#bts writing

[wethemess]

ride — jungkook

jungkook x you (femreader) | 3.3k words summary – spotting jungkook’s weight session in your home gym. harmless, right? rating – 18+ (sex, course language) a//n – this one is by far my favourite. masterlist

The soft, distant thrum of music playing was the only sound travelling through your otherwise peaceful home. You had set yourself up for a quiet afternoon with a glass of iced tea, catching up on work that you’d missed while travelling to a couple of tour dates, watching your boyfriend do his thing. Jungkook always gave you the VIP treatment, making sure your time away from your life was worth it and of course it was. But nothing could beat having him back at home in Seoul, lazily enjoying the time you had alone together.

Just as you settled into the couch, an almost finished lemon popsicle in hand and your laptop steadied on your lap, you heard your name being called from the other end of the house. The voice echoing through the hallway belonged to Jungkook and there was a part of you that wanted to pretend like you hadn't heard him, feeling way too comfy and in the zone to get up again if it wasn’t important.

That was until you heard your name again, a little louder this time and you knew that you couldn’t ignore him. Your man was persistent and even though you loved your time with him during the break and over the off-season, it did become apparent that when he was home, he always wanted you close by to talk to. Like he was trying to make up for lost time but he forgot that even though he had time off, your work life continued much to your dismay.

But you were both working on finding the right balance.

"Where are you?" You shouted back and pulled yourself out of your spot on the couch, on a mission to track down your needy but ridiculously cute boyfriend.

You followed the music, figuring that he must’ve been in the home gym he’d set up a couple of winters ago. A Leon Thomas album was playing through the sound system, echoing off the mirrors that lined the otherwise blank walls. It was a messy sight as you walked in – yoga mats that you’d left behind sprawled out on the ground while Jungkook sat hunched over, scrolling on his phone with his legs hanging over each side of the bench press that was sitting in the middle of the naturally lit room.

He was quick to notice your presence in the doorway and chucked his phone onto one of the many towels neatly folded up on the shelf behind him.

"Could you spot me, please? Because I nearly killed myself with this weight."

You swear you were listening but you couldn’t help but take a second to drink in his appearance, suddenly feeling a hot flush wash over your chest. He was sans shirt, tattoos on full display and glistening with sweat, which would’ve been enough to fuel your desires but the tight short shorts and the hair sticking to his forehead was what really got the endorphins running. And as much as you could’ve stared at him for the rest of your days, the last thing you wanted was for Jungkook to notice how flustered you were by his appearance.

"If that thing is going to fall on your face, there's no way my twig arms are going to stop it," You scoffed, eyeing at the weights behind his head with concern.

"You just have to push it off me so it doesn't crush my chest," He shrugged with a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, far too nonchalantly for your liking.

"Oh right – just casually save my boyfriend from being crushed to death. Cool…" You sarcastically retorted while Jungkook wiped his hands on his shorts and scooted underneath the bar, back squeaking as it stuck to the faux leather.

"Just come and stand behind my head, honey," He sweetly directed and you sighed softly, knowing that he was going to keep lifting the stupid thing anyway and you would much rather be there if anything did happen.

So you shuffled around to where he’d settled himself on the bench, feet and shoulders with the part, ready to save the day if you needed to. Well, kind of ready because the view from where you were standing was not only magnificent but wildly distracting.

“That’s it, baby,” He whispered with the smallest of smirks tickling his lips.

Jungkook’s strong hands gripped the bar and lifted it carefully off the stand, flickering his eyes to each side and making sure they were securely off before bringing it down towards his tensed chest. The grunts that left his throat as the muscles and veins in his arms bulged under his taut skin sounded exactly like the noises he was breathing in your ear last night as he fucked you into the next dimension, the sound immediately transporting you back to the way his hands felt on your skin.

His tight chest puffed out in time with his sharp hips that bucked off the bench with each rep and the groans leaving his lips were making it difficult to keep an eye on the job, even though a part of you wondered whether this was all a ploy to get you in here and see this glorified soft core in session. Knowing Jungkook, it was almost definitely the latter.

"Okay two more," He huffed out, lifting the bar up and down a couple more times, concentration stitched into his sticky forehead.

The grunts got louder the closer he was to finishing the set, again casting your mind back to your night between the sheets, before he slowly pushed it up towards the stand and let your fingers hook around the bar, just in case it slipped out of his slick hands. Because every part of his body was perspiring – his biceps, thighs, neck, chest, the bridge of his nose that was achingly close to your core was glistening and so were you, from doing absolutely nothing. Dripping.

Jungkook sat up with a groan and took a couple of deep breaths, blood pumping through his veins as you watched the muscles on his rippling back contract, “You’re soaked – let me grab you a towel.”

This was your chance to try and shake the daze you were in. It was pathetic the way he wound you up without even knowing, hypnotising you with something as innocent as a workout. Maybe it was because you had been blissfully enjoying each other’s touch the second he dropped his luggage in the doorway, jumping into bed and hardly leaving it ever since.

Or because he was the sexiest creature you’d ever seen and seeing him gleaming with sweat and groaning like an animal was a massive turn on for you. Either way you were soaking after his performance, desperate to have those sounds breathing down your neck as soon as humanely possible.

He graciously took the towel you were offering with a wicked smile, wiping his flushed face and roughly drying his dark hair before spinning around 90 degrees on the bench, gazing up at you with the same smile but now with that devious sparkle in his eye that always had you hook, line and sinker.

"Thank yoooou."

It rolled off his tongue too perfectly, almost in sing-song, and you couldn’t control the eye roll, knowing how much he loved teasing you. He also loved how quickly he could get you naked when he put on that mischievous smirk, his charm always leaving you spellbound. 

"Any time," You sang in reply, attempting to leave the room before you combusted on sight but you were stopped by a fistful of fingers grasping the hem of your black cotton shorts.

Jungkook gently pulled you back, a hole already burnt into the material from his eyes zeroing in on your curves. He loved every inch of you, worshipped the air you breathed and pinched himself daily that you’d stuck around with his crazy stupid schedule and maniacal whims. God, he adored you and ached at how effortlessly beautiful you looked in your matching crop top and tracksuit pants, waltzing around the home you had created together.

And he couldn’t hide the way he felt when you looked around, bottom lip clamped loosely between his front teeth, chewing the inside of his cheek and admiring how fucking lucky he was to have such a beautiful creature in his grasp. Heaven sent.

"You look very cute today."

He was smitten; holding your hips in place as you slung your arms around his shoulders. His hands subconsciously trailed down to the back of your thighs and teased the thin hem on your shorts, fingertips melting into the skin like butter as he watched your gorgeously bright eyes narrow.

"I'm not wearing a bra just for you," You flirted, nudging closer to his chest and needing more than just the heat from his hands on your skin.

"I can see that," He hummed matter-of-factly as he gazed over the sheer top that had been driving him crazy all day, adoring the way your nipples hardened at his stare before pressing a peck to the bottom of your sternum.

Jungkook continued trailing soft kisses across your stomach as you brought your hands to his tousled hair, trawling your fingertips through the damp locks and massaging his scalp. A soft, barely audible whimper slipped from his lips as he tilted his head back and caught your eyes, succumbing to the drowsiness and closing them for a quiet moment.

"That feels so nice." 

He practically whispered before opening his eyes and pulling you closer with his hands that were now hidden under your loose top, fingertips following the arch of your spine as you leaned down and captured his soft lips. He tasted salty, tongue deliciously warm as you explored his mouth with your own. You loved the way he inhaled you and swallowed the moans he was causing. The intimacy you shared with him never ceased to make you weak in the knees, putty in his hands.

"I wanna watch you fuck me in this mirror." 

Your words were muttered against his pursed lips and Jungkook’s eyes were wider than a flying saucer when you pulled back ever so slightly, noses bumping together from how close you still were. He huffed out a soft laugh as you nodded towards the mirrors lining the walls around you both, eyeing your reflection beside him.

"Really?" He asked incredulously, a humorous expression ascending onto his blushing cheeks as you returned the raised brow, confused by his question.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" You scoffed, the deadpan look never faltering from your face and causing his goofy smile to fall; finally realising you were being serious.

"Well... no you don't but... Do you want me to do you against the mirror or on here?" Jungkook asked frowning down at the bench before bouncing up and down on it to make sure it was sturdy enough for your spontaneous demand.

"I don't really care," You almost moaned, smoothing your hands across his strong chest and over his tense shoulders, leaning down and pressing your lips to his damp neck again, "I just need you."

"I don't wanna risk breaking this because it was the last one at the shop so I guess we could do it against the mirrors…”

The consideration in his voice caused your brows to furrow in disappointment and your hands to drop from his shoulders as you stood up straight, looking down at your boyfriend with a frown. It was unlike Jungkook to not be jumping for joy at your suggestion, but although he was impulsive and spontaneous, he was also pragmatic. The duality of the man still surprises you.

"Jeez, don't get too excited about it."

The sarcasm was dripping from your tone as Jungkook shook his head fervently, quickly reaching out to pull you back. All he could think about daily was making love to you in different places in the house and shockingly, the home gym hadn’t been ticked off the list but god, he wanted to. He was already twitching thinking about it, the tightness of his shorts already cutting off circulation to his legs.

"No, no. Baby, look at you – I am so excited but you caught me off guard and I was just trying to think… what’s the word? Logically… Logistically…”

"It’s logistically but Kook – you called me in here and made me watch you gyrating and making sex noises, and then you told me I look cute and now you're caught off guard that I want to have sex with you?... Are you okay?" You joked, pressing the back of your hand against Jungkook’s sticky forehead, pretending to check if he had a temperature or if he even had a pulse at all.

He laughed, borderline giggled and shook his head, "Well, when you say it like that, it makes sense. I just didn't think you'd get turned on over that."

You couldn't help but laugh in his face at his assumption, "You're shirtless and sweaty and wearing shorts that are so tight that I can see your dick... There's no way you didn't think this would get me going."

You wagged your finger up and down his body and Jungkook simply shrugged, hardening by the second, "It didn't even cross my mind but if it's making you feel like that then let's fucking go!"

He slapped his hands down on his lap and immediately reached for the drawstring on your pants. “These are definitely coming off…” He murmured, eyes narrowed in concentration as he slid them down your legs.

"I promise if we break the bench, I will personally call every single shop in Seoul and replace it.”

You stepped out of the cotton material around your ankles, grasping Kooks’ shoulders for balance as he tugged on his own shorts; finally liberating himself of the constriction caused by his own unadulterated arousal. He had no self control when it came to you.

"Jeez, you are horny," He teased as you climbed on top of him; his tactile hands guiding your knees to each side of his thighs with a devilish grin.

He was in his element with you on top of him; he had the perfect view of his girl and could feel how ready you were for him when you rested on his thigh, your slickness cool against his soft skin. He loved how dialled in you were to his touch, every little wince or mumble making his heart pound harder in his chest – blood rushing to his dick every time you whispered in his ear.

But he knew that you knew how much he craved having you like this so of course he teased you in spirited retaliation, like any man desperately in love does to the one he adores the most.

“You know that if you ever need to get some inspiration, you can always come in and watch me work out, baby. You like it, huh?”

"I do and I intend to enjoy this so shut up."

Now he was really hard, worked up beyond his limits.

As a distraction from his edge, he went back to what he did best – kissing you. You were both as pent up as each other, embarrassingly desperate for two people who had been going at it all weekend but you couldn’t get enough. It wasn’t until the firm grip on your hips tightened even more that you finally felt how enthusiastic he was about fucking you in his gym.

"You taste like lemons," Jungkook mumbled as your tongues collided.

You couldn’t mask the smirk on your lips as he kissed you again, reaching down and massaging him over his boxer briefs. You pulled away slightly from the kiss, ghosting his swollen lips as you softly stroked him in your hand.

"I bet if you'd seen me eating that lemon popsicle, you would've felt the same way as I did watching you lift these stupid weights," and Jungkook chuckled at your annoyingly accurate theory, his warm breath fanning over your face before seizing your lips again. God, he loved kissing you.

"I probably wouldn’t have lasted, let's be honest," He whispered back with a knowing smile, completely unashamed to be enamoured by the woman slowly stoking him, eyes fluttering shut from the pleasure surging through his body.

“Maybe next time, sweetheart.”

Kook simply smiled, eyes barely open as he watched your bodies connecting in the most intimate way, tongue quickly swiping across his bottom lip in preparation for your kiss. As you gripped him tight in your hand and bottomed out on his achingly hard cock, you pressed your lips to his own, forced to swallow the loud moan falling from your lips.

You whimpered before a sharp inhale caused Jungkooks’ eyes to shoot up to your closed ones, searching your face for any pain.

"You good?" He asked softly but swiftly with his hands firmly placed on the outside of your thighs, gently holding you in place until you gave him the okay to move his hips.

"So good," You breathed, tilting your neck back and arching your spine to change the angle a little, feeling that sweet spot deep inside you being brushed ever so gently, “You feel amazing right there.”

Once you both hit that toe curling, achingly good rhythm that you had perfected together, Kook rested his chin on your shoulder and watched how mind-numbingly hot you looked riding him in the mirror, his big tattooed hands firmly grabbing your ass and spreading you out like a meal he was desperate to devour.

"My god..." He growled as you looked down and followed his eye line, biting your puffy bottom lip when you realised he was watching himself disappear inside you, every inch taken care of. And you too, were groaning at the sight.

“You look gorgeous riding my cock, baby.”

"We look so sexy," You were quick to correct, breathless from both the sight of Jungkook’s large, veiny hands leaving prints on your backside and his relentlessness to have you losing your goddamned mind on his dick.

Both had you twisted in knots, the pit in your stomach tightening with every thrust and all you could do was thank whoever had invented weight training because boy, were you reaping the benefits now. Sex in your home gym – tick.

+ + +

“Soooo,” Jungkook drawled, a smug smile lacing every syllable. 

The workout afternoon delight that had you and Jungkook panting and sending echoed moans through an otherwise silent house had required a change in location after one too many “deadlifts”. Maybe the bench press wasn’t up to the challenge but you took the risk, knowing the consequences and it was an accident, of course, one waiting to happen according to the man brushing his warm fingertips down your spine; the unspoken promise you made hanging in the thick air.

“When are you going to replace my bench press, huh?”

A grumble fell from your lips at his leading question, head buried in a pillow and still coming down from the high that had sent your mind, body and spirit into orbit. Your tired eyes caught his glimmering with humour, tickled that you were now responsible for buying him a new bench, in Seoul no less.

“But my Korean is so bad…”

Jungkooks’ soft laugh sifted through your ears, his giggle showing his hand and now you knew that this was his plan all along. He was the reason it broke, not you. He was the one who insisted on fucking you faster, harder, deeper until your legs were shaking and he had the neighbours downstairs questioning whether there was an earthquake warning for the city. He had you on all fours, rocking back on his dick like your life depended on it, loosening you and apparently every screw on the frame below. Screaming out for mercy.

And now he had the audacity to look at you with those mischievous doe eyes that had gotten you both in trouble more times than you could count, thrilled that you would have to fumble your way through a phone call for him. So instead of picking up your phone, you pulled Kook down into a deep kiss, distracting your sweet boyfriend until he was a moaning mess again.

The broken bench press was a problem for another day. 

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[bloodred-jk]

Wrong Passenger | JJK

Summary: The road trip was supposed to be with your best friend. Instead, you're stuck driving 500km with Jungkook—her infuriating older brother and the one person you love arguing with.

Genre: Enemies to Lovers • Road Trip Romance • Smut

Pairing: Jungkook × Reader

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content • Strong Language • Sexual Tension • Rough Scenes • Mild Angst • Fingering

Listen To:

ᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧ☾ ˖°˖☆ ˖°˖☽ᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧ ᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧ☾ ˖°˖☆ ˖°˖☽ᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧ

The plan had been simple.

You and your best friend had been talking about this music festival for months. The only downside? It was nearly 500 kilometers away.

Instead of taking a train or booking a flight, the two of you had agreed on something much more exciting—a road trip.

Just the two of you.

A whole weekend filled with loud music, overpriced gas station snacks, singing at the top of your lungs.

At least, that had been the plan.

You carried the last cooler out of the house, carefully placing it into the trunk of your car next to your already packed duffel bag.

"Perfect," you mumbled, shutting the trunk with a satisfied grin.

Your phone suddenly buzzed in your pocket.

The caller ID made you smile.

Mina ❤️

"Hey, I'm just about to head over to your place."

Silence.

"...Y/N."

The smile on your face slowly faded. "You sound way too serious."

"I know... and I'm really, really sorry."

Your stomach dropped. "What happened?"

You heard her sigh on the other end. "My manager just called. One of my coworkers called in sick, and they need me to cover the entire weekend."

You frowned. "What? No. Tell them you already have plans."

"I tried."

"And?"

"They basically told me it wasn't optional."

You closed your eyes, rubbing your forehead."You've got to be kidding me."

"I wish I was."

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

"So..." you muttered. "I guess I'm going alone."

"Actually..." Mina hesitated. "I already found someone to take my place."

You froze. "...What?"

"I didn't want you driving all that way by yourself."

"Mina."

"So... I asked my brother."

Your grip on the phone tightened. "...Which brother?" She had 2 brothers.

"...Jungkook."

You stared at your driveway. "Mina."

"He already agreed!"

"Mina."

"He should be there any minute now."

Your eye twitched. "I would literally rather drive five hundred kilometers alone than spend a weekend trapped in a car with your brother."

A nervous laugh echoed through the speaker. "Yeah... he kind of said the same thing about you."

Before you could answer, the sound of a car pulling into your driveway made you slowly look up.

A black SUV rolled to a stop in front of your house. The driver's door opened.

Jungkook.

Hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, looking just as unimpressed as you felt.

You stood there for a second, completely frozen, hoping this was some kind of joke. It wasn't. Jungkook shut the driver's door behind him, slinging a backpack over one shoulder before glancing at you with the same indifferent expression he always wore around you.

A frustrated sigh escaped your lips.

Of all the people Mina could have asked, it had to be him.

You and Jungkook had never gotten along. Ever since the day you met him, every conversation somehow turned into an argument. One sarcastic remark always led to another until one of you walked away annoyed. You couldn't remember a single interaction that hadn't ended with at least one eye roll, a scoff, or a muttered insult.

Which was exactly why none of this made any sense.

Why had he agreed?

He disliked you just as much as you disliked him.

You marched across the driveway until only a few steps separated you, crossing your arms tightly over your chest.

"I'm not getting in a car with you."

Jungkook barely reacted. His eyes briefly met yours before he looked past you at the packed trunk. "Hello to you too."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

Your jaw clenched. "No way in hell am I spending an entire weekend trapped with you."

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, and somehow that irritated you even more.

"Trust me," he said calmly, "it wasn't exactly my first choice either."

"Then why are you here?"

He shrugged as if it wasn't worth discussing. "Mina asked."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

You let out a humorless laugh, throwing your hands in the air. "Unbelievable."

He watched your little outburst without saying a word, almost amused by how quickly you were losing your patience.

"You could've just said no."

"And leave my sister worrying about you driving five hundred kilometers alone?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I would've been perfectly fine."

"I'm sure you would've."

The hint of disbelief in his voice made your blood boil.

"I don't need you to babysit me."

"And I don't remember offering."

Silence settled between you, thick enough to cut with a knife. You glared at him while he simply stared back, unfazed as always. Somehow that calm expression of his was more infuriating than if he had argued back.

Your phone buzzed again.

Mina. You answered immediately.

"Tell me you came to your senses and sent him home."

Instead, all you heard was your best friend's guilty sigh.

"Mina," you said through gritted teeth, pinching the bridge of your nose as you turned your back to Jungkook. "Tell me this isn't actually happening."

"I know, I know," she sighed for what felt like the hundredth time. "Please don't be mad."

"Oh, I'm way past mad."

"I just... I didn't want you driving all that way by yourself."

"I would've survived."

"I know you would've," she replied softly, "but I'd spend the entire weekend worrying. At least with Jungkook there, I know you'll be safe."

You glanced over your shoulder.

Jungkook hadn't interrupted once. He simply stood beside his car, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, giving you the space to finish the call.

"Mina, you know I can't stand him."

"I know."

"And he can't stand me."

"I know."

"We argue about literally everything."

"I know."

"Then why would you do this to us?"

A quiet laugh escaped her before she immediately caught herself. "I'm sorry."

You let out a long, exhausted breath, closing your eyes for a moment. The silence stretched between the two of you until Mina spoke again, her voice noticeably smaller. "..Please?"

You'd known Mina long enough to recognize when she genuinely felt bad, and right now she sounded absolutely miserable.

Your shoulders slowly dropped. "You owe me."

"I know."

"If this weekend ends with one of us getting arrested, I'm blaming you."

She laughed, relief flooding her voice. "I'll take full responsibility."

You shook your head, unable to suppress the small smile threatening to appear. "You're unbelievable."

"I love you too."

"Yeah, yeah."

After ending the call, you stared at your phone for another second before slipping it back into your pocket.

This was, without question, the worst idea Mina had ever had.

With a defeated sigh, you grabbed the handle of your suitcase and dragged it toward Jungkook's SUV.

He watched you approach without saying anything, though one corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly.

"I wouldn't smile if I were you," you muttered, stopping beside the trunk. You shot him a glare sharp enough to kill.

He simply reached for your suitcase. "I've got it."

"I can carry my own bag."

"I'm aware."

"Then don't touch it."

Ignoring your protest entirely, he lifted it into the trunk with effortless ease before closing it.

Jungkook leaned against the car for a second before looking at you. "Ready?"

You looked from him to the passenger seat, then back again.

A whole weekend. Five hundred kilometers. One car.

You had a feeling this was going to be the longest—and most exhausting—weekend of your life.

The first twenty minutes passed in complete silence. The only sounds filling the car were the steady hum of the engine and the occasional rush of passing traffic as other vehicles sped by. The highway stretched endlessly ahead, disappearing into the horizon beneath a cloudless sky.

You rested your elbow against the door, absentmindedly watching the scenery blur past the window. Fields, bridges, exit signs—it all looked the same after a while.

You stole a glance at Jungkook. One hand rested loosely on the steering wheel while the other tapped lightly against his thigh to a rhythm only he seemed to hear. His gaze never left the road, his expression calm and unreadable.

With a quiet sigh, you reached toward the dashboard and switched on the radio.

Music instantly filled the car.

A pop song. You wrinkled your nose. "No."

A country song. "Absolutely not."

Heavy metal. You grimaced. "Seriously?"

Station after station, your finger continued pressing the button, giving each song barely two seconds before dismissing it.

A soft scoff escaped Jungkook, though he kept his eyes fixed on the road. "You always this picky?"

You ignored him and skipped another station.

A love song. "Ew."

Just as your thumb reached for the button again, a warm hand suddenly wrapped around your wrist.

The unexpected contact made your breath catch.

Without looking away from the road, Jungkook gently but firmly pushed your hand away from the radio.

"Leave it." His voice was calm, almost lazy, but carried enough authority to make you pause.

You slowly turned your head, staring at him in disbelief before looking down at where his hand still rested against yours. "So now you get to decide what we listen to?"

"I get to decide that we actually listen to something before you skip it after two seconds."

"I knew you had terrible taste."

"And I knew you had no patience."

You folded your arms across your chest, leaning back into the passenger seat with an exaggerated huff. "This song is awful."

Jungkook merely allowed the smallest hint of a smile to tug at the corner of his mouth.

"You know," he said after a moment, "for someone who didn't want to come with me, you seem awfully comfortable acting like you own the passenger seat."

You let out a dry laugh. "And for someone who supposedly didn't want to come either... you're smiling way too much."

"I smile when I'm entertained."

"And what's entertaining?"

He finally glanced at you for the briefest second. "You."

That single word lingered in the air far longer than either of you expected.

Silence settled over the car once again, heavier than before. Neither of you made another attempt to speak, almost as if an unspoken agreement had been made. You turned your attention back to the window, pretending to be fascinated by the endless stretch of highway rushing past. Beside you, Jungkook remained focused on the road.

You were determined to ignore him.

And judging by his complete lack of interest in starting another argument, he seemed equally determined to ignore you.

At least, that's what it looked like.

Every now and then, almost against your own will, your eyes drifted toward him. Just a quick glance. Nothing more. The way the sunlight filtered through the windshield, catching the dark strands of his hair. The relaxed grip he had on the steering wheel. The quiet concentration written across his face.

The moment your gaze lingered a second too long, he glanced in your direction. Your eyes snapped back to the window.

There was something strangely unsettling about sharing such a confined space with someone for hours. You became hyperaware of every movement he made—the subtle shift of his shoulders, the quiet sigh that escaped him, the way he adjusted his hand on the steering wheel. It was impossible not to notice him.

You looked over once more, only to find his eyes already on you. Then he looked back at the road as though nothing had happened.

You frowned.

"If you're going to keep staring," you muttered, still looking out the window, "at least try to be subtle."

A brief chuckle escaped him. "I was about to say the exact same thing to you."

You turned your head, narrowing your eyes. "I wasn't staring."

"No?" One brow arched ever so slightly. "Then why do you keep looking at me?"

"I was checking if your eyes were still on the road."

"Mhm."

"They were."

"Good to know."

You scoffed, folding your arms tighter across your chest. "You're insufferable."

"And yet," he replied with the faintest hint of amusement in his voice, "you've looked at me at least six times in the last ten minutes."

Heat crept into your cheeks before you could stop it. "I have not."

"You have." His lips curled into a smug smile.

You tore your gaze away from him before he could notice the faint warmth creeping into your cheeks. It was ridiculous, really. You'd known Jungkook for years—through Mina, family dinners, birthdays, and countless occasions where your paths had inevitably crossed. If there was one thing you had never denied, even to yourself, it was that he was attractive. Painfully so. The kind of attractive people couldn't help but stare at. Dark eyes, effortless confidence, an annoyingly pretty smile.

Unfortunately, his personality had always managed to overshadow all of that.

Or at least, that's what you liked to tell yourself.

His arrogance, his sarcastic remarks, the way he always seemed to know exactly which buttons to push—it was enough to make you forget every objectively attractive thing about him within seconds. He had an infuriating talent for getting under your skin, and somehow that had become the only thing you associated him with.

Still...

Being trapped in a car with him for hours made it surprisingly difficult to ignore the details you usually overlooked. The way the sunlight caught the soft strands of his dark hair whenever the car passed beneath an opening in the trees. The veins running along his forearm as his hand rested casually on the steering wheel. Even the quiet concentration on his face as he drove was... annoyingly attractive.

You frowned at yourself.

Get it together.

Maybe that was exactly why the two of you had never gotten along. Every conversation somehow turned into a competition. It didn't matter how harmless it started—within minutes, one sarcastic comment would lead to another until the two of you were arguing over something completely ridiculous. Neither of you ever backed down. Neither of you ever admitted defeat.

"You know," you said, absentmindedly tracing your finger along the edge of the window, "for someone who claims to be bored, you're awfully invested in counting how many times I look at you."

Jungkook's grip shifted on the steering wheel. "You were making it easy."

You turned to him with an incredulous expression. "So now it's my fault?"

"I didn't say that."

"You did."

A quiet sigh escaped him, one that sounded suspiciously close to amusement.

"See?" he said. "This."

"What?"

"This is exactly why talking to you is exhausting."

You stared at him. "Talking to me is exhausting?"

He finally glanced at you, one eyebrow raised. "Did I stutter?"

A disbelieving laugh escaped your lips. "That's rich coming from someone whose personality consists of being annoyingly arrogant."

"I'm not arrogant."

"You absolutely are."

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You're stubborn."

You folded your arms across your chest. "I'm not."

Jungkook looked at you for a brief moment before the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

You clicked your tongue in annoyance, turning away ore he could see the reluctant smile threatening to appear.

"I hate you."

His answer came without hesitation. "I know."

"...Good."

"Good."

The tension inside the SUV had become almost tangible, stretching between the two of you like a wire pulled too tight. Every glance lingered a little too long, every sarcastic remark carried a little more weight than it should have. There wasn't a single conversation the two of you could have without it ending in an argument. It was almost impressive.

Mina had once jokingly compared the two of you to magnets with the wrong poles—destined to push each other away no matter how close you got.

She wasn't wrong.

You couldn't stand the way Jungkook always had an answer for everything. The infuriating calmness in his voice. The confidence that bordered on cockiness. The stupid little smirk that appeared whenever he knew he'd gotten under your skin.

And judging by the way he occasionally glanced in your direction before looking away again, the feeling seemed entirely mutual.

Neither of you understood the other. Neither of you particularly wanted to.

Yet somehow, after barely two hours on the road, you already knew one thing for certain.

Five hundred kilometers had never sounded so painfully long.

The highway had grown noticeably quieter by the time the fuel warning light flickered onto the dashboard. The digital clock read 9:53 p.m., and exhaustion had begun to settle over both of you. Even your arguments had lost some of their fire, replaced by tired sighs and the occasional sarcastic remark.

Without saying a word, Jungkook steered the SUV toward the next gas station and parked beside an empty pump. He switched off the engine before unbuckling his seatbelt.

"We need gas," he said, glancing at the fuel gauge. Then his eyes met yours for the first time in several minutes. "Look for a motel while I fill up. I'm not driving all night."

You nodded, already unlocking your phone. "Fine."

Jungkook stepped out, letting the door fall shut behind him, leaving you alone with nothing but the glow of your screen.

You opened several booking apps, your thumb scrolling through one accommodation after another. Most were either fully booked or outrageously expensive. The few affordable ones had ratings bad enough to make you question whether you'd wake up with all your belongings still there.

After a few more minutes, one listing finally caught your attention.

"...You've got to be kidding me."

Only one room remaining.

You stared at the screen for a long second before rubbing your temples.

Out of every possible scenario, this had to happen.

The passenger door opened, pulling you from your thoughts. Jungkook slid back into the driver's seat, setting a small plastic bag on the center console before fastening his seatbelt.

"Find anything?" he asked as he started the engine.

"...Yeah."

He glanced at you briefly. "Well?"

You hesitated. "There's a motel about an hour from here."

"Sounds good."

"...There's only one room left."

For the first time in a while, he actually looked at you. "So?"

You blinked. "So?"

"Yeah."

You stared at him in disbelief. "Jungkook, there's one room."

"I heard you."

"...Meaning we'd have to share it."

He shrugged as though you had just informed him it might rain tomorrow. "And?"

"And?" you repeated, almost laughing. "That's your response?"

He pulled out of the gas station and merged back onto the highway. "I don't see the issue."

You looked at him as though he'd completely lost his mind. "I do."

"It's one night."

"One night in the same room."

Another shrug. "If it bothers you that much, I'll sleep on the floor."

You frowned.

"I've slept in worse places." His answer was so casual it almost irritated you more than if he'd argued back.

"You really don't care?"

"No."

You let out an exasperated sigh, leaning back against your seat. "This is literally my worst-case scenario."

A quiet chuckle escaped him. "I figured."

"I was looking forward to having at least one place where I didn't have to look at your face."

He smirked without taking his eyes off the road. "That's a shame."

"And don't think sleeping on the floor suddenly makes you some kind of gentleman."

"I wasn't trying to." His calmness only made your frustration worse.

With an irritated huff, you folded your arms across your chest and looked out the window again.

One more hour until you would be forced to spend the night in the same motel room as the one person you could barely tolerate.

This weekend just kept getting better.

You buried yourself in your own frustration, stubbornly staring out the passenger window as the headlights carved through the darkness ahead. The thought of sharing a motel room with Jungkook replayed in your head over and over again, each time sounding worse than the last.

Just as you were mentally preparing yourself for what would undoubtedly be the most uncomfortable night of your life, Jungkook cleared his throat.

"Oh," he said casually, keeping one hand on the steering wheel. "I almost forgot."

You didn't bother looking at him. "What now?"

"I brought you something."

Your brows knitted together. Slowly, you turned your head. "What?"

Without another word, he reached for the plastic bag resting between the seats and pulled out a familiar can before placing it carefully in the cup holder beside you.

Your favorite energy drink.

Then came a bag of your favorite chips. And finally, the chocolate bar you always bought whenever you stopped at a convenience store.

You stared at the small pile in silence, your mind taking a second longer than usual to process what you were looking at. "...What is this?"

"I told you," Jungkook replied simply. "I brought you something."

You blinked. "I... didn't ask you to."

"I know."

"Then why did you buy it?"

He shrugged, his eyes never leaving the road ahead. "You forgot to." His answer caught you completely off guard.

"You noticed?"

"You were too busy looking for a motel."

A quiet silence followed. Your gaze drifted back down to the snacks.

He had bought your favorites.

"How did you even know these are my favorites?"

This time, Jungkook actually glanced at you before returning his attention to the road. "You always buy them."

"I do?"

"Every time Mina drags us into a convenience store. A faint smile tugged at the corner of Jungkook's mouth.

You shook your head, trying to suppress the small smile threatening to betray you. "I still think you're annoying."

For the first time since the trip had begun, the corners of your lips lifted ever so slightly.

Long enough for Jungkook to catch it.

You couldn't explain why, but the gesture stayed with you.

It wasn't the snacks themselves. It was the fact that he had remembered. Somewhere between years of sarcastic remarks, eye rolls, and endless arguments, Jungkook had somehow noticed the little things about you—the same way you had absentmindedly remembered his favorite banana milk.

The realization unsettled you more than you cared to admit.

Your fingers curled around the cold can of your energy drink as you stared at it for a moment before quietly opening it. The familiar hiss broke the silence inside the car, followed by a small sip.

"...Thanks," you said, your voice noticeably softer than before.

Jungkook kept his eyes on the road.

Another brief silence settled between you.

"I just..." You looked down at the can in your hands. "I wasn't expecting that."

He shrugged lightly. "It wasn't a big deal."

But somehow it felt like one.

"So..." he said, his tone unusually relaxed. "Which artist are you looking forward to seeing the most?"

You blinked, surprised by the genuine question.

"The Rose," you answered without hesitation. "I've wanted to see them live for years."

He nodded thoughtfully. "They're good."

You looked at him. "You know them?"

He gave you a sideways glance. "What? You think I only listen to gym playlists?"

A quiet laugh escaped you before you could stop it. "I kind of did."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

You smiled faintly, shaking your head. "What about you?"

He thought for a second. "Probably DPR Ian."

"Really?"

"Mhm."

"I honestly didn't expect that."

He laughed again, this time without a sarcastic remark to follow.

The conversation continued surprisingly naturally after that. You talked about previous concerts, embarrassing festival experiences, terrible food at music venues, and the absurd prices of merchandise. Every now and then one of you would tease the other, but it never escalated into one of your usual arguments. There were no sharp remarks, no need to prove who was right, no stubborn refusal to let the other finish a sentence.

It was... nice.

An hour later, the glowing neon sign of the motel finally appeared at the side of the road.

Jungkook pulled into the nearly empty parking lot before switching off the engine. "We're here."

You glanced outside. The building had definitely seen better days. The faded sign buzzed quietly above the reception office, and the pale red lights along the balconies flickered every few seconds. It wasn't exactly inviting, but after nearly 4 hours on the road, you doubted either of you cared anymore.

Inside the reception, check-in took less than five minutes. The elderly receptionist handed Jungkook a single keycard with a polite smile. "Room twelve. End of the hallway."

You exchanged a quick glance with Jungkook.

One room.

The room wasn't luxurious by any means, but clean enough for one night. A queen-sized bed occupied most of the space, a small wooden nightstand stood between the bed and the wall, and an old television hung opposite it. Near the window sat a tiny round table with two mismatched chairs, while a narrow door led into a surprisingly tidy bathroom. The wallpaper looked slightly faded, and the air carried the faint scent of fresh linen mixed with industrial cleaner, but after a full day of driving, it felt more than acceptable.

You slowly set your bag beside the bed before turning to Jungkook.

Neither of you said a word.

Your eyes moved from the bed to him.

And suddenly, the peaceful drive during the last hour didn't seem nearly as important anymore.

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to look anywhere but at him.

"I... I'm going to change," you mumbled, reaching for your overnight bag. "I'm not sleeping in jeans."

Jungkook, who had just set his backpack down beside the wall, gave a small nod. "Go ahead."

Without another word, you disappeared into the bathroom, quietly locking the door behind you.

The moment you were alone, you let out a long, exhausted breath. Your palms rested against the edge of the sink as you stared at your own reflection.

The cool bathroom light only emphasized how tired you looked. Your hair was slightly messy from hours in the car, and there were faint signs of exhaustion beneath your eyes.

You inhaled slowly...

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, trying to ignore the uncomfortable knot forming in your stomach. It wasn't fear—far from it. It was simply the awkwardness of the situation. You and Jungkook could barely survive a ten-minute conversation without arguing.

Now you were expected to share a room.

"Fantastic," you muttered under your breath.

After changing into an oversized T-shirt and a pair of comfortable shorts, you splashed some cold water on your face before finally unlocking the door.

You stepped into the room and immediately froze.

Jungkook stood a few feet away with his back facing you, apparently in the middle of changing his shirt.

Broad shoulders. Defined muscles stretching beneath warm skin. Dark ink traced across his arm and continued over his shoulder blade. The tattoos caught your attention before you could stop yourself, intricate against the soft glow of the bedside lamp.

Your breath hitched almost imperceptibly.

Oh... God.

Every coherent thought vanished from your mind.

You had always known Jungkook was painfully attractive.

Your eyes lingered a second longer than they should have.

"You're staring." His voice broke through your thoughts so suddenly that you nearly jumped.

Before you could deny it, Jungkook turned around, one eyebrow raised as he met your gaze. There wasn't any mockery in his expression—just the faintest hint of amusement.

Heat instantly rushed to your face. "I wasn't staring," you replied far too quickly.

His lips curved into a subtle smile. "No?"

"No."

He folded his shirt over one shoulder, clearly unconvinced. "You've been standing there for at least ten seconds."

"I was..." You searched desperately for an excuse, your eyes flicking anywhere but directly at him. "...thinking."

"About my back?"

You groaned, covering your face with one hand. "Can you not make this worse?"

A quiet laugh escaped him. "I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to."

For a brief moment, neither of you spoke. Then Jungkook reached for a clean T-shirt lying on the bed and slipped it on without another comment.

He had caught you looking.

And judging by the amused smile he wore as he sat down on the edge of the bed...

He wasn't going to let you forget it anytime soon.

You climbed into bed without another word, pulling the blanket up to your shoulders as you settled onto the far edge of the mattress. Every movement felt oddly calculated, as if getting too comfortable would somehow make the situation even more real.

Across the room, Jungkook grabbed one of the spare blankets from the closet and spread it across the carpet before placing a pillow beneath his head.

Just like he'd said he would. He simply made himself comfortable—or at least, he tried to.

The room fell silent.

The only sound was the quiet hum of the old air conditioner struggling against the summer heat.

You stared at the ceiling, hands folded beneath the blanket, but sleep refused to come.

His broad shoulders. The defined muscles across his back. The dark tattoos on his arm.

You squeezed your eyes shut.

Seriously?

Of all the things your brain could replay, it had chosen that.

A quiet rustling pulled you from your thoughts. You glanced toward the floor.

Jungkook shifted onto his side before letting out a low sigh.

A minute later, he turned again. The blanket crinkled beneath him every time he moved.

Apparently, the floor wasn't nearly as comfortable as he'd made it sound.

He stretched one arm beneath his head, adjusted the pillow, then quietly muttered something under his breath before rolling onto his back again.

You watched him for another moment.

A small knot of guilt settled in your chest.

You weren't heartless.

Another few minutes passed.

You finally let out a quiet breath. "...Jungkook."

His movements stopped. "Hm?"

You hesitated, almost regretting opening your mouth. "...Come up here before you throw your back out."

He slowly lifted his head to look at you. "Are you sure?"

You nodded, avoiding his eyes. "Yeah."

He raised an eyebrow. "I thought sharing a room was already your worst nightmare."

"It still is."

A faint smile tugged at his lips. "Then what changed?"

You sat up with an exaggerated sigh. "I'm trying to be a decent human being."

He chuckled softly. "That's new."

You shot him a look. "Don't make me change my mind."

"I'm getting up."

He pushed himself off the floor and walked over to the other side of the bed while you immediately reached for every spare pillow you could find.

"What are you doing?" he asked, watching with clear amusement.

One by one, you stacked the pillows down the center of the mattress, carefully creating a ridiculously uneven barrier between your side and his.

You took one last pillow and squeezed it into the gap with a satisfied nod. "There."

Jungkook stared at your creation for several seconds before letting out an unexpected laugh. "You are such a child."

"It's called setting boundaries."

He climbed into bed anyway, careful not to disturb your masterpiece. "I wasn't planning on invading your side."

"Good." You couldn't help the tiny smile tugging at your lips.

Jungkook settled onto his back, folding one arm behind his head as he looked up at the ceiling. "You know," he said after a moment, "that wall isn't going to stop me if I decide to cross."

You turned your head so quickly you nearly knocked one of the pillows over. "What?"

A grin spread across his face. "I'm kidding."

You glared at him. "You're not funny."

"I thought it was."

"Go to sleep."

"Yes, ma'am."

You rolled your eyes before turning onto your side, facing away from him.

The room fell quiet once more.

You lay there in the heavy silence, the makeshift pillow wall a flimsy shield against the growing awareness of him. The air felt thicker now, charged with the kind of tension that made your skin prickle. Despite your best efforts, your mind kept replaying fragments of the evening—the way his muscles had flexed under the dim light, the dark ink trailing down his skin. You squeezed your eyes shut, annoyed at your own weakness.

A low, amused hum broke the quiet. Jungkook shifted onto his side, the mattress dipping under his weight as he faced the barrier. His voice cut through the darkness, smooth but edged with that signature arrogance.

"You know," he said, his tone lazy yet pointed, "I saw the way you were staring at me earlier. When you came out of the bathroom. Couldn't keep your eyes off my back... or lower." He let out a soft, mocking chuckle. "What was it, exactly? The tattoos? Or were you imagining what else was hiding under those sweatpants?"

Your eyes snapped open, heat rushing to your face in a fierce blend of embarrassment and indignation. Your heart stuttered, then raced, a confusing knot of irritation twisting in your chest. How dare he call you out like that—especially when you’d been trying so hard to forget it yourself?

"You’re delusional," you shot back, your voice sharper than intended, though it wavered slightly. You turned toward the pillows, glaring at the shadowed outline of his face. "I wasn’t staring. And even if I glanced, it was only because you were taking up half the room like the arrogant prick you are."

Jungkook’s grin was audible in his reply, low and provocative. "Liar. Your eyes lingered. I felt it." He reached out, his fingers lightly tracing the top of one pillow as if testing its stability. The casual movement sent an unwelcome spark through you, your body betraying your words with a subtle flush of warmth. "It’s cute how you’re pretending you hate every second of this. But that little pause you had... tells me otherwise."

You sat up slightly, propping yourself on one elbow, the blanket slipping down your shoulders. Frustration simmered beneath your skin, mingling with an unwanted flicker of heat low in your stomach. Part of you wanted to shove the entire pillow wall onto him. Another part—the traitorous one—wondered what would happen if you didn’t.

"Don’t flatter yourself," you muttered, though your gaze involuntarily traced the strong line of his shoulder visible above the pillows. "I still can’t stand you. This doesn’t change anything. You’re still the same insufferable jerk who drives me insane."

He laughed quietly, the sound rich and annoyingly attractive in the dark. "Yeah? Then why’s your voice shaking?" Jungkook’s eyes locked onto yours through the narrow gap, dark and intense, holding a challenge that made your pulse thunder. "Keep telling yourself that. But I bet if I knocked this pathetic wall down right now, you wouldn’t stop me as fast as you’d like."

The words hung between you, thick with suggestion. Your breath hitched, a confusing rush of anger and reluctant desire warring inside you. You hated how your body reacted—skin tingling, thighs pressing together instinctively—while your mind screamed at you to push back.

"Try it," you challenged softly, your tone defiant even as heat pooled deeper. "And I’ll make sure you regret it."

Jungkook’s smirk deepened, but he didn’t move closer. Instead, he settled back against his pillow, watching you with that maddening mix of amusement. "We’ll see about that."

The room fell quiet again, but the peace was gone. Tension crackled in the air, the pillow barrier suddenly feeling far too insignificant against the pull of emotions neither of you wanted to name.

The tension in the room had grown almost unbearable, thick and electric, pressing down on your chest like a physical weight. Every breath felt heavier, the air between you charged with something dangerous and unspoken. The pillow wall, once a childish declaration of boundaries, now seemed laughably fragile—a pathetic attempt to hold back the inevitable.

You lay rigid on your side, staring at the shadowed ceiling, but your mind refused to quiet. Every inch of you was hyper-aware of him: the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth radiating across the divide, the low, mocking timbre of his voice still echoing in your ears. God, you wanted to forget it all—the arguments, the resentment, the years of mutual irritation. You wanted to reach out, tear the pillows away, and let the storm break. But you hesitated, fingers clutching the blanket as if it could anchor you.

"Still pretending?" Jungkook murmured after a long silence, his voice low and rough, laced with that infuriating smugness. He shifted closer to the barrier, the mattress creaking softly under him. "I can practically hear you thinking over there. What's it going to take for you to admit you're curious?"

You turned sharply toward the pillows, heart pounding furiously against your ribs. Anger flared hot and familiar, a shield you desperately needed. "Curious? About you?" you snapped, though your voice came out breathier than you intended, betraying the heat pooling low in your belly. "Don't make me laugh. You're the last person I'd ever want like that. Arrogant, self-absorbed—"

"Yet you couldn't stop staring," he interrupted, cutting through your tirade with effortless precision. A soft chuckle followed, dark and velvety. "Your eyes were practically devouring me earlier. Tell me, did you like what you saw? Because I sure as hell noticed."

The words sent a fresh wave of embarrassment crashing over you, mingling with a traitorous spark of desire that made your thighs press together instinctively. You hated him for it—for seeing through you so easily, for making your body react when your mind screamed to push him away. Everything inside you was screaming for him right now: the ache building between your legs, the way your skin flushed with need, the overwhelming urge to rip that ridiculous wall down and feel his hands on you.

"Shut up," you hissed, sitting up abruptly and hugging your knees to your chest. Your hands trembled slightly as you adjusted one of the pillows, reinforcing the barrier even as you longed to destroy it. "This doesn't change anything. I still can't stand you. You're infuriating, Jungkook. Always have been."

He propped himself up on one elbow, his dark eyes gleaming in the faint moonlight slipping through the curtains. The smirk on his lips was visible even in the dimness, but there was something hungrier beneath it now, a tension mirroring your own. "Yeah? Then why are you breathing like that?" he asked, his voice dropping lower, rougher. "Why haven't you told me to fuck off and sleep on the floor again?"

You opened your mouth to retort, but the words caught in your throat. The atmosphere refused to shift, no matter how much you tried to cling to the familiar comfort of arguments. The charged silence wrapped around you both, heavy with unspoken want, making every small movement feel intimate and loaded.

"I... I should," you whispered finally, frustration and longing twisting together in your chest. Your gaze lingered on the strong column of his neck, the way his shirt clung to his shoulders.

Jungkook watched you intently, his own breathing uneven now. "But you won't," he said softly, almost like a dare. "Because deep down, you feel it too. And it's driving you crazy."

The tension stretched tighter, almost unbearable, the air thick with possibility and resentment. Neither of you moved to break the wall, but the mood between you had irrevocably changed—heated, restless, and impossible to ignore.

Your heart hammered relentlessly, a chaotic rhythm of resentment and raw, unwanted desire. You wanted to hate him—needed to—but your body betrayed you at every turn, aching in ways that left you dizzy and frustrated.

Jungkook’s eyes never left yours through the narrow gap in the pillows. Slowly, deliberately, he sat up fully, the mattress shifting under his weight. Without a word, he reached out and began pushing the pillows aside, one by one, his movements calm but insistent. The barrier you had so carefully built crumbled between you, exposing the small space that suddenly felt far too intimate.

“What are you doing?” you whispered sharply, though you made no move to stop him. Your voice trembled with a mix of defiance and anticipation.

“Getting tired of this game,” he murmured, sliding closer until his body hovered near yours. The heat from his skin radiated against you, intoxicating and dangerous. He leaned in, his broad shoulders blocking out the faint moonlight, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. “You’ve been fighting this all night… but I saw how you looked at me. Bet you’re already wet just thinking about it, aren’t you?”

His low, filthy words sent a violent shiver racing down your spine. Heat flooded your core, sharp and insistent, making your thighs clench involuntarily. You hated how easily he unraveled you, how his voice—husky and confident—made your breath hitch and your mind spiral.

“Jungkook…” you protested weakly, but the sound came out more like a plea. Your hands fisted the blanket, torn between shoving him away and pulling him closer.

He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your ear as he brushed his lips lightly along the sensitive skin just below it. “That’s what I thought,” he whispered, his voice dropping even lower, dripping with sin. “I bet if I slipped my hand between those pretty thighs right now, I’d find you soaked for me. All that attitude, and your body’s begging for my cock.”

A soft, involuntary whimper escaped your lips, equal parts fury and overwhelming need. Your cheeks burned, your pulse thundered in your ears, and every inch of you felt electrified. You hated him—God, you still hated him—but the ache between your legs had become unbearable, a throbbing emptiness that screamed for relief.

“I can’t stand you,” you gasped, even as your body leaned toward him, traitorous and desperate.

“I know,” he breathed against your ear, nipping lightly at your lobe. “But you want this anyway. Say it.”

The last of your resistance shattered. With a frustrated, needy sound, you turned your head and finally gave in. Jungkook didn’t hesitate. His hand cupped the back of your neck, firm and possessive, as he captured your mouth in a searing kiss.

The kiss was anything but gentle—hungry, demanding, and laced with all the pent-up irritation and desire that had been building between you. His lips moved against yours with bruising intensity, tongue sweeping in to claim you as his free hand slid down your side, gripping your hip and pulling you flush against his hard body. You moaned softly into his mouth, fingers tangling in his shirt, torn between digging your nails in and melting completely.

His kiss deepening as he pressed you back against the mattress, his weight settling over you in a way that made your head spun.

Jungkook’s mouth moved against yours with deliberate hunger, his tongue teasing and claiming until your head spun. When he finally pulled back, his breathing was ragged, dark eyes burning into yours with a mixture of irritation and raw desire.

Without breaking eye contact, he pushed your shirt higher, exposing your breasts to the cool air of the room. His large hand cupped one breast, thumb brushing slowly over the sensitive nipple until it hardened under his touch. He leaned down, warm breath ghosting across your skin before his tongue flicked out, circling the peak with torturous patience.

You arched into him, a soft, reluctant moan slipping from your lips. “Jungkook…” The name came out half-warning, half-plea.

He hummed against your skin, then closed his mouth around the nipple, sucking gently at first, then harder, alternating between slow, sensual licks and sharp little bites that sent jolts of pleasure straight to your core. His fingers found your other nipple, rolling and pinching it with just enough pressure to make your thighs press together, seeking relief.

“You’re so sensitive here,” he murmured against your breast, voice low and rough. “Bet I could make you come just from this if I wanted to.”

Your fingers threaded through his hair, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. The conflicting emotions swirled inside you—frustration, hatred, and a deep, aching need that refused to be ignored.

His hand began its descent, sliding down your stomach with deliberate slowness. He slipped beneath the waistband of your pants, fingers gliding over your soaked folds. A low groan escaped him.

“Fuck… you’re dripping,” he whispered hotly against your ear as one thick finger traced your entrance. “All this arguing and your body’s been aching for me the whole time.”

You bit your lip hard, refusing to answer, but your hips rolled forward instinctively. He pushed one finger inside you slowly, savoring the way your walls clenched around him. He curled it gently, stroking that sensitive spot with maddening precision while his thumb found your clit and began slow, teasing circles.

The sensation built gradually, wave after wave of heat spreading through your body. You moaned softly, hips moving in time with his hand as he added a second finger, stretching you open.

“Look at you,” he breathed, lips brushing your ear again. “Riding my fingers."

The filthy words made you clench harder around him. Your breathing grew ragged, pleasure coiling tighter in your belly. He kept the pace slow and deep, drawing it out until your thighs began to tremble.

When your orgasm finally washed over you, it was intense and shattering. You cried out, back arching as your walls pulsed around his fingers. He didn’t stop until every last tremor had faded, watching your face with dark satisfaction.

Before you could fully recover, Jungkook moved lower, pulling your pants and underwear completely off. He settled between your thighs, spreading them wide. His tongue replaced his fingers, licking a long, slow stripe up your center. You gasped sharply, fingers gripping the sheets.

He took his time—lapping at your folds, circling your clit with the flat of his tongue, then sucking it gently into his mouth. Every stroke was deliberate, every flick designed to drive you higher. He groaned against you, the vibrations sending fresh sparks through your overstimulated body.

“fuck,” you whimpered, one hand fisting his hair.

He pinned your hips down with strong hands, holding you in place as he devoured you with slow, devastating focus. Another orgasm built gradually, deeper this time, until it crashed over you in powerful waves. You came with a broken moan, thighs shaking around his head.

Jungkook didn’t give you time to recover. He stripped quickly, his cock hard and heavy, then flipped you onto your hands and knees. He gripped your hips hard and thrust into you in one powerful stroke, burying himself to the hilt.

“Fuck— so tight,” he groaned, voice rough.

The sudden fullness was overwhelming. He felt impossibly deep, stretching you perfectly. He started thrusting hard and deep, hips slamming against your ass with every stroke. The angle allowed him to hit that sensitive spot relentlessly, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body.

“Take it,” he snarled, one hand fisting your hair and pulling your head back. “Take every fucking inch like the stubborn little brat you are.”

You pushed back against him, meeting his brutal thrusts with equal force, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing loudly in the room. The hate and desire mixed into something explosive. Every harsh thrust sent you higher, your moans growing louder and more desperate.

He reached around and rubbed your clit roughly, pushing you toward the edge again. “Come on my cock. Let me feel how much you need this even though you can’t stand me.”

You came hard, walls clenching violently around him as stars burst behind your eyes. Jungkook growled in satisfaction but didn’t slow down.

He pulled out, turned you onto your side, and spooned behind you. Lifting your top leg high, he slid back inside you, the new angle letting him sink even deeper. His thrusts were slower but incredibly powerful, grinding against you with every stroke. One hand wrapped around your throat lightly, the other squeezing your breast as he fucked you with possessive intensity.

The position made every thrust feel intimate and devastating. Pleasure built slowly but intensely until you came again, trembling in his arms.

Jungkook stood and pulled you up. He pressed you against the wall, lifted one of your legs around his waist, and drove back into you with a single brutal thrust. The new position forced him impossibly deep. He fucked you hard against the wall, hips snapping forward with raw power, the cool surface contrasting sharply with the heat of his body.

“Such a good little slut for me,” he groaned, pounding into you mercilessly. “Taking my cock so well even though you can't stand me. Say it— tell me how much you love hating this.”

“Can't stand you,” you gasped between moans, nails digging into his shoulders. “I still fucking can't stand you”

Your words only seemed to spur him on. He fucked you harder, deeper, until another orgasm ripped through you.

Finally, he carried you to the armchair and sat down, pulling you on top. You sank onto his thick cock slowly, feeling every inch stretch you open again. Bracing your hands on his chest, you began riding him with fierce, rolling movements—grinding down hard, taking him as deep as possible.

Jungkook’s hands gripped your ass tightly, guiding your movements as he thrust up to meet you. “Ride me.” he demanded, voice strained with pleasure.

You moved faster, bouncing on his cock with desperate intensity. He slapped your ass sharply, the sting pushing you even closer to the edge. His dirty words never stopped—praising how tight you were, how wet you were, how perfectly you took him.

When your final orgasm hit, it was devastating. You clenched around him hard, moaning his name as waves of blinding pleasure crashed over you. Jungkook followed right after, burying himself deep and coming with a guttural groan, filling you completely.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you breathing heavily, bodies slick with sweat. The intense mix of hatred and overwhelming pleasure left you trembling. The air was thick with the scent of sex and the weight of everything still unresolved between you.

Neither of you spoke for a long time

You remained collapsed against Jungkook’s chest, your breathing slowly returning to normal. His heart thundered beneath your cheek, strong and steady, while his arms stayed loosely wrapped around your waist. The room smelled of sweat, sex, and the faint trace of summer heat still lingering in the air. For several long minutes, neither of you moved or spoke. The silence felt heavier than any argument you’d ever had.

Reality began to creep back in, cold and unsettling. This was Jungkook—the man who had driven you insane for years. The arrogant, infuriating person you swore you couldn’t stand. And yet, here you were, still joined with him, your body humming with the aftershocks of pleasure you had never expected to feel with him.

You shifted slightly, intending to pull away, but his arms tightened for a brief moment before he let you go. You climbed off his lap on unsteady legs and reached for your discarded clothes, suddenly hyper-aware of your nakedness. Jungkook watched you in silence, his dark eyes unreadable as he slowly sat up straighter in the armchair.

The tension that had exploded between you earlier now settled into something quieter, more dangerous. A fragile kind of vulnerability neither of you knew how to handle.

You pulled your shirt over your head and finally found the courage to look at him. “This… this doesn’t change anything,” you said softly, though the words felt hollow even to your own ears.

Jungkook let out a low, tired chuckle, running a hand through his messy hair. He stood up slowly and stepped closer. “Yeah?" His voice was rough, but there was no real mockery in it this time—just a quiet intensity that made your stomach flutter.

You swallowed hard, crossing your arms over your chest. “I mean it, Jungkook. This was… a mistake. A really intense, stupid mistake.”

He stopped just inches away from you, close enough that you could feel the heat still radiating from his skin. His gaze searched your face, lingering on your swollen lips and flushed cheeks. For once, the usual arrogance had softened into something more genuine, almost uncertain.

“Maybe,” he murmured. “But you weren’t exactly pushing me away. And I sure as hell wasn’t imagining how perfectly you fit around me.” He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness. “Hate me all you want tomorrow. But right now… stop pretending this didn’t happen.”

Your heart twisted painfully. Part of you wanted to lash out, to rebuild the walls higher than before. Another part—the part still trembling from his touch—wanted to lean into him and forget everything else.

You looked away, biting your lip. “What happens now?”

Jungkook exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek before he dropped his hand. “That’s up to you. I’m not going to pretend I didn’t want this. Want you.” His voice lowered. “Even if you drive me fucking crazy.”

The confession hung between you, raw and honest in a way that terrified you. You met his eyes again, seeing the same storm of emotions reflected back at you—frustration, desire, and the terrifying possibility of something more.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you stepped forward and rested your forehead against his chest for a brief moment, breathing him in. Jungkook’s arms came around you carefully, not possessive this time, but almost protective.

Neither of you knew what tomorrow would bring. The hatred was still there, simmering beneath the surface. But for tonight, in the quiet aftermath of everything you had shattered and rebuilt between you, it felt strangely okay to just exist in this fragile, complicated peace.

“Get some sleep,” he whispered against your hair, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to the top of your head. “We can go back to hating each other in the morning… if you still want to.”

You let out a shaky breath, a small, reluctant smile tugging at your lips despite everything.

“We’ll see.”

ᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧ☾ ˖°˖☆ ˖°˖☽ᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧ ᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧ☾ ˖°˖☆ ˖°˖☽ᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧ

Moodboard

[euno11a]

Summary: When you're dragged to an underground party by your best friend, the last thing you expect is to be thrown into a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven — especially not with Jeon Jungkook, the brooding, sharp-tongued heartbreaker with a reputation that precedes him. You barely know him. He barely looks at anyone. But behind that locked door, time slows down, sparks fly, and he's done for. You're sure he'll forget you. He does. But now he’s on a mission to figure out who “Closet Girl” is — and your friends are doing everything they can to mess with him while keeping your identity secret.

genre: University AU | strangers to lovers (sort of)

warnings: flirting, mild romantic tension, social anxiety, embarrassment, minor illness, playful pranks, friendly manipulation, study stress, mild language, sarcastic banter, JK being so whipped, slow-burn romance, light comedy/drama, no serious harm

WC: 18k words

a/n: tumblr wouldn’t let me post it unless I split it into two parts…t’was too long…enjoy

Campus is buzzing. Not the usual hum of sleep-deprived students dragging themselves to class, but the kind of chaotic energy that only comes around when the weekend stretches ahead, warm and wide open.

The quad is drenched in golden late-afternoon sunlight, and the air smells like grass, iced coffee, and the subtle hint of sweat from people pretending they aren’t trying to look hot in 85-degree heat.

You’re weaving between bodies, textbooks tucked under your arm, when it catches your eye: a bright neon flier taped to nearly every lamppost, tree, and bulletin board in sight.

SINS & SAINTS BIGGEST PARTY OF THE SEMESTER — 10PM @ THE PIT SEVEN MINUTES IN HEAVEN GAME 🔥 DON’T BE LAME

Yanni snatches one off a pole as you pass. “This is the moment, ladies.”

You don’t even give the flyer a second glance. “What moment? The one where you both fail your ethics paper because you were too busy shotgunning White Claws in someone’s moldy basement?”

“Oh my god, relax,” Jenna says, laughing. “It’s not moldy. They fixed the leak in April.”

You roll your eyes but let yourself smile as the three of you walk along the sidewalk, the late sun casting long shadows across the pavement. Yanni and Jenna look like they just stepped out of an Urban Outfitters ad — crop tops, layered jewelry, and enough confidence to set fire to half the student population.

And then there’s you. Not quite invisible, but definitely more “background character” than “main event.”

“You know this party’s gonna be huge, right?” Yanni says, waving the flier like it’s a golden ticket. “Last year someone jumped off the roof into the kiddie pool.”

“And broke their collarbone,” you point out.

“Legendary,” Jenna says, smirking.

You snatch the flier from Yanni’s hand, skimming it again. “Why would anyone voluntarily go to something with a ‘Seven Minutes in Heaven’ game advertised like a feature? We’re adults.”

“Are we?” Yanni asks, eyes twinkling.

“Technically,” Jenna adds. “But also—imagine the chaos. What if someone pulls Jungkook’s name?”

Your heart does a completely unacceptable little stutter at that.

Jeon Jungkook.

Tattooed, mysterious, chronically late to lectures (if he shows up at all), and very much the guy every girl on campus either wants to date, make out with, or get over. He’s got a motorcycle. He barely talks. He shows up to parties, hooks up with girls, then disappears like smoke.

And he’s beautiful. Obviously.

You’re not immune. You’ve had a crush on him since last semester, when he walked into your shared Intro to Media class twenty minutes late, helmet under his arm, chewing gum like he wasn’t the reason every girl in the room forgot what the professor was saying.

But Jungkook is a walking red flag. A whole carnival of them. And you’re smarter than that.

At least, you pretend to be.

“Literally everyone wants him,” Jenna says, reading your mind. “Even the TA from psych. She was full-on blushing when he asked for an extension.”

“Not surprised,” Yanni mutters. “He has that look — like he’s good at everything and knows it.”

“He probably is,” you say before you can stop yourself, then immediately regret it.

Your friends both stare at you, smirking like sharks.

“Wait,” Jenna says slowly, “do you have a thing for Jungkook?”

“No.” You say it too quickly. “God, no. I mean—everyone does. But I’m not stupid.”

“Just stupid-adjacent,” Yanni teases.

“Shut up.”

Before they can press you further, a familiar voice cuts through the noise.

“Well, well, well. Look who we have here.”

You look up to see Park Jimin approaching, all sunshine and mischief, with Kim Taehyung sauntering behind him like he owns the sidewalk.

Jimin’s wearing a denim jacket over a mesh tank, and Taehyung’s got sunglasses on even though the sun’s nearly down. Between the two of them, they look like trouble you want to get into.

“Hey, ladies,” Jimin says, flashing a grin as he throws an arm over Yanni’s shoulders. “You’re coming to the party tonight, right?”

“Obviously,” Yanni replies, leaning into the attention.

“Can’t miss the annual disaster,” Jenna adds, high-fiving Taehyung like they’re in on some secret joke.

You cross your arms. “You guys seriously hyping up a party where people get locked in closets like it’s summer camp?”

“It’s not just any party,” Jimin says. “It’s The Pit. Sins & Saints theme. Black lights. Fake angel wings. Maybe some fake confessions.”

“Cages,” Taehyung adds casually, like that’s normal.

You blink. “Cages? What kind of party is this?”

“The fun kind,” Jimin winks. “You coming, Y/N?”

“I have an essay due.”

“So bring it with you. I’ll give you moral support while you drink tequila.”

“Tempting,” you say, deadpan. “But I actually want to pass this semester.”

Taehyung leans in, smirking. “Well, in case you change your mind… Jungkook’s gonna be there.”

There it is again. The name. The spark that lights your nerves like a match to gasoline.

You try to play it cool. “Why would that matter to me?”

Yanni coughs loudly. Jenna bites her lip to keep from laughing.

Jimin just grins, already turning away. “No reason. See you at ten.”

And with that, the two boys melt back into the crowd, leaving you with your friends, your unfinished essay, and the creeping sense that this night might not go according to plan.

The quad’s stretched out like a painting, glowing and slow, the heat bleeding off the pavement in soft waves. Everything’s dipped in gold — the trees, the brick buildings, even the stupid neon flyers plastered to every pole.

The bench — their bench — is right where it always is, half in shade, half in sun, like it can’t decide whether it wants to be chill or dramatic. Typical.

Jungkook drops down into his usual spot on the backrest, boots braced on the seat like he owns it. He probably does, at this point — nobody ever sits there unless one of them’s already claimed it.

Taehyung arrives next, flopping into the grass with a sigh so theatrical it could win awards.

“Dying,” he declares. “Melting. This is my final form.”

Jimin shows up with a popsicle he definitely didn’t pay for. “It’s like 85. You’re from Daegu, you’ve survived worse.”

“I have delicate lungs now,” Taehyung replies. “I’m an artist.”

“Your lung capacity’s fine, bro,” Jungkook says. “You were yelling at Rocket League until three.”

Taehyung scowls but doesn’t argue.

A group of girls walks by — upperclassmen, probably — and Jungkook doesn’t miss the way they glance over, not subtle at all. One of them straightens her hair in her reflection on a car window.

He ignores it. Sips his drink. Lets the sun warm his tattoos.

“Party’s gonna be insane tonight,” Jimin says through a mouthful of cherry ice. “Everyone’s going.”

“You say that like you’re not part of the chaos,” Jungkook mutters.

“I am the chaos.”

Jungkook smirks. “You’re five feet of glitter and bad decisions.”

“I’m five-nine,” Jimin says automatically.

“You’re lying.”

“Anyway,” Taehyung cuts in, flopping back so his head hits the grass with a dull thump, “I heard there’s gonna be like… cages. Real ones. Hanging from the ceiling.”

“Where the hell are they getting cages?” Jungkook asks.

“Probably the theater department,” Jimin says. “They owe me after I fixed their soundboard last semester.”

Jungkook makes a face. “You fixed it by slapping it until it stopped buzzing.”

“And it worked.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence for a bit — the kind only friends with a lot of shared damage can fall into. People keep walking past, all heading somewhere, all talking too loud, dressed like they're auditioning for the same indie film.

A guy on a skateboard nearly eats it trying to check his reflection in the library windows. A girl in a baby tee trips on absolutely nothing when she sees Jungkook watching her. Classic.

He doesn’t react. Barely blinks.

“You know,” Taehyung says, eyes still closed, “I was thinking about that Seven Minutes thing.”

“Oh god,” Jungkook mutters.

“No, listen. Imagine someone wild pulls your name. Like that girl who wears fangs and drinks blood out of a Hydro Flask.”

“She’s a performance artist,” Jimin corrects. “You’re so uncultured.”

“Imagine,” Taehyung continues, undeterred, “you walk into the closet and it’s just like—BAM. Straight-up vampire romance. Feral energy. No escape.”

“I’d rather die,” Jungkook says.

“Sounds like fear,” Jimin singsongs.

“It’s common sense,” Jungkook replies. “That game is high school energy. It's gonna be twenty minutes of giggling and some drunk dude falling through the door trying to kiss someone who already regrets being born.”

Jimin snorts. “Wow. Poetic.”

“Look, I’m going,” Jungkook says, “but I’m not doing closet games. Not my scene.”

“You say that,” Taehyung mutters, cracking one eye open, “but if someone hot pulls your name…”

Jungkook shrugs. “Then she’s unlucky.”

And he means it — mostly. It’s just that… parties like this always end the same. Music too loud, drinks too warm, somebody crying in the bathroom, somebody making bad decisions on a lawn chair.

He doesn’t know why he keeps showing up. Maybe he’s bored. Maybe it’s the thrill of it — the crash of noise, the lights, the way nothing matters for a few hours.

Or maybe it's that feeling.

The possibility.

The moment right before something happens — when everything is charged and uncertain, and the right glance could flip the night on its head.

He exhales, eyes flicking toward a passing group of students. One girl — vaguely familiar — walks by clutching a tote bag and a half-melted iced matcha. Her face jogs something in his brain. A lecture hall, maybe? Media Studies?

He thinks he remembers her — quiet. Always early. Never looked at him, not even when he showed up late and took the seat next to the plug.

But it’s gone in a blink. Just another girl. Just another day.

Taehyung claps his hands suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Alright, sluts. Waffle truck or convenience store noodles?”

“Why are those the only options?” Jimin asks.

“Because I’m a man of taste.”

They get up, stretching, moving like they’re already vibrating with pre-party adrenaline. Jungkook trails behind, helmet in one hand, unread messages buzzing in his pocket.

He doesn’t look back.

He doesn’t notice the girl from the quad still sitting under the tree, book open, eyes half-lifted just as he passes.

He doesn't know her name.

Not yet.

The Pit is already pulsing when you arrive.

Bass thumps under your feet before you even step inside — not just music, but vibration, like the building itself is alive and slightly pissed off. The air smells like tequila, cheap perfume, and those weird vanilla vapes everyone insists are “barely noticeable.” Spoiler: they are very noticeable.

You stop just inside the doorway, blinking.

The party is absolutely unhinged.

There are blacklights everywhere — mounted on the rafters, strung across the ceilings, probably duct-taped to questionable surfaces. Someone’s set up an old confessional booth near the far wall, graffitied and backlit in red. A girl in a rhinestone halo is taking selfies in front of it while a guy dressed as a fallen angel — shirt unbuttoned to nowhere — does a keg stand behind her.

Above it all, a massive banner reads:

SINS & SAINTS: ENTER IF YOU DARE.

...which feels both deeply dramatic and deeply accurate.

There are actual cages suspended from the ceiling — only waist-high, like glorified birdcages, but still. One of them has a guy in white mesh pants swinging in it like it’s Cirque du Soleil. He howls something about forgiveness. No one knows what’s going on.

You take all of this in with wide eyes.

“Okay,” you say slowly, “what the hell.”

“I TOLD YOU,” Yanni shouts over the music, eyes lit up like a kid on Halloween. “They WENT OFF this year!”

“They should be arrested,” you mutter.

Jenna laughs beside you, tugging at the hem of her dress. “I feel like I just walked into the end of the world but make it horny.”

Yanni is wearing a sheer black top over a bralette made entirely of tiny silver crosses, her eyeliner winged out to her temples. Her skirt is so short it might be a threat to public safety.

Jenna went full Saint — white silk slip dress, little feathery halo bobbing over her curls, but with Doc Martens that say she’d still throw hands in the bathroom line.

And then there’s you.

You’d protested the theme all afternoon, but eventually gave in. You’re wearing ripped black jeans, a mesh top over a tank, and a red ribbon choker Yanni tied on you with too much enthusiasm. You didn’t go all-out like them, but you’re here. You showed up. That’s saying something.

Yanni loops her arm through yours and yells, “I swear to God, if I don’t end up in a cage by midnight, I’m suing.”

“They have cages, Yanni,” you say, scandalized. “That’s not normal.”

“I’m not normal,” she grins.

“That’s not comforting!”

You’re halfway toward the drink table when a blur of movement passes you — a guy in a leather jacket, dark hair, jaw like a hate crime. You don’t get a good look, just the impression of tattoos, combat boots, and a casual arrogance like he’s got the party rigged in his favor.

You turn back to the drinks.

Jenna, meanwhile, is adjusting her halo in her phone’s camera. “Okay, I’m thinking I make out with someone with wings. That’s my only rule.”

“Are they required to earn them first?” you ask.

“No, they just have to not be annoying.”

“So… no one here, basically,” you deadpan.

Yanni dumps some suspicious jungle juice into a cup and hands it to you. “Drink. Or at least pretend to. You’re giving off ‘I’m only here for field research’ energy.”

You take a sip and grimace. “This tastes like Hawaiian Punch and college debt.”

“Exactly,” Jenna says. “We’re setting the tone.”

You pass by a hallway draped in red curtains — probably where the Seven Minutes game is happening. Someone stumbles out with smeared lipstick and a dazed smile.

“Oh my god,” you say. “This is summer camp. This is hot, humid, horny summer camp.”

Yanni beams. “A dream come true.”

You’re halfway across the room when you bump into someone — solid chest, sharp elbows. You step back, muttering, “Sorry,” but the guy’s already moving, weaving through the crowd like he’s done it a thousand times.

Again, you don’t get a good look.

Again, you feel that flicker — like something important just brushed past you.

“Who was that?” you ask, mostly to yourself.

Jenna squints after him. “I don’t know. Pretty sure he walked out of a Calvin Klein ad though.”

You shake it off.

This night is too much already — too loud, too crowded, too… Jungkook-shaped. And you’re not here for that. You’re here to survive, observe, and possibly rescue your friends from questionable decisions.

So far, you’re one-for-three.

Yanni grabs your arm. “Okay. I’ve spotted three girls from my art class, two guys I ghosted, and a literal priest costume. Where are the drinks that don’t taste like regret?”

“There are none,” you say. “We are the drinks that taste like regret.”

Jenna raises her cup like a toast. “To sinning responsibly.”

“To surviving this chaos,” you mutter, sipping again.

And across the room, under strobing lights and smoke machine haze, Jungkook leans against the wall near the DJ booth, scanning the crowd.

His eyes flick right past you.

Just a blur of black mesh, red ribbon, and glittering annoyance.

He doesn’t even register it.

But something in him shifts — like he knows he’s missing something. Or someone.

He adjusts the cuff of his sleeve, lifts his drink, and watches the crowd move like waves around him.

You’re both here.

You’re both waiting.

You just don’t know it yet.

Jungkook leans against the wall like he’s not trying.

He isn’t.

He’s dressed in all black — ripped jeans, oversized button-down left open over a tank, silver chains catching just enough light to look intentional. His boots are scuffed from the bike ride over, and he hasn't even bothered to fix the strands of hair falling into his eyes.

Still, people look.

People always look.

The Pit is packed. The lights strobe like they’re malfunctioning, bodies moving in all directions, glitter and sweat and wings everywhere. The blacklight catches on teeth, neon paint, the rims of Solo cups. Music throbs like a second heartbeat, drowning out anything that sounds like common sense.

Jungkook watches it all unfold with the calm detachment of someone who’s done this a hundred times.

Which, to be fair, he has.

“Cages,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “Really.”

Taehyung reappears at his side, holding two drinks and no sense of subtlety. “You say that like you’re not impressed.”

“I’m not not impressed,” Jungkook says, eyeing a girl in LED horns who’s currently being hoisted into one of the hanging cages by two frat boys in priest collars. “I’m just wondering if this place passed fire code.”

Jimin sidles up on the other side, chewing gum like a menace. “God, I love when everyone’s desperate and underdressed. The vibe tonight is filthy.”

“It’s not a vibe,” Jungkook says, deadpan. “It’s a liability.”

“You’re just mad because you haven’t been recognized by someone hot yet.”

“I literally got here three minutes ago.”

“That’s three whole minutes too long, lover boy.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling faintly.

He scans the room again, letting the visuals wash over him: angel wings, devil horns, fake blood, fake rosaries, someone with a real sword (???), a couple making out aggressively near the “Confess Here” booth. Typical Pit energy, just turned up to eleven.

His gaze passes over a trio near the drink table — glitter, halos, fishnets — then slides away again, uninterested.

Then—

No. He pauses.

Barely.

There’s a girl in black mesh, red ribbon tight around her throat. Not the type trying to be seen. Not the type posing or pouting or clinging to someone’s arm. Just… there. Head tilted. Brows drawn. Like she’s trying to make sense of the chaos.

She’s not looking at him.

He doesn’t know why he notices.

Something about the way she holds herself — casual, a little stiff. Like she showed up for the party but didn’t want to. Like she’s in it, but not of it. It’s a detail, but he’s always been good at catching those.

He’s pretty sure he’s seen her before. Class maybe? One of the early ones, back when he still showed up?

He narrows his eyes. Something tickles the back of his mind — a row of seats, a laptop screen, a girl who never once looked his way even when he was late and loud and trying not to be noticed by a professor.

He’d filed it away as nothing.

And maybe it still is.

He watches her for one more second — how she crinkles her nose at the drink in her hand, how her friend with the silver cross top yells something and throws her head back laughing.

Then someone claps a hand on his shoulder, and the moment breaks.

“Hyung,” a guy shouts over the music — some junior he’s barely talked to — “the Seven Minutes room is right there. You better hope someone sins you into the closet.”

“I’m good,” Jungkook says without missing a beat.

“You sure?” the guy winks. “Heard even the quiet girls are wild tonight.”

Taehyung lets out an ungodly laugh.

Jimin fans himself. “God, I love this place.”

Jungkook exhales slowly and glances back toward the girl in the mesh top, the one he maybe-kinda remembers from Media Studies.

She’s walking away now, swallowed by bodies and wings and fog machine haze.

And just like that, she’s gone again

SINS & SAINTS

10:47 PM — The Pit

You’re halfway through your second regrettable drink — something red and radioactive that tastes like melted cherry Jolly Ranchers and lies — when you realize:

Jenna is gone.

Not lost in the crowd gone. Not hooked up with some guy in a halo gone. Like, vanished.

You scan the sea of limbs and glitter, the swirling blacklights and wall-to-wall bass drops.

No halo. No white silk dress. No Doc Martens stomping some poor frat guy’s foot for getting handsy.

“Wait,” you say, turning to Yanni. “Where’s Jenna?”

Yanni’s still dancing, holding her drink above her head and vibing to something bass-heavy. She doesn’t hear you.

You poke her side. “Yanni. Where. Is. Jenna.”

She freezes, eyes scanning the room with the same dawning horror you’re feeling.

“Oh my god,” she says, gripping your arm. “She was just here.”

“She was literally next to us two minutes ago.”

“She does this sometimes,” Yanni says, frowning. “Remember Halloween? She disappeared for an hour and came back with a matching tattoo with a guy named Car Battery.”

“That was ONE time,” you groan. “And she still won’t tell us where the tattoo is.”

Yanni downs the rest of her drink like it’s going to give her psychic powers. “Okay, we split up. You check the front half, near the drinks. I’ll do a lap by the DJ booth. Scream if she’s in a cage.”

“Or if you end up in one,” you mutter.

She kisses your cheek and takes off, glitter trailing in her wake.

You push through the crowd, slipping past a group of devils grinding to a slowed-down Britney remix, dodging a couple who are definitely fighting and definitely still holding hands.

You pause near the drink station again, heart thumping a little harder than it should.

Still no Jenna.

Just more suspicious liquids in plastic cups and a guy pouring straight vodka into a Capri Sun.

Then—

“Y/N!”

You whip around just as Yanni reappears, hair a little more disheveled, glitter smudged under one eye like war paint.

“I found her,” she pants, grabbing your hand. “You’re not gonna believe where she is.”

“Dead in a bathtub?”

“No.”

“In a cage?”

“Worse.”

“Yanni—”

“She’s at the Seven Minutes in Heaven room.”

You blink. “You’re lying.”

“I swear on my third ex’s face tattoo.”

You let her drag you toward the back hallway — the one that’s been curtained off with red velvet and glowing like Satan’s waiting room. A line snakes down the corridor, people laughing and hollering and shoving toward a closet door guarded by two dudes in fake pope robes.

You round the corner and — yup. There’s Jenna.

Sitting on a stool like royalty, halo tilted sideways, red Solo cup in hand, absolutely thriving.

She’s laughing, clapping, cheering as two strangers stumble out of the closet, sweaty and flushed and looking either victorious or traumatized. Probably both.

You stop in your tracks. “She’s a ringmaster.”

“She’s drunk on power,” Yanni adds, mouth open.

Jenna spots you both and waves like you’re long-lost war heroes.

“MY GIRLS!!” she yells. “You made it!!”

“You left us,” you shoot back.

She shrugs like that’s a problem for another timeline. “I was recruited.”

“What does that even mean?”

“They needed a hostess! I’m very charming!”

Yanni sighs. “This is how cults start.”

Before you can pry her off the stool, someone shouts, “NEXT UP!” and the line shoves forward. A girl pulls her own roommate in by the arm, both of them shrieking as the door slams shut behind them.

You look at Jenna. “This is out of control. We’re leaving.”

“Not until you try it!”

“Absolutely not.”

Yanni laughs. “Let’s just grab her and go—”

But the line moves again, someone shoves forward, and suddenly—

Everything goes wrong at once.

Hands. Shouting. Laughter. Some guy yells, “MAKE ROOM!”

You’re trying to yank Jenna off her unofficial throne, still yelling about how this is not how a party should go, when chaos breaks loose.

Someone shoves the line. A drink spills. People are yelling. The couple in front of the closet stumbles out like they’ve just done three laps around a football field.

You try to back away — but too late.

Hands shove you forward. “Next up!”

Yanni screams, “Wait, she’s not playing!”

“I’m not playing!” you yell, too.

Doesn’t matter. The crowd’s already decided.

The closet door swings open.

You get pushed inside — completely alone.

Click.

The door slams shut behind you. Darkness swallows everything.

You stumble, trip over a shoe or someone’s forgotten dignity, and land against the back wall, trying to breathe.

“Oh my god,” you mutter. “Oh my god. I’m gonna die in here. This is it. I’m gonna be found in a party closet.”

You fumble toward the doorknob, already plotting your escape—

And then the door opens again.

A warm body stumbles in, tall and solid and smelling unfairly good — like cedarwood, clean laundry, and a bad idea.

The door slams shut again.

Across the party, Jungkook is just trying to find a bathroom that doesn’t reek of four Loko and sin.

He’s halfway through a hallway that looks suspiciously off-limits when someone calls his name.

“Jeon Jungkook!”

He turns.

It’s some girl he barely knows. She’s got lipstick on her teeth and one shoe in her hand.

“Come ON,” she says, “we need more hot people for the closet game. You’ll save this party. I swear.”

He blinks. “I’m not doing that.”

“Too late!” she says, grabbing his arm with terrifying strength. “Come on, it’ll be funny! You’re hot and mysterious and your face should be illegal.”

“I’m going to sue this entire building,” Jungkook mutters, but the girl is already dragging him.

He doesn’t know why he lets her. Maybe he’s bored. Maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe it’s because this party has reached new heights of ridiculous and he needs a story to make it worth the hangover.

They reach the red curtain. The line parts.

You don’t know who you hate more — Jenna for signing a blood pact with the party demons, or the crowd for shoving you into this glorified coat coffin like it’s part of the plan.

You've been in here for maybe a minute. Two tops. But time moves differently when you’re trapped in darkness, breathing the humid remains of other people’s bad decisions.

It’s cramped. It smells like body spray and spilled White Claw. The door has no handle from the inside. And you're about to start monologuing to the ceiling when—

The door opens again.

You freeze. “Wait—”

A guy stumbles in. Tall, broad-shouldered, all dressed in black with just enough chain action to suggest this person owns at least one motorcycle and zero alarm clocks.

You recognize him in an instant — because your subconscious hates you and made sure to memorize that face like it was an exam topic.

Jeon Jungkook.

He doesn’t see you at first. He’s too busy brushing off whoever just shoved him in.

“Okay, okay—Jesus. Don’t break my arm,” he mutters. Then, to the closet, “Sorry, whoever you are. I’m not here voluntarily.”

You don't say anything.

He finally glances your way.

A pause.

“…Huh.”

You cross your arms. “Not who you were expecting?”

“Not even close,” he says, like it’s a compliment and a complaint in one.

The door slams behind him. The lock clicks.

Now it’s just you. Him. Darkness. And a six-inch gap of air between you that’s slowly shrinking the longer you try not to acknowledge how small this closet actually is.

Jungkook shifts, probably trying to give you space, which is hilarious because there is none.

“Look,” you say, “I’m only in here because someone shoved me.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Cool. So neither of us is having fun.”

“Yet,” he says, too easily.

You narrow your eyes, not that he can see it. “You really think that line works on girls in closets?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “You tell me.”

You make a noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Okay, no. You’re not allowed to be hot and full of shit.”

“Not full of shit,” he says. “Mildly irritating at most.”

“Mildly?”

He leans back against the wall. “Okay, moderately. Maybe.”

“Glad we agree.”

You try to shift your weight without brushing against him, which fails, because there’s nowhere to move. Your elbow bumps his arm. Your knee grazes his boot.

He lets out a dramatic sigh. “Alright, I’m putting you on a movement ban.”

“Excuse me?”

“You keep flailing around like that, I’m gonna get accused of starting something in here.”

“You are starting something. With your whole… vibe.”

He grins. “My vibe?”

“Yeah, the ‘mysterious party menace’ thing.”

“Didn’t realize that was my brand.”

“Oh, come on. You walk into every lecture like you’re arriving late to your own funeral.”

“You know me from lecture?”

Shit.

You freeze.

“I—” You recover, sort of. “I mean, yeah. You’re not exactly hard to notice. Motorcycle helmet? Black hoodie in May? The whole tortured poet aura?”

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “You’ve been paying attention.”

“No, I—shut up.”

He steps closer, just barely. His voice drops into that annoying, amused register that you suspect makes girls fall in love against their will.

“You’re flustered.”

“I’m trapped. There’s a difference.”

“Still,” he says, tone low, teasing, “you’re very talkative for someone who didn’t want to be in here.”

You suck in a breath. “I’m trying to defuse the awkward tension.”

“Well,” he says, leaning slightly closer, “you’re not doing a great job.”

You go still. “…Why?”

“Because if you don’t stop fidgeting and talking at a hundred miles an hour,” he says, voice light but just a little dangerous, “I’m gonna kiss you just to shut you up.”

Your brain whites out.

You forget how to stand.

You definitely forget how to breathe.

You make a noise that could be a laugh, or possibly a system reboot.

“…That’s rude,” you manage.

Jungkook grins. “Is it working?”

You blink at him. Slowly.

“…That’s your solution? Kissing as a silencing tactic?”

Jungkook smirks. “Efficient.”

You squint at him in the dark. “That’s assault with extra steps.”

“Only if it’s not well received.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter, shoving lightly at his arm. “You’re actually worse in real life.”

He laughs, like that didn’t wound you at all. “In real life? What, you’ve imagined a better version of me somewhere else?”

You hesitate for half a second too long.

He catches it. Of course he does.

His smile shifts — not smug now, but curious. “Wait. Do I know you?”

“Nope.”

“You sure? You’re acting like you’ve had a whole character arc about me.”

“I just have good observational skills.”

“And a little crush?”

You snort. “Please. I only crush on emotionally available people.”

“Ouch.”

“You’ll live.”

“I’m not emotionally unavailable,” he says, mock offended. “I just don’t like… people.”

“That’s literally the definition.”

Jungkook moves a little closer. Not enough to touch, but enough to invade. Like someone stepping past your comfort zone just to prove they can. His voice is quiet, playful.

“Okay, but be honest — if I had kissed you, what would you have done?”

You meet his gaze in the dim light. Your heart does an actual backflip, but your mouth?

Deadpan.

“Bitten you.”

He grins, all teeth. “Kinky.”

You roll your eyes so hard you almost see god. “You are unbelievable.”

“I get that a lot.”

Another beat passes.

The party noise pulses outside. The door shakes once, like someone bumped into it. Neither of you move.

He tilts his head, watching you more carefully now. “So who are you, anyway?”

You blink. “What?”

“You know who I am. Everyone knows who I am, apparently. But I don’t know you.”

You shrug, trying to sound unfazed. “Just a girl in your class.”

“Which class?”

“I’m not telling you.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Why not?”

“Because I’ve seen how your brain works. The second you find out, you’ll start showing up late on purpose to make an entrance.”

He grins, wide and dangerous. “So you have been watching me.”

Damn it.

“That’s not—”

“Obsessed,” he says.

“Oh my god, I’m going to strangle you with one of those dumb chains on your pants.”

“They’re not dumb. They’re functional.”

“For what, exactly? Attaching yourself to reality?”

“Wow,” he says, smiling now like he’s thoroughly enjoying himself. “You’ve got jokes.”

You glance at the door. “Seven minutes better be almost up.”

“Why?” he asks, voice dipping just slightly. “You scared you’re starting to like me?”

You look back at him. “I’m scared you’re starting to like me.”

That shuts him up for half a second.

Then—

“…Touché.”

There’s a pause. You can hear your own heartbeat in the quiet.

He steps just a little closer. “Okay. Serious question.”

“Unlikely, but sure.”

“Are you always like this?”

You blink. “Like what?”

“This,” he says. “You know—snarky. Quick. Unimpressed. Kind of mean in a fun way.”

You stare at him. “Are you into being bullied?”

“I’m starting to wonder.”

The door bangs open just then, and the light hits both of your faces. You flinch at the sudden glare. Outside, someone yells, “ALRIGHT, CLOSET DWELLERS, TIMES UP!”

Jungkook doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

Finally, he leans a little closer and says under his breath, only loud enough for you to hear:

“You still didn’t tell me your name.”

You raise a brow.

“You didn’t earn it.”

He laughs, and it’s way too genuine. Like he didn’t expect this night to go like this at all — and somehow, that makes two of you.

As you duck out of the closet, brushing past him in the doorway, you hear him murmur:

“I’m gonna find out, you know.”

You throw a look over your shoulder, smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

“Good luck.”

The door flings open.

Air, light, freedom.

You stumble out like someone just dragged you back from the underworld. The world is louder now, messier. Colors sharper. Sounds distorted, like everything’s underwater and also on fire.

Your heart is still pounding. Your brain? Gone. Missing. Presumed dead. Your dignity? Filing a police report.

You turn in a daze, blinking through the chaos—and find Yanni, breathless, holding a very giggly and wine-drunk Jenna by the elbow.

“THERE you are!” Yanni yells over the music. “We thought you got kidnapped by the Pit goblins!”

Jenna cackles. “I told her you were probably in the closet making out with a stranger. I WAS RIGHT.”

You blink at them.

Open your mouth.

Immediately close it again.

Yanni frowns. “Wait. Are you okay? You look like you just got hit by a really hot bus.”

You stare at her.

Then—

“I need air. I need, like, seventeen breaths of non-sweaty air. I—do you have water? I think I forgot how to swallow. I forgot—I forgot my name.”

Yanni’s eyes go wide. “Did you actually make out with someone?! Oh my god, who was it? Was he hot? Did he have a tongue ring? Was it that guy with the fake angel wings? Please tell me he had wings.”

“I—no. No wings.”

“Okay, so not a red flag. Good start.”

You grab both of them by the arms and start dragging them away from the closet, feet moving on autopilot. “We need to go. Just—somewhere. Away. Outside. Antarctica. I don’t care.”

Jenna, still loopy from the cocktail she stole from a girl dressed as the Pope, squints at you. “You’re acting weird.”

“Something happened,” you say, voice a little unhinged. “Something catastrophic.”

Yanni gasps. “Did you black out?!”

“No, worse.”

“Did you throw up on someone?!”

“WORSE.”

Yanni pulls you down onto a sagging patio couch under a string of flickering lights. The Pit’s back deck is quieter — only a handful of people out here, laughing or making out or both.

You sit between them, trying to remember how to form human sentences.

Jenna leans her head dramatically on your shoulder. “You definitely kissed someone.”

“I didn’t.”

Yanni narrows her eyes. “You wanted to.”

“I didn’t!”

They both stare at you.

You sigh. Long. Shaky.

Then you say, very quietly, like it might summon him if you say it too loud:

“I was in the closet with Jeon Jungkook.”

.

.

.

Jenna sits up so fast she elbows you in the boob.

Yanni chokes on her drink and coughs, “I’m sorry—WHAT?”

You hold up your hands, like it’ll protect you from the emotional storm about to erupt. “It was an accident! I got pushed in first, and then some drunk idiots shoved him in after me, and then the door locked and we were just there. Together. In the dark. Breathing the same air.”

Jenna is vibrating. “YOU WERE BREATHING JEON JUNGKOOK’S AIR. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY GIRLS WOULD PAY FOR THAT EXPERIENCE.”

“I didn’t ask for the experience!”

Yanni grabs your arm, shaking it. “Okay but what happened?! Tell us everything. Did you talk? Did he recognize you? Did you touch his hair? Did he touch you? Did your souls kiss?!”

You stare at her. “What the hell is a soul kiss?”

“Shut up and answer me!!”

You drag your hands down your face. “We talked. He was annoying. And hot. And annoying about being hot. He said if I didn’t stop panicking he was gonna kiss me and I think my nervous system flatlined for like ten seconds.”

Jenna screams. A real one.

Yanni grabs her cup and throws it into a bush just so she can clap. “That’s it. That’s the plot of a Netflix movie. I’m calling a casting director right now.”

“Guys, stop—”

“Did he know who you were?” Jenna asks, eyes wide.

You deflate. “No.”

Yanni freezes.

Jenna gasps like she’s watching a baby deer get hit by a truck.

“He didn’t recognize you?”

You shake your head, slumping into the couch like your spine is giving up. “Not even a little. I told him I was in his class, and he just blinked at me like I was an off-brand yogurt at the back of the fridge.”

“But—but you sit in the second row!”

“Yeah, apparently that’s not enough to pierce through the wall of apathy and leather jackets.”

Jenna is personally offended. “You’ve been thirsting over him for MONTHS.”

“Not out loud!”

“Your search history says otherwise.”

“That was ONE TIME—”

“‘Does Jeon Jungkook have a girlfriend’ is not a casual search, Y/N.”

Yanni throws an arm around your shoulder. “Okay. So. We have a situation.”

You groan. “No, we don’t. The situation is over. I will simply crawl into a hole and never speak to anyone again.”

“OR,” Yanni says, grinning, “we make him fall in love with you.”

You snort. “Hard pass.”

“I’m serious!”

“So am I! The guy barely knows what day of the week it is. He didn’t even know my name, and I was two inches from his face.”

Jenna fans herself. “God, I wish I was two inches from his face.”

Yanni is already spiraling into scheming mode. “Okay but hear me out: what if this is your origin story?”

“I don’t need an origin story. I need ice and maybe a lobotomy.”

“You’re gonna end up married to him.”

“I’m gonna end up IN A STRAITJACKET.”

They both lean in at the same time, grinning like devils.

And somewhere inside you — beneath the panic and the humiliation and the complete collapse of your self-esteem — something sparks.

A very tiny, very traitorous thought:

He doesn’t know who I am yet.

But what if he wanted to?

.

.

.

No. Absolutely not. You refuse to be delusional.

But still…

You clutch your drink with both hands and whisper to yourself like a prayer:

“…I cannot go back in that closet.”

Jungkook steps out into the warm night air, the noise of the party still thrumming behind him like a heartbeat that’s had too much sugar and zero regard for consequences.

He barely gets two steps out the door before he sees movement near the gate — a blur of color, of bare shoulders and tangled hair and wild, frantic energy.

Her.

The girl from the closet.

She’s running.

Well, not running — but walking very quickly in a way that screams “I just made a horrible decision and I’m trying to disappear into the night like it never happened.”

He watches as she yanks her friends down the sidewalk, arms waving, words too far away to make out. One of them glances back at the house, laughing. The other throws her arm around the girl’s shoulder like she’s trying to keep her from disintegrating.

Jungkook can’t hear them. Can’t read their lips.

But he doesn’t need to.

He’s seen that look before.

People don’t leave parties like that unless something got to them.

And apparently… that something was him.

He watches them disappear around the corner. The wind shifts, warm and sweet and heavy with the scent of grass and spilled vodka.

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, the edges of his mouth tugging up, involuntarily.

He doesn’t smile a lot.

But right now?

He’s grinning.

11:18 PM — Inside, Kitchen

He finds Jimin first, leaning against the fridge, sipping from a red cup with glitter smeared across one cheek like someone tried to make out with a rave.

Jungkook walks up, casual as hell. “Hey.”

Jimin lifts a brow. “You’re still vertical. Closet girl didn’t kill you?”

Jungkook leans on the counter beside him, eyes scanning the room lazily. “Nope. She was fun.”

Jimin grins. “Define fun.”

“Annoyed. Loud. Mean. Called me out within the first two minutes.”

“So, your type.”

Jungkook gives him a lazy look. “Do you know who she was?”

Jimin blinks. “You mean you didn’t?”

“No. She said we’re in the same class, but…” He shrugs. “I wasn’t exactly focused on academics in there.”

Jimin sips his drink, way too amused. “You’re telling me you spent seven minutes pressed up against someone and didn’t bother to ask her name?”

“I didn’t get her name. She wouldn’t give it to me.”

Jimin whistles. “Damn. Girl’s got boundaries.”

Jungkook turns his full attention to him now. “So… do you know her?”

Jimin smiles. Slow. Evil.

“Maybe.”

Jungkook straightens. “What.”

“I mean, I’ve seen her around. Could be anyone.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s an answer adjacent.”

“Jimin.”

Jimin just grins wider, like this is his favorite hobby. “Why? You wanna see her again?”

“No.” Jungkook’s voice is too quick, too defensive. Then: “I just—she seemed familiar.”

“Sure. Let’s go with that.”

Before Jungkook can retaliate, Taehyung appears, wearing someone else’s sunglasses and holding a plate of mini cupcakes he absolutely did not make.

Jungkook turns to him like salvation. “Tae. Please tell me you know who the girl in the closet was.”

Taehyung pauses, cupcake halfway to his mouth.

Then, slowly, he lowers it and says: “Ohhhh. You mean the girl with the smart mouth and trust issues?”

“Yes!”

“Yup. Definitely know her.”

“Who is she?!”

Taehyung smiles with all his teeth. “Can’t say.”

Jungkook stares at him.

“What do you mean you can’t say?”

“Non-disclosure agreement.”

“That’s not a real thing!”

“It is now.”

Jungkook throws his hands in the air. “Are you both insane?”

“Yes,” Jimin says, grinning.

“We’re protecting the plot,” Taehyung adds solemnly.

Jungkook blinks. “What plot?”

“The enemies-to-lovers one,” Jimin says, sipping his drink. “You’re in the first act. Don’t be weird about it.”

“I’m not—!” Jungkook cuts himself off, pinches the bridge of his nose, then mutters, “You guys are the worst.”

“You’re welcome,” Taehyung says cheerfully.

Jungkook turns, heading for the living room, but Jimin calls after him:

“You really gonna let a girl roast you in a closet and disappear without finding out her name?”

Jungkook doesn’t stop walking.

But he does smirk.

“Of course not.”

11:42 PM — Later, Upstairs Hallway

Jungkook leans against the wall, scrolling mindlessly through his phone. But his head isn’t in it.

He’s thinking about the sound of her voice. The way she said, “You didn’t earn it.” The way she pushed past him and didn’t look back.

He still doesn’t know her name.

But he’s starting to think he needs to.

Desperately.

You’re early. Not obnoxiously so, but early enough to get your usual seat — second row, slightly to the left. Close enough to focus, far enough to keep your laptop screen hidden when you’re secretly Googling niche references during class.

You’re wearing jeans and a loose t-shirt. Nothing fancy. Hair pulled back. Glasses on. A normal girl living a normal life, unbothered and deeply uninterested in emotionally reckless men with perfect jawlines and leather jackets. You are zen. You are healed.

...You are lying to yourself.

Your leg has been bouncing under the desk for a solid five minutes. You haven’t even opened your laptop. You’re just staring at the professor’s slides like they personally betrayed you.

And then—

The door opens.

You hear it before you see it. That faint creak of poorly oiled hinges and the collective inhale of every girl in the room.

You don’t turn around.

You don’t have to.

You know it’s him.

Because everyone in a ten-foot radius straightens like they’re about to be graded on posture. There’s a flutter of lip gloss applications. Someone actually whispers his name.

You pretend to be deeply focused on the “Media Ethics and Digital Responsibility” slide.

Jeon Jungkook walks in. On time.

The professor blinks like he’s hallucinating. “Huh. Welcome, Mr. Jeon. Look at you.”

Jungkook just nods, loose and casual, but you can feel it.

He’s different today.

He doesn’t do his usual routine — no airpods, no gum chewing, no half-lidded stroll like he’s walking into a photoshoot instead of a lecture.

No, this time… he’s scanning.

Not in a weird way. Just—calculated. Eyes moving across each row like he’s checking a list in his head. Looking for something. Someone.

Your stomach tightens.

And then—

His gaze glides right past you.

Doesn’t pause. Doesn’t flicker. Nothing.

He slides into a seat a few rows back, drops his bag, and leans back like he didn’t just steamroll your entire emotional ecosystem last night.

You blink at your screen.

Wow.

Okay.

Coolcoolcoolcoolcool.

So he just… forgot you existed? Already?

You tell yourself it’s a good thing. That you’re off the hook. But still—

Your phone vibrates in your lap.

Then again. And again.

You glance down.

YANNI [9:57AM] FIND US AFTER CLASS

JENNA [9:57AM] LIKE IMMEDIATELY

YANNI [9:58AM] BIG. SHIT. IS. HAPPENING.

YANNI [9:58AM] HUGE.

JENNA [9:58AM] YOU MIGHT BE FAMOUS

You: 🙃

11:07AM — Campus Library, Third Floor (aka Gossip HQ)

You find them between the graphic novel section and the fake potted plant that hides the worst Wi-Fi signal on campus.

Yanni is pacing. Jenna is sitting on the floor with a laptop open, half a croissant in her mouth and murder in her eyes.

“FINALLY,” Yanni breathes, grabbing your wrist and yanking you down beside her.

“What is happening?” you whisper. “Did someone die?”

“YOU might,” Jenna says around a bite. “From cardiac arrest.”

You blink. “Why?”

Yanni flips her phone around.

It’s an Instagram story. Jungkook’s account. You recognize the handle from your extremely short-lived stalking phase.

The video is short. A dim hallway, flashing lights, the thump of party music in the background.

Text overlaid:

"7 minutes wasn’t long enough. If you know who she is… tell her." 👀🖤

Your heart stops.

You stare at the screen like it might explode.

“Wha—”

“He’s looking for you,” Yanni whispers, eyes wild.

“He’s trying to CROWD-SOURCE you,” Jenna adds. “LIKE A MISSING PERSON.”

You genuinely don’t know what to do with your hands. “I—I don’t even have Instagram. I didn’t see this.”

“Well, now the entire internet has,” Yanni says, scrolling through dozens of replies and reshared stories. “People are putting up theories. One girl swears it was her and her friends are backing her up.”

You feel a little sick.

“I—he doesn’t even remember me.”

“He does now.”

Before you can spiral further, a voice cuts through the quiet.

“Aha. Found you.”

You whip around.

Taehyung and Jimin are approaching, looking like they just stepped out of a K-drama fight scene. Jimin is in an oversized hoodie and glasses, sipping from a matcha latte. Taehyung is holding a leather-bound journal like it’s a prop.

“Oh my god,” Yanni whispers, straightening like she’s about to present a thesis.

Jimin nods at you. “Closet girl.”

Taehyung gasps. “I knew it!”

You slap both hands over your face. “I am going to dissolve into the carpet.”

Jimin flops down next to you. “You’re literally a phenomenon.”

“I don’t want to be a phenomenon! I want to be anonymous.”

“Too late,” Taehyung sing-songs. “He’s obsessed.”

“He’s not—”

Jimin cuts you off. “He made us look through the security footage of the Pit to try and find you.”

You blink. “There’s security footage?!”

“That’s not the point.”

Yanni claps like she’s been waiting for this all her life. “Okay, okay, okay. NEW PLAN.”

Jenna nods. “Mission: Keep Her Hidden.”

You snap your head to look at him. “Wait, what—?”

“We cannot let him find you too easily. The mystery is part of the power.” Yanni explained, a smile that was a little too enthusiastic spreading across her face.

“She’s right.” Jimin chimed in.

You blink between them all, a growing sense of terror blooming in your chest.

“I feel like I’m in a YA novel.”

Taehyung beams. “You are. And it’s about to get so much worse.”

If Jungkook knew his Instagram story would cause an actual phenomenon, he would’ve thrown his phone in the nearest sewer.

He’s seated on the edge of the fountain, legs stretched out, black boots dusted with dry grass. Sunglasses perched on his head, arms crossed, regret pouring off of him in waves.

There is a line.

A real, breathing, giggling line of girls waiting to speak to him.

“I swear,” the third one in a row says, flipping her hair, “it was me. I had this red tank top on—”

“You weren’t wearing red,” Jungkook says flatly, not even looking up.

She blinks. “You remember that?”

He sighs. “Unfortunately.”

She pouts, tosses her hair again, and walks off.

The next girl steps forward with more confidence than he’s emotionally prepared to deal with.

“Hey,” she says, batting her lashes. “So, I was totally gonna come up to you last night, but I got pulled into beer pong, and—”

“Not you either,” he says, already tired.

Behind him, Jimin is sprawled on the grass like a cat in the sun, sipping iced coffee and watching the chaos like it’s live theater.

“I don’t know, man,” he says. “Closet Girl’s starting to sound like a fever dream.”

“She was real,” Jungkook mutters.

Taehyung, perched dramatically on the fountain’s edge, hums. “This feels like a modern fairy tale. Only instead of a glass slipper, she left behind unresolved sexual tension and a mild existential crisis.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond. Just drags a hand down his face.

“You know,” Jimin adds, “you could just let her go. Move on. Forget it happened.”

Jungkook stares at him like he’s just suggested licking a subway pole.

“I mean it,” Jimin continues. “Is this really worth it?”

Jungkook leans back, letting the sun hit his face.

And after a pause, he says:

“…She was funny.”

Taehyung blinks. “Funny?”

“She was… sharp. Gave me shit. Told me I didn’t earn the right to flirt with her.” He shrugs. “I don’t know. It was just… real.”

Jimin and Taehyung exchange a look.

But before either can respond—

“Hey, Jeon.”

They all glance up.

A girl in a glittery top and too-high heels struts up like she’s approaching a casting call.

“I was wearing angel wings last night,” she purrs.

“Congratulations,” Jungkook says dryly.

“I think I’m the girl you’re looking for.”

“You’re not.”

“How would you know?”

Jungkook blinks slowly. “Because I just would.”

She scoffs and storms off, muttering something about him not being that hot anyway.

Jimin snorts. “The delusion is wild today.”

Taehyung raises his brows. “You know, you did make her a mystery. People love a good mystery.”

“I hate this mystery,” Jungkook mutters.

And then—

Taehyung straightens suddenly.

“Oh,” he says, too casually. “There she goes.”

Jungkook’s eyes snap up.

“What?!”

“She’s walking past,” Jimin adds, barely containing his grin.

Jungkook jumps to his feet, scanning the path just ahead of them.

He sees a group of students. A couple laughing. A guy with a skateboard. A girl in a floral skirt. Another in an oversized sweater.

But no one familiar.

No her.

“Where?” he demands, turning back to them.

Taehyung just shrugs, biting back a smile. “Hm. Maybe she slipped away again.”

Jimin’s grinning like the devil. “So mysterious.”

Jungkook stares at them.

And then slowly, slowly, sits back down, glaring at nothing.

“I hate you both.”

“You’re welcome,” Jimin says cheerfully.

Meanwhile — You, Just 20 Feet Away

You’re clutching a smoothie and telling Jenna that you swear to God if Yanni says the words “power move” one more time, you’re going to commit a crime.

You do not see Jungkook.

You do not see the crowd of girls.

You do not see your entire romantic fate spiraling out in a perfect storm of timing, ego, and extremely bad luck.

But you do hear Yanni’s voice crackling through your group chat ten seconds later:

YANNI [12:43PM] HE’S OUTSIDE RN. WALKING DISTANCE. I REPEAT: JEON JUNGKOOK IS WITHIN WALKING DISTANCE.

You pause. Look up.

“…The universe is playing games with me,” you mutter.

Jenna just takes your smoothie and sips like it’s none of her business. “Welcome to Act Two.”

Three Days Later – 12:19PM Campus Lawn, under the shade of an old oak tree

Yanni is dramatically slicing into her overpriced salad like it’s personally offended her.

“I swear to God,” she says, spearing a piece of lettuce, “if she doesn’t just tell him soon, I’m going to combust.”

“She doesn’t even want him to know!” Jenna laughs, peeling the wrapper off her sandwich. “She’s surviving off vibes and secondhand embarrassment.”

Across from them, lounging on the grass, Jimin snorts into his iced chai. “Honestly, mood.”

Taehyung is lying flat on his back, sunglasses on, using Jimin’s thigh as a pillow and holding his phone above his face like it’s too exhausting to lift it further.

“It’s better this way,” he hums. “Mystery. Intrigue. Emotional damage.”

Yanni points at him with her fork. “See? That’s the energy we’re all riding on.”

“I don’t know how she hasn’t just imploded,” Jenna says, sipping her drink. “She had a panic attack in the psych building bathroom yesterday because someone said Jungkook's name too loud.”

Taehyung laughs. “That could’ve been anyone.”

“No,” Yanni corrects. “She knew exactly how he said it. Deep voice. Tiny rasp. A little pouty. ‘Jungkook.’” She mimics it, exaggerated and ridiculous.

Jimin wheezes.

Taehyung props himself up on one elbow, turning to the girls with mock-serious eyes. “You guys are evil.”

“Thank you,” Yanni says, deadpan.

And then—

“You’re evil,” comes a familiar, slightly exasperated voice behind them.

All four turn.

Jeon Jungkook walks up, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, black jeans, silver chain catching the sunlight.

He looks… tired.

Not in a tragic way. More like haunted by the choices that led him to this exact moment.

Taehyung lifts two fingers in a lazy peace sign. “Ah. The lover boy returns.”

Jimin just grins like Christmas came early. “How’s your army of imposters?”

Jungkook drops onto the grass with a groan. “Still growing. I got ambushed by three more girls outside the business building this morning.”

“Business building girls,” Jimin mutters. “That’s a bold demographic.”

“She said she left her earring in the closet with me,” Jungkook says, running a hand through his hair. “She was wearing cat ears.”

“Oh no,” Jenna whispers behind a laugh.

Yanni coughs into her drink.

Jungkook narrows his eyes at them. “Do I know you two?”

“Nope,” Yanni says, biting into a cherry tomato. “Just enjoying the show.”

Jenna shrugs, fighting a grin. “Free entertainment.”

Taehyung watches them both like he’s just realized something.

Jungkook leans back on his palms, legs stretched out, expression a mix of exhaustion and suspicion. “You guys ever regret making me post that?”

Jimin doesn’t even blink. “Nope.”

“I knew this would happen,” Jungkook mutters.

“You didn’t know people would create full conspiracy boards,” Taehyung points out. “Someone literally mapped out Closet Girl’s shoe print from the party photo.”

“Don’t forget the girl who recreated the closet,” Jimin adds. “Like. Bought a closet. Filmed a fake interaction.”

“God,” Jungkook groans, scrubbing his face. “I’m an idiot.”

He exhales through his nose, still half-distracted, when—

“Well, it’s even funnier,” Jenna says, not quite under her breath, “because she doesn’t even have socials.”

Yanni chokes on her soda.

Jimin and Taehyung both freeze mid-laugh.

And Jungkook— Whips his head around so fast it’s a miracle he doesn’t get whiplash.

“Wait.”

Yanni slaps Jenna’s arm.

Jungkook’s eyes are wide. “You—” He points between them. “You know her?!”

Jenna blinks. “Who?”

“Closet Girl,” Jungkook says, sharp now, sitting up straighter. “You just said she doesn’t have socials—how would you know that?”

Yanni lifts her cup to her mouth, speaking through her straw. “Could’ve been anyone.”

“But it’s not,” Jungkook says, eyes narrowing. “You know who it is.”

He looks at Taehyung and Jimin like they’ve personally betrayed him. “You said you didn’t know!”

Taehyung holds up his hands, unbothered. “We didn’t say that.”

“Yeah,” Jimin says, already laughing. “We just didn’t say anything helpful.”

Jungkook glares. “You assholes.”

Yanni leans in, chin resting on her hand, absolutely loving this. “Why do you want to find her so bad?”

Jungkook hesitates. Just for a beat.

And then, quieter than expected, he says:

“…Because I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Taehyung blinks.

Jimin’s mouth parts a little.

Yanni and Jenna exchange a look.

“That was almost sweet,” Jenna says.

“Almost,” Yanni echoes.

Jungkook looks at them like he’s debating a crime. “Please. Just give me one clue.”

Jimin just smiles, stretching out on the grass again. “Mmm. No.”

“Not even her name?” Jungkook tries.

Taehyung grins. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Jungkook scrubs his hands over his face. “You people are evil.”

Yanni smiles sweetly. “We’ve been over this.”

After another beat of sulking, he finally stands, brushing his hands off on his jeans.

“You’re all the worst.”

“We know,” Jimin says, cheerful as ever.

Jungkook sighs, starts walking away— And turns back around.

“If she ever asks about me—”

“She won’t,” Yanni says.

“Okay, if she does,” he presses, “can you just tell her I’m not as annoying as I seem?”

“No promises,” Jenna says.

He groans again and walks off, muttering something under his breath.

The moment he’s out of earshot, the group erupts.

“THAT,” Jimin says, sitting upright, “WAS TOO CLOSE.”

Yanni fans herself. “I panicked, okay?! I didn’t mean to say it—he just appeared.”

“You almost ruined the whole thing!” Taehyung says gleefully. “But also… he’s losing his mind.”

“And she has no idea,” Jenna adds, grinning.

Jimin leans back with a content sigh. “This is better than television.”

Same Day — 4:42 PM Campus Library — Second Floor

The study area is quieter than usual, with just the occasional cough, a rogue phone vibration, or someone smacking their space bar like it owes them money.

You, Yanni, and Jenna are huddled around your usual table — highlighters scattered, tabs open, coffees half-melted. It’s productive chaos. Or it was, until Jenna froze mid-sentence.

“...Don’t look now,” she says, voice already breathless with suppressed panic, “but Jungkook and his friends just walked in.”

Your soul immediately ejects from your body.

“WHERE—”

“Don’t look,” Yanni hisses, stabbing her pen in warning. “You’ll give us away.”

You stare down at your laptop like you’re trying to astral project into it.

Footsteps shuffle closer, closer—

And then.

They sit at the table directly behind you.

Your chair is now back-to-back with Jungkook’s. There is a shared inch of air between you. You can feel the heat off his stupid, beautiful, back-in-black hoodie.

Jenna mouths OH MY GOD. Yanni is gripping her iced latte like she’s about to squeeze it into mist.

Across from Jungkook, Jimin and Taehyung sit — and the moment they spot Yanni and Jenna?

They grin. Smug. Pleased. Silent little devils. Not a word — not a wave — just the occasional flicker of laughter and shared glances while you sit there about to spontaneously combust.

“I swear to god,” Jungkook says behind you, low and miserable, “if one more girl corners me between classes and asks if I like strawberry lip gloss, I’m dropping out.”

“She had a presentation,” Jimin offers. “She brought visual aids.”

“She brought a poster board,” Jungkook groans. “With a QR code to her TikTok.”

“Impressive,” Taehyung hums.

Jungkook thumps his head gently on the table. “I just wanted to meet her. One girl. Now I can’t go to class without hearing someone yell ‘closet king’ at me.”

Yanni chokes into her drink.

You’re doing breathing exercises you learned in a freshman wellness seminar. They are not working.

“I hate all of you,” Jungkook mutters. “You said you’d help.”

“I did help,” Jimin says, like it’s obvious.

“You gave me nothing.”

“False,” Taehyung says, adjusting his sunglasses indoors like a menace. “We gave you... ✨context✨.”

Jungkook scoffs. “No. You gave me trauma.”

There’s a pause. Then, Jimin goes, “Fine. Want another clue?”

You tense so hard your back pops.

Jenna grabs your thigh under the table. Yanni is vibrating. Everyone is vibrating.

“Yes. Something real this time.”

“...She has elbows.”

There’s a pause.

A very long one.

“She has what?” Jungkook asks, flat.

“Elbows,” Taehyung says innocently.

You almost die.

“Taehyung,” Jungkook says slowly, like he's speaking to a small child, “everyone has elbows.”

“Exactly,” Taehyung nods. “She fits right in.”

Jimin is snorting into his hoodie sleeve.

You, meanwhile, are clamping your hand over your mouth to keep from screaming.

“Is this a joke to you?” Jungkook asks, exasperated. “Do you want me to suffer?”

“I’m not lying,” Taehyung says, clearly delighted. “She definitely had elbows. Two, even.”

“Wow,” Jungkook deadpans. “A girl with two elbows. I’ll just walk around campus asking people to show me their joints.”

Jimin shrugs. “Could work.”

Your hand is cramping from clutching your pencil so tightly. Yanni is in physical pain from holding in her laughter. Jenna scribbles onto her piece of paper, turning it to you.

THEY SAID ELBOWS. I’M LOSING IT.

Jungkook groans behind you, slumping so hard in his chair you feel it through the back of yours. “I’m going insane. I’m actually insane. This is what insanity feels like.”

“And yet,” Taehyung says, completely deadpan, “she walks among us.”

Jimin sips his drink with a smirk. “Right under your nose.”

Behind your screen, you scream silently. Jenna writes out another message:

RIGHT UNDER HIS NOSE. THEY’RE DOING THIS ON PURPOSE.

You’re certain of two things:

You will never emotionally recover from this.

Jungkook is going to need a therapist when he finally figures it out.

And the worst part?

He doesn’t even turn around.

Not once. He gets up after ten minutes, mumbles something about “going to get gum,” and walks off—shoulders tense, head down, frustration rolling off him in waves.

The second he’s gone, your table explodes.

“I CAN’T,” Jenna whispers, doubled over.

“ELBOWS?!” Yanni wheezes. “HE’S GOING TO BE HAUNTED BY ELBOWS NOW.”

You drop your face into your arms. “If he finds out it was me, I’m changing schools.”

Jenna wipes a tear from her eye. “You’ll be a myth. A cryptid. A legend with joints.”

Taehyung and Jimin? Still sitting there. Still smirking. Still saying nothing.

Later That Night, Jungkook’s Dorm

“I’m not giving up,” Jungkook mutters, scrolling through his DMs.

“What are you even looking for?” Jimin asks from the other bed.

“Someone with elbows,” Jungkook mutters.

There’s a beat of silence. Then—

“Okay, yeah,” Jimin says, nodding. “You’re fully broken.”

[a-nyx-7]

whiskey and ice ⋆˚꩜｡ JK

A wife's moment of weakness is a husband's greatest threat. A transgression that Mr. Jeon settles only through a night of sin, whiskey, and cold, calculated penance.

Pairing - Husband! Jungkook x Wife! Reader

Warnings - dark, possessive, ice play, dirty smut, crawling on knees, begging,punishment, body shots, smut, dark romance, licking, sucking, biting, marking, eating out.

ONESHOT.

For the hundredth time that evening, Jungkook offered a razor-sharp, practiced smile to the vultures circling him—men who called themselves business alliances but smelled only of greed and expensive scotch. His hand remained anchored to the small of your back, a possessive, heavy weight that signaled you were his most prized acquisition. To the world, it was a gesture of affection; to you, it was the gilded cage of the Jeon dynasty.

As he maneuvered through the crowd, effortlessly pivoting the conversation toward his next multi-billion dollar venture, you played your part with surgical precision. You were the silent porcelain doll, the perfect wife crafted in the image of high-society expectations. You spoke only when the silence required a feminine touch, your voice a rehearsed melody that never hit a sour note.

The union of the Jeon and your family wasn’t a romance; it was a merger. A cold, calculated transaction written in ink and sealed with a diamond that felt like lead on your finger. In this world, love was a liability, and vulnerability was a weakness neither of you could afford.

Jungkook was a man of shadows and spreadsheets, not sonnets. He didn’t whisper endearments in the dark; instead, he showed his devotion through the clinical perfection of his care. It was in the way a vintage Cartier box would appear on your vanity after a cold week, or the way he’d pull out your chair at a Michelin-starred restaurant with a gaze that lingered just a second too long to be merely polite.

You reciprocated in the only language you were taught: devotion. You were the ghost in the foyer, waiting for the low hum of his engine at 2:00 AM. You were the architect of his comfort, ensuring his favorite meal was steaming the moment he shed his heavy blazer, providing a sanctuary of silence for a man who spent his days at company.

You were raised to be the ultimate trophy, and he was born to rule. Together, you were a masterpiece of complication—two souls bound by gold, drifting in a sea of dark money and unspoken desires.

"It is an honor to finally meet the Jeon heir," Mr. Choi remarked, his voice smooth with the practiced sycophancy of a man looking for a lucrative partnership.

Jungkook offered a curt, regal nod of acknowledgment, his handshake firm—a silent assertion of dominance. "The pleasure is mine, Mr. Choi."

"Allow me to introduce my family," Choi continued, gesturing to the figures beside him. "My wife, and my son."

The heir to the Choi fortune stepped forward, his gaze far too bold for the company he kept. "Hello, I’m Kai." His eyes didn’t settle on Jungkook; instead, they drifted to you, trailing over your features with a slow, predatory interest. "And this… this must be Mrs. Jeon."

You offered a polite nod, extending a hand that he held a fraction of a second too long. In the world of the ultra-wealthy, attention is a currency, and Kai was overspending.

Jungkook appeared immersed in the dry complexities of the merger, playing the role of the stoic visionary to perfection. But beneath the charcoal wool of his bespoke suit, his muscles turned to granite. He felt the shift in the air—the way your pulse jumped, the faint, traitorous heat that climbed your neck under Kai’s unwavering stare.

Without breaking eye contact with the elder Choi, Jungkook’s arm tightened around your waist, his fingers digging into your hip—a silent, bruising reminder of who you belonged to.

He cut a sharp, questioning glance toward Kai, his brow arching in a silent challenge that screamed danger.

Kai, sensing the sudden drop in temperature, merely shrugged and excused himself, but the damage was done.

The tension in Jungkook’s frame was no longer professional; it was primal. He loathed the idea of being threatened, but he loathed even more the fact that a stranger had managed to elicit a physical reaction from his wife that he hadn't authorized.

As the clock struck midnight and the room began to empty of its gilded ghosts, Jungkook leaned in. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, his breath a scorching contrast to his icy demeanor. "Let’s go."

It wasn't a suggestion.

The ride back to the penthouse was suffocating. Jungkook sat in a power sprawl, one arm draped heavily over your shoulders while his other hand rested on your thigh—his thumb tracing circles that felt more like a countdown than a caress. His eyes were fixed on the neon blur of the city, dark and unreadable.

When the elevator doors hissed open to the penthouse, the silence was deafening. Jungkook moved with a lethargic, predatory grace, shedding his armor.

The silk tie was ripped free; the watch—a piece of machinery that cost more than most homes, was tossed onto the dresser. He began to unbutton his shirt, revealing the hard, tattooed expanse of his chest.

You stood by the edge of the bed, rooted to the spot. There was something hypnotic about the way he dismantled his own perfection, the beast slowly emerging from the businessman.

"Whiskey," he commanded. A single word, jagged and low.

You moved instantly, pouring his preferred label over two cubes of ice, your hands trembling just enough to make the crystal clink. When you turned back, he was settled in the velvet armchair by the floor-to-ceiling window, legs spread in a deliberate display of his boner. He wasn't hiding his hunger anymore.

He lit a cigarette, the cherry glowing fiercely in the dim light. The smoke curled around him like a shroud as he exhaled, his gaze pinned to you. You cursed yourself, cursed the momentary flush that had sparked this fire.

He set the cigarette aside and took the glass from you, swirling the amber liquid, the ice clicking against the glass like a ticking clock.

You felt the sudden urge to retreat, to find safety in the bathroom, to disappear into the sheets. You took one tentative step back, then another.

"And where are you going?"

The voice was a low growl, laced with a cold, simmering fury that froze the blood in your veins. The Jeon heir was gone; only the man remained, and he wasn't finished with you.

Silence was your only defense, though it was crumbling. Your fingers curled into the expensive satin of your gown, the fabric bunching as you fought to stay upright under the suffocating weight of his gaze.

Between your thighs, a traitorous ache began to throb; Jungkook hadn’t even touched you, yet he was already undoing you with a single look.

"I asked you a question." He arched a brow, the movement slow and deliberate as he took a sip of the amber liquid. His eyes traveled over you like a predator surveying a boundary, mapping out every inch of your skin.

"The… bathroom," you whispered, the lie tasting like ash.

"You know I loathe the scent of a threat," he said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming a low, dangerous rumble. "What is mine stays mine. Exclusively." He drained the glass in one caustic swallow, the ice clinking against his teeth before he held it out. He didn't ask for a refill; he demanded it.

As you moved toward the decanter, his hand stayed you with a sharp gesture. "No. Strip. Keep the diamonds. Keep the heels on." A dark, sinful smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned back. "Crawl to me, Mrs. Jeon. And when you get here, you’re going to pour that whiskey over yourself."

The depravity of his words sent a violent shiver down your spine, your body reacting before your mind could even protest. With trembling hands, you reached for the zipper of your dress. The satin hissed as it pooled around your silver heels, leaving you exposed in the dim light of the penthouse. You unhooked your lace bra, your skin flushing a deep, feverish pink under his scrutiny.

Jungkook lit another cigarette, the smoke curling around his head like a halo for a fallen angel. He watched the way your chest heaved, his eyes lingering on the damp heat between your thighs, the slick evidence of your want. He inhaled deeply, his gaze dropping to your mound before he slowly licked his lips, his own hunger becoming impossible to hide beneath the fine fabric of his trousers.

"On your knees," he rasped.

You sank to the floor, the cold marble a shock against your skin as you began the long crawl toward him. He watched the rhythmic sway of your hips and the heavy weight of your breasts with a terrifying sort of satisfaction. This was the only version of you he wanted the world to never see: broken, beautiful, and belonging entirely to him.

"Just like a loyal wife," he murmured as you reached his chair. He didn't reach out to help you; the torture was in his restraint. He gestured with a flick of his finger for you to climb into his lap. You obeyed, straddling his thick thighs, the bottle of whiskey heavy in your hand.

"Pour it."

You tilted the bottle, the cool sting of the alcohol splashing over your collarbones, trailing down the curves of your breasts and pooling in the dip of your navel. You let out a broken moan, your head falling back. "Jungkook..."

"Don't stop," he commanded, though he finally broke. His mouth crashed against your skin, his tongue lapping up the expensive drink from your aching nipples. He sucked and bit, marking the skin he had just cleaned, his hands finally gripping your waist to hold you still for his feast.

He grew tired of the lap, roughly shoving you back onto the mahogany table behind him. He spread your legs wide, his eyes dark with a manic sort of possessiveness. He bit into the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, making you cry out, before looking up to glare at you.

"Shut the fuck up," he growled, the sound vibrating against your skin. "You don't deserve a gentle touch tonight. Not after you let another man see you blush."

Before you could respond, a shocking bolt of cold hit your core. You gasped, your eyes flying open as you saw the ice cube from his glass in his hand. He pressed the frozen square against your swollen folds, swirling it in agonizing circles.

The contrast of his hot, ragged breath against your neck and the freezing ice between your legs sent you over the edge, your body jolting in a frantic, desperate rhythm as he watched you come undone in a mess of frost and fire.

"For the second time? Already unraveling for me?" He whispered, his voice a low, gravelly vibration against the sensitive skin of your thigh. He kept the ice moving in agonizingly slow circles around your clit and entrance, teasing the threshold of your pleasure but never allowing you to cross it. You were chasing a ghost, and he was the one holding the leash.

"Jungkook," you choked out, your nails digging into the expensive fabric of his shirt as you fought to stay grounded.

Your eyes fluttered shut as his mouth found your nipple, but the sudden, sharp shock of a fresh ice cube pressed against your navel forced them open. He was looking up at you, a sinful, dark smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Do you like it, Mrs. Jeon?" he rasped, his eyes gleaming with the triumph of your undone state.

You cried out as he latched back onto your breast, his tongue swirling in sync with the freezing pressure at your core. The high was building again, a frantic, desperate peak, only for him to pull the ice away at the last possible second.

He moved upward, slowly slurping the melting droplets from your navel, his tongue trailing fire where the ice had just been.

"Jungkook! Please!" you whined, your body arching off the table in a silent plea for friction, for heat, for him.

He ignored your begging, reaching for the whiskey bottle once more. He poured a slow, amber stream over your stomach, watching with hooded, predatory eyes as it flowed down into your folds.

He leaned in, lapping the whiskey directly from your skin. Then, he pressed another cube against your entrance, rubbing it in punishing circles while his tongue worked with surgical precision against your clit.

"I’m… I’m close! Please!" You screamed, your head tossing back against the mahogany surface.

Jungkook gave you one final, deep lick—a taste of the heaven you were dying for—before he deliberately pulled back. He rubbed his nose against your slick, swollen pussy, inhaling your scent, and then sat back in his armchair, his hands resting casually on the armrests.

The sudden void was physical. Your eyes widened, your body jolting with the sheer, unfinished Need. "Jungkook! Please… make me cum… I’m begging you…"

He didn't move. He simply watched you—legs spread, body trembling, a masterpiece of ruin on his dining table. "Take the cube," he ordered, his voice cold and commanding.

With shaking fingers, you reached for the crystal bowl, plucking a fresh cube of ice.

"Rub it," he prompted, his gaze fixed on the way your hand moved between your legs. You obeyed, the freezing sting of the ice clashing with the internal fire of your climax.

You moaned, a broken, rhythmic sound that filled the room until the high finally broke over you. You came violently, your body shuddering as you collapsed, your own hands and the table beneath you a mess of melted ice and spent desire.

You panted, feeling the release, the comfort of the aftermath. But Jungkook’s smirk only widened as he reached for the bowl again.

"Again."

The word hit you like a physical weight. You looked at him, realizing with a jolt of heat and horror exactly what your punishment for the night was going to be. He wasn't going to touch you; he was going to watch you break yourself over and over until the sun came up.

[masterlist]

Thank you for reading! <3333

[divinelyparkjimin]

— off the clock [m] | myg.

◦ summary ↠ a reckless one-night stand with a quiet, magnetic stranger was supposed to be just that—one night. no names, no strings. but on your first day at a new job, still nursing a hangover and pretending to be professional, you realize the man who had you unraveling hours ago is now your senior lead. (requested by anon)

◦ pairing ↠ yoongi x reader

◦ word count ↠ 10k

◦ genre ↠ smut

◦ content warning(s) ↠ office au, coworker!yoongi, suggestive/explicit content, borderline pwp, dirty talk, penetrative sex, ejaculation, f. and m. orgasm, riding, unprotected sex, rough sex, dom!yoongi, sub!reader, breast play, oral sex, slight humilation kink

a/n: i was lowkey getting minor writer's block but i was finally able to get this one done! i hope you enjoy anon and anyone else who reads <3

masterlist

You were at a bar you’d never been to before, tucked between two older brick buildings downtown, the kind of place that glowed warmly against the night like it knew secrets. The music was low and smooth, bass humming just beneath your skin. You were already a little tipsy, just enough that the edges of your nerves felt soft instead of sharp. The alcohol sat pleasantly in your chest, warming you and loosening the tight knot of anxiety you’d carried in with you about tomorrow. Your first day at a new job. New people. New expectations. Unknowns.

You were seated at the bar with one leg crossed over the other, fingers loosely wrapped around the stem of your glass. You hadn’t planned on dressing like this, but the dress had felt right when you slipped it on. It was short, sleek, clinging to you in a way that made you feel bold. The fabric dipped low at the front, offering a generous view of your cleavage. 

That was when you noticed him.

A few seats away at first, there was a man in dark slacks and a button-up rolled casually at the sleeves. He looked older than most of the crowd, more composed. When his eyes met yours, it wasn’t accidental. He didn’t rush to look away. Instead, his gaze drifted, unapologetic but controlled, lingering at your figure before lifting back to your eyes.

Your stomach flipped.

After a moment, he shifted closer, stopping just beside the empty stool next to you.

“Would you mind if I joined you for a drink?” he said, eyes flicking to the seat and then back to you. It sounded less like a question and more like an invitation. His voice was more captivating than you would’ve expected, with a warm and sinfully smooth tone to it. 

You shook your head, suddenly very aware of how warm your cheeks felt. “Go ahead.”

He sat, his knee angling just slightly toward yours. Close enough that you noticed. Close enough that it felt intentional.

“First time here?” he asked, glancing at your drink.

“Yeah,” you admitted. “Needed something to calm my nerves.”

“Oh?” A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Dangerous place to come for that.”

“Tomorrow’s my first day at a new job,” you said, taking another sip. The alcohol buzzed a little stronger now, making you braver. “I figured one drink wouldn’t hurt.”

“Usually doesn’t,” he said, his gaze lingering on you instead of the room. His eyes dipped to the open neckline of your dress. He leaned in just enough that you could smell his cologne, a luxurious scent, if you had to describe it. “You know, that dress,” he murmured, voice deepening, “...it’s very distracting.”

“Distracting, huh?” you teased softly. “That’s not exactly what I expected from someone like you.”

He tilted his head slightly. “I’m—” he paused, like he was deciding whether to give you the real thing or a half-truth, then smirked again, “—Yoongi, by the way.”

You smiled, fingers curling lightly around your glass. “Y/N,” you said, meeting his gaze without flinching.

He repeated it once, slower, like he wanted to feel how it sounded. “Y/N.” His forearm stayed where it was, warm and steady against yours. “Nice to finally put a name to the distraction.”

“Could say the same about you,” you replied, biting your lips without even noticing. 

“I’m not much of a dancer,” he murmured after a moment, his voice softer now, closer. “But I’ll admit… I’d much rather get out of here with you than stay where everyone can see.”

You laughed quietly, but didn’t pull back. “You’re very confident for someone who just met me.”

His fingers slid closer, just barely grazing the side of your hand. “Can’t blame a guy for knowing what he wants.”

The music swelled, and for a second the world narrowed to the space between you. When he leaned in, he met your eyes, as if to ask for permission. You nodded lightly, breaths feeling heavier than they were seconds ago. Before you knew it, his lips pressed lightly against yours, a testing kiss. His hand rested at your waist, warm and possessive without being rough. The two of you thoroughly explored one another’s mouths, the kiss remaining slow and gentle. 

He pulled back once the two of you ran breathless, taking a second to admire your appearance before leaning back in again. 

The scent of alcohol was unmistakable—whiskey on his breath, wine on yours—mingling in a way that made your head feel pleasantly light. The kiss wasn’t careful this time. It was messier, slower to line up, your lips brushing clumsily before finding each other properly.

You kissed him like you’d had just enough to forget yourself. A little sloppy, a little eager. Your balance tilted toward him, and he steadied you without breaking the kiss, fingers tightening just slightly at your hip. He tasted like alcohol and something darker underneath, and you could tell you tasted the same to him by the way he exhaled softly through his nose, like he enjoyed it.

The kiss deepened, as the desperation of the two of you took over. His mouth moved against yours with confidence, letting you lead for a second, letting your intoxicated enthusiasm set the pace before he responded. His thumb traced a slow, absent-minded line along your jawline, grounding you while everything else felt pleasantly blurred.

When he finally pulled back, it was only enough to speak, his lips brushing yours as he did.

“I’m not really a PDA kind of guy,” he murmured, voice low, eyes dark as they flicked briefly to your mouth again. “But I’d really like to show you just how good you’re making me feel.”

His hands hovered at your waist as he leaned in close, forehead nearly touching yours.

“My place isn’t far,” he added quietly. “Easy walk.”

The way he said it was calm and controlled, like it was already decided, and it made your stomach flutter. The bar suddenly felt louder, brighter, and less important. All you could focus on was the warmth of his hand, the lingering taste of alcohol and him on your lips, and the fact that saying yes felt far too easy.

You barely remembered finishing your drink. One moment you were still tasting the lingering sweetness on your tongue, the next his hand was guiding you off the bar stool. The noise of the bar felt distant now, muffled by the warmth humming through your body and the way his attention never left you.

He paid quickly, fingers brushing yours as he did, and that small touch felt heavier than it should have. When you stepped outside, the cool night air hit your flushed skin, making you laugh softly as you swayed just a bit. He noticed immediately, his hand settling at your lower back, grounding you like it was instinct.

“Careful,” he murmured, amused, fond. “You’re a little unsteady.”

“So are you,” you teased back, glancing up at him. His eyes crinkled slightly at that, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

The walk to his place was quiet but the tension was loud. The city lights blurred pleasantly, footsteps syncing as you moved side by side. Every now and then your arm brushed his, or your fingers caught on his sleeve, and neither of you pulled away. The alcohol made everything softer, slower, like the night was stretching just for the two of you.

After a bit more walking, the two of you had finally arrived at his place. 

The lobby was quiet, immaculate. Soft lighting, marble floors, the kind of space that smelled clean and expensive. You suddenly felt very aware of your skimpy dress, of how tipsy you still were, of how wildly out of place you probably looked standing beside him. And yet, his hand stayed warm and steady at your back, like you belonged there.

The elevator ride was silent but heavy. You caught your reflection in the mirrored wall, seeing your flushed cheeks, slightly mussed hair, and eyes that were a little unfocused from alcohol and anticipation. Then you glanced at him with his tailored coat and relaxed posture. You couldn’t really believe you were actually doing this, but you really needed some easing for your nerves. 

The door barely clicked shut before he turned on you, his movements a blur of controlled aggression. He shoved you back against the wood, the impact vibrating through your spine, and pinned your arm high above your head. You thrived on the roughness of his grip; it was a physical manifestation of the restraint he was finally losing.

The kiss wasn't a request—it was a claim. It was fiercer, hungrier, and more invasive than before. When his mouth crashed against yours, it wasn't just a meeting of lips; it was a collision. He used his tongue to force your mouth open, slick and authoritative, demanding total entry.

He didn't just kiss you; he devoured you. You felt the wet slide of his tongue against yours, a rhythmic, deep-reaching intrusion that made your knees weaken. He caught your tongue with his own, pulling it into his mouth to suck on it with a low, primal groan that you felt in your chest more than you heard.

The air between you vanished. His hand at your waist bruised, pulling your hips flush against his, while the other remained braced like a vice beside your head. Every time he broke the seal of the kiss, it was only to lick a path across your bottom lip before diving back in, his tongue sweeping against the roof of your mouth in a way that felt dominant and utterly possessive. He was tasting you, marking you, his desperation vibrating through the heavy, wood-scented air of the room.

He broke the kiss with a wet, lingering sound, his forehead resting against yours for a heartbeat before he tilted his head back. He looked you up and down, a smug, low chuckle vibrating in his chest.

"Look at you," he rasped, his voice dropping an octave, thick with the satisfaction of being the one who wrecked your composure. "Hardly catching your breath, and I’ve barely even started with you."

He gently took your hand and led you down the hallway. The alcohol made everything feel softer, dreamlike, your steps slightly unsteady as you followed him. When he opened the bedroom door, you paused again.

It was just as refined with its large bed, crisp linens, low lighting that cast everything in cozy shadows. The room felt intimate without even trying to be. Private. 

He turned to face you then, finally, fully. His gaze drifted over you seductively, taking in your dress, the way it clung to you, the deep dip at your neckline. His eyes darkened just a little and it sent chills through your body.

“Finally,” he said quietly, stepping closer as his presence filled the space between you, “I have the pretty lady all to myself.”

His fingers trailed down your arm, the subtle touch getting your body worked up in ways you didn’t even know were possible. You felt feral, almost. 

“Why don’t we…” he added, voice low and teasing, “get that pretty dress off you now?”

He walked toward you, his movements fluid yet powerful. His fingers found the strap of your dress, and with agonizing slowness, he slipped it down over your shoulder, then the other. The fabric whispered against your skin as it pooled at your feet. You stepped out of it, leaving you in nothing but your lingerie. He took a step back, his eyes sweeping over you in appreciation.

“Well now,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “Aren’t you a surprise.”

You were wearing a matching set of deep burgundy lace. The bra was a balconette style, lifting your breasts and offering them up, the delicate floral pattern of the lace contrasting beautifully against your skin. Thin straps sat on your shoulders, and a small, pretty bow sat nestled between the cups. The panties were high-waisted, the same intricate lace covering the front, scalloped along the edges, with a small satin ribbon tied in a bow at one hip. They were more elegant than anything you’d usually wear, a secret layer of confidence you’d chosen just for yourself.

His gaze dropped to the lace between your legs, and a slow, genuine smile spread across his face. “Those panties,” he said, his voice dropping even lower. “They’re almost as pretty as the girl wearing them.” He knew exactly what he was doing, and the sheer, arrogant certainty in his voice made you want to pull him back in just as much as it made you tremble.

He closed the distance again, his hand coming up to cup your jaw. His thumb rested gently on your cheek, tilting your face up until your eyes met his. “Look at me,” he commanded firmly. Then his lips were on yours. He pulled you flush against him with a force that made your head spin, and you melted into it, a soft moan escaping your throat as you reveled in his dominance.

As he kissed you, he stepped into your space, forcing your legs apart with the weight of his own. He drove his knee upward, wedging it high and hard between your thighs until the fabric of his suit trousers pressed directly against the burgundy lace of your panties.

A muffled cry broke against his lips as he began to rock his leg in a slow, agonizingly deliberate circle. The friction was electric as the rough wool of his slacks against the thin, delicate lace of your crotch created a heat and wetness that made your head spin. He gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin to hold you steady as he forced you to grind against him.

He was using his knee to stoke the fire he’d started, his movements authoritative and unyielding. You arched into him, your hands clutching his shoulders as the friction sent waves of unbearable tension through your lower body. Every time you tried to speed up the pace, he’d growl into the kiss, his knee providing a heavy, constant pressure that made you feel utterly conquered.

His hands finally slid past the swell of your hips, his palms hot against your skin, before trailing lower to catch the curve of your ass. He squeezed the firm flesh with a bruising strength, molding you against his frame, before he suddenly pulled back just enough to deliver a sharp spank.

The sound of the impact cracked through the quiet of the room, and the sting sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to your core. You gasped into his mouth, your body bucking instinctively against him, your fingers gripping tightly onto the muscles of his back.

He didn't pull away. Instead, he chuckled against your lips with a low, dark vibration that felt like a purr of pure satisfaction. He leaned in closer, his teeth grazing your lower lip as he felt you tremble. "I thought you might like that," he whispered, his voice thick with the thrill of your reaction. "Do you want another, or are you going to behave?"

It was at this point that he’d finally decided to break the seal of your mouths. His chest was heaving, his gaze dropping to where his leg was buried between yours.

“The bed,” he rasped, the command leaving no room for argument.

He began to walk you backward, guiding your stumbling steps toward the large bed. The backs of your knees hit the edge, and he gently lowered you down onto the crisp sheets, his body hovering over yours, caging you in. He pulled back just enough to look down at you, his chest heaving slightly. Then, with a sense of urgency, he rid himself of his clothes. His blazer and shirt were discarded in a heap on the floor, followed by his slacks, leaving him in just a pair of black boxer briefs that did little to hide the hard ridge of his arousal.

While he was undressing, you reached behind your back and unhooked your bra, letting it fall away. Your breasts spilled free, your nipples pebbling in the cool air. You moved to take off your panties, but he stopped you, his fingers hooking into the delicate lace at your hips.

“Allow me,” he murmured, his eyes glued to your core as he slowly, torturously, pulled them down your legs and tossed them aside. His gaze was intense and hungry and you’d just wanted him to devour every bit of you already.

The thick outline of his cock straining against the fabric of his boxers was surely no help either. A surge of boldness suddenly washed over you as you sat up to allow your hand to reach out and palm him through the cotton. He groaned, his hips twitching into your touch.

“Let me take care of you,” you whispered, guiding him to sit on the edge of the bed. You knelt before him, pulling his boxers down. His cock was finally fully visible to you, wet and hard. 

You wrapped your hand around his shaft, feeling his velvety skin over the steel-hard length. You leaned in, sticking out your tongue to swirl it around the flushed head. A deep groan rumbled in his chest. You began to stroke him, your hand moving in long, slow pulls from base to tip while your tongue continued to explore, lapping at the sensitive slit. You loved the sounds he made, the way his breath hitched with every flick of your tongue.

You got sloppy with it, letting your saliva coat his length until it was dripping, the wet sounds filling the room. He seemed to love it, his fingers tangling in your hair. You shifted, taking more of him into your mouth, sucking him deep as your hands moved down to gently massage his balls.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, his voice strained. “You’re so good at that.”

After a moment, he tightened his grip on your hair.

“Look at me,” he panted.

When your eyes met his, they were dark with lust.

“You want to gag on my cock?” You weren’t expecting the raw, filthy question, but it didn’t make you want it any less. “I want to see my cock stuffed in that pretty face of yours. Could you do that for me?”

“Yes,” you breathed, the word a desperate, enthusiastic plea. “God, yes.”

He helped you reposition, settling you more comfortably on your knees. He placed a hand on the back of your head, his other hand gripping his shaft to guide it to your lips.

“Open up,” he commanded.

You did, and he began to thrust into your mouth. He started slow, letting you get used to the rhythm, but it wasn’t long before he was chasing his own pleasure. You could feel his cock exploring the walls of your throat with each thrust, going deeper and deeper. Your gag reflex prickled, and you choked slightly, a tear slipping from the corner of your eye. He pulled back immediately, giving you a moment to breathe whenever necessary. 

“Again?” he asked, his voice rough.

You nodded, eager, and he slid back in, picking up the pace once more. You could taste the salty precum on your tongue with every thrust.

After what felt like an eternity of the delicious, rough face-fucking, he pulled you up, his mouth crashing against yours in a messy, passionate kiss. You could taste yourself on him as he pushed you back onto the bed, his body covering yours. He kissed his way down your body, over your breasts, your stomach, until he was settled between your thighs. He didn’t touch you right away, teasing you with kisses on the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Then, without warning, he gave your clit a long, hard, pressured lick.

You yelped, your back arching off the bed at the sudden, intense feeling of pleasure. He did it again, and again, and you couldn’t stop the high-pitched whines and moans that spilled from your lips. The feeling was overwhelming, a dizzying spiral of sensation. He switched to sucking, drawing your clit into his mouth and flicking his tongue against it. It was another level of pleasure entirely. Your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands as you tried to guide his movements, desperate for more.

“You taste so fucking good,” he groaned against you.

While he was lost in you, you felt his cock twitch against your leg, and a sudden, desperate need to ride him took over. You pushed at his shoulders, and he got the message, rolling onto his back. You straddled him, a satisfied, predatory grin spreading across his face. His hands immediately found your hips, gripping you tight.

You sank down onto his cock, the stretch a perfect, burning pleasure. He helped you find a rhythm, lifting you and slamming you back down onto his length. The feeling of his strong hands gripping your sides and ass, controlling your movements, was intoxicating. You took over, setting a punishing pace, rolling your hips and grinding down on him. He met you thrust for thrust, his hips bucking up to meet yours, driving himself deeper and deeper inside you. The room filled with the sounds of your moans, his groans, and the slap of skin against skin.

It was a desperate race toward the edge, and when you finally fell forward, your orgasm crashed through you with the force of a tidal wave, your body convulsing with the force of it. He followed you moments later with a loud, guttural groan, his own release pulsing deep inside you.

You collapsed onto his chest, both of you panting and slick with sweat. You two laid there for a while after, the frantic energy slowly ebbing away into a warm, sated glow. The alcohol haze was fading, replaced by a pleasant exhaustion. You shifted, glancing at the clock on the nightstand, and your eyes widened.

“Shit,” you muttered, scrambling to sit up. “I have to go. It’s way later than I thought.” You’d finally pushed yourself up off the bed, slowly gathering your clothes that were all in different locations of the room. 

“Stay,” he rasped, the command softened by the gravel in his voice. He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of your spine. “The bed is finally warm.”

“I wish I could,” you admitted, gripping your burgundy lace panties from the floor. 

He watched you dress with hooded eyes, a look that made you feel like you were still under his thumb even as you hooked your bra. He moved with a slow grace to gather his own clothes, the comfortable silence between you charged with the memory of what had just happened.

“Don’t think I’m letting you disappear,” he said, pulling his phone from his pocket. He didn’t ask but simply held it out, waiting for you to bridge the gap.

You recited your number, and a second later, your phone vibrated on the nightstand.

He walked you to the door, but he didn't just let you walk out. He caught your waist, pulling your back against his chest as he tapped at his screen. “I’m calling you a car. I’m not having you wandering around this late.”

When the headlights cut through the darkness outside, he turned you in his arms.

“I’ll be in touch,” he murmured, his voice low and certain. “And next time, you aren't leaving the bed until I say so.”

He stepped back just enough to let you breathe, but his gaze remained locked on yours until the car door clicked shut. As the cab pulled away, you watched his silhouette in the rearview mirror, standing under the glow of the streetlamp with his hands in his pockets.

The city blurred past the window, a smear of neon and shadow that felt light-years away from the room you had just left. Your skin felt hypersensitive, the friction of your clothes a constant reminder of the way he’d handled you. Every time the car hit a bump, you felt the faint, throbbing ache between your thighs. You touched your bottom lip and it was swollen, sensitive to the slightest graze of your finger.

The short drive ended quietly, the soft click of your apartment door sealing the night behind you. The lingering scent of his cologne and the ghost of his touch clung to you like a second skin. 

A soft, shaky sigh escaped your lips. Your head was still a tad bit fuzzy from the drinks, a gentle haze that softened the edges of reality and made the memory of his hands on your hips and his tongue in your mouth feel more like a fever dream than a Tuesday night.

Your phone buzzed, the vibration rattling through your hand and cutting through the quiet of the entryway. You didn't even have to look to know it was him. A single, weighted sentence stared back at you:

“I can still taste you.”

A slow, involuntary smile spread across your face. You toed off your heels, the relief immediate, and padded toward your bedroom, your fingers already flying across the keyboard. “Really? And what exactly do I taste like?” you typed back, the honesty of it sending a fresh thrill through you.

His reply was instantaneous. “Actually, I’m starting to forget. I think I need you to come back here so I can make sure.” You paused, your thumb hovering over the screen as a slow, secret smile spread across your face. 

You dropped your phone on the bed and began to undress, the sleek fabric of your clothes feeling like a costume you were finally done with. The bathroom filled with steam as you turned on the shower, the warmth acting as a welcome embrace against your sensitive skin.

“Gonna shower then head to bed,” you texted, setting the phone on the counter. You paused, biting your lip before adding, “Need to be a professional, functioning human for at least eight hours.” The reply came through while you were unhooking your bra, the chime sharp against the bathroom tile.

“Is that right?” he shot back. “You’re going to sit in a boardroom and pretend you didn’t just get railed the night before?”

He was playing with you, marking his territory from miles away.

You stepped under the hot spray, the water cascading over your body, washing away the lingering stickiness of the club and the heat of the car. On a sudden, wicked impulse, you grabbed your phone with a damp hand. The screen fogged slightly as you snapped a picture—just your chest, covered in a thick layer of white soap. You hit send before you could second-guess yourself.

His response didn’t take long. “Fuck.” 

The single word was heavy, loaded with unspoken desire. You finished your shower quickly, the air outside feeling cool against your heated skin. You toweled off and slipped into something soft and comfortable, an oversized t-shirt that barely covered your thighs, and slid between the cool sheets of your bed.

You kept your phone in your hand, your fingers brushing idly over the screen as his texts lingered in your mind, the phantom weight of his body still pressed against yours. The alcohol haze was settling, but your mind was wide awake, replaying every moment.

Finally, you typed a simple: “Goodnight.”

His reply came a moment later, a simple, “Same goes to you, sexy thing.” 

You set the phone down on the nightstand, a slow smile on your lips as you closed your eyes, his last message a sweet, thrilling lullaby.

Morning came too fast. Your head ached, the dull throb of the hangover making your temples tight. You groaned, tugging your hair back, and realized you were already running late. First day at a new job, and your body reminded you that last night’s indulgence had consequences.

You moved quickly, throwing on a professional outfit that felt both sharp and safe. It was fitted enough to look put together, but simple. Your makeup was light, applied in a rush, and you styled your hair just enough to look presentable. You caught your reflection and nearly laughed, patting your hair again and adding a touch more makeup to disguise how tired you really were.

With your water bottle in hand and your bag over your shoulder, you stepped into the day. Your pulse was still high from the night before, and a quiet thrill lingered under the dull headache. First day. New job.

The elevator dinged, and you stepped out into the office lobby, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights. The building smelled faintly of coffee and polished wood. The environment was professional, but definitely a little intimidating. You tugged your blazer a little straighter, trying to ignore the throb behind your eyes. You thought the feeling would’ve been long gone by now but the alcohol from last night still made a distant appearance in the back of your head.

“You must be Y/N. Welcome.” A receptionist smiled at you, clipboard in hand. “We’re just about ready to get you settled.”

You nodded, forcing yourself to look composed. Your legs felt unsteady in your heels as you followed her down the corridor, ears picking up the faint hum of phones ringing, keyboards clicking, and quiet murmurs of colleagues already at work. Each sound felt sharper, somehow louder, through the fog in your head.

“This way,” she said, leading you to a small office area. “You’ll start with a bit of orientation, then we’ll get you familiar with the system. Oh, and here’s your workstation.” She gestured to a sleek desk with a polished surface, a computer already booted up, and a chair that adjusted too smoothly. “You can get settled here, there’s some training modules we’ll just have you do for today. I’ll be just down the hall if you need anything.” 

You nodded, trying to appear the part of the capable new hire. 

With a final, encouraging smile, she turned and headed back toward the lobby. You took a seat, the chair adjusting with a smooth, expensive hiss that made you feel small in the minimalist space. The office was clean and modern and there was a subtle sophistication to everything, but you couldn’t tell if it was the neutral color palette or the quiet efficiency of the layout. You smoothed the front of your blouse over your chest and took a deep breath. 

Your hands hovered over the keyboard, shoulders tense, fingers useless as your thoughts drifted back to the blurry events of last night, despite your best efforts. It had been a while since you’d let yourself fall into something so reckless, so fleeting—a one-night stand type meeting with no expectations and no promises. You hated how much it took over your thoughts, but you couldn’t help it. It left you wanting more, even now, but you exhaled sharply, forcing the thought away. 

You straightened, finally pressing your fingers to the keys and pulling yourself back to work. You weren’t going to let a single night of poor decisions ruin your first day.

For the next hour, you actually managed to sink into the flow. You navigated through the software orientation with a sharp, practiced focus, clicking through the security protocols and taking diligent notes in a leather-bound notebook. The rhythmic clack-clack of the keyboard became a mantra, grounding you. You answered a few introductory emails from the HR team and organized your digital workspace, your movements efficient and professional. Aside from the occasional, faint stir of silk against your skin, you had successfully pushed last night into a neat little box at the back of your mind. You were a professional, and you were proving it.

It wasn’t long before a movement in your peripheral caught your attention. A man was walking down the aisle of desks, a familiar stride that made your stomach twist in a way you didn’t expect. And then your brain finally caught up. Yoongi.

Your heart did a little double take. The same dark hair, the same smirk, and the same casual confidence. He was right here. In the office. Your new job. What was he doing here? 

You froze, cheeks heating, and quickly looked down at your keyboard like the screen could shield you from recognition. He noticed you immediately, eyebrows quirking as his gaze slid over you. A small, near-silent chuckle escaped his lips before he continued to the desk beside you, acting perfectly nonchalant. 

Your phone buzzed, and you didn’t need to even look to know who it was.

“Nice seeing you here. If I didn’t know what a dirty girl you really are, I’d totally believe that innocent, businesslike act of yours.”

You bit your lip so hard it almost hurt, the sting helping to ground you as a furious blush stained your cheeks. Dirty? You glanced over discreetly; he was already at his desk, his fingers moving with a lazy, practiced rhythm over his keyboard, but the glint in his dark eyes was unmistakable. He was enjoying the chaos he’d just dropped into your lap.

You tried to refocus on the modules, but the words on the screen were just a blur of black and white. You reached for your coffee, the warm ceramic of the mug acting as an anchor for your trembling hands. Every shadow that moved in the corner of your eye made you jump, your heart hammering against your ribs.

And then, you felt him.

He was walking past your workstation again, his pace agonizingly slow, as if he were savoring the way your posture went rigid the moment he drew near. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. Your hand jerked instinctively, the coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim of the mug.

“Careful now,” he warned, his voice a low, playful rumble just behind your ear. You jumped, a small gasp escaping your lips before you could choke it back. He leaned down just a fraction closer as he passed, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Don’t want you spilling coffee on yourself… can’t have you soaking wet on your first day can we?”

He let the words linger in the air as a deliberate, wet promise, before he straightened. You managed a shaky, breathless laugh, trying to hide your flustered heartbeat behind the mug. “I... I’m fine,” you muttered, your knuckles white as you gripped the coffee.

In your haste to look busy, your hand brushed against a silver pen resting on the edge of the polished desk. It rolled, clicking softly against the wood before dropping off the side. Without thinking, you ducked down to retrieve it, leaning forward and reaching toward the floor.

The movement caused the deep neckline of your blouse to fall away from your skin.

From his vantage point, standing right over you, the view was unobstructed. You realized it the second you looked up, pen in hand, that he wasn’t looking at your face. He was staring straight down into the dip of your shirt, his eyes dark and fixed on the soft swell of your breasts.

The air in the cubicle felt like it had been set on fire. You straightened up quickly, clutching the pen, but the damage was done. He smirked, a slow, predatory curve of his lips that told you he’d memorized every inch of what he just saw.

He leaned in one last time, his voice dropping to a whisper that was for your ears only. “And is that view just for me?”

He didn't wait for an answer. He straightened his tie and kept walking, leaving you breathless and gripping your pen so hard the metal bit into your palm.

Your eyes darted back to the screen, trying to finish the modules to the best of your ability, despite the difficulty of such a simple task. Every clack of your keyboard felt loud and every reminder of his presence seemed amplified. Your mind was a riot of the absurd realization that Yoongi, your mysterious flirt from last night, was right here, mere feet from you, acting as if nothing was happening at all.

Your mind betrayed you, flashing to the naughty images from last night. With him on top of you, that smirk as he hovered close, and the way his hands moved over you, how could you get any of this work done? 

You eventually snapped yourself back to reality, taking a slow, steadying breath before letting your fingers glide over the keyboard with a little more confidence.

It seemed Yoongi was finally giving you some space, leaving you alone to work without any more teasing interruptions, for now. The faint buzz of the office and the hum of computers became your rhythm, and slowly, you started to fall back into the task at hand, though a tiny part of your mind remained painfully aware of his presence nearby, just in case he decided to strike again.

It wasn’t long before you glanced at the clock and realized it was just about time for lunch. Grabbing your bag, you made your way toward the break room. The small kitchen area smelled faintly of reheated meals and coffee, the vibrations of the refrigerator acting as a background to your thoughts.

You popped open the lid of the instant ramen you’d brought along with you and heated it up before taking it over to one of the tables. You settled in, letting the steam from the noodles warm your hands, hoping the routine act of eating would help ground you after the morning’s… distractions.

You were just about to take your first bite when you sensed a presence beside you.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Your heart lurched. You glanced up. Of course. It was him. Yoongi. Leaning casually, that effortless confidence in his posture, eyes dark and knowing. Your cheeks heated immediately and you nodded before you could stop yourself.

No one else was in the break room yet, and suddenly the air felt thick between you. He sat, close enough that you felt your breaths get shorter and heavier. How could he get you like this? 

“You’re such a tease,” you murmured, the words coming out as a soft, breathless confession.

“Only because I like seeing you struggle.” he countered.  He leaned in just a fraction closer, his shoulder brushing against yours “You’re so cute when you’re a horny mess.”

Your eyes widened, a sharp intake of breath betraying you. You looked around frantically, praying no one was rounding the corner to hear him dismantle your composure so easily.

Trying to regain some scrap of dignity, you jabbed your fork into the noodles. “So… you didn’t get lunch yet?” you asked, your voice higher than usual.

He leaned back slightly, eyes glinting with mischief. He nodded toward the small bag of snacks he’d tossed on the table, but the look in his eyes said something entirely different. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, his smirk widening. “My lunch is sitting right next to me.”

The blatant innuendo was frustratingly effective at getting you worked up. You tried to feign annoyance, tapping your chopsticks against the rim of the bowl. “Persistent, aren’t you?” “Hungry,” he corrected, the word vibrating with a double meaning that made your hand shake.

He shrugged with a mock innocence that didn't reach his eyes. You couldn’t deny it—you thrived on this. Every whisper and every lingering glance made the desire coil tighter in your stomach. You’d been aching for him since you woke up, and his relentless teasing was only feeding the desperation.

You hadn’t realized just how dangerously close you’d leaned into his space until the heavy thud of footsteps broke the spell. Your stomach dropped as a coworker, Kai, strolled into the breakroom. His eyes landed on Yoongi immediately, then flickered to you with a friendly, unsuspecting curiosity.

“Hey, Yoongi,” Kai called out, leaning casually against the counter. “Did you tell her about the barbecue tonight?”

The invisible heat between you and Yoongi was so thick you were sure Kai could see it. In a sudden, panicked rush, you scooted your chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the linoleum. You buried your face in your ramen, pretending to be deeply fascinated by a stray noodle. Totally not suspicious, you thought, your heart hammering against your ribs.

Kai didn’t seem to notice. He grinned at you, eyes bright with the typical excitement of an office social. “It’s a tradition! Everyone shows up, the food is great. You should definitely come, it’s the best way to meet the team.”

He gave a quick thumbs-up and headed back out, his footsteps fading down the hall.

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with the residual electricity of Kai almost catching you. Yoongi didn’t move back. Instead, he watched you with that familiar, ruinous smirk.

“He’s right. You should be there,” Yoongi said, his voice dropping back into that low, gravelly register that made the rest of the room disappear. “I’m planning on staying late. And I have a very specific set of ideas for how we’re going to spend your ‘after-hours’ orientation. I'd hate for you to miss it.”

You noticed the subtle inflection in his tone, the way his words carried a hint of promise beyond just a night out. You glanced at him, trying to mask the flutter in your stomach, and he caught it immediately, obvious from his facial expression. 

“Okay,” you whispered, the word feeling small against the weight of his attention. “I’ll be there.”

He chuckled, a short, dark sound of victory. “Good girl. I’ll see you tonight. Try to keep your head in the files until then.”

The day dragged on, the hours stretching longer than you expected, though at least the work itself wasn’t unbearable. You found yourself stealing glances at Yoongi now and then, resisting the urge to check your phone for another message or a sly comment. He was at his desk, pretending to type, but you caught the cheeky grin that never seemed to fully leave his lips when he thought no one was looking.

When the clock finally released you, the office cleared out in a blur of small talk. You gathered your things, your hands finally steady enough to pack your bag. As you passed his desk, he didn't even look up from his screen, but his voice reached you.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said quietly, only enough for you to hear. 

You nodded, trying to keep your voice steady. “See you then.”

The bus ride home was a blur of anticipation. The thought of being around him again and this time outside of the office, made your pulse thrum a little faster. This was especially enticing when considering the events that occurred between the two of you the night before. 

At home, you started rifling through your closet, searching for something that was nice but not too over the top. You settled on a fitted silk blouse in a deep, midnight blue and a skirt that skimmed your thighs just right. You spent a little too much time on your hair, letting the curls fall loosely over your shoulders, and finished with a swipe of gloss that made your lips look bitten and plush. You looked in the mirror, took a steadying breath, and told your racing heart to behave.

The restaurant was a chaotic mix of savory smoke, cold beer, and the loud, boisterous laughter of people finally off the clock. You stepped through the door, scanning the crowded tables until your eyes locked onto his.

The place was lively as you arrived, laughter and conversation spilling out from the restaurant where the barbecue was in full swing. The smell of grilled and marinated meat hit you instantly, mingling with the faint tang of alcohol. Your heart beat a little faster when you spotted Yoongi seated at the table, casually leaning back as he surveyed the crowd. Around him, coworkers laughed and clinked glasses, but his focus found you immediately.

“Glad you came,” he said as you approached, his voice cutting through the surrounding chatter. He didn't stand, but he reached out, his fingers briefly ghosting over the side of your waist as he gestured toward the empty chair beside him.

You made your way over, trying to appear casual.

You sat, and almost immediately, the "professional" distance you’d tried to maintain collapsed. His arm brushed yours as he reached for a plate. You went rigid, your breath catching in your throat, and you knew by the way his jaw tightened that he felt the exact moment you faltered.

He didn't stop there. Under the shelter of the heavy tablecloth, his hand slid onto your thigh. His palm was warm, his grip firm. He didn't move at first; he just let the weight of his hand settle there, marking you while he casually joined a conversation about quarterly projections.

“Yoongi…” you murmured, the name escaping you as a faint, desperate breath.

“Mm?” He didn't even look at you. He leaned in just enough for his shoulder to pin yours, his voice a low, vibration intended for your ears alone. “Something wrong?”

His fingers began a slow, torturous climb. He traced the seam of your skirt, his thumb dipping just beneath the hem to graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The sensation was a lightning strike of heat that settled directly between your legs.

You were losing it. Your heart was hammering against your ribs, and the polite chatter of your coworkers sounded like it was coming from miles away. You couldn't sit there and pretend to be a "new hire" for one more second while he was dismantling you under the table.

“Excuse me,” you managed, standing abruptly. The chair legs shrieked against the floor, drawing a few curious glances from the table. You didn't wait to explain so you just turned and moved toward the restrooms, your legs weak. 

The cool air of the restroom did nothing to dampen the fire he’d started. You leaned against the sink, staring at your reflection as your eyes were blown wide, your cheeks a frantic, deep pink.

Your phone buzzed in your hand. It was him:

“On a scale of 1–5, how ruined are those panties right now? I’m gonna bet on 5 ;)"

You let out a frustrated breath, leaning your forehead toward the mirror. You felt the undeniable, heavy dampness between your thighs signaling he was absolutely right.

You splashed cold water on your face, took three deep breaths to steady your pulse, and walked back out. You found him exactly where you left him, leaning back with a glass in his hand. He didn't say a word as you sat down, but his slow, teasing smirk said it all. 

The rest of the barbecue felt like a blur of polite nods and shallow conversation. As predicted, once the managers began to settle their tabs and head for the exits, the atmosphere shifted. The "performance" was over. 

Once everyone was ready to get going, you followed the group down the dimly lit street. Yoongi trailed just behind you, his presence a physical weight at your back. He wasn’t touching you yet, but he was close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body, marking his territory in the middle of the sidewalk.

“You sure you can keep up?” he murmured, cutting through the city noise. “It’s a long night. I’d hate for you to get overwhelmed before we even get started.”

You glanced over your shoulder. “I’ll manage,” you replied, though your voice lacked any real conviction.

His smirk deepened, sharp and knowing under the amber glow of the streetlights. “Good. Because I don't plan on letting you out of my sight tonight.” You bit your lip, trying to suppress the rush that bloomed wherever he touched.

The club was a sensory assault. The moment the heavy doors opened, the bass rolled through your chest like a heartbeat, and the air turned thick with the scent of expensive alcohols and crowded skin.

Yoongi didn't hesitate. He stepped up behind you, his hand finding the small of your back. And it wasn't a gentle guide. It was a firm, possessive grip that pulled you flush against him as he wove through the chaos of a crowd. Every time a stranger got too close, his hand tightened, his fingers splaying across your spine as if to remind the room exactly who you belonged to.

He navigated you toward a darker corner, the neon lights flashing in rhythmic bursts that made his eyes glisten amidst the lights. He leaned in, his chest pressing into your back, his lips brushing the sensitive shell of your ear.

“You’re struggling,” he murmured. He leaned in until his lips were hovering against your cheek. “I think you’ve had enough of playing nice for the cameras. We could walk out that door right now and no one would even notice. Is that what you want?”

Your pulse spiked as you nodded. “Yes… please,” you breathed, the word barely above a whisper. “I want to get out of here.”

He didn't just smile—he smirked with the triumph of a man who knew he’d won. His hand slid up your thigh, his fingers hooking into the hem of your skirt and pulling the fabric just an inch higher. He didn't move his hand any further and simply allowed it to rest there. His thumb traced the sensitive skin of your inner leg while you stood in the middle of the crowd, trapped between his body and the music.

As a group of people surged past, he used the momentum to press you against him. You could feel the hard line of his frame and the rhythm of the club’s bass vibrating through both of your chests at once. 

“Come on. I’m tired of sharing the view.”

The transition was jarring. One moment you were in a world of neon and sweat, and the next, you were stepping into the sharp, biting chill of the night air. The heavy bass faded into a muffled hum behind you as he took your hand. He pulled you along, his strides long and purposeful as he navigated toward the darker side streets where the streetlights were sparse.

By the time you reached his car, the city felt like it had disappeared. He unlocked it and held the door open, his eyes dark and unreadable in the shadows.

“Get in,” he ordered, his gaze sweeping over you one last time before you slid into the shadows of the back seat. 

The door clicked shut as he followed you inside, sealing out the rest of the world. The car was silent, smelling of his cologne and expensive leather. With him occupying the seat beside you, the space felt impossibly small. 

He looked at you—not with the "work Yoongi" smirk, but with the raw, hungry gaze of the man who had pinned you to the door the night before.

You moved without hesitation, swinging one leg over his lap to straddle him. The fabric of your skirt bunched up around your thighs, exposing more skin to the cool leather of the seats. His hands were instantly on you, one gripping your hip, the other sliding up your back to press you closer.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your lips before capturing them in a hungry, desperate kiss. 

The kiss was a collision that was hungry, desperate, and entirely devoid of the "professional" restraint he’d worn all day. His tongue was a hot, confident intrusion that made your head spin, and you met him with equal fervor, your fingers tangling into the dark hair at the nape of his neck.

His hands moved with a brutal purpose, mapping the curves he’d been eyeing from across the office. One hand slid down to find the swell of your ass, gripping it tightly as he held you closely against him. The distance was so close that you could feel the heavy, pulsing hardness of him through his dress slacks, a silent demand that made your stomach flip.

“Need to see you,” he let out a jagged growl.

He didn't fumble. His fingers worked the buttons of your blouse with a surprising speed until the silk fell open. He moved to the clasp of your bra, the metal giving out with a sharp click that echoed in the quiet cabin of the car. As the lace fell away, your breasts were finally exposed. He cupped them with his hands, fondling them in soft circles.

He groaned before burying his face between them. His chin scraped deliciously against your sensitive skin as he pressed kisses to the valley between your breasts. His hands came up to hold them, thumbs brushing over your nipples until you were arching into his touch with a soft moan.

“Yoongi,” you gasped, your head hitting the window as his mouth closed around one peak. Your hips rolled instinctively, seeking friction against the hard ridge of his cock still trapped in his pants.

“Like that?” he murmured against your damp skin, before switching his focus to the other breast. “You’ve been thinking about this all day, haven't you? Sitting at that desk, wondering exactly how my mouth would feel on you.”

His words sparked a reckless fire in you. Reaching down, you tried to slide your hand beneath the hem of your skirt to find your slick folds, but he intercepted your wrist with a firm, sudden grip.

“Patience,” he chuckled, though his voice was laced with restraint.

But savoring seemed to be the last thing on his mind as his hands slid down to your hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. He tugged them down as far as he could in this position, his knuckles brushing against your wet folds. You gasped at the contact, your body already humming with anticipation.

But his "savoring" was far from gentle. Two fingers dipped under your skirt and into the waistband of your lace panties before dragging them down in one swift motion. His fingers pressed against your wetness and you couldn’t seem to contain yourself. 

“Look at you,” he murmured, sliding a finger through your slickness with a slow, agonizing confidence. “Already so wet for me. You were telling the truth after all, weren’t you?”

You could only nod, words failing you as his thumb found your clit, rubbing circles that made your vision blur with pleasure. Your hands flew to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as you rode his hand, chasing the building pressure.

“Please,” you finally managed to gasp out. “I need you inside me now.”

With a dark groan of agreement, he fumbled with his belt, the metallic click sounding deafening in the quiet car. He freed himself—thick, hot, and already glistening—and you didn't wait. You shifted, straddling him in the cramped darkness, your knees pressing into the leather on either side of his hips.

You sank down slowly, the stretch so intense it made your head roll back. You took him inch by inch, your body tight and welcoming, until you were fully seated. The air in the car was thick, the windows already beginning to fog over, sealing you both into a private, humid world.

His eyes were dark with lust as he watched you, lips parted as soft pants escaped him. “God, look at you,” he murmured, reaching up to cup your breasts. “Riding me like you were made for it.”

The praise was like fuel. You increased the pace, your movements turning frantic as you bounced against him, the cabin of the car filling with the raw, rhythmic sounds of the encounter—the slick slap of skin, the heavy creak of the leather, and the tangled sounds of your breathing.

His hands guided your movements, sometimes urging you faster, other times pulling you down harder onto him. When he leaned forward to capture a nipple in his mouth again, you cried out, the dual sensations pushing you closer to the edge.

“Yoongi, I—”

“I know,” he cut in, voice strained. “Let go for me. Want to feel you come around my cock.”

His words combined with a particularly well-angled thrust sent you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you, waves of pleasure making your body convulse as you cried out his name. He kept thrusting up into you, forcing you to feel every vibration of your climax until you finally collapsed against his chest, panting and boneless.

“Perfect,” he murmured, kissing your temple as you caught your breath. “Absolutely perfect.”

But he wasn’t done with you yet. With surprising strength, he adjusted your position, lifting you slightly before flipping you so your back was pressed against the door and he was hovering over you. The new angle allowed him to thrust deeper, and you gasped as he drove back into you, this time with a passion that told you he was close.

“Where do you want it?” he demanded, his voice ragged. “Tell me where it goes.”

“Inside,” you breathed, your legs locking around his waist to pull him closer. “Please, Yoongi. Inside.”

With a guttural groan, he buried himself deep one last time, his body going rigid as he filled you. You felt the pulses of his release deep inside, reaching even your sensitized nerves. You clung to him, your fingers resting against his shoulders until he eventually sunk his weight onto you.

For several minutes, neither of you moved. The world outside the fogged windows had ceased to exist. The scent of him was everywhere and it dark, masculine, and intoxicating.

Finally, the tension in his muscles eased. He shifted, pulling back just enough to look at you before he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“That was a good start,” he mumbled. He reached out, his fingers beginning to idly toy with a stray lock of your hair. “But I don't think eight hours of wanting you is out of my system yet.”

You were about to answer and tell him exactly how much you wanted that second round, when a sudden burst of laughter cut through the quiet of the street.

Your heart stopped.

Through the fogged side window, a group of people was spilling out of the club’s side exit, their voices loud and fueled by adrenaline. You froze as you recognized a familiar tone—Kai. “I’m telling you, she probably just went home,” Kai’s voice drifted through the glass, closer than you ever wanted it to be. “New hires always flake out early. But Yoongi? That man is a ghost. He probably disappeared to close some deal or find a quieter bar.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. You were half-dressed, tangled in the back seat with the man they were looking for, hidden only by a thin layer of condensation on the glass. One curious glance, one hand wiping away the steam, and your career would be over before it started.

Yoongi didn't panic. He didn't even flinch. He simply went still, his eyes locking onto yours with a terrifyingly calm intensity. He placed a single finger over his lips as a silent command for you to stay absolutely quiet.

The footsteps lingered. A shadow fell across the fogged window as someone leaned momentarily against the car's frame to light a cigarette. The car rocked slightly under the weight. You held your breath until your lungs burned, your eyes wide as you stared at Yoongi’s silhouette in the dark.

Finally, the voices began to fade. “Come on, the after-party is two blocks away. Let’s go.”

Yoongi stayed close for a moment longer, his eyes tracing the wreckage he’d made of your blouse before he finally pulled back and shifted into the driver's seat.

“Suddenly, the thought of my shower after a long night sounds awfully appealing,” he said, his voice a low velvet. “Care to join?”

masterlist

a/n: wahoo! i was thinking of making a general tag list for all my writing so if you would like to be added then leave a comment below!

[words-in-purple]

｡⋆𓇼 unfortunately yours | jjk | day seven

synopsis: you went to morocco to heal from your ex. you did not plan on body slamming someone, assaulting a stranger with your face, or sharing a bed with him...

𓇼 pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

𓇼 genre/warning: e2l, sunshine x grumpy, strangers-to-lovers, modern au, travel romance, airport meet-cute, forced proximity, one-bed energy (hotel room next door edition), mutual pining, tension, sun-drenched holiday vibes, light bickering, flirting, slowburn-but-fast-burn, smut (18+), soft angst

𓇼 word count: 4.1k

𓇼 status: completed

𓇼 playlist 𓇼 series masterlist 𓇼 main masterlist

｡⋆𓇼 day seven | unfortunately yours

You wake up feeling like you’ve been scraped out and left in the sun to dry.

The room is dim, curtains pulled almost shut. A strip of light sneaks in anyway, cutting across the bed. Your phone lies on the bedside table, face-down, heavy with the weight of a text you still haven’t responded to.

You stare at the ceiling for a long time. Last day in Morocco. Shouldn’t it feel… lighter?

Instead, your chest feels packed with wet sand.

You drag yourself up, showering without really registering the water, and throwing on the safest outfit you own. 

The resort is already alive when you step into the corridor.

Housekeeping trolleys rattle past, loaded with stacks of folded towels and bottles of jasmine-scented cleaner. The faint smell of baking bread drifts up from the kitchens, warm and yeasty. Outside, the Atlantic is a constant exhale against the shore.

You hesitate at the lift, thumb hovering over the button. Breakfast means the buffet. The buffet means people. People might mean him. Your stomach twists, equal parts hunger and dread. You press the button anyway.

The breakfast restaurant is bright and bustling—clatter of plates, clink of glasses, bursts of laughter. Sun floods in through the big windows, turning the sea beyond into a sheet of liquid silver. Waiters weave between tables with silver trays of mint tea and coffee.

You pause at the entrance. The hostess spots you, her face lighting up. “Salam, habibti,” she says. “Table for one today?”

The words hit harder than they should.

You force a smile. “Yeah. Just me.”

She leads you to a small two-top near the windows. The table feels too big now that it’s not shared anymore. There are two place settings anyway—two glasses, two napkins, two sets of cutlery. You slide one aside, making it small, pretending it doesn’t hurt.

When you stand to hit the buffet, you keep your sunglasses on. Armor.

You focus on the food. Oranges cut into thin rounds glistening with juice. Baskets of khobz still warm. Msemen stacked in golden layers. Bissara steaming in a big pot. Little bowls of olives and cheese.

You stack your plate too quickly, hands moving on autopilot.

You’re just reaching for a tiny glass of mint tea when a couple slides into the space next to you at the drinks table. You recognise them—the older German pair from the souk tour. The woman nudges her partner, murmuring something in German as she looks between you and the empty chair at your table.

Her partner replies, eyebrows raised. You don’t understand the words, but you catch streit.

Fight.

You pretend you didn’t hear.

When you make your way back to your table, another waiter intercepts you with a gentle smile and a pot of tea balanced on a silver tray. “Good morning,” he says. “No monsieur today?”

You almost drop the plate. “No monsieur,” you answer, trying to make it a joke. “He has been—kidnapped by the pool activities.”

The waiter laughs politely, but his eyes linger on your face, as if he sees something you don’t want him to. “Don’t worry,” he says softly, almost conspiratorial. “Couples always fight a little on holiday. It is good for the story later.”

You choke on a laugh. “We’re not—”

He’s already moved on to the next table, pouring tea.

You sink into your chair, appetite shriveling.

Across the room, near the omelette station, you catch a glimpse of black—oversized shirt, dark jeans, familiar ink curling from under a rolled sleeve. Your heart slams itself against your ribs.

Jungkook.

He’s half-turned away, speaking to one of the chefs. His hair is pushed back, exposing the clean line of his jaw. The expression on his face is—not friendly. But you already know his grumpy side; this looks different. Tight. Tired.

He takes his plate without looking around, shoulders set like he’s bracing for something.

You drop your gaze so fast your sunglasses slip down your nose. You spend the rest of breakfast memorising the pattern on your plate instead of tasting a single thing.

When you finally look up again, he’s gone.

Avoidance is a full-time job.

You exit through the side door, not the lobby, and take the long route around the main pool so you don’t accidentally cross his orbit.

Agadir watches, unbothered.

You retreat to a quiet corner of the grounds—a cluster of wicker chairs near some tall pampas grass, away from the pools. From here you can see a slice of the ocean through a gap in the white walls. It’s grey-blue this morning, restless under a sky that hasn’t decided what kind of day to be.

You curl into one of the chairs, knees up, book open and unread in your lap. Your phone, heavy in your pocket, might as well be a live grenade.

You’d stayed up last night staring at that text from your ex until the words blurred. You typed out six responses. Deleted six responses. In the end you’d turned your phone face-down and stared at the darkness until sleep dragged you under.

You still haven’t answered. But you also haven’t told Jungkook you don’t want to.

The thought twists something inside you.

You try to read. The words slide off your brain. You put the book down and watch an ant climb determinedly up the arm of your chair. 

At some point, the gardener from your second day—the one who’d taught you bssaḥa when you complimented his roses—passes by with a wheelbarrow of trimmed branches. He slows when he sees you. “You look tired today, madam,” he says kindly. “Too much sun?”

“Something like that,” you say.

He nods, eyes crinkling. “Tell your husband to buy you orange juice,” he says. “It fixes everything.”

You laugh weakly. “If I see him, I’ll let him know.”

“You don’t see him?” the gardener asks, puzzled. “Always together, the two of you. Like—” He mimes two fingers walking side by side.

Something in your chest cracks a little. “Not today,” you say.

He studies you for a beat longer, then just gives a soft tsk and pushes his wheelbarrow on, humming under his breath.

You last about forty more minutes before the walls close in.

The resort feels suddenly too small. Every corner holds a memory of him now—where he stole your msemen, where he splashed you by the pool, where he glared at a guy for talking to you. The air seems thick with it.

You need more sky.

So you grab your sunglasses, sling your bag over your shoulder, and slip out through the gate that leads directly to the beach.

The world opens up.

Agadir’s bay curves wide and generous, the sand stretching out in a broad sweep. The morning crowds have started to gather—families setting up umbrellas, kids already digging at the shore, a group of teenagers clustered around a speaker blasting French rap.

The wind carries the sharp tang of salt, the sweeter curl of grilled corn from a vendor’s cart, the sugary smell of crepes from the promenade.

You walk. Barefoot again. Sand cool now, still damp in places from last night’s tide. Gulls orbit overhead. The sea glitters under a high, thin layer of cloud.

You walk past the camel handler setting up for the day, his animals chewing solemnly on breakfast. He catches your eye.

“Where is your boyfriend, madam?” he calls. “The tattoo one. Very serious face.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks. “Working on his serious face somewhere else,” you shout back weakly.

The man laughs, shaking his head. “He will come,” he says. “They always come back to beautiful girls.”

You keep walking until your eyes sting for reasons that have nothing to do with the wind.

Jungkook, it turns out, is avoiding you just as hard. You know because you see him anyway.

Agadir is not big enough for both of your coping mechanisms.

You spot him first from a distance, cutting across the far end of the pool area like a storm cloud—black t-shirt, black jeans, hair pushed back, headphones around his neck instead of in his ears. His stride is sharp, shoulders tense, jaw set.

He doesn’t notice you; he’s too busy glaring at the ground like it personally offended him.

Every time you catch sight of him—heading toward reception, crossing the lobby, standing at the edge of the resort looking out at the sea—your heart does the same stupid, painful jolt.

Every time, you change direction. You convince yourself it’s for the best.

He needs space. You need space. Whatever happened in Essaouira was obviously temporary—wind and lantern light and proximity and your own loneliness playing tricks on you.

He regrets it. Clearly.

Why else would he shut down so fast when your phone buzzed? Why else would he go from almost kissing you on the beach to stone-faced silence within five seconds?

Because you pulled away, a small, treacherous voice in your head whispers. Because you chose the ghost in your phone over the person in front of you.

You shut that voice up by buying the largest mint lemonade the bar can make and drinking it in three gulps.

The sugar doesn’t help.

By early afternoon, the resort staff have fully decided you’re in a fight.

You hear it in the way the animation guy lowers his voice when he asks if you want to play beach volleyball—“Maybe later, when monsieur is less—stressed?”—and the way the woman at reception gives you a little sympathetic nod when you ask about your airport transfer.

“Last day?” she says.

“Yeah.”

She tilts her head. “Sometimes holiday romance is like mint tea,” she says philosophically. “Very sweet, very hot, and then it cools down and you see the glass is empty.” She smiles, like this is helpful.

You manage to keep your voice steady. “Sometimes the glass was never yours,” you say. “You just—borrowed it.”

“Oof,” she says. “That is worse.”

You both laugh, but your eyes burn. You escape to the lobby bathrooms. You press your forehead to the wooden cubicle door and think, He regrets it. Get over it. It was never meant to be anything more than—whatever it was.

You repeat it like a prayer until the words lose all meaning.

You don’t cry until you’re back in your room.

Stupidly, the thing that sets you off isn’t the text, or Jungkook’s closed-off face on the beach, or the way the resort staff keep calling him your husband like you’ve lost something real.

It’s your suitcase.

You flip it open to start packing and there it all is. The clothes you wore when you first arrived, smelling faintly of airport air. The tiny bag of spices you bought at the souk. The necklace Jungkook bargained for you. The magnet shaped like a blue door from Essaouira. A crumpled ticket from the first tour bus. A hotel pen you accidentally stole. 

Evidence that all of this is real and also almost over.

You sit on the bed, hands fisting in the duvet, and cry as quietly as you can. The kind of crying that leaves your head pounding and your eyes swollen and your chest sore. When you’re done, your nose is red, your throat hurts, and your reflection in the bathroom mirror looks like a cautionary tale.

You splash cold water on your face, pat it dry, and tell yourself to pull it together.

It meant nothing. He’ll forget you by the time his plane lands. You’ll go home and deal with your life. That’s how this works.

Maybe if you repeat it enough, you’ll believe it.

You don’t know how long you sit there, staring at nothing, listening to the muffled pulse of resort life through the walls.

You decide you can’t spend your last evening in Morocco sobbing into hotel linens.

You stand up, wipe under your eyes one more time, and swap your crumpled t-shirt for something nicer—a soft dress that feels like you stole it from a version of yourself who still believes in romance. You pull your hair back, dab on concealer that does absolutely nothing about the puffiness, and slip your sandals on.

Fresh air. That’s all you’re going for. Just a walk along the promenade. Maybe one last mint tea watching the sunset. You can do that without collapsing.

You open your door.

At the exact same time, the door of the next room opens too.

Jungkook steps out.

He’s in all black—black jeans, black shirt rolled to the elbows, boots that make a soft thud on the carpet. His hair is styled back off his forehead, showing the strong lines of his face; the silver hoops in his ears catch the corridor light. Tattoos snake down his forearm, half-hidden by fabric.

He looks unfair. He also looks wrecked.

There are faint shadows under his eyes, like he slept about as much as you did. His mouth is pressed in a line that isn’t quite a scowl, but it’s definitely not neutral. He’s holding his key card in one hand, the other shoved into his pocket.

You both freeze.

The corridor is suddenly too narrow, the air too thick with everything unsaid.

For a beat, you almost do what you’ve been doing all day—duck your head, murmur something polite, escape.

Then you see it.

The way his gaze sweeps over you once—dress, hair, shoulders—and then snaps to your face. To your eyes. They must still be puffy; no amount of cold water or makeup could fully hide it.

His expression shifts. The annoyance, the guardedness, the careful distance—something cracks straight through it.

He looks—stricken. Like the sight of your swollen eyes physically hurts him.

“Hey,” he says, but it comes out softer than he probably meant it to. Rough at the edges. Worried.

You swallow, throat tight.

“Hey,” you manage.

He takes a small step toward you, as if he has to physically see you closer to believe what he’s seeing. “What happened?” he asks quietly.

And for the first time all day, you’re not sure you can lie.

You end up at the Marina because he says, “We need to talk,” and for once you don’t joke your way out of it.

Agadir is sliding into night as you walk down from the hotel. The air is warm but softer now, wrapped in the smell of salt and grilled fish and car exhaust. Neon signs flicker on one by one along the road. Scooters buzz past.

You walk side by side in silence, hands in pockets, not touching.

You stop at the railing. He stops with you. For a moment you both just stand there, looking out at the boats instead of each other. Wind tugs at your clothes, at his shirt; the metal under your hands is cool.

He breaks first. “Let’s talk,” he repeats quietly.

You keep your eyes on the water. “There’s nothing to—”

“There is.” His voice cuts through yours, sharper than you’ve ever heard it. He has never interrupted you. “There is something. And you know it.”

The words hang between you, bright and unavoidable.

You swallow, jaw tight. “What do you want me to say, Jungkook? That Essaouira was a mistake? That I’m sorry? Because I’m—I’m already there.”

He turns his head so fast you can feel the movement. “You’re sorry,” he repeats flatly. “For what, exactly?”

You laugh once, humourless. “For making this complicated. For dragging you into my mess. For—” You gesture vaguely at the ocean, at the city, at everything. “All of it.”

He stares at you. In the lamplight his eyes look almost black. “That’s not what I wanted to hear,” he says.

“It’s the truth,” you insist, even though it feels more like a shield than anything honest. “You were right. I’m a chaos radius. You have an actual life to go back to. Work, family, your—favourite centrifuge or whatever. You don’t need—”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the airport.”

You freeze. The marina keeps moving around you—waiters sliding past with trays of sardines, couples strolling hand-in-hand, kids racing scooters along the boardwalk—but your world shrinks to that one line.

You turn slowly. “What?”

He exhales, looking away, jaw working like he’s chewing through stubborn words. “Since you crashed into me at the check-in,” he says. “With your crooked hoodie and your—” He gestures around your face helplessly. “Everything. I was jet-lagged and pissed off and I still noticed you. I tried not to. I tried to just be annoyed and leave it at that, but then you stole my seat and fell asleep on me and argued about armrests and—” He stops, eyes squeezing shut for a second. “You just—kept happening.”

Your stomach does a slow, disbelieving flip. “That doesn’t mean—”

“And then Essaouira.” His voice roughens on the word. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to spend a night with someone and then watch them flinch away like you burned them the second their phone vibrates?”

You wince. “That’s not fair,” you say quietly. “You saw a name, not the history.”

“I saw your face,” he says. “Like the ground dropped out from under you. Like I’d—I don’t know. Got in the way of something you were waiting for.”

You look back at the water because it’s easier than looking at him. The reflections ripple, gold breaking into pieces each time a boat rocks.

“I thought you regretted it,” you admit. “Us. Essaouira. All of it.”

He lets out a short, incredulous breath. “I regretted being an idiot on the beach,” he says. “I regretted not saying something before you spent an entire day running away from me like I’m contagious.” His fingers curl over the railing, knuckles pale. “I never regretted you.”

That cracks something open.

You blink hard. “I didn’t know what to do,” you say. “My ex texts from an ocean away and suddenly I’m twenty again, begging someone not to leave, and then there’s you and Morocco and everything is—too much. You make me feel something I thought was gone and that terrifies me.”

He goes very still. “You think I’m not scared?” he asks, quieter now. “I came here to get away from my life, not—not rewrite it. I hated you. I swear I did.”

You huff out a wet laugh. “You still do.”

“I don’t.” His answer is immediate. “Not anymore.” A beat. “Not since Essaouira.”

You finally look at him.

His face is open in a way you’ve never seen. Less armour, more ache. Wind lifts the fringe from his forehead; the light catches on his lip ring and the edges of his tattoos. He looks young and nervous and determined and so stupidly, painfully sincere.

Something inside you loosens. “Then why avoid me?” you ask, voice cracking. “Why back off on the beach? Why let me think I was insane for believing it meant anything?”

He drags a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Because every time I tried to talk to you, you ran,” he says. “You hid behind sunglasses and jokes and I’m fine. You wouldn’t even look at me.” His mouth twists. “And I thought—okay. She regrets it. She chose the guy in her phone. I should be noble and shut up and let her go.”

“Idiot,” you whisper, the word breaking on a half-laugh, half-sob.

“Yeah,” he says. “Apparently.”

For a moment you just breathe, the wind filling in the space between your inhale and his exhale.

“I don’t want him back,” you say finally, the truth settling heavy and sure in your chest the second you say it out loud. “I don’t want to keep repeating the same heartbreak until it kills me. I came here to feel—anything that wasn’t that and then you showed up and ruined my nice, carefully organised misery.”

He searches your face like he’s afraid he misheard. “Ruined it how?”

“You made me laugh,” you say. “Real laugh. Souk-cat laugh. Armrest-war laugh. You made me feel—wanted. Seen. Like I’m not just some idiot who loves too much and gets left for it.”

His throat works, eyes darkening. “I don’t want to leave Morocco,” he says slowly, each word deliberate, “without knowing if this—” his hand makes a small, helpless gesture between you “—whatever it is—is real.”

You’re quiet.

He steps closer. The gap between your bodies narrows to a breath. He’s less grumpy now, more raw. Vulnerable in a way that makes your heart ache. 

“You’re the loudest person I’ve ever met at breakfast,” he says softly. “You talk to every staff member like you’ve known them for years. You nearly die at least twice a day, and I apparently have a nervous breakdown every time.” His mouth quirks. “You also ask real questions. And listen when I answer. And you looked at that photo of me like I was worth seeing.”

Your throat burns.

“I hated you,” he repeats, voice dropping. “I hate the way you talk to cats before people. I hate that you steal blankets. I hate that you say universe like it’s a person.” He leans in just a fraction. “But I hate more how much I’ve missed you in the last twenty-four hours.”

Your eyes sting again. “Are you always this dramatic?”

“Only when it’s you,” he says simply.

The Isha adhan begins somewhere behind the Marina, voice rising and falling over the city like a tide. The sound folds itself into the wind, the clink of cutlery, the murmur of conversations—it all softens around the edges, turning the moment into something suspended and fragile.

“Look,” you say, words trembling and brave. “We don’t know what happens after this. You go home, I go home, we have time zones and work and families and baggage. Maybe it crashes and burns. Maybe it doesn’t. But—”

“But?” he prompts, eyes locked on yours.

“But I don’t want to leave pretending it meant nothing,” you admit. “You’re—the part of this trip I’m not ready to leave behind.”

Something in his expression breaks and reshapes into relief. He steps in that last tiny bit, so there’s nowhere for the wind to go between you. His hand comes up, fingers brushing your cheek, thumb catching a stray tear before it falls.

“Unfortunately—” he says, and there’s the faintest hint of a smile now, “or maybe fortunately—I’m pretty sure you’re the part of this trip I can’t leave behind even if I try.”

Your heart trips. “Is that your way of saying you’re stuck with me?” you ask, voice wobbly.

His forehead leans gently against yours, noses nudging. The world narrows to the warmth of his breath, the faint scent of his cologne, the steady pound of your pulse in your ears.

“Unfortunately,” he murmurs, “I think I’m yours now.”

You don’t run. You don’t overthink. You just meet him halfway.

The kiss is nothing like Essaouira and exactly like it. Slower. Less frantic. More sure. His mouth is warm and familiar now, his hand steady at the nape of your neck, the other settling at your waist like it belongs there. 

The noise of the Marina fades to a low hum; the water reflects the city lights in broken stars all around you.

When you finally part, you stay close, foreheads still touching, breaths mingling.

“Of course this would happen to me,” you whisper. “Fly across an ocean, get emotionally ambushed by a man with tattoos who works in pharmaceuticals.”

He laughs, soft and stunned, eyes smiling even before his mouth does. “You started it,” he says. “You ran into me at the airport.”

“You were standing still,” you protest.

“Exactly,” he says.

The wind tugs gently at your clothes, warm and salt-sweet. Agadir glows around you—golden lights, distant hillside letters, the echo of prayer hanging in the air. Morocco holds the moment like a secret it’s seen a hundred times before and still finds beautiful.

You curl your fingers into the fabric of his shirt. “Okay,” you say, heart hammering, hope cracking itself open in your chest. “Unfortunately yours, then.”

His smile softens, and this time when he kisses you, it feels like a promise you’re both choosing—eyes wide open, with the sea and the city and the whole impossible, glittering universe as your witnesses.

(the end)

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a/n: im sobbing no one talk to me, i cannot believe this is over. i appreciate all the love you guys have shown to unfortunately yours and me!! as a new writer on tumblr, all of your support means so much. i hope to see many of you across my other fics. it has been a wonderful ride and i had so much fun writing this. reading your comments, reblogs and asks has also been so very wonderful. while i will not be doing a sequel, there will be some drabbles eventually. i cannot guarantee when but i know i will miss them too much to not write more of them.

please share your thoughts through comments, reblogs and asks.

all the love in the world <333

[kooktrash]

million dollar darling | jeon jungkook

summary: jeon jungkook is well aware of how privileged he is to have been born into the life he was given. it was glamorous and influential yet close-knit and suffocating, something he thought he wanted to escape from. a trip back home to the circle of wealth and snottiness for his best friend’s million dollar wedding has reminded him of all the reasons why he wanted to leave in the first place… and all the reasons he should stay — the main one being you, the spoiled rich girl he knew was utterly perfect for him.

➣ genre/au: jungkook x model!reader [she/her, female anatomy], old money au, smut, plot [soft on the e2l/f2l tropes]

[loosely inspired by ‘crazy rich asians’ movie/book by kevin kwan]

➣19.7k words

warnings: heavy plot. smut. model oc. jk is a wander but he’s really just a rich guy in disguise. oc and jk got heavy tension but good banter. oc is kinda snotty but not really? namjoon x oc [not y/n]. rich, old money snotty bts. sex on a yacht. teasing. foreplay. oral [f and m receiving]. jk goes to town on oc. cunnilingus. unprotected. missionary. oc on top. jk is tatted up in a polo. heavy makeout. breast play. fingering. dirty talk. oc goes down on jk while he’s on the phone with hobi 😭. jk’s villain arc as he slowly turns back into a cocky rich boy hehe. jk gets sex flashbacks at dolce and gabbana

“Come on, it’s my wedding and I want you as my best man. Do it for your best friend.”

The sky had been clear when he landed, a bright blue cloudless sky that resembled the clarity of the sea he had left behind. The air already seemed stiffer and the bleakness of the airport brought his mood down almost immediately.

The only thing to make him somewhat happy to be home was the sight of the person in front of him, a huge grin on his face as he saw him. The man was dressed casual in a pair of sweats and a hoodie but the small details of his watch matched with the luxury car parked outside brought unwelcome attention to Jungkook when people stared.

“I was worried you bailed last minute,” Namjoon said with a grin as he pulled him into a hug, “It’s good to see you.”

“I wouldn’t,” Jungkook reached into the pocket of his oversized black hoodie and slid his face mask off, taking a cigarette and lighting it once they were outside the airport, “It’s been too long without seeing your beautiful face.”

“Yeah, don’t tell Yeonwoo, but I’d marry you if you weren’t such a man,” Namjoon joked, playfully flirting which Jungkook just laughed off.

“Too bad you’re not my type,” Jungkook patted his shoulder apologetically, “Besides, where is the bride?”

“Getting her hair done for tonight,” Namjoon said as they got into a Bentley Mulssane, “Also, please drive, I’m scared.”

“Hyung,” Jungkook scoffed, taking the keys anyway, “If you hate driving so much why buy an expensive car?”

“Yeonwoo liked the color,” Namjoon said as he got in the passenger’s seat of his own car, “Are you staying with your parents? I could still find you an apartment.”

“For a week? Don’t bother, I’m staying at a hotel,” Jungkook said, turning the engine on and driving out.

Namjoon sighed, “So you really are leaving again?”

“Was there ever a doubt I was?” Jungkook asked in surprise.

“Duh, kid. We miss you, you rarely call, you never visit, you barely respond and we know nothing that goes on with you,” Namjoon said, “I thought once you got your fill of life experiences, you’d come back.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything at that, sniffling uncomfortably as he tried switching the subject, “So, who’s my partner?”

This time Namjoon was the one to freeze up, staring out the window with sunglasses on and his jaw locked. With a shy smile, he asked, “Are you gonna bring a date?”

His brows furrowed as he looked at his friend, “Who’s the Maid of Honor?”

Namjoon released a nervous laugh, “Y/n L/n.”

The silence in the car was loud and from the way Jungkook’s jaw tensed and his eyes narrowed, it was easy to see he wasn’t happy about that. You? You were the Maid of Honor and his partner down the aisle?

“You know, her and Yeonwoo are close and Yeonwoo’s always thinking about who looks the best next to her on camera and obviously she’s gonna choose the runway model but listen,” Namjoon could barely catch a breath, “Y/n’s matured more now and she’s going to be there tonight so please be on your best behavior.”

“Tonight? What’s tonight?” Jungkook’s tone was sharper now and Namjoon huffed in annoyance.

“The rehearsal dinner on the pier, it was all in the catalog I sent you,” Namjoon said, “It’s for press. Our parents want to get it on Forbes and Vogue, they want to make it the Wedding of the Year.”

They both laughed at that and Jungkook sighed, “So there’s gonna be cameras?”

“Yeah but don’t worry they won’t focus on you,” Namjoon said with a smirk, “The attention’s going on me.”

When Jungkook pulled up to the hotel he would be staying at for the week, Namjoon left him to settle in with a promise that he would make it tonight so he had no choice not to. A letter from a close friend was sitting on the coffee table and he set his things down to get it.

It was a big envelope with a card and a few things rattling inside that made him curious. Jungkook turned the envelope down so the contents would fall onto his palm and a roll of condoms slipped out.

‘Welcome home buddy, enjoy the penthouse and may all your frustrations come undone — Jung Hoseok.’

The note itself made him scoff in disbelief. His womanizing friend making jokes before they’ve actually reunited. He left the things on the table and left to shower, doing what he could to make himself look presentable for tonight.

Tonight was the beginning of a soon-to-be hectic week of photoshoots, brunches, parties and finally the wedding. You were one of the ones front and center, never taking the limelight from the bride but carrying your own sense of grace that had people turning heads when you walked into a room—or in this case riverwalk.

You vowed to appear your best tonight and opted for a silk, powder blue Prada dress paired with Swarovski crystals on your neck. You did your part as Maid of Honor, directing all attention to your friend, polite smile and gentle assurance when needed in front of a crowd. Yeonwoo found it comical how well you fit into character when you need to.

“The perfect friend,” Yeonwoo joked as you dabbed smeared lip gloss from her lips, “What would I do without you?”

“Oh, I hope you never have to find out,” You said in a gentle voice that feigned innocence and longing. Yeonwoo laughed as she was called toward other people and you let her go as you found the nearest server holding a glass of champagne. You took a glass, turning toward the railing overlooking the shore, tipping your glass back and chugging as much of the drink as possible.

“So this is where the Maid of Honor will be spending her night?” A familiar deep voice spoke up from behind you and a mischievous smile grew on your face. You set the glass down, straightened your posture and turned to him with a soft gaze.

“Now you know that’s not fair, Joon, I’ve been with Yeonwoo most of the night,” you told him, already motioning for another server to give you a glass, completely ignoring the man standing beside him.

“I believe you, darling, now why don’t you come say hi to the Best Man,” Namjoon pushed Jungkook forward who just glared at him in response, “You remember Jeon Jungkook, right?”

“It’s been two years, not ten,” You said, finally looking at Jungkook with a glimmer of annoyance in your eyes, matched by his stare of unamusement.

“Alright well why don’t you two get reacquainted while I search for the gorgeous love of my life,” Namjoon said, making his escape as quick as possible.

“You counted?” Jungkook asked, taking just one step toward you, trying to stop his eyes from trailing down your figure.

“Of course,” You said sarcastically, “I’ve just missed you so.”

He couldn’t stop the roll of his eyes as he turned to the water, “You knew we were partners?”

“Obviously, I know everything,” you said with a scoff that had his tongue pressing against his cheek, clearly annoyed, “Like how you’re staying at one of the Jung’s hotels instead of home. How you plan on leaving still, where you landed, how long you’ve been her—“

“So you’re stalking me?” Jungkook asked, only half joking.

“Don’t you wish,” you laughed, “You’re all over the news.”

His smile dropped. When he had nothing to say, you grew bored and left him behind, making sure to lightly graze your fingers against his arm as you said, “And just remember, you’re the one who despises me, not the other way around.”

With that, you left without looking back and he was left watching the sway of your hips when you walked away.

Money rules the world, even when people want to say it doesn’t. The people who have it are living the dream and the ones who don’t, want the dream. It doesn’t even have to be the luxurious wonders of the world, it could be as little as financial stability or surviving. At the end of the day, it was a Rich Man’s world and this group of individuals were born lucky.

First, the groom: Kim Namjoon. The man with it all, the money, the family, the education, son of millionaires with three hospitals in their name and a line of pharmacies all across the globe.

The bride: soon-to-be, Kim Yeonwoo. The heiress to half a dozen airlines, an airport funded by her family for decades and a beautiful island in her name off the coast.

Kim Seokjin, practically a prince, generations worth of politicians, the highest education and a trust fund worth millions. He was the one you’ll see with the president or in Australia, golfing with men in charge.

Jung Hoseok, the hotel heir to a chain of ten thousand hotels across the globe. He was the one you’ll most likely catch partying in Venice with a princess whose name he couldn’t actually remember—or maybe giving a waitress the night of her life.

Min Yoongi, eldest son of an elite banking firm formed a hundred years ago. He was private about his life, similar to Jungkook, he only came out when he was summoned by one of the others.

Kim Taehyung was wild as Hoseok but more quiet about it. He’ll soon be heir of the billion dollar empire his family built in the Art world of museums and curations and performing arts.

Now, Jungkook’s story was a bit different from the others. His family worked in land development, most of the country being built on the backs of the Jeon’s who brought cities to rural areas and avoided the public’s eye.

They had the kind of old money that everyone knew, even when they tried to stay out of the news.

It was the kind of old money, people could never stop talking about and you understood what that meant most.

There was a mystery to the fortune of your family, it was old money, so old nobody knew where it came from. Some say oil, some claim aristocrats but it was too far back, and too private for any to know. All the public knew were the generous and loving philanthropists and their perfect daughter, the Nation’s Sweetheart, you.

You really were loved by all, the camera, the press, everyone. They all saw the kind, innocent girl in the public’s eye but only a few saw the snotty, spoiled and downright disrespectful side of you that was real.

Where Jungkook craved independence and isolation from his family name, you soaked in it. The attention. The money. The dependence, you were the complete opposite of him and it drew him insane.

One might ask why he was around you if he really did despise you, but for a long time it wasn’t up to him. The group didn’t all become friends one magical night when you compared your family’s net worth.

No, this bond had grown between galas, private academies, horse riding lessons at the country club and family businesses. It was a very elite, classist society where only the ultra rich could really only trust in each other and keep a country afloat off of it.

Do you think Namjoon would have been allowed to marry Yeonwoo if her parents weren’t as rich as they were?

Do you think Seokjin would have married his wife that he met at Oxford if her family hadn’t been international shipping magnates?

It was like a spider web, they were all connected in some way, all controlled and that’s what Jungkook hated.

He loved his friends, truly, but he hated the control. Not a single one of them had real freedom and every little thing they did came with a price and he couldn’t live that way anymore. He understood his own privilege and how lucky he was to grow up in such a way but he knew there was more to life than just that. When he left home for the first time, he didn’t expect to feel so free. It was like a sense of independence he’s not sure any of his friends have felt and now that he’s back he’s reminded once again of how suffocating it all is.

There had to be at least a hundred guests in attendance tonight and he couldn’t find a moment of silence. The suit he wore felt uncomfortable and he hated the way it seemed to confine him, make him more rigid and stiff.

“Please Jungkook, I was only being funny. Did it bother you that much?” Hoseok asked with a tinge of mischief in his voice.

“No,” Jungkook shrugged as he looked around the banquet hall, “I just found it unnecessary.”

“Really? I would’ve assumed the opposite considering you’ll be spending a lot of time with Y/n this week,” Taehyung said with a shrug as the three of them stood off to the side, talking amongst themselves as the guests of the charity banquet focused on your parents who stood on stage making some speech about the importance of giving.

As if on cue, the spotlight turned toward you where you smiled politely and acted shyly for the cameras.

A scoff left his lips as he pulled his gaze away from you, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hoseok chuckled, “Oh come on man, everyone knows you have a thing for her—you’re really bad at hiding it.”

With a roll of his eyes, Jungkook stepped away from his friends, “You guys don’t know anything.”

He didn’t have a thing for you.

Sure, you’ve known each other for a long time but that means nothing. He’s known them all for a long time and if anything he's made his distaste toward you pretty evident. When you were younger it was only because you were so spoiled and the attention had to always be on you. He hated watching everyone fall for your sweetness and do whatever you asked of them. He almost fell for it himself a couple times but then he would see the way you judged or looked down on people and he just despised you more.

There’s nothing about you that attracts him aside from your looks…

Tonight you were dressed more modestly in a Chanel sweater and skirt set that looked like you would soon be relaxing at the country club. You wore a black headband with a bow on it and satin gloves, looking as polite as ever while you talked to anyone who approached you.

You were the perfect, doting daughter and anyone with eyes could see that.

“So how mad are you?” Yeonwoo asked once you had settled back in your chair next to her and Namjoon. Even Namjoon seemed to listen in on the question, waiting to hear what you would say.

“What do I have to be mad at?” You asked with a tight smile as you reached toward her to fix a slight smudge on her cheek, “ Jungkook?”

“Well, we know you have some sort of disliking toward each other but…” Yeonwoo bit her lip nervously, “Joonie and Jungkook are really close.”

“We know you two don’t like each other but you should have expected this, right?” Namjoon chuckled nervously, “You’re both our best friends and…”

“Am I saying anything?” You asked.

They shared a look with each other, “I guess not.”

You smiled, “Okay, then let’s just make sure everything runs smoothly this week.”

You did in fact feel a type of way about Jeon Jungkook but you weren’t going to admit that right now surrounded by so many people always lingering around trying to listen. You’ve learned to be very careful about how you act in public and there’s no way your friends will get you to act out by asking about him.

Jungkook was not someone you wished to exhort so much energy on. He wasn’t worth anything to you and despite how many years you’ve known him, you’ve never wished to get to know him. You don’t care where he goes when he’s not home or who he talks to, nor what he does. He doesn’t cross your mind at all through your normal day to day and you surely weren’t going to let him in this week. All he has going for him is his money and his looks.

Ever since you learned he would be the Best Man you thought about what that would mean and accepted that he would be the one to walk with you down the aisle. Despite not being happy about it, you managed to hide your resentment quite well.

You know how he feels about you and over time that’s made you develop a disliking toward him which you find only fair. He might dislike you for being spoiled but you dislike him for being so entitled.

For some reason, he thinks distancing himself from this life means he’s better than everyone else and you hate that. He thinks that by moving away and making his own money suddenly makes him different than the rest of you but that’s not true. He just wants to act like he’s self made so he can feel superior to all of you trust fund babies and that is what annoyed you.

After some time third wheeling, you were getting tired and slightly annoyed watching the couple act lovey dovey. You hated couples, they grossed you out even if they were your best friends.

“Mind if I keep you company? You look like you need it.”

With a furrow in your brows, you turned to face the person who felt the need to whisper in your ear and get close to you without permission. A smile spread across your lips at the man standing directly behind you, his arm draping over your front and hugging you.

“Hello, darling, I’ve missed you,” Jimin’s voice was soft yet sultry and you gave each other kisses on the cheek in greeting as he moved to the empty seat beside you.

“I didn’t realize you were back,” You said to him, “How was Paris?”

He released a sigh, “Oh the usual, shopping… a few events here and there.”

“Mhm, and when’d you get back?” You asked, now intrigued by his presence.

“Just last night. I was planning on visiting you earlier but things came up,” Jimin said, adjusting the Swiss watch on his wrist, admiring the shine, “What has happened since I was gone?”

“Oh God, he’s back,” Hoseok rolled his eyes from across the room, “I ran into him in Marseille the other day and the guy wanted to act like he didn’t know me.”

“He’s been insufferable since Uni,” Taehyung muttered under his breath, “I don’t understand why Y/n puts up with him.”

“Who?” Jungkook asked, only half curious. He hadn’t been paying attention until he heard your name and his reason for hearing it was purely coincidental.

“Park Jimin,” Hoseok clarified, making Jungkook look closer at the man who sat very close to you, making you smile and touch his arms when you spoke.

“Am I supposed to know who that is?” Jungkook seemed indifferent as he looked down at his glass of champagne, trying to resist the urge to look back at you.

“Not at all,” Taehyung said, “He’s just some guy we went to Uni with here. I don’t know how he met Y/n though, probably at some shitty party but he’s nobody that matters.”

Well… Park Jimin was the son of starlets. His great grandmother, his grandmother was an actress, his mother was an actress and he’s been in a few independent films here and there. He spends most of his time sailing on yachts or speaking of the Cannes Film Festival. He’s insanely rich, but he’s still not rich enough despite his accumulated generational wealth.

Unlike Jungkook’s wealth which held actual value especially in real estate, Jimin’s just didn’t compare to his or any of his friends for that matter. So why did you seem captivated by him?

He is aware he shouldn’t think this way, it’s only him reverting back to his old self which was all arrogance and entitlement. He shouldn’t think about how much wealthier he was compared to Jimin.

Unfortunately, Jungkook couldn’t seem to drag his gaze away from the pair as he tipped his champagne glass back, liquid pouring down his throat.

“Do you think she’ll take him to the wedding? I doubt Namjoon or Yeonwoo would ever invite him themselves,” Hoseok said and the three seemed like a group of gossips, the way they huddled around each other.

In Jungkook’s defense, he was barely listening to his friends. He was too busy watching the interaction happening not far from where he stood, eyes narrowed trying to understand what was happening.

First, he didn’t like you. He found you unbearable and you were the epitome of everything he hated about the High Society he had been raised in.

Second, he was only looking because you were next to his best friends. Maybe he wanted to see how in love Namjoon and Yeonwoo were but he couldn’t see because of you and your… friend.

Third, he wanted to know how you managed to stand out in your outfit despite the room being filled with people in extravagant clothes.

“I’m not sure, actually, rumors say she might,” Taehyung said and Jungkook couldn’t help but look over.

“What?”

“We’re just wondering if the Maid of Honor would bring her little boy toy to the wedding,” Hoseok said, looking at Jungkook as his jaw tensed, “What do you think?”

“I don’t care if Y/n brings anyone, we’re just dates for the pictures and ceremony,” Jungkook said with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

“So are you going to take a date too then?” Taehyung asked.

“Maybe,” Jungkook said as a server came around holding a tray of champagne glasses and he switched his empty one out for a full one. He didn’t bother to look back at his friends as he began walking away, “I’ll be back.”

“It’s so hard for him to act like he doesn’t care.”

“Kook! Come here, man,” Namjoon said with a wide grin as he saw his best friend walking by them. Jungkook didn’t bother glancing down at you as he greeted his friend.

“Kooky, I haven’t seen you all night,” Yeonwoo stood up to hug him, “Please don’t seduce my future husband, everyone has already RSVP’d.”

“Oh Yeonie,” Jungkook softly caressed her cheek, tipping her chin up to look at him, “If I wanted him, I would have had him by now.”

“Joon!” Yeonwoo whined clinging to Namjoon who just winked at Jungkook, further amplifying his fiancé’s feigned sobs. Jungkook smiled watching her squirm and without him meaning to, he let his gaze fall toward you.

“Y/n.”

You met his intense stare with your own and you could hear Jimin say he was going to get a drink but you didn’t look at him. You looked down at what Jungkook was wearing—a plain black Prada suit, how boring. “Jungkook.”

“Is that who you’re bringing to the wedding?” Jungkook asked, looking back at the infamous Park Jimin who stood with Taehyung and Hoseok, all three of them pretending to enjoy each other’s company.

“Maybe, we do get along very well,” you said with a sly smile as you stood up, not yet reaching Jungkook’s height but he didn’t intimidate you, “Is that a problem?

“No,” Jungkook said, voice low and deep, “I was just curious.”

“And why were you curious?” You asked, a mocking tone in your voice that he didn’t like, “Do tell me, how often are you curious about what I do?”

A scoff left his lips as he looked away from you first, “It was just a question, don’t get ahead of yourself and think you matter to me more than you do.”

An evident pout appeared on your lips and for a second his expression changed with worry but the moment was fleeting. You just laughed [giggled, actually] and with a gentle touch to his arm, said, “No need to lie to yourself.”

His eyes narrowed, anger bubbling up inside him when he heard a shutter of cameras going off, flash in his face and without thinking, he took your hand in his and left.

“If you plan on kidnapping me, it won’t work,” You said teasingly as you left to some dark corner behind large pillars.

“I’m not going to put up with a week of your games,” Jungkook said as he let go of your hand, missing the way your eyes fell to the black ink on his knuckles—something you had never noticed before, not even on the yacht when it was dark out.

“Then stop playing into them,” you said with a laugh, “If I drive you crazy, why bother talking to me at all? I think we’re both very capable of ignoring each other enough to not have to say a single word.”

“What I mean is, you can put on this act of yours for the cameras but don’t drag me into it,” Jungkook told you, ignoring the idea you had thrown out there. He was referring to your strange smiles and touches you give him when in the public.

“I’m not dragging you into anything,” You rolled your eyes, “And you seem to forget all eyes have been on you since you got back—heir to the Jeon Corporation. What do you think people will say when they find out you dragged me out here all alone? The Big, Bad & Rebellious Jeon Jungkook and The Nation’s Sweetheart, me.”

His eyes shut with a hint of anger that he tried to subdue, “Sweetheart?”

“That’s what I said,” you smiled sweetly to prove your point making him scoff.

“You’re not a sweetheart, you’re a spoiled brat,” Jungkook said, looking down at you in your pretty clothes with your pretty jewelry and your pretty face.

“Nice of you to finally notice,” you said bitterly and with a roll of your eyes, you pushed into his shoulder on purpose as you walked past him, “But we’re all the same, aren’t we? Just some of us like to act all high and mighty because you leave home craving independence, ignoring your privilege to seem like better people.”

Jungkook felt the jab of your words but he let you walk past him without a rebuttal.

With a sense of frustration, he ran his fingers through his hair, trying to collect himself to rejoin High Society and finish the night with his head held high.

When Jungkook left his hotel the day of the Bachelor Party, he hadn’t been sure what to expect. Hoseok had done most of the planning for it since he had been abroad and when it comes to Hobi, you never know what to expect. It was almost two days of festivities and it was only toward the end that everyone would separate into their respective groups. That meant that once again he was forced into the same place as you.

The yacht sailed toward the private island the events would be at and as big as it was, he couldn’t escape you. There were the main group of friends that were always together and a few added guests, mostly Yeonwoo’s friends. Hoseok had already been hyping up the party tonight more than anything and everytime Namjoon would grow more worried. He didn’t need a big party thrown by his notorious womanizing friend.

“So what do the girls have planned?” Jungkook asked Namjoon as they sat at a table, looking at everyone aboard. Some people wore little clothing, others casual clothes, you wore something in between. It was casual yet attractive.

“ I don’t know, something probably calmer than what Hobi’s got for us,” Namjoon said but his friend had tuned him out after the first part, “Y/n planned it all and leant us the Yacht for the guests.”

“The yacht?” Jungkook asked, looking around at the luxury super yacht.

“14.7 million dollar yacht for Y/n’s birthday last year,” Namjoon explained to Jungkook, “She wanted a Booze Cruise.”

Jungkook couldn’t help but scoff, “So Y/n got a yacht?”

“It comes in handy, doesn’t it?” A soft voice spoke from behind him and his breath hitched. You looked over to Namjoon, “Yeonie is looking for you.”

“The wife calls,” Namjoon said with a cheesy smile as he left you two behind.

“So, are you ready to go party with Hobi tonight?” You asked with a laugh, “I heard he’s got some former Miss Universe models coming in.”

“Oh, fun,” Jungkook said, slightly sarcastic.

“Kook, you’re not old enough to not like partying with models,” You teased making him look over at you. For a moment he wondered if what you said had a double meaning considering you were a model but he didn’t want to speak up about it.

“I’m sorry, I’m not a party animal,” Jungkook said truthfully, only a hint of joking as he looked around at the packed floor, “I think even this is too much.”

“Wow, how could you be a former Socialite if you don’t like partying?” You asked, “Is it all that time in the jungle or desert you spent alone that changed you?”

Jungkook could hear the sarcasm in your tone but he knew it wasn’t in an offensive way. He had backpacked to a small village in Indonesia for a few weeks before leaving to Nevada or Dubai—and he hated that you knew it all. He enjoyed traveling alone and experiencing things alone; he doesn’t need parties with too loud of music or too many drunks. He’s like Namjoon, they want to celebrate with their small group of friends rather than a party full of strangers who don’t even know what the occasion is.

“It might’ve,” Jungkook said, clearing his throat and checked the time.

You didn’t say much else after that and he got the impression that you grew bored talking to him. He looked at you still waiting to see if you would say something else but instead, you just looked off into the distance, not bothering to hide the sudden boredom you must have felt.

He’s sure he could have found something else to say to you but it was no use when he could see you beginning to slip away when you looked down at your cellphone with a bright smile. You didn’t utter out a goodbye as you left him behind to answer your phone, “Chimmy, I’ve missed you. How’s Morocco?”

“Warm,” Jimin said, “I’ve just finished a shoot and I believe I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Oh I won’t be home, remember?” You said as the final thing Jungkook was able to hear from you before you walked away.

Jungkook couldn’t help but look after you, thinking about who might’ve called you and how things were handled and he had to be honest, he was curious. He wasn’t attracted to you but he found you attractive… He thought you were charming and charismatic but not enough for him to want you, maybe…

The two of you just seem so different. He’s seen as the Black Sheep of the group, not because he’s not wealthy or attractive but because his past decisions have apparently been awful ones.

He was never one for parties so he wasn’t wild and defiant. He did make a declaration to leave all the money behind and pursue his dreams—something rich people were not allowed to do. Especially not if you were next in line to inherit it all like Jungkook was.

You are more free than he is and yet you like being in your bubble. You like the glamor and the responsibilities because unlike him, you know how to play both sides. Do your parents care that you’re out wasted at European raves or sailing on your yacht with a foreign prince? No, why? Because you know how to act like the innocent, perfect princess you’re supposed to be.

Jungkook can’t pretend that well. He can’t hide his tattoos or piercings or signs of nonconformity.

So, yes, he finds you attractive but he can’t let himself fall for you when he thinks you’re too different from each other. It just doesn’t stop his brain from thinking about you though.

“Have you seen Y/n?” Jungkook asked Taehyung who had been sandwiched between two women he couldn’t name.

Taehyung, evidently drunk, shook his head no, “Are you ready to confess your undying love for her?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, scoffing as he said, “Fuck off.”

All Taehyung did was laugh, making the girls he had his arms around laugh too and Jungkook left feeling annoyed. He was just curious to know where you were, that’s all. Namjoon and Yeonwoo are busy making their rounds, greeting and thanking everyone on the boat and his other friends were off doing their own things. He’s already spent too much time sulking by the railing, staring down at the dark blue water that he can’t take it anymore. He doesn’t want to drink to the point that he’s drunk so really, his last hope is you.

“Have you seen Y/n?” Jungkook asked as he went to the rooftop where Hoseok was sitting in a hot tub full of strangers. Hoseok looked like such an asshole [something Jungkook had permission to say] with his designer sunglasses and Vacheron Constantin watch, just barely above the water surface.

Hoseok barely glanced his way as he said, “I don’t know, check downstairs.”

That was all Jungkook needed to know before he was heading down to find you. It took a while of asking any person he passed by, where you might be and through all this, he couldn’t remember why he was looking for you in the first place.

He had no idea where he was going, he just found himself walking down what felt like endless corridors of rooms, following the directions of whatever housekeeper he could find. The boat really was big, and he couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that this was a simple birthday present.

“Now, who do we have here?” You looked down the empty hallway toward the man in front of you. It pained you to see just how attractive Jeon Jungkook really was.

You have to admit, he really knows how to dress for occasions. The rare times he’s photographed in some news article, he’s dressed casually, clearly trying to hide from the public eye but now that he’s back it seems his fashion has picked up. He wore a striped black flannel Dolce & Gabbana shirt tucked into cream colored slacks, and matching velvet black slippers from their newest collection.

“I’m just… wandering,” Jungkook cleared his throat, whatever excuse he had made up earlier, completely out of mind, “What happened to your dress?”

A large red stain adorned the front of your pink dress from the chest down your torso. You looked down at the stain with a roll of your eyes, “Some stupid bitch worker. She’s off the boat tomorrow.”

Jungkook widened his eyes, feeling you brush past him and down the hall, “So you’re firing someone for spilling a drink?”

“Um, this is Valento? Do you know how hard it is to get rid of a stain like this?” You asked with a slight scoff as you went to the door straight at the end, pushing your key card in to open it, “It took the dry cleaners ages last time.”

“I didn’t take you as an Outfit Repeater to be worrying about things like that,” he stopped at the door, already looking around at what was evidently the master cabin. The water out the windows was a dark, midnight blue and it reflected into the room of silver and gray. It had a walk-in closet, and king sized bed with a view of the open water and a private deck. He didn’t dare go in and put himself in personal quarters with you.

You gasped, stopping your movements of rummaging through your closet to say, “I am an environmentalist.”

He couldn’t tell if you were being serious or not and he had to fight back a grin at how un-woke you sounded considering you were ruining the planet with a private yacht of this size.

You pulled out an off-white dress, a Jaquemus piece, ‘La Robe Artichaut’, “Ugh, after this week, I am firing a lot of people.”

“What happened this time?” Jungkook asked, leaning against the doorframe watching you, waiting for you to kick him out but you just went toward the windows overlooking the dark blue ocean. As much as you claimed to not get along, you talked like old friends.

You reached your hands toward your back, attempting to undo the back of your dress on your own, “I told my assistant not to pack anything close to white and she packs this dress? I swear people can’t do anything right.”

“If people ask just say you’re supposed to match me,” Jungkook said referring to his slacks, “Yeonie won’t be mad her Maid of Honor is wearing off-white.”

“I guess,” you sighed, letting go of your dress and not bothering to look back at him as you said, “Undo the back.”

Jungkook stood silently at the door, staring at you with dark eyes. The fabric of your dress was thin and soft to the touch—he could just tell with the way your figure had so effortlessly shaped the dress. It is a real pity you had to change out of it, he’ll admit that, but now he’s been asked—no, demanded—to help you to take it off.

He has no idea why you think you could just boss him around but this seems to have always been the case. The two of you were never close in the past but the very few times you would run into each other… as much as he hated it, there was always some sort of tension there.

With your back to him, you hadn’t seen the way he silently made his way across the room, shutting the door behind him as he went right to you. You could sense his presence behind you, see his reflection in the dark window and feel his rough fingers brush against your back.

“I meant to tell you, I like your shoes,” You said casually, his fingers beginning to work the knot that tied the ribbon of your dress, “My friend wore them in Paris just a week ago.”

“Friend?” Jungkook raised a brow curiously, his eyes trained slowly on the ribbon he was ever so slowly pulling loose. His gaze shifted to your reflection in the window as he pulled a little rougher than earlier, “Is this the one you’re always running off on the phone with?”

“You mean Park Jimin?” You asked, not bothering to react at all to his roughness or his speed, “Yes, him.”

You could feel Jungkook’s deep exhale as he pulled it as loose as he could while still being appropriate, “Are you seeing him?”

A mischievous smile couldn’t help but make its way to your face as you turned to face him, holding your arms around yourself modestly, “Is that what you wanted to talk about all along? You could have asked me earlier instead of spending who knows how long looking for me.”

He had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself agreeing with you, and with a tense jaw he asked again, “Well, are you?”

“I’m going to get changed,” you motioned toward the door, telling him to leave, “Unless you want to help me with that too.”

A scoff left his lips as he took a step back, annoyed that you wouldn’t just answer his question and annoyed he even cared enough to ask. What did it matter to Jungkook if you took a date? He wasn’t in a relationship with you and he barely considered you a friend.

When he wasn’t here and he was traveling, he was perfectly fine not knowing a thing about you aside from whatever article or magazine you appeared in. Why now that he returns and he sees how… glamorously beautiful you are, is he curious about you?

“And just so we’re clear, no, I’m not seeing Jimin,” You told him as he walked toward the door, stopping midway to listen to you, “Because I know it would make you jealous.”

To be honest, you didn’t think he would actually be jealous, it’s just a joke. Something about you just gets under Jungkook’s skin and it wants you to push his buttons that much more. As obvious as it was that he wasn’t at all amused by your sweetness, it was your arrogant charm that seemed to get him every time.

You knew you were beautiful, you knew you had every right to be arrogant and as much as Jungkook could deny he’s attracted to you at all, it’s very noticeable. You’ve never been told no a day in your life. You’ve never been rejected either and you know Jungkook wouldn’t dare reject you if you actually went for it.

Despite how vocal he is about his distaste toward you, you can’t help but still get giddy in his presence. You just want to rile him up and know that he’s attainable to you. You’ve always had a thing for him, he was an absolute gorgeous man and he was wealthy, extremely wealthy. He was educated and had class but at the same time he was rugged and intimidating. You’ve seen the small glimpses of ink on his knuckles and you just know that under all his long sleeves, he had more to show.

Whether you felt seriously for him or if you just figured it’s a spur of the moment situation, you want him.

“Jealous?” Jungkook attempted to scoff but the word caught in his throat with some truth to it, “Why would I be jealous?”

“I don’t know,” You shrugged, sliding the strap of your down your shoulder, “Because then you would have to share my attention with someone else.”

Jungkook knows he should leave. You had asked him to leave yet you kept going back and forth, and it was stopping him from doing so.

He should go.

He needs to go before he does or say something he’ll regret.

If he caves in to your taunts then he’ll be disappointed in himself, like part of him was allowing his return to his old lifestyle of luxury and privilege.

“Y/n, you always say things you don’t know,” Jungkook asked you with a deep voice that had you smiling, practically feeling him give in. His gaze was dark and there was no hiding the growing tension, “And you must think you’re real cute trying to act out now that we’re alone.”

“No, I know I am,” you said, not backing away from the eye contact. “And you know it too.”

“I don’t,” Jungkook loomed over you, eyes tracing down the curve of your nose and to the slight part in your lips, “I think… I think you’re…”

You blinked up at him, “Well say it, or are you too busy thinking about kissing me?”

An annoyed huff left his lips as one of his hands pulled you toward him at your waist and the other tilted your chin up until his lips were grazing over yours. You reached toward him, making the first real press of your mouths together and there was no use in acting like he hadn’t been in fact thinking about kissing you.

Jungkook let his eyes fall shut as yours did and he pulled you closer into his chest with the hand on your jaw sliding down toward the curve of your neck, making sure you didn’t pull away just yet. You kept up with the pace he had set of slow yet hungry kisses, pulling on your lips or letting his tongue slide against yours tenderly.

“Well?” You gasped feeling his soft lips kiss along your jaw, his soft black hair brushing against your face, a light scent of his shampoo or cologne that left you feeling intoxicated. The hand he had on your waist tightened at your words, pulling away with a quiet grunt, he looked you in the eye.

“Don’t ask me any more questions,” Jungkook groaned, the taste of your lips still on his tongue and there was a light sheen of gloss coating his lips from yours.

It’s shameful for him to admit how easy it was for you to break him down into every other man who seems to fall at your feet when given the chance. This is exactly what he didn’t want and now he’s pulling the godforsaken stained dress he undid and watching it slip down your body, revealing your naked form to his hungry eyes.

Above your bedroom was a deck filled with people celebrating the soon-to-be newlyweds while the Best Man and Maid of Honor are in the master cabin, half undressed, and stumbling onto the bed.

Jungkook was gentle but firm, he wasted no time popping the buttons of his shirt open, exposing the toned muscles of his body and the ink covering most of his arm. Your eyes scanned the markings, surprise and wonder evident on your face with how well he managed to hide how much he’s gotten done since he left.

“Surprised?” Jungkook asked, eyes low when your hands ran over his slacks, pulling at his belt and nails lightly scratching at his abdomen. His voice dripped with arousal when you sat up from beneath him, pressing light butterfly kisses to his abs and tattoos.

“You always surprise me,” You admitted, not as teasing as before but with a hint of playfulness still there. You looked up from his chest, the height of your sitting form and his standing one looked endless as he towered over you. “For instance, I didn’t think it would be this easy to get you in my bed.”

You kissed along his neck now, sitting on your knees to reach him better and nipping at his sensitive spots. His hand tightened around the neck of your head, not pulling your hair but definitely getting your eyes on his, “Why do your words sound so dirty when you say them so… “

Jungkook couldn’t even finish his sentence before succumbing to you once more and kissing your lips. With little force applied, he was laying you back down on the bed with his tattooed and muscular body just melting into yours effortlessly. With one hand on your neck and the other sliding down to the curve of your thigh, it felt like he was all over you.

“Let’s take this off you,” Jungkook murmured between kisses down your neck as he began to finally take off the ruined dress that had been in his way since you got him to undo it in the first place, “You’ve been teasing me with this since earlier.”

“Maybe because I wanted to see you get worked up,” you sighed as you made yourself comfortable on the king side bed, your body slowly unveiled to his hungry eyes. Once he had pulled the dress off you completely and threw it to the side, sitting up between your spread legs and staring.

Jungkook didn’t bother with discreteness as he eyed down your naked body still in shock that he was seeing it before him. Your breasts were on full display and the only piece of fabric hiding you was a thin lace underwear that felt so nimble and soft under his fingertips, so easy for him to just tear off of you. You looked gorgeous laying so pliantly underneath him and he couldn’t help but let his hands slide down from your bent knees to your inner thighs.

“Did it work?” You asked just above a whisper as he hovered over you, leaving needy kisses between your breasts while he tugged at the hem of your panties until he was sliding them down your legs.

“It really fucking worked,” Jungkook groaned as he cupped your boobs in his hands, letting his tongue lick at your pert nipples and feeling the way they stiffened underneath him. Your hands went to his hair, legs nearly wrapping around his torso when you felt his teeth lightly press into your nipple, sucking and tugging when needed.

His kisses began to run down toward your navel with his hands replacing his lips and kneading your breasts in the palm of them while he moved down to lay between your legs, “I want a taste, pretty girl.”

“Then get one,” you said in a whiny tone that had his big rounded eyes turning to look at you with surprise. A knowing smirk falling on his lips as he lifted your knees and pulled your thighs apart as far as they could go until he was eye level with your pretty cunt. Jungkook was never one to stop and tease when he needed sex, he had a tendency to get a little rough and take what he wants but it’s so hard to move it along when he’s met with the sight of you laying so pretty for him. He could tell your patience was running thin with how long he was taking to do anything and just before he felt you close to snapping at him, he leaned into you.

“Oh fuck,” you gasped in surprise with the sudden swipe at your clit by Jungkook’a flattened, long tongue and you’ll admit it caused goosebumps to form on your skin. You couldn’t see the way he smiled as his hands circled around your thighs, repeating his teasing flick of his tongue, feeling the way your folds began to react to him.

He felt your fingers run through his soft hair for anchor and for some reason that slight grip you had on him had his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he let himself get lost in the taste of your pussy. No longer up for any sense of teasing, Jungkook lets his mouth fall open, kissing your wet heat with his tongue pressing between your folds and finding your clit. Your hips were slowly bucking into his face, showing him just how much you liked his tongue and he knew just what to do to have you coming undone underneath him.

He sucked your clit into his mouth, his lips wrapped around the hard bud while his tongue swiped against the tip of it. He began a repetition of that and grazing his teeth ever so softly against your sensitive folds knowing he found your weak spot when he sucked your labia into his mouth and had your soft moans filling the cabin.

“Jungkook,” you moaned softly, fingers tugging at his hair roughly, “Oh god.”

He didn’t dare pull his mouth off you to give you a response and instead let his actions grow rougher. He unwrapped a hand from around your thigh and slipped it down to your pussy where he let his finger begin to draw patterns into your labia, so close to your entrance that he could feel your arousal quite literally leak out of you.

Your body was filled by pleasure that Jungkook was bringing you and you couldn’t help but bring your free hand to your neglected chest, trying to fill the void that Jungkook’s hand had left as you groped your breasts. Jungkook looked up completely enamored with the way you played with yourself while he ate you out and without any second thoughts, he pressed his long middle finger into your waiting cunt.

“That’s it,” he whispered, pressing a light kiss along your pelvis, “Cum for me, darling.”

“Jungkook,” you whined as he pushed a second finger in, hooking them upwardward just past your pubic bone and finding that soft, spongy spot with ease. With the way your walls fluttered around his fingers, he knew you were close and all it took was his lips around your clit while thrusting into that pleasure spot of yours, for you to wrap your legs around his shoulders and shake with release, “Oh my god.”

“Mm,” Jungkook groaned with pleasure, feeling your arousal flood his fingers in your release. He looked down at his wet hand, bringing it to his lips where he licked off the release that threatened to drip down his forearm, “Sweet.”

You looked like a mess trying to catch your breath and come to understand what had just happened between you to think too long about the fact that he was pressing his fingers into your waiting mouth till you licked your own release off him. He lifted a brow as your tongue circled around his fingers while sucking on them with your cheeks hollowed in. It had his breath hitching, trying to pull his fingers back out before he came just from that and began to pull at his own pants.

“Condom?” He asked in an unusually low and raspy tone. You blinked, “It’s fine, I’m on the pill.”

He didn’t press for more as he kicked his slacks and briefs off, hard cock pointed up stiffly. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from it. You wanted to wrap your lips around him and take him deep in your mouth because his dick was surprisingly so fucking pretty you just needed it desperately.

With your mind decided, you attempted to sit up when he pushed you back down, cock in his hand as he gave himself a couple strokes to relieve some tension and pulled your legs apart, “I need you now.”

“Impatient, are we?” You asked with a laugh, making yourself relax when you felt his cock head brush against your exposed clit. Jungkook wasn’t paying attention to what you said as much as he was to the way his mushroom tip fit perfectly between your folds.

A soft gasp left your lips as he pushed it against your clit, playing with your labia and letting the clear liquid that dripped out of his tip, coat your clit.

“Fuck,” Jungkook took a deep breath as his cock nearly slipped inside of you, playing with your earlier release to cover his length in it, “Such a pretty pussy.”

With an annoyed roll of your eyes, you grew tired of his teasing and with a quick hook of your leg around his slim waist, you pushed his cock into you eliciting a deep groan [almost growl] to slip from his lips, “Fucking hell, Y/n.”

“You were taking too long,” you moaned, legs falling back again as you tried to ease the slight pain that came from his thick member entering your tight walls. Jungkook’s hair was brushing against your face as he looked down at the way you took him in, “I was trying to be gentle.”

“Did I ask you to be?” You asked with a scoff. Jungkook rolled his eyes, spreading his legs further apart and digging his knees into the bed for support as he covered you with his body, laying down to plant a quick kiss to your lips. “Brat.”

“Jeon Jungkook,” your manicured nails traced down his back until your hands were under his thighs as if ready to make him move on your own, “Are you going to fuck me yet?”

He couldn’t help but scoff in disbelief, an amused smile on his face and without saying a word, he pulled out until on his tip was past your ring of nerves, and suddenly pushed back in. Your lips fell open in a silent gasp as your eyes locked with his and he smirked.

“You need it that bad?” Jungkook asked as he pulled your legs up, pressing them toward your chest and holding them down with his arms as he kissed your neck, dragging his cock back out, “How bad?”

“Jungkook,” you groaned, trying to move your hips but in this position it was useless, “Start moving.”

“Make me,” he kissed the tip of your nose, slowly sliding himself back in just a little. You rolled your eyes, moving your hand to hide your face as you felt yourself getting annoyed.

Jungkook was smiling like this was all just so amusing to him and with his lip pulled between his teeth, he thrusted in with little restraint, starting a slow yet steady rhythm, “Don’t hide your face, darling. I wanna see the Y/n L/n moaning for me.”

“Fuck you,” you shook your head feeling your pussy tighten around him with your legs pulled to your chest unable to escape his thrusts that were becoming more rough by the second.

“Come on darling, you can do it,” Jungkook groaned, feeling like he was on cloud 9 from the way your pussy took him in. He doesn’t know how to explain it but he felt really fucking good right now. He’s not sure if it’s that he hasn’t had sex in a while, or if it had something to do with the fact that it was you, but he was fucking you with all his energy, letting himself relax and just feel good in the moment.

“Jungkook,” you moaned his name, hand slipping from your face so you could wrap it around his neck, “Kiss me.”

“Kiss?” He asked, out of breath as his rhythm faltered and without thinking, he let go of your legs and let them fall back onto the bed as he tilted your chin up with a hand to kiss you. He set his other hand down on the bed for support, getting lost between your lips and your tight pussy.

Jungkook’s tongue licked against yours swallowing your moans, “Y/n, it’s s’good.”

“Mhm,” you circled your legs around him, “Fuck.”

Jungkook kissed down your neck, hands sneaking down to your waist and with one swift movement, rolled onto his back with you on top. He needed a change of pace because if he kept going, he would cum sooner than he wanted to and he needed you to cum one more time for him so if that meant letting you get in top, he would.

And it had been such a good idea because the sight of you sitting on his cock, leaning back and placing your hands on his thighs instead of chest, made him more excited. Your knees dug into the bed and with your fingers scratching at his muscular thighs and raised your hips, lifting yourself off his cock before plunging him back in.

“Fucking hell,” Jungkook groaned throwing his head back into the pillows, a hand on your hip but not daring to take control, “That’s it darling, fuck yourself on my cock.”

“Jungkook,” the new position was having him reach newer parts inside you that had your thighs shaking, “I’m so close.”

“Take it,” Jungkook growled, holding you in place as he dug his feet into the mattress and began to fuck up into you, “Take my fucking dick, fuck.”

“Oh my god,” you fell forward, hands scratching at his chest, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten, “I—I can’t. Jungkook, baby, oh my—“

“Take it,” he groaned, grabbing your hips harshly and moving once again so he was on top, thrusting into you despite how hard it was getting to pull out of your tight walls, “Take it.”

“I—I,” your lips fell open in a loud cry, pinching his biceps for stability, and felt your walls come undone. For the second time in less than hour, your orgasm hit you hard. Jungkook released a string of grunts, feeling your pussy convulse around him and his cock was greeted with a flood of warmth that had his legs shaking, trying to support him but he couldn’t take it. He barely had time to slip out before he was letting go, his cum dribbling down to your thighs as he let out one final moan of your name.

His body seemed to collapse down next to yours, panting and out of breath, “Fuck.”

The two of you were a mess, sweaty and sore and all you wanted to do was lay down and possibly sleep but where you were did not go past you unnoticed. You searched around for your cellphone, knowing you set it down somewhere before trying to change and found it on your nightstand with six missed calls from the Bride-To-Be.

Jungkook took a deep breath, sitting up and looking down at the mess the two of you made on the bed. He got up, not bothering with covering himself up as he found a towel and tried cleaning himself off with it while you got on your phone.

“Duty calls,” you joked with a sigh as he came to your side and began to wipe down your thighs. Yeonwoo sent you a dozen messages talking about a midlife crisis of some sorts. You sat up carefully, thanking him for handing you your robe and you slipped it on.

“What happened?” Jungkook asked with an awkward clear of his throat as he began putting on his clothes again. He’ll admit he was taking his time getting dressed and you left to the bathroom to freshen up.

“I don’t know, something with the gift boxes for everyone. I think Yeonie’s assistant forgot them,” you told him as you found new underwear to wear, making sure you were cleaned before putting them on. You left the door to the bathroom open to talk to him but you still changed into the white Jacquemus dress from earlier.

You walked up to him and he got the memo about zipping your back up and this time he couldn’t help but lean down to press a kiss to your shoulder blade, “Are you going up yet?”

“I’m gonna touch up my makeup first,” you told him honestly, “You go ahead.”

When Jungkook reached upstairs again, finding the party just as he left it earlier, it’s like nobody noticed he had even left for so long. They were all too focused on your new dress — which Yeonwoo absolutely adored on you. He found a glass of champagne and tried to escape from the swarm of people trying to hold a conversation with him when he wasn’t thinking clearly at all.

Unfortunately for the two of you, the matching off-white shade of your clothing and the sudden mark on his neck wasn’t lost on anyone else. Soon, pictures from every angle possible would paint a story neither of you wanted.

There was a sense of guilt that came with disassociating yourself from your best friend’s wedding plans. Jungkook could barely remember what they had done once they got to the island after a surprising night of visiting your cabin.

He hasn’t had an actual conversation with you since that night and he has to be honest and say, he barely remembers the actual wedding. He hadn’t seen you since the yacht before being dragged away by Hoseok the following day to do some activities for Namjoon’s groomsmen. You had gone to do your Maid of Honor duties and he’s felt out-of-loop since.

The entire day had been packed with things to do and he’s aware he looked dashing in every photo the photographers took of him in his 12,000$ Kiton suit. The matching suits they all wore made the groomsmen look classy and cohesive while the Balmain dresses the bridesmaids wore made them elegant and surreal—well at least for you.

That’s what he thinks is the problem.

His best friends got married and yet all he was able to think about was you. It didn’t help that despite the wedding being on a private island, there was still press everywhere, capturing every angle of this beautiful matrimony between nepo babies.

The reception had been filled with various questions from various interviewers that left all your shared friends staring at you suspiciously—especially when questions of the hickey on his neck came forward.

As awful as it sounded considering the 46 million dollar wedding in the mountains of an island was stunning, he could barely remember half of what hadn’t been photographed. He left the day after the wedding with an excuse that he had things to take care of where he’s currently at and his friends bid him farewell.

He got to the mainland a day before the others and it gave him time to return home before he left on another voyage alone.

“How was the wedding?” His older brother asked, swinging his mallet just slightly, trying to find his nail before shooting the ball through the hoop, “I can't believe I was caught up in meetings all week in Tokyo.”

Jungkook looked oddly bright today compared to how he felt and he didn’t want to say it was because his casual and boring clothes he wore abroad stuck out here in ways he didn’t like. That’s why today—his last day home—he visited his family’s 150 acre estate for a game of Croquet and possibly tennis, wearing a matcha colored Loro Piana cashmere polo with short sleeves.

“Um, it was great,” Jungkook said as he brought his cigarette to his lips and lighting the end before inhaling.

“That’s it?” JungHyun asked with a scoff as he motioned for Jungkook to take his turn and he took his brother’s cigarette, “Did you have an orgy with any models or were you your usual gentleman self that won the crowd against me?”

His older brother had been well known in his younger days for many reasons, his partying, his charm, his youth and education. When he was in his mid twenties, you could always catch him in some article their parents tried taking down in regards to driving under the influence or insulting a server. Unlike Jungkook who preferred a quiet life he could escape to, his brother did not and now he’s some big shot finance guy because his attitude growing up had ruined his chance of inheriting everything from their grandparents. Now it will all go to Jungkook—something they’re all aware of—and maybe that’s why JungHyun makes snide remarks here and there.

He’s not asking about the wedding because he’s curious, he’s bitter that despite his perfect appearance and Jungkook’s more intimidating kind, Jungkook was still the most well-mannered of the two and therefore the favorite—if only he stayed and fulfilled his duties.

“No orgy,” Jungkook said with a hint of disgust as he finished his round of the game, one step closer to winning, “Just Y/n.”

JungHyun had been mid-swing when he mentioned you and his aim went astray making him miss the next ring, “What do you mean just Y/n?”

“I slept with her—“

A loud and annoying laugh cut him off as JungHyun let his mallet go, “Ah, so you can’t remember the events of your best friend’s wedding because you were too busy sleeping with the nation’s sweetheart? Oh I cannot wait till father hears about this, maybe your wedding is next and then you’ll finally step up to the plate.”

Jungkook scoffed, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means now that you’re back, and dating the richest girl in the country, there’s no way Father won’t hand you down the company now,” JungHyun said bitterly, “And everyone said you running away would be a bad thing, but clearly it’s reminded you of who you are.”

“I’m not… I’m not staying,” Jungkook said, “I leave tomorrow but I wanted to see you all. And Y/n and I aren’t going to date, it was a… um.”

“Mistake?” JungHyun asked, “Jungkook, don’t be an idiot. You’ve been obsessed with her for years.”

“I have not.”

“You have, you just don’t want to admit that all your talk about being independent and leaving the money behind to be free was complete bullshit,” JungHyun said with a scoff, “Or why would you mess around with her of all people. A relationship with Y/n is going to put you at the top once again and there’s nothing that won’t be handed to you—and she’s someone mother would approve.”

“You’re dramatic,” Jungkook huffed, “One night doesn’t mean we’re dating or getting married or any of that other shit. I still don’t want to run the business… I just want, I don’t know.”

“Yeah, you never know what you want,” JungHyun said, “But whatever, if you’re set on running away again, so be it. I’m tired of trying to make you see how you blindly follow along with everything you seem to hate.”

“Master, your wife is on line three and she’s wondering who is picking up the kids.”

“Fuck, I don’t know,” JungHyun groaned, annoyed and no longer interested in talking to his little brother, “The driver?”

Jungkook watched his brother leave him behind and with a defeated sigh, he left.

“So are you leaving?” Youngi asked him as he watched the bubbles in his pink champagne, “Or have you changed your mind?”

“I haven’t changed my mind,” Jungkook said stiffly as he fixed the suit jacket he was currently getting fit into, “I’m just postponing my leave but I have a few things to take care of here.”

“Like with you and Y/n?” Youngi asked, making sure the fitting room at Dolce & Gabbana was empty aside from just them two. Jungkook didn’t even flinch at the mention of you. Since the two arrived at this store his vision has been filled with large framed photos of you and your dear friend Park Jimin all over the store. Apparently you were one of the brand’s favorite Ambassadors and they made it known you modeled their products. Right now he’s facing the mirror with a picture of you modeling a satin baldonétte bra and high waisted panties. You looked beautiful and seductive and its been hard for him to not just stare at all your pictures since he got here. Now Yoongi is attempting to bring you up and he refuses to give in to the extent his relationship with you has gone.

You haven’t even spoken since the wedding and even that had just been an exchange of pleasantries and no real depth to either of your words.

“No, with my father,” Jungkook said stiffly as he shrugged off the suit jacket and called in the stylist to find something else. Yoongi sat up in his seat slightly more interested, “Really? About what? Don’t tell me you're back in the running.”

“We're going to discuss it,” Jungkook mumbled to himself.

He wanted to make one thing clear, his decision to seek out his father and work out some sort of plan where he can get back into the job he had been assigned to do, while also having freedom had absolutely nothing to do with you. It has nothing to do with the fact that you’re here, and he’s interested in you, and that it would be his parent’s dream for him to stay and be in a relationship with you and also take over the business finally…

This was his decision because his brother’s right. He can't just keep running away.

“And what do you mean, with Y/n?” Jungkook asked, clearing his throat awkwardly as he glanced up at your five foot photo framed above the mirror, remembering the shape of your body against his, moaning his name and tightening your walls around him.

“Haven’t you heard the rumors?” Youngi asked as he got on his phone, “It seems as though you have competition.”

Jungkook didn’t need to be told more as he took Yoongi’s phone from his outstretched hand and read what was on the screen with furrowed brows.

At the end of the article, in big, fat letters, the conclusion said: ‘Now the question is, will L/n choose the best friend, Park Jimin, or the elegant and influential Best Man, Jeon Jungkook—possibly as the country’s newest IT couple?’

When he gave Yoongi his phone back, there was no denying the sudden irritation that contorted his features. It’s not like he expected this to not happen but… he doesn’t like what they’re implying. Yoongi studied him closely to see if he would get a response, but Jungkook gave nothing away. Instead he just ordered the tailor to pack the two suits he tried on so he could buy both, “I’ll meet you out there.”

Yoongi left Jungkook to get changed and while he stood alone in the fitting room staring up at your boudoir photos framed around him, he took his phone and dialed your number.

“Hello?” Your end of the call sounded hectic, louder and busier than his did. You were in the middle of an interview for Vogue and were taking a short break. It seemed like he called at just the right time since you were getting your makeup touched up.

“Are you busy?” Jungkook asked with a sharp tone that fell on deaf ears when the call went silent for a moment. He really did admire the photo of you, remembering just what it was like to trace his hands along your figure.

“Who is this?” You finally asked, making his jaw clench slightly.

“Jeon Jungkook.”

“Oh you see, I wouldn’t have known that considering you didn’t even say a hello or anything,” You told him in a sarcastic tone that made him want to smile but also roll his eyes, “Besides, I am busy.”

As if on cue, the call of your name in the background made your claim concrete. He bit his lip in thought, wondering what it was you were doing and how long it would take, “When can I see you?”

A smile played on your lips as you held up a finger to your assistant who was trying to hurry you along, “Did you make an appointment with my assistant?”

He couldn’t help but scoff as his gaze turned toward a glare, practically imagining that picture of you smiling at him, “I didn’t know I needed one, darling. When can I schedule one?”

“I’m not sure, i'll let you know,” you said and before Jungkook could respond, the call ended and he was left in shock that you just hung up on him. He gathered his things and met Yoongi outside to pay, completely bewildered by the fact that you just hung up on him so easily. He knows you haven’t spoken since the night of the wedding where you were forced to speak but this is all he gets?

“What took you so long?” Yoongi asked as they left Dolce & Gabbana with new things.

xxx-xxx-xxxx: Appointment scheduled for, 6:30 pm today, L/n Residence @ the Northbrook Estates

Jungkook couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief at the confirmation of an appointed meeting with you tonight.

The night on the yacht had been unexpected yet also long-awaited and now that its done with, neither of you seemed to know what to do about it. You wont lie and say you didn’t enjoy that moment with him but you were also realistic. You and Jungkook would just never work out, you’re too different on the outside and that’s why you’re so confused now as to why he called you.

“So, Y/n, its been a busy season for you this year,” an interviewer said as the camera zoomed in on your expression as they continued, “Not only did you walk thirteen shows but I hear you also celebrated your close friends wedding. How was that? You must have been exhausted.”

“You know it was a lot but it was exciting, I hold my friends dearly and I’m just thankful I was able to make time for such an event,” you said and you’ll admit your response sounded scripted. You didn’t dive too deeply which is what you’re sure the interviewer wanted. You should have known that this stupid interview wouldn’t just be about your newly established modeling career.

Whether you’ve become Model of the Year for your catwalk, or for nepotism, you didn’t are much either way. All you cared about was the fact that the interviewer has found a way to slip in questions they didn’t need to know. It’s like you can just sense the things they’ll ask and have already prepared and calculated the exact responses you need to give.

“Of course, and what a star-studded party,” the interviewer continued, “The Best Man being Jeon Jungkook must have been exciting for you.”

“Well, we’ve all known each other for a long time now so…” You cleared your throat, looking a bit disinterested.

“Yes, of course,” the interviewer said with a nervous laugh, “And pardon me, Y/n, but I just have to ask, did anything happen between the two of you on this very intimate trip?”

Your smile strained but you never looked anything less than sweet as you said, “We are all just very close friends. Most of them have supported me in modeling.”

It was a clear attempt on your part to direct the conversation back to what it was supposed to be about. She ignored your last comment and said, “So… I guess we’re all curious, some pictures from the parties were released of the two of you awfully close in certain open waters, and an evident hickey on his neck—not to mention the matching clothes, please, is there something between you and the heir of Jeon Corporation?”

“Nothing that should concern you, no,” you smiled sweetly and the interviewer seemed to freeze up, unsure if she had gone too far in her questions.

Silence filled the space around them and there was no way to cut these parts out since it was a video shoot and after a while of the interviewer struggling to find which questions to ask, a person who worked for you stepped forward, “How about another short break?”

The interviewer released a shaky breath while the both of you made your way off camera and your glam team was quick to touch up your hair and makeup as the director of the shoot approached you, “Y/n darling, how are we feeling?”

“Annoyed,” you answered honestly, “I thought this was supposed to be about my modeling.”

“You’re absolutely right, darling, we apologize for any mistake we’ve done on our part, I—She must have taken it as an opportunity to ask her own questions and I promise you, we will have a deep conversation about this. We aren’t TMZ…” the director said and you rolled your eyes.

“I’m done filming if she’ll be the one continuing the interview,” You told him as you began to walk away from him, not caring for the excuses or whatever and you can hear your publicist repeat your words to him.

It wasn’t even that she was bad at her job or that she asked anything too deep but she just quickly got on your bad side with her persistence to not let the subject drop.

In the end you got your wish and filming ended smoothly before you were driven away to whatever was next in your schedule, trying not to think about the interview or the fact that there was a chance you would be seeing Jungkook later.

Things are evidently strange between you two and its not like you’ve been blind to the articles or posts about you but you don’t want to address anything. That night on the yacht seems like a fluke and like it shouldn’t have happened at all despite how you felt in the moment. Your parents aren’t the type to be invested in what is put in the tabloids but when their lifelong, country club going, friends call them and ask if there’s anything between you and Jeon Corporation’s Jungkook, they’re going to want answers.

It was just one night, one night where the two of you put aside whatever indifference you had toward each other just so you could release tension and this is the consequence for that. Of course everyone would want to know and of course no one was able to turn a blind eye to you. Even Yeonwoo managed to ask what you had been doing in the cabins withJungkook or so long that night and even when you tried to ignore her she kept pressing you for an answer.

In truth you had nothing to say. You were both adults and it didn’t matter if anyone else was dying to know if there was anything going on between you.

You resented each other.

You had sex.

Plus, he’s going to leave soon and you don’t think that bothers you?

When your driver pulled up to the tall skyscraper you called home, you headed inside alone.

“Good evening, Miss L/n,” the lobbyist held the door open for you, “You have a visitor waiting in the lobby.”

Your brows furrowed, checking the time before heading to the library where sure enough, Jeon Jungkook was sitting by the fireplace reading whatever magazine was set out for him. At the sound of your Miu Miu kitten heels, he turned staring at you with his big rounded eyes being the only thing you could see beside his face mask, “You’re early.”

Jungkook wrapped an arm around your waist as he pressed his lips to your cheek in greeting and you did the same, he joined you in the elevator and said, “I like to get to my appointments early.”

“You’re lucky my shoot ended early or else you might have had to wait outside like a dog,” you teased as you pushed the button for the top floor where your penthouse was located. As part of the infinite amount of wealth your family has, you also dabble in real estate, mostly in the country as luxury apartments but you do have some homes overseas: Paris, New York, Argentina, etc.

The place you call home is a top floor penthouse with terrace and rooftop. The floor in which it was located was completely shut off for just you and included a private gym, yoga studio, three walk-in closets, and on top of that an elevator parking garage with a Mary Kay Pink Rolls Royce sitting pretty inside it.

Jungkook has never stepped foot in your home before and it was overwhelmingly stunning with four bedrooms, two living rooms (one on the top floor and one on the main floor too), an open kitchen, poolside terrace, and five bathrooms. You lived in ultimate modern luxury with traditional themes throughout the home like its hand carved wooden furniture and expensive marble walls.

“Is this different from your little magic treehouse in the woods you ran off to?” You asked, tempted to push his buttons as you removed your coat and handed it to your housekeeper who waited at the door.

“Well, considering my magic treehouse is worth 2.6 million dollars, no I wouldn’t consider this that different from it,” Jungkook couldn’t help but boast, feeling like he’s competing. It’s like when he was in school and the students would brag about whatever exotic trip they got to go in the summer and he would have to make sure to tell them what he did was better. “Maybe I’ll bring you with someday.”

Fuck. Why did he say that? Why is he indulging in any of this in the first place? You and Jungkook should never be together, right?

“Speaking of which, I thought you would have ran off now that the wedding is over,” You said as you mumbled something to the housekeeper making her leave, “Drink?”

“Water is fine,” Jungkook said as he made his way down to your 70’s inspired talking pit of suede Anabei sectional couches, “And I thought I would have been gone by now too”

“What changed?” You skied curiously, “Don’t tell me it's because you would miss me.”

You held your hand to your chest as if to seem touched by the thought and Jungkook just rolled his eyes as you continued, “How would all the other girls feel knowing I’m keeping you here?”

Jungkook scoffed as he practically pushed your legs off his lap, “Can you not joke for just one second?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even if part of you felt confused wondering if this was supposed to be a serious moment or not. Jungkook huffed, running his fingers through his black hair, “I’m here because I wanted to talk to you about all those articles. My parents are working on taking those down, are you okay?”

Your eyebrows knitted together with confusion, “Me? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because I’ve never seen anything bad written about you and suddenly you’re being painted as a two-timer by spending a night with me while also… doing whatever it is you do with that friend of yours.” He was not jealous. He swears.

To be clear, there really is nothing going on with you and Jimin. You’re just two friends in the modeling world who happen to like attending secret parties together and maybe making out drunkenly every now and then. That’s it. You’ve never slept with him and Jimin has too many girls on his line for you to ever consider him.

“I’ll survive,” You mumbled as you looked over at him, seeing him in deep thought.

“I’m thinking of staying a while longer,” Jungkook said suddenly with a clear of his throat.

Jungkook was not the shy type and to be honest he’s not even sure why he’s letting you know [as if it made a difference] but the words just slipped out.

He did not like you.

Well, he didn’t like you like that. It sounds harsh he’s well aware of that but he was never romantically attracted to you before so how is he going to suddenly feel that way after only a week in contact again. Maybe it was just unresolved sexual tension after years of feeling that way but that can’t be the only thing that’s making him want to revert back to what his life was like before he left to live on his own.

He escaped all this so that he could live somewhere quietly and do what he really wanted to do without worrying about anything else. Now he’s contemplating moving back and possibly involving himself with his father’s business again. Too much is going on for him to understand why.

“For how long?” you asked as your fingers began to softly run through the ends of his hair making him look at you. You couldn’t hide your curiosity and how close the two of you are.

When he had pulled you down to sit with him, it was with your legs thrown over his lap which he had been caressing every now and then.

An arrogant smirk formed on his lips as he licked them, tapping your calf lightly, “How long do you want me here?”

Fuck, Jungkook is staying to get back in business… not for you.

It’s not for you.

It’s not for yo—

His breath hitched as a sudden weight shifted to his lap, his hands immediately went to your waist, helping you get comfortable on him. It’s embarrassing the way Jungkook didn’t hesitate to reach for you when you sat on his lap feeling your arms thrown around his neck, “Here as in…”

You looked down at the short skirt you wore which rolled up a little from how your legs straddled his thighs and said, “Under me?”

A scoff in disbelief left his lips as he couldn’t help but laugh, sliding your hips closer, “Yeah.”

It was attractive the way your conversations never seemed to fall unless you wanted them to. It was a constant cat and mouse game, banter back and forth and he catches on quickly.

You couldn’t help it, okay. Anytime you would see pictures of Jungkook since he left, he was always in a hoodie and sweats or something that just hid his entire body. Right now he’s wearing this Christian Dior white button-up shirt [which he rolled the sleeves up at some point since he got here] and it was messily untucking from his black slacks and he looks so hot right now. His hair was messy in a sexy way and he looked just like he used to, except this time with tattoos and a different sense of maturity.

Without wasting another moment debating if you should or shouldn’t, you leaned down and kissed him. Jungkook’s lips parted against yours, stretching his neck to kiss you with more need. Unlike the first night you kissed, this one wasn’t as rushed and angry. He took his time longer, pulling your bottom lip between his and doing it over again.

You pressed your chest against his, with your tongue swiping against his lip teasingly until you met his. Jungkook’s hands pinched the satin fabric of your skirt, feeling it tighten and rise, unable to stop the growing desire he was feeling for you. His briefs were getting tighter every time you shifted on his lap and whatever he had been thinking before you started making out.

“You want to play?” He asked, shifting his head to deepen the kiss without bumping noses. You pulled away feeling desperate to catch your breath as his kisses began to travel down toward your exposed neck, licking and nipping under your jaw while beginning to make

“Maybe,” you sighed in pleasure, running your hands through his hair when you felt him kiss down your collarbone, closer and closer down the deep-v in your Miu Miu chiffon top. The strap to your shirt slipped down your shoulder as Jungkook’s rough fingers traced down the side of your arms.

You cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to go back to kiss your lips as you felt his growing erection press into you. It was hard for him to ignore the fact that the only thing covering what was under your skirt was a flimsy, thin piece of lace he shifted you closer until his bulge was tucked between your legs, placing your hips right over where he wanted them to be. Now that he moved you, his outline was more evident and had you grinding along him.

Jungkook released a groan with a sharp breath once he felt that sudden move and he couldn’t help but buck his hips against you, feeling the fabric of his briefs constrict his hardened cock. It was a frustrating feeling yet he felt so eager with his tongue down your throat and his covered dick tucked nicely between your covered folds that he couldn’t even think to stop and remove the layers.

His lips were feeling swollen against yours yet he didn’t want to pull away, the friction he was getting from the way you humped him was turning him on with how needy it felt. You kissed along his jaw, grinding against his aching dick while your nimble fingers began to unbutton his shirt.

“God damn,” Jungkook groaned as he threw his head back, relishing in the way your hips moved expertly against him while kissing down his naked chest. He slid his ass down your back, stopping over your butt and pulling your skirt out of the way for him to get a better feel of you underneath. With firm hands, he turned your sensual grinding into harsher and more deep movements that he met with his hips.

He’s not sure he could take just this any longer. Anytime he’s with you now it’s like he can’t do anything but fall for you and despite how annoying it is, he doesn’t do anything to stop it. Instead, he welcomes it and right now all he wants to do and rip off the remaining layers between you so he could have your legs wrapped around him once more. It’s only been days since the first time and he has not been able to stop thinking about it.

The day of the wedding he had been so distracted by you that he barely remembers any of it and now his best friends are on their honeymoon and he’s here thinking about you again.

Giving up on arguing how much he wants to have you, he wanted to get your clothes off and you were letting him. His hands had barely made it to the end of your top, ready to pull it off, when a loud ringtone cut through the living room, echoing off the walls and hard to ignore. The two of you looked at each other confused.

He sat up, reaching his hand into his pocket and pulling out his phone, annoyed that someone had thought to call him.

“Answer,” you said breathlessly as you looked at the caller, already sliding yourself off his lap.

“It’s just Hobi,” Jungkook said, letting out a huff in annoyance as he set his phone back down, turning to kiss you but it rang once again. Your eyes met his and he begrudgingly grabbed his phone and swiped to answer, “Hello?”

“Hey man, I just got off the phone with your Yoongi,” Hoseok said as he sat in a large closet filled with designer clothes, “And why am I always the last to know if you’re leaving or not?”

“What?” Jungkook looked visibly annoyed with his scrunched brows and tense jaw and for some reason that made him hotter to you. His shirt was undone completely and his belt was halfway pulled off and with his legs spread, it was very hard to ignore his hard on.

Your eyes softened with curiosity and you couldn’t help but bite down on your bottom lip as you decided to just go for it. First, your hand rested on his thigh as he listened to whatever Hoseok said, but slowly you made your way toward his bulge.

“You’re gonna start working with your dad again?” Hoseok asked, unaware of the way Jungkook’s attention had drifted down to the palm of your hand, right over his dick. Your fingers pressed against the underside of his member, massaging your palm into it and feeling the way his hips raised. “What happened to not caring about the money and the company and all that blah blah blah?”

Jungkook couldn’t help but roll his eyes, snapping back to his friend instead of what was going on. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, tightening their grip as if in warning. It was a useless attempt considering he tried helping you pull his belt off and saying, “Come on man, it was never like that.”

He could hear his own tone falter somewhere between lying and having his cock free from the confines of his tight briefs with your hand feeling him.

Hoseok laughed, debating what suit he should wear, “No, it’s exactly like that.”

Jungkook’s hand went to your head, softly caressing you as you kissed down his navel, your hand wet with spit, jerking him off while licking just above his dick. He didn’t bother with a response to his friend as he continued speaking anyway, “Is it true you and our princess are messing around? It’s all over the tabloids.”

Sarcasm was evident in Hoseok’s tone but Jungkook was too focused on your tongue licking up the length of his hard cock, wetting it with spit that made your hand movements smoother.

“Look I get it, you’ve had all this tension something was bound to happen but damn, why didn’t you tell me that either?” Hoseok asked with evident shock, unaware of the blowjob his friend was receiving on the other end. Your lips were wrapped tightly around his length and with your hand too, it was hard for Jungkook to keep his reactions to a minimum.

“Hobi, I—I, yknow I just,” Jungkook cleared his throat uncomfortably to hide an evident groan. He was beginning to fidget under your ministrations, especially when you squeezed under his cock, massaging his balls, “Sorry.”

“Sorry?! That’s all you gotta say after chewing me out for giving you condoms as a joke.” Hoseok was lying in a pile of Louis Vuitton suits on the floor, engrossed in his one-sided conversation, “Our friendship seems one-sided buddy. I thought when you came up to me… I thought, ‘Hey, maybe my good buddy Jungkook will get in this dandy hot tub with me’ but no, you know what you do instead? You ask where Y/n is! God I should’ve known—“

Jungkook threw his head back in a mixture of pleasure and obvious irritation that he couldn’t take it anymore. His finger pressed into the red button and the call was cut to end suddenly. As soon as his phone hit the couch, you pulled off his length with a deep huff for air, “That wasn’t very nice of you.”

“He’ll get over it,” Jungkook mumbled as he reached for your hand to pull you toward him, “Come here.”

“I’m not done,” you leaned away from the kiss he was trying to give you but his hand held your head in place, not caring to kiss the lips that had just been around his hard dick. Jungkook wasn’t as gentle as his need grew heavier and with a strategic pull at your top, it ripped down the back, “Jungkook!”

“What?” He asked with a giddy smile, tempted to be playful, “It was in my way.”

You rolled your eyes, sitting up to take your skirt off yourself and prevent another hazard while Jungkook finished undressing himself. “It was custom, asshole.”

Jungkook’s smile dropped with worry, lips parted in surprise until you burst out into a laugh and fell onto his lap, “You should see the look on your face.”

“Ha ha, don’t scare me like that,” Jungkook chuckled, “I was already thinking about the fortune I would have to pay to fix that.”

“Jungkook,” you ignored the fact that the two of you were naked, in the middle of an intimate moment and asked, “What did you mean earlier?”

“When?” Jungkook asked, caressing your leg, “About staying? Yeah, I’m serious.”

“You are?” You crossed your arms over your bare chest, “Why?”

“Why?” He was visibly taken back, “What do you mean why?”

“I mean… just a few days ago you were adamant on leaving right after the wedding and when you left the resort before everyone else we all kind of figured you had left but you’re here now and…” You took a deep breath in thought.

“Do you want me to leave?” Jungkook asked, sounding more hurt than he intended to. All this time pushing and pulling his feelings for how he felt about being here and seeing you was getting to him. He’s very aware how confusing he is and spending a night with you shouldn’t have changed his mind this quickly while he also refused to admit.

“We didn’t talk about what happened at the party,” you said suddenly, feeling Jungkook drape his shirt over your naked figure as the conversation shifted drastically.

“I know,” he dropped his head, “I’m sorry, I was really confused and I couldn’t tell what I was feeling or how you were feeling and I was mad and… I thought you probably didn’t care.”

“I mean, I didn’t,” you shrugged, “But because I figured it was just a one time thing since you were very obvious with how little you thought of me and now you’re saying you’re staying longer while visiting me at home and it just… I don’t get it.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Jungkook was in his slacks again, trying to fix whatever mess he might have made over time, “I just… I was just being dumb. I wanted to act like I wasn’t into you at all because I was mad at everyone else and it wasn’t fair that I took it out on you but I thought you didn’t like me either.”

“And you’re right, you were mean to me,” you nudged him with your foot, “So really, I shouldn’t even be in this position with you right now.”

Jungkook didn’t dare argue when you called him out, “You always pretended to hate me even when you’d get jealous if someone else talked to me and you could never take your eyes off me.”

His brows furrowed, reminded of the trip and how everyone always joked that he wanted you when he was so stubborn on saying he didn’t. He didn’t like how predictable his life was.

“Because I knew everyone thought you were perfect,” Jungkook tried pulling you toward him, “And they didn’t know how you liked to push my buttons and say things you knew would get to my head and how you were actually so unbelievably perfect that it pissed me off everytime I let you get to me.”

“Don’t sweet talk me now,” you teased when he leaned over to lay between your legs, content with the sight of you in his Dior shirt, “How are you gonna repay me for being such a dick?”

“Whatever you want,” Jungkook admitted, “Say the word and I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“I have everything I want,” you ran your fingers through his hair.

“Come on Y/n, don’t make this hard on me,” he whined playfully, “Everyone else is already making it hard and I just want to spend the night with you. I’ll let you use me.”

Your brow raised and with a soft laugh you pulled him toward you for a kiss, “I get to use the Jeon Jungkook? What will everyone say?”

“That they saw it coming,” Jungkook chuckled as he pressed his lips to yours, “So don’t stop the inevitable.”

You rolled your eyes, feeling your arousal from earlier slowly make its return, “You’re so spoiled.”

“I know.”

Jeon Jungkook now knows what an awful liar he’s been these last couple of years. All of this talk about wanting to be different, break free from his family’s influences and the world of money and power, was meaningless in the end. He tried, he really did but his rebellion of running off and doing whatever he pleased, refusing to acknowledge the company, the wealth and the people in it was short lived because he never actually wanted to escape it.

He was still going to be friends with the people he grew up with and fall back to his old routine of country clubs and parading on yachts or private islands.

He was still going to take over his share of his father’s company and dress himself up in designer Kiton suits that he used to despise wearing.

He was still going to fall for you, the person he despised simply for being an exact reflection of himself. You were perfect for him in every way on paper and that made him want to push you away but in the end, he still fell for you like he knew he would.

Some people dream about having the life he does, or growing up the way he did and yet here he was selfishly wishing it all away. It was perfect, it was so insanely perfect and unfair that Jungkook ever thought he wouldn’t be happy with what he had been handed down to him for simply being born.

“This person gathered valuable experiences in the world and has shown such a strong will to portray it all into commitment for the company and that makes me a proud father,” A deep voice spoke from behind a podium with an echoing mic that had the attention of over a hundred people, “Please, welcome the newest V.P. for Jeon Corporation, my youngest son, Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook had an arrogant smile on his lips as he walked onto stage, thanking everyone for congratulating him on his quick and easy advance in the company—even surpassing his older brother.

“Honestly, it is a big thank you to everyone close to me, for helping me see how ready I am to step into this role and fulfill my duty as a member of this corporation,” Jungkook said confidently, looking at all his friends who had a mixture of confused yet knowing smiles on their faces.

“What a brat,” Hoseok joked with Namjoon, “And I blame you for this.”

“Yeah, I’ve never seen someone get pulled back into the country’s good graces so easily,” Namjoon laughed, remembering all the articles about how my ridiculous Jungkook was for publicly stating he would never be a part of the company.

“That’s because he’s spoiled,” Jungkook’s older brother chimed in, “Even after he says he’s gonna walk away from it, he’s still gonna be welcomed back with open arms.”

Taehyung released a playful sigh, “I want to be Jeon Jungkook when I grow up, the perfect life just handed to me and I’m just too blind to appreciate it.”

“Tae, you’re rich,” Yeonwoo whispered to him, Taehyung grinning at her reminder and sitting up straighter.

“How was it?” Jungkook asked his friends as he looked around the table.

“Well rehearsed,” Taehyung gave him the thumbs up, “Also, where’s Y/n? I thought she’d be here.”

Jungkook checked the time on his watch, his leg already bouncing underneath the table, “Yeah, I thought so too.”

It shouldn’t be that big of a deal to him. This was all just some flashy way for his father to make Jungkook’s debut in the business widely anticipated and you had other things to do than be here. The two of you aren’t even officially together yet so it’s not like you owe it to him or anything.

“Y/n,” Jimin whined as he watched the valet open the limo door for you, “Please don’t ditch me. I’m your best friend, imagine how much fun we could be having. Everyone’s going to ask where you ran off to after the dinner.”

“Well you can tell them,” you hurried to finish applying your lip gloss, “That I had more important things to do than get drunk at some fashion party.”

“Right, just throw me to the side like I mean nothing,” Jimin said dramatically, “Is this how you treat friends now?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, knowing he was only trying to cause a scene. Jimin knew you would be calling it an early night but he just wanted it to be difficult. With a small sigh, you double checked that you looked fine in the mirror and said, “Okay, wish me luck, I’m hoping I get laid tonight.”

“I also hope you get laid tonight so that I don’t have to listen to you talk about how much you want to see him,” Jimin said as you made your way out the car, “Goodnight.”

By the time you got to the banquet, the cameras had been long gone from the entrance and so you were able to make your appearance quietly. You would have been here earlier if there hadn’t been an ambassador dinner tonight that you had already agreed to do before Jungkook decided on staying and you just couldn’t miss it.

You felt bad because Jungkook had asked you to come be his date but he understood why you couldn’t make it right away. If anything he should be happy that you hurried over from dinner to the banquet without an outfit change. Despite the number of attendants, it was really a private affair with only a couple people from the press but nothing too grand and over the top. It made arriving late less miserable and finding Jungkook and your friends much easier.

And when you first involved yourself with Jungkook in this way, you should have known it wouldn’t all be easy. You were now somewhat seeing the most eligible bachelor in the country and nobody knows about it aside from speculation. Speculation won’t stop spoiled rich girls who want him to themselves and that’s what you saw when you found him.

“It’s so great to have you back Kooky, it’s like… the best thing to ever happen,” some girl gushed at him from the once empty seat to his left. She seemed unaffected by the stares she received from around the table and didn’t care at all that Jungkook wasn’t even glancing her way. He doesn’t know her, she’s probably just the daughter of some wealthy couple who thinks she has a chance with him.

Jungkook stared forward, watching his friends’ faces as their eyes softened, no longer listening to the girl who said, “Maybe we can get together some time.”

A gentle hand touched his shoulder, soft lips brushing against his ear as you said, “Maybe we can get together some time too.”

There was no denying the smile that grew on his face as he turned to look at you and how close you were to him. Jungkook’s lips parted in pleasant surprise, ready to talk to you when someone else spoke up.

“Excuse us, sweetheart,” Namjoon said to the girl, “It seems our table is full, maybe you can try somewhere else?”

She left with an annoyed scoff, making room for you to sit down, “Sorry I’m late, did any of you miss me?”

You had a sweet smile on your face, a camera clicked somewhere else in the distance surely capturing how close you were to Jungkook specifically, who was tracing his hand along your thigh.

“Dearly,” Jungkook said as he leaned into you for a quick kiss on the lips, “Thanks for coming.”

“I told you I’d try and make it,” you said to him, “I missed the speech didn’t I?”

“It was nothing special,” Jungkook’s hand began to slide down the space between your legs—or at least as far as your dress would let it, “Just the usual talk about how amazing I am, it was all very boring.”

“But I love talking about you,” Your tone was sarcastic yet flirty, your hand falling over his in warning when he began to pull up your dress just a little. You were sitting at a table with a large draped tablecloth that hid your legs underneath but you were still very aware of the fact that your friends were all around the table.

“Y/n,” Hoseok called for you from across the table, “How does it feel to have the Jeon Jungkook wrapped around your finger?”

Jungkook turned to his friend with a harsh glare, knowing he was just poking fun at it all but still managing to get under his skin. You looked at Jungkook with a knowing grin, “Like nothing I didn’t expect.”

He scoffed, squeezing your thigh possessively, “I think the feelings are mutual, darling.”

You leaned into him, not caring for being around so many important people with cameras trying to capture whatever moment they can, “They are.”

::.

a/n omg it took me literally forever to write this and idk how I feel about it but yknow what 😭it’s finished and that’s what matters. I was in the mood for some rich kdrama feel fic and I hope I managed to pull that off at least a litttlleeeeeeere

thanks for everyone that waited patiently and please feel free to lmk what you think <3

permanent taglist: @notmyfaultbutours @rerefundslocals @fandems @sugaluvmyg @guvgguk @kimyishin @libra04 @kooromiwrld @classycreationcupcake-blog @cherrymonlightt @nikkiordonez12 @asking4-sanity @thvlover @saweetspoiled @shaybts-blog @babycandy111 @jeonninja @yellowcupid08 @02010802faves @skzthinker @unnatae @beautywine @lilliankoo @annenakamura @lesoleile @burnahtsw @kooloveys @ku-ku @chaelvrx @minnie-mouser22 @whoa-jo @marvelbun @sunnikthv @kochycooky @acielelyseen @giselleswifeee @ilikeitlikethatt @bangmechanpls @lvr2seok @badbyeyoongi @jaerisdiction @watermelonjuice15 @artmsmaid @xyahrinx @angeleen777 @jooniesxbby @dream-cvtcher @jksjx @kissyfacekoo @joyjunk @caro134340lina @hyunjinswifeee @oldermenluverrr @caro134340lina @olivialeesstuff [taglist is too long so I’ll have to make two versions of it]

[bangfantanfic]

Still Life: 7

summary: Maybe running away from your hybrids wasn't a good idea. or, Y/N leaves her family home to go UNI, leaving behind six hybrids. Leaving a second time is proving to be nearly impossible.

warnings: this series will deal with body image issues, toxic relationships, family issues, sexual themes, Non-con, possible rape, abusive themes and more. If that isn't your cup of tea please continue scrolling.

Authors note: yet another story. This one i have been posting on my ao3 account! feel free to sus it out there as well at King_myg As always, my stories follow dark themes so if this is something you aren't comfortable with I suggest looking elsewhere :) Enjoy! feedback is always appreciated.

tags: @calmingmelody96 @ot8srzlover @lolfccfvvvvbbbb @beansplz @trixilove257 @cardanxjude20

The sun was barely breaking through the clouds, the weak rays trying their best to caress whatever bare skin it could find. Winter was well and truly rolling in, and you were thrilled. You loved the cooler weather; summer always left you agitated and icky. Beside you, your sister complained about the miserable weather, bragging about her upcoming honeymoon to Fiji. Everyone was in the yard, your father and mother walking laps with Yoongi and your new brother-in-law, showing off the garden that was struggling to thrive and the tennis court that had been made for Jiho during his tennis phase. You could recall your parents' certainty that he would go pro.

Jiho had left the morning before, and the last of the signed paperwork slipped under your door before he left in the early hours. He had been so easy to convince, sure, he bickered a little, but you believed that was all for show, so he didn’t appear overly eager to dump the responsibility onto someone else. Your sister was another story. While she paid very little attention to the hybrids in her care, she had always been overly possessive of them. Jiyoo was difficult even as a child, just because she didn’t use something anymore didn’t mean she was willing to give it up. Especially if it was obvious that someone coveted it. It’s still hers. You just hoped she had matured just a smidge. Enough to hear reason and be willing to do the right thing.

Directly ahead of you was the tennis court. You sat with Jiyoo watching as Hoseok and Jeongguk played a match and Namjoon kept track of the score, occasionally having to play umpire. Off to the right, further away, were Taehyung and Jimin, the pair was sitting under a tree facing each other. You hadn’t seen the pair in two days; it seemed as if they were purposely avoiding you, and while usually you would be a little curious. This time you weren’t. In fact, you felt a sense of relief that you couldn’t explain. Despite the strange feelings you were sorting through, you were still determined to acquire ownership!

“Y/n, I don't know what you’re planning, but I have to ask, have you thought this through?” Jiyoo’s sudden question had you choking on your tea.

She could mean so many things. About Yoongi, about school, your job, or about the stupid thing you're doing with the hybrids. The answer to every single one of these things was a no. No, you hadn't thought it through. In all honesty, there's probably not a single thing you've ever done that's truly been thought through thoroughly. Everything was spontaneous, sudden. Maybe that's why none of it had ever ended well.

You ran away from home with no plans, only your enrollment to University. You moved into the apartment that you couldn't afford, meeting Yoongi and developing some weird dependency on him that you often mistook for romantic feelings. You studied only to hate the career and never work in it, hopping from job to job in hopes of finding something you enjoyed even the teeniest bit. Then you returned home for a wedding, only to find yourself back in feelings you tried so hard to run from, to hide from.

And now? Now your stupidass was trying to do the exact opposite of what every organ in your body begged you not to do. Adopting the 6 men that invaded your teenage years and left you a terrible mess.

So whatever Jiyoo was talking about, the answer was no. No, you have not, and no, you will not think about it either. The more you think about things, the worse you get.

“What exactly am I planning?” You questioned, trying your best to be nonchalant. There was no doubt you looked like an idiot; your original reaction to the question had already been exposed enough.

Jiyoo gave a look that confirmed your thoughts. Idiot, idiot, idiot. That's what her face screamed.

“Jiho told me that you adopted the ferret and dog.” Jiyoo’s eyes were back on the tennis court, following the back and forth of the ball.

“They have names--and a dog? Namjoon is a dingo.” You corrected, ignoring the fact that Jiho had already snitched. God, you hoped he hadn't opened his fat mouth to your parents.

Snorting, Jiyoo didn't even look away. Eyes trained forward as the ball flew past Jeongguk, rattling the metal fencing. Hoseok cheered gleefully, arms thrown in the air before breaking into a celebratory dance. Hoseok's delight seemed to rile Jeongguk up, triggering his competitiveness. Pointing the dark blue racket at Hoseok, his lips curled up in a sneer, silent words fell from his lips. You could only guess he was demanding a rematch, and judging by the loud laughter from Hoseok, it wasn't asked nicely.

“I'll sign them over to you; that's not an issue. I don't care for them, and honestly, Y/n, I don't think I ever really did.” She sighed, finally facing you again. “All I ask is that you tell me what you're planning so I know you'll be safe.”

The surprise on your face couldn't be suppressed. Never in all your years had you seen or heard any words of concern from your sister. She had never been one to care or worry about your well-being, what you were doing, or the aftermath of any of the stupid choices you made. Your sister wasn’t anything like you saw on TV or read in books; hell, she wasn't even like your friends' sisters. Jiyoo seemed to despise your existence and yet now, here she was showing some kind of sibling comrade. If it could even be called that.

“I don't have a plan.” You admitted, rubbing your sweaty palms over your jeans. “All I know is it can't continue like this, Jiyoo.”

She nodded, a contemplative look on her face, and for a second, you were certain you fucked up your chance of getting her to sign off on them.

“Bring me whatever paperwork by tonight, and I'll sign it all. But Y/n, you have to be careful. Don't trust them.”

The confused look on your face was enough for her to continue.

“They're weird, Y/n, and I don't mean that in a bitchy way. I mean it like, there is something deeply fucking wrong with those guys. All of them. Jiho never noticed; he's a man. But I'm sure you did.” Her words were harsh, and they were true.

While you hadn't ever noticed any strange behaviour from the others, Jeongguk had always sent alarm bells ringing. But if he gets along with the boys, you can only assume they have similar tendencies. You are the company you keep after all. In saying that, you truly didn't want to lump them all into one category. Maybe for once the saying wasn't right.

Jimin wasn’t an idiot. It was obvious that Taehyung had been avoiding everyone. For the first few days, Jimin just assumed it was because of the cut on his head and the bruise to his cheek. But even once they had practically disappeared, he still kept a distance. It was odd considering how much of a social butterfly his friend is. He had tried to mention it a few times now, but every time he was dismissed. But not today. This time, Jimin was determined to find out what exactly was going on. That was why he had picked the spot they were resting at. While everyone else was together, closer by, socialising and playing games, Jimin and Taehyung sat further away from the rest. Still within eyesight, but just far enough for the other hybrids to need to actively pay attention to hear the conversation.

It was Jimin's favourite spot. Under a large tree, the grass beneath them and the sun partially blocked by the leaves, with only gentle rays peeking through. It was usually a spot Jimin could relax, but for the first time ever, he found himself anxious in the only place that had ever made him calm.

“Taehyung, what's going on?” Despite the sternness of his name, the question was soft and full of worry.

The dirty blonde looked at his friend with false confusion, tilting his head to really play into his act. “We're just sitting outside, aren't we?”

Jimin felt his annoyance spike. Did he think so poorly of him? Did everyone just see him as some sort of idiot? He has eyes; he can see something strange is going on. Taehyung is definitely avoiding someone or something. They were supposed to be best friends, and yet here he sits playing dumb. Lying. What sort of friend is that?

He wanted to yell, shake him, and demand the truth, but that would only bring attention, and the last thing he needs is Jiyoo, or worse, Y/n, looking this way and thinking they were having an altercation. Poor Y/n has seen enough since she arrived.

“You're lying,” Jimin said point-blank. As soon as the words left his mouth, Taehyung’s face dropped. “You keep saying nothing's wrong, pushing whatever it is aside. Stop it. Talk to me.”

Taehyung made an expression that Jimin had never seen before. He didn't even know how to describe it. Guilt? Fear? But something else. Confidence, maybe? Like he was certain in himself, in whatever was happening, despite knowing it was something bad.

“If I tell you, can you promise not to be upset?”

A promise he shouldn't make, but if it means getting to the bottom of Taehyung’s strange behaviour, then so be it.

With a stiff nod, Taehyung seemed to relax. He rolled into a sitting position, legs crossed tightly as he stared his friend down with a seriousness that was completely foreign. There seemed to be hesitation in his eyes; whatever it was that Taehyung had to share clearly wasn't something that would have Jimin jumping for joy.

After a few seconds, Taehyung seemed to deem it safe to speak, and Lord did he. The words started spewing past his lips, rambling and upbeat. As the story progressed, Jimin found himself realizing why Taehyung was so hesitant to talk. By the end of his spiel, Jimin didn't know what to say or feel. He knew for certain he felt sick to his stomach.

This was very, very bad.

​“You’re upset.” Taehyung huffed, leaning back on his elbows.

​Jimin’s jaw dropped. “Taehyung!” He hissed, rubbing his palms over his face in frustration. “Of course I am. If Jeongguk finds out you are dead.”

​What Taehyung did was wrong; it was assault. Y/n wasn’t in love with him, and he was certain she hadn’t given any signs, and if she had? She was drunk. Whatever signals he thought there were should’ve been ignored, just like Master Jiyoo taught them. If Jeongguk finds out that Taehyung has done this, and whilst Miss Y/n was unconscious, there is no stopping what he may do and from what little Jimin has managed to learn about Yoongi, he has no doubts that the snake hybrid will help Jeongguk out.

​“We can’t let anyone find out,” Jimin murmured, chewing on his nail anxiously.

​Taehyung clenched his jaw, fingers digging into the soil under his hands. Why isn’t Jimin happy for him? After that night, everything had clicked into place for Taehyung. It hadn’t been obvious, but fate worked in mysterious ways. He and Y/n were supposed to be together, it’s why you came back. All signs point to this.

​“Find out what?”

Looking over his shoulder, Jimin instantly recognised the eldest member of the hybrids towering over his seated form. “Jin Hyung!” The panicked greeting did little to hide suspicion.

“What have you guys done now?” He pressed, ignoring the greeting. When the two below him stayed silent, he quirked a brow. Silently asking if they seriously wanted to do this. The further silence only made him sigh. “Don’t make me call Joonie over.”

The mention of the dingo hybrid had the fox and coyote looking at one another, Jimin’s eyes pleading with Taehyung’s. Taehyung was hesitant. He wasn’t an idiot. What he had done wasn’t right; he definitely went about it the wrong way, but he couldn’t help himself. Taehyung knew he could trust Jimin to keep everything a secret, but it made him feel guilty. He didn’t want to get Jimin in trouble. He was innocent in all this after all. He just knew a bit of information; he shouldn’t be scolded for that. Sighing deeply, Taehyung gave in. Jin wouldn’t get the full story, of course, Taehyung would just tell him an easier, more palatable answer.

“We haven’t done anything, Jin Hyung,” Jimin assured, forcing a cheerful smile onto his lips. His excuse was pushed aside as Taehyung cut in.

“We're talking about Y/n.”

Surprised, Jin silently urged him to continue. He had expected it to be about her strange behaviour over the last few days. She had been avoidant, going back and forth from the study and arguing with Yoongi almost every night. Despite their advanced hearing, they hadn’t quite figured out what the pair were disagreeing so vehemently about.

“Y/n and I are in a relationship.” Taehyung’s nonchalant tone left Jin (and Jimin) speechless, jaws hanging.

“Excuse me?”

____________

AS ALWAYSSSSS feedback is welcome and begged for! ily <3

a/n: hello everyone!!! thank u for all your patience. it means a lot! life was has been hectic. i recently have been dealing with mental health issues, medication adjustments and work. I work full time and also foster cats so I have very little free time these days :(

this chapter is shorter than usual but i promise it is for a reason. I am currently working on taehyungs POV from the night of the wedding. i chose to have it separated so that readers who are uncomfortable with reading those themes can just skip the whole chapter. this means the next chapter may also be on the shorter side as it is just a removed portion of this chapter ;-; if you would like to be tagged in this chapter (or any future ones!) please COMMENT on this post so i can keep it organised for myself :)) pls lemme know if ur tag didn't work