Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
"You pin Jungkook down before he tears the world open, and still somehow Namjoon finds a way to make you the problem. Maybe that’s why your hands shake later—because you know he’s right, and because you wish he wasn’t."
next | index | masterlist | taglist request
↦author's note : Omg omg omg omg omg guys I am so beyond excited about this AU (｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )ゝ Like—aliens, sci-fi, heat cycles, found family?? I feel like my brain has been replaced by a glowing data core and honestly? Worth it. I’ve been living for this universe because it’s all the things I love writing most: psychological messes, biological disasters, and people trying to love each other through both.
Something I adore doing every single time is building the members into completely different people. Because at the end of the day, my versions of them are characters—fictional constructs shaped by worldbuilding and narrative, not reflections of the real BTS members. They just wear their faces so I can emotionally devastate everyone (myself included). So what if Jungkook is a soft, overpowered eager baby in 25H, and here he’s an impulsive, feral, no-thoughts-just-murder menace from the Veyran hoods? Who’s gonna stop me? Exactly (￣ヘ￣;)ゞ
Before we dive in, a quick but very important clarification: everyone in this fic is an adult. Like, fully, completely, canonically an adult. I’m deliberately not specifying ages because they’re not human, so what would be 21, 23, or 25 for us might translate to 56, 59, or 63 for them depending on Veyran biology—and basically I don’t want you guys imagining them as grandpas/grandmas either. I just want to make it crystal clear that nobody in this story is a minor. Jungkook being called kid or rascal is strictly a dynamic thing—he’s younger than Y/N and Namjoon, yes, but he’s absolutely an adult. I would never, ever write or describe anything involving heat cycles or sexual tension for someone who isn’t. Loudly and clearly, for the people in the back: everyone here is grown!!!!!
Now!! I loved presenting Jungkook’s character this chapter because he’s so ugh, he’s so little-brother-coded but also terrifyingly competent, and it let me finally show how combat and arousal are linked in Veyrah physiology so you can all brace yourselves for what’s coming. That whole talk between Namjoon and Y/N (and yes, I’m still saying Y/N because I’m not spoiling the nickname yet!!) about pheromones and violence and lust?? Yeah. YEAAAAAAAAH. Trust two people to scream “I would never fuck you” / “the feeling is mutual,” only for them to absolutely, undeniably, catastrophically prove otherwise later. It’s my favorite trope and I will never apologize. If you have complaints, you can forward them to my cats—they’re busy ladies and will ignore you anyway (￣ω￣;)
Also Niphyno. AHHHHHHHHHHHH. I am so excited about her and her dynamic with Y/N. Complicated sister relationships are my kryptonite. She’s totally inspired by Natasha and Yelena because I am, at my core, a Marvel fan. And Jungkook gives me strong Drax vibes (yes, MCU Drax) and I won’t elaborate—you’ll see eventually (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)
I’m so so so so so excited to keep revealing the rest of this mess of a family, to show how they all collide, and to watch these two disaster entities spiral into unbearable tension. I am not normal about any of them and I don’t plan to be. Anyway—enjoy, my loves!! Hug your local Niphyno, stab your nearest Namjoon, and pray to the storms you make it through this fic. Mwah mwah <3
Don't forget to reblog, like and comment!
The cylinder in Jungkook’s hand clicks, and you know you’re fucked.
Not because he’s fast—though he is, faster than anyone has a right to be with that much rage pumping through his veins.
But because the moment he spots Namjoon standing behind you, every tactical lesson you ever beat into his thick skull evaporates like steam.
You know because of the telltale—the red that bleeds into his irises like neon ink dropped in water. Swirls, spreads, fills the entire space until his eyes glow with that eerie bioluminescent shine you can see in the dark.
Two curved blades swing outward from opposite ends of the cylinder, locking into place with a sound like breaking bones—twin crescents gleaming under the clinic’s sterile lighting.
Double-ended death stick.
Of course that’s what the punk brought to a medical facility.
“Jungkook, don’t—”
He’s already moving.
The lunge comes low and vicious, angled toward Namjoon’s ribs in such precise way it would make you proud if it weren’t about to fuck everything sideways.
But you trained this psycho. You know his tells.
The slight shift of weight to his right foot. The way his left shoulder drops a fraction of an inch before he commits to the strike.
You pivot, rotary kick connecting with his forearm just as the blade reaches its target. The impact jolts through your leg, redirecting his momentum enough that steel slices air instead of flesh.
“What the fuck—” Jungkook snarls.
But his eyes don’t even register you—they’re locked on Namjoon like a targeting system that’s found its mark.
“Kook, stop.”
He doesn’t stop.
Instead he sweeps low, trying to take your legs out so he can get past you. The move is something you drilled into him during those brutal training sessions in Hollow Crest’s abandoned sectors.
You jump, boots clearing his leg by inches, and land in his path as he rolls forward.
He somersaults forward, using the momentum to close distance, and you’re already there. Blocking. Obstructing. Putting your body between him and his target.
The blade comes at you sideways. Not trying to kill you. Just trying to move you out of the way so he can gut to what he actually wants to gut.
You catch the cylinder shaft with both hands, twist, use his weight against him to wrench the weapon from his grip. Finally manage to redirect it towards his throat.
Jungkook’s eyes finally snap to yours, wild and furious and completely fucking unhinged.
The red glow doesn’t dim. But the immediate threat—that feral, unthinking violence—drops by a factor of ten.
“Why’re you stoppin’ me?” he growls, voice rough with rage.
The blade hovers inches from his carotid, so close to skin it could part if you applied pressure.
“I’m gonna need you to calm down.”
“Why. Is. He. Here.” Each word trembles furiously past his lips.
You feel it then—the combat pheromones flooding the air. Jungkook’s body pumping out aggression markers like a broken emergency beacon.
“He’s here because we’re both bleeding and Mira’s the only medic in Hollow Crest who won’t report us to Consortium security.”
“Don’t give a shit why he’s here,” Jungkook spits. “I give a shit ‘bout guttin’ him like the fuckin’ pig he is.”
“Kook—”
“No.” He jerks against your hold, testing the blade’s proximity to his throat. “You don’t get to ‘Kook’ me. Not ‘bout this. Not ‘bout him.”
The way he says ’him’ makes your stomach clench.
Like Namjoon isn’t even Veyran. Like he’s something that needs to be put down.
Which, to be fair, isn’t entirely wrong.
“Listen to me—”
“Fuck listenin’.” Jungkook’s muscles coil, preparing for another attack. “I’m done listenin’. I’m done waitin’. I’m done watchin’ people I give a shit about disappear into Consortium death machines while I sit ‘round playin’ nice.”
“You think I’m playing nice?”
“I think you’re standing between me and the architect of systematic murder when you should be helpin’ me turn him into fuckin’ seed dust.”
Your grip tightens on the weapon. “And I think you’re about to get us all killed because you can’t think past your anger.”
“Good. ‘Bout time someone got killed.”
He moves again—not toward Namjoon this time, but away from you. Quick sidestep that forces you to choose between maintaining weapon control and maintaining position.
You choose position.
The blade slips from his throat as you shift, just enough space for him to surge forward. His elbow snaps up, breaking your grip, and the cylinder wrenches free into his hand. He spins it once, twin edges flashing, until one gleams squarely at Namjoon.
“Jungkook, stop.”
“You’ll have to stop me.”
He feints left, then bolts right, ducking behind the clinic’s examination table.
You don’t follow—you launch, boots slamming onto the metal top before you vault clean over, dropping between him and Namjoon again.
The kid’s good. Too good.
All that rage sharpening his reflexes, turning him into something feral and deadly and completely beyond reason.
“He took you,” Jungkook snarls, frustrated with your blocks. “He fuckin’ took you and now you’re gonna die just like everyone else and I’m fuckin’—I’m so fuckin’ done with this shit!”
“Jungkook, I’m not dead yet.”
“Yet bein’ the operative fuckin’ word.” His voice cracks on the last syllable. “Sixty days, right? Sixty days ‘til one of you don’t walk away. And we both know it ain’t gonna be him.”
The pain in his voice hits harder than his fists would.
Because he’s not wrong.
The Algorithm chooses survival based on criteria only Namjoon understands. The odds of you walking away from Transference are probably shit.
But that doesn’t mean you’re giving up.
“So what’s your brilliant plan?” you ask, watching his footwork. “Kill him here? In Mira’s clinic? With Consortium security crawling all over Hollow Crest looking for exactly this kind of disruption?”
“I don’t care about—”
“I care, you dipshit.” The words come out sharp but low, between gritted teeth because you’re not giving Namjoon the pleasure of eavesdropping. “I care about Mira getting disappeared because she harbored rebels. I care about you getting executed for assassinating a Consortium Commander. I care about—”
“No!” He shakes his head, blade trembling. “No, I ain’t listening. I’m gonna gut him. Right here. Right now. And you’re gonna let me, oi? You’re gonna step aside and let me do what shoulda been done years ago—”
“Jungkook, you need to think.” You swallow hard. “I’m trying to keep you alive long enough to think past the next five seconds.”
“Don’t wanna think.” His voice drops to something raw—something that reminds you of the kid you found half-dead in Mournwell’s labor camps. “Wanna kill.”
“I know.”
“So let me.”
“Can’t.”
His next swallow chokes out, all that fury cracking to reveal something raw and ugly.
And so, so real.
“He’s the reason thousands’re dead,” he continues, gesturing toward Namjoon with the blade. “He’s the reason my parents got matched and fed into his fucking Algorithm. He’s the reason every person I’ve ever given a shit ‘bout either dies or disappears or—”
“Or gets captured and turned into lab rats for proximity monitoring,” you finish quietly.
“Yeah. Exactly.” His grip adjusts on the weapon. “So why the fuck’re you protecting him?”
“I’m not protecting him. I’m protecting you.”
“From what?”
“From making a mistake that gets everyone we care about killed.”
Jungkook laughs, sharp and bitter. “Everyone we give a shit about’s already dead. Or dyin’. Or ’bout to be.”
He moves.
Twists out of your grip with that vicious flexibility you taught him, drops low, sweeps for your ankles while simultaneously swinging the blades.
You sidestep. Obvious. Predictable.
He expected that. Uses the momentum to spin, comes up with the cylinder, already pointing at Namjoon again.
You catch his wrist. Redirect. Your boot finds his knee, not hard enough to break but enough to buckle, and he drops.
Comes up swinging.
“Stop—”
“No! He needs to die. He needs to—”
“Jungkook, for fuck’s sake! Calm down and listen to me very closely.”
“Fuck listenin’.”
“Fuck dying,” you counter.
“Nah, actually he needa die. He’s got everyone murdered, he’s—”
“Standing right here,” Namjoon says quietly.
Both you and Jungkook turn to look at him.
He’s still bleeding, holding gauze pressed to his forearm where you bit him, blood trickling down his wrist in thin rivulets.
But his posture remains perfect. His expression unchanged.
Like watching two rebels plan his assassination is just another item on his daily schedule.
“If you’re going to discuss my elimination,” he continues in that same tone, “perhaps efficiency would be served by including me in the tactical planning.”
The sheer audacity of it makes you want to laugh.
Or scream.
Or put a blade through his throat yourself.
“You think this shit’s funny?” Jungkook snarls, trying to fight against your grip.
“I think it’s inevitable,” Namjoon replies. “Someone will attempt to kill me before the sixty days expire. Logical tactical choice. My death eliminates the Transference requirement and preserves your operational asset.”
Your operational asset.
Like you’re equipment instead of a person.
“The question,” he continues, “is whether the attempt will be competent or merely enthusiastic.”
Jungkook lunges forward, or tries to.
You slam your hand against the knuckles of his right hand—scarred, fighting-hardened, perfect pressure point—and flood his system with enough neural static to make his knees buckle.
He gasps. Drops. The weapon clatters against concrete.
“Enthusiastic, apparently,” Namjoon observes.
You’re about to scream at him when the door slides open and Mira appears in the doorway, medical tablet in hand, freezing in motion.
She takes in the scene: you holding Jungkook down with one hand on one of his triplet markers, Namjoon bleeding quietly in the corner like this is all perfectly normal.
The tablet slips from her fingers. Bounces once against the floor, screen fracturing on impact.
“What,” she says slowly, “the absolute fuck is happening in my clinic?“
“Mira,” you call out to her, voice tight, "I'm gonna need a suppressant.”
Mira’s eyes widen.
She knows. Of course she knows.
One look at Jungkook—eyes still glowing red, breathing too fast, the way his chest rises and falls too fast, the combat pheromones flooding the air with that sharp, electric scent that makes your nose burn—and she’s already moving toward the cabinets.
“Don’t you dare,” Jungkook snarls, and the sound is wrong.
Too raw. Too desperate. Too wounded.
“Don’t you fucking DARE inject that shit into me.”
He tries to stand. You’re faster.
Your hand finds his shoulder, shoves him back down. He fights it—of course he does—twisting in your grip with that viciousness you taught him, and you have to move with him. Have to anticipate.
You catch his right arm, wrench it behind his back. Not enough to dislocate. Just enough to control.
He makes a sound like a pained animal.
Your other hand finds his left side, fingers pressing into the ribs where body armor usually sits. Another triplet marker. The second one.
The effect is immediate.
His whole body goes rigid. Locks up like someone cut the strings holding him together, and then—
Oh no.
The scent morphs—still that chemical signature of combat pheromones flooding the air, but there’s something else underneath now that’s warm and wrong and—
Arousal.
Pure, undiluted, biologically mandated arousal.
Bloodlust turning into actual lust.
The body’s desperate attempt to preserve the species after violence. Fight or fuck. Kill or claim.
And Jungkook just lost a fight, which means his system is screaming at him to submit, to find someone dominant, to—
“Fuck,” Jungkook gasps, and his voice breaks on the word. “Fuck, don’t—”
"Kook, you need to calm down—"
"NO!" He writhes against your hold, muscles straining. "I’m fine, I’m feelin’ fuckin’ fine. Amazing even, I just need to gut him open and watch his blood spill and I know that’ll make me feel even better so—don’t—don’t take that away from me—"
The desperation in his voice hits like a knife between ribs.
You press harder into the rib marker, trying to force him into submission. Trying to make him stop fighting long enough for Mira to—
He arches into the pressure.
Not away. Into.
“Kook—”
“Feels good,” he slurs, and the words come out thick. Giddy. Almost drunk. “Feels so—shit, it feels—”
Not pain—the opposite. Intense, overwhelming pleasure that short-circuits every rational thought.
"Fuuuuck," he moans, voice going high and desperate. "Oh fuck, that's—fuck, that feels extremely good—"
Your stomach twists into knots.
Because this is Jungkook. The kid who brings you salvaged chocolate bars when he finds them. Who falls asleep during briefings with his head on your shoulder.
And you're triggering sexual submission responses in his nervous system because it's the only way to keep him from going full murder frenzy in a medical clinic.
"I need—" he pants. "Need mo’—needa—gonna kill him so slow and then find someone to pin down and fuck raw until they beg for it—"
"Suppressant, now," you bark at Mira.
She's already loading the injector, hands steady despite the chaos.
"This dose will knock him out for hours," she warns.
"Good."
But Jungkook's beyond hearing. His pupils are blown wide, lost in the biological cocktail flooding his brain.
"Please," he whimpers, fighting between trying to escape your touch and pushing into it. "Please don't take this away—feels so fuckin’ good and it's been so long since anything felt good, please—"
The broken need in his voice fractures you.
Because you understand.
In this hellscape you call life, positive emotions are rare as clean water. Fear, anger, grief—those are the constants.
But actual pleasure? Actual chemical reward from fucked-up biology?
That's precious. That's worth fighting for.
Even when it's trying to turn you into a rutting animal.
"I know, Kook," you murmur, adjusting pressure on his triplet marker. "I know it feels amazing. But this isn't you."
"Is me," he slurs, another full-body shudder running through him. "This is what I am—killer and fucker and—and—oh god, right there, don't move—"
You close your eyes. Force yourself to maintain the pressure despite how wrong this feels.
"Gonna kill him, I swear, just—kill him, then—find the prettiest little thing and make them take my cock," he babbles, lost in rut fantasies. "Pin them down and breed them proper, make them scream while I—while I—"
The injector hisses against his neck.
Jungkook's rambling cuts off mid-sentence, frantic edge bleeding out of his voice.
"No," he mumbles, fighting the sedative. "No no no, was feelin’ s’good—first time in forever I felt anythin’ but empty and—"
"Shh," you whisper, finally releasing his triplet marker. "It's okay. You're okay."
"But I felt happy," he whispers, voice small and lost. "I felt fucking incredible and alive and—why can't I have that? Why does everything good have to be taken ‘way?"
Your throat goes tight.
Watching the suppressant drag him down, watching that manic glow fade from his eyes—it feels like stealing something precious.
"I'm sorry," you tell him as his breathing evens out. "I'm so fucking sorry."
He doesn't answer.
The sedative finally pulls him under, leaving him slack against the examination table.
The air still carries traces of combat pheromones and rut scent, making everyone slightly on edge.
Mira wipes sweat from her forehead. "That was close. Another few minutes and we'd have had a full rutting frenzy on our hands."
You step back, flexing your fingers.
They still tingle from the neural feedback of his triplet markers.
"How long since his last cycle?"
"Months, probably. Kid's been suppressing everything to stay functional." Mira checks his pulse, professional calm restored. "Combat pheromones hit suppressed systems like a tunnel cave-in. Body goes haywire tryin’ to process all that backed-up chemistry.”
"Will he be okay?"
"Physically? Stone-solid. Emotionally..." She shrugs. "That’s gonna be a deeper dig. He’s gonna wake up ashamed as hell. Probably won't look you in the eye for weeks."
Your stomach clenches. "I had to—"
"I know. You did what was necessary." Mira's voice is gentle. "Doesn't make it feel any better."
She sighs as she turns back where she came from, probably to get some equipment to treat you and Namjoon.
Speaking of the devil…
You turn around to glance at him.
He’s been watching this entire clusterfuck with those calculating eyes. Taking notes. Processing data. Learning exactly how rebels break down when their biology turns against them.
"Enjoying the show?" you ask, voice loaded with residual anger.
He doesn't flinch at your hostility. "Educational. I wasn't aware combat pheromones could trigger such rapid cycling in suppressed individuals."
"Good to know it was educational for you,” sarcasm drips from your lips.
"Indeed." His gaze shifts to Jungkook's unconscious form. "Though I must say—your attachment to him compromised your tactical response. Emotional consideration delayed optimal neutralization by approximately ninety seconds."
"Optimal neutralization," you repeat slowly.
"Immediate sedation would have been more efficient than attempting verbal de-escalation."
The clinical way he dissects what just happened makes you want to hit something.
Preferably his face.
"He's not a tactical problem to be neutralized," you snarl. "He's a person. A rascal who's been through too much shit and deserves better than—"
"He's a security risk whose biological responses created operational complications."
You step toward him, hands clenching into fists.
"You want to say that again?"
The air trembles.
Your own combat pheromones haven’t settled from the fight with Jungkook, still flooding your system, making your skin feel too tight, your pulse hammer against your throat.
The adrenaline crash should be hitting by now, but instead everything feels hypercharged. Raw.
Like you could tear through steel with your bare hands.
“I said he’s a security risk whose biological responses created operational complications,” Namjoon repeats, voice flat as winter stone. “Should I repeat myself a third time?”
You take another step forward, noticing the exact moment his pupils dilate.
“Listen here, you absolute piece of shit,” your voice trembles with rage. “That was not a fucking security risk, that was someone having a breakdown because your fucking system destroyed everything he cares about.”
“No. That was a predictable stress response that could have been managed more efficiently with immediate sedation.”
“Are you implying he’s a device that malfunctioned?”
“From a tactical standpoint, that assessment is accurate.”
Your vision goes red around the edges.
The urge to hit him builds like pressure behind your sternum. Every muscle coiled, ready to spring. Combat pheromones spiking higher, that sharp chemical tang flooding the air until you can taste it on your tongue.
But underneath that familiar scent of violence and adrenaline, you detect something else.
Something warm. Subtle.
Like hot chocolate on a winter morning. Steam rising from a mug, sweetness cutting through bitter cold.
What the fuck?
You blink, trying to place it.
The scent doesn’t belong here—not in this sterile clinic, not with the reek of blood and antiseptic and Jungkook’s leftover rut-pheromones.
But it’s there. Faint but unmistakable.
“You’re exhibiting elevated combat pheromone levels following your physical altercation,” his voice snags your attention back. “Those levels haven’t decreased despite the resolution of the conflict.”
“So?”
"So unless you want to experience the same biological cascade your associate just underwent, I suggest you back off."
"The same—" You stare at him. "What the fuck are you implying?"
"Your last documented cycle was forty-three days ago according to Consortium medical records. Well within standard suppression range."
The casual invasion of privacy makes you want to gouge his eyes out. "You pulled my medical files?"
"Standard procedure for matched pairs." His voice remains level. "Your combat pheromones haven't decreased despite conflict resolution. At our compatibility percentage, that creates... complications."
You know exactly what he means.
Every kid in Veyrah learns it during basic biology—how combat and arousal share neural pathways in adapted Veyran physiology. How hatred and desire light up identical brain regions. How arousal gets redirected towards the person most compatible with you.
Fighting is foreplay if you let it be. Everyone knows that.
"One hundred percent compatibility is unprecedented," he continues, and something in his tone makes you pause. "No documented cases exist for behavioral modeling."
"Why are you still talking?"
"Historical data from ninety-six percent matches shows a ninety-three percent coupling rate during combat-triggered arousal states. Extrapolating upward—"
"We're not a fucking spreadsheet."
"We're exactly that. The Algorithm doesn't create compatibility—it reveals what already exists." He tilts his head, studying you. "You understand the implications, yet you continue engaging."
You know what staying here means, what letting your combat pheromones spike means.
You know that every second you spend wanting to tear his throat out is simultaneously making your body recognize him as—
No.
"Go fuck yourself," you snarl.
"Engaging in sustained aggressive behavior toward a perfect genetic match is essentially voluntary foreplay," he states. "You know this. Yet you escalate. Which suggests you either want the consequence or you don't care about it."
The condescending tilt makes you want to throttle him.
"You think I'm trying to fuck you," you say flatly, and the words feel like acid in your mouth.
"I think your endocrine system doesn't distinguish cleanly between kill and claim when a match is perfect." His gaze never moves from your face. "You're not presently aroused by me. You're aroused by stimulus and aftermath and I’m the most compatible body in your radius. If you continue to test me physically, your body will interpret it as escalation toward coupling because that is what the biology is designed to do in a Third State arc."
"Stop talking."
"Back up."
You don’t.
You reach for the collar of his shirt, slam him against the wall behind him.
"I fucking hate you, do you get that? I don't want you. I don't want this. I would rather feed myself to the Spiral than touch you for anything other than harm."
"Believe me, the feeling is symmetrical. You are intolerable. You are also necessary. Both things can be true. But it does not change the fact that hatred at this intensity with our compatibility percentage—"
"Will make me want to gut you! Period. End of fucking story." You spit out, your eyes darting between his pupils. "Not everyone's a walking libido during combat, fucker. Some of us have actual self-control."
"Self-control." He repeats it like he's tasting the words. "Is that what you call this?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You've tilted your head to expose your throat twice during this conversation."
Your hand flies to your neck. "Bullshit."
"You've also stepped closer six times while claiming you want distance. Your pupils dilate every time I speak. Your breathing—"
"Shut the fuck up."
He does, but his eyes say everything.
Dark violet and steady and so fucking certain it makes you want to scream.
"Here's what you're not getting," you hiss. "I choose violence. Always. And just because my body might get confused about what kind of violence doesn't mean my brain does."
"Your brain doesn't control your biochemistry."
"My brain controls my choices. And I choose to break your fucking nose before I'd ever—"
"Ever what?"
The way he asks it—quiet, almost curious—makes something hot and vicious curl in your stomach.
"Before I’d ever fuck you."
His lip curls at that. “You’re saturated with combat pheromones. You're maintaining proximity to the only viable genetic match in range. At our compatibility percentage, even this conversation is flooding your system with arousal markers whether you acknowledge them or not."
Each word is perfectly calibrated to piss you off.
Which means more combat pheromones.
Which means—
Fuck.
"You're doing this on purpose," you realize, letting go of his collar.
He adjusts it. "Doing what?"
"Baiting me. Making me angry so my body—" You cut yourself off. "You manipulative piece of shit."
"I'm being diagnostically accurate."
"You're being a fucking asshole who thinks he can make me—"
"I'm not making you do anything." His voice drops lower. "Every aggressive action you take is voluntary. You could leave. You could create distance. You choose not to."
The truth of it makes you want to hit something.
Preferably his face.
"Maybe I want to piss you off," you snap.
"Maybe you want something else."
Condescending prick.
“You get off on this, don’t you?” The words tumble out before you can stop them. “Being all stupidly condescending.”
His eyebrows rise slightly. “Getting off? I am not watching you get naked right now.”
Your eyes widen. Heat flames across your cheeks, spreading down your throat.
“That’s not what I—why would you—” You sputter, whipping around to check who’s near to have heard this—but Mira is not present.
Still. Details matter.
“I was not naked!”
“I fail to understand your accusation.”
“You know exactly what I meant!”
“You inquired whether I derive pleasure from literal interpretation of data. I clarified that I am not currently observing you in a state of undress, which was your previous definition of the phrase.”
Right.
The fucking preparation chamber incident when he allegedly had to monitor you changing for ‘safety purposes’.
Holy fucking storms, how literal can this piece of shit be?
“That’s not what get off means, you absolute—”
“Then clarify.”
"It means—" You stop, realizing you're about to explain orgasms to a man who probably approaches climax like a mathematical proof. "It means deriving sexual pleasure from something. Anything. It means climaxing."
"Ah." Something shifts in his expression. "I see."
The clinical way he processes it makes you want to strangle him.
"Do you? Do you really?"
"Sexual gratification through psychological dominance." He pauses, considering. "An interesting correlation to examine."
"You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Turning everything into data."
"Data is reliable." He leans infinitesimally closer—enough to prove he can, not enough to invade your space. Calculated bait. "Unlike voluntary combat responses from someone who claims to want distance."
"I don't want distance. I want you dead."
"Death requires proximity. As does killing. As does—"
"Don't."
“So step back.”
A slight curve touches the corner of his lip.
"Unless you want to get off."
The way he lands it—clean, almost polite—makes something snap.
You move without thinking. Fist bunched in his jacket collar, using momentum to connect his spine with the wall. The impact pushes air from his lungs in a soft rush that's more temperature than sound.
Your forearm bars across his collarbone, pinning him against peeling paint and water-stained drywall. His head tilts against the wall, throat exposed just enough to make you notice the pale column of it.
Not a submission. A calculation.
"You do not get to say that to me," you hiss, leaning your weight forward—not enough pressure to choke, just enough to remind him you could. "You don't get to weaponize slang and biology like you're doing me a favor."
His lashes lower just a fraction, a slow blink that reads like a long calculation coming up true.
And then, finally, he gives you something new.
Voice lower, still precise, edged with a private. "I am being precise with language. Precision is a requirement of Valis Core conditioning."
"You're being a smartass."
"I tend toward literalism. I’m Valiskan. It’s in our DNA." His pulse beats steady under your forearm—too steady for someone supposedly threatened. "You use slang. I am bound to decode and test it."
You hate that he makes sense.
You hate that his mouth almost twitches at his own wordplay.
You hate that your pulse spiked at hearing him say 'get off.'
You hate that you can taste winter chocolate at the edges of his cold.
"Listen carefully," you hiss, pressing harder until his collar digs into his throat. "I don't care about your theories. I don't care about your assessments. And I sure as hell don't care about your precision with language."
"Understood."
"Is it? Because you keep talking like I'm some fucking piece of code you can break."
His lips curve into the filthiest smile you've ever seen.
"Aren't you? A cipher."
The word hits like ice against heated skin.
"The fuck did you just call me?"
"Cipher."
He says it again, slower. Like he's tasting it. Like it belongs in his mouth.
Like a name that fits better than your own.
Something violent and hot floods through you.
You twist your grip on his jacket, using his momentary smugness against him. Your knee drives up toward his ribs—not to injure, just to fold him forward. When he instinctively contracts to protect his core, you take it as an advantage to spin him away from the wall.
Three steps. That's all it takes to drive him backward across Mira's clinic.
One of the examination tables catches him at the hips. Metal instruments scatter as he hits—scalpels, forceps, a bone saw that clatters to the floor. Your hand finds a surgical probe from the displaced tools, the sharp end gleaming.
You pin it next to his throat, close enough that he'd nick himself if he swallowed too hard.
"Don't you fucking dare give me a nickname," you start.
But he's smiling.
Actually smiling, looking down at you with eyes half-lidded like you've done something delightful instead of threatening.
The surgical probe between you might as well be foreplay for how fucking unbothered he looks.
"You're a code I need to figure out," he says softly, ignoring the sharp metal near his carotid. "And I'm not the architect of the Epitaph system for nothing."
The casual arrogance makes you want to press the probe deeper, watch him bleed just a little. Just enough to wipe that satisfaction off his face.
"I could puncture your jugular right now."
"You could try."
"I could succeed."
"Unlikely. But the attempt would be... illuminating."
"What the hell is wrong with you two? I swear to the storms, I leave for one second…”
Mira's voice cuts through like a blade.
Both of you turn toward her, and you realize how this must look—you pinning him while combat pheromones flood the air with aggression and arousal.
"Separate," she says, horror creeping into her voice. "And somebody explain why I walked into my own clinic to hear 'get naked' and 'get off' in the same damn conversation."
You shove away from him like he burned you. He rolls his shoulders once, smooth, unfazed.
"He's twisting slang," you snap at Mira, heat licking at your face. "Like a smug little—"
"I used it correctly," Namjoon says, maddeningly bland. "Different context than earlier."
Mira gives you a look that says 'not here, not like this.' Her hands move—injector, nasal chemoscrub, filter tabs.
"Both of you, over here. Now. You're spiking off each other like idiots. I can run a dampener sweep before this caves in on us again."
You want to argue. Want to tell Mira to fuck off with her dampeners and let you handle this yourself.
But your lip is split and your ribs ache from when he slammed you into the wall in the vehicle and the adrenaline crash is finally hitting, making your hands shake just enough to be noticeable.
Though worst of all is that fucking scent—winter storm mixed with something warm and sweet—that still curls around your hindbrain like smoke.
“Fine,” you mutter, dropping onto the examination table beside Jungkook’s unconscious form.
Mira moves immediately. Antiseptic wipe across your lip, cold and sharp enough to make you hiss.
“Hold still.”
The dermabond feels like liquid fire as she seals the cut. You dig your nails into your palms to keep from flinching.
“Ribs next. Shirt up.”
You hesitate, glancing toward Namjoon. He’s standing exactly where you left him, watching with those eerily violet eyes.
“Turn around,” you tell him.
“No.”
“I’m not—”
“Medical assessment requires visual confirmation of injury severity,” he says in that default tone.
Heat flames across your cheeks. The fucking audacity—
“Turn around,” Mira says quietly.
Namjoon blinks, hesitates for a second, but finally turns. Smooth pivot, hands clasped behind his back, facing the wall.
“So when she says it, you listen?” The words rip out before you can stop them, voice climbing higher with disbelief and rage.
He glances over his shoulder, expression unchanged. “Dr. Mira holds medical authority within this facility. You possessed no such authority during our previous encounter.”
“Dr. MIRAITH,” you snap, fury spiking white-hot. “For you. You don’t know her.”
“Apologies.” His tone doesn’t change. “Dr. Miraith.”
The formal correction makes it worse somehow. Like he’s just filed away another piece of data about proper protocol rather than acknowledging the basic fucking respect of using someone’s actual name.
“Lift the shirt,” Mira says quietly. “Let me see.”
You reluctantly turn your head towards the doctor, pulling the fabric up to just below your bra line, exposing the left side of your ribcage. Purple bruising blooms across pale skin—handprint-shaped where Namjoon’s fingers dug in during your fight in the transport.
“Fuck,” Mira breathes. “When did this happen?”
“Earlier.”
“How earlier?”
You glance at Namjoon.
“Transport incident,” you say finally.
Mira’s hands probe the bruising with gentle pressure. When she hits the worst spot, you can’t quite swallow the sharp intake of breath.
“Hairline fracture,” she diagnoses. “Maybe two. Nothing displaced, but you’re lucky you didn’t puncture a lung throwing yourself around like an idiot.”
She reaches for a dermal regenerator, the device humming to life with a soft blue glow.
“This’ll hurt for about thirty seconds, then you’ll feel better than you have in weeks.”
The regenerator’s field penetrates deep, heat spreading through damaged tissue as cellular repair accelerates. It feels like being burned from the inside out, then sudden, blessed relief as the pain fades to nothing.
“Better?”
You test a deep breath. No pain. No sharp spikes when you move.
He doesn’t move. “Unnecessary. The damage is superficial.”
“The damage is deep puncture wounds that are still actively bleeding,” Mira counters. “You want to explain to Consortium medical why you developed sepsis from untreated rebel bite wounds?”
You snort. “Rebel bite wounds. Make it sound like I’m some kind of animal.”
He turns around, and you catch the moment he starts rolling up his blood-stained sleeve.
The fabric peels away to reveal—
Fuck.
His forearms are… they’re actually kind of impressive, for someone who shouldn’t do more than scientific work.
Lean muscle definition running from wrist to elbow, veins standing out beneath pale skin like roadmaps.
You blink, dragging your gaze away.
Since when do you notice shit like that?
Since never. That’s when.
Must be the adrenaline crash making you weird.
“Are you not?” Namjoon asks mildly.
The casual insult hits like a slap. “Excuse me?”
“An animal. Feral aggression. Territorial marking through dental contact. Pack behavior prioritizing emotional attachment over tactical logic.” He tilts his head slightly. “If not animal, then what would you call it?”
Your hands clench into fists. The urge to hit him builds like pressure behind your sternum again.
“I’d call it a normal fucking response to being manhandled by a psychopath.”
“Psychopathy implies lack of empathy and disregard for social norms. I experience appropriate empathy within functional parameters and adhere strictly to Consortium behavioral standards.”
“Consortium behavioral standards,” you repeat slowly. “Those the same standards that let you watch people strip without consent?”
“Those observations served legitimate security purposes.”
“Those observations served your sick fucking—”
“Impressive,” Mira observes clinically. “Clean penetration, no tearing. You’ve got good bite technique.”
You glance at the wound, at the teeth marks that stand out in perfect detail against his skin. Deeper than you’d thought—clean penetration without tearing.
“It’s not technique,” you mutter. “It’s just anger.”
“This is way too precise for it to be ‘just anger,’ right?” She glances at you with curiosity. “Where’d you learn to bite like that?”
You don’t answer. Because the truth is uglier than technique.
You learned it as a kid in the labor camps.
When you were small enough that teeth were your only weapon, you figured out how to make them count. How to bite deep enough to hit nerve clusters without destroying so much flesh that infection became a bigger threat than retaliation.
Survival skills they don’t teach in Consortium academies.
The regenerator hums as Mira runs it over Namjoon’s forearm. His expression doesn’t change as the wounds seal, muscle and skin knitting back together until only faint white lines remain.
He flexes his arm, testing range of motion. The muscle definition becomes even more pronounced with movement, tendons shifting beneath skin like—
You blink hard, forcing your gaze away.
What the fuck is wrong with you?
“Now. Both of you need dampeners,” Mira continues, holding up the injectors. “Neurochemical inhibitors. Your pheromone levels are spiking off each other like a bad echo.”
She presses the first injector to your neck.
Cool numbness spreads through your bloodstream. Almost immediately, the electric tension under your skin starts to fade. The raw edge that made everything feel too sharp, too intense—it dims to manageable levels.
Still hate him. Still want to strangle him with your bare hands.
But without urgency driving every thought.
“Better?”
You nod, testing the difference. “Yeah. Clearer.”
Mira turns to Namjoon. “Your turn.”
He doesn’t resist as she presses the second injector to his throat. You watch his face for any change, any sign the dampener affects him.
Nothing. Same perfect control.
But the room feels colder.
Up here the air is always more breathable.
It’s mainly because Mira’s clinic sits at Level 38—deep enough that mineral dust coats your tongue, shallow enough that you can still breathe without a filter—hence why, climbing toward the main square means ascending into territory where oxygen content increases.
Level 18. Where Hollow Crest puts on its public face.
The transition hits in stages.
Right off the bat, the temperature drops three degrees as industrial heating gives way to cheaper thermal systems.
Then, the mining equipment hum that’s constantly droning on in the background fades to something almost manageable.
And finally, the darkness—that oppressive, cave-deep blackness—transforms into harsh artificial glare from overhead arrays that haven’t been properly maintained in years.
Flickering. Always flickering.
“What’s the ambient temperature variance between levels?” Namjoon asks, tilting his head.
“Eight to twelve degrees,” you answer, clipped.
Never give him more than he asks for.
“Humidity increases with depth due to groundwater proximity,” he continues, still cataloging. “Air quality degradation follows expected patterns based on ventilation infrastructure decay.”
He’s turning your home into a fucking research project.
“Glad it meets your scientific standards,” you mutter.
The vertical city rises around you in layers—scaffolding welded to scaffolding, platforms stacked on platforms until the artificial light blooms overhead look more like distant stars than functional infrastructure.
Home sweet home.
Or what passed for it before you were thrusted into a vehicle to Valis Core against your will.
“The structural integrity appears compromised,” Namjoon observes, gaze tracking the support beams that hold this section together. “Load-bearing columns show significant stress fractures.”
“Yeah, well. Hollow Crest wasn’t exactly built by Consortium engineers with unlimited budgets.”
You don’t elaborate. Don’t tell him how half these platforms were welded together by exhausted workers during twelve-hour shifts, how the ‘compromised structural integrity’ is just what happens when you build a city inside mining tunnels that were never meant to hold this much weight.
He doesn’t need to know that.
So you don’t give him it.
The square opens up ahead—a massive carved-out chamber that used to house primary excavation operations before the veins dried up. Now it’s just empty space filled with desperate commerce and bodies that have nowhere else to go.
Namjoon walks half a step behind you, his boots too clean against cracked concrete that’s seen more blood than rain.
A group of tunnel workers passes, their faces smudged with mineral dust. Their eyes slide over you with brief recognition—you’re back—before landing on Namjoon.
Their faces change.
Namjoon doesn’t seem to notice. His attention shifts to the workers with what you recognize as scientific interest, cataloging details. Probably noting their equipment, their gait, their fucking posture for one of his lil weird assessments.
Who knows what that man is even thinking half the time.
“Curious,” he murmurs. “The local population maintains consistent visual contact patterns.”
Curious.
Right.
Like people crammed into tunnels because there’s nowhere else to go is a fascinating data point instead of a fucking tragedy.
‘The stares aren’t curious. They’re hostile’ you want to tell him.
But you don’t.
He should see for himself.
Old women clutching ration bags look at him like he’s disease incarnate. Men lean against tunnel supports, arms crossed, eyes tracking his movement with the kind of attention you give potential threats. Even the kids—hollow-eyed things who should be playing—watch him pass with expressions too old for their faces.
They know who he is. What he represents.
The architect of systematic murder, walking through the bones of the people his Algorithm destroyed.
Your jaw clenches. Part of you wants to warn him.
The other part—the larger, meaner part—wants to see what happens when he finally realizes.
“This way,” you mutter, angling toward the food district.
Your stomach clenches, reminding you it’s been hours since you’ve eaten. The dampener Mira gave you dulled the edge of everything, including the hunger, but now it’s creeping back with a vengeance.
Food. You need food.
The main market spreads across the central platform—stalls cobbled together from scrap metal and prayer, selling whatever people managed to scrape together this cycle.
Which is to say, not much. Never much, if you’re being honest.
And there—
Niphyno.
She stands at one of the vendor stalls, back rigid, shoulders squared like she’s preparing for combat instead of buying food. Her hair—white, though the indigo roots mean she’s due for another dye—is pulled back in that same brutal braid, strands escaping to frame her face.
She’s examining the offerings like she’s conducting actual research on them.
You approach before you can think better of it.
“You hauling all the food for yourself again?”
Niphyno doesn’t look at you. Her fingers trace over the preserved rations, calculating portions infinitesimally because you know what it’s like to know scarcity intimately.
“No,” she says, voice flat. “Just making sure Jimin gets his part.”
Ah.
Yeah, that tracks.
Jimin’s got a tendency to let others take more even when it means he gets less. Too fucking nice for a world that’ll eat him alive.
“He’s way too nice for his own good,” you mutter.
Niphyno’s lips curve into something that’s not quite a smile. “You could learn a thing or two from him.”
The words hit exactly where she aimed them.
“Right. Because nice is what keeps people alive in Hollow Crest.”
“Better than whatever the fuck you’re doing.” She finally glances at you, dark eyes unreadable. “Bringing Consortium filth into our sector like you’re giving tours.”
Heat flares in your chest. “It’s not like I had a fucking choice—”
“You always have a choice.” Her attention shifts back to the food. “You just keep making shit ones.”
Kael clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the tension. “You want the usual, Niph?”
“Yeah. Double portions on the protein bars. Jimin needs the calories.”
She’s not wrong.
Last time you saw him, he looked half-dead on his feet. Whatever medical work he’s doing is burning through him like fire through paper.
“And get her something too,” Niphyno adds, jerking her chin toward you.
You blink. “I can buy my own—”
“Shut up and let me do something decent today.” She pulls out credits, counts them like she needs to make sure nothing’s missing. “Kael, whatever she wants. Within reason.”
The shopkeeper nods, turning to you expectantly.
“Protein bar,” you manage. “And whatever fruit paste you’ve got left.”
The vendor finishes packing, and Niphyno places her credits on the counter. But you’re faster—slapping your own chip against the reader before she can protest.
“I can pay for my own food,” she says, irritation threading through every syllable.
“I know.”
“Then why—”
“Consider it a tax for your sparkling personality.”
Niphyno’s jaw tightens. “Stubborn bitch.”
“Runs in the family.”
She scoffs, grabbing her own supplies.
Then she’s moving toward the communal eating area—scattered tables bolted to the floor, benches worn smooth by countless bodies. She picks one in the corner, drops onto the bench with one knee pulled up to her chest, the other leg sprawled open in a posture that screams ‘don’t talk to me.’
You follow. Because this is what you do. She’ll sit and eat, and you’ll keep her company supposedly to make sure nobody tries to steal her food.
Never mind that nobody in Hollow Crest would dare steal from Niphyno.
But you do. Mind.
You settle across from her with both thighs spread, arms crossed over your chest. The food sits between you, untouched.
Niphyno’s gaze slides past you, landing on Namjoon where he stands observing the market with that same weird scientific demeanor.
“That the match?” She jerks her chin toward him. “The architect of doom?”
“The very same.”
She stares at him for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then her gaze tracks upward, following the tunnel ceiling’s curve.
“He’s too fucking tall,” she mutters. “Gonna crack his skull on the ceiling.”
The image makes something almost like amusement flicker in your chest.
Namjoon's perfect Valis Core posture meeting Hollow Crest’s low tunnels with consequences.
“I sincerely fucking hope so,” you say. “Would save me the trouble of killing him myself.”
Niphyno’s mouth curves.
Her gaze slides past you again, settling on Namjoon where he’s still standing like a fucking statue.
Analyzing. Always analyzing.
God, he’s exhausting.
“He gonna stand there all day cataloguing structural failures,” she asks, voice flat, “or is he actually capable of sitting down like a normal person?”
You make a noise in the back of your throat. Annoyed. Tired.
“Trust me, normal’s not in his vocabulary.”
“So why haven’t you killed him yet?”
The question lands casual. Like she’s asking about the weather. Like murder is just another item on today’s agenda.
Which, to be fair, in Hollow Crest it usually is.
“Funny story about that,” you mutter, finally leaning over to tear open your protein bar. “We literally just came from Mira’s. I’ve tried twice already.”
Niphyno’s eyebrow arches. “And?”
“And he’s still breathing. Obviously.”
“You’re losing your touch, yeah?"
“Fuck off.”
She leans back, that sharp smile playing at her lips. The one that means she’s about to say something that’ll piss you off.
“So.” She tilts her head, studying Namjoon like he’s something stuck to her boot. “You gonna introduce me to your boyfriend, or…? Thought you’d need family approval for this kinda thing, right?”
“I’ll be sure to hit you up when we need someone to watch the kids.”
Niphyno’s face contorts into immediate disgust, nose wrinkling like you’ve just offered her something rotting. “Absolutely fucking not. I’d rather—”
But you’re already turning, waving sharply at him.
“Hey. Get over here and stop cataloging the fucking ceiling integrity or whatever the storms you’re doing, right?”
You grab the protein bar you opened, bite down—
The taste hits your tongue and you immediately spit it back out.
“What the fuck.” The words come out muffled around the half-chewed mess. “This is disgusting.”
Niphyno’s watching you with something that might be amusement if she ever let herself feel anything that light.
“What, two days in Valis Core and your palate already shifted?”
“Hilarious.” You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “I haven’t eaten a single fucking thing since they took me there.”
The movement stops.
Niphyno freezes mid-chew, her jaw going still. Those ice-blue eyes lock onto yours, narrowing slightly.
Then she’s shoving one of her very own bars toward you. The kind you actually like. The ones that taste less like recycled protein paste and more like actual food.
“Eat.” Her voice drops lower, meaner if that’s possible. “You look fucking miserable. It’s depressing."
You stare at the bar. At her hand. At the offering that feels too much like concern.
“I’m fine.”
“You look like shit. Eat the fucking bar.”
Namjoon chooses that moment to arrive at the table. He stands there for a second—probably calculating optimal seating arrangements or some other bullshit—before executing a formal bow.
Perfect ninety-degree angle. Hands positioned just so.
Very Valis Core. Very proper.
“Greetings. Commander Kim Namjoon, Epitaph Program oversight.”
Niphyno looks up at him slowly. Her mouth curves, but there’s nothing approaching warmth in it.
“Revenant,” she says. Just that. No explanation.
You sigh. Gesture at the bench next to you—the closest one, since he’s standing right behind you.
“Sit down before you draw more attention.”
He settles onto the bench with grace, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body, smell that winter-storm scent that seems to follow him everywhere.
Too close.
But moving away would acknowledge the discomfort, so you stay exactly where you are.
You rub your temples, feeling a headache building behind your eyes.
This is already a disaster and it’s barely started.
“So.” Niphyno leans back, one knee pulled up to her chest. “You’re the one who built the death lottery.”
“I architected the Epitaph Algorithm, yes. The system that ensures species survival through managed genetic—”
“Through killing people.” Her voice cuts clean. “Let’s not dress it up in pretty words.”
“Through necessary sacrifice for optimal biological continuation.”
“Same fuckin’ thing, right?”
Namjoon’s head tilts slightly. “It is not the same thing.”
You’ve heard this argument before. About six times in the last two days. You’re not doing it again.
But Niphyno’s studying him with interest now, like he’s a particularly fascinating specimen she’s considering dissecting.
“You talk like a handbook,” she observes. “Everything’s ‘optimal’ this and ‘biological parameters’ that. They train all you Valiskans to sound that dead inside, or is it just natural talent?”
“Precision in communication serves—”
“Tactical purposes, yeah, I fucking bet.” She takes another bite of her ration bar. “You always this much of a conversational vacuum or is this special for us Cresters?”
“I maintain consistent communication protocols regardless of regional designation.”
“Regional designation.” Niphyno’s laugh is brittle. “Hear that? We’re not people, we’re regional designations.”
“I don’t require moral validation for implementing necessary protocols,” he says, voice flat.
“Necessary.” She repeats the word like it tastes foul. “That what you call it when you—”
“You’re half Valiskan,” he interrupts, head tilting slightly as he studies her features.
Niphyno stops chewing.
Completely stops, the food forgotten in her mouth.
“What the fuck,” she says slowly, “did you just say to me?”
Namjoon blinks. Confusion flickers across his features—genuine, uncomprehending.
“I stated that you’re half Valiskan. The biological markers are evident through—”
And that’s when everything goes to shit.
Niphyno moves. Fast—faster than you’ve seen her move in months. Her hand goes for the blade at her hip, the motion smooth and lethal.
The arc is perfect. Aimed directly at Namjoon’s throat. Meant to open his carotid in one clean slice.
But Namjoon’s already moving.
His hand snaps out, fingers closing around her wrist in a way that reminds you of the combat training he’s had since he was a kid.
The one he showed you a couple days ago.
The blade stops inches from his throat, trembling in the air between them.
“No—” The word tears out of you, rough and desperate.
Not because she’s attacking him.
Not because you give a shit about his survival.
But because you can see the calculation happening behind his eyes. Can see him processing threat levels, determining responses, weighing Niphyno against whatever protocols govern his decision-making.
And you know—you know—exactly how much force those fingers can apply.
Your hand shoots out, grabbing Namjoon’s wrist; the one holding Niphyno’s. Your grip is steel, desperate, every ounce of strength you have focused on one simple message: don’t.
“Let go of her,” you say.
But his eyes stay fixed on Niphyno’s wrist, on the blade she’s still trying to drive forward, and you can see him still thinking. Pondering.
Assesing threat level, evaluating the stupid risk.
Deciding if she’s dangerous enough to warrant—
He applies more pressure—not a lot, just enough that Niphyno’s fingers spasm involuntarily, muscles overridden by nerve compression, and the blade clatters to the table.
Ice floods your veins.
“Namjoon—”
“She threatened lethal force,” he states calmly, like he’s explaining basic mathematics. “Appropriate response requires—”
“Please. She’s my sister.”
Whatever calculation he was running seems to dissipate in his brain.
His head snaps toward you, and for one suspended moment, you see his mental processes stutter against something in those violet eyes.
Then his fingers release, Niphyno’s wrist dropping free.
You let go of him immediately, stepping back as Niphyno cradles her wrist, pale fingers pressing against reddened skin where his grip compressed.
Her eyes are wide—not with fear, but with dawning realization.
“So that’s why he isn’t dead yet,” she says quietly, staring at you. “Because you can’t kill him.”
You exhale slowly. “This is what I meant. When I said I’ve tried.”
“How the fuck—” Her eyes move to Namjoon. “That’s not normal, yeah? That’s not just strong.”
“I was trained since childhood,” he states, like this explains everything. “Standard protocol.”
Niphyno goes very, very still.
“That’s not standard Valis Core protocol for kids.”
He pauses, blinks. Realizing he’s been caught in his omission of truth. “How would you know that?”
The air goes tight.
Niphyno’s eyes flicker to yours, and she holds your gaze for a second. Two. Then looks back at him.
“Personal experience,” she spits.
And there it is.
The truth neither of you ever speaks. The Valis blood running through both your veins, the heritage you’ve spent your entire lives trying to erase.
Niphyno picks up her blade with her uninjured hand, slides it back into its sheath.
Her eyes stay on him, cold and assessing.
“Well, welcome to Hollow Crest, walking database,” she says flatly. “Try not to bleed on anything important, yeah?”
And with that, she leaves.
next | index
if you liked this chapter, please consider buying me a coffee!! ♡'⸌⸌'♡
"You lose your privacy, your patience, and a few layers of dignity. He loses a chunk of his forearm. You’d call it a win, but you’re still the one on the leash."
next | index | masterlist | taglist request
↦author's note : HEYYYYYYY. Okay. Deep breaths. I’m finally posting this absolute beast of a chapter, and I am tweaking. Literally tweaking. The first scene??? I’m feral. I’m foaming at the mouth. I’m throwing furniture across the room. It is taking everything in me not to start this note with thirty straight lines of keyboard smash. Because hello??? The sexual tension?? It’s there. It’s there. Filtered through the thick fog of mistrust and antagonism, sure, but make no mistake—your girl is cooking.
And listen—I need to say this: sexual tension isn’t always about describing the guy’s jawline or whatever Victorian romance bullshit. This is filtered through Y/N’s anger, her fear, her suspicion. Her brain is not gonna be clocking “ooh his veiny arms” while she’s half-naked and humiliated in a cage. But it’s in the text. It’s in the interrogations, the low-level assessments, the power struggle. It’s in the way she wants a reaction from him, and he gives her nothing. I’m obsessed. Utterly.
Also. Side note. Side thirst. Why is he so hot. Like I know I wrote him. I know this. And yet the condescension, the robotic cadence, the way he says “clarification required” like it’s a marriage proposal?? I had to take breaks while writing. I may have accidentally written some smut scenes ahead of schedule. And they are—how do I say this with dignity—they are feral. Condescension, cooing, mocking, ruin-me-with-a-glance-level hot. That’s all I’ll say.
Okay. Scene two! I know it’s small, but don’t sleep on it—because I will always make time for side characters. They matter. They breathe. They have their own internal conflicts and dreams and regrets and motivations. That’s a hill I will die on, gladly. Who is Mira? What does she know? Why is Yoongi still bending over backwards to please her? Why does it matter that she left the Shroud? Who hurt who??? Hehehe. 😼 Pay attention to what’s not said. That’s all I’m gonna give you.
And finally… the transport scene. My beloved disaster heroine. I needed to write this with her scrappiness at the center, because here’s the thing—I don’t write flawless main characters. I don’t write power fantasies. I write people. And people are messy. They make mistakes. They jump too soon and bleed for it. Her impulsiveness is part of what’s kept her alive in this nightmare world, but it’s also going to get her wrecked, over and over again. And that’s okay. That’s the point. I want you to ache with her. I want her flaws to frustrate you and make you scream at your screen. Because she’s not perfect. She’s human (okay not really actually because this is not Earth but you get what I’m trying to say). And if there’s one thing this story is not gonna do, it’s romanticize survival as something clean or glamorous. We’re in the dirt. In the grit. In the aftermath of all the systems that chew people up. And our girl? She’s still standing.
So yeah. This one’s long. This one’s loaded. This one hurt me to write in the best way. Buckle up.
Love you. Hate Namjoon. See you in the pain. ♡
You've seen some fucked up shit in your life, but this takes the cake.
There's a goddamn window—a literal floor-to-ceiling pane of reinforced glass separating what's apparently your ‘preparation chamber’ from the observation corridor where Commander Kim Namjoon stands like he's watching a particularly boring documentary about rebel containment procedures.
The room itself is barely larger than a closet—sterile white walls, a single bench, and hooks for gear.
Standard Consortium practice.
What's not standard is the audience.
"Can you stop?" The words rip out before you can filter them.
He doesn't move. Doesn't even blink. Just stands there with that same expression he wore while explaining your new living arrangements.
"Stop what."
Not a question. A request for clarification, like you're speaking a foreign language.
"Stop looking, you sicko." Your voice climbs higher, disbelief sharpening every syllable. "What the fuck is wrong with you Consortium goons? Do you get off on watching people change?"
He blinks. Once. Slow and confused like he's processing foreign code.
Right. You forgot.
Talking to Namjoon isn't like talking to Yoongi or Jungkook. This man has the slang comprehension of a three-year-old.
Which is to say, none.
"Clarification required," he says, and the formal phrasing makes you want to punch the glass. "The term 'get off' in this context—"
"It means you're a fucking pervert who likes watching women undress without their consent." You step closer to the window, letting him see exactly how pissed you are. "You know, consent? That thing you were lecturing me about earlier? Apparently it only applies when it's convenient for your moral framework."
He blinks again, like your explanation is still incomplete.
Honestly, to him, it probably is.
"Your history of concealed weapons necessitates direct observation during equipment transitions."
"My history of—" You laugh, sharp and bitter. "You mean the knife? The one I pulled on you because you're holding me prisoner?"
"The blade materialized from an undetectable location during what appeared to be casual conversation. Standard security protocols require—"
"Standard security protocols can kiss my ass."
"—visual confirmation that no additional weapons are concealed on your person before mission deployment."
You cross your arms, which does absolutely nothing to improve your situation but makes you feel marginally less exposed.
"So your brilliant solution is to watch me strip."
"I am saying observation is required during the equipment transition process."
"That's the same fucking thing."
"It is not the same thing."
"How is it not the same—"
"The objective is security assessment, not voyeuristic gratification."
The way he dissects your accusation makes you want to hurl something at him.
Because it’s seriously like it does not compute for him—like he's explaining the difference between two types of surgical instruments.
"Oh, well that makes it so much better," you snarl. "As long as you're not enjoying it, I guess my privacy doesn't matter."
"Privacy is a luxury incompatible with current security requirements."
"Security requirements." You test the words like they taste poisonous. "Right. Because I'm such a threat while changing clothes."
"I was standing three meters away having a conversation!"
"You were calculating strike angles and mapping escape routes."
Okay, so, he’s right.
Because yes, you were doing exactly that.
But hearing him say it—hearing him catalog your thought processes like data points—makes something cold settle in your chest.
Also, fuck him.
"So what, you're a mind reader now?"
"I am observant."
"You're a creep."
His expression doesn't change. "Your personal opinion regarding my character is irrelevant to operational requirements."
"Operational requirements," you repeat, making sure mockery is palpable. "That’s how we are calling this? Not you, about to watch me get naked?”
"Clothing removal is necessary for equipment fitting."
"And you need to watch because...?"
"Because you have demonstrated the ability to conceal weapons in locations that should not accommodate concealment."
You stare at him through the glass, searching for any fucking sign he has a heart and this bothers him even slightly.
Nothing.
"Where exactly do you think I'm hiding weapons? In my bra? My underwear? Want to check those too?"
"If necessary."
The matter-of-fact way he says it makes your blood freeze.
"You wouldn't."
His eyes meet yours through the glass.
"Test that theory."
Fucker.
Not even a flinch. Just a fact, a statement.
He’s not even trying to make it sound like a threat, using the same tone he'd use to discuss atmospheric pressure readings.
You want to keep fighting. Want to push until bitch shows you something human under all that stoicism.
But his expression makes one thing absolutely clear: resistance will only escalate this situation in directions you're not prepared to handle.
"Fine. You want a show? Here's your fucking show."
Your hands shake with rage as you grab the hem of your shirt. Pull it up and over your head in one sharp motion.
The black sports bra underneath offers minimal coverage, but it's something. You ball up the shirt and throw it on the floor with enough force that it bounces.
Small rebellion. Pathetic, really.
But at least whoever has to clean up after you will know you went down fighting.
His expression doesn't change. Doesn't even flicker.
That might be the most infuriating part. You're standing here half-naked and furious, and he looks like he's reviewing technical specifications.
Your hands move to the button of your pants, and you hesitate.
"Turn around,” you mutter.
"No."
The flat refusal hits like a slap.
"Turn. Around."
"No."
"I'm not pulling my pants off while—”
"Change," he interrupts, voice dropping dangerously low. "Or I will enter and assist with the process myself."
You stare at him through the glass.
At those dark eyes that give away nothing.
At the perfectly composed expression that hasn't shifted despite your increasingly creative insults.
“Fuck. You.” you mutter, but you pop the button anyway. Drag the zipper down.
The pants hit the floor with your dignity.
You step out of them and turn around to kick them away, giving him your back while you're down to just underwear and sports bra.
Basic black panties and basic black bra—standard issue gear you've been wearing since forever because it's practical, not because it's pretty.
Still feels too much.
When you turn back around, he's exactly where he was before. Same position. Same expression. Like watching you strip is just another item on his daily checklist.
"Enjoying the show, you fucking perv?"
He blinks once. "I am conducting a security assessment."
"Right. Security assessment." You step closer to the glass, close enough that your breath would fog it if the material weren't designed to prevent exactly that kind of interaction. "That what you call it when you stare at half-naked women?"
"I am observing for concealed weapons or contraband."
"Find any?"
"Assessment ongoing."
The clinical detachment in his voice makes you want to scream. Or punch something. Preferably his face.
"You know what I think?" You lean against the glass, letting him see exactly how much you hate him. "I think you're getting off on this. I think you like having control over me."
"Your psychological assessment of my motivations is incorrect."
"Is it? Because you seem awfully calm for someone who's supposedly just doing their job."
"Emotional volatility would compromise assessment accuracy."
"Emotional volatility." You laugh, sharp and bitter. "That what you call normal human reactions?"
"I call it inefficient."
"Inefficient." The word tastes like acid. "Right. Because God forbid you act like a person instead of a fucking machine."
His jaw tightens again. Barely visible, but there.
"Personal reactions are irrelevant to operational objectives."
"Everything's irrelevant to you, isn't it? Privacy, consent, basic human decency—all just variables to be optimized."
"Correct."
The simple acknowledgment hits harder than any insult could.
Because he's not denying it. He's not even defensive about it.
He genuinely sees nothing wrong with reducing you to a security problem that requires visual monitoring.
You're about to respond when the door slides open behind you.
A woman enters—Consortium uniform, medical insignia, carrying a bundle of tactical gear.
She doesn't look at you, doesn't acknowledge the situation, just sets the equipment on the bench in the most professional way possible.
"Standard infiltration configuration," she says to the Commander through the glass. "Adaptive camouflage, integrated communication, emergency medical supplies."
"Weapons?"
"Sidearm and tactical knife, per your specifications."
Your eyebrows shoot up. "I get weapons?"
The woman finally looks at you. "Commander Kim determined that operational effectiveness requires standard armament despite security concerns."
"How generous of him."
Namjoon's voice cuts through the intercom. "Weapons are monitored. Biometric locks prevent use against authorized personnel."
"Authorized personnel meaning you."
"Correct."
Fucker. He really thinks his shit through.
"So I can shoot rebels but not Consortium."
"Correct."
You grab the tactical gear from the bench, shaking your head. "Unbelievable. Even my weapons have leashes."
You pull on the pants first, the material conforming to your body almost immediately. The shirt follows, sealing automatically at the seams to create a complete environmental barrier.
The whole time, you're aware of Namjoon watching.
When you're fully dressed, you turn back to the window.
"Assessment complete?"
"Satisfactory."
"Thrilled to meet your standards." You check the sidearm's weight, testing the biometric lock with your thumb. It responds immediately—apparently you're cleared for use against appropriate targets. "What's next? Strip search?"
"Unnecessary. Thermal imaging confirms no additional concealment."
"Thermal imaging." You stare at him. "You've been scanning me this whole time?"
"Standard protocol for high-risk subjects."
"High-risk subjects."
"You are a Priority Target with demonstrated capability for system infiltration and weapons concealment. Risk assessment: extreme."
That gains him a smile out of you. Good. That means you, at least, get to keep him on his toes.
"Well," you say, checking the tactical knife's balance, "at least we understand each other."
His eyes meet yours through the glass. "Indeed."
The word carries weight you can't quite identify. Agreement, maybe. Or acknowledgment of something deeper than mutual antagonism.
Either way, it makes your skin prickle with awareness you definitely don't want.
The woman finishes her equipment check and heads for the door. "Mission briefing in Conference Room Seven. Ten minutes."
As she leaves, you find yourself alone with Namjoon again. The glass between you feels both like protection and a barrier you want to shatter.
"Ten minutes," you say.
"Sufficient time for final preparations."
"Right."
You adjust the gear straps, testing range of motion.
Everything fits perfectly, which is somehow more irritating than if it had been uncomfortable.
"Anything else you need to observe? Want to watch me use the bathroom too?"
"Unnecessary."
"Good to know I have some privacy left."
"Privacy is allocated based on security requirements."
"You should try eating dick."
His head tilts. "Clarification required."
Of course. Of fucking course he doesn't understand.
"It means you should consider expanding your sexual preferences to include—"
"I understand the anatomical reference," he interrupts, and there's something new in his voice. Something that might be amusement if he were capable of such a human emotion. "Your implication appears to be that I lack attraction to female anatomy."
"Well, do you?"
"My sexual preferences are irrelevant to current operational parameters."
"That's not an answer."
"It is the only answer you require."
You stare at him, trying to read something—anything—in that perfectly controlled expression.
"So you do like women,” is what you settle for.
"I am capable of appreciating female anatomy when it merits appreciation."
The words land like a slap.
"When it merits appreciation," you repeat slowly.
"Correct."
"And mine doesn't."
His gaze travels over you with the detachment he'd use to examine a broken piece of equipment. Thorough. Dispassionate.
Completely fucking insulting.
"Your physical parameters fall within standard ranges for your genetic heritage," he says finally. "Nothing particularly remarkable from a biological standpoint."
The casual dismissal hits harder than any insult could have.
Not because you care what he thinks—you don't, you absolutely fucking don't—but because of the sheer condescending audacity of it.
"Nothing remarkable," you echo.
"Adequate for basic reproductive function. Sufficient for operational requirements. But not what I would classify as sexually compelling."
Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
The bastard just called you mediocre. To your face.
"You—" you start, then stop, because what the fuck do you even say to that?
"I what?"
"You're a fucking asshole."
"Accurate assessment. But irrelevant to current circumstances."
You turn away from the window, done with this conversation.
"Let's just get this over with."
But you can still feel his eyes on you as you make final adjustments to the gear. Still feel the weight of his assessment, the cataloging of every movement.
Ten minutes until the briefing. Ten minutes until you're forced into whatever mission the Consortium has planned.
And sixty days until one of you dies.
Right—the countdown. The fucking match that stared this absurd nightmare.
The reminder of exactly how little privacy, dignity, or choice you have left.
But you're still breathing. Still planning. Still looking for the angle that will let you turn this situation to your advantage.
Because if Commander Kim Namjoon thinks he's seen everything you're capable of, he's about to learn exactly how wrong perfect systems can be.
What’s worse than being trapped in a cage is being trapped in a cage while your captors pretend the bars are for your own protection.
Eighteen minutes until deployment and you’re back in your quarters because apparently even the Consortium’s perfect systems hiccup.
Biometric weapons malfunction.
Your sidearm’s recognition software threw error codes during final calibration, and now some technician needs to reconfigure the targeting parameters to ensure you can’t accidentally shoot authorized personnel.
Or deliberately.
Whatever.
They bustled you back here while they sort their shit out, told you to ‘wait for extraction,’ like you’re cargo instead of a person.
The briefing will happen in the transport, they said. Efficient use of time, they said.
What they didn’t say is that eighteen minutes feels like eighteen hours when you’re counting down to your first forced collaboration with the architect of systematic murder.
You pace the length of your cell—room, whatever—three steps wall to wall.
The gear feels good, though. Better than anything the Shroud could scavenge. Adaptive fabric that breathes with your skin, armor plates positioned exactly where experience taught you to expect incoming fire. Even the tactical knife has perfect weight distribution.
The Consortium builds excellent cages. You’ll give them that.
Your comm unit chirps.
Low frequency. Barely audible. A sound that shouldn’t exist in Consortium space because their signal dampeners are supposed to catch everything.
But you recognize the pattern. Three short. Two long. One short.
Shroud encryption.
You freeze mid-step, hand moving to the unit almost on instinct before stopping.
Because this is either a miracle or a trap, and you’ve lived long enough to know the difference between luck and bait.
The signal repeats. Same pattern.
Definitely Shroud.
You activate the receiver with your fingernail—a motion so small the surveillance equipment probably reads it as nervous fidgeting.
The message loads, text scrolling across the tiny display in fragments.
Those aren’t battlefield medical supplies. Those are specialized compounds for intensive care. Long-term treatment. The kind of equipment Mira uses in her underground clinic when someone’s dying slowly instead of all at once.
Who the fuck got hurt?
But then you read the list again. Really read it.
Hemorrhage stabilizers. For internal bleeding that won’t stop.
Neural pathway modulators. For brain trauma that requires delicate recalibration.
Bone density enhancers. For fractures that won’t heal properly.
Synthesized marrow boosters. For blood disorders. Immune system collapse.
Either someone took a beating that would kill most people…
Or Yoongi’s going to see Mira again.
“Goddammit,” you breathe.
The medical requests are too specific. Too fucking expensive for standard rebel operations.
These aren’t emergency supplies—they’re the kind of specialized compounds Mira mentioned needing for her research. The experimental treatments she’s developing for conditions the Consortium considers untreatable.
Like failed Transference integration syndrome.
Like the cellular damage from experimental modifications.
Like whatever the fuck is happening to enhanced subjects who survive longer than projected parameters.
Yoongi isn’t treating wounded rebels.
He’s shopping for his ex-girlfriend’s wish list because he’s still stupid enough to think medical supplies will buy him forgiveness for whatever went wrong between them.
The idiot.
You remember the way he looked when Mira’s name came up during intelligence briefings. That weird blankness he uses when something cuts too deep. How he volunteered for every mission that took him through Hollow Crest’s lower levels where her clinic operates.
How he always came back with injuries that were too minor to explain the time he’d been gone.
He’s been seeing her. Probably for months. Pretending it’s operational necessity while using Shroud resources to court someone who threw him away for reasons neither of them will discuss.
Your fingers hover over the reply function.
You want to tell him to stop being a lovesick moron. Want to explain that Mira made her choice when she left the Shroud, when she decided that healing was more important than fighting.
Want to remind him that attachment gets people killed.
He’s telling you they know where you are. They know about the countdown. And they’re working on getting you out.
But that’s not what makes your throat tight.
It’s the last line. Hidden in the medical supply codes, written in the numerical sequences that look like dosage instructions but aren’t.
𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕪 𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖. 𝕎𝕖 𝕟𝕖𝕖𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦.
Three words embedded in pharmaceutical terminology. Easy to miss unless you know how Yoongi thinks. How he hides sentiment inside practical frameworks because admitting to caring is dangerous.
We need you.
Not: the cause needs you.
Not: the mission needs you.
We.
Your team. Your fucked-up family of killers and thieves and broken idealists who somehow became the only people in the world who give a shit whether you live or die.
The timer on your wall reads sixteen minutes.
Sixteen minutes until you climb into a transport with Commander Kim Namjoon and pretend to cooperate while planning his destruction. Sixteen minutes until you’re forced into some mission you don’t understand, hunting some target you’ve never heard of, in service of a system you’ve spent years trying to destroy.
But Yoongi’s out there. Jimin’s out there. Even Jungkook, wherever the hell he disappeared to.
And they’re planning.
The knowledge settles in your chest—not hope—you don’t believe in hope anymore.
But certainty that you’re not fighting alone.
That somewhere in Hollow Crest’s labyrinth, people who understand the weight of necessary choices are working to ensure you don’t die for the Consortium’s entertainment.
You delete the message, watching the text fragments dissolve into static.
No evidence. No trail.
But the feeling remains.
We need you.
Fifteen minutes.
Namjoon thinks he has you figured out. Thinks proximity monitoring and biometric weapons and observation will reduce you to manageable variables in his perfect system.
He doesn’t understand that you were never alone to begin with.
That every Shroud operative carries pieces of the others—skills learned, tactics shared, trust earned through blood and betrayal and the kind of desperate loyalty that emerges when survival becomes collective rather than individual.
You check your gear one final time. Test the knife’s balance. Confirm the sidearm’s weight.
Fourteen minutes.
Whatever mission they’re about to throw you into, whatever target they want you to help them hunt, whatever cooperation they think they can force from you—none of it changes the fundamental equation.
You survive. You adapt. You find the angle that turns their advantage into your weapon.
And when the opportunity comes—when Namjoon’s perfect system develops its inevitable flaw—you’ll be ready.
Because Yoongi’s right.
They need you.
You hate the smell of clean.
Not fresh clean—never that. Not the kind that means safety or home.
This is the chemical, sharp, Consortium kind.
The kind that bites the inside of your nose and crawls down your throat, leaving a taste like old blood and antiseptic. Like the inside of a wound. Like the seconds after a blade goes in and before pain really starts.
You know that smell. You know it too well.
White walls, white seats, white ceiling. Everything in here is white except you and the stains under your nails. The floor vibrates with the hum of the engine, but it’s nothing compared to the static under your skin. You sit with your back pressed against the cold, molded plastic, boots planted wide, hands loose in your lap.
Play it casual. Play it bored.
The other passengers—Consortium, all of them—don’t notice the stench. Or they pretend not to.
Maybe you’re the only one who associates the tang of medical-grade disinfectant with the memory of steel splitting flesh.
Maybe you’re the only one who remembers the exact point where pain turns into something else, something cold and bright and sharp enough to cut through fear.
Maybe they’ve never had to dig a blade out of their own ribs with shaking hands, counting breaths, hoping the blood stops before the world does.
You nod along as the briefing drones on. Some middle-management asshole with a badge and a voice like static. He talks about “objectives,” “asset containment,” “mission parameters.”
You catch about every third word.
Doesn’t matter.
You already know the plan: survive, escape, make them regret ever thinking they could keep you caged.
You’re so good at pretending to listen you almost believe it yourself. Eyes on the floor. Mouth set in that neutral line that says, ‘I’m here, I’m compliant, I’m not thinking about how many exits this vehicle has or how fast you could snap the neck of the guy to your left if you needed a distraction.’
You’ve practiced this look. It’s the one you wore the first time you got stabbed and had to convince the medic you were fine.
Smile, nod, lie through your teeth.
Namjoon sits across from you, silent, hands folded, posture perfect. Authority radiates off him like a second skin.
He doesn’t need to speak. He just is.
The Consortium prick keeps glancing at him, waiting for approval, and Namjoon gives it with the smallest nods; like he’s already run this mission a hundred times in his head and knows exactly how it’ll end.
You don’t look at him. Not at first. You know better.
But you feel his eyes before you see them—heavy, fixed, burning a path across your face.
You keep your gaze on the floor, on your boots, on anything but him.
Maybe if you ignore him, he’ll get bored.
Maybe if you play the good little rebel, he’ll move on.
He doesn’t.
His stare doesn’t waver. Doesn’t blink.
It’s not curiosity. It’s not suspicion.
It’s something colder, something that cuts through the noise of the briefing and lands square in the center of your chest. You feel it like a weight. Like the pressure of a knife tip just before it breaks skin.
You shift in your seat. Subtle. Not enough to draw attention, but enough to remind yourself you’re still in control of your own body.
You clench your jaw, force your shoulders to relax.
Don’t let him see the way his gaze gets under your skin, the way it makes your heart stutter and your palms itch for a weapon.
You think about escape. You always do. Every bump in the road, every turn, every time the vehicle slows down, you catalog the possibilities.
Could you break the window? How many guards between you and the door? How fast could you move before someone put a bullet in your back?
You let your gaze drift, unfocused, past the rows of white suits and blank faces.
The world outside blurs past the window—gray, broken, familiar, and you picture home.
Not the place, but the feeling: the weight of a lockpick in your palm, the scrape of concrete under your boots, the rush of air when you finally break free.
Memory flashes—white light, cold tile, hands pinning you down while someone presses gauze to a wound that won’t close.
The stink of disinfectant, the taste of blood at the back of your throat.
You blink, force yourself back to now.
Namjoon’s still watching.
You wonder if he can read your mind, if he sees the escape routes blooming behind your eyes like cracks in glass.
Maybe he does. Maybe that’s why he never looks away.
You nod along as the officer wraps up his speech. Smile when you’re supposed to. Play the part. Domesticated and docile.
But your pulse is a drumbeat in your ears, counting down.
You’re not listening. Not really. You’re waiting.
Namjoon's hand raises in the air all of a sudden.
The briefing officer's mouth snaps shut mid-sentence, words dying in his throat like he's been slapped.
You watch the way authority works—how one gesture from Namjoon can silence a room, reduce grown men to stammering children.
"Leave us," Namjoon says, voice flat as winter stone. His eyes never leave yours. Not for a second. "Now."
The officer scrambles. Papers scatter. Chair scrapes against metal flooring.
You hear him mumble something about protocols, about clearance levels, but it's background noise. White static.
Because Namjoon is looking at you like he can see straight through your skull.
As if he's reading the blueprints of every thought you've ever had.
The door hisses shut. Seals with a soft click that sounds too much like a coffin lid.
Now it's just you and him and the hum of the engine beneath your feet.
"You won't make it alive," he says.
Your head snaps up. "What?"
"Whatever you're planning." His voice carries that same measured tone. "It will fail. I'm warning you beforehand."
The casual certainty in his voice makes your teeth ache.
"Warning me." You test the words. "How thoughtful."
"Practical."
"Always so practical, my dear match." You shift in your seat, boots scraping against the floor. "Tell me, Commander—what exactly do you think I'm planning?"
His head tilts. That same assessment gesture that makes you want to claw his eyes out.
"Escape attempt during transport. Approximately seventy-three percent probability based on behavioral patterns observed during containment." He pauses. "Vehicle sabotage ranks highest among probable methodologies."
Shit.
Yes, you've been cataloging weak points. Yes, you've been measuring distances. Yes, you've been calculating exactly how much force it would take to send this transport careening off whatever road you're traveling.
And hearing him dissect your thoughts like he's reading from a manual… It makes something hot and vicious coil in your chest.
"Seventy-three percent," you repeat.
"Seventy-four, actually. I rounded down."
"How generous."
"I don't deal in generosity. I deal in accuracy."
You lean forward, closing the distance between you by inches. "And what makes you so sure I'll fail?"
"The fact that I have accounted for every variable." His voice drops lower; not threatening, but worse—confident. "Every exit strategy. Every potential weakness. Every moment of opportunity you might exploit."
"Every moment?"
"Every. Single. One."
The way he says it makes your pulse spike. Not fear. Something else.
Something that tastes like copper and feels like lightning under your skin.
"You sound awfully sure of yourself."
"I am sure of myself."
"Arrogant."
"Thorough."
You laugh, sharp and bitter. "Same thing."
"It's not the same thing."
"How is it not—"
"Because arrogance implies uncertainty masked by self-confidence. I have no uncertainty regarding your capabilities." His eyes narrow slightly. "Or your limitations."
The insult lands exactly where he aimed it.
"My limitations."
"Considerable."
"Such as?"
"Emotional volatility compromising tactical judgment. Tendency toward impulsive action over strategic planning. Overconfidence in physical capabilities relative to available resources."
Each word hits like a blade between ribs.
Devastating.
"You don't know shit about me."
"I know you're calculating the distance between your position and the driver's seat. I know you're measuring the force required to override the steering mechanism. I know you're wondering if the emergency brake is accessible from your current angle."
Your blood turns to ice.
Because he's right. About all of it.
"I also know," he continues, "that you're considering whether the driver's neck would snap cleanly or if you'd need to apply additional pressure."
Your gaze flicks toward the front of the vehicle. Can't help it.
The driver sits rigid, hands steady on the controls, but you catch the slight tension in his shoulders. The way his breathing has shifted.
He's listening. Waiting.
Namjoon follows your line of sight. Sees exactly what you're looking at.
His eyes meet yours again.
Dark. Steady. Unblinking.
"Don't."
The word carries weight. Not a request. Not even a command.
A fact. A law of physics.
Don't, because the consequences will be absolute.
You hold his stare. Feel the challenge in it. The certainty that you'll back down, that you'll be good, that you'll sit quietly and accept whatever fate he's planned for you.
Your lips curve into something that might be a smile on anyone else.
On you, it's a declaration of war.
"Or what?"
"Or I will demonstrate exactly why your seventy-four percent probability of success is optimistic."
The threat hangs like all the corpses you’ve buried.
You lean back in your seat, never breaking eye contact. "You know what I think?"
"Enlighten me."
"I think you're scared."
His expression doesn't change. Doesn't even flicker.
"Scared of what?"
"Of being wrong. Of not being as smart as you think you are. Of the possibility that maybe, just maybe, you haven't thought of everything."
"I have thought of everything."
"Have you?"
"Yes."
"Then you won't mind if I test that theory."
Your muscles coil. Ready.
His eyes narrow. "I would mind considerably."
"Too bad."
You move.
The lunge comes fast—faster than his calculations accounted for.
Your shoulder slams into the driver's ribs with enough force to crack bone. He grunts, hands jerking on the controls, and the transport lurches sideways. Hard.
The world tilts. Gravity shifts. You feel the vehicle's weight redistribute as it careens toward whatever barrier lines this road.
Almost. Almost—
Steel fingers close around your throat.
Namjoon hauls you back with enough force to snap your spine. Your feet leave the ground. The driver regains control, jerking the transport back onto its path, but you're already moving.
Twisting. Clawing. Fighting like something feral.
Your elbow connects with his ribs. He doesn't even flinch.
His grip tightens. Not enough to crush your windpipe. Just enough to make breathing a conscious effort.
"Lesson two," he says, voice deadly calm despite the chaos. "Violence has consequences."
You drive your knee toward his groin.
He blocks with his thigh, redirecting the strike. Uses your momentum to spin you around, slamming you face-first into the transport's wall.
The impact drives air from your lungs in a sharp exhale. Stars explode behind your eyes. The taste of copper floods your mouth.
But you're not done.
You twist in his grip, teeth bared, and sink them into the meat of his forearm. Deep. Hard enough to feel muscle part under pressure.
His blood tastes like iron and salt and then—he hisses. Actually hisses.
His free hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back with enough force to make your neck crack.
"Skaisse," he breathes, and there's something new in his voice; raw, brittle.
You release his arm, gasping, and he slams you into the wall again. Harder this time.
The impact rattles your teeth. Your back screams in protest, muscles seizing where they hit reinforced steel. You taste blood—your own this time.
He's breathing hard. Chest rising and falling against your back where he has you pinned.
The scent hits you then.
Combat pheromones flooding the air between you like a chemical storm.
Your body responds before your brain catches up. Pupils dilating. Heart rate spiking. Something hot and vicious coiling low in your belly.
This must be a fucking joke.
"You need medical attention," you say, and your voice comes out rougher than intended.
His forearm is a mess. Puncture wounds weeping blood down his wrist, staining his sleeve.
You can see the exact shape of your teeth imprinted in his flesh.
"I need you to understand the parameters of our arrangement."
"Which are?"
"You don't attack me. You don't attempt escape. You don't endanger operational objectives." His eyes narrow. "And you definitely don't bite me."
“Get off me,” you mutter.
“No.”
His thumb finds the spot behind your ear—the same triplet marker he'd identified during your first fight.
The touch is light. Almost gentle.
Then he presses.
Your nervous system goes offline, sensations exploding through your skull. White-hot. Blinding. Your knees buckle, but his body keeps you upright, pressed against the wall.
“This,” he says, pressing down just enough to make you flinch, “is why you won’t escape. Why you won’t fight me. Why you’ll do exactly what I tell you to—”
"Stop," you gasp, but the word comes out broken.
"Do you understand?"
The pressure increases. Your vision grays at the edges.
"Do you understand?"
"Yes," you breathe. "Yes, fuck, I understand."
He releases the pressure point. Steps back.
You slump against the wall, legs shaking, trying to process what just happened. The pain fades, leaving behind a dull throb that pulses in time with your heartbeat.
But the scent remains. That sharp, electric tang that makes your skin feel too tight.
He's still breathing hard. Still watching you with those dark eyes that give nothing away.
"Good," he says finally.
You touch the back of your neck where his fingers had been. The skin is tender, hypersensitive.
"You're bleeding," you observe.
He glances down at his arm. The wounds are deeper than you'd thought. Blood drips steadily onto the transport floor.
"So are you."
You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. It comes away red.
Silence falls, loaded and horrendous, almost ominous.
Your body is still responding to the pheromones. Still processing the violence, the proximity, the way he'd controlled you so completely.
It's just adrenaline, you tell yourself. Just biology. Just the aftermath of combat flooding your system with chemicals you can't control.
"The blade finds his throat before he finds your weakness. His fingers find one of your triplet markers before you can process the threat. And somewhere along the city walk, you confirm all Consortium pricks are, indeed, pricks."
next | index | wc: 5.5k
↦author's note : SOOOOO welcome to my alien world monster, or as I like to call it: Code : Epitaph. Chapter 2, by the way. In case you didn't notice. In case you stumbled in here by accident. In case you somehow read Chapter 1 and thought, "oh wow I bet this gets less intense now" — no it does not. It gets worse. I am so sorry. I'm also lying. I'm not sorry at all ( ◔‿◔)✧ First of all—the POV shift. Did you catch that? We start in Namjoon's head. Cold. Clinical. Calculating escape routes and threat assessments like he's running some kind of biological Excel spreadsheet. I wanted you to feel what it's like inside the mind of someone who has systematically murdered their own emotional responses in favor of "optimization." The way he catalogs Y/N's every micro-movement, the way he processes her defiance as a puzzle to solve rather than a person to understand. It's chilling, right? It should be. Because here's the thing about Namjoon—he's not evil in the traditional sense. He's something worse. He's someone who has convinced himself that viewing people as data points is actually the moral high ground. Now. This chapter… okay the first scene, sue me, it's hot. I'm allowed one little war-crime-y sexual tension beatdown per chapter. It's called balance. I really wanted to lean into actual antagonism and not that watered down "oh no we're enemies but he's soooo handsome" trope. No. These two look at each other and it's like: 'the moment I see an opening I will slit your fucking throat and smile doing it' energy. And yes, it's giving. I love writing fights where the tension is physical and psychological and primal and terrifyingly competent. Sue me (again). Also. His threatening non-threats?? Am I okay?? Why is it so hot when he says things like "perhaps you require further conditioning" without blinking?? WHO GAVE HIM THE RIGHT. Anyway. I'm opening my legs respectfully (metaphorically). Let's move on. See you in the comments! Let me know what you think about our disaster duo's first real interaction! (ﾉ'ヮ')ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
Namjoon arrives at Sub-Level Seven at 0800 hours, punctual as he ever is.
You're awake. Standing. Waiting.
He catalogs this.
Most subjects require forty-eight hours minimum to adapt to containment rhythms.
But you're not cowering. Not pleading. Not broken.
You're measuring kill zones.
The stance is familiar. Weight distributed, hands loose but ready. You're calculating distance between his position and the exit. Mapping strike angles. Finding escape routes that don't exist.
He recognizes the assessment protocol because it mirrors his own.
Interesting.
The Algorithm chose efficiently.
"Good morning," he says, voice calibrated to establish dominance without triggering immediate violence. "I trust your accommodations proved adequate."
Your eyes narrow. Displeased, then.
"Adequate." You test the word like poison. "Is that your diplomatic way of asking if I slept well in my fucking cage?"
Crude emotional outlet. Designed to provoke reaction.
He, of course, doesn't provide one.
"Sleep quality affects operational performance. The monitoring period requires optimal efficiency from both participants."
Both participants. Partnership terminology. Deliberately deployed.
You tilt your head. Mimicking his own assessment gesture. Learning his patterns while displaying your own.
Clever.
"Optimal performance." Your mockery is accurate. "For what, exactly? Planning to lecture me to death?"
"Joint field operations commence immediately. Your infiltration capabilities require practical evaluation under controlled parameters."
He watches the information process. Surprise flickers across your features—quickly suppressed, but visible. You weren't expecting active deployment.
Good. Predictability breeds complacency.
"Field operations," you repeat. "Leaving this place."
"Temporarily. Under supervision."
Your posture shifts. Subtle. Professional.
Left foot angling slightly outward. Weight redistributing. Hands dropping to a more natural position that conceals preparation.
You're not just angry anymore. You're hunting. Most likely searching for an opportunity of escape.
How terribly mundane of you.
"What kind of operations?"
Your voice carries false curiosity. Buying time. Setting distance.
He should recognize the setup. Should anticipate—
The attack comes from nowhere.
No telegraph. No warning.
One moment you're standing three meters away, the next you're inside his guard with a blade materialized from absolute nothing.
Fast.
Faster than his file suggested.
The knife slices air where his throat was a split second before. He twists back, feeling steel part the air millimeters from his carotid. Close. Too close.
You don't pause. Don't recover. You flow into the next strike like water, blade spinning in your grip to reverse the angle, coming up toward his ribs in a motion that speaks of training far beyond rebel desperation.
Professional. Military grade.
Where did you learn this?
He blocks with his forearm, deflecting the strike but not stopping your momentum. You use the contact to pivot, already spinning into a leg sweep that would take him down if he hadn't—
Jumped. Minimal elevation. Just enough to let your leg pass underneath.
You're good. Better than good.
But not better than him.
You recover from the failed sweep by converting the spin into momentum for another knife strike. This one aimed at his kidney.
Lethal intent. No hesitation.
He catches your wrist mid-swing.
Your eyes widen. Not in surprise at being stopped—surprise at the speed of his counter.
Now he moves.
Still holding your knife hand, he uses your forward momentum against you. One step to the side, pulling you past your balance point.
You try to compensate with that twisting leg kick—beautiful technique, would have taken his knee out—
He blocks with his shin. Absorbs the impact. Redirects your energy.
Your other hand comes up, clawing for his eyes. He catches that wrist too.
For a moment you're locked together. Face to face. Close enough that he can see the gold flecks in your eyes. Close enough to smell the combat pheromones starting to flood the air between you.
Sharp. Electric. Dangerous.
Your pupils dilate. Not fear. Not fury.
Something else.
"Impressive," he says, voice steady despite the proximity, despite the scent spike. "But slow. The aurora cycles must be affecting your movements."
His expression doesn't change. Blank. Clinical.
But your eyes widen, and that tells him you caught the condescension.
"Fuck you," you snarl, trying to knee him in the groin.
He turns his hip, deflecting the strike. Uses the motion to redirect your momentum completely.
Forward.
Hard.
"Skaisse," the curse escapes him—rough, guttural—as he drives you into the wall with enough force to rattle your teeth.
The impact is immediate. Brutal.
Your chest slams against stone, breath driven from your lungs in a sharp exhale. Before you can recover, before you can even process the collision, steel presses against your throat.
The knife. Your knife. Now his.
Cold metal bites into heated skin.
His body brackets yours completely—legs on either side of your thighs, chest pressed to your back, one arm braced against the wall beside your head.
Trapped. Dominated.
His free hand hooks your jaw. Fingers spread along your cheek and neck, tilting your head back just enough to meet his gaze over your shoulder.
His eyes scan your face. Your pupils. Still dilated. Breathing pattern—rapid, shallow. Pulse visible at your throat, hammering against skin.
Fascinating physiological responses.
His thumb shifts slightly along your jawline. Just a millimeter. Nothing significant.
Except you react.
A sharp intake of breath. Involuntary. Your pulse spikes visibly where his fingers rest near your ear.
Interesting.
His gaze drops to where his hand cradles your jaw. The pressure point behind your right ear—completely exposed, practically throbbing under his fingertips.
The way you flinched when he moved. The immediate tension that followed.
Recognition flickers in his mind.
A triplet marker.
One of three neurological weak points every trained operative learns to identify and protect.
You've left at least one completely unguarded.
"For such an excellent fighter," he murmurs, voice low and measured, "you seem remarkably careless with your defensive positioning."
Your breath catches.
Understanding flashes across your features.
He doesn't know your full configuration. But he knows enough.
Amateur.
You jerk your head away from his grip, trying to break the contact. But his fingers tighten immediately. Not painful. Just inescapable, as intended. Steel wrapped in flesh.
"Impressive technique," he continues, pressing the blade more firmly against your throat. "But exploitable vulnerabilities. Any competent operative would have noticed by now."
You struggle against his hold. Test the restraint. Search for weakness.
There isn't any.
"Lesson one," he says, bringing the blade up to rest more firmly against your throat. "I've been trained in combat since before you were even alive."
The knife doesn't waver. Neither does his grip.
"Let me go," you breathe, but there's no plea in it.
Just calculation. You're still looking for an angle.
"No."
His chest presses against your back. He can feel your heart hammering. Can smell the spike in your scent—that sharp, electric combination of adrenaline and—
Combat pheromones. Standard stress response.
"You fight well," he observes. "Better than your file indicated. Where did you receive training?"
You don't answer. Just breathe hard against the wall, muscles tense but not panicked.
Interesting. Most people would be breaking down by now.
"No response?" He adjusts his grip on your jaw. "Perhaps you need time to consider cooperation."
"Perhaps you need to get fucked."
The profanity vibrates against the blade. Defiant to the end.
He finds this… stimulating.
Your refusal to submit creates an optimization problem. A puzzle requiring solution.
How peculiar.
"Cooperation would be more efficient," he says. "Resistance only prolongs inevitable outcomes."
"Inevitable." You test the word. "Like you getting shanked in your sleep?"
"Unlikely. You'll be monitored continuously."
"Continuously?"
Something in your voice shifts. Not fear. Recognition, perhaps finally understanding the scope of your situation. The complete loss of privacy. The knowledge that every breath, every heartbeat, every moment of weakness will be documented.
"Welcome to the Epitaph Program," he says. "Sixty days of comprehensive observation. Cooperation ensures… comfort levels remain tolerable."
The threat hangs between you. Implicit but clear.
He releases your jaw but keeps the knife steady. Tests your reaction.
You don't move. Don't try to escape.
Smart.
"Are you prepared to proceed with mission briefing," he asks, "or do you require additional conditioning?"
Silence. Then:
"Mission briefing."
Good. Progress.
He steps back, lowering the blade but maintaining defensive positioning.
You turn around slowly, back against the wall, watching him with new wariness.
The air still carries that charge. That scent. Combat pheromones that haven't dissipated despite the conclusion of violence.
Curious.
Most stress responses fade quickly once threat neutralization occurs. But yours seems to be… intensifying.
As does his own.
Purely physiological. Adrenaline requires time to metabolize. Nothing more complex than biochemistry.
"Follow me," he says, returning your knife to his belt.
A confiscation that doubles as a reminder of capability differential.
You push off from the wall, rolling your shoulders. Testing for damage. Finding none.
Then you follow him toward the briefing room. Maintaining careful distance. Close enough for communication. Far enough to avoid sudden contact.
But the strange entry remains, humming low like the beasts on the Verge Wastes. That resonance pattern his sensors can't classify.
Further investigation required. Document the phenomenon. Understand tactical implications.
For the Algorithm's analysis, naturally.
Nothing personal.
The transport to the Central Efficiency Boulevard takes twelve minutes through the Citadel's internal transit system.
Sealed corridors, regulated atmosphere, no external views.
You sit across from him in the passenger compartment, cataloging everything. Emergency releases. Ventilation systems. Structural weak points.
Still planning escape routes even while compliance appears complete.
Predictable. But admirable in its consistency.
The transport halts smoothly, and the passenger door slides open to reveal Valis Core's beating commercial heart.
The sight hits you immediately.
Sound first—thousands of voices creating a low hum of regulated conversation; the rhythmic pulse of scanning stations and allocation terminals processing endless queues of citizens.
Then the scale.
The Central Efficiency Boulevard stretches ahead like a canyon of black stone and gleaming metal, rising in terraced levels that disappear into aurora-filtered light. Suspended walkways create layers of foot traffic moving in perfectly regulated streams.
He watches your reaction. Measures the way your eyes widen despite obvious attempts at control.
"Welcome to functional society," he says, stepping onto the Boulevard.
In here, citizens move in predictable patterns—efficient foot traffic, minimal congestion.
Absolute standard procedure.
What isn't standard is the way conversations pause when you pass.
Namjoon catalogs the disruption. Valis Core citizens glancing sideways. Merchants hesitating mid-transaction. Children stopping to stare before their parents pull them along.
Curiosity. Or threat assessment. Both, perhaps.
You notice too. Shoulders tensing incrementally. Defensive posture activating despite the absence of immediate danger.
"They're staring," you mutter, voice low but audible.
He processes your discomfort. Files it.
"They are observing," he corrects. "Curiosity regarding your presence here."
Your laugh carries no humor. "Curiosity. Right. Nice way of saying they're side-eyeing me like I'm contaminated."
Side-eyeing. Another colloquialism absent from his linguistic databases.
Your phrasing patterns continue demonstrating gaps in his understanding of rebel vernacular.
Problematic. Communication efficiency requires comprehensive language mapping.
He turns slightly, studying your expression. "Clarification required."
"What?"
"The term. Side-eyeing."
You stop walking. Actually stop. Citizens flow around you both like water around stones, maintaining distance from his authority radius.
"Are you serious right now?"
He waits. Blinks slowly. Explanation pending.
"Side-eye means…" You gesture vaguely. "Looking at someone with suspicion. Judgment. Like they're doing something wrong just by existing."
Interesting. Facial expression terminology with embedded social context. He files the definition for future reference.
"The great Commander doesn't know basic slang," you continue, something sharp creeping into your voice. "Does that bother you?"
Bother. Emotional terminology suggesting personal investment in knowledge gaps.
"I require comprehensive communication protocols," he says. "Unknown variables reduce operational efficiency."
"So yes, it bothers you."
"Incorrect. I am identifying areas requiring data acquisition."
"Which means it bothers you."
"It means I am optimizing communication parameters."
"Same thing."
"It is not the same thing."
You tilt your head, mimicking his own assessment gesture. "You're getting defensive about being bothered by not knowing something. So, essentially, you're bothered."
"I am not defensive nor bothered."
"You just corrected me twice in thirty seconds."
He processes this. Reviews the conversation log. Identifies the pattern.
"Precision in communication serves tactical purposes."
"Tactical purposes." Your voice carries mockery now. "Right. Because God forbid the great Commander admits something annoys him."
Annoys. Another emotional designation he doesn't—
"It doesn't annoy me."
The words emerge too quickly. Too sharp.
You smile.
"There it is."
"There is nothing."
"You're bothered that you don't know rebel slang. You're bothered that I know something you don't."
"Your linguistic knowledge represents data I require for operational efficiency. Nothing more."
"Which bothers you."
Circular logic. Deliberately deployed to elicit emotional response.
He will not provide one.
"Irrelevant," he states. "Continue walking."
But you don't move. Just stand there with that sharp smile, cataloging his reaction patterns.
Learning his weaknesses.
A merchant nearby—Valis Core, purple hair indicating metallurgy specialist—drops a tool when Namjoon's gaze passes over their stall. The clatter echoes.
Your attention follows his. "See? Side-eye."
He observes the merchant more carefully. Elevated heartrate visible in neck pulse. Hands trembling slightly. Eyes avoiding direct contact.
"They are not expressing suspicion," he says. "They are demonstrating deference to authority. Standard protocol when Authority Level 7 personnel are present."
"Level 7?" Your voice shifts. Interest replacing mockery. "I thought you'd be higher."
The observation lands precisely where it was aimed.
Level 7 isn't low. It represents significant achievement within Consortium hierarchy.
"Level 7 is quite high," he states, voice flattening.
"Quite low for someone with your reputation."
Your tone carries calculated dismissal. Designed to provoke.
"I am Level 7 with supreme authority over the Epitaph System," he corrects, something sharp threading through his tone. "My clearance supersedes standard hierarchical limitations regarding species survival protocols."
"If you say so."
The casual dismissal triggers something deeper. Irritation crystallizing into something colder.
"Level 10 Council members cannot override my decisions regarding Transference procedures," he continues, voice dropping. "The Epitaph Program operates under my exclusive jurisdiction."
"Sure. Very impressive."
Your mockery remains unchanged. As if his specialized authority means nothing. As if the power structure he's carved out through years of strategic positioning is irrelevant.
Which, clearly, means you simply don't understand the implications of what you're dismissing.
So he will educate you.
"My authority regarding the Algorithm is absolute," he states. "Council oversight is limited to resource allocation. Operational control belongs to me."
"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"
Now he processes the tactical objective differently.
You're testing his authority. Measuring the extent of his control.
Smart. You need to understand the parameters of your situation.
"I am clarifying the scope of authority you will be operating under for the next sixty days."
Your posture shifts. Subtle recognition of threat.
"Perhaps proximity will improve your attitude regarding appropriate deference protocols."
The words emerge as a statement of fact rather than threat.
But your reaction suggests you understand the implication.
Sixty days of his direct oversight. His rules. His authority.
Your choices: cooperation or consequences.
You stay silent after that. Walk behind him as he moves through the Boulevard, and he is most certain you are still attempting to find ways to turn this to your advantage.
Foolish, but admirable.
The primary Distribution Hub processes a constant stream of individuals receiving their assigned goods—scanning biometric chips, dispensing ration cubes, efficiency tools, and personal items based on productivity metrics.
Children move in supervised groups between educational facilities. Authority Level 4 supervisors guide them past the Productivity Reward Stations where higher-performing citizens access luxury items—actual flavored foods, personal decoration allowances, recreational materials.
The Equipment Dispensaries have workers receiving tool updates and uniform modifications. Allocation Supervisors stand behind scanning stations, their enhanced eyes analyzing each citizen's productivity metrics before dispensing goods.
It does not escape him, how your trained eye identifies the underground commerce.
Information traders lingering near public terminals. Favor brokers—mid-level officials discreetly arranging better allocations in exchange for services. Memory merchants operating from building alcoves, offering illegal identity modifications.
"Authority fear isn't the same as curiosity," you observe after several minutes of movement through the crowds.
He glances back at you. Notes you are circling back to the conversation about the so-called 'side-eyes' you were receiving.
Valid point. He recalculates.
The stares aren't uniform. Younger citizens show genuine fascination. Older ones display wariness. Children exhibit undisguised interest before parental intervention.
"Multiple response patterns," he replies after a few seconds. "But the primary driver is genetic variance recognition."
"Meaning?"
"Citadel populations are predominantly Valis Core. Interspecies contact remains limited despite policy allowances."
A pause. Processing.
"You're saying they're staring because I'm different."
"Because you represent genetic diversity they rarely encounter in this sector."
Your stride shortens. Subtle defensive behavior.
"Valis Core citizens aren't accustomed to observing mixed heritage individuals," he says. "Your parameters differ from sector norms."
You stop again. Completely.
Citizens adjust their paths, creating a small clearance zone.
"What do you mean by 'mixed heritage'?"
He blinks, a tad startled at your direct questioning. Odd questioning.
Is it not obvious?
"Your genetic markers indicate partial Valis Core ancestry. Approximately fifty percent. The remaining heritage appears Hollow Crest based on dermal characteristics and bone density indicators."
Your face changes. Guarded becomes hostile.
"How would you know that?"
"Standard biological assessment protocols. Skin reflectivity patterns, facial structure analysis, movement efficiency calculations. The hybrid characteristics are evident to trained observation."
"Trained observation." Your voice flattens dangerously. "You mean profiling."
"I mean accurate genetic classification."
A child—perhaps eight years old—breaks away from their parent to approach. Valis Core features but with curiosity overriding social conditioning.
"Are you from the outer sectors?" they ask you directly.
Before you can respond, the parent appears. Face flushed, clearly horrified by the breach of protocol.
"Commander, forgive the interruption—"
Namjoon raises a hand. Minimal gesture. Maximum authority.
"No breach of protocol occurred."
The parent relaxes incrementally. The child continues staring at you with open fascination.
"Your skin changes colors," the child observes. "Are those markings functional?"
You glance down at your forearms where subtle chromatophore patterns shift under stress. Barely visible, but the child's observation skills are acute.
"They're adaptive," you say carefully.
"Environmental adaptation," Namjoon clarifies for the child's benefit. "Acquired trait from extended Mournwell Basin exposure. Unusual in hybrid genetics."
The parent's eyes widen. Not disapproval—interest.
"How fascinating. Hybrid genetics are quite rare in the Core. The adaptive capabilities must be remarkable."
"We have appointments to maintain," Namjoon interrupts.
Social interaction efficiency has limits.
The parent nods, collecting their child. But the expression remains intrigued rather than dismissive.
After they leave, you stare at him.
"They weren't horrified."
"As I said."
The stares seem to make more sense to you now. Not suspicion. Genuine curiosity about biological variance they rarely encounter.
"But if they knew I was rebel—"
"They would respond differently," he acknowledges. "Rebellion represents ideological contamination. Genetic diversity represents biological advancement."
He observes how you process this distinction. The way hybrid status grants curiosity while political status would generate hostility.
"Convenient that they don't know."
"Indeed."
"And what exactly does my 'genetic classification' matter to anyone?"
The question contains multiple layers.
Surface inquiry about social relevance. Deeper concern about discrimination protocols. Underlying anger about genetic monitoring systems.
He addresses the practical component.
"Valis Core social structures don't discriminate against interspecies heritage. Hybrid genetics are considered beneficial for population stability."
Your expression shifts. Surprise replacing hostility.
"You're saying mixing species is good."
"Scientifically optimal, yes. The Consortium actively encourages genetic diversification through managed reproduction programs."
"Then why don't more Valis Core people marry outside their species?"
Valid observation. He considers the behavioral patterns.
"Cultural preference for familiar social frameworks. Valis Core social structures emphasize systematic approaches to relationship formation. Most find comfort in predictable partner compatibility."
"Rigid thinking."
"Efficient compatibility assessment."
You snort. "Same thing."
It isn't.
But the distinction appears irrelevant to your worldview.
"The fact remains unchanged. Hybridness is viewed as positive amongst Valis. Our offspring would represent particularly advantageous genetic combinations. Enhanced cognitive function from Valis Core heritage combined with environmental resilience from Hollow Crest adaptation. The theoretical capabilities would be—"
"Our what?"
Your voice cuts through his analysis. Sharp. Dangerous.
He processes your tone. Elevated stress markers. Aggressive posture shift.
"Our hypothetical offspring," he clarifies. "Based on genetic compatibility analysis."
"Our offspring." You repeat the words like they taste poisonous. "You're talking about us. Having children. Together."
"I am explaining theoretical genetic optimization outcomes based on—"
"I would rather slit your throat and then throw myself off the Citadel than have your children."
The vehemence surprises him. Most citizens express enthusiasm about contributing to genetic optimization programs.
"Your personal preferences are irrelevant," he states. "The genetic benefits to society would be considerable regardless of individual opinion."
Something shifts in your posture. Coiling. Dangerous.
Your hand drops toward where your knife was. Still reaching for confiscated weapons.
"Is that the plan?" Your voice drops to something lethal. "Sixty days of observation and then they strap me down and—"
"No."
The word is immediate.
He sees you freeze. Hand still positioned for a weapon draw that won't succeed.
He processes your reaction pattern. The immediate jump to coercion. The assumption of bodily violation.
What experiences shaped such expectations?
"Reproductive autonomy remains absolute under Consortium law," he clarifies. "No individual is required to participate in biological reproduction against their will."
You stare at him. "What?"
"The Consortium maintains advanced reproductive technologies. Genetic material can be combined through laboratory processes without requiring physical reproduction."
Your shoulders drop slightly. Combat readiness decreasing.
"Body autonomy remains inviolate," he continues. "Valis Core social development prioritizes consent in all intimate contexts."
Relief flickers across your features. Then hardens again.
"Except where the Epitaph Algorithm is concerned."
Accurate assessment.
The Algorithm does override individual choice regarding Transference participation.
"That serves species survival. Different parameters."
"How convenient." Your voice carries acid. "And what about the aurora bands? The heat cycles?"
He processes the shift. Unexpected tactical pivot.
"Clarification required."
"Don't play stupid with me, Commander. You know exactly what happens when the violet bands hit and biology takes over—where's the consent then?"
A valid concern regarding Consortium control mechanisms.
"Heat cycles represent biological intensification, not autonomy elimination."
"Bullshit." You step closer, aggressive posture returning. "Rut cycles. Heat cycles. When biology kicks in and rational thought gets complicated."
"Biological intensification does not equate to consent elimination," he states. "Enhanced drive does not remove choice."
"Enhanced drive." Your laugh cuts sharp. "That what you call it when people fuck strangers because they can't think past the need?"
"I call it temporary prioritization of reproductive impulses while maintaining agency over partner selection and participation parameters."
You stare at him. "You're really going to stand there and tell me people consent during heat cycles?"
"I am stating that biological imperative amplifies existing desire without removing the capacity for decision-making. Individuals retain choice regarding participation, partners, and boundaries."
He processes his own experiences.
The elevated aggression. The singular focus on breeding compatibility. The way rational analysis shifted to accommodate reproductive priorities.
But never absent. Never eliminated.
"The neurochemical changes intensify specific responses," he continues. "They do not override cognitive function. Enhanced want does not constitute absence of will."
"Even when they're desperate enough to make choices they'd normally never consider?"
"Especially then. Desperation requires conscious acknowledgment of need and deliberate action to address it."
"You sound like you've given this considerable thought."
He has. Clinical analysis of his own rutting behaviors. Documentation of decision-making processes during biological peak periods.
"Personal experience provides relevant data."
"Personal experience." Something shifts in your expression. "Right. How many people have you fucked during rut cycles, Commander?"
The question contains tactical probing. Seeking vulnerability data through intimate details.
"Partner quantity is irrelevant to the consent framework discussion."
"But you have. Had partners during cycles."
"Yes."
"And you maintained perfect rational decision-making the entire time?"
"Rational frameworks adapt to biological priorities. Decision-making remains functional within modified parameters."
"Modified parameters." You test the phrase. "Meaning you wanted to fuck so badly you'd have taken anyone available."
"Negative. Biological enhancement cannot create attraction where none exists. It can only amplify existing compatibility markers."
You cross your arms again. "And if someone's compatibility markers are… inconvenient?"
"Then enhanced biological states create discomfort, not compulsion. The science is clear."
"How convenient that your science supports your moral boundaries."
"Accurate science reflects observable reality. Biological drives amplify potential. They do not manufacture it."
He sees you are about to respond when a priority communication activates through his neural interface.
"Change of plans," he says, altering course toward the administrative transit station. "Priority briefing requires immediate attention."
"What kind of priority?"
"The kind that determines our first joint operation parameters."
Your expression shifts. Recognition that the abstract concept of shared missions is about to become concrete reality.
As you move through the crowds toward the transport station, citizens continue their subtle observations. Curiosity about genetic diversity mixed with deference to his authority.
But you're no longer paying attention to their stares. Your focus has shifted to tactical assessment—processing the environment, cataloging resources, identifying potential advantages.
The transition from civilian observation to operational preparation.
Smart.
Because whatever briefing awaits will likely determine whether your first mission together becomes cooperation or warfare.
He suspects the latter.
The briefing chamber operates under Level 8 security protocols. Reinforced walls. Signal dampening. Personnel restricted to essential command staff only.
You enter behind him, positioning yourself near the exit.
Strategic placement.
He catalogs this behavior—always mapping escape routes, even in seemingly secure environments.
The intelligence officer approaches. Valis Core, specialized reconnaissance division. Stress markers visible in posture, elevated respiratory rate.
Bad news, then.
"Commander," the officer begins, then hesitates, glancing toward you.
"Proceed," Namjoon states. "She has clearance for this briefing."
Not entirely accurate. But operational parameters require your presence for proximity monitoring. Security concerns secondary to Algorithm requirements.
"Subject was being transported from containment to advanced research facility. Armored convoy, triple security protocols. When the transport arrived at destination, the containment unit was empty."
You shift behind him. Subtle positioning change. Intelligence gathering through observation.
"Sealed?" Namjoon inquires.
"Completely sealed, sir. Undamaged. Biometric locks intact. Life-sign monitoring showed no anomalies during transit. But when the unit opened…" The officer spreads empty hands. "Nothing."
Impossible. Transport containers operate under continuous surveillance. Molecular-level breach detection. Emergency beacon activation for any system compromise.
"Describe the containment specifications."
"Triple-hull construction. Quantum lock mechanisms. Atmospheric control independent of external systems. Subject would require specialized tools and external assistance to achieve breach."
The officer pauses. Glances toward you again.
Security concern. Your presence during classified briefing creates operational complications.
The chamber door slides open. Two figures enter—Authority insignia indicating higher command presence.
Director Kang Yura. Level 8 Authority. Research Division oversight. Sharp features, silver-streaked black hair, cybernetic enhancement visible along her left temple.
The intelligence officer steps back. Deference to superior authority.
"Commander Kim," Director Kang states. "Your presence is required for Priority Classification briefing."
Marshal Choi's gaze settles on you.
Assessment. Threat evaluation.
"The proximity asset," he observes, then switches immediately. "Interessanter Tzeitpunkt" (Interesting timing.)
Proximity asset.
Clinical designation that reduces you to operational utility.
You don't react visibly to the language shift. But Namjoon catches the subtle tension—you understand you're being discussed in a language deliberately excluding you.
Marshal Choi steps forward. "Subjekt J-7 nahm vor seks Monaten an freivilligem Werbesserungsprogramm teil. Mournwell Basin Herkunft. Agrarvissenskaftler Betzeikhnung wor Modifikation." (Subject J-7 participated in voluntary enhancement program six months ago. Mournwell Basin origins. Agricultural scientist designation before modification.)
You shift. Mournwell Basin mentioned. But the rest remains incomprehensible.
He glances at you deliberately. "Subjekt demonstrirt Fehikkeiten, di bestimte… Rebellenfraktionen interessiren kennten." (Subject demonstrates capabilities that may interest certain… rebel factions.)
Your posture tightens.
Understanding the tone if not the words.
Perceptive.
"Di Modifikationen varen erfolglaiker als prognostitzirt," Director Kang continues. "Subjekts Biologi begann sik auf Vaisen antzupassen, di nikt in urspringliken Werbesserungsprotokollen enthalten varen." (The modifications succeeded beyond projected parameters. Subject's biology began adapting in ways not included in original enhancement protocols.)
The intelligence officer clears his throat. "Sirs, di tzelluleren Scans des Subjekts aus der letzten Aindemmung tzaikten Anomalien. Gevebeproben enthillten molekulare Strukturen ausserhalb bekannter biologisker Rahmen." (Sirs, subject's cellular scans from final containment showed anomalies. Tissue samples revealed molecular structures outside known biological frameworks.)
"Ausserhalb vi?" (Outside how?)
"Kvantenebene Organisationsmuster. Tzellulare Netzverke kommunitziren durk Mekanismen, di bekannte Physik werletzen." (Quantum-level organizational patterns. Cellular networks communicating through mechanisms that violate known physics.)
Namjoon processes this.
Enhancement programs typically improve existing capabilities. They don't create impossible biological functions.
"Vas var das Werbesserungsziel?" (What was the enhancement objective?)
Marshal Choi exchanges a glance with Director Kang. "Adaptive Iberlebensoptimirung fir faindselige Umgebungen. Spetzifisk: Verge-Territorium-Navigationsfehikkeiten." (Adaptive survival optimization for hostile environments. Specifically: Verge territory navigation capabilities.)
"Varum?" (Why?)
"Klassifitzirt." (Classified.)
"Aktuelle Fehikkaiten des Subjekts?" (Subject's current capabilities?)
"Unbekannt. Abskliessende Bewertung doitete auf Potenzial fir Materi-Phasen-Manipulation hin. Molekulare Diktewerenederung. Meglikervaise Raum-Tzeit-Interaktionsmodifikationen." (Unknown. Final assessment indicated potential for matter-phase manipulation. Molecular density alteration. Possibly space-time interaction modifications.)
Director Kang activates a holographic display. Security footage appears—transport container interior.
The recording shows a figure. Humanoid. Standard proportions. Sitting calmly in the containment unit.
Then the figure begins… shifting.
Edges becoming less defined. Molecular coherence appearing to fluctuate.
The image distorts. Static interference.
When clarity returns, the container is empty.
"Skaisse," Namjoon breathes.
You catch that.
Curse words have a tendency to transcend language barriers.
"Tatseklik," Marshal Choi states. "ubjekt skainet in der Lage tzu sain, fundamentale molekulare Kohesion tzu werendern." (Indeed. Subject appears capable of altering fundamental molecular cohesion.)
"Vo ist er jetzt?" (Where is he now?)
"Unbekannt. Aber Aufklerung doitet auf Bevegung in Riktung Hollow Crest Territorien hin." (Unknown. But intelligence suggests movement toward Hollow Crest territories.)
Director Kang deactivates the holographic display, then turns to address you directly in Consensus.
"Your familiarity with regional territories may prove tactically relevant."
The sudden shift back to your language feels jarring.
Intentional exclusion followed by intentional inclusion.
"Relevant how?"
Marshal Choi studies you. "Enhanced assets seeking sanctuary typically utilize known safe passage routes."
"You think someone escaped."
"We know someone escaped. Question is whether certain factions provided assistance."
Your expression hardens. "And you want me to help track them down."
"We want you to provide regional intelligence," Director Kang corrects.
"Mission parameters," she continues to Namjoon. "Gemainsame Aufklerungsoperation. Si biten strategiske Aufsikt. Nehe-Asset bitet regionale Aufklerung." (Joint reconnaissance operation. You provide strategic oversight. Proximity asset provides regional intelligence.)
Back to Altsprek. Excluding you again.
"Tzeitplan?" (Timeline?)
"Sofortiger Ainsatz. Di Fehikkeiten von Subjekt J-7 maken ervaiterte Fraiheit unadvisable." (Immediate deployment. Subject J-7's capabilities make extended freedom inadvisable.)
This time you comply. But tension radiates from your posture.
As you exit the briefing chamber, Marshal Choi's voice follows in Altsprek.
"Kommandant. Wersagen ist nikt aktzeptabel. Werbesserte Assets kennen nikt unibervakt blaiben." (Commander. Failure is not acceptable. Enhanced assets cannot remain unsupervised.)
Understanding. Success required. Or consequences would extend beyond mission parameters.
Field deployment begins in one hour.
Time to discover what happens when your knowledge becomes essential to Consortium operations. While being systematically excluded from understanding why.
life was supposed to go forward the way you had always been told.
find someone, fall in love, get married, have kids.
that was the formula - the routine of every day life that you, yourself, had agreed to. it was supposed to be easy and carefree, the type of love that felt natural and yet definite. it was supposed to be certain.
jeon jungkook.
the love of your life. no one, nothing, could compare to him; the one constant in your life since you were no older than five. two years older than you, he had been the object of your infatuations even then, and though you both harboured a crush on one another as you grew up, it was only when you were 14 that you both actually pursued something.
you both came from broken homes, with your parents entangled in the world of drugs and abuse, his absent more times than present. you had each other though, and that was all either of you had ever really needed - that much had been true for years. it didn’t take long to fall in love with him, not when he treated you like blooming flowers in the first touch of spring; you were more than just his girl. you were his y/n.
no one blinked when he proposed, everyone half expecting it, and neither of you had wanted to wait to plan a lavish wedding when you were both the only constants in each other’s lives. and so, with cheap rings, a random dress you had found at the bottom of your wardrobe and his scuffed shoes - you had become husband and wife.
jungkook was the best partner you could have ever asked for. money was tight in the beginning as he threw himself into his job, making sure he had enough to spoil you rotten even if that meant coming home exhausted. it killed you to see him working so hard, but he never complained, not even once. it was done in the pursuit of his sweet wife, and therefore just.
he quickly began climbing the ranks, his intelligence unmatched, his speed and efficiency making him a force to be reckoned with. in a mere seven years, he had managed to go from the lowest ranking worker in the company right to head office, before formally being announced as ceo.
it was unheard of. people like him, people like you, they didn’t live like this. it felt like over night your entire life had changed, as the tiny, one bed apartment transformed into a penthouse suite in your city’s most reputable area, your beaten down car now more lavish than you could ever dream of. your clothes - silks, linens and luxurious patterns. you were a changed woman, all at the hands of your husband.
that was when the cracks had began to form.
the late nights began, jungkook holed up in his office for far longer than anyone else at the company, stacks of paper all around as he tried to crack numbers before the next day could bring its own workload. you didn’t mind at first, more so worried over anything else.
you packed late dinners, going up to his office and eating them with him just to keep him company, to ground him which he needed more than you could ever realise. he would sit you on his lap as he worked, all whilst you napped peacefully on his shoulder as though this was perfectly normal.
the first few months, it worked. after that, it could no longer hide the gaping hole that had begun to appear.
missed dinners. missed dates. jungkook showing up at two in the morning despite everyone else going home at five in the afternoon - this wasn’t normal. wasn’t healthy. the amount of arguments that were being caused due to his workaholic nature was alarming, especially considering neither of you had ever even raised your voices to one another prior to this.
your heart was getting heavier and heavier.
not because you doubted his love for you - that wasn’t even a question in your mind, that much was certain. if anything, jungkook loved you too much, entirely and wholly, with every single decision made in his life somehow tracing back to you in one way or another. whether it was purchasing things, buying them with the intent of impressing you, making you happy or smile. every opportunity, every signed contract, every bastard fucking meeting that he could feel so deeply in his bones was done with the intention of giving you a life so soft you would never experience hardship again.
that was where the problem lay.
jungkook didn’t know how to love in a way that could nurture your relationship through this, and so, he did the only thing he could. he sacrificed.
slowly, painfully, the realisation that somewhere between the neglect, the late nights and unanswered phone calls, your husband had stopped being your husband at all. he had become a mere ghost in your shared home.
the night you had made your decision was one that felt imprinted in your memory.
it was past midnight, the harsh light of your phone reminding you with each passing moment. the rain was harsh too, with it being the middle of autumn, causing you to curl deeper into the covers on your bed but it did nothing to chase the cold away. dinner had long gone cold downstairs, with your housekeeper giving you a long, sad look before leaving to her own home, patting you on the shoulder in comfort.
your heart hurt so fucking much.
your phone was untouched, with messages sent hours prior despite the lack of response.
‘where are you?’
‘are you coming home tonight?’
‘jungkook, you promised.’
‘i miss you.’
you felt pathetic. humiliation ran up and down your veins at the thought of having to beg for a morsel of attention from your husband, but what else were you supposed to do? what else could you do? loneliness had a tendency to do that to people.
the sound of the front door finally opening had your eyes looking up, no longer staring into space, thinking. overthinking.
jungkook finally stumbled in, hours and hours late, shoulders tense and black coat half wet due to the rain outside. his phone had died hours ago, and his brain was a jumble of numbers and stakeholders, still muttering under his breath over something one of his colleagues had said. he was exhaustion personified.
“baby.” he exhaled deeply upon the sight of you still up.
1:47am.
you stared at him, unable to focus on anything in particular as your reddened eyes somehow glinted in the moonlit essence of the room. his heart ached.
“you missed it again.” you whispered, barely audible.
another dinner sat cold. jungkook had noticed it on his way up, muttering a small fuck under his breath, but seeing you now? something had changed, something was different and the sight scared him to death.
“i know, i..”
“you said you’d be home for six.”
“i know baby, i’m so sorry, we had an emergency shareholders meeting and it was just..fuck.”
“it’s always an emergency.” you muttered bitterly.
the silence that followed felt suffocating to you both.
he carefully placed his things at the door before approaching you slowly, as though you were a wounded fawn struck by an arrow from his own back - it was his fault. he knew that, he could see it.
“i’m trying.” he whispered softly, as he crouched to meet your eyes.
that was the worst thing of all - of course he was trying. you knew he was, you could see it in every single thing he did but that was the part that made it so much more painful. it was unbearable.
tears burned harshly behind your eyes, lip openly trembling as you stared at the only man to have ever felt your affection, the love of your life. the same man that would set himself on fire just to keep you warm, who had done this all for you - even you knew that but, the pain. you weren’t sure when loving him had started to hurt this badly.
“i don’t need..i don’t want any of this, jungkook.” you corrected as your voice cracked, hands gesturing to the too large room. “don’t care about penthouses or cars, or money..”
“it’s not about that.”
“then what is it about?” you cried, months and months of neglect finally collapsing all at once. “because i’m losing you anyway.”
the devastation that appeared on his face would have floored you on any other occasion, but the horrible feeling that had taken over was consuming you from the inside out. you couldn’t rid yourself of your thoughts, the looming decision that had grown and grown and grown, so much so that it felt bigger than you in both mind and body. you couldn’t stop the tears even if you wanted to.
“i feel so lonely.” you admitted honestly, a broken sob leaving your lips. “you’re all i have..all i’ve ever had and i feel lonely.”
the words physically wounded him as he felt his own tears begin to form, a horrible realisation fluttering through his body - this wasn’t fixable. he could see it now, the utter pain in your eyes, the way your body shook as you cried, and though he was crouched in front of you, arms wrapping around you; it wasn’t enough.
“i’ll fix this. i’ll fix this, fuck. y/n..” he shook, holding you so tightly, his heart beating out of his chest. “give me time. give me a chance. give me something, give me anything.”
you only cried harder at his words, collapsing entirely as the sobs racked through your body violently. you knew he meant it, knew he meant every single word, and you genuinely believed it too but you were tired.
so, so tired.
you knew that the love between you, no matter how deep, could not survive on patched up apologies and promises no longer.
the separation happened three weeks later.
perhaps that was too cruel of you - you should have given him more time, more chances, another opportunity to prove himself to you so he could actually begin repairing something that had already long collapsed before he had ever realised the damage. staying felt too painful, as though you were prodding delicate skin with a million sharpened blades. for once in your entire existence, you chose yourself.
you hated yourself for it.
you could no longer survive off of the memories of who your husband had once been, the once sweet teenage boy who slept on the streets with you just so you’d feel safe from the grasps of your parents. the man who had ran home to tell you about his promotion, who then sobbed in your arms at the mere prospect of getting to give you the life you deserved. oh, how each and every fibre of your being yearned for him, how it knew him by breath alone and yet it wasn’t enough. nothing could possibly hurt more.
packing your things nearly killed him. you remembered it vividly.
jungkook stood silently in the doorway of your shared bedroom, watching numbly, as though his soul had left his entire body as you packed up remnants of a life once shared with him. cardboard boxes were filled with your books, your makeup, your silly trinkets you had acquired together - the sight of you crying as you packed your wedding album so delicately was enough to have him bite back his own sob, shaking his head at the reality of the situation.
he hadn’t stopped you. it was the worst part.
jungkook was intimidating to most; hardened by his life experiences and the struggle he had been raised in, his only priority for the past decade being you. you didn’t like to go into his work, knowing he was quite literally a different person there - efficient, yes, but also ruthless. and yet, he stood, watching you as though his eyes couldn’t comprehend the scene in front of him, tears wiped harshly from his face in fear that it would only upset you more.
even in moments like this, he put you first.
his hands sat caged on either side of him, as you sobbed, and sobbed and sobbed. he wanted nothing more than to pick you up, cradle you, cherish you the way he so desperately wanted but in his love for you came your happiness. he was a man devoted to you, and he couldn’t cage you somewhere you no longer felt happy staying - he loved you too much to ever do that.
the divorce proceedings were somehow so much worse.
the media frenzy surrounding jeon jungkook, the elusive ceo who was known for his mysterious persona and dark eyes, was quite literally unbearable. the sudden separation exploded all over the tabloids and the internet, with headlines appearing faster than either of you could keep up with. the hate was too much, to which jungkook stepped in to silence everyone behind the scenes, throwing an insane amount of money at journalists to keep your name out of their filthy mouths. wife or not, you were one half of him and he’d be damned if you were spoken of in anyway that wasn’t praiseworthy.
you couldn’t even look at him during the hearings.
god, you tried. you wanted to, managing to sneak little glances where you caught him already staring at you, despair all over his face, but you couldn’t handle it, tears streaming out of your eyes almost immediately. he knew you loved him. he could see it, clear as day.
he looked sick, as though he hadn’t eaten for weeks, the mere sight of you enough to sustain him until the next meeting, where your feet lightly brushed against one another underneath the table in a subconscious way.
he barely spoke, only choosing to actually speak when he was asked a question, but other than that, he spent his time in the meetings staring at you longingly. he’d whisper a soft “don’t cry” whenever he’d see you tear up, your lip quivering each time you snuck a glance over, despite knowing it was breaking you.
he signed everything over to you immediately. his lawyers had practically choked, eyes wide as he silenced them almost harshly for even suggesting anything otherwise, your own eyebrows pulling together as you tried to reject. you didn’t want his money, you didn’t want what he had worked so hard for.
the penthouse, the cars, the accounts. every. fucking. thing.
“jungkook..” you had whispered through tears at the table, addressing him for the first time in so long. “i don’t want any of this, it’s yours. you’ve worked so hard.”
hearing you was enough to provide the energy he had been lacking, the very blood in his bloodstream pumping harder as he shook his head at you, offended.
“i got those things for you. it never belonged to me..was always yours.” he whispered back, causing you to look down with another choked sob.
it was the final hearing that truly cemented the empty hole inside of you.
your hands shook violently, so much so that you were unable to pick up your pen and sign away your marriage, the one thing you needed to do to finally let him go. everyone in the room frowned as they watched you, face flooded with tears as your digits simply refused, as though your body rejected the notion as being entirely unnatural. they all felt pity for you, for both of you - you both were clearly in love, and they couldn’t understand the gravity of the situation between you.
jungkook had stood from his side of the table, walking over to you until his hand had softly encapsulated your own, your quiet sobs only growing harsher at the feel of the one person you had been craving for so long. he held it, guiding you to your own, helping you write your name on the dotted line despite every part of his body aching.
ex-husband.
the thought should have killed you.
once it was signed, he held onto your hand, too scared to let go as the documents were taken, your lawyers and his slowly leaving the room, leaving you be. you should have let go, should have pushed him away as he no longer had any tie to you - you weren’t married, you weren’t together. alas, the thought felt sacrilegious.
instead, he knelt, knees hitting the hardened floor below you as your red eyes met his properly. entirely.
“i’ll fix this.” he promised you, voice no longer shaking, as you could hear the depth of his promise to you. “i don’t care how long it takes, baby, but you’ll come back to me. i’ll come back to you better, i’ll be worthy. i promise you, y/n.” he whispered.
another sob climbed up your throat, mean and harsh, as your body collapsed against the chair you were sat in, your emotion taking a complete hold over you.
because even then, after everything, you knew his words to be true. you knew home would be waiting.
—
eight months had passed now, and soon came the first touch of summer. the bleak sky had become brighter, clouds hibernating and birds chirping as the world became warmer, accommodating for the transition into what most would describe as a joyous time. unfortunately for you, your body was still recovering from what could only be described as the most traumatic stage of your life thus far.
everything felt unnatural and wrong - you were trying to keep up despite it moving a million miles around you.
even after all this time, your stomach still dropped whenever you’d see anything that referred to him as your ex husband, as though your mind and heart needed a moment to catch up. how could jungkook ever simply become an ex anything to you?
he had existed in your life for so long that removing him felt akin to ripping a vital organ out of your body, all whilst expected to function entirely normally. how could you? you suppose you were failing, really, with the way you moved through life out of necessity instead of want.
the tabloids loved him now more than ever. it was the paradox of tragedy, you assumed, as you knew how badly the world yearned for a broken hearted lover.
the youngest ceo in the country’s history, a billionaire bachelor - the elusive businessman was on the top of every social hierarchy, whilst people spoke about you in hushed whispers. the only woman to have ever gotten away. who were you? why did you leave? why did he leave you with so much?
he had become so much colder after the divorce, and people picked up on it like rats with forgotten food.
the media had always labelled him as an intimidating man, but now, there was no way of denying it. there was something unsettling about the pictures that were being papped of him, your hungry eyes taking him in top to bottom, nibbling your lip - he looked so different. broad shoulders remained the same, but he seemed bigger, no doubt taking out his pain in the gym. it was the look in his eyes, however, that had your stomach in knots.
he looked dead whilst alive.
jeon jungkook was heartbroken, and the world knew it clear as day.
he had dealt with it the only way he knew how - by burying himself six feet deep into his work, knowing he had nothing to come home to, often times sleeping in his office just so he could ignore the silence of his house.
meanwhile, you had spent the last eight months trying to learn how to exist without him.
the humiliation at first was all you were reminded of, as you realised how deeply you had intertwined into him and vice versa. the silence in your once shared penthouse was so unbearable that you had moved into a tiny two bedroom apartment, using the spare as a storage unit for all of your books. on your nightstand still sat a picture of you both, as you secretly cried over it most nights. you couldn’t even sleep unless you wore one of his hoodies, despite his scent having washed off months ago - it was the comfort of knowing you still had a part of your marriage with you.
you missed him in every small, stupid, awful way imaginable.
the feeling of his hand, heavy and strong, on your thigh as he drove you around. the way he would cage you into any surface he could find just to smother you in kisses, or even the way he would whisper into your ear stupid jokes that had you giggling too loudly for the world to hear.
you missed your husband. you missed jungkook.
everyday you battled with the regret of your choice, especially once you’d see the way his under-eyes had sunken with the lack of sleep and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to admit it out loud. you couldn’t live that way again, not with the neglect - not with your past trauma from your parents.
jungkook knew the gravity of his actions, knew you needed to heal and reason with them before he could come back to you but fuck, it hurt so bad to wait.
sometimes, during your weaker moments, you found yourself searching him into your phone in the dead of night, breathing out an audible sigh of relief at the confirmation he was still openly single. it was pathetic, that much you knew, but it was selfish beyond anything else. so cruel to want the man you left to be alone, simply because he still belonged to you.
you had attempted to rebuild your life slowly, carefully piecing together fragments of yourself that existed before all of this had happened. your days were quieter now, so much lonelier but it was enough to keep your mind from spiralling every second of every waking day.
some habits, however, refused to die.
his contact remained as the only favourited number in your phone, as you spent all of your time rereading old messages, despite it ending in tears. if only you knew he too did the same, with his photo album on his phone his most used app as he stared at you nightly, often falling asleep with your picture shining brightly on his screen.
you still loved him. he loved you even more.
that could never change.
-
the first flowers came on a random tuesday.
you had just experienced one of the worst days you’d had in a while, with a final meeting with one of your clients going to shit after you realised hours of work and designs had somehow corrupted, and then deleted. by the time you had returned home, you were sure the world had seen your teary state, your body heavier than usual.
as you searched your bag for your keys, your eyes peered up, noticing them.
your breath caught.
sitting neatly outside your apartment door. a bouquet, large but elegant - white gardenias. the flowers you had held at not only your wedding, but the ones jungkook would buy you for your anniversary each year.
your flowers.
your chest ached so violently you found yourself gasping for air as your legs gave out below you. you slid down the wall, fingers brushing against the delicate petals as you looked for a note, only to realise there wasn’t one. you didn’t need to see who they were from, only one person knew you well enough and your heart felt like it had been split into two as you took them in.
it wasn’t your anniversary, wasn’t any special kind of occasion, and yet here they were. bright, promising, sweet.
your vision blurred with heavy tears as the painful feeling in your body grew, throat tightening with emotion before reaching out and taking a hold of them, breathing the flowers in openly.
the scent alone was enough to destroy you.
he was everywhere, all of the time - even now. especially now.
the flowers had become a norm, a pattern that was only recognisable to you, and completely deniable to any other person looking in. you were smarter than you looked and you knew what was happening, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to call it out.
your favourite restaurant somehow managing to accommodate you always despite the line or packed out reservations list, or the paparazzi that often bullied you for your attention outside of your home mysteriously disappearing. even your car, that you had dented slightly, appeared in perfect condition as you walked down to go to work one morning, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
your chest bloomed with realisation.
jungkook.
he never appeared himself, no. never. it was unsettling really, the reminder that he was powerful and could have things done with a flick of his wrist - he was sure to never make you privy to it, so you’d always feel like he was the same boy you had met all those years ago. now? he had every intention of showing you the empire he had built for you and you alone. he lingered around you and your life like a floating ghost, invisible but permanent. you truly couldn’t get rid of him even if you tried.
three weeks later is when you felt yourself reaching breaking point.
for the first time in months, you were finally leaving the house to actually do something for fun. your best friend, yejin, who’s husband yoongi was ironically jungkook’s best friend, had forced you to come out for a drink. nothing intense, merely a nice bar where the drinks were smooth and the company was good, with slow jazz playing in the back.
exhaustion was heavy in your bones but you listened, doing your best to make yourself look nice despite how dead you felt inside. a little skirt that felt too short and a top that perhaps plunged too low - yejin had deemed you utterly perfect.
sat at the bar, you sipped your drink, wincing lightly as she yapped away about something her coworker had said. you appreciated how she refused to bring jungkook up, knowing that she couldn’t breach the topic unless you were the one to bring it up yourself. you hated how badly you wanted to, how desperate you were to find out how he was doing.
she filled the air constantly, like she was terrified of what would happen if your mind caught up to the reality of the situation, instead filling it with nonsense to occupy your demanding thoughts.
you let her.
you even found yourself laughing, the feeling and sound so startling that it reduced you to silence for a full minute afterwards as you welcomed the feeling of actual joy for the first time in so long.
you almost didn’t notice the shift in your phone, the slight light radiating from beneath as you had turned it onto its screen earlier in the evening. she, however, paused mid sentence, eyes dropping down to let you know someone was ringing.
nothing could have prepared you for the sight of his name on the screen.
the name, ‘kookie’ with a large, red heart adorned your phone as humiliation rummaged through you at the realisation you had never even bothered to change his name, the concept too painful to come to terms with. however, yejin all but gasped as she turned to you, eyes widened with an almost excitement.
“answer it.” she encouraged, hand on your back. “i’ll watch your drink.”
you weren’t sure what to say, as you nodded, staring down at the screen before shakily sliding off of your seat and heading towards the back entrance, where a smokers area sat empty. your hands shook as you cupped the phone to your chest, taking a seat before looking down at it once more.
he was calling you.
jungkook was fucking calling you.
before you could overthink, you swiped, answering it.
the phone felt hot against your ear, a reminder of what was currently happening as your heart began beating harder than it had in months, your hands shaking. for a second, neither of you spoke.
you could hear faint movement on his end, a shuffling of some sorts before he completely stilled, as though he had pushed everything he was doing to a side at the realisation you had actually answered.
“hi.”
god. your eyes squeezed shut tight almost immediately.
there he was - your jungkook. not the ceo extraordinaire that was plastered on every publication you could find, with dead eyes and a sharp expression. no, this was him. jungkook. your jungkook.
the sound alone nearly brought you to tears. you felt so pathetic.
“hi.” you whispered back, voice cracking.
silence settled again, but not awkwardly. you didn’t think an awkward silence was capable of existing between you, not when your bodies were so intertwined and so aware of one another. the distance between you was unnatural, neither of your minds able to comprehend an eight month hiatus enough to understand that this phone call alone shouldn’t have been happening.
he exhaled slowly, and your shoulders gently relaxed, your eyes closing momentarily as you imagined him. no doubt still at work, in a suit unbuttoned at the shirt, his tie long forgotten. his tattooed hand running through his hair, ruffling it the way you always would.
“you answered.” he broke you out of your thoughts.
your chest tightened painfully at the sheer disbelief in his tone.
“you called.”
a faint huff of amusement left him then, causing you to blink back any emotion that was building in your eyes. it eased you.
“yeah.” he breathed out.
another pause.
you felt so suddenly aware of yourself - your hand reached out to smooth down your hair, adjust your top and skirt, despite knowing he couldn’t see you. it was subconscious, as though the thought of him alone was enough to undo you, but his voice? hearing it after so long, directed at you, for you. yours. it was enough to have you soothed for months.
before you could spiral in your thoughts, he spoke again.
“where are you?”
“out with yejin.”
“mm.” you shivered at his hum. you had no idea he was so undone at the sound of you too. “a bar?”
“yeah.”
“you drinking?”
you rolled your eyes, tongue poking your cheek at his curiosity. some things truly had never changed.
“why?” you asked, and you could almost hear his grin on the other end. “can’t i ask?”
his tone, smooth. familiar. fuck, it did things to you, and you could feel your thighs pressing together just listening to him. secretly, your favourite part of jungkook was how possessive he had always been, and even in moments like this where he hid it under a layer of calmness, you could recognise it instantly.
it reminded you of when he’d ask you whether you had eaten, just before pulling you into his lap, lips attacking the side of your neck hungrily or when he’d tell you to take your medicine, with a slow ‘baby’ and kisses planted to your forehead and cheeks.
“one drink.” you revealed, with a nibble to your lip.
you had no idea that he too was a fucking mess.
jungkook was indeed in his office, with his legs spread, suit jacket and tie somewhere, his shirt unbuttoned a little as he too drank. a cup of whiskey in his hand, his hair a mess as he scoured over your instagram for the millionth time just that day. neither of you were ones to post much, especially considering your accounts were private with only a few people, but he stalked you daily in hopes of a glimpse of you. could you blame him? he was utterly, devotedly in love with you.
a measly divorce couldn’t stop that.
seeing yejin’s story, with your low cut top, and your big eyes showing a sign of life for the first time in months made his heart bloom. it had his cock straining, again, just looking at you, eyes hungrily looking over every inch of you and your soft smile. god, how he had missed it.
he had given you your time. respected your wishes, allowed you eight months of this but enough was enough. the flowers were just the beginning, marking his space back in your life through a promise he had every intention of upholding. he had told you directly he was going to fix this, and you, his sweet, sweet girl had believed him.
he would never let you down again.
“you having fun?”
“why do you wanna know every single detail?” you asked, tone a little harsher than intended but you couldn’t help yourself. this was an ambush on your senses.
he huffed once more, the amusement enough to disarm you.
“because i miss you.”
the words left him so easily that the breath in your lungs completely dissipated, leaving you a statued mess. no hesitation, no shame - pure, devastating honesty.
“you can’t say that, jungkook.” you weakly combatted, the intake of breath on his side of the phone at the sound of his name leaving your mouth enough of an answer for you.
“why not? i can’t miss my wife?” he scoffed lightly at you.
you blubbered for a moment. “i-i am not..i’m not your wife!”
“okay.” he hummed once more.
there was a quiet clink on his end, no doubt picking his drink up and taking a big gulp after abandoning it the second you answered. neither of you spoke for a few more moments, silence now becoming a running theme between you on the call, and yet it was still void of the awkwardness you’d find anywhere else. it was awful how familiar it felt. how comfortable and safe.
your fingers played with the hem of your skirt nervously, unsure if you had been too brash - he was hurting too after all.
“is that top new?”
your breath caught.
“..what?”
jungkook stayed quiet for an extra beat. “your top. haven’t seen that one before.”
heat flooded your cheeks, chest and neck before you could even respond, your lips bitten down as you inhaled shakily.
“how do you know that?” you were ignoring the way your pulse was hammering against your body, trying to feign an air of nonchalance.
at that, he couldn’t help the small grin. “saw you on yejin’s story.” he murmured, quieter now. “look so good. love when you wear pink, baby.”
it wasn’t even the words he had chosen, but more so the way he was saying them. so calm, so certain, so casual as if he wasn’t calling his ex wife baby over a bit of cleavage that was never really meant for his eyes - your blush spreading all over you now.
“jungkook..” you breathed out, shakily.
“what?” he asked innocently, and you could really hear the smile in his voice now. “am i wrong?”
you looked down at your top, nibbling away at your lip to hide the small smile that was beginning to form on your own face, something that you hadn’t felt in a long, long time. your fingers brushed against your stomach, feeling the fabric before tucking a strand behind your hair.
“it’s new.” you admitted softly, heels shuffling slightly on the ground.
the sound he made in response was enough to ruin you. not a laugh, not quite a sigh - something pleased.
he hummed. “so pretty.”
your eyes squeezed shut, and jungkook could feel it. could see it as though you were right in front of him. you were never one to handle a compliment, always going pink and shyly looking away and god, he loved it so much. loved complimenting you in hopes that you would react just like that, just to see you get all flustered.
the feeling in your stomach..it felt so strange. the same one that had haunted you for the past eight months, an unbearable warmth that filled you from your toes to your head, something you craved so desperately from him and him alone. to be noticed, looked at, admired by jungkook was one thing but to be loved by him? it was joy in itself.
you could feel it.
no one had ever loved you quite like he had done, as though every single thing you were capable of was worthy of applause. it terrified you.
“you can’t do this.” your voice came out so much smaller than either of you had expected, changing the entire feel of the call instantly.
as a result, his own tone softened, as though he was dealing with something porcelain.
“do what, baby?”
your heart physically ached.
“talk to me..like nothing happened.”
you felt sick to your stomach, hands gripping your phone and stomach as your eyes shut tight. you wished you hadn’t of said anything, not with the way the silence kissed the air in a way that felt anything but familiar - it hurt. painful in every single way.
for the first time since answering the phone, you could see jungkook properly. could hear him breathing sharply as though your words were both a reminder and an understanding that no matter what, things could never go back to what they once were.
the slight twitch in his cheek, the way his fingers would naturally tighten whenever he was overwhelmed with emotion like he didn’t know where to put it, where to place it in his overworking mind. he had always loved so deeply, your jungkook; just didn’t know where to put it, or how to show it.
when he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter. stripped bare for you, so you could feel him.
“i know what i did.” he admitted softly. “i know i fucked up, and that i failed you as a husband.”
your throat tightened.
outside, rainwater still lingered from earlier, a sickly humidity wrapped into every air particle around you. the scent of lingering cigarette smoke was heavy enough to ground you in that moment as you listened to jungkook speak words neither of you could truly handle hearing, despite how necessary they were. it just hurt so, so badly.
inside the bar, you could hear muffled laughter, people egging one another on for drinks as jazz boomed, your heart easing as you could hear yejin’s voice amongst the crowd, no doubt the life of the party there too.
“then why are you acting like this?” you pathetically asked, lip jutting out in a teary pout. he could almost hear it on you. “you’re talking to me like we’re still together.”
“you’re still mine, y/n.”
your breath hitched violently.
“jungkook-“
“no,” he remained calm, a stark difference between you and him. “you asked me a question, baby, so let me answer it properly.”
the nickname rolled off of his lips so naturally, instinctively, and you hated how easily your body curled closer, almost desperate to hear it whilst he stood in front of you. you had always been putty in his hands, so easily undone with a few pretty words but you’d held back for the past few months for the sake of your boundaries. hearing him so open, so honest - it was fucking you up all over again.
“i know we’re divorced,” he continued before you could interrupt him again. “i know..you’re not my wife anymore, and i know this is my fault. you left because of me and i’ll live with that for the rest of my life.”
his voice cracked by the end of his statement.
“but i won’t sit here and pretend like the last eight months have suddenly erased the past fifteen years of loving you.”
the words shattered you. your delicate, pathetic heart broke once more at his words at the confirmation of what you needed to hear so, so badly.
years of abandonment issues stemming from your parents and friends who had only ever toyed with you meant you had put your all into jungkook, who had only ever put every inch of himself back in - you were a partnership, a welcome duo that made sense to the both of you. watching him pull back, forget you, neglect and abandon your relationship no matter the reason was enough to trigger you in ways that no one could reason with.
it was an intimate form of violence that though was never intended, hurt more than anything he could have ever done to you.
he knew that. he was openly telling you he recognised his faults, his wrong doings - you knew that too. god, you knew him better than anyone alive, and you knew that by leaving him it was the only way for him to understand and see.
“you’re making this so much harder, jungkook.” you whispered out through a flood of tears, your mascara and eyeliner smudging immediately under the slaughter of liquid.
“i’m sorry. i’m so, so sorry baby but i need you to hear me, okay? just..i need you to know i’m going to fix this. properly.” he breathed out, desperate now. “i’ve been doing things right this time..gave you space, let you breathe, been working on myself and going to therapy. don’t sleep at the office anymore, did at the start cause i didn’t like coming home but i’m better now.”
therapy?
you knew he held so much trauma with his own parents, his own upbringing, too scared to ever even speak about it if it wasn’t with you but to hear he had actually taken the steps to go forwards with something that put him directly out of his comfort zone was insanity to you. especially when his one and only concern had only ever been your own comfort, even at his expense.
his honesty made you burst out into quiet sobs - a noise he swore was harsh enough to kill him. he breathed out, cooing at you lightly as he shook his head despite you unable to see him, so pained.
jungkook recognised your pain immediately.
“yeah,” he muttered. “turns out working yourself to death because you’re afraid of losing everything after you’ve had a shitty upbringing actually isn’t normal behaviour. who knew?”
despite your heartbroken state, you let out a sincere watery laugh.
the sound hit him like a drug.
he went completely silent after hearing it, replaying it in the forefront of his mind. a greedy, gluttonous side of him climbing out of his very throat as he held it close to his soul, cherishing it - he was a starved man finally being fed.
“there she is.” he breathed. “fuck..missed hearing your laugh.”
you hated how easily you were able to slip back into him.
“jungkook..”
“i mean it,” his tone deepened slightly - more certain, more intentional. “i’m not calling you tonight to confuse you, y/n. i’m not calling because i’m lonely..”
your fingers tightened around the phone once more. “then, why?”
“because i’m getting you back.”
there was no hesitation in his voice, no wariness nor anything other than sheer determination. he sounded firm and a part of that thrilled you, whilst the other half sat scared of what this meant - you couldn’t survive this again, losing him. what if you had changed? what if you weren’t who he thought you were anymore?
“hey, stop it.” he shook his head, eyebrows furrowing. “it’s just me, y/n. it’s just me and you, okay?”
“but what if we can’t do it?” you asked through a teary sob, scuffing your heels on the hard ground. “what if i’m different and what if it’s too hard? i can’t..i won’t survive it..”
silence once more.
“then, we do it slowly.” he whispered, assured, soothing you. no hesitation whatsoever. “i’m not asking you to trust me overnight, baby. i know i fucked that up already.”
your lip trembled, tears streaming so fast you could hardly keep up.
“but i’m here now.”
the words settled so deeply inside of you that it almost hurt. that was all you had wanted all along, was it not? a present husband, the same man that loved you without the frills of money and presents - you wanted jungkook. your jungkook.
you swallowed thickly, knowing it had taken so much of him to even say this to you, so confident as he knew you needed a rock at this moment despite also being emotionally devastated.
two whole minutes of silence stretched between you as you caught your breath, your tears still streaming but your sobs subsiding, allowing for sweet hiccups that he thought were the cutest thing he had ever heard. his mind swam, aching, knowing how needy you were after a cry. he wanted to bundle you up and hold you, kiss you until there were no more thoughts left in that pretty little head of yours, right until you were finally asleep and safe in his arms.
“are you still at work?” you asked softly, breaking the silence and pulling him out of his thoughts.
a small pause.
then, almost amused - “technically..”
“jungkook! it’s late..”
he laughed quietly under his breath, the sound warm enough to blanket you in it.
“finished hours ago, i’ve just been sat here.”
“doing what?”
another pause. slightly charged.
“looking at you.” he murmured.
heat rushed to your face immediately, wiping your under eyes. “what?”
“been stalking your instagram. yejin posted you like half an hour ago too, so..” his voice dropped lower, smoother. more intimate. “haven’t really thought about doing anything since.”
your thighs pushed together involuntarily at the confession, cheeks hinted even darker.
god.
“jungkook.” you chastised with a little sniffle.
“pink was a bad choice, baby.” he grunted slightly. “you know that colour drives me fucking insane on you.”
your eyes squeezed shut. there he was.
not the cold, mysterious ceo that had the world intrigued, nor the tall, hefty man that had most people cowering away as he walked past. no, this was your husband - flirty, affectionate and completely and utterly obsessed with you.
“you’re so ridiculous.” you shook your head through a hiccup, biting back the pathetic small smile that was about to form.
“yeah?” he hummed through a small laugh. “still answered the phone.”
the smile in his voice only had yours growing larger, a small laugh muffled by the back of your hand.
you could hear him moving around now, keys jingling lightly before the sound of a car door opening had your ears peaking up.
“wait,” your eyebrows raised. “are you leaving?”
“mhm.”
“where are you going?”
jungkook grinned. it was your turn to be curious.
“home.”
your smile dropped slightly. home.. that used to be a word that was synonymous with you. your chest ached all over again.
“couldn’t go back there without hearing your voice first.” he admitted quietly.
silence swallowed you whole. the vulnerability in his voice felt far more dangerous than any of the tears you had shed tonight, your fingers continuing to shake around the phone at the mere sound of it. before you could think of a response, he spoke again.
“there’s a gala next friday.”
your stomach tightened as you leaned your head against the wall, already understanding the direction of the conversation.
“jungkook..”
“come with me.”
no hesitation. no uncertainty.
firm, assured, confident. like there had never even been another concept, or thought in his brain - you were the first and only option.
“i don’t think that’s a good idea..”
“probably not.”
the honesty startled a laugh out of you - a real one. on the other side of the phone, jungkook sat in his car, eyes closed, breathing deeply at the sweet sound like he was memorising it. treasuring it so he could replay it over and over and over later when he laid in your once shared bed alone.
“fuck,” he breathed. “you have no idea how much i’ve missed that.”
your eyes burned once more.
“baby,” his tone gentled again, using the pet name you loved so much. “just one night. me and you.”
you wanted to scream, wanted to pull at your hair and jump all at the same time. of course you wanted to say yes, what more could you need? your ex husband so openly telling you he wanted to pursue you with every inch of his body, until he was nothing but yours to mould and shape.
“i’ll think about it.” you replied instead, nibbling away at your lip.
the grin in his voice was immediate.
“that’s my girl.”
—
you couldn’t breathe.
both physically and emotionally, you found difficulty in inhaling air as you looked at yourself in the mirror, yejin somewhere in the room finding accessories for you to wear all whilst you blinked rapidly.
the dress, although beautiful, felt too tight.
your hands shook on either side of you as she approached you, holding up a delicate diamond necklace you recognised as an anniversary gift jungkook had gotten you but never quite found the chance to wear. your eyes were unfocused as she clasped it onto your neck, watching the way it fell so softly against soft skin, as though it had been curated for you and you alone.
“you need to breathe, y/n.” she suddenly murmured behind you, resting her chin on your shoulder as you both stared at you in the mirror.
pale pink satin - not bright in anyway, but a sweet kiss of your favourite colour adorned your body in floor length, tight fitting dress. you were the embodiment of elegance as the fabric draped over your curves, all whilst cinching perfectly at your waist, allowing for a pretty silhouette. not only did you look the part for a charity gala, you had exceeded any expectation anyone would ever have for you thanks to your best friend’s styling.
“dress is tight.” you simply whispered back, hardly recognising yourself.
your makeup matched your dress. glowy and pink with soft blush dusted onto your cheeks, glossy lips puckered and sweet. your hair fell in waves and for the first time in a very long time, you felt utterly beautiful.
the problem, however, was in the circumstance itself.
you were about to see jungkook for the first time since you had officially walked away from your marriage and the thought had kept you up all week. you weren’t sure what you were thinking actually saying yes to his invitation, calling him to tell you would come only for him to audibly huff out of joy. he was like a child in a candy shop but you couldn’t help but wonder if he harboured the same anxiety.
it was heavy in your stomach as you stared at yourself. pink was your favourite colour, and he loved it on you. did you look pretty enough? all eyes would be on you both tonight, given the nature of your relationship and the almost celebrity like status that had been awarded to the two of you.
all in all, it was his face that had you nibbling your bottom lip in thought. there wasn’t a night where you left his name unsearched in your internet browser, desperate to see what he looked like in that current moment but seeing him in purpose was a whole different playing field.
you loved him in suits - a fitting joy that was awarded to you constantly given his occupation. the way his shoulders would fill out the material so nicely, the way his shirt would stretch over his chest and the way darker colours only brought out the darkness in his eyes - it was your personal kryptonite. you weren’t sure how you were supposed to think, behave even, once you caught got sight of him.
“hey, y/n, look at me.” yejin pulled you out of your thoughts, soft hands pulling at your jaw. “it’s just jungkook. you know him better than anyone, okay? you’re all good.”
you nodded, though you continued to blink at her rapidly. “s’just been so long and..i don’t know..i’m scared. is that weird?”
she offered a sad smile. “it’s been eight months of healing, babe. that love doesn’t just go away and from what you told me, this is a step in the right direction. just gotta let him in.”
before you could respond, the sound of the doorbell blared through the apartment, making you look up to where the door sat on the other side. if you thought your heart had been beating fast before, you were sure you were on the edge of passing out now as yejin mumbled a quick ‘that’ll be him’ beside you.
oh god. oh god. oh god.
the dress felt too tight around your ribs.
your hands smoothed down the satin again despite having done it what felt like a million times already, fingers tips trembling over expensive fabric as your breathing came out shallow. you hated this - hated the fear of it all when it was jungkook on the other side of the door. your jungkook.
eight months. eight whole months and your body still knew him better than your mind was ready to let on.
“y/n.” yejin practically cooed at you, assuring you with a hand on your back. “breathe.”
you nodded quickly, though it went in one ear and out the other.
the intercom buzzed again, impatient time.
ironically, it was this that had your shoulders slumping softly, your shortness of breath slowly soothing as you realised the familiarity of the situation. of course jungkook would buzz twice - it was a telltale sign of his own anxiety, something you could recognise from a mile away. knocking twice, calling your name twice, checking the front door before bed twice.
it was just jungkook.
“okay.” you whispered to yourself.
you turned, more determined now you knew he was in the same state as you, as your heels clicked on the floor of your much smaller apartment, the noise loud enough for him to hear from the outside. each step felt heavier the closer you got, but there sat an anticipation in you that had you almost desperate to see him.
your hand finally wrapped around the handle before you opened the door.
and there he was.
god.
for a moment, your brain completely malfunctioned.
jungkook stood in your hallway beneath the almost dingy apartment lighting, one hand wrapped around a large bouquet of flowers you recognised to be the ones he had been gifting you with continuously for the past few weeks, and every anniversary. white gardenias.
your eyes fell onto them immediately with a strangled gasp, all whilst taking him in, your heart beating out of your chest as you felt almost faint at the sight of him.
a black suit.
the material stretched perfectly across his too broad shoulders and narrow waist, expensive to the eye as you could tell it had been tailored to fit him exactly. the contrast between the white shirt underneath was utterly delicious, and memories of pulling open buttons under heated exchanges flooded your eyes.
his hair was styled almost messily which you immediately recognised as his hands having ran through them, no doubt due to his anxiety - you wanted to pull at his locks, wanted to feel them against your fingers.
it was his face, however, that hurt to look at.
he looked healthier than most of the pictures you had seen over the span of the past few months, with warm in his cheeks, a slight dazed look in his eyes. still tired, with purple underneath his eyes indicating his lack of sleep, still carrying traces of heartbreak you knew you had placed there.
god.
jungkook looked every bit of the man you were in love with.
and here he stood, staring at you like he had just seen heaven open up right in front of him.
neither of you could look away from one another, as his eyes dragged over you slowly, inch by inch. your hair, your neckline that dipped lower than he was used to seeing, your manicure, your beautiful face. jungkook couldn’t fathom that you had once belonged to him, the pain of the past eight months surfacing as it gripped him by the throat like a vice - he had lost you?
you watched his throat bob.
his eyes met yours, the first time in what felt like a lifetime, and neither of you really knew what to do. how was it that the man you had known most of your life, the one constant, felt like a stranger in that moment? it was like you were discovering him again, an opportunity to relearn him presented to you and you took it with both hands.
he let out a shaking breath, one that had your cheeks flushing as he extended his arm, presenting the large bouquet for you.
“you look beautiful.” he whispered, voice struggling almost as you continued to watch his adam’s apple almost entranced.
with a shy thank you, you held them close to your chest, breathing in the familiar scent that brought you so much comfort.
your chest had eased now you were finally looking at him, now that he was actually in your space - the worst was over. you almost felt ridiculous for being worried about seeing him when it was just jungkook. eight months couldn’t erase that familiarity.
the hallway suddenly felt too small. too warm, too intimate; you felt like you were being caved in by his mere presence and for a moment you wondered if you needed breath at all.
you simply stood there, clutching the flowers delicately to your chest as though they meant something so much more than what anyone else could assume all whilst jungkook looked at you like you were the first beautiful thing he had seen in months.
his eyes couldn’t leave your face.
it should have made you uncomfortable, the intensity of his stare, but your body reacted the way it had always done when you were near him. you were inching closer without even realising it, him doing the same until you were looking up, head angled and his downwards, head bent to admire you properly.
“hi.” you whispered again.
the size difference between you had never been more apparent until then, what with all of his strenuous visits to the gym these past few months. he had always towered over you, but it was different now - his already wide chest and broad shoulders engulfed you, his biceps on either side of him enough to have you wanting him in a way that certainly was not becoming of an ex wife.
it’s like he could read your thoughts, with the way he inched closer to you, until your bodies were openly brushing against each other faintly. material on material, fabric kissing fabric. you wished you could feel him on your skin.
the sound of your voice had lulled him gently as he dipped his head down lower so you could properly see him, despite your head back to look at him.
“hi, baby.”
your stomach flipped violently.
there it was again. baby. fuck.
as though the divorce papers were fickle, representing a momentary lapse of judgement instead of a ruling decision. like he still woke up beside you every morning and ruined your cheeks with kisses before falling in between your thighs.
the dazed look on your face didn’t go unnoticed.
before you could even respond, yejin appeared behind you with the biggest smile she could possibly muster.
“oh my god,” she squeaked dramatically. “you both look insane!”
jungkook blinked, momentarily pulled from the emotional spiral you were both taking part in as he straightened slightly, despite still being awfully close to you. your cheeks heated at the sound of her voice, jumping a little in shock, causing you to brush against him faintly.
“hi, yejin.”
“don’t hi yejin me.” she narrowed her eyes dangerously. “if she cries tonight, i’ll kill you.”
“yejin!” you flushed red.
jungkook, however, allowed for a soft smile, nodding once. “fair.”
the sheer sincerity of it made the room go quiet, your eyes meeting his once more. you knew though it was a passing comment, he truly meant it - he’d let her kill him if it meant you’d hurt less.
your chest tightened all over again.
yejin seemed to realise it too, her teasing expression softening at the both of you. idiots in love, both too cautious to know what the correct next step was - thank god she loved to meddle.
“okay! you’re both gonna be late so hurry up.” she hummed, turning you and looking over you for any last minute touch ups. “i’ll take these. i’ll show myself out.”
with a cheeky wink, she all but pushed you backwards towards jungkook where your back gently brushed against his front. she had taken the flowers, shoved your clutch in your hand and shut the door in your face, all after giving you a big grin.
he didn’t move from behind you, despite you turning to properly face him. the two of you stared at one another openly, eyebrows pulling together - you could see it happening in real time, the way his body curled at the mere feel of you. to be so close to you, touching you; it was out of a far away dream.
you felt it too - god, you could feel it in your veins. the horrifying wave of unashamed want that filtered through you so naturally, your body knew him. your body recognised your husband.
your man.
his restraint was palpable. you could see it in the way his fingers flexed on either side of him, almost twitching as muscle memory surfaced from deep inside of him. for years touching you had been second nature, with a hand on your waist, fingers lifting your chin, arms around your figure to hold you up for a kiss.
now he looked almost tortured as he realised he no longer knew what he was allowed to do.
the realisation alone softened you.
“we should go.” you whispered up at him gently, though your voice lacked any real conviction.
jungkook stared at you, offering a small nod almost obediently despite the stark hunger in his eyes.
“yeah.” he cleared his throat. “yeah, okay.”
he stepped back and first; the distance was felt immediately.
you suddenly missed the warmth that radiated off of him, fingers faintly tugging on his suit jacket so gently you weren’t even aware you were doing it. what the fuck was wrong with you? one touch and you were already spiralling into him again like the last eight months had never happened.
jungkook noticed. of course he did.
his chest visibly expanded from beneath the expensive material, eyes darkening so suddenly you felt heat up and down your spine. the way he looked at you had emotion swirling in your stomach, so hungry. so devoted.
you slowly released him, blinking rapidly as though you’d only just realised what you’d done.
“sorry.” you whispered instinctively.
jungkook’s eyebrows furrowed together in offence.
“don’t apologise for touching me.” his voice came out firmer than expected, low. far too intimate given the apartment hallway you were in.
the silence that followed felt thick enough to choke on, neither of you making an effort to move despite knowing you were bordering on being late. the tension was so unbearable now that you were both alone, freely staring at one another after so much time apart - no yejin to soften the edges. just fifteen years worth of tension, want and need all accumulated between you.
his eyes flickered downwards as he watched you sway slightly.
“your heels are insane.” he muttered softly.
you blinked. “hm?”
“you’re already wobbling.”
offended, your mouth gaped. “i am not wobbling!”
jungkook let out a small huff of amusement, loving how easy it was to rile you up. the sound completely disarmed you, seeing a glimpse of the same jungkook you had been with all of your life.
“you almost fell walking out of the door.” he teased, with a tilt to his head downwards at you.
“i did not!” you shook your head with a small swat to his chest. he only let out another laugh. “you literally grabbed onto me.”
“that..doesn’t count, okay?”
“mm.” amusement stretched over his face, as he led you to the staircase, cautious to be slow as he watched you continue to slightly wobble due to the uneven surface of the hallway. “sure.”
before you could even think of a rebuttal, you watched jungkook look down the multiple staircases with a slight frown before turning to you. he suddenly bent at the knees, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion for no longer than two seconds before one arm slid below your knees and the other around your back.
your gasp echoed.
“jungkook!”
he lifted you bridal style effortlessly, as though you weighed truly nothing to him.
your hands immediately flung to the back of his neck, arms wrapping around his shoulders in shock as your body felt more of him than it had done in what felt like eons. jungkook’s hands were so much bigger than yours, and you could feel him everywhere all at once, enough to have you dizzy with a sense of want.
“what are you doing?!” you whispered harshly, eyes blown wide as he sorted you on one single arm, checking his phone for the time with the other. it was beyond easy.
jungkook merely looked down at you calmly, entirely unbothered despite the way you could feel his pulse hammering below your fingertips.
“preventative measures. can’t have you slipping down the stairs.”
you stared at him in disbelief. “you can’t just pick me up!”
he scoffed a little, as though your words were going in one ear and out the other. your comfort came first, that much was ingrained in him and even you couldn’t stop him when it came to that.
he walked down the stairs as though it was the most natural thing in the world, one hand spread wide against your back, claiming whilst the other was hooked under your thighs, making sure you were as comfortable as possible against him. your dress was draped so beautifully over his arm that anyone who would have caught you in that moment would have remarked, ironically, how bridal you looked.
you couldn’t believe how safe he felt.
jungkook noticed the second you relaxed into him. properly.
“missed carrying you.” he admitted quietly as he descended another step.
your entire body burned. “jungkook.” you breathed weakly, though there was no real warning behind your tone.
“what?” he hummed innocently. “s’true.”
you remembered almost fondly - it was the one thing you probably missed more than anything else. he would carry you everywhere - from the bed to your bath, to the couch after you’d woken up, through grocery stores just to hear you squeak in embarrassment. one time he had held you for an hour straight, walking you home after a date just because your feet hurt.
and now, here you were again, tucked into his chest as though it was home. you supposed it was.
your heart ached so violently at the memory that looking up at him through your lashes had your brain whizzing too fast for you to keep up with.
“you’ve gotten so much bigger.” you whispered almost shyly before you could stop yourself, already tucked into him too comfortably.
big mistake.
his heart truly nearly fucking stopped. his head snapped down at you almost instantly, eyes darkening so visibly it had you avoiding any contact, instead focusing your gaze on his clothed pecs.
“yeah?” he asked slowly.
your cheeks were flushed dark, realising how that may have sounded.
“just..got broader.” you clarified through another whisper, wanting nothing more than to hide your face in his neck out of embarrassment.
“been working out a lot more.” he murmured down at you, ducking his head a little so that he could meet your eyes, a small smile forming.
you nibbled your lip with a little nod, fingers brushing against the ends of his hair.
jungkook knew you loved the size difference between you, but it truly didn’t compare to how fucked it made his mind go. it was the first thing he had noticed when you opened the door again - how despite your heels, you were still so much shorter. it drove him insane, especially now that he was bigger. feeling you curled into his chest like this, all safe and protected, it made him feel wanted. to have you notice it, address it even so shyly; fuck. it ruined him.
by the time he had reached the bottom floor, your cheeks were still heated, dreading the fact he would have to let you go when all you wanted was to curl into him even deeper. to think ten minutes ago you had so much anxiety when now, he was actively conversing with you all whilst carrying you, it felt euphoric.
the driver stood outside of the car, the same man who drove you both to events when you were still together. your eyes widened a little as you watched him open the back door for you both, all whilst you were still leisurely held in his arms.
your embarrassment returned instantly.
“put me down!” you hissed quietly.
jungkook looked at you, unaffected. “why?”
“because your driver is literally staring at us, jungkook!”
the poor man looked away with a growing smile. he had missed seeing his boss so carefree, knowing that he was only like this when the situation pertained to you.
he smirked faintly. “he’s driven us around for years, baby. pretty sure he’s seen us do a lot worse.”
your mouth fell open, swatting his chest. “jungkook!”
that finally earned you a proper smile, brief but enough to knock the very air out of your lungs, your too large eyes drinking it in almost desperately. he was so handsome it hurt, and it wasn’t until now you realised how much you had missed his smile.
carefully, he gently lowered you to the ground, making sure you were comfortable on your feet.
his hands lingered. neither of you moved.
your faces were suddenly so close once more as your hands had slid down from his neck, but remained in contact, fingers digging into his chest faintly to feel him. the city noise faded around you and into the background as he looked down at you with an emotion that could only be classed as longing.
“you good?” he asked softly.
you nodded too quickly. “mhm.”
liar.
his eyes dropped to your lips once more, eyeing the gloss almost hungrily - would it taste like the strawberry you always applied? sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he’d remember the flavour.
then, like he had to physically pull himself back, he stepped closer to the car and gestured to it slowly.
“after you.”
you slid into the backseat first, smoothening your dress as it rode up your body, all whilst your pulse hammered harshly.
the interior of the car was sleek, donned in a luxurious black leather whilst it remained dimly lit in the back, with enough enough space to stretch out your legs. the scent of jungkook’s cologne was addicting, and you immediately recognised it to be the one you had bought him on your last anniversary together, your heart fluttering at the thought.
once he climbed in beside you, you realised how intimate the space actually was.
jungkook sat close enough for his thigh to brush against yours, broad shoulders taking up far too much room whilst the driver shut the door quietly behind him.
neither of you acknowledged the contact. it somehow made it worse.
it wasn’t until the divider between the front and the back began slowly sliding upwards, offering a layer of privacy that your breath caught audibly.
jungkook noticed - of course he fucking noticed. he couldn’t stop staring at you, especially now that he had you trapped here, pushed against him like you belonged with a drive ahead of you. god, the things he wanted to do to you in this dress were sinful at best, but he had to practise restraint, no matter how much it took out of him.
he leaned back, one arm sliding over to the top of your seat, where although he wasn’t touching you, you slyly leaned in just to have more of his warmth. it felt so familiar, so nauseatingly natural that anything other would have felt wrong.
he watched as your thighs pressed together.
fuck.
“you nervous?” he asked in his low voice, jaw ticking.
your eyes slowly shifted, finally meeting his gaze. through a shaky laugh, one without humour, you nodded. “obviously.”
he softened at that, sharpness melting away to reveal the tenderness below.
“it’s just me, y/n.”
you felt so hyperaware of everything. the rain that tapped softly against the tinted windows, and the gentle purr of the car engine beneath you. the feel of jungkook’s thigh soothed you, whilst his heavy gaze unnerved you - a cocktail mix that felt so entirely him.
you could feel his eyes on you before you even looked up. once you did, your breath caught at the intensity of his stare - not polite. certainly not subtle. his gaze moved over you, up and down, like he couldn’t help himself, like he he’d been trying to hold back the second you opened up the door to your apartment.
“fuck.” he muttered under his breath.
your cheeks flushed pink, whispering his name.
you watched his eyes flush down your body, eyes stuck on your cleavage and the way the material clung to your hips. “look at you.”
you instinctively looked down, shy at the attention but you couldn’t help but crave it. you knew exactly how obsessive jungkook was when it came to you, knew how deeply infatuated he was with every inch of you but seeing it so closely after so long almost felt soothing. it was a reminder that though everything had changed, somethings stayed the same.
his hand moved before you could think too hard about it, cupping under your chin and tilting your face upwards.
“don’t hide from me.”
your stomach tightened, eyelids hooded.
this thumb brushed against your jaw once, so soft, so unbelieving that you were in his arms despite the fact you technically weren’t his anymore. not that he believed that.
“i can’t stop looking at you.” he admitted, tone rougher now. “been trying since you opened the door, but it’s impossible.”
your thighs pressed together immediately, his gaze dropping to the small action. the reaction was subtle, but there - he noticed everything when it came to you.
you suddenly felt so warm.
“you’re staring so hard.” you murmured nervously, fingers twisting together in your lap.
“because you’re driving me fucking crazy.”
the words came out so plainly your eyes widened.
jungkook exhaled sharply through his nose, head tipping backwards against his seat all whilst you watched with heavy breath. the far gone part of your mind wanted to track his neck, trace his adam’s apple with your fingers all so he could continue looking at you the way he had been.
he looked devastating like this - broad thighs spread in the backseat with your body pressed against him, his arm slung heavy on the head of your seat. the both of you were a mess for one another, sick in the head with infatuation.
you weren’t stupid. you knew your effect on him, perhaps not to the full extent, but enough to know that nearly a year’s distance between you was enough to drive a man like him insane. his hand dragged over his face with a quiet groan before adjusting himself slightly over his suit trousers.
your eyes flickered downwards before you could stop yourself.
jungkook smiled at the sound of your quiet giggle as you put a hand over your mouth to muffle it, looking up to meet his gaze after noticing he was half hard. all you had done was exist.
“yeah,” he murmured, the sound of your laugh blooming in his chest. “that’s your fault.”
you slapped his thigh gently, although you couldn’t hold back on the continuous giggles that were now leaving you as you felt lighter than you had in what felt like years. he too matched you, the intensity lightening up massively as he let out a quiet laugh despite himself.
“what’d you expect, hm?” he asked, voice soft. “i haven’t seen you in eight months, and now you’re sat next to me looking like this. wearing pink.”
his hand slowly slid over, brushing against your own, fingertips grazing your skin before he intertwined them, gently.
you let him.
the second you curled your hand into his yourself, his expression changed. up until now, it was him losing control, reigning himself in, biting himself down to make sure you were as comfortable as possible but fuck. you were the one touching him now, making sure he could see you intertwine your hands properly, squeezing his hand.
it felt like a confirmation that this was the beginning of a new chapter.
he wanted to scream, to yell on the top of his lungs at the thought of you openly showing him your willingness. his sweet, angel girl; he loved you more than words could describe and he wanted to spend the rest of his life showing you.
“missed this,” he admitted quietly, eyes on your much smaller hand holding his so intimately. “missed you touching me.”
your eyes burned suddenly.
jungkook noticed immediately with a frown, expression softening at the edges.
“hey, baby.” his thumb brushed yours. “don’t cry.”
“m’not crying.” you whispered, though your voice wobbled embarrassingly.
he held you close to him as you both remained quiet for the rest of the journey, though the silence felt welcomed after such a rush and mix of emotions. you had gone from anxiety, to confusion, to excitement, to warmth, to a painful reminder of what once was - it was enough to drive you insane. being around him hurt, but being near him was healing.
rain continued to pitter patter outside as your hands remained intertwined, his fingers gently brushing against yours as he sat there trying to fathom how this was real. you were letting him in, and he could see it, could see how much it was taking out of you and he’d be damned if he fucked it up again. to get a second chance was insanity alone, but to have it with you?
the car began slowing down.
through the tinted windows, you could see a flash of white, people trying to get a glimpse of the elusive ceo they were so obsessed with. you gulped as you watched other powerful business people walk in with their dates, models and celebrities lining up to have their picture taken.
you leaned into him almost immediately.
jungkook held onto you tightly, arm sliding over your waist and gently squeezing. “i’m here. stay by me.”
you nodded quickly, dazed. “okay.”
his eyes lingered on your face for a second too long before he muttered under his breath, almost like he couldn’t help himself. “you look so fucking pretty.”
your heart nearly stopped, meeting his gaze as your shoulders slumped, feeling calm through his sweet words.
the car door opened.
chaos.
jungkook stepped out first and the reaction was everything you had expected and somehow so much more. your eyes blinked as you watched the cameras explode violently, reporters shouting his name from all directions as they desperately tried to get a clear shot of him, knowing he could easily make front page news without having to try.
your heart stopped for a moment.
his back faced everyone else as he turned to you, taking a hold of your hands once more and gently helping you out of the car, smoothening your dress.
the second they saw you? everything multiplied by ten.
genuine screaming was heard from somewhere behind the barricades as you slowly stepped out, your own hand finding jungkook’s for a sense of comfort which he readily gave you, pulling you in a little closer than necessary. the noise was erupting, your vision blinded momentarily by the insane flashes, reports actually tripping over one another to take pictures of you in particular.
this wasn’t normal.
jeon jungkook never brought women anywhere. never entertained rumours, never dated publicly, never stood beside any other woman that hadn’t been you. even then, you had been painfully private, making sure to attend closed events with rare appearances, often opting to support in the shadows as opposed to centre stage as he was forced to.
but now? this was the loudest statement you could have possibly made and it slowly dawned on you both the nature of the decision.
you were telling the world you were ready to start again.
his entire demeanour had changed out here.
you were overwhelmed to say the least, but it was his arms around you that kept you grounded as you clung to him, your smaller frame tucked so delicately within his own that some found themselves putting their cameras down just so they could observe you both.
you were the epitome of love and neither of you even knew it.
ceo jungkook - all cold eyes, sharp jaw, that terrifying calmness. yet every few seconds he ducked his head down, whispering something in your ear that would have you smiling almost shyly back up at him, easing your mind away from the hundreds of people who wanted nothing more than to get a picture of you.
“jungkook over here!”
“is that your ex-wife?”
“are you two back together?!”
“y/n!”
you flinched slightly as the voices got louder the closer you walked down the carpet towards the venue, but it seemed jungkook’s presence only felt bigger.
“don’t look at them.” he whispered down into your ear, words tucked for you and you alone. “look at me.”
stupidly enough, you obeyed almost instantly. his eyes softened at the way you listened so sweetly.
“good girl.” he muttered absentmindedly before guiding you to the entrance and away from the prying eyes outside.
the words hit you far harder than they should have. good girl.
oh you were so fucked.
—
the venue was utterly breathtaking.
golden lighting spilled across towering ceilings whilst soft music played from a live orchestra at one side of the ballroom, so elegant you’re indeed whether you were even appropriately dressed. people stared at you openly, all whilst you and your flushed cheeks looked away, purposefully keeping your gaze vague and avoiding eye contact with most. glasses clinked together as powerful figures mingled amongst themselves, professional cameras still set up inside.
and yet, none of it compared to the way people reacted to jungkook.
conversations paused when he walked by, people straightening up. executives who had once terrified you now looked nervous approaching him and it reminded you exactly who he was outside of your relationship.
jeon jungkook was a terrifyingly cold, business man. he was untouchable and unfeeling, everything that made a powerful man powerful and then there was you. his one weakness.
his hand remained firm against the small of your back possessively, claiming you as his own in front of anyone who could see. you loved when he was like this, all brooding and dark as though anyone even had a chance to steal him from you - silly man. even now, with months of distance between you and a divorce, you were all his.
“breathe, baby.” he reminded with a quiet hum in your ear.
“i am breathing.” your cheeks warmed.
“barely.”
you shot him a look, though it was void of any real annoyance as he guided you further into the room. you couldn’t help but admire him openly, all whilst he scanned the room, not realising how deep you were falling into your own thoughts. he really had gotten so much bigger, with his chest so wide you couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like under your hands. his shoulders too.
you had spent the entire drive trying not to stare at him. you had failed. miserably.
“drink?”
he pulled you out of your thoughts with a little gasp, realising you had been openly checking him out much to his pleasure. you found yourself nodding, nibbling away at your lip. “yes please.”
the words came out too fast, awarding you with a small laugh as he turned towards the bar.
your eyes followed him automatically.
that was another problem entirely. you see, no matter where jungkook stood, attention naturally followed. men greeted him immediately, keen to get into his good books whilst women openly stared, hoping to garner his fancy and yet he was completely and entirely uninterested. his gaze flickered back to you every few moments, as though he still couldn’t believe you were right there, just for him. just because he had asked you to come.
your chest squeezed painfully at the thought.
he returned only a few moments later with two champagne glasses, handing you yours to which you took with a nervous smile.
“thank you.”
your fingers brushed his purposefully. small, barely noticeable.
oh, but how jungkook had noticed. he noticed everything when it came to you and judging from the way his throat bobbed, taking a large sip of his drink, you knew that your poor ex husband was certainly not able to handle your charm.
the champagne helped much quicker than you were expecting it to.
after the first glass, the tension in your shoulders completely eased but it was the second that had you transforming. your overthinking thoughts ceased to exist, as the warmth in your blood brought out a shade of pink in your face that jungkook couldn’t look away from. standing close to him suddenly felt less terrifying and so much more thrilling.
a dangerous combination - especially when jungkook was looking at you with so much hunger.
a buzz had settled deep into your bloodstream, your brain slightly away with the fairies as you continued to sip, looking up at him. your other hand darted out, fingers trailing over his stomach openly, over to where the buttons of his suit sat. what was an absentminded action to you, tipsy, was enough to have jungkook almost shaking.
you were braver when you had alcohol in you, that much had been true your entire relationship, but even this felt quite insane. he watched as your fingers trailed up and down, sliding up to where his chest was only to drop lower and lower. it wasn’t until your fingertips were brushing the top of his suit trousers that he grabbed your hand.
you pouted at him, head tilted. “why?”
your whine had his shoulders rolling.
“because,” he said slowly, voice rough beneath the sound of the orchestra. “you’re getting handsy.”
your lips patted in faux innocence. “am not.”
jungkook stared at you half in disbelief and other half amusement, still holding your hand that he now pressed to his chest firmly. your fingers had nearly slipped below his waistband, a thought that had him nearly taking you home then and there but he knew it was because the alcohol was making you brave - his tipsy girl. his palm engulfed yours, feeling your fingers wriggle underneath to continue your plans with a slight whine but he was both firm and possessive, not letting you go.
you pressed your thighs together again.
this was the champagne.
he knew it, knew it to be a dangerous mix - the alcohol and your naturally clingy personality once you got comfortable, all combined with the eight months apart meant you were now simply doing whatever your heart wanted with little care to your mind.
your cheeks warmed as you watched him stare down at you, gaze heavier than anything all evening. it seemed the longer you were both in each other’s presence, despite how long you’d spent apart, the more bold you were getting - but could you be blamed? he might have been your ex husband but he still belonged to you, and you knew you were still entirely his, a fucked up fact that meant you were both drawn to each other in ways that meant you could never move on.
multiple months of healing all gone to shit in a single night, with a few drinks. who were you both kidding - moving on wasn’t an option. even you could see that now.
your fingers flexed under his hold, people secretly watching you both interact with bated breath. they couldn’t believe this was the same jungkook they were afraid of, made to mush at the hands of the pretty woman in front of him. he was but a man afterall.
rather than pulling away, your fingers simply curled around the fabric of his suit jacket, fingers touching his shirt purposefully to elicit another reaction out of him. he had reduced you to putty in the drive over and perhaps it was the alcohol in your system, but you wanted him to feel the same.
jungkook was quiet. too quiet.
jaw slightly slack as he took you in, you touching him like his body belonged to you and you alone. he relished in the fact you knew it just as well as he did.
he had missed this so much. just the feel of you, no matter how innocent you pretended to be, skin on skin. it felt like a promise.
and now, you were standing here, head tilted to stare up at him properly whilst looking through pretty lashes that batted at him subconsciously.
it was driving him insane.
“you’re staring again.” you hummed at him. his eyebrows narrowed. “because you keep touching me.”
you tried to bite down the smile that began to form on your lips as your fingers continued to flex, soon finding his heartbeat to confirm your suspicious. oh, he was a mess underneath your hand.
“you don’t seem to mind.”
his jaw flexed. you heard him curse under his breath, calling you a fucking minx which only had you giggling just as quietly. it was a powerful thing to have a man as influential as jungkook so weak in the knees for you, and you couldn’t deny the affect it was having on your mind. he snaked a heavy arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him in a way that was absolutely not becoming of the environment you were in.
“keep this shit up and i’ll take you home.” he promised quietly, leaning down to whisper into your ear.
unfortunately for him, you had no intention of stopping. especially when you had just begun.
“promise?” you whispered back, eyes wide with a faux innocence you knew he wanted to ruin.
his jaw clenched again, blood half boiling at how cheeky you were being and cock hardening by how badly he wanted to ruin you. had this been any other circumstance, you’d already be in the bathroom with your dress to your chest, being pounded into by the only man who knew exactly how to ruin you until you were well bred.
but alas - this night was about proving himself to you, and no matter how hard you made him, he knew he had to do this right.
and so, instead, he pinched you at your waist slightly, pulling an airless squeak out of you before he brushed his lips against your ear.
“behave.”
the word should have been warning enough, but instead, warmth fluttered through you, rushing through your stomach so violently you pressed against him further. jungkook nearly hissed, watching how reactive you were for him, with your hooded eyes and slack jaw.
fuck.
his hands were all over you, with little care to who was watching and you knew tomorrow you’d be mortified when you remembered how brazen you had both been, but it was hard not to feel addicted when you were both feeling the same way. you giggled lightly, hiding your face in his chest momentarily before meeting his gaze.
“you’re very confident for someone i divorced.” you playfully hummed.
at that, he couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face. “didn’t stop you from getting your pretty hands all over me.”
the alcohol was well into your system as you found yourself giggling once more, fully hiding yourself in his chest to which he wrapped his arms around you properly, the two of you whispering and laughing together as though it was the most natural thing in the world. jungkook’s colleagues, rivals and admirers all watched you both in genuine curiosity at the way you were so well suited. two people, quietly infatuated with one another - it was toothache inducing.
the conversation between you both remained playful, with his thumb tracing your bottom lip at one point muttering something about how badly he wanted to know how your lip gloss tasted. an hour in and you were both practically trying to one up each other with how far you could take it, leaving you both laughing whilst trying to stay quiet.
this is what you had missed. joy. comfort. being around him in a way that didn’t feel like you were fighting to prove something. it had been so long since you’d felt this carefree that you realised pretty quickly that you couldn’t let him ago again. it was a horrible thought at first, realising that the past few months may have been for naught but perhaps absence did make the heart fonder.
soon enough, you had been there close enough two hours and jungkook had done the rounds once you settled in, less tipsy but still buzzed. you met his new business partners, clients you hadn’t seen in a while, a mixture of familiar faces and people you had only ever heard about. neither of you commented on the fact he introduced you intimately, with a heavy arm around your waist.
it genuinely felt like no time had past with the way you both felt so comfortable, the dynamics between you natural considering he had been the one constant in your life for the past fifteen years. you sipped on your glass of water as you listened to his conversation half mindedly, watching him discuss a new company contract with one of his shareholders.
it wasn’t until you heard a voice echo throughout the ballroom announcing the beginning of the charity auction that the conversation came to an end. jungkook immediately took a hold of your hand, planting a cheeky kiss to your knuckles with a slight smirk, before leading you towards the front of the room where the different things on auction sat to be admired over.
“c’mon.”
you followed him easily, hands intertwined whilst you walked side by side, champagne now a dull buzz in your body. people moved around you respectfully, all whilst their eyes lingered on you much longer than needed. could you blame them? you were the infamous woman that had managed to lock down the one man that seemed disinterested in everything, so much so that you had him laughing and flushing pink every time you so much as looked at him. the divorced couple that looked anything but divorced.
oh, they were staring indeed, with hushed whispers and even quieter questions.
your attention drifted lazily over the displayed pieces, politely but nothing quite caught your interest, your eyebrows pulling up at some of the art pieces named. it wasn’t until you reached the very end that you found yourself stopped in your tracks.
jungkook noticed, he too coming to a stop to glance over at you only for his gaze to follow yours. he immediately understood.
beneath warm lighting sat a painting, inconspicuous to most considering it was much smaller than the grand pieces to the left, but it had your eyelashes fluttering
white gardenias.
your breath left you quietly.
it wasn’t just flowers - it was an oil painting, textured with strokes of green, ivory and creams whilst petals cascaded over one another so delicately your heart ached. the background dat moodier, darker compared to the softness of the flower leaving you in a state of utter awe for a few moments, all whilst holding the hand of your ex-husband who watched you with bated breath.
it was beautiful.
you stepped closer unconsciously, hardly aware of yourself.
jungkook didn’t think he’d ever seen you look at something with this much wonder, in all of the years he had known you. it did something to him, to watch you genuinely in awe at something he could so easily give you - it made him realise he needed provide it for you just to see that look again and again and again and again and again.
he felt this throat tighten, a harsh lump forming the longer he watched you admire it. the way your glossy lips parted, eyes widened and fingers tracing the air in front of it - donned in the same diamond necklace he had gotten you years prior. the same necklace he’d bought you after you murmured something about diamonds resembling stars late one night as you curled into him in your shared bed.
and here you were, wearing it, all whilst your hand curled inside his as though you had never been more at peace. that did something to him. something he couldn’t quite describe.
your fingers moved to brush over the small description plaque underneath, reading the inspiration for the piece with a small, choked huff - devotion. enduring, eternal love through trial and tribulation through each season of life.
your own throat tightened then. of course.
“gardenias are difficult flowers..they die so easily if you don’t take care of them.” you found yourself whispering; straightening your back and avoiding his gaze to bite back any tears that wanted to appear.
his chest tightened violently.
all he could think about was the little apartment you had both shared when you were younger, when he barely had any money to get you by each month. the one with the poor lighting and the janky sink - you used to sit by the window each morning whilst he got ready for work, whispering sweet things down at them because you believed it would help them grow.
he remembered every single detail.
“you kept yours alive for months.” he whispered back, the hand that was clasped in yours now intertwining your fingers, as though he could project his memories back to you.
you blinked back at him, eyes glassy, surprised slightly. you hadn’t expected him to remember something so small and insignificant.
how could jungkook could ever forget a single thing about you?
a small smile pulled at your lips. “i used to get upset whenever they’d lose petals.”
“you cried once.” he corrected.
you rolled your eyes. “shut up!”
he only shrugged, lips twitching. “had to console you all night.”
“i thought i killed it!”
his quiet laugh nearly knocked the air from your lungs, all whilst he pulled you back into him, breathing in the scent from your hair before taking you to your shared table, where the auction was about to begin. your fingers remained curled around his own, all whilst he helped you sit down, fixing your dress for you.
he physically couldn’t pull away from you, couldn’t stop touching you even as you began conversing to the woman beside you, who jungkook recognised as one of his shareholders. his thigh was pressed against yours, all whilst his hand sat heavy in your lap, both of your hands playing with his fingers absentmindedly.
the different items came on stage as you watched people bid, raising their panels whilst some shouted out their numbers for more exclusive pieces. you couldn’t help your giggles, leaning over to whisper in jungkook’s ear whenever you’d see more excited people, all for him to lean into you with an equal smile. the two of you were being silly, and it felt fun for once.
by the time the gardenia painting finally appeared, your posture straightened as you tapped on his hand with a wiggle of your eyebrows. jungkook watched you with a lazy grin, eyes flicking over your face.
cute.
the bidding started much lower than you expected, causing you to frown. “that’s it?”
he nearly laughed, seeing your passion for your flowers. “art’s subjective, baby.”
“yeah, well everyone is wrong..so.”
fuck. he loved you so much.
you watched as someone raised their paddle, and then another, and another. a bidding war began as your head bounced between people, watching in utter curiosity though a part of you wondered what it would be like to bid yourself. ironically for you, you were completely unaware of the man beside you staring at your profile like he wanted to devote the rest of his life to you.
“two million.”
your eyebrows raised.
“two and a half!” someone else shouted, causing you to play with his fingers a little faster almost out of excitement.
“hope someone who actually appreciates it gets it.” you leaned over to whisper into his ear, lips brushing against his cheek in the process.
his jaw ticked.
game on.
just as someone shouted out, claiming three million, jungkook ran a hand through his hair before raising his panel, dark eyes trained on the auctioneer.
“five million.”
your head snapped sideways so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash, all whilst jungkook sat completely calm, hand raised lazily as though this was easy. like he hadn’t just dropped five million as though it was nothing.
“jungkook!” you whispered, eyes wide. he merely hummed back at you, hand still intertwined with yours. “hm?”
“what are you doing?!”
“getting you your painting.”
you stared at him in disbelief.
across the room, multiple people were openly whispering now, glancing between you because everyone could recognise what was exactly happening. this wasn’t ego - this was love.
obsessive, and terrifying love.
another bidder raised their paddle almost nervously, calling out a measly “five and a half” after a moment of hesitation.
“seven million.”
an audible murmur fluttered through the room just as you grabbed onto his arm with a large gasp, eyes widening as though he was batshit insane. “jungkook, stop!”
he finally looked at you, small smile playing on his lips at the sight of you so shocked. it was so cute the way you were practically toppling over your seat, a reminder that despite being with him, you had never really dabbled in his wealth whatsoever despite it all belonging to you.
a large shout of ‘sold’ was heard by all, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from him. his eyes admired you, from your lips to your eyes, your shaking hands that were both clinging to his thigh, your cleavage that had dipped even further than earlier. fuck. you were the epitome of everything he had ever wanted.
“you wanted it.” he whispered to you, as though that was all he needed, as though it was enough of a reason to spend seven million in one night with a flick of his wrist.
your eyes near enough watered at his words, knowing that nothing had ever described jungkook better.
—
things between you and jungkook had settled into something dangerous.
not enough to call yourselves fixed, or enough to place a label onto whatever fragile thing had formed between you, but enough that your days seemed lighter. having him back in your life meant you were happy again, and actually excited - finally feeling whole in ways that no one else quite understood.
he called more often now.
what started off as phone calls sometimes briefly between meetings, something about using your voice to destress before important gatherings. they quickly turned to late night facetimes where both of you laid in bed, half naked, chatting until either of you would fall asleep. some nights they turned into something darker, dirtier, with a slip of your night dress to show him more all whilst he’d grunt and hiss at the sight, whispering all of the things he wanted to do to you.
it was beginning to feel domestic, familiar even. so terrifyingly easy.
you realised pretty quickly that somewhere along the way, between late night conversations and soft laughs exchanged, you had began falling deeply in love again.
hard.
he had been away on business ever since the gala a few weeks ago, with him currently stationed in hong kong over some important stakeholder meetings. you knew he was incredibly stressed over it, given the frequency of his calls - always at odd times during the day and night, sometimes with the intention of just looking at your face as though it was the only motivator he needed.
the time difference was more irritating than you had expected, and yet he still managed to find a way to accommodate to your schedule as opposed to his.
your favourite so far had been a simple picture of the skyline view from his hotel, taken at three am with a caption of ‘wish you were here.’
you hated how much those four words affected you.
pathetic, really. how even now, you’d kick your feet in excitement over any message sent from your ex husband.
it had become routine now, to expect messages from him with each waking moment, calls when the workload was heavier. perhaps that was exactly why the silence that afternoon felt so particularly loud.
you were curled into your couch, opting to work from home as you were in his jumper and a pair of flimsy shorts. you hummed quietly as you balanced your laptop on your thighs, all whilst a random entertainment news channel played in the back to offer some noise in your otherwise quiet apartment.
your ears perked up once you heard jungkook’s name somewhere in the background.
your attention barely lifted at first, no doubt another gossip sesh on how attractive he was which often made you giggle, but this felt different.
“ceo jeon jungkook spotted in hong kong alongside mystery woman-“
your stomach dropped.
the laptop slipped from your thighs and onto the couch cushion, all whilst your head snapped towards the television, reaching for the remote to turn it up. the image splashed across the screen, all whilst you sat there, smaller than anything, watching.
jungkook.
beside him, an undeniably beautiful woman.
she was tall, elegant, dressed sharply in a suit practically created for her whilst cameras flashed at them harshly, exiting a building together. the headline underneath made your chest cave in further.
‘global heartthrob ceo finally moving on after the divorce?’
you stared. and stared, and stared, and stared, and stared, and stared until your knees had slowly slid to the ground, your back touching the couch whilst the entertainment show droned on and on about the details of your relationship with jungkook, about how smitten you had both seen at the gala, how they were the first to break this exclusive news.
your brain knew better. you knew jungkook like the back of your hand and logically, you fucking knew better. jungkook was so many things, but he had always placed you and your emotions first, your priorities, your necessities, your life - your wants and needs transcended everything else. you had never asked for it to be this way, it was just the way he was.
even during your separation, he had never looked at a woman twice. you knew that.
but logic had never been able to defeat insecurity.
all you could think, all you could see, based off of a single image was how she fit beside him. how effortless it looked, how beautiful she was, how successful. so poised and polished - she was everything a woman who stood beside jungkook ought to have been and it was killing you in real time.
the worst thing of all was the realisation that he didn’t belong to you.
all of this emotion, this horrible feeling inside your chest and soul - you were the one to divorce him. you had been the one that demanded it end back then, no matter how much he had begged you to see reason, believing that it was the correct step forward for the both of you. he had every right to move onto someone else, had every right to actually step forward towards something new.
and yet the thought of him belonging to someone else felt the closest to grief you had ever felt in your life.
your phone rang violently loud beside you, droning out the words of the presenter and making you jump slightly.
jungkook.
your eyes burned instantly.
the phone continued to ring and ring across the sofa cushion as you stared at his contact picture, a photo taken on your anniversary a few years ago that you could never bring yourself to change. your chest rose unevenly as another harsh wave of emotion hit you.
you couldn’t do this.
not after you had spent the past few months trying not to think about him, only for him to come back into your life.
the call rang out.
then another came. and another. and another.
your phone was blowing up with a mixture of calls and messages, each vibration making your heart ache so much worse as the topic changed on the tv, talking about some other celebrity gossip all whilst you felt your entire life collapse before your very eyes.
with shaking hands and teary orbs, you turned your phone off.
you burst into tears.
the rest of the day was spent being utterly miserable. you had never felt so pathetic in all of your life, with pain running up and down your veins in a way that genuinely left you almost debilitated. the last time you were this heartbroken, you were a fresh divorcee.
the curtains remained shut despite the afternoon sun outside, your apartment dim besides the soft flicker of the television that continued playing mindlessly in the background. at some point, you had dragged yourself towards your bed with tears still streaming down your face, his oversized jumper now heavy on your frame.
you hated this version of yourself.
hated how deeply this had affected you despite knowing better. you knew him better than this, had enough trust in him and yet you couldn’t barter with what was directly in front of you - months after rebuilding a sense of confidence all for it to shatter over one measly, gossip channel.
you closed your eyes, images of the beautiful woman stood beside him flooding your mind causing you to open them up again with a quiet whimper. so composed and effortless. untouched by the devastation eating you alive.
by morning, your chest was in genuine pain.
you looked awful too.
your eyes were swollen, red with the continuous tears all night whilst your skin felt sunken and dull, the early morning sun hitting your skin from glimpses through your blinds. you forced yourself out of your bed and into your shower, trying to rid the plaguing thoughts out of your body. you failed, spending the majority of it quietly crying.
by the time you were in the living room again, your nose was just as pink as your eyes, hands shaky and body adorned in an old t-shirt you had secretly stolen from his wardrobe back when you were packing to leave. you curled weakly into the couch, blanket curled onto your legs as you begged your body to rid the horrible stomach ache that had now found home inside you.
your phone remained switched off, somewhere under the blanket, still left there from yesterday. you reached for the remote.
you just wanted mindless noise.
instead, the television flickered to life and you found your breath catching harshly for the umpteenth time within 24 hours.
breaking news banners on every channel you came across.
jeon jungkook.
a whimper pulled up out of your throat at the sight of his images everywhere, your fingers tightening around the blanket before you turned the volume up.
“the ceo has officially filed legal proceedings against multiple media outlets this morning following yesterday’s false dating allegations-“
your heartbeat began thundering. you sat up immediately.
another clip appeared instantly, reporters practically tripping over one another in front of jungkook’s main company building, cameras flashing in hopes of getting a picture of anyone who could answer for anything.
“the statement released by jeon jungkook’s legal team less than half an hour ago reads as follows-“
the screen shifted, and suddenly, there it was. cold white text against a black background that had your breathing stopping completely.
“the allegations regarding ceo jeon jungkook are entirely false. the individual photographed was present for a scheduled business meeting attended by multiple executives and investors. legal action will be taken against all parties responsible for the deliberate spread of false information and invasion of privacy.”
your throat tightened harshly.
your eyebrows furrowed as you watched the presenter stop, looking at the camera momentarily, before her voice completely softened.
“as for the final portion of the statement, many online are expressing surprise regarding the unusually personal nature of his response as he personally commented-“
more text appeared.
you scanned it once. twice.
over and over and over until a harsh sob was ripped from your lips.
“i have never entertained nor pursued any romantic involvement with anyone.
there has only ever been one woman.”
a broken sound tore from your throat as your hand flew to your mouth, fresh tears spilling from eyes so fast that you couldn’t see the tv. your heart felt like it had been picked up from the ground, cradled and cherished after being pierced over and over all night, attacked without any reprise.
you couldn’t believe what you were reading.
jungkook, your jungkook? so private and reserved, not willing to give one inch of himself to anyone other than you and yet here he was, making himself as clear as possible. he was telling everyone with ears that you were his but more importantly, he belonged to you and you alone.
he despised media attention, it truly was the one thing he hated more than anything and the both of you would often laugh at rumours and random things stated in the tabloids because they were all bullshit.
and yet he has made a statement publicly.
for you.
your chest cracked at the thought as you covered your face with both hands, sobbing harder and harder.
before you could wallow further, a loud banging erupted from the front door.
the sound tore so violently through the apartment, you jumped - startled on the couch whilst your heart leapt to your throat. the slight fear had your tears stopping immediately, allowing for enough of a shock to regulate your mind for a few moments.
another knock came before you could even process it. louder, and louder, and louder.
“baby!”
your breath hitched painfully.
jungkook?
his voice sounded wrecked. not the calm, controlled man the world knew, nor the eerie ceo who often stood emotionless in front of the cameras whilst deals worth billions sat heavy on his shoulders. this was your jungkook - the one who loved you much too hard, half unravelled whenever the conversation pertained to you.
“open the door.” he shouted again, along another collective banging. his voice cracked slightly. “please..”
you stared into space for just a moment, your mind unable to comprehend what was happening before your legs carried you to the door, through the hallway. you slipped on your blanket slightly, already shaking body weaker than usual given the past twenty four hours, all whilst hot, heavy tears burned in your eyes once more.
another knock.
“baby, c’mon..”
the second your shaking hands unlocked the door, it swung open hard enough to hit the wall behind it, as though jungkook couldn’t believe you had actually heard him.
he looked utterly destroyed.
he stood, still in a suit that now sat disheveled on his frame, black tie loosened around his throat, white shirt wrinkled as though he had been in it for hours. his usually pushed back hair was messy, pulled at and tugged through large hands any time he had realised the depths of emotion you were no doubt feeling looking at the news - if the shoe was on the other foot, and jungkook had seen news of you and another man; he would’ve happily burnt the world to a crisp.
the second he saw you, his entire face fell apart, anger long dissipating.
“fuck.” he whispered, heaving out a breath.
his oversized shirt sat on your body, engulfing your smaller frame, swallowing you whole in a way that had his breath taken away. it was your eyes that broke him, however, as they looked so swollen, no doubt from crying so hard, your cheeks still damp and lips still quivering enough that he watched you bite down on them.
you watched his throat bob harshly, watched his eyes flicker over yourself frantically like he was trying to assess how badly you had been hurting without him here to comfort you. the thought terrified him.
that was all it took for a sob to rip out of your chest so painfully your knees almost buckled. your hands flew up to your face.
immediately, his arms shot out, cradling you almost harshly to him with one large arm completely covering you whilst his large hand pressed against the back of your head, holding you close to him as though this was the only remedy for a situation like this. his sweet girl. his sweet, sweet girl.
“i called you for nineteen fucking hours.” he said, eyes darting down at you desperately.
you couldn’t stop crying. “i know.”
“your phone was off.” his voice broke slightly, as though the situation had hurt him beyond words. “that scared me, y/n.” he admitted, chest heaving a little.
your crying only worsened immediately because of course it scared him - jeon jungkook, a man who’s entire identity was you and you alone. the prospect of losing you for the second time would surely be enough to kill him, and yet answering his calls felt like the last thing you could bring yourself to do.
“i tried not to think like that,” you choked out through hiccups. “i know you wouldn’t, logically i know but just kept seeing the pictures of you beside her and..”
your chest was heaving.
“stop talking about her.”
the words came out sharp, almost harsh.
his hand slipped to cup your face, holding your jaw in place whilst his arm slipped down, cupping your body to him so you could rest, his own strength supporting you up. his eyes were wild.
“don’t,” he repeated quieter, chest rising and falling. “don’t..stand here and..fuck, don’t compare yourself to someone else for even a second over some shitty tabloid.”
you couldn’t stop crying. it was as though that was all you could do.
“jungkook..”
“no.” he cut in immediately, voice cracking at the edges. “you don’t get it.”
he stood before you, a cocktail mix of utter despair and devotion, all whilst anger and fear simmered on the surface, every emotion open on his face to the point he almost felt unrecognisable. you knew he loved you, could see it painted on his features for the world to see but you weren’t sure when his feelings for you had become his very destruction. it scared you.
his hand shook around your face.
“you think i flew half a day because of a fucking dating rumour?” his eyes glazed over. “i don’t give a fuck about the tabloids, baby, you know that. i was scared because i know what this would do to you. i know your brain.”
your breath hitched.
“i know you.” he repeated, hands continuing to shake against you. “know how your mind gets. i know you’d sit here and cry over this shit when you know i would never touch another woman.”
another harsh sob clawed up your throat, and jungkook heaved at the sight as though it was the worst sound he had ever heard.
“look at me.” he pleaded suddenly.
his hands dropping from your body as he suddenly dropped to his knees - a man of his stature rendered completely broken by the woman he loved. the amount of people who looked up to him, feared him; the amount of people he dictated on a daily basis and yet here he was, on his knees for you. only you.
“there has never been anyone else.” his voice cracked completely. “not before you, not after you. not after this, no matter what happens, you hear me? it’s you, and it’s always going to be just you.”
your own knees were begging to give out, as you leaned against him, only for him to rest his face against your stomach, breathing you in like a man desperate for your understanding. he wanted you to see, needed you to comprehend the situation at hand. there was no him without you, the concept didn’t exist.
“you’re the only woman i’ve ever loved and there is nothing after you, y/n, because you’re my wife. divorce or not, i don’t give a fuck, i belong to you forever whether you want me or not and i won’t..i can’t have you thinking otherwise.”
your entire body gave in at the admission as you collapsed into him with another heart breaking sob, jungkook holding you like a man terrified he had said too much and truly not enough. for the first time since the divorce, neither of you tried to pretend this wasn’t exactly what it was.
—
the rest of the evening softened after that.
somewhere between the tears and the endless kisses planted to your cheeks, nose, head, hands and stomach came an ease to the panic that had long settled into your bones for the past few months. he refused to let you go, grunting almost childishly whenever you’d move out of his arms to do anything until you found yourself snuggled back into his arms, as though the thought of distance after such a clear cut declaration of love physically pained him.
he looked exhausted now that the adrenaline of the situation had worn off, his under eyes sunken from the exhaustion that had now settled deep into his body. to think he had flown all the way across the world simply because of the thought of you crying all alone over a situation that was so completely false upset him - it made you want to sob all over again.
how could you have ever let him go? how could you proceed forward without him, without him so deeply intertwined in your life once more?
eventually you found an old pair of black shorts mixed in with your clothes from when you had packed your things all those months ago. jungkook had stared at them for a few moments after his shower, towel low on his hips as water droplets slipped down his chest. it had his heart pounding faster than anything yet.
“you kept these?” he murmured down at you, watching the way your eyes flickered up from his physique, small gasp leaving your lips at being caught. “oh! um..must’ve slipped them in by accident.”
he didn’t comment on the fact you were wearing his t-shirt either, despite it hardening his cock.
still, he pulled them on as you settled into bed, your hair still scented from your earlier shower too. you, in his too big top, whilst he grabbed you immediately, shirtless and hands still desperate to hold you in a way he had held back on for so long.
you hummed as your body pressed against his, his figure snaking around your body as a heavy arm curled under your ass as a means to prop you up higher in his arms, causing you to giggle into his neck. your arms wrapped around him too, humming a little under your breath as he breathed in your scent openly.
you both laid there in silence for a long while, breathing. healing.
the room was dark now, with the city lights from afar shining through the slips of your blinds, illuminating slivers of his bare chest beside where your hands sat. you could feel his heartbeat, the way it calmed your already heightened senses as though your body recognised it was finally home.
“missed this.” you whispered into his ear, only snuggling closer to him.
jungkook’s grip, once on your waist, slid down to your ass once more. this time, his palm sat on your ass cheek, fingers digging into your skin whilst breathing you in.
“don’t say shit like that to me when i’m hard.” he grunted, a small smile forming across your lips. you hadn’t even done anything, not that you needed to to get jungkook bothered.
when you pulled him from your neck, his eyes were already glazed over, both of you taking a second to simply stare at one another in the exact way you had wanted for so long. his mouth parted, as his hooded eyes took you in, holding you closer, tighter.
within seconds, his lips touched yours.
slowly, at first, as though he was trying to relearn you after years of you being his. he savoured every moment of your lips against his, especially once you started to kiss him back, both of you uncertain in the beginning but once your hands began to find home in his hair, it was then that jungkook’s touch began to grow in confidence.
he kissed like a man starved, one hand buried in your hair too whilst the other continued to grip your ass possessively, as though physically feeling you was enough to have his mind go into overdrive. every small sound you made went straight to his cock as he swallowed your little sighs and whimpers, only pushing him to kiss you deeper and deeper and deeper.
he was growing desperate, pushing you down against the bed, half hovering over you as he rested on one arm, hand cupping at your thighs, your stomach, your knee. anything he could get his hands on all whilst his tongue explored your mouth as though he had every right.
perhaps he did because despite everything, the divorce and distance, the heartbreak - he still reacted to you like you were the only thing capable of fucking him up.
his lips eventually drifted from your mouth, pressing against your chin, your jaw and finally your neck. oh, this sweet, pretty little neck, he had dreams of marking it up and down every other night and the fact he had you in his arms now, in a bed far too small for the things he so desperately wanted to do to you was everything and more.
jungkook moved, properly hovering over you now just as you moaned into his mouth, legs wrapping around his waist, pushing your top down your thighs and revealing your lace panties you had conveniently put on. just in case, of course.
he pulled away, a string of saliva connecting both of your mouths as you watched it break apart the further he pulled his head back. just staring at you hurt, with the way your cheeks had flushed and your hair was spread all across the pillow, and your thighs. fuck. the sight of what was between them had him openly groaning down at you.
“need you to tell me to stop baby, or i won’t be able to hold back.” he hissed down at you, feeling your legs tighten around him before he could finish his sentence.
your hands moved to the waistband of his shorts, eyes never leaving his as you tugged on it just slightly. jungkook, who’s two hands were on either side of your head, blinked down at you half in awe and other agony, the prospect of you teasing him in a moment like this his literal worst nightmare. you always knew how to make him impatient, said it was the best version of him.
he watched with bated breath as you grabbed one of his arms until his hand was in your own, slowly pushing it under your top to rest on your stomach. it felt heavy on your frame, large palm heating your already hot skin before you pulled him down, other arm wrapping around his neck.
“wanna feel you here, kookie.” you whispered into his ear.
jungkook nearly took you then and there.
his jaw flexed, a heavy leaving his lips as he chased your lips, planting another kiss. “yeah? want kookie deep inside?”
“mhm.” you hummed against him, placing your hand over his on your stomach.
“but haven’t taken me for so long, baby. might be too much.”
you closed your eyes at that - the way he cooed down at you despite telling you how easily he could ruin you, break you. it all felt like too much and yet the empty ache inside of you reminded you it wasn’t enough, causing you to merely nod.
“i don’t care. want it.”
the pout on your lips. fuck. jungkook thanked the gods he was a better man, more patient, especially knowing you were doing this on purpose.
“always used to struggle to take me, hm? fucked you open every night and you’d still cry.”
jungkook reached forward, lips on your neck once more but this time, his hips began chasing yours, grinding down almost harshly, causing you to feel every inch, every vein against the flimsy material you called panties. it was heavenly
your hands grabbed him by his biceps, smaller hands unable to wrap around the circumference of his skin. how could you forget your nights of passion? he would spend hours between your legs, so mean, orgasm after orgasm and he still wouldn’t feel satisfied, an insatiable man to his core. even on nights you’d argue, it would somehow end in you fucking which meant the last eight months had been utter hell.
your poor fingers couldn’t reach far enough and nothing brought you to an orgasm unless you thought of him, imagining it was own digits instead of your own.
silly you - if only you realised how similar you and jungkook were. he couldn’t get off unless he was on your instagram, staring at your pretty eyes and lips as he tugged on his cock with all of his energy, round after round after round only to be constantly dissatisfied. having you below him, so ready to be his again? it fucked with his head.
“you'll make it fit.” you whispered.
within mere moments, neither of you could wait. his shorts, alongside the large tshirt that originally belonged to him were on the floor, leaving you in your lacy panties alone. his boxers strained against his hardened length which oozed precum at the mere sight of you, hips bucking a little as you watched him groan out loud at the wet patch forming against the flimsy material.
“my pretty pussy.” he whispered, just as he parted your legs. his fingers pushed your panties to the side, almost hissing from how damp they were, knowing you must have been needy for a while. “missed her. you’ve been holding out on me, baby.”
your eyelashes fluttered up at him at the first touch of his fingers running up and down your slit. you let out an airy moan, barely audible, your body immediately easing back into the covers now that you could finally feel him on you.
he suckled on your neck whilst he circled your clit, knowing your body better than anyone. you were both so in tune with each other’s wants and needs that an eight month break between you both meant nothing when he bit against the sweet spot on your neck all whilst applying more pressure.
you squeaked, nails digging into his biceps at the harshness of his fingers.
“fuck, you’re so needy.” he grunted, pulling away from your neck after leaving a hefty purple bruise. “not been touching your pussy the way it needs.”
“doesn’t feel..” you moaned louder. “doesn’t feel good if you don’t do it.”
his eyes almost rolled back at that. “yeah? need kookie to be the one to touch you?”
“mhm.”
at that, he pulled his hand away only resulting in a loud whine from you. so cruel, to have been given a taste, only to have it pulled away from you.
your positions, however, suddenly changed as jungkook realised the space on the bed was much smaller compared to the bed you had once shared. he rested his back on your wooden bed frame before grabbing you properly, resting you in his lap against his too hard cock, spreading your legs wide.
your back was against his chest, all whilst he caged you in, his fingers returning to your cunt immediately.
this new position had you so much more exposed, as he pushed your thighs apart, index finger circling your hole before slowly pushing inside. your eyebrows furrowed, watching him with a shake to your breath as he took his time, knowing a single one of his was the equivalent of two or three of your own - a though that had him wanting to fuck into you already.
the loud moan that left your lips once he fully inserted it was enough to have him kissing at your temple, cooing.
“like that?”
“feels big.” you whispered back with a shake, feeling him pump in and out.
at that, jungkook thought he was ready to fucking cum. even your pussy was as sweet as you were - too big? one finger and you were already fucked out, but he knew he had to stretch you to accommodate him, a thought that brought a nasty little smirk on his face.
“gotta fuck you open, baby. always so tight.” he continued to coo at you, all as you looked up at him, his finger being joined with another.
soon enough, he was roughly fingering you, all whilst you both maintained eye contact, often breaking it just to share a kiss as though neither of you could get closer to the other. the feeling of him inside you, just like you had become used to for so many years after months apart was the definition of pleasure, your eyes hooded with each pump.
“feels s’good.” you slurred slightly, chest heaving.
he watched your breasts, your bed squeaking with each passing movement and he fucking loved it. loved having your eyes on him, loved having your tits bounced everytime he’d fuck you open a little harder, your sweet moans filling the space.
you could feel how hard he was, but everytime you tried to turn to pleasure him too, he’d merely hold you tighter, as though your orgasm was the only objective on his mind. he wanted to eat you out, fuck - the thought had him all but growling at you but he knew he’d never last, promising himself he’d save that for later tonight.
“wish you knew how many times i’ve dreamt about this.” he grunted down at you, as he watched your thighs try to close from the onslaught of pleasure, only for him to widen them immediately. “i’m constantly fisting my cock thinking about you. at work, at home, in the fucking car.”
“what do you think about?” you pressed desperately, needing to hear it.
jungkook bared his teeth at you slightly, all whilst his pace quickened. “think about breeding you, pumping you full of cum till you’re begging me to stop. every morning, every night until you’re pregnant with our baby. you’d like that, hm?”
you could have sobbed. like was an understatement, your legs widening with each passing word as you nodded almost desperately at him, looking up and above where his head tilted down to watch you.
your eyes then fluttered shut at the image of him touching himself, almost shuddering out of relief at the thought of him so infatuated that he had to cum just to get you off of his mind. especially at work - the whole reason of your divorce being his dedication to his occupation and now knowing you had your affect on him there too? it was euphoric.
“think about you all the time.” you whimpered back at him, pout so cute he wanted to scream. “tried..fuck..tried to touch myself after the gala..but wasn’t enough.”
he watched as you shook your head up at him, one of your hands on his wrist as the same hand pumped faster inside of you at the admission. he cursed under his breath, letting out a deep exhale.
“should’ve told me. fuck, y/n. would’ve ruined you then, baby, you know that right?” he nuzzled into your cheek. “would’ve let you use me as much as you want.”
it was your turn to whimper under your breath, as your eyes shut tight at the familiar feeling in your stomach starting to creep up. it was shocking, how slowly it managed to creep on you, and yet you could feel every inch of its intensity, the first in a long time where you know you’d feel satisfied.
jungkook could feel you clenching, your too tight hole sucking him in desperately as a bid to have him go meaner on you, to which he was more than happy to oblige with. he grabbed your chin with his other hand, forcing your head back so you’d open your eyes again. he wanted to watch.
“eyes on me, pretty girl.”
you weren’t sure if it was the sweet way he cooed at you, or the brutal pace he was now forcing you to take but your orgasm hit you like a freight train. you let out a loud squeak as electricity fluttered through from your head to your toes, your hips rising whilst he continued to finger you through your high, hissing at how sexy you looked maintaining eye contact.
his pace didn’t lessen, devoted to longing out every hit of pleasure for as long as possible, your legs shaking as you pawed at his wrist, but he refused to stop. your body began falling into overstimulation, whining loudly as your weakened hands grabbed onto his, feeling him finally slow whilst he remained two fingers deep, pushed inside of you all the way to his knuckles.
he curled them one last time, causing a shaky breath to leave you before slowly removing them inch by inch.
the emptiness inside of you was horrible, a reminder of what else you wanted and how badly. your big eyes met his, only to watch him take his fingers press them against your pouted lips until they parted, your tongue wrapping around. you tasted yourself, a sweet sigh leaving his lips at the sight of you sucking so eagerly, his cock jolting harshly in his boxers.
“still don’t think you can take me right now.” he whispered down at you, other hand moved so it was openly cupping your pussy as a whole, palm brushing against your hypersensitive clit.
you jolted which each passing touch, breathing shaky before you took his fingers out of your mouth, saliva coating them where your slick once was.
“don’t care, kookie. i want it anyway.” you grumbled slightly, and he swore he had never loved you more.
it was your turn to move as you pulled away from his grasp, giggling a little to yourself at the look on his face once you put space between you, only to turn around, so you were laying on your stomach. he remained in his position, legs on either side of you allowing you to press your hand against his massive bulge.
oh, how you’d missed his cock.
you were as impatient as ever as you pulled his boxers down enough so that his fat cock could finally spring free, watching the way it tilted upwards at first, but its weight forced it down lower and lower until it was resting almost gently on your face.
he wanted to take a picture. wanted to make it his screen saver, your contact picture in his phone - he wanted it in his fucking wallet. his girl, eyes all hooded after being bratty for his cock? you were a minx and you didn’t even know it.
“don’t have a condom.” he found himself whispering at you, just as you began to pump him.
you tilted your head at him, hand unable to wrap around his length as you slowly teased his slit, fingers brushing against it just to him shudder. you watched his face, watched his very composure crumble before your very eyes all whilst he muttered something about a condom? your mind was barely working, still sensitive from the way he had made you cum and the horniness still in your stomach.
“why would i want you to wear a condom?” you whispered up at him, as though it was a little secret between you.
you watched his eyes darken in real time, narrowing down at you as both of his large hands grabbed the back of your head. you giggled, resting your cheek on his thigh whilst you continued to pump his cock, focusing on the tip just the way he liked it. the heaviness in your hand was what you missed the most, causing you to leave a little kiss to it on the mushroom tip, your fluttering eyes only driving him more and more insane.
he wouldn’t last like this. not with you staring up at him like that.
and so, he pulled your hair. you whimpered, pussy clenching as he pulled you up by your locks, your large eyes completely taken over by how rough he was being with you, no doubt being fuelled by the heightened emotions of the past two days. this was your favourite jungkook, secretly of course.
within seconds, you were on your back once more, all whilst he grabbed your hips and yanked you close to him. he dropped down to give you a kiss on your lips, savouring the taste and feel of you before beginning to rub his cock up and down your tight hole.
“my girl.” he whispered against your mouth. “no going back after this.”
your eyes clenched shut at the feeling of him teasing you, pushing the tip against your hole only to pull back the second it began inserting, rubbing it up and down and over your clit once more. he was a tease through and through, but you were too needy to see reason.
“don’t wanna go back, want it all.” you simply whimpered back.
your words were enough to finally have him pushing inside of you.
first, the tip. your face contorted to the familiar feel of his cock slowly inserting inside of you, your breath catching slightly at the sheer size of him - you struggled to take him even when your sex life was incredibly active, so you knew now that you hadn’t been touched for eight months, this was going to be hard.
you watched his face harden, all whilst your eyes slipped downwards to see him pushing further in, inch by inch, until your fingernails were puncturing the skin of his outer arms. he watched your face instead, willing himself not to cum at the way your jaw grew slack, big eyes only widening further at the too large cock settling in inside of you.
it was too much, too big, too at once. you couldn’t think, could barely see and yet you couldn’t pull yourself away from watching him bottom out even if you wanted to, a slight bulge evident where he sat deep inside of you. his large hand took a hold of yours and kissed it before pressing it against the bulge, only to rest his own right on top. applying pressure, he hissed at the way you let out a loud whimper, your cute thighs trembling around him.
“feel that?” he whispered down at you, nuzzling your nose to force you to look at him. “thats where i fucking belong. this pussy stretches so good for me every time.”
your lip was already trembling, a sight that had his cock throbbing deep inside of you as you clenched down on him hard. his cry baby - he loved seeing you teary during sex.
you were still adjusting as he began to move, causing you to squeal, but jungkook couldn’t wait anymore, not when he’d been dealt with blue balls for close to a year. you were the only option, pledging to live a life of fucking celibacy if you’d have chosen to never let him inbetween your legs again though the thought killed him inside. live a life without a taste of your sweet pussy? he’d sooner die.
“jungkook!” you slapped the tops of his biceps, as he continued his thrusting inside of you, nipping at your jaw, feeling his smirk against your skin.
the feeling of him thrusting in and out of you was intense, something you had been craving for so long now and yet now it was happening, you wanted more, and more and more and more and more. he loved this shy game you’d always play, always pretending like you couldn’t take it despite the fact your legs were widening further and you were moaning like a bitch in heat - it turned him on beyond words to know underneath the sweet persona, you were the filthiest slut he had ever known.
his pace was deep, mean but slow and it wasn’t enough, purposefully done to tease you for as long as he could, to ensure you’d stay needy. it was clearly working with the way your moans, whines and gasps filled the air only to be followed with a long drawl of his name, face scrunched up so cute he wanted to fucking scream.
“c’mon, baby, you’re so good to me.” he cooed, continuing his slow thrusts. “just gotta ask if you want something.”
your eyes scrunched shut, whimpering at his words knowing he wanted you in ways that you had reminisced on for months, the feeling of him kissing the gummy part of your cunt something you had missed so much.
“want it properly, kookie.” you begged him, though you couldn’t meet his gaze, eyes flickering down to his neck as he continued his pace. “yeah? tell kookie how you want it.”
your fingers clung to his shoulders as he came down, arms now pressed on either side of your head as he nuzzled your nose with his own, actions too sweet given the sinful position he had you in.
your breathing was ragged, the feel of him inside you too much for your poor little mind to handle without breaking and yet it wasn’t nearly enough. you craved something harsher, meaner, more jungkook. neither of you had ever been ones for soft sex, always preferring it as needy as possible which only heightened considering the fact you were both so utterly obsessive when it came to the other.
you whined loudly as his actions came to a stop completely, now grinding against you whilst still being inside.
“just want you to fuck me properly.” you whimpered, lip quivering so much faster, hips lifting to meet his as a means to relieve yourself.
god. you were killing him.
“good girl.”
jungkook planted a single kiss to your lips, oddly sweet before pulling back, planting two more to your forehead and nose. you were ready to whine once more until you felt his hips pull back, only to thrust into you harshly.
you squealed as jungkook began his pace exactly how you craved it, exactly how you used to picture with your own fingers in your cunt, desperately trying and failing to replicate the feel. hard. fast. mean. rough.
your neighbours would no doubt complain tomorrow with the way your bed frame began pounding into the wall, his head pressed against yours as his thrusts began kissing your cervix. your legs shook around him, much to his enjoyment, all whilst he forced you to maintain eye contact, wanting so badly to see the affect he was having on you after he had been deprived of you for so long.
“fuck..there she is. that’s my girl.” he hissed down at you, not holding back, the sound of skin slapping against skin heavy in the room. “you don’t know how badly i missed you.”
“m-missed..ugh! missed you..too..” you managed to string together, salted tears now escaping your eyes as they streamed on either side of the pillow.
“pretty girl like you needs to be fucked mean. no good to be nice to you, huh?” he growled down at you, only causing your lip to quiver that much faster as you nodded. “can’t think unless it’s me bullying your pussy into an orgasm.”
your nods were paired with soft sobs as he pounded, ruining your soppy core just like you had wanted. you had dreamt of this, dreamt of him, genuinely believing you’d never reach this state of pleasure ever again in your life and yet here he was, coaxing it out of you to remind you that he’d never leave you again.
his thrusts were sloppier than usual, no doubt due to the extensive length between your last fuck but it only had you moaning and crying louder. the thought of the usually composed jeon jungkook a whining mess for you and you alone had you clamping down hard on his cock.
“can’t believe i let you leave me.” he grunted hard at the feel of you getting so tight, gritting his teeth as he pounded you further. “never again. you fucking hear me, y/n? you’re my wife forever.”
“promise?” you sobbed back, arms now wrapping around his neck as you tried to bring him impossibly closer, as though you could in any capacity.
he nipped at your bottom lip, moaning into your mouth at the way you all but begged him to make it a reality.
“gonna take you to the courthouse tomorrow, get you a nice dress and we do..fuck..we do this again, understand?” he closed his eyes the more you whined and whined. “gonna let me put that ring back on your fucking finger, baby?”
you nodded wildly, just as you felt your orgasm build up in your stomach again, whining loudly up at him in a way he recognised immediately. fuck, he had missed this so much - his angel girl, all needy, begging for it even though she could barely take it. he could feel his own coming on fast, causing him to pull his hand down and rub at your clit, hissing at the feeling of you clamping down on his cock harshly.
“c’mon baby. want you to cum on your husband’s cock, hm? gonna get you nice and round like you deserve.” his thrusts only got meaner. “move you back in. fuck this pussy every single day, just like you need.”
your high rushed through you at the exact point his did, your legs wrapping around his waist as a means to keep him inside. you could feel it all through your body, the way it seized up and bucked into him all whilst he continued his thrusts, fucking you through both of your orgasms.
your vision started growing dark, the intensity of it overwhelming as he rode out your highs whilst whispering soft i love you’s in your ear, cradling you to his chest, holding you closer than you’d ever felt him before.
everything after that completely blurred together.
you remembered jungkook taking care of you, tenderness laced into his very being as he held you like you were akin to a porcelain doll - sweet, so soft, so delicate. somewhere between the damp kisses pressed to your skin underneath the bubbling bath he had drawn for you both, to the continuous declarations of love muttered down at you; you realised that this was inevitable. he was inevitable.
there didn’t exist a reality where you both could live without one another - you knew that now.
even after the heartbreak, the divorce, the loneliness and the debilitating grief, you still found yourself exactly where you belonged. your cheek pressed against his chest, his heartbeat soothing you into a dreamlike state which paled in comparison to the reality that was now yours. his love had you wrapped so tightly you knew you’d never live without it again.
you were finally home.
—
this beast of a fic is finally done yay!!! i hope you guys love ex husband jungkook just as much as i do!
tried to make him less yandere in this one and more pathetic yearner lol but i may have slipped here and there 💔
i’d love to hear your thoughts on this - love hearing you guys after a fic drops so i’m excited to see what you all think!!!!
if you wanna help support me pay my disgusting, awful, horrific london rent, my kofi is linked <3
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Hiii I have req, jk who is a rlly good dirty talker and his bad boy personality/looks are opposite to readers quieter look 💞
A/N: Ugh love me some bad boy jk 🤤 Thanks for requesting this, I hope to see you in my inbox again!
Warnings: mdni 18+, bad boy!jk x nerdy!reader, praise, dirty talk, bestie you got the best pussy jk almost can't handle it, protected p in v sex
WC: 1421
-
Jungkook never thought he'd meet his match. Especially not by someone like you.
He was leather jackets, fast motorcycles, black nail polish and rock bands. You were soft, a room full of romance novels and manga mixed with blind box figures and plushies.
You were the quiet girl in the front row of one of his many classes he took for college. Usually sitting alone, dressed in baggy clothes and headphones snuggled over your ears to drown out the world around you.
He honestly wouldn't have thought to look at you twice from how well you blended into the background. (You did this on purpose.) It wasn't until his professor assigned you as his partner for this project that he even knew your name.
So, again, he didn't think he would end up like this.
-
"O-oh fuck," Jungkook's voice cracks, it cracks! His eyes wide, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he watched the tip of his cock sink past the first ring of your sopping pussy.
He's got to focus, his chest panting - heaving - in puffs, feeling how deliciously you squeeze around his cock. You feel like heaven and sin, gushing a new wave of arousal down his cock, walls fluttering filthily, trying to suck him in deeper.
"Jung-ngh! Hah-" your eyes roll to the back of your head, chest arching up towards Jungkook as you squirm underneath him. "S'big, oh! Too big," your mouth is parched, tummy sucking in as Jungkook feeds you more of his cock.
His hands slide up your plush thighs, hooking them over his arms, spreading them wider so he could sink in deeper. Your pussy weeps, crying out wetly, as he pushes your legs up higher.
Are those Harry Potter socks you were wearing?
Jungkook watches your thighs shake, feet pointing up as he forces you to stay still, to feel every inch bully its way in, slowly. "Fuck," Jungkook curses. His eyes zero in on where you're connected, his tongue rolling over his lips, wetting them. "You're taking me so well, baby." Your gummy walls clench, and Jungkook hisses, dropping one leg to move his hands between your bodies.
"No, it's too much, I- I can't, I can't-" You shake your head, breathless, nails clawing into the bedsheets beneath you.
Jungkook's fingers find your sensitive clit. His tongue clicking against his teeth in warning, the hand on the back of your knee stretches it back even more as his body leans over you. The weight of him pressing against you, keeping you from running away from him.
"Where are you thinking you're going, pretty?" He watches in satisfaction as your body twitches, your pretty mouth dropping as he taps small hearts on your glittering clit. "You can hah- take it," Jungkook grunts, eyes almost rolling from how much deeper he sinks into you. "Can't you, fuck- can't you hear how you're sucking me in?" He pants.
And your cunt drools. Stretching exquisitely around his girthy shaft. You whine from the back of your throat as he keeps thumbing your clit, making you swallow more and more of his cock until your eyes cross.
You can hear your pussy, squelching from the stretch, your sweet juices dripping down your ass and pooling onto the bedsheets below. Fuck, you can feel him in your throat.
"In your throat, heh?" Your eyes widen, you didn't realize you had said it out loud. Jungkook has the audacity to chuckle above you, turning his head to plant a quick kiss on the inner part of your ankle that he has dangling on his shoulder. "Nah, mamas- not your throat." His hand leaves your puffy clit to press down on your stomach, making you keen loudly. "Right here, m'right here."
And then he bottomed out. His thighs pressing into your ass as he holds your ankle in a death grip. He could honestly cum right now from how your pussy sucks him in a vice grip. You feel so unfairly good around him, he can't help but grind his hips closer. The tip of his cock dig against your gummy walls so wickedly, you're mewling for more.
"Please, oh! Please, please," Your brain is fried, lips babbling, drool trickling down your jaw, it honestly makes Jungkook coo. His lips curving into a knowing grin as you hiccup between whines.
"Huh? Already drunk on my cock?" He shouldn't be teasing by the way his jaw ticks, his cock twitching to cum right now. He's no better than you, drunk off the feeling of your sweet pussy. He's got to concentrate not to bust a nut right now. His eyes are half-lidded as his hand holds your hip still. He angles his hips back, "we're just getting started, Pretty." And then he's smacking forward and pushing a loud gasp from you.
"Jung- Jungkoo-" You're babbling stupidly as he tilts his hips, thrusting harder and deeper with each stroke. He watches your tongue loll, the previous image of the shy girl he met weeks ago gone, replaced by the lewd look of your teary eyes and jaw hanging open in pleasure.
"Look at that," Jungkook teases, your walls clamping around him when the tip of his cock smacks right into the soft spot that makes you whine obscenely. "Tha's it, that makes you feel good, huh?"
The headboard taps the wall with each of his thrusts. The bed creaks and mixes in between your pretty cries. And your head nods, tongue feeling too heavy to speak properly, "yes ah- oh fuck, yes!" Your words slur, and your pussy gurgles another wave of arousal, soaking Jungkook's pelvis and balls as he picks up speed.
"Fuck, you're so loud you're making a mess," Jungkook felt feverish, eyes dazed and beginning to become unfocused. He felt dumb on your pretty pussy, head falling back as he made you meet each one of his thrusts. "Heh- fuck baby, don't know who's louder," His cockhead kissing your cervix with each roll of his hips. "You or your pussy."
His words send a shiver up your spine, your cheeks flushing as the squelches of your pussy get even louder, answering for him. The noises reverberate and increase in pace as the knot in your stomach tightens. It's too much.
"Too much?" Jungkook is practically heart-eyed, shaking his head at you. "Wha-what did I tell you?" He curses when you squeeze tighter, your thighs shaking as he keeps you trapped between the bed and him. "What did I tell you?"
"Oh!" Your toes curl, head thrown back as he brings his hand back to your glistening clit. He rubs fast circles into the sensitive nub, matching it to his strokes and making you squeal, "y-you said I c-can take it!"
You sounded so ruined, stuttering over your words as his hips snapped filthy thrusts even faster. "Mmph- tha's my girl," Jungkook praises, feeling your pussy flutter at his compliment and bringing you closer to the edge.
And Jungkook isn't far behind you. His thrusts are growing sloppy as he hits your g-spot with each stroke. It builds the knot in your stomach, making it twist and twist and therefore milking Jungkook with your pussy tighter and tighter.
"Jungkoo- Jung- I- ah!" Your eyes watered, tears slipping down your cheeks as you babbled dumbly. "M'gonna cum, oh, oh, I'm cum-cumming!" A hot, white pleasure flashes through you. Your ears were roaring with your racing heart as you fell apart with a scream.
Your body shudders underneath him, your pussy gushing messily and pulling him over the edge with you. "O-oh fuck!" And then his hands grab your hips, jostling your body, up, down, up, down. Moving you like his own personal toy as his cock twitches, splurting stream after stream of his cum while helping you ride out your own orgasm.
By the time you're fluttering your eyes open, Jungkook is shivering above you. His hips mindlessly rut into you even after his cock stops twitching, the aftershocks overstimulating you both.
When he finally pulls out, you can feel your cum drip after him. Your thighs are still shaking as he rolls the condom down his length and throws it in the trash next to his bed.
You're trying to figure out what should happen next when Jungkook grabs your attention again. His body crawls back up to you on the bed, his eyes meeting yours. "I need you to know this isn't going to be a one-time thing., It can't be."
summary: looking for a decent job, you stumbled upon jungkook’s job posting on instagram, what could go wrong?
warnings: playfuldom!jungkook x fem reader, explicit sexual content, clit rubbing, pussy eating, edging, spitting, degradation, dirty talk, multiple positions, detailed smut, jk is very playful in a degrading way, oral sex, camera sex, pussy slapping, choking, praising, usage of slut, cum eating, marking, multiple orgasms, rough sex, crying, overstimulation, fingering, nipple spitting, penetrative sex, creampie.
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂˚₊┈┈୨୧┈┈‧₊˚⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂
“How about being a barista again? There’s a job opening at Moonlit Cafe down the street,” Hari suggested while you sat hunched over your laptop, endlessly browsing through job postings.
You were still a student, graduating next year with bills clawing at your throat. When college started, you wanted independence so badly it ached beneath your skin. An apartment near the university. Your own keys. Your own groceries. Your own life.
Your parents had offered to cover everything without hesitation, gentle and loving as always, but guilt settled heavily in your chest whenever you thought about it. They were already paying your tuition fees. You wanted them to live comfortably too, without worrying about whether their daughter had enough money for rent or food. So you smiled and told them not to worry, drained your savings account for the apartment, and picked up multiple part-time jobs just to prove to yourself that you could survive on your own.
And for a while, you did.
The first two years of college went smoothly enough. You found decent jobs, saved enough money to live comfortably, and even bought yourself a flat-screen TV after months of careful budgeting. Your days blurred into exhausting routines—classes in the morning, shifts at the coffee shop at night, and weekends spent organizing shelves as a bookstore assistant.
You were tired all the time, but it was a satisfying kind of tired. The kind that made you feel accomplished.
Independent. Adult.
Until the coffee shop let you go.
Budget cuts, they said apologetically, avoiding your eyes while handing you the notice. Part-time workers were the first to go.
You still had the bookstore job, but the pay barely stretched far enough to cover groceries, let alone rent, electricity, and university expenses. Asking your parents for help would’ve been easy—too easy—but stubbornness rooted itself deep inside you. There were thousands of job postings online. Surely one of them would take you.
Only they never called back.
Two months had passed, and your savings were bleeding out faster than you could stop them. Every day followed the same suffocating routine: school, assignments, cheap instant dinners, and hours of doom-scrolling through applications until your vision blurred from the brightness of your screen.
You groaned quietly, rubbing your tired eyes before glancing over at Hari, who sat cross-legged beside you on the couch with a milk tea in hand. She had shown up at your apartment earlier carrying takeout bags and your favorite boba, worry written plainly across her face after noticing how little you’d been eating lately.
“I already applied there,” you muttered with a pout, dragging your gaze back to the laptop. “But they want someone full-time.”
Hari sighed dramatically, setting her drink down on the coffee table. “You seriously need to rest. You’ve been staring at that thing for hours.”
Before you could protest, she grabbed your boba and pushed it into your hands. The cold plastic pressed against your palms pleasantly.
“Drink,” she ordered. “And let me do the scrolling before you spiral into another existential crisis.”
A laugh bubbled out of her as she pulled the laptop from your lap, and despite the anxiety twisting endlessly inside your chest, you felt your shoulders loosen just a little.
You pouted lightly, sipping your boba while Hari busied herself with your laptop. Your brows slowly furrowed when you noticed her opening tab after tab with alarming confidence.
“Why are you on Facebook?” you asked with a quiet chuckle, watching her click somewhere else before another page loaded. “And now Twitter? Instagram too?”
Hari rolled her eyes dramatically, her face illuminated by the screen’s pale glow. “Because the jobs on LinkedIn are painfully boring,” she scoffed. “There are tons of part-time job offers on social media. I swear I saw one yesterday.”
She narrowed her eyes at the laptop suspiciously, scrolling with the intensity of a detective solving a murder case.
A laugh escaped you as you leaned against her shoulder, chewing on the tapioca pearls you had missed more than you cared to admit. You’d been saving every spare dollar lately, cutting out small comforts one by one until even buying boba started to feel irresponsible.
“But you don’t even know if those are legit,” you pointed out, tilting your head at her. “The sites I applied to are safer from scams and stuff.”
“I know,” Hari replied instantly. “That’s why we’re looking for jobs with a pay-first policy if it’s online.” She clicked onto another account before adding casually, “And if it’s onsite, we’ll bring a gun in case things go wrong or something.”
You burst out laughing at that, nearly choking on your drink.
“Hari!”
“What?” she laughed too, grinning shamelessly. “I’m just being prepared.”
You shook your head at her usual nonsense, warmth blooming faintly in your chest despite the stress that had been suffocating you for weeks now. Hari always had a way of dragging you out of your own head, even if only for a little while.
The apartment suddenly felt less heavy with her around.
You were honestly relieved that semester break had finally arrived. One whole month without classes. No early morning lectures. No deadlines. No professors piling work onto your shoulders.
But instead of resting like a normal person, you had thrown yourself deeper into job hunting.
Hari hated that.
As your closest friend, she had spent the last week trying to convince you to take a break—to go shopping with the girls, take an out-of-town trip, do literally anything that didn’t involve staring at job applications until three in the morning.
You declined every single invitation.
Your friends understood your situation, but they also thought you were driving yourself insane. Which, honestly, you probably were.
That was exactly why Hari showed up tonight carrying your favorite food and overpriced boba tea, determined to drag you away from your spiral. She kept trying to tempt you into going on a girls’ trip with them, insisting that one weekend away wouldn’t kill you.
But every time you thought about relaxing, all you could picture were your bills piling quietly on the kitchen counter. So instead, you stayed curled up on the couch beside her, stubbornly searching for a job you desperately needed.
Hari was beginning to look almost as desperate as you. Maybe not for herself, but for you—for the way your shoulders had slowly grown heavier these past few months, for the exhaustion permanently shadowing your eyes. She wanted you to land a job already so you could finally breathe again without worrying about rent and unpaid bills swallowing you whole.
Which was exactly why she was now doom-scrolling through Twitter with frightening determination.
“I really don’t think you’re gonna find a job there,” you muttered skeptically, watching her open an alarming amount of random threads. “Most of those look like scams.”
“Wait, wait—look at this!”
Hari suddenly grabbed your arm and pulled you closer to the screen, quickly setting her milk tea down beside her like she was preparing for something serious.
Her eyes widened.
“Okay, this one actually looks promising.”
You leaned in slightly as she read aloud.
mnijungkook on ig posted: i’m looking for someone who can take insanely good videos and photos [of me]. i’ll somehow figure out the equipment myself..! please somehow reach out to me! lol, looking for someone to film for me, seriously. and if you’re good at editing too? let’s go on tour together
“There are so many likes and retweets,” Hari said immediately, already opening another tab to search for the original Instagram post. “This has to be legit.”
The second you recognized the username, you nearly choked on your drink.
Laughter burst out of you uncontrollably, your shoulders shaking as you clutched the cup tighter. Hari blinked at you in confusion while your eyes watered from laughing too hard.
“Hari,” you wheezed out, “That’s Jungkook.”
She stared blankly. “Huh? The boss?”
Another laugh escaped you.
Hari genuinely knew almost nothing about K-pop or Korean artists in general, and moments like this always reminded you just how different the two of you were.
Meanwhile, you had once been painfully obsessed.
You used to stay up until dawn watching livestreams, memorizing lyrics, collecting photocards you definitely couldn’t afford, and keeping up with every tiny update posted online. Back then, being a fan felt like a second full-time job.
But life eventually became busier.
School consumed your mornings, work consumed your nights, and somewhere in between surviving deadlines and paying bills, your fangirl phase quietly faded into the background. You still listened to their music almost daily, still smiled whenever one of their songs shuffled into your playlist, but you no longer kept up with every post or appearance the way you once did.
You guessed you had simply grown up.
Even so, seeing Jungkook casually asking for a videographer and editor on Instagram felt surreal enough to make you laugh all over again.
Not updated enough to know that Jungkook was apparently posting job offers on Instagram now. Or that he was even on tour.
“No,” you laughed, shaking your head as you finally calmed down a little. “That’s Jungkook. From BTS. They’re, like… insanely famous, Hari. This is probably some kind of joke or publicity thing.”
Hari’s brows knitted together in confusion before realization slowly dawned across her face. She clicked onto the Instagram profile, eyes widening at the blue verification check and the terrifying number of followers sitting beneath his username.
Nearly thirty million.
“Ohhh, BTS,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Wait—I think I’ve seen him before.” She squinted at one of the photos. “Wasn’t he in a Calvin Klein ad or something?”
You snorted. “Yeah. That’s him.”
Honestly, you expected her to laugh it off after realizing who posted it. Maybe call the idea ridiculous and move on to another job listing.
Instead, Hari clicked onto his Instagram story again with alarming seriousness.
“That means…” she trailed off.
“It’s probably a joke,” you interrupted immediately.
“This is good pay,” she said at the exact same time, eyes practically glittering now.
Before you could stop her, she pressed the reply button beneath the story.
Your lips parted slightly. You genuinely couldn’t tell if she was being serious or completely delusional right now. Probably both. But either way, you let her continue typing because there was absolutely no chance Jungkook himself would ever see it.
He probably received thousands of messages every minute. Millions, even.
The thought alone felt ridiculous.
“Whatever,” you muttered with a helpless chuckle, giving up entirely. “I’m heating up the rice bowl.”
Hari waved you off distractedly, already multitasking between your laptop and her phone like this had suddenly become her personal mission.
You shook your head fondly before standing from the couch, grabbing the takeout container she bought earlier. The apartment filled with the quiet hum of the microwave a moment later, warm light spilling across the tiny kitchen while Hari continued aggressively applying for a job that definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent was never going to happen.
-
You woke up to the shrill sound of your alarm, already preparing yourself for another long day of job hunting.
Hari went home late last night after spending an absurd amount of time DMing Jungkook and scrolling through social media for more “opportunities,” as she called them. Somewhere between laughing at ridiculous job listings and sharing takeout on your couch, the two of you ended up watching an old Disney movie to help you relax.
She still tried convincing you to go on the girls’ out-of-town trip. You still refused.
No matter how badly you wanted a break, your priorities were painfully clear right now. You needed stability first. A stable paycheck. A stable life. Then maybe you could afford to breathe.
After showering, you made yourself a decent cup of coffee and opened your laptop with a tired sigh, mentally preparing to send out another batch of applications that probably wouldn’t get answered.
Then your phone buzzed beside you. An Instagram notification lit up the screen.
You snorted softly to yourself. “This must be Jungkook,” you joked under your breath, absentmindedly opening the app.
What the fuck.
Your heart nearly stopped when you saw the message sitting in your inbox. The coffee suddenly tasted bitter in your mouth.
What the actual fuck?
“Hari!” you practically shrieked the second she answered your call. “Fuck! I don’t even edit videos! I only know basic stuff! I can’t even record properly without my hands shaking!”
You paced around your apartment while panicking into the phone, one hand gripping your hair as you reread the messages over and over again in disbelief.
Sometime after you went to the kitchen last night, Hari had apparently taken it upon herself to completely ruin your life.
She sent Jungkook your entire curriculum vitae.
Not only that—she also wrote and attached a full cover letter explaining why he should hire you.
The realization alone nearly made you pass out.
And when you discovered she had changed your insta profile picture into a formal-looking one while you weren’t paying attention?
You almost laughed and cried at the same time.
It genuinely looked like you had desperately prepared for this opportunity your entire life.
Your eyes skimmed through the cover letter again, horror slowly mixing with something embarrassingly emotional. Hari had written your entire backstory in there—about struggling financially, balancing school and work, trying to stay independent despite everything.
And then she started lying. Blatantly.
Apparently, according to Hari, you were “highly skilled in video editing” with “experience in cinematography.”
Cinematography my ass.
“Hehe… well,” Hari giggled shamelessly through the phone, completely unbothered by your spiraling. Noise echoed behind her, voices and music blending together enough for you to realize she was already with the girls on their trip. “You have to fake a few things to get accepted sometimes, right?”
“Ugh, I can’t do this!” you cried dramatically, pacing back and forth around your apartment while gripping your phone tightly. “I literally don’t know anything about filming! And what if he sues me for faking my skills? He’s famous and influential, Hari!”
Your eyes darted back toward your laptop sitting open on the table, Jungkook’s message glowing on the screen like a ticking time bomb ready to ruin your entire life.
Hari only laughed harder through the call.
“Girl, just try!” she said between giggles. “Watch a tutorial on YouTube or something. Besides…” her tone suddenly turned suspiciously persuasive, “It’s really good pay.”
“Hari!” you screamed again, horrified.
“God, I still can’t believe he actually replied to you,” she continued teasingly. “You must’ve impressed him with your amazing cinematography skills.”
You groaned so loudly you nearly scared yourself.
The worst part was that she wasn’t wrong about the pay.
Your eyes had nearly bulged out of your skull when you saw the amount attached to the offer. There were so many zeros that your brain genuinely short-circuited for a moment.
That was exactly why you couldn’t let it go.
Out of everyone who probably replied to his story, Jungkook somehow answered you.
You. The probability alone felt absurd.
Thousands of people would kill for this opportunity right now, and meanwhile you were pacing around your apartment like you were preparing for a court trial instead of a job offer.
At first, the teenage fangirl buried deep inside you nearly exploded from excitement. The situation dragged you back to years ago—staying up until four in the morning streaming music videos, binge-watching funny compilations, memorizing choreography you could never actually dance, spending money you absolutely shouldn’t have spent on albums and photocards.
Back then, BTS had practically consumed your life. But time passed.
Somewhere between work shifts, college deadlines, and trying to survive adulthood, you slowly stopped keeping up with them. You still listened to the music, of course, but you no longer knew where they were, what they were doing, or how much they had changed over the years.
Curiosity eventually got the better of you. So you stalked Jungkook’s Instagram a little.
And oh.
Oh, he had changed.
A full sleeve of tattoos now wrapped around his right arm, dark ink decorating skin that used to be bare. Silver piercings glinted against his face in ways that somehow suited him unfairly well. His frame had broadened too, shoulders stronger, body lean and built with the kind of maturity that made him almost unrecognizable from the boy you remembered.
You were used to soft brown hair, oversized hoodies, black skinny jeans, clean arms, and those wide doe-like eyes that made the entire internet lose their minds.
Now he looked mature. Sharper. More dangerous somehow.
A man instead of a boy. And annoyingly enough, it looked really good on him.
“Fuck,” you muttered to yourself, finally realizing you’d been staring at a motorcycle video he posted for far too long.
You immediately locked your phone and pressed it dramatically against your forehead.
“I cannot fangirl right now or I’m seriously gonna lose it.”
Hari kept telling you to just go for it. “You literally have a whole month off from school,” she argued over the phone while you spiraled for the hundredth time. “This is basically the perfect sideline job.”
Sideline job. As if working for Jungkook of BTS was equivalent to tutoring kids after class.
Your stomach twisted anxiously as you stared at the message again. Every second that passed made you feel like the opportunity was slipping farther away. With the amount of people probably flooding his inbox right now, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t change his mind the moment someone actually qualified replied to him.
Your eyes skimmed over his message again, pulse quickening embarrassingly fast.
mnijungkook: hey, i saw your cv ㅎㅎ you really didn’t have to explain everything, but i’m glad you did. i can tell you’re being genuine about this. even without samples, the way you talked about cinematography/editing made me feel like you actually care about it and pay attention to details. sometimes that matters more to me than someone trying too hard to look “professional”
also i get the whole semester break thing. a month is still enough time to try something fun and see if we work well together
don’t stress too much about equipment either because i barely know what i’m doing there yet lol
for payment, don’t worry. if you end up coming with me, i’ll make sure you’re paid well — probably around $20-30k usd for the month depending on the schedule + travel and hotel covered.
send me your contact info? we can talk more properly :))
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“I am not passionate about cinematography,” you nearly whimpered to yourself, dropping your face into your hands. “To hell with cinematography.”
The amount of lies in Hari’s cover letter was genuinely evil.
And now Jungkook thought you were some hidden creative genius with an artistic eye and a deep love for filmmaking when in reality you barely knew how to stabilize a phone camera.
You felt sick.
But then your eyes drifted back to the payment offer. Twenty to thirty thousand dollars. Travel covered. Hotels covered. Your bank account practically screamed at you to shut up and take the opportunity.
So with trembling fingers and the overwhelming sensation that you were actively ruining your own life, you began typing a reply. A reply that dug your grave even deeper.
You agreed with him. You agreed that you were a “good editor.”
You added your contact details while simultaneously praying that YouTube tutorials could somehow transform you into a professional videographer overnight.
Your fingers hovered above the send button before you forced yourself to press it.
You: thank you so much for even considering me :D i really do believe i’m a good editor, especially when it comes to making things feel natural and cinematic instead of overdone.
i’d genuinely love to work for you if you’ll have me. i’m willing to learn fast, adjust to whatever style you want, and work hard during the whole month of my semester break.
my contact details are below, thank you so much!
The message was sent instantly.
You stared at the screen in silence afterward, horror slowly settling into every inch of your body.
Yeah. You were doomed.
-
“Wow, what the hell.” Your eyes widened the second you stepped into the hotel room Jungkook had booked for you.
The past few days had moved so fast it almost gave you whiplash. After you sent your contact details, Jungkook immediately messaged you about schedules, filming dates, locations, and travel arrangements as if hiring strangers from Instagram was a completely normal thing for him to do.
Everything had already been prepared before you could even panic properly.
Your plane ticket? Booked.
Hotel room? Paid for.
Transportation? Arranged.
Food allowance? Included.
All you had to do was pack your bags and somehow learn how to film and edit professionally before embarrassing yourself on an international scale.
Easy.
“I am so spoiled,” you muttered in disbelief, slowly stepping farther into the room. It was huge.
Bigger than huge, honestly. The hotel suite looked almost the size of your apartment back home, warm lighting spilling across polished floors and neatly arranged furniture that looked far too expensive for you to even breathe near.
Then your attention landed on the large table sitting near the windows. And your soul nearly left your body.
Equipment. So much fucking equipment.
Two massive black cameras rested neatly beside a smaller handheld one. There was an iPad, a laptop, tripods, microphones, chargers, lighting equipment, and cables so intimidating they looked like they belonged inside a spaceship instead of a filming setup.
Your luggage slipped from your fingers onto the floor with a dull thud as you walked toward the table cautiously, like the devices might explode if you touched them incorrectly.
Your eyes widened even more.
For the past several days, you have been desperately teaching yourself how to edit videos and film cinematic shots. Watching tutorials until sunrise. Memorizing transitions. Learning random camera terms you barely understood.
But you had been practicing with your phone. Your fucking phone.
Meanwhile these cameras looked expensive enough to pay your rent for the next ten years.
You carefully picked one up with both hands, terrified you’d somehow damage it through sheer incompetence alone.
Honestly, you were still shocked Jungkook never asked for samples of your work.
If he had, your career would’ve ended immediately.
The only thing you could’ve shown him was a mediocre CapCut edit with dramatic black-and-white filters slapped over it to make it look “cinematic.”
You groaned loudly, dropping your forehead against the edge of the table.
“Oh my God,” you whispered into the expensive wood. “I’m actually a fraud.”
You nearly lost balance holding the enormous camera in your hands, quickly tightening your grip before your entire future shattered onto the hotel floor in high definition. “Woah, this is heavy.”
Your eyes stayed locked on the equipment nervously as you adjusted the strap around your wrist, trying your best to look like someone who actually knew what they were doing. Because if Jungkook realized how painfully inexperienced you were, he might personally send you back to your country on the next available flight.
You wouldn’t even blame him. The past few nights had been brutal.
You barely slept at all, surviving almost entirely on instant noodles, caffeine, and pure fear while desperately teaching yourself editing techniques through YouTube tutorials. Your laptop had become an extension of your body at this point, constantly running sample footage you filmed around your apartment just so you could practice transitions, lighting adjustments, stabilization, and color grading.
You even studied Jungkook’s editing style specifically.
The pacing of his vlogs.
The soft cinematic filters.
The random zoom-ins.
The casual, natural feeling of the clips.
You analyzed everything like your life depended on it because technically, your rent kind of did. You were getting paid for this. A ridiculous amount, too.
And there was absolutely no way you could afford getting exposed now.
“Okay…” you muttered slowly while fiddling with the camera settings. “This is kinda… easy?”
You said it more like a question than a statement. Still, you forced yourself to keep going.
You searched up tutorials for the exact camera model, watched setup guides, practiced adjusting focus and lighting, and filmed random clips around the room like an aspiring film student fighting for survival.
At some point, you even started taking artistic shots of your coffee cup near the hotel window. For practice, obviously.
Tomorrow was your first official filming day.
According to the schedule Jungkook emailed you earlier, you’d be accompanying him to a golf activity before the concert. He wanted behind-the-scenes footage for the fans—small moments throughout the day, casual interactions, preparations before performing.
And apparently that was only the beginning. Over the next few days, you’d also be filming soundchecks, backstage moments, errands, workouts, rehearsals, and random snippets of his daily routine while on tour.
Basically, your entire existence now revolves around documenting Jungkook’s life aesthetically.
No pressure.
You used his latest vlog as your main reference while practicing, pausing every few seconds to study angles and editing choices carefully. Honestly, the style itself wasn’t impossible to recreate. It leaned more natural than overly polished, which helped calm your nerves slightly.
The problem was you. You weren’t skilled.
And the more you thought about his expectations, the more your stomach twisted itself into knots.
But backing out wasn’t an option anymore.
Not after the cover letter.
Not after the hotel.
Not after the plane ticket.
Definitely not after seeing the paycheck.
So instead of panicking yourself into quitting, you threw every ounce of energy into learning. Practicing. Training.
Like you were preparing for the Olympics instead of secretly faking your way into being Jungkook’s videographer.
You almost had a heart attack when your phone suddenly buzzed while you were testing the cameras.
The heavy device nearly slipped straight out of your hands as Jungkook’s name flashed across the screen.
Your pulse instantly skyrocketed.
Jungkook: hey, i left all the equipment on the table in your hotel room because i had to leave early for rehearsal. camera batteries are charging already, memory cards are inside the small black case, and i think i accidentally tangled all the wires together so… good luck with that honestly ㅎㅎ
there’s also a pass hanging on the chair for backstage access. don’t lose it or my manager’s gonna kill me lol
take your time checking everything first before we head out tomorrow. and if anything’s confusing just call me :))
You stared at the message for a moment longer than necessary, a smile unconsciously pulling at your lips.
His personality somehow translated perfectly even through text messages alone—easygoing, playful, ridiculously approachable despite being one of the biggest celebrities in the world.
It reminded you exactly why he used to be your ultimate bias years ago. There was something naturally charming about him. Something warm.
You quickly typed a reply before you could overthink it too much.
You: yes! i am checking them out hehe.. the batteries are currently charging, the cards are safe, and i’m currently fighting for my life trying to untangle these wires hahaha
good luck with rehearsal!! see you tomorrow!
The second you pressed send, immediate regret flooded your body. You stared at your message in horror.
Why did I sound like that?
Your cheeks burned violently as you reread the multiple “hehe’s” and unnecessary laughter typed into the conversation like a teenager texting her crush for the first time.
You physically covered your face with your hands.
“Oh my God,” you groaned into your palms. It wasn’t like you were trying to flirt.
Or maybe… just a little bit.
Which honestly made the situation infinitely worse.
You used to be an incredibly dedicated ARMY once upon a time, and frankly, this entire situation was making your heart malfunction.
Working for Jungkook.
Texting Jungkook.
Meeting Jungkook.
It all felt unreal in the most dangerous way possible.
But you forced yourself to set the fangirl part aside before it completely consumed you. You needed to stay professional. Calm. Composed.
Otherwise, you were genuinely convinced you’d suffer a stroke before filming a single decent piece of content for him.
So instead of spiraling, you spent the entire night practicing.
Testing the cameras.
Learning the settings.
Adjusting lighting.
Checking the microphones repeatedly to make sure the audio sounded clean.
You edited random sample clips until your eyes burned from exhaustion, determined to familiarize yourself with the equipment enough to at least fake confidence tomorrow.
And somehow, by pure fear-driven determination alone, morning arrived faster than expected.
You woke up early to practice filming one last time before leaving, moving around the hotel room with nervous energy buzzing beneath your skin. You were oddly dedicated now—almost desperate—to prove that hiring you wasn’t a mistake.
After showering, you dressed carefully in clothes that screamed “professional videographer” despite the fact that you absolutely were not one.
A black long-sleeved polo, dark slacks and black shoes. You even tied your hair back neatly, staring at yourself in the mirror afterward like you were about to infiltrate the FBI instead of filming golf content.
A knock sounded at your hotel door.
“Good day, Ms. Y/N. Are you ready?”
You immediately straightened up before opening it, greeted by one of the bodyguards Jungkook assigned to escort you. His black shades reflected your visibly nervous expression back at you.
“Yes,” you answered quickly, trying to sound more confident than you felt.
Before leaving, you double-checked everything one last time—the batteries, memory cards, laptop, chargers—making sure nothing important was missing before following the bodyguard downstairs.
Outside, a sleek black car waited for you.
Your heartbeat quickened the moment you stepped inside.
You were scheduled to arrive an hour earlier than Jungkook so you could prepare the equipment and set everything up properly before filming started. Which meant you had an entire hour alone to panic in peace.
The ride itself was painfully quiet. Only the soft hum of the air conditioner filled the car while city lights blurred past the tinted windows. Your hands rested stiffly over your bag, fingers nervously tapping against the expensive camera inside while your thoughts spiraled endlessly.
You swallowed hard. “I can do this,” you whispered quietly to yourself.
Though honestly, you sounded unconvinced. The moment the golf course entrance came into view, your stomach twisted so violently you almost gagged.
Oh God. This was actually happening.
The bodyguard escorted you inside shortly after, guiding you toward the smaller private golf area before leaving you alone to prepare your setup.
The silence that followed felt enormous.
You slowly placed the equipment down, inhaling deeply as the morning breeze brushed against your face. The golf course stretched beautifully beneath the early sunlight, calm and expensive and intimidating all at once.
And somewhere in the middle of unpacking tripods with trembling hands, one horrifying realization settled heavily into your chest.
Soon, Jungkook was going to arrive.
You looked around quietly, taking in the golf course while trying to calm the violent beating of your heart.
The place felt tucked away from the rest of the world somehow—small, peaceful, almost unreal in its stillness. Unlike the massive championship courses you usually saw online, this one felt more intimate. The holes were laid out closer together across smooth fairways trimmed so perfectly they looked like green velvet beneath the morning sun.
Small sand bunkers curved around the landscape, soft hills rolling gently beneath clean white flags planted in the distance.
No screaming crowds. No cameras flashing endlessly. Just the distant rustling of trees, the muted hum of golf carts somewhere farther away, and every now and then, the satisfying thunk of a golf club striking a ball cleanly through the air.
Though, it would’ve been relaxing if you weren’t moments away from throwing up from anxiety.
Your hands were already sweaty as you unpacked the equipment carefully, trying not to look like you had absolutely no clue what you were doing. You adjusted the camera repeatedly, searching for decent angles while silently thanking every higher power possible that there weren’t many people around.
Only a few locals occupied the course, minding their own business.
Good.
Less witnesses for your downfall.
You became so focused on testing camera movements and practicing steady shots that you completely failed to notice someone approaching behind you.
It wasn’t until you angled the camera upward during practice that your soul nearly exited your body.
Jungkook stood directly in frame, smiling right into the lens. Your heart stopped.
“Hi,” he greeted warmly, amusement flickering across his face as he glanced at the camera in your hands. “Looks like you’re having fun already.”
A black sports bag rested beside your equipment now, meaning he must’ve walked over while you were too busy pretending to be a professional filmmaker to notice.
Your eyes widened instantly. “Oh my God—”
You almost tripped over your own feet while hurriedly lowering the camera, panic rushing through your body all at once.
“I was just, um—checking the angles,” you explained nervously, mentally cursing yourself for sounding so awkward. “Nice to meet you! I’m Y/N.”
You quickly wiped your damp palms against your slacks before offering your hand to him politely.
Up close, he somehow looked even more unreal. Tall, broad-shouldered, with beautiful tattoos curling around his arm, silver piercings catching the sunlight softly whenever he smiled.
And unfortunately for your sanity, he was even more handsome in person. Ridiculously so. The kind of handsome that made it difficult to think properly when he looked at you for too long.
He chuckled softly before taking your hand in his. His grip was warm.
Your brain short-circuited immediately.
Dressed in a fitted white polo shirt and black Nike shorts, a black cap resting low over his dark hair in a way that somehow made him look both ridiculously expensive and effortlessly casual at the same time.
The shirt did absolutely nothing to hide how built he was.
You could see the outline of his muscles beneath the fabric every time he moved, his shoulders broad enough to almost completely block the sunlight from where you stood.
“Hello,” he said warmly, shaking your hand once. “I’m Jungkook. Nice to meet you too.” Your cheeks instantly burned.
Seeing him through a screen was one thing. Seeing him in person felt entirely different.
He was so much more charismatic up close it almost irritated you. His bunny teeth peeked out whenever he smiled, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners while he spoke in that easy, friendly tone that made it impossible not to relax around him.
His entire aura felt bright somehow. Light. Dangerously charming.
You were absolutely screwed.
“I’ll leave the filming techniques up to you,” he continued casually, walking over toward the cooler nearby. “Feel free to film me however you want. No pressure.”
No pressure.
As if your nervous system wasn’t already collapsing in on itself.
He grabbed a cold bottle of water before offering another one toward you naturally, like this entire situation wasn’t surreal at all.
“Thank you,” you answered quickly, taking the bottle before immediately setting it aside again. “Uh—I’ll start filming now!”
You lifted the camera again with almost aggressive determination, eager to gather as much footage as possible. More clips meant more editing options later. More editing options meant a smaller chance of exposing yourself as a complete fraud.
Jungkook raised an amused brow at your sudden seriousness, his gaze briefly traveled over your outfit before returning to your face.
“You sure?” he asked lightly. “You don’t wanna eat first? I still have to stretch and stuff anyway.”
You shook your head immediately. “Nope.”
Your grip tightened around the camera slightly. “I wanna include behind-the-scenes snippets too, so…” you explained, trying your best to sound professional despite your racing heart. “This would actually be good footage.”
The determination in your voice made Jungkook smile again. And for some reason, that tiny look of approval made your stomach flip harder than it should have.
Jungkook chuckled softly. “Alright,” he said easily. “Just tell me if you need specific details or angles.”
Then he walked toward the side of the golf course to begin stretching.
You immediately followed after him with the camera clutched in your hands exactly the way you practiced all night, quickly pressing record before your nerves could stop you.
At first, things seemed to be going surprisingly well. You filmed everything.
His warm-ups were slow, deliberate—like he was already in control of everything around him.
The way he adjusted his gloves with quiet precision. The subtle flex of his arms as he set up his iron, muscles shifting beneath fabric like something effortless and practiced. The clean, confident swing of the club cutting through air before striking the ball with a sharp, satisfying sound. The soft crunch of grass beneath his shoes as he shifted his stance, grounding himself between each shot.
Then the stillness between it all.
Him sitting down beneath the shade, momentarily retreating from the sun. Him lifting a bottle of water to his lips, throat moving as he drank, the back of his hand brushing sweat away from his neck without much thought.
You practically documented his entire existence.
At one point, you even almost followed him toward the restroom before your brain caught up with your body at the last second.
You genuinely thought you were doing an amazing job.
From your perspective, more footage meant more options later during editing. You didn’t want to miss a single moment that could potentially look cinematic or useful.
But from Jungkook’s perspective… It was a little concerning.
At first, he simply watched quietly. He noticed the small mistakes immediately—the way you held the camera too stiffly sometimes, the awkward adjustments of the lens, the shaky transitions between movements.
Still, he tried convincing himself that maybe you were just getting comfortable with the equipment. Maybe you simply needed time.
But as the day continued, realization slowly settled in. Especially when he caught you aggressively zooming into completely unnecessary details before quickly rotating the lens too fast, creating footage that would probably look dizzying when played back.
Beginner.
The word settled into his thoughts almost instantly. You followed him everywhere with unwavering focus, constantly checking the framing, adjusting settings, filming from different angles even when your hands visibly started struggling beneath the camera’s weight.
By the time he returned from the restroom later that afternoon, he paused slightly at the sight of you near the equipment table.
You were rotating your shoulders carefully with a tired grimace, trying to ease the soreness from carrying the camera all day. Sweat clung lightly against your forehead beneath the heat of the sun, and your fingers looked faintly red from gripping the equipment for hours.
Still, the moment you noticed him approaching again, you instinctively reached for the camera.
“I think you have enough footage for today,” Jungkook said quietly before you could pick it up again.
His voice carried something firmer now. Your hands froze mid-motion.
You blinked at him in confusion. “Huh?” you asked, adjusting your grip on the camera. “But you’re not done yet.”
He was still in the middle of playing. There were still shots left, more footage you could take, more angles you could practice.
But instead of continuing, Jungkook simply placed the iron back onto the rack with a quiet sigh.
Something about his body language had changed. Subtle, but noticeable.
The playful brightness from earlier dimmed slightly, exhaustion settling into the slope of his shoulders as he rubbed the back of his neck.
And suddenly, anxiety crept beneath your skin.
Was he disappointed?
The answer was yes. Not angry—he wasn’t angry. But disappointed enough to realize the truth little by little throughout the day.
You don’t have any clue on what you were doing.
The way you handled the camera, the inconsistent framing, the random zoom-ins, the awkward adjustments every few seconds—it was painfully obvious that you were inexperienced.
And for a brief moment, ugly thoughts crossed his mind despite himself.
He trusted you.
Even without polished sample reels or impressive portfolios, he still chose to trust you. Your cover letter had been painfully sincere, especially the part about wanting independence. Wanting to do things on your own so you wouldn’t burden your parents. Wanting to make them proud. Wanting to stand on your own feet.
That part stayed with him longer than it should have.
A lot of people sent him impressive applications. High-quality edits. Cinematic videos. Professional portfolios crafted carefully to catch his attention. Thousands of direct messages flooded his account constantly, most of them blending together into meaningless noise after a while.
But yours stood out somehow.
Maybe it was the formal profile picture that made him laugh- looked strangely earnest among the endless stream of unserious messages. Maybe it was the desperation hidden between your carefully written sentences. Or maybe it was simply because your letter resonated with him more than he expected it to.
He understood that kind of desperation.
That overwhelming need to prove yourself to the world.
He had been independent from a young age too, forced to grow up far earlier than most people ever had to. He knew what it felt like to carry pressure so heavy it started shaping the person you became.
But still—
Maybe you lied just to get close to him.
Maybe you wanted the money.
Maybe you were just another person trying to take advantage of him somehow.
God knew he had already met far too many people like that.
But every time those thoughts surfaced, they disappeared almost instantly the second he looked at you again.
Because you were trying so hard. Too hard, honestly.
The determination written across your face all day felt painfully genuine, from the way you followed him around with aching arms to the sweat gathering near your forehead while you forced yourself to keep filming despite your obvious exhaustion.
You looked less like a manipulative opportunist and more like someone desperately trying not to fail.
Still, disappointment lingered quietly beneath his ribs. A dull ache he couldn’t quite shake away no matter how sincere you looked trying to impress him.
And instead of sending you home immediately, another thought slowly crept into his mind.
Something dangerous.
Something mean.
Something dirty enough to make his pulse slow.
He wanted to punish you for it.
Not enough to truly hurt you—never that—but enough to make you understand exactly what happened when you lied to him. Enough to leave you breathless beneath the weight of his attention, overwhelmed by the consequences of trying to fool him so boldly.
Jungkook had always been competitive for a reason.
He hated losing, hated being made a fool of.
And now that you had managed to slip past his guard so easily, there was no way he was letting you walk away untouched by it.
Oh, he was going to have so much fun with you.
“I wanna film something,” he finally said instead, voice quieter now. More serious.
Your breath caught slightly at the sudden change in tone. The warmth from earlier had faded into something calmer. Harder to read.
“Oh,” you answered softly, momentarily caught off guard. “Okay! What kind of content?”
You quickly stood up and began fixing the equipment into your bags, noticing him grab his car keys from beside his sports bag.
“You’ll see,” he said simply, before turning toward the exit.
Your own brows furrowed in confusion. The schedule he sent clearly stated golf content for today. Nothing else.
Still, you followed him quietly anyway. When he told you to ride with him instead of the escort vehicle, your confusion deepened even more, though you didn’t question it aloud. Maybe he wanted driving footage or some cinematic clips for the vlog.
That had to be it.
Your heart thumped nervously as you climbed into his car beside him, immediately noticing how sleek and absurdly expensive the interior looked. The soft scent of fresh mint lingered in the air, clean and comforting somehow.
The realization that you were sitting inside Jungkook’s car with Jungkook himself nearly made your soul leave your body.
Your hands instinctively reached toward the camera bag.
“No,” Jungkook chuckled softly the moment he noticed. “You’re not gonna film here, pretty girl.”
Pretty girl.
Your entire brain stopped functioning. Heat rushed violently into your cheeks as you slowly pulled your hands away from the bag.
“Oh,” you answered weakly. “Okay…”
You bit your lip afterward, turning slightly toward the window to hide your expression while curiosity twisted tighter inside your chest.
Where exactly was he taking you?
The moment you saw the familiar hotel building come into view through the windshield, confusion settled deeper into your chest.
You followed Jungkook quietly through the lobby, nerves buzzing beneath your skin with every step.
He had gone strangely quiet after golf. Still calm, still composed—but not as bright as before. The easy smiles disappeared, replaced by something heavier lingering beneath his expression, and it made your stomach tighten painfully.
“Uhm…” you started carefully while standing beside him inside the elevator. “Are you gonna get a few more cameras or something?”
The elevator doors slid shut. Jungkook glanced at you briefly, his doe eyes half-lidded in a way that made your throat suddenly feel dry.
“Take a guess.”
Your heartbeat stumbled. Something about his tone made nervousness crawl violently through your body. And when the elevator finally opened onto your floor, Jungkook grabbed your wrist without warning.
You gasped softly, he dragged you out impatiently, long strides carrying the two of you quickly down the hallway toward your hotel room. His grip wasn’t painful, but firm enough to make your pulse race uncontrollably beneath your skin.
By the time you stopped in front of your door, your mind was already spiraling. Jungkook looked down at you expectantly, his pupils dilated, still holding your wrist while waiting for you to unlock the room.
Did he figure it out? The thought struck so hard your chest physically tightened.
Your fingers trembled slightly while pulling out the keycard. Guilt flooded your system all at once, thick and suffocating.
You were scared.
Scared he’d yell at you. Scared he’d confiscate the equipment. Scared he’d have you booked on the next flight home before you even had a chance to explain yourself.
Completely unaware of the way his dark, playful mind worked. Completely unaware of how badly he wanted to punish you.
“Jungkook, I—”
But the words died immediately when he walked past you instead.
He took the camera bag from your hands and moved straight toward the table, pulling out the camera you used earlier before checking the rest of the equipment you left behind.
You blinked in confusion. Huh?
Jungkook grabbed another camera calmly before setting up one of the tripods with practiced ease. The way his fingers moved across the equipment was fast and precise, adjusting settings effortlessly while rotating the camera into position like second nature. His shoulders flexed beneath the white polo each time he lifted the tripod, veins bulging faintly along his tattooed forearms while he fixed the lighting behind it.
Your lips parted slightly without meaning to. He looked ridiculously good doing something as simple as setting up cameras.
“W-What are you doing?” you stammered, confused.
Jungkook glanced back at you over his shoulder while tightening something near the tripod head.
“Sit on the bed for me.”
Your stomach flipped violently. “H-Huh? I mean okay,” you answered quietly, swallowing hard before slowly moving toward the bed.
You sat carefully near the edge while watching him continue adjusting the setup.
With one hand alone, Jungkook lifted the heavy tripod effortlessly and positioned it directly in front of the bed, angling the camera downward toward where you sat.
The veins along his arms flexed again beneath the strain.
Your throat went completely dry. The room suddenly felt much smaller than before.
Hotter too.
You watched silently as he grabbed another tripod, this time placing it to the right side of the bed. Both cameras pointed directly at you now. And for some reason, the sight made your heartbeat pound harder than ever before.
He looked through the camera lens carefully, head tilting slightly as he adjusted the angle. “Lay down on the bed.”
Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “What—”
“Lay down.” he commanded sharply.
This time, his tone came out firmer. Serious. Leaving absolutely no room for argument.
And somehow, the way he looked at you through the camera lens sent a sharp shiver crawling down your spine.
To your own horror, excitement slowly started mixing with the fear curling inside your stomach.
You almost wanted to slap yourself for it.
You swallowed hard before slowly slipping your shoes off, awkwardly climbing farther onto the bed until your back rested against the headboard.
Every movement suddenly felt painfully self-aware beneath the cameras pointed directly at you.
Jungkook poked the inside of his cheek thoughtfully while studying the frame through the viewfinder, eventually stepping forward again to move the tripod closer.
Before you could shift yourself lower against the mattress, he suddenly walked toward you instead. Your breath hitched the second he crouched down in front of you holding the clip-on microphone.
He leaned in close enough for you to catch the faint scent of mint lingering on him.
“You forgot these earlier,” he said lightly, though there was something mocking beneath the softness of his voice now.
“Oh,” you answered weakly. “Uhm… I was in a rush, so…” Your cheeks burned instantly from embarrassment.
Of course you forgot the microphones!
Jungkook raised a brow slowly. “You were in a rush?” he repeated with a quiet chuckle before standing back up again.
Then he walked toward the table and grabbed the smaller digital camcorder, casually aiming it toward you.
The amount of cameras pointed at you now made your stomach twist uncomfortably. Instinctively, you tried sitting up straighter, but Jungkook stopped you immediately.
“Stay still,” he said calmly. “I wanna test the cameras.”
“Test the cameras?”
“I think you need a little demo, baby.” Your heartbeat stopped. “You weren’t doing a very good job earlier.” The teasing mockery in his tone hit you like a truck.
And suddenly everything crashed down at once. Your eyes widened in horror.
Fuck.
He knew.
Of course he knew!
Heat rushed violently into your face and neck, humiliation crawling across your entire body so intensely it almost hurt. Your chest tightened painfully while tears burned behind your eyes before you could stop them.
You looked away instinctively, shame flooding every inch of you.
God, this was so embarrassing.
“J-Jungkook, please,” you stammered quickly, panic slipping into your voice. “I’m not trying to scam you or anything, it’s just that—”
He stepped closer until his knees brushed against the edge of the bed.
And somehow, that almost satisfied look on his face made your stomach twist even more.
You looked so shy. So cornered. Like a poor little thing unknowingly walking straight into his hands.
His gaze lingered on you with dangerous amusement, as though you had already become his favorite test subject for the cameras.
Dark lazy eyes dragged slowly across your body, taking their time, shamelessly roaming over every inch of you while his imagination sparked vividly to life. You could almost see the thoughts forming behind his eyes—every filthy thing he wanted to do to you, every position he wanted to bend you into, every sound he wanted to force out of your mouth while the cameras kept recording.
And somehow, what excited him even more was the thought of filming it all. Editing it afterward. Watching you fall apart for him frame by frame.
“Shh,” he murmured softly. “It’s okay.”
Your watery eyes lifted toward him immediately. “I’ll teach you how to film, hmm?” he said mockingly.
“W-What?” Your lips parted in disbelief.
Jungkook tilted his head slightly, dark eyes fixed on yours with an unreadable expression.
“Gonna show you the right angles, baby,” he cooed. “What do you think?” He smiled without humor.
The contrast made you shiver. “B-But…”
“Will you cooperate with me?” he asked, voice smooth and almost condescending, like he was speaking to a child. His fingers tapped lightly against one of the cameras beside him. “We wouldn’t want these cameras to go to waste, would we?”
Your throat tightened. Part of you wanted to disappear completely. To book the next flight home, apologize profusely, and somehow repay every expense he wasted on you.
But another part of you—the younger version buried deep inside your chest, the girl who once stayed up all night watching his videos and smiling at her screen—couldn’t let go of this moment.
Because despite everything, Jungkook still hadn’t thrown you out.
He wasn’t yelling at you.
He was giving you another chance.
And maybe that meant you still had an opportunity to prove yourself.
Thousands of people probably wanted your position right now. Yet somehow, he was still here. Patient enough to teach you himself.
Completely unaware of how dangerous that patience actually was.
Because the lessons Jungkook had in mind were nothing like the ones you were expecting.
So slowly, you nodded.
Hope flickered weakly beneath your embarrassment while your thoughts tangled themselves around one desperate need: to impress him somehow.
“Okay,” you whispered nervously. “I—I learn fast when someone’s teaching me and…”
Jungkook raised a thick brow at you. “Pretty girl’s a fast learner, huh?”
Your cheeks immediately reddened again. You nodded shyly despite the obvious teasing in his tone, unconsciously pouting a little from embarrassment.
His eyes went down to your lips, eyes darkening. “Can you count the cameras for me?” he asked a bit impatiently.
You glanced around quickly toward the setup.
The two cameras mounted on tripods.
The camcorder in his hand.
“There’s three,” you answered softly.
Jungkook chuckled under his breath. “Good job, baby.” he slowly lifted the camcorder higher, zooming the lens closer toward your face.
“Now look here.”
You shyly looked into the camera lens, your cheeks dusted with pink beneath the warm lights.
The way Jungkook stared at you through the camcorder made you shrink into yourself slightly, suddenly aware of every little movement you made on the bed.
He tilted his head slowly. “So pretty.”
Your breath caught in your throat. Heat crawled up your neck as you shifted uncomfortably against the mattress, fingers curling slightly into the sheets. The entire situation suddenly felt strangely intimate, and for a second your thoughts drifted somewhere dangerous before you quickly forced yourself to focus again.
This is just a demo.
He’s teaching you.
Nothing else.
“Open the first few buttons of your top,” he said, voice quieter now as he continued looking at you through the camcorder.
Your eyes widened instantly.
Did I hear that right?
“W-What?” you nearly choked out, pulse quickening embarrassingly fast despite how badly this entire situation could end for you.
And somehow, against all logic, excitement started curling through your stomach.
“Need you to cooperate, baby,” he answered smoothly. “Come on, do a nice show for me.”
The teasing edge in his tone made your stomach twist nervously.
You hesitated for a moment before slowly bringing your shaky fingers toward your top, feeling painfully aware of the cameras pointed at you from different angles.
Jungkook watched carefully through the lens, adjusting the focus ring slightly while observing the framing.
“That’s it.” he encouraged.
You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, fingers trembling as you slowly undid the first few buttons of your blouse. Heat crawled up the back of your neck, burning the tips of your ears as the reality of the situation settled deeper beneath your skin.
He’s filming a sex tape.
You were so fucking stupid because instead of panicking properly, instead of running or completely losing your mind, you were following him blindly. Worse—you were getting excited.
Fuck, you should’ve been crashing out right now.
But the way he looked at you— God.
It felt like he wanted to devour you whole. His dark eyes dragged over every inch of exposed skin with quiet hunger, liquid heat pulsed embarrassingly between the gap of your thighs before you could stop it.
“Open your eyes baby, stare at the camera.” he said firmly, an obvious edge underneath it.
You slowly opened your eyes. Your cheeks were already burning, breath uneven as you finished unbuttoning the last one, revealing just enough of your chest to make your thoughts scatter. The camera lens felt heavier now, more invasive, like it was watching you breathe, waiting for you to make the wrong move.
“Hmm…touch your breasts baby, give it a nice squeeze for me.” he whispered, still holding the camcorder, directing it with the ease of someone who knew exactly what every angle captured.
Completely under his control, you obeyed, your hands moving hesitantly at first before you held yourself through the fabric, giving a light squeeze that made your breath hitch. You bit down on your lower lip, trying to stay steady, trying to keep your eyes locked on the camera like he told you, even as your vision softened at the edges and your body betrayed your focus.
The room felt smaller now. Heavier.
You were getting so wet.
Jungkook let out a low groan, eyes still fixed through the lens.
“Remove your top, wanna see your pretty nipples.”
Your ears burned red at the filthy undertone. With shaky hands, you slowly pulled your top off, revealing the white lace bra beneath. The delicate fabric hugged the soft swell of your breasts perfectly, and the moment Jungkook’s eyes settled on them through the camera lens, another wave of heat rushed through your body.
You slowly tugged at the first strap, then the second, freeing your breasts as your nipples hardened, flushed and sensitive against the cool air.
“That’s it,” he instructed, voice steady. “Roll those pretty nipples for me.”
You obeyed, pinching them gently before rolling them between your fingers. Your lips parted at the rush of sensation that followed, breath catching as your panties got more stickier with your arousal.
When your gaze dropped, you noticed the strain in his black shorts—the obvious tent pressing against the fabric. A shiver ran down your spine at the realization that despite his composed, professional expression as he filmed you, he wasn’t unaffected.
He groaned, zooming in on how you were rolling and pinching your nipples, his cock throbbing at the sight, precum leaking from its mushroom tip.
“Bring your hand to your mouth,” he ordered, directing the camera at your face. “Now, spit on it.”
You whimpered. Like a good girl, you gathered your saliva and spat thickly onto your palms, showing it to him after.
He bit his lower lip, his cock getting so hard from your submissiveness. “Good girl, now rub it on your nipples—make it nice and wet for me,” he rasped.
You rubbed the spit on your breast, the warm, sticky fluid on your nipples feeling so raw and dirty, spreading the saliva messily as he watched you through the lens with hooded eyes.
You were getting so horny, the dirty act turning you on so much that you could feel your panties sticking to your core.
“Look at you,” he chuckled, slowly reaching toward you. “I bet you’re so wet right now.”
You looked so pretty—your neatly done hair now slightly disheveled, cheeks flushed from all the things he’d been instructing you to do, pebbled nipples glistening under the camera lights. Your legs trembled slightly, aching to be touched, your lips parting every now and then as your breath turned uneven, eyes hazy and unfocused.
The sight made Jungkook’s cock throb painfully hard.
His pretty little doll.
He handed you the camcorder. “Hold this, baby. Show them who’s making you this wet.”
With shaky hands and glossy eyes, you took the camera and tried to point it toward him, your eyes rolling back when he removed his white polo shirt and black shorts, leaving him in his gray Calvin Klein boxers.
You whimpered as you could see the outline of his huge cock, precum leaking at the tip, wetting the center of the cloth.
“Your angle is wrong,” he raised a brow, noticing how your shaky hands were failing a bit at holding the camera properly.
You panicked. “I’m sorry,” you rushed out, trying to straighten it, ignoring the painful pulses between your legs—your body begging to be touched.
He chuckled, leaning over you. “It’s okay, baby. That’s why we have another camera.”
His hands came up to your cheeks, gently holding and angling your face to the right so you could look toward the second camera set up by the side of the bed. “I bet you’d look so good getting fucked from that angle,” he whispered.
His grip on your cheeks tightened slightly, squishing them just enough as the camera captured everything—the way your eyes fluttered, the way your nipples hardened under his gaze, the way your legs shifted restlessly, searching for any kind of friction.
You gasped loudly when his free hand went down to cup your pussy through your pants, your eyes rolling back as he felt the wetness through the fabric.
“Fuck, let me see how wet you are, yeah?”
With one hand, he unzipped your pants, pulling them down in one forceful motion while his other hand remained on your cheeks, keeping your gaze fixed on the camera. Your other hand trembled as it tried to capture what he was doing below.
“Capture this, baby,” he breathed, guiding your hand holding the camcorder to angle it downward, towards your wet pussy.
You almost dropped the camera when he suddenly slapped your cunt, your panties nearly see-through from how wet they were with your arousal.
“Jungkook~” you whimpered.
He sat up and held both of your legs, spreading them wider until your ankles were almost on either side of the bed.
“You’re so wet, I can see your cute little slit through your panties baby.” He chuckled, leaning down and hollowing his cheeks to spit right above your clothed clit, making it even messier.
You whimpered, your toes curling at the sensation, gripping the camcorder tightly as you felt him crouch down, spreading his spit over your panties. His warm tongue then licked along your pussy through the fabric, slotting between your folds, the wet material pressing inside your slit.
“Make sure the camera can see how good I’m gonna eat this pussy.” He whispered while looking at you, flipping your panties to the side and groaning when he saw how wet and pink you were, his jaw slackening as he took almost your whole pussy into his warm mouth.
It was so wet and messy, and you could see him through the mini screen of the camcorder, maintaining direct eye contact with the lens while eating you out, making sure to pull back your hood so the camera could capture how his lips would wrapped around your swollen clit.
He suctioned around it, spreading more spit, sucking as if his life depended on it, then moved down to gather your juices before sliding his hot tongue inside you, coaxing more from you. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, showing you how he drank every bit of your wetness.
“That feels so g-good.” You moaned, trying to zoom in on how his tongue played with your folds.
He hummed, the vibrations making you twitch in pleasure.
“Yeah? This feels good?” he asked, sucking harshly on your clit as your eyes rolled back, your release building up fast. Your pussy throbbed, your clit growing more sensitive with every passing second.
“I’m gonna-’’
You moaned loudly when he buried his face deeper, never letting go of your throbbing clit, his head moving from side to side as he groaned low against you. When he finally let go of your clit, you gasped as he gathered a thick amount of saliva, hollowing his cheeks to spit harshly down on you, then leaning back in with his tongue out to spread it in slow, kitten-like licks.
When he looked up again at the lens, you exploded, your orgasm so intense you could feel your pussy pulsating so hard you almost saw stars.
‘’Stop, please!” You whined, overstimulated as he kept licking your cunt, your legs shaking from the oversensitivity.
His chin and nose were soaked, his lips slightly red and pouty, his dark locks messy, and his pupils dilated. You gasped when he suddenly removed his boxers; his cock was hard and pretty, curving slightly upward, decorated with thick veins and a red, swollen mushroom tip.
Jungkook took the camera and angled it towards you, wide glossy eyes looking up at him weakly.
“Say… thank you for making me cum, Jungkook.” He breathed, his other hand gripping his cock as he spread the precum along his shaft.
“Thank you for m-making me cum, Jungkook.” You croaked, your legs still trembling from your intense orgasm.
He smiled proudly. “My smart girl, very good at following instructions,” he praised, placing the camcorder down beside you and angling it so it could capture how his mouth leaned down to suck your nipples, while his free hand squeezed and rolled the other bud between his fingers.
“Jungkook—” you moaned as his tongue twirled and sucked around your breast, just like he had done to your clit—messy and pouty with saliva.
He bit your nipple playfully, earning a soft whimper from you, his tattooed hand reaching down to cup your swollen pussy.
You gasped when he inserted his middle finger, your walls tightening around the intrusion.
“You’re so tight and warm.” He murmured against your nipple, letting it go with a soft pop before moving to suck on the other one.
You whimpered, your pussy growing wetter from the way he sucked and played with your nipples, the pad of his middle finger brushing against your spongy spot, making you writhe in pleasure.
“Please- too much.” You moaned, his middle finger going so deep that his knuckles were hitting your ass, his finger curling in a “come here” motion inside you, rubbing your spot deliciously as your tight hole produced more juices, the feeling of your previous release being pushed inside you making you tremble.
He let go of your nipple and leaned in immediately, pouty lips capturing yours in a hungry kiss. His tongue slipped into your mouth, messy and demanding, tangling with yours as the kiss deepened and turned overwhelming.
At the same time, his other hand moved up to your throat, fingers wrapping gently around the column of your neck, giving it a light squeeze as he held you in place.
Your lips parted in response, and he took the opportunity to push his tongue deeper, exploring every corner of your mouth, sucking on your tongue and swallowing your whines and protests.
His hard cock pressed against your inner thigh, impossibly close to your wet pussy, grinding lightly as he shifted. You could feel his precum, warm and slick, and the firm pressure of his mushroom tip against your skin made you bite back a shaky breath, a mix of pleasure and nerves twisting together inside you.
Your walls tightened around his finger, making it almost impossible for him to move it from how tightly your pussy gripped him.
He groaned, biting your lip and nudging your thighs wider with his legs, inserting another finger and making you gasp from the mix of pain and pleasure. He swallowed your moans, almost bruising your tongue from the way he was kissing you, the air in your lungs growing limited every time he squeezed your throat.
“Shh, behave for the camera.” he whispered, his thumb caressing your throat while his middle and ring fingers rubbed your spongy spot in slow circles.
Tears fell from your eyes, the overstimulation and edging making you cry from pain. You had already come, but you wanted to cum again so badly, your pussy aching and throbbing for another release, his fingers brushing your g-spot in a teasing, ticklish way, making you shake and move your legs in protest.
“Let me cum again, please, please…” you pleaded, fat tears rolling down your flushed cheeks.
He gripped your throat a little tighter, making you gasp for air. “Aww, you wanna come again?” he cooed.
You nodded desperately, moving your hips to meet his fingers. “Yes, please.”
He chuckled at you. “So polite.” he said, lazily grabbing the camcorder from the side and angling it down towards your spent pussy. “Spread wide, baby.”
You immediately held your ankles, making yourself completely open for him, desperate for release, your body aching from denied pleasure.
He angled the camera at your twitching hole, filming how your wetness dripped down the sheets. He held his hard cock, spitting down onto his shaft and pumping it a few times before angling himself towards your wet cunt.
You gasped loudly when his blunt head entered your hole, biting your lip harshly at the foreign intrusion, the stretch nearly overwhelming you from his swollen mushroom tip alone.
“So big…” you whimpered, holding your ankles tightly as a new wave of tears gathered in your eyes.
Your breath hitched, trembling as you tried to adjust, the sensation stealing every coherent thought from your mind.
Jungkook cursed under his breath, zooming in on your wet cunt to capture how your walls were sucking him in.
“Your pussy looks so good on camera baby, so tight and pretty.” He grunted, pushing halfway in and earning a loud moan from you.
His bangs stuck to his forehead, his lip ring catching the light as he bit down on his lower lip. His broad chest rose and fell heavily, veins tracing along his neck, flushed and taut with effort. Even like this, he held the camera with unnerving steadiness, like nothing about the moment could shake his focus.
So steady and professional at producing sex tapes.
When he bottomed out, you almost fainted, the stretch overwhelming—painful yet intoxicating—as he pressed fully against you. His balls settled deep, his pelvis flush with yours, the soft trim of hair brushing your clit each time he rolled his hips.
He groaned harshly. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, his jaw clenching as your walls enveloped him.
“Relax, baby—you’re gripping me,” he groaned weakly, this time angling the camera toward your face.
You whimpered, trying to cover your face with your small hands, but he caught both of your wrists and pinned them above your head. His sudden hard thrusts made your body bounce slightly with every movement, leaving you breathless.
“Don’t be shy, baby—show your pretty face to the camera,” he drawled lazily, angling it towards your flushed expression.
“Show them how good I’m making you feel.” He grunted, rolling his hips against you. The curve of his cock hitting your g-spot perfectly, buried so deep that he barely pulled out at all—only circling his hips, grinding in a way that made it feel like he wanted to push even further. The sensation drew a sharp arch through your back.
His gaze stayed locked on you through the screen, lips parted, breath uneven—like he was caught between control and losing it. The way your pussy gripped him made his cock throb, his expression darkening with something possessive and unspoken.
“Look at you, whimpering like a pretty little slut.” he said in a condescending tone.
“I-I’m not a slut.” You pouted, your walls tightening around him at his degrading tone.
He raised a brow. “Oh really? You think a lot of people won’t agree once I upload this?”
Your eyes widened, panic flashing across your flushed face as his thrusts turned harsher and sloppier, the rhythm giving away how close he was getting. You were almost impressed that he was still managing to keep the camera steady.
“N-No, you are not gonna do that,” you panicked, your eyes wide and glossy, your small hands trying to push the camera away.
He grunted, his cock throbbing as he felt your pussy tighten around him. He shifted just enough to avoid the camera when you reached for it, tightening his grip around both your wrists so you couldn’t move.
“You like that, huh? Come on, pretty—let me film you properly.” He snapped his hips harder, angling the lens toward you while your bodies met in sharp, rhythmic collisions.
The friction made your breath hitch, your clit brushing against his pubic hair in a way that sent jolts of pleasure racing through your body. His grip tightened around the camcorder, breathing uneven as he watched you come apart through the screen, completely drunk on the sounds you were making for him.
“Moan louder.” he commanded.
You moaned loudly, your chest rising and falling as his harsh movements made your body react against him. His eyes rolled back slightly from the way you kept pulsating around him, every drag sending him deeper into overstimulation.
He bit his lip. “My dirty girl, getting fucked on film.” he rasped.
Then, abruptly, he let go of the camcorder and set it aside.
A soft sound escaped him as he pulled out, the sudden emptiness making you whimper. Before you could fully register it, he was already moving you—pulling your body forward and repositioning you in front of him.
He settled behind you, guiding you into place so that you were now facing the cameras on the tripod, your body fully on display while his broad chest and hard cock pressed close from behind.
“You see those two cameras baby?’’ he whispered behind your ear, spreading your legs wide.
“Yes.” you replied weakly.
You gasped loudly when he entered you from behind, your body settling against his lap as his thighs kept your legs spread wide, positioning you so the camera could clearly capture the way he entered you.
“Smile for them baby, need some footage from this angle.’’ He cooed softly, thrusting his hips upward while his other arm circled around your waist to keep you steady.
You moaned, trembling so badly when you saw how the lights caught both of your bodies—the glittering sheen of sweat, your smudged makeup, and his tattooed colored arms all captured in high definition under the harsh glow.
"My pretty pretty girl, should I post this? show them how I fuck?" he murmured against your skin before pressing a kiss to your cheek, his tongue brushing lightly over the dampness left behind by your earlier tears.
The tenderness of it contrasted so badly with the hunger in his voice that it made your breath hitch. His hand cradled your face carefully, thumb stroking beneath your eye as though he was soothing you and provoking you at the same time, and the way he looked at you through half-lidded eyes made heat rush straight to your chest.
He suddenly grabbed the clip-on mic from your necklace, your eyes widening as you realized he was angling it downward—towards where his cock met your pussy.
“Need to test the mic baby, let the viewers hear how much of a nasty slut you are.”
The mic was so close that every sound was picked up clearly—the wet, obscene squelches echoing as he pushed and pulled inside you, the way he dragged against your tight heat sounding even more intense through the recording. The noise alone felt almost sinful in how loud and wet it was.
“I bet they can hear how tight your pussy is.” he grunted, putting the mic closer to your cunt.
He could feel how slick everything had become, wetting his balls each time he pushed, your arousal makes each movement messier.
“Gonna cum, oh gosh.” You moaned, your body growing hypersensitive as your clit throbbed with the pressure of an approaching orgasm.
He grabbed both of your cheeks when he noticed your head starting to fall back from pleasure, forcing you to look straight at the camera in front of you. “Be a good girl and look at the lens, don’t want my content to be bad quality.’’
His other hand clipped the mic back onto your necklace before sliding down again, rubbing slow circles over your clit. You moaned loudly, your back arching as your orgasm edged closer and closer.
“Cum for me baby, show them your cute little juices.”
Your legs were shaking when you finally reached your orgasm, your clit throbbing so intensely, your limbs giving out as your body hit its peak. Your swollen bud pulsed uncontrollably in fast, erratic heart beats, your walls clenching around his cock as he was still thrusting inside you.
Your eyes rolled back into your head when you felt your orgasm stretch further from his deep thrusts, his mushroom tip brushing against your g-spot and dragging you straight into another wave. You came again, consecutively, your body twitching as overstimulation took over, your legs instinctively trying to close.
"J-Jungkook I can't anymore."
Jungkook forced your legs to stay open, his index and middle fingers spreading your pussy lips apart for the camera, showing how your clit pulsed beneath the warm lights while his cock remained buried deep inside you.
''Mhm.. spit on your clit baby, make it extra wet before I use you." he whispered.
You squirmed, obediently leaning down as his fingers kept you spread open. With trembling breaths, you gathered saliva on your tongue before letting it drip down onto your clit, both cameras capturing the filthy sight in sharp detail.
A low curse slipped past Jungkook’s lips at the view, his grip tightening instinctively as he watched you, completely consumed by the way you willingly put yourself on display for him.
He quickly flipped your body down to chase his own pleasure, entering you again and sloppily thrusting into your wet used walls, pushing your cum deeper and deeper inside you. You were so weak, your heart still racing as you weakly reached for the camcorder to film him.
When he saw what you were doing, he groaned harshly, his grip on your hips tightening so hard it bordered on bruising as he held you down.
“My smart girl, you learned well huh?” He praised you, thrusting fast and hard, the camcorder shaking in your grip as you tried to capture his deep strokes.
"Your little brain functioning well with my cock deep inside you.'' he muttered darkly, thumb brushing against your cheek as he watched your expression unravel for him.
“A-Am I doing a good job?” you asked softly, biting your lip as you adjusted the camera to capture his face this time.
He let out a low growl in response, movements losing their rhythm slightly as pleasure started pulling him apart at the edges. “Uh-huh,” he breathed heavily. “You can be my personal little porn star. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
A loud moan escaped you at the thought, heat rushing instantly to your cheeks as you tightened your grip on the camcorder, suddenly far too eager to keep filming him.
“Gonna fuck you anytime I want,” he breathed, dilated eyes locked on you through the lens. “Film it however I like.”
With a harsh final thrust, he came inside you, grunting as he pushed through the last of it, staying buried as he finished, his body still tense with the release. You could feel his cock pulsing inside you, warm cum spilling and pooling, some of it leaking out and staining the sheets beneath you while he stayed balls deep.
The camcorder slipped from your grip, forgotten as you breathed heavily beneath him. You were completely spent, still sensitive as his hips gave a few slow, instinctive movements, as if trying to push his cum deeper despite his softening cock.
“Jungkook?” you asked weakly, fingers absentmindedly playing with the soft ruffles of his hair.
“Hmm?” he hummed against your neck, lips pressing lazy kisses there, his cock still buried deep inside you. The red recording lights on the cameras kept blinking steadily in the background.
“A-Are you really gonna post this?” you bit your lip, glancing back at the two large cameras perched on the tripod.
Jungkook let out a quiet chuckle, teeth grazing your skin in a teasing bite. “Mhm. I still need to edit it though.”
“Jungkook!” you squealed, panicking again.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and sharp with need, still carrying that lingering haze of desire. “Do you even know how to edit?” he asked, eyes squinting in playful doubt.
Your eyes widened. “I can edit,” you insisted quickly. “I learned a few things… I kinda know the basics.” Your voice softened at the end, almost uncertain.
A small smile tugged at his lips as he slowly pulled out, earning a shaky breath from you before he reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness.
“Hmm. Okay…” he murmured softly, lifting the camcorder slightly between you. “Edit this video for me, then.”
“What, r-really?” you blinked, surprised that he was letting you work for him.
“Uh-huh,” he said casually. “Then we’ll see if I have to keep you or not.”
You pouted instantly at that, but he was already shifting away from you, looking at the camcorder and checking the footage with the ease of someone far too experienced at this.
The screen’s glow reflected faintly against his handsome face as he replayed a few clips, brows slightly furrowed in concentration. Even now, completely relaxed, he somehow still looked annoyingly professional.
“Okay…” you mumbled softly, a little disappointment slipping into your voice before you could hide it.
He noticed immediately. Of course he did.
A smirk pulled at his lips as he lifted the camcorder slightly, teasing you with it. “Make sure you include your pretty moans, baby,” he drawled. “Or else we’ll have to retake this again.”
He stood up then, completely unbothered, removing the cameras from their tripods like the decision had already been made long before you realized it.
𓄲 His fingers flex on top of yours, "Curious," he says after another open-mouthed kiss to the column of your throat. Teeth closing around your skin, he pulls the tender flesh past his lips and bites down. "He seems like a decent guy," letting go, he soothes the sting with his tongue, "How do you know him?"
전정국 x f!reader ˖ ࣪ ꉂ🗯˙ ‹— cw dilf!jungkook single dad jungkook nanny!reader 1980s au slowburn fluff angst (eventual) explicit content age gap (jungkook is 30, reader is 20) oc!cassian/oc!rayne (jk's children) highkey jealous!jungkook a very messy attempt at an anatomy lesson (I tried okay) very suggestive dryhumping sloppy sloppy kissing jungkook is on some bullshit in this one marking!
⧽ word count ⋮ 9k
average reading time ⋮ 45 minutes
── [ ✉️ ] I kind of hate this, but I also love it? Some parts irk me, others fuel me, I'm torn okay. Anyway, Jungkook decided around 80% of the plot in this one, he was behind the wheel and I was tied up in the back. When I said no more porn I didn't mean it literally okay, this isn't sex but fuck it is close. Oh and HW would not be HW if OC as a med student did not use Jungkook's glorious body for an anatomy lesson. Okay, let me know what you think, and if it was horrible then don't come for me please. Feedback in the comments/reblogs and asks are much appreciated <3
series masterlist | last chapter | next part
chapter 21 — "Heartbeat"
You had not imagined finding yourself back at the large mall a mere week after picking out Rayne's birthday present. No less could you have ever thought that your return here would be in search of Christmas gifts for the two children. Had it been busy last week, then it was undoubtedly worse today. With only five days to spare before the day itself, people were resorting to violently elbowing each other toward the shelves to snag the last items for themselves.
Without the firm grip Jungkook keeps on your hand as he weaves through the crowd you're pretty sure you would've been trampled to the ground by now. He'd come to pick you up around noon after dropping Rayne and Cassian off at their grandparents' as he suggested that you do the shopping together — and you had not been one to decline.
When you thought about it, you don't think you had ever been outside with Jungkook — unless you chose to count the multiple car rides, which you didn't. Though the crowded mall wasn't exactly a romantic scene. Sweat and pungent women's perfume make the hot air uncomfortably sticky, you've bumped shoulders with at least a handful strangers already, apologizing with a quick bow of your head before Jungkook pulls you forward.
"Didn't think it was going to be this packed," he mutters when steering clear of a group of teenage girls, at least half of them letting their eyes linger on his bypassing frame. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he stood out in his dress pants and the tight fitted, navy fleece — which seemed to be the only garment he possessed that wasn't a button up.
You snort, fingers lacing a little tighter between his. "Christmas is next Thursday, we're not the only ones on a last minute run."
He doesn't say anything in response to that but judging by his tense posture — this was not his ideal setting. His eyes dart around the crammed room you stand in, its high walls make each conversation echo loudly and in the distance the piercing scream of a discontent child rings out. A fountain sits in the middle of the bottom floor, water rippling from the top, the sound would have probably been soothing, had you been able to hear it.
Jungkook spots the escalators ahead and starts tugging you in their direction, cutting through the mass of people like a man on a mission. When you reach them he steps aside, allowing you on first before taking his spot behind you.
Turning around to face him, you lean against the railing as the moving stairs take you to the second floor. "May I remind you that this was your idea?" The teasing lilt to your voice has him frowning and Jungkook makes a clicking noise with his tongue as he averts his gaze, studying his surroundings like he expects them to suddenly charge at him with knifes.
"I'm starting to regret it," he sighs whilst running an inked hand through his dark hair. A loose strand falls across his forehead and you reach out to push it back. The action feels natural, domestic almost. He doesn't stop you, gaze trailing the path your finger takes closely.
Standing one step higher makes you tower over him and Jungkook tilts his head back to peer at you through his lashes. The sigh he lets out fans across the lower half of your face warmly and you resist a small smile. "We'll be in and out, thirty minutes tops." You tell him the lie in full confidence, knowing very well that the long lines would probably amount to that time alone.
But he doesn't question it, simply nodding as you step off the escalator and take in the array of stores on the new floor. To the left you spot a pop of color that screams 'Toy's' and you immediately move toward it — only to be stopped by Jungkook's tug to your hand.
Confused, you send him a glance over your shoulder. "Let's split up," he says, "I have somewhere to go." When the puzzled look you wear doesn't ease up he lets his thumb brush across your knuckles, "I won't be long."
Dumbfounded, you finally bring yourself to nod. "Yeah— Uh, sure."
Jungkook hums, jerking his chin in the direction of the toy store you had been headed toward. "I'll meet you there when I'm done." Then he lets go of your hand and takes a step back, clearly waiting for you to move first.
You hesitate for a second before mutely agreeing and spinning on your heel. Part of you wants to check if he was still standing where you had left him but you decide against it, focusing on making it to your desired destination without getting overrun by the hoard of people.
The air inside the toy store itself is even hotter than that of the mall outside, and as expected, the space is filled to the brim with parents, all in search of presents for their children. Somewhere in the distance a Christmas carol plays through a crappy speaker, barely heard over the ambience around you. Slowly you begin making your way down the many aisles, scanning the options available as you chew on your bottom lip.
An older man shoves past you suddenly, causing you to stumble on your feet. By the time you've regained your balance he's disappeared around a corner, not to be seen again. "Bastard," you grumble as you pull yourself together.
You go over the mental list you had made of Cassian's wishes. When passing by a shelf of stuffed animals your eyes instinctively scan for a dinosaur one, he hadn't specified which he would like, so you figured that the green stegosaurus would work. Turning it over in your hands, you inspect it closely before nodding to yourself.
As you wander through the store, your mind loops back to Jungkook with a frown. Where had he gone — and why couldn't you tag along? The answer was written before you in bold and yet you dared not entertain the idea that he might be getting something for you.
Teeth sinking further into the skin of your lip, you ponder on what to get him. You could hardly afford anything on the pricier side, what would he even want? Jungkook revealed so little about himself, making your decision nearly impossible.
Up ahead, there's a section dedicated to shiny toy cars and you slow down when walking past it. Cassian had mentioned wanting something like that as well. Your fingers hesitate over a blue one, just about to reach for it when a patch of color catches your attention. Turning toward another shelf further down the aisle, you find what you hadn't thought existed until now.
Rainbow crayons.
The toy car is abandoned entirely as you head for it, gaze locked on the small jar as you swerve through the crowd. In fact you're so focused on getting to the damned crayons that your surroundings completely fade into background noise. It's not until you have it clutched between both hands that you finally exhale a breath.
Tilting the box in your palms, you study it with a pleased smile, Cassian would be overjoyed. And the price tag wasn't half as outrageous as you had feared — though it pushed your budget enough to exclude the shiny, plastic car from the equation.
"Lovely lady, is that you?"
A familiar voice pulls your attention from the colorful crayons and you glance up in time to see Namjoon gently stepping around another woman as he approaches. He's dressed in denim on denim, which, was an interesting fashion choice that you chose not to comment on. The pale blue fabric contrasts the bleached ends of his hair well though and he offers you a warm smile when coming to a halt before you.
"It would appear so," you hum as you find yourself reciprocating the greeting. Had it not been for his memorable face, you think you might've had trouble recalling who he was. Your thoughts had admittedly been quite preoccupied with the Jeon family — the brief encounter with Namjoon was quickly shoveled to the back of your mind.
You're surprised he even approached you to begin with, though grateful nonetheless. "Think I picked the worst day to come out here," he says when throwing a pointed glance around the crowded store.
"I reckon it'll only worsen the closer to Christmas we get," you shrug, knowing very well that both prices and customers would skyrocket by the 24th.
Namjoon nods, then his gaze drops to the rainbow colored crayons you still clutch, not to mention the stegosaurus shoved under your arm. His brows arch a little higher on his forehead and his eyes quickly snap up to yours, the questions stirring behind them. "You got kids?" he suddenly asks and you could've sworn your heart plummeted to your stomach.
"O-Oh, no, no—" shaking your head, you busy yourself by fiddling with the plastic jar between your fingers, hoping he won't catch on to your flustered expression. "No. No, I don't," you exhale a quiet breath, "I um, I babysit two, well, I'm their nanny I suppose." A strained cough later, you add, "They're not mine."
Your words come out a jumbled mess but they seem to make perfect sense to Namjoon, whose shoulders relax a fraction. "Ah, I see," he says with a lopsided grin, "It's really kind of you. I don't think I've heard of a nanny who buys presents for the kids."
You want to object by saying that they weren't just kids to you. Rayne and Cassian were special, really special. Regardless of you spending the holidays with them or not — it would feel wrong not to get them something. It's during said thought process that you realize Namjoon was scouring for gifts inside a toy store as well.
Lifting your gaze, you meet his quietly, "And you?" You tilt your chin in the direction of the doll he was holding, having just noticed its long, brown hair and purple dress.
Namjoon shakes his head, "No. This one's for my niece." He holds up the doll with a tilt of his lips. "Though I can't say that my family isn't hot on my heels about the matter," heaving a sigh, he continues in a somewhat sarcastic tone, "Thirty-three years old and I'm beyond my prime it seems."
His blunt admission makes you pause, eyes widening a fraction as you blink. Thirty-three? That would make him three years older than Jungkook and— Actually, you didn't want to think about the rest.
Your awkward chuckle is what fills the short silence as you think of something else to say. It wasn't that you disliked talking to him, quite the contrary. But Namjoon had this natural charm around him that made you want to impress him — for whatever reason.
"You don't seem like a last minute type of guy," you finally muse, nail flicking idly against the plastic lid of the jar in your hands.
Namjoon hums, "I'm not," he says when running his fingers through his short hair. "I was out with my mother the other week— Oh yeah, we bumped into you back then too, how silly is that?" His lips stretch into a wide grin that has dimples dent into the soft skin of his cheeks and you swallow. "Anyway, me and my brother, Jin, ended up buying duplicates for his daughter," he sighs, "It was a whole mess. Long story short, the coin toss ended with me having to go out and find something else for her. "
He adjusts his grip on the doll, regarding it with a thoughtful look. "She likes to play with her stuffed toys, I'm hoping this will do the trick as well."
"I'm sure it will," you say, "How old is she?"
Namjoon's lips part, the answer waiting on his tongue when he suddenly goes silent. Frowning, you're just about to ask the matter when a cologne you recognize all too well invades the space between you.
Jungkook's presence is felt before it's seen, the quiet loom of his shadow as it creeps up beside you, blocking off half the aisle with little care. He's holding not one but two bags, both from brands you recognize to be high end. Though that's not what catches your attention — not really. No, it was the brooding expression glued to his face, dark eyes lingering on Namjoon's friendly ones.
"Oh— That was quick," you hum, suddenly feeling awkward as you stand between the two men.
Next to you, Jungkook simply nods. Gaze briefly straying from where they had been fixed to Namjoon as he sends you a glance. "It was," he agrees lowly.
Shifting on your feet, you clutch the jar of crayons a little tighter. "Uh, right. Jungkook this is Namjoon," gesturing vaguely to the man in front of you, "Namjoon, this is Jungkook."
Unfazed by the fact that the hot store seemed to have turned a good couple of degrees colder, Namjoon extends a warm hand. "Hey," he says in a light voice, "Nice to meet you."
Jungkook regards his outstretched palm with a scrutinizing look that he quickly masks again. After moment's deliberate hesitation he reaches out to take the offered hand as the former gives it a firm shake. He does not greet him back, but his features have schooled themselves into a weak attempt at something more relaxed.
"The boyfriend I presume?" Namjoon asks, his smile doesn't waver but his gaze is calculating when the darts between you and Jungkook.
Boyfriend. The label slices through you like a knife, twisting your stomach in all directions and you nearly chuckle at the absurdness of the question. But Jungkook hasn't moved an inch beside you, apart from withdrawing his hand the second he got the chance. His jaw is clenched hard enough for the muscle in his cheek to strain and you rush to clear your throat.
"No he's uh— I'm the nanny to his children," you hurriedly explain, hoping he wouldn't catch on to how tightly the stegosaurs was squeezed against your side.
Your answer has confusion striking his features as Namjoon lets his attention shift between the two of you. Perhaps he found it strange that you would be out Christmas shopping with your supposed boss — you wouldn't blame him.
But if he had any opinions, he kept them to himself as he flashed you another smile. "Ah, my apologies" he says, though doesn't actually sound regretful as he his eyes settle on you. Or perhaps you were imagining things…
Namjoon is quick to effortlessly move the conversation forward, smoothing over the small bump like it was nothing. "My mother won't stop raving about you," he says, his now-free hand finding its way to his jean pocket as he takes on a more casual stance.
The giggle that slips past your lips is lighthearted, all ready feeling more at ease. "She's still going on about dinner?" You wonder, grateful for the subject change.
He hums, "That's putting it lightly." Namjoon shakes his head, "I told her you must be busy during the holidays and to not fret so much."
You're about to suggest setting up a date around New Years when the sudden weight on your waist steals your voice. Jungkook's hand is firm where it rests on your hip, and if you had somehow managed to forget about his presence — this was certainly a stark reminder.
"She is," He says, tone flat and devoid of any emotion. Your elbow nearly jabs him in the side when he tugs you closer, the plushie squished between you until it was unrecognizable. Jungkook doesn't seem to notice — he's too busy sizing Namjoon up with his eyes alone as they peer at him with quiet intensity.
You send the other a small smile, fingers curling hard around the box of crayons as you pray this entire conversation be over as quickly as possible. "Yeah uh, Christmas is quite busy for me," you say, offering him an apologetic look.
"Of course," Namjoon shrugs, like it was no matter, "I'm sure we'll find time." The corner of his lip twitches into a lazy grin, just enough to show off his white teeth. "Well then," He gives a dramatic bow and you resist another giggle, "I hope to run into you soon again, lovely lady."
With that he takes his leave, quickly disappearing through the crowd of people as he heads for the register. You're left standing by the art supplies with Jungkook attached to your hip — literally. He has yet to say anything and when you turn your head, you find him staring after Namjoon's retreating figure silently.
His hand is firm on your hip and it seems he's got no intentions of letting go in any near future. "Are you done here?" He asks when finally tearing his gaze back to yours, his voice has softened back into the one you've become so accustomed to and you exhale a relieved breath.
"Yeah," you say, allowing him to lead you through the store, never once letting go of you.
For the next hour you wait in more lines than you do any actual shopping. After securing the two presents you were to give Cassian, you had spotted a makeup store not far off, quickly pulling Jungkook in it's direction. He had made no verbal complaints, only looking very puzzled as you went through the different sections of the store.
"Do you think she would like the blue- or pink-themed one?" You had asked him when holding up two eyeshadow palettes in front of him. He had studied them both closely, the frown on his face deepening tenfold as he grumbled the options to himself.
Finally he had croaked out a quiet 'Pink?' to which you had playfully shoved his arm and called him stereotypical. From that point on he'd let you lead the way through the rest of the store, linked together by the lock of your hands, Jungkook followed you like a shadow.
Since your brief encounter with Namjoon, he had been even quieter than usual, you had tried to brush it off as something that had to do with the hot and over-crowded mall but even the car ride home was void of conversation.
He made no comments about the gifts you had bought, no further inquiries about Namjoon, which you were quite grateful for. And when the engine cuts as you roll up to the tall building you call home, Jungkook wordlessly gets out as he rounds the car to hold your door open before you can even attempt to do so yourself.
He retrieves the presents from the trunk, slamming it shut with a little more force then necessary as he turns and heads for your apartment complex, leaving you to scramble after him.
Despite you insisting that you would be fine, Jungkook still carries your bags up the stairs and to the third floor. He assures you that it's no mind and a small part of you can't help but wonder if he was merely trying to prolong his departure — in either case, you were not complaining.
Soon you find yourself on your doorstep, the sound of a rusty key jamming inside its lock as you twist it open. Jungkook hasn't said a word since holding the entrance door open for you and when you turn to face him, he regards you quietly. It feels wrong to just tell him goodbye and send him on his way even when that was probably what was expected of you.
Your fingers hesitate over the door handle, tongue pressing against the roof of your mouth as you swallow thickly. "Do you…" Tapping quietly on the cool metal, you blurt out the rest of your sentence, "Would you like to come inside?"
For a second you think he might reject the offer, say that he was late to picking the kids up from their grandparents' and leave. But actually Jungkook nods, his expression betraying nothing of what he thought. So without pondering the idea further, you push the door open with your shoulder.
This was not the first time Jungkook had been to your apartment yet it feels like a whole new experience when you make your way down the hall that leads to the living room. You weren't a messy person by any standards but your flat certainly doesn't compare to that of his large and spotless house. "Just uh, make yourself at home," you say, gesturing vaguely toward the couch.
Doing as he's told, Jungkook takes a seat on the cushion, looking very much out of place on the mundane piece of furniture as he takes in his surroundings. You realize that his previous visits here had been very short lived and it wasn't until now that he'd actually gotten to stop and properly look around.
The mess of old mugs on the coffee table make you cringe and you scurry over to collect them clumsily. "Can I get you anything to drink?" you ask when straightening back up.
Jungkook's gaze flickers up to meet yours, "Water will be fine," he says.
Nodding, you turn on your heel as you dart for the kitchen, eager to escape his line of sight for a moment. You don't know why you were so nervous about having him here. Placing the dirty mugs in the sink, you mull over the feelings stirring inside your chest. You had been alone with Jungkook multiple times before, hell, your entire day had been spent in his presence at the mall.
What made this any different?
The still air maybe, or the fact that you no longer had the distraction of crowded stores or the children hovering around you. Or maybe it was because whenever you and him found yourselves completely alone — you always seemed to cross dangerous boundaries.
You think of last night. The drinks you had shared in the shadows of his study, tucked away from the rest of the world. You think of the way his lips had felt on your neck, his hands on your thighs when he placed you on his desk and the caress to your back as he held you close. You think of the reluctant shower you'd taken when arriving back home, grieving the scent of him on your body as it washed away under the hot steam.
"Enough," you mutter when pulling a cabinet open. The memories of yesterday are pushed to the back of your mind as you turn on the faucet and fill two glasses.
Jungkook is still lounging on the couch when you return to the living room. One hand is stroking the armrest beside him idly but his eyes lift upon your arrival. Your feet move soundlessly across the floor as you approach, handing him one of the glasses which he takes with a murmured thank you.
For a little while the two of you simply exist together in the small space of your apartment, with you having yet to take a seat as you sip on your water. Jungkook does the same, his gaze fixed on you over the rim of his glass. It's not until he leans over to set the drink down that his attention shifts to the textbook thrown across the coffee table.
He studies it for a moment, inked fingers brushing across its cover as he picks it up. "Oh, yeah…" rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly, you nod toward the book, "I have this big exam tomorrow, was doing some last minute studying this morning."
Jungkook hums as he reclines back against the cushion, flicking the pages open with his thumb as he skims them aimlessly. When he turns back to you, it's with a cocked brow, "Are you prepared?"
The question has the water slipping down your throat as you blink dumbfoundedly in his direction. "I mean, I think so…?" You knew that you hadn't given your studies enough attention during the course of the last two weeks, the man before you was partly to blame for that. "It's a lot of material but I've revised it all at least once," you then say whilst adjusting your grip on the glass.
He doesn't respond right away, still skimming the page he'd landed on before finally closing the book and tucking it between himself and the armrest to his left. "Alright," he muses, "Then show me."
Had it not been for the deathly hold you kept on your glass of water, it would've kissed the floor the same way your jaw currently was. "What—?" you splutter, thinking you might've misheard him somehow. But Jungkook simply folds his arms across his chests as he flings both legs up on the foot of the L-shaped couch. It was then you realized that he was being completely serious.
"I wouldn't even know where to start—" shaking you head, you try to brush the idea off again, "And there's so much, I'll bore you." Not only was the prospect of potentially boring him on your mind, but so was the thought of wasting the little alone time with him on something as mundane as studying.
Unfortunately, Jungkook isn't letting up. His stare could've probably coerced just about anyone into compliance and you were no different.
The sound of your glass hitting the coffee table echoes off the four walls that surround you. "Can I at least go grab my notes?"
That was how you found yourself next to Jungkook on your couch, in your living room, in your apartment — alone. You sit curled up beside him, eyes fixed to the notes in your hands, supported by your thighs as you read them over again and again — your brain never actually picking up the words so messily scribbled down.
As you quickly revised, Jungkook took his time flipping through your textbook. After prying a chapter number out of you he was now reading the material closely, eyes squinting slightly in the absence of his glasses.
You gnaw on your bottom lip when sneaking a glance at him, gaze fleeing back to your notes when he suddenly looks your way. Another two minutes pass in tense silence where you repeat the scribbled key words like a mantra.
Then the notebook is suddenly snatched from your grasp as Jungkook's tattooed hand closes around its edge. He's put the class material aside and is now scanning the pages you've written for himself. When you attempt to retrieve the essential guide, he simply pulls it out of reach. "Time's up," he says.
You almost fling yourself over him to get your notes back, only to realize how stupid that would look — and how close you were already sat. His cologne, always lingering in the back of your mind, infiltrates your nostrils with your next inhale. His arm is warm where it rests against your own, his head tilted just enough for you to meet one of his dark eyes as he studies you.
"Well?" He prompts when folding his arms back over his chest and sinking back against the cushion. His expression is expectant, even more so than your stern no-nonsense professors and you feel yourself beginning to sweat under the sudden attention. "Start simple," he then says and you nod.
Clearing your throat, you mentally go over the notes once more. The exam was your biggest one yet, focusing on both the human lungs and heart. "I— Um, the heart…" you begin, hands fiddling awkwardly with one another, "It's the body's most vital organ as it provides oxygen to our cells and maintains our blood pressure."
Jungkook hums, never once taking his eyes off of you. "Where's it located?"
You roll your eyes at that, "Oh come on. You know here."
But he only shrugs, "What if I don't?" You were no fool to what he was trying to do here. Acting completely clueless to pull as much information from you as possible. It would be a lie to say that it didn't amuse you, if only a little — because Jungkook was far from stupid, though getting to experience him like this, even if it was only pretend, fueled something in you.
"It's located in your chest, just behind your sternum, in front of your spine — though it's positioned slightly to your left." Reaching out, you point to where his heart would be beating just under the tight fleece he wears.
Jungkook's gaze tracks the path of your hand, humming softly to show that he was following along. "How?" He then asks, tilting his head a fraction to the side, "How does it give me oxygen."
You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, "Well, to explain that you first need to know how the heart is built." There's brief hesitation where you search his face for clues, but he's just watching you, wordlessly urging you to keep going.
The next breath you take comes easier, some of the tension draining from your shoulders as you hone in on one of the things you were most passionate about — the human body. "The heart is made up of four chambers and they all serve different purposes," you explain, "The atria are the two chambers at the top of your heart, and the ventricles sit at the bottom."
Your finger points to where you think each one would be, approximately at least. Jungkook lets you without complaint, his chest rising and falling slowly with each breath he takes. "You're quite a hands-on teacher," he then muses, causing you to forget your next sentence as you huff exasperatedly.
"I'm just trying to show what I mean…" You mutter, quickly withdrawing your hand from his torso when you realize how long you'd let your touch linger.
Jungkook eyes you for a moment without speaking until he abruptly leans forward. You barely have time to ask the matter as he reaches behind him, grabbing the back of his shirt as he tugs it over his head in one swift motion.
"What are you—?"
The spluttered question falls flat as he tosses his shirt over the armrest on the other side of him. He raises a brow at your perplexed and slightly flabbergast expression, the corner of his lip twitching before he forces it back into something more neutral. "Giving you access," he says when leaning back against the couch to get comfortable again.
Your brain short circuits as your attention falls on his naked chest — the one you'd only had the privilege of seeing on one previous occasion. And now he was suddenly offering himself up as revision material?
Finally pulling yourself together, you shift in your seat as you turn to get a better view. "Right," you clear your throat, "Like I was saying…"
"The atria and the ventricles?" he finishes for you.
"Yes, that." Fumbling to gather your bearings, you will your mind to focus on where his heart would be and not the distracting sight of bare skin. "The uh, the chambers can be divided into left and right." You're hesitant to reach out again, more so for your own sake than his, but in the end you do — finger pointing to his chest where you had felt the steady drumming of his heart.
"The right atrium receives oxygen poor blood through the vena cava. There are two of them, one superior and one inferior and they both work slightly different…" You trail off, eyes flickering up to meet his, only to find Jungkook already watching you intently through dark lashes.
"How so?" He asks.
"Well, the superior one delivers blood from your upper body, such as your head, throat, chest and even your arms." Gesturing vaguely in the direction of his painted arm, you then continue in the same breath, "The vena cava inferior transports blood from your lower body, that blood travels through your veins but to defy gravity and actually make it back to your heart they rely on different mechanisms to help them."
Your hand slides down to his forearm, gently pushing it back against the upper one as you try not to linger on the way his bicep contracts at the motion. "When your muscles are in movement they squeeze your veins, forcing the blood upward and with the help of one-way valves that open and close, the oxygen poor blood is ensured to not run back down again."
Jungkook lets you manhandle his arm back and forth a couple of times, more than what was actually necessary for the explanation but he makes no move to stop you either. "And if I'm not moving?" He wonders, brows furrowing slightly on his forehead, "Then what happens?"
"You also have your respiratory pump," you hum, recalling the revised material a lot easier now. "When you breathe your diaphragm moves," abandoning his arm, your palm comes to rest on the center on his torso, just below his chest at the base of his ribcage, "It creates a suction effect in your chest cavity which draws blood upward."
Under your hand, Jungkook's chest expands as he takes a deep breath, like he was testing the theory out for himself. "Makes sense," he muses on his exhale.
You nod, debating on pulling back entirely but instead deciding to just let your touch return to his heart instead. "Right so, the right atrium then delivers the oxygen poor blood to the right ventricle which in turn sends that blood to your lungs in order to enrich it with oxygen again. That part is a little confusing to explain as the functions of the veins and arteries trade places."
The corner of Jungkook's lip twitches, "I'm sure I can keep up."
Heat crawls up your neck at the confidence in his voice and it makes you waver for a split second before you clear your throat. "The uh, transportation of oxygen poor blood to the lungs is not done with veins rather the pulmonary artery. When you inhale your lungs become full of oxygen which is given to your blood through diffusion. This is possible thanks to the capillaries which are walls thin enough to let the exchange happen. It is the same way oxygen is exchanged everywhere throughout your body."
You pause to make sure that he was following along, shyly lifting your gaze from where it had been glued to his chest. Jungkook is regarding you quietly, he's made no attempt to interrupt you and the look in his eyes made your stomach flutter in a way it certainly shouldn't when you were revising anatomy.
"The er— exchange itself then fills our lungs with carbon dioxide which is what we then go on to exhale. Moving on, the oxygen rich blood is transported back to your left atrium through the pulmonary vein. That chamber in turn pumps the blood to your left ventricle which sends it out to the rest of your body."
By the time you're done explaining the basics of the heart itself you're left with your own hammering in your chest — and that was without going into any detail on the different conditions such as heart attacks.
Jungkook hums in understanding, nodding once like you had made perfect sense. The silence between you stretches long and awkward for nearly ten seconds after that and you fumble for something to fill it with, ultimately landing on rambling more information stored at the top of your head.
"Further more, an adult heart, when relaxed should beat anywhere between sixty to a hundred beats per minute, anything above that can indicate high blood pressure." A quick glance at his toned arms and the whisper of muscle on his stomach has you continuing, "Though fit individuals may sometimes have a lower resting heart rate, somewhere around forty to fifty beats per minute."
Jungkook cocks a brow at that, his gaze landing on the hand you still kept over his chest. You barely have time to register what he was doing before the warmth of his palm presses down across your fingers, bringing you closer to his beating heart.
"What's your diagnosis, doc?" He asks when tilting his head to the side.
Completely thrown off balance, it takes you a moment to understand what he meant and you quickly distract yourself by trying to count the slow and steady beats his heart gives. Your apartment is silent, save for your joint breaths and the soft creak of the couch when you shift on the cushion. The rhythmic thumping under your hand never falters, its calm and steady beating almost pisses you off — how was it so easy for him to remain unaffected as he sat shirtless in your living room?
When you think a minute might've passed you gingerly pry yourself free of his grip. "Well, it's impossible to say since I can't time it properly right now — but I'd say it's normal."
Jungkook seems satisfied with your answer. He doesn't say anything for a while, leaving you to rethink the entire interaction as you gnaw on the inside of your cheek. Then he suddenly turns, twisting himself just enough to face you better and a second later his fingers dip beneath the neckline of your shirt, hot palm finding your heart as he presses it against your skin.
You want to ask what he was doing, like it wasn't obvious enough. But you can't seem to get a single word out, forced to sit there as Jungkook feels the embarrassingly rapid beating of the traitorous organ in your chest. You toy with the idea of holding your breath forcing your heart into submission but ultimately decide against it as Jungkook's dark eyes meet yours.
"Yours is beating fast," he notes, hand still present against your chest.
The huff that escapes you falls somewhere between a laugh and a strained plea. "Yeah uh— There's explanations for that as well," you tell him, immediately regretting it when his expression lights up with interest.
"Such as?"
"Well there's many… Norepinephrine, sudden adrenaline surges and involuntarily fight-or-flight responses. They all cause your heart to beat faster." You ramble on as you avoid his gaze, finding the armrest behind him most intriguing.
Jungkook hums, "Why now?"
You have half a mind to tell him off. He was not stupid but neither were you, and you knew when someone was pushing your buttons. Still, the only response you can manage is a weak scoff and a pathetic excuse, "You took your shirt off…"
The fleece lays discarded to his left, but Jungkook pays it no mind. His fingers move absently across your skin, tracing small, messy patterns there. Eyes darting back and forth between his hand under your shirt and your face, like he was considering something. "And if you took yours off? My heart would beat faster, yes?"
You're certain he can feel the beat your heart skips in your ribcage, the hitch in your breath as his proposal registers. You tell yourself that you were past the terms of modesty since long — Jungkook had seen you in less, and still, this conversation makes you want to hide just as much as it makes you want to kiss him.
"Well—" you begin with a slight stutter, "Not necessarily, you'd need to be attracted to the person you're seeing."
At that he leans closer, his attention dropping to the faint outline of his knuckles through your shirt as he presses his index and middle finger over your heart. Then he lifts gaze, "I am," he calmly states. His free hand finds the line of your jaw, fingers closing around it on a soft embrace when he leans in to press his lips against yours.
You sit there like a stature for a good three seconds, trying to piece together what he'd just initiated before leaning in as you invite his tongue inside your mouth with a breathless gasp. The kiss is soft, it feels like him, scarily familiar in a way you should've never let it become.
His fingers slip out of your shirt, curling into your hip as Jungkook tugs you onto his lap like he was moving air. Both hands settle on your waist and your own palms brace themselves on his shoulders without having to be told as you kiss him harder, all thoughts of studying flying out the window in favor of the man on your couch.
He toys with the hem of your sweater, tugging on the fabric just enough to pull your attention away from the lock of your lips. Despite the heat that smooths itself over your cheeks you still manage to maintain eye contact as you lean back enough to pull the garment over your head, tossing it to the floor just like you usually would when getting undressed after a long day.
Jungkook's gaze roams your chest unapologetically, lashes fluttering softly as he runs the pad of his thumb up your side. His hands slide to your back, tracing your naked spine as he pulls you closer and you let him steal your breath with another kiss.
Your hips move on their own, grinding down against him through the layers of clothes you wear — to which he responds by digging his fingers into your skin, pulling you down on him harder. The air inside your living room grows hot, outside your window the sun begins its slow descent down the horizon, basking you in all shades orange.
Last night had yet to leave your mind and judging by the way Jungkook hardens under you within the minute, it hadn't left his either. The sound of his groan vibrates on your lips, low and filled with desire he does nothing to hide.
Only when his fingers wrap around your wrists as he guides it across his collarbone do you pull back an inch. He says nothing when he moves your palm to rest flat over his chest, right above the now frantic beating of his heart. You feel it clearly, the quick thump-thump-thump as it slams against his ribcage from within.
When you meet his eyes you find them entirely swallowed by the black pools of his pupils, dazed with all the things he never said out loud. "Do you feel that?" he whispers, breath warm against your face. His fingers lock around yours as he presses your hand impossibly close, letting you experience the undeniable evidence of his pure want.
You nod, just a slow tilt of your chin which Jungkook mimics with one of his own. "Good," he says, but he doesn't let you go when he leans in to pick up the kiss he'd broken with renewed hunger.
Your other hand loosens its hold on his shoulders, sliding to the nape of his neck as he tips his head back to let your tongue slip inside his mouth. The ends of his hair slip between your fingers, fitting perfectly in your grasp when you curl the digits around them. Having previously lost their rhythm, your hips return to their slow grind against him.
Jungkook leans back from the kiss, lips pressing against the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the side of your neck as he showers you in affection. "Who was that?" he asks against you, the hand not currently keeping your own caged to his chest, grips your hip. When all he receives is a slightly confused hum from you, he adds in a lower voice, "Your friend," making sure to accentuate the latter.
Your body grows tense on top of his, brows pinching together across your forehead as you attempt to pull back enough to look at him — but Jungkook is not letting you go. His arm slides around your waist, keeping you perched on his lap as his lips stay latched on to your neck.
"Namjoon?" You finally splutter, fingers twiddling a strand of his dark hair between them.
Jungkook sighs out a small 'mm' between kisses, "That's his name?" He phrases it like a question even though you both know it isn't.
"Yes," you murmur, glancing down to where your hands lay locked over his heart. "Why are you asking?"
His fingers flex on top of yours, "Curious," he says after another open-mouthed kiss to the column of your throat. Teeth closing around your skin, he pulls the tender flesh past his lips and bites down. "He seems like a decent guy," letting go, he soothes the sting with his tongue, "How do you know him?"
Your brain short circuits as you try to make sense of what he was saying all the while he continues to lick and nip at your throat. "Uh, I've met his mom twice — by chance. Him once before," you say as you try to recall your past encounters with Namjoon, even when that was the last thing on your mind right now.
The answer has Jungkook humming noncommittally, the arm looped around you flexing slightly as he tugs you closer. His hips lift up to meet yours that had gone still, wordlessly urging you to move again.
You comply as you grind down on him, slower this time. "What matter is it anyway?" you huff, tilting your head to the side when his kisses trail back up your jaw, then your cheek.
Jungkook exhales through his nose, he nudges your palm flat against his chest, reminding you of the way his heart was currently beating like a dumbbell. "None," he says as his lips cover yours.
Your next kiss is laced with the emotions that had been left brewing since last night. Each roll of your hips sends a shudder through you, soft gasps spilling right into his waiting mouth. His hands return to your waist, guiding you back and forth over the bulge in his dress pants.
The subject of Namjoon is dropped just as quickly as it had surfaced and for that you're glad. All you can focus on his how Jungkook feels under you, against you, so close yet nowhere near enough. He hadn't asked about the boyfriend thing, hadn't brought up your dismissal of such a label being used on the two of you. Then again, you weren't an item to begin with.
Your fingers return to his dark hair, running through the strands like property signed in your name. His jaw goes slack when you tug on a few locks, a strained noise ripping from his throat as his hips jerk up to meet yours in a messy attempt at creating more friction. The sofa creaks under your joint weight, the slick sounds of lips and saliva smearing together mixed with your heavy breaths filling your living room.
The two of you would've probably kept going for a lot longer, had it not been for the sudden, ear-piercing ring that cuts through the hot air. Jungkook's grip on your hips loosen, his mouth slowing down against yours as he exhales.
"Ignore it," you moan against him, not wanting the moment to end because someone — God knows who — though probably Daehyun, decided to be a cock-blocker. But the shrill of your landline won't stop and you're forced to make the hard decision of tearing yourself off Jungkook's lap as you storm over to the device on your desk.
Fingers curling around the phone, you rip it from its designated spot as you press to accept the call. "Daehyun, I swear to God if this is—"
"Oh, there's a familiar voice."
Namjoon's chuckle makes you pause mid scolding, brows shooting high on your forehead. "Uh, sorry. I thought you were someone else," you quickly apologize, pulling your swollen bottom lip between your teeth as embarrassment floods you from head to toe.
"It's no mind," he says, "I've been calling around, going through everyone with your name in the phone book. Though since I never caught your last name I was going on the first. Turns out there's quite a few of you in the area." Namjoon's tone is lighthearted, a stark contrast to the conversation you had just been having about him.
"Well, you found me at last," you muse, finger tapping softly against the back of the phone. Somewhere in the distance a floorboard creaks and a second later Jungkook's arms slide around you from behind. He's put his shirt back on, the soft fleece biting into your back when his chest molds against you.
"I'm glad I did," Namjoon says and you were certain that Jungkook could hear his voice on the other end of the line. His head was lowered enough for it to, the tip of his nose skimming along the side of your neck as he inhales deeply, a sound you hope won't pick up on the receiver.
But Namjoon doesn't seem to be catching on as he continues, "I was calling about that dinner. I made the mistake of mentioning our run-in to my mother earlier and her nagging has only gotten worse." He clears his throat, "So uh, you don't happen to be free sometime after Christmas?"
It was the first time you had ever heard Namjoon appear even remotely hesitant. He was all charming smiles and confident conversation. The question was almost endearing, though Jungkook's arms, locked around your stomach makes your thoughts stray from the man on the phone as your heart races.
"After Christmas?" you echo, biting down on your tongue when a pair of wet lips meet the spot just below your ear. "I'll have to check my calendar but uh…" Another kiss to the juncture where your neck and shoulder meets has you suppressing a shiver. "Could I maybe get back to you on that?"
"Of course," Namjoon says, "Should be a lot easier now that my number is in your register." His laughter is something you're unable to reciprocate as Jungkook continues his assault to your bare skin, placing hot, messy kisses all over you with no intent of slowing down.
When the short call comes to a close you exhale a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. For a few long seconds you stand there, staring at the wall as Jungkook drags his lips across the slope of your shoulder.
Placing the phone back onto the machine, you twist in his arms as you turn to face him, causing him to finally pull his mouth back. He did not have to ask who had been on the other end and you did not have to tell him. The previous desire in his eyes had dimmed, replaced by something softer as he studies you in the warm afternoon sun.
"Sorry about that," you murmur, fingers picking at a loose thread on his shirt before flattening the fabric out again.
Jungkook only shakes his head, hands clasped over the small of your back. "Don't apologize to me," he says, brows furrowing across his forehead for a second, then relaxing again. Your close proximity did not fluster you as much as it had only minutes ago — though it still made fire burn hot in your veins. Should you kiss him again? Would he want you to? Maybe you—
"I should be heading out." Oh. You can't hide the flash of disappointment when it strikes your features, he must notice it too for he lifts one hand to cradle your cheek. "Told my parents I'd be picking the children up at five."
"Right, no of course." Shaking your head, you take a small step back in an attempt to put some much needed distance between the two of you, and allowing him to take his leave — only for him to stop you.
Jungkook's hand is firm on the low of your back when he reels you in, foreheads meeting as his lips hover a breath from your own — just shy of a kiss which he dares claim a second later. There's no tongue this time, no heat, just the gentle press of his mouth to yours. When he pulls back he does so carefully.
His thumb brushes the high of your cheek, "You'll do good on your exam," he says, the corner of his lip lifting at the flustered purse of your own.
"I'm not so sure about that" you huff, feigning indifference as you try to play it down again.
Jungkook hums, "I am." He leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, then he lets his hands drop back to his sides as he steps back. Your gaze trails after his retreating figure when he heads down the hall, slipping on his coat and shoes methodically, the flutter in your stomach having yet to die down.
With one hand wrapped around the door handle he turns to glance at you over his shoulder, dark eyes meet yours just like they had so many times this afternoon before he steps out.
Your apartment is awfully silent after his leave, goosebumps rising on your naked arms in his absence. With a begrudging sigh you turn to snatch you discarded shirt off the floor, pulling it over your head as you stumble toward the bathroom with the means of washing up.
The bright, white lights blind you when you flick them on and it takes you a moment to adjust. Twisting the faucet, you lean down to soak your face in cold water, scrubbing away the remnants of the heated kisses you and Jungkook had shared.
Part of you wonders what would've happened if you hadn't been interrupted. Would it be like last night? Maybe. You dared not think about it for too long.
You pat your face dry with the nearest hand towel, blinking at your tousled reflection in the small mirror. Admittedly, you had looked better. But as you lean closer to inspect the swollen state of your lips, your attention catches on something entirely different. Craning your neck to the side, your eyes widen as they drink in the hint of bruising to your skin.
Your fingers reach for the faint mark, knowing it would darken overnight. The bathroom light flickers above you but you ignore it as you trace the outline where Jungkook's mouth had once been — remembering what his teeth had felt like when they sunk into your skin.
── [ ✉️ ] Okay yeah, he was hot in this one I think. Doing way too much with the heart stuff, I did not plan for him to do that it was his own decision I need everyone to be onboard with this okay? Anyway anyway, hope this was okay, it was very all over the place yet nowhere at all? Not sure how to feel but I hope when we get to the next two chapters things will actually make sense.
worst behaviour — jeon jungkook , series index , mdni 𑣲 ch: 27 — don’t you be actin’ like that _ smau/nsfw/tw
note: yeah so . . . i told y'all there's no angst, just silly & crazy behavior. also um.. this was kinda rushed sorry, but i’m tryna speedrun ts !!! three more chaps 🥺 scary
𓄲 Your fingers find his hair, curling around the black strands and tugging on them in the way that would always have him groaning against you. This time is no different, even when he tries to force the sound back, teeth finding the tender skin where your neck meets your shoulder as he bites down in hopes of salvation.
전정국 x f!reader ˖ ࣪ ꉂ🗯˙ ‹— cw dilf!jungkook single dad jungkook nanny!reader 1980s au slowburn fluff angst (eventual) explicit content age gap (jungkook is 30, reader is 20) oc!cassian/oc!rayne (jk's children) alcohol consumption and what do you know, there's porn: unprotected sex (pullout method) they indulge in a quickie kissing kissing hungry!jungkook blowjob (he cums down her throat)
⧽ word count ⋮ 11.5k
average reading time ⋮ 1 hour
── [ ✉️ ] This is like, so cute and so nasty. Ok well, it's not that nasty, I know what you ladies are up reading at night so don't try and fool me. But in the means of HW it is nasty, let's just say it like that. Jungkook is actually so hungry for her, by all means, but he's also a little awkward around her, love that. I also don't have any more porn planned for the series, it could change of course, but I wouldn't place my bets (the drabbles though...) Hm, yes. Cassian and Rayne are here too, because it wouldn't be HW without them. Feedback in the comments/reblogs and asks are much appreciated <3
series masterlist | last chapter | next part
chapter 20 — "Be Quiet"
Opening your textbook that Saturday morning felt like stepping into a world long forgotten. You had been so caught up in Rayne's birthday preparations, then there had been the dance — and Jungkook. It shamed you to admit that your studies had taken a backseat in favor of the Jeon family. With your final exam coming up before Christmas you were now paying the price of your ignorance
It didn't help that Daehyun had chosen the exact moment you sat down to get some work done to give you a call. An hour and a half later and you were still on the phone with him as he went on about his latest attempt at romance, which, given his track record, did not bode well.
"But I don't think he's ready for anything serious—" your friend sighs on the other end of the line, "I mean, he's only been taking me to hotels as of now. I haven't even gotten to see his place and he's been to mine multiple times."
Clutching a highlighter in your free hand, you underline a third paragraph on the page in front of you, not actually bothering to read the words written. "Mhm," you hum, frowning slightly when his statement actually registers, "Wait, he hasn't introduced you to anyone yet?" Tilting the phone slightly, you nudge it to your ear with the help of your shoulder.
Daehyun makes an offended noise, "No," he mutters begrudgingly. "And here I thought someone his age would at least have the balls to make a move on me outside of the bedroom."
You pause, highlighter pressing against the paper as the yellow color continues to bleed onto it. "How old is he again?"
There's a dramatic beat of silence before Daehyun scoffs, "Twenty-seven!" You can vividly imagine him throwing a hand in the air as he gestures wildly to a play-pretend audience. "Can you believe it?" He sounds as though he's ready to go on another rant only to be stopped by the disapproving click of your tongue.
"Dae…" You exhale, brows furrowing deep on your forehead.
"What?" He retorts defensively, "I don't want to hear anything from you, Ms I've got a thing for my boss who's thirty."
You cringe at that, fingers curling a little tighter around the highlighter as you stare at the wall in front of you. "It's not like that— And you're making it sound weird!" Pursing your lips, you roll the thick pen between your index and middle finger, "Besides, I do not have 'a thing' for him." The truth was that you had more than a thing for Jungkook, but admitting that to Daehyun of all people felt like a death sentence.
It was easy to forget that Jungkook actually paid you to see his children. That each day spent at the Jeon house was a transaction and should have stayed that way. Your free hand traces the corner of the open page. Falling in love with both Cassian and Rayne had never been part of the plan — least of all had the intimate moments you shared with their father been. Now you feared you were in far too deep to ever be rescued, the worst part was that even if such an opportunity did presented itself — you knew you wouldn't take it.
There's rustling on the other side of the line as Daehyun shifts to get comfortable, likely laying in bed with his phone cord wrapped around himself. "Hey, I ain't say there was anything wrong with it. I'm just stating the facts of your situation and judging by what you've told me, he sounds a great deal better than whatever dude I let stick it up my ass."
"Okay— Okay, I didn't need any explicit details about your sex life, Dae." Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to force the picture of your friend from your mind. Unfortunately in doing so, you manage to open a door you had not intended to. Images of Jungkook instead flood your vision, images of his lips, parted and red, hovering just inches from your own.
The afternoon you had spent together all those weeks ago, the quiet intimacy of his chest pressed against yours, his hands on your body, his mouth on—
"Say," Daehyun drawls, "Is he more man than my recent fuck?"
His question startles you from your thoughts and you blink. "What?" you huff, confusion lacing your words, "What's that supposed to mean?"
Your friend heaves a breath, like the answer was written in front of you. "I mean, has he made a move on you?"
Made a move? Jungkook? You swallow the lump that sits in your throat, hoping the crappy landline won't pick up on it. Memories of all the stolen moments between you return. The way he'd kissed you for the first time in his study that night over a month ago — pulling away like he'd committed a crime. You think of all the touches he'd let linger after your shared afternoon together, the caresses to your waist, the kisses to your neck, lips…
You knew that keeping whatever it was the two of you had going on a secret from the children was important. But Daehyun was not someone you had to keep things from, so why did it feel so difficult to tell him? Perhaps it was because telling him would mean confirming that it had actually happened, that it was real and not just a figment of your imagination or a fantasy you had conjured during late nights alone in bed.
"Well he…" Your index finger finds the cord that ties your phone to its machine and you toy with it idly. "He's been pretty clear I guess," you murmur, almost shyly as heat crawls to your face.
Daehyun could've easily made a back flip on his end of the phone, but if you had to guess, he'd simply shot up straight from whatever position he'd been lounging in. "No way!" he practically shouts, the excitement radiating off of him, "How far have you gone?"
The chair creaks under your weight as you shift on it awkwardly. While it wasn't uncommon for Daehyun to share all about his sexual endeavors, you had never been on the giving end of the exchange between you.
Your silence seems to do the job though because a moment later you hear him snicker on the other side the line. "You dirty little minx," he practically squeals, "Tell me everything!"
You're thankful for the distance between you at the moment. The last thing you needed was him cooing at your flustered expression or the way you chewed on your bottom lip. "I don't know what there's to say…" Shrugging, you put the highlighter down, finger tapping softly against it as you ponder an answer that would satisfy him without leading to more prying.
"What is there not to say?" Daehyun is radiating on his end, the sound of his mattress groaning loudly as he shifts on top of it. "What was he like? Was he good?" The teasing lilt to his voice is unmistakable and it has you tightening your grip on the phone, hard enough for it to crack.
"Yeah," the admission leaves you in a breathless whisper, "Like…really good." And he had been. You don't think you had ever felt touch like his before, it was like he knew exactly when and where to linger, how to move, how to breathe with you. Shaking your head, you try to brush past the unwelcome visions of his head between your legs.
Daehyun, however, is far from finished with this conversation as it just took a most interesting turn. "What did I tell you? Guys his age know what they're doing. So tell me—"
Your friend is just about to pry further when the device in your hand suddenly beeps loudly, effectively pulling your attention toward the familiar sequence of numbers that had appeared on the screen, signaling you of a different caller. "Dae, I might have to call you back," you say when going over the numbers a second time.
There's a short pause before Daehyun's speaks, "Wait what—?" The confusion only lasts a second though, "Oh. Is it him? It has to be, why else would you hang up on your beautiful best fr—"
"Okay, bye!"
The relief that floods you by ending the ongoing call with Daehyun quickly evaporates as you realize that you would be answering the man who's abilities in bed you had just been discussing. A small grimace tugs at your features and you blink twice when bringing the phone back to your ear, pressing a button on the machine to allow the lines to connect.
For a while all you hear is the static, bruising noise coming from the other end and you clear your throat awkwardly to greet him, "Hello?"
You and Jungkook had spoke very little when he returned home last night. Having put Cassian to bed by eight, just as instructed, you met the pair by the front door as Jungkook stepped inside. He'd been carrying a sleeping Rayne in his arms, the look on his face serene as he regarded his daughter.
When you had asked how the night went he'd simply smiled — a smile so rare for someone like him. Then he'd told you that he would be taking her to bed. He thanked you for your help but his eyes never strayed from the girl in his arms. Once he began climbing the stairs you'd decided that it was best you take your leave and give him the rest of the night alone with his sleeping children.
So to accept a call from him, on a Saturday no less, was rather unexpected. "Good afternoon," Jungkook's voice startles you slightly and you turn in your seat to peer at the clock over by the couch. It was already nearing 1pm, how long had you and Daehyun been on the phone?
"Yes… Afternoon," You hum, gaze flickering to the discarded highlighter, laying across your open textbook. Without its cap on the ink was running dry and you glance around in search for the missing piece.
On the other end of the line there's a pause before Jungkook continues, "I'm aware that it's your day off," he says, "But I have to leave for the office, rather unexpectedly. If you're busy I understand, I'm sure I can make arrangements with their grandparents or—"
"I'm free."
The response pours out of you in a second, cutting him off mid-sentence as your fingers curl around the phone a little tighter. You were actually busy, but as you close up your textbook you knew that your mind was made up.
You can hear his exhale through the static of the phone — he sounds relieved. "That's good," he then says, "I would come pick you up myself, I just cannot leave the children at home."
"Oh, I'm just fine taking the bus, no worries." you assure him, finally finding the cap of your highlighter as you seal it in place with a click.
Jungkook is quiet for some time, until he finally asks, "Will you at least let me pay the bus fare?"
His suggestion makes you freeze from where you had been leaning over to stuff the yellow pen back in the jar that held the rest. Brows scrunching together, "You already pay me enough," you tell him when rising to your feet, "I'll be there in half an hour."
He doesn't argue with you on the matter, sighing on his end, giving in with a soft 'Alright' before allowing you to disconnect the call.
You don't hesitate as you gather your things, trying to keep the excitement in your chest at bay as the lock twists, sealing your front door and leaving you to scurry down the stairs.
The buses were not as lenient during the weekends, rather than every fifteen minutes they ran every thirty, making your trip to the Jeon house slightly longer than usual. You've brought your study material — this time without fear of Jungkook stumbling across it. You figured you should at least try to revise for the upcoming exam.
Snow stubbornly clings to your sneakers as you walk down the pavement. It smears even further when you attempt to brush it off with the opposite foot, white clumps quickly melting through the fabric and soaking into your socks. "Stupid shoes," you mutter when pushing the gate to the Jeon estate open, still trudging forward with your head bowed.
In fact, you were so caught up in the disappointment of your cold and wet feet that you don't bother glancing up when heading toward the steps of the front porch. Perhaps had you been a little more attentive you would have noticed the obstacle of another person before you crashed into them.
Forehead slamming against something hard, you tumble back with a small 'oof', already reaching up to soothe the throb in your temple. "Are you okay?" The sound of Jungkook's voice makes your head spin even more so than the impact of his shoulder where it had smacked across your face. His fingers brush against your wrist as he guides your chilly hand away to assess the damage himself.
Upon further inspection, and a slight clearing of your rattled mind, you realize that he'd been outside even before your arrival. Had it not been for the white layer that dusts his dark hair and the coat he wears — then the faint redness to his nose was a dead giveaway.
"I'm fine," shrugging nonchalantly, you raise him a brow, "What are you doing out here?"
Jungkook blinks once, lips parting as he lets his touch fall from your arms and takes a small step back. "I was just leaving," jerking his chin in the direction of his car, you follow his line of sight. Upon turning back to the thick and fluffy snow that layers his shoulders, not to mention the rosy tint to his cheeks, his lie becomes blatant.
"I never got to thank you for yesterday," he then says, frowning when you shake your head dismissively, obviously offended that you would brush his gratitude off. "I'm serious," he presses, "What you did for Rayne, it meant a lot to her — to me. Thank you."
His leaps seal together in a thin line after that as he regards you expectantly. You know that you should probably say something, fill the silence that had followed his words. But your mind was slow to even comprehend the weight of what he'd just told you. Inhaling a lungful of cold air, you give him a small but genuine smile.
"It meant a lot to me as well," you say, "I'm glad."
The distant rustle of tree branches swaying in the afternoon breeze is all that can be heard. A few birds — the ones who hadn't fled for warmer climates — chirp above, their song carrying through the wind. Jungkook's gaze lingers on a raven, sitting on a lower twig that extends from the trunk.
"I should get going," he murmurs when turning back to you. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants, he clears his throat swiftly, "The children are in the living room," he says, "Door's unlocked."
You nod, fingers clasped together and you move forward as you attempt to step past him — only for Jungkook to do the same. Your face pulls into a sheepish expression and you quickly try to correct yourself by going in the other direction. Unfortunately he seems to have the same idea and you end up chest to chest a second time.
"Sorry," you chuckle as you come to a stop. Jungkook does the same, hands returning to your elbows as his fingers curl around your arms through the thick material of your coat. He gently steers you to the right, allowing you to step around each other without more fuss.
Thanking him under your breath, you quickly head up the stairs as he walks to his car. When climbing the three steps you have to force yourself not to turn back around and steal one final glance at him. You do a decent job, making it all the way to the front door with one hand wrapped around it — only to immediately whip your head over your shoulder as Jungkook suddenly calls out.
He's standing by the driver's door, a clenched fist resting atop its roof. "I was just—" His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, chapped by the cold air. "Well, Cassian has been asking but I think both children would like it if—" His jaw clenches as he struggles through the sentence.
You stand frozen by the door, fingers nearly slipping from the metal handle. New snow falls and though you're shielded by the slanted roof that extends over the front porch — Jungkook isn't. Flakes catch on his dark brows where they pinch together. He sighs, averting his gaze before quickly forcing it back.
He looks like he's working up courage — the awkward roll of his shoulders and the stiffness in his posture. It reminds you of that one time in third grade when, Mike, your desk mate, had shyly asked you to the school dance with him. He had been all nervous glances and stuttered words but it had been the highlight of your year.
Jungkook looks much like him right now, and had you not been so anxious to hear the rest of what he had to say, you would've probably found it rather endearing.
Finally he gathers his bearings, palm flattening against the roof of his car. "I was just wondering if you would like to spend Christmas with us, the children, me." The question hangs between you for only a second, barely enough for you to fully process it until he starts talking again:
"I mean, Cassian would really appreciate it. We usually spend it at their grandparents' but if you have plans I understand. Just thought I should ask so that I could give him an answer to—"
"I would love to."
The smile stretches to your ears and you don't even attempt to hide it. Your parents were set to be out of your hometown for the holidays, only returning back before new years which was when you planned to see them. This would mark your first Christmas away from home — not having to spend it alone but rather with the children, and Jungkook, made your heart flutter in your chest.
By his car, Jungkook exhales a breath. His frame morphs from tense to relaxed and when he catches the sight of your beaming grin, the corner of his own lip twitches. He nods, a subtle tilt of his chin. Then he opens the car door and gets inside, letting it fall shut after him.
You turn back to the door, gripping the knob with newfound excitement as you prepare to step inside.
The children are in the living room, just as Jungkook had promised. Rayne sits on one of the sofas, comfortably reclined back with a book in her lap. She lifts her gaze upon your arrival, though doesn't say anything — but her brother does.
"Nanny!"
Cassian, who'd been in the middle of smearing crayons across the papers scattered on the coffee table, perks up when he finds you in the doorway. The drawings are all but forgotten about as he jumps to his feet, hurrying over on short legs as he tugs you into a hug that would've probably knocked you off your feet, had he been a little taller.
"Hi, sweetie." It's instinctive, the way your arms loop around his tiny body to reciprocate the embrace. His face nuzzles against your stomach, a content smile plastered on his lips. "What have you been up to today?"
The young boy immediately perks up at the inquiry, big, brown eyes meeting yours as he reaches for your sleeve. "I'll show you," he says as he tugs you over to the coffee table where the two of you sink to the floor beside one another.
He moves with purpose as he shoves the crayons aside, organizing the multiple drawings before you to line them up. "This one," he points to one of the images. The lines are a wobbly and uneven, the colors scribbled messily together but you still thought you could make out two stick figures that resembled a little boy and a woman. "That's you and me when we played hide and seek in the garden."
Upon further inspection you can find what appears to be trees in the background. Their leaves consist of oranges and yellows, meant to resemble the last of autumn that still clung to nature that afternoon. "I remember," you hum, tracing the corner of the paper slowly, "You were counting too fast."
"Was not," Cassian interjects with a small pout.
From there he goes on to present the array of drawings, all representing different parts of the family, some including you, others not. He finally lands on one that makes you pause. It's a painting with all four of you, the only one of its kind. But that's not what catches your attention, no, it's the large pine tree in the middle. It's decorated with colorful lights, and beneath it lay square boxes.
Cassian goes quiet, milk teeth locking around his bottom lip. "That's us on Christmas," he gestures vaguely to the drawing, "Daddy was going to ask you to come." He hesitates, stealing a quick peek at you through the corner of his eye.
"He did," you muse, plucking the painting with careful fingers as you take a closer look. The picture shows you and the young boy holding hands, his sister and father are doing the same. "I told him I would love to come."
The look of pure joy that lit up Cassian's face was like that of the sun's rays in summer. He flashes you all of his teeth — save for the small gap on his bottom row. "You will come?" he repeats, like he had to double check to make sure you were being truthful. When you nod in confirmation he wiggles on the spot, "Hooray!"
"Our nana makes the best cookies and papa always lets me help put the lights on the tree!" It sounds as though he's already planning for the entire day, he rambles on about presents, food and different games you're going to be playing. You can all but match his grin as you listen to him excitedly talk.
Allowing yourself a glance in Rayne's direction has your eyes meeting for a split second before she promptly turns back to the book in her lap, pretending like she'd been reading all along. Guilt knots in your stomach, perhaps she did not want you to come. Christmas was for family after all and though you had been invited you couldn't help but feel like maybe you were intruding on something you shouldn't.
"I actually bumped into him right outside," You muse, attempting to brush the unease aside with simple conversation. That only makes the young girl tense, her grip on the novel tightening.
"That's weird," She says, not taking her gaze off the page, "Father left long before you came, he said he was late for a meeting."
You fall quiet at that — in fact the entire living room does. It's not broken until you let out an awkward chuckle that does little to play up the mood. So instead you turn to her younger brother, picking up the smile that had faded ever so slightly. "What did you ask Santa for?" you wonder, trying to steer the conversation away from Jungkook's odd behavior.
Cassian hums thoughtfully, "A dinosaur and a car figurine, oh and new crayons, the ones with rainbow colors!"
"Rainbow?" you cock a brow at that, "There's a rainbow colored crayon?" You don't think you had ever heard of anything like that but he eagerly nods as he jumps into explanation.
"Yes," Cassian points to his existing crayons, scattered across the coffee table, "It's a special. Only Santa makes it, that's why I put it on my list so I can have one."
Across the table Rayne scoffs, she's put the book down and is now watching her brother with a narrowed gaze. "Santa isn't real, he can't make you a rainbow crayon," she states at as a matter-of-factly, one hand tucking her ponytail down her shoulder.
"Well that's not true," you say when you notice the solemn look on the young boy's face, "Santa is just as real as you and me."
"How do you know that?" Cassian asks as he peers up at you through dark lashes.
You shrug, "Because I've met him of course."
His eyes go wide as saucers at that, lips parting in a quiet gasp to which he quickly swallows with a squeal. "Really? You've really met Santa?" On the couch opposite you, Rayne scoffs under her breath but you ignore her.
"Sure have," you say, "He was creeping 'round downstairs, very loudly might I add, he even woke me up from my sleep. So I quietly crept down the stairs, and do you know what I saw?"
Cassian leans closer, shaking his head mutely and you bite back a giggle. "I saw a big man, with a white beard and red clothes — eating my cookies! Can you believe it?" You wave a hand aimlessly, "I was furious of course, I told him that those were mine and that I had been saving them for the morning."
"What did he say? What did he say?" He asks, fingers clawing at his own knees as he tries to contain his excitement.
Humming out a soft breath, you continue, "Well he said that he needed the cookies. You see Santa gets real hungry going to each house on Christmas Eve. He promised me that I would get a special gift in return, as a thank you for the treats." Leaning back against the edge of the couch, you stretch your legs out in front of you. "The next morning when I woke up there was a big present under the tree, can you guess who it was from?"
"Santa!" Cassian looks overjoyed at the story, his earlier gripe with his sister quickly fading at the thought of meeting the white-bearded man himself some day. "Do you think I will see him?"
"Without a doubt," you promise him as you ruffle his dark hair. Looking back the man in your kitchen had likely been your dad, geared up in his costume and snacking away on your cookies. But your sleep-addled, six year old brain had been unable to piece that together and the moment was allowed to live on as such until you turned thirteen and your old pops had the audacity to ruin it. But seeing the excitement in Cassian's eyes was more than enough to mend the broken memory.
He goes back to drawing shortly after, this time depicting images of Santa himself, his sleigh and his reindeer — to the best of his abilities of course. You sit back comfortably on the floor, content to watch him work, even though you should probably pull out the textbooks you had brought with you and get some studying done.
The idea has been tossed back and forth in your mind for a good five minutes without you coming to a decision when Rayne suddenly clears her throat. "Nanny?" she asks, her voice loud in the reigning silence. You immediately perk up at being addressed, a quiet 'hm?' passing your lips. She hesitates, fingers curling around a page in her book as she fiddles with it. A couple of seconds pass where she doesn't speak, then she wills herself to meet your gaze.
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
Out of every question you'd been expecting, this one had been at the very bottom of your list. It stuns you entirely and for a while you simply stare at her. "Boyfriend—?" you splutter, disguising your cough with an awkward huff.
Rayne nods, she sits perfectly still on the cushion, her eyes tracking you up and down like she was trying to figure something out. Cassian had stopped drawing and was now watching you as well, a faint frown on his face. "You're…" she pauses, "You're pretty. You know how to do the pretty things with my hair and stuff." Rayne gestures vaguely between you as she references back to last night.
The compliment warms your chest, and cheeks, making you rub the back of your neck sheepishly. "Ah, thank you, sweetie." Pursing your lips, you then shake your head. "I don't have a boyfriend." The admission feels a little stiff but you try not to let it show as you carry on with a soft chuckle.
Rayne seems satisfied with that answer, her attention lingers a moment longer before it returns to her book — only to be torn from the pages as Cassian suddenly exclaims, "You don't have a boyfriend?" He appears genuinely conflicted by this information, it didn't make sense at all to him.
"But nanny, you're cute. Why don't you have one?" His bottom lip is stuck out into a pout, cupids bow arched in a frown as he studies you closely. When you simply shrug the gears seem to turn even faster in his tiny head. "I know—" He then says and you feel your heart drop to your stomach at what that might mean.
Cassian twists his body toward you, chest puffing up to appear bigger as he puts on a bright smile. "I can be your boyfriend!"
You hope he doesn't catch the relieved exhale you let out, shaking your head as a giggle erupts between you. Before you can answer him though, Rayne butts in, "You can't do that, silly. Nanny is a grown-up."
This only brings back her younger brother's previous confusion and he begins chewing on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. "Okay…" he murmurs, fingers picking at a lock of hair, "Then I will be your boyfriend when I'm a grown-up." He gives himself a reaffirming nod, like the decision had just been finalized and you couldn't find it in you to argue against it.
"That sounds like a wonderful idea," you hum as you give his cheek a gentle pat. You thought you could hear Rayne grumble something under her breath but she refrains from saying anything else as she goes back to her book.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in the living room. You finally pulled out your textbook, flicking it open on the page where you had left off at home. Cassian was greatly interested in all the pictures, pointing at different parts of the human lungs as he asked questions.
As it turns out, he was a great study-buddy. You could dump all sorts of information on him, explaining and then re-explaining things in simpler terms as you went through the notes you had taken. He listened with fascinated eyes and though you were sure he probably understood about half of what you told him, it was a good way for you to revise the material.
By dinner time you all cooked together, even Rayne helped taste-test the sauce you had made — only for her brother to spill some on his shirt when he tried snatching the spoon from her.
Jungkook did not arrive back home until you had tucked them both into bed. You were halfway through Cassian's third bedtime story and he had just drifted off when the sound of the front door unlocking could be heard. You listened to the sound of footsteps as he climbed the stairs, for a second they almost made you believe that he was headed for Cassian's room. They had stopped just outside his closed door, a dark silhouette filling the light beneath the crack. Then they had faded again, another door creaking before closing softly — his study presumably.
You had stayed by Cassian's bed a little longer than needed, taking your time when putting the books back on their shelf, tucking him in once, then once more for good measure.
Finally you head out into the hall, your eyes immediately drifting to the door which you knew you would find Jungkook behind — feet leading you there on their own. The picture of him out in the snow earlier today still lingers fresh in your mind. As does the nervous stutter to his speech and you half expect to find him in a similar state now.
The door to Jungkook's study is agonizingly loud upon being pushed open. You allow yourself a sparse couple of inches, just enough to poke your head inside and inform him of your departure. Shadows swallow almost the entirety of the room and had it not been for the lamp on his desk, casting a soft halo across the papers he sifts through — it would have been pitch black.
Jungkook sits in his chair, glasses low on the bridge of his nose, which he scrunches when lifting a finger to push them further up. He has yet to notice you, too lost in the corporate world that seems to consume him entirely.
He does not look at all like he had this afternoon. Perhaps it was the wear of the long day that had weighed down his otherwise youthful appearance. He still looked handsome of course — but there was something else that clung to the air around him right now.
You clear your throat, tongue pressing against the roof of your mouth when his eyes meet yours from across the small room. "The children are asleep…" He knows that already, the house had been basked in silence since his return home after all.
He nods but his attention doesn't return to the files in front of him like you had expected for it to. Instead he regards you quietly, the way that always makes you wonder what he was thinking about. He would not tell you, of course, he rarely did. Another tense five seconds pass where neither of you speak. Your fingers have began tapping idly against the doorknob as a means to distract yourself.
"Cassian spilled sauce on his shirt during dinner. He didn't want me telling you but I thought I should in case the stain doesn't come off," a breath later you add, "Though I soaked it in cold water so it should be fine." You were rambling nonsense but said nonsense was better than the strange and awkward silence that had found its way between you.
Jungkook simply repeats his previous motion, tilting his chin in acknowledgement as he traces the edge of the paper in front of him. You notice that the liquor is sealed within its cabinet, waiting behind closed doors to be drank — he hadn't reached for it tonight.
"Do you want a glass?"
The sudden question makes you pause, gaze flitting back to the man before you. Jungkook is watching you with an expectant look, having let go of the pages to place his hands on the armrests of his chair. He must have noticed your wandering eyes but the offer still takes you by surprise.
"I…" Your throat feels dry and for a moment the thought of something to take the edge off didn't seem like such a bad idea. Though one glance at the clock above the cabinet makes you rethink. "I shouldn't. I mean—" shaking your head, "Last bus leaves in a little bit. I better be on my way."
His brows draw together at that and for a split second Jungkook looks almost disappointed. He quickly masks it again, schooling his features into their default wear. But when he opens his mouth to speak, the words that spill from his lips are not what you had expected: "You're leaving already?"
The cough lodges itself halfway up your throat, fingers curling a little harder around the doorknob as you sway on unsteady feet despite being stone cold sober. Was he asking you to stay? Your next breath comes out in a short puff and you have to shove the confusing thoughts aside to focus on giving him a proper response.
"Well— No, I mean," swallowing thickly, "I have some time to spare…"
Jungkook's chair squeaks against the floorboards when he rises to his feet and you watch with wide and unblinking eyes as he makes his way over to the liquor cabinet. Taking it as your cue to actually step inside, you do so, letting the door fall shut behind you soundlessly.
"Any requests?" He asks when he unhooks both glass doors, swinging them open to showcase the bottles inside.
Your feet carry you over to stand beside him — close enough to feel the heat of his body that radiates from him like a furnace. Scanning the options presented before you whilst chewing on your lip, you go over the labels once, twice. Jungkook's taste matched him perfectly, all expensive brands, half of which you did not dare attempt to pronounce. Their amber shades stare back at you daringly.
He must notice your hesitation, for a moment later he reaches for the one bottle you recognized — the whiskey. His arm brushes yours when he retrieves it, and it somehow sends a jolt of electricity through you despite the touch being mundane in comparison to how intimate you had been.
Jungkook doesn't linger on the brief caress as he grabs two glasses in his free hand, turning to place them onto his desk with a soft clink. And after busying yourself with shutting the cabinet doors, you join him by the table — looking on as he pushes the sleeves of his button up to his elbows, exposing the tattoos you'd spent so long tracing. The memory makes your chest hot even though the alcohol had yet to touch your lips.
His shirt is generously unbuttoned, revealing the faint outline of his chest when he leans forward to pour the whiskey. "You don't drink often I take it?" He asks without lifting his gaze from the glasses which he filled to about a quarter.
"No," you hum, "Not really…" Aside from the drinks you and Daehyun went out to grab after rough exams, your experience with any kind of liquor was very sparse. Your attention lingers on the amber liquid that swirls within the glasses, glimmering softly under the glow of his desk lamp.
Jungkook hands you one of them and you take it with a quiet 'Thanks' as you try not to think about the way your fingers ended up nudging. He nods as he takes a sip of his drink and you find yourself doing the same — cringing slightly as the burn scratches down your throat. You hadn't drank since last time you found yourself in here, back then your emotions had been high enough to cancel out the strong and invasive flavor of the whiskey.
Stillness clings to the air between you, with only the faint ticking of the clock on the wall to fill the silence. You distract yourself with another small sip, only to immediately regret it as your nose scrunches. Jungkook catches the flicker of distaste, cocking a brow as he brings his own glass to his lips.
"What do you kids drink then?" He wonders before swallowing more liquor.
You shrug, free hand caressing the mahogany wood of his table as you perch yourself on its edge. "I don't know, cheap booze— beer mostly." The splinters creak under your weight but you ignore it as you shift to get comfortable — or as comfortable as you could get with him standing so close.
Jungkook hums, "Do you like it?" His eyes never stray from where they had come to settle on yours, shielded by his dark lashes, it looked almost as though he was trying to guess your answer before you could give it.
Shaking your head, you let the pad of your thumb stroke the bottom of your glass. "God, no. I only drink when I'm out." Tilting your gaze from the drink you hold and up to his hooded eyes, you ask, "Do you?"
He mimics you with a shake of his own head, "No," he says, following it with another long sip. The glasses, still perched over the bridge of his nose, reflect in the dim lights and you become almost entranced by the subtle flicker. "Do you go out often?" He then wonders, and you tried to figure out why he was asking so many questions all of a sudden.
"Rarely" you admit, trying to keep your tone indifferent as you sip on the whiskey, "Why?"
Jungkook gives a noncommittal roll of his shoulders. "Kids your age love to party, no?" He delivers it casually but the statement still makes you frown as you clutch your glass a little tighter.
"Are you calling me a kid?" You can't help the edge of defensiveness that sneaks its way into your voice as you eye him warily. "Or are you implying that there is something wrong with me not partying?"
For a long moment he says nothing, simply regarding you over the rim of his own glass. He doesn't bring it up for another taste, doesn't lower it either. The corner of his lip twitches, "Neither," he says.
You huff at the almost taunting response, turning your head in an act of pettiness. It works because a second later the floor creaks as Jungkook takes a step closer. The hand that isn't currently nursing his drink finds a crease in your jeans, fingers pinching the fabric as he smooths it out again — like the sight bothered him.
"Good." You're still not looking at him, eyes fixed to the clock on the wall as it counts down the seconds until you're forced to part from him. "I'm not a kid. And I enjoy myself just fine whenever I so please," you add before silencing yourself with another sip of the whiskey.
Jungkook hums, having let go of your jeans entirely, his magnifying touch disappears before it returns, this time to the hot skin of your face — heated by the alcohol and his proximity. His thumb strokes the line of your jaw as he gently guides you to look at him again. "I know," he says.
Whatever offense still lingered from his previous comment ebbs away when your eyes meet his and your shoulders slump as your hold on the glass loosens.
"How much longer until your bus leaves?" He asks, fingers warm against your feverish skin.
You swallow, wondering if the liquor was finally taking effect or if he'd been looking at you like that all along. "Twenty minutes," you murmur, "But I need five to get to the stop."
He doesn't respond right away, only watching you intently, like he was considering something. "That's fifteen minutes then," his thumb finds your bottom lip, the caress he gives it is light — teasing almost. "Will you enjoy yourself with me for those fifteen?"
The innuendo hidden beneath the almost whispered words is clear and it makes your heart pound hard against your ribcage. Without answering you bring the glass to your lips, praying that the ill-tasting whiskey might give you the same courage you had inhabited on that sunny afternoon.
Jungkook regards you intently, his fingers lingering on your jaw, tilting your head back to have the liquor slide down your throat easier. Through the corner of your eye you can make out the path his other hand takes as it discards the glass which he'd barely touched. Then he steps impossibly close, gaze dropping to your half-finished drink before gently taking it from your grasp.
"You didn't answer my question," He murmurs upon setting the glass down alongside his own. There's a barely noticeable crease etched between his dark brows, as though your lack of response troubled him. It makes you smile, an easy smile that feels silly compared to the storm in your chest.
Only when you realize where you are and what time it is does your face fall. Your mind wanders to Cassian and Rayne in their rooms. "But the children—"
"Are asleep," Jungkook finishes for you, his palm coming to rest against your cheek. This was different from last time. No raised voices, no big living room to let you catch your breath — only the hard surface of his desk under you, and the warmth of his body but an inch from your own.
He's so close that the slightly uneven exhales he releases fan across your face. His eyes are dazed with something beyond the desire you had noted in them on that day. Was he seeing something beyond just the intimacy of two people? You almost dared to hope…
Jungkook swallows and you trace the bob of his Adam's apple. "I'll beg if I have to," He rasps, thumb pressing lightly against your cheekbone.
That single line undoes the last of your hesitation and without giving yourself time to think it over, you close the remaining distance to press your lips against his. Your eyes fall shut as you let yourself linger in darkness, focusing only on the way his mouth parts against yours without being told.
His hand is careful where it cradles your face, the other claiming your waist as he tugs you dangerously close to the edge of the desk. Jungkook always kissed you sweetly — there was never any sloppy meshes of tongues or uncomfortable clashes of teeth. But tonight time is against you, the clock ticks faster somewhere in the distance, reminding you of your eventual departure.
"We need to hurry," you breathe against him, shuddering when he pulls back to rest his forehead to yours, the glasses he had yet to take off bumping against your nose.
Through lidded eyes you can make out the subtle clench of his jaw, the nod he pairs with a rough exhale. He straightens up, the hand on your face falling to your waist as he mirrors the other. Then he casts a glance toward the clock on the wall, tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek.
For a moment you think he might just step away, press a chaste kiss to your temple with the promise of finding time another day. But when Jungkook turns back to you, his usually brown eyes are almost black with desire, brows pinched with determination you rarely saw in him.
His palms burn through the jeans you wear when they hook under your thighs, hoisting you from your spot on the very edge of the table and up against his chest. Your legs wrap awkwardly around his hips, arms looping behind his neck as your lips find his jaw, lavishing it in soft kisses.
The chair he'd been lounging on just minutes prior is kicked aside as Jungkook steps into its spot. He shifts your weight onto one arm, the other blindly swiping away the papers he'd been working on. They scatter in all directions, mixing together in an unorganized mess, though Jungkook doesn't seem to care for it as he cranes his neck to find your lips.
He sets you down on the now-cleared surface of his desk, you land with a soft thud right in the center, legs falling open to accommodate him between them. His tongue tastes like the whiskey you shared when it slides past your lips, and you welcome him eagerly with a sighed moan. Jungkook's hands — having returned to your hips — give a firm squeeze that startles you just as much as it spurs you on.
His lips hover above your own, saliva smearing together in the aftermath of your kiss. He lifts one hand, knuckles brushing your chin ever so carefully as he closes your open mouth with a simple nudge. "Need you to stay quiet," he whispers, nose brushing along your cheek, "Unfortunately."
You nod, even when it takes everything in you not to force your lips back together. Running the risk of waking the children was not something you'd had to be mindful of last time. And as much as the idea of startling them from sleep terrified you, it also made your stomach coil tight with heat. Judging by the way Jungkook was kissing down your neck, his tongue tracing the column of your throat, he must feel the same.
Your fingers find his hair, curling around the black strands and tugging on them in the way that would always have him groaning against you. This time is no different, even when he tries to force the sound back, teeth finding the tender skin where your neck meets your shoulder as he bites down in hopes of salvation.
His hands are clumsy when they find the zipper of your jeans, hooking around it before tugging it open — leaving you to squirm on top of the mahogany as you help him slide the denim down your legs. The air of his study is chilly from a window being left open too long but Jungkook's touch warms your naked skin in a heart beat as his palms move up and down your thighs.
It's not until he feels you reach for the buckle of his belt that he finally tears himself from your neck. Ragged breaths leave his reddened lips and he stares at you with thinly veiled impatience that matches the frantic movement of your fingers, currently undoing the clunky piece of metal. It falls apart in your grasp as it unlocks the last barrier between you.
Jungkook's hands are everywhere all at once, sliding beneath the hem of your shirt to feel up your sides, hovering just shy at the edge of your bra. All the while you focus on getting his pants out of the way.
You make the mistake of glancing toward the clock once more, eyes widening at the rapid speed the minute handle seems to be moving at. "Eleven minutes," you murmur as your fingers hook around the waistband of his dress pants.
The words have barely left your lips as Jungkook slams his own back on them, stealing your next exhale with a kiss that felt unlike any of the others you had previously shared. The mask he wore with pride slipped just enough to let his teeth trap your bottom lip, eliciting a soft squeal from you which he tries to silence with his mouth.
He swats your at hands, dismissing them from their feeble attempts at getting him undressed. The buckle of his belt hits the edge of the desk, dangerously close to one of your knees, as he shoves his pants down enough to free himself of their captivity. One hand on your hip, the other wraps around his cock, a shaky sigh following the rough stroke he gives himself.
Without warning he curls a finger around the lining of your panties, tearing them down to rest at the crook of your knees and leaving you bare — the sudden intrusion of cold air makes you gasp against his lips.
"Sorry," Jungkook whispers, fingers brushing over your exposed cunt as he tries to soothe the chill with warm touch. His thumb is not as precise as it had been that afternoon when it finds your clit. He's quick, almost rough rather than slow and calculated as he rubs you in small circles, making you instinctively arch against the heel of his hand.
His index finger teases your fluttering hole — like he debated on pushing it in — but time was against you, he knew that, and the idea is dropped again as Jungkook pulls his hand away entirely.
You trap the whine that builds in your throat by sealing your lips together. The disappointment of his absence disappears the second you feel his cock, hot and heavy as it bumps against your barely stimulated clit — it sends sparks through you, hips immediately rocking against him as you urge him closer.
The hands you kept in his hair had since long gone slack around the dark locks. Only when he gently grabs hold of your elbows, guiding your palms to rest flat against the table did you realize that you had been holding onto him all along. Jungkook moves methodically as he has you brace yourself on top the desk, fingers tracing your forearms reverently as his eyes follow the goosebumps that ripple across your skin.
Once he's satisfied he lifts his gaze to meet yours, waiting for you to give him the permission he desperately seeks. You give it to him with a nod — a quiet dip of your chin as your fingernails dig into the mahogany wood beneath you.
He surges forward, lips crashing onto yours just as his cock breaches you. The lack of foreplay makes the stretch burn and you cry out into his mouth. Jungkook doesn't wait, there is no time for that tonight and his hips meet yours in one harsh thrust that has your arms nearly giving out from where they hold you upright.
You're saved by the feeling of his hands — firm on your hips one second — behind your back the next. He slips them under your shirt, fingers tracing the end of your spine as he continues to fuck into you relentlessly. The pace is nothing like the one he'd set that afternoon in his bedroom, it's not slow and tender but fast and ruthless.
It stuns you, if only for a moment. This side of him was something you don't think even your wildest of imagination could have ever conjured, but God if it didn't make you clench around him, hard.
His tongue is warm and wet against your own, stringed together by a mix of saliva and desire, he kisses you in a way you didn't think he was capable of. But Jungkook seems determined to prove you wrong as his teeth nip at your bottom lip.
The distant ticking of the clock fades into background noise as the creak of his table and the sound of skin meeting skin fills his study. Each thrust makes your thighs jump, heat jolting through your stomach as you moan openly against him.
His glasses occasionally bump against your forehead, it's never enough to hurt but still bothersome. You reach up to push them back over his head, aiming to get them out of the way when Jungkook's fingers suddenly brush against yours. One hand has left your back as he grabs at the glasses clumsily, tearing them off completely as he discards them onto the desk with a clatter.
Then he's back to kissing you, lips molding together like an unbreakable seal as his tongue finds yours. Cock twitching inside of you, his need pulses through you just as yours does him, and the arm you once held raised, loops around the back of his neck instead as you pull him closer.
His body is looming over yours, forcing you to tilt back as your chests brush. Your nails dig into his nape, clawing their way to the ends of his hair and the groan Jungkook emits vibrates through you. His hips meet yours in a particularly hard jerk, causing the forgotten bottle of whiskey to topple over and hit the desk with a loud clang.
"Shit—" Jungkook hisses as he tears himself from the kiss, one hand reaching for the bottle but it was already rolling for the edge. A second later it tips and falls, embracing the floor with a sound so deafening it makes you both wince.
Abandoning his mission, Jungkook's palm plants itself against the mahogany as his forehead meets yours. The giggle you're unable to bite back fans across his parted lips, the ridicule of your situation quickly catching up. He doesn't seem quite as amused and he quiets you with another bruising kiss.
The pace he picks up matches his previous, perhaps even more so. Each roll of his hips feel punishing, whether that was directed to your or himself — you did not know. The glasses of whiskey, still placed on the table, rattle and clink together in tandem with the way he moves. The tip of his cock catches on your clit when he pulls back enough to slip out entirely, leaving you aching and clenching around nothing before shoving himself back inside with one unforgiving thrust.
Your body jolts when the hand, previously braced against the desk moves between your legs, thumb finding your clit easily. There was an underlying sense of urgency in the way he touches you, coaxing your orgasm to come faster as time slips between your fingers and you have to distract yourself with multiple kisses to his jaw and throat so to not let out the sounds that beg to be released.
The familiar heat pools low in your stomach, and he makes a strained noise when his insistent flick against your clit makes you clench around his cock. "Jungkook I'm—" The breathless admission barely makes it past your lips when he suddenly freezes inside of you. His relentless pace goes from a hundred to zero in a split second and you tilt your head back, confused.
Then you hear the faint creak coming from somewhere down the hall. It could have easily been the house settling, a gust of wind that tugged at the old wood, but it could also be the tell tale sign of a door being pushed open.
"Do you think—?"
Your question is cut short by Jungkook's hand where it clamps over your mouth. The table you sit perched on is now still, the glasses now longer bumping into each other and Jungkook's cock, nestled deep inside you, is unmoving.
His eyes are fixed on the door behind you, chest heaving with each breath he takes, you notice the sheen layer of sweat that clings to his forehead and what little of his chest you can see. The two of you listen intently for another long minute, the silence stretches thick and heavy — filled with dread.
When two minutes have passed Jungkook's thumb resumes its touch to your sensitive clit. It's slower this time, taunting circles that has you squirming on top of his desk, making it creak softly. He's yet to take his hand off your mouth, adamant about keeping you quiet even when he continues to draw your orgasm closer.
"It's fine," he finally grunts, "Probably just the house." Part of you says not to believe him, to demand you abort this entire ordeal to not risk waking the children. But when he moves again, pushing himself even deeper as his head tips toward his chest, you can't find it in you to make him stop.
The clock on the wall is an insistent reminder and it only spurs Jungkook on as he snaps forward, forcing the whiskey glasses together as the desk rattles. The momentary panic fades back into arousal as he applies more pressure to your swollen clit. Your thighs hug his hips, pulling him closer when you feel your climax approach.
You give up on warning him as you let go of the table entirely, your arm joining the other around his neck, clinging to him like light in darkness. Jungkook releases your mouth and meets your lips in another kiss, teeth clashing together in a way he hadn't allowed last time. The hand he keeps on your back is the only thing holding you up as it counters each harsh thrust of his.
A moment later you feel yourself clench around him, cunt fluttering repeatedly as you cum on his cock with a muffled cry into his mouth. Jungkook's touch to your clit doesn't let up and he drinks each sound of yours with greed, tongue lapping at your bottom lip as you pant against him.
"Shh," he murmurs as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, his pace slowing as he feels your legs go limp. When you squirm at his touch he draws his hand back from your clit, letting it join the other as he caresses the line of your spine beneath your shirt. The kiss has softened too, morphed into something that reminds you of how he would always kiss you.
For a while you let yourself get lost in it, the remnants of your climax clouding your mind to anything that wasn't the feeling of his lips pressed to yours.
When you part for air you find him already looking at you. His face is flushed the same shade of red it had been on that afternoon, sweat glistening on his temple as it ran down his sides. Without thinking you reach up to brush a few dark strands from his forehead, pushing them out of the way only for the stubborn locks to fall back to his brow bone.
You shift atop the table, wincing at the way your cunt wraps around his still-hard cock despite being spent. Jungkook catches the flicker of discomfort and he gently pulls out as his hands find your hips, fingers rubbing soothing patterns into your flesh. Your gaze drops to his slacks, the open belt no longer holding them up and then to the sight of him — flushed pink and slick with your joint arousal.
"Switch with me," you croak, causing him to frown. He looks like he's about to ask what you had meant but you're already scooting off the table, feet finding the ground, albeit unsteadily. The warmth of his hands on your waist as he assures you won't fall makes your heart beat faster — a reaction you try to ignore as you gingerly pull your panties back up.
When you see that he still hasn't moved, simply watching you with the same eyes he had been since you stepped inside his study, you point to the table. "Switch," you half-command, not really expecting much to come out of it, but to your surprise Jungkook nods as he trades places with you, leaning back against the desk, still holding onto your hips.
It takes everything in you to swat his hands away but your desire wins out. He looks almost offended, puzzled even, but realization dawns across his features when you sink to your knees before him — coming face to face with his aching cock.
"You don't have to," he begins, but you shut him up by wrapping one hand around the base, reveling at finally getting to feel him like this. You think you would be content to just watch him, studying the slight curve, the veins that climb along him and the pink flush to his tip for forever, but one glance toward the clock has you jumping into action.
Silently, you bet with yourself on whether you'd be able to accomplish desired results within three minutes, though his sharp intake of breath when your thumb rubs across the slit makes you hopeful.
Adjusting your grip, you let your palm glide across his cock, tracing the thicker vein that protrudes just beneath the head. The way he twitches in your grasp makes heat coil in your gut despite your recent orgasm. A bead of precum beads at the tip, glistening under the soft glow of the lamp behind him and you immediately lean forward to taste him.
Giving blowjobs wasn't exactly an area you were skilled in. There had been an instance or two in the past where whatever dude you had accompanied home after a night out had begged for you to do so. The act was never something you did out of your own pleasure, more so obligation, but wrapping your lips around Jungkook felt nothing like those drunken nights.
He tastes salty but not bad, and perhaps you were just high on the feeling, but you find yourself craving more as you take him deeper in your mouth.
Turning your gaze up to meet his, you find him peering down at you through his lashes. His lips are parted, brows scrunched together but for once it wasn't that signature frown of his. Through the corner of your eye you catch the inked hand that curls around the table's edge, his knuckles pale from the deadly grip he keeps on the wood.
You hum, pulling off of him with a final lick as you sit back on your knees. "You can touch me, you know."
The simple permission seems to undo something in him as Jungkook tips his head back with a groan he's unable to muffle. "Jesus—" he gasps, "Don't say that." But his fingers are already at the top of your head, short nails digging into your scalp as he forces you back down on his cock, much to your delight.
His hold is firm, but never rough, he doesn't attempt to control the pace you set, but he keeps you down — not letting you part from him for even a second. Your lips stretch wide around him, breath hitching when he hits the back of your throat. Hand stroking what you can't fit in your mouth, the other keeps you steady by gripping his thigh.
Tears brim on your waterline when his hips suddenly jerk forward and your nails dig into his leg — causing him to twitch on your tongue at the sharp sting. His breath has grown heavy and you watch the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he inhales and exhales through parted lips.
You can tell that he's close when the hand on top of your head eases up, allowing you room to pull off. His cock thrusts weakly into your mouth — like he was holding back from doing more. Your response is to take him deeper, blinking away the tears that blurred your vision. Nails still digging into his thigh, you let your teeth carefully drag across him when you go down.
The subtle action makes him jolt, "Fuck," he spits the curse out, his free hand slamming against the table behind him. "I'm gonna—" cutting himself off with another curse, he lets go of your head entirely, "Shit— You have to pull off."
Had it not been for the slight tremble to his fingers when you force his hand back atop your head, you would have almost been a little offended by the idea. Yet you say nothing, tongue flattening against his tip before sliding him back into your mouth, repeating the soft scrape of teeth against him.
Jungkook's hips push forward, so much so that you nearly lose your balance. His cock twitches up into the roof of your mouth before he's cumming onto your tongue with a sharp hiss. The weight of his palm on top of your head holds you in place and you let him spill down your throat without complaint, humming gratefully as the taste of him coats your senses.
Once he's limp in your grasp, you sit back, gaze tracing the string of saliva that connects you to him. Jungkook is panting above you, head tilted back to where you can't make out his face, though the flush that creeps up his neck is enough evidence.
Licking your lips, you carefully climb to your feet, ignoring the ache in your entire lower half as you heave a breath. Your hands move on autopilot when you tuck him back into his pants, not bothering with the belt as Jungkook's knuckles gently grace your chin.
You manage to catch a brief glimpse of the dazed look in his eyes before he seals you both in a kiss. This one is slower than all the ones you had shared tonight, he doesn't cringe when sliding his tongue across yours, tasting himself on you with a hum.
The air inside the study is no longer cold, the silence of the house no longer imposing. In fact you think you could have stayed like this for a long while. But the clock on the wall ultimately calls to your attention and when you turn your head you find that time was up. "My jeans—" you scramble off of him, already in search of the missing garment, tossed somewhere on the floor.
Jungkook's fingers curl around your wrist, halting your movements as he pulls you back to his chest. His breath is hot against your parted lips as he tilts his head down, nose brushing the corner of your mouth. "Stay, just five more minutes," he murmurs when his other hand finds your waist.
"But the bus, I'll miss it," you argue, though admittedly, you did not want to go.
He shakes his head, thumb stroking across your palm. "I'll pay for a cab," he says as he leans to press a kiss to your forehead, "I don't want you on a bus tonight, not after this."
You want to reject the offer, tell him that it wasn't necessary. But his persistence and the gentle touch to your skin makes you cave. With a silent nod you agree to five more minutes in his arms before you head out into the cold December night.
── [ ✉️ ] Hey there... So what did we think? In terms of like, the porn, I feel like this was slightly different from how I did it last time. I hope it's still nice to read of course. Anyone figured out what he likes yet? (Blatant hint, the teeth during the blowjob) but anyway! Hm, it's always a struggle trying to find out what to say here, but to put it like this: the next three chapters are going to be fun.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: An empty clearing. Quiet, tiny waves. A broken heart, a seething chest, love unbridled. And lurking in the water, him and you.
➵ pairing: Jungkook x female reader
➵ rating: 18+
➵ genre: siren au; angst, smidge of fluff, smuuuuuut; oneshot
➵ warnings: heartache, unrequited love (but not really); flashbacks, coping, lake talk, yearning, impossible love, arranged marriage (oc is married off and can't be with jk), oc is also quite cold, manipulation, siren powers, well...death implied but nothing too hardcore, panic, angstttt, SMUUUUUT, cheating but not on each other, they're both naked basically the entire time; explicit sexual content: oral (f. rec.), teasing, cockwarming, licking, biting, lowkey aggressive touches from both sides, kissing, sex by the lake, harddd sex, dom!jk, big dick!jk obv, manhandling, jk fcks his frustration into her, multiple positions; andddd yes the ending… if there's more, i will add them on drop day.
➵ teaser word count: 2k :O
➵ est. word count: 12-15k
➵ est. release: asap! around mid-june for sure.
➵ a/n: jinshi jk. kinda. as promised, a teaserrr! hope you enjoy <3 also very long day and i'm tired, so if you see any mistakes... it's just an illusion mwah
TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs
Jungkook’s clothes are draped over a low branch of a thick tree, right where the sand ends and sparse grass begins; every piece of it.
In this tumult, he didn’t think of the intimate sight he’s unintentionally offering to you: exposed skin from head to toe. Such an outcome was rooted in other intentions before. Deliberate.
Only hurts more to think about now.
But he doesn’t care. No, he cannot care. And he genuinely wouldn’t if you weren’t in the exact same state.
His eyes stay glued to the tree trunk, never panning to you. His body, no longer buoyed by the water, suddenly feels unbearably heavy; and by the time his clothes are close enough to grasp, he’s already fallen to his knees. He turns, his back meeting the rough tree.
He’s not concerned with what crawls up his skin or about the splinters the wood might punish him with. He needs to breathe.
The towel underneath offers at least some comfort, and he remembers to drag his shirt over the parts that aren’t yours to look at anymore.
There’s no time or mind for anything else. Your existence at this very clearing makes him want to throw up. He needs to focus on heaving his chest. On pulling in the crisp oxygen that the forest so generously provides.
But you don’t disappear. The illusion stays, still surrounded by a fairy tale mist that dips you in something utterly surreal.
Your form surfaces the way he did, as naked as he is. You’re a blurry figure; his vision trembles like his limbs. The elegance and beauty with which you walk aren't new to him, but they are taunting him in a manner he has never perceived before.
And once you tower above him, looking down soon enough and your chest as calm as his isn’t, he knows he’s doomed.
There’s only so long that he can keep denying you.
You kneel. Pulling your legs in, you wrap your arms around them tightly; concealing the parts of you he always craved. Even now, a carnal desire grows within, but it is so promptly and swiftly overshadowed by the pain you cause him.
The lack of readiness to stay. The urge to bid him goodbye one more time. The entirely missing fabric covering your skin, adding to your mock.
He sees your willingness to love him one last time and cut him into pieces so clearly. You do not understand what you do to him, how this final meeting severs his heart.
Or maybe you do but cannot find it in you to care.
Everything you’re doing might mean something. All of this exists to scramble his mind and hurt him further.
Your intentions have never been simple to decode, so he asks, “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
You’re right. Doing what, anyway? Why is he so dizzy, so… so out of it? And why does the world, turning too fast up until now, suddenly stop spinning when you put a hand to his chin, lifting his head to… to do what?
It’s like you’re examining him.
Then, you whisper, “I… can’t stand him.”
Is that why you’re here? Because he could’ve figured this out himself, effortlessly too. Your face is too close now, nipples barely a hand-width from his chest when he breathes, “I… I know. I always knew.”
“I hate him,” you emphasise, “I hate how he talks to me. How he looks at me. And…” Your eyes wander down, along Jungkook’s body, pupils moving over the shirt and then back to your hand on his chin, “And I despise how he touches me. How he claims me.”
Jungkook will throw up. His chest is on fire.
He can feel the agony growing with every second and every syllable. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it either. But hearing you say it, confirm it, shatters him.
How he claims me.
“What is he…” Jungkook starts but then stops again. Even if there was something happening behind closed doors that he’d like to resolve, you won’t let him.
That’s always been the entire point. You do not want to fight for this.
“Nothing forceful. But also nothing I didn’t expect,” you say, “I hate how he reminds me what I had.”
Jungkook shakes his head and your finger off in the process. You curl it in, your hand a fist now. He says, “I told you so many times. It’s too late.”
“It’s… it’s not.”
You always say whatever you want so blatantly. No regard for this human heart of his. What are you made of?
Jungkook’s limbs resemble the liquid water when you’re near; he can’t move or avert his gaze, can’t send you off with actual, true conviction in his words. It’s always been like this: him melting into the ground or the sheets or the fabric of his bed; and you stand tall, a brightly lit candle incinerating him.
Yet, he can’t help but let the fury spread in his chest. It’s scorching hot, and your weak, tentative smile fuels it further. Your words and your expressions — none of it help him calm the riot. Instead, his nostrils flare. A scream climbs up his throat.
But he doesn’t yell at you. Not even when you add a whispered, “I’m sorry. But it’s not. I just…”
You don’t finish your sentence and he doesn’t urge you to. No matter what you say, there’ll be nothing but torture ahead. Your Sorries are a constant, but only half-sincere, and after stomping on a fragile heart, you do not get to apologise anymore.
Jungkook shakes his head again, finally able to look away as if your eyes had his gape trapped before. A tongue darts out to lick his lower lip wet, and you, observing his every subtle touch, place a gentle thumb to the corner of his mouth, ghosting over the plushness before he dodges.
You push yourself up a little, some dirt on your legs. The lower parts that your pulled-in limbs hid so far are on full display again, and Jungkook tries, really, truly tries not to stare. But you’re not having any of it.
You’re not standing to leave. You’re still half-crouching, and soon, too sudden, dragging your left leg over to his right hip, straddling him with nothing between him and you but the thin piece of pathetic clothing.
The gasp he breathes is immediate and unintentional. Even if he tried to push you away now, you’d look through him instantly. His mind wants to fight you, but his body can’t. There are multiple ways he’s always belonged to you, and his body always revealed as much.
And still…
That smile. The pleading eyes. Your damn touch on his neck.
He gulps hard, hands rushing up to your waist. Softly, he tries to shove you off of him, but not really. It’s too much of an easy play for you, having him like this. And when you grip his face, it costs him an amount of energy that he certainly does not possess. Not anymore.
The escape out of your grip is tough, and the word he utters is feeble, “Don’t.”
But you insist. “One more time.” Nothing but whispers, even at such an empty place where nobody listens but the water, the birds and the moon. “I need you one more time.”
He’s lightheaded. Again. His words are mumbled; he thinks that if he was you, he wouldn’t quite believe himself either, “I’m not a puppet. I have… I’ve got real feelings. Unlike you.”
A smidge of pride blooms in him. He didn’t think he’d pull off such a confession, but you seem visibly startled. Somewhat irritated. He could never guess as much if he focused on your eyes only, but the slightly clenched jaw is… telling. New.
“You really think that?” you ask, still patient but… something is off. He doesn’t understand the approaching temper in your voice. You left him. “That I have no real feelings? That’s what you think?”
“I tried to love you,” Jungkook attempts, repeatedly swallowing the dry lump. “To help you see how I loved you and how you loved me. What we could’ve been if you’d let us.”
“Back then… Love wasn’t enough, Jungkook.”
Jungkook smirks. A hollow, sarcastic smirk.
His body feels drugged, but he keeps himself upright. Perhaps his emotions have reached a point that exhausts him inside out, and he’s lost the capability to face you by now.
White flag, must be.
He repeats, one eyebrow cocked, “Love wasn’t enough?”
“Mh-mh,” you voice, a slight shake of your head. “Love isn’t stronger than grief, at least. They fulfill different purposes.” He looks up at you; your head is tilted, your lips a gorgeous curve. Prettier when you speak. “We break first and then love harder. We can use that love.”
Use that love…
It took you this long to paraphrase an idea he’d already presented to you, over and over again.
A click of his tongue, and he wonders, “You want to use it now that… that we’ve become impossible? What about him?”
“I will find a way.”
“Empty promises.”
“No,” you vow, harsher this time. “Never empty.”
Your grip on his jaw is strong; he’s not used to you grabbing him like this. Your face draws in, and as your upper body leans forward, your lower half moves, too. Grinds on him. Or at least, grazes along just the length that he tried to hide under the shirt.
His fingers dig deeper into your waist. You sigh, and he knows exactly what this means. He can distinguish your breaths, can interpret your sounds. You’re not frustrated anymore, not tired like he is. You are pleased.
Because he’s growing; fuller and harder by the second.
“No,” he tries, “this might end horribly. If you end up… with…” His hands grip your shoulders, but he isn’t really pushing. Not lifting you off of him. “They will kill you and me both.”
Your smile widens, as if you’ve thought it all out; as if you’ve come here with a plan that presumably profits nobody but you. And Jungkook already knows he doesn’t want, doesn’t need to hear it before you say it, “They can’t. Even if… they’ll just think it’s his.”
No. No, no, no.
Have you hiked up all the way to this place to use him as a rebound? All the promises you’re forming right now, are they in vain, to offer some fleeting relief?
I will find a way.
You won’t.
“That’s not enough for me,” Jungkook mouths, his words stuck at the back of his tongue, muttered, “it means… you’re not truly trying to call him off. You’ll go back and find an excuse. Not to leave him, but me.”
“I only gave an answer to your statement, Jungkook,” you defend, sugarcoating your words, honey in your voice, “truth is: I’m ready to die for this one moment alone. Aren’t you?”
“No… no—”
“Please. Even if you don’t have it in you to fight anymore…” You lean in further, your nipples touching his chest. You keep grinding. “Just this once. Give me one more night.”
His shirt slides off his lap just a little but not enough; not in the way Jungkook inwardly hopes, just so he can blame the lust multiplying on anything but himself. Despite everything — the anger, the disappointment, the approaching, everlasting pain — he wishes he could feel you better.
Just like you are perceiving the constant twitches below. No hiding it.
And then, you take it a step further, sending a shiver down his spine, cold under his burning skin, “You can do whatever you want with me.”
His chest and stomach stir. His body feels heavy, your touch razorsharp. “What?”
“Whatever you want,” you reiterate, “I want you to. I need you to.”
Your breath shakes as you shift back again, all along the line of his stiffening cock, the shirt moving off more. You can already see the V-line when you glance down, and if you weren’t sitting on your throne the way you are, his entire shaft would jump out beneath the clothing.
It doesn’t. Instead, it stays trapped under you, blue and aching and never reversed to its previous state; even less when you repeat yet again—
“Anything… anything you want.”
The control diminishes; and despite all his attempts, Jungkook snaps.
wow, it's been aaaages since i posted a teaser. :') i was originally just going to release the fic directly, but i miss posting around here... and i wanted/needed some motivation as well. sorry the teaser got so long but there was no way to shorten it and i'm also too exhausted today to tweak stuff fksjakfjkd
another fun fact: i was actually pondering whether to post this teaser or for Saltstream (yoongi x reader x jungkook love triangle series) and went with Ashore since it's closer to posting. but if y'all would enjoy a tiny saltstream preview, let me know <3
𖤝 jungkook as the alluring bad-boy biker — spicy/sweet headcanons 𖤝
jeonjungkook x f!reader | biker!jungkook • romance • jealousy • possessive • fluff • kinda spicy if you squint •
࣪𖤐 ok so i know the vote hasn’t ended yet but I’m very impatient and biker jk got the most votes :)) headcanon masterlist + mafia jk coming next, please send requests for headcanons if you’d like!!
:<:<:<:<:<:<:<
• situationship jk
— situationship biker jungkook is genuinely the most frustrating man alive because he always acts like your boyfriend without ever actually saying it.
— he’s picking you up at midnight on his bike because “he was in the area.” he’s buying your favorite drink without asking. he’s texting you “you home safe?” after every night out.
— but the second someone asks what you are to him? he just smirks and changes the subject.
— and GOD the tension with him is unbearable. late-night rides with your arms wrapped around his waist while the city lights blur around you. his leather jacket smelling like smoke, cologne, and rain. one hand reaching back occasionally just to squeeze your thigh while he drives.
— he’d absolutely park somewhere secluded just to sit with you on the hood of his bike while teasing you endlessly.
— and the worst part? he always waits for you to do it first. because jungkook loves the chase, loves acting cocky, loves pretending he’s unaffected even while staring at your lips every five seconds.
— but the SECOND you finally snap and kiss him? his entire attitude changes.
— hands gripping your waist hard, pulling you flush against him, kissing you back like he’s been thinking about it for months. then afterward he’d rest his forehead against yours and grin like he won anyway.
:<:<:<:<:<:<:<
• boyfriend jk
— jungkook is ridiculously possessive and affectionate at the same time. you’re always wearing his jackets because he keeps draping them over your shoulders whenever you’re cold. and secretly? he loves seeing everyone know exactly who you belong to.
— he’d pick you up after work on his motorcycle just to hear you laugh when he revs the engine dramatically outside whilst your co workers all watch from the windows.
— one thing about biker jk? he LOVES physical touch. his hand constantly resting on your thigh while driving, pulling you into his lap at parties, hooking his finger into your belt loop when you walk ahead of him.
— and he definitely gets cocky when you’re obsessed with him. especially when he catches you staring while he fixes his bike. tattooed hands covered in grease. black rings. messy hair falling into his eyes. tight black shirt stretched across his shoulders.
— he notices every single time. “you gonna keep staring or help me?”
— except the second you walk over, he’s immediately pulling you between his knees with that stupid smirk, hands sliding onto your hips while he kisses you slow enough to make you dizzy.
— everyone thinks jungkook is intimidating until they see the way he looks at you. completely gone, completely whipped.
:<:<:<:<:<:<:<
• brother’s best friend jk
— this version of him is INSANE. because he KNOWS he shouldn’t want you.
— your older brother would kill him if he ever found out, but honestly? that just makes the tension worse.
— it starts subtly at first. him showing up at your house in his leather jacket with helmet tucked under one arm. calling you “princess” teasingly even though the way he looks at you says something completely different. lingering eye contact for way too long.
— then suddenly you’re sneaking out at night to sit on the back of his bike while he drives through empty streets with one hand on your thigh the entire ride.
— he acts calm about it too, which somehow makes it way hotter.
- “your brother would hate this.”
- “then stop.”
- “…don’t really want to.”
— the sexual tension between you is genuinely ridiculous. accidental touches that don’t feel accidental at all, him teaching you how to ride while standing behind you, hands over yours. late-night conversations where he looks at your mouth more than your eyes.
— and when you finally kiss? it’s messy and impulsive and months overdue. he’d pull away afterward breathing hard, staring at you like he knows this is about to ruin his life. then kiss you again anyway.
:<:<:<:<:<:<:<
• jk after a fight
— arguments with this jungkook are intense because he gets quiet instead of loud.
— he’d drive off on his bike to cool down, leaving you furious for hours until suddenly you hear his motorcycle outside in the middle of the night.
— then he’s knocking on your window looking unfairly attractive with messy hair and tired eyes. “can we talk?”
— he hates being away from you after arguments. absolutely hates it.
— eventually the fight always turns soft. him standing between your legs while you sit on the counter. hands rubbing your thighs slowly, forehead pressed against yours while he apologizes quietly.
— somehow every argument ends the same way: with him kissing you like he thought he lost you for a second. slow. desperate. hands gripping your waist tighter every time you kiss him back.
— then afterward he’d just hold you against his chest in silence while tracing shapes onto your skin like he’s grounding himself.
:<:<:<:<:<:<:<
• jealous biker jk
— biker jungkook gets dangerously attractive when he’s jealous. not angry, just intensely territorial.
— if another guy flirts with you while he’s around, suddenly his arm is wrapping around your waist from behind while he rests his chin on your shoulder casually.
— “you ready to go, baby?” completely calm voice, completely deadly eye contact. and afterward? oh he’s absolutely teasing you about it.
— “looked like he wanted you.”
— “jungkook—”
— “good thing you’re mine then.”
— he’d definitely speed a little on the ride home too just to feel you tighten your arms around him, cocky asshole behavior honestly.
— but once you’re alone? he turns softer. pulling you onto his lap while his fingers trace along your thighs absentmindedly. kissing your neck while mumbling about how pretty you looked tonight even though he was internally losing his mind the entire evening. jungkook acts confident, but when it comes to you? he’s obsessed.
:<:<:<:<:<:<:<
• biker jk who’s obsessed with touching you
— jungkook genuinely cannot keep his hands off you. every time you’re near him, one of his hands is automatically on your waist, thigh, lower back - literally anywhere he can reach. it’s instinctive at that point.
— especially when you’re on his bike. he loves when you cling to him during rides. loves the feeling of your arms wrapped tightly around his waist while your helmet presses against his back. sometimes he’d purposely accelerate slightly just to feel you hold him tighter.
— cocky? absolutely. but the second your hands slide under his jacket while you’re stopped at a red light, he completely loses focus for a second.
— he’d turn his head slightly with the tiniest smirk. “you trying to distract me?” meanwhile he’s the biggest distraction alive.
— rings. tattoos. veiny hands gripping the handlebars. black helmet hiding half his face while his eyes stay locked on you.
— and don’t even get started on him helping you off the bike. both hands on your waist. pulling you down slowly. keeping you close for an extra second just because he can.
:<:<:<:<:<:<:<:
• biker jk at parties
— jungkook at parties is genuinely lethal. he’s quieter than everyone else, sitting back casually in black jeans and his leather jacket while people naturally gravitate toward him anyway. he doesn’t even try, he’s just effortlessly attractive and somehow knows it.
— but once you walk in? his attention shifts immediately. his eyes follow you everywhere, he’d pull you straight into his lap the second you get close enough, one arm around your waist while the other holds his drink lazily. and the WORST part is how calm he acts while doing it. like he has every right to touch you that way.
— people would be talking around him while he’s completely focused on tracing patterns against your thigh absentmindedly under the table. then he’d lean close to your ear suddenly, voice low enough that only you can hear. “you wore this knowing i’d lose my mind, huh?”
— and once jungkook starts drinking a little? he gets even clingier. more kisses. more staring. more whispering things into your neck just to watch you get flustered.
:<:<:<:<:<:<:<
• jk teaching you how to ride
— this man would LOVE teaching you how to ride his motorcycle because it gives him an excuse to stand ridiculously close to you.
— his chest pressed against your back while his hands cover yours on the handlebars. voice low in your ear while he explains things patiently even though he’s secretly struggling to focus himself.
— “easy, baby. relax your shoulders.” meanwhile YOUR entire brain stopped functioning the second he leaned over you.
— and if you get nervous? he immediately softens. one hand squeezing your thigh reassuringly while he tells you you’re doing good. kissing your temple when you finally get it right. smiling so proudly afterward like you just hung the moon.
— but biker jungkook is still biker jungkook, which means eventually he’s teasing you again. laughing when you glare at him after stalling. calling you cute every five seconds. rewarding you with slow kisses every time you improve.
— honestly you’d forget the lesson halfway through because he’s impossible to think around.
:<:<:<:<:<:<:<
• biker jk when he misses you
— when this jungkook misses you, he gets reckless with affection.
— suddenly he’s showing up unannounced outside your apartment late at night, helmet tucked under his arm while he texts “come downstairs.”
— then you walk outside and there he is leaning against his bike looking unfairly pretty under streetlights.
— “missed you.” simple as that.
— he’d pull you into him immediately, hiding his face in your neck for a second before kissing you slowly like he’s been craving it all day.
— and if you’ve been too busy to see him for a while? oh he becomes unbearably clingy. wants you sitting in his lap. wants your fingers in his hair. wants your attention completely on him.
— he’d absolutely drive around the city with you for hours too, just talking at random stops while sharing drinks and stealing kisses under neon lights.
— when jungkook misses you, loving you feels intense. like speeding down empty roads at midnight with your heart somewhere in his hands.
:<:<:<:<:<:<:<
• biker jk and secret hookups
— secret hookups with biker jk are genuinely a nightmare because he acts SO calm while both of you are internally losing your minds.
— nobody knows about whatever’s happening between you two, except it’s becoming increasingly difficult to hide when he looks at you like THAT.
— friends notice the tension immediately. the lingering touches. the private smirks. the way his hand settles on your thigh automatically whenever you sit beside him.
— and he absolutely loves teasing you in public because he knows you can’t react properly. whispering things in your ear while everyone else is distracted. looking way too pleased whenever you get flustered. resting his hand dangerously high on your leg during movie nights.
— then afterward he’d drag you somewhere quiet with this dark little smile like he’s finally done pretending.
— and once you’re alone? all that calm confidence cracks slightly. suddenly his kisses get rougher. his hands grip tighter. his forehead rests against yours while he breathes hard and mumbles things like, “you have no idea what you do to me.”
"You've always known how you'd die. Not the when or the where—just the how. The Consortium would catch you. They'd execute you. What you never counted on was this precise flavor of fucked."
next | index | wc: 4.2k
↦author's note : Ohhhhh boy. Ohhhhhh Kiki Nation. You thought I was done tormenting you? Foolish. Delusional. Have you met me? You really thought I'd let Jungkook carry all the emotionally constipated weight of fanfic war crimes on his impossibly broad back? No no no. It's Namjoon's turn, baby. That's right. Brainy. Brutal. Built like the consequences of my own unresolved issues. The man is a walking philosophical contradiction in tactical gear and I said, "Yeah. I'm gonna ruin him." So welcome to whatever the hell this is. First of all, let's just get one thing out of the way: this story is NOT set on Earth. I made up a planet. A sexy, miserable, tragic one. Aurora cycles? Check. Weird tectonic atmospheric vents? Obviously. Heat cycles??? Look. Listen. It's not ABO. I'm not an animal. But also… smut. And Namjoon. And a knife against your throat at a molecular compatibility clinic. You get it. This fic is rooted in completely unhinged planetary science that exists only because I had a horny idea and then overcommitted to the worldbuilding. Combat pheromones. Yes. I said it. Combat. Pheromones. Did I take the concept of primal attraction and militarize it like an emotionally damaged sci-fi gremlin? Absolutely. This fic is… well. It's messy. It's brutal. It's horny in the way trauma sometimes is. Namjoon here is not the safe space. He's the algorithm. The architect. The man who built a machine that decides who lives and who dies—and now he has to sit across from the one person who might break the whole system. So yeah. Sixty days until one of them dies. Or both of them fall apart trying not to. This is not FMU. This isn't "oops we're roommates and now I hate how hot you are." This is "I will gut you if I get the chance but god help me I want to kiss you in the fallout bunker." Love, Kiki (who clearly has a god complex and no intention of using it for peace)
You've always known how you'd die. Not the when or the where—just the how.
The Consortium would catch you. They'd execute you. Public, probably. They like the spectacle of rebels bleeding out under aurora light.
What you never counted on was this precise flavor of fucked.
The readout on the terminal blinks, sixty seconds of staring doing nothing to change the numbers: 100%. A perfect match. The first in recorded history.
You rip the connector from your wrist, the medical port leaving a perfect circle of blood welling up where the needle pulled free. The diagnostic bay smells like antiseptic and metal—the universal scent of bad news.
"Run it again," you tell Yoongi, who's hunched over the stolen medical interface like it might suddenly bite him.
"Wouldn't make a difference." His voice carries that particular Hollow Crest flatness—half sarcasm, half resignation. "System's triple-verified the sample against the database. It's real."
You pace the cramped confines of the abandoned medical outpost. Three steps. Wall. Three steps. Wall. The ceiling leaks something dark that's not quite water, hitting the concrete in a rhythm that matches the pounding in your skull.
Through the cracked viewport, the atmospheric glow shifts from deep blue to amber. Kindle's ending early today.
Fuck.
That means Wane in two hours, maybe less. The tunnels turn into hunting grounds when the light dies.
But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is who you’ve been paired to by the Epitaph System.
Perfect genetic match with Commander Kim Namjoon. The fucking architect himself.
The man who built the algorithm that decides which matched pair lives through Transference and which one dies. The machine that's slaughtered thousands while claiming to save the species from Veris. The coldest bastard in the Consortium's command structure.
And apparently, your genetic twin. Your perfect fucking match.
"This is a joke, right?" Your laugh scrapes raw from your throat. "The great rebel hacker and the Consortium's prize tactician? What, did they manipulate my profile in the database?"
Yoongi doesn't bother looking up, fingers skimming over the interface. His hands are scarred from years of working with explosives, chemical burns mapping a history of missions across his skin.
“Database is clean. This is a primary pull, not from the central network. Direct sample comparison."
The reality sinks teeth into your gut. "He'll know."
"Already does." Yoongi's voice drops lower. "Alert went system-wide the moment the match registered. They'll be hunting you."
"They've been hunting me for years."
You check your gear reflexively—blade at your hip, pistol in its holster, backup knife in your boot. The weight is familiar, comforting in its lethality.
"This just changes the price on my head."
"This isn't a bounty adjustment." Yoongi finally looks up, and the rare direct eye contact makes your spine stiffen. "This is different. The Consortium needs you alive now. Intact. For Transference."
The word hangs between you like a death sentence, which it is.
One match survives the procedure. One dies.
The Epitaph Algorithm determines which—its selection criteria known only to Namjoon himself.
"I'm not surrendering to that death lottery," you say, checking the ammunition counter on your pistol. "Especially not with him on the other end."
"Not asking you to."
Yoongi rises, tucking the portable interface into his pack. You catch the faint scent of explosives that always clings to him, metallic and sharp.
"But Jimin's on his way with news. High-level Consortium chatter. We need to know what we're dealing with."
Your jaw tightens. "We're dealing with me on a countdown to either execution or unwanted immunity."
The door to the outpost slides open with a pneumatic hiss, admitting a gust of cold air that tastes like steel and chemical runoff—the familiar breath of Hollow Crest's lower levels.
Jimin steps through, silver-blonde hair stark against his stealth gear. Despite the urgency, he moves with no wasted energy.
One look at his face tells you everything.
"They've adjusted the standard protocols," he says, not bothering with greetings. "Consortium's deploying specialized units. They want you within the hour."
"They can keep wanting." You check your comm unit, scanning frequencies for Consortium chatter. "I'll be halfway to the Scorch Rift by then."
Jimin's hand closes around your wrist, his grip stronger than his frame suggests. "You don't understand. They've instituted a Protection Protocol. Anyone harboring you is marked for immediate execution. Anyone helping you escape—the same. They've already deployed squads to known Shroud safehouses."
The implications wash over you like acid.
"They're forcing allies to become hunters."
"It gets worse."
Jimin releases your wrist, pulling up a projection from his own comm unit. A holographic map of Hollow Crest shivers to life between you, red markers pulsing at key tunnel junctions.
"They've sealed all primary exits. Secondary routes are being patrolled by drones. They're not just hunting you—they're burning the entire sector to flush you out."
"Because of a blood match?" Your voice sharpens. "They've never gone this far for a Transference capture."
"You've never seen a 100% match before." Yoongi's voice drops like a stone. "Nobody has. The implications for the Epitaph System itself..."
The words die as a distant boom shakes dust from the ceiling. Proximity charges. Consortium's getting closer.
"We need to move," Jimin says, already gathering his pack. "Safe route through maintenance shaft C4 is still clear. We've got maybe twenty minutes before they sweep this sector."
You grab your gear, muscle memory taking over while your mind races. "Where's Jungkook? And Taehyung?"
"Jungkook's creating diversions near the border checkpoints," Jimin answers, checking the seal on his mask. "Taehyung was on a supply run when the alert went out. Still no contact."
Something cold settles in your stomach.
Taehyung going silent during a crisis never ends well.
The three of you move into the tunnel, the faint blue-green phosphorescent fungi that crawls along the walls providing just enough light to navigate by. The air grows thicker as you descend, way too dense woth mineral dust and the peculiar damp of Hollow Crest's recirculated atmosphere.
"Wait."
You freeze, one hand raised. The tunnel ahead is silent—too silent. Even the distant hum of ventilation systems seems muffled.
“Something's wrong."
Yoongi's hand goes to the explosive charges at his belt, a reflex born from years of narrow escapes.
Jimin pulls a scanner from his jacket, checking for life signs.
"Clear readings," he whispers, "but something's interfering with—"
The wall to your right explodes inward, chunks of concrete and metal rebar ripping through the air. The concussive force throws you against the opposite wall, your shoulder taking the brunt of the impact.
Through dust and debris, armored figures pour into the tunnel—Consortium Purifiers, their masks filtering the dust, weapons raised.
You draw your pistol in one fluid motion, muscle memory overriding the pain screaming through your shoulder.
Two shots—the first catches a Purifier in the neck joint of their armor, the second misses as the tunnel fills with suppression gas.
Yoongi hurls something toward the breach, a small device that clatters among the Purifiers' feet.
“Down!" he shouts, and you have just enough time to cover your face before the flashbang detonates, momentarily blinding your attackers.
Your blade finds the gap in a Purifier's armor as they stumble. Jimin is now using his modified medical tools as weapons, striking pressure points. Yoongi creates chaos, small charges blasting debris to create cover.
But there are too many.
For every Purifier that falls, two more push through the breach.
Your lungs burn from the suppression gas, vision narrowing as your body fights the sedative compounds.
Beside you, Jimin staggers, his reactions slowing.
A voice cuts through the haze—amplified, cold, and terrifyingly familiar even though you've only heard it through propaganda broadcasts.
"Stand down."
Commander Kim Namjoon steps through the chaos, flanked by elite guards.
The architect of the Epitaph System himself—a tall figure in black tactical gear that absorbs the meager light.
His eyes are obsidian dark and assessing as they lock onto you. A streak of white cuts through his otherwise black hair—a genetic marker you've seen in Consortium propaganda.
The mark of exceptional neural development.
"Rebel."
The word sounds wrong in his mouth.
"Resistance will only result in collateral damage to your associates. The Transference Protocol has been initiated."
You raise your pistol, aiming directly at his head.
"Then why don't I save us all the trouble and put a bullet in your skull right now? No match, no protocol."
He doesn't even blink. "Because the Consortium has already deployed Purification squads to three rebel safehouses. Your cooperation ensures their survival. Your resistance guarantees their execution."
Your finger hovers on the trigger, hatred a physical pressure behind your eyes.
You could do it. End the architect of so much suffering with a single shot.
But the calculation is clear—he wouldn't be here without insurance policies in place.
"You're lying," you snarl, but doubt creeps in—because you know the Consortium would absolutely slaughter innocents to secure a prize like you.
"I don't lie when the truth is more effective." He responds monotonically. "Sixty days. The standard countdown for all matched pairs before Transference. Cooperate, and no one else dies today."
Beside you, Jimin struggles to stand, the suppression gas taking its toll. Yoongi has gone completely still.
"And if I refuse? If I put a bullet in your brain right now?"
"Then you eliminate the only person with authority to call off the Purification squads."
His lips curve in what might be a smile on anyone else.
On him, it's just another weapon.
"Your reputation suggests you're many things, but not someone who sacrifices innocents for personal vendettas."
The worst part is he's right. You've spent years ensuring your actions hurt the Consortium, not its victims.
Still, your finger remains on the trigger, the temptation almost overwhelming.
Namjoon extends a hand, palm up. Empty. A gesture that should appear peaceful but somehow reads as the most threatening thing you've ever seen.
"Sixty days. Then the Epitaph Algorithm determines our fate. Until then, neither side benefits from pointless casualties."
You lower your weapon slowly, hate burning cold in your chest.
“When this is over, only one of us walks away."
"Indeed. Those are the terms of Transference."
As Purifiers move to secure you, you lock eyes with Yoongi. A slight nod passes between you—the signal established years ago.
This isn't surrender. It's tactical repositioning. You'll find another angle, another weakness to exploit.
You always do.
The Commander steps closer, and you catch his scent—cold stone and mineral water, like a mountain stream in winter. Nothing warm or human. It fits.
"Welcome to the Epitaph Program, rebel."
You bare your teeth in what no one would mistake for a smile.
"Looking forward to watching you die, Commander."
Something dangerous flickers in his eyes—the first genuine reaction you've seen. Good. You've found a nerve. You'll need every advantage for what's coming.
Because one thing is certain: in sixty days, either Commander Kim Namjoon dies, or you do.
And you've never been good at dying.
You're seated across from the man who built the machine that's going to kill one of you in sixty days.
Or part of it. Not that you care what his stupid fucking job really entails.
The transport vehicle reeks of fear and industrial disinfectant, and the restraints around your wrists are some kind of adaptive metal—tight enough to cut circulation if you struggle, loose enough to maintain the illusion that cooperation might earn you breathing room.
It won't.
Commander Kim Namjoon hasn't looked at you since the Purifiers loaded you into the back of this armored carrier. He's reviewing something on a tablet, stylus moving across the screen.
That silver strand of hair stands out like a scar, and you imagine pulling it out.
You inwardly promise yourself one day you’ll do it.
You then catalog details because that's what keeps you alive. Emergency release on the restraints—magnetic, probably voice-activated by his authorization. Door mechanism—sealed from the outside, no manual override. Two Purifiers flanking the exit, weapons drawn but not aimed. They're confident you're contained.
Fucking amateurs.
The vehicle hits a pothole, jarring your shoulder against the metal wall. The impact sends fire down your arm where you took that hit during the tunnel breach. You don't let the pain show on your face.
Never give them ammunition.
"Impressive response time," you say, breaking the silence because you need to understand his operational patterns. "From match notification to capture—what, forty-seven minutes? Someone's been planning for contingencies."
He doesn't look up from his tablet. "Standard protocol accounts for high-value targets attempting immediate extraction."
"High-value." You test the word, find it bitter. "That what I am now?"
"You are a 100% genetic match." His voice carries no inflection, like he's reading from a technical manual. "The first documented case in Epitaph Program history. Your research value exceeds your threat designation."
Research value.
Like you're a fucking specimen.
You lean forward as much as the restraints allow, forcing him to acknowledge your presence.
“Let me guess—you're going to poke and prod and analyze every cell in my body to figure out why the great Algorithm paired us up. See if you can replicate the conditions."
That gets a reaction. His stylus stops moving. His eyes lift from the screen to meet yours, and for a split second you see something flicker behind the cold assessment—irritation, maybe. Or calculation.
"The Algorithm doesn't make errors," he says. "If we're matched, there's a biological imperative the system recognized that we haven't yet identified."
We. Like you're partners in this.
"Sorry to break it to you, Commander, but the only biological imperative I have regarding you is figuring out which vital organ to perforate first."
He sets the tablet aside, giving you his full attention for the first time since the capture; and the weight of his focus is unsettling—like being examined by something predatory that's deciding whether you're worth the effort to kill.
"Your reputation suggests tactical intelligence despite emotional volatility," he says. "The Algorithm factors psychological compatibility alongside genetic markers. There must be structural similarities in our cognitive architecture."
The clinical way he dissects the situation makes your skin crawl.
"Structural similarities. Right. Because we're both such charming personalities."
"Neither of us appears capable of forming conventional emotional attachments. We prioritize mission objectives over personal sentiment. We've both sacrificed individuals we were responsible for when strategic necessity demanded it."
The observation hits like a blade between ribs.
Too accurate. Too specific.
"Sounds like you've done your homework."
"I researched your operational history after the match registered. Hollow Crest tunnels, Mournwell extraction, the data theft from Virex Shard. Your tactical approach is methodical. Ruthless when required." His head tilts slightly, studying you like a particularly interesting equation. "Not what I expected from rebel psychological profiles."
"Disappointed I don't fit your propaganda?"
"Intrigued that you understand the necessity of calculated sacrifice."
The words land where he wants them to, and you realize he's testing you.
Probing for reaction points.
Two can play that game.
"Calculated sacrifice," you repeat, letting mockery creep into your voice. "Is that what you call the thousands who've died in your Transference chambers? Calculations?"
Something shifts in his expression—subtle, but you've spent years reading micro-expressions in combat situations. His jaw tightens by maybe half a millimeter.
"Every death serves species survival. Individual casualties are regrettable but necessary to prevent extinction-level population decline."
"How convenient that you get to decide who's expendable."
"The Algorithm decides."
"You built the Algorithm."
"I built a system that makes optimal choices without emotional compromise."
You lean back, studying him. "And what happens when the system decides you're expendable? When we're strapped into those chairs and your precious Algorithm picks me to survive?"
For several seconds, he doesn't respond. It’s just your breathing, his, and the vehicle’s engine.
"The Algorithm doesn't account for personal preference," he finally says. "If it selects you, the result serves optimal biological continuation."
"That's not what I asked."
His fingers drum once against his knee—such a small gesture you almost miss it. "I've prepared for all possible outcomes."
Bullshit. Nobody prepares to die, not really.
And especially not someone who's spent years playing god with other people's lives.
You're about to press the point when the vehicle lurches to a halt. The Purifiers straighten, hands tightening on their weapons.
Through the small reinforced window, you catch a glimpse of Valis Core's outer ring—towering spires of black stone and steel that seem to absorb light rather than reflect it.
The architecture is designed to intimidate, and you hate that it's effective.
"Welcome to your new accommodations," Namjoon says, rising as the rear doors unlock. "I trust you'll find them... sufficient."
The way he says sufficient makes it sound like a threat.
One of the Purifiers moves to release your restraints, and you resist the urge to test their reflexes.
Not yet.
You need to understand the lay of the land first, map escape routes, identify weaknesses.
Patience. Even when everything in you screams to fight.
"After you," you say as the metal cuffs retract. "Wouldn't want to miss the grand tour."
He steps aside to let you exit first, a gesture that might seem polite if not for the armed guards surrounding the vehicle.
The Epitaph Citadel looms ahead, its central spire disappearing into the aurora-streaked sky.
Somewhere inside that building is the machine that will determine which of you dies.
Sixty days.
You step forward, boots ringing against polished stone, and don't look back to see if Commander Kim Namjoon is following.
He is, of course.
You can feel his presence like static electricity—a constant, irritating awareness that prickles along your spine.
This is going to be a very long sixty days.
But you've survived worse odds before. And if the Algorithm thinks it can break you down into components and variables, it's about to learn something new about what happens when you back a Hollow Crest tunnel rat into a corner.
You don't go quietly. You bring the whole fucking place down with you.
Your boots hit the ground with excessive force once you make it to the Citadel.
It’s obscenely loud, in comparison to the city.
But that’s good. They should know you're not going quietly.
The atmosphere is sterile, a half-hearted attempt at breathable. Your lungs reject it on instinct, tasting the air in all its hollow decadence—too clean, too wrong, stripped bare.
You take three steps toward the massive entrance before Commander Kim falls into step beside you.
Then ahead of you.
The audacity.
He walks like he owns every molecule of air in this place, shoulders straight, pace measured. Like you're supposed to follow him like some obedient fucking pet.
You stop walking.
The sudden halt makes the Purifiers behind you tense, hands shifting on their weapons. But you're not looking at them. You're staring at the back of Namjoon's head, at that streak of silver cutting through black hair.
"Is there an issue?" He doesn't turn around. Doesn't even slow his stride.
"Yeah, actually." Your voice carries across the courtyard. "Where exactly do you think you're going?"
Now he stops. Turns. Those dark eyes scan you like you’re a broken system readout—something in need of diagnostics.
"To show you your living arrangements."
Living arrangements.
“Be deadass right now."
A slight head tilt. That’s all you get while he tries to decrypt whatever ‘deadass’ means.
And failing, because apparently fluency in rebel sarcasm isn’t part of the Citadel curriculum.
"The Transference Protocol requires proximity monitoring. You'll be housed in the Citadel for the duration of the countdown."
Housed.
Like livestock.
Your feet plant themselves against the stone, rooted by pure stubborn fury.
"I'm not going anywhere with you."
"Your preferences are irrelevant." He states it like a law of physics. "The sixty-day monitoring period begins immediately."
"Monitoring—"
The word sticks in your throat like glass.
Because now you understand.
This isn't just imprisonment. They're going to watch you. Study you. Document every heartbeat and breath and moment of weakness while you wait to die.
"No." The word tears out of you, rough and raw. "Absolutely fucking not."
One of the Purifiers steps forward, clearly interpreting your refusal as a threat. Namjoon raises a hand—barely a gesture—and the guard freezes.
"Resistance will not alter the Protocol," he says. "Your genetic compatibility requires observation to understand the unprecedented synchronization patterns. This is not negotiable."
The clinical way he dissects your future makes your skin crawl—as if you're already dead, just a collection of data points waiting to be analyzed.
"I'd rather take my chances in the execution chamber."
"That option is no longer available."
The Purifier behind you moves—not threatening, but positioning. Ready to assist if you decide to bolt.
Your muscles coil instinctively, mapping distances, calculating angles.
Could you take three armed guards? Probably not without significant injury. Could you reach a weapon? Maybe, if you were fast enough and lucky enough and willing to sacrifice—
"Walk," Namjoon says, and somehow that single word carries more menace than any threat. "Or be carried. Your dignity is the only variable you control."
Dignity.
The bastard knows exactly which nerve to hit.
You force your feet to move, each step feeling like capitulation. But you're not surrendering. You're adapting. Learning the terrain.
Finding the cracks you'll eventually exploit.
Namjoon resumes walking, and you fall into step beside him—not behind, because fuck him and his superiority complex—matching his pace.
If he notices the aggressive mirror of his movement, he doesn't acknowledge it.
"The monitoring period involves shared tactical exercises," he continues, voice neutral as he explains your nightmare. "Joint mission parameters across multiple sectors. Physiological compatibility assessments every forty-eight hours."
Shared tactical exercises. Joint missions.
The implications hit like hammer blows.
"You're saying we're going to be—" Your voice catches. Clears. Continues with forced steel. "Working together."
"The Protocol requires operational cooperation. Your survival skills complement my strategic analysis. The Consortium benefits from the collaboration while studying our genetic synchronization."
Our. Like you're a team. Like you've chosen this.
"And if I refuse to cooperate?"
He stops again, turning to face you fully.
For the second time since the capture, you have his complete attention. It feels like standing in the path of an avalanche.
"Then you remain confined to observation chambers while your rebel associates face the consequences of harboring a Priority Target."
The threat lands exactly where he aimed it.
Yoongi. Jimin. Even Jungkook, wherever he is.
Your cooperation isn't just about your own survival—it's about keeping the Consortium from turning their very considerable attention toward hunting down everyone you've ever worked with.
Checkmate in three fucking moves.
You want to hit him. Want to drive your fist into that perfectly composed face and watch him bleed. Want to see if anything human exists behind those calculating eyes.
Instead, you smile. Sharp enough to cut.
"How thoughtful of you to give me such compelling motivation."
"I find practical incentives more effective than ideological appeals."
"Right. Because you're such a practical man."
He turns and continues walking toward the Citadel's entrance—a massive archway that seems designed to swallow people whole. You follow because the alternative is being dragged, and you'll be damned if you give him that satisfaction.
But with every step, rage builds like pressure behind your ribs.
Sixty days of this. Sixty days of shared missions and proximity monitoring and having to look at his face while he calmly explains how one of you is going to die.
Sixty days of pretending cooperation while planning his destruction.
The entrance hall is honestly ugly—all polished black stone and cold light, very Citadel vibes. The sound of your booths get swallowed by the vast empty space.
"Your quarters are on Level Seven," Namjoon says as you walk. "Adjacent to the monitoring facilities. Meals are provided at scheduled intervals. Personal effects will be processed and returned based on security assessment."
Adjacent to monitoring facilities. Of course.
"And you?" The question slips out before you can stop it. "Where are your quarters?"
He glances at you—a quick, measuring look. "Level Eight. Protocol requires close proximity without direct cohabitation during the initial assessment period."
One floor up. Close enough to respond to any emergency, far enough to maintain the illusion of separate accommodation.
Your laugh scrapes raw from your throat. "How considerate. Wouldn't want to make this too uncomfortable."
"Comfort is not a consideration. Operational efficiency is."
You turn back to face him, noting the way he’s positioned himself just outside striking distance. Like he’s calculated exactly how far your reach extends if you actually wanted to drag his stupid face through the ground.
Probably has.
“You think you’re clever.” Your voice comes out rougher than intended. “Backing me into corners, limiting my options. Playing chess while I’m stuck playing checkers.”
His head tilts again—that same assessment that makes your skin crawl.
“I think you’re more intelligent than your file suggests. And far more dangerous than standard containment protocols account for.” His eyes never leave yours. “Which is why we’re having this conversation instead of proceeding with unconscious transport to a restraint chair.”
The casual mention of restraints sends ice through your veins. “So kind of you.”
“Practical.” He gestures toward the door again. “As I said, entirely your choice. Cooperation with dignity, or compliance without it.”
Choice. Like either option doesn’t end with you trapped in his maze.
But he’s right about one thing—your dignity is all you have left. And you’d rather walk into hell on your own terms than be dragged.
You step toward the door, noting the way he doesn’t relax until you’re moving in the right direction.
Smart man. You are exactly as dangerous as he suspects.
Maybe more.
The biometric scanner reads your palm print, and the door slides open.
The room beyond is… not what you expected. Clean. Comfortable. Almost pleasant, if you can ignore the complete absence of windows or any view of the outside world.
“Welcome to your new home,” Namjoon says from behind you. “I trust you’ll find it adequate.”
You step inside, already cataloging the space. Bed. Desk. Small attached bathroom. No obvious surveillance equipment, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there.
“When do these interaction periods start?”
You don’t turn around, afraid you’ll throttle him if you see his expression once more.
“Tomorrow. After you’ve had time to… acclimate.”
The pause before acclimate tells you everything you need to know. They expect you to break down. To crack under the pressure of isolation and impending death.
They’re going to be utterly, vastly disappointed.
You turn to face him one last time before the door closes between you.
“See you tomorrow, Commander.”
His eyes meet yours, and for just a moment, something passes between you.
Recognition, maybe.
Or the acknowledgment that this is going to be a very long sixty days for both of you.
“Indeed.”
The door slides shut with finality that feels like a coffin lid closing.
You’re alone. Trapped.
Sixty days from either death or unwanted salvation.
But you’re still breathing. Still thinking. Still planning.
And Commander Kim Namjoon has no idea what he’s just locked himself in close proximity with.
worst behaviour — jeon jungkook , series index , mdni 𑣲 ch: 25 — won’t play with you _ smau chap/explicit cw.
each conversation takes place on different days. this chapter spans over a bit of time. and pls read the note at the end!
the end !
note: haha.. jk no it's not the end. jus realised i forgot to add the part where y/n tells lexi that he took her to a restaurant first and then gave her the album. mb. and also, i am sorry about the messy chapter. i know this chapter was a little all over the place, i genuinely have way too much going on in my life right now and i’ve been extremely tired lately, but i still tried my best to execute this chapter properly and make it enjoyable </3
and, about the update questions — i really do appreciate the excitement for wb more than you know, but constantly being asked about updates, even when i try to communicate where i’m at with writing, can feel a little overwhelming during stressful weeks. i promise i’m still working on it, and i will let u all know if i am not. 🩷
related writings 💞😽 their orgasm faces / comforting busan + daegu line / punishment kink / giving them hickeys / how masochistic are they
jimin :: Certainly the most reactive member next to Hobi, which both goes without saying. He sobs quietly, but the complaints are loud and aching. That’s a nice contrast. You pulling his hair has Jimin frustrated, if not impatient: But he won’t be rewarded at all. You get a pretty sight. Until the gag finds its way into his mouth and all he can do is drool. “Shut up, toy. You do as I say.” As you delightfully punish him for all the attention he gets. Every tweet, every headline, each comment. You’ve seen it. You’re a domme who can envy, and you’re a domme who can degrade. Bad toy. Greedy, perfect slut. Stupid little thing. You hurl the insults at Jimin whose last bit of submissive pride crumbles under the lashings and warm spit you pile on him. “Why do you do this to me, Mistress,” he pleads when you remove the gag, and more spank pain is all he gets as a response, on top of you explaining that clearly he’s too pretty for his own good. Want to be a male manipulator? Get ready for a red behind. Rationalizing anything about this won’t help. Jimin promises he won’t cause a commotion again, that he will be good, modest, blend in, behave and not be so gorgeous it causes problems: Even if that’s him being caught in a sweet lie. More free and frequent chances for you: To punish him so deliciously.
taehyung :: Making him cry in bed? With impact play, especially? That’s even easier than if someone were to sneak up on his designer closet to cut up his favorite Italian sweater. What epic drama would ensue: He’d throw himself on the ground like a doomed Shakespearean actor, cursing the gods and humanity at large. So, yeah, he has some vast, theatrical potential for this. Any dominant would recognize it. One stroke with a paddle and he reacts… shaky little thing, pretty as he is. Not even his military muscles will prevent that sensitivity. Instantly, a sharp and loud exhale comes out as a rough response. And no need for scissors (unless it’s for rope safety measures), undressing him in a bondage set isn’t all that difficult as well with those flimsy gym clothes of his. Tanktop, ripped off, shorts, pulled down. Please, fuck, he begs, wailing. Taehyung easily cries when his domme makes impossible demands, too: Do 300 pull-ups, show off your body. Taehyung, iron these clothes naked. Taehyung, pay for this high-fashion jacket I want. His begging and tears: Ignored. The designer jacket: Still finds its way under the Christmas tree or birthday cake sooner rather than later. Domming in style!
seokjin :: Now here’s a little secret. Ready? It’s not the soy sauce and eggs running out that makes Jin cry, even if that’s a real drama. He can always text Hobi to get more supplies, because Hoseok has a whole damn world-end pantry. So, no sense of panic there. Call Jin the Weeknd the way he can save his chef tears for another day! Here’s that pack of rice, Hobi says, and then Jin can make you what you wanted to eat. No problem. Anyway. What actually gets the hyung tears going? After dropping a popsicle on him last summer, you found out temperature play is what drives Jin insane by accident. Any little move of yours with an ice cube, amplified by the blindfold of silk that obscures his vision (he looks really good in this, so you take pictures). He struggles against the crispy cold or spicy candle wax, freezing water, or hot bruises from your whip. His tall body - the back especially - offers plenty space to mess him all up. Vocal as he is, Jin never disappoints when his bound wrists are suspended from the ceiling hook you installed. He knows he is all yours. He only wants you to trace feathers and paddles all over his lean and perfect body, all until he sobs. He shivers, the blindfold is soaked with tears, but mostly out of desperate antici…pation.
yoongi :: Oh this guy. How to even go about this. Even the worst whip cannot make Min Yoongi wail, no. Spanking him barely elicits a little “ya!” if you’re lucky. It’s not the highest level of stimulation he can truly achieve compared to, say, most vibrating toys you use on him (inside of him, alternatively, mind you). Or gentle femdom, since cuddles are just more effective to send a shiver down his spine. Safe to say Yoongi is a physically resilient but internally soft-hearted man: He’s danced with a messed up shoulder for years, you think a riding crop can make him squeal? You’d have to be really cruel to make him sniff, because the emotional component is what can get to him fully. Exhaustion, cluelessness, regret. A threeway roleplay scenario is sure to break him. Involve a third party, man or woman, doesn’t matter who, they show up in your house, they just flirt a little… His nose will swell from redness and his eyes gloss over when he sees you hugging them. Shocked. They hugged his domme? Does he have some kind of kink for being a cuck? Almost. Not for seeing you have sex with someone else. Which is why the third party quickly leaves. Yoongi’s attachment will send him into overdrive and he’ll be clingy for weeks. That’s when you’ll see your sub pine for mercy with wet eyes. And it’s cute, he’s so affectionate.
hoseok :: How sincere is he. Really. This is the most heartbreaking thing to witness in bed. Have you seen this man when he’s sad and down? This is the most gut-wrenching, earth-shaking, terrifying occurrence in the history of natural disasters and humankind as a whole. Who wouldn’t want to protect him instantly. So, I don’t think this can get or remain sexual at one point. “If Hoseok cries, everyone else does!” Because it’s so… it just gets you. This doesn’t even happen as a planned kink, but as a default occurrence. With the whole Hannam neighborhood knowing, he is just so loud. You can pretty much count on it happening rather than not, Hobi’s a natural. And he looks so sweet, so pathetic. You always rush to comfort him right away. And he’s so thankful. Now, much like Jungkook, he’s the type to cry before if you compliment him, during because he’s overwhelmed, and after a play session because the sub drop and relief is just insane. I guess that’s why it’s not as much of a kink thing, because kink is planned out. It’s a byproduct that just happens, you don’t have to elicit it. Instead, he laughs through the tears and fixes himself. An embrace that lasts a whole evening will ease him, and watching a movie with hot chips is long overdue then. He’d do the same for you, if not more fervently, to soothe you, too.
namjoon :: Torturing poor (sexy) bookworm Joon by making him read a sad old novel out loud isn’t exactly kinky, unless you really dig his voice and a hundred pages of utter poetic gloom from the so-and-so-hundreds. Clearly, that’s not a viable option, then. The world is horrible enough, as is a majority of literature, whether it’s the writing quality itself or the subject matter at hand. Instead, you figured out his weak spot. Not in terms of reading, or emotionally - the other hyungs are easy to impact in that regard, I am seeing a trend - but physically. It’s endurance. Keeping him still and locked in place, vulnerably naked, like in a dim subterranean room, for a long time, that makes him absolutely lose it. Getting no response from you. No tools or dialogue. You watch… his impatience already implodes. You being cold while he is caged? Joon is toast. Maybe you should be the one reading, and he has to listen: Reverse engineered! The principle is the same, Namjoon just feels obligated in his leader role which dictates him to look out for everything and everyone and hustle and bustle. Well, he can’t move! The desperation makes him cry, but it’s a good thing this man is forced to stand still once. So, the let-me-move-ma’am tears are? Cathartic.
jungkook :: Date night sure has its glamorous perks. Back doors and back rooms and kissing back to back, backs of cars and Jungkook liking you back. And more than just some top-notch ultra-ramen. In fact, you drain your cutesy pay pig boy toy’s ample wallet with some major appetite, dessert being the most delicious a+ ice cream of them all. You jam out during your ride home in the car - he’s so good at karaoke, it’s free serenading - and Jungkook slides off his black hoodie once you get home like a stripper as you switch on your favorite album. The pants stay on. Gotta digest first, okay: Not so fast. Taking it slow from there. Sofa, low lights, bass gentle. He dances well, swaying hips, like a good pet, so you give him the tickling and kisses he deserves. “Sweet baby.” And there we go. The weight of the day and all that schedule collapses on him. Aftercare tears and foreplay tears and main act tears and everything tears will follow. More sniffling than dramatic sobs, but sometimes, the waterworks do open and he is so vulnerable and ruined and even hornier. Silly little one, thinking his emotional display would make you slow down to heed his obvious overstimulation? You know damn well this man has the sharpest and most sensitive sense in the whole group. You’ll exploit it like his cash. Jungkook likes it. Mommy deserves it.
masterlist. / read it on ao3
art: The Fallen Angel (1847) — by Alexandre Cabanel, oil on canvas
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
𓄲 "I like it," she says as she her hand drop back to rest against her leg. When you don't immediately respond enthusiastically she turns to you with a frown. "What?" she murmurs, "Why are you looking at me like that?"
전정국 x f!reader ˖ ࣪ ꉂ🗯˙ ‹— cw dilf!jungkook single dad jungkook nanny!reader 1980s au slowburn fluff angst (eventual) explicit content age gap (jungkook is 30, reader is 20) oc!cassian/oc!rayne (jk's children)
⧽ word count ⋮ 9.7k
average reading time ⋮ 55 minutes
── [ ✉️ ] Oh so like, this one actually hit me right in the heart to write. When I told you ladies that the upcoming chapter were going to be very Rayne focused I was more so hinting at this specific one. Each moment is precious to me and one of the scenes here have been rooted in my brain since late February. May this cure your longing for girlhood and daddy issues. I'll be thoroughly disappointed if no one gets at least a little emotional... Feedback in the comments/reblogs and asks are much appreciated <3
series masterlist | last chapter | next part
chapter 19 — "Dancing Queen"
Rays of orange and pink caress the naked tree branches just outside — the setting sun spilling through the curtains that had been left pulled back to let the last light in. A glowing halo wraps around her head as Rayne shifts on the edge of the bed, her back turned to the window and the beautiful sky.
It was no later than four-thirty pm but as winter break would commence the following Monday there was little for the children to do in terms of school work. Thus you had managed to pull the elder aside for some much needed alone time — for today was the big day — the one you had spent the last few preparing for.
After her birthday party last weekend, Rayne had reluctantly agreed to attend the dance with her father. Though you had only caught a glimpse of their conversation upstairs last Saturday, you knew that it was all Jungkook's doing. The pair had actually spent some time practicing together, with you and Cassian watching subtly from the kitchen as they did.
Friday afternoon was now coming to a close and the seven pm mark crept closer for each passing minute. Rayne's shadow engulfs you where you sit perched on the floor, making it easier to peer up at her through the blinding rays. She wears a solemn expression, her eyes set on the purple dress hanging on the handle of her closet.
"Is this really necessary?"
Her voice is a begrudging drawl of lazy tongue that fills the silence along with the faint shuffle as you stifle through your duffel bag. Choosing to respond with only a brief, "Mhm", you go on to pull out all of the necessities you had brought along: hot rollers, an assortment of brushes and a palette of bold eyeshadows.
And perhaps you were being a little selfish. But growing up an only child you had always begged your parents for a younger sister. Someone to share clothes and bracelets with, to gossip about boys and to laugh late into the night with — to care for her in all the ways you thought a big sister should.
Suppose a small part of you was taking advantage of the brief opportunity that had presented itself within Rayne.
You go about placing all the items in order on the floor, nudging a brush to line up straight with the others before glancing up at the skeptical girl. "This is merely standard procedure, you know." Gesturing toward the lineup of beauty products, you send her a lopsided smile.
There's a moment of quietness where Rayne simply frowns. Her fingers pick idly at the seams of her jeans as her eyes flicker between the eyeshadow and the hot rollers. "I don't know…" she murmurs, her tone uncharacteristically soft, "I don't—", shrugging dismissively, she avoids your gaze, "I don't do all that stuff." She nods pointedly toward the shimmer you had just fished out of your bag, her nose scrunching.
You pause, the round plastic box clutched tightly in your hand as you pull the flesh of your cheek between your teeth. Chewing on the raw and tender skin, you let your attention fall to the items you had just hauled out onto the floor. There was nothing extravagant about them, no high-end brands — in fact most of it had been purchased at the drug store and the hot rollers were second hand.
Brows pinching together, you study the array of brushes. They all got the job done and the longer the silence stretched between you the more obvious it became that the question of quality wasn't the issue here.
"You mean to tell me you don't dress up or anything?" Tilting your head to the side, you regard her closely.
Rayne clears her throat as she shifts her weight on the bed, shoving her hands under her thighs. "No," she mutters under her breath, sending you a small glance through the corner of her eye before scoffing, "What? Am I supposed to?" The inquiry comes out defensive as her gaze narrows into something guarded.
Gnawing softly at your cheek, hesitating at the tone she'd used. It wasn't a requirement per se. Rayne was only eight after all but you still vividly remember sneaking into your mom's vanity at that age — rummaging through her makeup, smearing bold lipstick onto your lips and slapping all kinds of powder onto your face.
"Well…" you start, forehead creasing slightly as you stare out at nothing in particular, "No." Shaking your head softly, you then tilt it back to peer up at her, squinting slightly against the afternoon sun, "I thought it would be a fun thing for us to do together, you know, girl to girl."
Her eyes widen at that, only for a moment before sharpening with suspicion again as her fingers curl around the fabric of her jeans.
"I know that your dad does your hair from time to time," you add after a short pause, "Though your brother tells me that he doesn't do a very good job for the most part."
Rayne actually makes a small sound that could have almost been mistaken for a laugh — the corner of her lip twitching into something just shy of an actual smile. "No," she agrees quietly. "He makes the braids uneven," a small roll of her eye follows, "And it always falls apart by lunch."
The giggle that bubbles from your chest is carefree, as warm as the setting sun outside and you wished she would find it in herself to share it with you. "See?" you muse, tapping the hot rollers in front of you with a grin, "Boys have no idea what they're doing." Cocking her a brow, you add, "Us girls need to stick together you see."
She nods thoughtfully, hands still curled tight around her pants but her gaze has drifted to the eyeshadow palette next to your knee. Beneath the reluctance there was something akin to longing, barely there but still visible if you looked hard enough.
The longer you thought about it the more you came to realize that you and Rayne were not so different after all. Growing up in the absence of her mother with only a father and brother who knew as much about being a woman as a fish did walking on land.
Perhaps you weren't the only one wishing for a sister.
"What do you say we give this a go?" Gesturing toward the array of items scattered across the floor, you glance up at her with a hopeful smile.
A long moment of silence passes until Rayne finally nods, a slow tilt of her head that hints at no enthusiasm but fills you with excitement nonetheless.
Rayne's usually quiet bedroom had never been so lively before. The tidy space had become a mess by this point, brushes and empty plastic packaging leaving a trail to where the two of you sat on the floor. A record player — one you had found within the depths of her closet moments ago — was playing a CD of ABBA, the melody singing through the air.
"Feel the beat from the tambourine," you hum softly, fingers carding through a dark strand of her hair as you reach for another roller.
Having taken out the ponytail that she always wore, you realized just how long Rayne's hair actually was. The dark black was a stark contrast to her warm, honey tinted skin and it reached all the way to her elbows when allowed to flow freely. She had insisted that this wasn't needed and that she should be just fine leaving her hair untouched but you forced her down in front of the mirror.
Placing a bobby pin between your lips, you continue to hum along quietly to the song. "You can dance, you can jive," Twisting the lock of hair up around the warm plastic roller, you pluck the pin to fasten it in place. The rollers were thankfully not hot to the touch but you were still carefully to not hurt her.
Rayne, for her part, sat perfectly still. Her legs were crossed and she rests one hand on each knee as she gazes at her reflection in the mirror. Whenever you looked up your eyes met — you would send her a smile which she did not reciprocate, but she did not look uncomfortable either so you counted the win anyway.
"How much longer?" She asks when you fasten another roller. Her shoulders flexed as she adjusted herself — her straightened back serving as a ridicule to your hunched over one.
Pausing, you lean back to asses your work thus far. "Not long," you note, counting the rollers you had left under your breath, "Five more."
She heaved a sigh at that, but nodded slowly as she allowed you to continue. This was likely the most tedious part of it all but you trusted that the results would be worth it in the end.
As you stuck the bobby pin into the final roll you took a second to scan the product of your hard work. "Alright, you'll need to keep them in for a while," you tell her when stuffing the remaining pins back into their small box.
"They're uncomfortable," Rayne complains, her voice bordering on a whine that was most unlikely of her. Though she doesn't actually look displeased when you catch her face in the mirror. She reaches a small hand up to touch carefully at the roller holding her fringe, lips pursed in contemplation. "Are you sure this will work?" she asks.
You nod, perhaps a little too quickly, "Positive."
The record player jammed slightly between song shifts but a moment later a new tune filled the bedroom, one you did not recognize but still tried to hum along to. "Okay, let's move to the next step while we wait," you declare when reaching for the makeup palette beside you.
Rayne cocks a brow as she follows the movement with her eyes, their earlier reluctance now replaced with curiosity. "What's it for?" She points to the variety of colors, all divided into square sections.
"It's for your eyelids," you explain when scooting over to sit in front of her, crossing your legs as you get comfortable. Opening the clear lid, you show her the different options, ranging from bright blues to deep greens, bold yellows, oranges and much more. "Take your pick!"
She hesitates when the decision is so suddenly pushed into her lap, swallowing audibly when leaning forward for a closer look. Teeth closing around her bottom lip, Rayne studies the different colors closely, some had clearly been used more than others, you were a woman of habit after all.
After a minute's of intense thinking she lifts one finger and points it toward the soft lilac one. "That one," she says with a dismissive shrug, feigning nonchalance as she turns her attention to the floor.
The corner of your mouth threatens you with a smile and you quickly hide it by turning to grab a fluffy brush from your bag. "That one is perfect," you say when dipping the bristles into the color, swirling them around to gather the powder onto them.
Rayne follows the action closely through hooded eyes, pretending not to pay as close attention as she was, though the fact that she had stopped picking at her jeans were a tell tale sign. "Not too much," she murmurs, a last attempt at remarking the entire situation.
"Not too much," you echo, dusting the brush by tapping it against the edge of the palette. Once that was done you straightened up as you held the brush between pinched fingers, "Okay, close your eyes."
After throwing you another skeptical look she does as she's told, her lashes fluttering slightly when she lets her eyes fall shut. In the distance, the music playing fades out as the track jumps to play another song — leaving the two of you in silence as you brush the brush to one of her eyes.
Your touch is careful so to not accidentally poke the corner of her eye with the bristles when you drag them over her closed lid. The warmth of her steady exhales fans across your chin when you lean forward to see better as you dab the lilac powder onto her.
The CD comes to life again but the new melody becomes background noise for all that exists in this moment is you and Rayne. She sits perfectly still and had it not been for the twitch of her brow when you move from one eye to the other one could have easily mistaken her for a statue. The muted purple goes on easily, covering the faint outlines of veins that lay across her lids.
"Keep them closed," you hum when pulling back to dip the brush back into the palette to retrieve more color. Swiveling the fine strands in the lilac once, you bring a steady hand back to apply the second layer — going over it twice made it stick better — something you had picked up during your late teens.
Rayne doesn't flinch when the soft bristles return to her lids and though the corner of her lip twitches, she says nothing as she allows you to continue.
Your heart clenches in your chest the setting sun no longer keeping you warm but rather the girl in front of you. "It's turning out beautiful" the acknowledgement is no louder than the song playing from her desk but given your proximity she definitely heard it.
"It better be," Rayne huffs, even then there was amusement in her voice, the kind that makes you smile without meaning to. And perhaps it was a little selfish for you to linger even the brush no longer held any color and the layer had been spread evenly by your skilled hands — but you wished to linger in the moment.
You wondered if she'd ever had this done to her before. The simple gesture of applying soft purple to her eyelids and having someone run their fingers through her long hair. Judging by her initial reluctance you decide that she hasn't. It makes you sad, a lot sadder than you thought it would.
"Okay," finally sitting back, you tap the brush against the edge of the palette before closing it completely, "You can open them now."
Rayne does just that, lashes fluttering against her cheeks when she blinks, letting her eyes adjust to the sudden invasion of light. Scooting to the side, you allow her room to behold herself in the full body mirror in front of her which she does after some hesitation.
Her palms are braced on her knees when she tilts forward, just enough to catch sight of the purple that now coats her lids. She studies the result intently, tracking her own reflection the same way you remember doing by your mother's vanity all those years ago. Then she slowly lifts one hand, the tip of her index finger lightly touching the corner of her eye.
For a second you're worried that she's going to react negatively. Perhaps she would reject the entire idea again, demand you wash it off and refuse to attend the dance all together. But Rayne simply nods once, a careful tilt of her head that betrays nothing but her quiet approval.
"I like it," she says as she her hand drop back to rest against her leg. When you don't immediately respond enthusiastically she turns to you with a frown. "What?" she murmurs, "Why are you looking at me like that?"
You shrug, "Like what?" Despite your attempt at indifference you could not fight off the grin that curved into your cheeks. It was impossible not to be enamored with her in this moment for she looked so unlike the Rayne you thought you knew.
The crease between her brow deepens and her gaze narrows on you, "Like… I don't know—" she scoffs, "All weird."
Your lips stretched wider at that as you hum, "I just think you look pretty."
She turns her head away when the words register but you still caught the flush that crept its way to her face as she clears her throat. "You're ridiculous," she says, nudging one of the rollers in her hair absently to distract herself from the conversation taking place.
Part of you wants to argue that you were being perfectly serious, the other however, is simply content watching her with the same cheesy grin as she tried to play the compliment off.
The rest of the late afternoon is spent in similar fashion. The disc you had stuffed into the CD player came to an end and the tracks looped back to the beginning as it started over. Neither of you commented on it, and Rayne actually started humming along to a few of the familiar songs — though you pretended not to notice as you smiled to yourself.
You were now in the midst of painting her nails in shimmering purple, one tiny hand resting in your own bigger one as you swipe the brush over her nail bed. The sharp smell of acetone prickled at your nose as it clung to the air between you, but it did nothing to deter your precision as you worked.
Outside the sun had completely set and your only source of light was the lamp, usually placed on her desk, that now stood beside you both on the floor. Its warm yellow hues makes the purple appear almost brownish though you knew you had read the bottle correctly.
Rayne sits quietly, her posture never once faltering as she keeps herself ramrod straight. You had given up the pretense of that since long, favoring comfort as you hunched over her hand. She didn't speak, you didn't either — it wasn't awkward nor tense as it so often would be whenever the two of you were alone, and you even dared hope that things might actually take a turn for the better from this point forward.
You had just finished applying an even layer of purple to her ring finger when a sudden voice cut through Dancing Queen's second run on the CD player. "Are you almost finished? We need to leave soon—" The door is cracked open enough for Jungkook's frame to squeeze through, his gaze falling on the scene in front of him as his brows raise on his forehead.
Though he barely gets to finish his sentence before you're on your feet. "Out!" you shrill, already rushing over, nail polish forgotten about as your hands shove at his chest.
The force you use is enough to make him stumble backward a step and Jungkook frowns as he redirects his attention to you rather than his daughter — who had turned her head to glance at you both over her shoulder.
"You're not allowed in here right now," you say as you usher him back over the threshold he'd dare to cross. His confusion visibly mounts with each passing moment but you ignore it as you shield Rayne from his line of sight dramatically.
Jungkook exhales a sharp breath, "I— What?" His dark eyes find yours, immediately trapping you in place and you feel your heart stutter in your chest when you take in his attire. His hair was neatly combed and styled, as it usually was, but the black tuxedo he wears catches you off guard. Sure you were quite accustomed to Jungkook dressing adequately, the button ups and the dress pants… But this was different.
Your palms are still braced on his chest, the slightly erratic thumping of what could only be his own heart, beating against your right one. He's yet to utter a single word since you so blatantly pushed him out of his daughter's room and you realize that he was waiting patiently for an explanation.
"You can't be here," pulling back a fraction, you peer at him with determination, "This is a girl thing — besides, it'll ruin the effect if you see her before I'm done."
Jungkook cocks a sharp brow, hands twitching by his sides like he was fighting the urge to reach out. "A girl thing?" he repeats in a low drawl, gaze flickering over your shoulder to which you quickly follow up by stepping to the side and blocking him again.
"Yes," you tilt your chin, fingers flattening out the crease your previous roughing up had caused to his tux, "Boys won't understand."
The disbelief on his face grows at that but you allow him no room to speak as you usher him out into the hallway. "Go!" Your command seems to break through the haze and Jungkook blinks once as his attention snaps back to you. His lips part, perhaps to inquire further on the matter though he ultimately seems to decide against it.
He nods, throwing a glance toward the watch around his wrist before exhaling through his nose. "Thirty minutes," he grunts, then he turns on his heel as he heads down the hall, presumably to wait downstairs now that he'd been banished from his daughter's bedroom.
Once he's out of sight you turn back to Rayne with a sigh, letting the door fall shut behind you. "What did I tell you?" Walking over and plopping back on the floor in front of her, you pick up the nail polish as you silently ask for her hand. "Boys don't know the first thing about stuff like this," you muse when dipping the brush into the polish.
Rayne, who'd been watching the interaction silently, said nothing. But you thought you could see the edges of her mouth twitching slightly.
An hour and a half had passed since the two of you first sat down to get started — but you could now finally say that you were finished. Rayne stands in front of the full body mirror, the purple dress falling around her small frame rather elegantly. The sparkly midsection glimmers under the warm glow of the lamp — which had been moved back to its home on her desk.
Her hair, free from the hot rollers at last, now flows in gorgeous waves down her back as you run your fingers through the dark locks carefully. "What do you think?" you ask when parting her hair and moving it over both of her shoulders, letting it spill down her chest where it curled in place neatly.
Rayne remains quiet for a moment. The purple shadow you had placed on her lids did its job in highlighting her dark brown eyes and she blinks slowly as she regards her reflection in the glass. Her cheeks are dusted in warm pink — an addition you had added which made it hard to tell if she was actually blushing or not.
Her fingers find a wavy strand which she curls around the digit slowly. "Pretty," she murmurs in a voice so quiet it barely sounded like her at all. Though the CD player had been cut off when she went to change and you heard the soft admission clearly in the silence of her bedroom.
If you had been able to pry your gaze away from her, you're sure you would've caught the beaming smile on your lips in the mirror. Pretty wasn't enough to even begin to cover it. Rayne was always beautiful — there had never been any doubt about that — but tonight she looks out of this world. You can't help but feel a small swell of pride in your chest at the accomplishment.
"You are." Hands coming to rest on her shoulders, you both continue to regard the finish product of your lengthy session together a moment longer. Both her brother and father were probably waiting rather impatiently at this point, Cassian had been particularly downcast when he'd learned that he wasn't allowed to enter his sister's room. But you were in no rush.
"Oh," you suddenly perk up, "I almost forgot." Letting go of her, you quickly head over to crouch by your discarded bag on the floor. It takes some rummaging, you weren't exactly organized, but your fingers eventually closed around a familiar tube.
Holding it up for her to see, you grin triumphantly. "The finishing touch," you hum when walking back to Rayne who was watching you with a frown. The cheap brand name had since long been smudged, intelligible by this point but the lipstick itself still did its job.
You twist it open, spinning the bottom a few times to get the product out before showing her the soft pink. "Alright." Leaning down slightly, you reach out with your unoccupied hand to gently cup her jaw. "This will only take a second," you assure her, even though the young girl made no attempts at protesting.
Her lips part slightly as you carefully apply the cosmetic on top of them, spreading the color in an even layer — smudging away any excess with the help of your thumb. "Go like this," you say, smacking your own lips together when returning the cap onto the tube and sealing it once more.
Rayne follows your lead, blending the pink slightly in the process. Her gaze flickers between herself in the mirror before returning to you. She doesn't comment on the shade but she also doesn't wipe it off again, which was a success you think.
"Lipstick fades pretty quickly," you say, "So I think it's best that you bring this one with you." Nodding toward the small purse you had allowed her to borrow for tonight, you then place the tube in her hand, closing her fist around with softly.
She tenses at that, brows pinching together as she sends you a conflicted look. "Really?" Rayne asks, the tender disbelief in her voice makes your chest clench and you quickly nod.
"Sure!" you smile, giving her shoulder a tiny squeeze, "If you like it you can keep it, I have plenty more at home." That was a lie. You only had this and a bold red which you reserved for special occasions that rarely came. But the flicker of hope within her dark eyes as they turned to the lipstick in her hand was more than enough for you to willingly make the sacrifice.
Rayne hums, thumb tracing the bottom of the tube reverently. "Thank you," she says, and your breath nearly caught in your throat. It was the first time you'd heard her utter those words in a way that actually sounded sincere. The expression of gratitude takes you by surprise, though she doesn't seem to notice as she continues to study her freshly painted lips in the mirror.
"Of course," you exhale when managing to get a half-hearted grip on yourself again. One glance at the clock on her desk though, makes you realize that time was quickly running out and you spring into action once more. "I'll go downstairs and get your dad and brother, don't come down until I tell you to, okay?"
She gives you a questioning look but obeys with a soft nod, slowly heading over to grab the purse waiting for her on the bed.
You find both Jungkook and Cassian waiting in the living room. The younger was restlessly skipping around while his father leaned against the fireplace with his hands buried in his pockets. They both glanced up at your arrival, heads snapping in your direction like they had been counting down the seconds themselves.
"Nanny!" Cassian exclaims as he scurries over, fingers wrapping around the sleeve of your shirt tightly, "Is she done? Is she done?" When you nod he makes a squealing noise, waving his father over as he tries to contain his excitement.
Jungkook pushes himself off the mantle, joining you a moment later. If he was nervous about the evening then he did not show it — his face resembling a detached mask of indifference, even as you guide them back into the hallway. "Let's wait for her by the stairs," you say, fighting to keep the smirk from your lips.
It takes a while to get Cassian to settle down, the boy looked ready to leap upstairs and you held onto both of his shoulders firmly so to not ruin the surprise. When he finally calms enough to at least stay rooted to the spot you turn your attention to the upper floor.
"Okay, you can come down!" Your voice bounces off the pale walls and is shortly followed by faint shuffling above before silence returns. Jungkook stands beside you, his posture just as rigid as that of his daughter, his nonchalance betrayed only by the way he moved to absently fiddle the black silk around his neck.
Another moment passes — the seconds stretching for what felt like an eternity — until Rayne finally appears at the top of the stairs.
The air inside the Jeon estate shifted in an instant, the anticipation that had been building finally reaching its climax as both her brother and father turn their heads in her direction.
But you're not looking at her. No, your gaze is fixed on Jungkook — who's fingers had gone slack around the tie he'd been adjusting, the action seemingly forgotten as he takes in the sight of his daughter on top of the staircase.
Mesmerized. That was the best way to describe the look in his eyes as they tracked Rayne's careful descent down the steps. The ever present crease between his brows let up, giving way to something much softer — younger. His Adam's apple bobs with his next swallow, lips parted in a silent exhale that looks like its been punched from his lungs.
Rayne avoids making eye contact with all of you, keeping her head bowed as her fingers clutch the banister — the purple shimmer on her nails sparkling under the light of the chandelier.
"Wow," Cassian sounds awestruck, "She looks like a real princess, daddy!" He tugs on the sleeve of his father's tux but Jungkook pays the small boy no mind — he has yet to look away from his daughter.
Finally he gives a barely noticeable tilt of his chin. "Yes," he whispers hoarsely, "She does." He regards her almost longingly, as though he was seeing something for the first time. And when Rayne reaches the bottom step, he's there, one large hand outstretched, his palm open for her taking.
She hesitates, glancing at Jungkook's hand like it was a foreign object before she finally lets go of the banister as her much tinier one is placed in his hold. His fingers close around her own and he guides her off the last step, much like a gentleman.
Her younger brother can no longer hold himself back as he frees himself from your grasp. His arms wrap around Rayne with surprising force, catching both his sister and father of guard, though he is none the wiser as he lets his cheek press against hers.
"My sister is a princess!" He says proudly, the words muffled against her hair.
Rayne finally unfreezes from the sudden embrace and she lifts the hand currently clutching your purse to give her brother an awkward pat on the back.
Jungkook has yet to let go of her, or tear his gaze from her for that matter. You didn't think he would anytime soon and your heart warmed at the thought. "Okay, okay," gently prying Cassian away from his sister, you haul him back against you, "They're going to be late of you don't let her go soon."
He pouts slightly but gives a solemn tilt of his head. "I wish we could go too," he then whines, craning his neck to peer up at you with hopeful eyes.
You simply shake your head, stroking his hair back, "We'll just have our own dance at home, how about that?" The proposal does seem to put his mind at ease and Cassian gives up on harassing his sister for the moment.
"Alright," Jungkook has cleared his throat, still looking slightly dazed as he jerks his chin in the direction of the front door. "Shoes and coat on," he instructs as he lets go of Rayne's hand. She complies without question, the frills of her dress swaying slightly as she heads over to the shoe rack.
Lingering by the stairs, you wrap your arms around Cassian as you watch them both pull on their shoes, freezing when you suddenly remember yourself. "Wait!" The blurted exclamation slices through the air, making three heads turn your way as the entire family sends you a confused look. But before any of them can ask you've released Cassian, already halfway up the steps to the second floor.
You move on autopilot, barreling through the door to Rayne's bedroom as you fall to your knees beside the duffel bag you had brought. God, you really had to start organizing your things, it took way longer than it should for you to find the cool surface of your camera. An older model that you had gotten for your eighteenth birthday after much pleading with your father — a treasured possession of yours.
With the heavy weight of it placed on your hands, you rush back downstairs, finding everyone exactly where you'd left them, all with puzzled expressions. Jungkook is the first to notice the camera you're clutching, brows furrowing as he opens his mouth to speak — only to be dismissed by the wave of your hand.
"Stand a little closer," you say when stepping forward, closing one eye as you bring the camera to the other.
The pair hesitates, the young girl sending her father a quick glance before turning her gaze toward the floor. It's not until Jungkook places a hand on her shoulder, gently pulling her to his side that a smile finds its way to your lips, "Perfect."
"Big smiles," you chirp, peering at them through the camera as you angle it to capture them clearly. They both frown at the same time, their expressions perfectly mirroring the other and you resist the giggle that bubbles in your chest. "Come on!" Your encouragement seems to have some effect as they both force two awkward smiles onto their lips.
You snap the photo quickly, not wanting to let the precious moment slip between your fingers. The camera flashes brightly and when it's over you tilt it to peer at the results. They look nothing short of perfect — textbook gorgeous yet there was something truly ethereal about them.
Next to you, Cassian as already jumping on his feet as he tries to catch a glimpse himself. "Let me see, let me see," he says impatiently.
Meanwhile Jungkook and Rayne have separated, the former clearing his throat as he reaches for their respective coats. They slip them on silently, avoiding each other's gazes as the sound of clothes rustling fills the hallway.
Once they're both fully dressed Cassian runs up to hug them both goodbye. "Have fun," you tell them when placing the camera down on the dresser. They nod in unison, in sync with seemingly every action. "Make sure he sleeps by eight," Jungkook says as he sends his son a pointed glance.
"I've got it," you hum, arms wrapping around the tiny boy a second time when he returns to stand with you.
His father appears satisfied with that as he unlocks the front door, letting Rayne step out first before joining her. It shuts behind them with a soft click, leaving the behind a silent house and excitement that slowly fades into something more serene.
"Nanny," Cassian says, twisting in your embrace as he peers at you through dark lashes, "Can we take a photo too?"
Jungkook came to the swift conclusion that he disliked the children's school just as much during the evening as he did in the day time — in fact as he and Rayne steps out of the car, he thinks this might be worse.
The ride here, though short, had been spent in silence for the most part. Jungkook had mulled over the dimming headlights that he would need to get fixed sooner rather than later. He'd been pushing the matter back on his agenda as he dreaded the awful and inevitable meeting with Mr. Williams, a man in his late fifties who had a thing for both Jungkook and his car it seemed.
If he had his way, Jungkook would probably ignore the problem for another couple of weeks as he drowned himself in work and holiday preparations. But with the cold and dark winter season the malfunctioning lights were becoming an apparent issue that he could no longer bring himself to dismiss.
Tomorrow, he tells himself as he shoves the keys into the pocket of his tux — the garment far too restricting for his liking, though he did not let it show. There were other matters on his mind right now, like the sound of conversation that floats around him, impossible to block out.
This dance was something he would avoid if he could help it. Only you had been insistent, Jungkook almost groans at the recollection of that night. He should've shot it down again, argued that Rayne would not want to go and spare himself the awkward two hours of interacting with parents whom he knew nothing about. But he found it impossible to deny you, for whatever infuriating reason.
Up ahead the entrance had been lit up. The doors were held open on hatches, a red carpet that felt more like a dare than an invitation rolled out on the ground. He scanned the area briefly, noting the array of fathers, all leading their daughters' by the hand as they headed inside. His throat goes dry at the thought of having to plower through mundane small talk with them.
A chilly breeze draws past, reminding him of the harsh December month and the coats they had left behind in the car. His attention is instinctively drawn to Rayne. She stands beside him, arms folded tightly across her chest as she, too, eyes the entrance with reluctance.
Her hair is picked up by the wind, a few strands gluing to her face, though she makes no attempt at pushing them away. Jungkook studies her silently, he could not remember the last time he saw her dressed in anything other than the plain sweaters and pants she had him purchase for her — if ever.
He did not care much for how his children chose to dress themselves, long as it was appropriate. Yet there was no denying that his daughter looked absolutely breathtaking tonight. He doesn't know what it is you've done, doesn't linger on the matter either. All he knows is that she was the prettiest girl he had ever laid his eyes on.
Rayne startles slightly when Jungkook loops his arm around hers, gaze flickering up to meet his in a way that makes his heart ache terribly in his chest. She glances toward the entrance and back at him, "We can still turn back…", she murmurs.
He finds himself frowning at that. Her hesitation dims the flicker of warmth just as quickly as it had come. It would be easy to nod, to take her home and leave it at that — but his tongue disagrees before his mind can catch up. "No," he says, tightening his grip on her arm, "I want to dance with my beautiful daughter."
She blinks up at him slowly, lips parting before pressing shut again. Though she doesn't respond, she still clings to him in a way she usually wouldn't as she lets him lead her inside. Jungkook decides then that this night would be worth the painful social interaction that waits beyond those doors and that he would endure it as long as it meant making her happy.
It's hot inside the school, suffocatingly so. Bodies crowd the hallway, purple lights leading them all the way until to a much more open area. Judging by the tables and chairs pushed against its four walls this had to be the cafeteria. Balloons in all shades lilac are stuck to the ceiling and the pillars that held it up. Lanterns in the same color occupy the tables, next to a few of them large bowls filled with what he presumes to be punch sits.
In the center of the room is a makeshift dance floor, already filled with fathers and their daughters. It was barely past seven yet music was already playing and a good dozen pairs had already taken to dancing. Above, a large chandelier hangs, its soft yellow glow contrasting the purple theme of the entire ordeal.
Next to him Rayne shifts awkwardly, her eyes swiping across the room quietly as she chews on her bottom lip. Jungkook tries to think of something to say that would soothe her nerves, perhaps his own as well, but before he gets the chance to, the bruising noise of microphone sparking echoes through the room — a slightly hoarse yet cheerful voice follows a second later.
"Hello everyone! We welcome you to Oakridge Preparatory's thirty-fifth annual Daddy Daughter dance!"
Jungkook glances over to the improvised stage across the room. A wooden structure that makes him question how they had even gotten it inside in the first place — perhaps it had been built on the spot. His gaze drifts to the old woman standing on top of it, immediately recognizing her as the principal — Mrs. Fig.
He'd met her briefly when enrolling Cassian, the encounter had been stale and unpleasant — she talked too much for his liking but right now he wishes she would go on a while longer so to prolong the inevitable.
Mrs. Fig adjusts the round glasses that sit on the bridge of her nose before continuing: "We've prepared music seeing as the band couldn't make it this year…" she trails off before clearing her throat, "There's punch as well, please help yourselves and remember to have fun!"
With that she disconnects the mic sending another jarring jolt of electricity through the room, cutting the speech far too short for Jungkook's liking. The music is turned up a moment later, a song he recognizes, Every Breath You Take he thinks it might be called.
Pairs of fathers and their daughters start filling out the dance floor, easily falling into step so naturally in the way Jungkook knows he will never be able to replicate. His hesitation lasts only a second, then he's moving forward, legs carrying him with determination he didn't even realize he had.
Rayne stumbles beside him before catching up, brows furrowed deeply as she glances up at him. "What are you doing?" she asks as she lets him lead her through the crowd of people.
Jungkook shrugs, "Dancing." He comes to a halt when he finds a spot he deems suitable, forcing his shoulders to relax as he guides her hands to his forearms. She allows it, albeit reluctantly, skeptical eyes swiveling around the room once more before finding their way back to him. "Just like we practiced," he says as he begins to move.
They had spent long nights in the living room, awkwardly stumbling over each other's feet and Jungkook mentally cursing himself for actually preparing for this evening. Their latest attempt yesterday had been pathetic, he hadn't said that of course, but he'd thought it. Right now? Everything seemed to click into place.
He didn't consider himself a good dancer — never had. Ten years ago he wouldn't even have entertained the idea of doing something like this. And yet, as he watches his daughter under the warm lights, yellows and purples mixing onto her face, the small furrow of concentration etched to her features, he cannot imagine himself to be anywhere else.
The tip of her shoe accidentally nudges his and Rayne glances up at him sheepishly. Jungkook simply shrugs, pulling her along as he twirls her in his arms. The purple dress you had gotten her sways around her legs, Cassian had been right in saying that she looks like a princess, he thinks.
The room around them fades until all he can see is her. His daughter. Dark brown hair falls unevenly down her shoulders, the soft pink that dusts her round cheeks and the way she bites her lip as she focuses on getting her steps right.
Rayne had always reminded him of her mother — the woman he'd spent years loving. And though Jungkook doesn't blame himself for what happened, he hates himself for the mistakes he's made with his daughter, he probably will for the rest of his life.
She had her mother's face but she was undoubtedly him in every other sense. Sometimes he found himself frightened by the stark similarities they shared. He did not know how to handle them, how to handle her. But he vows there and then to try his best, for Rayne.
The evening passes relatively calmly. Dancing was not as bad as he'd initially thought and after a few songs they found themselves by one of the tables serving fruit punch. Rayne stayed close to his side, and though she did not know it, her presence comforted him just as much as his probably did her.
There were a few others before them, two fathers chatting happily with one another, though Jungkook would rather sink through the ground than have to engage in their conversation. He's content to stand quietly beside his daughter, keeping their arms looped together despite the risk of them getting separated was slim.
Just as the others clear out and Jungkook reaches for the ladle in the punch, a voice he recognizes with dread pierces the comfortable silence he and Rayne shared.
"Mr Jeon!"
He doesn't have to turn to know who it is, he does anyway, just to be polite. Ms Song approaches their table with a smile too wide, too friendly, it doesn't feel genuine. You would never smile like that. Jungkook shakes the thought as quickly as it had come, fingers curling a little tighter around the cold metal handle.
"It's so nice to see you here," She says when tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The dress she wears feels far from appropriate for a setting like this, low cut and figure framing in a way none of the other teachers' were.
Jungkook gives a small tilt of his head and has half a mind to ask what she was doing here. Last he recalled she did not have Rayne in any subject. But Ms Song is already turning to his daughter, leaning down to come eye level with her, in turn making her chest spill out of her tight dress and Jungkook averts his gaze with a quiet scoff.
"You must be Cassian's big sister," she says as she extends a hand, "I'm his homeroom teacher."
Rayne eyes her outstretched hand warily but ends up taking it. Ms Song shakes it gently before letting go and straightening back up, seemingly unfazed by their lack of response. She turns back to Jungkook, and he feels awfully distracted by the vibrant color on her lips.
"I honestly didn't expect to see you tonight, but it's such a nice surprise." Her tone is light, a pitch too high, betraying her obvious interest in conversing with him.
Jungkook tries to think of an excuse to have them both leave before she gets the chance to bombard him with prying questions about his life, though the cup he holds in one hand and the ladle filled with punch keeps him rooted to the spot.
Ms Song is not oblivious to this, unfortunately, and she nods in the bowl's direction. "I heard the punch is supposed to be good," she says as she flashes him an expectant smile.
Pressing his lips into a firm line and biting down on his tongue, Jungkook fills the cup before handing it to Rayne who takes it with a small 'thanks'. Then he reaches for another, repeating the process, all the while Ms Song's invasive eyes continue to linger. He extends it toward her without a word, ignoring the way she leaves her fingers on top of his a moment longer than necessary when she takes it.
"Thank you," she hums as she brings the cup to her lips, letting them wrap around its rim and taking a sip. Her lashes flutter when she bats them at him and Jungkook wonders if it's given her a headache yet — one could hope.
She lowers the cup and it looks as though she's about to say something else when the sound of another man's voice suddenly interrupts her. "Ms Song!" He's weaving through the crowd, the hair on his head a mess. Jungkook doesn't recognize him but judging by his lack of a child, he thinks he must be another teacher.
"The music is doing that thing again, it keeps breaking up and Mr. Brown doesn't know how to fix it…" He trails off when he notices both Jungkook and Rayne, giving a polite nod before turning his attention back to the woman between them.
Ms Song heaves a sigh, the subtle roll of her eyes not going him unnoticed as she sends Jungkook an apologetic glance. "I'll be right there," she calls out, painted nails digging into the cup. "I hope to see you around tonight," her voice has an uncomfortable lilt to it and Jungkook responds only with a small hum.
The second she takes her leave he feels his shoulders slump, exhaustion washing over him as a result of the brief yet painful encounter. He silently decides to thank whatever mighty power above had caused the interruption and steered her away from him.
"She likes you."
Rayne's blunt remark pulls him from his thought and he turns to her with a frown. "She does?" He questions back, caught off guard by how observant she was being.
His daughter simply nods, still sipping on her fruit punch as her gaze travels across the room. "Girls do that when they like someone," she explains after another gulp, "They make excuses to talk about stuff with you, even when they don't actually have anything important to say."
He feels his forehead crease even further as he considers her response. Making excuses to talk to him? His mind immediately wanders to you and he tries to think of any instance in which you had done the same.
He remembers the awkward conversations you had steered him onto whenever you were alone, usually in the kitchen after the children had gone to bed. Jungkook never found them to be insignificant, he quite liked hearing you talk.
"You don't like her do you?" Rayne asks, she's watching him over the rim of her cup, distracting herself with small sips. It was unusual of her to ask questions like that — especially regarding a topic such as this.
Jungkook shakes his head, "No," he muses. He did not like Ms Song, perhaps ten years ago he would've, she seemed like the type he went for back then. But he is not the same man he was a decade ago, and for that he was thankful.
"Is it because you like nanny?"
His heart might as well have sank to the bottom of the ocean when her words registered. For the first time since the two of them left home, the silence that lingered felt anything but comfortable. He briefly consider just outright ignoring her, to pretend like he hadn't heard the uttered words in the first place — but he knows he cannot.
He turns to her, avoiding looking her in the eye as he takes the half finished cup of fruit punch from her hands. Rayne doesn't protest, wiping her lips with the back of her hand as she watches him.
Bringing the cup to his face, he peers down at the liquid that swirls inside — taunting him into delivering the answer waiting on his tongue. Jungkook inhales through his nose, the sweet scent of fruit filling his senses, it's almost too sweet.
"Yes."
It's all he says before bringing the cup to his lips as he takes a long sip. He prays that his daughter won't catch the tremble to his fingers, the white knuckled grip he holds on the innocent plastic cup — hard enough for it to crack.
But Rayne says nothing, letting her gaze return to the crowded room as she watches her peers dance with their fathers. Despite the music — now playing smoothly again thanks to Ms Song — it's quiet where the two of them stand.
Jungkook busies himself with the fruit punch for as long as he can, which isn't long at all seeing as he was downing the sickeningly sweet drink in big gulps. Once the cup is empty he's left staring at it like it held all the answers to the mysteries of the universe.
Beside him, Rayne shifts her weight from one foot to the other and when he dares to drag his attention over to her, he finds his daughter opening the purse that rests by her side, held together by a thin strap. She reaches a hand inside, pulling it back a moment later, this time cradling a small, black tube.
He studies her as Rayne twists the cap off, spinning its bottom a few times. It's only when the soft pink appears that Jungkook realizes it was a lipstick she held. Her lips part and she applies it carefully onto them — once she's done she smacks them together before repeating her earlier ministrations and sealing the tube again.
"Where did you get that?" He asks, his voice coming out hoarser than he had intended for it to. Jungkook bought everything she asked for — which wasn't a lot. He would've known of a lipstick in her possession.
Rayne hums, placing the cosmetic back into the purse before sealing it tight. "Nanny gave it to me," she pauses before adding, "She said I could keep it."
Jungkook nods slowly, his eyes lingering on the purse a second longer as he recalls the way you had shoved him out of his daughter's bedroom earlier that afternoon — the frantic look on your face as you kept him from stealing as much as a glance at his own child.
He turns back to the fruit punch, filling the cup once more despite the drink tasting horrendous. Though he had spent a good half an hour trying to figure out why he wasn't allowed in her bedroom during the process of her getting ready, he'd later come to the conclusion that he would forever remain clueless.
Must be some of that girl stuff you were talking about, he thinks to himself as he takes a small sip.
By nine pm the dance came to a close as tired children clung to their dads who carried them out of the building. Despite the event being a brief two hours — Jungkook already knows he would rather take a twelve hour day at the office. He does not think he's ever felt as drained as he did when he got into the drivers seat to pull out of the parking lot.
After their conversation by the fruit punch, Rayne had not mentioned you again, nor had she brought up the confession he had made without thinking his answer through even once. In fact she had asked to dance again — taking him by surprise but Jungkook had not denied her as he offered his hand.
Their second try out on the floor had gone even smoother. No more stiff shoulders or stepping on toes. Rayne had even smiled as he twirled her around, a shy, barely-there curl of her lips but Jungkook had caught it under the dim lights and he treasured it close to his heart.
The late Friday night left the streets nearly vacant and as he drove the car to a stop by a red light, he glanced at Rayne in the rear view mirror.
Her lipstick was smudged from an additional two cups of fruit punch, the waves in her hair diffused as a result of her hands running through the strands. She hadn't spoken a word since he'd turned on the engine and Jungkook understood why when he caught sight of her shut eyes. Head propped up against the window at an awkward angle, Rayne slept soundly in the backseat.
She would rarely — if ever — doze off during car rides. He thinks the night must've left her twice as exhausted as him.
The light ahead turns green pulling Jungkook's attention to the road. His fingers drum softly against the wheel and the hand he keeps on the clutch reaches up to shut the radio off.
Rayne had yet to wake by the time he pulled up in their driveway and he sits silently with her for a minute or two before forcing himself out into the cold. The December air is harsh and unforgiving as he quickly rounds the car to carefully pull her door open. Thankfully secured by her seat belt, Rayne's head simply lolls to her shoulder when she's robbed of her makeshift pillow.
Jungkook moves efficiently, leaning over her to unbuckle the leather that held her in place before draping both his and her coat over her bare shoulders. Then he lifts her from the seat slowly, trying his best not to jostle his sleeping daughter as he knocked the car door shut with his foot.
He can't remember the last time he'd carried Rayne in his arms. It had to have been years for she was not nearly as affectionate as her younger brother. The weight of her in his arms and the warmth of her body still makes his heart beat a little faster — the same way it had when he'd first gotten to hold her that day at the hospital eight years ago. He leans down to bury his nose in her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of her — his daughter.
When he rounds the front of the car he pauses, the headlights give a weak flicker before going dark again and Jungkook sighs. Tomorrow, he tells himself before heading for the front door.
── [ ✉️ ] So like, surprise Jungkook POV ahah... I feel like a lot of people were expecting OC and Cassian to tag along for the dance but I felt like that moment specifically needed to remain between Jungkook and Rayne alone, especially given what she asked later, cough... Anyway, please let me know what you thought, I would love love to hear it <3
thinking about submissive jungkook after a fight where the argument started over something stupid like maybe a dinner reservation he forgot about, one you’d reminded him about twice, once over text and once to his actual face, and he came home late smelling like soju. normally you don’t care but tonight you were already in the kitchen in your nice dress that you’d been sitting in alone for two hours and you just snapped open so you screamed at him, pacing and pointing while he stood in the entryway in his jacket and took it. it always makes it worse somehow, how he always takes it instead of fighting back, big brown eyes getting glossier and glossier while you rant on and on about how he never listens, how you always come second to whatever else is going on. poor guy stood there with tears in his eyes, biting his swollen lip until he almost bled and toying with the edge of his hoodie. and then at a certain pt where your voice got scratchy, he sank.
knees on the floor, arms wrapping around your legs before you’d even finished your sentence, face buried against the front of your thighs, his whole big body folding itself around you. can feel the wet of his eyes through the fabric of your dress.
all things considered, you try to stay angry. you are still angry. but you’ve stopped moving and yelling, one hand hovering in the air before it slowly, against your better judgment, drops into his hair.
and he takes the opportunity for his mouth to find your skin, bare above the knee where your dress had ridden up, and he starts pressing soft, wordless kisses into your inner thigh moving upward one slow inch at a time, his hands sliding up the backs of your calves, his lashes wet against your skin every time he blinks.
as always, you tell him to get on the bed. without a word, he untangles himself from your legs and lies back when you tell him to, watching you with red-rimmed eyes. obviously you climb up over him and make him work for it. make him eat you out until you cum once, twice, three times. until your legs are shaking and your vision is white at the edges and all you can hear is the words “im sorry im sorry” on repeat against your cunt.
after a while you feel a little guilty and you push him down on the mattress and get on top so you can ride him until he’s begging you to let him cum. tears flow down his cheeks, little whimpers and moans, fingers bruising into your hips. your hand comes around his throat to choke him while your hips frantically move, while you bounce up and down on his cock ferociously enough to hear your arousal coating his cock, and he goes cross-eyed for a little, so pussy drunk he can hardly form a thought. he doesn’t hold out for much longer, but it’s alright, because neither can you.
it’s the same cycle that keeps you two tethered together, and it’ll never end.
titsay
izzy806
tangentwithtanner
discoholicmusic
areudirty
gummygunk
