbs are scrutinizing each detail of your face, he fears love, your love.
He gets out of his thoughts when you pull yourself up his body, aligning your crotch over his face. He wasn't expecting to eat your pussy again, but he won't say no to your silent pleads. Your hole has opened up, naturally adjusting itself to his cock as your inner thighs are sticky from your cum.
He feels his penis throbbing in his boxers, painfully resting against its confines. "Hold on, pretty. I'll just..." You wait carefully, your pussy dripping from your wetness above his handsome face. You turn your head around at the sound of his belt clanking, his long fingers working on his zipper. He lifts his hips up to lower both his pants and underwear, giving you the beautiful view of his big cock.
You gasp as his dick springs free, sitting gracefully on his tanned stomach. "Taehyung..." You seem impressed, looking at his erect penis with admiration. He catches the way your walls contract around nothing, a desire to be filled to the brim without you even realizing it.
"Something's wrong?" Nothing could be better for him, but you might think you can't handle him, can't take him.
You reluctantly look away from his crotch and then down to his face, hidden under your wet cunt. "You're- You're huge." You exhale through your nose and Taehyung deduces that he's the first man you ever saw as big as him.
"Yeah." He agrees without saying anything more, only shifting his hands to the back of your thighs.
With a last glimpse in his direction, you lower your crotch on him, sitting down on his face. You whine when his tongue comes to lap directly at your sensitive bud. Your fingers find their place in his hair again and his scalp is burning by now, but the pain cannot compare to the one of his erection.
You wiggle your hips a little as he stimulates your clit, reaching for more friction. He switches positions when he hears you whining desperately, needing more, always more. His tongue glides along your folds, pulling your pussy lips apart that were sticking together by your cum.
He teases your hole, circling it and licking it from your juices. His big nose brushes your bud of nerves, sending heat between your legs as you contract your walls around his pink muscle. The whole scene feels like a pornographic film, but with the realest reactions you could ever witness. You hump his face and moan like it's the first time you have someone's tongue fucking your pretty pussy.
His cock throbs on his stomach eagerly and Taehyung has had enough. He slips a hand down his body to reach his sex and a groan leaves his mouth when he grips the base of his dick. The sight of your pussy over his face and the thought of you suffocating him between your thighs make him so hard he can't keep his hand away from stroking his erection.
"Uhh, Taehyung... This feels..." He's all ears when breathy words stumble out of your mouth, praising him, telling him how good he is at eating your dripping wet cunt. "This feels incredible... Oh! my God." He squeezes the flesh of your ass in his palm at that, his way of saying thank you.
He runs his fingers faster on his shaft, spreading his pre-cum over his entire length. You're so hot, it's a shame he never realized it before. Nothing's hotter than a woman falling apart over his mouth.
He shakes his head slightly, giving you more friction against your clitoris that is pressed up against his nose. His tongue enters and exits your entrance at a delicious pace, moving around in you, teasing your sensitive spot. He gives you everything, relentless with his licks, spending all his energy for you because you asked for it.
His strokes are harder around his cock, the skin of his palm slapping against his pelvis. You whine, but this time it sounds painful. You still keep going, rolling your hips at the pace of his tongue. You seem uncomfortable, though, and Taehyung doesn't want this to end badly. "What's up?" He asks, soft eyes observing your face and you frown as you bite down on your lip.
You shake your head and swallow in a whimper. "My legs start to hurt, but it's okay. Continue, please." Whatever you want.
He resumes his thrusts on his cock, stroking his tip while applying pressure on it. He hisses before burying his head back between your poor thighs that are shaking both from pleasure and pain. Your hands move to the armrest of the couch instead of his hair and he misses your fingers messing his hair around.
You now rut your hips more greedily, your clit rubbing perfectly against his big nose. You moan and you chase your high while Taehyung jerks himself urgently, wanting to cum at the same time as you.
He grunts as you clench your walls, a sign that you will cum really soon. He pants heavily, feeling his balls tightening, his toes curling from the intense pleasure. You turn your head around and when your eyes fall on Taehyung fucking his fist, you moan loudly. "I'm coming, fuck!" You inform him and your hands return to their spot on his head.
Your thighs tremble and close around his fluffy head of hair, gripping tightly on strands of hair as your orgasm hits you like a brick. You whine and roll your hips on his face, driving out of your high.
That's all it takes for Taehyung, moving his palm up and down his hard cock like a maniac. He throws his head backwards, his mouth leaving the warmth and the wetness of your pussy. "Shit, shit, shit..." He grits his teeth and you can't hold yourself from looking at his hand stroking his big dick until long ropes of white cum spill from the tip. His cum lands on his stomach, his abs flexing as he milks his cock dry. "Putain."
Your attention goes back to his handsome face and your heart skips a beat when you meet his eyes wide open on you. His eyebrows are furrowed and a silence floods through the room, only your pants are heard.
He wants to take you in his arms, hold you tight and never let you leave him. He wants you, but he can't. No, he can't because then what would it mean to have you? He wouldn't be able to keep you safe, he knows it. If he couldn't for her, why could he for you?
"Can you-" His voice disturbs you during your thoughts, probably thinking this is it, this is the moment your love story begins. But no, not with Taehyung.
"Yeah- Yeah... Sorry." You get up from him in a hurry, taking your clothes from the floor.
He sits up on the couch, gripping the tissue box laying on the coffee table. He cleans himself from his cum and puts back on his pants and boxers. He doesn't even have the chance to look one last time at you before you're leaving and closing the door behind you.
Why does he feel weird like he's missing on something?
"Oh, fuck! Taehyung!" Your chest is bouncing around as Taehyung's pounding hard into you, relentless. Your pussy is still sensitive from your previous orgasm, but you take his dick anyway.
You're bent over the couch so he doesn't see your face. So he doesn't see your emotions. Since the day he brought you into his dressing-room, it's the same.
He locks the door, turns you around and bends you over with one hand on your back. He tries to convince himself that not seeing your face helps him to not get attached, but it does nothing but amplifies the thundering of his heart. And he's fucking scared.
What if you do the same to him? What if you start to like somebody else? It might happen if he continues to deny his sentiments, but he just can't face them, he can't face the reality because it's too harsh. It's always too harsh for him.
You whine under him, your walls clenching around his dick, keeping him stuck to you. He slams his hips harder on you, trying to show a little bit of anger, but it doesn't work. You like it, no matter what he does, you take it and enjoy it.
In his dressing-room, at the back storage, in the bathrooms, in the studio when everyone's gone, you do it everywhere. And you're good at it, really good. He doesn't think about his ex, not anymore. Not anymore because you're replacing her and this is new. It's disturbing, but also nice.
"God, it feels so good! You're so big..." Every time you speak, it makes his stomach twist until the knot explodes and he comes hard into you. Your voice is the thing he can't escape while fucking from behind and that's why he's failing miserably at holding himself back from you.
"Yeah?" He thrusts into you at a fast pace, his balls slapping against your thighs, wet sounds filling up the room. "Like my fat cock inside your needy pussy?" He asks, his fingers melting into the curves of your hips, staying there for good.
"Mhmm." You nod and whimper, his dick making you feel full. "So much, Tae. I like it so much."
"Putain." He curses as he throws his head back, closing his eyes. He knew how it would be at first, he knew and he still fucked you as if he could ignore the beating of his heart in his rib cage.
Your ass jiggles each time he bottoms out into your cunt, your arousal dripping down your thighs and sticking to his dick. You're so wet that he feels absolutely no restrain when he pounds into you mercilessly.
You were not made for him and it's clear that you both were not meant for each other. You're not his type, you didn't catch his eyes and your personality doesn't match his. But after so much time spent together, wether it was to fuck, to argue or to awkwardly talk about your lives, you finished by naturally fit like pieces of a puzzle.
Your pussy has taken the size of his cock, his fingers have left indelible marks on the skin of your hips and thighs, your nails have left red scratches all along his back from the couple of times you did the missionary and kissing has become a habit.
And now your two bodies make one.
"Shit, I'm gonna cum." His erection twitches inside of you, your velvety walls contracting around him. "Inside of you, pretty. I'm gonna cum inside of you..."
You moan at his statement, liking the idea as much as him. "Yes, please, Tae." You grip the cushions in front of you, whining into the pillows as Taehyung fucks you harder and faster.
"Yeah? You like that?" He receives a cry as an answer and it makes him go even deeper, if it's possible at this point. "Want my baby, pretty girl? Hm?" Imagining you with your belly swollen and big from carrying his child makes him feel things he didn't know existed. The mother of his baby, you, out of all people. You make him go insane.
"Yes! Knock me up with your seeds, fuck..." He groans at that, frowning as he feels his cock throb inside of you again.
"Fuck!" He bucks his hips into yours, his pelvis pressed against the curve of your ass. He ejaculates deep inside of your quivering hole, moaning out loud as he paints your walls white of his cum.
He pants heavily, trying to catch his breath while your thighs shake like a leaf. He lumpily thrusts his dick in your pussy, getting down from his high. He passes a hand through his hair, wet from his sweat. He slips out of you in one swift movement and you slump down on the couch.
Back in your clothes, swiped from all the remains of your sexual activity, you seem hesitant, wanting to say something but unsure if it's a good idea.
"Hey, you know... Your contract ends really soon and..." You fidget your fingers, looking everywhere but at him. "And maybe, I don't know, we could go out." Taehyung freezes on the spot before turning his head in your direction, watching your form sitting uncomfortably on the couch.
This is what he was afraid of. You liked him and it was dumb to think your feelings would go away by making you his fuck buddy.
"I really, really like you, Taehyung. I know that you didn't appreciate me at the beginning, but now... Perhaps it has changed." You look at him and flash him a sweet smile. He avoids your gaze, stepping away from you, breaking your proximity. "Would you? Would like to...?" You follow him, chasing his love, his affection he refuses to give you back.
"No." You frown as he faces you again, his abrupt answer making you gulp. "I can't- I can't..." Taehyung searches for his words while you stand there, looking like a hurt puppy. "You can't ask me what I can't give you, okay? You can't."
"What do you mean, Tae?" You dare to move closer to him. "You have to feel the same as me, right? You- You tell me all those things and..." Your eyes shift down to the floor, ashamed of yourself, feeling stupid to have thought he would have accepted.
You're not asking him a lot, just a date, just a simple date where you would learn more about each other. His heart wants it, but he doesn't want to go this path again, he's not ready.
"I can't give you love. I don't want to." His voice is stern and in your eyes, he seems heartless. In reality, he's broken. Only broken. "You'll hurt me, I'll hurt you and, fuck, I just can't."
Normally, you would be gone by now. She would, his ex would have left him alone. But no, you have to stay, you have to be stubborn. "Taehyung, it's okay, I'm not asking you to love me. I understand that you might not be ready and it's fine, really."
You lock eyes with him, and all he sees is the purest soul to have ever landed on this earth. He's aware of his beating heart, of the butterflies flapping their wings inside his stomach. It's obvious, it has always been clear, he just denied it, over and over again until you finally pluck up courage.
"I love you." The words slip out of his mouth and your eyes light up. "I don't know how to give it to you, though. I don't deserve you, I don't deserve someone like you who loves so easily..."
For so long, he thought he wasn't able to love anymore, not after she ripped him apart. He saw her in every woman and it was devastating how he couldn't detach himself from her. And if he just refused to love anyone, he supposed it would be less difficult, less tiring.
He was the one who locked up his heart in a cage, giving the key to his ex who didn't even care because for him, she was the single person capable of bringing him joy and comfort.
Everything became untrue when he met you, when you spilled your coffee on him. You made him feel angry at first, but it was so subtle that he confused it with love.
"Oh, Taehyung..." You take his hand in yours, swiping your thumb over the back of his hand. His eyes are on you, listening closely to your gentle voice. "Love isn't meant to be easy. It's not always pleasant or hurtful." You speak with tenderness, reaching his poor heart, wanting nothing but to escape its cage. "We have to make it work because it's worth it."
You are... right.
Running away isn't the solution, sticking to the past either. He wants you and he'll do his best for you, to have you by his side no matter what. That's what he needs.
There's no such thing as a key to a heart because he decides who he wants to love. Taehyung isn't a lost soul or a broken heart, and even if he was, you would be the angel to bring him back to life.
"Happy birthday, baby." You smile at Taehyung with your arms around his shoulders, caressing his hair. He smiles back at you, and you swear nothing will bring you more joy than seeing him happy.
You peck his nose on your tiptoes because this man is too tall for his own good. He tightens his grip around your waist, bringing you closer to his chest. He looks fabulous in his little suit, a white shirt underneath his brown vest with a cute tie that you specifically bought for his special day.
"Thanks, pretty." He swings the both of you from left to right to the beat of the music. You giggle as he sports this charming expression on his face, one eyebrow lifted and a smug smirk on his lips.
You sigh contently after your laugh has died, looking into Taehyung's eyes. If you were in a cartoon, his eyes would be heart-shaped, literally. You can't help but smile. "Do you like it?" You ask him, tilting your head to the side.
He looks around him, watching the group of jazz playing beside them, then the old couples also dancing around like you and Taehyung. "I adore it." He responds, giving your lips a soft and passionate kiss.
Since Taehyung has quit his model agency for a better one, things are easier and he seems much happier. You stayed by his side during all the procedure, supporting him as his girlfriend. He talks a lot about his emotions now and you can help him this way.
He made the cover of Vogue France not a long time ago. He had to travel to France and he brought you with him. You met his parents, two lovely people who have so much to give. You think his mother quite likes you, she was impressed by your stylist career. However, his father, you don't know. He's really difficult to decipher, like his son.
You have seen Jungkook again and you also met Jimin, Taehyung's best friend. The three of them are really close and you were enchanted to get to know them. They are great friends for your boyfriend.
"Do you want to go to Jungkook's afterparty?" He chuckles at that, showing you his boxy smile.
"I doubt you would have fun there..." He raises his eyebrows as you remain confused, asking him why. "You know, lots of celebrities, lots of girls... Lots of drugs!"
You laugh, shaking your head from side to side. "Okay, okay, I get it, but he threw that party for you, baby." You slide your palms down his shoulders, patting his chest.
"I know, but I'd rather spend the night with you and make love to you..." You feel your face burning at his confession, but you still smile anyway, giving his chest a little tap. He laughs, making you twirl around before catching you in his arms again. "I love you." He whispers, his hot breath tickling your skin.
synopsis. you are a renowned special agent from kcia and a particular mission is appointed to you. an unsound terrorist is on the run, and to make it worse, you partner up with a guy you hate. to catch this man, you are sent disguised as a newlywed couple, and in the process, everything happens. a lot of danger, mystery, and tension. jeon jungkook is definitely the one to blame for the latter.
pairing. jungkook | reader
genre. secret agents au + angst, fluff, smut
word count. 4847
warnings. threats, mentions of terrorists, foul language, and jk running around shirtless bc that itself is a warning to my heart
a/n. it’s been a while, but we back ! this chapter is now fully rewritten ♡
germansingergirl
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