#jk bts

[kurapikaenia]

Hate sex is still sex. — part 5 | ᴊᴇᴏɴ ᴊᴜɴɢᴋᴏᴏᴋ

You just got dumped. The one behind it? your boyfriend’s best friend Jungkook who’s hated you from day one. You hate him. He hates you. One thing’s for sure: when hate turns into desire, it gets messy, it gets reckless… and yes, hate sex is still sex.

5’— Who knew recklessness and one drink too many is all it takes for the stubborn, mean version of you, to slip into something soft, vulnerable… almost cute, at least according to the infuriatingly smug man himself.

⎯⎯ pairing: Grumpy Jungkook x Mean girl reader

🧷Genre: enemies with benefits

🧷Warnings: 18+ content, explicit, thigh riding, angst, commitment issues!reader, spoiled rich reader, sorority president reader, pussydrunk!jk, dom!jk x sub!y/n (mdni)!!

🧷wc: 13k+

| one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten |

<>series m.list

Your heels clicked sharply as you stepped into the bus.

It had been nearly impossible to wake up the morning of the event. Your body ached in ways that were both irritating and embarrassingly obvious, every movement reminding you of the ridiculously mind blowing sex you had last night, which, in hindsight, had been an incredibly stupid and reckless decision to make.

Lina had never returned to the room after you fell asleep, something you were quietly thankful for as you didn’t feel like explaining why the room smelled like sex the moment she walked back in either.

You moved further down the aisle, steady despite the dull ache in your limbs. However, it takes you less than a minute to notice something’s… off.

You pause in the aisle, eyes narrowing slightly as you take in the scene infront of you.

Half the frat looks like they’ve been hit by a truck.

Your lips pressed into a thin line as your gaze swept over them again, something beginning to click into place. There was a subtle tension clinging to the air like they were waiting for something to explode.

Then your eyes drifted, and landed on Jungkook, who looked… completely fine. There was nothing that matched the uneasy stiffness and the suspicious smell radiating from the rest of them.

He was leaned back in his seat like he had actually slept. Like he hadn’t spent the night doing anything worth losing sleep over.

Except... he did. With you.

For a brief second, your mind betrayed you, filling in the obvious. Heat threatened to creep up your neck before you could stop it, and you looked away just as quickly, forcing your attention elsewhere. You made a conscious effort not to look at him again and not to let your gaze linger even for a second too long.

You straightened slightly, grounding yourself. That was when you noticed it. The smell hit you faintly at first... then stronger.

Alcohol.

It clung to the air around the frat boys, lingering around them like a confession no one had bothered to hide. Your expression hardened instantly as your eyes flick from one to another, suspicion building fast.

“…What,” you say slowly, voice sharp enough to cut through the low murmurs, “is wrong with all of you?”

A few of them avoid your gaze whilst one of them winces like your voice physically hurt him.

That’s all the confirmation you need, before your expression hardens.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

No one answers immediately, which only makes it worse. You cross your arms, foot tapping impatiently. “We have a campaign event in less than an hour, and you all look like you’re about to pass out.”

A quiet snort comes from somewhere near the back. You whip your head in that direction. “Does someone want to explain?”

There’s a pause. Then someone mutters, a little too casually, “We just… hung out for a bit.”

Your eyes narrow further. “Hung out.”

“Yeah,” another voice chimes in, clearly regretting it immediately. “Minho’s room. Just... y’know. Drinks. Nothing crazy.”

You stare at them. Someone muttered a quiet “shit” under their breath, thinking you wouldn’t catch it, but you did.

Irritation snaps into something sharper and more controlled.

“You’re hungover.”

A few of them visibly flinch. Someone groans from the back as another sinks lower into his seat like that might make him invisible.

Your grip tightens around your bag. “We have a campaign event in less than an hour,” you continue, voice tight, “and you all thought it was a good idea to get drunk last night?”

“y/n—” Lina starts from somewhere to your left, shifting closer.

You turn to her immediately. “No. Don’t.” you stop her.

She raises her hands slightly, like she’s approaching something volatile. “It wasn’t supposed to get that bad, they just,”

“They just what?” you cut in sharply. “Accidentally drank themselves into oblivion?”

A few of the guys wince. Lina exhales, clearly trying to keep her own patience in check. “They were stressed, okay? Minho’s presentation wasn’t done, everyone was freaking out, and it just… turned into something else.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah. I can see that.” Your eyes sweep over the bus again, at the half dead expressions and absolutely no shame they seem to carry.

Unbelievable.

Then something clicks. Minho’s room.

Your brows pull together slightly, your irritation faltering for just a second as your mind rewinds. Last night had been… quiet. While you had jungkook in your room, there was no noise in the hallways. No interruptions at all.

At the time, you hadn’t questioned it. Now, you didn’t have to. Everyone except you and Jungkook had all been somewhere else, drinking and being completely irresponsible.

That’s why no one heard anything... why Lina never came back.

Lina is still talking, trying to smooth things over. “We’ll manage, okay? It’s just one event–”

“Manage?” you repeat, your voice going flat again as the frustration snaps back into place, stronger this time. “You call this manageable?”

You gesture vaguely at the team, still slumped and useless.

“I have a speech to give,” you continue, sharper now. “There are donors there. Important ones. Do you know what happens if we mess this up?”

You shake your head, turning away from them before your temper gets worse, your chest rising and falling a little too fast.

“This is a nightmare,” you mutter under your breath.

Lina doesn’t push it after that. You can feel her hovering for a second, like she’s debating whether to say something else, before she gives up and leans back into her seat. Smart choice. There’s nothing she could say right now that wouldn’t irritate you more.

You sit there in silence, forcing yourself to settle as getting mad certainly won’t fix anything. Losing control definitely won’t.

You straighten slightly, smoothing your expression back into something neutral, even if the frustration is still sitting right under the surface. If they can’t get their act together, you’ll just have to make sure they don’t get the chance to screw anything up in the first place.

The bus ride is quiet after that. No one really talks. A few of them attempt to look less like they’re about to pass out. Someone runs a hand through his hair like that’ll undo the fact that he reeks of alcohol. It’s almost funny how quickly they fall in line when they realize you’re actually serious

By the time the bus pulls up, you’re already up on your feet.

“Fix yourselves before you get off,” you say, not even raising your voice, “I don’t want anyone looking like they just crawled out of a bar.”

That gets them moving fast.

You step off first.

The venue is already busy with staff moving around and setting things up. People are checking lists at the entrance. It’s not chaotic, but it’s not relaxed either. Everything’s running on a schedule, and you can feel it immediately.

This isn’t something you can afford to mess up. The space itself makes that clear enough. Everything about it screams expensive without needing to say it out loud. It’s the kind of place that expects a certain kind of crowd.

And judging by the people already filtering in, it’s getting exactly that.

There are familiar faces here. Not friends– never that, but people you’ve grown up seeing around. Business partners, donors, the kind of people who’ve sat across from your father at dinners while you were expected to smile and not interrupt.

Some of them notice you and give you a small nod, a brief look of recognition.

You barely spare the place more than a glance before turning back to the team. “We don’t have a lot of time,” you say, already walking. “So if you’re going to be useless, at least stay out of the way.”

That seems to do the trick. For now, at least, they listen.

You step toward the backstage area, glancing at the time on your phone.

Your teammates scramble to fix things, actually doing what they’re supposed to for once. Movements are quicker now, like they’ve finally understood that you’re not in the mood to repeat yourself.

Lina stays close, stepping in where she can and quietly redirecting people while adjusting things before they turn into problems simultaneously. She’s noticeably less talkative than usual, but right now, that works in your favor.

You don’t dwell on it, as there’s too much to do.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Jungkook off to the side, talking to one of the venue coordinators. He’s leaning slightly toward them, asking something; probably about setup or timing.

Minho’s nearby, crouched in front of the equipment, trying to get the presentation slides up and running. His fingers move across the laptop, pausing occasionally like he’s trying to remember what he was doing before continuing again.

You don’t comment on it. Instead, you turn back to the real problem.

The worst of them.

A couple of the guys still look like they’re seconds away from collapsing, barely able to keep themselves upright, and there’s no way you’re letting them wander around like that in front of actual guests.

You glance at Lina. “Backstage,” you say quietly, nodding toward them.

She nods once. Between the two of you, you guide them off to the side. It should’ve been simple, but they make it difficult by stumbling over their own feet, laughing like there’s something hilarious about the situation when there isn’t.

It’s irritating. More than that, it’s embarrassing.

“Can you at least pretend to act like professionals?” you mutter under your breath, not really expecting an answer.

One tipsy frat guy straightens slightly, but there’s still that careless tilt to his expression. “Relax,” he mutters. “We’ve got time.”

Something about that tone, the dismissal and ignorance hits you wrong. You take a step forward. “No, you relax,” you shoot back, voice tightening. “Because clearly this doesn’t matter to you, but it does to me, so maybe try doing the bare minimum–”

“Why are you always so–” he starts, irritation creeping into his tone.

Another one snorts from the side. “God, she’s acting like she owns the place.”

“And doesn’t she?” someone else adds, loud enough for a few to laugh. “Daddy probably funded half of this anyway.”

The laughter dies down as the words land exactly where they shouldn’t. You whip your head toward him with sharp eyes. “Funny,” you snap, voice cutting. “Because the only thing funded by my dad that I care about is making sure you don’t embarrass yourself in front of real people. Try to keep up, or don’t show up at all.”

For a second, the room freezes. Then one of them, the one who’s always been quietly passive aggressive scoffs, a smirk playing on his lips as he tries to walk past you, purposely bumping into your shoulder hard enough to throw you slightly off balance.

You stumble a fraction from the sudden contact catching you off guard. But before you can fully trip, the guy is yanked backward by a pair of strong hands gripping the back of his shirt. The motion is so sudden it makes a few heads snap in your direction.

Jungkook stands behind the guy now, fingers still fisted in his collar, pulling him back just enough to stop him from moving any further. The shift in atmosphere is instant, as the careless noise backstage dies down into a tense silence.

Jungkook releases the collar only to step forward, placing himself squarely between you and the guy, standing tall enough to completely block your view of him for a second.

“What’s going on here?” he asks, voice controlled in a way that somehow feels more threatening than yelling.

The guy scoffs, though the edge in his expression falters slightly. “Nothing,” he mutters. “She’s just–”

Jungkook’s hand shoots out again, this time catching the guy’s wrist before he can move past him. His grip is firm, holding him in place like it’s nothing.

“Is this how you treat your president?” Jungkook says, tilting his head slightly, with a sharp and unimpressed gaze. There’s no humor in his tone.

The word ’president’ hangs heavy in the air. You feel the way the room shifts and the way the others straighten slightly like they’ve just remembered exactly who you are here.

The guy tries to tug his wrist back, but Jungkook doesn’t let go.

“Apologize to her,” Jungkook says, voice flat in a way it isn’t a suggestion.

The guy hesitates, jaw tightening, clearly debating whether to push back. Jungkook clicks his tongue once before stepping closer until he’s looming directly over him. The height difference alone is enough to make the moment feel suffocating.

“I said,” he repeats, voice dropping lower, “apologize.”

A beat of silence follows. Finally, the guy exhales sharply through his nose, shoulders stiffening.

“…Sorry,” he mutters.

Jungkook doesn’t move, doesn’t release him yet.

“Look at her,” he adds quietly. The guy glances at you then, expression tight, clearly hating every second of this.

“…Sorry,” he repeats, louder this time.

Only then does Jungkook let go. The guy immediately steps back, rubbing his wrist, pride bruised and expression sour, but he doesn’t say another word.

No one does. The rest of them suddenly look very busy fixing things, adjusting banners, grabbing equipment– anything to avoid being next.

You stand there for a second longer, and when your gaze shifts back to Jungkook, he’s already looking at you.

Your chest tightens slightly, but you shut it down immediately. “I didn’t need your help,” you say, voice clipped, even if it comes out a little less sharp than you intended.

Jungkook huffs a quiet breath, something almost like a smile threatening at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah,” he says. “Looked like it.”

Your eyes narrow. And just like that, the tension is back as though it had never left in the first place.

His eyes drift past you toward the rest of the group– who noticeably, are suddenly very focused on their work; exactly how they should’ve been acting from the start.

You hate that it took him stepping in for them to finally take you seriously. Hate even more that it worked.

Lina leans in slightly beside you, lowering her voice. “You’ve got twenty five minutes,” she reminds you gently.

Your stomach tightens immediately. Right, the speech.

You straighten, lifting your chin slightly as you glance back toward the stage area. “Everyone,” you call out sharply. “Final checks. Nobody leaves backstage unless I say so.”

You smooth your hands down the front of your blazer, as you force yourself to breathe evenly. The color was painfully dull, but hey, nothing says ’responsible adult’ like looking mildly depressed in beige. You adjust the cuffs once more out of habit than necessity, before shifting your attention forward.

You move toward the narrow passage separating the stage from backstage– the exact spot you’re supposed to wait when they announce your name. It’s darker here, tucked between heavy curtains and equipment stands, the space stands barely wide enough for more than one person at a time.

The lighting from the stage spills in faintly, casting long shadows along the floor. It smells faintly of dust, and the sharp heat from the stage lights overhead.

Footsteps sound softly behind you. Before you can turn fully, Jungkook steps into the narrow passage, his presence filling the space. He stops opposite you, close enough that the small gap between the curtains feels suddenly smaller.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you, eyes scanning from the way your shoulders are set to the tight grip around your clipboard. You feel his gaze linger on your hands, then slowly shift upward, as if he’s noticing even the smallest details you thought went unseen.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moves or speaks. You’ve honestly gotten used to having him around you at this point. The muffled sound of voices from the stage drifts into the space, a stark contrast to the charged quiet between you.

Then, almost unconsciously, your eyes catch the slight wrinkle at the collar of his shirt. Without thinking, your hand lifts, brushing along the fabric to smooth it down.

Jungkook doesn’t move. His eyes drop slowly, following the movement of your hand before lifting back up to your face. And then his gaze dips lower, to your lips.

Your breath catches as you pull your hand back like you’ve just touched something that burned you.

What the hell are you doing?

Your face warms slightly. Without thinking, you knock your knuckles lightly against his head. “Your shirt was wrinkled,” you mutter defensively, like that explains everything. “You looked sloppy.”

You step back immediately after, putting distance between you like it’ll erase what just happened.

Finally, his eyes shift toward the stage, then back at you. “You’ll do fine,” he says softly.

You press your lips together, jaw tightening, because the simplicity of it makes your chest ache in a way you hadn’t expected.

Then he steps back slightly, nods toward the stage, and adds, quieter this time, “Good luck.”

The rest of the event moves quickly after that.

You barely have time to catch your breath before you’re being pulled into conversation after conversation, offering polite smiles, listening carefully while keeping your posture straight and composed each time.

One of your father’s colleagues spots you first, his face lighting up immediately. “There she is,” he says warmly, extending his hand. “That was an excellent speech. So confident and clear, just like your father.”

You smile politely, returning the handshake with a polite smile. “Thank you, sir.”

Another joins in, laughing lightly. “You know, your father hasn’t stopped bragging about you. Says you’re the sharpest student he’s seen come out of the university in years.”

You offer a modest nod, keeping your tone measured. “He exaggerates.”

They chuckle at that, clearly pleased. “No, no,” one of them insists. “We’ve been hearing about your work with the campaign team. Impressive leadership at your age.”

Before you can respond, a pair of elegant, poised women step closer, the kind who always smell faintly of expensive perfume and carry that quiet confidence with them. “Well,” one of them says with a warm smile, eyes scanning your outfit approvingly, “look at you.”

You straighten slightly without thinking. “You look absolutely stunning,” the other adds, reaching out to lightly touch your arm. “That blazer fits you perfectly. Very polished.”

You let out a small laugh. “Thank you.”

“And your hair,” the first woman continues, tilting her head slightly as she studies you. “Always so neat. I told your father the last time I saw him, you carry yourself beautifully. Just like your mother used to.”

The comment makes something flicker briefly in your chest, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you smile again in the very graceful and composed manner you’ve been wearing like armor all day. “You’re too kind,” you reply smoothly.

One of the men nearby chuckles. “Brains and beauty. Your father must be sleeping peacefully at night knowing he raised you right.”

You dip your head slightly at that, the perfect picture of modesty even as the praise stacks higher. Standing among polished professionals, exchanging pleasantries and receiving approval feels like stepping into a role you’ve rehearsed your entire life.

Across the hall, Jungkook stands off to the side near one of the volunteer stations, watching quietly as you move from group to group with ease. The difference in you is impossible to ignore. Here, you’re not sharp tongued or defensive like usual. You’re poised.

He watches the way the older men listen when you speak, nodding thoughtfully, the way the women smile warmly at you like you belong among them. The way your name carries weight even in casual introductions.

“Her father must be proud,” one of them says, clapping you lightly on the shoulder. “You’ve got his head for business, that’s for sure.”

You offer a polite smile at that, adjusting the cuff of your blazer again. “I try.”

Across the room, just past the cluster of guests surrounding you, a familiar figure enters your line of sight. At first, it’s just movement in your peripheral vision, a mere silhouette. Then recognition hits all at once, causing your smile to falter mid conversation.

Your hand freezes where it rests lightly against the edge of your clipboard.

You see her.

Your mother.

Standing near one of the sponsor tables, dressed elegantly, laughing softly like she belongs here just as much as anyone else. She hasn’t noticed you yet. She’s too busy speaking to the man beside her.

Your pulse stutters, then spikes hard enough to make your vision blur for half a second. You politely excuse yourself, forcing a tight smile as you murmur something about checking on your team, already stepping away before anyone can stop you. Your heels click against the polished floor as you move toward the volunteer area, careful not to let anyone see the sudden crack in your composure.

From the corner of your eye, you glance back again. Your mother stands near one of the sponsor tables. And beside her stands the tall, dressed in a sharply tailored charcoal suit man from before. His hair is streaked slightly with grey at the temples. One hand rests casually at your mother’s lower back as he leans down to murmur something into her ear.

Your jaw tightens as something bitter rises in your throat. You force yourself to look away before the anger shows too clearly on your face.

By the time you reach the volunteer station, the noise of your teammates bleeds back into focus. You position yourself near the edge of the table, pretending to check the list in front of you, but really just using the angle to steal another glance across the room.

Jungkook stands nearby. He’s the only one actually paying attention to what’s going on, scanning the room with quiet focus while the rest of the guys talk amongst themselves. His posture is alert, arms loosely folded and his gaze remains sharp.

His brows pull together slightly as he studies your face. He notices the way your gaze keeps drifting past him toward the far side of the hall, and the way the way your expression looks… unsettled.

Before Jungkook can comment anything, a voice cuts through the space.

“Wow.”

You stiffen instantly as a girl steps into view, stopping just in front of you.

She’s slightly taller than you, dressed in a sleek ivory blouse tucked into a high waisted black skirt that hugs her figure perfectly. A thin gold chain rests against her collarbone, catching the light every time she moves. Her hair falls in smooth waves over her shoulders, styled just enough to look intentional without seeming forced.

Your heart drops straight into your stomach at the recognition. Your face hardens immediately, lips pressing into a sharp frown as heat rises beneath your skin.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, voice low but edged with unmistakable anger.

Yoona tilts her head slightly, studying you like she’s taking inventory of every detail; your blazer, your posture, the way your shoulders have gone stiff.

“How are you, y/n?” she asks instead, voice smoot with a faint, sly smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she looks you up and down like she’s amused.

Her gaze lingers, clearly assessing you, before drifting past your shoulder, toward Jungkook.

You notice the subtle change in her gaze immediately once her expression changes, eyes sharpening with quiet interest as she takes him in shamelessly.

“I'm here with, you know… my mother,” she adds casually, voice dipped in something intentionally provocative. The words hit harder than they should.

’My’ mother.

Not our mother.

Your jaw tightens as your fingers curl slightly against your side. You refuse to look in the direction of the sponsor tables again, even though you can still feel the weight of that image burned into your mind.

Yoona shifts her weight slightly, her attention still lingering on Jungkook. “And you?” she asks lightly, eyes flicking back to you, though the curiosity in them feels anything but innocent. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Then without hesitation, her eyes return to Jungkook. This time, she doesn’t even try to hide her curiosity. “Who’s this?” she asks, voice smooth.

Something sharp and ugly twists in your chest when you observe the look on her face. You’ve seen it before, that same quiet fascination and interest with which she used to look at things that belonged to you.

Beside you, Jungkook hasn’t said a word yet, but you can feel his attention shift and his gaze moving between the two of you, picking up on the tension crackling in the air. Before he can introduce himself, the words slip out of your mouth faster than you can think.

“He’s my boyfriend,” you say sharply, possessive in a way that surprises even you.

The silence that follows after is heavy. The second the words leave your lips, you realize exactly what you just did.

Yoona’s brows lift slightly, her gaze snapping back to you. Surprise flickers there, but only briefly.

Then that smile returns. “Oh?” she hums softly. Her eyes flick between you and Jungkook, clearly measuring the space between you, the way you’ve unconsciously closed the distance.

“That’s new,” she adds, though the curiosity in her eyes sharpens into something more calculating. Your pulse pounds harder in your ears.

Yoona tilts her head slightly, her gaze lingering on Jungkook again “Well,” she says finally, voice light but edged, “you always did have interesting taste.” The comment lands like a challenge.

Then, unexpectedly, her expression softens just slightly though the shift feels rehearsed rather than genuine. “You know…” she continues, voice almost thoughtful. “I missed you. It’s been a while.”

You clench your fist at that. Yeah, you think bitterly. And whose fault is that? But none of that reaches your face. Instead, your lips curve into a polite smile, just sharp enough around the edges to be fake. “That’s sweet,” you reply, voice suddenly lighter and polished. “I’ve been… busy.” passive aggressive sweetness coats every word.

Yoona’s smile flickers slightly, as her gaze shifts again, this time settling more openly on Jungkook.

“I know who Jungkook is, by the way,” she says casually, like she’s dropping an afterthought into conversation.

You don’t look at him yet, “Do you?” you reply coolly. Yoona nods, her lips curving faintly. “We went to the same high school.”

Your eyes flick briefly toward Jungkook who hasn’t spoken once during this entire exchange. He just stands there beside you, posture relaxed yet watchful, taking everything in without interfering which somehow makes his presence feel heavier.

“Cool,” you say simply, tone clipped but neutral. Yoona hums softly, clearly amused by how controlled you’re trying to stay. Then, movement approaches from behind her.

You notice a familiar silhoutte first in your peripheral vision, stomach dropping before your mind even catches up.

Yoona turns slightly at the sound of approaching footsteps. “Yoona,” a familiar voice calls warmly. Your mother steps into view beside her, elegant as ever, expression bright with polite social warmth. She’s mid sentence when her gaze finally lifts and lands on you.

You notice the way she freezes just slightly as her expression shifts from casual composure to stunned stillness in the span of a single heartbeat.

“Y/n,” she says carefully, like testing how your name sounds after so long. Your lips press into a thin line. You don’t call her mom, not even out of habit. Her gaze lingers on you, scanning the sharpness of your face and the sharp lines of your blazer.

“I heard your speech,” she says after a moment, voice gentler now. “You did very well. It was… impressive.” The words hang there as a compliment. You nod once, “Thank you,” you reply with not a hint of warmth in your tone.

The brightness in her eyes dulls slightly, the warmth faltering for half a second from the stoic expression you give her. But just as quickly, she smooths it over, expression slipping back into its practiced composure. Before anything else can be said, Yoona steps closer to her side again.

And then, the man from earlier; her husband appears beside your mother. He steps beside them like this is the most natural arrangement in the world, hand resting lightly at your mother’s back. He doesn’t look at you, not even by accident, as though you were never part of the picture to begin with. “Come on,” he murmurs to them both.

Yoona glances at you one last time, that faint knowing look still lingering in her eyes. Then they turn, walking away as a family.

You don’t realize how hard you’re clenching your fists until your nails bite into your palms. Across from you, Jungkook notices the way your face flushes red. He watches them walk away, then looks back at you.

Without thinking, you grab his wrist. “Come,” you snap under your breath. Without waiting for an answer, you drag him away from the volunteer stand, ignoring the confused looks from your teammates as you pull him deeper into the backstage area, until you reach a narrow service corridor tucked behind the main stage.

It’s quieter here, lined with stacked equipment cases and unused props. You push open the nearest door without checking the label; an empty storage room filled with folded chairs and spare banners, and pull him inside with you. The door shuts behind you with a dull click.

Silence falls instantly once you let go of his wrist. Your chest rises and falls fast, pulse still pounding violently in your ears.

“…You okay?” he asks quietly. You let out a sharp breath instead of answering, pacing once across the cramped storage room, heels clicking against the floor. You hate that he saw that...that he saw you like that.

Behind you, Jungkook just watches, leaning back slightly against the closed door like he’s giving you space, but not leaving.

A few seconds pass before he finally speaks again. “So…” he says slowly. You stiffen at the tone, that faint edge of amusement creeping into his voice. Your eyes snap toward him. He tilts his head slightly, studying you with that same sharp, unreadable look.

“I’m your boyfriend now?” he asks casually. The words land heavy in the quiet room. Your jaw tightens instantly. “Shut up,” you snap, turning away from him again, arms folding tightly across your chest. But he doesn’t drop it.

“You said it pretty confidently back there,” he continues, unmistakably teasing. “Didn’t even hesitate.”

You glare at him over your shoulder. “I had to.”

“Oh?” His brow lifts slightly. “Had to?” You let out an irritated scoff, pacing once more, the anger inside you still simmering from what just happened outside.

“She was staring at you,” you mutter, the words coming out before you can stop them. Jungkook’s expression shifts slightly at that, something flickering briefly across his face. “And?” he asks.

You hesitate just for a second, as now that you’ve said it out loud, it sounds stupid. Petty and possessive even.

“She…” You exhale sharply through your nose, frustration bubbling over again. “She always takes things that are mine.”

The room goes quiet again after that. Jungkook straightens slightly from the door, the teasing edge fading just a fraction.

“…That why you dragged me in here?” he asks, voice quieter now.

You don’t answer immediately. Instead, you turn away, pressing your palm briefly against your forehead in an attempt to steady yourself.

“Don’t get used to it,” you mutter finally. “You’re obviously, not actually my boyfriend.” You roll your eyes, but your gaze lingers on him longer than intended once you notice how close he’s standing.

Your chest tightens slightly. Not from anger this time, but something sharper, “How do you and Yoona know each other?” you ask, your tone sharpening as you glare up at him.

Jungkook doesn’t answer immediately. His eyes hold yours for a second, studying you carefully, like he’s weighing down how much to say. “High school,” he replies finally.

Your eyes narrow slightly from irritation. “That’s it?”

He shrugs lightly, pushing himself off the door behind him. “We went to the same school.”

You scoff under your breath, folding your arms tighter across your chest. “You didn’t seem surprised to see her.” His gaze flickers briefly, something unreadable passing through his expression for a second before it settles again.

“I wasn’t,” he says evenly.

That answer does nothing to calm the knot forming in your stomach. Instead, it tightens. “And she seemed very comfortable recognizing you,” you add, voice quieter now but edged with irritation. “Almost like you two were… familiar.”

Jungkook exhales slowly through his nose, gaze drifting briefly toward the stacked chairs beside you before returning to your face. “We knew each other,” he says.

Past tense. You catch the careful wording he uses immediately.

Your jaw tightens again. “knew,” you repeat slowly.

He nods once.“Yeah.”

Silence stretches between you again. You hate how vague he’s being. Hate even more that it bothers you this much.

Your fingers tap once against your arm, restless. “Were you friends?” you press.

This time, Jungkook hesitates, just for half a second, but you see it. That tiny pause hits harder than any answer could. “…Not really,” he says.

Your eyes narrow once again, irritation rising fast to cover the uncomfortable heat building in your chest. “Great,” you mutter dryly. “That’s reassuring.”

Jungkook watches you carefully now, his gaze sharper than before. “You jealous?” he asks suddenly.

The question hits like a spark to gasoline. You let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “Of her?”

You step closer without realizing it, glaring up at him. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But the way your voice tightens and the way your shoulders stiffen, says otherwise. Jungkook just watches you carefully, completely unfazed by the attitude. “Didn’t say you were,” he replies calmly. “Just asked.”

You scoff, folding your arms tighter across your chest, forcing your expression into something unimpressed even though your pulse has started climbing again. “Why would I be jealous?” you shoot back, your tone defensive. “It’s not like I like you or anything. We only sleep together.”

The words leave your mouth carelessly, and the second they hang in the air, you regret letting them out.

Jungkook stills. For a split second, he just watches you, dark eyes fixated on your face like he’s weighing something. Then he exhales softly through his nose, like he’s holding back a reaction.

“Yeah,” he says finally, voice low. “Exactly.”

He takes one step forward. You don’t move.

“We only sleep together,” he repeats, quieter now, but there’s something different in his tone this time.

Another step.

Your back meets the wall before you even realize you’ve retreated. He stops just inches away, one hand braced beside your shoulder, blocking your escape without actually touching you. The space between you shrinks until the air feels heavy and hard to breathe through.

“So why,” he continues, tilting his head slightly, gaze dropping to your lips before dragging back up to your eyes, “did you feel the need to announce I’m your boyfriend back there?”

Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out. You hate this. The way he’s standing over you, calm and unbothered, like he’s waiting for you to trip over your own words.

“I didn’t feel the need,” you snap, even though your voice comes out tighter than you want. “I just didn’t want her–” You stop yourself too late.

His eyes sharpen immediately. “Didn’t want her what?” he presses quietly.

You swallow. Your heart is beating so hard you can feel it in your throat now. “Nothing,” you mutter. “You’re reading too much into it.”

He clicks his tongue softly, leaning just a fraction closer. “Funny,” he murmurs. “Because you looked pretty jealous to me.”

Your head snaps up. “I was not jealous,” you fire back, voice rising despite yourself.

“You don’t like me,” he says slowly. “We only sleep together.” His voice drops lower with each word. “So why do you care?”

Your pulse pounds in your ears. “I don’t,” you insist, but your voice betrays you as it comes out too defensive. He studies you for another second, gaze dragging across your face like he’s trying to peel you open layer by layer.

Before you can fire back another response, a sudden knock hits the door.

You both freeze. A voice follows almost immediately after. “y/n?” Lina’s voice filters through the door, slightly breathless. “They’re looking for you. The next segment is starting.”

Reality crashes back into place all at once. You jerk slightly, breath catching like you’ve just been pulled out of something dangerous.

Jungkook steps back immediately, his hand dropping from the wall, expression smoothing into something unreadable. You close your eyes for half a second, drawing in a slow breath, forcing the heat in your chest to settle.

“Coming,” you call back, your voice steady despite the chaos still buzzing under your skin.

When you open your eyes again, you intentionally avoid looking at Jungkook. Instead, you focus on smoothing down the front of your blazer, fingers brushing as if erasing every trace of this conversation.

You turn slightly, angling yourself toward the door, but pause just long enough to speak, voice low, meant only for him.

“Not a word about this,” you mutter, still refusing to look at him, because you have a feeling that if you do, you won’t look nearly as untouchable as you’re trying to be.

By the time the last announcements are made and the final applause fades, you realize that despite the chaos, the hungover frat boys, and the moments where you wanted to scream, the event turned out to be a success.

Most of the credit, of course, belongs to you. Your speech had gone off without a hitch, and surprisingly even the volunteers had done their part. Lina hovered nearby, quietly helping you wrap up, keeping the team organized, while Minho and Jungkook corralled the less competent guys.

By the time you actually needed them to act professional, they’d finally sobered up enough to follow orders.

You get a few pats on the shoulder, and a few compliments: some about your poise, some about your dedication to the youth development initiative, and occasional remarks. Your team starts gathering their things, buzzing about how “successful” the event was, when someone casually suggests celebrating.

The thought of letting loose after today; after the awkward confrontation with your mom, after seeing Yoona, after juggling the drunk chaos backstage, the tense near-argument with jungkook, suddenly feels almost necessary.

You want something strong, something to wash down the tension still stuck in your chest.

The club is loud, music already pounding through the speakers by the time you step inside. People are packed together on the dance floor while others crowd around the bar.

You didn’t come dressed like you were earlier. Sometime between leaving the venue and getting here, you changed into a dress instead, the fabric hugging you in all the right places, paired with heels that click sharply against the floor as you make your way further inside. Your hair is fixed, makeup flawless and not a single detail out of place.

Lina spots you first. “Finally,” she says, appearing beside you with a drink already in hand. “I thought you bailed on us.”

You exhale quietly, slipping onto the stool beside her at the bar. “Not yet,” you mutter.

The bartender walks over, and you don’t even need to think about it. “Two shots,” you say, glancing briefly at Lina. “Make it strong.”

Lina raises a brow but doesn’t argue. If anything, she looks like she expected that. “You okay?” she asks, quieter now.

You shrug, pretending to focus on the bar instead of the question. “I’m fine.”

You’re not. But you don’t feel like explaining that right now.

The shots arrive, and you pick one up immediately, barely hesitating before throwing it back. The burn hits your throat fast, sharp enough to distract you from everything else running through your head.

You reach for the second glass, and suddenly feel someone step into the space beside you. Your body tenses instantly, shoulders stiffening before you even turn your head.

You already know who it is. You glance sideways, Jungkook stands there, leaning casually against the bar. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t even acknowledge your presence. Like you’re just another person standing there.

You glare at him openly, heat rising in your chest at the sheer audacity of it. You’re just about to say something, when a loud burst of laughter cuts through the music again.

Your head turns toward the sound, and the moment your eyes land on her, your stomach drops.

Yoona stands near the center of the room, surrounded by people like she naturally drifted there without effort. Laughing easily, head tilted slightly as someone says something to her, her expression warm and inviting in that way that always made people gravitate toward her.

What the hell is she doing here?

Your gaze drags over her appearance before you can stop yourself. She looks polished in the same effortless way you do. Her dress is sleek and fitted, paired with heels that look just as costly as yours. Her jewellery is minimal but obviously high end, catching the club lights when she moves.

Your grip tightens around your drink as you watch her laugh again, greeting people like she knows half the room. Someone leans in to hug her. She smiles at all of them, slipping into conversations easily.

You swallow hard, forcing your expression to stay neutral even as irritation curls tighter inside you. The music pounds around you, but your focus stays locked on her, while Jungkook’s eyes quietly linger on you from the side.

Yoona’s gaze sweeps across the room casually at some point, drifting from face to face without much thought, until it stops, not on you, on Jungkook.

You see it happen in real time, the flicker of recognition settling across her face as her smile shifts into something sharper.

Your eyes slide sideways toward Jungkook automatically, only to find him still leaning against the bar like nothing in the world could possibly bother him. When you look back, yoona is already starting to walk toward you.

Your pulse picks up with every step she takes. You lift your glass again, taking another drink, barely tasting it as heat spreads through your chest.

From the other side, Lina leans closer to you, raising her voice slightly over the music. “Hey, y/n, you have a ride home, right?”

You glance at her, distracted. “Why?”

“I’m leaving early with Minho and a few others,” she says, brushing her hair back, looking mildly stressed. “It’s still a half hour drive back to the city, and if we don’t leave soon, we’re going to get stuck in insane traffic tomorrow morning.”

You hum faintly, only half listening as your eyes drift back toward Yoona again. “And we still have to drop off all our stuff once we get back,” Lina says. “I’m not waking up early to deal with that mess tomorrow.”

You nod faintly, still watching the shifting crowd, your fingers tightening slightly around your glass. “Okay,” you say, voice steady despite the dullness simmering in your chest. “Just text me when you get back.”

Lina nods once. “You too. Don’t stay too late.”

Before you can respond, Minho steps into view. He looks far more put together than he did that morning. His gaze moves between you and Lina first before shifting toward Jungkook.

“Hey,” Minho says, leaning slightly closer so he doesn’t have to shout over the music. “You heading out soon?”

Jungkook glances at him, calm as ever. “In a bit.” Minho nods once, then adds, “You have your car?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook replies easily. “I do. Got a few things to take care of before I leave.”

There’s a brief pause after that. Minho’s gaze flicks between you and Jungkook, like he’s noticing something he can’t quite place.

You force your expression into something neutral, like nothing about this moment feels strange. “Drive home safely,” you say, directing it mostly at Lina, though your gaze briefly flicks to Minho. “Text when you reach.”

Lina nods again. “We will.” Minho gives a short nod as well before stepping back, gesturing for Lina to follow him. Within seconds, they disappear into the shifting crowd.

For a moment, you just stand there, staring at nothing in particular. By the time you clear your throat and shift your weight slightly, Yoona has already fallen into step in front of you, close enough that there’s no pretending this isn’t intentional.

Up close, she looks even more polished than before, like she stepped straight out of some luxury campaign.

Her gaze lands on you first. “Well,” she says, voice smooth despite the noise around you. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

Your lips press into a thin line. You don’t respond immediately. Her eyes move between you and Jungkook again, slower this time, like she’s studying a puzzle she just solved. “You know…” she says thoughtfully, tapping a finger lightly against her glass. “I didn’t really recognize him at first.”

Your shoulders stiffen slightly. “But now I do,” she continues, her lips curving faintly. “Jungkook and I used to be classmates.”

Your stomach tightens. “He was always quiet,” she adds casually, glancing at him again like she’s recalling old memories. “Top of the class, teachers loved him. Barely spoke to anyone though.”

You don’t miss the way she says it, like she knows a version of him you don’t. Then her gaze slides back to you.

“But you?” she continues, voice loaded underneath. “You dating someone like him is… unexpected.”

You force your lips into something polite. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask.

Yoona shrugs slightly, like she didn’t just light a match. “Nothing,” she says sweetly. “Just… I remember how you used to be.”

She tilts her head, studying your reaction carefully. “You were never the type to actually stick around,” she continues, her voice soft enough to sound harmless, but loud enough that Jungkook can hear every word. “You got bored easily, moved on fast.”

Your grip tightens around your glass. She’s doing it on purpose. “You didn’t really date,” she adds, lips curling faintly. “Not seriously, anyway.”

Heat rushes up your neck, but you force yourself to keep your expression steady. You refuse to let her see you crack, refuse to let Jungkook see you react.

Yoona only smiles faintly, clearly satisfied she hit something. “I just didn’t think you’d actually settle down with someone like him,” she adds, eyes flicking toward Jungkook again. “Someone… serious.”

Silence hangs heavy between the three of you. And just when the tension threatens to snap, you feel a hand settling against your lower back.

Your breath catches slightly at the unexpected contact. You didn’t ask him to do that, didn’t even know if he would play along. Jungkook’s fingers rest against your waist, pulling you just slightly closer to his side, like this is something he does all the time.

His voice, when he finally speaks, is calm. “Is that a problem?” he asks.

And suddenly, you’re not the one being cornered anymore.

“Well… I hope not,” Yoona says, caught slightly off guard by his directness. She turns her attention back to you, sly smile. “I’m happy for you, y/n, really. You both look good together.”

She pauses for just a beat, eyes glinting with a touch of mischief. “You should introduce him to mom one day.”

The words hit like a splash of cold water as heat flares in your ears. You want to lash out, but the hand on your waist keeps you tethered, forcing the tiniest semblance of composure.

Yoona glances between the two of you once more, before she finally turns, drifting back into the crowd. You watch her go, fingers clenching around your glass until your knuckles ache.

The alcohol you’d taken earlier suddenly feels too little. Your body hums with frustration as you tip your glass back again, letting the burn spread through your chest, your mind locked on the tail of Yoona’s departing figure.

Across the room, Yoona is still watching, like she’s waiting for something. The anger, the possessiveness, the frustration, it all spikes through you at once.

“Jungkook,” you mutter, voice low, a growl hiding in the syllables. You tap him lightly on the chest, heat in your eyes. “Kiss me.”

He blinks, almost like he’s surprised by the command, eyes flicking to you, “Excuse me?” he murmurs, slow, “I said...kiss me,” you snap, stepping closer. Frustration coils tight in your chest, desperation lacing your movements. “Now.”

His eyes darken just enough to make your pulse spike. He doesn’t move fast enough for you. Fine. Then you do it. You reach up, grip his face with one hand, and pull him down. Your lips crash against his in a sharp, reckless claim.

The world around you dissolves. The bass of the music, the crowd, nothing matters. There’s only the heat and the bite of your own desire mixing with anger.

His hand moves eventually, landing on your waist, pressing you closer to him. He doesn’t resist you, and the way he holds you unflinching, makes the reckless pulse in your chest flare hotter.

No one notices. Everyone is lost in their own world of music and lights. When you finally break apart, chest heaving, he leans just close enough to murmur, “You know this is dangerous, right?”

“Mm,” you murmur, a low, defiant hum, swaying slightly from the alcohol and the tension, “I don’t care.”

And then your gaze snaps back toward Yoona, still lingering from across the room. Her eyes flick away immediately, and you feel a small, sharp thrill at the reaction.

The club spins slightly around you, neon lights slicing through the haze of music and alcohol. You feel the tipsiness creeping higher, legs wobbling just a little, and instinctively, your hand drifts to Jungkook’s shoulder, gripping it lightly as your eyes stay fixed on the floor.

He notices the slight sway in your stance and the flush in your cheeks. Without a word, he slides a steadying hand to your lower back, guiding you through the crowd with a careful firmness that leaves no room for argument.

You murmur something incoherent, perhaps a protest about still being able to walk on your own, but he doesn’t respond. His presence alone keeps you upright, and keeps anyone else from brushing too close.

“I can walk!” you snap, voice slurring slightly, heat creeping into your cheeks as your pulse spikes. “I’m fine, Jungkook, I don’t need–”

You nearly scream when he lets you go for a fraction of a second, and you stumble, catching yourself against a nearby railing. Reflexively, your hand shoots out for him again.

He clicks his tongue, and it pulls a small laugh out of him despite the situation.

Before you can topple completely, his arm snakes around your waist, steadying you with effortless strength. “Careful,” he mutters, guiding you toward the elevator. His touch is a quiet assertion of control that makes your pulse spike even more.

You glare up at him, frustration boiling in your chest. “I don’t need you holding me,” you snap, leaning slightly away even though your legs wobble.

He doesn’t budge, only tilts his head, eyes sharp. “Clearly you do,” he says, voice teasing but edged with authority. “So let’s get you somewhere safe before you fall flat on your face.”

You huff, trying to argue again, but the warmth of his hand on your back and the way he subtly guides you through the crowd, makes your words falter. You grit your teeth, annoyed at how easily he’s making you depend on him, even for something as simple as standing upright.

Jungkook guides you inside the elevator, his hand brushing lightly against your back, steadying you without a word. The doors slide shut behind you with a quiet thud, leaving the two of you in the confined space. You lean against the wall opposite him, crossing your arms as if to shield yourself from the heat prickling through your chest.

Your lips still tremble faintly from the kiss, and though every part of you aches to lean in again, you refuse to give in, forcing your gaze to stay lowered instead.

He stands across from you, one hand casually resting against the wall. It’s obvious to both of you what’s left unsaid, the tension buzzing in the air louder than any music outside.

You finally break the silence, voice low but edged with something you don’t quite want to admit. “So… was Yoona… your ex or something?” The words slip out before you can stop them, more curious than accusatory in its intent, though the tightness in your chest betrays a flicker of something else.

He quirks an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly, that smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Ex? No,” he says quietly, almost teasing. “We knew each other.”

Oh.

“Like… how we know each other?” The words slip out before you can stop them, casual on your tongue but heavier than you realize.

You’re not asking if he went to the same school or had a class with her. You’re asking if there was… something. Something you can’t even admit you crave and hate at the same time.

His gaze darkens instantly, and the air seems to thicken around you. He steps closer, closing the space between you in a way that leaves no room for escape. You shift slightly, backing against the wall, though the space is small and he’s already loomed over you.

“Mm,” he murmurs low, almost a hum, as if he can hear your thoughts. “You really don’t like that idea, do you?”

You really don’t. Not at all. Not even a little.

“Like… how we know each other?” he repeats, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he drags out the tension, forcing the words you’ve been tiptoeing around into the open.

One hand leans against the wall beside your shoulder, cornering you just enough that the space between you vanishes. You can feel the heat in his gaze, the unspoken question lingering in the curve of his lips: why does this bother you so much?

You could open your mouth to deny it; no feelings, just… whatever this means, but the words die in your throat. The truth hums beneath your ribcage, furious and undeniable.

“Answer me,” he murmurs low, standing closer now, his voice brushing against your ear. “Not about her. About this. About you and me. Why does it even bother you?”

You swallow, heat crawling up your neck, your hands clenching at your sides. “I…” you begin, voice sharp but trembling, “I don’t–”

“Don’t lie to me,” he interrupts, the smirk gone now and replaced by something more commanding, something suffocating in its intensity. He steps closer, chest nearly brushing yours, “You’re not good at hiding it. You never were.”

“You don’t like the thought of me with someone else,” he states, a quiet authority in every word that leaves no room for denial. His eyes don’t leave yours, and something in the way he tilts his head, almost daring you to explain yourself, makes your lips tremble.

“That’s not–” Your voice cracks on the lie before you can finish it. You swallow hard. “We’re not exclusive. We’re not anything. You can date whoever you want.”

He tilts his head, the smallest movement, but it feels like the whole elevator shifts with him. His gaze drops to your hands clenching at your sides, then back up. “Then why are your hands shaking right now?”

“They’re not.” They are.

“Look at me,” he murmurs.

You don’t. His hand lifts slow enough that you could slap it away if you really wanted to, and two knuckles graze the underside of your jaw, tilting your face up.

“Tell me again,” he says, voice wrapped steel, “that you don’t care.”

Your lips part. No sound comes out. His thumb drags once, very lightly, along the edge of your bottom lip tauntingly. Your breath hitches so violently causing your chest to brush his.

“Shut up,” you breathe, but it sounds more like a plea. “No.” His nose nudges yours. “Admit it first.”

Your hands fist in his shirt, half to shove him away, half to drag him closer. You don’t even know anymore. “I dont...” you hiss, voice trembling. “She’s probably your ex anyway, right? Another one of your little–”

“Nothing happened with Yoona,” he rasps, forehead pressed to yours. “Never touched her. Never wanted to. She’s full of shit, and you know it.”

Relief crashes through you like cool water on fevered skin. Your shoulders drop as the knot in your chest unravels so fast it almost hurts.

You hadn’t realized how tightly you were holding onto that thought; how badly the idea of him with her had clawed under your skin until it felt unbearable.

Your fingers tighten slightly around his shirt, as your gaze flickers up to meet his. There’s still heat there. Still that infuriating calm in his eyes that makes your pulse spike all over again.

“Good,” you mutter after a beat, voice rougher than you intend. He tilts his head slightly, studying you, “Good?” he repeats quietly.

You swallow, jaw tightening, refusing to let him see how relieved you actually are. “Yeah,” you say, lifting your chin slightly despite the way your heart is hammering. “Because I don’t like sharing.”

The words slip out before you can think of any consequences. They hang between you, heavy and impossible to take back. Before he can say anything else and make you explain something you’re not ready to admit, you grab the front of his shirt and pull him down to you impulsively.

Driven by something hotter than anger and far more dangerous than jealousy, your lips crash into his before you can think twice.

The kiss is slow at first, lips sliding, tongues brushing just enough to tease. Then it snaps. He licks into your mouth deep and filthy, swallowing the moan you can’t hold back. His thigh wedges between yours, pressing up hard, and you grind down onto it without thinking, chasing the pressure against your swollen clit through too many layers of fabric.

He groans low into your kiss when you rock harder, the sound vibrating straight down your spine. One hand drops to your ass, fingers digging in to guide your hips in a slow, delicious rhythm, making you ride his thigh like you’re already fucking him. The silk of your dress catches just right with every roll, sending sparks behind your eyes.

And then, just as quickly as the moment flares, you hear the soft chime of the elevator doors sliding open.

Reality intrudes. Both of you step back instinctively, breaking the proximity. You straighten and smooth your dress, cheeks burning, while he simply leans against the wall again.

You walk out of the elevator with your heart still thumping in your chest, and other places you’d rather not acknowledge as he follows a step behind you.

You turn on your heel before he can respond, brushing past him and heading toward the parking area with quick, uneven tipsy steps, heels clicking against the concrete.

A quiet laugh slips from him at the sight of you; still bossy and commanding, even while swaying slightly with every step. This time, though, he finds it oddly cute, the way you’re trying so hard to stay in control even when you’re clearly tipsy. He follows without question, like he already knows exactly where this is going.

By the time you reached the lounge entrance, the alcohol settled heavier in your system with every step. The quiet of the compound felt strange after the noise of the club, and the polished floors inside the private lounge reflected the soft golden lights overhead as Jungkook guided you forward.

The ride itself had been quieter than usual. You’d stretched your legs across the dashboard like you always did, ignoring the look he kept sending your way, your heels tapping lightly against the glass as city lights blurred past. At some point, it had clicked in your head, that you’d forgotten your pills back at home. Not your regular ones, the emergency ones.

The realization had caused you to nearly almost throw up in his car as you rushed him to pull over at the nearest pharmacy. You’d run out and hadn’t packed any for the trip… which, considering last night, had been reckless even for you.

What made it worse was the pharmacist. Jungkook had gone in alone at first, thinking he could just buy them and leave. But of course, it hadn’t been that simple. The pharmacist had insisted on seeing his “girlfriend” before handing over the morning-after pills.

You’d been forced to stumble inside after him, dizzy and irritated, forcing yourself to stand straight beside him while answering questions like everything was perfectly normal, like you and Jungkook weren’t pretending to be something you definitely weren’t. You’d even looped your arm through his without thinking, leaning into him just enough to sell the act, cheeks warm for reasons that had nothing to do with alcohol.

By the time you left the pharmacy, pills in hand, you’d decided that you weren’t going home. The thought of facing your father in that tipsy, emotional state, still burning from everything that had happened all day had made your chest tighten. So you’d told Jungkook to drive to your private lounge instead.

Now, as you stepped further inside, the dizziness hit again sharper this time. Your heel slipped slightly against the polished floor, and your fingers tightened around Jungkook’s sleeve. He steadied you without hesitation, his grip firm against your arm as he guided you deeper into the quiet space.

You remembered vaguely the last time you and Jungkook had been here.

The memory surfaced uninvited when your gaze flicked toward the couch for half a second before you immediately looked away again. “Upstairs,” you muttered instead, voice slightly thick from alcohol. “Take me upstairs.”

You moved toward the staircase on your own at first, gripping the railing as you started climbing. Each step felt slightly uneven beneath your heels, the room tilting just enough to make your balance unreliable. Still, stubborn as ever, you waved him off the moment his hand hovered near your arm. “I can walk,” you snapped, lifting your chin like you weren’t swaying slightly with every step.

He didn’t argue. He just followed a step behind you, close enough to catch you if you slipped. You stumbled once, twice, your heel catching against the edge of a step, but every time, his hand hovered just inches away.

Behind you, a quiet breath of amusement slipped from him. You hated that he found something about your clumsy attempts at control amusing. Cute, even.

By the time you reached your room, your pulse felt heavy in your ears. You pushed the door open, stepping inside and heading straight for the bed. The moment the mattress dipped beneath your weight, relief hit you all at once. Your head tilted back slightly as you exhaled, shoulders sinking as the room spun lazily around you.

Behind you, you heard him shift. You didn’t need to look to know that he was turning to leave. Your gaze snapped toward him instantly. “Wait,” you said,

He paused near the door, hand hovering near the handle, turning his head slightly to glance back at you. His expression was unreadable as always, like he hadn’t just followed you up two flights of stairs while you nearly tripped over yourself.

Your eyes narrowed faintly. “Don’t just walk out,” you muttered, voice quieter now, something playful slipping beneath the tension despite the lingering irritation still buzzing through you.

Your gaze dropped briefly to your feet, then back to him again. “My heels,” you said, lifting one foot slightly toward him in silent demand.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, he stepped forward.

The mattress dipped slightly as he lowered himself, kneeling in front of you without a word. His fingers wrapped around your ankle. You inhaled sharply before you could stop yourself.

Carefully, he slipped the first heel off your foot, easing it free with practiced precision. The relief came instant, your toes curling slightly against the soft fabric beneath you. His touch lingered just a second longer, before he set the heel aside.

His fingers closed around your other ankle, the pad of his thumb brushing the delicate knob of bone there. You felt the silk of your dress ride up another scant inch as you shifted. Then, playful and drunk, you lifted your newly freed leg and draped it over his broad shoulder.

The movement was slow enough to be teasing, fast enough to catch him off guard. His body locked. The silk pooled higher along your thigh until the hem barely skimmed the crease where leg met hip. You knew exactly what the angle gave him: the shadowed valley between your thighs, the thin lace that clung to you, already damp from the slow burn of the entire evening.

Jungkook’s jaw flexed. His gaze flicked down for one involuntary second, before he tore his eyes back to your face. The warning in them made you giggle softly, the sound fraying at the edges because the heat between your legs was turning liquid.

His shoulder felt hard and hot under the sole of your foot as you flexed your toes against the muscle there, just to feel him tense.

He exhaled through his nose, barely controlled. When his fingers returned to slide the second heel free, you didn’t wait. You swung your other leg up, trying to hook it over his opposite shoulder, caging his head completely between your thighs. The motion dragged the silk dress almost to your waist.

Your hands dove into his hair at the same moment, fingers twisting, ruffling the soft black strands as though you could pull him straight into you. Your breathing had shifted to shallow little pants that lifted your chest.

Jungkook caught your ascending thigh in a hard grip before you could complete the cage. His palm was wide, fingers digging into the soft flesh just above your knee.

“Kiss me,” you whispered as your cheeks burned from shock at the boldness that came out of you. Your lips felt swollen even though he hadn’t touched them yet.

Your fingers tightened in his hair. “Please, Jungkook.”

His throat worked. You watched the muscle jump, watched the war play out behind his eyes, the want in them burning so vicious it made his hands tremble where they held you.

You could see it in the way his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek as though he were already tasting you. But he didn’t move. Slowly, agonizingly, he rose.

You whined at the loss of him between your thighs and lunged forward before he could get too far. Your mouth crashed into his, sloppy and desperate, all teeth and tongue. Your hands scrambled down his chest, nails catching on fabric, then lower, trying to guide one of his big hands between your legs, pressing his palm to the soaked lace so he could feel how swollen and slick you were.

He groaned into your mouth– low, before he caught your wrists and pinned them gently but firmly to your sides.

“We’re not doing this when you’re drunk,” he rasped against your lips. His voice sounded like it hurt to say. “Okay?”

For a second, you didn’t process the words. All you felt was the warmth of his breath against your mouth. A shy, tipsy smile curved your lips, cheeks already burning as the alcohol loosened something deep inside you.

You looked up at him with those soft doe eyes, pleading with drunken need, too embarrassed to say anything out loud but too horny to stop.

Your fingers trembled a little as you clutched the front of his shirt, gently tugging him closer instead of yanking. Jungkook’s breath hitched, but he let you pull him down until one knee rested on the mattress between your legs.

Emboldened by the haze in your head, shyly, almost timidly at first, you start rocking, shy rolls of your hips that dragged your dripping lace along his thigh. A soft, embarrassed whimper escaped you as you grew braver, the alcohol making everything feel warmer and more urgent.

Jungkook stayed perfectly still at first, letting you. His hands rested lightly on your waist as he watched your flushed face, the shy way your lips parted on every little moan, but then his grip tightened.

He caught your wrists gently but firmly, pinning them to your sides as he stood up straight again, pulling his thigh away from your aching core in one smooth motion.

He loomed over you now, tall and broad, breathing hard while you sat on the edge of the bed, legs still slightly spread, hips giving one last involuntary twitch at the sudden loss of friction.

Your brows pulled together instantly. “Don’t tell me what to do,” you snapped, voice thick, irritation flaring fast enough to cover the embarrassment creeping into your chest. You tugged against his hold, but he didn’t let go.

His jaw tightened. “You can barely stand,” he said, firmer. “You almost fell twice on the stairs.”

“I did not,” you shot back immediately, even though you very clearly had.

“You did,” he repeated calmly.

You glared at him, heat rushing to your face not just from the alcohol, not just from the kiss, but from the sheer audacity of him stopping you.

“You don’t get to decide that,” you muttered, voice dropping lower now, sharper. “We’ve done worse than this.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them.

His gaze darkened instantly. “You’re drunk,” he repeated slower, like he was forcing himself to stay steady. “And I’m not touching you like that when you’re like this.”

The firmness in his voice made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t expect. Not from the rejection, not really.

Something worse. Something that felt suspiciously like being… taken care of.

You hated that feeling.

Hated how your pulse stuttered at the realization that he wasn’t pushing you away. He was holding himself back. For you.

Your lips parted slightly, the anger still sitting on your tongue but dulling around the edges. Slowly, he loosened his grip on your wrists.

“You’re staying here,” he added quietly. “Sleeping it off.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, even though your heart was still beating too fast. A faint pout tugged at your lips as you blinked up at him, searching his face.

“Are you going to leave?” you asked, voice quieter now and lacking its usual bite.

He tilted his head slightly at that, studying you. “Do you want me to?” he asked in return.

You hesitated for half a second. “No.” The answer came out softer than expected.

Something in his expression shifted, unreadable, but he nodded once. “Okay,” he said simply. “Then I’ll stay.”

Without another word, he moved to the floor beside the bed, lowering himself until his back rested against the mattress.

You finally let yourself fall back onto the bed, exhaling heavily as the tension drained from your body. The silk of your dress had ridden up again, and you tugged it down absently over your thighs, smoothing the fabric into place before letting your hand drift to your forehead.

Your breathing was still uneven. For a while, you just lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling, letting the dizziness fade little by little. The quiet of the room felt unfamiliar, just the faint sound of your own breathing and his steady presence beside the bed.

Time passed without you really noticing. Eventually, you shifted, rolling onto your side. Now you were facing his back.

From where you lay, you could see the shape of his head, the broad line of his shoulders, the way he sat there without moving, exactly where he said he’d be.

Your lips parted slightly before you even realized it. “Jungkook…”

He hums quietly in response, not turning around yet. Just acknowledging you, “Mm?”

“Are you asleep?” you asked, voice softer now like you weren’t sure if you actually wanted an answer.

A small pause followed, before a quiet huff of breath left him, something nearly close to a suppressed laugh. “No,” he said simply.

You shifted slightly on the bed, the sheets rustling faintly beneath you as you adjusted your head on the pillow. Your eyes stayed fixed on the back of his shoulders, tracing the outline of them through the dim lighting as another brief silence settled between you.

You swallowed. “Then why are you so quiet?” you muttered, a faint frown pulling at your lips. “It’s weird.”

He let out another slow breath, shoulders rising and falling once. “You told me to stay,” he replied calmly. “Not talk.”

You rolled your eyes at that, even though he couldn’t see it. Your fingers curled slightly into the bedsheet as you watched him.

Silence settled between you again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, just lingered heavy in the air like there were still too many things sitting on your tongue, waiting to be said.

Your gaze drifted toward the ceiling instead. But your mind wasn’t there. It kept pulling you back, to the club, Yoona, to the way her smile curled, to the way your chest had tightened the second you saw her.

Your fingers tightened slightly into the sheet. “Jungkook…” you said again, quieter this time.

“Yeah?”

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry. The words sat heavy and stubborn behind your teeth as you hesitated for a beat, but once they started pushing forward, there was no stopping them.

“Yoona…” you murmur, almost as if testing how the name sounds on your tongue, “she’s... my step sister,” you whisper, voice barely above the hum of the air conditioning.

Saying it aloud feels like letting go of something heavy as for the first time, you put it into someone else’s ears.

Jungkook hums softly, straightening slightly on the floor, his eyes attentive even though you refuse to meet them. You turn your face toward the ceiling instead, unwilling to let him see how raw it is.

“That woman you saw earlier,” you continue, dragging the words out slowly, “the one who approached her while she was talking to me… that was my mother.”

You pause, letting the silence fill in around the words. “Yoona used to be my best friend. Before I… found out she was my step sister.” You squeeze your eyes shut briefly, memory crawling under your skin.

“We did everything together. Went everywhere together. Wore the same dresses. I’d let her play with my toys when she didn’t have any of her own…” You laugh bitterly, that almost tastes like old anger. “…and I didn’t know I was… just letting her take everything from me.”

Your chest tightens as the rant continues, “All the time I wanted her to be my friend… she wanted to be me. Take my things, my… everything.”

Your fingers curl into the sheets beneath you. The memory twists again. “…Then the divorce. My father found out about my mom’s… affair. And Yoona? She already knew. Knew who my mother was, and she said nothing. Nothing at all.”

You take a sharp breath, tasting it in your throat. “Didn’t even blink when my mother left me to be with… with her. With her father. Didn’t care about our friendship. Didn’t care that I was left behind. Just… took my mom.”

The words hang between you now, heavy and raw. You finally let your eyes drift toward him, fleeting just enough to check if he’s still listening. His expression doesn’t judge, it just… holds you quietly.

You exhale, letting some of the weight drain from your chest, but not all. “And tonight… seeing her there, talking to you, acting like she knows something about you, something I don’t…” Your voice falters, and you turn back to the ceiling again, swallowing hard. “…I just… I hate it.”

Jungkook doesn’t move. He just shifts slightly, the faint scrape of his clothing against the floor the only sound, and it’s enough to not make you feel so small, so exposed and so angry and sad all at once.

“And about what she said earlier…” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut as if speaking it aloud will hurt less that way. “About me… not being serious with guys… she’s not wrong.”

Your chest tightens as the words tumble out unevenly. “The guys I date… they don’t know me. They get attracted to me, to my wealth, to the idea of me, the perfect image. But…” You hesitate, throat tight. “It doesn’t… it doesn’t fill anything. It doesn’t reach the part of me that actually… wants to be seen.”

You open your eyes just slightly, catching the edge of his gaze, and something in his stillness makes it easier to speak. “Nobody ever… takes the time. Nobody tries to know me piece by piece. And if they do… they always end up disappointed, or I disappoint them. I…” Your voice falters, and you blink rapidly, ashamed but craving to be understood. “…I just… I get lonely...Even with all of it.”

You let out a shaky breath, and it drifts naturally into something more raw, because it’s not just emotional, your body remembers the same thing. “And… and sex,” you admit quietly, almost like you’re letting a secret out to the room instead of just him.

“It… never interested me. Not really. Nobody ever tried to… to figure out what actually… makes me feel… anything. They just…” You pause, shoulders rising slightly. “…they just expect it to be enough. And it’s never enough. I was never… touched the way I needed to be touched. Never kissed where it actually mattered. Never looked at like…”

The confession hangs between you, almost intimate in the way the air seems to thicken. The sentence fractures as you feel the heat crawl up your throat. Because you’re lying. Not entirely, but enough.

You have been seen.

You have been unraveled.

You remember Jungkook’s mouth, tracing the places no one else ever bothered to linger. The way his fingers would pause, waiting for the hitch in your breath before they moved again, learning you like he refused to rush.

You remember how he’d groan low against your throat when you arched into his hand, not because he was chasing his own release, but because your pleasure seemed to feed his. You remember the way his rhythm would falter, every single time, when your eyes locked in the middle of it, like he was afraid of what he’d find there and still couldn’t look away.

You pretend you don’t notice everytime it happens.

You pretend the memory doesn’t live under your skin right now, pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

You can feel him there, listening to you in the silence. The knowledge that he could see all of you, the real, lonely and messy parts you always hide, makes your pulse spike.

“I’ve… never been in love,” you admit quietly, voice trembling just slightly. “I know nothing about it. I’ve never… I’ve never been brave enough, or… or had the chance to trust anyone that much.”

Your gaze drifts to the ceiling, hands tangling in the sheets, clenching and unclenching as if it steadies you. There’s also a strange relief in finally letting the raw truth out.

Jungkook shifts just a fraction closer, watching you with those quiet, unreadable eyes.

Now he knows. He knows why you push him away when he tries to get close. He knows the fear hiding behind your sharp edges, your bratty deflection. And now… hearing you like this, open and fragile, it makes him question what he is to you.

“What about you… Jungkook?” Your voice is almost hesitant, like dipping a toe into dangerous waters. “Have you… ever been in love?”

Silence stretches for a moment. You expect an answer, maybe something simple or dismissive even, but he doesn’t give you that. Instead, you hear the faint shift of fabric as he adjusts slightly against the floor.

“You just told me,” he says quietly, voice low and even, “that you don’t trust anyone.”

Your fingers tighten slightly into the bedsheet. He continues before you can interrupt, “That you keep people at a distance,” he adds. “That the men you date don’t know you, don’t even try to.”

“And now,” he murmurs, voice softer but sharper somehow, “you’re asking me about love.”

Your jaw tightens. You don’t answer him, because you don’t know how to.

A quiet breath leaves him, almost thoughtful. “That’s not a random question,” he continues, “Not after everything you just said.”

That one stings. Not because it’s cruel, but because it’s accurate.

“You push people away before they get close,” he adds. “Make sure they never see enough to stay.” Your throat tightens.

“So why ask me that now?” he finishes, voice dropping slightly. “What made you think about love… just now?”

Silence settles again, heavy and personal this time. And the worst part is, you don’t feel attacked...you just feel seen.

Which is somehow worse.

Your throat tightens slightly, and you turn your face further into the pillow, avoiding his back, his shoulders, the way he’s still sitting there like he hasn’t just peeled something open inside you.

Silence stretches too long. Your throat feels too tight, like the words are stuck somewhere between your chest and your mouth.

“…Because I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like,” you mutter finally, voice so low it is almost swallowed by the quiet of the room. The admission hangs there, raw and ugly, honest in a way you hate.

You shut your eyes briefly, jaw tightening like you already regret saying it.

“I didn’t say I don’t let people close,” you add after a moment, more defensive now, irritation creeping back into your tone like armor snapping into place.

Your fingers curl into the sheets beneath you. “…You’re still here, aren’t you?”

The words slip out before you can stop them.

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

“I am.”

You swallow slowly, staring at the back of his head, at the broad line of his shoulders. “…You didn’t answer,” you murmur after a moment, less defensive this time. “My question.”

Your throat tightens slightly before you force the words out again. “Have you… ever been in love?”

This time, the question sounds different, more careful. Like you’re afraid of the answer, but want it anyway.

He shifts slightly, the faint sound of fabric brushing against the floor breaking the quiet, long enough to make your pulse pick up again.

“…No,” he says finally.

Your brows knit faintly. That answer surprises you more than you expected... Not because you thought he had, but because the way he said it didn’t sound bitter.

Another breath leaves him slowly. “But I know what it shouldn’t feel like,” he adds after a moment. That makes your fingers still, but you don’t interrupt.

“It shouldn’t feel like pretending,” he continues quietly. “Or proving something to someone, or keeping score.”

Another small silence settles between you. Then, softer, “And it shouldn’t feel lonely,” he finishes.

That one hits the hardest when you realize that’s exactly what all your past relationships felt like... lonely. You don’t respond right away.

For the first time…you’re wondering if what you feel when you’re with him

is the opposite of lonely.

The thought unsettles you more than it should. You shift slightly on the bed, the silk of your dress rustling faintly as you pull the blanket higher over yourself, suddenly aware of how tired your body feels. Your head still spins faintly, the alcohol dulling the sharp edges of everything you’ve just said.

“…Jungkook,” you murmur again after a while, voice softer now.

He hums quietly in response, still facing away and sitting there like he promised he would.

“…Don’t tell anyone,” you mutter finally, voice rough with exhaustion. “About tonight.”

A pause. “About yoona, about any of it.”

You don’t look at him when you say it. Another quiet beat passes before his voice comes, steady as ever.

“I won’t.”

Your breathing slows, growing heavier as sleep begins to creep in at the edges of your thoughts. You watch the outline of his shoulders blur slightly as your eyes grow heavier and your lashes finally fell shut.

The room settled into silence. Jungkook sat there with his back against the side of your bed, listening to the steady rhythm of your breathing behind him, deepening with every passing second. The tension that had coiled tight between the two of you all night had finally loosened, melting into the quiet hum of the room.

Eventually, he shifted, just enough to glance over his shoulder to meet your frame where you lay half curled into the sheets, silk twisted carelessly around your legs while your hair spilled across the pillow in uneven strands. Your cheeks were still flushed faintly pink from the alcohol, lips parted slightly as your breathing deepened into sleep.

He stared at the loose strand of hair that had fallen across your face, then reached back without thinking, fingers brushing lightly against your temple as he tucked it behind your ear. You stirred faintly but didn’t wake. His hand lingered there a moment, before he pulled back.

His jaw tightened faintly as he stood. Your dress had ridden up slightly while you slept, silk messily bunched unevenly at your thighs. He frowned, tugging the fabric back into place, smoothing it down so it fell properly again before his attention shifted around the room.

This wasn’t your main bedroom, he could tell that much. He stepped away from the bed slowly, gaze drifting across the room as he took in the sleek desk, the flawless shine of surfaces that looked cold in the way perfection often was. Even the air felt conditioned into quiet luxury, untouched by the chaos of everyday living.

You were the only thing in the room that looked lived in. Soft, like you didn’t belong to the sharp edges surrounding you.

Then, his phone buzzed, the sound slicing cleanly through the quiet. He frowned slightly, pulling it from his pocket, already lowering the brightness before glancing at the screen.

Minho.

That alone made him straighten. He cast one quick look back toward the bed, making sure you were still asleep before answering. You hadn’t moved, one arm tucked loosely beneath the pillow.

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

He listened in silence, his expression tightening just slightly as the voice on the other end continued. Whatever Minho was saying, it wasn’t casual.

“…When did that happen?” he asked under his breath.

Another pause followed, longer this time as his gaze drifted back toward you again, lingering for a second as if weighing something, before he exhaled slowly through his nose. “Alright,” he murmured at last. “I’ll come.”

He ended the call and stood there for a moment, staring at the dim screen in his hand as the silence returned to the room. But it no longer felt the same. Something had shifted.

After a second, he turned back toward you, still unguarded in a way you never allowed yourself to be while awake... Like warmth had been placed carefully into a room that didn’t know what to do with it.

The blanket had slipped slightly from your shoulder again, exposing your collarbone. He stepped closer and pulled the fabric back into place, smoothing it down.

He withdrew his hand immediately after, jaw tightening faintly as he straightened again. He watched you for a second longer than he intended, something unreadable passing briefly across his face before he turned away.

Without another sound, he walked toward the door, opened it carefully, and stepped outside. He paused only once, glancing back into the room, before closing the door behind him with quiet finality.

By morning, the silence he left behind would feel louder than the door itself, and you wouldn’t remember the way he stayed, only the way he left.

note: i might write oneshots between updates as i’ve sooo many ideas and also cus im at a veryy jungkook time of my life

🖇tags!!<33 @magicalnachocreator @jungkookgoodlookin @cherricherryy @cookysstuff @oopscoop @smoljimjim @mar-lo-pap @jeonmaleficent @albascardigan @kissintae @yama24 @rxouls @fxirytaetae @httpjeonlicious @mi-mi-7 @satisfied18 @sleepymochiiii @shadowofhearts21 @bjoriis @nikkinit @tina-20 @yopjm @junecat18 @jungkookgoodlookin @berryonasummerevening @kooklv @curiousswordarcade @leathrndlace @avawants2havefun @mninotjungkook @tastykookoonut @iscapisms @lilbitcherries @j0cgr0c @amarissaps @hagridshaircare @cherryreadsfics @taehyungseggs

[vsthv]

we drunk fucking? — jungkook one shot

boyfriend!jungkook x fem!reader. smut, silly happenings. “be quiet”, drunk selves, pussy eating, blowjob. tw: swearing, oral sex.

“fuck right there.” you moaned, your legs held wide with your own arms as his tongue pressed into your clit. his cold piercing made contact with your wet folds, the sensation driving you insane.

his tongue knew your weakest points, dragging it along your pussy in long stripes with perfectly applied pressure. reaching your entrance, his tongue pushed into you with no hesitation, his nose now deep in your puffy folds.

his hips thrusted down into the bed, his restrained cock needing friction if it wasn’t inside you. pulling away with a string of your arousal and his saliva following, he giggled before licking your folds and rubbing his mouth all over you, his chin now covered in your wetness.

he climbed back up towards you, kissing his way up your body before stopping at your breasts. he eyed your mounds before briefly enveloping your nipple in his mouth, playfully sucking it and licking it gently, his chin spreading your own arousal.

your hands made their way to his hair, fingers lost and pulling at its messiness. he faced you, breathing heavy as his mouth had been occupied.

“you’re wild.”

“it wouldn’t be fun if I wasn’t.” he grinned, his eyes piercing into yours.

wanting to challenge him, you smiled. “I can be wild too, y’know.” fingers traveling to his chest, nails slightly scratching his perfect skin.

“show me.” he moaned, licking a long stripe up your neck before letting you go. making your way on top of him, you palmed his erection restrained in his boxers. he watched as you kneeled in from of him, laying down as he knew what was coming.

you placed your tongue on his outlined cock, your hand taking him with along with the thin fabric. leading up to his tip, you tasted his already flowing precum, a wet spot adorning the expensive calvin klein pair.

“fuck,” he muttered, his hand finding its way to your head, wrapping your hair around his hand to push you into him, his hips uncontrollably thrusting upwards a few times.

one thing about jungkook, he’s vocal. your free hand tapped knee, your eyes warning him to keep quiet, his friends were just across the hall, one of them next door.

he grinned at your expression, bringing a pillow to his mouth and biting it down, his smug smile not disappearing.

the teasing taste of his precum made you run out of patience, freeing his cock from the barrier of his. he was hard, red, and leaking. even after having sex multiple times, you’ll never get used to his girth.

your tongue swirled his heated head, pushing it against his hole as more arousal oozed out. licking your hand, you spread the moist on his length.

letting go of the pillow, he reached for the bottle of beer on the nightstand, brining it to his lips as he drank what was left. he sighed, hissing as the liquid made its way down his throat, placing it back on the nightstand with

taking him in all the way in, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat. you whine, almost gagging, sending a vibration.

he chuckled, licking his teeth as his hand gripped your hair tighter, signaling you to bob your head. so you did.

your hand fisted what your mouth couldn’t take, hollowing your cheeks and licking the sides of his cock with a flat tongue.

“fuck you’re good, I taught you well.” he let out, breathlessly as you to took him in, your eyes meeting his.

his high came hot, his cum warm as you swallowed it. his hold on your hair grew tighter, his knees bucking and his hips thrusting to get deeper.

“you taste good.” you admitted, getting up and taking your beer on the other nightstand, surprised he hadn’t drunk it.

“of course I do.”

he giggled, his eyes drowsy as the alcohol took him over. “what if I act depressed and get in that closet over there?” he asked, turning serious all of a sudden.

“what..?”

he didn’t say a word, stuffing himself back in his boxers and wearing his jean jacket. he made his way to a small closet, sat on the bench inside, and closed himself in it.

in disbelief, all you could do was stare and wonder what the fuck went through his head. you heard him singing, emotion in his voice as if he were to start crying.

“jungkook, what the hell are you doing?”

he opened the door, a smile on his face as he laughed at your confused expression. “I don’t even know.” his words coming out wobbly.

note: he’s so silly but somehow manages to be so hot like wtf but anyway thanks for reading!!

taglist: @jungkoookieee , @mikrokookiex & @fkingl0ser !

[sannie-young]

.✦˚.Assistance J.JK.

BTS fake texts

Pairing: idol!jungkook x personal-assistant!reader

Warnings: fwb dynamics, language, sexual content/suggestive MDNI

About: JK’s personal assistant has a special part in his heart…and bed

Note: First ever BTS post for my bias event:) first of its kind💜 love you jungkookie

Masterlist

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@bbokarismeow @cosmicbinx @bigchudpickleman @melodyladean @chandlxa

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[heyygrrl]

🪭🪭🪭

[max1mus]

( 危ないよ ) ❊ 　. , i' m s3ek ུ🥩

[jjk7h]

[jungkookjeon0007]

— imagine coming home to this every single night… 😩🥵

[kseniiart]

Superstar Jk｡.⭐️⭐️⭐️