aei

18+

[agustmari]

Hey... So I got a request (never did one, but I love ur writing style a lot so I just had to)

Soft dom Yeosang, getting jealous over f!reader being hit on by the waiter, while they're on an anniversary date. Since he's not too confident in public, he doesn't say much besides subtly shooing the waiter away and giving him a constant glare. On the other hand, on the way back he makes it very obvious that he got jealous.

Idk I just crave jealous Dom!yeosang🫠 I don't mind it being fluff or smut, up to you

kang yeosang ; anniversary

synopsis: after a long night of tension, jealousy— yeosang couldn’t resist but show you exactly who you belong to.

pairings: dom!yeosang x subfem!reader

cw: smut, unprotected sex, praising kink

wc: 1.7k

a/n: tysm for the request this idea is so sexy😌 i haven’t wrote smut in a little so i’m sorry if this isn’t the best!! DOM KANG YEOSANG LOVERS UNITEEEE

the restaurant was dim and warm, all candlelight and quiet chatter, but yeosang’s eyes are somewhere else entirely— fixed on the waiter who’s been hovering a little too long.

you can feel it the second the man leans in to refill your glass, his smile a little too casual, his tone too smooth. it’s harmless, really, but you see the subtle change in yeosang’s posture.

the way his shoulders stiffen, the faint twitch of his jaw. he doesn’t say a word, just reaches forward and slides your glass closer to himself as if to create a small barrier.

“thank you.” you said to the waiter, and he flashed another smile before walking off.

yeosang watched him leave. he didn’t blink until the man disappeared behind the kitchen doors. then slowly, his gaze shifted back to you.

“you always attract attention,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth lifting— though it’s not quite a smile. his hand reached across the table, brushing against yours. “guess i should’ve expected that.”

you laughed softly, trying to ease the sudden weight in his tone. “he was just doing his job baby.”

“mhm.” he hummed, unconvinced. his thumb circled your wrist, his expression unreadable under the low light. “he looked a little too eager for a waiter.”

the conversation moved on, or at least you tried to move it, but the tension never really left. every time the waiter came back to check on drinks, to clear plates— yeosang’s eyes followed, sharp and silent.

he didn’t speak up, didn’t make a scene, but the message was there in the small gestures. the protective lean of his body, the subtle way he shifted his chair closer to yours, his hand resting possessively on the back of your seat.

when the dessert finally arrived, yeosang’s tone softened again, but there was still something simmering beneath it.

you could hear it even when he laughed with you, quiet and deep— like he’s holding something back.

the drive home was mostly silent. the city lights flashed across his face, highlighting the tension that never quite left his features.

you glanced over at him. “you’ve been quiet.”

he exhaled through his nose, not taking his eyes off the road. “just thinking.”

“about?”

his lips twitched. “that waiter.”

you bit your lip, fighting a smile. “still on that?”

he glanced at you then— a look that’s more a warning than a question. “you think i didn’t notice the way he looked at you?” his tone wasn’t angry, just low, edged with something possessive. “i don’t like people thinking they can talk to you like that.”

“you’re jealous.” you teased gently.

“maybe.” he doesn’t even deny it. “can you blame me?”

the car filled with quiet again, but this time it felt charged. you can feel his gaze flick toward you at every red light, his fingers tightening slightly around the steering wheel.

by the time you pulled into the driveway, your pulse had already picked up.

inside, the house felt different— quieter, darker, the air heavier than when you left.

you set your bag down on the counter, about to say something, but yeosang stepped in close behind you before you can.

his voice was low, right by your ear. “you don’t even realize what you do to people, do you?”

goosebumps raised on your skin, from his hot breath fanning out onto your neck. you turned slightly, your breath catching when you see his expression— still calm, but his eyes darker now. focused.

“i— it wasn’t—”

“i know.” he cuts in softly. “i know you didn’t do anything.” his hands found your waist, steady but deliberate. “doesn’t mean i liked watching someone else try.”

the silence that followed was thick.

you tried to speak, but he tilted your chin up gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. “he wasn’t the one sitting with you at dinner,” he said, voice even lower now. “he wasn’t the one you came home with.”

the words lingered, heavy and certain. you can hear your own heartbeat in the quiet space between you both.

his thumb brushed along your jaw, slow, deliberate. “you have no idea how hard it was not to say something back there.”

your lips parted, but the look in his eyes made you forget what you were going to say.

he stepped closer, closing the distance until there was nothing left between you, but the air you’re both breathing.

the tension that had been simmering all night finally started to crack— not with anger, but something else entirely.

“yeosang…” you whispered, but the sound barely made it out.

his voice dropped again, rougher now. “you have no idea what you do to me.”

the words hung there for a long moment, charged and quiet, before he leaned down just enough that his forehead rested against yours— not a kiss, not yet, just that close.

you can feel the energy shift, the question hanging between you, waiting.

and then he moved swiftly— his strong, muscular, arms sliding around you, pulling you off the ground with a quiet strength that makes your breath catch.

you can hear the faint scrape of his shoes against the floor as he carried you toward the bedroom, every step deliberate, controlled.

the dark of the room swallowed everything— the faint sound of your breath, the creak of the floorboards— until it’s just him and you and the sound of your heartbeat against his.

he set you down on the edge of the bed, eyes locked on yours. the weight of everything unsaid filled the space between you.

yeosang leaned in, hands placed on either sides of you. his tone low, almost a whisper now— calm, but threaded with that same intensity you’d seen flicker in the restaurant.

“now,” he murmured, his gaze flicking to your lips, “tell me i’m wrong for wanting to remind you who you belong to.”

and the air stilled right at that edge, that point of no return.

“answer me, sweetheart.” his fingertips found your bottom lip, gently caressing.

“n—no…”

he let out a low, guttural chuckle, “stand up.” he ordered, his tone steady and demanding.

you obeyed, afraid of what he’d do if you didn’t— although, you were quite enjoying this. as you stood up, he approached your quivering figure. “turn around.”

again, you obeyed. your body was already shaking. whenever yeosang got jealous or angry with you, he’d never yell— he wasn’t that type of man. but, he was the type of man to make you his fuck toy to release all his frustration into.

he placed his vein pumped hands onto your back, forcing you to bend over the bed— face pushed against the silk, bed covers.

he gently lifted up your dress, “you look so pretty bent over like this baby, don’t you think?” his voice rung deep and sharp throughout your ears, as his hands now roamed over your plump arched ass.

you squeezed your eyes tight, the sensation already overwhelming. he always knew the ways to make you tighten up. he knew your body like the back of his hand.

“hmm i can’t hear you darling…” he practically purred.

then, the sound cracked through the air. it was sharp, startling. heat rose on your ass cheek— his hand print bright and red.

you let out a sharp moan, back arching more than before.

“answer me,” he hissed.

“yes!”

“that’s my good girl.” he rubbed the part of your skin that was just spanked, relieving the pain.

your body trembled further, sinking into the mattress.

“you want me inside you, don’t you?” yeosang groaned, his grip now around your waist— getting tighter by the second as his desires are ready to break free from the box he’s had them in all night.

“yes!” you somehow managed to mumble out, so innocently. your face sunk deeper into the mattress.

he swiftly unbuckled his belt, the echo sending shivers down your spine. the swooshing sound of the belt being torn off reverberated in the dark, muffled room.

without warning, yeosang pushed your panties to the side, the tip of his cock teasing your pulsating, wet hole.

“beg for it… show me you can be a good girl, and obey.” his hands moved to your luscious stands of hair, grabbing a handful before tugging sharply.

your breath hitched, knees already buckling. your heat growing wetter by the second his dominance grew.

“please… please fuck me.” you nearly panted out, looking like a mess— a slut ready to be demolished and disciplined.

“good job baby, you’re already doing so well.”

he pushed himself fully into your throbbing hole, your wetness soaking his cock completely. you both synchronized a deep, whiney moan— as if you craved this moment all night.

he thrusted hard, and fast— making sure you felt him filling you.

yeosang’s praises already pushed you pretty far, and now the fact his cock was hitting your g-spot, over, and over again— only pushed you over the edge.

he kept his strokes controlled, deliberate. and that only ruined you more.

you nibbled on the bedsheets, trying to cover up your whimpers. he intentively hooked his hand around your wrists, pulling them up onto your lower back.

“don’t hide them, i want to hear your beautiful sounds my sweet baby.” he condescendingly said. with his free hand, he tugged your hip down harder onto his cock.

yeosang’s praises were really doing a number on you. you melted down slowly, whimpers and messy moans releasing from your precious lips.

he couldn’t help but chuckle lowly as he calculated his strokes.

he knew you were close.

so close to letting loose.

and he loved the fact he could do that, make you come completely undone— underneath him.

he didn’t stop, not for a single second. you were a moaning mess, practically sobbing. your hands curled into the sheets.

“yeosang— p— please—“ your voice cried out.

“squirt all on my cock baby, go ahead, do it for daddy.”

it was like you were under a spell, squirting on his command. he purred as he then filled your hole with his load— warming up your insides completely.

yeosang’s lips hovered over your back, before leaving wet, passionate kisses. “you’re mine. only fucking mine.”

masterlist

[yungistiny]

everyone asking me if I saw this…….

[mulloey]

iconography

gibson girl.

PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! dark, heavy content. heavily implied if not explicit sex trafficking/forced prostitution. non-consensual sexual activity—no physical force used, but you are unable to consent or refuse. yunho is not a good man. alcohol. fingering. leather. physical violence. yunho has sadistic tendencies. spanking. thigh riding. burning with a cigarette. mentions of child abuse & trafficking (not by yunho). there’s a glimmer of hope towards the end, but this is bleak.

final warning. this is dark and triggering. this does not reflect yunho or my perception of him; he is simply the inspiration for my own characters.

words: 4.8k

He doesn’t tell you anything about him. For a moment, he doesn’t even speak.

It’s not unusual. They’re always like this at first. Closed off, guarded, stiff. It’s the shame; the nerves. The knowledge of what they’re doing, how wrong it is; the fear that they’re being set up that doesn’t really settle until they’ve buried themselves inside you.

Yunho—you know his name, at least—doesn’t have any of that. None of the nerves; none of the shame. He seems at peace, at ease; that’s the first thought you have when you see him. He’s in the armchair, facing the door when you enter, a glass of whiskey held in one hand, the other lying on the armrest. He’s not like the men you’ve had before.

Most of them have something off about them, about their appearance; some of them are dirty, unkept, their clothes worn and their beards patchy and uneven. Some of them look so well-kept it feels like an act. A performance. Whether it’s meant for you, or for themselves, or perhaps a wife waiting for them at home, you don’t know. But there’s always something—and it’s never anything you haven’t seen before.

But Yunho looks normal. Tidy. His black shirt, a turtleneck, is ironed, no wrinkles or creases,his black slacks well-fitted. His jacket, dark leather, is draped nearly over the back of his chair. Even the messier things, like his hair that looks a little out of place and the glasses sitting a little down the bridge of his nose, feels like he’s done it on purpose. He’s wearing gloves, too, black leather, tight around his fingers and palm, and his face is expressionless. He doesn’t look like the sort of men you usually find in these rooms.

The only thing that sticks out to you is his eyes. The darkness to them; the small, slight glimmer that keeps them from outright emptiness. When they rake over you for the first time, looking you up and down, taking you in, like an auctioneer appraising their stock, he looks completely impassive.

You don’t know if you’ve ever had that before. You’ve seen a lot of different emotions in people’s eyes, lots of different secrets—shame, nerves, wives, children, careers an exchange like this would burn to the ground. You’ve seen predation, danger; the expression of a butcher all too eager to cut into the flesh. You’ve gotten good at reading them. But you’ve never seen this; you don’t know what it is. Almost nothing—almost hollow—but not quite.

You lock the door behind you, putting the keycard down on the table; he’s already slipped his own into the socket to turn on the lights. Your fingers hover on it for the moment, lingering on the plastic then trailing across the wood. It feels cheap, worn, as plasticky as the card, but it doesn’t matter. Yunho clears his throat, his hand moving in a familiar gesture. You slip off your coat and let it fall to the floor.

“You’re pretty,” he says. His voice is deep, masculine but not throaty; not rough. He sounds assured; even from those two words you can imagine him in a position of authority. You can imagine him commanding a room without much effort. “You dressed up for me,” he notes.

You nod. It was an odd request; you’re used to weird ones, typical ones, like school uniforms and office wear with the skirt too short and even those tacky nurse outfits you find in Halloween stores. Latex is another common one; nylon too. But Yunho—Yunho had asked for leather. High quality, tailored leather.

“You look lovely,” he says. “Such a pretty girl.

Underwear?”

“The c-string you got me, sir.” You feel it every time you move; it’s uncomfortable, a stick-on one with lace on the outside and adhesive on the inside, attaching itself to your pubic bone then thinning out, softer, more gentle cotton against your cunt, then a more rigid section, boned like a corset, held in place by your ass cheeks.

“Very good,” Yunho says. “Mind if I inspect it?”

“I’d like to please you, sir.”

A rehearsed response; he doesn’t seem to enjoy it, as they often don’t. It’s always been a hit or a miss; some fall for it, for the blind obedience and desperation to please, whether for ignorance or for their ego’s sake, thrilled at the thought of a woman who wants nothing more than to satisfy them; others see through it. Understand it to be nothing more than the fruits of another man’s labour; training, not instinct. Of those, some of them enjoy it; others view it as a wall, a barrier for them to break. They want to be the one to see you for who you are. None of them ever will be. Not within Isaiah’s reach.

Yunho doesn’t comment on it. He beckons you closer with two fingers and takes another sip from the glass, eyes never leaving you for a second. You’re slow to approach him, feet shuffling against the floor; you don’t feel confident in these heels, the platforms too high up and the stiletto too thin, but Yunho had asked you to wear them and you’d obliged. His gaze never quite makes it down there, though, or at least never lingers long enough for you to notice.

You stop in front of him, a few centimetres between your legs and his; the hand resting on the armchair snakes around your hip, a large gloved hand coming to sit on your lower back. The bottom of his hand, his ring and pinkie fingers and a small sliver of his palm, rest against the top of your ass. You can’t feel much through the two layers of leather, but in the heaviness of his touch you feel the strength, the steadiness, the sense of authority and possession that makes itself obvious in the energy surrounding him.

He’s certain of himself. He knows everything that happens here is on his terms.

“How old are you?” He asks.

“How old would you like me to be?”

He smiles softly, briefly, almost gently, and shakes his head. “The truth please, little girl. Not fantasy. We’ve plenty of time for that.”

You tell him your age; quietly, lowly, like it’s a shameful secret. Yunho nods. If he feels any type of way about it, he doesn’t let it show.

“You’re young.”

“Not really,” you reply. You’ve seen a lot younger. You know Isaiah’s brought girls younger than you here; so have the other men in the other hotels across town. You’ve seen them in the clubs, back when Isaiah used to have you dance.

“I don’t do that sort of thing,” Yunho says.

“What do you do?”

“Nothing I’m proud of. But nothing illegal, either.”

“All of this is illegal.”

“You know what I mean.”

You do. You nod, swallowing; Yunho’s gaze moves downwards, finally settling for a moment on the shoes then returning to your face. “Do you know why I chose those for you?” He asks.

“No, sir.”

“Because it takes a lot of effort to wear,” he says. “They’re uncomfortable. They hurt. They make you feel unsure of yourself, of your ability to keep yourself upright. But you wore them anyway.”

“Are you a sadist, sir?” It comes out before you can stop it. “I’m sorry,” you say, ducking your head. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“You can say what you like,” he replies. He seems amused. “I have thick skin. I wouldn’t say I’m a sadist. I don’t enjoy pain for its own sake. But subjecting yourself to discomfort—willingly—for me—that touches me. They’re difficult to walk in, aren’t they?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Isaiah says you’re a dancer.”

He knows Isaiah, you think, a little surprised; they usually don’t. The men find you on their own; Isaiah often has little to do with it. But Yunho knows him. Has spoken to him, at least.

“I was,” you answer. “At a club.”

“Did you wear shoes like these?”

“Not so high.”

His hand travels downwards, across your ass, the sound of leather against leather soft over the silence; it comes to rest against the top of your thigh, cold against your skin, just below the hem of your dress. From the contact, you can tell the leather is expensive; soft but firm, thick but not heavy. The tips of his fingers curl around the edge of your thigh, following the curve, stopping just before your other thigh begins. After a moment, his hand moves, slowly, rising upwards, the bottom of your dress coming with it. It comes to rest around your waist, bunched up, your lower half now exposed save for the underwear.

He squeezes your cheek, just slightly, then hums in satisfaction. “Soft cheeks,” he murmurs. “Malleable.”

His hand winds back then returns; a loud, sharp smack then a shooting, stinging pain. You gasp, jolting forwards slightly; his hand returns to where it had landed and rubs at the skin soothingly. “You can take a hit,” he says. “A little sting, can’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” you say.

“Your daddy hit you as a kid.”

You open your mouth to respond but find yourself hesitating for a moment, taken aback; Yunho shushes you, shaking his head slightly. “Just say yes,” he whispers.

“Yes,” you say. “He did.”

“With a belt, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Poor thing,” he coos. “Do you miss him? I think you do.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I miss him.”

Yunho hums. He pushes the tips of his fingers in between your thighs, brushing against your covered cunt. Another sip of his whiskey, a longer one this time; the glass, empty now, dangles from his hand in a loose grip; assured, like he knows no matter what he does it won’t fall. His fingers still press against your pussy. “Troubled little thing he made of you,” he says. He puts the glass down on the side table and pulls his other hand away, letting it rest on his thigh. “Dance for me.”

“Yes, sir.”

You start as you usually do, swinging your hips from side to side, slowly, your legs parted slightly. He watches you intently, expression blank but with something sparking in his eyes. Interest, maybe, or perhaps something more complicated.

Still watching you, he takes the decanter and pours himself another glass. “Turn around,” he orders. “Show me your ass.”

He stops you before you can turn fully; “That’s enough,” he says, when you’re turned about halfway. “Just like that. So I can see your face, too.”

For the next few minutes, it’s silent; he watches you, taking small sips from the glass without ever moving his gaze. And you—you dance. You close your eyes, exhaling; you feel like you’re in a daze, your hips, your body moving of its own accord now, like the movements have awoken something that allowed you to slip into muscle memory. Into instinct; into training so deep rooted you fall into it unconsciously.

“You move beautifully,” he tells you. “You could have been a dancer.”

You nod. You could have been a lot of things. Your legs are starting to get tired.

Yunho seems to notice. Or maybe—probably—he’s just bored of this. Ready for something more exciting. “Enough of that,” he says, then pats his thigh. “Come.”

You perch yourself there, his thigh surprisingly firm, strong enough that you’d have no qualms lifting your feet from the ground if you felt inclined to. You don’t know why you’re surprised, really, Yunho is clearly a strong man. It’s evident in the size of him, the weight of his touch, the faint pulsing of pain on your backside. You suppose it’s that he doesn’t look particularly built; he’s not overly muscular, not like some of the men you’ve seen.

His hand curls around your waist and rests in your lap. The other grips your jaw and tilts your head towards him. The glass of whiskey lies half-finished on the table. “Do you smoke?” He asks. You shake your head. “Try.” He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, then a lighter. “Open up a little.” He pushes a cigarette between your lips, a little way into your mouth. “Hold it between your teeth. Don’t bite.” Once you’ve obeyed, once he knows you’re holding the cigarette steady, he lights it up.

The first inhale makes you gasp, splutter; it’s a weird feeling, almost suffocating, like standing in smog or sucking on a tailpipe. It makes your throat close up and your eyes water; you cough, a chesty sound, and Yunho pats your back. “Easy,” he murmurs. He’s holding the cigarette now; he caught it between his thumb and forefinger when you let it fall from your mouth. “It’s rough, huh?”

“Yes, sir.” You’re still wheezing slightly, your voice strained.

“I’m surprised you don’t smoke,” he says. “They usually do.”

“It never appealed to me.”

“What does?”

You shrug. You dare to think Yunho looks a little sad for you. He takes a long drag of the cigarette, eyes closing for a moment, sighing, then puts it down on the table, still lit. Ash spills and settles atop the wood. His hand returns to your jaw. “I want you to keep your eyes on me,” he says. “Do you want me to touch you?”

“Please, sir.”

“Your hands stay in your lap. Your eyes on me. I like obedience. Try to impress me.”

“Yes, sir.”

First, his hand curls around your thigh. The leather feels impersonal. Cold in every sense. Then it moves, peeling the adhesive of the c-string away from your crotch and pulling it free. Your cunt is bare now; fully exposed. For a moment he just looks at it. “You shave,” he says. “Your preference, or someone else’s?”

“Both.”

“It’s my preference too.” He presses two fingers to your clit, pushing at it, then pulls away. “You have a beautiful cunt. So ripe.”

“It’s all for you, sir.”

He hums. He’s still staring at it. “Tonight, at least.”

His fingers move down, sinking between your folds and spreading them apart. He pulls at them a bit, upwards; you follow the movement, lifting your hips and pointing them outwards slightly to get a better look. He glances up at you, brow tilted, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Smart girl,” he says. “Intuitive. Do you like it when I touch you here?”

“Yes sir.”

“It feels different with the gloves, doesn’t it?”

“Yes sir.”

“Clinical.”

“Yes sir.”

“But you’re still wet.”

You nod. The tips of his fingers push into the opening of your cunt, just a little, like testing the waters. “Tight,” he says. “Clenching around me. Oh, she loves me, doesn’t she?”

“She does.”

“She wants to be stretched.”

“Yes sir.”

“If I take the glove off, you’ll make it worth my while, won’t you?”

“Yes sir.”

He pulls out, then pulls the glove off, putting it down on the table. His hand is large, fingers long and slender. There’s a ring around his index finger, gold and expensive looking. His other hand, still gloved, sits on your hip as he eases two fingers inside you again. You shudder, exhaling; he clicks his tongue. “So warm,” he hums, almost crooning. “Soft, too. Does that feel nice?”

You nod, swallowing; with the thick leather of the glove you felt full, stretched, but the feeling of his skin is something entirely different. Still, it hardly feels intimate; just coldness of a different kind.

His fingers push deeper, sinking in further until they’re pressing against your g-spot. You bite your lip, trying to stay quiet; Yunho shakes his head, pulling his fingers out some then pushing them back in, hard and deep. You choke, whining, and he breathes out a laugh, squeezing your hip. “I want to hear you,” he says, staring to thrust his fingers. “I want all of you. No hiding.”

“Yes sir,” you whisper.

Yunho is clearly good at this, his movements precise, but he doesn’t seem particularly focused, particularly bothered. You get the sense that he’s simply working you open. Taking stock of you, too, perhaps; seeing how you respond to him. Testing you.

It’s not unusual. There’s no reason for them to care for your pleasure, of course; they’re the ones paying after all. You’re just the product for sale.

“How many men have been in here?” He asks, voice low, even. He doesn’t seem bothered, really; just curious. Maybe he’s trying to embarrass you; to remind you of what you are. How dirty; how tainted. He’s curling his fingers as he speaks, stroking your g-spot in small circles. “You probably don’t even know, do you?”

“No sir.” You couldn’t even estimate. You prefer not to try.

“Poor little thing,” he replies. “You shouldn’t be here. Pretty thing like you, you should be someone’s house pet. Not a whore.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’d be a good house pet, I think,” he says. “Obedient. Quiet. Seen and not heard, that’s what I like. You’d be good at that, wouldn’t you?”

“I would be.”

It’s already your mantra. It’s easier, safer that way. Isaiah prefers you that way, too, always has; he doesn’t like the sound of your voice, says you’re prettier in silence.

“Would you do as I tell you to do?” Yunho asks. His fingers move back and forth now, stroking at you gently, slowly, but firmly. “I’d never have to punish you, would I? I reckon Isaiah’s trained you well.”

“He has.”

Yunho hums. “But I think you’re naturally well behaved, too. Pliant. Accepting pain for the sake of it, just to please me. I could put you over my knee and you’d just lie there and take it. You ever been whipped?”

“Belted.”

“Oh yes.” He nods, smiling. “Good girl. You know what I want to hear. Would you let me belt you? Just like your daddy did?”

“If you wanted to.”

“I’m not in the mood for it now,” he says. “If you were mine, though, I would. Make you cry. Make it hard to sit. Just for my own amusement.”

“If I were yours, you could do as you like to me.”

“That’s right.” He sounds approving. His fingers pull out some then thrust in deeper, firmer, like a reward. “I’d do it whenever you needed it. Or whenever I wanted to. In front of people, too. I have some friends who’d like to see it.”

“Would you let them belt me too?”

His brows lift, a faint sort of surprise on his face. Pleasant surprise, it seems. “That’s a good idea, doll. Maybe I would. And they’d fuck you, too. I’d show you off. Show how well I’ve trained you, how I keep you disciplined.”

“I’d take it.”

“I know you would. And you’ll be good for me tonight, won’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

His fingers pull out, coated in wetness. He wipes them down on his pants, a faint sheen glistening against the black fabric. His hands come to rest on your hips. His voice comes low, soft, almost gentle, his gaze soft as he meets your eyes. “You know I’m going to hurt you, doll.” There’s a solemnity to it, like he’s breaking bad news to you, informing you of a fate he has no control over. He almost sounds regretful; like this is simply the tragic but certain reality. A sentence he has no choice but to carry out.

You nod. “How badly?”

“Nothing you’ll feel for too long.”

“Thank you.”

He pats your hip. “Straddle me,” he says. “Let’s put some colour in those cheeks.”

He moves you himself; one leg on each side, then his hands on your hips lowering you until you’re straddling his thigh. “Stick your ass out,” he says. “Arch your back.”

His hand comes to rest on your ass cheek, grabbing a handful of it and squeezing. “I’m going to spank you,” he says. “And you’ll get off on it.”

“Yes sir.”

His hand pulls away, winding back, then lands. The sound hits you before the pain—it’s loud, like a gunshot, knocking the wind out of your chest before you even feel the sting. When it does come, though, it’s intense; heavy, sharp, burning, blooming across the expanse of your cheek. His other hand, still gloved, resting on your thigh, tightens its grip, the tips of his fingers pressing into the skin. Another hit, on the same cheek, then on the other. You make a noise of pain, falling forwards; the hand on your thigh moves to wrap around your waist and tugs you back into position. “Easy,” he murmurs. Another hit. “It’s not so bad. And it feels good, doesn’t it?”

This time, when he hits you, the arm around your waist moves too, pushing you forwards a little. It presses your cunt into his thigh, rubbing against the material of his slacks as it’s forced forward. Your breath hitches, eyes squeezing shut, and Yunho chuckles. “Yeah, it feels good,” he says. He presses his fingers into your cheek, the blunts of his nails digging into the pained flesh hard enough to make your eyes water. When you open them again, he’s staring at you, at your face, and smiling softly. Knowingly. Satisfied. He loves this.

“Sir,” you breathe.

Another hit. “Say it again.” Another.

“Sir.” It comes out as a whine, your lip wobbling, composure threatening to break as the hits speed up.

He picks up the lighter and the pack of cigarettes he’d put on the side table next to the whiskey and lights one up, clasping it between his teeth. “Start moving,” he says. “Grinding. Get off on the pain.”

He keeps hitting you, over and over. Sometimes he takes a drag of the cigarette as he does so. Sometimes he clutches it between two fingers, a loose grip, the same way he was holding the glass earlier, while his other hand lands on your ass over and over. It’s casual, almost, the movements, the way he’s holding himself. He’s lounging in the chair, leaned back, legs spread; like this is nothing more than passive entertainment for him. Something typical.

There’s an intensity to it, too, though. To him. In his eyes, you think it is; a dim, dull glint but a glint nonetheless. An interest and a desire he doesn’t let onto. Something deep rooted and bordering on primal.

Your entire backside is stinging now, and your cunt is sensitive, both from the stimulation and the feeling of the material of his pants rubbing harshly against it. You don’t know how red you are now, don’t dare to look, but Yunho hits hard. Like he’s had practice—lots of it.

You wonder where from. Often with these men, it’s from other girls like you, who absorb the violence and perversions they can’t let show to their wives, their girlfriends; women they respect. Sometimes it’s from their own children. For some men, you’ve learned, the violence is indiscriminate.

Yunho seems too controlled for that. Too calm. He’s hurting you because he wants to, not because he needs to. Not because he’s lost his cool.

“You take it so well,” he says, almost cooing. “So brave. You’re well conditioned, aren’t you?”

Another. Another. He pauses for a moment, grabbing the bottom of your dress and lifting it up, over your stomach, over your tits until they’re exposed. He whistles lowly, grabbing a handful of your breast and squeezing. When he pulls away his nails have left indents in your skin. He lands a heavy handed smack on each of them then returns to your ass. It’s gone past stinging now, more of a burn, a scorching pain, the skin surely swollen. It’s so heavy and intense you’re hardly conscious of your pussy, of the fact that you’ve been grinding back and forth on his thigh the whole time. You look down; the fabric is glistening. Your face burns. Letting him do this is one thing; following his orders another. But you’re getting off on it. Leaking, dripping over it. This is the inescapable proof.

“I’d hit you just like this if you were mine,” he says. “Every time you ride me. Every time you’re in my lap. You’d always be red and sore in my house. S’what pretty little things like you deserve, isn’t it?”

You nod, still grinding, quickly getting too overwhelmed to speak. Yunho grins. “Whore,” he spits. “You love this, sick little thing.”

“S— sir,” you gasp, squirming, as another hit lands. You wonder if his hand hurts, but if it is he’s keeping it to himself. “Please.”

“Please what?” He asks.

You shake your head. You don’t even know what you’re crying for. He knows it.

“You’ve gone dumb, haven’t you?” He says. “Humping me while I hurt you, it’s gone to your head.”

“Please,” you repeat. “Yunho. Sir.”

“You don’t know what you want,” he says. “You don’t need to. You shouldn’t know what you want. Knowing what you want, saying what you want, that’s the sort of thing I’d have to beat out of you.”

“I wouldn’t,” you tell him. “I wouldn’t— wouldn’t say. Wouldn’t want.”

“Told you you’re a smart girl, huh? Take another puff. Open your mouth.”

He pushes the cigarette in; this time he holds it there, firm, until you breathe it in. You don’t splutter as much this time. He watches you impassively, but the corners of his lips quirk. “Feels good, huh?” He murmurs, taking the cigarette back and taking another puff. “Easy to get addicted to.”

“Are you? Addicted?”

“I wonder the same,” he says. “But I’ll die young anyway.”

The hits have stopped now, but you’re still moving, too well-trained to do anything but. Yunho digs his fingers into your ass, the pained sensitive skin there, then wraps his arm around your waist. His grip is firm, like he’s holding you in place. There’s more force to it than there was before.

He takes one last, long puff, then pushes the butt into your chest. You jolt, crying out, thrashing slightly but his grip only tightens. His gaze is fixed on your chest, on the cigarette pressed against your skin; only once you’ve stopped struggling, cries fading into quiet whimpers, does he pull it away. He puts it down on the table, next to the first, then takes another sip of the whiskey. You’re surprised he’s not tipsy now, knowing how strong it is, but if anything he looks more steady and in control than he did when you got here.

“You sound pretty when you’re hurting,” he says. “Melodic. Like you’re singing.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Both of his hands are on your hips now. For a moment he just looks at you. You fight the instinct to squirm or shrink under his gaze.

When he speaks, his voice is as soft as it’s ever been. Almost sincere. “I could get you out of here,” he says. “I’d pay for you. Handsomely.”

He’s not the first to offer, but Isaiah wouldn’t allow it. He doesn’t look surprised to hear it. “I can be persuasive,” Yunho says. “You don’t belong here.”

“I—”

“Don’t say no,” he cuts you off. “Think about it. We have time. Isaiah will tire of you.”

“I know.”

“Next time I see you, wear something innocent,” he says. “Something white. Linen. Like a church girl. Same shoes.”

His hands pull away, and he stands up. You realise now just how large he is, how he dwarfs you, how easily he could overpower you—could overpower Isaiah.

“Are you leaving?” You ask, surprised. “You haven’t even fucked me.”

“The first time I fuck you, you’ll belong to me. Today I just wanted to hurt you a bit.”

“Didn’t you pay a lot of money?”

“I have plenty,” he says. “I didn’t pay to fuck you. I paid to see if I might want to, and I do.”

“Is this what you always do? When you see girls like me? Appraise them?”

“Sometimes,” he says. “Usually I hurt them worse. I like to leave a mark. But you’re fragile. You’re soft. I know you can take it, you proved yourself to me, but when I really hurt you, I want to do it in the right way.”

“What way is that?”

“In my house,” he replies. “Under my care. At my feet.”

You don’t know what to say; he doesn’t seem to expect you to. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead and cupping your cunt. His hand is warm, hot even, perhaps from having impacted your ass over and over again. “Be a good girl,” he whispers. “I’ll be back for you.”

He shrugs on his jacket and walks out without another glance at you. Your panties are in his pocket.

Pulling off the heels, you take your phone out of your coat. Isaiah is asking how it went. He won’t be happy to hear Yunho hadn’t fucked you. He likes it when you keep them there, when you keep their interest, convincing them to drop extra cash for additional services. You don’t think you could have convinced Yunho.

I’ll be back for you, he’d said. You don’t think you believe him.

this is very spur of the moment and rushed; i really, really wanted to write something with yunho and this song. there’s remnants of this i’ve drawn from experience. if any of it feels familiar, consider the sort of situation you’re in and reach out for help. exploitation is rarely as overt as it is in the movies. love🖤🖤🖤

[mulloey]

iconography

gibson girl.

PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! dark, heavy content. heavily implied if not explicit sex trafficking/forced prostitution. non-consensual sexual activity—no physical force used, but you are unable to consent or refuse. yunho is not a good man. alcohol. fingering. leather. physical violence. yunho has sadistic tendencies. spanking. thigh riding. burning with a cigarette. mentions of child abuse & trafficking (not by yunho). there’s a glimmer of hope towards the end, but this is bleak.

final warning. this is dark and triggering. this does not reflect yunho or my perception of him; he is simply the inspiration for my own characters.

words: 4.8k

He doesn’t tell you anything about him. For a moment, he doesn’t even speak.

It’s not unusual. They’re always like this at first. Closed off, guarded, stiff. It’s the shame; the nerves. The knowledge of what they’re doing, how wrong it is; the fear that they’re being set up that doesn’t really settle until they’ve buried themselves inside you.

Yunho—you know his name, at least—doesn’t have any of that. None of the nerves; none of the shame. He seems at peace, at ease; that’s the first thought you have when you see him. He’s in the armchair, facing the door when you enter, a glass of whiskey held in one hand, the other lying on the armrest. He’s not like the men you’ve had before.

Most of them have something off about them, about their appearance; some of them are dirty, unkept, their clothes worn and their beards patchy and uneven. Some of them look so well-kept it feels like an act. A performance. Whether it’s meant for you, or for themselves, or perhaps a wife waiting for them at home, you don’t know. But there’s always something—and it’s never anything you haven’t seen before.

But Yunho looks normal. Tidy. His black shirt, a turtleneck, is ironed, no wrinkles or creases,his black slacks well-fitted. His jacket, dark leather, is draped nearly over the back of his chair. Even the messier things, like his hair that looks a little out of place and the glasses sitting a little down the bridge of his nose, feels like he’s done it on purpose. He’s wearing gloves, too, black leather, tight around his fingers and palm, and his face is expressionless. He doesn’t look like the sort of men you usually find in these rooms.

The only thing that sticks out to you is his eyes. The darkness to them; the small, slight glimmer that keeps them from outright emptiness. When they rake over you for the first time, looking you up and down, taking you in, like an auctioneer appraising their stock, he looks completely impassive.

You don’t know if you’ve ever had that before. You’ve seen a lot of different emotions in people’s eyes, lots of different secrets—shame, nerves, wives, children, careers an exchange like this would burn to the ground. You’ve seen predation, danger; the expression of a butcher all too eager to cut into the flesh. You’ve gotten good at reading them. But you’ve never seen this; you don’t know what it is. Almost nothing—almost hollow—but not quite.

You lock the door behind you, putting the keycard down on the table; he’s already slipped his own into the socket to turn on the lights. Your fingers hover on it for the moment, lingering on the plastic then trailing across the wood. It feels cheap, worn, as plasticky as the card, but it doesn’t matter. Yunho clears his throat, his hand moving in a familiar gesture. You slip off your coat and let it fall to the floor.

“You’re pretty,” he says. His voice is deep, masculine but not throaty; not rough. He sounds assured; even from those two words you can imagine him in a position of authority. You can imagine him commanding a room without much effort. “You dressed up for me,” he notes.

You nod. It was an odd request; you’re used to weird ones, typical ones, like school uniforms and office wear with the skirt too short and even those tacky nurse outfits you find in Halloween stores. Latex is another common one; nylon too. But Yunho—Yunho had asked for leather. High quality, tailored leather.

“You look lovely,” he says. “Such a pretty girl.

Underwear?”

“The c-string you got me, sir.” You feel it every time you move; it’s uncomfortable, a stick-on one with lace on the outside and adhesive on the inside, attaching itself to your pubic bone then thinning out, softer, more gentle cotton against your cunt, then a more rigid section, boned like a corset, held in place by your ass cheeks.

“Very good,” Yunho says. “Mind if I inspect it?”

“I’d like to please you, sir.”

A rehearsed response; he doesn’t seem to enjoy it, as they often don’t. It’s always been a hit or a miss; some fall for it, for the blind obedience and desperation to please, whether for ignorance or for their ego’s sake, thrilled at the thought of a woman who wants nothing more than to satisfy them; others see through it. Understand it to be nothing more than the fruits of another man’s labour; training, not instinct. Of those, some of them enjoy it; others view it as a wall, a barrier for them to break. They want to be the one to see you for who you are. None of them ever will be. Not within Isaiah’s reach.

Yunho doesn’t comment on it. He beckons you closer with two fingers and takes another sip from the glass, eyes never leaving you for a second. You’re slow to approach him, feet shuffling against the floor; you don’t feel confident in these heels, the platforms too high up and the stiletto too thin, but Yunho had asked you to wear them and you’d obliged. His gaze never quite makes it down there, though, or at least never lingers long enough for you to notice.

You stop in front of him, a few centimetres between your legs and his; the hand resting on the armchair snakes around your hip, a large gloved hand coming to sit on your lower back. The bottom of his hand, his ring and pinkie fingers and a small sliver of his palm, rest against the top of your ass. You can’t feel much through the two layers of leather, but in the heaviness of his touch you feel the strength, the steadiness, the sense of authority and possession that makes itself obvious in the energy surrounding him.

He’s certain of himself. He knows everything that happens here is on his terms.

“How old are you?” He asks.

“How old would you like me to be?”

He smiles softly, briefly, almost gently, and shakes his head. “The truth please, little girl. Not fantasy. We’ve plenty of time for that.”

You tell him your age; quietly, lowly, like it’s a shameful secret. Yunho nods. If he feels any type of way about it, he doesn’t let it show.

“You’re young.”

“Not really,” you reply. You’ve seen a lot younger. You know Isaiah’s brought girls younger than you here; so have the other men in the other hotels across town. You’ve seen them in the clubs, back when Isaiah used to have you dance.

“I don’t do that sort of thing,” Yunho says.

“What do you do?”

“Nothing I’m proud of. But nothing illegal, either.”

“All of this is illegal.”

“You know what I mean.”

You do. You nod, swallowing; Yunho’s gaze moves downwards, finally settling for a moment on the shoes then returning to your face. “Do you know why I chose those for you?” He asks.

“No, sir.”

“Because it takes a lot of effort to wear,” he says. “They’re uncomfortable. They hurt. They make you feel unsure of yourself, of your ability to keep yourself upright. But you wore them anyway.”

“Are you a sadist, sir?” It comes out before you can stop it. “I’m sorry,” you say, ducking your head. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“You can say what you like,” he replies. He seems amused. “I have thick skin. I wouldn’t say I’m a sadist. I don’t enjoy pain for its own sake. But subjecting yourself to discomfort—willingly—for me—that touches me. They’re difficult to walk in, aren’t they?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Isaiah says you’re a dancer.”

He knows Isaiah, you think, a little surprised; they usually don’t. The men find you on their own; Isaiah often has little to do with it. But Yunho knows him. Has spoken to him, at least.

“I was,” you answer. “At a club.”

“Did you wear shoes like these?”

“Not so high.”

His hand travels downwards, across your ass, the sound of leather against leather soft over the silence; it comes to rest against the top of your thigh, cold against your skin, just below the hem of your dress. From the contact, you can tell the leather is expensive; soft but firm, thick but not heavy. The tips of his fingers curl around the edge of your thigh, following the curve, stopping just before your other thigh begins. After a moment, his hand moves, slowly, rising upwards, the bottom of your dress coming with it. It comes to rest around your waist, bunched up, your lower half now exposed save for the underwear.

He squeezes your cheek, just slightly, then hums in satisfaction. “Soft cheeks,” he murmurs. “Malleable.”

His hand winds back then returns; a loud, sharp smack then a shooting, stinging pain. You gasp, jolting forwards slightly; his hand returns to where it had landed and rubs at the skin soothingly. “You can take a hit,” he says. “A little sting, can’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” you say.

“Your daddy hit you as a kid.”

You open your mouth to respond but find yourself hesitating for a moment, taken aback; Yunho shushes you, shaking his head slightly. “Just say yes,” he whispers.

“Yes,” you say. “He did.”

“With a belt, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Poor thing,” he coos. “Do you miss him? I think you do.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I miss him.”

Yunho hums. He pushes the tips of his fingers in between your thighs, brushing against your covered cunt. Another sip of his whiskey, a longer one this time; the glass, empty now, dangles from his hand in a loose grip; assured, like he knows no matter what he does it won’t fall. His fingers still press against your pussy. “Troubled little thing he made of you,” he says. He puts the glass down on the side table and pulls his other hand away, letting it rest on his thigh. “Dance for me.”

“Yes, sir.”

You start as you usually do, swinging your hips from side to side, slowly, your legs parted slightly. He watches you intently, expression blank but with something sparking in his eyes. Interest, maybe, or perhaps something more complicated.

Still watching you, he takes the decanter and pours himself another glass. “Turn around,” he orders. “Show me your ass.”

He stops you before you can turn fully; “That’s enough,” he says, when you’re turned about halfway. “Just like that. So I can see your face, too.”

For the next few minutes, it’s silent; he watches you, taking small sips from the glass without ever moving his gaze. And you—you dance. You close your eyes, exhaling; you feel like you’re in a daze, your hips, your body moving of its own accord now, like the movements have awoken something that allowed you to slip into muscle memory. Into instinct; into training so deep rooted you fall into it unconsciously.

“You move beautifully,” he tells you. “You could have been a dancer.”

You nod. You could have been a lot of things. Your legs are starting to get tired.

Yunho seems to notice. Or maybe—probably—he’s just bored of this. Ready for something more exciting. “Enough of that,” he says, then pats his thigh. “Come.”

You perch yourself there, his thigh surprisingly firm, strong enough that you’d have no qualms lifting your feet from the ground if you felt inclined to. You don’t know why you’re surprised, really, Yunho is clearly a strong man. It’s evident in the size of him, the weight of his touch, the faint pulsing of pain on your backside. You suppose it’s that he doesn’t look particularly built; he’s not overly muscular, not like some of the men you’ve seen.

His hand curls around your waist and rests in your lap. The other grips your jaw and tilts your head towards him. The glass of whiskey lies half-finished on the table. “Do you smoke?” He asks. You shake your head. “Try.” He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, then a lighter. “Open up a little.” He pushes a cigarette between your lips, a little way into your mouth. “Hold it between your teeth. Don’t bite.” Once you’ve obeyed, once he knows you’re holding the cigarette steady, he lights it up.

The first inhale makes you gasp, splutter; it’s a weird feeling, almost suffocating, like standing in smog or sucking on a tailpipe. It makes your throat close up and your eyes water; you cough, a chesty sound, and Yunho pats your back. “Easy,” he murmurs. He’s holding the cigarette now; he caught it between his thumb and forefinger when you let it fall from your mouth. “It’s rough, huh?”

“Yes, sir.” You’re still wheezing slightly, your voice strained.

“I’m surprised you don’t smoke,” he says. “They usually do.”

“It never appealed to me.”

“What does?”

You shrug. You dare to think Yunho looks a little sad for you. He takes a long drag of the cigarette, eyes closing for a moment, sighing, then puts it down on the table, still lit. Ash spills and settles atop the wood. His hand returns to your jaw. “I want you to keep your eyes on me,” he says. “Do you want me to touch you?”

“Please, sir.”

“Your hands stay in your lap. Your eyes on me. I like obedience. Try to impress me.”

“Yes, sir.”

First, his hand curls around your thigh. The leather feels impersonal. Cold in every sense. Then it moves, peeling the adhesive of the c-string away from your crotch and pulling it free. Your cunt is bare now; fully exposed. For a moment he just looks at it. “You shave,” he says. “Your preference, or someone else’s?”

“Both.”

“It’s my preference too.” He presses two fingers to your clit, pushing at it, then pulls away. “You have a beautiful cunt. So ripe.”

“It’s all for you, sir.”

He hums. He’s still staring at it. “Tonight, at least.”

His fingers move down, sinking between your folds and spreading them apart. He pulls at them a bit, upwards; you follow the movement, lifting your hips and pointing them outwards slightly to get a better look. He glances up at you, brow tilted, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Smart girl,” he says. “Intuitive. Do you like it when I touch you here?”

“Yes sir.”

“It feels different with the gloves, doesn’t it?”

“Yes sir.”

“Clinical.”

“Yes sir.”

“But you’re still wet.”

You nod. The tips of his fingers push into the opening of your cunt, just a little, like testing the waters. “Tight,” he says. “Clenching around me. Oh, she loves me, doesn’t she?”

“She does.”

“She wants to be stretched.”

“Yes sir.”

“If I take the glove off, you’ll make it worth my while, won’t you?”

“Yes sir.”

He pulls out, then pulls the glove off, putting it down on the table. His hand is large, fingers long and slender. There’s a ring around his index finger, gold and expensive looking. His other hand, still gloved, sits on your hip as he eases two fingers inside you again. You shudder, exhaling; he clicks his tongue. “So warm,” he hums, almost crooning. “Soft, too. Does that feel nice?”

You nod, swallowing; with the thick leather of the glove you felt full, stretched, but the feeling of his skin is something entirely different. Still, it hardly feels intimate; just coldness of a different kind.

His fingers push deeper, sinking in further until they’re pressing against your g-spot. You bite your lip, trying to stay quiet; Yunho shakes his head, pulling his fingers out some then pushing them back in, hard and deep. You choke, whining, and he breathes out a laugh, squeezing your hip. “I want to hear you,” he says, staring to thrust his fingers. “I want all of you. No hiding.”

“Yes sir,” you whisper.

Yunho is clearly good at this, his movements precise, but he doesn’t seem particularly focused, particularly bothered. You get the sense that he’s simply working you open. Taking stock of you, too, perhaps; seeing how you respond to him. Testing you.

It’s not unusual. There’s no reason for them to care for your pleasure, of course; they’re the ones paying after all. You’re just the product for sale.

“How many men have been in here?” He asks, voice low, even. He doesn’t seem bothered, really; just curious. Maybe he’s trying to embarrass you; to remind you of what you are. How dirty; how tainted. He’s curling his fingers as he speaks, stroking your g-spot in small circles. “You probably don’t even know, do you?”

“No sir.” You couldn’t even estimate. You prefer not to try.

“Poor little thing,” he replies. “You shouldn’t be here. Pretty thing like you, you should be someone’s house pet. Not a whore.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’d be a good house pet, I think,” he says. “Obedient. Quiet. Seen and not heard, that’s what I like. You’d be good at that, wouldn’t you?”

“I would be.”

It’s already your mantra. It’s easier, safer that way. Isaiah prefers you that way, too, always has; he doesn’t like the sound of your voice, says you’re prettier in silence.

“Would you do as I tell you to do?” Yunho asks. His fingers move back and forth now, stroking at you gently, slowly, but firmly. “I’d never have to punish you, would I? I reckon Isaiah’s trained you well.”

“He has.”

Yunho hums. “But I think you’re naturally well behaved, too. Pliant. Accepting pain for the sake of it, just to please me. I could put you over my knee and you’d just lie there and take it. You ever been whipped?”

“Belted.”

“Oh yes.” He nods, smiling. “Good girl. You know what I want to hear. Would you let me belt you? Just like your daddy did?”

“If you wanted to.”

“I’m not in the mood for it now,” he says. “If you were mine, though, I would. Make you cry. Make it hard to sit. Just for my own amusement.”

“If I were yours, you could do as you like to me.”

“That’s right.” He sounds approving. His fingers pull out some then thrust in deeper, firmer, like a reward. “I’d do it whenever you needed it. Or whenever I wanted to. In front of people, too. I have some friends who’d like to see it.”

“Would you let them belt me too?”

His brows lift, a faint sort of surprise on his face. Pleasant surprise, it seems. “That’s a good idea, doll. Maybe I would. And they’d fuck you, too. I’d show you off. Show how well I’ve trained you, how I keep you disciplined.”

“I’d take it.”

“I know you would. And you’ll be good for me tonight, won’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

His fingers pull out, coated in wetness. He wipes them down on his pants, a faint sheen glistening against the black fabric. His hands come to rest on your hips. His voice comes low, soft, almost gentle, his gaze soft as he meets your eyes. “You know I’m going to hurt you, doll.” There’s a solemnity to it, like he’s breaking bad news to you, informing you of a fate he has no control over. He almost sounds regretful; like this is simply the tragic but certain reality. A sentence he has no choice but to carry out.

You nod. “How badly?”

“Nothing you’ll feel for too long.”

“Thank you.”

He pats your hip. “Straddle me,” he says. “Let’s put some colour in those cheeks.”

He moves you himself; one leg on each side, then his hands on your hips lowering you until you’re straddling his thigh. “Stick your ass out,” he says. “Arch your back.”

His hand comes to rest on your ass cheek, grabbing a handful of it and squeezing. “I’m going to spank you,” he says. “And you’ll get off on it.”

“Yes sir.”

His hand pulls away, winding back, then lands. The sound hits you before the pain—it’s loud, like a gunshot, knocking the wind out of your chest before you even feel the sting. When it does come, though, it’s intense; heavy, sharp, burning, blooming across the expanse of your cheek. His other hand, still gloved, resting on your thigh, tightens its grip, the tips of his fingers pressing into the skin. Another hit, on the same cheek, then on the other. You make a noise of pain, falling forwards; the hand on your thigh moves to wrap around your waist and tugs you back into position. “Easy,” he murmurs. Another hit. “It’s not so bad. And it feels good, doesn’t it?”

This time, when he hits you, the arm around your waist moves too, pushing you forwards a little. It presses your cunt into his thigh, rubbing against the material of his slacks as it’s forced forward. Your breath hitches, eyes squeezing shut, and Yunho chuckles. “Yeah, it feels good,” he says. He presses his fingers into your cheek, the blunts of his nails digging into the pained flesh hard enough to make your eyes water. When you open them again, he’s staring at you, at your face, and smiling softly. Knowingly. Satisfied. He loves this.

“Sir,” you breathe.

Another hit. “Say it again.” Another.

“Sir.” It comes out as a whine, your lip wobbling, composure threatening to break as the hits speed up.

He picks up the lighter and the pack of cigarettes he’d put on the side table next to the whiskey and lights one up, clasping it between his teeth. “Start moving,” he says. “Grinding. Get off on the pain.”

He keeps hitting you, over and over. Sometimes he takes a drag of the cigarette as he does so. Sometimes he clutches it between two fingers, a loose grip, the same way he was holding the glass earlier, while his other hand lands on your ass over and over. It’s casual, almost, the movements, the way he’s holding himself. He’s lounging in the chair, leaned back, legs spread; like this is nothing more than passive entertainment for him. Something typical.

There’s an intensity to it, too, though. To him. In his eyes, you think it is; a dim, dull glint but a glint nonetheless. An interest and a desire he doesn’t let onto. Something deep rooted and bordering on primal.

Your entire backside is stinging now, and your cunt is sensitive, both from the stimulation and the feeling of the material of his pants rubbing harshly against it. You don’t know how red you are now, don’t dare to look, but Yunho hits hard. Like he’s had practice—lots of it.

You wonder where from. Often with these men, it’s from other girls like you, who absorb the violence and perversions they can’t let show to their wives, their girlfriends; women they respect. Sometimes it’s from their own children. For some men, you’ve learned, the violence is indiscriminate.

Yunho seems too controlled for that. Too calm. He’s hurting you because he wants to, not because he needs to. Not because he’s lost his cool.

“You take it so well,” he says, almost cooing. “So brave. You’re well conditioned, aren’t you?”

Another. Another. He pauses for a moment, grabbing the bottom of your dress and lifting it up, over your stomach, over your tits until they’re exposed. He whistles lowly, grabbing a handful of your breast and squeezing. When he pulls away his nails have left indents in your skin. He lands a heavy handed smack on each of them then returns to your ass. It’s gone past stinging now, more of a burn, a scorching pain, the skin surely swollen. It’s so heavy and intense you’re hardly conscious of your pussy, of the fact that you’ve been grinding back and forth on his thigh the whole time. You look down; the fabric is glistening. Your face burns. Letting him do this is one thing; following his orders another. But you’re getting off on it. Leaking, dripping over it. This is the inescapable proof.

“I’d hit you just like this if you were mine,” he says. “Every time you ride me. Every time you’re in my lap. You’d always be red and sore in my house. S’what pretty little things like you deserve, isn’t it?”

You nod, still grinding, quickly getting too overwhelmed to speak. Yunho grins. “Whore,” he spits. “You love this, sick little thing.”

“S— sir,” you gasp, squirming, as another hit lands. You wonder if his hand hurts, but if it is he’s keeping it to himself. “Please.”

“Please what?” He asks.

You shake your head. You don’t even know what you’re crying for. He knows it.

“You’ve gone dumb, haven’t you?” He says. “Humping me while I hurt you, it’s gone to your head.”

“Please,” you repeat. “Yunho. Sir.”

“You don’t know what you want,” he says. “You don’t need to. You shouldn’t know what you want. Knowing what you want, saying what you want, that’s the sort of thing I’d have to beat out of you.”

“I wouldn’t,” you tell him. “I wouldn’t— wouldn’t say. Wouldn’t want.”

“Told you you’re a smart girl, huh? Take another puff. Open your mouth.”

He pushes the cigarette in; this time he holds it there, firm, until you breathe it in. You don’t splutter as much this time. He watches you impassively, but the corners of his lips quirk. “Feels good, huh?” He murmurs, taking the cigarette back and taking another puff. “Easy to get addicted to.”

“Are you? Addicted?”

“I wonder the same,” he says. “But I’ll die young anyway.”

The hits have stopped now, but you’re still moving, too well-trained to do anything but. Yunho digs his fingers into your ass, the pained sensitive skin there, then wraps his arm around your waist. His grip is firm, like he’s holding you in place. There’s more force to it than there was before.

He takes one last, long puff, then pushes the butt into your chest. You jolt, crying out, thrashing slightly but his grip only tightens. His gaze is fixed on your chest, on the cigarette pressed against your skin; only once you’ve stopped struggling, cries fading into quiet whimpers, does he pull it away. He puts it down on the table, next to the first, then takes another sip of the whiskey. You’re surprised he’s not tipsy now, knowing how strong it is, but if anything he looks more steady and in control than he did when you got here.

“You sound pretty when you’re hurting,” he says. “Melodic. Like you’re singing.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Both of his hands are on your hips now. For a moment he just looks at you. You fight the instinct to squirm or shrink under his gaze.

When he speaks, his voice is as soft as it’s ever been. Almost sincere. “I could get you out of here,” he says. “I’d pay for you. Handsomely.”

He’s not the first to offer, but Isaiah wouldn’t allow it. He doesn’t look surprised to hear it. “I can be persuasive,” Yunho says. “You don’t belong here.”

“I—”

“Don’t say no,” he cuts you off. “Think about it. We have time. Isaiah will tire of you.”

“I know.”

“Next time I see you, wear something innocent,” he says. “Something white. Linen. Like a church girl. Same shoes.”

His hands pull away, and he stands up. You realise now just how large he is, how he dwarfs you, how easily he could overpower you—could overpower Isaiah.

“Are you leaving?” You ask, surprised. “You haven’t even fucked me.”

“The first time I fuck you, you’ll belong to me. Today I just wanted to hurt you a bit.”

“Didn’t you pay a lot of money?”

“I have plenty,” he says. “I didn’t pay to fuck you. I paid to see if I might want to, and I do.”

“Is this what you always do? When you see girls like me? Appraise them?”

“Sometimes,” he says. “Usually I hurt them worse. I like to leave a mark. But you’re fragile. You’re soft. I know you can take it, you proved yourself to me, but when I really hurt you, I want to do it in the right way.”

“What way is that?”

“In my house,” he replies. “Under my care. At my feet.”

You don’t know what to say; he doesn’t seem to expect you to. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead and cupping your cunt. His hand is warm, hot even, perhaps from having impacted your ass over and over again. “Be a good girl,” he whispers. “I’ll be back for you.”

He shrugs on his jacket and walks out without another glance at you. Your panties are in his pocket.

Pulling off the heels, you take your phone out of your coat. Isaiah is asking how it went. He won’t be happy to hear Yunho hadn’t fucked you. He likes it when you keep them there, when you keep their interest, convincing them to drop extra cash for additional services. You don’t think you could have convinced Yunho.

I’ll be back for you, he’d said. You don’t think you believe him.

this is very spur of the moment and rushed; i really, really wanted to write something with yunho and this song. there’s remnants of this i’ve drawn from experience. if any of it feels familiar, consider the sort of situation you’re in and reach out for help. exploitation is rarely as overt as it is in the movies. love🖤🖤🖤

[vanillaxbambi]

.+*not so soft || jeong yunho.

“yeah, i could be gentle… but that aint what you like.”

.+*contains: softdom!yunho x bratty sub!femreader . . . || degradation | soft dom switch to hard dom | light bondage | squirting ||

.+*wc: 1.3k

synopsis: your loving boyfriend has always taken care of you as if you were a delicate piece of glass. tonight? you’ve definitely tested his limits.

m i k a 🌷: naturally… i would be inspired by the freaked out lyrics of in your fantasy. ESPECIALLY MY MANS YUNHO’S LINES GRAHHHHHH. anywho, enjoy. this was longer than i intended.

m a s t e r l i s t .

he tried.

he really, really tried to be gentle with you tonight.

yunho had started off slow—sweet kisses, soft touches, letting his hands explore you like you were delicate. like you might break.

but you? you weren’t in the mood to be handled with care.

you’d pulled at his hair, whined about how slow he was going, rolled your hips down onto his lap with too much purpose. and when he pushed your shirt up, brushing his fingers over your ribs with reverence, you looked him dead in the eye and said:

“you gonna keep treating me like a soft baby, or you gonna fuck me already?”

something in him snapped.

his fingers stopped mid-stroke. his gaze sharpened. and the next time he touched you, it wasn’t careful.

it was commanding.

he dragged you off his lap and threw you on the bed like you were nothing but a toy he was tired of teasing.

“you’ve got a smart mouth,” he muttered, standing over you, eyes raking down your body. “i’ve been nothing but sweet to you. and you’re still acting like a fucking brat.”

you smirked, thinking it was a game.

but when he grabbed your jaw and made you look up at him, there was no sweetness left in his expression.

“you wanna get used?” he asked, tone dark and dangerous. “you wanna see what i’m like when i stop pretending to be nice?”

your breath caught.

“get on your knees.”

you obeyed. fast. something about his voice left no room for hesitation.

you settled between his legs, hands resting on your thighs, chest rising with anticipation. he undid his belt with maddening calm, letting the leather drag through the loops. you could hear your pulse in your ears.

“open your mouth.”

you did, lips parting slowly.

yunho ran his thumb along your lower lip, then slipped it inside—watching as you instinctively wrapped your tongue around it.

“look at you,” he muttered. “always so defiant until i put something in your mouth.”

he dragged his thumb out and replaced it with two fingers—deep, rough, pressing past your tongue and holding them there until your throat clenched.

“gag on it, baby,” he cooed. “show me how much you wanna choke on my cock.”

you whimpered.

he pulled his fingers out, wiped them on your cheek, then used them to tilt your face up again. “such a good little slut when you’re quiet.”

he dragged you up by your arm and bent you over the bed without warning. the tie he usually wore for work became your wrist restraint, looped behind your back and tugged taut.

“keep those hands there. move, and i stop. understood?”

“yes,” you breathed. “yes, yunho.”

he slid your panties down slow—just to admire the way you were already soaked.

“fucking dripping,” he muttered. “you’re disgusting— pathetic thing.”

you moaned.

“you like that? being called names?” he spat, pushing your legs apart with his knee. “want me to treat you like the little cockdrunk toy you are?”

“yes, fuck—please—”

you didn’t get to finish begging.

because yunho slammed into you in one unforgiving thrust.

you screamed into the sheets, body jolting forward from the force.

“that what you wanted?” he growled, grabbing your tied wrists and shoving them into the small of your back. “you wanted to be fucked like a hole? just used until you cry?”

“yes—yes—yes—”

“mm. now you’re being honest.”

he pulled out almost completely before thrusting back in, harder. faster. his hips slapping against your ass with obscene rhythm.

“feel that? how deep i am?” he grunted. “you’re so fucking small, i can feel your pussy sucking me in. greedy little thing.”

your legs shook. your body was already trembling.

and then he reached around and slapped your clit.

hard.

“don’t you dare cum,” he growled. “not until i say.”

“fuck—yunho—please—”

“you don’t get to beg, baby,” he hissed into your ear. “you lost that right the second you started acting like a brat.”

he kept thrusting. kept rubbing your clit. kept making filthy little observations between groans. “you hear how wet you are? nasty fucking sounds, baby.”

“look at that—your thighs are shaking. you gonna fall apart already?”

“what would your friends say if they saw you like this, huh? bent over and drooling for me?”

your body jolted again.

“answer me.”

“they’d—they’d say i’m a fucking mess,” you sobbed. “they’d say i’m pathetic for loving it—”

yunho groaned like it turned him on more than anything.

“pathetic little mess,” he echoed, thrusting faster. “you’re gonna cum now. do it. i want this pussy ruined.”

you exploded.

your orgasm hit like a flood, body twitching, mouth open in a silent cry, tears dripping down your cheeks as he fucked you through it.

but he didn’t stop.

not when you clenched. not when you begged. not even when your knees collapsed and your face pressed into the mattress.

“what’s the matter, angel?” he taunted, voice still sweet despite how brutal his hips were. “thought this was what you wanted?”

you sobbed. incoherent. overstimulated.

he leaned over and whispered: “i could’ve been gentle. could’ve kissed you slow, made you cum on my fingers like always. but that ain’t what you like, is it?”

you whimpered, trying to pull away.

he slapped your ass and pinned your hips down.

“nah, don’t run now. take it.”

you came again. violently. messily. your legs gave out and your body shuddered like you’d been struck by lightning.

“fuck,” yunho grunted. “you’re squirting on my cock.”

he sounded proud. “good fucking girl.”

he finally groaned when he came, deep and long, pulling your wrists up as he buried himself to the hilt. your cunt twitched around him, completely spent, wrecked, stretched beyond recognition.

you both breathed heavy.

and then—

his hand slid to your back.

gentle. soft. stroking.

“you okay, angel?”

you nodded, tears still on your cheeks, face flushed.

he kissed your temple, then untied your wrists with careful fingers.

“you were so perfect for me,” he whispered. “did so fucking well.”

you slurred something close to “thank you,” brain foggy from orgasm after orgasm.

he pulled you into his chest, kissing your shoulder. “next time,” he whispered, voice low and teasing, “maybe think twice before calling me soft.”

[deerev]

18+ ! ateez nsfw links (most fem viewer!)

hwa is good with his fingers 😵‍💫 ♡

seonghwa fucking u so nicely ♡

tying hwa up and playing w his cock ♡

completely at hongjoong's mercy ♡

hongjoong teaching u a lesson ♡

joongie sending this to u at work ♡

yunho fucking you soooo good ♡

u and yunho are just so needy ♡

yunnie is huge 😵‍💫 ♡

yeosang touching himself for u ♡

sangie loves kissing before u have sex ♡

this being sent when yeo is so needy for u ♡

sannie filming this for his mommy 🥺 ♡

sweet san having a vibrator used on his cock ♡

munch sannie is such a good boy ♡

god, mingi is mean with his hands sometimes ♡

mingi jerking off after a long day ♡

mingi lovesssss breeding u ♡

youngie loves fingering u so much ♡

wooyoung treating u so well ♡

god, wooyoung fucks u sooooo good ♡

jongho takes it so so slow w u ♡

jongho getting u all wet on his fingers ♡

jerking jongho off in public... ♡

just a reminder u need to be logged into twt for these to work!! <3

[deerev]

18+ ! ateez nsfw links (most fem viewer & ships!)

seonghwa making u keep ur mouth open for him ♡

long promotions means hwa needs time to relax ♡

joongie getting himself off ♡

hongjoong likes tying u up ♡

yunho just shoves ur lace panties aside rather than getting undressed ♡

yunnie working u open before fucking u ♡

sangie eats u out so well ♡

sometimes yeosang just loves fucking u into the sheets ♡

sannie is so gentle when u have sex 🥺 ♡

dressing san up and teasing him ♡

mingi showing off ♡

mingi fucks u sooo goooood ♡

wooyoung making u squirt on his cock 😵‍💫 ♡

pro cock sucker wooyoung ♡

jongho looks so cute making himself cum ♡

sometimes jongho teases u before fucking u ♡

ships...♡

woosang—wooyoung likes putting yeosang in a collar, the bell is so cute when he rides him ♡

yungi—they're always switching, but mingi was on top this time ♡

matz—seonghwa fucking hongjoong into the sheets after he said he was stressed ♡

woosan—inception era woosan, wooyoung making his baby feel good after promotions ♡

jonggi—mingi fucking jongho in the middle of the dorm when the others are out ♡

hohong—red hair hongjoong riding yunho ♡

sanhwa—sannie looks so fucking cute all pliant for seonghwa ♡

+ yungi tag teaming their sweet kitty san ♡

wheewwww that's so many links lolll... also first time doing bxb links so time 4 u guys to see which ships i like :P anyway, remember to be logged into twt!!

[youthguk]

curiosity | jjk(m) | college au

Jungkook loves ruining innocent things — and you look like the kind of faith he’d enjoy breaking at great cost to you both.

warnings: ⚠️explicit sexual content (graphic sex, oral f, lose of v), jk is very questionable here

an: this is a work of fiction: the characters and scenarios are entirely fictionalized and written for entertainment purposes only, with no intent to offend anyone

Jungkook had never understood girls like you.

Not in a curious way. More like the way you don't understand why someone would refuse dessert. It seemed like deprivation dressed up as virtue, a lifelong no to everything that made being young worth it. The heat of a stranger's mouth at 2 a.m., the reckless burning want that made you forget your own name, the kind of pleasure that left you breathless and shameless and alive.

He didn't judge it, exactly. He just couldn't relate.

Jungkook lived loudly. He collected experiences the way some people collected shoes: hookups at parties, tangled sheets in expensive apartments, mornings that smelled like someone else's perfume. He didn't apologize for it. Why would he? Life was short, and he was young, rich, and too good-looking to waste time on guilt.

And you? You were the opposite of everything he knew.

Soft-spoken but sharp. Polite but immovable. The kind of girl who dressed modestly, kept her circle small, and apparently believed that waiting until marriage was still a thing people did in the 21st century. Jungkook had heard rumors, sure. Everyone had. The girl who didn't date. The one who quoted scripture and turned down half the rugby team without blinking.

He'd probably never have thought about you twice if it wasn't for Political Science 304.

The class was an easy A, or it should have been. Show up, nod along, write a few essays about democracy or whatever. Jungkook usually sat in the back, barely listening, scrolling through his phone or nursing a hangover behind dark sunglasses.

But then came the debate.

The topic was something about religious freedom versus secular governance. Dry as hell, or so he thought. Jungkook had thrown out some half-assed argument about keeping church and state separate, the kind of thing that sounded smart if you didn't think about it too hard. He'd gotten a few nods from his buddies. Even the professor seemed fine with it.

And then you raised your hand.

"With all due respect," you said, voice calm but cutting, "that's an incredibly shallow reading of both history and ethics."

The room went quiet.

You didn't yell. You didn't have to. You dismantled his argument piece by piece, citing philosophers he'd never heard of, constitutional law he'd never bothered to read, and real-world examples that made him look like he'd gotten his politics from Twitter threads. You spoke with precision, with conviction, and worst of all, with thinly veiled disgust.

Not just for his argument.

For him.

By the time you finished, Jungkook felt like he'd been skinned alive in front of thirty people. A few classmates were staring. One guy actually whistled under his breath. And you? You just sat back down, expression unreadable, like you'd done nothing more than correct a typo.

Jungkook left that class with his jaw tight and his pride in his pocket.

Later that night, he met up with his usual crew at the apartment Taehyung's parents kept near campus: all floor-to-ceiling windows, imported liquor, and zero supervision. They were sprawled across the leather sectional, mid-argument about someone's latest breakup and cheating, when Jungkook brought you up.

"Anyone know the girl from PolySci? Y/N?"

Taehyung snorted into his drink, nearly spilling whiskey on the cream leather. "Oh, you mean the one who made you look like an idiot today?"

"She didn't make me look like anything," Jungkook shot back, a smirk tugging at his lips. "She just has opinions. Strong ones. It's kind of hot, actually."

"She destroyed you, man," Jimin cut in, grinning wide enough to show his teeth. "I heard about it from like three people already. Someone recorded it. It's in the group chat."

"There's a video?" Jungkook's jaw tightened, though his eyes gleamed with something dangerous. "Good. Maybe she'll watch it and realize I was paying more attention to her mouth than her argument."

Jimin choked on his drink. "Jesus, man."

"Relax, it's only got like fifty views," Hoseok said, not looking up from his phone. Then, after a beat: "Wait, no. A hundred and twelve now."

"Perfect," Jungkook drawled, leaning back with his arms spread across the sectional like he owned it. "Free publicity."

"Free humiliation, more like," Hoseok finally glanced up, smirking. "You got academically destroyed by a girl who probably irons her cardigans. And now it's immortalized."

"It doesn't sting," Jungkook said, rolling his neck lazily. "It's a challenge. There's a difference."

"She's the religious one, right?" Hoseok said, scrolling again. "Doesn't go to parties. Doesn't drink. Doesn't…" He trailed off with a smirk, letting the silence fill in the rest. "Yeah. Doesn't do anything."

"Waiting until marriage," Taehyung added, like it was the punchline to a joke. He topped off his glass, ice clinking. "Serious about it, too. Like, aggressively serious. Turned down Namjoon last year without even blinking."

Jungkook blinked. "Namjoon? Kim Namjoon?"

"Yep. Man wrote her a whole letter and everything. Like a Victorian gentleman or some shit." Taehyung laughed, shaking his head. "Three pages. Hand-written. Quoted poetry."

"And?" Jimin asked, leaning forward.

"She said no in under ten words." Taehyung mimicked a flat, polite tone: "'I appreciate this, but I'm not interested. Thank you.'"

"Cold-blooded," Hoseok muttered, impressed despite himself.

Jungkook laughed, low and genuinely amused. "I like her already."

"Of course you do," Jimin said, shaking his head. "You always want what you can't have."

"I respect it, honestly," Jimin continued. "That's commitment. Like, imagine actually having principles in this place."

"Or delusion," Hoseok countered, scrolling again. "Same thing, really."

"She's probably one of those 'love is patient, love is kind' people," Taehyung said, voice dripping with mockery. "You know, thinks she's special because she's repressed."

"Or maybe she just hasn't met anyone worth breaking her rules and standards for," Jungkook said, his voice smooth as silk. He tilted his head, eyes half-lidded, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Yet."

Taehyung barked out a laugh. "And you think you're that person? The guy who just got publicly humiliated by her, a college student acting like a 1950s housewife-in-training. That's not standards, that's a complex."

Jungkook didn't say anything for a moment. He was thinking about the way you'd looked at him in class. Not like he was attractive. Not like he was rich or charming or untouchable.

Like he was nothing.

Like he wasn't even worth the effort of contempt, just a nuisance to be corrected and dismissed.

"She really hates me," he said.

"Probably hates what you represent," Taehyung said, swirling his drink. "You know: shallow, shameless, morally bankrupt. Everything her little prayer group warns her about." He grinned. "No offense."

"None taken." Jungkook's smile widened, sharp and wolfish. "I've been called worse by better people."

"And yet here you are, still thinking about her," Jimin observed, pouring another drink. The bottle was already half-empty, and it wasn't even midnight. "She's like a fortress. No weak spots. No cracks. I don't even think she has Instagram."

"She doesn't," Hoseok confirmed. "I checked. Just LinkedIn. LinkedIn. Who our age has LinkedIn but not Instagram?"

"Someone who thinks she's above all this," Jungkook murmured, more to himself than anyone else. Then louder, with a reckless grin: "Which means she's exactly the type who's dying to let go. She just doesn't know it yet."

"Psychopaths," Taehyung said immediately.

"Or people with actual career plans," Jimin countered.

"Same thing."

"You're delusional," Hoseok said flatly. "She looked at you like you were gum on her shoe."

"Exactly," Jungkook said, eyes glinting. "That's what makes it interesting."

Taehyung's grin widened then, slow and dangerous. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes glinting with the kind of mischief that always ended badly. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, his tongue dragging slowly across his lower lip. "Depends. Are you thinking I could have her on her knees by midterms?"

The room erupted. Hoseok choked on his drink, Jimin covered his face, Taehyung laughed so hard he had to set his glass down.

"Jesus Christ, Jungkook," Jimin managed, half-horrified, half-impressed.

"What? I'm just being honest." Jungkook shrugged, shameless. "You all act like I'm the devil, but at least I don't pretend to be anything else."

"You're insane," Hoseok said, wiping tears from his eyes. "She would literally rather die."

"I'm thinking," Taehyung said slowly, ignoring them both, like he was savoring each word, "that even you couldn't crack someone like her."

The room went still.

Jungkook tilted his head, eyes narrowing, but there was heat there now, something dangerous and hungry. "That a challenge?"

"It's a bet."

Hoseok barked out a laugh, finally setting his phone down. "Oh, come on. That's not fair. She'd sniff him out in a second. This isn't some girl from a club who's three drinks in. She studies people like him."

"Exactly," Taehyung said, leaning back with satisfaction. "That's what makes it interesting. That's what makes it worth something."

Jimin was shaking his head, but he was smiling, the same way people smile at car crashes. "What are the terms?"

"Make her fall for you," Taehyung said simply, like it was the easiest thing in the world. "For real. Not just a kiss or a coffee date or some hand-holding bullshit. I'm talking full-on, 'I trust you,' 'I'm breaking my rules for you,' 'you've changed me' territory."

"That's cruel," Jimin said, though he didn't sound particularly bothered by it.

"That's the point," Taehyung shot back. "If it was easy, it wouldn't be a bet."

Jungkook should have said no.

He should have laughed it off, called Taehyung an idiot, told him to sleep off the whiskey, and moved on.

But he kept thinking about the way you'd looked at him. Like he was less. And Jungkook had spent his whole life being more: more money, more charm, more attention, more everything. He didn't lose. Not at anything that mattered.

And this? This was starting to feel like it mattered.

Besides, he'd never met a rule he didn't want to break. Or a girl who didn't eventually want him to.

"What are we betting?" Jungkook asked, voice low and even, already leaning forward like a predator catching a scent.

Taehyung leaned back, thinking, tapping one finger against his glass. Then his eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. "Your Porsche 911."

Jungkook's jaw tightened. The vintage '73 he'd spent two years restoring himself: forest green with cream leather interior, original wood-grain dash, engine he'd rebuilt by hand. His pride and joy. The one thing his father couldn't buy for him because he'd earned it himself.

He let the silence sit for a beat. Two. Then he smiled, slow, dangerous, certain.

"And what do I get when I win?"

"When?" Taehyung laughed. "I love the confidence. Alright." He tapped the platinum watch on his wrist, the one that caught light like a quiet threat. "My Rolex Daytona. The one my grandfather left me. The one I'm not supposed to gamble with."

Hoseok whistled low, actually looking up now. "Wait, you're serious? That watch is worth more than my tuition."

Jimin set his drink down, eyes wide. "That's a $200,000 watch."

"And that's a $150,000 car," Taehyung countered. "We're both gambling something we shouldn't. That's how you know it's real."

The room held its breath.

Jungkook met Taehyung's eyes across the table: dark, amused, daring him. Then he leaned back, arms spread wide, grin sharp enough to cut.

"Deal," he said, voice dripping with arrogance. "But just so we're clear, I'm not doing this for the watch."

"No?" Taehyung raised an eyebrow.

"No." Jungkook's smile turned wicked. "I'm doing it because I want to see what she looks like when she finally stops pretending she's a saint."

"You're going to crash and burn so hard," Hoseok muttered, but he was grinning.

"We'll see," Jungkook said smoothly.

They shook on it. Firm. Final.

And in that moment, Jungkook felt something settle in his chest. Not guilt. Not hesitation.

Certainty.

He was going to win. He always did.

—

You sat cross-legged on the worn carpet of the campus ministry lounge, your notebook balanced on your knee, half-listening to the discussion happening around you.

"I just think if we frame the outreach event as a community wellness fair instead of an evangelism thing, we'll get way more people to show up," Sarah was saying, her voice bright and earnest.

"But isn't that kind of... misleading?" Daniel asked, pushing his glasses up. "Like, we're still trying to share the Gospel, right?"

"It's not misleading, it's strategic," Sarah countered.

You made a note in the margin of your planner, tuning them out. You'd heard this debate a thousand times. Same script, different week.

Your phone buzzed on the floor beside you.

Mom: Your brother got expelled again. We're meeting with the dean tomorrow. How are your grades? Still maintaining that 4.0?

You stared at the message for a long moment, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

No "how are you." No "we miss you." Just another crisis with him, another expectation that you'd keep being perfect while they scrambled to fix his messes. The eternal assumption that your achievements didn't need celebration because they were simply expected.

You typed back: Yes. Hope the meeting goes well.

Then you muted the conversation and set your phone face-down.

"Y/N? What do you think?"

You looked up to find everyone staring at you. Sarah's smile was patient, but there was something performative about it, like she was waiting for you to say the right thing so they could all move on.

"I think both approaches have merit," you said carefully. "But we should prioritize authenticity over attendance numbers."

"See? That's what I'm saying," Daniel said, nodding enthusiastically.

Sarah's smile tightened. "Right. Of course. Authenticity."

You felt the familiar weight settle over your chest. The sense that you were always saying the right thing but never the real thing. That you could sit in a room full of people who shared your faith, your values, your entire worldview, and still feel completely alone.

Because none of them actually knew you. They knew the version of you that showed up on time, volunteered for everything, smiled through exhaustion, and never, ever complained.

They knew the performance. Not the person.

"Alright, let's take a quick break before we finalize the budget," Sarah announced, standing and stretching. "I'm going to grab some coffee. Anyone want anything?"

A chorus of polite nos.

You stayed where you were, staring at your planner. You'd color-coded every hour of your week. Church. Study groups. Volunteering. Tutoring. Not a single block marked "rest" or "fun" or "something just for me."

You used to like this. The structure. The purpose.

Now it just felt like a cage you'd built yourself.

The door to the lounge creaked open.

You didn't look up until you heard Daniel's voice, uncertain and confused.

"Uh... can we help you?"

You glanced toward the door.

And froze.

Jeon Jungkook stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, looking around the room with an expression that could only be described as amused curiosity. He was dressed down in black joggers, an oversized hoodie, a silver chain catching the light at his collarbone. But somehow he still looked like he'd walked off a magazine cover.

"Hey," he said, voice smooth and casual, like he belonged there. "This the campus ministry thing?"

Silence. Sarah blinked at him, coffee forgotten. Daniel looked like he'd short-circuited. Even Grace, who never got flustered, was staring.

You felt your entire body go rigid.

"No," you said flatly.

Jungkook's eyes found yours across the room, and his mouth curved into a slow, lazy smile. "No? That's weird, because the flyer outside said..."

"I don't care what the flyer said." You stood, closing your notebook with a sharp snap. "You're not here for ministry. So you can leave."

"Wow." Jungkook tilted his head, smile widening. "Hostile. I just wanted to check it out. I've been... thinking about faith lately. Exploring spirituality, you know?"

"Exploring spirituality," you repeated, voice dripping with disbelief.

"Yeah." He stepped further into the room, completely unbothered by your tone. "Figured I'd start somewhere. This seemed like a good place."

"Y/N," Sarah said gently, stepping forward with that welcoming smile she always used on newcomers, "maybe we should..."

"No." Your voice was sharp enough to cut. You didn't take your eyes off Jungkook. "He's not staying."

"That's not very... Christian of you," Jungkook said, and the way he said it (playful, teasing, like he was daring you to react) made your blood boil.

"Don't." Your voice was low, dangerous. "Don't you dare use that word in here like it's a joke."

"I'm not joking." He spread his hands, the picture of innocence. "I'm genuinely interested. I mean, you seem really passionate about it. I thought maybe you could... teach me."

The way he said teach me (slow, deliberate, with just enough edge to make it sound like something else entirely) made your stomach twist.

"Okay, that's enough." You crossed the room in three strides, stopping directly in front of him. You had to tilt your head back to meet his eyes, but you didn't flinch. "I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but it's not going to work. Not here. Not with me."

"Game?" Jungkook raised an eyebrow, leaning down slightly so you were almost eye-level. His voice dropped, quiet enough that only you could hear. "You think pretty highly of yourself if you think I'd go through all this trouble just to mess with you."

"I know you would," you shot back, just as quietly. "Because people like you don't do anything unless there's something in it for you."

For a split second, something flickered in his expression. Something sharp and real. But then it was gone, replaced by that infuriating smirk.

"People like me," he echoed, straightening up. "You don't even know me."

"I know enough." You stepped back, raising your voice so the whole room could hear. "You're not welcome here. Leave."

"Y/N..." Daniel started, looking genuinely distressed. "We're supposed to be open to everyone."

"Not him," you said firmly. You turned to Daniel, then to Sarah, your voice steady and unyielding. "He's not here in good faith. And if we let him stay, he's going to make a mockery of everything we're trying to do."

"That's a pretty harsh judgment," Sarah said carefully, though she looked uncertain now.

"It's the truth." You turned back to Jungkook, crossing your arms. "So. Are you going to leave, or do I need to call campus security?"

The room went dead silent.

Jungkook studied you for a long moment, head tilted, eyes dark and unreadable. Then he smiled, slow and dangerous, like he'd just won something.

"Alright," he said softly. "I'll go."

He turned toward the door, then paused, glancing back over his shoulder.

"But just so you know, I wasn't lying. I am curious. About faith. About you." His eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, the playfulness dropped away entirely. "Maybe that scares you more than you want to admit."

And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

You stood there, heart pounding, fists clenched at your sides.

"That was... intense," Grace said quietly.

"He wasn't serious," you said, though your voice sounded shakier than you wanted it to. "He was making fun of us."

"Are you sure?" Daniel asked, frowning. "I mean, he seemed..."

"I'm sure." You grabbed your bag, suddenly desperate to leave. "I'm going to head out. I'll see you all on Sunday."

"Y/N, wait..."

But you were already out the door, walking quickly down the hallway, trying to ignore the way your hands were shaking.

You didn't know what Jungkook was trying to do.

But you knew, with absolute certainty, that he was dangerous.

Not because of what he said.

Because for one terrible, fleeting second, when he'd looked at you like he actually saw you, not the performance but the person, you'd wanted to let him in.

And that terrified you more than anything else.

—

The next morning, you were determined to forget the entire incident.

You'd woken up early, gone for a run, made yourself breakfast, reviewed your notes for your afternoon exam. Normal routine. Normal day. Everything was fine.

Except you kept replaying that moment in your head: the way Jungkook had looked at you before he left. Maybe that scares you more than you want to admit.

It didn't scare you. It annoyed you.

Because he was wrong. He had to be wrong.

You were halfway across the quad, headphones in, when someone fell into step beside you.

"Morning."

You didn't need to look to know who it was. That voice, low and smooth and infuriatingly casual, was burned into your brain now.

You kept walking, eyes straight ahead. "Go away."

"That's rude," Jungkook said, matching your pace easily. "I'm just trying to have a conversation."

"I don't want to have a conversation with you."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't trust you."

"Fair." He tilted his head, considering. "But you didn't even give me a chance yesterday. You just... assumed the worst."

You stopped abruptly, turning to face him. A few students passing by glanced over, curious. You lowered your voice. "I didn't assume anything. I know exactly what you are."

"Oh yeah?" Jungkook's eyes glinted with something sharp. "Enlighten me."

"You're someone who thinks everything is a game. Someone who gets bored easily and looks for the next thrill. Someone who sees a girl who won't fall at his feet and decides she's a challenge."

His jaw tightened, just slightly. "You really think that little of me."

"I think realistically of you." You crossed your arms. "So whatever you're trying to do, showing up at my ministry group, pretending to be interested in faith, just stop. It's pathetic."

"Pathetic." He repeated the word slowly, like he was tasting it. Then he stepped closer, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. "You want to know what's pathetic? The fact that you're so scared of letting anyone in that you've convinced yourself everyone has ulterior motives."

"I'm not scared..."

"You are." His voice dropped, quieter now, more intense. "You're terrified. Because what if I'm telling the truth? What if I actually do want to know you? What then?"

Your breath caught. He was too close. You could smell his cologne, something clean and expensive and distracting.

"You don't," you said, but your voice came out shakier than you intended. "You don't want to know me. You want to prove something. To yourself, to your friends, I don't know. But it's not real."

"How do you know?"

"Because..." You gestured vaguely between the two of you. "Look at us. We're from completely different worlds. You go to parties, you hook up with random people, you don't take anything seriously. I'm not like that. I never will be. So why would you actually be interested in me?"

"Maybe that's exactly why."

You blinked. "What?"

"Maybe I'm tired of my world," Jungkook said, and for the first time, there was something raw in his voice. Something that didn't sound like a performance. "Maybe I'm tired of people who don't give a shit about anything. Maybe I saw you, really saw you, and thought, 'That's someone who actually believes in something. Someone who actually cares.' Maybe that's what I'm interested in."

You stared at him, heart pounding. "You're lying."

"I'm not."

"Then prove it." You stepped closer, challenging him. "Tell me the real reason you showed up yesterday. Tell me what you really want."

His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you thought he might actually walk away. That you'd finally called his bluff.

But then he said, so quietly you almost didn't hear it: "I fell in love with you."

The world seemed to tilt.

"What?"

"I know how it sounds," Jungkook said quickly, running a hand through his hair. "I know it's insane. But I've been watching you for weeks. Not in a creepy way, just... noticing you. The way you light up when you're talking about something you care about. The way you're kind to everyone, even when they don't deserve it. The way you're so sure of who you are." He laughed, but it sounded almost bitter. "And I realized I wanted to understand that. Understand you. So yeah, I showed up at your ministry group because I thought maybe if I joined your world, even for a second, I could..."

"No." You shook your head, stepping back. "Absolutely not. You don't love me. You don't even know me."

"Then let me get to know you."

"Why would I do that?" Your voice was rising now, frustration bleeding through. "You're literally everything I stand against. You sleep around, you drink, you treat people like they're disposable. And you think you can just show up and say some pretty words and I'll what, fall into your arms?"

"I don't think that." His voice was steady, but his eyes were burning. "I think you're smart enough to see through bullshit. I think you're strong enough to tell me to go to hell if that's what you really want. But I also think..." He stepped closer again, and this time you didn't move back. "You're curious. Just a little. And it's killing you."

"You're delusional."

"Am I?" He was close enough now that you could feel the warmth radiating off him. "Tell me you don't feel it too."

Your heart was hammering so hard you were sure he could hear it. Everything in you screamed to push him away, to run, to protect yourself.

But there was something in his eyes, something vulnerable and desperate and utterly sincere, that made you freeze.

"I..." Your voice came out barely above a whisper. "I don't..."

"You do." His hand came up, hovering near your face but not quite touching. Asking permission. "You feel it. I know you do."

And God help you, he was right.

Because standing this close to him, looking up into those dark eyes, feeling the heat of his body just inches from yours, something was shifting inside you. Something dangerous and electric and completely terrifying.

You'd spent your whole life building walls. Carefully constructed boundaries that kept you safe, that kept you good. And in less than two days, Jungkook had found every single crack.

"This is wrong," you said, but you didn't move away. "Everything about this is wrong."

"Why?" His thumb brushed against your cheek, the barest touch, feather-light, and you felt it everywhere. "Because I'm not what you planned for? Because I don't fit into your perfect life?"

"Because you're going to hurt me." The words came out raw, honest. "You're going to make me feel things I shouldn't feel, want things I shouldn't want, and then you're going to walk away. Because that's what people like you do."

Something flickered across his face. Pain, maybe, or recognition. His hand dropped. "What if I don't?"

"You will."

"How do you know?"

"Because..." You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. "Because I've seen what happens when girls like me fall for guys like you. I've watched my friends lose themselves, compromise everything they believe in, all for someone who never actually loved them. And I refuse to be that girl."

"Then don't be." He stepped back, giving you space, but his eyes never left yours. "Don't lose yourself. Don't compromise. Just... let me in. Even a little. Let me prove I'm not who you think I am."

You wanted to say no. You wanted to walk away right now and never look back.

But that traitorous part of you, the part that had been waking up slowly over the past forty-eight hours, whispered: What if he's telling the truth?

"No."

The word came out firmer than you expected, cutting through whatever spell had settled between you. You took a deliberate step back, putting distance between your bodies, between the heat and the confusion and the dangerous pull you'd almost given in to.

"No," you repeated, stronger this time. "This, whatever this is, it stops here. I want you to leave me alone."

Jungkook's expression shifted, surprise flickering across his features. "Wait..."

"I mean it." You wrapped your arms around yourself, a physical barrier. "I don't care what you think you feel. I don't care about your reasons or your pretty words or any of it. Just... stay away from me."

Inside, your heart was screaming at you, a chaotic mess of confusion and fear and something else you refused to name. Every instinct told you to run, to get as far away from him as possible before you did something you'd regret.

Before you became someone you didn't recognize.

"Please," you added, and you hated how your voice wavered. "Just leave me alone."

For a long moment, Jungkook just looked at you. Something in his eyes had gone quiet, intense. Then he nodded slowly.

"Okay," he said. "If that's what you really want."

"It is."

You turned to leave, desperate to escape before the tears burning behind your eyes could fall. But his voice stopped you.

"I'm not giving up on you."

You froze, your back still to him.

"I know you want me to," Jungkook continued, and there was something almost gentle in his tone. "I know it would be easier if I just walked away. But I can't. I won't. So even if you don't want to see me, even if you think I'm everything you stand against, I'm not giving up. Not on this. Not on you."

You didn't respond. You couldn't. Instead, you forced yourself to walk away, one foot in front of the other, your vision blurring.

You didn't look back.

—

By the time you reached your dorm, you were shaking.

You locked the door behind you and slid down against it, finally letting the tears come. They were hot and angry and confused. At him, at yourself, at this entire impossible situation.

Why? you thought desperately. Why is this happening to me?

You'd been so careful. So good. You'd followed the rules, kept your boundaries, protected your heart. You'd built a life that made sense, that aligned with everything you believed in.

And then Jungkook had to go and exist.

You pressed your palms against your eyes, trying to stop the flood of emotions. But they kept coming, wave after wave of confusion, frustration, and underneath it all, that terrifying spark of want that you couldn't quite extinguish.

You cursed the day you'd decided to argue with him in that class. Cursed whatever impulse had made you speak up, had made you catch his attention. If you'd just kept your head down, stayed quiet, none of this would be happening.

He never would have noticed you. You never would have noticed him.

And you wouldn't be sitting here on your bedroom floor, crying over a boy who represented everything you were supposed to avoid, wondering why it hurt so much to push him away.

I'm not giving up on you.

His words echoed in your head, relentless.

You pulled your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them, and let yourself feel the full weight of your confusion. Because as much as you wanted to believe you'd made the right choice, the only choice, some traitorous part of you was already wondering what would happen next. What it would feel like if he kept his word.

And whether you'd be strong enough to keep saying no.

—

The week had been a nightmare.

Not just bad. Catastrophic. The kind of week where the universe seemed to conspire against you, piling one disaster on top of another until you could barely breathe under the weight of it all.

Monday: Your sociology professor had announced a group project worth 40% of your final grade, due in two weeks. Your assigned partners? Three people who'd never once shown up to class on time.

Tuesday: Your theology paper, the one you'd been planning to start over spring break, got moved up. New deadline: next Friday. Ten pages, minimum, on the intersection of faith and modern ethics.

Wednesday: Midterm exam in your hardest class. You'd barely had time to study between everything else.

And Thursday. Thursday, your brother had called.

You'd known something was wrong the moment you heard his voice. Too high, too fast, words tumbling over each other in a panic. It had taken twenty minutes to get the full story out of him, and when you finally did, your blood had run cold.

Gambling. A poker game that had gotten out of hand. Money borrowed from people who didn't take "I'll pay you back eventually" as an acceptable answer.

Dangerous people. The kind who broke bones first and asked questions later.

Your brother had begged you not to tell your parents. They'd already sacrificed so much to send you both to college. He couldn't bear to disappoint them, couldn't stand the thought of them finding out what he'd done.

So now you carried his secret like a stone in your chest, heavy and cold. You'd been trying to figure out how to help him, reaching out to financial aid offices, looking into emergency loans, calculating how many shifts you could pick up at your campus job without failing out of school entirely.

The math didn't work. It never worked.

And through it all, through every sleepless night, every panicked moment, every overwhelming deadline, your mind kept drifting somewhere it absolutely shouldn't.

To him.

To Jungkook.

You'd been running into each other all week. At first, you'd convinced yourself it was coincidence. The campus wasn't that big, after all. But by the third "accidental" encounter, he'd started calling it fate, that infuriating smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," he'd said on Monday, appearing beside you in the library. "People are going to talk."

"Then stop following me," you'd shot back, not looking up from your textbook.

"Following you? I was here first." He'd gestured at the study carrel across from yours, his backpack already sitting there. "But hey, if you want to think the universe is pushing us together, I'm not going to argue."

On Tuesday, you'd literally walked into him coming out of the coffee shop, his iced americano sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

"Careful," he'd said, steadying you with one hand. "I know you're falling for me, but you don't have to be so literal about it."

You'd rolled your eyes and walked away, but not before catching the laugh in his voice.

Wednesday, he'd somehow ended up in line behind you at the dining hall.

"Are you stalking me?" you'd demanded.

"A man's got to eat," he'd replied, all innocence. "Not my fault you have excellent taste in mediocre cafeteria food."

By Thursday, you'd started (God help you) looking for him. Scanning crowds, checking corners, your heart doing a stupid little jump every time you caught a glimpse of dark hair and broad shoulders.

You hated that you'd started to enjoy it. Hated that his stupid comments and ridiculous observations had become the only thing making you smile during this absolute hell of a week.

Hated that every night, alone in your dorm room, your mind replayed his words: I fell in love with you.

Which was insane. He didn't love you. He barely knew you. This was just whatever game he was playing, whatever bet or challenge he'd set for himself.

Right?

By Friday afternoon, you were running on three hours of sleep and more caffeine than should be medically advisable. You'd finished your theology paper at 4 AM, printed it between classes, and now you were headed to your professor's office to turn it in before the deadline.

The stack of papers felt like gold in your hands. Ten pages of pure exhaustion, but it was done. One disaster averted. One small victory in a week of absolute chaos.

You were so focused on not dropping anything, so desperate to just make it to the office and collapse, that you didn't see him coming.

Neither did he.

You collided at the corner of the hallway. A full-body impact that sent both of you stumbling. Your coffee, which you'd been clutching in your other hand, went flying.

Time seemed to slow down.

You watched, horrified, as the cup arced through the air, lid popping off, the contents spilling out in a perfect catastrophic arc. It hit your papers (your beautiful, finished, done papers) and soaked through them instantly. Coffee spread across the pages like blood, turning your carefully formatted paragraphs into brown, illegible mush.

You and Jungkook both hit the ground. Hard.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You just sat there on the floor, surrounded by coffee-stained papers, your empty cup rolling sadly across the tile.

"Shit," Jungkook said, scrambling up. "Shit, I'm so sorry, I didn't see..."

He stopped.

You weren't looking at him. You were staring at your papers, at the ruined results of an all-nighter, at hours of work literally dissolving before your eyes. And you felt something inside you finally, completely shatter.

The tears came before you could stop them.

Not delicate, pretty crying. Ugly, gasping sobs that you couldn't control, couldn't hide, couldn't shove back down. Your entire body shook with them, weeks of stress and fear and exhaustion finally breaking through every wall you'd built.

"Hey," Jungkook's voice was suddenly gentle, concerned. "Hey, it's okay, we can..."

"It's not okay!" The words burst out of you, raw and desperate. "It's not... I don't..."

You couldn't even finish the sentence. You just sat there on the hallway floor, crying like your heart was breaking, while students walked past and pretended not to notice.

And Jungkook, infuriating, persistent, impossible Jungkook, sank down beside you without a word.

Jungkook looked at you (really looked at you) and something in his expression shifted. The usual playfulness vanished, replaced by something intense and determined.

"I'll fix this," he said firmly. "I'll fix everything."

You didn't respond. Couldn't. You were too exhausted, too broken, too tired to even process what he was saying. The tears kept coming, silent now, streaming down your face as you stared at the ruined papers.

It was all too much. The deadlines, your brother's crisis, the sleepless nights, the constant pressure to be perfect, to be strong, to hold everything together. And now this. This final, stupid disaster that felt like the universe laughing at your attempts to keep it all under control.

You were so tired of dealing with everything alone. So tired of being the one everyone relied on, the one who had to have all the answers. You were human too, after all. You were allowed to break down sometimes, weren't you?

"Stay here," Jungkook said, already pulling out his phone. "I'm going to print these out right now. I have quick access to the college paper office. I can use their printer."

You barely registered his words through the fog of exhaustion.

"How..." you started, but he was already standing up.

"Don't worry about it," he said quickly, a slight flush creeping up his neck. "I just know someone there. They owe me a favor."

The way he avoided your eyes, the awkward edge to his voice. It wasn't hard to read between the lines. You should probably care about the implications, but you were too drained to even process it.

And then he was gone, jogging down the hallway with your ruined papers in his hands.

You sat there on the floor, too stunned and exhausted to move. Students continued walking past, giving you wide berth. You should probably get up, find a chair, pull yourself together. But your body felt like lead.

You managed to drag yourself to a nearby bench, collapsing onto it and pressing your palms against your eyes. You focused on breathing (in and out, in and out) trying to calm the storm of emotions still swirling through your chest.

You'd barely settled when you heard footsteps approaching rapidly.

"Got it."

Your eyes snapped open. Jungkook was standing in front of you, slightly out of breath, holding a fresh stack of papers. Your papers. Perfectly printed, clean and crisp, no coffee stains in sight.

Goosebumps broke out across your arms.

"How..." You stared at him, then at the papers, then back at him. "How did you do that? That was maybe five minutes. The office is across campus, and you'd have to upload the file, and..."

"I ran," he said simply, handing you the stack. "And the printer was already warmed up."

"But why?" The question came out smaller than you intended. "Why would you do this?"

He looked at you like you'd asked why the sky was blue. "Because you needed help."

Something cracked open in your chest. Something you'd been keeping carefully locked away.

"Thank you," you said, and you meant it. Genuinely, completely meant it. "Really. Thank you."

You moved to stand up, to head to your professor's office before anything else could go wrong, but Jungkook's hand on your shoulder stopped you.

"Wait."

You looked up at him, and the expression on his face made your breath catch. He was looking at you like he was really seeing you, not the put-together, religious girl who always had the right answers in class. Not the person you tried so hard to be.

Just... you.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly. "And before you say you're fine, what actually happened? What's going on?"

"It's nothing," you said automatically, the default response you'd given everyone all week. "I'm just tired. Midterms, you know how it is."

"Bullshit."

You blinked at him.

"I've seen you tired," Jungkook continued, his voice gentle but firm. "I've seen you stressed about exams and projects. This isn't that." He crouched down so he was at eye level with you, his gaze unwavering. "You're always so strong. So together. It has to be something really big to break you down like this."

You opened your mouth to deny it, to brush him off, to rebuild the walls that had temporarily crumbled. But something about the way he was looking at you (concerned, patient, genuinely caring) made the words die in your throat.

And for the first time all week, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you didn't have to carry everything alone.

You took a shaky breath, your fingers twisting in your lap. The words felt heavy, dangerous even, like once you said them out loud, they'd become real in a way you couldn't take back.

"It's my brother," you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. "He... he got involved with some people. Bad people. They gave him money for something (I don't even know what) and now they're threatening him because he can't pay them back."

Jungkook's expression didn't change, but you saw the way his jaw tightened, the muscle jumping beneath his skin.

"Who are they?" he asked quietly. "The people threatening him."

You took a breath, trying to steady yourself. "I don't know all their names, but my brother mentioned a few. There's someone called Dex. He's the main one, I think. The one who gave him the money initially. And there are a couple others who've been calling and showing up. They operate out of some bar or club off campus. I don't know exactly where, but it's supposedly near the old industrial district." You met his eyes. "They're into money lending with ridiculous interest rates. My brother said they also deal in... other things. Drugs, maybe. I don't know for sure, but he was terrified when he told me about them."

"How much does he owe them?"

"I don't know exactly. A lot. More than either of us has." You pressed your palms against your eyes again, trying to stop the fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over. "He's scared. Really scared. And I don't know what to do. I've been trying to figure it out all week, but I just... I can't..."

Your voice broke, and you couldn't continue.

Jungkook was quiet for a long moment. When you finally looked up at him, his lips were pressed into a thin line, his eyes distant, like he was calculating something, running through options in his head.

And then you really looked at him.

Had he always been this handsome?

The thought came unbidden, unwelcome. But now that you'd noticed, you couldn't un-see it. The sharp line of his jaw, the way the afternoon light caught the angles of his face. The intensity in his dark eyes, the way they seemed to hold entire universes when he focused on something. Or someone.

No wonder everyone on campus seemed to orbit around him despite his reputation. No wonder girls whispered about him in the dining hall, wrote his name in their journals, dreamed about being the one to finally pin him down.

You'd never understood it before. Had actively judged them for it, if you were being honest. How could they overlook everything he represented just because he was attractive?

But now, sitting here, with him looking at you like your problems were his problems, like he'd move mountains if you asked him to, you understood. Kind of.

There was something almost magical about the way he existed in the world. Untouchable and yet completely present. Confident in a way that bordered on arrogant but somehow never quite crossed that line when it mattered.

Stop it, you told yourself firmly. Stop thinking like that. This is exactly how people get hurt.

"I know those people," Jungkook said suddenly, pulling you back to reality.

You blinked. "What?"

"The ones your brother owes money to. I know them." His expression was unreadable now, carefully neutral. "I can get him out of it."

Your heart stopped. "No."

"Yes."

"Jungkook, no." You stood up abruptly, the papers nearly sliding from your lap. "You can't... you shouldn't... this isn't your problem."

"Seems like it's about to be." He stood too, infuriatingly calm. "I'll talk to them. They'll listen to me."

"Why would they listen to you?" The question came out sharper than you intended, edged with something close to panic. Because if he knew these people, if they'd listen to him, that meant...

You didn't want to finish that thought.

"Because I'm extremely charming," he said with a crooked smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "And devastatingly handsome. You said so yourself."

"I absolutely did not..."

"You were thinking it. I could tell." The smile widened, becoming more genuine. "Don't worry, I'm used to it. The effect I have on people can be overwhelming."

Despite everything (despite the terror coiling in your stomach, despite the moral alarm bells ringing in your head) you felt your lips twitch. Almost a smile. Almost.

"This isn't a joke," you said, trying to sound firm. "These are dangerous people. You can't just walk up to them and... and charm them into letting my brother go."

"Watch me." There was something fierce in his expression now, something that made your breath catch. Not arrogance. Confidence. Pure, unshakeable confidence that he could do exactly what he said he'd do.

"Jungkook, please." You grabbed his arm without thinking. "This is too much. You barely know me. You don't owe me anything. You can't put yourself at risk for..."

"For you?" He looked down at your hand on his arm, then back up at your face. "Yeah, actually, I can. And I will."

"But..."

"No buts. Consider it done." He gently removed your hand from his arm, but his fingers lingered on yours for just a second too long. "Go turn in your paper. I'll handle the rest."

"You can't just..."

But he was already walking away, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed like he'd just agreed to pick up coffee, not confront dangerous criminals on behalf of someone else's brother.

You stood there in the hallway, papers clutched to your chest, watching him disappear around the corner.

And for the first time in a week, the fear wasn't about your brother.

It was about the boy who'd just walked away. The boy who seemed to think he was invincible, who threw himself into danger with a smile and a joke, who looked at you like you were worth saving.

What had you done?

You didn't hear from Jungkook for the rest of the day.

At first, you told yourself it was fine. He was probably in class, or busy, or dealing with whatever he'd promised to deal with. But as the hours ticked by and your phone remained silent, the knot in your stomach grew tighter. Worse thoughts crept in uninvited: maybe he was at some party, maybe he'd already forgotten about you and your problems, maybe he was with someone else, tangled up in someone else's sheets, laughing at something they said, not thinking about you at all.

By evening, you'd convinced yourself something terrible had happened.

You tried to focus on other things: homework, dinner with your roommate, the Bible study group chat that was planning next week's meeting. But your mind kept circling back to Jungkook. To the casual way he'd walked away. To the confidence in his voice when he said he'd handle it.

What if that confidence had been misplaced? What if those people were more dangerous than he'd anticipated? What if he was hurt, or worse, and you were the reason?

Stop, you commanded yourself. Stop spiraling.

But you couldn't.

Around 9 PM, you finally broke down and did something you'd never imagined doing: you started asking around for Jungkook's number.

It was embarrassing. Humiliating, even. You'd spent two years carefully maintaining your distance from people like him and his world, and now here you were, approaching mutual acquaintances with increasingly desperate questions.

"Hey, do you happen to have Jungkook's number?"

Most people gave you strange looks. A few smirked knowingly, like they thought they understood what was happening. One girl from your sociology class raised her eyebrows so high they nearly disappeared into her hairline.

"You want Jungkook's number?" she'd said, voice dripping with disbelief and barely concealed amusement.

You'd wanted to explain, to defend yourself, to make it clear this wasn't what it looked like. But you couldn't. Not without explaining about your brother, about the loan sharks, about everything you'd been trying to keep private.

So you just nodded, face burning, and accepted the number she eventually pulled up on her phone.

You texted him immediately.

Hey, this is Y/N. Are you okay? Please let me know you're safe.

No response.

You waited fifteen minutes, anxiety climbing with each passing second, then called.

Straight to voicemail.

You called again. And again. Each time, the same automated message, the same hollow beep inviting you to leave a message you didn't know how to articulate.

By midnight, you'd sent six texts and made twelve calls. Your roommate had given up trying to comfort you and had gone to bed, leaving you alone with your phone and your spiraling thoughts.

You barely slept. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Jungkook's face: confident, smiling, completely unafraid. And then you saw it changing, crumpling, as faceless men with cruel intentions closed in around him.

This is your fault, the voice in your head whispered. You should never have told him. You should have figured it out yourself. Now he's hurt because of you.

The next morning came grey and cold, matching your mood perfectly. You dragged yourself through your routine on autopilot: shower, coffee, pretending to eat breakfast while your stomach churned with anxiety.

Your phone rang at 10:47 AM.

You lunged for it so fast you nearly knocked over your coffee mug, heart hammering against your ribs. The caller ID showed an unfamiliar number, but you didn't care. Maybe it was Jungkook calling from someone else's phone. Maybe...

"Hello?" Your voice came out breathless, desperate.

"Y/N!"

You froze. Not Jungkook. Eliot.

Your brother's voice was bright, almost manic with happiness. It was a tone you hadn't heard from him in weeks. Maybe months.

"Yes, Eliot?" you managed, trying to mask your disappointment. Trying to focus on the fact that your brother was calling, which meant he was alive, which should have been a relief. But all you could think was: Not Jungkook. It's not Jungkook.

"I just... God, I had to call you. I had to tell you." He was talking fast, words tumbling over each other. "You're the best sister in the entire world. Like, actually. I don't tell you that enough, but you are. I love you so much. I'm so lucky to have you."

Your grip on the phone tightened. "Eliot, what happened?"

"They let me go!" The joy in his voice was almost painful to hear. "The guys who were after me, they just... they said I'm free. The debt's gone. Just like that. They said I can't ever take money from them again, but who cares? I can live with that. I'll happily live with that. I'm free, Y/N. I'm actually free."

The world seemed to tilt slightly. You sat down heavily on your bed, pressing the phone so tight against your ear it hurt.

"How?" The word came out barely audible. "How is that possible?"

"That's the crazy part." Eliot laughed, the sound bright and unburdened. "This guy showed up yesterday. Jungkook, his name was. He talked to Dex and the others, and I don't know what he said or did, but after that they just... backed off. Completely. They told me the slate's wiped clean. They actually apologized for scaring me." He laughed again, like he still couldn't quite believe it. "Can you believe that? They apologized."

Your heart was pounding so hard you thought it might break through your ribs.

"Jungkook," you repeated numbly.

"Yeah! I didn't know who he was at first, but then I looked him up and found out he goes to your college. So I figured..." Eliot's voice took on a teasing quality. "Is he your boyfriend? You've been holding out on me, sis. I didn't even know you were seeing anyone."

"He's not..." you started, but the words caught in your throat.

Because what was Jungkook, exactly? Not your boyfriend. Not even really your friend. He was someone who'd seen you break down in a hallway and decided to walk straight into danger for you. Someone who'd disappeared for over twenty-four hours while dealing with criminals on your behalf. Someone you'd called twelve times last night, each unanswered ring feeling like a small death.

Someone you'd been terrified for in a way that felt far too intense for someone who was supposedly nothing to you.

"He's just a classmate," you finally managed, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. "Someone I know from school."

"Well, your 'classmate' saved my life." Eliot's voice went serious, the joy dimming just slightly. "I mean it, Y/N. Those guys were going to hurt me. Really hurt me. And now I'm free because of him. Because of you, probably. I'm guessing you asked him to help?"

"I... yes. Sort of. It's complicated."

"Well, uncomplicate it long enough to tell him thank you from me, okay? Tell him I owe him. Big time." He paused. "And thank you. For everything. For caring enough to help even when I got myself into this stupid mess."

"Eliot..."

"I know, I know. I'll be more careful. I'll make better choices. I promise." He sounded like he meant it. "I love you, sis."

"I love you too," you whispered.

After he hung up, you sat there on your bed, phone still pressed to your ear, listening to the silence.

Jungkook had done it. He'd actually done it.

Your brother was safe. Free. The nightmare that had been consuming you for weeks was over, just like that, because one boy had decided you were worth helping.

But where was he? Why hadn't he called? Why hadn't he answered any of your messages?

The relief you should have felt was tangled up with a different kind of fear now, sharper, more personal. Because somewhere in the past twenty-four hours, between the coffee-stained papers and the desperate phone calls and the image of Jungkook walking away like he had nothing to lose, something had shifted.

You cared about him. Really cared. In a way that felt dangerous and inevitable and completely, utterly terrifying.

And you had no idea if he was okay.

The second day of silence was unbearable.

You'd tried everything. Texted again. Called again. Even considered reaching out to people who might know him better, but you didn't know who those people were. Your worlds had never overlapped before this, before he'd decided to crash into yours like a force of nature, upending everything.

By mid-afternoon, desperation had overtaken dignity.

You found yourself walking toward the dining hall with your heart in your throat, hands clenched at your sides. It was a long shot, a prayer thrown into the void. Jungkook's circle rarely ate there. They preferred off-campus spots, places with more privacy and fewer rules. But maybe, just maybe, if God was listening...

You pushed through the double doors, scanning the crowded space.

And there they were.

Your breath caught. At a corner table near the windows: Hoseok, Jimin, and Taehyung. The golden trinity of Jungkook's inner circle, minus their centerpiece. They were mid-conversation, Hoseok gesturing animatedly about something while Jimin laughed and Taehyung leaned back in his chair with that effortlessly cool posture he always had.

Your feet were moving before you could talk yourself out of it.

As you approached, Hoseok was the first to notice you. His hands froze mid-gesture, the smile sliding off his face so quickly it was almost comical. Jimin's laughter cut off abruptly. Taehyung's eyes found you and something flickered there. Surprise, maybe, or something harder to name.

The three of them stared at you like you were a ghost materializing at their table.

"Hi," you said, hating how breathless you sounded. How desperate. But you were past caring. "Sorry to interrupt. I just need to ask you something."

Hoseok recovered first, his expression smoothing into something carefully neutral. "Y/N. Hey. What's up?"

You focused on him, the friendliest face of the three. "Where's Jungkook?"

The question hung in the air.

Instead of answering, Hoseok's eyes cut to Jimin. Then to Taehyung. Some silent communication passed between them, too quick for you to decipher. Your stomach twisted.

"What?" you demanded. "What was that? Why are you looking at each other like that?"

Hoseok cleared his throat. "I, uh... I haven't heard from him since last week."

Last week. Last week.

Something inside you snapped.

"Last week?" Your voice came out sharper than you'd intended, loud enough to turn a few heads at nearby tables. You didn't care. "What kind of friends are you? How do you not know where he is? He could be hurt. He could be in trouble." You cut yourself off, chest tight. "And you're just sitting here eating lunch like everything's fine?"

Jimin leaned forward, elbows on the table, his expression shifting to something more serious. "Why are you looking for him?" His eyes searched your face. "Are you mad at him? Did he do something?"

"I'm not mad," you said, frustration bleeding into every word. "I'm worried. I'm worried because he helped me with something and now he's gone and he won't answer his phone and I don't know if he's okay."

"Fuck."

The word came from Taehyung, sharp and annoyed. You turned to find him looking at his watch, jaw tight, then looking back up at you with an expression that made your skin prickle. Like you'd done something wrong. Like you were the problem here.

"What?" you asked, defensive now. "What's your problem?"

Taehyung just shook his head, mouth pressed into a thin line, still looking at you like you were a complication he hadn't accounted for.

"Whatever," you muttered, stepping back from their table. Your hands were shaking. "Thanks for nothing."

You turned and walked away, their stares burning into your back.

Weirdos, you thought viciously. What kind of friends don't even know where their best friend is?

But beneath the anger, fear coiled tighter in your chest.

Because if even they didn't know where Jungkook was, if even the people closest to him had no idea, then where the hell could he be?

—

By the third day, you were unraveling.

Sleep had become impossible. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Jungkook walking away from you in that hallway, shoulders squared like he was heading into battle. Every time you opened them, you reached for your phone, hoping and praying for a message that never came.

You'd exhausted every option. Called again. Texted again. Even walked past his usual haunts on campus: the library corner he sometimes occupied, the coffee shop he frequented, the parking lot where his motorcycle usually sat. Nothing. It was like he'd vanished into thin air.

There was only one place left.

The thought had been creeping around the edges of your mind for hours now, growing louder with each passing minute. The Jeon family mansion. You'd heard about it in passing: whispered references, casual mentions from people who moved in those circles. You'd never been there. Never had any reason to be.

You weren't even sure regular people were allowed there. But you were about to find out.

The address had been surprisingly easy to find. A quick search online, public records, the kind of information that was technically available but felt forbidden to access. You'd stared at it on your phone screen for a full minute before copying it into your maps app.

The drive took forty minutes, each one feeling like an eternity and a heartbeat all at once.

The neighborhood changed gradually as you went, buildings growing sparser, lots growing larger, until suddenly you weren't in a neighborhood anymore. You were in an entirely different world. Tall iron gates. Long driveways disappearing into private forests. Houses so large they barely qualified as houses anymore.

And then you saw it.

The Jeon mansion sat at the end of a tree-lined drive, and calling it a house felt like a fundamental misunderstanding of language. It was massive. Three stories of pristine white stone and floor-to-ceiling windows, with wings extending in both directions like outstretched arms. Perfectly manicured gardens flanked the circular driveway. A fountain sat in the center, water cascading down multiple tiers in an elegant display that probably cost more than your family's entire house.

Your car felt absurdly small as you pulled up to the front entrance, the tires crunching on gravel that looked like it had been individually polished.

For a long moment, you just sat there, hands gripping the steering wheel, staring up at the imposing structure before you.

You'd known Jungkook was rich. He wore designer clothes like they were an afterthought, drove a motorcycle that cost more than a year's tuition, carried himself with the kind of ease that only came from never having to worry about money. You'd known.

But this...

This wasn't just rich. This was generational wealth. Old money. The kind of different that made the gap between your worlds feel less like a distance and more like an ocean.

What were you even doing here? Who were you to show up at a place like this, demanding to see someone who lived in a world you could barely comprehend? You didn't belong here. This wasn't your space, your life, your world.

He might be in danger because of you.

The thought cut through your spiral like a knife.

He'd walked into that situation for you. He'd faced down criminals, wiped out your brother's debt, disappeared for three days without a word, all because you'd asked him to help. Because he'd seen you breaking down in a hallway and decided you were worth the risk.

If he was hurt, if he was in trouble, if something had happened to him because he'd helped you...You couldn't just turn around. You couldn't just leave.Before you could second-guess yourself again, you got out of the car.

The front door was enormous. Solid wood with intricate carvings, flanked by columns that belonged in a museum. Your hand trembled slightly as you reached for the doorbell, which was actually an intercom system with a small camera.

You pressed it. Heard a soft chime echo somewhere inside.

For a few agonizing seconds, nothing happened. Then a voice crackled through the speaker, male, older, professionally polite. "May I help you?"

"Hi, I'm..." Your voice came out rough. You cleared your throat. "My name is Y/N. I'm here to see Jungkook. Please."

Another pause. You could almost feel yourself being assessed through the camera, judged, measured.

Then: "One moment, please."

The silence that followed felt eternal. You stood there on the doorstep, hands clasped in front of you to stop them from shaking, wondering if they were about to politely tell you to leave. Wondering if you'd just made a huge mistake.

But then you heard the distinctive sound of a lock disengaging. The door swung open smoothly, revealing a man in his sixties wearing an impeccably tailored suit. A butler. An actual butler.

"Miss Y/N," he said with a slight bow. "Please, come in."

You stepped inside, and the entry hall alone was bigger than your entire apartment. Marble floors gleamed under a crystal chandelier. A grand staircase curved upward to your right. Artwork that looked like it belonged in galleries lined the walls.

The butler closed the door behind you with a soft click that felt oddly final.

"You're here to see young master Jungkook?" he asked.

"Yes." The word came out desperate. "Is he here? Is he okay?"

Something in the butler's expression softened. "Master Jungkook is home, yes."

The relief that crashed through you was so intense you nearly swayed. He's here. He's alive. He's home.

"Thank God," you breathed. "Can I see him? Please?"

The butler hesitated, and dread crept back in.

"He is currently resting," the man said carefully. "In bed, actually. He's been... unwell, and requires peace and quiet. No stress." His eyes met yours, kind but firm. "If you wish to see him, I must ask that you not worry him or cause any disturbance. He needs rest above all else."

Unwell. In bed. Needs rest.

Your heart clenched. "What happened? Is he hurt?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss the young master's condition," the butler said gently. "But if you promise to keep your visit brief and calm, I can take you to him."

You nodded quickly, perhaps too quickly. "Yes. I promise. I just need to see him. I need to know he's okay."

The butler studied you for another moment, then nodded. "Very well. Please, follow me."

He led you through hallways that seemed to stretch on forever, past rooms with doors closed against mysteries you couldn't begin to imagine. Up the grand staircase, down another corridor lined with family portraits. Serious faces in expensive frames, generations of Jeons staring down with expressions that ranged from stern to imperious.

Finally, the butler stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall. Dark wood, understated compared to the ornate entrance downstairs, but somehow more intimate because of it.

"Master Jungkook's room," he said quietly. Then, with a pointed look: "Remember. Brief and calm."

"I will," you promised.

He knocked twice, then opened the door just enough to speak through. "Master Jungkook, you have a visitor. Miss Y/N."

You couldn't hear the response, but the butler stepped back and gestured you inside.

"I'll leave you two alone," he said, and there was something almost paternal in his expression. "But please do keep your voice down."

You nodded, throat too tight to speak.The door opened wider, and you stepped inside. The butler closed it behind you with a soft click, and suddenly you were alone in Jungkook's bedroom.

It was large. Of course it was large. But not ostentatious. Dark wood furniture, clean lines, floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the gardens. A bookshelf packed with worn paperbacks. A desk with a laptop and scattered papers. It felt lived-in, personal, his in a way the rest of the house hadn't.

And there, in the center of it all, was Jungkook.

He was sitting up in bed, pillows propped behind him, wearing a simple white t-shirt. A book lay open in his lap. Some thick fantasy novel with a dragon on the cover. His hair was messy, unstyled, falling into his eyes. He looked up as you entered, and for a split second, his expression was pure surprise.

But he looked fine.

No visible injuries. No bruises. No blood. No broken bones. He looked perfectly, completely, maddeningly fine.

Something inside you broke.

"You..." The word came out choked. Your feet were moving before your brain caught up, carrying you across the room in a rush. "You asshole!"

"Y/N, what..."

You didn't let him finish. You reached the bed and threw yourself at him, arms wrapping around his shoulders, face burying against his neck. The book tumbled off the bed with a soft thud.

"You're okay," you gasped against his skin. "You're okay, you're..."

For a moment, Jungkook just sat there, frozen in shock. Then his arms came up around you, tentative at first, then tighter. Much tighter. Like he was trying to convince himself you were real.

"Hey," he said softly, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. "Hey, I'm okay. I'm fine."

That's when the tears came.

They hit you like a wave, sudden and overwhelming, and suddenly you were sobbing into his shoulder like a child. All the fear, all the worry, all the sleepless nights and unanswered calls and terrible imaginings came pouring out in great, heaving gasps.

"You disappeared," you choked out between sobs. "You just... you walked away and you didn't answer your phone and I didn't know if you were hurt or dead or..."

"I know," Jungkook murmured, his hand moving to rub soothing circles on your back. "I know, I'm sorry."

"Three days, Jungkook! Three days of nothing! Do you have any idea what I thought? What I..." You pulled back just enough to hit his chest with your fist, not hard, just desperate. "You stupid, reckless, idiotic..."

"I know." His voice was gentle, patient, like he was calming a frightened animal. His arms tightened around you again. "I know. I'm sorry."

You couldn't stop crying. Couldn't stop the words from spilling out. "You could have been killed. You could have been hurt. You walked into that place for me and I didn't even know if you made it out and..."

"But I did." He pulled you closer, until there was no space between you at all. "I made it out. I'm here. I'm okay."

Slowly, your sobs began to quiet, settling into shaky breaths. You pulled back just enough to look at him, really look at him, searching his face for any sign of injury you might have missed.

His eyes were dark and soft, fixed on yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. Your gaze dropped involuntarily to his lips.

"Hey." Jungkook's voice was quieter now, almost tender. One hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing away the tears still tracking down your cheeks. "Why are you crying like this? You think I'd let myself get hurt that easily?"

A laugh bubbled out of him then, low and a little cocky, so incredibly him that it made your chest ache.

"You really thought I wouldn't come back?" he continued, eyes crinkling with amusement even as his thumb kept wiping your tears. "Come on, Y/N. You think I'd let you go that easily? Not a chance. Only in your dreams."

The audacity of it. The sheer nerve of him to joke right now. It made you want to hit him again. So you did, your fist connecting with his shoulder in a light punch.

"Ow!" Jungkook immediately recoiled, face contorting in exaggerated pain. His hand flew to his shoulder like you'd actually wounded him. "Shit, that hurt..."

Your heart stopped. "Oh my God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... did I hurt you? Are you..."

But then you saw it: the corner of his mouth twitching. The barely suppressed smile.

He was faking.

"You..." You shoved him, not hard, just enough to make your point. "You asshole! I thought I actually hurt you!"

Jungkook burst out laughing, the sound bright and genuine and so alive it made something in your chest settle. "Sorry, sorry, I couldn't resist. Your face was..."

"Not funny!" But you were fighting a smile now too, even as fresh tears threatened to spill. "God, I hate you."

"No you don't." He was still grinning, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You took a shaky breath, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. "Why weren't you answering your phone? Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

The smile faded from his face, replaced by something more serious. He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair.

"My phone's gone," he said. "Lost it during the altercation."

"Altercation," you repeated flatly. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"They tried to fight me," Jungkook continued, his voice taking on a matter-of-fact quality. "When I showed up to clear your brother's debt. Thought they could intimidate me, push me around." He shrugged. "Didn't go well for them."

Your heart clenched. "Did they hurt you?"

"No." He said it simply, like it was obvious. "Once they realized who I was, who my family is, they backed off pretty quick. But by then my phone was already smashed. And I just... I needed some time to rest. To decompress."

"You could have borrowed someone's phone," you said, but the anger had drained out of your voice. Now you just sounded tired. "You could have let me know you were okay."

"I know." He reached for your hand, threading his fingers through yours. "I'm sorry. I didn't think... I didn't realize you'd worry this much."

Fresh tears welled up in your eyes. "Of course I worried, you idiot. You walked into a dangerous situation because of me and then disappeared for three days. What did you think I'd do?"

"Hey, hey, no more crying." But even as he said it, his own voice was rough. He pulled you back against his chest, one arm wrapping around your shoulders, the other hand coming up to cradle your head. "I'm fine. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

You let yourself sink into him, let yourself believe it. He was warm and solid and alive, and for the first time in three days, you could breathe properly.

"I'm okay," he murmured into your hair. "I promise. I'm okay."

You nodded against his chest, not trusting your voice.

For a long moment, you just stayed like that, wrapped in his arms, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The fear that had gripped you for three days was finally loosening its hold, replaced by something warmer, something safer.

"Come here," Jungkook said softly, shifting back against the pillows. "Lie down. You look exhausted."

You hesitated for only a second before letting him guide you down onto the bed beside him. He was right. You wereexhausted. Three days of barely sleeping, of constant worry, had left you hollowed out.

The moment your head hit the pillow, something in you settled. His bed was soft, the sheets cool against your skin, and he was right there, solid and warm and alive. Right now, no other place in the world could be as safe and sound as being around him.

"See?" Jungkook's voice carried that familiar cocky edge as he settled beside you, propping himself up on one elbow. "I told you I'm fine. You worried for nothing."

"I didn't worry for nothing," you mumbled, but there was no heat in it. You turned onto your side to face him, taking in the sight of him. Really looking at him now that the panic had subsided.

He looked soft like this. Without the usual bravado and swagger he wore around campus. His hair was messy, falling into his eyes. His expression was gentle, almost tender as he watched you. There was something about being in his space, in his bed, that made everything feel more intimate. More real.

You found comfort in this safe embrace of his, in the way his presence alone seemed to quiet all the noise in your head. Your eyes traced the lines of his face. The sharp angle of his jaw, the curve of his lips.

Those lips.

Before you could second-guess yourself, before logic could catch up with impulse, you leaned forward and kissed him.

Jungkook went completely still, clearly startled by the sudden contact. For a split second, you thought you'd made a terrible mistake.

But then he responded.

His hand came up to cup your face, fingers threading into your hair as he kissed you back with an intensity that made your head spin. His other hand pushed the forgotten book off the bed completely, sending it tumbling to the floor with a muted thud.

The kiss deepened, became something more urgent, more real. His lips were soft but firm, moving against yours with a confidence that made your breath catch. You felt his tongue brush against your lower lip and you opened for him without thinking, letting him in.

Heat bloomed in your core. Unfamiliar, overwhelming, terrifying in its intensity. You'd never felt anything like this before. Never wanted anything like you wanted this, wanted him.

Your hand found his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling him closer. He made a low sound in the back of his throat that sent shivers down your spine.

His breath was coming faster now, matching yours. You could feel his heart racing under your palm, could feel the tension coiling in his body as he held himself back.

Then suddenly, he pulled away.

Not far. Just enough to break the kiss, to put a breath of space between you. His hand was still cradling your face, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting.

"Y/N." His voice came out rough, strained, like gravel scraping against his throat. A warning. "If you don't want this... if you want to stop... we need to stop now."

His eyes locked onto yours, dark as midnight, pupils blown wide with raw hunger. But beneath that fire, you saw the iron grip of control, the restraint he was barely holding onto. He was handing you an escape, even as his body thrummed with the need to claim you, to bury himself deep inside your heat.

"Because if we don't stop now," he continued, his thumb tracing a slow, teasing path across your cheekbone, "I don't know if I'll be able to pull back."

"No," you whispered, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, clutching it like a lifeline. "I want this. I want you. Every inch of you, pounding into me until I can't remember my own name."

Something snapped in his expression, that fragile control fracturing like glass under pressure. Then his mouth crashed against yours, the kiss brutal and desperate, tongues tangling in a wet, frantic dance.

His hands shoved under your shirt, palms scorching your bare skin, rough calluses dragging sparks of electricity across your sides. You gasped into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his growl as he pressed his hard length against your thigh, letting you feel the thick ridge of his cock straining through his jeans.

"Tell me if you want to stop," he murmured against your swollen lips, his breath hot and ragged. "Any time. Just say the word, and I'll fucking stop."

You nodded, words lost in the storm of your pounding heart, the way it hammered against your ribs like it was trying to break free and fuse with his.

His fingers hooked the hem of your shirt, and he paused, eyes searching yours one last time. A silent question hanging in the thick air. You raised your arms in silent permission, and he yanked it over your head, flinging it across the room without a second thought.

For a heartbeat, he just stared, his gaze raking over you like a physical touch, intense enough to make your skin prickle and your nipples tighten into hard peaks. You fought the urge to shield yourself, but before insecurity could take root, he descended, lips brushing yours in a softer kiss that quickly ignited into something deeper, hungrier.

"You're so beautiful," he breathed against your flushed skin, voice thick with awe and lust. "So fucking beautiful, I could devour you whole."

Heat flooded your cheeks, but you held his gaze, emboldened by the raw desire in his eyes. His hands roamed the dip of your waist, tracing the flare of your hips, then up along your ribs, thumbs grazing the undersides of your breasts.

With a flick of his fingers, he unclasped your bra, letting the straps slide down your shoulders. It pooled at your elbows before you shrugged it off, baring your chest to him completely. Your breasts felt heavy, aching under his scrutiny, nipples begging for attention.

"Jungkook..."

"I've got you," he said quietly, the words a vow etched in the air between you. "I promise. Now let me worship this body like it deserves."

His mouth descended on your neck, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin before soothing it with his tongue, hot and insistent. He trailed lower, lips ghosting over your collarbone, then latching onto the swell of one breast.

His tongue circled your nipple, flicking it with deliberate pressure before sucking it deep into his wet mouth. You arched into him, a sharp moan ripping from your throat, the pull of his lips sending jolts straight to your core, where slick heat was already pooling between your thighs.

Everything blurred into pure sensation: the scrape of his stubble against your skin, the firm grip of his hands kneading your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers until they throbbed. He switched to the other side, lavishing it with the same attention, his cock grinding against your leg in rhythm with his sucks, the friction making him groan low in his chest.

Your fingers wove into his dark hair, tugging as he kissed a scorching path down your stomach, tongue dipping into your navel before continuing lower. When his fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, you lifted your hips eagerly, helping him peel them down along with your soaked panties.

The cool air kissed your exposed pussy, making you shiver, but the distant echo of your religious upbringing faded to nothing against the roar of need in your veins. This was right. This was you, alive and burning.

"Still okay?" Jungkook asked, his voice a gravelly rasp, eyes fixed on your glistening folds like a man starved.

"Yes," you managed, voice breathy and broken. "Don't stop. Please, I need your mouth on me."

He parted your thighs wider, settling between them, his breath fanning over your sensitive skin. He pressed a gentle kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other, teeth grazing just enough to make you whimper. Higher now, his lips brushing the crease where thigh met core, teasing, drawing out the anticipation until your clit pulsed with desperate want.

Then his tongue finally touched you, flat and broad, licking a slow stripe up your slit from entrance to clit.

You cried out, back bowing off the bed as stars burst behind your eyelids. He groaned against your pussy, the deep vibration humming through your clit, making your walls clench around nothing.

"Fuck," you gasped, the curse tumbling free without shame. Nothing had ever felt like this, his hot mouth devouring you, tongue swirling around your swollen clit with expert flicks that had your toes curling.

He lapped at you greedily, sucking your clit between his lips, teeth grazing just enough to edge the pleasure into something sharper, more intense. Your hips bucked, chasing the pressure, but his strong hands pinned you down, forearms flexing against your thighs as he held you open for his feast. Slick coated his chin, your arousal dripping down to your ass, but he didn't care, plunging his tongue inside your tight heat, fucking you with it in shallow thrusts that mimicked what you craved from his cock.

One thick finger breached you then, sliding through your wetness with ease, stretching you deliciously. You keened, the sound raw and animalistic, hips grinding down to take him deeper. He curled it upward, stroking that spongy spot inside that made your vision blur, and added a second finger, scissoring them to open you up, the burn blending with bliss.

Pressure built like a storm, coiling tight in your belly, every nerve alight as his fingers pumped faster, thumb circling your clit in tandem. Your thighs trembled, breaths coming in short, desperate pants, the room filled with the wet sounds of his mouth and fingers working you over.

"Come for me, baby," he murmured against your folds, voice muffled but commanding. "Let me feel this pussy squeeze my fingers while you scream."

It shattered you. The orgasm ripped through like lightning, waves of ecstasy crashing over you, your walls fluttering and gushing around his digits. You thrashed, crying out his name in a broken wail, tears spilling hot down your temples as pleasure consumed you whole, leaving you boneless and quivering.

When the aftershocks finally ebbed, you were a trembling mess, chest heaving. Jungkook crawled up your body, kissing your stomach with tender reverence, then your ribs, nuzzling into the valley between your breasts before reaching your face. He licked your tears away, murmuring praises you could barely process through the haze.

"You okay?" he asked softly, fingers combing your damp hair back, eyes searching yours with gentle concern.

You nodded, words still beyond you, your body humming with ethereal glow, every inch sated yet already craving more of him.

Your body still thrummed with the echoes of that shattering release, every muscle loose and heavy, but the ache deep inside refused to fade. It pulsed hotter now, demanding more, urging you to pull him closer, to feel him stretch you open and claim every inch.

Jungkook hovered above you, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, eyes locked on yours with a mix of tenderness and feral need. You reached for him, fingers threading through his sweat-damp hair, tugging him up from between your thighs. The slick evidence of your pleasure smeared across his chin, his lips swollen and glistening, and the sight made your core clench with fresh hunger.

"Please," you whispered, voice raw and honest, stripped bare by the vulnerability of it all. "I need you inside me. Now. Fill me up until I can't think straight."

He groaned, low and guttural, his restraint cracking further at your plea. But he moved with deliberate slowness, muscles flexing under his skin as he shifted up your body, caging you in with his arms. "Easy, baby," he murmured, voice thick with effort, like holding back was pure torture. "We take this slow. Don't want to hurt you. Not when you're this perfect, this ready for me."

His playful smirk flickered, but his eyes burned with desire, pupils dark pools that promised ruin. He brought his fingers to his mouth, the same ones that had just fucked you through your orgasm, and sucked them clean with a deliberate swirl of his tongue, tasting you on his skin. The wet pop as he pulled them free sent a shiver racing down your spine.

He trailed those fingers lower, over your heaving breasts, pinching a nipple hard enough to draw a gasp, then down the quivering plane of your stomach. They circled your entrance, slick and swollen, teasing the sensitive folds before pressing one inside. Your walls fluttered around it, still hypersensitive, the intrusion sparking fresh sparks of pleasure that made your hips twitch.

"So tight," he breathed, pumping that finger in and out with agonizing leisure, watching your face twist in bliss. "Gonna feel so good wrapped around my cock."

You moaned, the sound desperate, arching into his hand as he added a second finger, stretching you wider, the burn delicious and insistent. "Twist them," you begged, voice breaking. "Deeper. Prepare me for you."

He curled them just right, stroking that inner spot that made your toes curl and your breath hitch. His thumb found your clit, rubbing in firm circles that had you grinding against his palm, chasing the building pressure. "Fuck, yes," you panted, exposing yourself fully, legs falling open wider in invitation. "I want all of you. Take me."

Jungkook's gaze darkened, admiration flashing hot as he drank in your willingness, your abandon. "You're incredible," he rasped, gripping your thigh with his free hand, nails digging into the soft flesh. "So open for me. So mine."

He withdrew his fingers slowly, the drag pulling a whine from your throat, leaving you achingly empty. Then he shifted, shoving his jeans down just enough to free his cock. It sprang out, thick and veined, the head flushed dark red and leaking pre-cum, curving up toward his taut abs. He fisted it at the base, guiding the blunt tip to your entrance, rubbing it through your folds, coating himself in your arousal.

Teasing you with just the tip, he nudged inside barely an inch, the stretch immediate and intoxicating. You both gasped, breaths mingling in the charged air. "Okay?" he asked, voice strained, forehead beading with sweat as he fought the urge to thrust.

"Yes," you breathed, nodding frantically, hands roaming his back, nails scraping lightly. "More. Give me everything."

He pushed in then, inch by torturous inch, his girth splitting you open, filling you so completely that stars danced at the edges of your vision. The sensation was overwhelming: the hot slide of skin on skin, the way your walls gripped him like a vice, fluttering around his length as he sank deeper. You felt every ridge, every pulse of his cock as it claimed you, bottoming out with a shared groan when his hips met yours.

Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, heels digging into his ass to pull him closer, adjusting the angle until he hit that perfect spot inside. A sharp gasp tore from you, pleasure spiking white-hot, your pussy clenching around him in response.

Jungkook paused, buried to the hilt, his forehead pressed to yours, breaths harsh against your lips. "You feel... fuck, so good. Taking me like this." He kissed you then, slow and deep, tongues sliding together in a mimicry of what joined your bodies, his hips rocking in tiny circles that ground his pubic bone against your clit.

"You okay?" he whispered against your mouth, one hand cupping your face, thumb stroking your cheek with aching gentleness. "Tell me if it's too much."

"Perfect," you murmured, voice husky, lost in the fullness of him. "You feel so big. So right. Move. Please."

He started with shallow thrusts, pulling out halfway before sliding back in, the wet sounds of your coupling filling the room, obscene and intoxicating. Each drag sent ripples of ecstasy through you, his cockhead kissing your cervix on every plunge. Sweat slicked your skin where you connected, bodies sliding together in a rhythm that built like a storm.

"Faster," you urged, nails raking down his shoulders, leaving red trails that made him hiss in pleasure. "Harder. I can take it."

He obliged, pace quickening, hips snapping with more force, the slap of flesh echoing louder. He captured your mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing your moans as he angled deeper, hitting every sensitive nerve. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, nipples grazing his chest, adding friction that had you keening into him.

The friction was relentless, his thick length dragging along your walls, the head pounding that spot that made your vision blur. Pressure coiled tight in your core, hotter than before, every thrust pushing you higher, your clit throbbing against his grinding pelvis.

"Jungkook," you gasped, breaking the kiss, head falling back as stars exploded behind your eyes. "I'm close. Don't stop."

He growled, thrusts turning powerful, piston-like, one hand sliding under your ass to lift you, driving even deeper. "Come for me again," he demanded, voice wrecked, lips at your ear. "Milk my cock. Let me feel you shatter."

It hit you like a tidal wave, orgasm ripping through your body, walls convulsing around him in rhythmic squeezes that pulled him under too. You cried his name, a broken chant, trembling as ecstasy flooded every cell, gushing wetness around his pounding cock.

"Fuck, Y/N," he groaned, burying himself deep with a final, brutal thrust, spilling hot inside you, pulse after pulse of cum flooding your depths. His body shuddered against yours, hearts slamming in unison, the shared release binding you in sweat-soaked bliss.

He collapsed onto you gently, still sheathed inside, peppering your face with soft kisses as you both caught your breath, the afterglow wrapping you in warm, sated haze.

—

The next month felt like something out of a dream. Surreal, intoxicating, magical in ways you'd never imagined possible. You'd never thought you'd be dating someone, let alone Jungkook of all people. The campus bad boy who'd somehow become the person who knew you better than anyone.

He took care of you in ways you didn't know you needed. Small things: remembering how you liked your coffee, texting to make sure you'd eaten, showing up with your favorite snacks when you were stressed about exams. Big things: listening when you talked about your fears, holding you when the weight of everything became too much, making you feel seen in a way you'd never experienced before.

You'd never had that before. Not really. And it terrified you how much you'd come to depend on it, on him.

You still kept your distance on campus, not quite ready to go fully public. The thought of your church community finding out, of facing their judgment and disappointment, made your stomach twist with anxiety. But Jungkook never pushed, never complained. He'd just smile that soft smile reserved only for you and say he'd wait as long as you needed.

He'd give you rides to your dorm after late study sessions, his hand warm in yours in the privacy of his car. He'd take you on dates to places outside campus where no one would recognize you. Quiet cafes, hiking trails, that little bookshop you'd mentioned once in passing. He remembered everything.

Today he'd texted you to meet him by the arts building. Your heart did that stupid flutter thing it always did when you saw his name on your screen, and you'd grabbed your bag with perhaps too much enthusiasm.

The late afternoon sun cast golden light across campus as you made your way toward the meeting spot. You spotted him easily. He always stood out, that magnetic presence impossible to ignore. But he wasn't alone.

Jimin was with him, and something about their body language made you slow your approach. They were standing close, voices low but intense. You couldn't hear what they were saying from this distance, but Jimin's expression was serious, almost concerned.

You should've announced yourself. Should've called out or texted that you were there. But something made you hesitate, made you drift closer without making your presence known.

"We haven't seen you in a month," Jimin was saying, shaking his head. "Isn't this too much devotion for a bet?"

The word hit you like a physical blow. Bet.

Your feet stopped moving. The world seemed to tilt sideways.

"She is not a bet." Jungkook's voice was sharp, dangerous in a way you'd never heard before. He grabbed Jimin's shirt, yanking him closer. "I told you. I love her."

"She doesn't know that she was a bet, right?" Jimin pulled away, his expression turning harder. "This isn't fair, Jungkook. If you truly love her, you should have said that..."

"Seriously, Jungkook." Your voice came out surprisingly steady, almost amused. You stepped into view, and both of them froze. "So I was a bet?"

You were laughing. Why were you laughing? Maybe because if you didn't laugh, you'd break completely. Maybe because this felt so absurdly, perfectly predictable. Of course this was too good to be true. Of course there was a catch.

The color drained from Jungkook's face. "Y/N..."

"No, please." You held up a hand, that hollow laugh still spilling from your lips. "Don't let me interrupt. I'm curious now. What were the terms? How much was I worth?"

"It's not like that..." Jungkook started toward you but you stepped back, and something in his expression shattered at the movement.

"Not like what?" Your voice was still light, conversational, even as your chest felt like it was caving in. "Not like you made a bet about me? Not like everything was a lie? Everything?"

"It was a bet." The words came out raw, desperate. "At first. I'm not going to lie to you about that. But Y/N, please, it stopped being about that the second I actually got to know you."

"When?" The question cracked through the air like a whip. "When did it stop being about the bet? After our first conversation? Our first date?" Your voice dropped, became something sharp and cruel. "After I slept with you?"

Jungkook flinched like you'd struck him, then stepped forward, closing the distance. "Don't. Don't do that."

"Why not?" You shoved him hard in the chest, your hands trembling. He stumbled back but immediately moved closer again. "I gave you everything. My first kiss, my virginity, my trust. Things I'd been saving my whole life because they meant something to me. And you..." Your voice finally broke. "It was all just part of winning a fucking bet."

"No." He grabbed your wrists as you tried to push him again, desperation bleeding through his touch. "No, Y/N, I love you. I love you. That's real. Everything between us is real."

"Let go of me!" You wrenched away from him, tears streaming down your face. "How am I supposed to believe that? How am I supposed to believe anything you say when it all started with a lie? When I was just a game to you?"

"You weren't. You aren't..." He reached for you again but you backed away, laughing bitterly through your sobs.

"What was the prize, Jungkook? Money? Bragging rights?" Your voice turned vicious, sharp as broken glass. "Did you tell them? Did you tell your friends every detail? Did you laugh about how easy I was, how naive?"

"Stop it." His voice cracked, eyes wet. "I know I fucked up. I know, and I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I should have told you from the beginning. I should have..."

"You should have never started this." You were shaking now, rage and heartbreak warring inside you. "You took something sacred to me and turned it into a joke. You made me believe..." Your breath hitched. "You made me believe I mattered."

"You do matter. You're everything to me."

"Don't you dare." The words came out raw, feral. You stepped forward and shoved him again, harder this time. "Don't you dare say that to me. You don't get to pretend this meant something after what you did."

He caught your wrists again when you tried to push him a third time, holding on even as you struggled. "Please, Y/N. Please, just let me..."

"Let me go!" You finally broke free, stumbling backward. The tears were blinding you now, but you could still see his face. Stricken, devastated, guilty. "You ruined me, Jungkook. You made me question everything I believe in, made me go against everything I was raised to be, and it was all for a bet."

"It stopped being a bet..."

"I don't care when it stopped!" Your voice broke on a sob. "It never should have started! I trusted you with parts of myself I've never given anyone, and you used me. You used me."

"I didn't..."

"Yes, you did!" The scream tore from your throat. "And the worst part? I would have done anything for you. I loved you. I thought..." You laughed, the sound hollow and broken. "I actually thought you were different."

You turned away, vision blurred with tears, and started walking.

"Y/N, please!" His voice was ragged, desperate. You heard him following, his footsteps quick behind you. "Just let me explain..."

"Don't follow me." You didn't look back, didn't stop. "Don't call me. Don't text me. Don't look at me." Your voice dropped to something cold and final. "You're dead to me, Jungkook. Do you understand? Dead."

You kept walking, leaving him standing there in the golden afternoon light. Leaving behind the best month of your life.

Leaving behind the first person who'd ever made you feel like you mattered.

All of it built on a lie.

.

.

part 2 on tumblr 🩵

[skzhotpot]

I’m scared if I start talking too much I’ll spoil the perfection that is reading this for the first time without knowing anything so I’ll just say

[kooktrash]

million dollar darling | jeon jungkook

summary: jeon jungkook is well aware of how privileged he is to have been born into the life he was given. it was glamorous and influential yet close-knit and suffocating, something he thought he wanted to escape from. a trip back home to the circle of wealth and snottiness for his best friend’s million dollar wedding has reminded him of all the reasons why he wanted to leave in the first place… and all the reasons he should stay — the main one being you, the spoiled rich girl he knew was utterly perfect for him.

➣ genre/au: jungkook x model!reader [she/her, female anatomy], old money au, smut, plot [soft on the e2l/f2l tropes]

[loosely inspired by ‘crazy rich asians’ movie/book by kevin kwan]

➣19.7k words

warnings: heavy plot. smut. model oc. jk is a wander but he’s really just a rich guy in disguise. oc and jk got heavy tension but good banter. oc is kinda snotty but not really? namjoon x oc [not y/n]. rich, old money snotty bts. sex on a yacht. teasing. foreplay. oral [f and m receiving]. jk goes to town on oc. cunnilingus. unprotected. missionary. oc on top. jk is tatted up in a polo. heavy makeout. breast play. fingering. dirty talk. oc goes down on jk while he’s on the phone with hobi 😭. jk’s villain arc as he slowly turns back into a cocky rich boy hehe. jk gets sex flashbacks at dolce and gabbana

“Come on, it’s my wedding and I want you as my best man. Do it for your best friend.”

The sky had been clear when he landed, a bright blue cloudless sky that resembled the clarity of the sea he had left behind. The air already seemed stiffer and the bleakness of the airport brought his mood down almost immediately.

The only thing to make him somewhat happy to be home was the sight of the person in front of him, a huge grin on his face as he saw him. The man was dressed casual in a pair of sweats and a hoodie but the small details of his watch matched with the luxury car parked outside brought unwelcome attention to Jungkook when people stared.

“I was worried you bailed last minute,” Namjoon said with a grin as he pulled him into a hug, “It’s good to see you.”

“I wouldn’t,” Jungkook reached into the pocket of his oversized black hoodie and slid his face mask off, taking a cigarette and lighting it once they were outside the airport, “It’s been too long without seeing your beautiful face.”

“Yeah, don’t tell Yeonwoo, but I’d marry you if you weren’t such a man,” Namjoon joked, playfully flirting which Jungkook just laughed off.

“Too bad you’re not my type,” Jungkook patted his shoulder apologetically, “Besides, where is the bride?”

“Getting her hair done for tonight,” Namjoon said as they got into a Bentley Mulssane, “Also, please drive, I’m scared.”

“Hyung,” Jungkook scoffed, taking the keys anyway, “If you hate driving so much why buy an expensive car?”

“Yeonwoo liked the color,” Namjoon said as he got in the passenger’s seat of his own car, “Are you staying with your parents? I could still find you an apartment.”

“For a week? Don’t bother, I’m staying at a hotel,” Jungkook said, turning the engine on and driving out.

Namjoon sighed, “So you really are leaving again?”

“Was there ever a doubt I was?” Jungkook asked in surprise.

“Duh, kid. We miss you, you rarely call, you never visit, you barely respond and we know nothing that goes on with you,” Namjoon said, “I thought once you got your fill of life experiences, you’d come back.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything at that, sniffling uncomfortably as he tried switching the subject, “So, who’s my partner?”

This time Namjoon was the one to freeze up, staring out the window with sunglasses on and his jaw locked. With a shy smile, he asked, “Are you gonna bring a date?”

His brows furrowed as he looked at his friend, “Who’s the Maid of Honor?”

Namjoon released a nervous laugh, “Y/n L/n.”

The silence in the car was loud and from the way Jungkook’s jaw tensed and his eyes narrowed, it was easy to see he wasn’t happy about that. You? You were the Maid of Honor and his partner down the aisle?

“You know, her and Yeonwoo are close and Yeonwoo’s always thinking about who looks the best next to her on camera and obviously she’s gonna choose the runway model but listen,” Namjoon could barely catch a breath, “Y/n’s matured more now and she’s going to be there tonight so please be on your best behavior.”

“Tonight? What’s tonight?” Jungkook’s tone was sharper now and Namjoon huffed in annoyance.

“The rehearsal dinner on the pier, it was all in the catalog I sent you,” Namjoon said, “It’s for press. Our parents want to get it on Forbes and Vogue, they want to make it the Wedding of the Year.”

They both laughed at that and Jungkook sighed, “So there’s gonna be cameras?”

“Yeah but don’t worry they won’t focus on you,” Namjoon said with a smirk, “The attention’s going on me.”

When Jungkook pulled up to the hotel he would be staying at for the week, Namjoon left him to settle in with a promise that he would make it tonight so he had no choice not to. A letter from a close friend was sitting on the coffee table and he set his things down to get it.

It was a big envelope with a card and a few things rattling inside that made him curious. Jungkook turned the envelope down so the contents would fall onto his palm and a roll of condoms slipped out.

‘Welcome home buddy, enjoy the penthouse and may all your frustrations come undone — Jung Hoseok.’

The note itself made him scoff in disbelief. His womanizing friend making jokes before they’ve actually reunited. He left the things on the table and left to shower, doing what he could to make himself look presentable for tonight.

Tonight was the beginning of a soon-to-be hectic week of photoshoots, brunches, parties and finally the wedding. You were one of the ones front and center, never taking the limelight from the bride but carrying your own sense of grace that had people turning heads when you walked into a room—or in this case riverwalk.

You vowed to appear your best tonight and opted for a silk, powder blue Prada dress paired with Swarovski crystals on your neck. You did your part as Maid of Honor, directing all attention to your friend, polite smile and gentle assurance when needed in front of a crowd. Yeonwoo found it comical how well you fit into character when you need to.

“The perfect friend,” Yeonwoo joked as you dabbed smeared lip gloss from her lips, “What would I do without you?”

“Oh, I hope you never have to find out,” You said in a gentle voice that feigned innocence and longing. Yeonwoo laughed as she was called toward other people and you let her go as you found the nearest server holding a glass of champagne. You took a glass, turning toward the railing overlooking the shore, tipping your glass back and chugging as much of the drink as possible.

“So this is where the Maid of Honor will be spending her night?” A familiar deep voice spoke up from behind you and a mischievous smile grew on your face. You set the glass down, straightened your posture and turned to him with a soft gaze.

“Now you know that’s not fair, Joon, I’ve been with Yeonwoo most of the night,” you told him, already motioning for another server to give you a glass, completely ignoring the man standing beside him.

“I believe you, darling, now why don’t you come say hi to the Best Man,” Namjoon pushed Jungkook forward who just glared at him in response, “You remember Jeon Jungkook, right?”

“It’s been two years, not ten,” You said, finally looking at Jungkook with a glimmer of annoyance in your eyes, matched by his stare of unamusement.

“Alright well why don’t you two get reacquainted while I search for the gorgeous love of my life,” Namjoon said, making his escape as quick as possible.

“You counted?” Jungkook asked, taking just one step toward you, trying to stop his eyes from trailing down your figure.

“Of course,” You said sarcastically, “I’ve just missed you so.”

He couldn’t stop the roll of his eyes as he turned to the water, “You knew we were partners?”

“Obviously, I know everything,” you said with a scoff that had his tongue pressing against his cheek, clearly annoyed, “Like how you’re staying at one of the Jung’s hotels instead of home. How you plan on leaving still, where you landed, how long you’ve been her—“

“So you’re stalking me?” Jungkook asked, only half joking.

“Don’t you wish,” you laughed, “You’re all over the news.”

His smile dropped. When he had nothing to say, you grew bored and left him behind, making sure to lightly graze your fingers against his arm as you said, “And just remember, you’re the one who despises me, not the other way around.”

With that, you left without looking back and he was left watching the sway of your hips when you walked away.

Money rules the world, even when people want to say it doesn’t. The people who have it are living the dream and the ones who don’t, want the dream. It doesn’t even have to be the luxurious wonders of the world, it could be as little as financial stability or surviving. At the end of the day, it was a Rich Man’s world and this group of individuals were born lucky.

First, the groom: Kim Namjoon. The man with it all, the money, the family, the education, son of millionaires with three hospitals in their name and a line of pharmacies all across the globe.

The bride: soon-to-be, Kim Yeonwoo. The heiress to half a dozen airlines, an airport funded by her family for decades and a beautiful island in her name off the coast.

Kim Seokjin, practically a prince, generations worth of politicians, the highest education and a trust fund worth millions. He was the one you’ll see with the president or in Australia, golfing with men in charge.

Jung Hoseok, the hotel heir to a chain of ten thousand hotels across the globe. He was the one you’ll most likely catch partying in Venice with a princess whose name he couldn’t actually remember—or maybe giving a waitress the night of her life.

Min Yoongi, eldest son of an elite banking firm formed a hundred years ago. He was private about his life, similar to Jungkook, he only came out when he was summoned by one of the others.

Kim Taehyung was wild as Hoseok but more quiet about it. He’ll soon be heir of the billion dollar empire his family built in the Art world of museums and curations and performing arts.

Now, Jungkook’s story was a bit different from the others. His family worked in land development, most of the country being built on the backs of the Jeon’s who brought cities to rural areas and avoided the public’s eye.

They had the kind of old money that everyone knew, even when they tried to stay out of the news.

It was the kind of old money, people could never stop talking about and you understood what that meant most.

There was a mystery to the fortune of your family, it was old money, so old nobody knew where it came from. Some say oil, some claim aristocrats but it was too far back, and too private for any to know. All the public knew were the generous and loving philanthropists and their perfect daughter, the Nation’s Sweetheart, you.

You really were loved by all, the camera, the press, everyone. They all saw the kind, innocent girl in the public’s eye but only a few saw the snotty, spoiled and downright disrespectful side of you that was real.

Where Jungkook craved independence and isolation from his family name, you soaked in it. The attention. The money. The dependence, you were the complete opposite of him and it drew him insane.

One might ask why he was around you if he really did despise you, but for a long time it wasn’t up to him. The group didn’t all become friends one magical night when you compared your family’s net worth.

No, this bond had grown between galas, private academies, horse riding lessons at the country club and family businesses. It was a very elite, classist society where only the ultra rich could really only trust in each other and keep a country afloat off of it.

Do you think Namjoon would have been allowed to marry Yeonwoo if her parents weren’t as rich as they were?

Do you think Seokjin would have married his wife that he met at Oxford if her family hadn’t been international shipping magnates?

It was like a spider web, they were all connected in some way, all controlled and that’s what Jungkook hated.

He loved his friends, truly, but he hated the control. Not a single one of them had real freedom and every little thing they did came with a price and he couldn’t live that way anymore. He understood his own privilege and how lucky he was to grow up in such a way but he knew there was more to life than just that. When he left home for the first time, he didn’t expect to feel so free. It was like a sense of independence he’s not sure any of his friends have felt and now that he’s back he’s reminded once again of how suffocating it all is.

There had to be at least a hundred guests in attendance tonight and he couldn’t find a moment of silence. The suit he wore felt uncomfortable and he hated the way it seemed to confine him, make him more rigid and stiff.

“Please Jungkook, I was only being funny. Did it bother you that much?” Hoseok asked with a tinge of mischief in his voice.

“No,” Jungkook shrugged as he looked around the banquet hall, “I just found it unnecessary.”

“Really? I would’ve assumed the opposite considering you’ll be spending a lot of time with Y/n this week,” Taehyung said with a shrug as the three of them stood off to the side, talking amongst themselves as the guests of the charity banquet focused on your parents who stood on stage making some speech about the importance of giving.

As if on cue, the spotlight turned toward you where you smiled politely and acted shyly for the cameras.

A scoff left his lips as he pulled his gaze away from you, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hoseok chuckled, “Oh come on man, everyone knows you have a thing for her—you’re really bad at hiding it.”

With a roll of his eyes, Jungkook stepped away from his friends, “You guys don’t know anything.”

He didn’t have a thing for you.

Sure, you’ve known each other for a long time but that means nothing. He’s known them all for a long time and if anything he's made his distaste toward you pretty evident. When you were younger it was only because you were so spoiled and the attention had to always be on you. He hated watching everyone fall for your sweetness and do whatever you asked of them. He almost fell for it himself a couple times but then he would see the way you judged or looked down on people and he just despised you more.

There’s nothing about you that attracts him aside from your looks…

Tonight you were dressed more modestly in a Chanel sweater and skirt set that looked like you would soon be relaxing at the country club. You wore a black headband with a bow on it and satin gloves, looking as polite as ever while you talked to anyone who approached you.

You were the perfect, doting daughter and anyone with eyes could see that.

“So how mad are you?” Yeonwoo asked once you had settled back in your chair next to her and Namjoon. Even Namjoon seemed to listen in on the question, waiting to hear what you would say.

“What do I have to be mad at?” You asked with a tight smile as you reached toward her to fix a slight smudge on her cheek, “ Jungkook?”

“Well, we know you have some sort of disliking toward each other but…” Yeonwoo bit her lip nervously, “Joonie and Jungkook are really close.”

“We know you two don’t like each other but you should have expected this, right?” Namjoon chuckled nervously, “You’re both our best friends and…”

“Am I saying anything?” You asked.

They shared a look with each other, “I guess not.”

You smiled, “Okay, then let’s just make sure everything runs smoothly this week.”

You did in fact feel a type of way about Jeon Jungkook but you weren’t going to admit that right now surrounded by so many people always lingering around trying to listen. You’ve learned to be very careful about how you act in public and there’s no way your friends will get you to act out by asking about him.

Jungkook was not someone you wished to exhort so much energy on. He wasn’t worth anything to you and despite how many years you’ve known him, you’ve never wished to get to know him. You don’t care where he goes when he’s not home or who he talks to, nor what he does. He doesn’t cross your mind at all through your normal day to day and you surely weren’t going to let him in this week. All he has going for him is his money and his looks.

Ever since you learned he would be the Best Man you thought about what that would mean and accepted that he would be the one to walk with you down the aisle. Despite not being happy about it, you managed to hide your resentment quite well.

You know how he feels about you and over time that’s made you develop a disliking toward him which you find only fair. He might dislike you for being spoiled but you dislike him for being so entitled.

For some reason, he thinks distancing himself from this life means he’s better than everyone else and you hate that. He thinks that by moving away and making his own money suddenly makes him different than the rest of you but that’s not true. He just wants to act like he’s self made so he can feel superior to all of you trust fund babies and that is what annoyed you.

After some time third wheeling, you were getting tired and slightly annoyed watching the couple act lovey dovey. You hated couples, they grossed you out even if they were your best friends.

“Mind if I keep you company? You look like you need it.”

With a furrow in your brows, you turned to face the person who felt the need to whisper in your ear and get close to you without permission. A smile spread across your lips at the man standing directly behind you, his arm draping over your front and hugging you.

“Hello, darling, I’ve missed you,” Jimin’s voice was soft yet sultry and you gave each other kisses on the cheek in greeting as he moved to the empty seat beside you.

“I didn’t realize you were back,” You said to him, “How was Paris?”

He released a sigh, “Oh the usual, shopping… a few events here and there.”

“Mhm, and when’d you get back?” You asked, now intrigued by his presence.

“Just last night. I was planning on visiting you earlier but things came up,” Jimin said, adjusting the Swiss watch on his wrist, admiring the shine, “What has happened since I was gone?”

“Oh God, he’s back,” Hoseok rolled his eyes from across the room, “I ran into him in Marseille the other day and the guy wanted to act like he didn’t know me.”

“He’s been insufferable since Uni,” Taehyung muttered under his breath, “I don’t understand why Y/n puts up with him.”

“Who?” Jungkook asked, only half curious. He hadn’t been paying attention until he heard your name and his reason for hearing it was purely coincidental.

“Park Jimin,” Hoseok clarified, making Jungkook look closer at the man who sat very close to you, making you smile and touch his arms when you spoke.

“Am I supposed to know who that is?” Jungkook seemed indifferent as he looked down at his glass of champagne, trying to resist the urge to look back at you.

“Not at all,” Taehyung said, “He’s just some guy we went to Uni with here. I don’t know how he met Y/n though, probably at some shitty party but he’s nobody that matters.”

Well… Park Jimin was the son of starlets. His great grandmother, his grandmother was an actress, his mother was an actress and he’s been in a few independent films here and there. He spends most of his time sailing on yachts or speaking of the Cannes Film Festival. He’s insanely rich, but he’s still not rich enough despite his accumulated generational wealth.

Unlike Jungkook’s wealth which held actual value especially in real estate, Jimin’s just didn’t compare to his or any of his friends for that matter. So why did you seem captivated by him?

He is aware he shouldn’t think this way, it’s only him reverting back to his old self which was all arrogance and entitlement. He shouldn’t think about how much wealthier he was compared to Jimin.

Unfortunately, Jungkook couldn’t seem to drag his gaze away from the pair as he tipped his champagne glass back, liquid pouring down his throat.

“Do you think she’ll take him to the wedding? I doubt Namjoon or Yeonwoo would ever invite him themselves,” Hoseok said and the three seemed like a group of gossips, the way they huddled around each other.

In Jungkook’s defense, he was barely listening to his friends. He was too busy watching the interaction happening not far from where he stood, eyes narrowed trying to understand what was happening.

First, he didn’t like you. He found you unbearable and you were the epitome of everything he hated about the High Society he had been raised in.

Second, he was only looking because you were next to his best friends. Maybe he wanted to see how in love Namjoon and Yeonwoo were but he couldn’t see because of you and your… friend.

Third, he wanted to know how you managed to stand out in your outfit despite the room being filled with people in extravagant clothes.

“I’m not sure, actually, rumors say she might,” Taehyung said and Jungkook couldn’t help but look over.

“What?”

“We’re just wondering if the Maid of Honor would bring her little boy toy to the wedding,” Hoseok said, looking at Jungkook as his jaw tensed, “What do you think?”

“I don’t care if Y/n brings anyone, we’re just dates for the pictures and ceremony,” Jungkook said with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

“So are you going to take a date too then?” Taehyung asked.

“Maybe,” Jungkook said as a server came around holding a tray of champagne glasses and he switched his empty one out for a full one. He didn’t bother to look back at his friends as he began walking away, “I’ll be back.”

“It’s so hard for him to act like he doesn’t care.”

“Kook! Come here, man,” Namjoon said with a wide grin as he saw his best friend walking by them. Jungkook didn’t bother glancing down at you as he greeted his friend.

“Kooky, I haven’t seen you all night,” Yeonwoo stood up to hug him, “Please don’t seduce my future husband, everyone has already RSVP’d.”

“Oh Yeonie,” Jungkook softly caressed her cheek, tipping her chin up to look at him, “If I wanted him, I would have had him by now.”

“Joon!” Yeonwoo whined clinging to Namjoon who just winked at Jungkook, further amplifying his fiancé’s feigned sobs. Jungkook smiled watching her squirm and without him meaning to, he let his gaze fall toward you.

“Y/n.”

You met his intense stare with your own and you could hear Jimin say he was going to get a drink but you didn’t look at him. You looked down at what Jungkook was wearing—a plain black Prada suit, how boring. “Jungkook.”

“Is that who you’re bringing to the wedding?” Jungkook asked, looking back at the infamous Park Jimin who stood with Taehyung and Hoseok, all three of them pretending to enjoy each other’s company.

“Maybe, we do get along very well,” you said with a sly smile as you stood up, not yet reaching Jungkook’s height but he didn’t intimidate you, “Is that a problem?

“No,” Jungkook said, voice low and deep, “I was just curious.”

“And why were you curious?” You asked, a mocking tone in your voice that he didn’t like, “Do tell me, how often are you curious about what I do?”

A scoff left his lips as he looked away from you first, “It was just a question, don’t get ahead of yourself and think you matter to me more than you do.”

An evident pout appeared on your lips and for a second his expression changed with worry but the moment was fleeting. You just laughed [giggled, actually] and with a gentle touch to his arm, said, “No need to lie to yourself.”

His eyes narrowed, anger bubbling up inside him when he heard a shutter of cameras going off, flash in his face and without thinking, he took your hand in his and left.

“If you plan on kidnapping me, it won’t work,” You said teasingly as you left to some dark corner behind large pillars.

“I’m not going to put up with a week of your games,” Jungkook said as he let go of your hand, missing the way your eyes fell to the black ink on his knuckles—something you had never noticed before, not even on the yacht when it was dark out.

“Then stop playing into them,” you said with a laugh, “If I drive you crazy, why bother talking to me at all? I think we’re both very capable of ignoring each other enough to not have to say a single word.”

“What I mean is, you can put on this act of yours for the cameras but don’t drag me into it,” Jungkook told you, ignoring the idea you had thrown out there. He was referring to your strange smiles and touches you give him when in the public.

“I’m not dragging you into anything,” You rolled your eyes, “And you seem to forget all eyes have been on you since you got back—heir to the Jeon Corporation. What do you think people will say when they find out you dragged me out here all alone? The Big, Bad & Rebellious Jeon Jungkook and The Nation’s Sweetheart, me.”

His eyes shut with a hint of anger that he tried to subdue, “Sweetheart?”

“That’s what I said,” you smiled sweetly to prove your point making him scoff.

“You’re not a sweetheart, you’re a spoiled brat,” Jungkook said, looking down at you in your pretty clothes with your pretty jewelry and your pretty face.

“Nice of you to finally notice,” you said bitterly and with a roll of your eyes, you pushed into his shoulder on purpose as you walked past him, “But we’re all the same, aren’t we? Just some of us like to act all high and mighty because you leave home craving independence, ignoring your privilege to seem like better people.”

Jungkook felt the jab of your words but he let you walk past him without a rebuttal.

With a sense of frustration, he ran his fingers through his hair, trying to collect himself to rejoin High Society and finish the night with his head held high.

When Jungkook left his hotel the day of the Bachelor Party, he hadn’t been sure what to expect. Hoseok had done most of the planning for it since he had been abroad and when it comes to Hobi, you never know what to expect. It was almost two days of festivities and it was only toward the end that everyone would separate into their respective groups. That meant that once again he was forced into the same place as you.

The yacht sailed toward the private island the events would be at and as big as it was, he couldn’t escape you. There were the main group of friends that were always together and a few added guests, mostly Yeonwoo’s friends. Hoseok had already been hyping up the party tonight more than anything and everytime Namjoon would grow more worried. He didn’t need a big party thrown by his notorious womanizing friend.

“So what do the girls have planned?” Jungkook asked Namjoon as they sat at a table, looking at everyone aboard. Some people wore little clothing, others casual clothes, you wore something in between. It was casual yet attractive.

“ I don’t know, something probably calmer than what Hobi’s got for us,” Namjoon said but his friend had tuned him out after the first part, “Y/n planned it all and leant us the Yacht for the guests.”

“The yacht?” Jungkook asked, looking around at the luxury super yacht.

“14.7 million dollar yacht for Y/n’s birthday last year,” Namjoon explained to Jungkook, “She wanted a Booze Cruise.”

Jungkook couldn’t help but scoff, “So Y/n got a yacht?”

“It comes in handy, doesn’t it?” A soft voice spoke from behind him and his breath hitched. You looked over to Namjoon, “Yeonie is looking for you.”

“The wife calls,” Namjoon said with a cheesy smile as he left you two behind.

“So, are you ready to go party with Hobi tonight?” You asked with a laugh, “I heard he’s got some former Miss Universe models coming in.”

“Oh, fun,” Jungkook said, slightly sarcastic.

“Kook, you’re not old enough to not like partying with models,” You teased making him look over at you. For a moment he wondered if what you said had a double meaning considering you were a model but he didn’t want to speak up about it.

“I’m sorry, I’m not a party animal,” Jungkook said truthfully, only a hint of joking as he looked around at the packed floor, “I think even this is too much.”

“Wow, how could you be a former Socialite if you don’t like partying?” You asked, “Is it all that time in the jungle or desert you spent alone that changed you?”

Jungkook could hear the sarcasm in your tone but he knew it wasn’t in an offensive way. He had backpacked to a small village in Indonesia for a few weeks before leaving to Nevada or Dubai—and he hated that you knew it all. He enjoyed traveling alone and experiencing things alone; he doesn’t need parties with too loud of music or too many drunks. He’s like Namjoon, they want to celebrate with their small group of friends rather than a party full of strangers who don’t even know what the occasion is.

“It might’ve,” Jungkook said, clearing his throat and checked the time.

You didn’t say much else after that and he got the impression that you grew bored talking to him. He looked at you still waiting to see if you would say something else but instead, you just looked off into the distance, not bothering to hide the sudden boredom you must have felt.

He’s sure he could have found something else to say to you but it was no use when he could see you beginning to slip away when you looked down at your cellphone with a bright smile. You didn’t utter out a goodbye as you left him behind to answer your phone, “Chimmy, I’ve missed you. How’s Morocco?”

“Warm,” Jimin said, “I’ve just finished a shoot and I believe I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Oh I won’t be home, remember?” You said as the final thing Jungkook was able to hear from you before you walked away.

Jungkook couldn’t help but look after you, thinking about who might’ve called you and how things were handled and he had to be honest, he was curious. He wasn’t attracted to you but he found you attractive… He thought you were charming and charismatic but not enough for him to want you, maybe…

The two of you just seem so different. He’s seen as the Black Sheep of the group, not because he’s not wealthy or attractive but because his past decisions have apparently been awful ones.

He was never one for parties so he wasn’t wild and defiant. He did make a declaration to leave all the money behind and pursue his dreams—something rich people were not allowed to do. Especially not if you were next in line to inherit it all like Jungkook was.

You are more free than he is and yet you like being in your bubble. You like the glamor and the responsibilities because unlike him, you know how to play both sides. Do your parents care that you’re out wasted at European raves or sailing on your yacht with a foreign prince? No, why? Because you know how to act like the innocent, perfect princess you’re supposed to be.

Jungkook can’t pretend that well. He can’t hide his tattoos or piercings or signs of nonconformity.

So, yes, he finds you attractive but he can’t let himself fall for you when he thinks you’re too different from each other. It just doesn’t stop his brain from thinking about you though.

“Have you seen Y/n?” Jungkook asked Taehyung who had been sandwiched between two women he couldn’t name.

Taehyung, evidently drunk, shook his head no, “Are you ready to confess your undying love for her?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, scoffing as he said, “Fuck off.”

All Taehyung did was laugh, making the girls he had his arms around laugh too and Jungkook left feeling annoyed. He was just curious to know where you were, that’s all. Namjoon and Yeonwoo are busy making their rounds, greeting and thanking everyone on the boat and his other friends were off doing their own things. He’s already spent too much time sulking by the railing, staring down at the dark blue water that he can’t take it anymore. He doesn’t want to drink to the point that he’s drunk so really, his last hope is you.

“Have you seen Y/n?” Jungkook asked as he went to the rooftop where Hoseok was sitting in a hot tub full of strangers. Hoseok looked like such an asshole [something Jungkook had permission to say] with his designer sunglasses and Vacheron Constantin watch, just barely above the water surface.

Hoseok barely glanced his way as he said, “I don’t know, check downstairs.”

That was all Jungkook needed to know before he was heading down to find you. It took a while of asking any person he passed by, where you might be and through all this, he couldn’t remember why he was looking for you in the first place.

He had no idea where he was going, he just found himself walking down what felt like endless corridors of rooms, following the directions of whatever housekeeper he could find. The boat really was big, and he couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that this was a simple birthday present.

“Now, who do we have here?” You looked down the empty hallway toward the man in front of you. It pained you to see just how attractive Jeon Jungkook really was.

You have to admit, he really knows how to dress for occasions. The rare times he’s photographed in some news article, he’s dressed casually, clearly trying to hide from the public eye but now that he’s back it seems his fashion has picked up. He wore a striped black flannel Dolce & Gabbana shirt tucked into cream colored slacks, and matching velvet black slippers from their newest collection.

“I’m just… wandering,” Jungkook cleared his throat, whatever excuse he had made up earlier, completely out of mind, “What happened to your dress?”

A large red stain adorned the front of your pink dress from the chest down your torso. You looked down at the stain with a roll of your eyes, “Some stupid bitch worker. She’s off the boat tomorrow.”

Jungkook widened his eyes, feeling you brush past him and down the hall, “So you’re firing someone for spilling a drink?”

“Um, this is Valento? Do you know how hard it is to get rid of a stain like this?” You asked with a slight scoff as you went to the door straight at the end, pushing your key card in to open it, “It took the dry cleaners ages last time.”

“I didn’t take you as an Outfit Repeater to be worrying about things like that,” he stopped at the door, already looking around at what was evidently the master cabin. The water out the windows was a dark, midnight blue and it reflected into the room of silver and gray. It had a walk-in closet, and king sized bed with a view of the open water and a private deck. He didn’t dare go in and put himself in personal quarters with you.

You gasped, stopping your movements of rummaging through your closet to say, “I am an environmentalist.”

He couldn’t tell if you were being serious or not and he had to fight back a grin at how un-woke you sounded considering you were ruining the planet with a private yacht of this size.

You pulled out an off-white dress, a Jaquemus piece, ‘La Robe Artichaut’, “Ugh, after this week, I am firing a lot of people.”

“What happened this time?” Jungkook asked, leaning against the doorframe watching you, waiting for you to kick him out but you just went toward the windows overlooking the dark blue ocean. As much as you claimed to not get along, you talked like old friends.

You reached your hands toward your back, attempting to undo the back of your dress on your own, “I told my assistant not to pack anything close to white and she packs this dress? I swear people can’t do anything right.”

“If people ask just say you’re supposed to match me,” Jungkook said referring to his slacks, “Yeonie won’t be mad her Maid of Honor is wearing off-white.”

“I guess,” you sighed, letting go of your dress and not bothering to look back at him as you said, “Undo the back.”

Jungkook stood silently at the door, staring at you with dark eyes. The fabric of your dress was thin and soft to the touch—he could just tell with the way your figure had so effortlessly shaped the dress. It is a real pity you had to change out of it, he’ll admit that, but now he’s been asked—no, demanded—to help you to take it off.

He has no idea why you think you could just boss him around but this seems to have always been the case. The two of you were never close in the past but the very few times you would run into each other… as much as he hated it, there was always some sort of tension there.

With your back to him, you hadn’t seen the way he silently made his way across the room, shutting the door behind him as he went right to you. You could sense his presence behind you, see his reflection in the dark window and feel his rough fingers brush against your back.

“I meant to tell you, I like your shoes,” You said casually, his fingers beginning to work the knot that tied the ribbon of your dress, “My friend wore them in Paris just a week ago.”

“Friend?” Jungkook raised a brow curiously, his eyes trained slowly on the ribbon he was ever so slowly pulling loose. His gaze shifted to your reflection in the window as he pulled a little rougher than earlier, “Is this the one you’re always running off on the phone with?”

“You mean Park Jimin?” You asked, not bothering to react at all to his roughness or his speed, “Yes, him.”

You could feel Jungkook’s deep exhale as he pulled it as loose as he could while still being appropriate, “Are you seeing him?”

A mischievous smile couldn’t help but make its way to your face as you turned to face him, holding your arms around yourself modestly, “Is that what you wanted to talk about all along? You could have asked me earlier instead of spending who knows how long looking for me.”

He had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself agreeing with you, and with a tense jaw he asked again, “Well, are you?”

“I’m going to get changed,” you motioned toward the door, telling him to leave, “Unless you want to help me with that too.”

A scoff left his lips as he took a step back, annoyed that you wouldn’t just answer his question and annoyed he even cared enough to ask. What did it matter to Jungkook if you took a date? He wasn’t in a relationship with you and he barely considered you a friend.

When he wasn’t here and he was traveling, he was perfectly fine not knowing a thing about you aside from whatever article or magazine you appeared in. Why now that he returns and he sees how… glamorously beautiful you are, is he curious about you?

“And just so we’re clear, no, I’m not seeing Jimin,” You told him as he walked toward the door, stopping midway to listen to you, “Because I know it would make you jealous.”

To be honest, you didn’t think he would actually be jealous, it’s just a joke. Something about you just gets under Jungkook’s skin and it wants you to push his buttons that much more. As obvious as it was that he wasn’t at all amused by your sweetness, it was your arrogant charm that seemed to get him every time.

You knew you were beautiful, you knew you had every right to be arrogant and as much as Jungkook could deny he’s attracted to you at all, it’s very noticeable. You’ve never been told no a day in your life. You’ve never been rejected either and you know Jungkook wouldn’t dare reject you if you actually went for it.

Despite how vocal he is about his distaste toward you, you can’t help but still get giddy in his presence. You just want to rile him up and know that he’s attainable to you. You’ve always had a thing for him, he was an absolute gorgeous man and he was wealthy, extremely wealthy. He was educated and had class but at the same time he was rugged and intimidating. You’ve seen the small glimpses of ink on his knuckles and you just know that under all his long sleeves, he had more to show.

Whether you felt seriously for him or if you just figured it’s a spur of the moment situation, you want him.

“Jealous?” Jungkook attempted to scoff but the word caught in his throat with some truth to it, “Why would I be jealous?”

“I don’t know,” You shrugged, sliding the strap of your down your shoulder, “Because then you would have to share my attention with someone else.”

Jungkook knows he should leave. You had asked him to leave yet you kept going back and forth, and it was stopping him from doing so.

He should go.

He needs to go before he does or say something he’ll regret.

If he caves in to your taunts then he’ll be disappointed in himself, like part of him was allowing his return to his old lifestyle of luxury and privilege.

“Y/n, you always say things you don’t know,” Jungkook asked you with a deep voice that had you smiling, practically feeling him give in. His gaze was dark and there was no hiding the growing tension, “And you must think you’re real cute trying to act out now that we’re alone.”

“No, I know I am,” you said, not backing away from the eye contact. “And you know it too.”

“I don’t,” Jungkook loomed over you, eyes tracing down the curve of your nose and to the slight part in your lips, “I think… I think you’re…”

You blinked up at him, “Well say it, or are you too busy thinking about kissing me?”

An annoyed huff left his lips as one of his hands pulled you toward him at your waist and the other tilted your chin up until his lips were grazing over yours. You reached toward him, making the first real press of your mouths together and there was no use in acting like he hadn’t been in fact thinking about kissing you.

Jungkook let his eyes fall shut as yours did and he pulled you closer into his chest with the hand on your jaw sliding down toward the curve of your neck, making sure you didn’t pull away just yet. You kept up with the pace he had set of slow yet hungry kisses, pulling on your lips or letting his tongue slide against yours tenderly.

“Well?” You gasped feeling his soft lips kiss along your jaw, his soft black hair brushing against your face, a light scent of his shampoo or cologne that left you feeling intoxicated. The hand he had on your waist tightened at your words, pulling away with a quiet grunt, he looked you in the eye.

“Don’t ask me any more questions,” Jungkook groaned, the taste of your lips still on his tongue and there was a light sheen of gloss coating his lips from yours.

It’s shameful for him to admit how easy it was for you to break him down into every other man who seems to fall at your feet when given the chance. This is exactly what he didn’t want and now he’s pulling the godforsaken stained dress he undid and watching it slip down your body, revealing your naked form to his hungry eyes.

Above your bedroom was a deck filled with people celebrating the soon-to-be newlyweds while the Best Man and Maid of Honor are in the master cabin, half undressed, and stumbling onto the bed.

Jungkook was gentle but firm, he wasted no time popping the buttons of his shirt open, exposing the toned muscles of his body and the ink covering most of his arm. Your eyes scanned the markings, surprise and wonder evident on your face with how well he managed to hide how much he’s gotten done since he left.

“Surprised?” Jungkook asked, eyes low when your hands ran over his slacks, pulling at his belt and nails lightly scratching at his abdomen. His voice dripped with arousal when you sat up from beneath him, pressing light butterfly kisses to his abs and tattoos.

“You always surprise me,” You admitted, not as teasing as before but with a hint of playfulness still there. You looked up from his chest, the height of your sitting form and his standing one looked endless as he towered over you. “For instance, I didn’t think it would be this easy to get you in my bed.”

You kissed along his neck now, sitting on your knees to reach him better and nipping at his sensitive spots. His hand tightened around the neck of your head, not pulling your hair but definitely getting your eyes on his, “Why do your words sound so dirty when you say them so… “

Jungkook couldn’t even finish his sentence before succumbing to you once more and kissing your lips. With little force applied, he was laying you back down on the bed with his tattooed and muscular body just melting into yours effortlessly. With one hand on your neck and the other sliding down to the curve of your thigh, it felt like he was all over you.

“Let’s take this off you,” Jungkook murmured between kisses down your neck as he began to finally take off the ruined dress that had been in his way since you got him to undo it in the first place, “You’ve been teasing me with this since earlier.”

“Maybe because I wanted to see you get worked up,” you sighed as you made yourself comfortable on the king side bed, your body slowly unveiled to his hungry eyes. Once he had pulled the dress off you completely and threw it to the side, sitting up between your spread legs and staring.

Jungkook didn’t bother with discreteness as he eyed down your naked body still in shock that he was seeing it before him. Your breasts were on full display and the only piece of fabric hiding you was a thin lace underwear that felt so nimble and soft under his fingertips, so easy for him to just tear off of you. You looked gorgeous laying so pliantly underneath him and he couldn’t help but let his hands slide down from your bent knees to your inner thighs.

“Did it work?” You asked just above a whisper as he hovered over you, leaving needy kisses between your breasts while he tugged at the hem of your panties until he was sliding them down your legs.

“It really fucking worked,” Jungkook groaned as he cupped your boobs in his hands, letting his tongue lick at your pert nipples and feeling the way they stiffened underneath him. Your hands went to his hair, legs nearly wrapping around his torso when you felt his teeth lightly press into your nipple, sucking and tugging when needed.

His kisses began to run down toward your navel with his hands replacing his lips and kneading your breasts in the palm of them while he moved down to lay between your legs, “I want a taste, pretty girl.”

“Then get one,” you said in a whiny tone that had his big rounded eyes turning to look at you with surprise. A knowing smirk falling on his lips as he lifted your knees and pulled your thighs apart as far as they could go until he was eye level with your pretty cunt. Jungkook was never one to stop and tease when he needed sex, he had a tendency to get a little rough and take what he wants but it’s so hard to move it along when he’s met with the sight of you laying so pretty for him. He could tell your patience was running thin with how long he was taking to do anything and just before he felt you close to snapping at him, he leaned into you.

“Oh fuck,” you gasped in surprise with the sudden swipe at your clit by Jungkook’a flattened, long tongue and you’ll admit it caused goosebumps to form on your skin. You couldn’t see the way he smiled as his hands circled around your thighs, repeating his teasing flick of his tongue, feeling the way your folds began to react to him.

He felt your fingers run through his soft hair for anchor and for some reason that slight grip you had on him had his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he let himself get lost in the taste of your pussy. No longer up for any sense of teasing, Jungkook lets his mouth fall open, kissing your wet heat with his tongue pressing between your folds and finding your clit. Your hips were slowly bucking into his face, showing him just how much you liked his tongue and he knew just what to do to have you coming undone underneath him.

He sucked your clit into his mouth, his lips wrapped around the hard bud while his tongue swiped against the tip of it. He began a repetition of that and grazing his teeth ever so softly against your sensitive folds knowing he found your weak spot when he sucked your labia into his mouth and had your soft moans filling the cabin.

“Jungkook,” you moaned softly, fingers tugging at his hair roughly, “Oh god.”

He didn’t dare pull his mouth off you to give you a response and instead let his actions grow rougher. He unwrapped a hand from around your thigh and slipped it down to your pussy where he let his finger begin to draw patterns into your labia, so close to your entrance that he could feel your arousal quite literally leak out of you.

Your body was filled by pleasure that Jungkook was bringing you and you couldn’t help but bring your free hand to your neglected chest, trying to fill the void that Jungkook’s hand had left as you groped your breasts. Jungkook looked up completely enamored with the way you played with yourself while he ate you out and without any second thoughts, he pressed his long middle finger into your waiting cunt.

“That’s it,” he whispered, pressing a light kiss along your pelvis, “Cum for me, darling.”

“Jungkook,” you whined as he pushed a second finger in, hooking them upwardward just past your pubic bone and finding that soft, spongy spot with ease. With the way your walls fluttered around his fingers, he knew you were close and all it took was his lips around your clit while thrusting into that pleasure spot of yours, for you to wrap your legs around his shoulders and shake with release, “Oh my god.”

“Mm,” Jungkook groaned with pleasure, feeling your arousal flood his fingers in your release. He looked down at his wet hand, bringing it to his lips where he licked off the release that threatened to drip down his forearm, “Sweet.”

You looked like a mess trying to catch your breath and come to understand what had just happened between you to think too long about the fact that he was pressing his fingers into your waiting mouth till you licked your own release off him. He lifted a brow as your tongue circled around his fingers while sucking on them with your cheeks hollowed in. It had his breath hitching, trying to pull his fingers back out before he came just from that and began to pull at his own pants.

“Condom?” He asked in an unusually low and raspy tone. You blinked, “It’s fine, I’m on the pill.”

He didn’t press for more as he kicked his slacks and briefs off, hard cock pointed up stiffly. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from it. You wanted to wrap your lips around him and take him deep in your mouth because his dick was surprisingly so fucking pretty you just needed it desperately.

With your mind decided, you attempted to sit up when he pushed you back down, cock in his hand as he gave himself a couple strokes to relieve some tension and pulled your legs apart, “I need you now.”

“Impatient, are we?” You asked with a laugh, making yourself relax when you felt his cock head brush against your exposed clit. Jungkook wasn’t paying attention to what you said as much as he was to the way his mushroom tip fit perfectly between your folds.

A soft gasp left your lips as he pushed it against your clit, playing with your labia and letting the clear liquid that dripped out of his tip, coat your clit.

“Fuck,” Jungkook took a deep breath as his cock nearly slipped inside of you, playing with your earlier release to cover his length in it, “Such a pretty pussy.”

With an annoyed roll of your eyes, you grew tired of his teasing and with a quick hook of your leg around his slim waist, you pushed his cock into you eliciting a deep groan [almost growl] to slip from his lips, “Fucking hell, Y/n.”

“You were taking too long,” you moaned, legs falling back again as you tried to ease the slight pain that came from his thick member entering your tight walls. Jungkook’s hair was brushing against your face as he looked down at the way you took him in, “I was trying to be gentle.”

“Did I ask you to be?” You asked with a scoff. Jungkook rolled his eyes, spreading his legs further apart and digging his knees into the bed for support as he covered you with his body, laying down to plant a quick kiss to your lips. “Brat.”

“Jeon Jungkook,” your manicured nails traced down his back until your hands were under his thighs as if ready to make him move on your own, “Are you going to fuck me yet?”

He couldn’t help but scoff in disbelief, an amused smile on his face and without saying a word, he pulled out until on his tip was past your ring of nerves, and suddenly pushed back in. Your lips fell open in a silent gasp as your eyes locked with his and he smirked.

“You need it that bad?” Jungkook asked as he pulled your legs up, pressing them toward your chest and holding them down with his arms as he kissed your neck, dragging his cock back out, “How bad?”

“Jungkook,” you groaned, trying to move your hips but in this position it was useless, “Start moving.”

“Make me,” he kissed the tip of your nose, slowly sliding himself back in just a little. You rolled your eyes, moving your hand to hide your face as you felt yourself getting annoyed.

Jungkook was smiling like this was all just so amusing to him and with his lip pulled between his teeth, he thrusted in with little restraint, starting a slow yet steady rhythm, “Don’t hide your face, darling. I wanna see the Y/n L/n moaning for me.”

“Fuck you,” you shook your head feeling your pussy tighten around him with your legs pulled to your chest unable to escape his thrusts that were becoming more rough by the second.

“Come on darling, you can do it,” Jungkook groaned, feeling like he was on cloud 9 from the way your pussy took him in. He doesn’t know how to explain it but he felt really fucking good right now. He’s not sure if it’s that he hasn’t had sex in a while, or if it had something to do with the fact that it was you, but he was fucking you with all his energy, letting himself relax and just feel good in the moment.

“Jungkook,” you moaned his name, hand slipping from your face so you could wrap it around his neck, “Kiss me.”

“Kiss?” He asked, out of breath as his rhythm faltered and without thinking, he let go of your legs and let them fall back onto the bed as he tilted your chin up with a hand to kiss you. He set his other hand down on the bed for support, getting lost between your lips and your tight pussy.

Jungkook’s tongue licked against yours swallowing your moans, “Y/n, it’s s’good.”

“Mhm,” you circled your legs around him, “Fuck.”

Jungkook kissed down your neck, hands sneaking down to your waist and with one swift movement, rolled onto his back with you on top. He needed a change of pace because if he kept going, he would cum sooner than he wanted to and he needed you to cum one more time for him so if that meant letting you get in top, he would.

And it had been such a good idea because the sight of you sitting on his cock, leaning back and placing your hands on his thighs instead of chest, made him more excited. Your knees dug into the bed and with your fingers scratching at his muscular thighs and raised your hips, lifting yourself off his cock before plunging him back in.

“Fucking hell,” Jungkook groaned throwing his head back into the pillows, a hand on your hip but not daring to take control, “That’s it darling, fuck yourself on my cock.”

“Jungkook,” the new position was having him reach newer parts inside you that had your thighs shaking, “I’m so close.”

“Take it,” Jungkook growled, holding you in place as he dug his feet into the mattress and began to fuck up into you, “Take my fucking dick, fuck.”

“Oh my god,” you fell forward, hands scratching at his chest, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten, “I—I can’t. Jungkook, baby, oh my—“

“Take it,” he groaned, grabbing your hips harshly and moving once again so he was on top, thrusting into you despite how hard it was getting to pull out of your tight walls, “Take it.”

“I—I,” your lips fell open in a loud cry, pinching his biceps for stability, and felt your walls come undone. For the second time in less than hour, your orgasm hit you hard. Jungkook released a string of grunts, feeling your pussy convulse around him and his cock was greeted with a flood of warmth that had his legs shaking, trying to support him but he couldn’t take it. He barely had time to slip out before he was letting go, his cum dribbling down to your thighs as he let out one final moan of your name.

His body seemed to collapse down next to yours, panting and out of breath, “Fuck.”

The two of you were a mess, sweaty and sore and all you wanted to do was lay down and possibly sleep but where you were did not go past you unnoticed. You searched around for your cellphone, knowing you set it down somewhere before trying to change and found it on your nightstand with six missed calls from the Bride-To-Be.

Jungkook took a deep breath, sitting up and looking down at the mess the two of you made on the bed. He got up, not bothering with covering himself up as he found a towel and tried cleaning himself off with it while you got on your phone.

“Duty calls,” you joked with a sigh as he came to your side and began to wipe down your thighs. Yeonwoo sent you a dozen messages talking about a midlife crisis of some sorts. You sat up carefully, thanking him for handing you your robe and you slipped it on.

“What happened?” Jungkook asked with an awkward clear of his throat as he began putting on his clothes again. He’ll admit he was taking his time getting dressed and you left to the bathroom to freshen up.

“I don’t know, something with the gift boxes for everyone. I think Yeonie’s assistant forgot them,” you told him as you found new underwear to wear, making sure you were cleaned before putting them on. You left the door to the bathroom open to talk to him but you still changed into the white Jacquemus dress from earlier.

You walked up to him and he got the memo about zipping your back up and this time he couldn’t help but lean down to press a kiss to your shoulder blade, “Are you going up yet?”

“I’m gonna touch up my makeup first,” you told him honestly, “You go ahead.”

When Jungkook reached upstairs again, finding the party just as he left it earlier, it’s like nobody noticed he had even left for so long. They were all too focused on your new dress — which Yeonwoo absolutely adored on you. He found a glass of champagne and tried to escape from the swarm of people trying to hold a conversation with him when he wasn’t thinking clearly at all.

Unfortunately for the two of you, the matching off-white shade of your clothing and the sudden mark on his neck wasn’t lost on anyone else. Soon, pictures from every angle possible would paint a story neither of you wanted.

There was a sense of guilt that came with disassociating yourself from your best friend’s wedding plans. Jungkook could barely remember what they had done once they got to the island after a surprising night of visiting your cabin.

He hasn’t had an actual conversation with you since that night and he has to be honest and say, he barely remembers the actual wedding. He hadn’t seen you since the yacht before being dragged away by Hoseok the following day to do some activities for Namjoon’s groomsmen. You had gone to do your Maid of Honor duties and he’s felt out-of-loop since.

The entire day had been packed with things to do and he’s aware he looked dashing in every photo the photographers took of him in his 12,000$ Kiton suit. The matching suits they all wore made the groomsmen look classy and cohesive while the Balmain dresses the bridesmaids wore made them elegant and surreal—well at least for you.

That’s what he thinks is the problem.

His best friends got married and yet all he was able to think about was you. It didn’t help that despite the wedding being on a private island, there was still press everywhere, capturing every angle of this beautiful matrimony between nepo babies.

The reception had been filled with various questions from various interviewers that left all your shared friends staring at you suspiciously—especially when questions of the hickey on his neck came forward.

As awful as it sounded considering the 46 million dollar wedding in the mountains of an island was stunning, he could barely remember half of what hadn’t been photographed. He left the day after the wedding with an excuse that he had things to take care of where he’s currently at and his friends bid him farewell.

He got to the mainland a day before the others and it gave him time to return home before he left on another voyage alone.

“How was the wedding?” His older brother asked, swinging his mallet just slightly, trying to find his nail before shooting the ball through the hoop, “I can't believe I was caught up in meetings all week in Tokyo.”

Jungkook looked oddly bright today compared to how he felt and he didn’t want to say it was because his casual and boring clothes he wore abroad stuck out here in ways he didn’t like. That’s why today—his last day home—he visited his family’s 150 acre estate for a game of Croquet and possibly tennis, wearing a matcha colored Loro Piana cashmere polo with short sleeves.

“Um, it was great,” Jungkook said as he brought his cigarette to his lips and lighting the end before inhaling.

“That’s it?” JungHyun asked with a scoff as he motioned for Jungkook to take his turn and he took his brother’s cigarette, “Did you have an orgy with any models or were you your usual gentleman self that won the crowd against me?”

His older brother had been well known in his younger days for many reasons, his partying, his charm, his youth and education. When he was in his mid twenties, you could always catch him in some article their parents tried taking down in regards to driving under the influence or insulting a server. Unlike Jungkook who preferred a quiet life he could escape to, his brother did not and now he’s some big shot finance guy because his attitude growing up had ruined his chance of inheriting everything from their grandparents. Now it will all go to Jungkook—something they’re all aware of—and maybe that’s why JungHyun makes snide remarks here and there.

He’s not asking about the wedding because he’s curious, he’s bitter that despite his perfect appearance and Jungkook’s more intimidating kind, Jungkook was still the most well-mannered of the two and therefore the favorite—if only he stayed and fulfilled his duties.

“No orgy,” Jungkook said with a hint of disgust as he finished his round of the game, one step closer to winning, “Just Y/n.”

JungHyun had been mid-swing when he mentioned you and his aim went astray making him miss the next ring, “What do you mean just Y/n?”

“I slept with her—“

A loud and annoying laugh cut him off as JungHyun let his mallet go, “Ah, so you can’t remember the events of your best friend’s wedding because you were too busy sleeping with the nation’s sweetheart? Oh I cannot wait till father hears about this, maybe your wedding is next and then you’ll finally step up to the plate.”

Jungkook scoffed, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means now that you’re back, and dating the richest girl in the country, there’s no way Father won’t hand you down the company now,” JungHyun said bitterly, “And everyone said you running away would be a bad thing, but clearly it’s reminded you of who you are.”

“I’m not… I’m not staying,” Jungkook said, “I leave tomorrow but I wanted to see you all. And Y/n and I aren’t going to date, it was a… um.”

“Mistake?” JungHyun asked, “Jungkook, don’t be an idiot. You’ve been obsessed with her for years.”

“I have not.”

“You have, you just don’t want to admit that all your talk about being independent and leaving the money behind to be free was complete bullshit,” JungHyun said with a scoff, “Or why would you mess around with her of all people. A relationship with Y/n is going to put you at the top once again and there’s nothing that won’t be handed to you—and she’s someone mother would approve.”

“You’re dramatic,” Jungkook huffed, “One night doesn’t mean we’re dating or getting married or any of that other shit. I still don’t want to run the business… I just want, I don’t know.”

“Yeah, you never know what you want,” JungHyun said, “But whatever, if you’re set on running away again, so be it. I’m tired of trying to make you see how you blindly follow along with everything you seem to hate.”

“Master, your wife is on line three and she’s wondering who is picking up the kids.”

“Fuck, I don’t know,” JungHyun groaned, annoyed and no longer interested in talking to his little brother, “The driver?”

Jungkook watched his brother leave him behind and with a defeated sigh, he left.

“So are you leaving?” Youngi asked him as he watched the bubbles in his pink champagne, “Or have you changed your mind?”

“I haven’t changed my mind,” Jungkook said stiffly as he fixed the suit jacket he was currently getting fit into, “I’m just postponing my leave but I have a few things to take care of here.”

“Like with you and Y/n?” Youngi asked, making sure the fitting room at Dolce & Gabbana was empty aside from just them two. Jungkook didn’t even flinch at the mention of you. Since the two arrived at this store his vision has been filled with large framed photos of you and your dear friend Park Jimin all over the store. Apparently you were one of the brand’s favorite Ambassadors and they made it known you modeled their products. Right now he’s facing the mirror with a picture of you modeling a satin baldonétte bra and high waisted panties. You looked beautiful and seductive and its been hard for him to not just stare at all your pictures since he got here. Now Yoongi is attempting to bring you up and he refuses to give in to the extent his relationship with you has gone.

You haven’t even spoken since the wedding and even that had just been an exchange of pleasantries and no real depth to either of your words.

“No, with my father,” Jungkook said stiffly as he shrugged off the suit jacket and called in the stylist to find something else. Yoongi sat up in his seat slightly more interested, “Really? About what? Don’t tell me you're back in the running.”

“We're going to discuss it,” Jungkook mumbled to himself.

He wanted to make one thing clear, his decision to seek out his father and work out some sort of plan where he can get back into the job he had been assigned to do, while also having freedom had absolutely nothing to do with you. It has nothing to do with the fact that you’re here, and he’s interested in you, and that it would be his parent’s dream for him to stay and be in a relationship with you and also take over the business finally…

This was his decision because his brother’s right. He can't just keep running away.

“And what do you mean, with Y/n?” Jungkook asked, clearing his throat awkwardly as he glanced up at your five foot photo framed above the mirror, remembering the shape of your body against his, moaning his name and tightening your walls around him.

“Haven’t you heard the rumors?” Youngi asked as he got on his phone, “It seems as though you have competition.”

Jungkook didn’t need to be told more as he took Yoongi’s phone from his outstretched hand and read what was on the screen with furrowed brows.

At the end of the article, in big, fat letters, the conclusion said: ‘Now the question is, will L/n choose the best friend, Park Jimin, or the elegant and influential Best Man, Jeon Jungkook—possibly as the country’s newest IT couple?’

When he gave Yoongi his phone back, there was no denying the sudden irritation that contorted his features. It’s not like he expected this to not happen but… he doesn’t like what they’re implying. Yoongi studied him closely to see if he would get a response, but Jungkook gave nothing away. Instead he just ordered the tailor to pack the two suits he tried on so he could buy both, “I’ll meet you out there.”

Yoongi left Jungkook to get changed and while he stood alone in the fitting room staring up at your boudoir photos framed around him, he took his phone and dialed your number.

“Hello?” Your end of the call sounded hectic, louder and busier than his did. You were in the middle of an interview for Vogue and were taking a short break. It seemed like he called at just the right time since you were getting your makeup touched up.

“Are you busy?” Jungkook asked with a sharp tone that fell on deaf ears when the call went silent for a moment. He really did admire the photo of you, remembering just what it was like to trace his hands along your figure.

“Who is this?” You finally asked, making his jaw clench slightly.

“Jeon Jungkook.”

“Oh you see, I wouldn’t have known that considering you didn’t even say a hello or anything,” You told him in a sarcastic tone that made him want to smile but also roll his eyes, “Besides, I am busy.”

As if on cue, the call of your name in the background made your claim concrete. He bit his lip in thought, wondering what it was you were doing and how long it would take, “When can I see you?”

A smile played on your lips as you held up a finger to your assistant who was trying to hurry you along, “Did you make an appointment with my assistant?”

He couldn’t help but scoff as his gaze turned toward a glare, practically imagining that picture of you smiling at him, “I didn’t know I needed one, darling. When can I schedule one?”

“I’m not sure, i'll let you know,” you said and before Jungkook could respond, the call ended and he was left in shock that you just hung up on him. He gathered his things and met Yoongi outside to pay, completely bewildered by the fact that you just hung up on him so easily. He knows you haven’t spoken since the night of the wedding where you were forced to speak but this is all he gets?

“What took you so long?” Yoongi asked as they left Dolce & Gabbana with new things.

xxx-xxx-xxxx: Appointment scheduled for, 6:30 pm today, L/n Residence @ the Northbrook Estates

Jungkook couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief at the confirmation of an appointed meeting with you tonight.

The night on the yacht had been unexpected yet also long-awaited and now that its done with, neither of you seemed to know what to do about it. You wont lie and say you didn’t enjoy that moment with him but you were also realistic. You and Jungkook would just never work out, you’re too different on the outside and that’s why you’re so confused now as to why he called you.

“So, Y/n, its been a busy season for you this year,” an interviewer said as the camera zoomed in on your expression as they continued, “Not only did you walk thirteen shows but I hear you also celebrated your close friends wedding. How was that? You must have been exhausted.”

“You know it was a lot but it was exciting, I hold my friends dearly and I’m just thankful I was able to make time for such an event,” you said and you’ll admit your response sounded scripted. You didn’t dive too deeply which is what you’re sure the interviewer wanted. You should have known that this stupid interview wouldn’t just be about your newly established modeling career.

Whether you’ve become Model of the Year for your catwalk, or for nepotism, you didn’t are much either way. All you cared about was the fact that the interviewer has found a way to slip in questions they didn’t need to know. It’s like you can just sense the things they’ll ask and have already prepared and calculated the exact responses you need to give.

“Of course, and what a star-studded party,” the interviewer continued, “The Best Man being Jeon Jungkook must have been exciting for you.”

“Well, we’ve all known each other for a long time now so…” You cleared your throat, looking a bit disinterested.

“Yes, of course,” the interviewer said with a nervous laugh, “And pardon me, Y/n, but I just have to ask, did anything happen between the two of you on this very intimate trip?”

Your smile strained but you never looked anything less than sweet as you said, “We are all just very close friends. Most of them have supported me in modeling.”

It was a clear attempt on your part to direct the conversation back to what it was supposed to be about. She ignored your last comment and said, “So… I guess we’re all curious, some pictures from the parties were released of the two of you awfully close in certain open waters, and an evident hickey on his neck—not to mention the matching clothes, please, is there something between you and the heir of Jeon Corporation?”

“Nothing that should concern you, no,” you smiled sweetly and the interviewer seemed to freeze up, unsure if she had gone too far in her questions.

Silence filled the space around them and there was no way to cut these parts out since it was a video shoot and after a while of the interviewer struggling to find which questions to ask, a person who worked for you stepped forward, “How about another short break?”

The interviewer released a shaky breath while the both of you made your way off camera and your glam team was quick to touch up your hair and makeup as the director of the shoot approached you, “Y/n darling, how are we feeling?”

“Annoyed,” you answered honestly, “I thought this was supposed to be about my modeling.”

“You’re absolutely right, darling, we apologize for any mistake we’ve done on our part, I—She must have taken it as an opportunity to ask her own questions and I promise you, we will have a deep conversation about this. We aren’t TMZ…” the director said and you rolled your eyes.

“I’m done filming if she’ll be the one continuing the interview,” You told him as you began to walk away from him, not caring for the excuses or whatever and you can hear your publicist repeat your words to him.

It wasn’t even that she was bad at her job or that she asked anything too deep but she just quickly got on your bad side with her persistence to not let the subject drop.

In the end you got your wish and filming ended smoothly before you were driven away to whatever was next in your schedule, trying not to think about the interview or the fact that there was a chance you would be seeing Jungkook later.

Things are evidently strange between you two and its not like you’ve been blind to the articles or posts about you but you don’t want to address anything. That night on the yacht seems like a fluke and like it shouldn’t have happened at all despite how you felt in the moment. Your parents aren’t the type to be invested in what is put in the tabloids but when their lifelong, country club going, friends call them and ask if there’s anything between you and Jeon Corporation’s Jungkook, they’re going to want answers.

It was just one night, one night where the two of you put aside whatever indifference you had toward each other just so you could release tension and this is the consequence for that. Of course everyone would want to know and of course no one was able to turn a blind eye to you. Even Yeonwoo managed to ask what you had been doing in the cabins withJungkook or so long that night and even when you tried to ignore her she kept pressing you for an answer.

In truth you had nothing to say. You were both adults and it didn’t matter if anyone else was dying to know if there was anything going on between you.

You resented each other.

You had sex.

Plus, he’s going to leave soon and you don’t think that bothers you?

When your driver pulled up to the tall skyscraper you called home, you headed inside alone.

“Good evening, Miss L/n,” the lobbyist held the door open for you, “You have a visitor waiting in the lobby.”

Your brows furrowed, checking the time before heading to the library where sure enough, Jeon Jungkook was sitting by the fireplace reading whatever magazine was set out for him. At the sound of your Miu Miu kitten heels, he turned staring at you with his big rounded eyes being the only thing you could see beside his face mask, “You’re early.”

Jungkook wrapped an arm around your waist as he pressed his lips to your cheek in greeting and you did the same, he joined you in the elevator and said, “I like to get to my appointments early.”

“You’re lucky my shoot ended early or else you might have had to wait outside like a dog,” you teased as you pushed the button for the top floor where your penthouse was located. As part of the infinite amount of wealth your family has, you also dabble in real estate, mostly in the country as luxury apartments but you do have some homes overseas: Paris, New York, Argentina, etc.

The place you call home is a top floor penthouse with terrace and rooftop. The floor in which it was located was completely shut off for just you and included a private gym, yoga studio, three walk-in closets, and on top of that an elevator parking garage with a Mary Kay Pink Rolls Royce sitting pretty inside it.

Jungkook has never stepped foot in your home before and it was overwhelmingly stunning with four bedrooms, two living rooms (one on the top floor and one on the main floor too), an open kitchen, poolside terrace, and five bathrooms. You lived in ultimate modern luxury with traditional themes throughout the home like its hand carved wooden furniture and expensive marble walls.

“Is this different from your little magic treehouse in the woods you ran off to?” You asked, tempted to push his buttons as you removed your coat and handed it to your housekeeper who waited at the door.

“Well, considering my magic treehouse is worth 2.6 million dollars, no I wouldn’t consider this that different from it,” Jungkook couldn’t help but boast, feeling like he’s competing. It’s like when he was in school and the students would brag about whatever exotic trip they got to go in the summer and he would have to make sure to tell them what he did was better. “Maybe I’ll bring you with someday.”

Fuck. Why did he say that? Why is he indulging in any of this in the first place? You and Jungkook should never be together, right?

“Speaking of which, I thought you would have ran off now that the wedding is over,” You said as you mumbled something to the housekeeper making her leave, “Drink?”

“Water is fine,” Jungkook said as he made his way down to your 70’s inspired talking pit of suede Anabei sectional couches, “And I thought I would have been gone by now too”

“What changed?” You skied curiously, “Don’t tell me it's because you would miss me.”

You held your hand to your chest as if to seem touched by the thought and Jungkook just rolled his eyes as you continued, “How would all the other girls feel knowing I’m keeping you here?”

Jungkook scoffed as he practically pushed your legs off his lap, “Can you not joke for just one second?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even if part of you felt confused wondering if this was supposed to be a serious moment or not. Jungkook huffed, running his fingers through his black hair, “I’m here because I wanted to talk to you about all those articles. My parents are working on taking those down, are you okay?”

Your eyebrows knitted together with confusion, “Me? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because I’ve never seen anything bad written about you and suddenly you’re being painted as a two-timer by spending a night with me while also… doing whatever it is you do with that friend of yours.” He was not jealous. He swears.

To be clear, there really is nothing going on with you and Jimin. You’re just two friends in the modeling world who happen to like attending secret parties together and maybe making out drunkenly every now and then. That’s it. You’ve never slept with him and Jimin has too many girls on his line for you to ever consider him.

“I’ll survive,” You mumbled as you looked over at him, seeing him in deep thought.

“I’m thinking of staying a while longer,” Jungkook said suddenly with a clear of his throat.

Jungkook was not the shy type and to be honest he’s not even sure why he’s letting you know [as if it made a difference] but the words just slipped out.

He did not like you.

Well, he didn’t like you like that. It sounds harsh he’s well aware of that but he was never romantically attracted to you before so how is he going to suddenly feel that way after only a week in contact again. Maybe it was just unresolved sexual tension after years of feeling that way but that can’t be the only thing that’s making him want to revert back to what his life was like before he left to live on his own.

He escaped all this so that he could live somewhere quietly and do what he really wanted to do without worrying about anything else. Now he’s contemplating moving back and possibly involving himself with his father’s business again. Too much is going on for him to understand why.

“For how long?” you asked as your fingers began to softly run through the ends of his hair making him look at you. You couldn’t hide your curiosity and how close the two of you are.

When he had pulled you down to sit with him, it was with your legs thrown over his lap which he had been caressing every now and then.

An arrogant smirk formed on his lips as he licked them, tapping your calf lightly, “How long do you want me here?”

Fuck, Jungkook is staying to get back in business… not for you.

It’s not for you.

It’s not for yo—

His breath hitched as a sudden weight shifted to his lap, his hands immediately went to your waist, helping you get comfortable on him. It’s embarrassing the way Jungkook didn’t hesitate to reach for you when you sat on his lap feeling your arms thrown around his neck, “Here as in…”

You looked down at the short skirt you wore which rolled up a little from how your legs straddled his thighs and said, “Under me?”

A scoff in disbelief left his lips as he couldn’t help but laugh, sliding your hips closer, “Yeah.”

It was attractive the way your conversations never seemed to fall unless you wanted them to. It was a constant cat and mouse game, banter back and forth and he catches on quickly.

You couldn’t help it, okay. Anytime you would see pictures of Jungkook since he left, he was always in a hoodie and sweats or something that just hid his entire body. Right now he’s wearing this Christian Dior white button-up shirt [which he rolled the sleeves up at some point since he got here] and it was messily untucking from his black slacks and he looks so hot right now. His hair was messy in a sexy way and he looked just like he used to, except this time with tattoos and a different sense of maturity.

Without wasting another moment debating if you should or shouldn’t, you leaned down and kissed him. Jungkook’s lips parted against yours, stretching his neck to kiss you with more need. Unlike the first night you kissed, this one wasn’t as rushed and angry. He took his time longer, pulling your bottom lip between his and doing it over again.

You pressed your chest against his, with your tongue swiping against his lip teasingly until you met his. Jungkook’s hands pinched the satin fabric of your skirt, feeling it tighten and rise, unable to stop the growing desire he was feeling for you. His briefs were getting tighter every time you shifted on his lap and whatever he had been thinking before you started making out.

“You want to play?” He asked, shifting his head to deepen the kiss without bumping noses. You pulled away feeling desperate to catch your breath as his kisses began to travel down toward your exposed neck, licking and nipping under your jaw while beginning to make

“Maybe,” you sighed in pleasure, running your hands through his hair when you felt him kiss down your collarbone, closer and closer down the deep-v in your Miu Miu chiffon top. The strap to your shirt slipped down your shoulder as Jungkook’s rough fingers traced down the side of your arms.

You cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to go back to kiss your lips as you felt his growing erection press into you. It was hard for him to ignore the fact that the only thing covering what was under your skirt was a flimsy, thin piece of lace he shifted you closer until his bulge was tucked between your legs, placing your hips right over where he wanted them to be. Now that he moved you, his outline was more evident and had you grinding along him.

Jungkook released a groan with a sharp breath once he felt that sudden move and he couldn’t help but buck his hips against you, feeling the fabric of his briefs constrict his hardened cock. It was a frustrating feeling yet he felt so eager with his tongue down your throat and his covered dick tucked nicely between your covered folds that he couldn’t even think to stop and remove the layers.

His lips were feeling swollen against yours yet he didn’t want to pull away, the friction he was getting from the way you humped him was turning him on with how needy it felt. You kissed along his jaw, grinding against his aching dick while your nimble fingers began to unbutton his shirt.

“God damn,” Jungkook groaned as he threw his head back, relishing in the way your hips moved expertly against him while kissing down his naked chest. He slid his ass down your back, stopping over your butt and pulling your skirt out of the way for him to get a better feel of you underneath. With firm hands, he turned your sensual grinding into harsher and more deep movements that he met with his hips.

He’s not sure he could take just this any longer. Anytime he’s with you now it’s like he can’t do anything but fall for you and despite how annoying it is, he doesn’t do anything to stop it. Instead, he welcomes it and right now all he wants to do and rip off the remaining layers between you so he could have your legs wrapped around him once more. It’s only been days since the first time and he has not been able to stop thinking about it.

The day of the wedding he had been so distracted by you that he barely remembers any of it and now his best friends are on their honeymoon and he’s here thinking about you again.

Giving up on arguing how much he wants to have you, he wanted to get your clothes off and you were letting him. His hands had barely made it to the end of your top, ready to pull it off, when a loud ringtone cut through the living room, echoing off the walls and hard to ignore. The two of you looked at each other confused.

He sat up, reaching his hand into his pocket and pulling out his phone, annoyed that someone had thought to call him.

“Answer,” you said breathlessly as you looked at the caller, already sliding yourself off his lap.

“It’s just Hobi,” Jungkook said, letting out a huff in annoyance as he set his phone back down, turning to kiss you but it rang once again. Your eyes met his and he begrudgingly grabbed his phone and swiped to answer, “Hello?”

“Hey man, I just got off the phone with your Yoongi,” Hoseok said as he sat in a large closet filled with designer clothes, “And why am I always the last to know if you’re leaving or not?”

“What?” Jungkook looked visibly annoyed with his scrunched brows and tense jaw and for some reason that made him hotter to you. His shirt was undone completely and his belt was halfway pulled off and with his legs spread, it was very hard to ignore his hard on.

Your eyes softened with curiosity and you couldn’t help but bite down on your bottom lip as you decided to just go for it. First, your hand rested on his thigh as he listened to whatever Hoseok said, but slowly you made your way toward his bulge.

“You’re gonna start working with your dad again?” Hoseok asked, unaware of the way Jungkook’s attention had drifted down to the palm of your hand, right over his dick. Your fingers pressed against the underside of his member, massaging your palm into it and feeling the way his hips raised. “What happened to not caring about the money and the company and all that blah blah blah?”

Jungkook couldn’t help but roll his eyes, snapping back to his friend instead of what was going on. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, tightening their grip as if in warning. It was a useless attempt considering he tried helping you pull his belt off and saying, “Come on man, it was never like that.”

He could hear his own tone falter somewhere between lying and having his cock free from the confines of his tight briefs with your hand feeling him.

Hoseok laughed, debating what suit he should wear, “No, it’s exactly like that.”

Jungkook’s hand went to your head, softly caressing you as you kissed down his navel, your hand wet with spit, jerking him off while licking just above his dick. He didn’t bother with a response to his friend as he continued speaking anyway, “Is it true you and our princess are messing around? It’s all over the tabloids.”

Sarcasm was evident in Hoseok’s tone but Jungkook was too focused on your tongue licking up the length of his hard cock, wetting it with spit that made your hand movements smoother.

“Look I get it, you’ve had all this tension something was bound to happen but damn, why didn’t you tell me that either?” Hoseok asked with evident shock, unaware of the blowjob his friend was receiving on the other end. Your lips were wrapped tightly around his length and with your hand too, it was hard for Jungkook to keep his reactions to a minimum.

“Hobi, I—I, yknow I just,” Jungkook cleared his throat uncomfortably to hide an evident groan. He was beginning to fidget under your ministrations, especially when you squeezed under his cock, massaging his balls, “Sorry.”

“Sorry?! That’s all you gotta say after chewing me out for giving you condoms as a joke.” Hoseok was lying in a pile of Louis Vuitton suits on the floor, engrossed in his one-sided conversation, “Our friendship seems one-sided buddy. I thought when you came up to me… I thought, ‘Hey, maybe my good buddy Jungkook will get in this dandy hot tub with me’ but no, you know what you do instead? You ask where Y/n is! God I should’ve known—“

Jungkook threw his head back in a mixture of pleasure and obvious irritation that he couldn’t take it anymore. His finger pressed into the red button and the call was cut to end suddenly. As soon as his phone hit the couch, you pulled off his length with a deep huff for air, “That wasn’t very nice of you.”

“He’ll get over it,” Jungkook mumbled as he reached for your hand to pull you toward him, “Come here.”

“I’m not done,” you leaned away from the kiss he was trying to give you but his hand held your head in place, not caring to kiss the lips that had just been around his hard dick. Jungkook wasn’t as gentle as his need grew heavier and with a strategic pull at your top, it ripped down the back, “Jungkook!”

“What?” He asked with a giddy smile, tempted to be playful, “It was in my way.”

You rolled your eyes, sitting up to take your skirt off yourself and prevent another hazard while Jungkook finished undressing himself. “It was custom, asshole.”

Jungkook’s smile dropped with worry, lips parted in surprise until you burst out into a laugh and fell onto his lap, “You should see the look on your face.”

“Ha ha, don’t scare me like that,” Jungkook chuckled, “I was already thinking about the fortune I would have to pay to fix that.”

“Jungkook,” you ignored the fact that the two of you were naked, in the middle of an intimate moment and asked, “What did you mean earlier?”

“When?” Jungkook asked, caressing your leg, “About staying? Yeah, I’m serious.”

“You are?” You crossed your arms over your bare chest, “Why?”

“Why?” He was visibly taken back, “What do you mean why?”

“I mean… just a few days ago you were adamant on leaving right after the wedding and when you left the resort before everyone else we all kind of figured you had left but you’re here now and…” You took a deep breath in thought.

“Do you want me to leave?” Jungkook asked, sounding more hurt than he intended to. All this time pushing and pulling his feelings for how he felt about being here and seeing you was getting to him. He’s very aware how confusing he is and spending a night with you shouldn’t have changed his mind this quickly while he also refused to admit.

“We didn’t talk about what happened at the party,” you said suddenly, feeling Jungkook drape his shirt over your naked figure as the conversation shifted drastically.

“I know,” he dropped his head, “I’m sorry, I was really confused and I couldn’t tell what I was feeling or how you were feeling and I was mad and… I thought you probably didn’t care.”

“I mean, I didn’t,” you shrugged, “But because I figured it was just a one time thing since you were very obvious with how little you thought of me and now you’re saying you’re staying longer while visiting me at home and it just… I don’t get it.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Jungkook was in his slacks again, trying to fix whatever mess he might have made over time, “I just… I was just being dumb. I wanted to act like I wasn’t into you at all because I was mad at everyone else and it wasn’t fair that I took it out on you but I thought you didn’t like me either.”

“And you’re right, you were mean to me,” you nudged him with your foot, “So really, I shouldn’t even be in this position with you right now.”

Jungkook didn’t dare argue when you called him out, “You always pretended to hate me even when you’d get jealous if someone else talked to me and you could never take your eyes off me.”

His brows furrowed, reminded of the trip and how everyone always joked that he wanted you when he was so stubborn on saying he didn’t. He didn’t like how predictable his life was.

“Because I knew everyone thought you were perfect,” Jungkook tried pulling you toward him, “And they didn’t know how you liked to push my buttons and say things you knew would get to my head and how you were actually so unbelievably perfect that it pissed me off everytime I let you get to me.”

“Don’t sweet talk me now,” you teased when he leaned over to lay between your legs, content with the sight of you in his Dior shirt, “How are you gonna repay me for being such a dick?”

“Whatever you want,” Jungkook admitted, “Say the word and I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“I have everything I want,” you ran your fingers through his hair.

“Come on Y/n, don’t make this hard on me,” he whined playfully, “Everyone else is already making it hard and I just want to spend the night with you. I’ll let you use me.”

Your brow raised and with a soft laugh you pulled him toward you for a kiss, “I get to use the Jeon Jungkook? What will everyone say?”

“That they saw it coming,” Jungkook chuckled as he pressed his lips to yours, “So don’t stop the inevitable.”

You rolled your eyes, feeling your arousal from earlier slowly make its return, “You’re so spoiled.”

“I know.”

Jeon Jungkook now knows what an awful liar he’s been these last couple of years. All of this talk about wanting to be different, break free from his family’s influences and the world of money and power, was meaningless in the end. He tried, he really did but his rebellion of running off and doing whatever he pleased, refusing to acknowledge the company, the wealth and the people in it was short lived because he never actually wanted to escape it.

He was still going to be friends with the people he grew up with and fall back to his old routine of country clubs and parading on yachts or private islands.

He was still going to take over his share of his father’s company and dress himself up in designer Kiton suits that he used to despise wearing.

He was still going to fall for you, the person he despised simply for being an exact reflection of himself. You were perfect for him in every way on paper and that made him want to push you away but in the end, he still fell for you like he knew he would.

Some people dream about having the life he does, or growing up the way he did and yet here he was selfishly wishing it all away. It was perfect, it was so insanely perfect and unfair that Jungkook ever thought he wouldn’t be happy with what he had been handed down to him for simply being born.

“This person gathered valuable experiences in the world and has shown such a strong will to portray it all into commitment for the company and that makes me a proud father,” A deep voice spoke from behind a podium with an echoing mic that had the attention of over a hundred people, “Please, welcome the newest V.P. for Jeon Corporation, my youngest son, Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook had an arrogant smile on his lips as he walked onto stage, thanking everyone for congratulating him on his quick and easy advance in the company—even surpassing his older brother.

“Honestly, it is a big thank you to everyone close to me, for helping me see how ready I am to step into this role and fulfill my duty as a member of this corporation,” Jungkook said confidently, looking at all his friends who had a mixture of confused yet knowing smiles on their faces.

“What a brat,” Hoseok joked with Namjoon, “And I blame you for this.”

“Yeah, I’ve never seen someone get pulled back into the country’s good graces so easily,” Namjoon laughed, remembering all the articles about how my ridiculous Jungkook was for publicly stating he would never be a part of the company.

“That’s because he’s spoiled,” Jungkook’s older brother chimed in, “Even after he says he’s gonna walk away from it, he’s still gonna be welcomed back with open arms.”

Taehyung released a playful sigh, “I want to be Jeon Jungkook when I grow up, the perfect life just handed to me and I’m just too blind to appreciate it.”

“Tae, you’re rich,” Yeonwoo whispered to him, Taehyung grinning at her reminder and sitting up straighter.

“How was it?” Jungkook asked his friends as he looked around the table.

“Well rehearsed,” Taehyung gave him the thumbs up, “Also, where’s Y/n? I thought she’d be here.”

Jungkook checked the time on his watch, his leg already bouncing underneath the table, “Yeah, I thought so too.”

It shouldn’t be that big of a deal to him. This was all just some flashy way for his father to make Jungkook’s debut in the business widely anticipated and you had other things to do than be here. The two of you aren’t even officially together yet so it’s not like you owe it to him or anything.

“Y/n,” Jimin whined as he watched the valet open the limo door for you, “Please don’t ditch me. I’m your best friend, imagine how much fun we could be having. Everyone’s going to ask where you ran off to after the dinner.”

“Well you can tell them,” you hurried to finish applying your lip gloss, “That I had more important things to do than get drunk at some fashion party.”

“Right, just throw me to the side like I mean nothing,” Jimin said dramatically, “Is this how you treat friends now?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, knowing he was only trying to cause a scene. Jimin knew you would be calling it an early night but he just wanted it to be difficult. With a small sigh, you double checked that you looked fine in the mirror and said, “Okay, wish me luck, I’m hoping I get laid tonight.”

“I also hope you get laid tonight so that I don’t have to listen to you talk about how much you want to see him,” Jimin said as you made your way out the car, “Goodnight.”

By the time you got to the banquet, the cameras had been long gone from the entrance and so you were able to make your appearance quietly. You would have been here earlier if there hadn’t been an ambassador dinner tonight that you had already agreed to do before Jungkook decided on staying and you just couldn’t miss it.

You felt bad because Jungkook had asked you to come be his date but he understood why you couldn’t make it right away. If anything he should be happy that you hurried over from dinner to the banquet without an outfit change. Despite the number of attendants, it was really a private affair with only a couple people from the press but nothing too grand and over the top. It made arriving late less miserable and finding Jungkook and your friends much easier.

And when you first involved yourself with Jungkook in this way, you should have known it wouldn’t all be easy. You were now somewhat seeing the most eligible bachelor in the country and nobody knows about it aside from speculation. Speculation won’t stop spoiled rich girls who want him to themselves and that’s what you saw when you found him.

“It’s so great to have you back Kooky, it’s like… the best thing to ever happen,” some girl gushed at him from the once empty seat to his left. She seemed unaffected by the stares she received from around the table and didn’t care at all that Jungkook wasn’t even glancing her way. He doesn’t know her, she’s probably just the daughter of some wealthy couple who thinks she has a chance with him.

Jungkook stared forward, watching his friends’ faces as their eyes softened, no longer listening to the girl who said, “Maybe we can get together some time.”

A gentle hand touched his shoulder, soft lips brushing against his ear as you said, “Maybe we can get together some time too.”

There was no denying the smile that grew on his face as he turned to look at you and how close you were to him. Jungkook’s lips parted in pleasant surprise, ready to talk to you when someone else spoke up.

“Excuse us, sweetheart,” Namjoon said to the girl, “It seems our table is full, maybe you can try somewhere else?”

She left with an annoyed scoff, making room for you to sit down, “Sorry I’m late, did any of you miss me?”

You had a sweet smile on your face, a camera clicked somewhere else in the distance surely capturing how close you were to Jungkook specifically, who was tracing his hand along your thigh.

“Dearly,” Jungkook said as he leaned into you for a quick kiss on the lips, “Thanks for coming.”

“I told you I’d try and make it,” you said to him, “I missed the speech didn’t I?”

“It was nothing special,” Jungkook’s hand began to slide down the space between your legs—or at least as far as your dress would let it, “Just the usual talk about how amazing I am, it was all very boring.”

“But I love talking about you,” Your tone was sarcastic yet flirty, your hand falling over his in warning when he began to pull up your dress just a little. You were sitting at a table with a large draped tablecloth that hid your legs underneath but you were still very aware of the fact that your friends were all around the table.

“Y/n,” Hoseok called for you from across the table, “How does it feel to have the Jeon Jungkook wrapped around your finger?”

Jungkook turned to his friend with a harsh glare, knowing he was just poking fun at it all but still managing to get under his skin. You looked at Jungkook with a knowing grin, “Like nothing I didn’t expect.”

He scoffed, squeezing your thigh possessively, “I think the feelings are mutual, darling.”

You leaned into him, not caring for being around so many important people with cameras trying to capture whatever moment they can, “They are.”

::.

a/n omg it took me literally forever to write this and idk how I feel about it but yknow what 😭it’s finished and that’s what matters. I was in the mood for some rich kdrama feel fic and I hope I managed to pull that off at least a litttlleeeeeeere

thanks for everyone that waited patiently and please feel free to lmk what you think <3

permanent taglist: @notmyfaultbutours @rerefundslocals @fandems @sugaluvmyg @guvgguk @kimyishin @libra04 @kooromiwrld @classycreationcupcake-blog @cherrymonlightt @nikkiordonez12 @asking4-sanity @thvlover @saweetspoiled @shaybts-blog @babycandy111 @jeonninja @yellowcupid08 @02010802faves @skzthinker @unnatae @beautywine @lilliankoo @annenakamura @lesoleile @burnahtsw @kooloveys @ku-ku @chaelvrx @minnie-mouser22 @whoa-jo @marvelbun @sunnikthv @kochycooky @acielelyseen @giselleswifeee @ilikeitlikethatt @bangmechanpls @lvr2seok @badbyeyoongi @jaerisdiction @watermelonjuice15 @artmsmaid @xyahrinx @angeleen777 @jooniesxbby @dream-cvtcher @jksjx @kissyfacekoo @joyjunk @caro134340lina @hyunjinswifeee @oldermenluverrr @caro134340lina @olivialeesstuff [taglist is too long so I’ll have to make two versions of it]

[jenyluv]

MR & MRS—

Having worked together for years, you and Jungkook know exactly how to play your roles, going undercover as a married couple. But that’s until the act stops feeling like one.

PAIRING: detective!jk x detective!reader

GENRE: smut with a lot of plot

WORD COUNT: 8k

WARNINGS: some undercover crime solving, sexy&intelligent gone wrong, idrk what’s going on tbh, jk’s secretly a yearner, alcohol, elites being illegal like always, brief mentions of money laundering, gambling&blackmailing, they’re at an underground club, smut wise: exhibitionism (it just…keeps happening), dirty talk, oral (f recieving), hair pulling, he bends her over ofc, some more probably

NOTES: surprise! 2.0’s mv randomly inspired me to write this and it was supposed to be posted by friday but uh mark happened. this turned out to have so much more plot than i planned but it kinda just flowed that way. also lmk if you’d like a part 2!! enjoy <3

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Rain settles over London as if it’s seeking ownership.

Because in theory, rain does own the city of London, in its own, inscrutable way. It clings onto everything. From the glass windows of the club that are covered in a way that screams guilty, the stone railing that’s a little too romantic for a place like this, to your collarbones that stay exposed through the thick fabric of your coat— everything is decorated with small droplets of rain, creating a measured disorder that’s still stubborn enough not to leave no matter how hard you try to shake it off.

By the time the car pulls to a stop, it paints a black, sleek shadow beneath the streetlights. The street already looks polished; like it’s somewhere you don’t find yourself in unless it’s absolutely intentional, unless you’re assigned to be here, unless you have a purpose.

You watch it through the window for a little more than necessary, because every detail matters. You take notes of the grand spacing between the arrivals, the lack of hesitation at the entrance, the high chins and dark eyes of the men and women that are too powerful to face any consequences; every single one of these people belong here.

The driver opens the door of the backseat before you have time to even reach for the handle, blinking twice before stepping out to force confidence into your body. You move with ease, like you’ve practiced this a hundred times before, because you have. Because every ounce of authority in you is backed with years of practice.

Jungkook follows you a breath later, taking two large steps to claim his place right next to you, offering out an arm for you to hold onto. As he adjusts the black coat on his body, you slip your hand into the crook of his arm, fingers wrapping around his bicep.

The rain immediately catches in your hair, then the fabric on your shoulders, and then the exposed line of your collarbones. Jungkook opens the umbrella in his free hand before your blowout has time to budge out of place, holding it over your head without asking.

“Don’t scan too hard.” Jungkook says slowly, voice low enough to disappear beneath the crowd.

“Don’t teach me my job.” You mutter under your breath, eyes focused on the street instead of him.

Jungkook huffs out something between a breath and a laugh. “I’m not.” He says, adjusting the umbrella slightly, angling it so that it shields you more than himself. “I’m reminding you of it.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t forget what role you’re playing.”

He scoffs, but the corners of his mouth tilt despite himself. His posture shifts subtly, just enough to close the little space left between your bodies, like he’d been waiting for the cue.

“Please.” He huffs out, arm slipping out of yours to find your waist. His hand settles exactly where your waist curves inwards, wrapping around like it’s muscle memory. You straighten your posture at his touch, your shoulder brushing against his chest with each step you take.

Right ahead of you, the gravity around the entrance is so heavy it’s already pulling you in, before you can even acknowledge the warm coloured light painting the corners of the front door.

Jungkook leans into you, mouth grazing over your ear lightly, yet enough to let chills trail down your spine. “Camera over the left column.” He murmurs without looking, eyes flicking above the door so quickly even you almost don’t catch it. “Wide angle.” He continues.

“Mhm.’ You hum in response, a sweet yet calculated smile playing on your lips despite yourself. You place your right hand on top of his, intertwining your fingers where they sit on your waist. You pull him just a little closer to adjust your pace, slowing him down enough to fall in line with the queue of people ahead.

Up close, everything feels even more premeditated. The lighting frames the edges around the doorway instead of spilling naturally, catching in the marble in a golden hue. Two men are standing at the entrance, eyes scanning through until there isn’t an inch that’s not tainted by their gaze. They’re both in sleek black suits, dressed exactly the same as the white button-up underneath their jackets pick up the light in a way that’s too bright for a night like this.

“Good evening.” One of the men says when the two of you approach further. You don’t slow down, reaching the threshold arm in arm.

“Names?” He asks, eyes flicking between you and the list in his hand.

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate before speaking, filling in the silence half a second later. “Charles and Clara Beaumont.”

The man’s eyes linger on you for a second longer this time, scanning through the list as he matches and confirms whatever he has to.

“Of course.” He says after a beat, moving to the side just enough to offer you space to step inside. Jungkook’s hand finds the small of your back, settling in a way that grounds you, sending warmth through your body, even over the fabric of your coat.

You don’t react outwardly, not in a way that lets him know, but you do feel his touch. The inch of contact, every degree of pressure, the way it anchors you just enough to look real— feel real.

“Stay close.” He murmurs, and the door opens.

You think you’ve never entered a place more unwelcoming than whatever this is.

“Let’s not waste time.” Director Kang had said, leaning onto the table that’s placed in the middle of the meeting room as he pressed a few buttons on the control in his hand until the screen flickered to life.

A face appeared; a man with a controlled smile, a sharp navy suit, and the kind of confidence that’s effortless without needing any practice, because it had been perfected years ago.

Hugo Vane.

You already knew the name, Jungkook already knew the name, but knowing from afar and seeing are different things.

“Publicly,” Kang started, the pacing of his words measured yet nowhere near slow. “One of the most successful private investors across Europe. Real estate, insurance, hospitality. He’s in it all, has been called ‘transformational’ way too many times.”

Jungkook let out a quiet breath through his nose, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “Of course.”

“Over the last ten years, he’s built a network of high end venues across Europe– almost half in England– that function as fronts for illegal gambling, money laundering, controlled blackmail; all of it tied to names you would never expect” He breathed.

“What’s crucial is, everything is recorded. Debts, favors, leverage; we can get our hands on everything. This opening in London isn’t a random celebration, it’s a consolidation point. Real transactions will happen in the private rooms, so the main floor is useless. Your objective is simple, get inside one of those rooms, doesn’t matter which for now. We need confirmation of what happens in there. But most importantly, we need access, we need to track every breath they take.” Kang paused, exhaling through his nose.

“This man might have blood on his hands.”

After letting the words settle in the room, Jungkook tilted his head, swinging left and right in his chair. “And we’re just walking into that?” He asked.

Kang inhaled. “You’re not just walking into it.” He said, eyes flicking between the two of you before switching onto the next slide.

Two photos of a couple flashed across the screen, attractive and well dressed in the same old way people with generational wealth are.

“Charles and Clara Beaumont,” Kang explained. “Married for six years, currently in Nice, unlikely to make it.”

Jungkook’s mouth curved into a lazy grin. “So we’re them.”

“You are.”

“Six years?” You added a beat later, head tilting slightly.

Jungkook leaned back in his chair, arm resting along the backrest. “Won’t take much time to look convincing.” He said, a small smirk on his face as his gaze flicked over to you.

“Gotta play your part well, Jeon.” You said, tone disinterested as your eyes still focused on the picture on the screen like it would tell you something if you stared hard enough.

A small smirk played out on his lips, cocky in a way that grew you eager to slap it off his face. “Oh, I won't be playing.’

You rolled your eyes, huffing out a short scoff. You didn’t respond to him further as your grip tightened around your pen, squinting your eyes at the man on the screen. “Backgrounds? Anything we shouldn’t look past?” You asked.

Kang nodded slowly. “Everything will be provided by tomorrow morning, study them before you fly out.”

He stepped away from the table, standing right in the middle of the two of you, hands on both your shoulders like he’s warning you. “You will not draw attention, and you will not break cover. Find the confirmation we need and leave before anyone suspects anything. Play safe this time, we’ll see what comes next when you fly back.”

“What if we get access to the recordings?” Jungkook asked.

“Great, but don’t compromise the mission for it. Like I said, play safe for now.” Kang said, Jungkook nodded once in response.

You crossed your arms over your chest, biting the corner of your lips. “What about surveillance?”

“Everywhere. Which means whatever you do,” Kang answered until Jungkook cut him off, leaning forward, settling his elbows on the table. “We have to sell it.”

Kang lookwd at him. “Yes.”

“--Champagne?” The server asks, cutting through the memory with a sharp edge. You blink once, letting the room fold back into place with no more than a subtle shiver. So subtle that even Jungkook almost misses it despite being so close to you, to the point where you can feel each other’s pulses thudding under your skin. 

Your body retakes everything all at once; the gold light, murmur of voices that let out no more than a few low chuckles, the weight of Jungkook’s hand still resting around your waist like it never left.

Something almost flutters in your chest. 

You reach for the tray, taking a glass without any hesitation. “Thank you.” 

Jungkook takes one a second later, body moving slower than yours. Because his attention is already completely elsewhere, eyes scanning through the crowd until they settle, digging silent holes into the nape of a certain someone’s neck. 

“Right side.” Jungkook murmurs when the server disappears, eyes still stuck on the said man. 

But you don’t turn around, now having years of experience in the job. Your hands reach for your purse, grabbing a hold of lipstick and a mirror. You drop the cap of the lipstick into your purse before opening the mirror with one hand, reapplying your lipstick as your eyes scan around the whole venue through the small mirror. 

You take half a step to your left before he comes into your sight. Dark eyes, sharp jawline, navy suit tailored to fit his body without a single crease, exactly like Hugo Vane.

But younger. 

“Hugo’s son.” You answer quietly, eyes on the mirror as you pat the lipstick lightly onto your lips. Jungkook’s eyes flick towards you for a beat, towards your lips. It lasts shorter than a second, maybe less than half a second, but it does happen. And you notice. 

Jungkook hums, grip tightening on your waist. “Thought so.” 

The man moves through the room without stopping, like he doesn’t need to, because it’s being cleared for him before he can have the time to complain. It’s not obvious, there is no dramatic space as he steps through, but there is a quiet shift in people’s demeanour. The way conversations pause just enough, the way bodies angle themselves just slightly, the way the room bends and molds around him and not the way around. 

You try not to drown in the space he leaves behind, because it doesn’t settle, it knocks your breath out in a way you don’t know how to explain. You don’t get anxious often– no, you never get anxious. But something about the way he silently grabbed the room and bent it without anyone noticing causes something unsettling to form somewhere in your stomach. 

How he moves is enough to tell you he’s not just wandering, he’s leading something. You don’t follow him immediately, letting the time stretch and the distance breathe. But Jungkook does still for a second, hand dropping from your waist until it wraps somewhere between your wrist and hand. 

Your eyes briefly flick over to the hall he disappears behind, watching the way the door swings back and forth ever so subtly. Of course, Jungkook notices your stare, eyes following the direction of your gaze. 

“That’s our way in.” He says, his hand holding yours properly now. 

“That’s not a way in.” You mutter through your teeth. “That’s access we don’t have.” 

He shifts his body slightly, adjusting you along with him so that you’re angled the opposite way. “That’s access we will have.” 

He pulls you fully now, your face almost crashing into his back as he moves without a warning. Jungkook walks fast as you trail behind, taking steps that are short, yet as swift as the height of your heels allow.

When you’re halfway through the corridor, Jungkook pulls you closer into him. But it’s different to the closeness you’ve been maintaining so far. This time, you feel his cologne filling up your nostrils every time he shifts, the way his chest rises and falls whenever he breathes. This time, he pulls you so close that turning your head means something you don’t want to say out loud. 

So you don’t. 

“Someone’s watching.” He says into your ear, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know.” You reply, back pressed into his. Of course you know, because someone has been watching. Someone has been watching you for so long that the feeling of it transitions into a pattern, the kind you notice even when you try not to. Here, people don’t scan, neither do they hold your gaze; but they do reappear. You swear you see the same people all at the same places at the same times; like they’re circling around certain spots ith purpose rather than simply attending an opening.

“Good.” Jungkook says before turning you around, thumb pressing lightly against your wrist. Maybe it’s a cue, maybe it’s a warning, you have no idea which. Because there’s no time for you to figure it out, because Jungkook leans in when you expect it the least.

He’s so much closer than necessary, closer than professional, and the way your body reacts is just as– maybe even more– unprofessional. 

His voice drops by an octave, words escaping his lips before they disappears somewhere on your skin. “Then let’s give them something to look at.” 

He pulls your body closer into his by your hands, hooking them around his neck before he lets his hands drop down to your waist. You take notice of how slow they move, because they don’t really drop down, they slide.

It feels intentional, like he’s actually caressing your body with care instead of putting on a show. Your breath catches before you can stop yourself. And even though

you get it together quickly, Jungkook notices. 

“Relax.” He says, forehead pressing against yours, his breath hot against your skin. 

“I am relaxed, but you’re overdoing it.” You say, hands settling where he put them. 

“No, you’re underdoing it.” Your jaw tightens at the words, and you almost roll your eyes. Almost, because right now, you definitely have way too much attention on you to slip even a little. 

So despite your words, your hands move. They scratch the nape of his neck before disappearing in his hair, fingers curling lightly until they’re tangled inside. 

“Your left,” You whisper against his mouth. “Same man, still watching.” 

“Mhm.” He hums. “Let him.” But his eyes are already closed, body leaning even more into yours as if there is any space left. Your hands drop from his hair to his shoulders, and before you know it, Jungkook’s lips are on yours. 

It takes you a second to shake yourself out of the shock, letting yourself melt into the kiss as his soft lips move on yours with ease, like they belong there, like this is normal for you to do. Your eyes flutter shut, hands roaming all around his shoulders. You flinch when he gives your ass a squeeze, sending a tingle through your legs. 

One of his hands raises up until it reaches your face, cupping your cheek as his thumb trails softly along your jaw. He forces your mouth open with his thumb, pulling down your bottom lip slowly, and you grant him access without thinking. 

A small moan escapes your lips when his tongue slides into your mouth, and Jungkook swears his pants are going to rip right on spot if you keep sounding like that. He feels something fluttering in his chest, something he knows he has been suppressing for a long time now. So he just pulls you closer, and lets his mind drift away from anything and everything for just second, focusing on you only. 

Until someone clears their throat. 

“Mr. and Mrs–” 

Your whole body stills, unable to move even an inch. But that’s fine, because couples like this don’t break apart for interruptions. Jungkook lets his teeth pull onto your bottom lip for one last time before breaking apart, slow enough so that you can gather yourself. 

He does pull away, but his hand doesn’t leave your waist. And for a split second, he doesn’t even turn his head. 

“--Beaumont.” The staff continues. 

Both of you shift your gazes towards him, acting completely calm and unbothered. “Yes?” Jungkook asks politely, brows raised only slightly. 

The man gives you a measured smile. “Mr. Vane is a man of discretion.” 

Touché

“If you would like somewhere more private,” He continues, gesturing subtly towards a door somewhere along the corridor. “We can accommodate you.” 

There it is. 

Though, you don’t answer immediately, letting the question rest for a second or two in order to make it feel real. Not eager, not hesitant, but rather like it’s something you’re used to. 

Jungkook glances down at you, offering a look that’s not really asking, because he already knows the answer. Just something that’s checking, something that lets him know everything is fine. You tilt your head slightly, the corner of your mouth lifting just enough so that Jungkook notices, yet the man doesn’t. 

He turns his head towards the man. “Of course.” 

The man steps aside, letting the corridor fall open and twist into something darker. Jungkook’s hand shifts at your waist, guiding you through the hall. And this time, you just let yourself melt into the comfort of his presence. Because resistance doesn’t really mean anything anymore. Because you know that somewhere along your performance, something slipped. The control, the acting– whatever you call it. What’s important is that neither of you really acknowledged it. 

The door closes behind you softly, a sound that’s too little for a door this heavy. It doesn’t really echo, doesn’t physically linger either. But still, for a second, you can’t find it in yourself to move. You don’t have to look at Jungkook to know he hasn’t either, you can feel it in the way the air shifts around him. His legs don’t carry him anywhere when the door clicks shut, eyes roaming around the room as the rest of his body stays still.

The room is quieter than you expect it to be. It’s not empty, not silent; there’s music humming faintly from somewhere behind, walls filtering out the bass until it nearly doesn’t even reach your ears. But somehow, you still feel it thudding under your ribs, hard and heavy until it stings somewhere you can’t quite reach. 

But everything feels more uncomfortable than you imagined, because even in a room as private as this one, there is intention behind every little detail. The deep brown of the leather couch, the two untouched glasses on the table already filled with whiskey too bitter for your taste, the light that’s even dimmer, even warmer compared to the outside– everything is arranged like they expect you to sit, to drink, to stay.

To forget. 

When you take a step forward, heels sinking into the carpet, Jungkook’s hand doesn’t leave your waist. 

If anything, it settles deeper. 

Jungkook shifts his weight from one leg to the other, his chest pressing closer into your back as he leans in slightly, just enough for his mouth to brush your ear. “Two cameras.” He whispers. “One above the mirror, one across the wall.” 

You don’t look, because you never do, because you never have to when it’s Jungkook who warns you. Instead, your hand moves to your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear as your gaze drifts lazily across the room, a little relieved that you’re finally where you’re supposed to be, doing what you’re supposed to do. 

Your fingers graze the edges of the mirror on the wall, mentally taking a note on how something is off about it, in a way you can’t exactly point a finger on. The frame feels too smooth on your skin, too flat for something that’s embroidered romantically. 

Your reflection stares back at you the same way it always does. Hair perfect, posture straight, lipstick faintly smudged because of the kiss you just shared; it’s completely untouched. 

But something is still off. The angle is wrong, your frame is slightly delayed, the glass is too clean that it’s suspicious. And finally, as your fingers keep grazing around the edges in hopes of finding something worth pocketing, something red winks at you. 

“They’re recording.” You say, voice breathy, almost distracted. 

Jungkook hums lowly behind you, eyes focused elsewhere. “Of course they are.” 

His hand leaves your waist for the first time since you walked in, stepping aside to take everything in properly. His absence hits you immediately, skin turning cold beneath the fabric on your body without the warmth of his touch. You try to ignore the feeling, you really do, but it lingers somewhere between the light chill of the room, and your pulse that’s now a little loud. Too loud that you feel it thud in your ears. 

But suddenly, something louder than the hard pulsing of rhythms fly in from behind. It doesn’t come from the hallway– no, it’s deeper than that. The voices are muffled, the words are whispered discreetly and are chosen with care; private enough to pull a tight knot in your stomach. 

You still without realizing, eyes widening only slightly as your hands rub themselves onto the sides of your coat. Jungkook notices it immediately, eyes shifting onto you before he lets his hand find yours. His fingers slip between yours, gliding with ease as if this is the most natural thing for you to do. His hold grounds you. You have no idea how or why, but it does, and your grip tightens around his beneath awareness. 

Jungkook had never been easy to read. 

You’ve shared way too many long flights, way too many late night debriefs. Yes, he was a little too flirty sometimes. And yes, you were aware of his attraction towards you. But you never thought it was anything near serious. At the end of the day, you were just coworkers who, in reality, couldn’t even properly get along.

Despite his cocky and flirty persona, Jungkook isn't a careless man. He never lets something slip before weighing it over and over again, never lets something mean too much.

You always thought it meant nothing to him, that he was just acting a certain way to get on your nerves, that this was just the kind of person he is.

Oh boy were you wrong. 

“Wall behind the couch.” You say, gesturing towards where the voices are coming from. Jungkook turns slightly, angling his body just enough to follow the line of your sight without making it obvious. 

There’s a panel there, a seamless way that leans into another room, almost invisible even to you despite how carefully you’re looking for it. Somewhere between a breath and a flick of your eyes, Jungkook moves. His body works around yours swiftly, turning you before you can process it, pressing your back into the wall you had just been gesturing at. 

Your breath catches, more from the sudden closure than anything else, your hands instinctively finding his chest as he closes the distance between you. The room, the air, even voices; everything feels smaller like this. Like it’s just the two of you and no one else who are existing in this space. 

“What are you doing?” You ask under your breath, but it doesn’t land the way it usually does. Because he’s already closer than what’s professional, closer than what’s safe. 

Jungkook lifts his index finger, placing it on top for your lips. “Shh.” He shushes you, brows raised slightly. 

A voice filters in, dark and hoarse. “...this wasn’t part of what we shook hands on.” 

Something shifts on the other side of the wall, distorted in a way that doesn’t allow you to hear everything properly. “We can make a few adjustments.” Another man answers, his tone noticeably calmer. 

“Hugo’s son.” Jungkook whispers, his eyes staring right into yours. 

You grab his hand, pushing it off your face with a huff. “What even is his name?” You ask, face scrunched in confusion at the sudden realization. 

Jungkook shrugs, letting the voices of the two men fill in the room. “That’s not how your father cooperates.”

“My father isn’t here tonight.” 

Your breath stills, wide eyes lifting up to catch Jungkook’s, filled with unease. 

How the fuck is Hugo not here? 

That throws everything off. Because Hugo Vane not being here doesn’t feel like an absence, it makes you feel his presence even more, settling under your bones with an ache you don’t like. Because if Hugo isn’t here, because if he didn’t even bother getting out of his way to come here, this isn’t just an opening that covers a few illegal exchanges. It’s something else entirely, something that has been in motion for a lot longer than you knew of. 

And whatever you walked into tonight is bigger than the room you’re standing in. 

The other man starts. “If anything goes wrong–” 

“It won’t.” Hugo’s son cuts him off, voice steady like it’s forcing everything into exactly where he wants.. There’s a pause, a beat filled with silence before he continues. “Everything is already in place.”

The words sound like a trap. 

When your eyes flick back to Jungkook, you realize he’s already looking at you, eyes a little too empty to your liking. He looks like he’s thinking about nothing and everything at the same time. So you lift your hand, shoving his chest lightly to recollect his attention. 

“Jungkook, focus.” You murmur through your teeth. 

But he doesn’t react immediately, not properly at least, because his hand is still holding yours, his arm is still around your waist. And instead of loosening his hold or giving you space to breathe, his grip tightens, fingers curling around you like he’s trying to ground the two of you at the same time.

Then, his hand moves. Not away, of course not. It shifts from your waist, sliding down to your hips. Though the movement is slow, like he’s giving himself time to stop, to pull back into whatever control he has been holding onto all night. 

And you can’t find it in you to move. 

“They’re watching.” He says quietly, thumb grazing circles on your hip. 

There’s no fucking way he’s doing that as performance. 

“I know.” You respond, eyes stuck on his like they’ll bleed into blindness if you tear them away. Your voice is softer now, breathy in a way that makes Jungkook lose his mind, not that he’d ever tell you. 

But right now, you too know that something shifted, that this doesn’t feel like just a show anymore. 

Jungkook exhales through his nose, slow and rough, closing his eyes along with the breath he lets out. “I’ve been trying not to do this.” He starts, taking a step closer as if it’s possible. “But you’re making it so fucking hard.” 

For a second, you consider pretending to not understand what he means, almost tilting your head with oblivious eyes. But halfway, you decide against it, sharply inhaling the breath he just exhaled. 

But the space between you is too little– no, it doesn’t even exist anymore. The room feels smaller, the air feels thicker, and the muffled voices of the two men disappear completely behind the wall when he lets his body lean a little more into yours. 

At your lack of response, Jungkook lifts the hem of your coat, giving your ass a squeeze above the thin fabric of your dress. You moan involuntarily, head falling back until it hits the hard wall behind you, a little harsher than you would’ve guessed. 

“Tell me to stop now.” He says, voice low in a way that’s barely above a whisper. “Because I won’t.” 

You crash your lips into his. 

Maybe it’s the adrenaline, maybe it’s the walls, or maybe the fact that you’re being watched and still choosing this anyway. 

Or maybe, it’s just him. 

You don’t know, you can’t even think straight right now. Because the second your lips meet his, everything else collapses into a haze, way too easily. You lose your last remaining hold on everything you’ve been trying to build since even before you stepped out of the car tonight. The mission, Hugo, his son, anything and everything that’s currently going on behind the wall, even the cameras you’re fully aware of– they all blur into something distant. 

You’ll deal with those later. 

A swift feeling of surprise takes over Jungkook when it’s you who breaks the tension first, but he melts into the kiss without giving you time to recalibrate your actions. Your hands settle on his shoulders, fiddling with the thick fabric of his coat before slipping it down his shoulders, letting it fall onto the floor. Once it’s off, your hands move quickly on his dress shirt, unbuttoning it eagerly. 

Jungkook lets out a groan at your touch, because he feels what’s underneath it immediately. The way you stop hesitating and start pulling him instead, the way your hands grip his shirt like you mean it, like you’re not just letting this happen.

You’re choosing this.

That’s what knocks the air out of his lungs more than anything else tonight. Because just hours ago, he was ready for resistance, he was ready for control, he has been doing it for years. Acting like you’re nothing more than occasional partners who don’t even get along for

the most part. He was ready for you to push him away if he went too far with the role, if he played it a little too well. He was ready to stop if you wanted to. 

But he wasn’t ready for this. 

He wasn’t ready for you, for your lips to meet, rid of any ounce of hesitation, like you’ve been wanting this too. 

He squeezes your ass again, with both hands this time, needing to feel every inch of your body. His eyes flutter uncontrollably when you let out another dreamy moan, something that sounds like an angelic melody to his ears. He pulls you closer by the hips, then thrusts his own to meet you halfway, biting his lip harshly at the contact. 

“Please, Jungkook.” You cry out, thrusting your hips into his once again, by yourself this time, desperate for a touch, an ounce of friction– anything.

“Please what, baby?” Jungkook responds with a question, his hot breath hitting the exposed skin of your neck, trailing all the way down to your collarbones. “Use your words, I know you can.” 

Your hands continue moving on his shoulder, sliding off his shirt once you’re done with the buttons. You find yourself needing to take a moment at the sight of his bare chest, because it’s better than any you’ve seen before. Soft, toned– maybe even a little too toned– so bare and so pretty, all for you to touch. 

Your hands roam around his chest, tracing lines along his abs. Jungkook has to bite his cheek to suppress any unplanned sounds that he realizes are way more likely to slip than he thought now that he actually feels your touch on his body.  

“Not gonna fucking beg for this.” You squeeze his shoulders, nails digging deeply into his bare skin, letting your back lean even more into the wall. 

Fuck.

Jungkook has thought about this.

In quieter moments, in between meetings and conversations when you were standing a little too close, in places where he shouldn’t have; he’s thought about it all. The way your voice would drop by and octave when you were focused, the way your skirt would ride up your thigh when you leaned in just a little lower, the way your hand would brush his like it meant nothing.

It never meant nothing to him.

He’d always pushed it down. Because this was work, because you were his partner, because he knew you better than to ruin something that functioned this well.

But now, your hands are all over his body, moving and pulling him in instead of stopping. Your lips are so fucking soft against his, making his chest tighter and head emptier until there isn’t a single coherent thought left inside. 

“Fucking tease.” Jungkook says before lifting your dress up, letting it pool around your waist. Your lips curl up in victory when he pulls your panties to the side, flicking the lips of your pussy with two fingers, feeling your slick coat his fingers. 

He plays with your clit, rubbing circles with his thumb as his two other fingers slide in and out of your wet, aching hole. Your eyes immediately fall shut at the contact, inhaling sharply when he curls his fingers at an angle he knows will make you see stars. 

Then he falls to his knees. 

Your eyes flutter open the moment you hear the way his knees hit the hard floor, lips parting as you’re taken aback by whatever he’s doing. You look down to him, brows furrowed in

confusion in a way that asks. But Jungkook doesn’t respond, he only gives you a smirk after looking up, then flicks his gaze back down again. 

His fingers wrap around the lace fabric of your black panties, pulling them down in a way that’s painfully slow considering the waterfall between your thighs right now. When the thin piece of fabric pools down on the floor, you lift your foot, kicking it to the side with your heels. 

“Jungkook,” You gasp loudly when he lifts one of your legs, hooking it over his shoulder. He starts by trailing kisses up your thighs, one hand wrapped around the soft flesh in order to steady your body. Your hands fly onto his hair before you can think, fisting and pulling at it as he gets closer and closer to your core. 

“Oh my god,” You moan, looking down at him as his tongue laps against your swollen pussy. His fingers flick your lips open, easing it up for him to work his tongue. Jungkook groans as you tug onto his hair harder, licking your pussy as if he’s savoring the taste of every flavour on his tongue. 

Your thighs clam around his head, closing with a shake you have no idea how to control. Your nails dig into your own palms by how hard you’re holding onto him, stinging in a way that’s almost painful. 

“Shit, ‘m so close.” You whimper as heat pools low in your stomach, twisting and curling so hard that you feel your legs giving out. 

“Sweetest pussy ever.” Jungkook pulls away for a split second before connecting his mouth back onto your throbbing pussy, his tongue flattening right at the part where it pulses the heaviest. 

“Jungkook, fuck.” You cum hard with a scream of his name, your head falling back onto the wall so fast it almost hurts. Jungkook licks you through your orgasm, his fingers that were once separating your lips now rubbing circles on your clit until you’re fully out of your high. 

Your breath doesn’t settle when he stands again, coming back up to his feet so fast, as if being away from you for even a second feels unbearable. You hold onto his arms to regain

your balance, and no more than a second passes before Jungkook’s lips find yours again. 

“Gonna bend you over and take you right fucking here.” Jungkook says, grunting as he pulls back. He turns you around, then pushes you over the backrest of the leather couch until your ass is perfectly aligned and in sight. Jungkook palms the soft flesh of your skin, gripping and squeezing as he tries unzipping his pants with his free hand. 

His dick springs out once his boxer is down his thighs, slapping against his abs immediately. He gives his already hardened length a few strokes before lining it up your entrance, flicking your folds with his tip, all red and angry, eager to fuck you into oblivion until your eyes roll back so hard it hurts to not see his face through the darkness. 

You whimper loudly when Jungkook enters you with a hard slam, back arching into the air instinctively. His hand settles on your waist, gripping firmly as the other doesn’t leave your waist. Your pussy feels so tight and warm around his cock, and Jungkook thinks he’s going to burst out. 

“Can’t believe you’ve been hiding yourself from me for years.” Jungkook says, words coming out shaky due to how hard he’s pounding into you. “Played so hard to get when you’re really just a slut.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” You spit back through grithed teeth, trying to suppress your moans by burying your head into the couch. Jungkook lets out a cocky chuckle that twists your nerves even more, but the annoyance is quickly swollen up by how good he’s pounding into you. 

He reaches for your dress, pulling down the fabric on your chest until the swell of your boobs spill out through your bra. Jungkook pulls down your bra next, your tits coming full on display

with a bounce. He moans when his palms settle on your soft boobs, fingers flicking and pinching your nipples until your pussy aches even harder with the sensation. 

“Right there, oh my god, right fucking there.” You choke out with the little energy you have left, feeling your orgasm closer than ever. Jungkook fists your hair when you least expect it, yanking you up so that your back arches further and his bare chest grazes over your body. 

You moan out shaky curses, not even aware of what you’re saying anymore as he keeps pounding into you from behind. Tears prickle up at the corners of your eyes, Jungkook’s grip getting tighter and tighter in your hair as he nears his high. 

“Shit,” Jungkook whimpers, dick twitching inside your walls. “Where do you want me?” He asks, voice so low and breathy that it sends you over the edge. 

“Fuck, want it inside. Don’t you dare pull out.” You say, feeling your orgasm build as his thrusts transition into something messy and sloppy.

“Oh yeah?” He breathes, pushing your body back onto the couch, his grip on your waist tightening. 

Jungkook cums hard with a loud groan, emptying all of himself into you. You push yourself back on his dick a few times before your orgasm also rips through, crying out at both how hard you’re cumming, and how good he’s filling you up. 

There’s a beat where he doesn’t pull out, cock softening inside you as his forehead presses between your shoulderblades, his unsteady breath feeling hot on your skin. Your breath also doesn’t settle instantly, chest rising unevenly as the weight of him suddenly feels too heavy on your skin. Everything falls back into place one by one, your vision drifting back as you come down from your high. The warmth of the dim lights, the closed door that’s hiding way too much behind, the quiet hum of voices that are muffled together behind the walls– it all returns all at once, like you’re being forced back into reality after being somewhere else entirely. 

Jungkook’s hand is still on your waist, grip still firm as if he hasn’t realized he has to let you go– or maybe he just doesn’t want to let you go. 

When Jungkook slides out of you, you push yourself up slightly, your body still slower than your head. “Jungkook,” You start, voice rough.

You feel his body still above you, a shift that’s so subtle yet still enough for you to feel. The realization hits him the same moment it hits you, his hand loosening on your waist.

“Cameras.” You finish, voice soft and quiet despite the weight of your words. 

That’s all it takes for Jungkook to blink back into reality, pulling back fast as if distance has the power to fix everything just like that. But surprise surprise, it won’t. 

That’s when a sound cuts through the walls, something so faint that for a second, you think that even you might have missed it. But you don’t, because you never do. You flinch regardless, fingers tightening slightly where they rest against him. 

Jungkook feels it instantly, head snapping towards the door before he flicks his gaze back to you, leaning down just a little. “What?” He murmurs in your ear, voice low in a way that’s barely above a whisper.

You don’t answer, you can’t bring yourself to answer, because nothing that’s going through your head sounds coherent as words. Your head turns slightly when another muffled voice comes through somewhere behind the right wall, tilting enough to catch the direction without making it obvious. Jungkook follows without looking, shifting and leaning closer by just half an inch, instinctively hovering his body above yours. 

His chest rises and falls harder than his usual breathing, eyes flicking around the room, reevaluating everything you’ve terribly miscalculated. “Fuck.” He mutters under his breath.

“You’re overreacting.” Someone says, voice calm and controlled, so much that it makes your stomach twist. 

“I’m not overreacting, they went into one of the rooms.” Another voice replies, but it’s sharper this time. Dressed in a worry that doesn’t even try to rival how composed the previous man was. 

Jungkook’s hand tightens around the backrest of the couch, leaning his body weight onto his hands above you. Your breath gets caught in your throat, stomach dropping in a way that’s almost unprofessional. 

“Which room?” The calmer man asks. 

There’s a pause after that, maybe a flick over the keyboard, maybe a shift of screening, you don’t know which. But the soft clicking that’s somehow heard even from where you are is enough for you to freeze beneath the warmth of Jungkook’s body. 

“Doesn’t matter, we’re flagging everything.” 

Fuck.

Jungkook’s grip stills on you completely, his wide eyes staring wordlessly into the wall as yours are stuck on his chest. Unable to move, unable to speak. 

“Do we know who they are?”

“Not yet.” 

With that, you exhale slowly, letting out the breath that has been stuck in you ever since the first subtle shift behind the walls. You know this doesn’t give you much time, hell, it would probably be criminal to call whatever this is some time. But right now, you’ll take anything you can. Because everything feels so fucking unavoidable. 

“Run it through the system.” The second voice requests. “Faces, behavior, track everything.” 

“They won’t make it out without us knowing,” The first voice finishes. You hear the faint scraping of the chairs, footsteps that are closer and closer as time passes by, movement that’s too animatic to be real, it all hits your ear in a hue. Suddenly, the door clicks, and they’re gone just like that. 

For a second, it feels like they’re still right behind the wall, their presence burning holes through your body without even catching sight of your eyes. Like they’re still listening, still watching, waiting.

But then, somewhere between the third and fourth breath you exhale, the sound starts fading and fading until they’re finally out of your reach. 

But you don’t know if that’s a good thing or not, because it’s still not quiet enough. The constellation of Jungkook’s uneven breaths mixed with yours rip through the air until it feels unbearable to exist in the same space anymore. 

Because now, your fingers curl tighter against Jungkook’s shirt for a different reason entirely. He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes filled with something that indicates he understood everything at exactly the same time as you. And it’s nowhere near controlled. 

“They flagged the room.” You whisper, wide eyes looking up at him in a way that causes Jungkook to curse at himself for thinking with his dick in a situation like this. 

His jaw tightens. “Yeah.” 

Your mind races, trying to recollect everything until they stick together again. “And the system-” 

He cuts you off. “It’s already running.” 

Your voice drops as you start blinking so fast it hurts. “Shit, Jungkook, what do we do? They fucking saw us.”

You hate how he doesn’t deny it, how he doesn’t even try to soften it. Because it’s there, everything already happened in a way that’s way too ugly to be repairable, way too real to be covered with a lie. 

Jungkook calls your name, slow and calculated. “They’re looking for us.” 

The way those words land is so much worse than whatever you had registered previously, leading your chest to tighten until it leaves no space for your breath to exist in your lungs. Everything you just did, everything you just heard– You’re not ahead anymore, you’re inside it, you’re caught right in the middle of everything you were told to stay away from. 

You make a mental note of torturing yourself for the way your chest flutters when Jungkook’s hand finds yours, grip firm like he’s scared to let you go, like he’s scared something might happen to you. 

“We need to move.” He says, eyes scanning around the room for anything that’s even the smallest thread. But when it comes to actually moving, neither of you really act on it. 

Because you both know the mission isn’t the only thing at risk anymore.

would love to hear what you think <3

[words-in-purple]

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 bad habits | jjk

synopsis: jeon jungkook is a clean freak who can’t stand dust, noise or the way you chew. you’re a mess who forgets bin days, leaves dirty laundry everywhere and hates the smell of his chicken breast smoothie. you argue in passing, coexist at a distance, and survive each other only because your schedules never overlap—he works night shifts as a nurse, and you’re an underpaid teacher. until one night, they do. he comes home early. you don’t expect him to. he walks into the living room, catching you with a wine glass, panties on the floor and a vibrator between your legs.

ᥫ᭡ pairing: nurse!jeon jungkook x teacher!female reader

ᥫ᭡ genre/warnings: roommates au, e2l, control-freak x messy roommate, explicit sexual content, 18+ mdni, smut with plot, masturbation, oral sex, rough sex (with protection, doggy), dom/sub vibes, choking, spanking, degradation/dirty talk, exhibitionism, non-verbal consent

ᥫ᭡ wc: 5.5k

As usual, the blender starts at 06:02am exactly.

After nearly two years, your brain has learnt the exact pitch. It’s the smell that does you in. The scent of warm, boiled chicken breast being murdered into paste. It creeps under your door, sits on your tongue, turns your stomach before you’ve even sat up.

You lie there for three long seconds, staring at the ceiling—trying to decide if you can call in sick from poultry-related trauma. You can’t.

You shove the duvet off, hair sticking to your cheek, and swing your legs out of bed with the grace of a woman dragged out of sleep against her will. The floor is cold. Your eyes burn. Your throat feels dry because you’ve slept too little and lived too loudly the day before.

The blender keeps going. You stomp to your door and yank it open. The kitchen lights are on, bright and rude. He’s there, exactly where he always is at this hour.

Jeon Jungkook stands at the counter in his nurse uniform—scrubs that fit him offensively well, sleeves pushed up far enough that you catch the dark ink creeping along his forearm. A glimpse of metal at his mouth when he turns his head. He doesn’t look tired. The blender is under one of his hands. The other hand holds the bottle.

You stare at him for half a second too long. It’s annoying—genuinely irritating—how good he looks. A man who knows exactly what he’s doing with his hands. A man anyone would happily ruin their life over if he wasn’t also the kind of person who wipes down the counter after pouring a glass of water.

He glances up, clocking your presence. “You’re up,” he says, flat. “Your laundry is still in the dryer.”

“Am I up?” you reply, voice hoarse, purposely ignoring the last part. “I thought I was hallucinating the sound of a blender trying to break through the wall.”

His eyes flick to the doorway, then to your face. He gives you that look—the one people give to badly behaved children. It annoys you because you’re a grown woman who pays rent and buys her own groceries.

“It’s been there since yesterday,” he says, again.

“Aaand?” You drag the word out. “It’s also a weekday. People are asleep. Some of us have jobs that don’t involve terrorising innocent kitchen appliances.”

He looks down at the blender and he turns it off. Silence drops—unfortunately, the smell remains.

You walk into the kitchen with purpose, which is mostly to stop yourself from walking into the wall. The tiled floor is cold under your feet. Your eyes flick to the blender jug without permission—it’s pale, dense and horrifying.

“Ew,” you say, disgusted.

He lifts one shoulder. “Protein.”

You reach past him for the bread because you’re already up and you’re already suffering, so you might as well suffer with toast. You shove a slice in the toaster, wait for it to pop, and take a bite.

His gaze snaps to your mouth. “Can you not chew like that?” he says, already reaching for a cloth.

You pause mid-chew, stare at him, then chew louder, with your mouth open.

Jungkook wipes the counter in front of you like you’re shedding crumbs by breathing. He catches a few that fall and wipes again immediately, as if the crumbs have personally offended him.

“It’s disgusting,” he adds. “And you’re eating before you’ve even brushed your teeth.”

“Oh my God,” you say, still chewing.

He doesn’t stop—Jungkook never stops once he starts. “All that bacteria just goes straight into your stomach.”

You swallow. “Fuck off.”

His jaw shifts. “Brush your teeth.”

You take another bite. “You’re such a heter,” you mutter, passing him for the bathroom. You make sure your shoulder bumps his on the way through, just to be petty.

He doesn’t move, not even flinch. But his gaze drops to where your shoulder touches his chest for a fraction of a second, like you’ve burnt him. “Don’t touch me,” he says.

You stop in the doorway of the bathroom and look back at him. “Oh, sorry. I forgot you only let Dettol touch you.”

His jaw shifts. “You’re not funny.”

“Yeah? Tell that to my class. They think I’m a stand-up comedian. Mostly because they’re laughing at me, but still.”

He picks up his bottle and starts rinsing the blender jug. “You left a bowl in the sink last night,” he says again without looking at you.

It’s way too early for his nagging. You stare at the back of his head. “I left a bowl in the sink because I ate dinner like a normal person and then I fell asleep. At night. Like someone who doesn’t work the hours of a vampire.”

Jungkook turns around and looks you up and down once—a quick assessment that manages to make your skin tighten. “Make sure you leave the bathroom window open and turn the fan on.”

You pause. “Why?”

“Steam,” he says, clipped. “Mould.”

You laugh once, without humour, and shut the bathroom door hard enough that the frame rattles.

When you’re finally ready for the day and tugging your shoes on by the front door—bag slung over your shoulder, keys in hand— his bedroom door opens.

Jungkook steps out shirtless, towel looped around his neck and another in his hands. His hair falls in wet waves on his forehead. Water glistens on his chest. His tattoos are more visible like this—dark lines disappearing over his ribs, into places you don’t get to see. 

You hate your body for noticing. For scanning. For imagining.

He looks at you and his gaze lands on your shoes first, then your bag, then your face.  “Bins,” he says.

You blink. “What?”

He nods towards the door with his chin. “It’s bin day. Take them down when you get back.”

“You love bossing me around,” you say.

“You love needing it.”

You swallow your comeback because you don’t have time for a full-scale war before work. You also don’t have time to stare at his chest, so you don’t—making sure your eyes behave.

“Fine,” you say. “I’ll do it.”

“Good.” One beat. Then, almost as an afterthought: “Don’t forget.”

You grab your keys tighter. “I won’t.” You step out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind you.

Today has been miserable. You get home with your keys already digging into your palm, jaw tight from clenching it all day.

The flat greets you the way it always does when Jungkook’s been through it—offensively spotless. No shoes by the door unless they’re lined up. No mug in the sink. Not even crumbs. The air even smells clean—the scent of the very specific disinfectant he likes.

You toe your heels off and kick the door shut behind you.

Your eyes land on the hallway mirror. You look like you’ve been chewed up by fifteen-year-olds and spat back out again. Hair escaping your clip, mascara smudged at the edges, shoulders slumped. Your throat hurts from talking over classroom noise. Your head is full of the headmaster’s voice—targets, targets, targets—like you can single-handedly bully kids into better grades with worksheets and hope.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. Another email. Another deadline. You don’t even check it. You exhale and drop your bag to the floor.

The bins.

He told you this morning. Bin day. Don’t forget. 

You glance at the kitchen corner where the bin lives. “I won’t forget,” you mutter out loud.

You walk past it anyway, telling yourself you’ll do it in a minute—after you’ve had a shower; after your shoulders stop feeling like they’re made of stone; after you remember the feeling of being in your own skin.

You strip your clothes off in the bathroom, step under the water, and let it hit you hot. It loosens something in you—not the stress, not really, but the surface of it. The day washes down the drain in pieces: students arguing over calculators, the constant low anxiety of exams, the headmaster’s tight smile that never reaches his eyes.

You press your forehead to the tiles and breathe.

When you step out, towel around your hair, your body feels lighter and your mind feels emptier. Better. Not fixed—just quieter.

You don’t even bother with dinner. The thought of standing in the kitchen, choosing food, chewing, washing up—it all feels like too much effort for a Friday night you’ve earned through sheer survival.

So you go for the only thing that doesn’t ask questions. Wine.

You pull the red from the cupboard and pour yourself a glass that’s a little too generous. No one’s here to comment on the amount. No one’s here to tell you to use a coaster. No one’s here to wipe the counter behind you the second you turn away.

Jungkook’s meant to be on nights. He’ll come in at stupid o’clock, make his disgusting smoothie, glare at the state of the world, and go to sleep. That’s the arrangement. Your lives brushing past each other like strangers.

You take the wine to the sofa, drop down, and turn on Netflix. Something mindless with attractive people and predictable problems. You let it play while you drink and let your body unclench.

Halfway through the film, two characters start kissing. Hungry kissing—hands in hair, mouth open, bodies grinding against one another.

You swallow a mouthful of wine and stare at the screen for a second longer than you mean to. It’s been—what? Eight months since you got laid? Maybe longer. You can’t even remember the last time someone else’s hands were on you with intent. 

You shift on the sofa. Your damp hair sticks to the back of your neck. Your skin feels too awake all of a sudden. That restless, irritated ache that sits low in your belly and refuses to be ignored.

“Tired, stressed, horny,” you mutter. “Amazing.”

You take another sip, bigger this time, as if you can drown the feeling. It doesn’t work.

Your gaze flicks to the hallway. To your bedroom. To the drawer you keep things in—the drawer you pretend isn’t important until nights like this, when your body starts demanding attention.

You stand up.

The film keeps playing behind you, the actors going at each other. You walk to your room, open the drawer, and pull out your vibrator. You pause with it in your hand, considering your bed. The problem is the wine. The glass you left on the coffee table—also the fact that you don’t want to get up again once you start and you’re already too keyed up to be patient with yourself.

You go back to the living room.

You stand there for a moment, looking at the sofa, then at the glass, then at the corridor again. As if Jungkook might suddenly appear and scold you for existing.

He won’t. He’s at work.

You sit.

Leather under your thighs. Cool at first, then warming. You set the vibrator on the cushion beside you and take a gulp of wine that burns a little on the way down. 

“Who cares,” you whisper, more to yourself than anyone. “It’s my sofa too.”

Your fingers hook into the waistband of your panties. You slide them down, step out, and kick them away without thinking. They land near the coffee table, a soft pile of fabric that would make Jungkook visibly twitch if he saw it.

You sink back into the sofa, the leather sticking slightly to your bare thighs, and grab the vibrator. The wine's buzzing in your veins, making everything feel a little sharper and dirtier. 

You flick the toy on—the low hum is too loud in the flat’s quiet—and spread your legs to press it against your clit. The first vibration jolts through you, and you bite your lip to stifle the gasp that wants to escape.

Fuck, it's been too long. 

You don’t have patience for slow. Your hips shift instinctively as you circle the tip over your folds. You close your eyes, letting your head fall back. That's when your mind betrays you.

Jeon Jungkook. That asshole with that metal at his mouth and his infuriating control. 

You imagine him in the kitchen, not blending his stupid chicken breast shake, but pinning you against the counter instead. His hands—those dry-knuckled, impatient hands that scrub everything spotless—digging hard enough to bruise. Him yanking your panties down your hips. 

"You can’t do anything clean, can you?" he'd growl, voice annoyed as usual. 

But he'd be hard against you, pressing between your arse cheeks as he bends you forward. Your face pushed against the cold countertop.

You slide the vibrator lower, pushing it inside yourself with an easy glide. Your breath hitches. Fuck, it feels good, but it's not enough—not like how it would feel to have him shoving your thighs apart with his knee. 

One of his hands fisting your hair to keep you arched, the other undoing his pants. You can almost feel the length of his cock before he thrusts in with no warning—stretching you open until you're gasping, gripping around him like you'd never let go.

"Fuck, Jungkook," you whisper, the name slipping out desperate as you pump the vibrator faster. 

The buzz is sending shocks up your spine. Your free hand claws at the throw blanket, bunching it up, while your hips buck against the toy. 

Jungkook’s relentless. His balls are slapping against your clit with every snap of his hips. His tattooed arm wraps around your waist, fingers finding your clit and rubbing circles that make your legs shake. 

"Take it," he’d mutter, breath hot against your neck, his ring scraping your shoulder as he bites. "You want this, don't you? Acting like a brat all day just to get fucked like one."

The image burns behind your eyelids—his sweat-slick chest pressed to your back. The wet sounds of skin on skin. The way your pussy would grip him until he's groaning your name—losing that perfect composure. 

Your toes curl into the carpet, thighs trembling as the pressure builds in your core. The sofa is pooling with your juices. You're so close, chasing the edge where everything explodes.

“Jungkook—” you moan, louder. 

One more thrust in your mind—him slamming home, grinding deep—and you're there, body arching as the orgasm rushes up—

A throat clears.

Your eyes snap open. The vibrator is still buried inside you, still buzzing as your hand freezes. Your heart slams against your ribs; your breath caught in a choke.

He's there. In the doorway. Jungkook, in his scrubs, staring like he's walked into a nightmare. His jaw is clenched. His grip tightens on the strap of his bag. 

You yank the toy out with a gasp, thighs snapping shut. You scramble for the blanket, face burning. "Oh my God," you stammer, voice wrecked. "It's not what it looks—fuck. Okay. It is exactly what it looks like."

He doesn't say a word. Just swallows hard, gaze dropping for a split second to your discarded panties on the floor, then away. He turns on his heel, and you can then hear his door slamming.

You want to die. 

You’ve pulled on a fresh pair of panties. The cotton is soft against your still-sensitive skin. Your shirt is tugged down over your hips—trying to erase the last fifteen minutes. 

You have cleaned up the living room's crime scene. The vibrator is safely stashed back in your drawer. You’ve wiped down the sofa and the throw blanket has been haphazardly folded. Your abandoned wine glass is rinsed and set in the drainer. 

But none of it helps settle the pulse under your collarbone. 

You stare at his closed door from the hallway, chewing the inside of your cheek until it stings.

This is stupid. You should let it blow over, pretend it never happened. You’re adults who share a flat and nothing else. 

But the silence from his room feels heavier than usual—and you know that if you don't deal with it now, it'll turn worse. Awkward glances in the kitchen, him wiping surfaces longer than necessary, you slamming cabinets louder than needed.

Your bare feet pad across the cool floorboards. You knock twice and immediately regret it. There are shuffling sounds from inside, muffled footsteps, and then the door cracks open. 

He's changed out of his scrubs into loose sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt that clings to his chest. His hair's pushed off his forehead, and his eyes are narrowed at you with that familiar edge.

"What?" he says, voice clipped.

You shift your weight, arms crossing over your chest—as if that might shield you from the humiliation crawling up your back. "Can I come in?"

He doesn't move at first, just stares. Then he steps aside with a sigh, letting the door swing wider. 

You slip past him, careful not to brush against his arm, and the room envelops you. It’s clean, almost sterile, with the faint scent of his body wash hanging in the air. It’s crisp and minty and it makes your stomach twist. 

It's the first time you've been in here, and it's exactly what you'd expect—bed made with military precision, sheets tucked tight, no stray clothes on the floor. His desk is against the far wall, a sleek gaming setup taking up most of it—dual monitors, a keyboard with RGB lights turned off, headset draped over the back of the chair. There is a framed anatomical diagram on the wall that screams nurse vibes. 

No clutter, no personality spilling out—just freakishly controlled, like him.

You head straight for the swivel chair at the desk. You spin it around to face him and drop into it, knees pressed together because the bed feels too intimate. He closes the door behind you with a soft click, leaning against it—arms folded, waiting. 

The room feels smaller with both of you in it, the air thicker.

"Look," you start, forcing your voice steady even though your throat's dry, "about what you walked in on—it's not what you think. I mean, it is, but—I didn't know you'd be home early. You’re always on nights and never early—and—and yeah."

“They moved my shift,” he says. “Roster change. I got sent home.”

“And you didn’t think to text?”

“I didn’t think it mattered.” He pushes off the door and takes a step closer. His expression remains unchanged—brows furrowed, mouth a flat line. "I also didn't ask for an explanation."

"Yeah, well, I'm giving one anyway," you snap back, heat rising in your cheeks. "Because now it's awkward as hell—and I don't want you thinking I'm some kind of exhibitionist or whatever. It was private—you— you weren't even supposed to see that."

"Private in the living room?" He scoffs, voice low. He moves to stand by the bed, hands shoved in his pockets, posture rigid.

You roll your eyes, swiveling the chair a little to face him fully. "Oh, come on. Like you've never done anything in a common area. The flat was empty—or I thought it was—annd don't act like you're scandalised—we're adults, okay?"

"I'm not scandalised," he mutters, gaze flicking to the floor, then back to you. "Just—didn't expect it."

That’s when your eyes drop, unintentionally, to his sweatpants. 

The fabric's loose, but not loose enough to hide the outline straining against it. The unmistakable bulge that's impossible to ignore now that you've seen it. Your breath catches, a fresh wave of heat, mixing with the embarrassment.

"Are you horny?" you ask, voice quieter than you mean it to be—your gaze lifting to his face.

He goes still and doesn't answer. But you see it—the flush creeping up his neck, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. His hands flex in his pockets, and he shifts his stance, trying to adjust without admitting it.

You lean forward in the chair, heart hammering. "Is it because of me?"

Silence stretches, until you can't take it. 

"If it's my fault—I can take care of it. For you."

His eyes snap to yours, but he doesn't move nor speak. 

You push the chair forward with your feet, wheels rolling silently across the floor until you're right in front of him. You slide off the seat, knees hitting the rug with a soft thud, and look up at him.

You wait for the rejection, the bickering—the get out or you're annoying or any of the usual barbs that fly between you.

He doesn't say a word. Just stares down—breath coming a little faster, chest rising and falling under his shirt.

Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for him, palms pressing against the bulge. He’s hard under your touch. Jungkook hisses—a sharp intake of breath that sounds more like pain than anything, but his hips twitch forward, betraying him.

Still no words. 

You hook your fingers into the waistband, tugging it down slowly. His sweatpants part, and you slide your hand inside. You palm him through the thin layer of his boxers. The fabric's damp at the tip, and he groans low in his throat. 

His head tips back against the wall with a thunk, eyes squeezing shut. His cock is throbbing, veins pulsing as you stroke him firmly. 

"Jungkook," you murmur, your own arousal building again.

You’re slick between your thighs despite the fresh panties. You tug his boxers down, and he springs out—thick, flushed, the head glistening with precum beading at the slit. 

You lean in, wrapping your lips around the tip, tongue swirling to taste the salt of him.

He gasps. One of his hands comes to grip the edge of the desk beside him, knuckles whitening. 

You take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks. You bob slowly at first, then faster. His free hand tangles in your hair—fingers flexing as you suck him harder, your hand stroking what doesn't fit. His thighs tense under your other palm, and you feel his cock swell on your tongue—twitching with every flick against the underside.

His breathing turns ragged, hips starting to buck into your mouth. Sweat beads on his neck, trickling under his shirt. His face is flushed, lips parted as soft curses slip out—too low to catch fully.

You pull back when you feel him throb harder, close to the edge. Your lips are shiny and swollen as you look up at him, meeting his gaze. 

"Jungkook, do you have any condoms?"

For a beat, he just stares—pupils are blown wide, chest heaving.: “I really can’t stand you,” he says eventually.

“Then don’t,” you whisper.

“You’re a mess,” he spits. “You make everything worse.”

“And you still want me,” you say, breathing hard. 

That’s all it takes for his hand to shoot out, fingers wrapping around your throat as he hauls you up, crashing his mouth against yours. The kiss is all teeth and tongue. His piercing is cool against your lip as he devours you, tasting himself on your tongue. 

His other arm bands around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His cock is still hard and pressing into your stomach, smearing saliva and precum on your shirt. The grip on your throat sends sparks down your spine. Your nipples harden against his chest through the fabric. 

You taste the faint mint from his toothpaste mixed with the salt of his skin. Your fingers dig into his shirt, bunching the fabric as you kiss him back.

He breaks the kiss first, pulling back to look at you. His breath comes out in hot puffs against your lips. "You sure about this?" he asks, like he's forcing the words out past whatever restraint he's clinging to. 

His grip on your throat loosens, fingers trailing down to your collarbone instead.

You nod, swallowing hard, your own voice shaky but certain. "Yeah. I want this. Do you?"

"Fuck yes," he mutters.

“This doesn’t mean I like you,” you murmur back.

“Good,” he says, mouth on your neck, “I don’t need you to.”

His hands slide under your shirt, draggin up your sides and tugging the fabric. You lift your arms without thinking and let him peel your shirt over your head. The cool air hits your bare skin and makes your nipples pebble instantly. He tosses the shirt aside, gaze dropping to your chest.

“Try not to sanitise me,” you say, with a giggle.

“Try not to ruin my sheets,” he grins back.

You grab the hem of his t-shirt and he helps, shrugging it off in one fluid motion. His chest is right there, inked skin glistening faintly from earlier sweat. You run your palms over his pecs, down to his abs. He's built solid, every ridge and dip warm and firm. 

"What are you even made out of?" you breathe—half-laughing, half-awed, as your fingers trace the lines of his tattoos.

He smirks, but it's strained, like he's barely holding back. "Condoms," he says, nodding towards the nightstand. "In the drawer."

“You plan for everything, huh?” you say, glancing over. 

But he beats you to it and leans across the bed to pull one out. “I didn’t plan you,” he says, foil packet crinkling in his hand. 

While he's distracted, you slip out of your panties again, kicking them off. You then tug at his sweatpants and boxers, shoving them down to his thighs.

He kicks his pants the rest of the way off, tears the packet open with his teeth, and rolls the condom on with quick movements. 

You watch, thighs pressing together, your clit throbbing. "Come here," he says, grabbing your hips and guiding you onto the bed.

“You’re always telling me what to do,” you say, already crawling back.

“And you always do the apposite,” he answers, not letting you get far. He flips you onto your stomach with surprising ease, his hands strong on your waist.  "Like this.”.

You’re positioned on all fours, knees sinking into the mattress. You arch your back instinctively, ass up, and feel the bed dip as he kneels behind you. 

"Ready?" he asks. His hand slides between your thighs to check, fingers slipping through your folds. He finds you soaked. He groans at the feel, circling your clit once. It makes you jolt. "Shit, you're so wet."

"Yeah, well, you interrupted me earlier," you shoot back, voice muffled against the sheets. 

He chuckles, then lines the blunt head of his cock to your entrance. "I won’t let it happen again." 

He pushes in—inch by inch, stretching you open with a burn that's equal parts pain and pleasure. You gasp and he stills for a second, letting you adjust. 

His breath is ragged behind you. "Fuck, you feel so fucking good—so tight," he grits out, like he's fighting not to move yet. 

You feel him throbbing inside you, every twitch sending sparks up your spine. "Move," you beg, pushing against him. "Please."

He does—pulls out almost all the way, then thrusts back in hard; the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room. 

You moan as he sets a rhythm, his cock dragging against that spot inside you with every stroke. You’re flooded by the stretch, the friction, the way your walls clench around him. 

His hands roam. One slides up your back to press between your shoulder blades, keeping you arched. The other gripps your ass. Then his palm comes down—spanking you once. 

Heat blooms across your skin, and you yelp. But it's good, the pain twists into pleasure. 

"Is this okay?" he asks. 

You don’t get the chance to answer before he does it again, harder this time.

"Yes—fuck, yes," you gasp, rocking back to meet his thrusts. 

He's pounding into you and you feel him filling you up. His sweat drips onto your back as he leans over you slightly, breath hot on your neck.

"I’m so close—to cumming," your voice breaks. 

The edge is right there, building with each drag of his cock.

"Not yet," he growls, and suddenly stops.

He pulls out completely, leaving you empty and whining at the loss. “I hate you,” you say. 

“No, you don’t,” he says.

Before you can respond, his hands are on you, flipping you onto your back. The mattress bounces as he hooks your legs over his shoulders, folding you nearly in half, and slides back in—deeper this time, the angle hitting new places that make stars burst behind your eyelids.

"Oh fuck," you cry out, hands scrabbling at his arms, nails digging into his biceps. 

He's looming over you, face inches from yours. His eyes are locked on your face as he starts thrusting again, each one punching the air from your lungs. His cock is buried to the hilt, grinding against your cervix.

"I want to see you while I fuck you," he says, one hand bracing beside your head, the other holding your thighs in place. "I want to watch you when you cum on my cock."

Tears prick your eyes—from the pleasure crashing over you in waves. 

He notices, thumb brushing under your eye. He flicks a tear away gently, his expression softening for a split second amid the heat. "Is this too much?" he checks, slowing his pace for a fraction.

"No—don't stop," you plead, shaking your head, hips lifting to urge him on. "I feel so good, Jungkook."

He nods and picks up speed again. His face twists with effort—brows furrowed, lips parted as soft grunts escape him. Sweat slicks his forehead, dripping down his temple. You feel the tension in his thighs, the way his abs clench with every movement. 

"I’m close," he warns. "Fuck, you're squeezing me so hard."

You cum first—vision blurring as it rips through you. Your whole body shakes, walls fluttering around him in pulses that make you sob his name. "Jungkook—yes, fuck—"

He follows right after, burying himself with a groan. He spills into the condom, cock twitching inside you. His arms tremble, holding himself up—but then he collapses forward, weight pressing you into the mattress. 

The both of you are panting, slick with sweat.

He pulls out carefully, tying off the condom and tossing it towards the trash. He then flops back on top of you, face buried in your neck. His heart hammers against your chest in time with yours. 

For a moment, it's just that—exhausted quiet, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back, feeling the muscles relax under your touch.

Then sis hand slides down your body, fingers finding your clit—still sensitive and swollen—and he starts circling it slowly. 

You jolt, a whimper escaping as fresh sparks ignite. "Jungkook—what—"

"I’m not done yet," he mumbles against your skin.

He lifts his head to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, tongue flicking over the peak. His other hand squeezes your breast, thumb rolling the nipple until it's hard and aching. He takes turns switching sides, mouth latching onto each bud.

Pleasure builds again, faster this time, your body oversensitive from the first orgasm. 

His fingers on your clit speed up, pressing firmer. He leaves marks—sucking hickeys across your breasts, red blooms that sting under his lips. His hand knead the soft flesh like he can't get enough.

"Jungkook, I—oh fuck," you gasp, hips bucking into his hand, tears threatening again from the overload. 

It's too much, too good, every nerve ending lit up.

"Come on," he urges, voice muffled against your skin, lifting his head to watch your face again. "Come one more time for me."

You shatter—body convulsing, a cry tearing from your throat as the second orgasm hits. It’s harder than the first, leaving you trembling. 

It's the best you've ever had, waves crashing endlessly, your mind blanking out.

He slows his hand, easing you down. Jungkook then pulls you close as you both catch your breath. 

"Holy shit," you whisper finally.

He laughs softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Yeah."

“Don’t get smug,” you mumble, leaning into to him. 

“Don’t get sentimental,” he answers immediately, wrapping around you.

You lie there for what feels like hours, bodies slick and spent. The room smells of sex and sweat and that faint body wash scent from his skin. Your limbs feel heavy, every muscle humming from the aftershocks of what has to be the best fucking of your life.

His arm is draped over your waist, chest rising and falling against your side—and for the first time since you met him, the silence between you isn't loaded with tension. It's comfortable, almost.

"Did you take the bins down?" he asks suddenly, still panting a little. His voice muffled against your shoulder.

You blink, brain sluggish, then it hits you—the morning reminder, the one you'd blown off in your post-work haze. "Oh, shit, I forgot."

Jungkook scoffs. The familiar edge creeps back in, but there's a playful glint in his eyes as he shifts. He rolls on top of you again, pinning you with his weight. His elbows bracket your head.

"Now, what shall I do to get rid of those bad habits of yours?"

ᥫ᭡ main masterlist

a/n: hi hi hi my loves!! thank you so much for reading. just a note that i wrote this in one night while ovulating (like this is prolly the freakiest thing i have written in my life), and i've been trying to edit it for the past two days, but i'm in the middle of a raging migraine (day 3 of it now yayyy for me), and when i get my migraines, i genuinely cannot function. so ik there are a lot of spelling/grammar errors, and i will try to go back and edit again when the migraine decides it had enough. also, smut is not my best genre, so please do leave me feedback/constructive criticism on where i can improve! (but also pls be kind i have a soft heart). as usual, your comments, reblogs and asks mean so much to me and really fuel my fingers! much love <3

[joonie-joon]

Oh this is goooooood

[tojisun]

simon and john competing to see who can make you cum more. the competition falls apart anyway when they both realize that they want to do the same thing to you—they want to corrupt you. thinking about choking on simon’s cock while john fucks his into you. thinking about simon wrapping his hand around your throat to feel himself; about john pressing down on your stomach to map out how deep he’s reaching; about how these stimulations push you to squirt with a muffled keen. thinking about simon’s mean and surprised laughter, and john’s patronizing croon at that; about john saying oh baby, look at you making a mess in front of our guest, huh? thinking about simon reaching forward to swipe at the mess on your cunt before bringing his thumb in his mouth and sucking on the juices with a guttural moan like that was something so delicious and, well, john can’t blame him because everything that makes up who your are is just so delightful. a gift, this precious girl of his is.

[demonlineswhore]

Getting your throat fucked by Yunho just like this.

He’d be getting so worked up seeing the bulge in your throat, groaning and moaning.

“Such a perfect throat f’me to fuck into little one” “my whore is so sweet letting me use her throat like this” “doing so good for daddy aren’t you?”

He’d tell you to answer him knowing full well you can’t with his massive cock stuffing your throat full.

You’d still try to answer him though and he’d just chuckle at your pathetic attempt to do what he says

“Aww puppy are you struggling? It’s okay it’s not like you’re good for anything other than having your throat fucked anyway”

He’d pull out to give you a minute to catch your breath, groaning at the sounds of you choking as he does so

If you start crying, oh he might just cum right there and then

“Is my baby crying? Oh how pathetic. Here I’ll help” and then he’d stuff himself back in and fuck even rougher, bruising your throat and causing you to cry even more

“So beautiful crying for me stupid puppy”

He’d catch you trailing your hand down to your pussy and he’d slap your tit “hey what did I say little one. You don’t get to cum today, you’re just my toy”

And you would have the time of your life just being his fuxktoy and cumdump, knowing it’s where you belong

[teezslvt]

𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐡𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦. (f!reader) ── word count: ⁸⁹⁸

A/N: just a little fun drabble I drafted recently! also contains cum swallowing and if you squint…public sex. I couldn’t stop thinking dirty thoughts of yunho in this suit from the BAD mv and well…yeah lol, so enjoy my cherries ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊ feedback is always welcomed! also i’m playing around with my layouts.

Another day. Another lesson.

“Open wider.”

His voice was low, and edged with quiet authority. Without hesitation, you obeyed, parting your lips further around his thick length.

Yunho drove his hips forward, forcing his cock to the back of your throat. One large hand tangled in your ponytail, winding the strands around his fist until your scalp stung.

He paid no mind to the way you gagged noisily, or the hot tears gathering along your lash line.

“Breathe out your nose, slut,” he growled through clenched teeth.

Your hands, bound tightly behind your back with a pink ribbon, squirmed against the restraints. Every instinct screamed at you to push him away as you choked, saliva spilling down your chin.

He pulled out of your mouth and seized your face in a rough grip.

Fuck.

He was mad.

“Are you dumb?”

You shook your head, blinking rapidly as you fought to clear your watering vision.

“Then listen. Flatten your tongue and breathe through your nose.”

This was hard. Yunho was…big. Bigger than anyone you’d taken before. The taste of him alone left you pathetically wet and distracted, your thoughts dissolving each time he pushed deeper. Focusing felt impossible.

But you didn’t want to give up.

Yunho caught his lower lip between his teeth as he slowly dragged himself across your swollen lips, coating his shaft with the saliva you’d left behind.

“You want to try another day?”

“No.”

A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest, clearly amused by your stubbornness.

“Well, I’m not going easy on you, beautiful. Ready?”

Swallowing hard, you ignored the persistent ache pooling low in your body and gave a hesitant nod. Your lips parted to welcome him again, your tongue gliding over him as he eased himself deeper.

“Fuck… yeah, baby. That’s it.”

A ragged breath escaped him, his brows knitting together as he settled into a steady rhythm. Soft, breathy sounds slipped past his lips with every measured movement, and you glanced up just in time to catch his eyes fluttering shut.

“What a good girl…”

Another groan slipped free as he worked his way further, the fat tip brushing against your tonsils. Pleasure softened his expression, his lips parting as his head tipped back.

Each slow thrust drew another involuntary jerk from your body. Your eyes rolled back as you fought your gag reflex, nostrils flaring while you forced yourself to breathe through your nose.

You pressed your tongue against the underside of him, your puffy lips sliding across his salty, heated flesh with each stroke as his pace gradually quickened.

“Yes, fuck…just like that. Goddamn, your mouth feels amazing.”

The slick sounds between you and his raspy groans filled the room.

By the way his thighs trembled and his cock throbbed, you knew he was close. His glittering eyes locked onto yours, silently mouthing your name like a prayer as he gave your ponytail another firm tug.

“I-I’m gonna c-cum…”

Yunho’s hips faltered, a broken gasp catching in his chest as he dragged his spit-slicked length with the same relentless pace along your tongue, savoring every second.

“Keep being a good girl for me… and swallow all of it.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

You couldn’t fuck this up.

Clasping your hands together, you braced yourself, a muffled moan vibrating in your throat as you accepted him willingly. His abdomen tightened beneath taut skin, every muscle straining with the effort to hold himself together.

“Coming… I’m comi—Fuck!”

His release crashed over him with one powerful thrust. Yunho’s whole body tensed, growling fiercely from his stomach as the tangy warm seed exploded down your throat, viscous spurts coating your taste buds as he pumped in calculated strokes.

Yunho’s entire body went rigid, a fierce groan rumbling up from deep in his chest as he continued moving with deliberate control.

You swallowed it all without failure, earning a pleased hum from him. You breathed carefully as he remained close, his weight resting against your lips while you composed yourself.

“Holy shit… holy fuck…” Yunho let out a breathless laugh, his gaze lingering on your flushed face.

He brushed the beads of sweat from his forehead with the back of his white lace glove before easing back.

A satisfied smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Pride flooded you.

Your mouth continued its work absentmindedly, sucking and licking his delicious meat, milking every last drop hungrily, unwilling to let any go to waste.

Yunho, shaking slightly, slipped himself free from the clutches of your lips with a loud pop before dropping onto the ottoman behind him.

“Okay, untie me. We should get back before the wedding starts.”

“Babe…” You stared at him. “The wedding started like twenty minutes ago.”

“What?!”

The realization hit him all at once, and you threw your head back with a groan of frustration. How had the two of you managed this? Yunho was usually the one pushing your limits in public, but you were normally the voice of reason.

Somehow, today of all days, he’d managed to get under your skin.

“Your friend is going to be pissed! He’s missing a groomsman.”

“Oh well.” Yunho shrugged, infuriatingly unconcerned. “He’ll see me at the reception.”

Panic flashed across your face as you struggled against the knot he’d tied.

You rolled your eyes, a laugh escaping despite yourself.

“I’ll let him know I was teaching you a very valuable lesson.”

taglist: @maliabobea15 |

© written by teezslvt— do not steal or claim as your own 𓆩♡𓆪

[kithtaehyung]

baile inolvidable (explicit) | myg

"life is a party that one day ends, and you were my unforgettable dance"

title: baile inolvidable (explicit) pairing: ex!yoongi x reader rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; exes to lovers au summary: there’s only one person that you’re better off never running into again. but when fate decides it’s time for you to face him, you prepare yourself for complete destruction. because he never told you what you wanted, and you never told him goodbye. note: literally nothing redeeming to say i wrote this in two days all bc of a guy wearing a jersey lol barely edited so pls excuse any typos! note 2: also tell me why i wrote all of this and then looked for a title, only to fucking weep when this song matched perfectly. anyway, here we go, first new fic in years! enjoy and i’m so sorry if it hurts a bit. note 3: highly highly recommend listening to the title song and reading the lyrics if you don't know them. it's beautiful, and knowing it enhances the angst tenfold. warnings: language, explicit scenes, an unforgettable dance, pining, angst but truly who is shocked anymore, men that give The Ick, exes, yoongi in that gd madrid jersey, the chains stay on (hi hello it’s me), alexa play Like Animals, hoseok also needs his own warning, tension, more angst, jk is the biggest mood, kissing as a warning, guilt, yearning, yoongi hands, the ending is worth it<3 disclaimer: all characters are my own and just happen to look like members of bts! purely a work of fiction. just had a lot of feelings. mood: baile inolvidable - bad bunny ; qlona - karol g, peso pluma explicit warnings: under the cut and it's a mouthful lmaooo drop date: june 30th, 2026, 7pm est word count: 13k have mercy!

explicit warnings: manhandling, public sex, rough sex, hair/head pulling, oral (m rec), choking, cowgirl, spitting, reverse cowgirl, unprotected sex, breast play, fucking an ex.... lol, multiple orgasms, the chains stay on, hella backshots, emotional sex, creampie OOP, club sex, reader is bad, yoongi loses his gd mind, couch sex, wall sex, chair sex, umm yeah alexa play like animals thanks

-

-

“What’s taking you so long!” 

Groaning, you concentrate on getting your lashes just right. “Told you it’d be just a minute!” 

“I know.” Hoseok pops into your hotel bathroom, deep neckline and even deeper scent of cologne almost making you jab yourself right in the socket. “But it’s been ten.” 

It’ll end up being a lot longer than that if he keeps cocking that perfect brow. Shouldn’t he know the rule of getting ready already? 

Done with your current task, you blink and inspect yourself in the wide mirror spanning the master bath. “Yeah, a minute means twenty. So I have ten to spare, right?” 

Bright teeth shine as he shakes his head. And you know it’s because you’re both slated to be super early anyway. 

Everything’s going according to schedule. All your old friends flew in yesterday, and the plan for today is to head to dinner to watch the night game with everyone. After that, you’ll walk straight to the club a few blocks down that you’ve heard to be the best in town. 

Well. Best in town for absolute eye candy. Taehyung warned that everyone that’s been to Lo Prohibito knows the dress code is simple but effective: luxurious. Unless your face card is so lethal you get in on that alone, or you happen to have celebrity status. 

And your confidence can only take you so far. You look fucking good, but you aren’t risking being turned away just because you were lax getting ready. 

So ten more minutes it is. Hobi will just have to deal with it. 

Goddamn, he could get in without a single issue, though. Honestly, he could be wearing a linen shirt and shorts with sandals and they’d mistake him for a millionaire. “I’ll be ready before you know it,” you say over your bare, perfumed shoulder. “You’ll be able to see your lover soon enough.” 

Hoseok shoots you a grin before huffing out, “Got me, huh.” 

“You’re the easiest person in the world to read.” Leaning over your makeup bag, you rummage through your brushes. “Whatever you’re thinking is always written all over your face." 

Quick laughter coats the bathroom in more light. “I can’t help it, okay! It’s always been that way.” When you focus in the mirror and pat your face, he suddenly drops two pitches in tone. “Sorry about yours.” 

Here you go again. You know exactly what he’s talking about. 

“Hobi,” you sigh. “I don’t care anymore, okay? It’s been a month.” 

“I know, but…” Expelling a heavy, sympathetic breath of his own, he leans against the double door entryway. That dulcet yet gravelly tone of his rolls across marble floors as he says exactly what you don’t want him to, “You seemed pretty happy with them.” 

You were. In fact, you were more than happy. 

But something just didn’t feel right. Sure, the days you spent with your most recent fling were perfect. You felt comfortable with them, you admired how thoughtful they were and how attentive. 

It was the nights that made you more than hesitant. 

Because no matter how many times you slept together, you never felt truly understood. What you wanted, what you needed? They would get so close to getting it right, only to never reach that level of intensity and passion you were looking for. 

So you broke it off one quiet, cherry-red sunset on the beach weeks ago. 

Only to find out that they were seeing someone else the whole time anyway. 

Fuck love. To hell with happiness. Why do all your relationships end up this way? Why do you always attract the people that seem perfect on the surface but hide so many flaws underneath? It’s starting to fucking annoy you and you may damn well swear to the single life forever. 

Though. There was one relationship that didn’t exactly end this way. 

But you’re never thinking about that one again, so no point in shuffling through those beautiful, tragic, regretful memories now. 

“And now I’m happy without them,” you finally respond to Hoseok, who tears his gaze from the white floors to see you staring in the mirror. “Probably happy without anyone else, actually.” 

What a fucking lie. 

“I mean, there’s time to find someone you...” Your friend pockets a hand while adjusting his loose top, shadows naturally accenting his abdomen. “Never mind. See you out there. Love the red.” 

You swish the silken floor-length material of your gaudy, quite revealing dress. “Thank you. This is my favorite part, look.” 

Hoseok watches as you stomp your leg out of the thigh-high slit so comically it catches him off guard, cackling before a lighthearted, “Careful with that!” 

“Says the man who’s practically naked.” 

All you get is a shameless shrug before your friend spins on this heel to leave, no doubt checking the texts on his phone. 

At least he's excited about seeing his gorgeous pull after so long. And you do not blame him one bit. The way he looks at her? She may as well be a goddess because his gaze turns almost reverent every time. 

A blurry memory consumes your mind like a haze, and you see completely different eyes with just as much fervor. They watch as you mount slow, chests slick with sweat and breathing deep from hours of—

Manicured hands grip the sink as your brush skitters onto granite counters. 

Fuck. Never again. 

Never, ever, ever again.

Pull yourself together. You’re a whole different person with a whole different future. That version of you is one you left far behind, as well as the life that came with it. 

You extend ten minutes into fifteen. 

And Hoseok’s outright whistle at your emergence lets you know the extra time was worth it. 

—

—

Dinner is loud and vibrant, with the whole restaurant locked in on the game and erupting in cheers when the home team scores. Or at least, the team that the majority of fans want to win scores. 

You aren’t completely sure, because there are jerseys of every country everywhere you look. It’s the one time you feel a sense of togetherness, with everyone giving each other friendly jabs and your group doing and saying anything to rile each other up. 

Hoseok is downright lethal with his date, the two of them showing off jawlines that can kill as they watch the nearest screen. But they’re on the other end of the long wooden table, so you have to find other people to converse with. 

Unfortunately, you find that the person sitting in front of you is a stranger, seemingly knowing someone else in the group and just happened to tag along. He quickly offered small talk when you all started ordering, which you already found a little awkward because you were trying to focus on what to get. 

Now, he keeps giving you more and more information about his achievements and endeavors, not once asking for your name. Figures.

Both the friends you’re sitting next to are no help, either. 

To your left, Jeongguk’s checking his phone for the fiftieth time this hour, scrolling through videos to avoid having to speak to anyone. 

And to your right, Taehyung cheers and stands when another goal is scored, locking elbows with the stranger behind him and drinking from his glass mug. Apparently he had been making fast friends while you were entertaining the guy that keeps staring at you. How cool. Happy for him. Can you both switch seats? 

Your wish doesn’t get granted for another hour. So that means you’re still talking to and giving polite encouragement to this gentleman. Though the term gentleman is very, very generous. It became more than obvious he just wants to fuck from the way he's been shamelessly ogling your plunging neckline. 

Mercifully, Jeongguk finally saves you, leaning in and pretending to show you a reel or tiktok or whatever the fuck he’s scrolling through. Instead, a text he typed into your message thread is all you see. 

Wanna go outside?

Going along and laughing at his fake share, you give him a grateful smile and nod. Turning to the man watching you with curiosity—and is that really jealousy?—you excuse yourself, 

“We’re gonna check out the second floor! Be right back.” 

Not even waiting to see nor hear his reaction.  

—

—

Outside the restaurant and not on the second floor, you can finally breathe again, watching the city come alive with its vehicle rush and streetlight hum. 

Next to you, your tattooed savior takes a long hit of his vape, and you run a hand across the thin gold chain around your neck. 

Without your permission, another memory slips through your defenses. And this one proves sharper, astonishingly clearer than the first.

Hands grab a string of gold from a nightstand, and you instantly ache because you remember what comes right after. As soon as it’s clipped onto a slim neck, you watch the necklace lower, and lower, right before you angle your mouth up to take it between your—

“Fuck.” 

Jeongguk whips his head right as your eyes snap open. “You okay? What’s wrong?” 

No. There are a thousand things wrong. You didn’t even fucking realize your vision went dark until light flooded out your unwanted nostalgia. 

Fuck, you hadn’t thought of that summer afternoon in years. Your reaction was visceral enough to spurn an oncoming headache. “Nothing,” you whoosh out. “What time is it?” 

“Almost time to head over to Lo Prohibido.” Gripping his phone, the man asks with concern, “You sure you’re good to go?” 

Head pulsing, you nod. “Yeah, I’m fine, just dehydrated. Can you pick a city that won't try to burn me out next time? I'm down for traveling but it's been hell here.” 

Unconvinced and unfazed, Jeongguk cocks his head to the door. “Let’s go back in. I know your favorite person is waiting, but you gotta drink water.” 

“Don’t,” you groan. “He’s cute, but I got the biggest ick like halfway in.” 

Your amused friend giggles as he holds the door open, “You lasted a lot longer than I thought you would.” 

Laughing when more cheers erupt from inside, you give his jacketed arm a playful shove as you look down the street. “I’m nice, okay? Don’t—”

Your heart. 

It booms. 

In an instant, the whole world blurs, lights and bodies making solid, serpentine lines and even sound itself rolling to a deep, dull hum.

The only one you can see. The only person you can make out with perfect clarity. 

Is the one you’ve been trying your fucking hardest to not remember. 

Staring right at you with eyes you’ll never, ever forget. 

Yoongi. 

He’s just down the way, standing amongst a group with a striped jersey, dark hair swept so perfectly your chest pangs. Even though everyone around him is animated and laughing, the look on his face makes it undeniable he’s not focused on anything else.

And with a stopped heart, neither are you.

Until your lower back is held, tugging you out of the dream as Jeongguk’s question is laden with worry, 

“Seriously, what’s going on? Do you need to go back to the hotel?” 

You jolt away from his touch, but the action isn’t warranted. For fuck’s sake, he’s a friend you’ve known just as long as you've known the spectre down the street. Why did you feel the need to escape his worrisome hand? He isn't like the guy you just met.  

If that dude had been the one to touch you, though, you would’ve fucking decked him. You are not letting him feel an inch of your skin, and that includes the majority of it you’re baring at the back. 

“No, I’m—I’m fine,” you manage to get out. “Just thought I saw.. Never mind. Water.” 

Yoongi would’ve damn near murdered that creep, too. 

Shit. 

Right before stepping back in, you turn to peer back down the sidewalk, brain concluding that what you saw was your imagination and your heart adamantly disagreeing. 

However, there’s no sign of Yoongi anywhere. That same group of people continues to chitter away outside, but he’s nowhere to be seen. 

So your logic is sound. It was just a dream. There’s no way he’d be here, and he looked way too fucking handsome to be real anyway. Maybe your mind is just playing tricks on you as an act of revenge for making it remember him this much today. 

Because you’re remembering everything. The way he knew exactly how to get under your skin. The times he proved so patient. The way he absolutely knew how to act under your sheets. 

And his. And elsewhere. Anywhere the two of you decided to make love. 

And that singular word is exactly why your flame burned its brightest before choking out. 

You were ready. 

He wasn’t. 

And you regret your decision to leave more than anything else in your entire life. 

Because you could’ve fought harder. You could’ve given him more time. But when you confessed under a blanket of stars and didn’t hear those three words reciprocated, every single celestial plummeted from the sky, plunging you headfirst into a deep, dark ocean of insecurity and bubbling self-loathing. 

The night you left, you left everything. You left your room, your apartment, the city you called home your entire life. Like a coward that couldn’t face rejection. 

Because you didn’t even tell Yoongi goodbye. 

And that’s the last damning reminder you hurl at yourself before rejoining your friends inside. 

—

—

You readily down two glasses of water. 

Inwardly laughing at the fact that the same dude straight up left to “meet up with his brochachos.” 

—

—

Lo Prohibito is decibels louder than the restaurant, and that includes the moments everyone cheered to the max.

A dazzling laser show beams from behind the raised DJ booth, and machines shoot out air to provide much needed circulation and boost the spread of confetti. 

To your delight, everyone here is just as pretty as you imagined. You’re thanking all your lucky clovers that you were accepted inside, strutting in on your heels with chin held high. 

Maybe not as high as it could go. 

But you refuse to let anything else bring you down tonight. You’re supposed to be having another great outing, spending it with your friends and enjoying the nightlife while you’re still able. 

Bright colors span across every surface as a thumping bass shakes your toes, and you wait for the rest of your group to trickle in to find a good dancing spot—and a much needed drink because you are desperate for one. 

At this point, you’ll pay any price to forget whatever the fuck you saw earlier. 

Be it a figment of your imagination, or a devilishly attractive ghost, you just need to wipe that achingly handsome face from your mind. 

There’s no way he’s here. And even if who you saw was real? It wasn’t the man you loved. 

Because there’s no way Yoongi would even look your way again. 

Not like you want him to anyway. Forget him. He gave you everything except the one thing you ultimately wanted, and you couldn’t live in his moonlight without your stars slowly burning out.

Breathe. Focus on the present. Stay in the now. 

“Come on,” he instructs, holding your fingers before grabbing your waist. “Stay with me.” 

“Sorry,” you whisper to your stumbling feet. “I just keep messing up that damn step and it’s annoying.” 

“I know.” He grips your hand, turning so that you land against his chest, comforting tone soothing your burning ear, “But you got a lot more chances to get it. We got time. Stay in the now.” 

“Okay.” 

“That’s my girl.” 

“Come on!” 

Your past whisks away with the club fog, and you follow Hoseok and the rest off the crowded floor. “Where are we going!” 

Hand on the nearest winding staircase, he turns with a smile. “Got us VIP! We’re up here.” 

“No fucking way?” How the hell did Hobi manage to do that? Wasn’t this place booked up the last time you both checked yesterday? “How!” 

Cheekily, the man simply plucks at his undone overshirt and wiggles, smirking as his date doubles over in a laugh. 

“Oh, you’re a freak,” you call out behind him with praise. “Thank you for your service.” 

Thank Jung Hoseok and those abs indeed because the VIP booth is a godsend. Sure, it’s still crowded on the second floor, but at least you don’t have to worry about standing shoulder to shoulder the whole night. You have somewhere to retreat to when you need a breather. 

Which Jeongguk is already taking the most advantage of, settling into the middle of the booth and planting elbows on the long table stretching end to end. Music blares while people shout all throughout the club, but he seems quite zeroed in on his phone. 

Maybe you can both use each other as a scapegoat again if you need to leave. He’s been enjoying himself for the most part, but you can tell he’s extremely ready to go home and the night just started. If you weren’t desperate to let loose and forget years of your life tonight, you would’ve offered to get shitty fast food with him and walk around the city instead. 

Mm. That still sounds like a backup option. 

“Who wants drinks!” Taehyung calls out from the far end of the booth, standing to wave someone down and glancing at everyone giving him their orders all at once. “Let’s just get bottles!” 

Perfect. He knows exactly what to do, so you let him drive and settle into the booth to wait for the liquid ailment to your problems. 

This club has it all, you muse as you take everything in. From endless bottles and extravagant cocktails sailing over the crowd, to sparkler shows and pops of streamers raining down from above, it’s a paradise of a getaway. 

But the outfits? To your surprise, you feel slightly out of place, even arguably overdressed wearing the most expensive thing you own. Yes, there are loads of tens walking around, even some elevens and twelves if you’re honest. But you do see quite a few people in outfits as casual as Jeongguk’s leather.

Either way, almost everyone is dripped in the most lavish jewelry and clothing, from designer to exclusive to wait someone got in wearing a jersey? 

How the hell? Despite the outfits you saw there hasn’t been anyone in here with a jersey, is he famous? It's the same one you saw on the sidewalk when you—

Fuck. That’s not him, is it? You can’t quite see his face, but that back is so… 

No. No no no. You’re staying here for awhile so that better have been another mind trick or you're taking that backup plan with Jeongguk immediately—

“Here,” Taehyung catches your attention while hastily holding out a glass. “This is what you wanted, right?” 

You take it with shaky fingers. “Yes, it’s perfect, thank you.” 

When you turn back, the red and white stripes are gone. 

And you release a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. 

“You okay?”

Turning, you notice that Tae’s eyes are extremely focused on yours. You nod as you down your shot in one go. “Yeah, I’m good.”

His honey rasp slows on the way out, “You sure..?”

“Yeah.” When you push more of the stinging, sweet alcohol down, you decide to start telling him what you saw. “I just… I thought I saw…”

Taehyung is one of the only ones that never questioned why you left town. Which you’re grateful for, because you couldn’t handle all your other friends sending you text after text after call. It was fucking overwhelming, but you had one person that just allowed you to make decisions and live with them. 

“Saw who?” He asks, cutting through your vision with long fingers in a wave and calling you back to reality. 

“No one.” You don’t even wanna say his name. It carries the weight of the world. “Forget it! I’ll be good as soon as we start.”

Unconvinced but letting you have space, Tae doesn’t pry. 

“If you say so.”  

—

—

For the next hour, everything is great. You play stupid drinking games with your friends, cheer for the most random shit the house emcee yells, and you start to slowly wash the unwanted memories from your mind. 

At one point, Jeongguk stuns the section by dancing on booth cushions and swinging his jacket, revealing he only had a thin tank underneath. Many people stare slackjawed at his physique and understated choice of outfit, but you can only cackle with your friends because you all know he’s gonna go right back to his phone in seconds. He just really, really likes the song playing. 

And you’re enjoying the DJ set, too. As long as they don’t play specific songs, you can enjoy the rest of the night in absolute peace. 

Especially the one song that haunts your every waking moment. The first time you heard it, in a club somewhere along pink lemonade sand, you trudged knee deep into the crashing tide and didn’t leave until the sun dipped under the horizon. 

Because it hit too close to home. And your deluge of tears gave back infinite saltwater to the sea. 

Relax. Don’t throw any possibilities into the atmosphere, especially when your mind is fucked up tonight. Your friends are heading down to the dance floor, so go with them and forget everyone else. 

Making sure your drink is finished, you feel ice hit your lips before clinking it down, rushing to join your group at the top of the staircase. 

Only to stutter so close to the edge your heart leaps out of your chest.

It keeps falling, and falling. Because there’s no mistaking this time. That man you saw wearing the outfit that’s starting to haunt you? He’s talking animatedly to someone across the second floor, dusty pink elbow perched on the railing with a drink in his still so veiny hand. 

And your mouth turns sour at the way his shoulder is tapped by pretty nails, tongue hot and darkly spiced when Yoongi just laughs into his cup.

God. He’s here. He’s devastating without even trying.

And, as your blasphemous logic reminds you, that beautiful smile will never be yours anymore.

But that doesn’t stop you from staring. Because while on the street, you could’ve argued he was a hallucination birthed from dehydration. Right here, in this moment, you’ve sobered up in a snap and you know for a fact what you’re seeing is real.

Maybe it was better when you assumed he wasn’t. 

At least then, you didn’t have to entertain any worse outcomes than just seeing him. You didn’t have to think about how you’d feel seeing him so close to someone else.

Looks like the universe is giving you the final consequences of your escape. Yoongi has your fate in the warm, rough palm of his hand, and you know he’ll do nothing but let it fall to the rumbling floor below. Just to watch with unblinking eyes.

“Hey, you gonna go down or what?”

Turning, you start to move to the side, embarrassment heating the skin of your back that was just lightly grazed, “Shit, sorry—”

A strong arm pushes you sideways into hard metal as a duo of guys head down the stairs. You figure it’s an accident, but that doesn’t stop your face from contorting in pain and a curse to fling from your mouth. Because damn that fucking hurt. 

“Dude, watch it!” The one behind looks back at you to apologize, “Sorry about my—”

Oh… Really… 

The guy from dinner halts in his apology, and your brow lifts right before he waves you off. 

Waves you off. 

At least your intuition is always spot on. Good riddance, you were completely valid to ditch his brochacho ass earlier. 

Rolling your eyes skyward and even aiming a petulant tongue at his retreating back, you scoff before leaning on chilled metal, letting a moment pass before heading down to Taehyung and the rest of them. 

Where are they anyway? If you don’t spot them from here it’s gonna be hard to find them on the.. ground.. 

Your heart looks up before you do.  

And you catch your ex watching intently from across the way, phone sliding from his ear before he straightens to start walking. 

…Towards you? 

Fuck. 

It’s been bad enough catching glimpses of Yoongi and seeing him entertain someone else. If he gets one foot right in front of you? Everything you’ve worked so hard to build up against him and the haunting memories of your relationship will collapse into dust. You can’t bear him seeing how you haven’t changed your fucking mind. 

To your utmost pain, all roads have always led back to him. No matter how deep you relate to or click with someone, no matter how happy another person makes you, no one has come close to how Yoongi made you feel. 

Because he’s the only one that understood even the darkest parts of you. And he’s the only light in your life you ran away from. 

There’s a reason you watch every sunset. There’s a reason you stand on the beach back home and don’t move your sandswept legs until the last rays give way to the ocean line. 

It’s because of the guilt. The guilt of turning away from the warmth you held in your hands and the warmth you left behind. 

Your eyes stay tethered as your ex makes his way down the long side of the upstairs balcony, partiers smushing together and bottles roving over his head as ladies take them to VIP tables. 

Based on the heat in his eyes? Yoongi’s on the universe’s side. There’s no way he’s seeking anything else other than revenge. 

Shit, shit shit. This isn’t good for you. Literally nothing great nor healthy can come out of this if he ends up in your orbit. One word, two words, and even worse, three words from those unforgettable lips would destroy you and never let you recover. 

But your hands stay tight on the warming railing. And they won’t fucking let go. 

Downstairs. Go down the stairs. Go. 

Yoongi’s almost here. All he has to do is round the corner. He's close enough for you to notice the silver chains adorning his neck.

And the last thing you think with a withering heart is how devastatingly handsome he’s become. 

With a tight breath, you pelt high heels downward one hasty step at a time. Winding, winding, spiraling like the thoughts storming your mind. The further down you go, the farther away he is. 

Your heel catches on your dress before you stumble, but you don’t look back to see if Yoongi’s even still behind you. 

Chill the fuck out and don’t fucking trip. You already had nasty falls before with scars to prove it and a sticky club floor is the worst place to sprawl onto. 

Keep going. Disappear into the crowd. Go find your friends. 

And deal with the unmoving, gaping hole in your chest later. 

—

—

It takes you awhile to find them, but soon enough, you're back to having the time of your life. The lineup of DJs is all stellar, with only a few misses here and there, even getting Jeongguk to stay on the dance floor longer than you expect.

What's even better? There's no sign of Yoongi. Surrounded by sweaty bodies and flashy grins, you don't catch a single glimpse of him in the crowd.

Good. That's good, right? You wanted this. You wanted to avoid him and run, just like you did the last time.

Your group starts to split up in the commotion of lights and confetti and streamers, but you're fine dancing on your own. With each ebb and flow of music, you lose yourself, letting your heart get swept away by stories of love and loss. Every song holds a piece you understand. Every verse carries the same message.

You aren't alone in being alone.

So embrace it. Let the hurt come later. Smiling wide, you await the next song up, arms thrown in the air with everyone in beautiful togetherness around you.

Then it starts.

The one song you knew you'd hear at some point but sure as fuck didn’t want to.

While people around roar at the familiar opening, you feel like disappearing entirely. Where’s the nearest coastline? You need a rising tide. 

As the melancholic notes buzz up your chest, you slowly, quietly, lower both arms to your sides. Around you, the floor moves in sensuous circles and dips, and you envy everyone for not feeling how you feel. This glowing, searing pain setting your chest ablaze until it’s nothing but a pile of cinders, only to be washed away with the waves crashing against your knees.

With each scathing line, your heart cries, remembering exactly why it hit too deep. All those lessons you took that started on a whim. All those sunny afternoons practicing and stumbling about your living room. All those times you were held close and knew there’d be no one else.

Your heart isn't strong enough to stay in the now. It doesn’t want to. It will always remain in the past, on a rooftop gazing into a sea of stars and hoping for a different outcome. 

Night, after night, after night. 

Suddenly, you’re back in the past, too.

Because a hand, so sure and so steady, settles onto your hip from behind, and your eyes burn when another slides along your bare shoulder. Heat from a body you can sense from anywhere in the fucking universe warms the skin at your back, and you shake as lips touch the shell of your ear to whisper three words that shatter what’s left of your soul, 

“One last time.” 

You aren't in the past. You're here. And so is he.

Breath whooshing out in a hitch, your throat is in absolute flames as your eyes slide shut. Then you nod, because you can’t think of doing anything else, and you allow him to lead.

And he feels so perfect against you it hurts. 

You feel how strong he’s gotten, how sturdy and lean. And yet, you also feel the same soft give you used to feel all those years ago. You know how pliant he could become under your mercy, just like all those times he gave you complete control. If you faced him, you could run your hands along that stomach you’ve kissed every inch of a thousand times over. 

But you’re too much of a pathetic coward to turn around. 

When you back into him, his quick hiss into that groan you miss so fucking much flips every warning light in your body. But you can’t help it. You know this dance, this connection, this reunion will be the last you will ever have. 

He never loved you. You never said goodbye. 

Everything that’s left unsaid swirls around you as you move in perfect sync, both your hips moving as one and your hand snaking up and back to grip his neck fuck he feels just like home. 

Yoongi… Still feels like home. 

A single, hot tear leaks from your eye as you sway, burning a path down your cheek as your other hand closes tight around fingers holding your side. When he grips you even tighter, another tear betrays you, and you feel his lips so close to your neck you expect him to kiss there if he wanted to. 

But he doesn’t. 

Of course he doesn’t. 

So you take what you’re given. A dance. Just one. One last unforgettable dance before your life changes all over again. 

Knowing this song by heart, you know it’s approaching the end. The bittersweet last chorus clues you in, and you tense around his neck just a little tighter, hoping Yoongi didn’t catch the need in your fingers for this moment to never end. 

Mother Earth can swallow you whole as soon as the last word is sung. You give her your express permission. 

Because you feel so hopelessly in love all over again, and you can’t bear your affection to be unreciprocated a second time. 

Just like that. Against your deepest, sincerest wishes. 

The song dies. 

And immediately after, as if your world hasn’t just been upheaved and tossed to the wayside, the next number booms. Everyone on the dance floor cheers again when it’s extremely familiar and a faster tempo. Even more people fill the floor because they need to feel this one in their bones. 

And you need nothing else but to leave. 

Get out. Go. Yoongi said so, right? One last time. It’s over. This tension between you needed an outlet and that song was the one out you both could use to set it free. 

And it’s done. So you start your brisk walk away.

Only for your wrist to be held and your heart to fall out of your ribcage. 

Fuck.

When you turn, you forget you’re tear-streaked and full of painful regrets. 

And the look on Yoongi’s face heats your soul all the way through. 

Because his eyes are unwavering, brows cut deep and mouth completely shut. Over his forehead, tendrils of mussed bangs sweep slow, and his chest rises and falls with every hard, wordless breath he takes. 

And you finally get the courage to whisper his name. 

Without a word, he slowly pulls you in, not stopping until your hands softly push into his strong chest and your face is inches from his. All heavy bass and bright beats of music fall away. All lights shift until you can only see him. 

Time. All that time apart vanishes when you finally feel this close again, his steady expression watching you with an emotion you can’t place but feel ripping at your walls to destroy them. 

What is happening? What’s he doing? 

Does he know he has the power to hurt you in ten million different ways?

Fingers rise to wipe the sadness from your face, only inviting more to pour from your eyes. “Yoongi,” you whisper again, breaking the dam you’ve been building block by block this whole time, just like you were afraid of. And you can’t fucking stop. “Yoongi…”

Then, when his eyes slide shut, you think he’ll let you go. Why can you only say his name? Why the fuck are you ruining this singular moment that you’ve only dreamed of having wait wait why is he resting his forehead against yours fuck wait—

“You know how long,” he breathes out, “I’ve been waiting to hear you say that again.” 

Have mercy.

Your soul finally snaps in two. 

You can only say it once more, broken and chipped, before Yoongi grips your jaw and kisses you like it’s his last minute on earth. 

And you push back with a ferocity that’s been dormant for years, a magnificent flame never awakened by anyone else. Nothing else. Just him. Only him. 

Rivers stream from your eyes as his arms circle you, hands gripping the skin of your back as your nails rake down his. Around you, people dance and bump into your bodies, but neither of you seem to fucking care. No one else exists. The only music you hear is every deep breath Yoongi takes and it’s your favorite, favorite, favorite.

You shouldn’t be doing this. There’s no possible way this doesn’t leave you without a broken heart and a shell of whatever intact spirit you have left. 

But goddamn if you don’t stay in the now more than ever. 

“I don’t give a shit,” you tumble into his mouth, waiting until he pulls away enough for you to spill every forbidden thought you’ve harbored in your beating chest. “I don’t care if you never loved me. I don’t care if you moved on. I just—just tonight, Yoongi, I need you—”

Your plea is engulfed by another soulshaking push of his lips, and you think that’s the end of it until he tugs away from you before swerving his head around the floor. 

“Come here,” he orders, gripping your hand and reminding you just how perfect his fingers slot with yours. 

Time. You’re getting more time? Your tears and the burning in your chest don’t quell as you’re led through the crowd. When you get strange or pitied looks, you don’t care. All these perfectly dressed people can fuck off. 

When they stare at the man guiding you, that’s what gets your stomach flaring. They can have him. Just after you get one last time to carry you through the rest of your loveless life. 

Yoongi suddenly turns to look at you trailing behind, and he waits to bring you in front of his side, now leading you both together through the rest of the packed floor. 

Ah. This is the man you remember. 

And that just makes everything hurt even more. 

Soon, you’re led off the dance floor and through a series of turns, Yoongi heading up a long back staircase before rounding into a hallway of doors before he checks each one. 

What are these? Karaoke rooms? Party rooms? You don’t know, but the ache in your body hunches you over, and it takes everything to not crumble before he finally stops and yanks open a door. 

“Yoongi, what are you—?”

A dim, neon-lit room is what you come to, and you hear a faint click while noticing the long window looking out into the club below.  Different lounge chairs and couches fill the space, and you can see just enough out the glass to know you’re even high above the VIP tables. The room feels exclusive but you don’t get to observe anything else as you’re being pushed into the nearest wall to be liplocked again. 

Fuck, he’s gotten even better at this. 

Just like you have. 

As your dress is gripped tight, your thoughts all blur together in a lustful slurry. How many has he taken to bed after you? Do you remember your own count? Has anyone else made him feel like you do? With a searing green flare, you remember that no one has come close to him. How awfully one-sided would that be if he found someone that completed him.

A veiny hand grips the side of your neck before sliding to your head. “Fuck,” Yoongi grits out. “I… I can’t.” 

...What? 

No. No no no. 

Your heart begins its fast descent. Because if Yoongi doesn’t want this, you have to respect that. As much as you will scream into the night, you’re not gonna stop him if he gets up and leaves. 

Because you did. So why shouldn’t he get that same chance to destroy you? 

“I get it,” you hitch out, holding his strong wrist with shaky fingers. It’s only fair. This felt too good to be true anyway. “I know.” 

“It’s not that.” Yoongi slides his free hand on the wall, holding it at your shoulder. “I just… Fuck, if we do this, I can’t promise I’ll hold back.” 

Oh. Fuck that. 

You tug the warm silver around his neck. “Then don’t,” you urge to his grunt. “If this is all we get? I don’t fucking care.” 

“Even if I t—”

“Do it, Yoongi,” you plead with a gritted cry. “You can do anything to me, whatever it is just do it.” 

“Fuck.” 

All doubt flees from his eyes as your back gets smushed into the wall, your lips puffed and parting when he places hot, open mouthed kisses down your column. 

Hands keep their quest in gathering up your dress. And you make quick work of his belt before pulling, tugging, yanking it out of its holster. 

“The fuck,” he shoots out. “Who the fuck taught you that?”

Your eyes flicker to his as you grip the hem of his jeans. “You really wanna know?”

“No.” He switches up on a dime. “Don’t tell me.”

Your lips collide again before he rips his mouth down to attack your chest, nipping at a spot that has you flinching and hand sliding between your legs. When he runs a finger along your underwear, his eyes practically burn out as he growls, “You’re this fucking wet already?”

“I told you,” you gasp out. “I need you.” 

Your hand is yanked to the front of his jeans, and shock and emotion completely cover the expanse of your face feeling how unbelievably hard he is.

Unfazed, Yoongi continues kissing up to your shoulder, leaving hot saliva trails all over your skin and bunching your silk in his hands. “Seeing you in this? Lost my shit.”

“You're lying.”

“All fuckin' night."

“Liar.”

Liar, liar. A bold faced lie. You saw him talking to other people. You saw his anger piercing across the club. But you watch as his look levels, and your cheeks sizzle at the way he shifts his jaw, 

“I’d never lie to you.” 

Shit. Your heart bats eyelashes before you shove it out of frame. 

The organ in your chest is a walking liability, especially when it’s connected to your mouth. So there are many, many things you might reveal tonight in the throes of agony and passion. Things you will regret come morning waking to an empty bed. 

The best way to not say anything that could potentially do more harm than good? Keep your lips occupied. And that’s exactly what you intend to do. 

“We’ll see,” you grit out, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down. When Yoongi lets you twist to shove him back against the wall, his eyes flare in dark need when he hisses, 

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” 

To show him how you’ve grown in the years you separated, to show him what he could’ve fucking had. 

To show him that you aren’t taking a single bit of this last, serendipitous night for granted. 

Kneeling slow, you slide your hands along his clothed chest, kissing his chains exactly how you used to and smearing lipstick all the way down his jersey.

“Fuck…”

Balancing on your heels, you wince at the tight bend in your knees, but you aren’t going down completely because your kneecaps aren’t what they used to be. Fuck that. You can do plenty in a low squat anyway, and he’s seen you look a hell of a lot more awkward many times. “Shit,” you still whisper. “You’re lucky I can’t wait to swallow you.”

A curse flings out of his mouth. “Get up, babe.”

Heart ringing at the name, you reject his order with a harsh, “Shut up.” 

You want this, and you know for a fact he does, too. When Yoongi tries to bend, you pull down his underwear, springing his cock free and almost salivating at the sight. 

Just like you remember. Everything about him is just how you remember, and yet his body has only gotten stronger and filled out in all the perfect places. Yoongi’s a man now. A real, grown man. 

If you both just met tonight, you know he would’ve asked for your name before anything else.

Cut the shit. You are not getting into that now, not when you have him with hands trembling against a wall before you take him in your palm. As soon as you touch, Yoongi expels a deep groan, kicking his head back and gripping the wall with a large hand.

What’s going on? You haven’t even done anything yet. Why does your chest constrict at how sensitive he is? This isn’t the time to relax, but you really can’t help but soften at his complete and utter unravelling. 

It’s almost as if nothing’s changed. 

Yoongi lowers his gaze, and you lock glistening eyes before you take him in your mouth, slow on the tip and swirling to get it coated and prepped just right. Your hand expertly glides along his solid, slick length, squeezing at the spot you know makes him fold. 

“Holy fuck,” he gasps out, hand hesitating to palm your head before balling in a fist against plaster. “Shit, babe..”

Again? Does he even realize what he’s saying? Is he trying to hurt you because if that’s his goal it’s fucking working. 

Anger, regret, painful nostalgia drives you forward, sinking his velvety ridges inside your throat and proving to him how much better you’ve gotten. With every plunge, you hollow your cheeks, already feeling the telltale searing at your eyes and spiraling up your throat. His endless stream of sounds and praise tumble down your skin, and you keep sucking mercilessly even when his hips buck and his eyes squeeze tight.

Releasing with a loud pop, you feel a huge strain on your soaked legs as you adjust, tilting your drenched chin to bury your face in his sack to lick and take it in.

“Baby..”

At this new, old nickname, you grip his cock tighter, swallowing him whole again just to hide your real tears behind the ones streaming from taking him in so deep. 

More. You give more, and more, and more. Time will take away everything else so what you can give is all you got.

Hands grip your head in desperation, and you let Yoongi push you onto his length until your airway is closed tight, nose and cheeks flush against the skin of his thighs. His scent is heady and just like you remember, if only slightly different due to the new musky cologne he’s probably sticking with nowadays. Not like you can focus on it too long because your airway is screaming to be freed again. 

Tears leak over your lashes as want slicks your cunt, and you hear syllables that could be words before you finally give his legs a telltale tap.

Oxygen floods your lungs as more tears stream from your eyes, lips sopping wet and saliva leaving your chin in strings. Gulping, you go right back to it, taking him in again and pumping his slick ridges quick.

“Get up,” he commands with a rasp so deep it rumbles your chest. “Get the fuck up.” 

You’re pulled upward so fast your legs cry at the bends, and you’re spun so quick the wall hits your shoulderblade and you cry out into a furious mouth. 

Pleasure and pain intertwine as you match his intensity, raking at his shoulders and clawing into his hair. With each kiss, he reaches deeper into your throat, and you know he can taste himself on your tongue with the way he claims it in waves.

For a moment, there’s no one else in the world. You aren’t in a dimly lit lounge in a club away from home. You’re right here in his bedroom, getting slung and dragged along his wall and knocking every one of his plaques and posters off-kilter. 

“Yoongi, I—”

“I know.”

Without further prompt, Yoongi wrenches at your dress to shove it up to your hip, burning a path along your leg with expert fingers. As you hook itover his smooth forearm, your lips part when his other hand slides between your thighs. 

You know your underwear is soaked all the way through. 

And now, so does he. “Goddamn.”

“I can’t take it anymore,” you gasp out. “Just—”

“Are you still on the—”

“Yes.”

Shifting the sodden material to the side, Yoongi wastes no time, angling himself to rub over your folds and moaning in tandem with you because holy fuck this already feels so—

“This fucking pussy,” Yoongi grits out, sliding in perfectly and so smoothly it’s like neither of you ever left each other's sides. Your high moan cuts into the cherry ceiling when he sounds like he’s just struck gold, “Shit, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Yoongi, please—”

He’s talking absolute nonsense. Gonna be? How is that possible when you won’t see him again? 

All questions vaporize when Yoongi’s hips snap up, launching you up the wall again, and again, and again. Pops of need and lust zoom straight to your head, sparkling out of your eyes when you feel his lips smothering your neck. 

You’re in heaven. You’re in hell. It feels so good it hurts. Caught in a flurry of need and anguish, your nails rake down his shoulders before scratching at his arms, shivering at his outright growl, 

“Don’t do that.”

“Oh, I—”

“Do that shit again and I’ll come.” 

Shit. You don’t understand how he could be so shameless. You’re trying your hardest to keep it together and here he is saying whatever the fuck he wants? If you let your mouth just as loose as he has there’s no telling what you’d be shouting out. 

But you settle for an apology for now, just in case you actually hurt him, “Sorry.. My nails are super long right now.”

“I noticed.” Another thrust launches you into the sky. “They look good but they hurt like hell.”

“Oh.. Sorry again.” A moan escapes when he shoves into you, mind hazy because he’s still placating you. 

“I’m not saying that’s a bad thing.” Devilish, he breaks into a slow smirk you haven’t seen in ages, and your ribcage folds inward and inward. “I’m just not fucking done with you yet.” 

Oh. He doesn’t want this to end, either. 

Now that changes every fucking cog in your brain. 

You keep yourself upright as long as you can, arms slung around his neck as you both move together, dip and lean together, breathe so hard it scorches your chest together. Every muscle in your planted leg burns, but it’s nothing compared to the stare you have connected to his eyes. With each deep thrust, his brows furrow and his teeth peek from his lips, and every groan you hear goes right into a chest for safe keeping. Right next to all the other memories you want to lock away.

Yoongi’s pace starts to quicken the more your mewls encourage him. What was sensuous is now unbearable and, as your dress threatens to shift, you know your breasts will be on full display soon, and Yoongi bites his lip with a grunt with his next hard thrusts.

Soon enough, you feel a chill on your nipples as they’re freed, moaning to the ceiling when Yoongi immediately heats one whole with his tongue. “Baby!”

Goddamn it. You weren’t supposed to address him like that, too. But maybe it’s better than saying his name because every time you do there’s a charge sparking the air. 

So you decide to switch, moaning the same word over and over as he licks and sucks, dragging his teeth along your exposed chest and littering it with heavy proof of his lips. Just like the lipstick on his jersey, you know he’s claimed his own marks on your skin. 

And neither of you will be able to hide them when you part.

Expelled tension flits about in light streaks as you move with him, slick with exertion and tight with muscles working in double time. You both know this is the last time and you’re acting like it. And you send a prayer to the heavens to let time stop just to keep holding him in your arms. 

Suddenly, your heel slips, and you yelp before strong arms keep you upright. “Shit, sorry.”

“I got you.”

Summer sunsets smother your vision as you let him guide you from the wall, gently placing your leg down and leading you to a sofa. Everything simmers to a lull, and you have a moment to catch your breath and steady your racing, racing heartbeat. 

When Yoongi sits on vibrant cushions, you admire the way his biceps fill those sleeves right as he tugs his jersey clean off. And you have to fight to not teeter over, continuing to stare in awe at him, so perfectly filled in some placed and chiseled in others that you start to wonder how you even left in the first place.

Of course you know why you did. So why bring it up now when you’re right here? Why agonize over the past when you’re standing right between his legs?  

“Baby.” 

You flick your gaze back up to his. 

“Stay with me.”

Tears zing up your eyes as you nod, heart plugging your throat as you mount his toned thighs. When you feebly place hands on his searing shoulders, you hate the way your words shake on the way out, “Stay in the now. I know.”

Yoongi’s eyes shine with a light in them you weren’t sure was there before. But you can’t wait long enough for confirmation because your heart is keeling over with ache. 

He remembers. He remembers. Does that mean he’s thought about you, too? 

Focus on something else. No time to think about the past, nor the future. No time to notice that the way Yoongi looks at you now is so heartbreakingly similar to how he worshipped you before. Back when things were perfectly imperfect. Back when you were sure he loved you before he proved to you that he didn’t. 

“Still so beautiful.”

Liquid fire fills your eyes as your breath hitches, guiding his length to your entrance before sinking onto him with no issue. When you both groan, you let your glittery vision watch the ceiling instead of him when you admit, 

“You look so fucking good in red.”

There’s no response as you breathe, angling yourself to feel him deep and moving in a slow push and pull along his legs. Your thin chain tightens as your neck strains above Yoongi’s head, and you wish you had the guts to look down at the ones around his neck. They’re already deadly resting on his clothes, but rocking against the flush of his skin is how you love them the most.

Still, you can’t bear to look. You know you’ll lose yourself in those eyes if you dare stare long enough. Because what you saw earlier looked too close to longing, which would be impossible because that only exists in yours. 

“And,” you whoosh out in tired breaths, gripping your fingers on him a little tighter, “Looks like you.. finally hit the gym.. like I kept fucking saying.” 

A puff of warm laughter hits your chest before sweaty hands grip your waist. “Always said I would.”

“But you never did,” you huff out, grinding on him harder and melting at his little sounds. One thing you will keep giving this man credit for: he isn’t ashamed to be just as vocal as you are. The more people you ended up meeting? The rarer and rarer you realized that bedroom quality was. 

“I did eventually,” he grits, holding you in place and surging into you so hard you yelp to the stars. “Didn’t I.”

“Fuck you,” you bite, moaning when your argument dies the moment his tongue swirls around a nipple again. What’s left comes out a garbled mess of a groan, and you hate, hate, hate the dark chuckle against your breast. Partly because he’s a constant problem, and partly because you yearn to see his smile again. 

“What else is new about you,” Yoongi suddenly rasps, hands lowering to rest on your hips as you ride him. “Aside from clearly getting better at this.”

Lost in lust and surprised at his question, you finally peer down to see him looking up already. “No thanks to you.”

And your world stills as he doesn’t respond right away, any hint of sunlight fading from his features. “No thanks to me,” he slowly agrees. 

Fuck. You didn’t mean to do that. 

Slowly slipping hands from his body, you rise from his length and mourn the disconnect before standing. When Yoongi only regards you with eyes on fire, you slowly turn and rest on his thighs. 

He’s not gonna like this. But he asked.

You turn your head before slowly sliding one side of your dress completely down, revealing a rough scar on your back a little lower than your shoulder.

And your soul immediately clenches when Yoongi heats your back with his body heat. “The fuck?” His fingers feel so light, so protective as they caress your mark. It’s confusing, and you abhor it as much as you need it. “What happened?”

“I fell,” you whisper. “Pretty hard.” 

Details of how and when it happened don’t matter. But he wanted to know what was new, and the scar on your heart isn’t exactly readily available to show. 

“I did, too.” 

What? At his voice over your shoulder, you strain your neck to see him. “When?”

Why is he kissing your scar? Exes don’t do that. Exes don’t do anything you’re doing right now. 

“Before you left.”

Now you feel worse. When the hell did that happen? Why didn’t you know about it? “Sorry,” you breathe out with sorrow. “I didn’t know.”

Another slow, calm graze of his mouth tightens your throat. Because he’s since moved across your back, lips now touching where your shoulderblade hit the wall. 

“I know,” Yoongi sighs. “I never told you.” 

He never told you many things.

Stepping into dangerous territory is making you regret showing him your worst moment. So you shift your ass to push over his cock, feeling it throb against you when you wisp out the worst reminder, “We don’t have much time.”

“Mm.”

When you feel his hands shift your dress, you lift up and allow you both to effortlessly situate you back where you wanna be. Your back hits his chest as he guides himself up into your folds, and your head kicks back to lie across his shoulder like the red silk flowing over your thigh. 

“Just like you said,” you start to whisper, eyes already welling with oncoming regret, “One last time.” Every syllable just as melancholic as the notes of your favorite song. 

When Yoongi starts, your heart weeps at the pace. Because it reminds you of better times, sensuous and intentional and convincing you to confess all over again. It takes everything not to speak, your moans escaping in weak puffs and your hips swelling in a calm wave. 

This is too much. This is way too fucking much and you finally break when his name leaves you like a prayer. “Harder,” you beg. “Please, please go—”

You’re cut off as soon as his hips jolt up, flinging you to life before going at a menacing pace. Yes yes yes this is the one you need. The one you crave. The one that leaves no room for feelings and decisions. Your dress threatens to slip off your sides with each pound, slowly rolling and accentuating your chest in seconds. “Shit, holy shit!”

“Fuck, you’re so tight—”

“So fucking big—”

As if knowing exactly what you want, your arms are held back, locked into place as you’re under the absolute mercy of his dick slamming up into you over and over, skin slapping obscene and thighs burning from the stretch across his lap. 

Yoongi knows you better than anyone else. A frustrated growl tears from your lips as you arch so far back you connect clouds, and a strong forearm wraps across your stomach to pin you so fucking close you may as well mold right into him. Passion streaks down your limbs as sweat beads along your skin, the heady scent of sex and forbidden fruit swirling into your nose. 

More. More more more he’s giving you everything. As your arms are freed, you can only grip the other forearm slinging over your upper chest, nails digging into creamy skin and leaving angry, cherry red lines.

Words, praise, everything under the sun is being spewed onto your slick shoulders as you mash your teeth and eyes tight. You even hear a word you’ve been wanting to hear for years, but that can’t possibly be true because there’s no way Yoongi would ever—

A hand closes around your throat, and your eyes fly back into your head.

You’re so close. Fucking hell, your thighs are singing and your throat is burning and your abdomen strains from the arch but you need this release. You need this tidal wave to consume you. If only to forget for a split second that Yoongi isn’t—

“—yours.”

What?

Another fierce round of thrusts almost topples the two of you over, and white hot pressure paints the edges of your eyes as you strain for breath. You’re so close. So fucking close it’s right within reach.

But it all vanishes in a snap as Yoongi stops, and you cry with a teary rasp, “No, please, baby—”

“Not yet.” He hauls you up, making you sit straight and facing away yet again. “You know what to do.” 

Fuck. There’s no way he remembers this, too. You flinch at the slap to your breast before shakily getting up, legs wobbly but positioning yourself on his cock perfectly before sliding down. 

Both heels planted on the ground, you brace his strong knees and work his slick length, eyes rolling at his breathy groans and curses leaving his mouth in spurts. 

You know exactly what to do to make him lose his goddamn mind. So you do it all, swirling and swerving your hips while flicking off your silk, showing him the best view of your ass as it bounces. Your legs tire, but you don’t, and you use the music leaking into the room to set your sickening, aggravating pace. 

“Fuck, baby..”

“You asked for it.”

“Don’t regret a goddamn thing.” 

You can tell he’s on the brink of madness, and you can only picture the way his head thumps back on the couch, mouth torn by his teeth and brows furrowed to hell. His muscles are probably contracting in waves, including the ones in his perfect, bulging arms. 

“You shouldn’t,” you hum. “Since this is all you get.” 

Without a word, hands reach out and tug you backward, and you’re up on your feet and tripping before your hands slap the firm cushions of the next chair over. “What the fu—”

To your absolute delight, Yoongi plants a foot on the chair before gripping the pliant dip of your hips, pushing tears from your eyes with each quick, deep thrust he rams forward. Stars dance along your vision as drool leaks endlessly from your mouth. “Baby—! Fuck!”

“This pussy’s so.. Fuck.” You’re shoved so far down that your moist cheek smushes into firm cushion. “Say my name.”

“Babe—”

“As much as I wanna hear that every fucking day”—Yoongi shoves into you again and keeps his cock thrumming inside your cunt—“Right now, I’m gonna hear my name. So say it.”

“Yoongi—”

His deep, gritted command makes you snap, “Louder.”

“Yoongi—!” 

You feel it. You’re at the brink again. With every snap of his skin pounding against yours, you’re inching closer and closer and closer to the edge, waiting for the fall that will end you. “Baby, I’m gonna—”

Firm arms haul you upward and you’re both travelling the room again, legs skittering until you hit back first into the nearest wall fuck that took your breath out.

Yoongi’s breath catches as he slams a hand against the plaster to steady, face burrowed in your neck and hair brushing harsh against your ear as he buries inside of you again. Fire spews from his mouth as you feel his cock squeeze up into your cunt, and his arm tenses tight behind your knee as he commands,

“Come for me, love.”

You don’t know what the fuck you just heard but you know he didn’t just say—

“I said come.”

Instinct. Pure, animalistic instinct surges your orgasm forward in a high crest, breaking onto shore in hot, white waves as you tremble around him. Your cunt squeezes and tugs, your poor leg threatening collapse as Yoongi roughly hums so deep against your chest. Pleasure, starlight, the warmth of an afternoon faraway heats your body just right, and one crash leads into the next so effortlessly that tears zip down your cheeks.

Your name rips from Yoongi’s throat. 

And it’s enough to send you right over the edge again.

How the fuck is this possible how the hell can someone break you with your own name how can Yoongi have this much of a hold on you when it’s been literal years? It doesn’t make any sense and the cries into his neck as he holds you close are akin to sobs. Maybe they are. Maybe they’re your way of mourning everything that could’ve been. Everything that will never be. 

But at least you were able to have him, shaking in your grasp and pulsing in your core. One more night. One last time. 

“Fuck it, come here.” 

Your sobs are yanked from the wall again, and you don’t know up from left as you're thrown onto a sofa, back curling as Yoongi tugs your head upright. Your tears slide down your neck, wetting your necklace as he breathes out, 

“Again.” 

Fuck! Your cunt tightens around him as you gasp out, “I can’t… I can’t—”

“Don’t lie to me,” Yoongi growls, clutching your chin and flinging hot spit onto your face that catapults you into another level of need you’ve never been to holy fuck. Smothering it against your cheeks, he taps you once and it brings destruction. “I said again.” 

All your limbs lock at the bends as you throw your head in a strained cry, a release that overpowers all the others flushing through your veins and igniting beams out of your sweaty chest. Wave upon wave crashes into your soul and your ears ring so loud you can barely hear or see Yoongi watching from above. You can’t. You’re too caught in chaos. You can’t see the way he looks at you. 

“Come for me, Yoongi,” you suddenly plead, “Let go.”

“Let me pull—”

“Do it now,” you hitch out. “Come inside.”

A prolonged moan leaves his mouth as he launches into a pace that has you screaming, teeth gritted to hell and fingers gripping you so hard you know they’re going to bruise. But who cares when your skin will match your heart? Who gives a fuck about anything else anymore?

Beautiful weight crushes your chest as Yoongi’s body turns erratic, jolting and seizing up. And you know he’s racing to his own cliff to dive and you’re gonna be right there to catch him. Slinging your arms around his drenched back and fisting the wet base of his hair, you’re already ready and waiting with harsh harsh breaths, because you're about to break him.

“That’s it, baby,” you whisper to his ear, ravaging his slick neck with your lips and scraping teeth over his ear just how he likes, hearts beating as one when you stop just to connect your forehead to his. With a singular, throaty gasp, you plead,

“One last time.”

Yoongi’s sudden release sends a pulse through the air, and your core beats and beats with each pump of essence he spews inside. Heaven and earth collide with stars as you hold tight, and your thighs shake as he finishes filling you with the longest orgasm you have ever, ever seen him endure. 

The float down doesn’t come quick, both of you softly suspended in time and air. Steam radiates from your skin and flows from your mouths with each breath, and beads of sweat slip down his jewelry as he stares with a deep vastness in his eyes. 

Why is he so quiet? 

Why are you so quiet? 

Why do you feel like crying again? 

With one more shaken breath, Yoongi swallows, chest heaving right after as he struggles to gather himself. His shoulders are so broad when he moves under your hands, closing his eyes as soon as your brows touch,

“I know it’s over.”

Your heart flares.

“But I need you to know.”

Stars light the night sky.

“I love you. And I always will.”

A sob breaks your silence, hand flying to cup your mouth before you hunch forward into his trembling chest. Days and days of pent up anger and sadness spill out all at once, and you weep into his chest because you can’t bear to let go. 

“I know you’ve moved on,” Yoongi continues with a shake to his words, not pausing at the way you choke and weep. “But I’ve regretted never saying it back then. And I’m not gonna get another chance.”

What the fuck is happening. What does he mean? What does he mean? Your body can’t stop as it locks and locks, sobs wracking your chest because this is fucked up and confusing and everything you’ve been wanting for the longest time. This is all you wanted. And you only get it at the very end. 

“I didn’t even say goodbye,” you shake out. When you lift your trembling head, his lips are already so achingly close to yours and his hand moves to steady your neck. “I left and never came back.”

When his eyes are the only ones that speak, you start to spill everything out, words tumbling into one another and pinging to the floors around your tired feet,

“I tried so hard to forget you. Tried so, so hard to stop loving you. Every day, I’d wake up wanting nothing to do with you, only to see you in my dreams and remember how it felt to—to—” 

Bright red flares across Yoongi’s eyes as he keeps listening, jaw pulsing and brows so tense. 

“At first, I was so angry. At you, at myself, at the world for letting me love you when you never loved me back. But now, I know what I did was wrong. And I regret it every day that I live.” 

When your face contorts in sorrow, Yoongi brings a hand up to wipe your cheek, thumb brushing away your tears. “I did, babe.” Your breath stops and your eyes splay wide. “Just never had the guts to say it first.” 

First. 

Yoongi loved you all the way back then? Before that starry night that’s kept your heart captive for so long? It pulses against your chest, ramming and ramming into your ribcage to get to his. 

Only one question barrels through your mind. “…Why?”

Yoongi looks from one eye to the next. “Because I didn’t think I deserved to.”

Everything clicks into place and you suddenly feel so, so upset. You are going to fight this man to the moon and back. Or, better yet, you’re gonna fight him to the moon and leave him there. “You think I thought that way?”

“No.” He sighs, chains shaking over your chest. “And I replay that night over, and over. Knowing that I’d do anything to go back and tell you how I felt.” 

Yoongi never lived in the past. He was always adamant about staying in the present. So knowing he’d been stuck there right next to you makes your chest collapse before slipping down into the deep sea. 

“When I saw you today? Every day I told myself I’d get over you didn’t matter. Every reason I told myself I couldn’t be with you was bullshit.” 

Your throat constricts again.

“But when you kept running.. I knew you were done with me for good.” Yoongi’s hand falls. “And there was nothing I could do to change your mind.”

“Yoongi…”

All this time, you both had your own reasons for avoiding each other. Everything you fed into your logical side was just a ploy to project your feelings, and it turns out Yoongi did the exact same thing. 

He said he wouldn’t be able to hold back if you did this tonight. And now, you’re blessed to know exactly what he meant. 

So you also let everything go. 

“I was never done with you,” you choke out, seeing a swath of emotion brush across his face. “Because I’m still in love with you, and I will be even if you walk out of here without me.”

Musk and heaven consumes you in a hug, and you cry into a bare shoulder as you hear Yoongi vow something so full of longing and conviction you hold him tighter, 

“I’m not going anywhere else without you.” 

Music continues to pulse outside, lasers continue to dance around the room. But you see nothing but the light in your lover's eyes. 

And it’s a beautiful, beautiful sunrise. 

—

—

When you both finally part, it’s only to let him get dressed and for you to use the nearest restroom. In the quiet wake of your emotional storm, Yoongi walks you to the window spanning the far wall of the lounge, and you both watch the club floors move and sway from above. And it’s only now that you feel shy. It’s only now that you feel nervous seeing everyone below. 

But a thought occurs to you that dashes all others away, 

“How did you know to come up here?” 

Yoongi gives you a look that you raise a brow at. “I…” He sighs. “Let’s just say I know my way around this place.”

Ah. Of course. “Come here often?”

“Not for the reasons you think.”

Your brows are fully bent now. “…Huh?”

“I own the building.” Hands busy, he adjusts his jersey as if he didn’t drop the biggest shock of the century on your toes. “And a couple others in the city.”

What. 

Pause pause pause hold the fucking phone. 

Yoongi lives in this city? He owns what? This is a little too much to take in, but you have time. And you’re gonna hound him for every single detail of his life that you’ve missed. 

You have time. Your prayer had been answered tenfold. And you send endless gratitude to the sky. 

But suddenly, a second realization pierces your mind and you lightly shove him. When Yoongi looks at you in shock, you yell out, “You asked what’s new and I showed you a scar! Now you tell me you own a fucking building?” 

Your lover laughs, and the sun rises even higher over your horizon. Ducking your next swipe, he’s already back to irritating you again as he clarifies, “I said more than one—”

“Oh, fuck you!” 

He rushes forward and gathers you in his arms, not caring if anyone sees your embrace in the window. “You wanna go again?” 

Your face heats as your eyes roll heavenward, exactly where you feel like you are in this moment. “I have a pretty big hotel room,” you divulge. “And no one to share that bedroom with unless someone else catches my eye tonight, so…”

Yoongi’s eyes crease as he kisses your forehead. “Fuck that. Take me home.” 

Your giggles into his chin bubble out in pink, poppable spheres. 

As magnificent and dreamlike all of this has been, you're starting to find logic again. Because more than one question badgers into your mind.

How long have you been gone? Have your friends not even checked on you? Did they try? Did they leave do they even still have the... table…

Wait.

Everything else clicks into place. 

The random city everyone flew to that Jeongguk picked. The infamous club and dress code you heard about from Taehyung. The table that Hoseok bragged about getting…

“...You're the one that got us VIP.” 

That stupid, annoying, ridiculous grin. Of course this is how you'd be reminded of how much you love to hate it.

“Now come dance with me,” he says with teeth still flashing wide. “Let’s see if you ever got that step.” 

Eyes sparkling, you let him lead you down and onto the dance floor, moving through until you’re suddenly next to your friends that shout and holler at your arrival together. 

“All of you are crazy!” You yell out, tears in your smile as they burst into laughter. “Why didn’t you just tell me!”

Yoongi grabs hold of you before chuckling into your ear. “I told them not to.” 

“Why?”

“Didn’t know if you were really done.” He grips you tight, face falling into seriousness. “But I heard you broke up with someone a month ago. This was my only chance and I took it.” 

Holy fucking shit.

“Thank you.” You kiss his cheek with purpose. “I love you.”

Yoongi’s cheeks rise high, dimples prominent and eyes carrying the light of the universe. Lips close, he responds how he wanted to the first time.

And you seal your devotion with a kiss full of starlight. 

“Ugh, here we go.”

“Already at it again, huh.”

"Figures. Didn't you see his jersey?"

“Get another room—!”

Suddenly, the same song that used to haunt you comes on once more, but this time, you welcome it with a swell of freedom in your chest. The waves of your mind calm, washing onto an empty beach and fading into a mesmerizing valley of blue.

Yoongi grins as he holds your hand, and you can't help but stretch your mouth wide as you both immerse into the crowd, moving and spinning and stepping perfectly together on every beat. Laughter and joy fills the space between your hearts as you all cheer, sharing this infinite moment together as fate intended.  

In a beautiful, unforgettable dance. 

-

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fin :)

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hi lovelies what did we think !! | main masterlist

a/n: so don't ask how i managed to write all of this in a single day (now two) lol i think this madrid yoongi broke me. anyways, here's the sidequest that became the main quest for a bit! i'm back to writing three tangerines so 3tan13 will be finished here real soon :D thank you all for reading and i hope you enjoyed this irresistible ex turned lover yoongiiiii :DD did i cry? yes. can you prove it? no!!!!

a/n 2: as always, reblogs and comments and asks are always super appreciated! i love sharing things with you guys and a big part of that is getting to hear what you all liked and what you're excited about. happy to chat, and thank you for reading!

++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here!

++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ fic playlist!

[hobigif-ficrecs]

ryen, oh my word. YOOOONGIIIIII

[sweetbabybear04]

MDNI

Yeosang X Fem reader

AN: I wrote this half awake, i'm so sorry if its trash but I needed to get this thought out of my head. Let me know if you want a full fic of this. I didn't grammar check it.

Yeosang, Your sweet, quiet, lovable boyfriend. The one who gets shy and blushes when you compliment him. The one who buys you flowers and holds your hand. The one is always the perfect gentleman, holding doors open and pushing in chairs. The one who currently has his bicep wrapped around your neck and is plowing into you from behind currently. 

One arm wrapped around your waist, the other flexing around your throat. The way his hips are snapping into your drooling cunt has you ascending. The feeling has your eyes rolling and toes curling. His rough moans so deep you can feel the vibrations deep against your back, and his balls smacking your clit roughly with every thrust. The hand that was around your waist slowly made its way to your clit. The sensation of his fingers on your clit, his bicep around your throat, and his cock drilling into you sent you over the edge. The feeling of you squeezing around him as you soaked him and sheets triggered his own orgasm, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself deep in you. This man would never let you forget what sit under the soft sweaters and sweet soft personality.

[joonie-joon]

NSFW CLIP. NO MINORS.

No because this is exactly how Wooyoung with play with your pussy. His bratty switch self talking filthy to you the whole time he did it. His long fingers completely expert at curving up inside of you just right. You squirt all over them as he playfully slaps your pretty cunt, laughing mischievously as he drives you crazy.

This guys tone of voice kinda sounds like him and his fingers look sooo similar??? Im drooling