Who loves giving, who prefers receiving, and who’s obsessed with both
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Purely fictional. Just filthy fan imagination. Enjoy responsibly 😌
bts masterlist
my main list
Kim Namjoon (RM)
Prefers: Both, but especially loves giving.
Namjoon is a man of power and precision, and when it comes to oral sex, he takes control. When he goes down on you, it’s not just to tease—it’s to ruin you. He uses his mouth like a weapon of mass destruction.
Holds your thighs wide open and keeps you there.
Moans against your pussy like he’s addicted to the taste.
When he’s receiving, he gives instructions: “Look at me,” “Deeper, baby.”
After oral, he praises you: “You were so good for me. Now let me return the favor.”
Extra: He cums deep in your throat with a low growl and tight grip on your head.
Kim Seokjin (Jin)
Prefers: Receiving, but takes pride in giving if it makes you scream.
Jin loves to be spoiled like the king he is. He’s vocal, dramatic, and obsessed with how good your mouth feels. But if he gets you trembling, he’ll flash that smug smile and go down to show you what royalty tastes like.
Locks eyes while you suck him and moans with zero shame.
When he cums, he’s loud and expressive: “Oh fuck, that was…”
Gives oral like a mission: “I’m not stopping until you cum three times.”
Extra: He’s the type to want morning head—and will give you breakfast after.
---
Min Yoongi (SUGA)
Prefers: Giving. Giving. GIVING.
Yoongi’s quiet, but when it comes to eating you out, he turns feral. He’s slow, intentional, and makes you wait. He doesn’t just make you cum—he makes you sob.
Loves to hear you beg: “Please just fuck me,” and he smirks, “Not yet.”
Silent but intense while receiving, occasionally cursing under his breath.
Cums in your mouth with a shaky groan and clenched fists.
Extra: Will wake you up with his mouth on you and won’t stop until you collapse.
---
Jung Hoseok (J-Hope)
Prefers: Both. Oral is fun, messy, and joyful for him.
Hobi gets turned on by your pleasure. He lives to hear you moan, and he’s playful about it. He’ll joke while teasing your clit, laugh when you squirm, and lick you like you’re dessert.
Says the filthiest things in the sweetest tone.
Grinds into your mouth while receiving, moaning and laughing.
69? His absolute favorite position.
Extra: He giggles while cumming, telling you how fucking sexy you are.
---
Park Jimin
Prefers: Receiving, but gives oral with love and a bit of possessive sweetness.
Jimin melts when you’re on your knees. He holds your head gently, moans loud, praises you between gasps. But when he’s eating you out, he turns into a sweet demon. Soft eyes, but intense tongue.
Whispers praises while receiving: “So good to me, hmm?”
Licks slowly and sensually, always watching your face.
Kisses your inner thighs after making you cum, proud and affectionate.
Extra: His face gets soaked and he loves the mess.
---
Kim Taehyung (V)
Prefers: Both, but receiving turns him into a whole different beast.
Taehyung sprawls out, eyes half-lidded, lips parted, letting you worship him while he murmurs your name like a prayer. But when he’s going down on you—it’s like painting with his tongue.
Alternates between tongue and fingers like a fucking artist.
Moans low and deep when you suck him off.
Kisses you after eating you out like he’s tasting himself on your lips.
Extra: Loves when you’re on all fours just to suck him from underneath.
---
Jeon Jungkook
Prefers: Both. Oral is religion.
Jungkook is intense. When he’s getting head, he moans, trembles, and grips your hair like he’s losing control. But when he’s giving, you're not surviving. He’ll lick, suck, finger, devour until you’re sobbing for mercy.
Sucks like he’s trying to pull your soul out.
While receiving, he talks dirty: “Can you take it all, baby?”
Loves cumming in your mouth and watching you swallow every drop.
Extra: He might record it—secretly or with your permission. He likes to watch later.
summary: You thought you could read them. Tell truth from lies. But in that place, nothing is what it seems, and they know exactly how to keep you off balance. Now, you're not even sure who you are anymore.
pairing: Jungkook x fem!reader.
trope: Dark roommates / Criminally affiliated residence, Psychological slow-burn tension.
warnings: Psychological manipulation, Gaslighting/ Mind games, Emotional tension and a constant sense of danger, Potential violence (physical/ psychological), Organized crime, Illicit activities, Moral ambiguity, Kinda of smut.
-TEASER
-CHAPTER 0.1
-CHAPTER 0.2
-CHAPTER 0.3
-CHAPTER 0.4
-CHAPTER 0.5
-CHAPTER 0.6
——————————————————————————
Jungkook was the one everyone underestimated.
The youngest, the most impulsive, the one most ready to throw punches even just for breathing too loudly.
Someone who kept quiet, watched, and then moved without asking.
A guard dog: loyal, fierce, and capable of tearing your throat out if you got close to the wrong people.
You had always seen him that way.
And it worked for you.
You knew how to use him.
——————————————————————————
The backroom smelled of old oil and cigarette smoke.
It wasn’t the kind of place where quiet things happen.
And yet that night it felt even heavier, as if the air itself were waiting to scream.
You were sitting on the crate, hands in your hair, listening to the silence.
Then you heard it: the sound of footsteps, fast, uneven, and that door creaking as if it were afraid to open.
Jungkook entered without knocking.
Torn shirt, tight lips, eyes searching for something in the dark and not finding it.
He was breathing weirdly. Not the usual ragged breathing after a fight. Something colder.
And you understood immediately that this time it was different.
“Move,” he said.
Not a greeting, not an explanation.
His voice was shaking.
You followed him.
If he talked to you like that, it was serious.
Very serious.
As soon as you reached the storage room, one glance was enough to understand.
The stain on the floor.
The hunting knife he kept for protection, lying far away.
The overturned chair.
And the silence.
“Holy shit…” you murmured.
He didn’t answer.
“Talk.”
“He targeted Nam.”
The sentence came out like a dry shot.
“I found out he’d been talking to those bastards at the port. Today he was ready to… to make him disappear. I swear, I just wanted to… fuck, I wanted to stop him, and… I reacted. That’s it.”
He looked at you like he needed someone to confirm he wasn’t losing his mind, and his voice trembled as if every word could choke him.
“You killed someone to save Namjoon,” you said.
“I broke the rule.”
And that was where the real fear was.
“If Nam finds out, I’m dead. If anyone finds out, I’m dead. They won’t understand. For them the rule comes before everything.”
“And instead you chose the person.”
Jungkook lowered his gaze.
“I fucked up.”
“Yes. But I’ll take care of it. Now listen and don’t talk.”
——————————————————————————
Minutes passed. Maybe hours. You didn’t know.
You worked between crates and dust.
He followed you like an anxious shadow, sometimes breathing in jerks, sometimes stopping to stare at the stain on the floor.
“Stop,” you snapped.
“You’re making me nervous.”
“I don’t want… to be alone.”
He ran a hand through his hair.
“If I’m alone, I think. And if I think, I feel like throwing up.”
“You saved Namjoon. Period.”
“And if they find out?”
He stepped closer, too close.
Again.
“They live for that rule. And I broke it. And if they find the body? And if Yoongi smells something? He always understands everything. Always.”
“Yoongi won’t understand shit if you behave and keep quiet.”
“I don’t know how to keep quiet.”
“Then learn tonight.”
He looked at you like you were using black magic.
Then it happened.
The moment he lost the last fragment of control he had left.
He grabbed your wrist.
His hand was trembling.
“Why are you helping me?”
It wasn’t an accusation.
It was fear.
Pure fear.
“Because if they catch you, the whole gang falls,” you answered.
“And I don’t want to end up in the shit with you.”
It wasn’t true.
It wasn’t false.
Jungkook stepped even closer.
“You’re the only one who knows what I did.”
“So?”
“So… if you disappear, if you talk, if you—”
“I won’t do anything.”
You cut him off.
“Now breathe.”
He inhaled.
Badly.
Shaking.
“I’m scared, fuck,” he confessed.
“Scared that Nam will look at me like he doesn’t recognize me. Scared that Jin will be disgusted. Scared that Yoongi will figure it out. Scared that Hoseok won’t talk to me anymore. Scared that Jimin will notice and pin me down with one of his damn sentences. Scared that Taehyung will do everything to get me kicked out.”
“No one will understand anything. They’re not as smart as they think.”
Jungkook closed his eyes.
A second.
Too long.
When he opened them, it happened.
——————————————————————————
He kissed you.
It wasn’t romantic.
It wasn’t gentle.
It was desperate.
Like someone about to break apart and using you as their last lifeline.
You didn’t stop him.
Not right away.
The rest happened in silence, against the wall, between hands shaking harder than the light above your heads.
Dirty, urgent sex, born from adrenaline and guilt, not desire.
And yet… there was a strange intimacy.
One you’d never admit out loud.
When it was over, you stayed sitting on the floor, breathing in ragged bursts.
“It shouldn’t have happened,” he whispered.
“Neither should the murder.”
“What do I do tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow you do what you always do.
You wake up, you train, you talk to the others.
You do NOT look guilty.
You don’t lower your eyes.
You don’t act like a beaten dog.
And above all: you don’t open your mouth.”
“And you?”
“I don’t betray anyone.”
You lied.
Without blinking.
And he believed you.
That was the problem.
You weren’t their ally.
And they hadn’t figured it out.
Yet.
Only one chapter was missing.
And it would be yours.
——————————————————————————
You left the boy sitting on the floor, using the excuse of the hour, and that someone could wake up any moment.
Once back in your room, you didn’t waste a second. You wrote everything in your diary.
-Jeon Jungkook.
Unplanned operation.
One down.
Evidence erased.
Gang in the dark.
And it must stay that way.
Jungkook broke the most sacred rule.
And not because he wanted to.
Because someone was about to take out Namjoon.
He’s impulsive.
He’s loyal.
And his loyalty will rot him.
He’s scared.
Not of the murder.
Of their eyes.
Scared of being the first to crumble, the weak link, the dog that bites without permission.
dating rumors Rhea had over the years which none were confirmed and all cleared about not being true. Besides one :3
Jungkook (BTS / 2018)
During an end-of-year award show, a fancam caught them talking. They laughed at something, Jungkook bowed, Rhea smiled.
Staff cleared later that the conversation was about stage timing because both groups were performing at the event.
Sometime later during a live stream Rhea said:
"Apparantly I'm dating everyone I smile at.!" whilst looking at Seungkwan who nearly fell off his chair laughing.
Jaehyun (NCT / 2020)
They were seen leaving the same exhibition on the same day. Fans connected dots that didn't exist.
It was cleared that they arrived at around the same time and many other idols were attending as well.
Months later Jaehyun mentioned that he hasn't even had coffee alone with her in a while which was one of the funniest ways to debunk a rumor.
Bang Chan (SKZ / 2021)
Bang Chan mentioned a "producer friend" who gave him songwriting feedback about a comeback.
Fans somehow decided this friend was Rhea.
The rumor eventually disappeared because there was never any evidence.
Yugyeom (GOT7 / 2022)
A mutual friend posted a dinner photo where both were present.
Not seated together or interacting, just present.
The dinner included around ten people. Idols, Producers(Hyunwoo next to her).
It was basically just a gathering of friends.
When fans later asked if she'd seen the rumors:
"I think there were more people at the dinner than in some survival show groups." she laughed.
Lee Hyunwoo(Producer / 2023 /actually true)
Fans saw them appearing at similar events, their schedules overlapped often. She was also seen with a flannel similar to one he often wore.
Speculations began but because none were ever confirmed, most dismissed it as another rumor.
Most annoying Rumor: BamBam xD
Not because it was serious, but it involved her best friend.
At one point fans started joking that their constant teasing was looking suspicious.
Rhea's response:
"If I was dating him, I would never know peace!"
Now everytime a new rumor appears, Seungkwan is probably the first person sending a screenshot into the group chat with:
"Congratulations, Rhea. You're apparently dating someone new again." 💀💛
She’s the Storm, He’s the Fire
(Jungkook x reader)
Pairing: Jungkook x reader, y/n
Age restrictions: 18+
Ongoing Series: Chapter Five
Warnings: Explicit Smut – P in V, unprotected sex, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, rough sex, teasing, light dom/sub dynamics, begging, praise + mild degradation.
Summary: Tension snaps. Desire wins. Teasing turns to claiming — and neither of them walks away untouched. It’s not just lust anymore. It’s something hungrier, heavier. Something that lingers.
She was the storm.
He was the fire.
And that evening, they burned.
Read the previous chapters here:
Chapter One: Curiosity’s a Dangerous Thing — So Am I
Chapter Two: What Fire Does to a Storm
Chapter Three: False Hope
Chapter Four: A Collab?
Chapter Five: Breath Before a Storm
The room was quiet, but your mind refused to be.
Even hours later — long after the last dish had been cleaned, after Jungkook’s quiet goodnight had brushed your cheek like a secret, and the heat of that kiss at the party still lingered — you couldn’t sleep.
You tossed and turned in the dark, sheets tangled around your legs, the city buzzing softly outside your penthouse windows.
His words echoed — more persistent than your heartbeat.
“If he ever tries something again… he’ll regret thinking he could.”
Damn him.
By the time the early morning haze turned to gold, you were still awake — curled on your side, face buried into your pillow, eyes heavy with everything you hadn’t let yourself feel.
Sleep finally came like surrender.
The sun had climbed high over the skyline by the time life stirred again in your penthouse.
The living room glowed with soft afternoon light, the city humming beyond floor-to-ceiling windows. Cardboard grocery boxes crowded the marble island, bursting with fresh produce, snacks, and way too many varieties of oat milk.
Alisha stood barefoot in the kitchen, sleeves rolled to her elbows, a borrowed tee hanging loose over shorts. She looked comfortable — not fully recovered, maybe, but brighter. More herself.
“Why did I order seven avocados?” she muttered, brow furrowed as she shuffled through the bags. “We’re not running a smoothie bar.”
Taehyung leaned on the counter nearby, still in his party clothes from the night before — wrinkled silk and all. His hair was sleep-mussed and a coffee mug in hand.
“Because you hallucinated a breakfast craving and used my card without supervision.”
Alisha pointed a spoon at him. “Your card was saved on my app. That’s consent.”
He took a sip. “That’s identity theft.”
“You’ll survive.”
A laugh escaped him — light, easy.
From the hallway, the faint creak of floorboards signaled another presence.
Jungkook padded into view, yawning, shirt rumpled, silver chain glinting at his collarbone. He blinked at the daylight like it had offended him.
“You’re alive,” Taehyung announced, raising his mug in a lazy greeting.
“Barely,” Jungkook grumbled. He stretched once, rolling his neck.
He looked at Alisha. “You feeling better?”
She paused at the stove, a smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah. A little fuzzy, but better.”
“Good.” He nodded once, genuine — none of the usual snark. “You scared the hell out of us.”
Her smile softened. “Thanks for staying. Both of you.”
“Didn’t really give us a choice,” Taehyung said, nudging her shoulder with his. “You practically passed out on me.”
“You’re not letting that go, are you?”
“Not until I get brownie points for being the dramatic hero.”
Jungkook leaned against the counter beside them, arms folded. For a few seconds, he didn’t speak — just looked around, like something was missing.
“She still asleep?”
Alisha glanced down the hall, then back at him.
“Probably. She does that sometimes — stays up late and sleeps in.”
A slow smirk crept onto her face.
“If you’re that curious,” she added lightly, “you could always go wake her.”
Taehyung snorted. “You think she wouldn’t throw something at you?”
“She can try.”
Alisha rolled her eyes fondly and turned back to the stove. “Relax, golden boy. Let the girl sleep. I’m making brunch.”
Jungkook made a show of reaching for a grape from one of the grocery bags, only for Alisha to slap his hand away with the back of a spoon.
“Touch that again and you’re chopping onions.”
Taehyung chuckled. “Domestic violence over grapes. Incredible.”
Alisha set the spoon down. “Anyway, before either of you start smelling like last night’s party for the rest of eternity — I already called Jimin.”
Both boys looked up at the same time.
“You what?” Taehyung blinked.
“I told him to bring you guys clothes,” she said, casual as anything, like she hadn’t just invoked chaos. “Fresh ones. You’re welcome.”
Jungkook straightened. “You called Park Jimin? With my clothes?”
“He is the only one who picks up at once,” she shrugged. “Also, he was very dramatic about being ditched last night. Said something about betrayal and emotional damage.”
Taehyung groaned. “We’re never hearing the end of it.”
“You’re not,” said a new voice from the front door — smug, airy, and unmistakable. “Especially since I brought your fashion reputation back from the dead.”
All three turned to see Jimin breezing in like he owned the place, arms full of neatly folded clothes and an expression that screamed 'I’m too pretty to be ignored.'
He dropped the bundles on the couch, hand on his hip.
“I was abandoned. Ghosted. Left at the mercy of boring producers and bad lighting. And yet here I am, being the better man.”
Alisha laughed, crossing the room to hug him. “I’m sorry, Minnie. I really am.”
Jimin narrowed his eyes, but he hugged her back instantly. “You should be. But fine. I forgive you.”
He pulled back to glance between Jungkook and Taehyung.
“You two, however? Jury’s still out.”
Taehyung held up both hands. “I was saving lives.”
Jungkook raised a brow. “I was helping and also cooked pasta.”
Jimin stared. Then sighed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “Fine. You’re on probation.”
Alisha glanced at them walking to the counter. “Alright, dynamic duo — shower. Both of you. Before the smell of last night ruins my appetite.”
Taehyung scoffed. “Excuse you. I smell like expensive regret.”
“Expensive doesn’t make it edible,” Jimin chimed in, flopping onto a stool and reaching for a grape. “She’s being polite. I was gonna hose you down myself.”
Taehyung chuckled. “Which bathroom’s mine?”
“You both have your clothes,” she said, nodding toward the couch where their folded outfits sat. “Pick a door and disappear. Let me cook in peace.”
“Guest room’s mine,” Jungkook said, grabbing his stuff.
Taehyung rolled his eyes. “You always claim it first.”
“Because I don’t dilly-dally in front of the mirror like some people.”
“It’s called charisma prep.”
Alisha raised a hand. “If you two don’t leave in the next five seconds, I’m making toast and nothing else.”
That worked. They both grumbled their way down the hall, still lightly arguing as they vanished.
Alisha sighed and turned back to the counter, tying her hair up as Jimin popped a grape into his mouth.
He smirked at her. “Power looks good on you.”She grinned. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
By the time the scent of sautéed garlic and herbs started filling the air, the boys reemerged — freshly showered and finally looking human again.
Taehyung padded in first, hair damp, sleeves pushed up, lazily scrolling through his phone as he made a beeline for the kitchen island.
Right behind him came Jungkook, dressed down in a black oversized shirt and matching joggers, hair still a little damp, skin flushed from the heat of the shower. Effortless didn’t begin to cover it.
Alisha glanced up from where she was arranging cutlery on the table. “Look at that. You both clean up nice.”
Jimin turned with a grin. “Especially this one,” he said, nodding toward Jungkook. “Is it just me, or does black turn into a public threat when he wears it?”
Jungkook raised a brow, not missing a beat. “You jealous, hyung?”
“Deeply,” Jimin said, unbothered, “but I cope by judging your haircut.”
Alisha chuckled, smoothing the edge of the tablecloth. “Alright, enough flirting — sit. Food’s almost ready.”
They settled in, the air cozy and warm with the quiet sounds of the city afternoon outside.
Jimin looked around, then frowned faintly. “Shouldn’t we wake Y/N? Feels wrong eating without her.”
Jungkook’s gaze flicked toward the hallway for just a second — hopeful, unspoken — but he didn’t say anything.
Alisha, still near the stove, called over her shoulder, “If we wake her up now, she’ll bite someone’s head off.”
Jimin laughed. “That bad?”
“She sleeps late sometimes,” Alisha said, sliding the last plate onto the table. “But she’ll be in a much better mood if we let her wake on her own. Trust me.”
Jungkook leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, a barely-there smile tugging at his mouth. “Then we wait.”
Taehyung nodded sagely. “A wise man knows not to wake a sleeping storm.”
The table burst into light laughter as Alisha brought over the last dish, the space filling with warmth, and the lingering anticipation of the one person still asleep.
The living room was a lazy sprawl of limbs and laughter — the boys slouched on the couch, Alisha curled sideways with a glass of iced coffee, and Jimin recounting the previous night’s chaos.
“I swear,” he was saying, “that woman with the diamond bra? She bumped into me on purpose. No one wears that much perfume by accident.”
Taehyung snorted. “You sure it wasn’t her trying to bless you with riches?”
“It was a threat. She made eye contact when she did it.”
Alisha groaned. “You guys are so mean. She was nice. Sort of.”
Jungkook just sipped his drink, smiling faintly — but not really tuned in. His head turned at the sound of soft footsteps. And just like that — everything paused.
You stepped into the room from the hallway, hair still damp, loosely tied but with strands slipping free. Your skin was bare and dewy from the shower, catching the soft light like something dipped in gold.
You wore a loose, off-shoulder grey top — nearly sheer — with a tiny black crop tank beneath, and a pair of oversized black shorts that hit just above the knee. Casual. Effortless.
No makeup. No act. Just you.
And still, you looked like the morning had been waiting to begin with you.
You didn’t even look at them at first — just padded into the kitchen barefoot, tugging your sleeves up, your hum soft like a private song.
Then — a voice from the couch, something teasing — and you turned.
Hair flicking with the movement, the loose knot bouncing, and when your eyes landed on them, you smiled. Big. Honest. Nothing guarded for once.
“Hey, guys,” you said, cheerful, bright, like nothing from the night before had touched you. “Did you all eat?”
And without waiting for a reply, you turned back toward the kitchen.
Taehyung blinked.
Jimin whispered, “Holy shit.”
Alisha laughed softly, standing to join you. “You’re late, sunshine.”
You grinned at her as she helped you pull down another plate. “Sorry. Overslept.”
Behind you, Jungkook hadn’t moved.
Not really.
His eyes were fixed — not in a way that made anyone uncomfortable. Just… quiet. Intent. Like he couldn’t help it.
And he didn’t try to hide it.
Taehyung clocked it instantly. He glanced at Jimin, who raised a brow.
And then, like a silent agreement, both looked away — giving him space.
But Jungkook didn’t say anything. Didn’t smirk or posture.
He just watched you move around your own kitchen like you belonged to the light pouring through the windows.
And maybe, for the first time in hours, something in him relaxed.
You walked back in with a plate balanced in one hand, a glass of orange juice in the other, and settled beside Alisha on the couch.
Then, with a softer tone, you asked, “How do you feel now?”
Alisha gave a small nod. “Better. Thanks to you.”
You smiled, satisfied, then dug into your food.
Jungkook didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just sat there, pulse oddly loud in his ears.
Because you smelled like coconut and something warmer — a little sweet, a little heady — and it hit him like a fucking memory he hadn’t made yet.
He took a slow sip of his drink and looked away before someone noticed. Too late.
You took another bite, smiling a little at something Alisha said — but when you glanced up, your eyes caught his.
In that black tee, hair damp now, a silver ring glinting on his finger as he leaned back slightly, watching you like he hadn’t meant to.
Like he couldn’t help it. For a moment, the room blurred around the edges.
Because just like that, the memories came rushing back.
His hand on your waist.
His mouth against yours — fierce, certain, like he’d been waiting all damn night.
The crash of breath and heat and hunger in that hallway, the way he’d kissed you like it wasn’t just about want — like it was about claiming something neither of you had dared name yet.
Your heart stumbled.
And then, as if he could feel the shift in you, Jungkook tilted his head slightly — not a smirk, not a challenge. Just… waiting.
You blinked once, like shaking off a spell, and looked away.
Back to your plate. Back to normal.
But the air between you? It hadn’t gone anywhere.
You rose from the couch, empty plate in hand, and wandered into the kitchen, the hum of voices behind you still warm and half-lazy from brunch.
The water ran. Glass clinked. You took a slow sip, the city stretching quiet outside your windows.
Then—
“We’re leaving tonight,” Jimin said.
Taehyung groaned. “Already? Feels like we just got here.”
“I know,” Jimin said with a sigh. “But this trip was… something. I’m gonna miss you both.” His voice softened, looking between you and Alisha.
You smiled at him, tilting your glass his way. “Touched. Really.”
Alisha shot him a teasing glare. “Liar. You just want someone to keep enabling your 3 a.m. snack cravings.”
“Guilty,” Jimin grinned. “But seriously—gonna miss you both.”
You smiled back, warm and amused. But then your eyes flicked to Jungkook.
He wasn’t looking back. Just smiled a little — small, unreadable — eyes on the floor.
Something tugged at your chest. Because you knew that smile. Knew what it looked like when someone didn’t say what they meant.
And Jungkook wasn’t the type to admit it out loud.
He stood a few minutes later. “I will be right back,” said casually, already moving down the hall toward the guest room.
Without thinking, you followed him.
You caught up to him just as he reached the guest room door.
“Tell me something,” you said, leaning against the frame, voice light but teasing. “You afraid you’re gonna miss this—or me?”
He turned, one brow lifting, amused. “What makes you think I’ll miss either?”
You stepped closer, arms crossed. “Because you walked off like you’ve got something to prove.”
He smirked. “Maybe I do.”
You tilted your head. “To me?”
“To myself,” he replied. “But if you’re the one who came looking... maybe you’re the one struggling.”
“I’m not,” you said smoothly. “But if you need to hear me say I won’t miss you, I will.”
He took a step forward. Then another. Backing you up until your shoulders hit the door, eyes locked on yours. His one hand found your waist again, fingers warm, unapologetic.
“Funny,” he murmured. “You don’t sound so sure.”
You let him get close. Closer.
“Then maybe you should back off,” you whispered.
He didn’t.
Instead, his gaze dropped to your mouth — slow, deliberate.
“Or maybe,” he said, voice rough and dark, “I should give you a reason to stay up tonight thinking about me.”
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.
“You think one kiss is gonna do that?”
His smile turned razor-sharp. “No. I think this time, I’m not stopping at one.”
And then — he kissed you.
No warning. No mercy.
His mouth crashed into yours like he was making a point. Tongue parting your lips, breath hot, the kiss rough and searching, starved.
You didn’t fall back — you met him there.
Your fingers curled into his shirt again, just like that night in the hallway. Except this time, there was no hesitation. No pause.
Only heat. Only hunger.
Your back met the door with a thud, and his body pressed flush against yours like he didn’t trust space anymore. His hand trailed
down to your hips, gripping just enough to make your breath stutter.
You gasped — and he used it, deepening the kiss, making you forget why you’d come here in the first place.
Then — click.
You barely registered the sound, but the lock slid into place.
You pulled back just enough to blink at him. “Did you just—”
He smirked, lips swollen, pupils blown. “Can’t have anyone walking in while I’m ruining your attitude.”
You laughed — breathless, defiant. “That what this is?”
“Oh,” he whispered, already chasing your mouth again, “this is just the start.”
And this time, when he kissed you, it wasn’t a clash. It was a claim.
His hands roamed with purpose now — one sliding up your spine beneath your shirt, palm flat and warm against bare skin. The other stayed low, gripping your hip like he needed something to anchor him in the storm you’d both created.
Your fingers were in his hair again — fisting it, tugging, guiding him closer even though there was no space left to close.
You tilted your head as his lips traced along your jaw, then lower — to the slope of your neck, where he paused to inhale you like he couldn’t help it.
“Fuck,” he muttered against your skin, voice ragged. “You’re dangerous.”
You smiled — smug, wild, completely gone.
“Takes one to know one.”
He groaned, low and wrecked, like the sound was torn straight from his chest. Then he sank lower, trailing kisses down the curve of your throat, his hand sliding higher beneath your shirt until his fingertips ghosted over the underside of your bra.
Teasing. Testing.
You arched into him without thinking, and he felt it.
Felt the way your breath caught.
Felt the way your hands clutched at him like he was both lifeline and fire.
When his mouth returned to yours, it was hungrier. Messier.
Less about precision, and more about need.
Your back hit the door again as he pressed forward, hips aligning with yours, and this time you could feel him — every sharp line, every breathless intention.
His name left your lips between kisses, not as a question. Not as a warning. But as something raw. Something real.
He caught your lower lip between his teeth, just briefly, just enough to make you gasp again — and then his hands slid beneath your thighs, and he lifted you like it was nothing.
You gasped, arms flying around his shoulders as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.
“Fuck—” you breathed, as his grip tightened.
“Hold on,” he muttered against your lips, voice gravel and fire.
And then he moved. The short walk to the bed felt like a blur — your fingers tangled in his hair, your mouth finding his again and again.
Each step he took felt like a silent dare.
Like he already knew exactly where this was going, and nothing — NOTHING— was going to stop him.
When he reached the edge of the bed, he didn’t toss you down.
He sank with you still clinging to him, sat with you straddling his lap, his hands firm at your hips, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.
You rocked into him instinctively, and he groaned, head tipping back for a second before catching your lips again.
One of his hands tangled in your hair, the other sliding up your back under your shirt, not rushed — just claiming.
“You drive me fucking insane,” he growled against your lips.
You grinned, breathless. “Good.”
His mouth caught yours again in answer — no pause, no space, just the crash of two people who’d tried too hard for too long not to want this.
His fingers tugged gently at the hem of your sheer top — the loose, grey fabric barely clinging to your skin.
You didn’t stop him. So he peeled it upward, slowly.
The shirt slipped over your head and fell to the floor behind you, forgotten. His gaze dropped, landing on the thin black crop top you wore beneath, snug, low-cut, more like a bra than anything else.
He didn’t rush. But.
You lifted the thin black crop top over your head and let it fall to the floor — leaving nothing between his gaze and your skin.
Jungkook froze.
Eyes dark. Lips parted. Breath held.
He didn’t blink, didn’t move — like he’d forgotten how.
His silence dragged a beat too long, and your mouth curved, wicked.
“What happened to all that confidence?” you said, voice silk and fire. “You look like you forgot your name.”
That snapped him out of it — and straight into a smirk.
“Oh, I remember it,” he murmured, low and lethal.
Then, without breaking eye contact, he reached for the hem of his shirt. Lifted it in one smooth motion.
And fuck.
Your eyes dropped before you could stop them, dragged down his torso. Lean, toned, absurdly perfect — like sin carved out of muscle and breath.
His skin was warm gold in the low light, abs defined, veins sharp. One arm sleeved in tattoos that made your mouth go dry. The way he stayed there — confident, sure, watching you watch him — was its own kind of seduction.
He knew what he was doing. And you hated how much you liked it.
Your gaze snapped back up to his face, and the look in his eyes told you he’d seen every second of your reaction.
His voice was a whisper of a dare.
“Still think I forgot it?”
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
Your breath caught somewhere between a curse and a confession, and instead of words, your hands spoke — reaching up, fingers brushing down his chest, tracing the lines of his abs like they might vanish if you didn’t touch them now.
He didn’t move. Just watched.
And then — he dipped forward, his mouth moved along your jaw, trailing lower, heat pressing into each kiss. Then to your neck, wet, open-mouthed kisses searching until—
“Oh—” You gasped when he found the spot.
His tongue dragged over it once. Then again. And when you moaned, soft and real, you felt the sound vibrate through his mouth like a reward. Like he’d just discovered his favorite fucking sound.
He breathed into your skin, low and ragged, as his hands moved again — up, bold, fingers sliding along the curve of your breasts, kneading, teasing, thumbs brushing over already-sensitive skin until your back arched and your breath turned uneven.
Then, with maddening patience, he kissed lower — dragging his lips down your chest.
His tongue flicked against one nipple before his mouth closed over it, sucking, biting just enough to make your hips jolt.
You cried out, hands flying to his hair, gripping hard. He growled against you, like he liked the way you pulled, like it spurred him on.
His other hand palmed your breast, giving the same attention there, slow, deliberate pressure that made your thighs clench tighter around him.
“Jungkook—” His name broke from your lips, more plea than warning.
He looked up at you then, eyes dark and glassy with lust. His hands slid down your sides, then lower, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your shorts until they gripped your hips, dragging you against him in one rough motion.
You felt him — hard and throbbing — pressed right against your soaked core, and the sound that escaped you was helpless. Raw.
He smirked at the sound, like he was filing it away for later. But before he could gloat, you shoved him — not hard, but enough — pushing him back until he hit the bed with a quiet thud.
Then you followed.
Climbed over him.
Straddled him like you belonged there.
Your hands framed his face as you kissed him again — harder this time, needier — and he matched you beat for beat, his hands finding your spine, then your hips again, holding tight.
One slid up to your nape, fingers tangling in your hair as he tugged, forcing your mouth to open wider for him.
You didn’t care.
Didn’t hesitate.
Just kissed him deeper.
Then you shifted — lips dragging from his mouth to his jaw, down the line of his neck. You kissed just below his ear, right over the inky edges of his tattoo. Then lower, right to that spot. You sucked. Hard.
He groaned — sharp and low like you’d stolen the air from his lungs.
“Fuck, you’re killing me, Y/N,” he muttered.
You smiled against his skin. “Mhmm,” you whispered, smug and breathless. “Then die quiet.”
That did it.
He grinned, wild and wrecked, and flipped you without warning.
Your back hit the mattress with a bounce and a laugh that never quite made it past your lips because he was already there — on top, hands pinning your wrists above your head, mouth a breath away from yours.
His eyes burned into yours, cocky and dark.
“Who said you could take control?” he asked, voice a velvet threat.
You opened your mouth — maybe to sass him, maybe to kiss him again — but he didn’t wait for either.
He leaned down and kissed your chest again, rougher now, tongue swirling, teeth grazing before he sucked hard and pulled away with a wet pop.
You whimpered. He smirked.
Then he kissed lower. Down your stomach. Slow, hot, deliberate.
He let go of your wrists. Your hands stayed where they were — only because your brain had melted.
He stopped at the waistband of your shorts and looked up at you — just for a beat. Like a warning. Like a dare.
And then he hooked his fingers into the fabric and started pulling.
Slowly.
Torturously.
Shorts and panties — gone in one motion.
His eyes flicked back up, and fuck — the way he looked at you?
Like he was about to ruin something holy.
Like he was about to devour.
You were soaked. And he hadn't even touched you there yet.
“Damn,” he muttered, voice dark silk. “Look what I do to you.”
And with that, he leaned in.
His tongue dragged a long, slow line through your slick folds — a filthy, reverent stroke like he was savoring you. Like he wasn’t sure he’d get to taste you again. Like he wanted to make this count.
You gasped, hips twitching, head tipping back against the pillow as your eyes fluttered shut.
He groaned against you — low, guttural, like the taste of you was a drug he wasn’t ready to survive. His hands anchored your thighs apart, fingers digging into the soft skin, keeping you spread and exposed for him — perfect, dripping, his.
Your back arched on instinct, your spine lifting from the bed like you were offering yourself to him, chest rising and falling with every shallow breath. The picture you made — skin flushed, breasts rising, mouth parted in surrender — carved itself into his brain like a brand.
And then he moved faster.
Tongue flicking. Curling. Flattening. Lips sucking around your clit just to feel you jerk. Then back down, tongue circling your entrance, pushing in, tasting everything you gave him — messy, hungry, shameless.
Your fingers found his hair again, fisting tight, hips stuttering under his grip. “Jungkook—fuck—”
That only spurred him on.
He moaned against you, the vibration sending a jolt through your core. Then, without warning, one of his hands slid inward — two fingers slipping into you, thick and unrelenting, curling just right.
Your breath caught like a snapped thread.
He set a rhythm with both — tongue and fingers working in tandem, fast and focused and devastating.
He fucked you with his mouth like he’d been waiting for this all damn week. Like he’d dreamed of it.
Your thighs trembled, and stomach clenched.
And still, he didn’t stop — eyes flicking up to watch the way you fell apart for him, your face contorting with pleasure, lips forming words you never quite said.
The wet sounds filled the room — obscene and desperate — but they were nothing compared to the sounds you made. The way your voice broke when he sucked harder. The breathless gasps each time his fingers hit just right.
He was relentless. He devoured you. He did.
And every second of it felt like the undoing you didn’t know you needed. You were so close you could taste it — the pressure coiling sharp and fast, breath turning ragged, hands gripping his hair like it might keep you grounded.
Every nerve in your body had tuned itself to him, to the maddening rhythm of his mouth, the deep curl of his fingers, the guttural sounds he made against your skin, like he was losing himself right along with you.
Your legs were shaking now — thighs trembling against his shoulders, hips bucking toward every stroke. It was there—you were there—
And then he stopped. Just like that.
He pulled back, mouth slick, lips swollen, eyes dark with wicked triumph. His fingers slid from you with a slow, deliberate drag that made your walls clench around the emptiness he left behind.
You whined. “Jungkook—”
He tilted his head, breathing hard, grin cocky. “This,” he said, voice low and smug, “might be the longest I’ve ever made you quiet.”
You stared at him — stunned, shaking, still chasing the high he stole from you.
He leaned in, kissed the inside of your thigh with maddening slowness, and then looked up at you again with that devastating smirk. “Kinda like it,” he murmured. “Might make a habit of it.”
“You are so annoying,” you breathed, chest heaving.
He crawled up your body, slow and deliberate, kissing your stomach, your ribs, the curve of your breast — until his mouth hovered just above yours.
“You’ll get it, baby,” he whispered, lips brushing yours. “But not until I hear you beg.”
Your eyes narrowed, breath still uneven.
“Beg?” you repeated, voice sharp despite the wreckage in your tone. “You really think I’m gonna give you that?”
Jungkook just grinned, maddening and gorgeous, like he was already winning. “Think?” he echoed, kissing the corner of your mouth. “No. I know.”
“Not happening,” you hissed, though your thighs had parted again, unconsciously welcoming the weight of him between them.
He kissed your jaw, then your throat, fingers brushing over your ribs like he was reading your pulse. “You’re trembling,” he murmured. “You sure?”
“You can deny it all you want,” you whispered, voice like honey and heat. “But we both know the truth…”
His gaze darkened — jaw clenched, breath hitched.
“…you already got a taste. And you loved it. You’re dying to be inside me — to feel how good I’d take you. How tight I’d—”
“Fuck,” he muttered, breath ragged.
“You talk too much,” he growled, sitting back on his knees, reaching for the waistband of his joggers. His cock sprang free — big, thick, hard, flushed — and your words died in your throat.
“Still got something to say?” he asked, voice low, cocky, stepping back toward you.
You swallowed hard, eyes flicking up to meet his. Still defiant. Still quiet. And he saw it.
“Didn’t think so,” he smirked, settling between your legs again, palms warm on your thighs as he dragged you closer.
He leaned in, nose brushing your cheek, lips grazing your ear.
“I hope you’re ready to take what you asked for.”
Then his mouth crashed to yours again — deeper this time. His kiss turned bruising again, all hunger and possession, like he’d waited too long to have you like this — spread out, flushed, wrecked beneath him.
Your legs wrapped around his waist as he pressed into you. You could feel him, hard against your thigh, unrelenting. But he didn’t move. Not yet.
“Still sure?” he asked, voice low, hoarse.
You nodded, lips parting — but no sound came out.
“Words, sweetheart,” he murmured, dipping to kiss your jaw, your throat. “You gotta tell me.”
“I’m sure,” you whispered, breath catching as his mouth dragged lower.
That pulled a groan from his chest, dark and wrecked. He leaned in, letting his forehead rest against yours for a beat — just long enough for your heart to race harder, faster, in sync with his.
He positioned himself carefully, the blunt pressure of him brushing where you needed him most — but he still didn’t push in. Not yet. Just enough to make your hips twitch.
Your fingers dug into his back, and your legs wrapped tighter around him.
Still, when he began to push in — slow, unbearably slow — he didn’t take his eyes off you. He watched every flutter of your lashes, every bite of your lip, every breath that caught in your throat as your body stretched around him.
He was big. Hard. Unforgiving.
Halfway in, he paused — deep enough to make you gasp, not enough to fill.
“You’re so tight,” he groaned. “So fucking perfect.”
You whimpered, hands trembling as they slid up his arms, feeling the tension coiled in every inch of him.
“More,” you whispered, hips lifting without permission.
That did it.
He thrust the rest of the way in — one slow, merciless push — until you were full. Buried. Claimed.
You gasped — not from pain, not quite — but from the weight of it. Of him. Of everything this had been building to.
He didn’t move. Just stayed there. Inside you. Letting you feel all of him, letting the stretch settle until your body stopped trembling and your eyes fluttered open to find his watching.
“Good girl,” he whispered. “Takin’ it so fucking well.”
You exhaled shakily, chest rising to meet his. And slowly, like the breath before a storm, he started to move.
Each thrust was deliberate — dragging your body tight around him, hitting deep enough to make your thighs shake. His grip on your hips was iron, fingers bruising with purpose — holding you down, keeping you open.
His pace built gradually, like a fuse burning low.
He didn’t give you a rhythm you could ride — he gave you one you had to survive.
Rough, relentless, almost punishing in its control. His hand slid beneath your thigh, lifting it higher against his side — opening you further, deeper — and the next thrust made your head fall back with a broken gasp.
“Mm fuck—” you breathed.
His hips slammed into yours with vicious precision, each thrust sharp and deliberate, dragging a cry from your lips every time he bottomed out.
“Look at you,” he muttered, voice low and dark, sweat slicking his brow. “All that attitude and now you can’t even speak.”
You tried — tried to say his name, to claw back even a thread of control — but your mouth just parted around another moan.
He rolled his hips deeper — slower this time, more of a grind — making your breath hitch like you were unraveling from the inside out.
“You gonna be good for me now?” he whispered, lips brushing yours, filthy and soft and cruel all at once. “Or you gonna keep running that smart mouth?”
You couldn’t answer. Not with the way his cock hit that spot again, again, again — making your vision blur.
Your legs wrapped tighter around his waist.
He didn't let up — not for a second. The rhythm brutal and controlled, all heat and tension and denial. You were close again. So close it hurt.
You cried out, hands gripping his arms, his shoulders, anything you could find as he set a brutal pace. Like he wanted to erase every trace of anyone who’d ever touched you — like he needed to burn himself into your skin.
His hands gripped your hips, fingers bruising, dragging you into every thrust. Your thighs shook, trying to hold him tighter, to meet the rhythm, but he wasn’t giving you that much power.
“Stay right there,” he growled, voice barely human as he pinned you down with his weight, fucking you deeper, rougher, his body rolling into yours like he was chasing the edge of control — and losing.
You moaned into his mouth when he kissed you again, his tongue sliding over yours, swallowing every broken sound you made like he needed to hear them. To own them.
He pulled back to look at you — to watch.
Hair wild against the pillow. Skin flushed. Lips kiss-bruised. And eyes wide, glassy, mouth open with panting breaths.
“You look so fucking good like this,” he rasped. “You know that?”
You whined — the only answer you could manage — as his thumb slid between you, finding your clit and circling just right.
Too right. Your whole body arched up into him, mouth falling open, a broken cry catching in your throat.
But right when you thought you were about to fall apart—
He stopped.
Froze inside you, thumb gone, chest heaving against yours. Your eyes flew open.
“Jungkook, I swear to—” you gasped, ruined.
His mouth curved into a wicked smirk.“You don’t get to come until I say so.”
“You think I don’t hear it?” he whispered in your ear. “The way you moan my name? You’re already begging, sweetheart.”
You whimpered, nails digging into his back.
“I want you wrecked,” he hissed. “So when I let you fall apart, you’ll feel it for days.”
And with that, he slammed into you again — harder, deeper — stealing your breath as his lips crushed against yours.
You tried to hold it in. Tried to be strong.
But your voice broke — a shaky, desperate sound ripped straight from your chest.
“Please…”
That pulled a groan from his chest. But he didn’t stop.
If anything, he went harder.
“Oh, now you beg,” he murmured, lips brushing your cheek, your jaw. “Now you say please.”
You nodded frantically, mouth falling open with every thrust. “I—I can’t—Jungkook—please—”
A groan left him, low and ruined. But he didn’t slow. Still didn’t stop.
He slammed into you again, rough and deep. His body was coated in sweat, his jaw clenched, hair wild in his face. He looked down at you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered — and he was seconds from snapping.
“Not yet,” he hissed, voice guttural. “You mouth off like a brat — now earn this too.”
His thumb found your clit again, circling mercilessly. You arched into him, hips trembling, whimpers slipping out too fast to bite back.
“I need—” you choked. “Please—I need to feel you. All of you—”
He slowed, just a breath.
You reached for him — hands in his hair, tugging until his forehead pressed against yours.
“I’m on the pill,” you whispered, voice raw. “You can—if you want—fuck, Jungkook, please.”
That did it.
He cursed — a vicious sound — and lost the last of his control.
One hand grabbed your jaw, tilting your face up as he stared down at you, breathing hard.
“You’re really gonna kill me,” he muttered, wrecked.
Then his mouth crashed into yours and he drove into you again — no holding back, no restraint.
Skin against skin. Every barrier gone.
The weight of him — the heat — the raw, furious rhythm — made your whole body shudder beneath him.
He didn’t say anything else.
He just kept pounding, hips rolling into yours with relentless precision, chasing something deeper than release — something hungry and real and entirely unspoken.
And you let him. You gave it all. Because you wanted it just as bad.
His name tumbled from your lips again — softer this time. Like prayer. Like surrender.
Jungkook didn’t answer. He just moved.
Hard. Deep. Unforgiving.
His rhythm turned brutal, every thrust dragging you closer to the edge, forcing you to feel him — all of him — until your body was shaking beneath his. Your nails clawed at his shoulders, your cries getting louder, sloppier — no rhythm left in your voice, only need.
“I—Jungkook—I’m gonna—” you barely breathed it.
“I know,” he growled. “Come for me.”
That was it.
Your entire body locked, your legs clamped around him, and the coil inside you snapped like a live wire. You cried out his name, not caring how loud, not caring who heard, your body trembling in his grip as you fell apart. Your climax hit hard — white-hot and all-consuming — tearing through you with no mercy.
And then you felt him.
His pace faltered, hips jerking once—twice—before he buried himself deep with a strangled moan, heat flooding into you as he came with a guttural curse muffled against your neck.
He didn’t move for a long moment.
Just stayed there, pressed against you, chests heaving, skin damp, the only sound between you the ragged breath of two people who’d just destroyed each other in the best way possible.
Eventually, he lifted his head. Looked at you — eyes still dark, still stormy, but softer now. Breathless.
“Holy shit,” he whispered, almost like it wasn’t meant to be heard.
You let out a weak, breathless laugh, chest still rising and falling beneath him.
“Yeah,” you rasped. “That’s one way to say goodbye.”
He didn’t smile. Not quite.
Just leaned in and kissed you again — slower now. Like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.
He was still inside you when he finally leaned back, smirking — hair a mess, skin flushed, voice ragged but cocky as hell.
“Go on. Say it,” he said, breath still uneven, “you’re gonna miss me after I’ve fucked your attitude straight, aren’t you?”
You blinked up at him, eyes heavy, voice barely above a whisper.
“Will you?”
His gaze flickered, something dark and knowing behind it. He leaned in just enough to let his breath kiss your mouth.
“I already do.”
Your lips parted — but nothing came out.
Just a breath. Just a smirk.
Then a low chuckle slipped from your throat, and you looked away like you hadn’t just felt the ground shift beneath you.
His grin widened. “Thought so.”
And for a moment, neither of you said a word. Just breathing. Just heat. Just whatever the hell this now was.
It was the aftershock.
Heavy breathing. Sticky skin. The pounding echo of your heartbeat in your ears — and his.
Neither of you spoke at first. You just lay there, sprawled across the bed, half-draped over his chest like gravity had new rules now.
Jungkook’s hand moved lazily down your back, fingers tracing invisible lines over your spine. Your skin shivered, and you rolled off him with a huff of air, pulling the sheet halfway over your bare chest.
He looked over, grinning. “Don’t tell me I broke you.”
You scoffed. “Please. You’re the one who needs a minute.”
He reached for you anyway, palm landing on your thigh like he wasn’t done yet. “We both needed that.”
Your eyes widened. Jungkook laughed under his breath, shameless.
You sat up, dragging the sheet tighter around your chest. “Shit. Do I sound alive?”
“You sound freshly ruined,” he muttered, smirking as he sat up beside you. “Want me to answer for you?”
You shoved his shoulder. “Do not.”
Alisha again: “You guys coming out before we send a search party? Or are we supposed to assume Jungkook killed you with… conversation?”
Jungkook bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud.
You threw on your sheer shirt — inside out — and scrambled for your shorts. “They definitely heard something.”
“Oh,” Jungkook said, grabbing his joggers with the slow grace of someone who had zero shame, “they heard a lot.”
You spun to face him. “Can you be normal for two seconds?”
He leaned in — right up to your ear — and whispered, “You think they heard your name or mine more?”
Your cheeks flamed, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer.
Instead, you opened the door, turned over your shoulder, and said coolly, “Fix yourself,” you muttered. “You look like someone gave in.”
He tilted his head, biting back a smirk.
“Yeah?” he said. “And you look like someone who liked it.”
You walked off. And even though you didn’t look back, you could feel his eyes on you — warm, wicked, and maybe a little proud.
The hallway felt too quiet as you walked back toward the living room, fingers smoothing your tousled hair, mouth set in a practiced smile.
You tried to act normal. Calm. Unbothered.
You were not normal. Your legs were still trembling.
As soon as you turned the corner, you knew.
They knew.
Jimin was sprawled across the couch like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life. Taehyung had a knowing smirk that could cut glass. And Alisha — she didn’t even try to hide her grin.
“Wow,” she said, eyes wide with fake innocence. “You’re glowing.”
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Said nothing.
Jimin leaned forward, elbows on knees.
Taehyung said. “I thought the walls were soundproof. Turns out, they’re not.”
Your face burned. “You guys have no manners.”
“And you have no shame,” Alisha quipped. “Honestly, we’re just impressed with your cardio.”
Before you could throw a pillow at her, footsteps padded in behind you — and Jungkook appeared. Shirtless.
The collective reaction was immediate.
“Oh my God,” Jimin said, flopping dramatically onto the couch. “He actually came out like that.”
Taehyung let out a low whistle. “That’s a man who knows he won.”
You covered your face with both hands. “I’m not here. I’m a ghost. Goodbye.”
Jungkook just smirked, arms crossed over his bare chest like he had nothing to hide. “Why is everyone yelling? What time is it?”
Alisha blinked at him. “It’s six. In the evening.”
He stretched. “Time flies when you’re… busy.”
“You two are unbelievable,” Jimin said, grinning like the devil. “Disappearing like it’s a damn season finale.”
Taehyung leaned in. “So, was it good enough to miss us for an hour and a half?”
You blinked. “It was what?!”
They all cackled.
Jungkook raised one brow. “Only an hour and a half?”
You gave him a death glare. “Jungkook.”
He winked. “I’m kidding.”
He absolutely was not.
Alisha threw a cushion at him. “Jesus, cover up — the thermostat just spiked.”
As he turned back toward the hall — finally — he shot you a look over his shoulder. Something teasing. Something smug.
Thank you so much for reading — if you made it this far, you survived the storm and the fire 😈
As always, feel free to scream in the comments, drop your favorite lines, or tell me how wrecked you are — emotionally or otherwise 🖤
See you in Chapter Six.
It only gets deeper from here.
