Hate sex is still sex. — part 6 | ᴊᴇᴏɴ ᴊᴜɴɢᴋᴏᴏᴋ
You just got dumped. The one behind it? your boyfriend’s best friend Jungkook who’s hated you from day one. You hate him. He hates you. One thing’s for sure: when hate turns into desire, it gets messy, it gets reckless… and yes, hate sex is still sex.
6’— How long will you keep lying to yourself? Especially when the man who vanished for days reappears just to corner you, taste you, remind you that every inch of you he owns, whether you like it or not.
🧷Pairing: Jungkook x Brat!reader
🧷Genre: enemies with benefits
🧷Warnings: 18+ content, explicit, smut, oral (f. recieving), orgsm denial, overstimulation, manhandling, dirty talk, spitting, dry humping, tit play, anger fueled almost-sex, slight!degradation, pussy worship, meandom!jk x patheticsub!y/n, slight power dynamics, angst, spoiled,richgirl!oc, pussydrunk!jk, miscommunication, fake dating, commitment issues!oc, use of y/n,(mdni)!!
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one, two, three, four, five excruciating days since he last vanished without a word, no explanation, no trace, nothing to make sense of it at all.
Now, you’re here, seated in a restaurant too bright and too loud, the smell of grilled meat and sizzling fat thick enough to cling to your clothes before you’ve even touched your glass.
You don’t remember agreeing to this, but Lina had insisted, something about ’making it up to you’, something about ’needing to get out’, and honestly, you didn’t have the heart to tell her no. Especially not when she’d been unusually quiet the past few days, still sulking about losing control during last week‘s event.
Not that you were exactly innocent yourself, considering that while she’d gotten drunk and messy the night in the motel, you’d hooked up with jungkook which had not been a smart decision either.
You still couldn’t decide which was worse.
“Eat,” Lina urges, reaching across the table to flip a slice of pork belly. The metal tongs click sharply against the grill, grease snapping as it hits the heat.
You watch her stack the meat neatly onto your plate before sliding over a small bowl of jeonbokjuk, thick and pale with flecks of green onion floating lazily at the surface.
“You barely touched lunch today,” she adds, already chewing her own bite, cheeks slightly puffed as she talks around it.
You sigh quietly but pick up your spoon anyway, stirring the porridge once before taking a slow mouthful despite not really having an appetite.
“And you’ve got to admit,” Lina continues, voice brightening as she wipes her mouth with a napkin, “it was a little funny how they all...well, except for Jungkook, got scared of you and actually started put themselves to work.”
You roll your eyes without looking up. “They weren’t scared enough for me.”
Lina snorts. “Oh please. Half of them looked like they were about to piss themselves when you walked in.”
You hum noncommittally, barely listening.
Lately, almost every topic of conversation with Lina somehow always loops back to the same person.
"Minho had to give up his car for a bit, apparently," Lina says, swirling her spoon through the abalone without looking up.
"He’s been pissed about it too… something about the insurance being messed up, or some idiot he let borrow it… I don’t know. Funny enough, I heard Jungkook isn’t letting him touch his car for the meantime either."
Your fork pauses mid air when Jungkook’s name being mentioned snaps your attention back into focus.
You keep your expression neutral. “Do you know why?” you ask, voice flat enough to sound uninterested.
Lina shrugs. “Honestly, who even knows? Jungkook’s the most impossible-to-read person i’ve ever met. I wouldn’t have a clue.” she chews thoughtfully.
You keep your gaze steady on your bowl, swallowing the lump forming in your throat. You don’t want to pry, or seem curious for answers you’re not even sure you want. Because asking too much would make you sound suspicious.
And the last thing you want is Lina catching onto the fact that curiosity has been clawing at you for the past five days.
one.. two.. three.. four.. five fucking days since Jungkook disappeared in the middle of the night like you meant nothing. Five days without a message, without an explanation, leaving behind nothing but the echo of his absence.
Maybe it was your fault for letting yourself for letting him in, even if just a little. What were you even thinking? He’s just your ex’s best friend, after all. Someone you’re definitely not supposed to be entangled with in whatever messy, complicated… thing you have going on.
Blame it on the alcohol. Blame the messy, raw pieces of yourself you spilled that night, as something the drinks forced out of you, and definitely not the real you.
You stab your spoon back into the porridge harder than necessary.
“Anyway,” Lina continues, oblivious to the tension tightening across your shoulders, “Minho and the rest of them are back to acting like total pricks again.”
You hum faintly, barely listening.
“He’s been in such a mood lately,” she adds, rolling her eyes as she scoops up another bite of jeonbokjuk. “Like, snapping at everyone for no reason. Yesterday he literally argued with the mechanic on the phone for twenty minutes straight, like it was their fault he can’t drive his precious car for a few weeks.”
“And the boys all seem stressed too,” Lina keeps going, voice drifting into that familiar ramble that somehow always circles back to him. “Something about paperwork, insurance, honestly I stopped listening after five minutes because Minho just goes on and on when he’s annoyed–”
You exhale sharply through your nose.
She doesn’t stop. “and you know how he gets when he feels like things are out of his control—”
She looks up mid bite. You meet her eyes flatly.
Actually chokes, coughing into her fist, grabbing her water glass with wide eyes as she sputters. “What? no...what?!” she splutters, face flushing bright. “Absolutely not. I don’t like Minho like that, are you insane? we’re best friends.”
You raise a brow slowly. She glares at you over the rim of her glass. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s disgusting. I do not like Minho.”
an awkward silence settles between you for a moment. She looks away first, breaking it. “…Anyway,” Lina mutters, stabbing at her bowl like she didn’t just combust two seconds ago. “You’re deflecting.”
You don’t respond to that. She chews slowly now, quieter, before speaking again.
“Minho said Jungkook handled something for him though,” she adds casually, like it’s an afterthought. “Didn’t explain what. Just that Jungkook fixed it.”
That makes your fingers tighten around the spoon again. You try to keep your tone flat.
You glance up at her finally. She catches the look, tilting her head slightly.
“Why don’t you ask him yourself?”
Your brows knit together. “…what does that mean?”
Lina huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “I mean, come on. I’ve seen the way you two keep disappearing. To argue, or talk, or whatever it is you two do.” She shrugs lightly. “So what’s the big deal anyway?”
Your jaw tightens. “What’s the big deal?” you repeat, voice cooling instantly. “Lina, Jungkook is—”
You stop yourself before the words spill too far and before the frustration turns into something uglier.
“He’s insufferable,” you settle on, tone clipped. “Rude. Annoying. Thinks he knows everything.” You scoff softly. “Trust me, there’s nothing worth asking him about.”
The silence that follows feels heavier this time as Lina watches you carefully, before her expression softens, guilt creeping in.
“…Hey,” she says quietly. “I didn’t mean it like that.” You don’t respond.
She sighs, “I’m sorry. Again.” She rubs the back of her neck, looking sheepish. “For the event, for losing control. I know I made things harder for you.”
You exhale slowly, tension easing just slightly.
Lina notices the way your spoon has barely disturbed the surface of your bowl, the porridge now more cold than warm.
“Do you…” she starts carefully, tilting her head. “Want to go for a walk?”
You glance up at her. The idea settles somewhere unexpectedly appealing. Sitting here any longer feels suffocating as the restaurant is too warm, too loud and too full of things you really don’t want to think about.
You sigh quietly. “…Fine.”
Lina brightens almost instantly, relief flashing across her face. “Good. The weather’s actually nice tonight.”
By the time you step outside, the air greets you cool and gentle, a soft contrast to the heaviness lingering in your chest. Night has settled properly now with streetlights glowing warm against the pavement, neon signs flickering faintly above half empty storefronts.
You walk side by side. At first, Lina tries to fill the silence with small comments about the weather, about something random she saw earlier, but even she eventually runs out of things to say, so the silence stays, but not uncomfortable this time.
Your heels tap softly against the pavement in steady, rhythmic taps. The sound grounds you more than you expect.
Five days since Jungkook left without saying a word.
The memory presses at the edges of your thoughts whether you want it to or not, the warmth of his back, the steady rise and fall of his shoulders, the way sleep dragged at your body while he stayed awake. And then morning came, and he was gone like the night had swallowed him whole.
You scoff faintly under your breath.
Beside you, Lina glances at you briefly but doesn’t say anything. And honestly, you don’t want questions right now either.
Your steps slow slightly before you even realize it once something familiar pulls at your attention.
Lina nearly walks into you. “Hey...what–”
But you don’t answer as your gaze stays fixed ahead. The storefront infront of you glows softly under warm yellow lighting, the sign board slightly faded. The windows are fogged faintly from heat inside, silhouettes moving past occasionally.
Your chest tightens slightly from recognition. The small shop where you and Yoona used to come after school, coins clutched tightly in your hands, splitting one serving between the two of you because neither of you wanted to eat alone.
You stare at the door longer than you should, with your fingers flexing slightly at your sides.
You haven’t stepped foot here in years. Not since everything fell apart.
Lina follows your line of sight, wonder slowly dawning across her face. “Oh,” she murmurs quietly.
You don’t respond and just stand there, debating whether walking inside would feel nostalgic… or humiliating.
Your foot shifts slightly forward, almost moving on its own. But before you can step inside, the door swings open causing you to freeze.
Yoona steps out, a small paper bag clutched in her hands, faint steam curling from the top. The achingly familiar sweet smell hits you instantly; the exact same snack you used to split between the two of you after school.
Her eyes land on you instantly. She doesn’t look surprised, not even a little. Like she expected this to happen.
Your stomach twists. “No.” The word leaves your mouth immediately, defensive. “Absolutely not.”
Yoona doesn’t flinch. “Please,” she says quickly. “I just want to talk.”
You straighten, forcing your shoulders back, forcing composure into every line of your body, especially with Lina still standing beside you, watching this unfold. “Well, I can’t,” you reply coolly. “I’m with Lina right now, so,”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Lina cuts in before you can finish. You shoot her a look, which she ignores completely.
“It’s late,” you say instead, tone tightening. “I don’t think it’s safe for her to go home alone.”
“Ooh, don’t worry about that,” Yoona says quickly, already reaching into her purse. “I’ll have my driver take her home.”
You blink once. “I’m serious,” Yoona continues, already tapping at her phone. “You don’t have to pay for anything. It’s literally on the way.”
Lina looks between the two of you, clearly sensing the tension, but also clearly curious. “…Are you sure?” Lina asks carefully.
Yoona nods without hesitation. “Of course.” Within minutes, a sleek black car pulls up along the curb quietly, polished under the streetlights.
You hesitate as Lina turns to you, before giving your arm a small squeeze. “It’s fine,” she murmurs softly. “I’ll text you when I get home.”
You study her face for a second, searching for hesitation, and when there isn’t any, reluctantly you nod.
She slides into the back seat, offering you one last glance before the door shuts. The car pulls away smoothly.
And just like that, it’s only you and Yoona left.
An unavoidably heavy silence settles between you. You turn slowly to face her.
She’s still holding the paper bag, fingers curled tightly around the edges like she’s been gripping it for too long. Up close, you notice the slight shift in her expression, something nervous beneath her usual composure.
She lifts the bag slightly. “I got this,” she says quietly. “For you.”
You only stare at it, suddenly overwhelmed by the fact that standing here with her again, feels like stepping into a version of your life you buried years ago.
You stare at the paper bag like it might burn you if you touch it.
Your lips press into a thin line. “…I didn’t ask for it,” you say flatly. Yoona exhales softly, like she expected that answer.
Silence stretches between you, more prominent now as cars pass occasionally, tires whispering against the pavement. Neither of you move.
Finally, Yoona takes a small step closer, not enough to invade your space, just enough to close the distance that had once never existed between you.
“You used to love this,” she says quietly. “You’d always pretend you didn’t want it, and then complain if I ate more than you.”
You wince slightly as the memory flashes in your mind.
Standing right here in perfectly pressed uniforms.
Arguing with the driver to wait at the corner instead of pulling up to the entrance, splitting one portion between the two of you even though you could’ve bought ten because it tasted better when you could fight over leftovers later.
You look away first. “…People change,” you mutter. Yoona nods slowly. “They do.”
She hesitates, then, carefully, “…I’m sorry.”
You let out a humorless breath through your nose. “For what?” you ask coolly. “You’re going to have to be specific.”
Yoona swallows. “For everything,” she says. “For how things ended, for what I said. For choosing sides when I shouldn’t have.”
That makes your head snap back toward her. “Choosing sides?” you repeat, a sharp edge slipping into your tone. “That’s what you’re calling it?”
Your pulse picks up now. You really don’t feel like doing this here, in the middle of the street and under harsh lights with strangers brushing past like nothing’s happening.
Yoona seems to notice. “Please,” she says, lowering her voice slightly. “I just… I want to talk to you properly. And I didn’t come here just to say that.”
Yoona glances toward the side of the shop, then gestures subtly with her head. “Come on,” she murmurs. “Just… back here.”
You don’t respond right away, but your feet move anyway, curious despite yourself. The two of you walk past the side of the store, the sounds of the street fading the further you move. The narrow pathway behind the building opens into a small clearing.
A railing slightly worn with age, overlooks the slow stretch of river below. The water reflects the city lights in long streaks of gold and white, rippling quietly under the night sky.
You haven’t stood here in years, but your body remembers.
How many afternoons had you spent leaning over this exact railing? Complaining about school, laughing over nothing, sharing that same stupid snack while pretending the world wasn’t watching you both like glass dolls.
You stop a few steps away from the edge. Yoona steps beside you, resting her hands lightly against the railing. For a moment, neither of you speaks. Just the soft sound of water moving below.
“I remember,” Yoona murmurs, setting the paper bag between you. “You used to pick out every single onion and shove them onto my side like it was my life’s responsibility to eat them.”
“What do you want, Yoona?” you interrupt, sharp. “Because I know damn well you didn’t drag me back here just to reminisce.”
She rolls her eyes slightly at that, the corner of her mouth twitching like she can’t help herself. “God, you’re still insufferably snobbish,” she mutters, making you glare at her instantly.
Some things, apparently, never change.
“Careful,” you reply coolly. “You asked me to come back here, remember?”
Yoona exhales through her nose, shaking her head faintly like she’s trying to reset herself. “Okay, wait. No, seriously,” she says, voice lowering this time as the teasing edge slips away. “I really wanted to apologize… for how I acted the other day.”
That makes you go still. Yoona keeps her hands resting against the railing, fingers tapping lightly against the metal before going still again. “It really… wasn’t funny,” she admits, voice softer now. “Or cool of me to come up to you out of nowhere like that and embarrass you in front of your boyfriend during the event.”
boyfriend? huh? since when did you have–
“I’ll admit,” Yoona continues, tone almost hesitant now, “I was a little taken aback at first and confused, honestly. A little curious too… to know about your life. I mean, how long has it even been since we actually talked?”
You raise an eyebrow, keeping your expression neutral. Not that you plan to answer her question anyway.
She doesn’t pause. “Anyway… I wasn’t lying when I said I was happy for you. Truly, I am. But… why Jungkook, though? Have you suddenly decided to be serious in life for once?”
Her words brush against a nerve teasingly but somehow piercing. You shift slightly, crossing your arms. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you reply, keeping your tone clipped and short.
“Yeah… you’re right,” Yoona says quickly, nodding once. “I’m sorry. It really isn’t.”
Another brief silence settles between you, thick with the air but not entirely uncomfortable. Then, “Mom asked about you.”
You freeze, posture loosening just slightly. Your arms are no longer held as rigidly against your chest. The word mom lands differently than anything else she’s said tonight, softer, and almost unwelcome in ways you can’t quite name.
Yoona watches your reaction carefully before continuing. “She was in china for a while,” she says gently. “You’ve probably seen her campaigns, y’know, being the brand ambassador for zhenhua and all. Keeps her busy overseas most of the year.”
Yeah, you’ve seen. It’s nearly impossible not to as your mother’s face is literally everywhere, plastered across towering billboards in seoul, stretched across and glowing down from LED screens, draped in silk and diamonds like second skin.
Sometimes, when you’re stuck in traffic late at night, you catch yourself staring a little too long at one of those billboards, admiring her perfect smile, skin, almost like she was designed, not born.
You often wonder how your father tolerates it, driving home from work every evening only to be greeted by her face looming over intersections, staring down at him from rooftops and shopping districts. His ex wife, immortalized in light for the rest of the world to admire.
I’ts funny, really. The city sees more of her than her own daughters ever did.
“And I think… seeing you again after so long did something to her,” she continues carefully. “I’m not excusing anything she did. I know i can’t do that. But after you gave her the cold shoulder… she was quiet the entire ride home.”
That makes something in your chest tighten, just slightly. You keep your posture stiff despite it, arms crossed tightly over yourself. You were barely more than a teenager when everything fell apart because of her, your mom.
Yoona exhales slowly before speaking again. “She wants to see you,” she says. “Not just in passing. Properly.”
You scoff quietly. “That sounds like her version of a nightmare.”
Yoona rolls her eyes faintly. “we’re hosting a gala next week,” she says instead, shifting the subject with careful precision. “It’s… kind of a big one. Mom’s firm just secured a major partnership, and they’re turning it into one of those charity things with people she likes impressing.”
You're not really surprised, as everything with your mother has to be grand, and perfectly staged.
Yoona glances at you then, expression softer than before. “She asked if you’d come.”
“You don’t have to stay long,” Yoona adds quickly. “Just… show up, let her see you. That’s all.”
“And bring your boyfriend,” she adds. “She heard about him and now she won’t stop asking questions.”
Your stomach tightens slightly at that. Yoona studies your face carefully before speaking again, quieter this time. “You’re still part of this family,” she says, just as a matter of fact. “Whether you like it or not… that hasn’t changed.”
You pause your train of thought, not because you agree...God, no. but because it plants something uncomfortable inside you.
It’s not like you’re entirely against going to a gala. If anything, this is your territory and the kind of environment you were raised to survive and thrive in. But going there with the worst possible person you could think of? and pretending he’s your boyfriend the entire time?
Yeah. You’d rather happily go bankrupt.
God, why were you so stupid to claim him as your boyfriend in the first place?
“So…” Yoona says slowly, tilting her head as she studies how quiet you’ve been. “Jungkook, huh?” You stiffen almost instantly. “What about him?” you ask, keeping your voice flat.
Yoona hums thoughtfully, lips curving slightly. “What’s he like? I mean, seriously. You never date anyone for real, so this must be… different.”
You almost laugh at that. Different is well, one interesting way to put it.
“He’s great,” you say dryly.
Yoona’s eyes brighten immediately. “Really?”
“Oh, absolutely,” you continue, tone calm, “He’s very attentive, very patient.”
patient enough to deal with your temper.
“Never argues with me,” you add smoothly.
unless it’s every other minute.
“Always listens,” you continue, voice steady. “very mature.”
except when he’s pinning you against walls and making you forget how to breathe.
Yoona lets out a soft, impressed breath. “Wow, that’s… honestly surprising.” You shrug lightly, like none of this costs you anything to say. “He’s very reliable,” you add as the final touch.
except when he disappears in the middle of the night without a word.
The irony tastes bitter in your mouth, but Yoona doesn’t notice, not even a little. She instead looks… relieved. “Well,” she says, smiling faintly, “mom’s going to love him.”
Great, now another person expecting you to parade Jungkook around like some perfect boyfriend while the two of you can barely stand to exist in the same room without tearing into each other.
You inhale slowly, already feeling the headache forming. “fine,” you say finally, voice tight but controlled. “I’ll come.”
Yoona’s face lights up instantly, like something inside her loosens the second you don’t outright reject her. she shifts forward, clearly about to pull you into a hug, but the moment she catches the stiff set of your shoulders and the carefully blank look on your face, she stops herself, replacing the excitement with a pout as she steps back instead.
“Okay… well then,” she says, clearing her throat lightly. “I guess I’ll see you and Jungkook there?”
You give a short nod, and nothing more. Yoona glances down at her phone, already tapping out a message to her driver. “do you want me to drop you home?”
“nope,” you reply very quickly. “Jungkook was supposed to meet me here anyway. He’ll take me home.”
A lie. You pulled that straight out of your ass without a second thought.
Yoona paused mid scroll, lifting her head slowly from her phone. “Wait,” she said, brows lifting slightly. “So you’re both free right now?”
You didn’t answer fast enough. A small, satisfied smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
“Then why don’t you two just go to zhenhua couture’s styling lounge right now?” she continued casually. “I’m pretty sure mom already booked an appointment for both of you.”
Your stomach tightened. “Oh, I don’t need anything new,” you said quickly. “I have—”
“Yeah, you do. I know,” Yoona cut in, rolling her eyes like this conversation had already been decided.
You were always the one with the most options anyway, racks of gowns that ranged from sleek saint laurent silhouettes to corseted pieces from vivienne westwood, backless cuts, high slits.
You never lacked choices. That was never the problem.
“But Jungkook definitely needs the styling,” Yoona added, voice edged with faint judgment.
Your head snapped toward her. “What? Why?” you asked, too quickly, too defensively.
You didn’t even realize how sharp you sounded until she gave you a strange look.
The truth was, you liked Jungkook’s style. Even during the days when it was nothing but black layered on black, clean jackets, structured shirts. He looked minimal, annoyingly good without even trying.
But Yoona wasn’t entirely wrong. At galas like this, there were unspoken rules; Men wore suits. And you highly doubted Jungkook owned anything close to that.
But that wasn’t even the point.
The point was, Jungkook never said he’d pick you up right now, never offered to either.
You’d lied. And you hadn’t even spoken to him these past few days... Hadn’t seen him since that night.
The memory pressed faintly at the back of your mind in unfinished syllables.
“Yep,” Yoona said, tapping her screen again. “It’s already booked by mom.” She tilted the phone slightly, scanning whatever tab she had open.
“Just show up,” she added casually. “Honestly, the staff still remember you. They’ve already prepared collections for you to choose from.”
You didn’t answer right away, trying to recall the exact location of the styling lounge.
It sat just beside the main gala venue, a private wing attached to the same towering complex, one of the few couture houses with established bases across and its flagship in Seoul.
It was built specifically for last minute fittings, emergency tailoring, preparations before stepping into the ballroom. It was where most guests passed through before the night officially began. You’d spent enough evenings there to be able to navigate it blindfolded.
“Fine then,” you said after a moment, voice clipped with reluctant acceptance. “I guess... I’ll go there with Jungkook.” You forced it out of yourself, mentally wincing.
At this point, your pants should’ve burst into flames hours ago from all the lies you’ve told today.
Yoona nods easily, not questioning it. “well, okay then. I’ll be going now. My driver’s back.”
She lingers for a second still though, shifting her weight like she wants to hug you again, but the second you roll your eyes at her, she breaks into a grin instead.
“wow,” she says, shaking her head faintly, eyes lingering on your face with something nearly close to admiration. “you’re still the prettiest best friend i’ve ever had.”
You try not to react to that. “You do know we’re half sisters, right?” you reply dryly.
“Oh yeah,” she says immediately. “that too.” She waves once, bright and completely casual, like this wasn’t the first real conversation you’ve had in years. You only nod as she walks away, her figure slowly disappearing from your line of sight until she’s swallowed by the streetlights and passing cars.
Your gaze drops back to the container placed in your hands, the tteokbokki still warm and unopened. You stare at it for a moment, thumb tracing the edge of the lid, a quiet warmth settling in you that you don’t quite have the words for, before you slowly open it, taking a bite despite yourself. A small, almost faint smile tugs at the corner of your lips.
It disappears just as quickly when your phone buzzes. You pull it out, furrowing your brows slightly, glancing down.
Lina: reached home. text me when you get back too, okay?
You exhale softly, typing back a short confirmation before locking the screen, but your thumb doesn’t move away.
Instead, it hovers. Then, almost against your better judgment, you unlock it again, scrolling through your contacts this time until your finger drags down the list before stopping on a name you didn’t realize you were looking for.
Your jaw tightens instantly, mood completely ruined.
No missed calls, no unread messages, no nothing.
Five whole days since he walked out like you meant nothing. He couldn’t even leave a note behind? Heat crawls up your neck, irritation flaring sharp and fast as embarrassment follows right behind it. God, you hate yourself for opening your mouth and saying things you shouldn’t have, letting yourself be seen in ways you never allowed anyone else to.
And he left. There was no explanation awaiting you, no apology. Just...radio silence.
Your grip tightens around the phone. You should leave it alone.
Ignore him the way he ignored you. But the thought of the upcoming gala creeps back in, unwelcome and persistent. You need him for this to work.
That’s the only reason, nothing else, you tell yourself as your fingers move before pride can stop them.
You attach your location beneath it, staring at the phone right after you hit send, waiting,
ten seconds...twenty...thirty...
still nothing. Your irritation spikes, sharp and humiliating as you scoff quietly under your breath, shoving the phone back into your bag before you can do something stupid, like send another message. You wait another minute anyway, just in case.
That’s enough. You straighten slightly, expression cooling back into something controlled instead. He doesn’t respond fast enough for you and you’re not about to stand around waiting for him like some desperate idiot.
He had your location anyway.
If he decided to respond to your message, or bother showing up after being an ass this entire time, he’d find you there. At the styling lounge.
So all you had to do… was show up. And if he didn’t? your jaw tightened faintly.
Then that was his problem. Not yours.
The styling lounge of zhenhua couture smelled like subtle notes of oud and the faint metallic tang of freshly pressed silk. Marble floors reflected the crystal chandeliers overhead as garment racks stood behind translucent covers, each piece suspended like art in a private gallery.
You sat on one of the low velvet chaise, legs crossed, cream tweed chanel jacket wrapped over you now, shielding you from the cool air of the night and the air conditioning, buttoned neatly over a structured pearl trimmed mini skirt. Your sharp louboutins tapped once against the floor before you forced them still.
Jungkook still hasn’t responded to your message.
You exhaled through your nose, jaw tight. You were really giving him a chance to redeem himself, to show up, and maybe...just maybe explain where he’d been this entire time, agree to accompany you to the gala and play the part of your date so your mother’s circle wouldn’t whisper about the estranged daughter who couldn’t even secure a decent escort.
You needed to talk to Jungkook about the gala, about showing up there together soon... as a ’couple’, but you didn’t want to handle it over the phone.
It was truly pathetic. The way you were relying on him now... on his compliance, on his willingness to play along in front of your mother and her circle. To them, he’s supposed to be your beloved boyfriend. Even though, he’s anything but that.
“Miss Zhao,” one of the senior stylists greeted you with a warm, practiced smile, approaching with a tablet in hand. Her name tag read Minji. “We prepared several selections based on your mother’s preferences. Mrs. Zhao Seo-hwa still represents zhenhua beautifully, as always.”
Your lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Of course she does.”
Another stylist, younger, glanced up from adjusting a rack. “And you, Miss Zhao?” she asked lightly. “Do you speak mandarin? We have some new pieces from the shanghai collection that might suit you.”
You hesitated for half a second. “A little.”
One of the only bonding experiences you could clearly recall with your mother involved language drills at breakfast tables as she used to make you greet restaurant staff properly in mandarin before letting you touch your food.
You’d memorized the sounds without ever understanding the meaning. Not that mandarin had ever been your mother tongue, but your mother had grown up in china, and she loved and breathed the language.
You’d even tried teaching yourself once, quietly hoping she’d notice, even though she never did. Eventually, you forgot most of it. Now, all you knew were disconnected fragments of the language. Not enough to understand whatever hushed conversations happened behind closed doors in places like this either.
The stylist nodded, satisfied, and returned to organizing the rack.
Minji glanced down at her tablet again. “We’ll begin with Mr. Jeon when he arrives.”
You resisted the urge to check the time again. Instead, your heel tapped once against the marble floor.
Then, somewhere beyond the partition wall near the far end of the lounge, a low male voice echoes, speaking mandarin.
You stilled without turning your head. Soft laughter followed. The voice said something else, and another ripple of laughter answered.
You frowned faintly. zhenhua lounges were usually quieter than libraries.
Your attention drifted, almost lazily, until a flash of silk caught your attention.
Deep charcoal, subtle shine under chandelier light. You stood without thinking and crossed the marble slowly, drawn in despite yourself.
Up close, the dress was devastating. Structured bodice and a high slit that looked nearly scandalous. The fabric looked heavy in the way only expensive silk could be.
You reached out without even thinking, not remembering that you weren’t here for yourself. but Jungkook was fashionably and irritatatingly late... possibly not on his way either so really, this was his fault.
Your fingers hovered just above the fabric,
“Miss, please don’t touch that.”
An unfamiliar voice cut through the air, sharp. You turned slowly, annoyance settled neatly across your features.
The younger stylist stood stiffly a few steps away,the same one you vaguely remembered laughing earlier at whatever conversation had been happening beyond the partition. Up close, her posture carried that careful distance people used when they assumed you didn’t belong somewhere.
“That piece is part of our private line,” she added carefully. “It’s reserved.”
You only stared at her for a beat, unblinking. Behind her, Minji froze as another stylist rushed forward quickly, whispering something urgent into the younger woman’s ear.
You caught only fragments, “...daughter..” “...seo-hwa..”
Recognition hit the girl’s face instantly as all the color drained from her cheeks. Her posture changed so fast it was almost impressive.
“I...I’m so sorry, Miss Zhao,” she said quickly, bowing once, then again. “I didn’t realize...”
A soft, lazy chuckle sounded nearby. Male. The same voice you’d heard speaking in mandarin earlier.
You hadn’t noticed him at first, which, in hindsight, was impressive. Because he didn’t look like someone easy to miss.
He leaned casually against the edge of a nearby styling table, hands tucked loosely into the pockets of a perfectly tailored black suit. Satin lapels caught the chandelier light every time he shifted.
His gaze had already found you, curiousity building in them.
“So this,” he said smoothly, glancing between you and the apologizing stylist, “is why everyone suddenly looks like they’ve seen a ghost.”
His tone carried amusement, mid mockery even.
You didn’t answer, just held his gaze.
His attention lingered openly now, moving once, very slowly from your heels to your jacket to your expression, taking in the clean structure of your outfit, the pearls, the posture.
Recognition,not of identity, but of status settled behind his eyes. He tilted his head slightly, lips curving into something dangerously close to a smirk.
“Let me guess,” he continued casually, voice light with interest. “You saw something expensive and decided it belonged to you.”
You arched a brow, not offended but rather bored. “Is it your job to guard the racks?” you asked coolly.
A beat of silence followed before he laughed, a sharp, surprised sound that turned a few heads nearby.
“Well,” he said, stepping forward slightly now, attention fully fixed on you, “that’s new.”
His smile sharpened just enough to show teeth. “Do you even know who I am?” he asked, delighted.
Your gaze drifted downward, landing on his wrist. Steel caught the light, brushed and polished to perfection. The unmistakable angular case of a patek philippe nautilus, sitting clean against his skin like it belonged there.
You tilted your head slightly. “That’s a bold choice,” you said mildly, ignoring his previous question.
A pause, “Most people avoid nautilus pieces that look… replicated.”
Silence fell. Behind him, one of the stylists inhaled softly while another froze mid step.
The man’s smile disappeared, just enough to show the shift. He stepped forward, now close enough that you could see him properly.
He had blonde hair, swept back into a perfectly sculpted pompadour. Sharp cheekbones, smooth skin. Gold rings catching the light as his hand flexed slightly at his side.
He was beautiful. polished and expensive looking in the way only very intentional men were.
His smile reappeared after a second, genuinely entertained now. But offended, very offended at your remark, the kind of offense that came from ego, not insecurity.
A man who wore a patek philippe nautilus did not get accused of wearing replicas. Not here, not ever.
“Careful,” he murmured, tone softening just slightly. “Confidence like that usually comes with consequences.”
Behind him, Minji cleared her throat carefully.
“Mr. Park,” she said, voice respectful but tight. “Miss Zhao y/n is Mrs. Zhao Seo-hwa’s daughter.”
His gaze flicked back to you, sharper this time. Interested in a new way. The name ‘Seo-hwa’ obviously meant something here.
You watched the realization settle, watched the recalculation happen in real time.
Then, he smiled again. “Well,” he said lightly, adjusting his cuff as if nothing had changed, “that explains the attitude.”
His eyes met yours again. “And here I thought you were just another pretty girl with expensive taste.” he murmured softly, almost to himself.
Then he reached for your hand. You didn’t pull away as his fingers closed lightly around yours, lifting your hand like a delicate museum piece with practised ease. Old etiquette.
He dipped his head and pressed his lips to the back of your hand. When he straightened, his smile carried quiet amusement.
“So,” he said lightly, voice smooth as silk, “this is the estranged daughter of seo-hwa.”
The word estranged settled into the space between you. Your expression didn’t change, but your eyes did.
He noticed. “I must admit,” he continued, still holding your hand a moment longer than necessary, gaze dragging slowly across your features, “you’re prettier than the stories suggested.”
A pause, “Though distance does tend to make daughters more… mysterious.”
His gaze flicked once toward the dress beside you, then back to your face. “You have good taste,” he added smoothly.
Another pause followed as he smirked lightly, “Try it,” he said casually, stepping aside just enough to clear your path to the fitting area.
“I’d hate to leave tonight wondering if the rumors were wrong about more than just your face.”
The stylist beside him swallowed visibly as minji nodded quickly, stepping forward. “We can prepare a fitting immediately, Miss Zhao.”
Your attention drifted away from him, then back to the dress, to the stylists hovering nervously, the quiet tension still hanging in the air.
You ignored the weight of his gaze lingering on you, before turning back once more, meeting his eyes briefly.
Then, almost as an afterthought, “Do I know you?” you asked.
His smile deepened as that flash of ego, sharpened by amusement, crossed his features once again.
“Park Jimin,” he said, like the name alone should explain everything.
A beat passed before he leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice just enough. “I suppose we’ll be seeing each other again soon,” he added lightly.
His gaze then flicked briefly toward the garment racks… then toward the direction of the private hall beyond the lounge... a subtle glance, very easy to miss unless you were paying attention.
“I do hate being bored at galas,” he added, almost lazily.
Then, he winked. And just like that, the tension broke, as he stepped back, turning smoothly away from you as if the entire exchange had been nothing more than casual entertainment.
Within seconds, he was already drifting back toward the stylists, flashing that same polished smile. Low laughter followed him almost immediately as he whispered away in mandarin this time.
He said something under his breath, too quiet to hear, but it earned another round of soft laughter and red faces from the stylists.
You watched him flirt with them for half a second as annoyance prickled faintly under your composure.
Well, this was a weird, unnecessary encounter.
You exhaled quietly, turning away at last. “Let’s proceed,” you said coolly.
Minji nodded immediately. “Of course, Miss Zhao.”
The curtain to the fitting area was drawn aside as you stepped inside, still mildly annoyed.
Still thinking, despite yourself, about the blonde guy, the arrogance, and the audacity of strangers who assumed familiarity where none existed.
The fitting area was nothing more than a curved space hidden in a corner away from the stylists, behind heavy velvet curtains, private, but not completely sealed.
The dress felt cool against your skin as you slipped into it. You pulled the bodice into place, adjusting the fabric carefully, then frowned.
The neckline dipped lower than expected. Without the right bra, the structure didn’t sit the way it should. The fit wasn’t wrong, but it demanded support you hadn’t planned for.
You shifted again, adjusting it, pulling it, but it still felt wrong. Your chest felt too exposed and too unstable. Like one wrong movement would ruin the entire silhouette.
You reached behind yourself, fingers fumbling with the zipper, trying to work it. It stuck halfway.
You exhaled sharply. “Hello?” you called, voice tight with irritation. “can someone—” Your hand moved to the curtain, pushing it open a bit.
Before your brain could catch up, the curtain jerked sharply. A hand shot through the gap, clamping hard over your mouth as a strong arm pinned you back against the wall, holding you fast.
He didn’t say a word. His chest was against yours, his fingers gripping the fabric of the curtain to close it tight.
Your heart hammered in your chest, wild and erratic.
“Careful, princess.” he murmured, low and teasing. His voice was velvet and steel together. The curtain shifted slightly as he held it closed. “You planning to flash the entire staff tonight?”
Your fingers flexed instinctively against him, but he didn’t budge, not a millimeter.
Your pulse spiked, mind racing from the impossible proximity, all irrelevant compared to the sudden, electric weight of him holding you there.
Slowly, he removed the hand covering your mouth as he stepped back just enough to give you space, though his other arm stayed planted beside your head, still holding the curtain closed.
“You’re late.” you said, crossing your arms tightly over your chest.
“Relax,” he replied evenly. “I’m here now.”
You pulled the bodice tighter against yourself, clutching it over you higher. Silence settled between you.
You hadn’t seen Jungkook in five days.
Five long days since he left in the middle of the night after you’d gotten drunk and rambled yourself to sleep.
You hadn’t spoken about it, not once.
Your gaze moved over him without meaning to, noting the faint rise and fall of his chest, the tired heaviness in his posture, like something invisible sat across his shoulders.
There was exhaustion in his eyes, not obvious but just... there. You noticed. But you didn’t mention it either.
“Where were you?” you asked after a beat, the words slipping out as your expression almost softened, concern flashing for half a second before you forced it back into something colder instead.
He straightened slightly at the question as both hands slid into his pockets.
He didn’t answer. Not immediately, not at all.
Instead, his gaze dropped briefly to the tight grip you had on the front of your dress, the way you held it closed across your chest. Your fingers were clenched into the fabric, pulling it higher than necessary. His eyes lingered for a second before he lifted back to your face.
“Turn around,” he said quietly.
You blinked as annoyance flared hot and sharp in your chest. You hated when he did that... ignoring the question like it hadn’t been asked. Like your concern hadn’t slipped through by accident.
“Seriously?” you snapped softly. “I asked you something.”
He didn’t react. Just held your gaze with his unreadable ones. “Turn around,” he repeated, lower this time. “Unless you want to walk out there like that.”
Irritation flared deeper within you, sharp enough to cover the brief sting that had followed your question. He’d heard you, but had just chose not to answer.
You rolled your eyes, turning with a quiet huff, presenting your back to him.
Only then, his gaze dropped straight to the zipper caught halfway down your spine. The velvet shifted as he stepped closer again. You felt the warmth of him behind you, the faint brush of fabric against your back.
His fingers touched the zipper. You felt the cool metal shift against your spine, then glide upward very slowly. The sound of it closing filled the small space between you, sharp in the quiet.
Neither of you spoke. You were acutely aware of the warmth of his hand near your back, the faint brush of his knuckles against your skin, the way your pulse seemed louder than it should’ve been.
Halfway up, your breath caught. “Hold still,” he murmured.
Annoyance flickered instantly. “what now?”
You exhaled sharply through your nose as he lowered the zipper just slightly again, careful fingers working at the strands trapped in the metal. One by one, he freed them, slow and precise, the pads of his fingers grazing your back in fleeting touches.
Once the last strand was loose, his hand didn’t immediately fall away. Instead, he gathered your hair at the nape of your neck, warm fingers sweeping over your skin, pulling the loose strands together.
You swallowed, throat tightening despite yourself as he twisted the length once, twice, securing it loosely behind your head.
like he remembered how you preferred it.
like he had no right to remember at all.
The zipper slid upward again, smooth this time, sealing the dress closed along your spine until it reached the top.
For a moment, neither of you moved as the silence stretched, thin and tense. You slipped away slightly, forward, putting space between you and him. Cool air brushed across your chest as you moved toward the mirror, your reflection rising into view.
The dress was devastating on you. ridiculously beautiful. The bodice pushed everything upward, structured silk forcing your chest higher than you liked, the neckline dipping low. The slit along your thigh climbed dangerously high, exposing more skin than comfort allowed.
You pressed your fingers against the top of the bodice, adjusting it subtly once, then again, trying to coax it into sitting differently.
Behind you, you felt Jungkook’s gaze before you saw it. Dragging over the length of your reflection like he was taking inventory of your shoulder, waist, hip, the long line of exposed thigh.
Your stomach tightened, because you didn’t have to turn to know what he was thinking. You knew that look.
Jungkook didn’t say anything, but he didn’t look away either. And that was worse. Much worse.
His eyes narrowed slightly. Not at the dress, at you. At the small, controlled movements you made with a frown on your face when you thought no one noticed.
But he always noticed. That was the worst part.
Your fingers pressed at the neckline again, trying to coax the silk into behaving, but every small tug just made it worse.
Your chest felt exposed, your back cramped, and the high slit along your thigh seemed to cut closer with every movement. You swallowed, heart hammering in your ribs, nerves tight like coiled wire.
Too many sensations. Too much fabric clinging in all the wrong places. Too close, too revealing, and somehow, impossibly, you felt small and crowded in the mirror lit space.
Before you could think, his hand was at your waist, holding you steady. Your pulse spiked, the sudden contact made your stomach clench.
“Relax,” he murmured, firmly. “no...” you began, breath shaky, trying to step back, but his grip didn’t loosen. He tilted you just enough, guiding the fabric along your back, adjusting the bodice with gentle fingers.
“Stop,” you hissed, pressing your palms to his chest lightly, a weak protest. “I can do it myself.”
He ignored the words. Ignored your awkward twisting. Instead, his hands moved like they owned the dress, like he owned the problem, not you.
He felt the tension at your shoulders, the way your chest was barely supported. Every small imperfection that made you fidget, every line of silk straining, he noticed. “You’re overcomplicating it,” he said quietly, almost to himself.
His fingers lingered at the zipper for a fraction longer than necessary, brushing against your spine. The movement was somehow intimate in a way that made your breath catch.
“You can’t breathe properly,” he cut in, voice low and steady, not teasing, just fact. “You’re tense. The bodice isn’t wrong. You are.”
You flinched at the audacity, at how calm he was holding you even as your chest rose and fell unevenly. “I’m fine—” you snapped, but it came out tighter than intended, more defensive than you wanted.
He didn’t let you escape, just shifted slightly, smoothing the fabric over your chest and shoulders. His other hand adjusted the high slit along your thigh without breaking eye contact.
Your stomach dropped. You hated it. Hated him. Hated that he was right. Hated how good it felt to have him pin you in place while he corrected the dress. “I said I—”
“You always do this,” he said quietly. “Start fixing things that aren’t the problem,” he added, voice low and observant.
Your fingers paused mid adjustment against the neckline. For a second, you didn’t turn around. Just stood there in front of the mirror, your own reflection staring back at you, shoulders tight, hands still hovering uselessly at your chest.
A small crease formed between your brows. Then he lowers his voice once more. “you did the same thing that night.”
Your fingers stilled as silence fell. Slowly, you lowered from the bodice, the silk slipping back into place without resistance. Your chest tightened, breath catching somewhere too high in your lungs. Your reflection blurred slightly as your focus slipped, the memory pressing in before you could stop them.
The way you’d eased yourself in his company, the way you stared at the ceiling instead of at him. The words you never meant to say out loud, about Yoona, about your mother, about loneliness. About never being seen.
You swallowed. Every humiliating, raw thing you’d let slip past your lips because you were too drunk, too tired, too lonely to hold it back.
Your stomach twisted sharply. Remembering it meant he hadn’t dismissed it. hadn’t treated it like meaningless drunken rambling.
he’d listened. and then he left anyway.
Heat crawled up your throat, sharp and choking. You straightened slowly, spine locking into place, your reflection sharpening again as your jaw tightened.
of course he remembered. of course he’d store it away, tuck it neatly into his head like ammunition, something to throw back at you the second you showed weakness again.
Shame burned hot beneath your skin, humiliating and ugly.
“Five nights ago,” you said coolly, voice slicing clean through the thick silence, “I was drunk.”
You turned to face him fully now, chin lifting slightly. “That’s all it was.” The words felt brittle in your mouth, too rehearsed and defensive.
But you kept going anyway, because stopping now would mean letting him see too much. Letting him know he’d gotten under your skin in ways no one else ever had.
And that was unacceptable.
You spun sharply this time, breaking his hold. The movement made the neckline dip dangerously, threatening to spill what the dress was barely containing.
“You think you know everything, don’t you? My dress, my breathing, my fucking thoughts. Newsflash, you don’t. You never did.”
His jaw flexed. “Funny. That’s not how you sounded five nights ago.”
Your laugh was sharp, ugly. “This...” you gestured between you, the too small fitting room, “Whatever this is...is nothing but sex. And just because I said things while I was drunk,” you continued, voice steady and cruel in that polished way you perfected over years, “doesn’t make us friends.”
Something dangerous flickered across his face. The air thickened.
You crossed your arms tight over your chest, armor snapping back into place. “You’re good for one thing, Jungkook. That’s it. Don’t start overcomplicating it. Don’t start pretending you’re anything but beneath me.”
His eyes narrowed. The muscle in his jaw ticked harder. “Beneath you.”
“Yes.” You lifted your chin, forcing the word out like a weapon. “There’s never going to be anything between us except sex.” Your chin lifted slightly. “And even that,” you added softly, “is a mistake I keep repeating.” you swallowed, trying to sound cold, as detached as you could. “Honestly… the sex isn’t even that good.”
The lie had barely left your mouth when he moved, your words getting cut off almost immediately as he hooked his fingers into the neckline of the dress right between your breasts, making your breath hitch. The silk gave a sharp, warning protest as his other hand braced beside your head on the mirror.
“You want it to be nothing but sex?” His voice dropped, rough and edged with anger as he gripped your chin to make you face him.
“Fine. Let’s treat it like nothing but sex.”
Before you could react, he yanked downward, hard. The structured bodice ripped with a vicious sound, seams splitting as the fabric tore straight down the front.
Cool air hit your breasts instantly, freeing them from the crushing pressure. The dress sagged open, exposing you completely from the neckline. Your nipples tightened instantly in the sudden chill, chest heaving with shock and unwanted relief.
You gasped, hands flying up to cover yourself, but he caught your wrists, pinning them against the mirror above your head with one large hand.
“what the fuck—” you hissed, face burning crimson. All you could feel was the humiliating rush of air on overheated skin and the way your body reacted anyway, aching, traitorously wet.
Jungkook’s gaze dragged down slowly, openly, taking in every inch he’d just freed. His breathing was heavier now, anger and lust twisting together.
Before you could twist away, his free hand rose. Two fingers caught your left nipple, rolling it slowly, then giving it a sharp, mean twist. A jolt of heat shot straight down to your core. Your back arched involuntarily, a broken sound catching in your throat before you could swallow it.
Your face flamed hotter. You tried to hide it, turning your head sharply to the side, eyes squeezing shut, but he followed, refusing to let you escape his gaze. The corner of his mouth lifted, dark satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as he watched the flush crawl down your neck, across your chest.
“let me go—” you struggled weakly, suddenly embarrassed at how easily you were being overpowered.
Your wrists were still pinned above your head in one of his large hands, your body arched against the mirror, breasts pushed forward like an offering. You tried to knee him, but the angle was useless. He simply pressed his thigh harder between your legs, the rough denim dragging against your soaked lace.
“squirming already, y/n?” His voice was low, rough with restrained fury.
You shook your head frantically, cheeks scarlet. “n-no stop—”
But he didn’t stop. He leaned in until his lips brushed the shell of your ear, eyes still locked on your face. “Why? because you hate how much you like it when I play with these pretty tits?” He taunted, twisting your nipple again, slower this time, pulling just enough to make your breath hitch.
“flushing so fucking pretty because you know I see every single reaction you’re trying to hide.” His thumb flicked the sensitive peak, then pinched harder, watching your lips part on a silent gasp.
Your hips jerked against his thigh despite yourself, a fresh wave of slick coating the lace between your legs. Tears of frustration and overwhelming sensation nearly pricked at the corners of your eyes.
“I said let me go,” you whispered, voice cracking with humiliation but no harsh edge to it. You hated how small you sounded. Hated how easily he overpowered you, how he followed every turn of your face like he was drinking in your embarrassment, savoring it.
Jungkook’s grip on your wrists didn’t loosen. Instead, he used his knee to nudge your legs wider, the high slit of the dress parting obscenely. His free hand left your breast only to slide down your stomach, fingers hooking into the edge of your panties and dragging them aside with one rough tug.
“Make me,” he murmured, dark and dangerous. His eyes never left your face, even as two thick fingers dragged through your folds, collecting the evidence of how badly your body was betraying you. He brought them up, shiny and wet, and held them between you both.
“Look how soaked you are,” he said quietly, voice thick with mocking disbelief. “All from a few twists and some dirty words.”
He trailed his slick soaked fingers slowly up your body, dragging the evidence of your arousal between your breasts, painting a shiny, humiliating trail across your cleavage. When he reached the soft swell, he leaned in and licked it off with one slow stroke of his tongue, tasting you right there on your own skin.
You whimpered, the sound breaking in your throat. Your fingers twitched desperately at your sides, fighting the humiliating urge to grip his hair and pull his mouth lower, anywhere that would give you relief. The wet heat of his tongue against your flushed skin made your nipples tighten even more.
“Funny, isn’t it?” Jungkook murmured against your cleavage, lips brushing your skin as he spoke. “How easy it is to lie to yourself when your body refuses to lie back.”
You attempt to turn your head again, mortified, but he caught your jaw with his fingers, forcing your gaze back to his.
“No hiding,” he said quietly, voice laced with anger and hunger. “You wanted to remind me I’m nothing but sex? Then watch what happens when I take you at your word.”
He dropped to his knees suddenly, the movement jerky with restrained fury. You were still pressed against the wall, helpless as he hooked one leg over his shoulder, sharp stiletto digging into his back.
You kicked out with the other foot defensively, the pointed heel aimed at his chest. “Don’t—”
He caught your ankle mid air, grip bruising. Instead of pushing it away, he brought the heel to his mouth and kissed the sharp point, eyes never leaving yours. Then his lips moved to the arch of your foot, tongue tracing the delicate bones like he was savoring the very thing meant to wound him.
The contrast of your cruelty, his worship, made your head spin.
“Jungkook...” Your voice broke, shaky and far too soft.
“You’re pathetic,” you spat, forcing venom back into your tone even as heat coiled tighter in your belly. The words tasted like acid, born from the raw, aching hurt of the way he’d seen every crack in you and still walked away. “On your knees for a girl who’ll never choose you. Is that what gets you off? knowing you’re beneath me?”
Jungkook’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t flinch. If anything, the cruel words seemed to fuel him. He pressed another slow, open mouthed kiss to the inside of your ankle, tasting the soft skin just above the expensive strap.
He spins you sudden, anger laced in his actions as he makes you face the mirror this time, before yanking your hips back. Your palms slapped against the glass again, breasts swaying heavily, nipples still tight and reddened from his fingers.
The mirror showed the scandalous sight in merciless clarity: you, bent forward in nothing but the bunched dress and sky high louboutins, ass pushed out, while Jungkook knelt behind you, spreading you open with both hands.
“Yeah?” he murmured against your calf, voice rough and low. “Keep telling me how pathetic I am all you want, but we both know who’s shaking right now.” He laughed darkly, the sound low and dangerous.
His fingers spread your folds meanly, exposing every slick inch of you to the cool air and his burning gaze. You winced, thighs instinctively trying to snap shut, but he kept you open.
“Jungkook...not here,” you gasped, panic suddenly threading through the heat. “someone will hear—”
“Let them hear what a liar you are.” He rasped, voice laced with fury and filthy hunger before he leaned in, nose pressing against your pussy from behind, hard, smooshing into your folds with enough pressure that it bordered on painful. The mean grind of his nose against your clit made you hiss sharply, hips jerking forward.
“so’ fucking pretty,” he growled against you, the words vibrating straight through your core as he pulled away slightly to admire your pretty folds.
“Look at her. Look how pretty she flutters every time I suck right here.” He latched back onto your clit hard, sucking with brutal, angry precision.
The sudden, vicious pull of his mouth sent white hot pleasure ripping through you so fast your knees buckled instantly, legs twitching uncontrollably.
“Jungkook...fuck...too much—” you whimpered, trying to twist away, one hand slipping from the mirror to push at his head. He caught it and pinned it back down, forcing you to keep watching.
Just as the edge rushed up to meet you, he pulled away, leaving a thick string of his saliva connecting his lips to your swollen, glistening folds. Your hips jerked backward helplessly, chasing what he’d stolen
He didn’t give you time to recover. He shoved his nose back in, pressing meanly against your soaked pussy from behind, inhaling deep and filthy like he couldn’t get enough of your scent. A low, guttural groan vibrated against you, the sound so raw it made your walls clench around nothing, before he pulled away again.
His tongue traced your folds for one torturous second, teasing, before you flinched violently, oversensitive nerves screaming. He laughed darkly against your inner thigh, the sound low and mocking.
“Please, kook...I can’t...” you nearly cried, voice cracking. You made no real attempt to push him away. Instead, your thighs tried to trap his head between them, desperate and trembling.
“Mmm? you can’t what?” he asked, voice dangerously soft. He pressed his mouth back to you from behind, lips brushing your dripping entrance as he spoke, letting every word drag against your sensitive flesh.
You sobbed quietly, the sound muffled against your own arm. “It’s too much… I can’t–I...if you kiss me there I—”
“If I kiss you there?” He cut you off with a mean little chuckle, tongue flicking cruelly against your clit once, twice, before pulling back just enough to speak.
“If I kiss you where, baby?” His voice dropped, dark and taunting, the pet name dripping with mockery. “You’re going to have to be specific. Tell me exactly where you don’t want my mouth.”
He spread you wider with both hands impatiently, thumbs digging into the soft flesh of your ass, opening you obscenely for his gaze and his mouth. His breath was hot against your dripping core.
“Look at yourself,” he ordered, voice rough with anger and hunger. “Legs shaking in those expensive heels while you trap my head like you’ll die if I stop. Clenching every time I breathe on it. so fucking sensitive.”
He spat directly onto your exposed hole, watching the saliva drip lewdly before licking it back up in one slow, obscene stroke.
You stared at your own reflection, mortified and unbearably turned on. Your face was scarlet, lips parted on shallow, desperate breaths. Your breasts heaved with every ragged inhale. And between your spread thighs, Jungkook’s dark head buried deep, tongue lazily tracing your folds again, never giving you enough.
You bit down hard on your lip, desperate to trap every sound, but it felt too good. The wet heat of his mouth, the way he devoured you like he was punishing you for every cruel word you’d ever spat at him, it was overwhelming.
Just as the coil in your belly tightened viciously, right when you started clenching around nothing, desperate for release, Jungkook pulled back.
He stood up in one fluid motion, leaving you bent slightly forward against the mirror, panting, aching, and painfully empty. Your climax hovered just out of reach, cruelly denied.
Before you could catch your breath, he pressed against you from behind. The thick line of his cock strained against his jeans, grinding slowly, deliberately between your ass cheeks. You gasped sharply at the sudden pressure, the denim rough against your soaked, sensitive flesh.
“What if I just fuck you right here, right now hm?” he rasped against your ear, voice thick with anger and lust. His hips rolled once, letting you feel exactly how hard he was. “Bend you over properly,” he continued, lips brushing the shell of your ear, “stuff this pretty, dripping pussy full while you try so fucking hard to stay quiet. Would that finally shut that lying mouth up, princess?”
You gasped sharply, legs trembling violently in your louboutins.
You shook your head frantically, tears of overwhelming need and panic stinging your eyes. “no… no, please...”
“What was that?” Jungkook chuckled darkly, leaning in closer. He rolled his hips again, slower this time, grinding the hard ridge of his cock against your wetness with obscene pressure. The friction was delicious and cruel at the same time, enough to make your clit throb painfully, not enough to let you come.
You winced, a broken whimper slipping out as your hips twitched back against him despite yourself.
You were still slightly bent over, palms pressed to the mirror, ass pushed out toward him like an offering.
You didn’t dare look at your reflection. You knew exactly how lewd you looked, bent over for a man you swore was nothing just seconds ago.
“Pathetic,” he rasped, voice dripping with mockery. His hand came down in a sharp, stinging slap against your ass, the sound loud enough to make your stomach drop. The burn bloomed hot across your skin, only making you wetter.
Before you could recover, Jungkook chuckled again low, cruel. In one swift move he flipped you around, slamming your back against the mirror. Your breasts crushed against his chest, sensitive nipples dragging roughly over the fabric of his shirt with every heaving breath. The friction sent sparks straight to your core.
Desperation clawed at you. One touch. Just one touch and you knew you’d shatter.
Whimpering softly, you pushed yourself closer, molding your body to his. Your fingers fisted desperately in his shirt as you arched, silently begging. Your tits felt heavy, nipples aching, begging for the attention he refused to give you.
The risk hit you all at once, the thin velvet curtain, the way your voice was already threatening to crack and spill out into loud, needy moans if he touched you. Your body was too sensitive, sensitive enough that you’d come undone if he just opened his mouth, untouched and loud enough for everyone to hear what was happening in the fitting room.
You tried to push him away, gentle at first, palms pressing weakly against his shoulders with fingers trembling.
Jungkook knew it. He could feel the way your body trembled, the way your thighs shook.
A devastated whine tore from your throat once he stopped leaning against you. The distance between your bodies was maddening now. He wasn’t touching you where you needed it most, and the absence made every nerve ending scream. You were so close, so unbearably turned on that even the slightest brush would shatter you.
He kept one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your jaw, forcing your flushed face up to meet his eyes.
“You won’t let me eat you,” he said quietly, dangerously calm despite the fury simmering underneath. “You won’t let me fuck you. Wont even let me kiss that pretty mouth.”
His jaw tightened. “So tell me,” he murmured, voice dropping lower, rougher, “what the fuck do you want me to do, hm?”
His grip shifted slightly. “Because I want to do a lot of things to you.” His voice dipped, quieter now. “But how the hell am I supposed to… when you won’t tell me what you want?”
His thumb brushed your bottom lip, pressing just enough to part it.
Jungkook’s eyes darkened as he watched you squirm, still angry, still hurt by every vicious thing you’d thrown at him.
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The words stuck in your throat, too humiliating. He tilted his head, reading you far too easily. A cruel little smile tugged at his lips. “Nothing to say?” he taunted, voice low.
“You were so fucking loud with all that ‘you’re nothing’ bullshit earlier. Now you can’t even tell me what you need?” He leaned in closer, lips hovering just above yours, breath warm. “Come on, princess. Use your words.” he taunted, waiting.
“Or are you too proud to admit you needed me to stay…” His voice dropped even lower. “…or that this isn’t just about sex anymore?”
The words landed like a strike to the chest. Your breath stuttered, the air between you suddenly too thin. You stared at him, chest heaving, core still throbbing painfully with denied release.
You stayed silent for a long moment, heart hammering so hard it felt like it might crack your ribs.
“You can’t do that, Jungkook,” you finally whispered, voice hoarse and shaking. “You can’t expect more than I can give you.”
Jungkook’s eyes narrowed, something dark and wounded flashing through the anger. His grip on your jaw stayed firm, thumb still pressing lightly against your lower lip.
“You can’t even handle what I give you,” he said, low and cutting.
The truth of it stung worse than any insult you’d thrown at him tonight. Your thighs pressed together instinctively, trying to ease the relentless ache that still lingered between them.
His grip tightened just slightly against your jaw, thumb still resting where your lip parted against it, your breath uneven against his skin. “You feel that?” he murmured, voice low, rough at the edges. “That’s what happens when you keep swallowing everything instead of saying it.”
Your chest rose sharply. You hated how easily he cornered you, physically, emotionally, until there was nowhere left to run except straight into yourself.
“I told you,” you whispered, voice tight. “You expect things I don’t owe you.”
His eyes hardened. Something shifted there slightly, not louder, not softer either, but colder. “You think that’s what this is?” he asked quietly.
Your pulse hammered, refusing to answer. Didn’t trust your voice not to betray you.
Slowly, his hand dropped from your jaw. The loss of contact didn’t feel like relief, it felt more like distance.
“You don’t owe me anything,” he said flatly, stepping back, creating space between you, dragging a hand through his hair like he was forcing himself to stay calm.
You really were just going around in circles, saying the same things, dancing around the same phrases, never reaching anything real. This felt more like a puzzle neither of you knew how to solve, full of missing pieces and too much pride to even admit it.
You wanted to know... where he had gone. Why he disappeared without a word, only to come back like nothing had happened. Why it bothered you this much.
And why, when he did come back, he looked different... more tired and rougher around the edges, like something had worn him down in ways he just... wouldn’t explain.
Maybe it hadn’t meant anything to him, and you were stupid for even thinking it did. But that wasn’t entirely his fault either as you were never direct, never honest about what you wanted. Hell, you weren’t even sure you knew what you wanted.
Still… the anger burned hot in your chest, because confusion didn’t erase the fact that he left.
Silence stretched between you until it snapped.
“You’re the one who walked out that night,” you said suddenly, the words slipping out angrily before you could stop them.
His head turned toward you immediately. “Yeah,” he shot back, voice rough. “And you still won’t say what the hell you wanted me to do instead.”
Maybe don’t just disappear like that. Maybe don’t just walk away without a word and expect me to be fine. Maybe don’t just do the exact thing I’ve always feared, letting someone get close, letting them see the real me… only for them to end up leaving in the end.
But none of that left your lips, as you were too stubborn, too angry, and most of all... too proud to admit how much it hurt.
“I didn’t want anything,” you lied said coldly instead.
His expression didn’t change right away, but something in his eyes went still. Flat in a way that made your stomach drop.
“You’re really gonna stick with that?” he asked, voice lower now.
Your chin lifted instinctively, out of defense. “It’s worked so far.”
He let out a quiet breath through his nose, like he was holding something back, something he wasn’t going to say.
Then he stepped back. Like something had shifted out of reach.
“Yeah,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Looks like it.”
The distance between you settled in fast. Your arms crossed over your chest again, protective, like you could shove everything back where it belonged if you just stood still long enough.
He ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight, eyes flicking away from you for the first time since he walked in. And that, more than anything... made something twist in your chest.
“You’re impossible,” he said finally, not even looking at you now.
You swallowed, forcing your expression to stay neutral, unaffected, like it didn’t matter. Like he didn’t matter.
“Then stop trying,” you shot back. sharp, yet quiet.
That got his attention again. His head turned, eyes locking onto yours, something darker settling behind them now. “Yeah,” he said quietly.
Then, more sharp, “I think I will.”
That... that wasn’t part of the script.
“Get changed,” he muttered, voice rough again. “The stylists are waiting.” He turned toward the curtain without another word.
Your chest tightened painfully, almost suffocating you.
His name left your mouth before you could stop it. A soft, unplanned sound.
He paused. Just for a second. Didn’t turn around yet, didn’t look at you.
But the word died before it reached your lips. Your pride strangled it, and silence answered instead, uncomfortable and heavy.
He waited, just long enough to make it clear that he’d given you the chance.
One last one, and when nothing came, he pushed through the curtain hard. The fabric snapped violently back into place behind him.
The sudden quiet he left behind felt suffocating. You stood there alone, staring at your reflection in the mirror now, at your flushed face, unsteady breathing, the dress clinging tightly to your body, still too revealing, still too perfect.
Your fingers slowly lifted to your chest, pressing, pulling lightly against the bodice as your pulse thundered beneath your skin. Something heavier settled in your chest. And the worst part wasn’t the ache still lingering low in your body, wasn’t even the anger.
Unwillingly, the thought settled in, heavy and unwelcome, impossible to ignore.
This really wasn‘t just about sex anymore.
an: i‘m having so much fun edging yall but ive gotta clock back in my lab sharp 6am tomorrow so nothings funny anymore </3
i really really really appreciate all the interaction and the love you guys give to this series and i do consider your thoughts and suggestions, so don’t be shy to comment if yall wanna see anything particular happen in the next parts. imma try to make it work with my own personal tweaks, but this is a slow burn so i wont rush anything and will continue sticking to my own pace. expect weekly updates!!
i have a silly little oneshot slightly written asw so imma post that in like 2-3 days once im free. love you all <33
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