czy

Jungkook sits across from you in the dimly lit restaurant, elbow propped against the table, his head resting heavily in his palm. Around you, the restaurant is lively — silverware clinking against porcelain, low laughter spilling between candlelit tables, soft conversations blending into the warm ambiance. Maybe even a quiet first love confession happening at a nearby booth, completely unbeknownst to you.

Still, none of it feels louder than Jungkook’s silence.

Because while everyone around you seems to be falling into each other, you and him sit in silent tension. Painfully distant, neither of you even looking at each other.

His glass of wine sits untouched and forgotten between you. Your fingers fidget anxiously in your lap, unsure of what to do with them. And somewhere between the appetizers and silence, a breakup waits patiently — only minutes away from happening.

As Jungkook sits there, quietly processing your admission, you feel the weight of months spent burying your truth begin to lift from your shoulders.

It’s bittersweet.

Relief settles in first. Your chest feels lighter now that you’ve finally said it all, now that you no longer have to force feelings or sidestep the conversations you were too afraid to have. For the first time in months, your conscience feels quieter.

But guilt settles beside it just as quickly, a lingering pang blooming in your gut when you see your boyfriend ex-boyfriend so visibly distressed.

You and Jungkook had been together for nearly a year. Not the longest relationship by any means, but long enough that loving him had become second nature. Long enough for him to know little things about you — like how you hated leaving your toothbrush in the bathroom or how you couldn’t sleep with socks on, no matter how cold it got. Long enough for spare clothes to accumulate each other’s apartments, for two robes to hang in your bathroom, and for his shoe rack to hold an extra pair of slippers despite the fact that he technically lived alone.

Long enough to feel settled. Long enough to already imagine eternity.

Jungkook had been painfully easy to love. Thoughtful. Dependable. Patient in ways that mattered. The kind of person who never raised his voice when he was upset, who noticed little habits you didn’t even realize you had, who showed up without hesitation even when life was heavy on his own shoulders. He checked every box you thought a good partner should have.

However, there was just one he didn’t quite complete.

Your heart is with him, but your body isn’t satisfied.

“Let me get this straight,” Jungkook says, elbows planted against the table, fingers intertwined tightly in front of him. His expression hardens with disbelief. “You want to leave me because we’re not having good sex?”

“Okay, maybe lower your voice,” you mumble quickly, embarrassingly glancing around the restaurant before looking back at him. “Kook, when’s the last time we actually had sex. And I don’t mean morning quickies right before work, I mean like… sex.”

Jungkook exhales through his nose, gaze dropping briefly to the table before reaching for your hand.

“Baby, you know how hard things have been,” he says quietly. “I work, you work. Whenever we have the time, we’re too exhausted. Half the time we barely even see each other.”

“I just don’t get it,” you say, pulling your hand back before he can fully take it. Frustration bleeds into your voice now, embarrassment fading away as something sharper takes its place. “It was never an issue before! We used to have sex all the time, Kook.”

Jungkook’s lip presses into a thin line as he watches you hesitate, like you’re standing on the edge of something you don’t wanna say — a word that feels almost forbidden on your tongue. But you’ve already gone this far.

So it comes out anyway.

“Do you just not love me anymore?”

Jungkook’s expression shifts in an instant. 

“What?” he says quickly. “No. No, baby, don’t do that.” His voice softens, quieter now. “You know I love you. That'll never change. Why would you even think that?”

“Can you blame me?” Your eyes sting as you look down at the table. “You barely kiss me anymore, Jungkook. You barely touch me unless we’re leaving for work or going to bed. I feel like I’m constantly begging for your attention.”

“Honey…” He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “You know my hours have changed. My position at work is different now, there’s more responsibility and-”

“There you go,” you cut in, voice cracking despite yourself. “That’s exactly the problem.”

You shake your head, blinking hard.

“Every conversation somehow turns back to work. Every excuse is work.” Your chest tightens. “I get that you’re tired, Jungkook, I do. But it feels like your job gets all of you and I just get the short end of the stick.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says quickly, nodding like he’s already trying to solve it. “Okay, I get it. Look, I can take time off work, we can spend more time together and-”

“And then what?” you interrupt, brows knitting together. “We just go back to whatever this is?”

His mouth closes.

You shake your head.

“I don’t want you to fit me into your schedule. I should already be a part of it.”

“Babe, just…” He leans forward now, desperation and panic slipping into his expression. “Just tell me what you need, okay? Tell me what to do. I’ll fix it.”

And maybe months ago, hearing that would’ve been enough.

“I think…” You pause, looking down at your hands. “I think we need to take a break.”

The words land between you and settle into something ugly. The silence is thick and suffocating.

You don’t even have to look up to know Jungkook is staring at you now, eyes widened, nostrils flared slightly like the air had just been punched from his lungs. You can feel it — the disbelief, the panic, the hurt beginning to settle over him.

Because everybody knows what a break means.

At best, it’s the soft launch of an actual breakup — dragging things out before eventually never speaking again. At worst, it’s an excuse to sleep with other people while technically avoiding the guilt of calling it cheating.

Whichever one it is you’re offering, Jungkook won’t have it.

“No.”

He shakes his head immediately.

“Yes,” you say quietly, through your voice wavers. “I think it’s what’s best for right now.”

“What does this even mean?” he asks, pushing back in his seat slightly. “A break for what? So you can go find somebody else? Forget about me?”

The accusation stings, mostly because of how afraid he sounds.

You stand slowly, fingers reaching for your purse. “I need space, Jungkook.”

The words feel cruel leaving your mouth.

You turn toward the restaurant doors, exhaustion finally catching up to you. You just want to go home. Crawl into bed. Stop feeling everything at once.

But Jungkook isn’t ready to let the conversation end.

“Baby…”

His hand closes gently around your arm before you can make it far, enough to stop you but not enough to hurt — he would never. Before you can even turn back, he’s already standing in front of you.

“Please don’t do this,” he says, voice cracking around the edges now. His eyes search yours, glossy and pleading in a way that makes this harder than it already is. “Don’t leave me. We can fix this, okay? We’ll figure it out.”

You swallow hard.

“We will,” you say softly, forcing steadiness into your voice. “Just… not tonight, okay?”

it started with the late night snacks, you waking up to him sitting cross legged by the coffee table, halfway through a bowl of shin ramyun, a bluetooth mic warm in his palm with his voice dramatically belting out another pop song crackling through the speakers.

you would ask if he’s live, and he would shake his head, already offering you a spare bowl he made while you slept. you two would eat together, and he would force you to sing sometimes. your parts got edited out, of course, but he would keep those clips just for himself.

then it was the bikes. you already knew your boyfriend would be a problem after the first bike he got, but now he has four, maybe five; and it’s given you more mini heart attacks than you can count.

by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, you would sit and sip some warm cocoa, look out at the nice view like an old lady, try to finally find some reprieve from the constant headaches you get from this man.

he’s gone god knows where, said he was going to film again. you expected him to head to the store, maybe vlog a grocery run, or invade namjoon’s privacy again. what you did not expect was your boyfriend all but skidding down the street right below you, one hand on the handle, and the other steadying a camera in front of him, trying to get a good angle.

you weren’t sure whether to call the cops, your therapist, or his mother. eventually, you shut him down by ringing his phone, and he shut you up by making you squirt twice.

eventually, it trickled into the showers. him wet, hair messy and soaking, making weird faces, furrowing his brows, toothbrush wedged between lips as he stands there in all his half-naked glory. shorts on, of course, because he said his ass is too fat to be given out for free.

those specific scenes you would be bothered by, if he didn’t give you the vip exclusive cuts of him stroking his pretty wet cock after, creaming with your name bouncing off the bathroom walls.

“two more minutes,” you mumble over another layer of brown lip gloss, smacking your lips for the nth time, and you squint at your reflection. then reaching for your eyeliner pen again—“pretty girl, you said that seven minutes ago.” his voice rumbles from behind.

the whine that leaves you makes him whine an even higher, even whinier whine.

your boyfriend sits on his bed bare-chested, grey sweatpants, tattoos out and glowing in the warm light, hair perfectly tousled — the whole effortless pussy-popper-9000 look — phone already propped up with one of his ridiculously expensive black tripods.

there isn’t an ounce of annoyance in his eyes though; just warm, gooey pools of affection for you. you. you.

“c’mere. beautiful baby,” he resorts to making grabby hands at you, which you catch in the mirror of the vanity he put in his room just for you. he’s making gross kissy sounds, beckoning you over like he would his dog bam.

you roll your eyes, and yet, you’re already setting down the pen and making your way to him.

“look who it is!” he’s clapping now, of fucking course he is, beaming at you as you approach. his hands then start drumming over his thighs, like some entrance fanfare for a princess — which you absolutely are in his eyes.

his lip tucks under his teeth immediately, as soon as you make contact, your hand holding onto his shoulder for a brief second just to steady yourself, before settling down on his lap like he’d instructed. and he’s already excited.

jeongguk is warm, and his scent engulfs you like a hug, and it soothes your nerves, even for a moment. you’re soft in his hands, always so soft; and his arms find your middle — you both melt into each other instinctively.

you’re met with a 4k 60fps view of yourself and him, shot wide to capture the way your thighs spread over his, and the way his silhouette swallows yours.

his shoulders go on for days, and his milky skin contrasts beautifully with the black tank top you (barely) have on. he squeezes around your tummy, making both of you laugh like idiots.

you look good together, real good. you lean in slightly, turning your head and pursing your lips to examine your makeup, when your vision is soon obstructed by one large, tattooed hand reaching up and cupping both your cheeks.

he grabs your face, touch gentle but firm as he squeezes lightly, and from what you can see on the screen — god, he’s fucking delighted. “so so prettyyy. what a pretty girl, no?” he coos, eyes crinkling at the corners as he gives one of his eyebrow-smiles.

you’re seething, and also soaking, kinda. he doesn’t need to know that.

“you’re actually the worst ever,” you grunt, trying to sound mean but it’s muffled by the pout he’s forced you into. both your hands have to wrap around his wrist just to wrestle his stupidly strong, stupidly veiny hand off your face, which you manage to do, but it’s no use.

“yeah? you promise?” he’s fucking giggling, proud of it, proud of your little attempts to resist him because you both know you can’t.

his other hand reaches over to gently pat your cheek, before pinching it lovingly; which earns him another whine. and he just loves it. he adores it so much you can feel it right under your thigh. his cock is thrumming in his boxers, heart so full as he leans over to press a big, wet, smooch to your other cheek.

ugh. “just start the damn video.”

after a few more pokes to your face with some odd, boyish explosion sound effects, he finally concedes, hips shifting under you.

one arm — very obvious and very unnecessary — hooks around your chest, effectively grabbing and squeezing your tit as he moves you like he’s done it a hundred times before.

he has. and like a hundred times before, you cuss him out for it.

until his free hand moves, his finger pressing to his lips, which, unfortunately, shuts you up pretty quick.

his thumb hits the record button, and he’s shifting you back, though his grip doesn’t loosen, just slips down to your waist, where he pulls you even closer.

“today, i am joined by the scariest, sexiest, most murderous force of nature i know—” “aaand you are going to end up six feet under,” you’re already crossing your arms, eyes narrowing at him through the screen. his brows pinch, looking to the camera and his imaginary viewers, shrugging in a told you so kinda manner, even as his hands start massaging over your shoulders slowly.

“see, this recording is actually for my safety rather than my enjoyment.”

he props his chin over your shoulder, and his little quip is pathetic. he’s pathetic. but knowing jeongguk, he would own that title like a fuckin’ badge of honor, too. you let out a huff, relaxing into his touch as your eyes flutter shut.

but jeongguk doesn’t like that. he clicks his tongue, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, lips brushing your hair as he nudges you with his nose to look back at the camera. “c’mon. introduce yourself, mama?”

your head falls forward, a smile tugging on your lips as you avoid the camera. “hello, i’m y/n, this is my clingy pet dog. bye.”

your lack of enthusiasm makes him chuckle, breath hot against your skin. you are sooo stubborn and he just loves you like this. “damn right.” he growls right behind your ear, which is insane considering his eyes peek out from behind you, all wide and innocent.

even as he’s clearly ogling at your cleavage and your pretty face on the screen.

his hands move from your waist, sliding up higher, and you, begrudgingly, uncross your arms, earning you another gravelly ‘good girl’ and a wet kiss to your temple. he’s already cupping your breasts, squeezing and bouncing them for the camera, the creamy flesh ripples under his handling.

it’s embarrassing, your face flushing pink as he toys with your tits, and you’re just letting him, biting back whimpers and whines with every punishing squeeze. “mn, koo—”

one hand slides upward from your breast, lightly smacking your cheek again before settling around your throat. the suddenness making your breath hitch, eyes rolling back for a moment as you tried to steady yourself. a breathless huff of laughter leaves you, in another futile attempt to sound mean.

“freak..” you hiss.

he only grinned, a wicked, lopsided thing. "mhm? and what else?" he murmured, his voice a deep rasp.

without so much as a beat to let you respond, he catches your lower lip between his fingers and pushed his thumb past your teeth, filling your mouth and muffling your indignant protests into soft, wet sounds of submission.

rude.

jeongguk is having the time of his life, his hand a heavy weight on your neck, not to choke you, no; but anchor you to him.

he can do the choking later.

his gaze is doe-like and adoring, shimmering with pure, unadulterated joy; glowing with a soft, manic sort of adoration that makes your heart ache even as he's being a total menace.

using his firm grip, he moves your head to get a better look at you and fuck. “fuck, look at you. look at my girl.” a heavy throb pulses straight through his cock, it almost hurts. “you are so pretty.”

his tone is dripping with honey through gritted teeth, disgustingly, aggressively sweet even as his thumb is pressed deep into your mouth.

the thick, delicious intrusion forces you to suckle on it, glaring at him through lashes that were already growing damp. you’re trying to maintain some semblance of that pride, but to him you’re just cute. so fucking cute.

“today,” he starts and reaches down, his fingers hooking under the hem of your black tank top. he doesn't ask; he just peels the fabric upward, dragging the soft cotton over the curve of your stomach and up, up, until your breasts are bared to the cool air and his gaze.

and he gives you that look. that deeply terrifying look that always ends with you in a messy, sticky heap. it’s manic, it’s a hunger that borderlines on holy despite the mischief dancing in his eyes.

he is so, so incredibly gone for you.

he lets out another breathy, jagged laugh.

“we’re gonna see how long it takes to completely break you, aren't we?" he whispers, the challenge hanging in the air like a dare. "how long can i ruin my girl before i finally lose it?" his nose nuzzled back into your hair.

you can’t even process the sheer audacity of his words, you’re struggling to breathe around the pad of his digit when—

smack!

the sound of his palm hitting the underside of your breast is sharp and loud in the quiet room, the sting sending a delicious, jolting shock straight to your clit.

the sting is sharp, a sudden burst of heat that makes your toes curl and your eyes water, but he doesn't give you a second to recover. his expression tells you he’s enjoying your discomfort far too much. then another, smack, right to the other breast.

you protest around his finger, but his grip is so strong and his hand is so heavy.

he gives in another light smack, before grabbing it roughly and squeezing, sending you choking around a sob. “b-baby mmff, please— mmnnn!”

he watches the way your skin flushes, the way your nipple hardens into a tight, dark peak from the sudden sting, and he lets out a soft, triumphant giggle that is entirely too affectionate for the way he’s looking at you.

"hold the camera, baby," he commands, his voice a low, honeyed growl that leaves no room for argument.

he nods his head to the device, forcing you to reach out with a trembling hand to angle it the way he wants.

“that’s it, you listen so well f’me sweet girl,” he peppers kisses over your shoulder, “right on your pussy. show ‘em those cute little panties.”

you would roll your eyes, but you just obey, the hand in your throat and thumb in your mouth a constant reminder of who’s in charge right now. it’s shaky, but it gets the job done, the phone held down low to show off the pretty, expensive black lace that did very little to hide the wetness pooling on your lips.

“fuuuuck, look at that,” he breathes out, mouthing at the juncture of your neck as he stares down at the screen. “god, why are you so fuckin’ sexy, huh? so fuckin’ lucky.” as you struggle to maintain your hold on the camera, your knuckles turning white, you feel his hand leave your breast.

down your waist, down your navel, down the soft curve which he squeezes lovingly. down, down, down.

his fingers come into view on the camera, pressing two into the lace, watching, his jaw falling slack as your lips make a soft, filthy squelch. the dampness only spreads.

“ohhh fuck, sweet girl,” you both whine, like the sight itself is breaking you both.

his thumb presses harder into your mouth, a silent command to keep sucking, to keep staying quiet and good while he works. his hand is a hot, heavy intrusion between your thighs, his fingers sliding past the damp, silken folds of your heat to find the center of your ache.

the moment he touches you, the moment his fingertip brushes against your swollen clit you feel your entire body lurch. you’re trying so hard to keep the camera steady, to keep the frame focused, but as he begins to rub you with a slow, punishingly deliberate pressure, your hand begins to slip.

he sees it, of course; he sees everything.

“don’t let go, baby, come on. you can do it,” his fingers slow, circling aching little figures around your swollen clit, and you buck your hips in an attempt to meet his hand. “k-kooooo—mmmff,” his thumb is now pressing inside your cheek, stretching your lips open for the camera as your noises spill out. “come on, fix the camera. show ‘em how good my girl is, yeah?”

blinking back tears, your grip tightens around the tripod again, the material biting into your palm — and you almost fucking let go because he speeds up all of a sudden. “mnnn ohh— oh my god!”

having your lips pulled open, your spit dribbles down your chin and around his hand, and the disgusting, wet feeling only spurs him on, practically ripping the lace out the way as two thick fingers plunge into your pretty pussy, his thumb relentless against your clit.

“thaaat’s right, that’s my good girl,” he hisses, eyes narrowed and zoned right in on the way your velvety walls suck him in. so fucking needy.

you can only respond with throaty little mewls, trying to hide your face in his neck as he works you open up close and personal, all in high definition.

you feel so fucking exposed, so vulnerable, so disgusting — his hand around your throat tightens, making you gasp and choke for air. his other hand pulls out, and you find tears welling up in your eyes again, head jerking in betrayal, “y-you fucking—”

the slap is sharp, a stinging crack that echoes in the quiet room, and the heat of it goes straight to your tummy as you yelp.

your inner thigh is already flushed, the skin sensitive and tender, but the impact of his hand slick, hot, and heavy with your own sticky juices is enough to make your vision blur. the sensation of his wet palm meeting your skin is so visceral, so unapologetically messy, that a fresh sob hitches in your throat.

he slaps you again. and again, for good measure.

"look at the camera, sweet girl. please?" he coos, his voice a devastating contrast to the sting he just delivered. it’s so sweet, so honeyed and adoring, as if he hadn't just punished you for your momentary lapse in composure.

“don’t hide. show them how much you're enjoying this for me. look at the screen, princess."

you’re fucking shivering.

your face hot and tear streaked, you force your heavy eyelids open. you feel so fucking gross, your lips are swollen and glistening with saliva, your hair is a mess, and you can feel the dampness of your own slick coating his hand.

but as you look back down to where the phone is angled, jeongguk is right there, his face hovering just inches from yours. his dark eyes are round and sparkly, filled with that worshipful light.

"there she fuckin’ is," he breathes, a low, ragged sound that vibrates in the air between you. he presses a messy kiss to your cheek. "my pretty girl. so fucking pretty. look at those eyes.. so wide and beautiful for me."

"j-jeongguk, please," you babble, the corner of your mouth is sore from his digit still pressing you open; the words coming out in broken, frantic whimpers.

your free hand clutches at the bedsheets, his hair, his bicep — anything — as the tension in your lower belly reaches a breaking point. “k-koo! hhnnn baby fuckfuckfuck,” “yes? yes my pretty girl?”

too much; the friction, the pressure, the sheer intensity of being watched and handled like this in front of a camera. "gonna— oh god, koo, g-gonna cum! i’m gonna cum, please!"

"yeah? gonna cum for koo?" his hand finally, finally leaves your face, letting you suck in a deep breath, still covered in sticky sweat and your saliva fucking everywhere.

you’re not sure what’s worse, the smears of your expensive brown lip gloss on his hand, or the way he sucks on his own thumb, making a show of swirling his tongue around it, tasting your spit before reaching down to help you film. like it was the most normal thing ever.

it makes your pussy clench, and you both wince.

“give it to me, mama. please?” he leans in, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to the curve of your shoulder, his lips soft against your heated skin even as his fingers suddenly become a blur of motion between your thighs, making you fucking scream as you squirm. it’s too much. too much. too much.

he’s working you with a ruthless, rhythmic precision, his thumb grinding against your clit in a way that feels like it’s trying to pull the very soul out of you — and the dirtiest thing somehow is the happiness on his face as he’s doing it.

through your tears you can make out his smile, his tongue poking out like he’s concentrated on a sketch rather than making his pretty girlfriend fall apart in a wet, hot mess.

the cherry on top? as he fucks into your sopping cunt, the filthiest noises filling the warm air around you, he’s peering down into the camera from over your shoulder.

and he, with all the audacity in the fucking world, winks.

the climax hits you like a physical blow, a violent, tectonic shift that shatters your remaining strength. you let out a high, keening wail, your back arching so sharply it feels like you might snap.

your vision explodes into white light as the first massive wave of release erupts from you. you feel the hot, forceful spray of your juices drenching his hand and splashing against the sheets, and the floor. a torrential outpouring of pure, unbridled ecstasy.

you’re shaking, sobbing, your entire body convulsing in the throes of a squirt so intense it feels like you’re being emptied out entirely.

and through the haze of your undoing, through the tears and the gasps and the sheer, overwhelming sensation of being broken open, you see him. he’s watching you instead of the camera, his eyes locked on you. his girl. as he captures every messy, beautiful second of your surrender.

a wide, enamored, and utterly obsessed grin is plastered on his face. he’s watching his masterpiece unfold in real time, and he looks like he’s never been more proud in his entire life.

“oh my god, you’re the cutest thing ever,” he’s giggling. he made you squirt all over and he’s fucking giggling.

after the first initial spray, he pulls his fingers out, only to plunge them back in, easily now, from all the wetness and slick, pushing, flicking against that spot with just the right pressure, to pull another spray from you. his eyes glued to your teary face, brows furrowed and lips still pulled in that stupid smile as he tries to soak in every single reaction.

“koo, baby, nghhhh, you’re so—“ you grit out through your teeth, thighs trembling violently, as the pleasure and stinging pain blend together so bad, your eyeliner is washed clean off by now.

he pulls out, goes back in for another, pulling a tinier fountain out of you,

and then another — but you’re pushing, pounding weakly against his forearm, and he finally stops. his hand resting, cupping over your creamy, puffy pussy.

there’s nothing but your breathing for a moment, and the thrum of your heartbeats racing in the aftermath.

he sets the camera back on the table in front of you, angling it low so it still catches every last drop of your release dripping down your thighs. his hand, the one drenched in your squirt, reaches up again, finding its place back on your neck the to tilt your head the way he wants and kiss you.

it’s wet, it’s messy, and so so soft, so so loving. his piercing cools the heat of your swollen lips as he sucks on your tongue playfully, before it’s your turn to smack him away.

“mm, you did so good. you’re so fucking pretty. so fucking sweet.” he praises, genuinely lovesick. “my little porn star.”

your breathing fans his face, and he kisses you again. can’t get enough of you.

“are we gonna count that as one? or three?” you question, the teasing lilt returning to your voice as you glance at the still-recording phone, a few specks of your release glistening on the screen.

he hums for a moment, looking at the device before turning back, that grin of his turning cocky, proud.

“one, definitely one. ‘m far from done with you, mama.”

“i fucking hate you.”

you both let out a deep sigh, and share another deep, lingering kiss, before he’s freeing his huge, heavy, aching cock, and tightening his hand back around your throat with a smooch to your temple.

lord pray for this man’s storage.

note: whipped this up in like 4 hours. i’m not a smut writer at all. was very horny. won’t happen again. bye

perm calling card. @divakoo @chwrrybby

The dining room was close to empty. Outside of the kitchen staff and the two other waiters, you were the only person here. Leaning against a table, you had just finished cleaning. Only 2 booths were filled. Lunch time was roughly over as it was approaching 1pm. The bell to your restaurant rang and two masked men walked inside. Black masks and dark caps, with hoodies and black sweats adorning the two figures. 

Your coworker, Sarah approached the men with an awkward smile. “Welcome in, table for 2?” she questioned as she pulled out two menus from the hostess stand. The men nodded their heads and followed her to their table calmly.  

“All yours,” she whispered to you as she passed by, tapping your shoulder quickly. Your head jolted and faced the table in the corner by the window. You eyed the men eerily, trying to make out some type of image of what they may look like. You approached the table with a smile, pulling out your notepad and pen. “Hey guys, welcome in. I’m y/n, I'm gonna be serving you today,” you beamed with your best customer service voice. 

The man to the right, with big doe eyes locked onto your figure. Sizing you up and down slowly, before tapping the table and whispering in Korean to get the attention of the other man. Blonde peeking through his cap, his eyes making their way to yours meeting your sweet gaze. Then, realization hit you. That was Park Jimin and Jeon Jungkook of BTS. The group you’ve been stanning for years. The group you’ve been pulling overtime shifts at this dead restaurant to afford tickets to their concert this weekend. The group with only the hottest men you’ve ever seen in your life, and 2 of them were right in front of your face. 

You smiled. Hard. Your face grew hot, and there was a lump in your throat. You attempted to keep cool. They were here to eat, probably just landed from their flight. Only 3 days until their concert and today must’vebeen their only day off before preparation. 

“Ahem, we’re going to have two waters and two beers,” Jungkook spoke, his deep voice hitting your ears like a soft melodic tune. His voice was deeper than you thought. Once it registered that he was speaking to you, you quickly jotted down the request. 

“T-two beers, and water, uhm okay,” you stammered. Nice way to keep your cool. Right... 

A chuckle erupts from Jimin. Another quit statement in Korean is exchanged between the two men. “She must be army,” he mentions to Jungkook, receiving a quick nod. You didn’t know what they said. Not that it was your business, but it did make you nervous. You nodded your head before turning your heel and walking to the kitchen. 

Your mind was racing and your heart was beating out of its chest. Jungkook and Jimin were in your city. In your restaurant. And you were their waitress. Literally, what did you do to deserve this luck? You knew you wanted to make an impression. A subtle one. Just making sure they had a nice warm meal, received amazing service, and of course asking for a quick autograph. 

You walked back to their table with a tray filled with their beverages, setting them in down with a kind smile. “Here are your beverages, are we looking to get any appetizers today? Nachos, mozzarella sticks, wings?”  

The men removed their masks once the drinks hit the table. You almost gasped at the sight. It was really them. Truly them. God, they were beautiful. Their faces bare, lips plump, and eyes are so enticing. Jimin smiled at you, thanking you for the beverages. Jungkook nodded his head, immediately taking a swig of his beer. 

“The BBQ wings seem good. We’ll take that for our appetizers please,” Jimin asked. His eyes are focusing on yours. His dark orbs meet with your enamored ones. You stared for almost a second too long. “Wings, got it. Are you guys ready to order any entrees?” You questioned, scanning along the menu with them. 

“Ah, the bacon burger, how do you like it?” Jungkook questioned his finger trailing along the meal. You cleared your throat quietly before thinking about it. “It’s really popular, and I order it sometimes on break if I’m really hungry, it’s kind of a lot,” you responded honestly. Your voice coming out meeker than you intended, but at least you didn’t stutter this time. 

“Hyung, I'm gonna get that,” Jungkook mentioned to Jimin before closing his menu and handing it to you. You accepted the booklet with both hands and a smile. “Bacon burger meal, and for you Jimin?” You asked before dramatically covering your mouth. 

His ears piqued at the calling of his name. A sly grin is given as he looks up to your embarrassed expression. “Told you, I knew she was army,” Jimin poked at Jungkook. Another cheeky grin reciprocated from him as well. 

You were a bit flustered now. How could you have been dumb enough to say his name aloud? Fuck your life. 

“I’m so so, so sorry, I didn’t want to bother you guys, I know how hard it is on tour, and I just wanted to give you guys good service- “you rambled profusely before hearing some shushing noise. 

“It’s okay, you’ve been very respectful and kind since we’ve been here. No worries,” Jungkook assured, hushing you from your obviously embarrassed self. “We love seeing army always, and we’re glad you’re the one serving us today,” 

You sighed in relief. Your hand over your chest as if you were about to have a panic attack.  

Jimin chuckled as he closed his menu and handed it to you. “I’ll take the steak sandwich and fries please. Thank you so much,” he placed his hand over his chest and bowed to you as you accepted the menu, bowing back. “I’ll make sure your orders are out as quick and fresh as possible,” you assured before turning away and speed walking to the kitchen, almost tripping on the way in. 

After pacing around the back of the kitchen and waiting impatiently for the food, the dishes were finally ready. As you headed back to the table, the men were in deep conversation in their native tongue over their empty glasses of beer. 

“BBQ wings, Bacon burger… and the steak sandwich with fries,” you announced, placing the dishes amongst the tables for the men to enjoy. 

The kind men bowed their heads before you, taking in the meals. “I’ll be back later with your bill. Enjoy your meal,” you bid. The men gave you a small nod and smile while they began to dig into their food. On your way to the register, your manager came to you whilst you rang up their meals.

“You seem to be in a good mood,” he noted. “Do all our customers have to be cute to receive good service from you?” He sarcastically remarked, earning a scorning expression from you. 

“They were kind, so I was kind back,” you blankly responded as you printed the receipt and took the pen from the counter. 

“You know, if you kept this behavior up more with our clientele, I would be more willing to give you more shifts,” his rude remarked pierced your ears. You hated Mr. Paul. He was stuck up, rude, and passive-aggressive always. You weren’t always the nicest waiter, but it was always because he annoyed you during your shifts.

Your plan was that after making the money back from the concert, you would quit and find a new job. 

But life unfortunately isn’t always going according to plan, sometimes you had to sacrifice your sanity for an extra buck. 

You walked back over to the table with the receipt and pen in hand, and the warmest smile you could conjure. To your surprise, the plates were almost completely empty. God, they must’ve been starved from that plane ride. 

“Hi guys, no rush. Here’s your bill and a pen whenever you’re ready,” you sat the booklet down on the edge of the wooden top and began to compile the empty plates and glasses. 

“Thank you for the amazing service,” Jimin remarked as he wiped his fingers clean from the sauce of the wings. 

You nodded your head; arms filled with the dishes. “Of course, I’ll be back to have you guys out on your way”. 

You walked back swiftly to the kitchen almost launching the ceramics into the sink, heading straight for your purse in the back where the employee lockers were. Rummaging to find anything, anything for them to sign. Not that you were owed an autograph, but God didn’t you want to try. 

Oddly enough, you found an OT7 photocard you’ve kept in your wallet for the past few years. It was a little rough around the edges, but it would work. 

Heading back to their table, you picked up the checkbook and found a whopping amount of cash inside. Double the total that was owed. 

“Oh- I think you guys read this wrong; this is too much-” 

“It's all for you. Your tip,” Jungkook answered quickly, his boba eyes creasing with an assuring look of gratitude. “Please accept it. You’ve been so amazing,” 

You wanted to collapse. This could easily be merch money, grocery money, enough to get you by for a few weeks. You bowed kindly, uttering jumbles of “thank you’s” for their kindness. 

“I uhm, I know you guys have to go, but is it okay if you sign this for me?” you awkwardly asked as you pulled out your photocard, handing it to Jimin who sweetly took the image from you. 

“Of course, are you coming out to the concert this weekend?” He asked as he picked up the pen that was still on the table, writing out his initials before handing it to Jungkook who did the same. 

“Y-yes, both days. I worked so much overtime to try and get enough to go, and I just am so incredibly grateful to have the opportunity to see you guys. It was such an honor to serve you guys, I'm so happy you liked the food” 

As you rambled, you failed to recognize that Jungkook was taking a significantly longer time to write his signature. A quick smirk was exchanged between the two men before Jungkook’s tatted hand handed you the photocard back.

“We can’t wait to see you then. We hope you enjoy the show,” he bid as they both rose from their seats and waved, heading towards the door. “Take care, thanks again y/n” Jimin wished, the pair exiting the restaurant as you waved timidly. 

Your shoulders are relaxed, and a deep breath is released. They were gone, and immediately your heart fell. You couldn’t cry; that would be foolish. But you certainly weren’t happy about it. 

You looked down at the photocard, eyes cascading over the printed words. Jimin and Jungkook's signature on your card. They knew your name. Fuck, they knew your name. They tipped you well. They thanked you for serving them. You should be ecstatic. 

You flipped over the photocard, and your eyes widened like a deer in headlights, your knees shaking at what you seen. A phone number. A FUCKING phone number. “Text me” and a smiley face were written on the back. 

You wanted to throw up, explode, die, and cry all at the same time. Jungkook had given you, his phone number. 

Shit, what were you expected to do? 

— 

You were now lying in your bed, contemplating whether to hit the send button. You’d gotten off work 3 hours ago. Showered, ate, and cried. You were extremely overwhelmed. You met Jimin and Jungkook. They’d given you money. You spoke to them. And now possibly, was about to text Jungkook’s phone. 

“Hi! I'm y/n from the restaurant today,”  

Simple. Cute. To the point. 

One question sat in your mind. Why did they give you their number? Sure, you were sweet but that wasn’t ground enough... you were just working. Not even a small talk level of conversation. 

You guess you were going to find out soon enough. Your thumb reluctantly hits the “send” option. You almost threw it. You were a nervous wreck as you waited for the response.   

A ding hit. 

You check the notification just to realize it's your friends, Alexis and Sam, asking about the concert arrangements for the 100th time. Meeting up, tickets, after party plans, the usual. 

You scoffed at the disappointment. Of course, Jungkook wasn’t going to respond in 5 minutes; he was probably busy rehearsing or catching up on some well needed rest.  

Before you could even respond to the mess of messages from your group chat, the unsaved number responded back. 

“Hey! Hru? Before we continue, I need you to sign this file and send it back to me <3”  

A link to a file was sent immediately after. You clicked the PDF and your eyes blankly stared at the document. A non-disclosure agreement PDF from Jeon Jungkook and Park Jimin was lit up amongst your screens. 

The agreement reads to never discuss the conversations or interactions that would take place from here on out with the artists. Not verbally. Not through social media. Not to anyone. Ever. It was a seal of privacy between the three of you.

“This isn’t real life,” you told yourself. No babes, it was real. You pinched yourself twice just to make sure. Your mind raced at the possibilities in store. You had a fucking NDA with Jeon Jungkook and Park Jimin. If it was just casually conversation, why would they be urging you to sign one?

But you weren’t dumb. You knew exactly why. They wanted you the same way you wanted them.

Without another thought, you opened the file properly and placed your digital signature on the document before texting it back to him. 

After a few moments, the speech bubbles graced your screen again. 

“Perfect! So glad you signed baby,” 

A flutter rang through your heart at the pet name. You were beginning to melt away at just the slightest sign of flirting. With the NDA being set in place, it was evident what they wanted. Clear as day. 

But that didn’t mean you didn’t want to hear it from them. 

“I’m your baby now, huh?” 

You don’t know where this bold and cheeky side came from. However, you could only hope that it would entice them. 

“Ofc darling. Now we can actually safely talk”. 

“We can? Bout’ what?” 

“When we came in today, me and Jimin thought u were so pretty. We thought about it while we ate, and we wanted to invite you to our hotel this weekend,” 

Jaw agape, you couldn’t properly process the information you were being told. Two of the most handsome men alive thought that you were pretty. Fuck that. Not only were you pretty, but they wanted you. Shit, how could you even sit and process this alone? 

“Oh, thanks so much <3 I obviously think you guys look great too, lol” 

“Lol. Thanks sweetheart. We're gonna send you the info about the place soon. See u after the concert, okay?” 

Okay? Like, was this set in stone? You were about to see BTS in concert, and then immediately after, link up with 2 of the members. And the fact was, you only had two days to process this, as well as the fact that you weren’t allowed to speak about it. 

“Sounds like a plan, see u there <3” 

Jungkook responded with a heart, and that was it for the night. 

Another ding came through your phone, opening it to see it was a message from Sam. 

“Omg, are you ready to see Jimin??? His long hair, fuck I need him so baddd,” 

You giggled before typing back your response. 

“Lmfao yeah, def” 

Shutting your phone off for the night, your heartbeat finally steadied for the first time all day. Allowing yourself to bask in your luck.  

You silently prayed that everything would work out in your favor. 

— 

“Y/n fuck, its starting!” Alexis screamed as she pointed to the red hazy lights hitting the stage in front of you. 

Your trio managed to bag some pretty decent seats for night 1 of your stop of the BTS tour. You could see the screen, and the floor seats clearly. As well as make out the little bodies of each member ahead of you. 

Cheers and screams erupted in the stadium; you and Sam were waving your army bongs to the beat of Hooligan while Alexis recorded. 

Each member was walking to the stage now, and you could clearly make out each one. V leads the line, then Suga, RM, Jin, J-hope. Finally, you seen the two men who you were looking forward to the most, Jimin and Jungkook. They fell in a position instantly. They looked unbothered, serious stone faced as if this were just another day to them. 

For you, it was the complete opposite. You knew you were supposed to be ecstatic, but the impending feeling of being nervous infiltrated your system. 

You couldn’t stay still; you couldn’t look at them for too long. Your heart was thumping, as if your chest was about to rupture. The loud screams of the stadium couldn’t even fog your thoughts. 

Sam was screaming, holding your hand as she jumped up and down repeatedly. 

Alexis couldn’t stabilize her hand enough to record a steady video. 

You felt out of place, disoriented. 

The beat finally dropped and the stadium erupted. You attempted to sing along and follow in suit with everyone else. 

Your eyes lit up as Jungkook graced the screen, singing his iconic line to the song. 

You were finally brought back down to Earth. This was real.  

Shortly after, Jimin’s figure lit up on the screen as well. His hair flowing beautifully in the wind, his voice booming through the mic. 

The fact that you’d been in contact with them over the past 48 hours still didn’t register to you. You still haven’t come up with a plan on how to ditch your friend's post-concert either. All you’d been worried about was your appearance tonight, making sure to shave and exfoliate everywhere, and pack your purse to the brim before leaving your house today. Your hair is perfectly styled, and your outfit is appropriate for whatever comesafterwards. A short black mini dress. Sleeveless, adorned with red lace tights and black kitten heels. 

You looked the part. On theme enough to look like you were simply ready to just enjoy a concert tonight. But sexy enough to show that other plans indeed followed afterwards. 

The sets keep rolling through the night. Fake Love, Animals, Idol, all your favorites being played. 

Now, it was time for the surprise songs of the night. 

Sam was begging for Pied Piper, while Alexis begged for Wings. You would settle for anything. You loved the entire discography wholeheartedly and didn’t expect any disappointment. You looked up to the screen to see Jimin smirking at the crowd. “This song next, is dedicated to our beautiful army. You’re special, and this one here for is for you,” 

Cheers sparked through the stadium as the first few notes for “House of Cards” began to play.  

It was almost ironic. The sensuality building in a matter of moments as Jungkook began to sing the intro. Arguably one of the more sexually enticing songs in their discography being played live. Almost as if it were just for you. 

Your friends were in shock at the choice, but not as much as you. That familiar feeling in your body ached again. 

You noticed Jimin and Jungkook exchanging sly smirks amongst another on stage. They were cheeky. Most fans wouldn’t expect a thing, but you knew everything already. You couldn't help but think that they were referring to you. 

No, you knew they were referring to you. 

— 

“And when Yoongi’s verse in Aliens came on, oh my god I almost dropped to my knees!” Sam yapped as you three exited the stadium back to the parking lot. 

The concert is over and boy, did you have a ball? After your mini-panic attacks, of course. 

“Did you see how Namjoon looked at the crowd though? I know this afterparty finna be turnt,” Alexis chimed in as she made her way to her car who was parked next to yours. 

You opened the door and feigned a sullen look. “My feet are really killing me in these heels; I don’t think Imma make it tonight” you fake winced as you opened the door. The girls looked at you with furrowed brows of confusion. 

“The fuck, you didn’t say anything about your feet hurting before?” Alexis pointed out as she stared at your feet. “Who wears heels to a BTS concert anyways?” Sam inquired. 

You shrugged and sat in your vehicle, not allowing anymore room for questions. “I’m sorry, I'll know for tomorrow night’s show I just can’t today,” you pouted as you closed the door and turned on the ignition. 

You rolled down your window and waved to your friends. “I have to try to beat traffic and go home asap before my feet actually fucking fall off, I'll catch you tomorrow” 

Alexis dropped the situation, waving off to you as she entered her driver's seat. 

Sam still wasn’t buying the act, but she didn’t argue. Maybe you did have something better to do than go clubbing with your friends. She didn’t bother intruding. 

Once you settled in your car, a string of dings reached your line.  

Not texts, a call. 

You rolled up your window immediately and picked it up with a sweet tone. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey baby,” 

The voice of honey graced your ears. It was Jimin. He sounded slightly out of breath, completely expected since he was just dancing his heart out for the past 3 hours. 

“Hi! Jimin, oh my god it’s good to hear your voice. The concert was so amazing,” you perked, beginning to back out of the parking lot as you put the phone on the speaker. 

He chuckled softly on the line. “Glad you enjoyed it. Did you like the surprise song?” 

Your heart almost skipped a beat as you bit your lip, thinking about how enticing it was hearing House of Cards, let alone knowing the fact that it was for you to be confirmed now. 

“Loved it, think it really sets the tone for tonight,” you assured, your voice going almost quiet. 

“Definitely, are you on the way to the hotel? Me and Jungkook can’t wait to see you baby,” 

His voice was almost a low growl; you could tell something was working him up. You prayed it was just the thought of you. 

“Yes, traffic is gonna be hell, but it’ll be worth it to see you,” 

Jimin released a low sigh into the mic. Your thighs clenched at the hushed noise as you drove off into the bustling street. 

“Get here soon babe, don’t know how long we can hold off before seeing you,” 

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, see you” bid. 

“See you soon love,” 

The line cuts. 

— 

You don’t usually drive like a barbarian but tonight was an exception. As safely, but as swiftly as you could, you swerved through traffic with vigor. 

The hotel was about 50 minutes out, and you somehow managed to make it there in 30 minutes. 

You parked near the exit of the hotel between some trees and a dim light. You sat in your car for an additional 10 minutes, freshening up with some wipes, lotion, deodorant, and sealing the deal with a sweet perfume and your favorite lip gloss. 

Just from the outside alone, you could see that this hotel was at the next level. Outside was beautiful. Fountains, valet parking, flowers with names you couldn’t pronounce cascading in the bushes. Beautiful, pavedparking lot and a cobblestone pathway surrounding the building. 

Jungkook sent you a text a few moments ago with instructions. “Enter through the back door, one of our security guards will let you in and bring you to our floor.” Simple. 

After taking a few deep breaths and turning off your phone's location, you stepped out your vehicle with your purse. Locking the car door and swiftly walking to the back entrance like instructed. 

You walked towards the glass door, just to be met with a buff man dressed in all black with a walkie talkie. He eyed you up and down momentarily. “Name?” His gruff voice erupted. 

You stammered. “Y-y/n”. As if you were unsure about your own name. 

He said something into the walkie-talkie. Of course, in Korean. Momentarily, a deep voice huffed through the speaker of the walkie-talkie. You made it out to be Jungkook’s. 

The man signaled his fingers, instructing you to follow him. You did. Swiftly getting into the elevator as he pressed the button for the top floor. 

The ride was quiet and almost eerie. He didn’t speak to you, ask about your night, nothing. Just faced forward until the elevator came to a halt, the doors opening to an empty hall cascaded with warm lights and ceramic décor. The wallpaper was old-timey, laced with gold eccentric designs on a cream canvas. 

“Room 610, to the right,” the man alerted before closing the elevator door, right as you were about to thank him. They should do better with the security they hire in your humblest opinion. 

You furrowed your brows as you timidly searched for the room number. Your fingers made way to your phone, reading the instructions they gave you once more as you reached your destination. They said to knock twice once you arrived. 

The door was plain, didn’t stick out compared to any of the other doors in the hall. The only difference was that the suite was tucked away in the furthest corner of the building, as expected. You brought your fist upslowly, knocking shyly twice. Just like they had asked. You nervously gripped your purse, eyes scanning your surroundings. It wasn’t the smartest idea to head to a hotel completely alone on the opposite side of town at midnight. But hey, for BTS you were willing to do arguably worse. 

To your surprise, the door opened quickly. Extremely quickly actually, Jungkook stood behind the threshold, hair damp with grey sweats and a white tank. Freshly showered with an excited grin on his face. “Y/n! You’refinally here!” He cheered sweetly, stepping aside to signal you in. 

Surprisingly, your nerves were calm for the first time that night. His tone was welcoming and warm. You were grounded in reality; it felt, just by his shockingly comforting presence. You returned the smile and stepped inside, removing your heels at the entrance. 

“Hi! Yeah, I made sure to get here as soon as I could, I didn’t want to keep you guys waiting. Knowing you’re busy and all,” 

“You’re too sweet love,” Jungkook said as he closed the door behind you. His body followed yours naturally, taking your hand and leading you to the living space of the room. The suite was huge, and much more luxurious than you could fathom. 

Looked more like a full-fledged luxury apartment than a hotel. When did hotels come with full functioning kitchens, living rooms, laundry rooms, balconies, and chandeliers? 

Your eyes scanned the space as he led you to the white velvety sofa, sitting down on the empty cushion, patiently waiting for you to take your seat. 

“Jimin is in the shower still. You know the pretty boy needs to take a minimum of an hour to just get ready for bed,” he chuckled as his hands aimed at the coffee table in front of you. It was scattered with bottles of dark whiskey and shot glasses. Seeming like the bottle had already been dug into. 

“Shot?” Jungkook asked as he lifted an empty glass to you. You meekly nodded, accepting the offer as your eyes finally latched back to his figure. He was buff. Of course you knew that. But in reality, his muscles looked like they were hand drawn and sculpted. They looked firm. God did you wanna touch them. 

Jungkook handed you the glass filled with dark liquid and toasted it to you. “Cheers!” He smirked. “Cheers!” you repeated, cocking your head back and downing the alcohol as smoothly as your throat allowed. 

You scorned at the burning taste, only to receive a small chuckle from the man next to you. “Too strong?” He asked, already knowing the answer to his question. “Just not so much used to whiskey,” you assured setting the glass down. “Ah, more of a mixed drinks kind of girl?” He questioned, his hand leaving the glass and now comfortably resting on your clothed thigh. Your breath hitched for a moment at the sudden touch. “Y-yeah, I like margaritas, and such,” you timidly responded; trying your best to keep your eyes focused on him. 

“Ah. Pretty drinks for a pretty girl, I guess,” he mused. A small nervous chuckle erupted from you. His compliments were pure, a little corny, but it affected you the same. After a few moments of small talk, a hardly clothed Jimin came from what you assumed to be the door to his room. Topless, his tattoos were completely on display as black gym shorts hung lowly around his waist. Tom Ford boxers to compliment. 

His cheery expression shined as he noticed you were finally here. “Our guest is finally here, how are you darling?” He questioned his body sitting next to yours on the sofa as he came to wrap his arms around your smaller frame. The embrace warm and tight, his head falling into the crook of your neck as you returned the hug. “You smell nice too princess,” 

“Thank you Jimin, i’m wonderful how’re you?” You responded, pulling back for a moment to comfortably look at him as you engaged in the conversation. 

“I’m great now that you’re here sweetheart. Jungkook didn’t try to get you too drunk before I came did he?” He joked, his index finger and thumb latching under your chin comfortably, aiming your face to look directly into his. 

Your cheeks warmed at the touch and your eyes averted down to your hands. A slow shake of the head followed with a gentle grin. “N-no, just only had one shot. Was waiting for you,” 

Jimin kept his sly grin and eyes focused on your timid expression. Your shyness was adorable to him. Seeing how easily he could make you weak was one of the primary reasons he chose to stay in contact with you. He adored your desperation to remain humble and respectful to him and Jungkook. You weren’t like other army. Not to them. They valued your true will to engage with them kindly and respect the ground that they walked on. 

And for that, you deserved the reward they had in store for you. 

Jungkook shifted behind you, sitting closer to your body almost skin to skin on the couch. He handed the bottle of whiskey to Jimin and placed his hand on the swell of your hips. Head placed over your shoulder, leaning into you. 

“She doesn’t like whiskey Jiminnie, said it’s too strong,” Jungkook told the elder man, his eyes staring down at your thighs flushed against your lace tights. 

“Aww, that’s no fun. I wanted you to celebrate tonight with us properly,” Jimin feigned a pout. His lips connect to the bottle, taking a harsh swig of the liquid. 

Heat erupted in your face, guilt filling your chest as you heard what you thought was disappointment in his tone. “No, we can celebrate! I just have to get used to it. But I like strong drinks, I like what you give me,” you flustered out your explanation as believable as you could. You didn’t mind drinking, especially with them. You trusted them. Even if it meant drinking something you weren’t a fan of, they hosted this for you. They wanted to share it with you. And you felt you were in no place to deny anything they wanted to give you. 

Exactly what Jimin and Jungkook expected of you. 

Jimin’s smile returned as he took the bottle from his lips, swallowing the drink. “That’s a good girl, so kind and willing,” his thumb stroked your bottom lip. “Open up princess,” he instructed. 

You did. The moment you did, you cocked your head back, allowing Jimin to pour the harsh liquid down your throat. Your face scrunched up at the taste but inevitably you swallowed all of it. It was definitely more than just a shot he poured, but you let it slide. It was a celebration tonight. A celebration that you hope eventually led you into getting fucked that night. And honestly, who wasn’t down for a little bit of drunk sex? 

“Good girl sweetheart,” Jungkook cooed behind your ear, his hand grazing up down and your thighs and hips, toying with your tights. “Wore this for us tonight? Or was this your concert outfit?” He inquired curiously. Your breath was a bit unsteady from the mix of alcohol and the sudden touches. “B-both,” you answered. 

Jimin sucked in a breath as his own hand began running down your tights. His eyes stare at the top of your dress, resting at your collarbones. “Ah, that’s not fair. Everyone seen you in this outfit then, it’s not just for us then, is it?” Jimin asked rhetorically. His hands tugging rougher at the material of your tights, ripping at them harshly exposing your skin. 

You whimpered at the sudden sound, looking down at your now ruined cloth. “Don’t pout baby, it’s just not fair is it. That we were the last ones to see you in your pretty outfit? How about you let us see what’s underneath it, hm?” Jungkook suggested, his hand now cupping your chin to make your eyes face him. Distracting you as Jimin tore into your apparel.  

“You read what the paper said right love?” Jungkook asked, thumb stroking your cheek softly. You nodded. You did know what the NDA said. You don’t know exactly which part he was referring to, but you hoped he would answer that for you. 

“Good girl. You’re ours tonight, right? And you’re gonna be good and keep what happens between us?” He whispered, pulling your lips closer to him as he spoke. “Yes Jungkook,” you responded breathlessly. He smirked, sealing your deal with a quick, messy kiss. You melted into it. His hand snaked around you, gripping your throat tightly as he held you in it. 

Jimin finally had your tights torn off. Your body con dress hem was now in his grasp, roughly tugging it down and allowing it to pool at your feet. You were now exposed in just your black lingerie set. Black panties and strapless black bra, lace and bows adorning the material. Jimin bit his lip as he looked down at you, eyes sizing every inch of your body before his. 

Jungkook pulled away from the kiss and had a glance for himself. His eyes were hazy and low, staring at each and every curve on you. His hands trailed your waist, while Jimin’s were flush against your thighs. “At least we can only see this part of you, right baby?” Jimin questioned. 

You nodded, biting your lips. Even though you expected to end up naked at some point tonight, you didn’t imagine it like this. It was vulgar. Jimin’s gaze darkened suddenly. “Hey. When we ask you a question, you use your words and speak. Understand?”  

Where did that come from? You’ve never imagined Jimin to use such a tone with you. It wasn’t rude, but it was stern like a lecture. You gulped, eyes meeting him. “Yes sir, I apologize,” 

“Aw Jimin, don’t scare her too much. She probably didn’t expect this from us,” Jungkook cooed, his lips meeting the shell of your ear, placing a tender kiss beneath it. 

Jimin wasn’t having it. “She expected something. Coming to our place dressed the way she is, like we were bound to fuck her. Doing everything, we say, such an easy slut, aren’t you?” Jimin growled, leaning against you, lips achingly close to yours. 

Your vision was blurry. The alcohol setting in finally making you more sensitive than usual. The flurry of embarrassment, guilt, drunkenness, and horniness was striking you like a drum. The feeling of their hands encapsulating your body added to the stir of emotions. Jungkook was right; you didn’t expect all of this. But you certainly didn’t want to push it away. You craved them, and you would do anything to have them. You needed to make them proud. 

A slap hits your bare thigh causing you to wince. “Didn’t I just say that you answer us when we ask you a question?” Jimin repeated; his brows furrowed and jaw tightening. “i’m sorry, I am. I am a slut for you, I'll do anything you say,” you whimpered out, a tear brimming at your eye. 

Jimin then rubbed the area he’d slapped, shushing your winces. “That wasn’t hard now was it baby?” He asked, placing a soft kiss against the red flesh.  

You knew better than to not answer now. “It wasn’t hard, i’m sorry. I was stupid for not answering,” you responded, head drooping as you watched him pepper kisses against you. Jungkook pecked your cheeks a few times. “You’re not stupid baby. Just need some training, right? Never be trained before hm?” 

No, you hadn’t. Of course you had a little rough sex before, but never spanking. Never having to respond to questions. Never two men at once. Nothing of this caliber. “No sir,” you answered, earning a small hum of approval from him. 

“Good girl, already using manners and we didn’t have to tell you too. Such a sweet baby,” Jungkook praised, his hands reaching towards your tits, squeezing at the buds beneath your bra. You bit back a moan, humming slightly at the feeling. His large tight grip was enough to cause your mind to calm and zone out from your worries. 

Jimin came up from kissing your thigh, grabbing the bottle of whiskey once more and taking another harsh sip, except this time he didn’t swallow. He grabbed your chin, pulling your face close to him and shoving your mouth open with his thumb. He came close, spilling the liquid into your mouth. Thankfully, you were coherent enough to drink it and not choke from the sudden action. This time round, the whiskey wasn’t as harsh and scorching. You smoothly took it down in one gulp. 

“Good girl,” Jimin praised, watching you intently. His eyes softened at your behavior, kissing your lips once you finished. “Good girls take whatever their daddies give them, right baby?” He whispered against your glistening lips, barely giving you enough space to respond. 

“Yes sir, take whatever daddy gives,” you slurred. God you were already in deep, between the drunkenness and their established dominance, you were slipping into a deep space of no return. Going completely under their control just like they wanted. “Take whatever he gives baby? Think you can take this dick? It’s what you wanted all along hm?” Jimin asked, his hand gripping the growing bulge beneath his shorts. It was huge. Your eyes lazily looked down to watch him palm himself, shooting open like a deer in headlights. 

“I’m not sure,” you answered too honestly. It was intimidating. You didn’t know exactly how big Jimin was yet, but it was shocking from what you’ve seen already. All he could do was laugh. Not a cute reassuring laugh. Alaugh indicating insult towards you. 

“Oh, come on, I'm supposed to believe that a slut like you can’t take dick properly?” 

The words should sting. They should be offensive. But oddly all the words did was send a gushing sensation between your legs. You were embarrassingly wet at the encounter. His words were filthy and derogatory, but you were too blinded by sexual tension to acknowledge it. 

Jimin mutters something to Jungkook in their native tongue, and briefly afterwards, Jungkook lifts up from the couch, his hands moving away from your body. He stood up, walking towards the bedroom with an excited grin. 

You pouted at the loss of comfort from him, honestly a bit nervous about being left alone with Jimin. “Don’t worry angel, he’ll be right back,” he softened, eyeing your sullen expression. He leaned his head against the arm of the sofa and laid his back against the cushion, patting his leg signaling you to ease closer. 

You did. You sat on your knees between his legs on the sofa, looking down at the bulge, peaking from his shorts. “You’re gonna suck me, right? Make me feel good princess?” He asked, a lingering gaze stuck on you. 

As you opened your mouth to answer, Jungkook came back with what appeared to be a camcorder. Your mouth gaped, eyes darting between the men and the camera nervously. 

“Don’t worry baby, it’s for our eyes only. Nobody gets to this but us remember?” Jungkook assured as he pressed his eye to the screen, a red light appearing near the lenses to showcase that the camcorder was indeed recording. “You know Jimin doesn’t like being patient love. Give him what he wants now,” 

You nodded. Leaning your head down, lips grazing against the soft material of his shorts. You were still a bit dizzy. Light from the alcohol. But, still grounded. Enough at least. Your mind grew fuzzier as you slipped the waistband of his shorts off along with his boxers. A red-hot tip peeking out, his member springing out against your lips. A long drag of moans escaped Jimin’s lips as he eyed you, waiting for you to take him all in. 

Your hand wrapped around the shaft of his cock and slipped it into your throat slowly. You fisted whatever you couldn’t fit and bobbed your head up and down. The noises were lewd and wet, filling the room. Jungkook hissed behind the camera, making sure to record every moment of this. Zooming in on your lips covered in spit. Jimin’s hand snaked around the back of your throat, holding you close to just shaft barely giving you space to breathe. 

“Baby,” Jimin sighed, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “Can’t you take more than that? Don’t use your hands, just use your mouth,” he grunted, waiting for you to obey. 

Your brows furrowed, barely comprehending exactly what he wanted. You moved your hands and allowed them to rest on his thighs but slowly took in more of his length. The rhythm was slow and aching, driving him up a wall. 

Jungkook shakily held the camera as he began to palm himself at the sight, taking low grunts as he stroked his cock to the pace of the head you were giving. 

Jimin couldn’t take it. It was too slow and safe for his liking, and you were just barely fitting half of his cock. 

“Why don’t you fucking listen?” he growled, pushing your head fully down, causing you to gag harshly on his cock. His hips rutted vigorously into the back of your throat. Tears blurred your vision and rough pants escaped your mouth. “Thought you were a good slut? What’re you good for if you can’t take dick huh? Can’t please us properly? Fuck- you’re so warm,” he cursed, head thrown back in bliss at your struggle. 

Jungkook fisted himself faster, watching your tears run freely as choking noises graced the air. His own release nearing. “Pretty girl you’re almost there, make him cum so we can reward you honey,” Jungkook encouraged, setting the camera on the table. Propping it up so it could get a proper angle of all 3 of you perfectly. 

Your mouth was so full. Your cheeks red hot. All you could do was hum and try your best to breathe properly whilst pleasing Jimin. Your tongue swiped around the shaft as you inched further down the length, his cock completely covered by you as he neared release. 

“Ah- good girl. Gonna cum for you, all in your pretty mouth. Shit-“Jimin warned, pulling you off his cock swiftly, you coughed at the release attempting to catch your breath. “Stick your tongue out,” he instructed as his fist met his cock profusely, stroking it as hard as he could. 

You stuck your tongue out, eyes locking in on him as you waited for the inevitable. Hot sticky spurts of cum splattered on your pink tongue, dripping down your lips and chin as he messily released.  

“Don’t spit it out, swallow all of it. Show the camera,” he sternly instructed. His eyes burning a hole in your face as he watched you do so. You swallowed the salty liquid and opened your mouth to show the camera once you finished doing so.  

Jimin smirked to himself, cupping your face softly. “You did so well baby, you’re gonna help Jungkook feel good now, aren’t you?” 

You nodded eagerly, excited to please Jungkook as well. You enjoyed your moment with Jimin, but you’ve hardly had a proper moment with Jungkook yet. You knew he’d deserve to feel as good as you both did. 

Jungkook slipped his sweats and Calvin's off before sitting on the opposite edge of the couch, head against the arm rest pumping his shaft. “Don’t go too fast baby, i’m already so sensitive just by watching you,” 

You smirked at the confession. He was already close from watching you. It filled your ego, but you didn’t want it to your head. Especially knowing that at any moment, they could bring it down once again. 

You faced opposite now, on your knees, back arched as you leaned down to replace Jungkooks hand and stroke his cock for him. A low groan leaves his mouth as he watches, not rushing for a single moment.  

Your ass is now poked up towards Jimin, who takes the opportunity for himself to pull your drenched panties off your waist and to the floor, amongst your dress and torn tights. He hummed at the sight of your glistening pussy before him, his finger sliding into the warm pink hole. You moaned softly at the feeling, trying your best to focus on what was ahead of you. Pleasing Jungkook. 

Jungkooks eyes were locked onto your pretty face, while Jimin’s finger slipped deep into your core. “Don’t get distracted now darling. Suck Jungkook off like he wants,” Jimin instructs, laying a harsh smack against your soft ass. 

“Mmph!” You shrieked. You bit back your curses and leaned down against Jungkooks cock, finally taking it all in your mouth. No hands. Just like Jimin had instructed you to do to him. Jungkooks hips slowly rose as his groans became louder and louder. His hand tangled in the strands of your hair. Gently. Holding you down as he rutted into your sore throat. 

“Shit!” He cursed as his speed picked up. He didn’t want to be rough with you. Not right now. Not after Jimin brutally fucked your throat, but you made it hard for him. Your kindness. Your sweetness. It was all perfect grounds for him to want to ruin you. “So good to us aren’t you princess? Huh? You’re so good for daddy? Gonna take this dick just like he asked?” Jungkook's profuse use of dirty talk was enough to get you off, let alone mixed in the combo of Jimin’s fingers fucking into you, you were in heaven. 

You hummed ‘mhm’ around Jungkooks cock, doing your best to keep a steady flow as you continued sucking him away. 

Jimin then slid in another finger into your cunt. Watching as slick coated his fingers as you took them in with each pump. His eyes lingered at your taut asshole. He smirked at himself before deciding to lick it. His lips smacked against the pretty hole, tongue rubbing deep around the rim as he sucked the tight skin. 

Loud, pornographic moans escaped your mouth, vibrating against Jungkooks sensitive cock. His eyes squeezing tight at the pleasure he felt a tight clench in his lower abdomen. The feeling of your ass being sucked was indescribable. Jimin’s pouty lips and skilled tongue against such a sensitive spot was hitting you in the right places. It slowed down your pace with Jungkook, but you couldn’t help it. The feeling is overwhelming. 

“Cumming, take it. Fuck take it all- take my cum baby,” Jungkook moaned loudly, pushing your head flush against his bare cock as spurts of his climax trickled down your throat. 

Moans of relief filled the air from you and Jungkook, his eyes trailing to the camera with a smirk as you slipped away from his length. Loud breathy moans flowed from you as Jimin kept at it, two fingers ramming into your cunt while his tongue devoured your asshole. 

Jungkook watched hazily at the sight, seeing you fall apart in his lap. Your head still dangerous close to his semi-hard cock, watching you slip into the blissful state. “Look at you sweet girl, can’t even talk it feels so good?” Jungkook questioned as he strummed your flushed cheek. You nodded, your eyes tight and lip caught between your teeth as you hold back your screams. 

Jimin’s pace rapidly increased. His mouth making out with your hole as your cunt clenched around his fingers, chasing your high.  

“You should ask Jimin if you can cum darling, i’m sure he wouldn’t want you cumming without permission,” Jungkook suggested. His eyes glued to your fucked out face. He was enamored with your expression. The sounds you were making before them were music. An enticing melody that they wanted to replay over and over again.  

“Please, may I cum please!” you plead to the man behind you, loud whimpers following. “Please Jimin, need you,”  

Jimin smirked against your skin, gripping your ass as steadied your shaking body. “You may, sweet girl,” he allowed tongue diving back to its rightful spot. 

You shrieked as your high came, a loud moan and curse came about as your thighs shakes for the men. Jungkook watched you come undone with loving eyes, his smile never fading as you shook uncontrollably from the pleasure. They watched as your heat dripped with release, Jimin scooping up your cum and toying with it. 

He brought his fingers to his mouth, slurping away at your secretion, humming at the taste. “So sweet, just like we expected,” he smirked, pulling away from you, allowing you to collapse against Jungkooks bare body. 

He caught you, pulling you flush against his skin, taking you in a warm embrace. “How’re you feeling honey?” Jungkook asked softly, strumming the pieces of hair on your face. 

“Fine,” you breathed. You panted softly against his broad chest. Your eyes drawn to the camera on the table, still recording. 

“Oh baby, you’re not giving up so soon, are you?” Jimin pouted, coming to the side of the couch standing in front of you and Jungkook. “We still have to fuck you baby, remember what we said right?” 

You remembered. Memory crystal. “I-I take whatever daddy gives me…” you responded softly, earning a hum of approval from Jimin. “See. I knew you could be smart,” he teased, his hand ruffling your hair. 

He sat on the edge of the couch once again. Legs spread as he stroked his rising cock. His eyes hazily gazing at the sight of you and Jungkook. “Fuck her from her behind. Need to see that pretty fucked-out face of hers,” Jimin instructed to the younger male, his opposite hand reaching for the bottle of whiskey once more. Taking a swig before his show began. 

Jungkook chuckled, tapping your ass softly. “All fours baby, you’re gonna be good, right? Take it like we said?” He asked as he began to sit up himself. “Don’t wanna disappoint us now. Not when you’ve been so good honey,” 

Be a good girl. That’s all you wanted to do. Please them. Listen to them. Make them proud. 

You nodded and turned around, facing Jimin and placing your weak body on all fours. You shyly met his gaze, your eyes darting between his face, the ground, and his dick. 

“Eyes up here slut. Need you to watch me jerk off to you. You know you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Wanna see how much you turn daddy on?” he said as his grip tightening hard on his shaft.  

“Yes, need to see,” you barely made out before you felt Jungkook slowly insert himself deep. Very deep. His whole length inside of you in one swift motion. You both moaned in unison at the stretch. “Fuck, you fit like a glove. Like you’re made for this dick sweetheart,” he cursed, throwing his head back before he started his hasty sharp thrusts. 

You clenched at the sensation, mind completely taken over with the pleasure immersing through you. Your jaw slacked, uncontrollably moaning from the feeling. He was hitting you just the right spot. Deep, and rough. His hands clasped on your hips, his hips moved in a beautiful rhythm against your ass. His eyes never leave the sight in front of him. 

Jimin bit his lip grunting at the squeeze he had on his shaft. Watching you fall apart for Jungkook stirred something in him. You were hot, undeniably. He loved to see you fall apart and submit to his orders, even if it was embarrassing for you, you didn’t argue. He adored it. You would go out of your way to submit to him.  

Jungkook was in heaven. From the moment he’d seen you in the restaurant, he desired you. Your angelic behavior towards them alongside your respectful demeanor turned him on more than any model, porn star, or anyone else could. Your natural genuine desire for them was admirable. You deserved tonight. They deserved to ruin you. In a way, he was proud to be the one to do so. 

Jimin’s gaze never faltered on you. Your eyes were glued to one another, as if you were afraid to break contact. You moaned both of the men’s names constantly. Jungkook’s thrusts didn’t slow down; his grip didn’t soften. He kept your body flush against his as his rock-hard cock drilled your puffy hole. “Feel so good, so glad you’re fucking me daddy,” you confessed with a cry. 

Jungkooks deep chuckle could be heard. He leaned against your back, gripping your neck from behind and forcing you against his body. His thrusts deepen at the new angle as you attempted to keep contact with Jimin. “Yeah, so glad i’m in control? This is what you always wanted, huh? Your biases to fuck you like you belong to them?” He whispered against the shell of your ear. His thrusts are still deep but losing the steady pace. Deep and messy, his release neared. 

Jimin moaned at the sight. The beautiful, yet filthy sight. You were a mess. Sweat dripping, eyes hazy, drool pooling at your mouth. He knew the only thing on your mind was them. Being used by them. Fuck, did it turn him on. 

“Yes please, I wanna cum now please. I love this, love you inside of me. I love you both, please,” you profusely begged like a baby. Your mind blanks as the words fell out without a second thought. Jimin nodded his head to Jungkook, allowing for you the release you craved. 

Jungkook kissed your ear, the smacking noise and wet tongue setting you over the edge as your climax shocked through your body. “We love you too sweet girl, go ahead and cum for us,” Jungkook encouraged, watching you convulse against him, holding your waist with his tatted arm. You screamed. Your second release of the night gushing out.  

Jungkooks grunts were gruff and hoarse as his climax reached as well, his thrust faltering as he stayed inside you, cumming hard into your poor cunt. Curses rang in the air between both of you, before Jimin catches your limp body as you collapsed against him. 

Jungkook pulled out slowly, watching both of your secretions pool between your thighs. He sat down against the arm rest, chest panting and cheeks red as a tomato. 

Jimin held you close, shushing you as small sniffles erupted from you. 

The sex was good. Too good. Your tears were joyous and they knew that, but it didn’t stop them from comforting you afterwards and asking if you were okay, which you assured them you were. 

After your tears silenced, Jimin pecked your forehead and strummed your back. His cock still rock solid beneath you. “Do you think you can go one more round for me love?” He asked, his eyes sparkling with hope awaiting your answer. 

You smiled genuinely at the request. “Of course,” you assured, receiving one more kiss from him. Jungkook was calm from his high. His eyes watched as you two maneuvered along the couch. You lying on your back as Jimin prepared to fuck you missionary. 

Jungkook stood up, grabbing his camcorder and aiming at the perfect angle where it captured your body beneath Jimin’s. Legs open as one of his arms held your hips while the other clutched your wrists above your head. 

Jimin inserted himself into you. Slowly. Moaning as he slid inch by inch into your soft walls. You whimpered as you were still completely soaked and sensitive from the orgasms from earlier in the night. It felt like your pussy had a heartbeat of its own, throbbing consistently throughout the night.  

Once Jimin bottomed out, his thrusts were shallow and slow, he wanted to take his time fucking you and you could tell. Jungkook blushed behind the camera. A flustered horny mess as he watched his best friend fuck you sensually. “Hyung, you can give her more than that. She can take it,” he whined selfishly, wanting more for his own pleasure. 

Jimin smirked, looking down at your disheveled face. “Is that right sweetheart? You want more? Not enough for you?” He repeated, waiting for your answer before he decided for you. 

You processed what Jungkook was saying. And to be honest, he wasn’t wrong. You could take more; you’d take anything they wanted you to. You wanted more, especially if it meant getting them off. “Fuck me harder, I can take it,” you assured nodding your head vigorously, wrapping your ankles around Jimin’s small, chiseled waist. 

He bit his lip and wasted no time before quickening his pace, rapidly fucking you. Skin slapping quickly became the most prominent sound in the room again. Jungkook zoomed in on your cunt, recording you swallow Jimin’s cock whole while his thrusts were long and shallow. “This sweet pussy is all ours huh? Never gonna forget how good we fucked you baby?” Jimin spoke, his hand that held your waist, not lifting your thigh over his shoulder as he reached deeper into your G-spot. 

You gasped for air as the new angle penetrated deeper. “Never! It’s all yours, belong to both of you daddy,” 

Jimin’s cock twitched inside you at your words, his climax climbing quicker than he wanted it to. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight. Feel so fucking good, sweet baby,” he praised, mewling at the sensation. Jungkooks cock was gripped in his hand; he squeezed indecently preventing his own cum to leak out. “Shit, you’re not gonna be able to walk tomorrow aren’t you y/n?” Jungkook asked as he took another step closer to your face, his cock hovering over it. 

The sight of his cocked filled your eyes and shook your head in response. “No sir, you guys fucked me too good,” 

“That’s right angel, fucked you so good that all your pretty brain can think about is us,” Jungkook responded as he stroked himself faster to the sight of you. 

Jimin’s grunts were deep, and his words faltered at the tongue as his end was near. He slowed down moments afterwards, leaning against the crook of your neck as he took in your scent. Deep kisses fell amongst your neck. “Bout to cum baby, take it all for me,” he confessed, thrusting a few more times before you felt your hole fill with the warm liquid. 

“Jimin! Fuck!” you screamed as your own high too combusted around his cock, spilling between your thighs and smacking against his.  

“Shit, shit, shit,” Jungkook cursed as thick white ropes shot from his slit onto your sweaty face, painting you in his own release. 

All three of you were breathless fucked-out messes. Jimin collapsing against your sweaty chest as you wrapped your arms around him, allowing him to lie against you as he caught his breath. 

Jungkook shut off the camcorder, placing it on the coffee table running a finger through his hair. “Are you two, okay?” He asked, looking below, watching you two nod your heads and pant. “Princess, was that too much?” Jimin wondered, his head lifting up to look at you. Scanning your face for any sign of discomfort or uncertainty. 

You shook your head. “Was so perfect, I loved it so much,” you answered honestly, giving them a golden smile as your eyes closed. Relaxing in the warm embrace of Jimin. 

Your heartbeat slowed and you drifted off into a peaceful sleep afterwards. 

— 

The next morning, you’re in a white linen bed, sandwiched between Jimin and Jungkook. 

Your eyes scanned the room; it looks like you finally made it to the bedroom after all. You looked to your left; the men were kind enough to have plugged your phone up for the night and folded your dress on the counter. 

And to your right, a sleeping Jungkook. Mouth half open as he snored peacefully in his rest. 

You shuffled a bit in the bed, trying to get an aim at what time it was before you felt movement next to you. Jimin. 

His messy bed hair and tired gaze met you, a warm smile and hand pulling you close to his chest. “Good morning, beautiful,” he whispered quietly with his husky morning voice. 

“Good morning,” you replied quietly, leaning against his bare chest. 

Your eyes found the clock, reading that it was 6am. Surprised that you were naturally awake at this time, you sighed once you realized that you would have to leave soon. 

Jimin held you tighter. “Planning on going so soon?” He whispered against your hair, strumming your shoulder gently. 

“Have to. You have a show to prepare for all day,” you answered honestly. A small frown tugging at the side of your lips. 

“You’re gonna be there for tonight’s show, right?” he recalled quietly, his voice was still groggy but his tone warm and sincere. 

You nodded. You did have tickets for tonight, and you were more than excited and blessed to have the opportunity to attend. 

“Then we’ll see you again tonight, babygirl,”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

a/n: its finally out!! repost, tag, like and share ur thoughts on the fic! see u all next time love bugs <3

it started with the late night snacks, you waking up to him sitting cross legged by the coffee table, halfway through a bowl of shin ramyun, a bluetooth mic warm in his palm with his voice dramatically belting out another pop song crackling through the speakers.

you would ask if he’s live, and he would shake his head, already offering you a spare bowl he made while you slept. you two would eat together, and he would force you to sing sometimes. your parts got edited out, of course, but he would keep those clips just for himself.

then it was the bikes. you already knew your boyfriend would be a problem after the first bike he got, but now he has four, maybe five; and it’s given you more mini heart attacks than you can count.

by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, you would sit and sip some warm cocoa, look out at the nice view like an old lady, try to finally find some reprieve from the constant headaches you get from this man.

he’s gone god knows where, said he was going to film again. you expected him to head to the store, maybe vlog a grocery run, or invade namjoon’s privacy again. what you did not expect was your boyfriend all but skidding down the street right below you, one hand on the handle, and the other steadying a camera in front of him, trying to get a good angle.

you weren’t sure whether to call the cops, your therapist, or his mother. eventually, you shut him down by ringing his phone, and he shut you up by making you squirt twice.

eventually, it trickled into the showers. him wet, hair messy and soaking, making weird faces, furrowing his brows, toothbrush wedged between lips as he stands there in all his half-naked glory. shorts on, of course, because he said his ass is too fat to be given out for free.

those specific scenes you would be bothered by, if he didn’t give you the vip exclusive cuts of him stroking his pretty wet cock after, creaming with your name bouncing off the bathroom walls.

“two more minutes,” you mumble over another layer of brown lip gloss, smacking your lips for the nth time, and you squint at your reflection. then reaching for your eyeliner pen again—“pretty girl, you said that seven minutes ago.” his voice rumbles from behind.

the whine that leaves you makes him whine an even higher, even whinier whine.

your boyfriend sits on his bed bare-chested, grey sweatpants, tattoos out and glowing in the warm light, hair perfectly tousled — the whole effortless pussy-popper-9000 look — phone already propped up with one of his ridiculously expensive black tripods.

there isn’t an ounce of annoyance in his eyes though; just warm, gooey pools of affection for you. you. you.

“c’mere. beautiful baby,” he resorts to making grabby hands at you, which you catch in the mirror of the vanity he put in his room just for you. he’s making gross kissy sounds, beckoning you over like he would his dog bam.

you roll your eyes, and yet, you’re already setting down the pen and making your way to him.

“look who it is!” he’s clapping now, of fucking course he is, beaming at you as you approach. his hands then start drumming over his thighs, like some entrance fanfare for a princess — which you absolutely are in his eyes.

his lip tucks under his teeth immediately, as soon as you make contact, your hand holding onto his shoulder for a brief second just to steady yourself, before settling down on his lap like he’d instructed. and he’s already excited.

jeongguk is warm, and his scent engulfs you like a hug, and it soothes your nerves, even for a moment. you’re soft in his hands, always so soft; and his arms find your middle — you both melt into each other instinctively.

you’re met with a 4k 60fps view of yourself and him, shot wide to capture the way your thighs spread over his, and the way his silhouette swallows yours.

his shoulders go on for days, and his milky skin contrasts beautifully with the black tank top you (barely) have on. he squeezes around your tummy, making both of you laugh like idiots.

you look good together, real good. you lean in slightly, turning your head and pursing your lips to examine your makeup, when your vision is soon obstructed by one large, tattooed hand reaching up and cupping both your cheeks.

he grabs your face, touch gentle but firm as he squeezes lightly, and from what you can see on the screen — god, he’s fucking delighted. “so so prettyyy. what a pretty girl, no?” he coos, eyes crinkling at the corners as he gives one of his eyebrow-smiles.

you’re seething, and also soaking, kinda. he doesn’t need to know that.

“you’re actually the worst ever,” you grunt, trying to sound mean but it’s muffled by the pout he’s forced you into. both your hands have to wrap around his wrist just to wrestle his stupidly strong, stupidly veiny hand off your face, which you manage to do, but it’s no use.

“yeah? you promise?” he’s fucking giggling, proud of it, proud of your little attempts to resist him because you both know you can’t.

his other hand reaches over to gently pat your cheek, before pinching it lovingly; which earns him another whine. and he just loves it. he adores it so much you can feel it right under your thigh. his cock is thrumming in his boxers, heart so full as he leans over to press a big, wet, smooch to your other cheek.

ugh. “just start the damn video.”

after a few more pokes to your face with some odd, boyish explosion sound effects, he finally concedes, hips shifting under you.

one arm — very obvious and very unnecessary — hooks around your chest, effectively grabbing and squeezing your tit as he moves you like he’s done it a hundred times before.

he has. and like a hundred times before, you cuss him out for it.

until his free hand moves, his finger pressing to his lips, which, unfortunately, shuts you up pretty quick.

his thumb hits the record button, and he’s shifting you back, though his grip doesn’t loosen, just slips down to your waist, where he pulls you even closer.

“today, i am joined by the scariest, sexiest, most murderous force of nature i know—” “aaand you are going to end up six feet under,” you’re already crossing your arms, eyes narrowing at him through the screen. his brows pinch, looking to the camera and his imaginary viewers, shrugging in a told you so kinda manner, even as his hands start massaging over your shoulders slowly.

“see, this recording is actually for my safety rather than my enjoyment.”

he props his chin over your shoulder, and his little quip is pathetic. he’s pathetic. but knowing jeongguk, he would own that title like a fuckin’ badge of honor, too. you let out a huff, relaxing into his touch as your eyes flutter shut.

but jeongguk doesn’t like that. he clicks his tongue, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, lips brushing your hair as he nudges you with his nose to look back at the camera. “c’mon. introduce yourself, mama?”

your head falls forward, a smile tugging on your lips as you avoid the camera. “hello, i’m y/n, this is my clingy pet dog. bye.”

your lack of enthusiasm makes him chuckle, breath hot against your skin. you are sooo stubborn and he just loves you like this. “damn right.” he growls right behind your ear, which is insane considering his eyes peek out from behind you, all wide and innocent.

even as he’s clearly ogling at your cleavage and your pretty face on the screen.

his hands move from your waist, sliding up higher, and you, begrudgingly, uncross your arms, earning you another gravelly ‘good girl’ and a wet kiss to your temple. he’s already cupping your breasts, squeezing and bouncing them for the camera, the creamy flesh ripples under his handling.

it’s embarrassing, your face flushing pink as he toys with your tits, and you’re just letting him, biting back whimpers and whines with every punishing squeeze. “mn, koo—”

one hand slides upward from your breast, lightly smacking your cheek again before settling around your throat. the suddenness making your breath hitch, eyes rolling back for a moment as you tried to steady yourself. a breathless huff of laughter leaves you, in another futile attempt to sound mean.

“freak..” you hiss.

he only grinned, a wicked, lopsided thing. "mhm? and what else?" he murmured, his voice a deep rasp.

without so much as a beat to let you respond, he catches your lower lip between his fingers and pushed his thumb past your teeth, filling your mouth and muffling your indignant protests into soft, wet sounds of submission.

rude.

jeongguk is having the time of his life, his hand a heavy weight on your neck, not to choke you, no; but anchor you to him.

he can do the choking later.

his gaze is doe-like and adoring, shimmering with pure, unadulterated joy; glowing with a soft, manic sort of adoration that makes your heart ache even as he's being a total menace.

using his firm grip, he moves your head to get a better look at you and fuck. “fuck, look at you. look at my girl.” a heavy throb pulses straight through his cock, it almost hurts. “you are so pretty.”

his tone is dripping with honey through gritted teeth, disgustingly, aggressively sweet even as his thumb is pressed deep into your mouth.

the thick, delicious intrusion forces you to suckle on it, glaring at him through lashes that were already growing damp. you’re trying to maintain some semblance of that pride, but to him you’re just cute. so fucking cute.

“today,” he starts and reaches down, his fingers hooking under the hem of your black tank top. he doesn't ask; he just peels the fabric upward, dragging the soft cotton over the curve of your stomach and up, up, until your breasts are bared to the cool air and his gaze.

and he gives you that look. that deeply terrifying look that always ends with you in a messy, sticky heap. it’s manic, it’s a hunger that borderlines on holy despite the mischief dancing in his eyes.

he is so, so incredibly gone for you.

he lets out another breathy, jagged laugh.

“we’re gonna see how long it takes to completely break you, aren't we?" he whispers, the challenge hanging in the air like a dare. "how long can i ruin my girl before i finally lose it?" his nose nuzzled back into your hair.

you can’t even process the sheer audacity of his words, you’re struggling to breathe around the pad of his digit when—

smack!

the sound of his palm hitting the underside of your breast is sharp and loud in the quiet room, the sting sending a delicious, jolting shock straight to your clit.

the sting is sharp, a sudden burst of heat that makes your toes curl and your eyes water, but he doesn't give you a second to recover. his expression tells you he’s enjoying your discomfort far too much. then another, smack, right to the other breast.

you protest around his finger, but his grip is so strong and his hand is so heavy.

he gives in another light smack, before grabbing it roughly and squeezing, sending you choking around a sob. “b-baby mmff, please— mmnnn!”

he watches the way your skin flushes, the way your nipple hardens into a tight, dark peak from the sudden sting, and he lets out a soft, triumphant giggle that is entirely too affectionate for the way he’s looking at you.

"hold the camera, baby," he commands, his voice a low, honeyed growl that leaves no room for argument.

he nods his head to the device, forcing you to reach out with a trembling hand to angle it the way he wants.

“that’s it, you listen so well f’me sweet girl,” he peppers kisses over your shoulder, “right on your pussy. show ‘em those cute little panties.”

you would roll your eyes, but you just obey, the hand in your throat and thumb in your mouth a constant reminder of who’s in charge right now. it’s shaky, but it gets the job done, the phone held down low to show off the pretty, expensive black lace that did very little to hide the wetness pooling on your lips.

“fuuuuck, look at that,” he breathes out, mouthing at the juncture of your neck as he stares down at the screen. “god, why are you so fuckin’ sexy, huh? so fuckin’ lucky.” as you struggle to maintain your hold on the camera, your knuckles turning white, you feel his hand leave your breast.

down your waist, down your navel, down the soft curve which he squeezes lovingly. down, down, down.

his fingers come into view on the camera, pressing two into the lace, watching, his jaw falling slack as your lips make a soft, filthy squelch. the dampness only spreads.

“ohhh fuck, sweet girl,” you both whine, like the sight itself is breaking you both.

his thumb presses harder into your mouth, a silent command to keep sucking, to keep staying quiet and good while he works. his hand is a hot, heavy intrusion between your thighs, his fingers sliding past the damp, silken folds of your heat to find the center of your ache.

the moment he touches you, the moment his fingertip brushes against your swollen clit you feel your entire body lurch. you’re trying so hard to keep the camera steady, to keep the frame focused, but as he begins to rub you with a slow, punishingly deliberate pressure, your hand begins to slip.

he sees it, of course; he sees everything.

“don’t let go, baby, come on. you can do it,” his fingers slow, circling aching little figures around your swollen clit, and you buck your hips in an attempt to meet his hand. “k-kooooo—mmmff,” his thumb is now pressing inside your cheek, stretching your lips open for the camera as your noises spill out. “come on, fix the camera. show ‘em how good my girl is, yeah?”

blinking back tears, your grip tightens around the tripod again, the material biting into your palm — and you almost fucking let go because he speeds up all of a sudden. “mnnn ohh— oh my god!”

having your lips pulled open, your spit dribbles down your chin and around his hand, and the disgusting, wet feeling only spurs him on, practically ripping the lace out the way as two thick fingers plunge into your pretty pussy, his thumb relentless against your clit.

“thaaat’s right, that’s my good girl,” he hisses, eyes narrowed and zoned right in on the way your velvety walls suck him in. so fucking needy.

you can only respond with throaty little mewls, trying to hide your face in his neck as he works you open up close and personal, all in high definition.

you feel so fucking exposed, so vulnerable, so disgusting — his hand around your throat tightens, making you gasp and choke for air. his other hand pulls out, and you find tears welling up in your eyes again, head jerking in betrayal, “y-you fucking—”

the slap is sharp, a stinging crack that echoes in the quiet room, and the heat of it goes straight to your tummy as you yelp.

your inner thigh is already flushed, the skin sensitive and tender, but the impact of his hand slick, hot, and heavy with your own sticky juices is enough to make your vision blur. the sensation of his wet palm meeting your skin is so visceral, so unapologetically messy, that a fresh sob hitches in your throat.

he slaps you again. and again, for good measure.

"look at the camera, sweet girl. please?" he coos, his voice a devastating contrast to the sting he just delivered. it’s so sweet, so honeyed and adoring, as if he hadn't just punished you for your momentary lapse in composure.

“don’t hide. show them how much you're enjoying this for me. look at the screen, princess."

you’re fucking shivering.

your face hot and tear streaked, you force your heavy eyelids open. you feel so fucking gross, your lips are swollen and glistening with saliva, your hair is a mess, and you can feel the dampness of your own slick coating his hand.

but as you look back down to where the phone is angled, jeongguk is right there, his face hovering just inches from yours. his dark eyes are round and sparkly, filled with that worshipful light.

"there she fuckin’ is," he breathes, a low, ragged sound that vibrates in the air between you. he presses a messy kiss to your cheek. "my pretty girl. so fucking pretty. look at those eyes.. so wide and beautiful for me."

"j-jeongguk, please," you babble, the corner of your mouth is sore from his digit still pressing you open; the words coming out in broken, frantic whimpers.

your free hand clutches at the bedsheets, his hair, his bicep — anything — as the tension in your lower belly reaches a breaking point. “k-koo! hhnnn baby fuckfuckfuck,” “yes? yes my pretty girl?”

too much; the friction, the pressure, the sheer intensity of being watched and handled like this in front of a camera. "gonna— oh god, koo, g-gonna cum! i’m gonna cum, please!"

"yeah? gonna cum for koo?" his hand finally, finally leaves your face, letting you suck in a deep breath, still covered in sticky sweat and your saliva fucking everywhere.

you’re not sure what’s worse, the smears of your expensive brown lip gloss on his hand, or the way he sucks on his own thumb, making a show of swirling his tongue around it, tasting your spit before reaching down to help you film. like it was the most normal thing ever.

it makes your pussy clench, and you both wince.

“give it to me, mama. please?” he leans in, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to the curve of your shoulder, his lips soft against your heated skin even as his fingers suddenly become a blur of motion between your thighs, making you fucking scream as you squirm. it’s too much. too much. too much.

he’s working you with a ruthless, rhythmic precision, his thumb grinding against your clit in a way that feels like it’s trying to pull the very soul out of you — and the dirtiest thing somehow is the happiness on his face as he’s doing it.

through your tears you can make out his smile, his tongue poking out like he’s concentrated on a sketch rather than making his pretty girlfriend fall apart in a wet, hot mess.

the cherry on top? as he fucks into your sopping cunt, the filthiest noises filling the warm air around you, he’s peering down into the camera from over your shoulder.

and he, with all the audacity in the fucking world, winks.

the climax hits you like a physical blow, a violent, tectonic shift that shatters your remaining strength. you let out a high, keening wail, your back arching so sharply it feels like you might snap.

your vision explodes into white light as the first massive wave of release erupts from you. you feel the hot, forceful spray of your juices drenching his hand and splashing against the sheets, and the floor. a torrential outpouring of pure, unbridled ecstasy.

you’re shaking, sobbing, your entire body convulsing in the throes of a squirt so intense it feels like you’re being emptied out entirely.

and through the haze of your undoing, through the tears and the gasps and the sheer, overwhelming sensation of being broken open, you see him. he’s watching you instead of the camera, his eyes locked on you. his girl. as he captures every messy, beautiful second of your surrender.

a wide, enamored, and utterly obsessed grin is plastered on his face. he’s watching his masterpiece unfold in real time, and he looks like he’s never been more proud in his entire life.

“oh my god, you’re the cutest thing ever,” he’s giggling. he made you squirt all over and he’s fucking giggling.

after the first initial spray, he pulls his fingers out, only to plunge them back in, easily now, from all the wetness and slick, pushing, flicking against that spot with just the right pressure, to pull another spray from you. his eyes glued to your teary face, brows furrowed and lips still pulled in that stupid smile as he tries to soak in every single reaction.

“koo, baby, nghhhh, you’re so—“ you grit out through your teeth, thighs trembling violently, as the pleasure and stinging pain blend together so bad, your eyeliner is washed clean off by now.

he pulls out, goes back in for another, pulling a tinier fountain out of you,

and then another — but you’re pushing, pounding weakly against his forearm, and he finally stops. his hand resting, cupping over your creamy, puffy pussy.

there’s nothing but your breathing for a moment, and the thrum of your heartbeats racing in the aftermath.

he sets the camera back on the table in front of you, angling it low so it still catches every last drop of your release dripping down your thighs. his hand, the one drenched in your squirt, reaches up again, finding its place back on your neck the to tilt your head the way he wants and kiss you.

it’s wet, it’s messy, and so so soft, so so loving. his piercing cools the heat of your swollen lips as he sucks on your tongue playfully, before it’s your turn to smack him away.

“mm, you did so good. you’re so fucking pretty. so fucking sweet.” he praises, genuinely lovesick. “my little porn star.”

your breathing fans his face, and he kisses you again. can’t get enough of you.

“are we gonna count that as one? or three?” you question, the teasing lilt returning to your voice as you glance at the still-recording phone, a few specks of your release glistening on the screen.

he hums for a moment, looking at the device before turning back, that grin of his turning cocky, proud.

“one, definitely one. ‘m far from done with you, mama.”

“i fucking hate you.”

you both let out a deep sigh, and share another deep, lingering kiss, before he’s freeing his huge, heavy, aching cock, and tightening his hand back around your throat with a smooch to your temple.

lord pray for this man’s storage.

note: whipped this up in like 4 hours. i’m not a smut writer at all. was very horny. won’t happen again. bye

perm calling card. @divakoo @chwrrybby

Beside you, Mina rolled her eyes while fixing her lipstick in the reflection of the car window. “For the last time, it’s a private club.”

“That’s exactly what people say before ending up in documentaries.”

A laugh escaped her immediately before she grabbed your wrist and started dragging you toward the entrance anyway. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No,” you corrected while staring up at the massive building towering above the street, “I’m being cautious.”

The club looked untouchable. Black glass stretched toward the night sky while gold lighting spilled from enormous windows, luxury cars curving around the entrance beneath dim lanterns. Even the people outside looked expensive—tailored suits, silk dresses, watches that probably cost more than your rent.

You suddenly felt underdressed despite Mina forcing you to spend twenty minutes shoving makeup onto your face in the passenger seat while she drove through traffic like a maniac.

“You owe me for this,” you muttered while following her up the marble stairs.

“I know, I know.” Mina grinned suddenly. “But if Namjoon’s here tonight, it’ll be worth it.”

Ah yes.

Namjoon.

The entire reason you were currently entering what looked like a billionaire vampire convention instead of rotting peacefully in bed.

Mina had met him two weeks ago “by accident,” which really meant she spilled a drink on his suit at some upscale restaurant and somehow walked away with his number instead of a lawsuit. Since then, she’d spent every single day talking about him like she was being paid for it.

Apparently, Namjoon belonged to this club.

Which explained the terrifying amount of money surrounding you the second the doors opened.

Warm jazz drifted through the massive lounge while crystal glasses clinked softly beneath dim amber lighting. Everything inside gleamed—marble floors, velvet seating, gold accents catching the low light every time someone moved. The air smelled faintly of expensive liquor and perfume strong enough to make you dizzy.

And somehow, despite all the noise around you, the atmosphere still felt… controlled.

Too controlled.

Like everyone inside knew rules you didn’t.

“You made it.”

You turned at the sound of the familiar voice just in time to see Mina practically light up beside you.

Namjoon approached through the crowd effortlessly, dressed in a charcoal suit that looked unfairly expensive. Tall. Broad shoulders. Silver rings catching beneath the warm lighting every time he moved.

Okay.

Fine.

You understood the obsession a little now.

“Mina,” he greeted warmly before his attention shifted toward you. “And you must be the friend.”

You introduced yourself quickly while he offered his hand politely. His grip was warm, calm. Everything about him felt smooth in a way that immediately screamed rich person confidence.

“Mina’s told me a lot about you,” he said.

“That’s concerning.”

A laugh slipped from him easily enough to make Mina look entirely too pleased with herself. But before the conversation could continue, another man approached Namjoon quietly and murmured something near his ear.

You noticed the subtle shift immediately.

Namjoon’s posture straightened slightly, expression smoothing into something more unreadable. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

The second he disappeared back into the crowd, Mina grabbed your arm aggressively. “See?” she whispered. “I told you he was perfect.”

“You met a man with a face.”

“He has the face.”

“You’re insane.”

“And yet you came with me anyway.”

Unfortunately true.

You let her continue rambling while your attention drifted elsewhere, gaze moving slowly across the lounge until something near the back wall caught your eye.

A gold elevator sat partially hidden behind dark velvet curtains, guarded by two men in black suits. Guests approached quietly every few minutes, flashing sleek black cards before disappearing downstairs.

Not upstairs. Downstairs.

Your brows pulled together slightly. Strange.

“You okay?” Mina asked beside you after noticing you staring.

Your eyes stayed fixed on the elevator. “What’s downstairs?”

Her talking stopped for exactly half a second.

Then she shrugged casually. “Private rooms, I think.”

“You think?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“That’s suspicious.”

“You think everything is suspicious.”

“Because rich people are weird.”

Mina rolled her eyes, but before she could argue back, movement near the elevator caught your attention again. A small group approached quietly while one of the guards held out his hand. Black cards appeared immediately between polished fingers. Silent nods followed. Then the elevator doors slid open.

And every single person disappeared downstairs.

Your curiosity sharpened instantly.

“You know what,” you murmured, grabbing a champagne glass from a passing tray, “I’m going down there.”

Mina nearly choked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“You cannot just wander into mysterious underground rich people basements!”

“That sentence alone makes me want to go more.”

“Mina.”

You both turned slightly as Namjoon reappeared beside you, calmer now than before. But unlike earlier, there was something more serious in his expression this time. More careful.

His gaze flicked briefly toward the elevator before returning to you.

And somehow, that alone confirmed your suspicion that something strange was happening downstairs.

“What’s down there?” you asked immediately.

Namjoon paused.

Then smiled lightly. “Nothing dangerous.”

“That is not a real answer.”

Mina pointed at him accusingly. “See? This is why she thinks we’re in a cult.”

A quiet laugh left him before his attention returned toward the elevator again. “It’s invitation only.”

“So there is something down there.”

Namjoon said nothing.

Which was answer enough.

Your eyes narrowed slightly before glancing toward the elevator one more time. Another guest approached the guards, black card already waiting between his fingers. The second the doors opened, soft music drifted upward from below. Lower. Slower. Different from upstairs.

And suddenly curiosity won completely.

Before either Mina or Namjoon could stop you, you started walking.

“Oh my god,” Mina hissed behind you. “She’s actually doing it.”

Your heels clicked softly against the marble floors as you approached the guarded elevator. The two men standing outside immediately looked toward you, expressions unreadable beneath the dim lighting.

For one brief second, you considered turning around. Then one of the guards stepped aside. Just like that. No questions. Interesting.

You stepped inside slowly, pulse quickening despite yourself. Mina scrambled in beside you a second later while Namjoon sighed quietly before following after both of you.

“This is a terrible idea,” Mina whispered the second the doors closed.

“You say that like you had a choice.”

“I literally didn’t.”

The elevator began descending smoothly.

The deeper it went, the quieter it became. Jazz from upstairs faded completely until only the low mechanical hum remained. Mina shifted nervously beside you while Namjoon stayed perfectly calm, hands tucked neatly into his pockets like this happened every day for him.

Then the elevator stopped. The doors slid open slowly. And suddenly, the atmosphere changed completely.

The first thing you noticed was the silence. Not actual silence—music still drifted faintly through the massive underground lounge, glasses clinked softly somewhere nearby, low conversations blended beneath it all—but everything downstairs felt sharper somehow. Controlled in a way upstairs hadn’t been.

Poker tables stretched across the room beneath dim gold lighting while people in tailored suits and silk dresses gambled away terrifying amounts of money with frighteningly calm expressions. Dealers shuffled cards effortlessly while waitresses carried trays of whiskey and champagne between tables.

And at the very center of the room—sat him.

Black dress shirt. Sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. Dark hair falling slightly over his forehead beneath the low lighting. One hand rested lazily against his jaw while the other toyed with a poker chip between long fingers.

Everyone around him looked tense.

He looked bored.

“Who’s that?” you asked quietly.

Namjoon’s gaze shifted toward the center table immediately.

“Jeon Jungkook.”

The name alone seemed to carry weight downstairs. You noticed it instantly in the way nearby conversations lowered slightly, the way spectators lingered around his table without getting too close. Across the room, another pile of chips slid toward him effortlessly while the man sitting opposite looked seconds away from collapsing entirely.

“He always wins,” Mina whispered.

Almost as if sensing the attention on him, Jungkook glanced up suddenly.

And for one brief second—his eyes landed directly on yours.

His gaze landed on yours with enough intensity to make your stomach tighten unexpectedly.

Not because he looked angry.

Or cold.

If anything, he looked curious.

Like he was trying to figure out why you were standing there instead of upstairs drinking overpriced champagne with everyone else.

Then the dealer’s voice cut smoothly through the room. “Another win for Mr. Jeon.”

Soft murmurs followed instantly around the table. Across from Jungkook, the man who’d just lost leaned back in his chair looking physically unwell while Jungkook barely reacted at all. He simply gathered his chips with calm disinterest, like winning had stopped exciting him a long time ago.

“That’s his fifth tonight,” Namjoon said quietly beside you.

Your eyes stayed fixed on Jungkook. “Poker?”

“Poker. Betting games. Auctions.” Namjoon slipped one hand into his pocket. “Doesn’t really matter.”

“He never loses,” Mina added dramatically.

And honestly?

You could see why people believed it.

The confidence around Jungkook wasn’t loud arrogance. It was worse. Quiet certainty. The kind built from winning too often for too long. Everyone around him looked tense while he sat there completely relaxed, lazily spinning a poker chip between elegant fingers like the entire room bored him.

Something about it irritated you immediately.

The dealer glanced around the room again. “Any newcomers interested in challenging tonight’s winner?”

A few people laughed softly under their breath. Others exchanged amused looks. Nobody moved.

Because of course nobody moved.

Across the room, Jungkook leaned back slightly in his chair, completely unconcerned. Like he already knew nobody would dare embarrass themselves trying.

And maybe that was exactly what annoyed you enough to speak.

“I’ll do it.”

Silence.

Actual silence.

Beside you, Mina made a strangled noise. “What are you doing?” she whispered harshly, grabbing your arm.

You shrugged lightly, unable to look away from the center table. “Making bad decisions, apparently.”

Several people nearby had already turned toward you completely now. Some looked entertained. Others looked genuinely concerned for your wellbeing. Somewhere behind you, someone actually laughed.

“A newcomer?” a man murmured quietly.

“This should be interesting.”

Meanwhile, Jungkook finally looked genuinely awake.

His fingers stopped against the poker chip as his attention settled fully on you for the first time. Slow. Assessing. Like he was trying to decide whether you were brave or just stupid.

Maybe both.

The dealer cleared his throat awkwardly. “Miss, are you certain?”

Before you could answer, Jungkook spoke first.

“Let her play.”

The room somehow grew even quieter.

Namjoon sighed beside you like he already regretted bringing either of you downstairs while Mina looked seconds away from physically restraining you herself.

Too late now.

A clear path had already opened toward the center table.

You could feel every pair of eyes following you as you stepped forward, heels clicking softly against the marble floors. The closer you got, the clearer everything became—the stacks of chips worth terrifying amounts of money, the scent of whiskey lingering beneath expensive cologne, the sharp gold lighting reflecting against polished black surfaces.

And Jungkook.

Up close, he looked calmer somehow.

Which only made him more intimidating.

His dark gaze followed your every movement while you slid into the empty chair across from him. Not mocking. Not arrogant. Just observant.

Like he was already studying you.

“You’re new,” he said finally.

His voice was low. Smooth enough that you almost understood immediately why people listened when he spoke.

“Is it that obvious?” you asked lightly.

“A little.”

Something almost amused flickered across his face.

The dealer quickly began reshuffling the cards while spectators gathered closer around the table. Nobody downstairs even pretended not to stare anymore.

Jungkook never took his eyes off you.

“You know how to play?” he asked.

“Enough.”

“That’s usually what people say before losing badly.”

The final round began quietly. Too quietly.

Even the spectators surrounding the table had stopped whispering now, attention fixed entirely on the cards spread between you and Jungkook. The dealer moved carefully beneath the tension while chips stacked higher and higher across the polished table.

Across from you, Jungkook looked completely relaxed. Which was irritating.

One hand rested lazily near his drink while the other toyed with a poker chip between elegant fingers, dark eyes focused on you instead of the game itself. Like he’d already decided how this would end.

“You look confident,” you noted lightly while placing another chip into the pot.

“I usually am.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

His mouth curved slightly. “Only for other people.”

God.

You suddenly understood why everyone downstairs seemed so intimidated by him. It wasn’t just the money or reputation—it was the way he spoke like losing genuinely didn’t exist in his world. Quiet confidence wrapped so naturally around him it stopped feeling arrogant and started feeling inevitable.

The dealer revealed another card. A subtle shift moved through the crowd instantly.

Jungkook barely glanced down before his gaze lifted back toward yours again. Calm. Patient. Watching you more carefully than the game itself.

“You’re staring again,” you muttered.

“And you keep noticing.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly while a few nearby spectators laughed under their breath. Jungkook looked entirely too amused with himself.

“You always flirt this much while gambling?” you asked.

“Only when I’m entertained.”

“You must get bored often, then.”

That earned the smallest reaction from him. Barely there. But enough for you to notice the way his fingers paused briefly against the poker chip.

Interesting. The final cards hit the table. The room seemed to tighten immediately around you. Nobody moved. Nobody looked away.

Then slowly, Jungkook leaned back into his chair, gaze fixed on you beneath the low gold lighting.

“You’re awfully confident,” you said carefully, studying him across the table, “for someone who could still lose.”

Silence dropped instantly. Actual silence.

Even the dealer froze for half a second. Somewhere behind you, Mina whispered something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer.

But Jungkook only smiled. Slowly. Interested instead of offended.

“Alright then,” he murmured, voice low enough that the table leaned closer to hear it. “If I lose, you have to kiss me.”

A few people nearby nearly choked on their drinks.

You blinked once.

The confidence in his tone made it worse somehow—not teasing, not embarrassed, just certain enough to imply he already knew the outcome.

The room buzzed instantly with quiet whispers while Jungkook stayed completely calm beneath all the attention.

Like this was normal for him. Maybe it was.

You tilted your head slightly. “And if I lose…”

His gaze stayed fixed on yours. Waiting. Curious.

Then a small smile pulled at your mouth. “Shall I kill you?”

A nervous laugh broke somewhere nearby. Someone muttered, “Jesus Christ,” under their breath while Mina looked seconds away from passing out entirely.

And Jungkook—paused. Barely noticeable. But enough.

Enough for you to catch the flicker of surprise behind his eyes before amusement settled over it instead.

There it was.

For the first time all night, you’d actually caught him off guard.

His tongue pressed briefly against the inside of his cheek while he stared at you across the table like he’d just discovered something unexpectedly interesting.

Then he smiled again. Smaller this time. More dangerous somehow.

“I think,” he said quietly, “I’m going to enjoy this.”

The dealer finally cleared his throat, breaking the tension thickening around the table. “Final hands.”

Cards slid smoothly across the polished surface. Around you, spectators leaned closer while waitresses slowed near the crowd, attention caught just as much as everyone else’s. Nobody downstairs was pretending not to watch anymore.

And Jungkook seemed to enjoy that entirely too much.

His gaze never really left you while he gathered his cards between elegant fingers. Calm. Lazy almost. Like the outcome didn’t matter to him either way.

Which only made you more suspicious.

The next few minutes passed in near silence, broken only by the soft flick of cards and quiet clinks of poker chips stacking higher across the table. You studied your hand carefully before glancing back up—

And immediately caught Jungkook already looking at you. Again.

“You know,” you muttered, “most people play poker by watching the cards.”

A quiet laugh left him. “I am watching something. Something worth my time.”

Cocky. Annoyingly cocky.

You rolled your eyes despite the warmth creeping embarrassingly up your neck. Across from you, Jungkook leaned back slightly into his chair while the dealer revealed another card.

A subtle shift moved through the crowd instantly. You noticed it. So did Jungkook.

But unlike everyone else, he didn’t react much at all. His expression stayed unreadable while he glanced down at his cards one final time.

Then something changed. Small. Quick enough most people wouldn’t catch it. But you did.

The slight hesitation in his fingers. The deliberate choice hidden beneath casual ease. The card he could’ve played— and didn’t.

Your eyes narrowed slightly. Interesting. The final reveal hit the table seconds later. Silence. The dealer blinked down once. Twice.

Then finally— “You win.”

The reaction around the room was immediate. Shocked whispers spread through the crowd while someone near the back actually cursed under their breath. Mina looked moments away from collapsing entirely beside Namjoon, who somehow seemed significantly less surprised than everyone else.

But you barely noticed any of it.

Because across the table, Jungkook looked far too calm for someone who had supposedly just lost.

No frustration. No disappointment. Nothing. And suddenly—you knew why.

“You cheated,” you said quietly.

The murmuring around the table continued, loud enough to hide the conversation from everyone else. Jungkook’s gaze lifted slowly toward yours, dark eyes unreadable beneath the gold lighting.

“Did I?”

“I saw what you did with your cards.”

For the first time all night, his smile changed slightly. Less playful. More knowing.

Then he shrugged once. Casual.

“I lost.”

Your stomach flipped annoyingly. Because technically, he had.

The dealer awkwardly cleared his throat again while the surrounding crowd waited expectantly for what came next. You could practically feel their curiosity pressing against the table. Everyone downstairs wanted to see it now.

The kiss.

Jungkook stayed seated comfortably, one arm draped against the chair while he watched you with quiet interest. Not demanding. Not impatient.

Just waiting. Like he already knew you’d do it. Which honestly made you want to annoy him more. Slowly, you stood from your chair. The room fell quieter immediately.

You stepped around the table while dozens of eyes followed your every movement. Across from you now, Jungkook finally tilted his head slightly upward to look at you properly. And for the first time all night—he looked uncertain.

Just a little. Like even he didn’t know what you were about to do. Good.

You leaned down slowly, one hand resting lightly against the edge of his chair. Close enough now to catch the faint scent of whiskey lingering beneath his cologne. Close enough to notice the way his attention dropped briefly toward your mouth.

Then—you kissed his cheek. Soft. Brief.

And completely wrong for what everyone downstairs had expected.

The silence afterward felt deafening.

You pulled back just enough to meet Jungkook’s gaze again. Up close, you caught it immediately—the faint surprise flickering behind his eyes before amusement slowly replaced it instead.

“A deal’s a deal,” you murmured lightly.

Then you straightened and walked away.

┈ [ ✉️ ] Sorry if this was lowk ass :3

Perm taglist : @kimmynammy @celliez @alphabetically-deranged @m4aimm @raceme2hell @bo-rimmy @mustanggbabyy @divakoo @snookerdoodle @bratz-lad (comment or ask to be added)

With Jungkook, things had a way of becoming complicated long after you’d already fallen into them.

That was the worst part, maybe, because if he had been colder in the beginning, if he had been arrogant or careless or obvious in that cheap, glossy way men sometimes were when they knew exactly how much damage they could get away with, you might have known what to do with him. You might have known where to put him in your life. You might have known to keep your heart tucked away somewhere private, somewhere he could not reach with his bright smile and gentle hands and that easy little laugh that made it sound like the world was never as heavy as you made it out to be.

But he was not like that. He was kind. He was warm.

And he remembered things.

He remembered that you hated lemon in your drinks but liked the flavor of it in your food, which made no sense to him, and he had teased you about it for ten full minutes the first time he watched you pick one out of a glass of water at dinner. He remembered that you got cold too easily in movie theaters and always, always brought a hoodie after the first time you had tried to pretend you were fine through an entire film while your knees knocked together beneath the seat. He remembered the name of the stray cat you fed that lived behind your apartment building, even though you had only mentioned it once while distracted, and sometimes when he walked you home he would look toward the alley and ask, “Has Chairman Meow eaten today?” with such sincere concern.

That was the problem.

He didn’t treat you like you were temporary.

He didn’t leave after, not right away, not with the easy cruelty of someone who wanted only your body and none of the person inside it. He stayed. He curled around you while the room cooled and the night softened at the edges, his mouth resting against your shoulder, his breath slow against your skin, his thumb moving in little absent circles at your hip.

He made breakfast sometimes, badly, but with confidence so undeserved it almost became charming on its own.

He texted during the day, not constantly, never enough to call it something, never enough to put a name around it without feeling foolish, but enough that your phone became a little trap. A random selfie. A song he thought you would like. A complaint about a coworker that you didn’t technically know, but felt like you did from the stories Jungkook would tell you about him. A picture of his lunch with the silly little captions.

Normal things. Friendly things.

But it was the nights that got you.

Two in the morning had become a dangerous hour because Jungkook never made it easy to say no. He never sent a you up? text or anything flat and ugly enough for you to roll your eyes at. He never gave you the mercy of being obvious. He sent things that sank under your skin.

come and see me, baby.

i miss you, beautiful.

can’t sleep. wish you were here.

Sometimes you stared at those messages until the screen dimmed in your hand. Sometimes you typed out no and deleted it. Sometimes you typed out you only miss me at night and deleted that too, because it was not true enough to be useful and too true to say without bleeding.

Most times, you went. And every time, on the ride over, you told yourself you understood the arrangement.

You had never asked him for anything. He had never promised you anything. Nobody had lied. Nobody had drawn lines and then crossed them. You were both consenting adults, both aware, both stepping into the same warm, dim room with open eyes.

Maybe it was your fault for falling for someone like him.

Maybe there were girls who liked men like Jungkook exactly as he was because they were free and tethered by and to no one, because there was something exciting about not knowing where you stood, because wanting less made them feel powerful. Maybe they knew how to take the pleasure and leave the rest. Maybe they could kiss him and still keep themselves separate, could sleep beside him and wake up whole, could let him call them baby at two in the morning without hearing it echo for days.

But not you.

You had thought you could be casual. You had thought you could do no strings. You had thought that wanting him would be manageable as long as you kept your expectations small and your voice steady and your foolish little heart on a leash.

Then he started kissing your forehead in the kitchen when you stood half-asleep in his shirt, waiting for the coffee machine to stop making sounds like it was fighting for its life.

Then he started touching you in a way that made the word casual feel impossible to believe, because nothing about the way he held you ever felt careless.

It was one of those nights again, the kind that started with a message you should have ignored and ended with you in his bed, surrounded by the warmth of his room, his sheets twisted beneath you, and his hands making it impossible to remember why you had ever tried to stay away.

Your back arched off the mattress, spine curving as another orgasm crashed through you like a fucking tidal wave. Three in the morning and Jungkook showed no signs of stopping. His face was slick with you, chin glistening, lips swollen and pink as he worked you through your fifth climax of the night. His fingers rolled your nipples, tugging and twisting just enough to make you gasp, your hands fisting the sheets above your head.

"Oh god—fuck, Jungkook, please—" You didn't even know what you were begging for anymore. For him to stop? To never stop? Your thighs shook around his head, muscles trembling from exertion, but he held you open with those strong hands, his tongue still working your oversensitive clit in slow, devastating circles.

He pulled back just enough to speak, his breath hot against your soaked pussy. "One more, baby. Give me one more." His voice was wrecked, rough and desperate in a way that made your stomach flip. He dove back in before you could respond, sucking your clit between his lips while two fingers curled inside you, finding that spot that made you see stars.

You screamed his name. Actually screamed it, loud enough that his neighbors probably hated you both, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. Not when he was looking up at you like that, dark eyes watching your face as he fucked you with his mouth, groaning against your flesh like eating you out was the best thing he'd ever tasted. Like he needed it more than air.

Your fifth orgasm hit you so hard you forgot your own name for a second. White-hot pleasure seared through your veins, every nerve ending alight as you convulsed around his fingers, your release gushing into his waiting mouth. He moaned like he was the one coming, lapping up everything you gave him, tongue gentle now as he coaxed you through the aftershocks.

"Jungkook, please—" You tugged at his hair, trying to pull him up because you were so sensitive it almost hurt, your pussy clenching around nothing as he withdrew his fingers.

He kissed his way up your body, lips trailing over your hip bone, your stomach, the valley between your breasts. By the time he reached your mouth, you could taste yourself on his tongue, salty and sweet and undeniably arousing. He kissed you deeply, slowly, one large hand cradling your face while the other braced his weight above you.

"You're so fucking pretty when you come," he murmured against your lips. "Could watch you fall apart all night."

"You have been," you managed, your voice wrecked. "For thirty minutes."

He smiled against your mouth, that boyish grin that made your chest tight in ways you refused to examine too closely. "And I'd stay down there for another hour if you let me." His hips settled between your thighs, and you felt him—hard, thick, pressing against your hip. He'd been grinding against the mattress this whole time, getting himself off on getting you off, and something about that made your pussy clench all over again.

"Let me—" You reached down, wrapping your fingers around his cock through his boxers. He was big, thick and long in a way that had made you nervous the first time you'd seen it. Now you knew exactly how good that size could feel, how perfectly he filled you. "Let me suck you. You deserve it."

Jungkook groaned, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. His hips jerked into your touch. "Fuck, baby, you can't just say shit like that."

"I want to." You tugged at his waistband, freeing his cock and stroking him properly now, feeling him pulse in your grip. The head was already leaking, slick with precum that you spread down his shaft. "Let me make you feel good."

"No." The word came out strangled, desperate. He grabbed your wrist, stilling your hand. When you looked up at him, his jaw was clenched, his nostrils flared. "I need—I need to be inside you. Need to fuck you. Please."

The urgency in his voice made your whole body flush. He was shaking, actually shaking with the effort of holding back. You realized then that he'd been denying himself this whole time, focusing entirely on your pleasure while his own need built to a breaking point. That thought sent a fresh wave of want through you, your exhausted body suddenly desperate for him again.

"Then fuck me." You spread your legs wider, hooking one calf around his hip. "I want you inside me."

Jungkook let out a sound that was half-growl, half-moan. He reached toward his nightstand, fumbling in the drawer for a condom. His hands were unsteady as he tore the packet open, and you watched him roll it down his length with quick, practiced movements. Then he was positioning himself at your entrance, the thick head of his cock nudging against your opening.

"Look at me," he said, voice low. You met his gaze, and something in his expression made your breath catch. He looked wrecked, desperate, but underneath that was something softer. "You feel so good, baby. So tight. Every time—I swear every time feels like the first time."

He pushed in slowly, inch by agonizing inch. You both moaned at the intrusion, your pussy stretching around him in that familiar burn that bordered on too much and not enough. He was thick, thicker than anyone you'd been with, and he took his time sheathing himself fully even though you could feel how much he wanted to move. His arms shook where they braced above you, his jaw tight with restraint.

"Fuck," you gasped once he was fully seated, your walls fluttering around him. "You're so big. So fucking big, Jungkook, I can feel you everywhere."

He dropped his head, pressing his forehead to yours. "You're so tight. Squeezing me so fucking hard." He rolled his hips experimentally, and you both groaned at the sensation. "I'm not gonna last, baby. Need you too much."

"Then don't." You cupped his face, pulling him into a messy kiss. "Just fuck me. Make yourself feel good."

He pulled back until only the head remained inside you, then snapped his hips forward hard enough to make you cry out. "Oh, I intend to." He set a brutal pace, each thrust driving you further up the mattress. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, obscene and wet, mixing with your combined moans and the creak of his bed frame.

"This tight little pussy was made for me," he growled against your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point. "Made to take my cock. Fuck, you feel so good—so fucking good—"

You couldn't form words. Could only hold on, nails raking down his back as he fucked you with a desperation you'd never felt from him before. This wasn't the slow, sensual Jungkook you'd grown addicted to. This was something rawer, more urgent. Like he couldn't get deep enough, couldn't get close enough, no matter how hard he tried.

"More," you heard yourself beg, the word slipping out before you could stop it. "Please, Jungkook, more—"

He shifted, hooking your knees over his elbows and folding you nearly in half. The new angle let him sink impossibly deeper, hitting that spot inside you that made fireworks explode behind your eyes. You screamed, back bowing off the bed as he pounded into you.

"Right there?" His voice was rough, breathless. "That's the spot, isn't it? Right fucking there."

"Yes, yes, fuck, yes—"

He bent down to kiss you, swallowing your moans as his hips snapped forward relentlessly. You could feel another orgasm building, which should have been impossible after five already, but the way he filled you, the way his pelvic bone ground against your clit with every thrust—it was inevitable.

"I'm close," you gasped against his mouth. "Jungkook, I'm gonna—"

"Come for me." His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles. "Come on my cock. Want to feel this tight pussy squeeze me."

That was all it took. Your orgasm crashed through you harder than any of the ones before, your vision going white as your walls clamped down around him. You heard yourself sobbing his name, fingernails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.

"Fuck, fuck—" Jungkook's rhythm faltered, his thrusts growing erratic. "You're squeezing me so fucking tight—I'm gonna come, baby, I'm gonna—"

He buried himself deep one final time, a groan tearing from his throat as he spilled into the condom. You could feel him pulsing inside you, his cock throbbing with each wave of his release. He collapsed onto his elbows, careful not to crush you, his face buried in your neck as he gasped for breath.

For long moments, neither of you moved. The only sounds were your combined breathing and the faint hum of the city outside his window. His heart hammered against your chest, or maybe that was yours—you couldn't tell anymore. Everything felt blurred together, your bodies tangled in a way that made it hard to tell where you ended and he began.

"That was—" you started, but your voice gave out.

Jungkook laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. "Yeah." He pressed a kiss to your jaw, then another to the corner of your mouth. "That was fucking incredible."

He pulled out slowly, both of you wincing at the oversensitivity, and disposed of the condom before settling back beside you. He pulled you into his side, strong arm wrapping around your shoulders as your head found its familiar spot on his chest.

You traced patterns on his skin, fingers drifting over the tattoos that decorated his arm. This was the part that confused you most. The casual intimacy that felt anything but casual. The way he held you like you were something precious, pressing lazy kisses to your hair, your temple, any part of you he could reach.

"You okay?" he murmured, voice heavy with approaching sleep. "I wasn't too rough?"

You shook your head against his chest. "You were perfect." The words came out softer than you intended, weighted with more meaning than they should have carried.

He hummed, his hand stroking up and down your back in a way that made your eyes heavy. "Stay. I'll make breakfast in the morning."

This was the problem. This right here. He could have asked you to leave. Could have made some excuse about an early morning or needing space. That's what situationships were supposed to be—casual, no strings, easy to walk away from. But Jungkook never made it easy.

He made you breakfast. He held you while you slept. He kissed you goodbye like it physically hurt him to let you go. And every time, you fell a little deeper into something you knew was going to end with you shattered.

"Okay," you whispered, because you were too weak to say no to him. "I'll stay."

His arm tightened around you, and you felt him press another kiss to the top of your head. Within minutes, his breathing evened out, his body going lax with sleep. But you lay awake, staring at the ceiling through the darkness, wondering how you'd let yourself get here.

By the time you padded out of his bedroom the next morning, Jungkook was already in the kitchen with nothing on but gray sweatpants, his back to you as steam climbed around his shoulders. The rice cooker sat open on the counter. A small pot simmered on the stove. His hair was damp at the ends, skin still warm from the shower, muscles shifting as he reached up for bowls like he had no idea what kind of damage he was doing before nine in the morning.

You stopped in the doorway, swallowed by his black hoodie, sleeves hanging past your fingertips.

“Are you trying to kill me?” you asked.

He glanced back. “With breakfast?”

“With all of that.”

His eyes dropped to the hoodie, then dragged back up to your face, slow enough to make your pulse trip. “You look so good in my clothes.”

You look away, smiling despite yourself.

His smile tugged at one corner before he turned back to the stove, ladling soup into two bowls. Rice followed. Gim. Kimchi. Rolled egg cut clean and pretty because, of course, he had to be good at everything.

You sat while he brought the food over, watching him place your bowl down first.

“You look too pleased with yourself,” you said.

“I made breakfast.” Jungkook leaned over your shoulder to set down the chopsticks, voice dipping close to your ear. “Eat before I make you say thank you.”

Your stomach flipped.

You reached for the spoon, pretending the heat in your face came from the soup. “This is unfair.”

“This is love.”

The word landed too heavily.

You saw the moment he realized what he had said because his fingers stilled around the plate, and for half a second something flickered through his eyes, quick and startled and impossible to hold. Then he smiled, smaller than before. “Chef’s kiss,” he said, quieter.

You could have teased him. You could have rescued the moment. You could have said something careless enough to make the air breathable again.

Instead, because you were sleep-warm and stupid with him, because his hoodie smelled like him, because you had woken up with his arm around your waist and his face tucked against the back of your neck, you said, “Is that what this is?”

Jungkook looked at you. “What do you mean?” he asked, but his voice had changed.

You looked down at the food. It was easier than looking at him. “I don’t know.”

He didn’t answer right away. That was the first warning.

Jungkook always answered quickly when things were light. He had a comeback for everything when the room was safe, when the joke was waiting, when the door stayed open behind him. But when something real stepped in, something with hands and teeth and a heartbeat, he went quiet.

You hated that you knew that about him.

You hated that you had learned his silences well enough to understand them.

He moved around the counter slowly and leaned back against it, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. He was not defensive, not exactly, but he was holding himself still in the way people did when they were trying not to run.

“I care about you,” he said finally.

But it wasn’t enough.

The words should have comforted you, maybe, because they were not nothing. They were gentle. They were true, or at least you believed they were true in the way Jungkook knew how to make things true, moment by moment, room by room. But they were not enough, and you felt the shape of that lack like a bruise—a deep ache beneath the surface.

“I know,” you said.

His brows pinched. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Then why do you look like that?”

You laughed once, but there was no humor in it. “Like what?”

“Like I hurt you.”

He sounded upset, almost offended, and that made something sharp move through you because he had hurt you, and he had not, and both things were true enough to make you feel ridiculous.

“You didn’t,” you said.

He looked unconvinced.

You pushed the bowl away gently. “I should go.”

The words startled him. You saw it before he covered it. “You don’t have to.”

“I do, actually. I have laundry.”

“Laundry?”

“Yes, Jungkook, people do laundry.”

“All of a sudden?”

“I am suddenly responsible, yes."

He smiled because you gave him the shape of a joke, but it did not reach his eyes. Still, he let you stand. He let you take off his hoodie and fold it over the back of the chair. He let you gather your bag from beside the couch while the room pressed against your back with everything neither of you were saying.

At the door, he touched your wrist, fingers against your pulse.

“Text me when you get home?” he asked.

You wanted to say no.

You wanted to say, Stop asking for pieces of me if you don’t want the whole thing.

You wanted to say, Stop looking at me like that.

You wanted to say, I’m not built for this, and you should have noticed by now.

Instead, you nodded.

He opened the door for you, and when you stepped into the hallway, he said your name softly enough that you almost pretended not to hear it.

You turned.

Jungkook looked at you from inside his apartment, one hand still on the door, his hair soft and fluffy, his face bare and tired and more beautiful than was fair. For a moment, you thought he would say something. For a moment, you thought the right words were there, climbing up his throat, ready to save both of you from the long fall.

Then he swallowed. “Get home safe,” he said.

You smiled because it was easier than crying.

His door shut behind you with a quiet click.

You texted him when you got home before actually doing your laundry. He sent back a heart. You stared at it longer than you liked to admit.

After that, you tried to be smarter.

For three weeks, you became very busy.

You just stopped being available every time he called you close. You answered his daytime texts, but slower. You liked the selfies and laughed at the work complaints. You stayed friendly because friendship was the last scrap of dignity you had, and you were determined not to make him responsible for feelings he had never asked to hold.

But you stopped going to him at night.

He texted you one night while you were in bed with your phone face down on your bed, trying to read the same paragraph of a book for the fourth time.

jungkook: can i come over?

Your throat tightened. You turned the phone over for six minutes before turning it back over and replying.

y/n: i’m tired tonight

Three dots appeared almost instantly, vanished, appeared again.

jungkook: okay. get some sleep

Then, a second later—

jungkook: goodnight, beautiful

You cried, which made you angry, which made you cry harder because there was nothing more humiliating than being undone by someone respecting your boundary.

Then another day, he sent: miss you :(

You replied in the morning with: sorry, fell asleep :(

jungkook: it’s okay, baby jungkook: did you sleep well?

The next time he reached out, he didn’t text at two but called at ten in the evening. You let it ring until it stopped, and the guilt sat in your stomach all night like a stone.

The next day, your mutual friend Hana invited you to a last minute birthday dinner, and you almost said no the second she mentioned Jungkook would be there. Not because you didn’t want to see him, which was the lie your brain offered up immediately, neat and pathetic, but because you wanted to see him too much, and you didn’t trust yourself to survive him in public.

In private, you at least knew what the danger looked like. It looked like his couch, his bed, his kitchen, his hand at your lower back while he moved around you to reach for a mug. It looked like low light and warm sheets and his voice turned soft at the edges.

In public, there would be other people. Other women. Other reminders.

You spent too long getting ready for someone you were pretending not to want. You changed three times. You did your makeup with unnecessary precision. You told yourself you were dressing for yourself, which was partly true, and then you chose the earrings Jungkook had once complimented, which was not.

The restaurant was already loud when you arrived, full of laughter and the steady hum of Friday night conversations. Hana waved you over from the long table near the back, her smile bright, her crown-shaped birthday headband crooked in a way that suggested she had already started drinking.

“You made it!” she shouted, standing to hug you.

“Barely. Traffic was evil.”

“Traffic is always evil. Sit, sit, sit.”

You let yourself be pulled into the noise, into the warmth, into the easy chaos of introductions and menu passing and Hana insisting everyone order appetizers because “birthday law says calories don’t count.” You were halfway through laughing at something one of her coworkers said when you heard Jungkook’s voice behind you.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m late.”

Your body reacted before your mind could tell it not to.

He had come in with Taehyung, his hair tucked beneath a black beanie, his jacket open over a plain white shirt, and cheeks flushed faintly from the cold outside. He looked relaxed, apologetic, beautiful in that unfair way of people who did not appear to have tried very hard. His eyes moved over the table while he smiled, greeting everyone, silver lip ring glinting under the restaurant lights…and then they found you.

For one second, all the noise thinned.

His smile shifted, softening into something private.

Your fingers tightened around your water glass.

He said your name.

Just your name, nothing else, and it still sounded like a hand reaching across the room.

“Hi,” you said.

He stood there for half a beat too long before Hana smacked his arm with a menu.

“Stop blocking traffic, Kook. Sit down.”

He laughed and slid into the empty chair across from you, because the universe had apparently hated you and had him seated in your direct line of vision.

Dinner should have been fine. And at first, it almost was fine.

Jungkook didn’t act strange. He joined conversations, laughed at Hana’s stories, ordered too much food, and then proceeded to eat almost all of it himself. He didn’t bring up the unanswered calls or the late-night messages you had stopped accepting. He was careful in a way that made you more restless than if he had been reckless.

Sometimes you caught him looking.

Never long enough to accuse him of anything.

Just little glances, his eyes flicking to your face when someone made you laugh, to your hands when you reached for your drink, to your mouth when you leaned forward to answer a question. Each time, he looked away first, and each time, it left something unfinished hanging between you.

Then Hana’s work friend Siwoo arrived late.

You had met him once before, briefly, at a housewarming. He was handsome in a clean, harmless way, with nice hair and an easy smile, and when Hana introduced him again, he remembered your name immediately.

“That’s right,” he said, sitting beside you after one of the others scooted down to make room. “You’re the one who recommended that restaurant in Myeongdong.”

You blinked. “You remember that?”

“Of course. It was good.”

“See?” Hana said from two seats down, pointing with her fork. “My friends have taste.”

Siwoo leaned closer, lowering his voice as if the conversation belonged just to the two of you. “I actually went twice.”

“Twice?”

“Yeah, but the second time was with my sister, so it was less romantic than that sounded.”

You laughed, surprised by it.

Across the table, Jungkook looked down at his plate. You saw it.

Siwoo was easy to talk to. That was the trouble. He asked normal questions and gave normal answers and seemed interested in what you had to say without making your heart feel like it was standing on a ledge. He didn’t look at you like he already knew what you sounded like in the dark. He didn’t carry the weight of every unsent sentence you had ever swallowed.

He was simple. Safe.

You let yourself enjoy it because you were tired of being careful. You let yourself lean into the conversation. You let yourself smile when he made a dry comment about Hana’s “birthday laws” apparently expanding with every drink she ordered. When his arm brushed yours, you didn’t move away immediately.

Jungkook noticed that too.

By the time the plates were cleared and Hana announced that everyone was going to a bar nearby because she had not yet been “celebrated at the correct intensity,” the mood between you and Jungkook had shifted once more.

He was quieter on the walk over.

He still answered when people spoke to him. He still laughed while grabbing Hana when she nearly tripped over nothing and blamed the sidewalk for being jealous. But there was a tension around him now, subtle and controlled, visible only because you knew the relaxed version too well.

The bar was crowded, low-lit, and warm enough that everyone started peeling off jackets within minutes. Music thumped through the floor. Hana claimed a booth with the determination of a military commander, and someone ordered the first round before half the group had even sat down.

Siwoo ended up beside you again.

Jungkook ended up at the bar. You told yourself not to watch him, but your eyes, the little betrayers that they are, locked onto his figure.

He stood with Taehyung, one elbow against the counter, nodding at something the bartender said. A woman beside him turned slightly, her long hair falling over one shoulder as she smiled up at him. You couldn’t hear what she said, but you saw Jungkook smile back out of politeness or habit or charm. You saw him lean closer because the bar was loud. You saw her touch his arm.

It shouldn’t have mattered. But it did. It mattered so much that the room seemed to sharpen around it.

You turned back to Siwoo too quickly.

“So,” he said, eyes moving over your face with mild curiosity, “how do you know Hana again?”

“College,” you said, grateful for the question and incapable of remembering any details about your own life. “We had a class together.”

“What class?”

“Psychology.”

“Useful?”

“Mostly taught me that everyone is lying to themselves.”

He laughed. “That sounds useful.”

“It’s been haunting me ever since.”

His smile softened. “You’re funny.”

It was a nice compliment. You smiled back because you knew Jungkook could see you from the bar out of the corner of your eye.

That was ugly of you. You knew it as you did it, knew the small cruelty of using Siwoo’s attention like a shield, knew jealousy was not a language anyone should be proud of speaking. But the woman at the bar was still talking to Jungkook, and he was still standing there, and something in you had been hurting quietly for weeks.

Siwoo leaned in to hear you better when you answered his next question. His knee pressed against yours under the table. You didn’t make a move to get distance.

A minute later, Jungkook appeared beside the booth with drinks. He set Hana’s in front of her first, then yours.

“Thanks,” you said, keeping your eyes on the glass.

He looked at Siwoo, then at you. “No problem.”

His voice was even. Too even.

Hana, already glowing with birthday power, reached across the table and tugged him down into the booth on her other side. “Kook, sit. You keep hovering and it’s making me anxious.”

“I don’t hover.”

“You literally do. It’s one of your main hobbies.”

He sat, but his eyes went back to you.

Siwoo was saying something about a trip he wanted to take to Busan, and you were trying very hard to listen, but Jungkook was across from you with his jaw set and his drink untouched, and every nerve in your body seemed to be turned toward him.

You hated this.

You hated how much you wanted him to be jealous.

You hated how much you hated seeing him jealous because it meant he cared, but not enough, maybe never enough, and there was no comfort in being wanted by someone who still would not choose you.

When Siwoo excused himself to take a call, you stood almost immediately.

“I’m going to get some air,” you told Hana.

She looked between you and Jungkook, and despite being several drinks into her birthday, her eyes narrowed with sudden clarity. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, I’m okay. Stop worrying, enjoy your night, birthday girl,” you said, smiling, trying to convince your friend that you really were.

You grabbed your jacket and slipped through the crowd before anyone else could say anything.

Outside, the cold hit your face hard enough to make your eyes sting. The sidewalk was busy with people moving between bars and restaurants, their laughter trailing through the air in bright pieces. You walked a few steps away from the entrance and stopped near the side of the building, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself.

You just needed a minute. That was all. A minute without music. Without Siwoo’s harmless attention. Without Jungkook’s eyes on you. Without the terrible, crawling ache of wanting someone who seemed perfectly capable of wanting you back only when the room was dark and the consequences were quiet.

The door opened behind you. You knew it was him before he said anything.

“You didn’t even try your drink,” Jungkook said.

You closed your eyes for a second.

You turned around. “I came outside for air, I’ll go back inside soon.”

He stood a few feet away, hands in his jacket pockets, shoulders slightly hunched against the cold. The streetlight caught on the silver hoops in his ears, on the curve of his mouth, on the uncertainty he was trying and failing to hide.

“You okay?” he asked.

You laughed softly, looking away. “Do you actually want the answer to that?”

His expression changed. “Yes, you know I do.”

The honesty in his voice made you angry. It was easier than letting it make you sad. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you get to know.”

His brows drew together. “What does that mean?”

“It means you don’t get to follow me outside and look at me like that and ask if I’m okay when you only want the parts of the answer that don’t require anything from you.”

Jungkook stared at you.

The noise from inside the bar pulsed faintly through the wall behind him.

He took a breath. “Is this because of Siwoo?”

You looked at him then, really looked, and the jealousy in his face was not subtle anymore. It sat there, plain and wounded and irritatingly beautiful, tightening the line of his mouth.

“No,” you said. “It’s not because of Siwoo.”

His jaw flexed. “You seemed pretty interested in him.”

“And?”

His eyes sharpened. There it was—the tiny break in his composure.

“And?” he repeated.

“Yes, Jungkook. And?”

He looked away, tongue pressing briefly against the inside of his cheek, and when he laughed under his breath it sounded nothing like amusement. “Nothing.”

“No, say it.”

He shook his head.

“Say it,” you pushed, because the night had already cracked open and you were tired of stepping carefully around the pieces. “You followed me out here. You brought him up. Say whatever it is you’re trying not to say.”

He looked at you again, and his voice dropped. “I didn’t like watching him touch you.”

The words moved through you with a force you were not prepared for. Your heart kicked once, hard. But the hurt was bigger. “No,” you said, almost to yourself.

Jungkook’s face tightened. “No?”

“No, you don’t get to do that.”

“I’m just telling you the truth.”

“Now?” You stepped closer, anger warming your face despite the cold. “You want to tell the truth now because someone else sat next to me? Because someone else laughed at my jokes and looked at me like maybe he wanted to know me in daylight too?”

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s not?” Your voice shook, and you hated it, but you kept going. “What part isn’t fair? The part where you get to call me baby at two in the morning, and I’m supposed to understand it doesn’t mean anything? The part where you stay over me, and hold me, and remember every stupid little thing I tell you, and then when I ask what this is, all you can say is that you care about me?”

His face went pale beneath the streetlights.

You had never said it out loud before, but now that you had started, you couldn’t stop.

“I know you never promised me anything. I know that. I have told myself that so many times it’s basically carved into my skull, so don’t worry, I’m not accusing you of lying to me. You didn’t. You never said we were together. You never said you wanted me like that. You never asked me to wait for you or choose you or turn down anyone else for you.”

Jungkook swallowed.

You pressed a hand briefly to your chest, as if you could hold yourself together from the outside.

“But you don’t get to be jealous like you have some claim on me when you won’t even admit you want one.”

His eyes flashed. “I do want one.”

The words came out fast. Too fast, maybe. They seemed to startle him as much as they startled you.

Jungkook dragged a hand over his face and turned away for a second, breathing hard. When he faced you again, the carefulness was gone. So was the jealousy, or at least it had been swallowed by something larger and more frightened.

“I do,” he said again, quieter but steadier. “I want one.”

Your mouth went dry. “No, you don’t.”

Pain crossed his face. “Don’t tell me what I want.”

“Then stop acting like you don’t know.”

“I’m not acting.”

“That’s worse, Jungkook.”

He flinched and God did you wish that satisfied you.

He took a step closer, then stopped, keeping space between you both. “I know I messed this up.”

You laughed faintly, and it broke at the end. “That’s not a confession.”

“I’m trying.”

“You’re jealous. There’s a difference.”

His eyes shone under the streetlight, dark and wide and scared in a way you had never seen from him. “I was jealous in there because I love you.”

Inside you, everything went silent.

Jungkook stood in front of you with his hands flexing at his sides, the words between you now, visible and impossible to take back.

You stared at him.

He looked like he wanted to reach for you and knew he had no right.

“What?” you whispered.

“I love you,” he said, and this time the words did not rush. They landed carefully, with all the weight he had denied them before. “I think I’ve loved you for a while, and I was too much of a coward to say it because I didn’t know what to do with it, and because saying it meant I could lose you if I didn’t become the kind of person who deserved to keep you.”

Your throat burned.

He kept going, voice rough now.

“I told myself I wasn’t hurting you because I never lied. I told myself we were both choosing it. I told myself you knew I cared, and that should have been enough until I figured myself out, which was selfish and stupid because I was still asking you to come over. I was still asking you to stay. I was still taking everything you gave me and acting like it wasn’t a choice every time you showed up.”

You blinked hard, but a tear slipped anyway, hot against your cold cheek.

Jungkook’s face crumpled slightly at the sight, but he didn’t touch you.

Good. You needed him not to make it easy.

“I didn’t know how to be casual with you,” he said. “I just knew I was scared to be serious.”

“That’s not fair to me.”

“I know.”

“No, I need you to hear me.” Your voice shook again, but you held his gaze. “You made me feel loved and then left me alone with it.”

His eyes reddened. “I know,” he said again, and this time it sounded like it cost him something.

You wiped your cheek quickly, frustrated by the tears, by the cold, by the fact that even now, even angry and hurt and exhausted, some part of you wanted to step into him because he looked devastated.

“You don’t get to say it now just because you saw me with someone else.”

“I’m not.” He shook his head. “I’m saying it now because seeing you with someone else made me realize how much I was expecting you to stand still while I figured out how to stop being afraid. I hated it, and then I hated myself because you weren’t doing anything wrong. You were just sitting there with someone who was actually acting like he wanted you in front of people.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

You looked down.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. Your anger was still there, but it had changed shape. It was no longer fire. It was exhaustion, grief, want, all tangled together into something heavy and hard to carry.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you said.

Jungkook nodded quickly, too quickly, panic flashing across his face. “I know.”

“I mean it. I can’t keep being the person you miss when you’re lonely and hold when you’re soft and avoid when things get real.”

“You’re not.”

“I was.”

He swallowed. “You were.”

The admission hurt, but it also steadied you. He wasn’t defending himself. And despite the hurt you felt, that still mattered to you. Not enough to fix everything, not immediately, not with one speech on a sidewalk, but enough to keep you from walking away before the conversation could finish.

“What do you want?” you asked.

Jungkook looked at you like the answer was obvious and terrifying. “You.”

The word hit you low in the chest.

He took a breath and forced himself to continue. “Not just at night. I want to take you out properly and hold your hand where people can see and wake up with you without pretending breakfast is just breakfast. I want to be able to call you because something stupid happened and you’re the first person I want to tell. I want to know if your day was bad. I want to fight with you and fix it. I want Hana to make fun of us because she saw this coming before we did. I want you to be mine, and I want to be yours, and I know I should have said it before someone else gave me the courage by making me feel like I might lose you.”

Your breath trembled. “And what happens when you get scared again?” you asked.

“I tell you.”

“That simple?”

“Not simple,” he said. “But I’ll do it.”

You searched his face for the exit. The loophole. The little shadow of uncertainty that had always been there before, ready to widen whenever you stepped too close. You found fear, but you could not find retreat.

“You really hurt me,” you said.

His eyes closed briefly, as if the words had struck him exactly where they were meant to. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want an apology that just makes tonight feel better.”

“I know.”

“I want changed behavior.”

“I know.”

“I want you to work for it.”

His eyes opened. There was something raw in his expression now, something almost relieved.

“I will.”

You looked at him for a long moment, letting the cold air move between you, letting the ache inside your chest settle into something you could understand. “You don’t get to come home with me tonight.”

His face flickered, but he nodded. “Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.” He nodded again, slower this time. “I’ll get you a cab if you want. Or I’ll walk you home and leave at the door. Or I’ll go back inside and leave you alone. Whatever you need.”

You debated for a moment before sighing softly. “You should go back inside,” you said.

He absorbed it. It wasn’t what he wanted, but he didn’t—couldn’t—argue. “Okay.”

You almost thanked him, then stopped, because you didn’t want to thank a man for respecting the boundary he had helped make necessary.

Jungkook looked down at the sidewalk, then back at you. “Can I text you tomorrow?”

You considered saying no just to see if he would take it. Maybe he knew that, because he waited without pushing.

“Yes,” you said finally. “But not at two in the morning.”

A tiny, pained smile touched his mouth. “Not at two in the morning.”

“And not something that sounds pretty because you’re lonely.”

His smile vanished. He nodded. “Okay.”

You held his gaze. “I mean it, Jungkook.”

“I know,” he said, voice soft. “I’ll text you during the day.”

You turned toward the street before you could do something foolish, like forgive him too quickly or touch his face. You lifted a hand to signal for a cab, but one did not come immediately, so you stood there in silence while Jungkook remained a few feet away, close enough to make you feel him, far enough to prove he was listening.

When a cab finally pulled up, he opened the door for you.

You got in, but before you shut it, he leaned down slightly, keeping one hand on the top of the door.

“I love you,” he said, just placing it there, where you could take it or leave it.

Your fingers tightened around your bag. “I heard you,” you said.

His throat moved. “Okay.”

You closed the door and the cab pulled away. You didn’t look back until the car turned the corner—he was still standing there.

For once, you let him watch you leave.

For once, you did not text him when you got home.

He texted you the next morning at 10:17.

jungkook: good morning jungkook: i hope you got home safe jungkook: i meant what i said. all of it.

You stared at the messages for a long time, wrapped in a blanket on your couch while sunlight moved slowly across your living room floor. Your chest hurt, but not in the same way. There was still sadness there, still caution, still the bruised tenderness of a heart that had been handled too carelessly by someone who had not understood the weight of it until it almost slipped out of his hands.

You replied after twenty minutes.

y/n: good morning.

That was all.

jungkook: thank you for replying

You set the phone down and cried again, quieter this time.

Jungkook didn’t try to rush you. It would have been easier in some ways if he had. If he had pushed, you could have been angry. If he had panicked and tried to charm his way through the damage, you could have used the disappointment to pull yourself away. But he did what you had asked, and the steadiness of it was more dangerous than any two-in-the-morning text had ever been.

At first, the messages were careful and random like him.

jungkook: did you eat lunch?  jungkook: are zebras horses? jungkook: i cut my bangs again…i look like i’m twelve

He didn’t call you baby or any other pet name. He didn’t send anything designed to tug you back into his bed. And he didn’t pretend things were normal.

Three weeks after the bar, he asked if he could take you to dinner.

You stared at the message until Hana, who was sitting on your floor eating chips from the bag and pretending not to monitor your entire emotional state, groaned.

“Just answer him before you have a mental breakdown.”

You looked at her. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes if you want to go. Say no if you don’t. Say ‘I need more time’ if you need more time. Revolutionary technology, communication.”

“You’re very annoying.”

“I’m wise. People confuse the two, I think.”

You looked back at the message.

jungkook: can i take you to dinner this weekend? no pressure if you’re not ready.

Hana watched you over the chip bag. “For what it’s worth, he looked like someone kicked his soul after you left.”

“Hana.”

“I’m not saying forgive him because he has sad eyes. Men weaponize sad eyes every day, it’s a national crisis. I’m saying I’ve known him a long time, and I’ve never seen him scared like that.”

You swallowed. “He said he loves me.”

“I know.”

Your head snapped up. “He told you?”

“No, you just did.”

You threw a pillow at her. She caught it badly, chips nearly flying everywhere. “Rude.”

You looked back at the phone, your thumb hovering before typing.

y/n: i’m not ready for dinner.

Three dots appeared almost immediately, then disappeared. You braced yourself.

His reply came a moment later.

jungkook: okay. thank you for telling me. jungkook: would coffee feel better? public place. daytime. you can leave whenever you want.

Hana leaned over shamelessly. “Daytime. Public. Leave whenever you want. Growth. Bare minimum, but we clap politely when they locate the floor.”

You huffed a laugh despite yourself.

y/n: coffee is okay jungkook: i’ll take okay.

The coffee date was awkward.

You met at a café halfway between your apartments on a Saturday afternoon when the sky was gray and the city smelled faintly like wet cement. You arrived early because you were nervous and hated being seen arriving nervous. Jungkook arrived five minutes later with damp hair and a black jacket, and when he spotted you at the table near the window, his face softened so visibly that you had to look down at your cup.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

He didn't hug you even though he looked like he wanted to. He went to order before sitting across from you, so handsome even in a small, little coffee shop, legs bouncing with anxious energy.

For the first ten minutes, you talked about safe things. Work. Hana’s birthday hangover. A movie neither of you had seen but both pretended to have opinions about based solely on the trailer. Jungkook told you about trying a new workout and the bulking season he had planned out.

He made you laugh with his random thoughts and stories, a startled expression forming on his face before it shifted to quiet pride.

The awkwardness loosened little by little. Then, because he was trying, and because you had asked him to work for it, Jungkook set his cup down and said, “Can I talk about us?”

Your fingers tightened around your lid. “You can.”

“I don’t want to make this a speech every time we see each other,” he said carefully. “But I also don’t want to avoid it just because things feel okay for five minutes.”

You stared at him. That was so painfully the right thing to say that it made you suspicious.

He seemed to read that on your face because he smiled faintly, without humor. “I practiced that.”

“You practiced?”

“With Taehyung.”

“Oh my god.”

“He said my first version sounded like I was apologizing to a landlord.”

Despite everything, you laughed.

Jungkook’s smile flickered, real and brief.

Then he grew serious again. “I’m sorry for making you feel like you had to be easy to keep me.”

Your laughter disappeared.

He held your gaze, his own nervous but steady. “I keep thinking about what you said. That I made you feel loved and left you alone with it. I don’t think I understood how cruel that was until you said it.”

You looked down, blinking hard. “I don’t want you to hate yourself,” you said quietly.

“I don’t.” He paused. “I mean, I did for a few days. But I know that doesn’t help you.”

“It doesn’t.”

“I’m working on it.”

You believed him.

Over the next few weeks, coffee became dinner. Dinner became walks. Walks became him picking you up from work with your favorite tea because he had been nearby, except he admitted he had not really been nearby, he had just wanted to see you and thought honesty was better than a fake errand.

He asked before touching you.

The first time he reached for your hand on the sidewalk, he looked at you and said, “Can I?” and your heart hurt so badly you almost hated him for having learned tenderness after using it carelessly for so long.

But you said yes.

His fingers slid between yours, warm and familiar, and his grip tightened just slightly.

He took you to an arcade one night because he said dates should involve opportunities for him to impress you, then lost three basketball games in a row before looking around and climbing on the game and cheating. You beat him at air hockey so badly that he almost turned the date into a real competition because, yes, he was that competitive.

He walked you home after.

At your building entrance, he stopped.

The old version of him would have looked at you through his lashes and said something soft enough to make your knees weak. The old version of you would have invited him upstairs and called the ache in your chest desire because that was easier than admitting it was love with nowhere to go.

This time, he only brushed his thumb over your knuckles.

“I had fun,” he said.

“Me too.”

“I’m going to kiss you now if that’s okay.”

It obviously wasn’t the first time he had kissed you, but It felt like it in that moment.

“Okay,” you said.

He kissed you slowly, one hand lifting to your cheek, the other still holding yours. There was no hurry in it. Just his mouth on yours in the light outside your building, soft and careful and full of everything he was trying to prove without making you responsible for believing him too quickly.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for one second.

Then he stepped away. “Goodnight,” he said.

Your lips tingled. “Goodnight.”

He walked backward for three steps, which was stupid and dramatic, then nearly collided with a trash can, which ruined the effect.

You laughed.

He pointed at you, cheeks flushed. “You saw nothing.”

“I saw everything.”

Watching him leave didn’t feel like losing this time.

The first time you let him back into your apartment, it was raining.

Not the pretty kind, either. Not the gentle drizzle people wrote songs about. This was ugly rain, hard and cold, slapping against windows and turning the sidewalks slick beneath the streetlights. Jungkook arrived soaked from the shoulders down because he had insisted he did not need an umbrella, and you opened the door to find him standing in the hallway with a paper bag tucked under his jacket.

“You look ridiculous,” you said.

“I saved the pastries.”

“You sacrificed yourself for croissants?”

“For you,” he said, then paused. “And also for croissants.”

You took the bag from him and let him in.

He changed into the dry sweatpants and shirt you still had from before, the ones you had never returned because doing so would have felt too final. Seeing him in them again made something old twist through you, but this time he didn’t act entitled to the space. He gave his wet clothes to throw in the dryer. He kept looking at you like he was aware of every memory in the room and was trying not to step on any of them.

You made tea and he cut the croissants in half on a plate because one had almond filling and the other chocolate, and he said that if he was going to bad, so were you. You sat on the couch with rain tapping the windows and a movie playing low in the background, though neither of you paid much attention to it.

Halfway through, Jungkook looked at you.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing.”

“That’s never true.”

He smiled faintly. “I’m happy.”

The simplicity of it disarmed you.

Later, when the movie ended and the apartment had settled into that soft late-night hush you used to fear, Jungkook stood and reached for his jacket.

“You’re leaving?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

He froze, then turned slowly. “I was going to,” he said. “I didn’t want to assume.”

The ache that moved through you then was not the same one you knew from before. It wasn’t confusion. It was want, yes, but it was also choice.

You stood. “I don’t want you to leave.”

His eyes searched yours. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He crossed the room slowly, giving you every chance to change your mind. When he reached you, he touched your face with both hands, careful and loving in a way that made your throat close.

“I love you,” he said.

You had heard it before now. More than once. In texts, in person, at the end of dates, in the middle of conversations when it seemed to surprise him by coming out. He had been saying it without demanding that you say it back, and each time it had loosened something in you.

Tonight, with rain against the windows and his thumbs brushing your cheeks, you finally let yourself answer.

“I love you too.”

For a second, Jungkook did nothing but stare at you, his face opening around the words as if they had reached somewhere deeper than he had prepared for. Then he kissed you, and there was nothing casual in it. There was relief. Hunger. Grief for the time wasted. Gratitude so intense it made his hands tremble against you.

He kissed you like he understood now that love was not proven by staying after only when it was easy. It was proven by staying when the truth asked for more.

Jungkook’s hands tremble when he’s trying to be gentle.

They’re not trembling now, not yet. Right now they’re steady as he kneels on the bed in front of you, knees sinking into the mattress, his dark hair falling across his forehead in that way that makes him look younger than he is. Softer. The bedroom lamp casts amber light across his bare shoulders, his chest, the ridges of his stomach that flex when he breathes.

“Come here,” he says, and the way he says it—low, rough at the edges, like the words scraped against something on the way out—makes your thighs press together.

You shift forward on your knees, the sheets bunching beneath you. Your fingertips find the waistband of his sweatpants first, tracing the elastic, the warm skin just beneath. His stomach tightens under your touch. You watch his throat as he swallows.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs.

“You look so good.”

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Not the big one he gives when he’s being playful, the one that scrunches his nose. This one is smaller. Hungrier. It lives in his eyes more than his lips.

His hands find the hem of your shirt—his shirt, actually, an old black t-shirt you’d stolen three weeks ago and never given back. He doesn’t rush pulling it over your head. He lets his knuckles drag up your sides as the fabric lifts, lets them skim the outer curve of your breasts before the shirt clears your arms and drops somewhere off the bed.

“Beautiful,” he says, not to you exactly, more like he’s saying it to himself. Like he’s reminding himself of something he already knows.

Your hands slide up his chest. The muscle there is firm, defined, but the skin is soft. You spread your fingers wide, feeling the heat of him, the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your left palm. He closes his eyes for a second, his lashes dark little crescents against his cheeks.

You reach behind your back. The clasp of your bra releases with a quiet snick, the straps slipping down your shoulders. Jungkook opens his eyes and watches the whole thing—watches the fabric loosen, watches you pull one arm free and then the other, watches you toss the bra aside with more confidence than you would’ve before meeting him.

Jungkook had spent hours showing you exactly how much he liked looking. Hours with his mouth and his tongue and his long, clever fingers proving that every inch of you was worth his full attention. And eventually, you’d believed him.

Now you sit back on your heels, bare to the waist, and let his eyes roam.

“Fuck,” he breathes. His hands are on you before the word finishes leaving his mouth, cupping your breasts, thumbs sweeping across your nipples until they tighten into hard little peaks. “You know what you do to me.”

It’s not a question.

You lean into his touch, letting your head fall back slightly. “Tell me.”

His thumbs slow. Press a little harder. “You make me lose my mind,” he says, voice dropping. “Every single time. I look at you and I forget how to think.”

“Good.”

He laughs, low and dark, and pulls you against him.

The kiss starts soft. A press of lips, a brush of tongues—testing, teasing. His mouth tastes like the green tea he’d been drinking earlier, cool and faintly sweet. Your hands slide into his hair, gripping the thick strands at the nape of his neck, and the kiss deepens.

His tongue pushes past your lips. Slow. Filthy. He licks into your mouth like he’s got all the time in the world, like he’s memorizing the taste of you. One of his hands slides down your spine, tracing every vertebra, until it settles at the small of your back and pulls you closer.

Your bare breasts press against his chest, the friction making you gasp.

He swallows the sound.

The kiss grows messier. Wet, open-mouthed, desperate. Teeth scrape. Tongues tangle. His breathing turns ragged, and so does yours, and somewhere in the middle of it your hand finds its way to the front of his sweatpants.

He’s hard. Thick and straining against the fabric, and when you press your palm against him, he groans into your mouth.

“Shit,” he hisses, breaking the kiss. His forehead drops to yours. “We need—I need—”

“Sweats off,” you manage.

There’s a scrambling moment. Elbows and knees and his sweatpants getting caught on his ankles until he kicks them free. Your leggings are harder to peel off, but Jungkook helps, hooking his fingers into the waistband and dragging them and your soaked panties down your legs with a kind of focused intensity that makes heat bloom low in your belly.

And then you’re both naked, kneeling on the rumpled sheets, breathing hard.

His cock stands thick and flushed, the head gleaming in the lamplight. You’ve seen it before—countless times by now—but your mouth still waters.

“Come here,” he says again, but this time his voice is different. Thicker. Needier.

He lies back on the bed, pulling you with him. The movement is smooth, practiced—he knows exactly how to maneuver your body, knows where to put his hands, knows how to guide you until you’re straddling his chest and facing his cock.

The position clicks into place. Your knees bracket his head. Your mouth hovers inches above his length.

He looks up at you from between your thighs, eyes dark and glittering. “Sit.”

One word. One fucking word, and your whole body shudders.

You lower yourself onto his mouth.

His tongue finds you immediately—flat and warm and so goddamn skilled—laving through your folds, tracing the shape of you, mapping out every slick, swollen inch. You cry out, the sound punching from your chest, and your hands brace against his stomach. The muscles there contract under your palms.

“Jungkook—”

He doesn’t answer with words. He answers with his mouth, sealing his lips around your clit and sucking gently.

Your vision blurs. Your hips roll without permission, grinding down against his face, and he groans into your cunt like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. The vibration runs through you, hot and electric, settling somewhere deep between your thighs.

But you’re supposed to be doing something. Supposed to be—fuck, it’s hard to think when he’s doing that thing with his tongue, the thing where he flicks it back and forth in short, sharp strokes that make your thighs shake.

Right. His cock. His gorgeous fucking cock, still wet at the tip, still untouched.

You wrap your hand around the base.

Jungkook’s hips jerk. A garbled sound vibrates against your clit.

“That’s it,” you whisper, and you don’t know if you’re talking to him or to yourself. “Fuck, you’re so hard. So thick. I can barely get my fingers around you.”

You can. Just barely. He’s thick enough that your grip doesn’t close entirely, thick enough that your hand looks small wrapped around his shaft, and the sight of it—the contrast between your skin and his—makes you forget to breathe for a second.

You lean down and take him into your mouth.

The first inch, stretching your lips. The weight of him on your tongue.

Jungkook’s whole body tightens. His hands, which had been resting on your thighs, clamp down hard enough to bruise, and his hips buck up reflexively, pushing himself deeper. You relax your throat the way you’ve learned to, the way he taught you, and take another inch. And another.

Saliva pools under your tongue. Spills down his shaft. You hollow your cheeks and suck, pulling back until just the head remains between your lips, then slide down again.

Below you, his mouth has gone slack against your cunt.

You pull off just long enough to gasp, “Don’t stop.”

His tongue starts moving again. Slower now, distracted—you can feel his concentration splintering, feel him losing focus as your mouth works him—but he’s still Jungkook. Still the man who’s spent months learning exactly where and how to touch you. His tongue finds that spot just above your entrance, the sensitive ridge, and presses, pulling a cry from you.

He murmurs something against your flesh. The sound is muffled, but you catch the shape of it: your name. He’s groaning your name.

You moan around his cock. The heat building between your legs is spreading now, creeping outward, swirling low in your stomach. You hollow your cheeks again, setting a rhythm—down, up, tongue swirling around the head, down again—and Jungkook matches it with his mouth. Every stroke of your lips answered by a stroke of his tongue. Every suck met with another. It’s sloppy and wet and completely, devastatingly filthy, both of you fucking into each other’s mouths like you’re trying to crawl inside each other.

His thighs are trembling. You can feel them against your shoulders. So are yours.

“Close,” he pants, pulling away just enough to speak. His lips are slick. Shiny. “I’m gonna—fuck, don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

You don’t stop. You take him deeper, swallowing around him, feeling the way his cock pulses against your tongue. His hips jerk. His breath hitches. He latches onto your clit again and sucks hard, desperate, less rhythm now and more just frantic hunger, and that’s what does it for you.

The orgasm crashes through you without warning. No slow build, no gentle crest—just a sudden, devastating wave that rips a scream from your throat, muffled by his cock still buried inside your mouth. Your thighs clamp around his head. Your hips grind down helplessly, riding his face, riding his tongue, and Jungkook groans, the sound vibrating through your cunt and prolonging every second of it.

And then his hips snap up. Once. Twice.

“Coming,” he grunts. “Coming, fucking—ah—”

Hot salt floods your tongue. You swallow, throat working around him, milking every pulse, and he makes a sound that’s half-choked and half-sob.

His hands are still gripping your thighs. When you finally pull off, gasping, the air tastes like sex and green tea and Jungkook.

You collapse sideways. He catches you, tugs you up, pulls you against his chest. His heart is hammering against his ribs, as fast as yours pressed against him. For a long moment neither of you speak. You just breathe, tangled together, sweaty and shaking and utterly spent.

But he’s still hard. You feel it against your hip—still thick, still flushed, not even slightly softened. Jungkook’s refractory period has always been a little obscene.

“You good?” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple.

“Mm.” You tilt your face up, catching his mouth in a kiss that’s softer than before. Gentler. He tastes like you now, and the combination—your taste on his lips, his taste on yours—makes something warm unspool behind your sternum. “More than good.”

His hand slides down your side. Cups your ass. Squeezes. “Think you can take more?”

You answer by biting his lower lip, just hard enough to make him hiss.

“Condom,” he says, half-laughing, already reaching for your nightstand drawer, knowing exactly where you keep them.

Your voice comes out steadier than you feel. “I want you behind me.”

He groans at the words, tearing the foil packet with his teeth and rolling the condom down his length with quick, practiced motions.

Then his hands are on your hips, turning you, guiding you onto your hands and knees.

The position makes you feel exposed. Vulnerable. The air is cool against your slick cunt, and you can feel his gaze on you, tracing the curve of your spine, the swell of your ass, the wet mess between your thighs.

“So fucking pretty like this,” he murmurs, his palm smoothing down your back. Gentle. Soothing. A contrast to what you both know is coming.

The head of his cock nudges against your entrance.

“Slow,” you whisper.

“Slow,” he agrees.

And then he pushes in.

The stretch is incredible. Even after everything, even after his mouth and the orgasm that’s still echoing through your body, he’s so thick that it takes a moment just to accommodate the first few inches. Your body resists, clenching around him, and Jungkook pauses.

“Breathe,” he reminds you, voice strained. “Relax for me.”

You force your muscles to unlock. Breathe out. And he slides deeper.

“Fuuuck,” you groan, dropping your head between your shoulders. “Jungkook, your cock is—” Words fail. Nothing captures it. Nothing captures the feeling of being opened up inch by inch, stretched so full you can’t think, can’t speak, can only feel.

“I know,” he breathes, pulling back just a little before sinking deeper. “You take me so good. Always so fucking tight, so perfect. Feels like you’re squeezing the life out of me.”

The dirty talk makes your cunt clench harder.

He feels it. Laughs, low and dark. “You like that? When I tell you how good your pussy feels wrapped around me?”

“Yes,” you gasp. “God, yes, don’t stop talking—”

“Not gonna stop.” He thrusts a little deeper, a fraction more, and now he’s fully seated inside you, buried to the hilt. His hips press against your ass. His hands grip your waist. “I’m going to tell you exactly how it feels to fuck you. How tight and wet and fucking hot you are. How I can feel every inch of you, every little flutter, every time you squeeze around me like you’re trying to keep me inside.”

He pulls out, then slides back in. He sets a rhythm that’s devastating in its slowness.

It’s filthy. Each thrust drags against every sensitive spot inside you, and when he bottoms out, grinding his hips in a little circle before withdrawing, your arms nearly give out.

“That’s it,” he coaxes, leaning over you, his chest brushing your back. His mouth finds your ear. “Feel it. Feel how deep I am. Nobody else gets to have you like this. Just me.”

“Just you,” you echo, and the words come out wrecked.

His pace picks up. Not fast—not yet—but harder. Deeper. Each stroke punches a sound out of you, a little uh-uh-uh that matches his rhythm. Your breasts sway with the motion. The headboard taps against the wall, a steady thump-thump-thump that’s going to have your neighbors glaring at you tomorrow.

You don’t care.

“Harder,” you beg. “Please, Jungkook, fuck me harder—”

He does. The slow, grindy rhythm shatters into something rougher. Faster. He drives into you with long, snapping thrusts, his thighs slapping against the backs of yours, his breath coming in harsh pants. One hand slides up your spine, tangles in your hair, tugs your head back just enough to arch your neck.

“Louder,” he demands. “Let me hear you. Let the whole fucking building hear how good I’m fucking you.”

You scream. You can’t help it. He’s hitting that spot, the one that makes your vision go white, the one that makes your toes curl and your fingers twist in the sheets. Every thrust pushes you closer to the edge, and his voice—low and rough and utterly obscene—is pushing you the rest of the way.

“Gonna come again?” He’s panting now, losing the smooth cadence from before. “Gonna come on my cock like the good girl you are?”

“Yes,” you sob. “Yes, yes, yes—”

“Do it. Come for me. Come all over this dick, let me feel it—”

Your second orgasm hits harder than the first. Your whole body convulses. Your cunt clamps down around him with a vicious, pulsing grip, and you wail—no other word for it—as wave after wave crashes through you. He fucks you through it, steady and deep, drawing it out until you’re boneless and trembling.

And then he pulls out.

The emptiness is jarring. You whimper, reaching back for him, but he’s already moving—lying down on his back, pulling you with him, positioning you.

“Ride me,” he says. His eyes are wild. His chest is heaving. “Want to watch you.”

You swing a leg over his hips. His cock juts up between you, still covered in the condom, still glistening. You reach down and guide him back to your entrance, sinking down in one smooth motion. Both of you groan.

This angle is different, deeper somehow. You swear you feel him in your throat.

“Fuck, look at you.” His hands skate up your thighs, your hips, your waist. “So beautiful riding my cock. Taking what you need. Use me.”

You brace your hands on his chest and start to move.

It’s slower like this—more of a grind than a thrust. You roll your hips in circles, feeling every ridge and vein of him, feeling the way he fills you completely. Jungkook’s head falls back against the pillow. His jaw clenches. “That’s it,” he rasps. “Fuck, that’s perfect. Keep going. Just like that.”

His hands guide your rhythm. You watch his face—the furrow between his brows, the way he bites his lip, the flush spreading down his neck and onto his chest. He’s beautiful when he’s wrecked. Utterly, devastatingly beautiful.

And you want more.

Your hand drifts down. Finds the base of his cock. Slips lower—

“What are you—” His eyes fly open.

You lift yourself up. Hook your fingers under the rim of the condom. And pull it off.

It lands somewhere on the sheets with an obscene little wet slap.

Jungkook stares at you. His chest stops moving. “What—are you sure—”

“I want you to come inside me.”

The words hang in the air between you.

“I want to feel it,” you continue, and now your voice is lower, needier, stripped of every pretense. “Want you to fill me up. Want to feel you dripping out of me for the rest of the night. Please, Kookie. Come inside me. Come inside my pussy.”

He makes a sound that’s barely human.

His hands clamp down on your hips. “You’re sure?”

You lean down, letting your lips brush his ear. “Come inside me. Fill me up. Please. I need it. Need to feel your come dripping down my thighs. Need you to fuck it deep inside me until I can’t hold it anymore.”

Jungkook’s control snaps. He doesn't ask again. His hands clamp down on your hips hard enough to leave fingerprints, and in one brutal motion he flips you onto your back.

Your head hits the pillow. The air leaves your lungs in a startled gasp. And then he's there—looming above you, dark hair falling forward, eyes blown black with something that looks almost like desperation. His cock hangs heavy between his thighs, slick and bare now, the swollen head flushed deep pink and already leaking.

"You want it raw?" His voice is wrecked. Torn at the edges. "You want me to fuck you with nothing between us and pump my come straight into this tight little cunt?"

"Yes." The word tears out of you, half-sob, half-demand. "Please, Jungkook. Please fuck me. I need to feel it—need to feel every inch of you—"

He lines himself up. The broad head of his cock nudges against your entrance, and the sensation is different already—hotter, slicker, more intimate without the latex barrier. Your body recognizes the difference, cunt clenching in anticipation.

"Look at me," he commands.

You do. His eyes are locked on yours, dark and fierce and so full of want it makes your chest ache.

He pushes in.

The first inch steals your breath. Without the condom, the heat of him is staggering—like being opened by something alive, something velvet-soft and iron-hard all at once. You feel every ridge, every vein, every pulse of his heartbeat transmitted through his flesh into yours. Your fingers twist in the sheets. Your heels dig into the mattress.

"Fuuuuck," he groans, sinking deeper. His forearms bracket your head. His forehead drops to yours. "You feel—this is—nothing between us."

He bottoms out. Stays there, buried to the hilt. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, and the sound he makes is animal—low and guttural, ripped from somewhere deep in his chest.

"Move," you beg. "Please move. I can take it. I want all of it."

He withdraws. The drag is exquisite—you feel every inch of him pulling back, feel the emptiness he leaves behind. And then he thrusts forward, harder this time, and your whole body rocks with the force of it.

"Yes—fuck—just like that—"

He finds a rhythm. Not the slow, grindy thing from before—this is different. This is frantic. Desperate. His hips snap against yours with wet, obscene slaps that fill the room. Skin on skin. Body to body.

"You're so fucking wet," he pants, lips brushing your ear. "I can feel everything. Every drop. Every pulse. Your pussy is gripping me so tight I can barely move."

"Don't stop—please don't stop—"

"Not fucking stopping." He drives in harder. Deeper. The angle shifts and suddenly he's hitting your g-spot, the one that makes fireworks detonate behind your eyes. "Gonna fuck you until you scream my name. Gonna fill this cunt up so full you'll be dripping for days."

A broken wail escapes your throat. Your nails rake down his back, leaving red trails, and he hisses, but he doesn't slow. If anything, he fucks you harder—punishing strokes that slam you into the mattress, that make your breasts bounce and your thighs shake and your voice crack on every syllable.

"Louder," he demands. His hand slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit. He circles it, rough and unrelenting, and the dual sensation—his cock pounding into you, his thumb rubbing tight spirals around that swollen nub—makes you sob. "I want the whole world to hear who's fucking you this good."

"JUNGKOOK—"

His name rips from your lungs, raw and ragged. You can't control the volume. Can't control anything. He's fucking you stupid, fucking you senseless, and all you can do is hold on and take it.

"That's it. That's my girl." His voice is strained, cracking around the edges. Sweat drips from his hair onto your cheek. His rhythm falters—just for a second—and then he's pounding into you with renewed intensity, chasing something, chasing you. "Say it again. Tell me who makes you feel this good."

"You do—only you—Jungkook, Jungkook, JUNGKOOK—"

His mouth crashes onto yours. The kiss is messy—teeth and tongues and no finesse at all—but it's perfect. He swallows your cries, drinks them down like he's starving for them, and his hips never stop moving. Never stop driving into you with that devastating rhythm that's turning your brain to static.

One of his hands finds your thigh. Hikes it higher. The new angle makes him sink impossibly deeper, and you feel him in your stomach, feel the pressure building there like a storm about to break.

"Gonna come," you gasp against his lips. "Jungkook, I'm gonna come—"

"Do it." His thumb presses harder against your clit. His cock hits that spot again—once, twice, three times—and the storm inside you detonates. "Come on my cock, baby.  Make me fill you up."

Your vision whites out. Every muscle in your body locks tight—thighs clamping around his waist, cunt clenching around his cock with a grip that borders on violent. You scream, the sound tearing from somewhere deep in your chest, his name mangled and broken, echoing off the walls.

Jungkook keeps fucking you through it. His rhythm turns brutal—short, hard strokes that prolong every pulse, every squeeze, every wave of pleasure crashing through your body. He's talking but you can't make out the words. Just the tone. Low and filthy.

And then his hips stutter. "Fuck—I'm gonna—"

"Inside." Your legs lock around him, trapping him in place. Your heels dig into the small of his back. "Come inside me, baby. Fill me up. I want to feel it. Please. Please."

The word breaks him. He buries himself and lets go.

The first pulse of his release hits deep inside you—hot and thick, so impossibly warm it makes you gasp. You've never felt this from him before. Never felt the visceral, primal rush of him emptying himself into your body with nothing between you. His cock jerks. Pulses again. His whole body shudders above you, muscles locking, jaw clenching, a wrecked groan tearing from his throat.

"Fuuuuuck—" The word stretches out, broken and breathless. "Oh my God. Fuck, your pussy is—baby—oh fuck—"

His hips keep twitching. Keep pumping into you with shallow, helpless thrusts that push his come deeper. You feel it pooling inside you, hot and thick, feel the way your body accepts it, holds it, clenches around it like it never wants to let go.

He stays buried inside you, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Sweat gleams on his brow, his chest, his shoulders. His dark hair is plastered to his temples. His heart pounds so hard you feel it against your own ribs.

"Holy fuck," he whispers. His voice is wrecked. Absolutely demolished. "That was—I've never—"

He can't finish the sentence. You don't need him to.

Your legs are still wrapped around him, still holding him inside. You can feel his come beginning to trickle out around his shaft. The sensation sends a little aftershock through your system.

Jungkook lifts his head. His eyes find yours. They're glazed, still half-lost in the aftermath, but there's something else there too—something soft, something tender, something that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the way he looks at you like you're the only person in the world.

"You okay?" he asks, and even now—even with his softening cock still inside you, even with his release dripping down your thighs—he's checking on you. Making sure you're good. Being Jungkook.

"More than okay." Your voice comes out hoarse and raw. Well-used. "That was incredible."

A smile breaks across his face—the real one, the one that scrunches his nose and crinkles his eyes. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He kisses you. His lips brush yours with a tenderness that makes your heart ache, and when he pulls back, there's something in his expression that looks almost like wonder.

He eases out of you slowly, carefully, and the absence leaves you hollow. A rush of fluid follows, spilling onto the sheets beneath you. Jungkook glances down. His breath catches.

He presses two fingers against your entrance, gently, and pushes the escaping fluid back inside. The sensation makes you whimper—oversensitive, still trembling—but he doesn't stop. Just holds it there, holds you together, holds the moment suspended between you.

"Mine," he says before collapsing beside you, pulling you against his chest.

You're sticky. Sweaty. The sheets are ruined. His release is dripping down your thighs and the whole room smells like sex and you've never been happier.

"I love you," he says into your hair. "You know that, right?"

Your eyes sting. You press your face into his chest, breathing him in—sweat and sex and the faint remnants of his cologne. "I know."

"Good." His lips brush your forehead. "Because I'm not done with you tonight."

Your head snaps up, finding his eyes are dark again.

You wake slowly to the sound of rain still dragging itself down the windows, gentler now, tired from its own tantrum yesterday. For a few seconds, you lay still beneath the blankets, blinking at the pale gray light, aware of the warmth beside you only because it had recently left.

Then you hear him in the kitchen.

A drawer opening then closing, a whispered curse, something clinking.

“Are you fighting my appliances?” you call, voice rough with sleep.

Silence.

Then Jungkook appears in the bedroom doorway wearing his borrowed sweatpants and no shirt, hair messy, eyes wide with innocence so fake it deserves paperwork.

“No.”

“You are.”

“Well why does your stove hate me?”

You laugh and push yourself up against the pillows.

He leans against the doorway, watching you with a softness that used to scare you because you hadn’t known where to put it. 

“What?” you ask.

He shakes his head.

“Jungkook.”

“I like waking up here.”

Your heart squeezes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looks down, smiling to himself. “I like that your kitchen mugs don’t match. I like that you keep cereal you barely eat because you have a craving for it every other week. I like that you talk in your sleep.”

“I do not.”

“You read out your grocery list last night.”

You stare at him and he stares back. Then you grab a pillow and throw it at him. “Stop exposing me!”

He catches it against his chest, laughing, then walks over and drops onto the edge of the bed.

The laughter fades slowly.

He looks at you, still holding the pillow. “I know this doesn’t fix everything,” he says. He sets the pillow aside. “Last night. This morning. You saying it back. I know I don’t get to treat that like I won something and stop trying.”

You study him. He looks nervous, but not avoidant.

“I’m happy,” you say carefully. “But I’m still scared.”

“I know.”

“And sometimes I might need reassurance.”

“I’ll give it.”

“Sometimes I might get upset about things that remind me of before, even if you’re not doing anything wrong.”

He nods. “Okay.”

“You say that now.”

“I mean it now.” He reaches for your hand, then pauses. You give it to him, and he holds it between both of his. “And if I don’t handle it right later, you tell me, and I’ll listen. I’m not going to be perfect. I know I’m not. But I’m not going to make you feel stupid for needing me to love you out loud.”

Your eyes burn again, because apparently loving Jungkook meant your tear ducts had signed a long-term lease. “You really have been practicing with Taehyung.”

He smiles shyly. “A little.”

“It shows.”

“Good?”

“Good.”

His shoulders ease.

You tug on his hand. “Come here.”

He comes easily, crawling over you with a grin that turns soft when you touch his face. He kisses you once, then again, then lowers himself beside you and pulls you against his chest.

For a while, neither of you say anything.

His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear. His fingers move through your hair.

You glance up at him, reaching up and brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

He catches your wrist and kisses your palm. “I love you,” he says again, because he can now, because he needs to, because the words no longer arrive only after silence had hurt you first.

You smile. “I heard you.”

He grins, leaning down, mouth hovering over yours. “Brat. I’ll keep saying it anyway.”

“Good.”

Later, after breakfast, Jungkook stands in your kitchen washing dishes while you dry them beside him.

It’s ordinary. Painfully ordinary.

He bumps your hip with his. You bump him back, making him smile down at the sink.

Jungkook rinses the last mug and passes it to you.

He looks at you. You look back.

There was still work ahead, you both knew that. But he’s here, hands wet from your sink, eyes steady on yours in the middle of the afternoon. Not asking you to come to him in the dark. Not making you guess. Not leaving you alone with love.

Staying. And this time—staying right.

The lecture hall is already half full by the time you arrive, conversations blending together beneath the low hum of fluorescent lights while students shuffle through notes and half-finished coffees like exhausted zombies. Normally you’d sit somewhere near the middle with your friends and mentally prepare yourself for two hours of academic torture.

Unfortunately, Jungkook is already there. Of course he is.

He’s sitting near the back row with one leg stretched lazily beneath the desk, black hoodie sleeves pushed up his forearms while he scrolls through his phone like he owns the entire fucking room. A few people glance toward him when they walk in, some nodding cautiously, others immediately avoiding eye contact altogether.

Jeon Jungkook has that effect on people.

Your stomach tightens slightly when his eyes briefly flick toward you before returning right back to his phone again like he couldn’t care less.

Asshole.

You immediately sit with your friends several rows away from him. The professor starts discussing narrative structure and eventually opens the floor for interpretation. After a brief silence, you answer confidently, explaining your theory while gesturing lightly with your pen.

“I think the protagonist’s unreliability is intentional,” you explain. “The contradictions in her narration aren’t flaws in the writing. They’re there to show how distorted her perspective became over time.”

Several students nod along thoughtfully. The professor looks pleased. “Exactly. Good observation.”

Then:

“That theory’s garbage.”

The room immediately goes quiet.

Your head snaps toward the back row where Jungkook sits slouched in his chair, spinning a pen lazily between tattooed fingers while staring at you with complete disinterest.

The professor sighs already. “Mr. Jeon…”

“No seriously,” Jungkook interrupts casually. “That makes absolutely no fucking sense.”

Heat flashes through your body instantly. “Maybe because you weren’t listening,” you shoot back.

A few students visibly tense. Nobody likes when people fight with Jungkook publicly because it almost always turns ugly.

Unfortunately for everyone involved… you genuinely don’t care anymore.

Jungkook leans back slightly in his chair, eyes dragging slowly over your face before one corner of his mouth lifts.

“No, princess,” he says calmly. “I was listening. That’s exactly the fucking problem.”

The nickname lands like a grenade in the middle of the classroom. Several heads immediately turn toward the two of you.

Your face burns instantly but you force yourself to ignore it.

“If you actually understood the material,” you reply sharply, “you’d realize unreliable narration doesn’t require logical consistency. That’s literally the point.”

Jungkook snorts quietly through his nose.

“Yeah? And if you actually understood character writing, you’d realize there’s a difference between unreliable and badly constructed.”

A few quiet “oh shit” reactions spread through the room.

You cross your arms immediately. “It’s called layered characterization.”

“No,” Jungkook says flatly. “It’s called lazy writing disguised as depth because people like you overanalyze every fucking thing to sound intellectual.”

The room erupts into nervous laughter.

“Oh my god,” you scoff incredulously. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you sound pretentious as hell.”

“At least I can form an argument without swearing every second sentence.”

That earns a low amused laugh from him.

“Cute,” he drawls lazily. “You think sounding polite automatically makes your argument smarter.”

Your jaw tightens instantly. “It’s called basic academic professionalism.”

“It’s called kissing professors’ asses.”

More laughter breaks out across the lecture hall while the professor looks moments away from developing a migraine.

You glare at Jungkook across the room. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you sound stupid,” he replies flatly before tilting his head slightly. “Actually scratch that. Your whole argument sounds like something written at three in the morning during a mental breakdown.”

Several people choke on laughter immediately.

“Oh fuck you.”

Jungkook just grins. “Nah, you’re getting emotional now, princess.”

The nickname hits even harder this time because he says it so casually, like he genuinely doesn’t care that thirty people are listening to this conversation right now.

Your face burns hotter.

“You don’t even have an actual counterargument,” you snap. “You’re just insulting me because your ego can’t handle someone disagreeing with you publicly.”

That finally gets a reaction out of him. It’s not anger, it’s something worse…

Jungkook’s eyes narrow slightly while he slowly lowers the pen onto the desk beside him. The entire room seems to notice the shift immediately.

“You think this is about ego?” he asks quietly.

“Well it’s definitely not about intelligence.”

A few students audibly gasp. The professor looks ready to physically intervene.

Jungkook stares at you for a long second before leaning back again, completely relaxed despite the dangerous look settling into his expression.

Then his gaze drifts slowly over you once. Deliberately.

“Is there actually something behind those pretty eyes,” he asks calmly, “or are you just a nice pair of tits?”

The room goes dead silent for a mere second then: Audible gasps. Nervous laughter. A horrified “what the fuck?” somewhere near the front row.

A few people look genuinely offended while others stare at you wide-eyed waiting for your reaction, but nobody openly tells Jungkook off. Nobody wants to get on Jeon Jungkook’s bad side.

Heat crashes through your body so violently you nearly stand up. “You absolute fucking asshole-”

Jungkook immediately smirks then clicks his tongue softly. “Careful.”

The single word slides beneath your skin like a warning and the slight narrowing of his eyes makes your pulse stutter because suddenly you remember exactly who you’re talking to.

Exactly what happened in his apartment and how dangerous that calm look on his face actually is.

“Okay,” the professor interrupts quickly before things escalate any further. “Please keep the discussion respectful and civilized.”

Jungkook doesn’t even look remotely sorry.

Meanwhile you’re still staring at him across the lecture hall, chest heaving slightly while he lazily picks his pen back up like publicly humiliating you was just a casual little hobby to him.

And somehow the worst part? When your eyes accidentally lock again for half a second, the asshole smirks.

By lunchtime, apparently the entire campus has already heard about what happened.

You sit at one of the outside tables with your friends while they aggressively attempt to comfort you.

“He’s just an asshole,” one of them says immediately. “Ignore him.”

“Seriously,” another agrees. “He just wants to get under your skin.”

“Well congratulations,” you mutter while stabbing aggressively at your food. “Mission accomplished.”

Your friends laugh softly, trying to lighten the mood, but before anyone can continue the conversation, a shadow suddenly falls across the table.

Then Jungkook casually drops into the empty seat beside you. The entire table freezes- one of your friends nearly chokes on her drink. Jungkook completely ignores all of them.

“What do you want?” you ask flatly, not even looking up from your food.

“We have to study at your place tonight,” he replies calmly like he didn’t just publicly degrade you in front of an entire lecture hall two hours ago.

Your eyebrows pull together instantly. “…why?”

“Because.”

You open your mouth to argue again but then suddenly his hand lands against your thigh beneath the table.

You nearly jerk but nobody else seems to notice. From the outside, Jungkook looks completely relaxed, one arm stretched lazily across the back of his chair while he stares ahead like nothing’s happening.

Meanwhile beneath the table, his fingers squeeze slowly into the soft flesh of your thigh hard enough to make your pulse jump.

Possessive. Deliberate. Like he’s marking you with his fingertips.

Your breathing turns uneven immediately and Jungkook notices from the tiny glance he gives you before the corner of his mouth lifts slightly.

Then the asshole stands up again completely casually. “See ya later, princess.”

And just like that, he walks away.

The entire table stares after him in complete silence before all eyes slowly turn toward you instead.

“…what the fuck?” one of your friends finally blurts out.

You just stare down at your tray for a second before letting out a long exhausted sigh.

“Yeah,” you mutter weakly. “I don’t even know anymore.”

Late afternoon sunlight spills gold across campus, warm enough to make the concrete shimmer while groups of students drift between buildings in loud exhausted clusters.

Somewhere nearby music crackles softly from someone’s speaker and the whole courtyard carries that lazy end-of-day atmosphere where nobody’s really paying attention anymore.

Nobody except Jungkook.

He’s sitting outside one of the main buildings with a cigarette balanced between his fingers, one arm stretched lazily across the back of the bench while his friends talk around him about assignments and weekend plans he couldn’t care less about. Every now and then he hums absently like he’s listening, but his attention is somewhere else entirely the second you walk into view.

It locks onto you instantly- like instinct.

You’re crossing the courtyard alone, bag hanging loosely from one shoulder, sunlight catches against your face and for a second Jungkook simply watches you move through the crowd, calm and unreadable while smoke curls slowly from his lips.

Then your boyfriend appears behind you and Jungkook goes completely still.

He watches the guy wrap both arms around your waist from behind, pulling you back lightly against his chest, and your entire face softens immediately. The laugh that leaves you is quiet but real, warm enough to make something dark settle low inside Jungkook’s chest while he stares from across the courtyard with frightening stillness.

Your boyfriend turns you around inside his arms and kisses you like he’s done it a thousand times before, casual and affectionate and completely unaware that someone else is watching every second of it with predatory focus.

Technically, there’s nothing wrong with this. That’s your boyfriend.

Those are his hands on your waist. His lips against yours. His soft smile making you laugh again when he whispers something near your ear.

And yet the moment you turn your head and accidentally meet Jungkook’s eyes across the courtyard, your entire body reacts like you just got caught cheating.

The smile disappears from your face instantly. Not even slowly, it’s just gone. Like your body recognizes danger before your brain catches up.

Jungkook notices it immediately.

From this distance, he can practically see the panic bloom beneath your skin while your boyfriend keeps talking softly beside you, oblivious to the way your pulse suddenly starts racing. Jungkook takes another slow drag from his cigarette without looking away once, his gaze heavy enough to make your chest tighten painfully even from across the courtyard.

He doesn’t wave. Doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t move at all. That’s what makes it worse.

Because he looks completely calm sitting there with smoke curling lazily around him while something sharp and possessive settles behind his eyes the longer he watches your boyfriend touch you.

Your boyfriend’s hand brushes your waist again and suddenly it feels wrong. Not because it is.

But because Jungkook is watching.

That horrifying realization crashes through you all at once and heat floods your body so fast it almost makes you dizzy. Guilt coils tightly beneath your ribs even though you technically did nothing wrong, but the problem is that somewhere along the way Jungkook already buried himself so deeply beneath your skin that your body reacts to him before logic even gets the chance.

Across the courtyard, the corner of his mouth slowly pulls upward.

It’s not a smile. Not really… Something worse. Something knowing…

Your stomach drops so hard it almost hurts. Because he sees it. He sees the guilt. The panic.

The way your body stiffens inside another man’s arms while staring directly at him like a deer frozen beneath a predator’s gaze.

And then, without breaking eye contact once, Jungkook slowly drags his tongue across his lower lip.

The gesture is small. Lazy.

But it sends a violent rush of heat through your entire body anyway. You swallow hard.

Jungkook notices that too. Of course he fucking does.

Your boyfriend finally pauses mid-sentence, brows pulling together slightly while brushing your arm.

“Hey,” he says softly. “You okay?” The words barely even register.

Because all you can focus on is Jungkook sitting across the courtyard looking at you like he already knows exactly what’s happening inside your head, exactly how guilty you feel right now, exactly how badly your pulse spikes every time his eyes drag over you.

And the most terrifying part? He looks pleased. Not jealous. Not angry. Possessive.

Like he’s watching someone else touch something that already belongs to him.

The sorority house feels unusually warm compared to the cold evening outside. Soft yellow lights filling the living room while some random reality show plays quietly in the background. You’re curled up on the couch between Minji and Soomin with your legs tucked beneath a blanket, phone resting against your stomach while your entire body still feels tight from everything that happened today.

Honestly, ‘tight’ might be an understatement. Your nervous system has been held hostage by Jeon Jungkook since approximately nine in the morning.

The classroom argument keeps replaying in your head against your will, followed immediately by the memory of him watching you across the courtyard afterward, cigarette between his fingers while your boyfriend kissed you completely unaware.

Just thinking about that goddamn smirk again makes heat crawl uncomfortably up your neck.

“You look traumatized,” Minji says finally, glancing over from the other side of the couch.

“I might actually be,” you mumble dramatically before dragging both hands down your face. “I genuinely don’t know if i’ll survive Jeon Jungkook today.”

That immediately earns a snort from Soomin. “Well then reschedule,” she says simply. “Tell him you have a headache or something.”

You roll your eyes instantly. “Yeah, because he’s definitely gonna believe that.” Still… Your gaze slowly drifts toward your phone.

Minji notices immediately. “Oh my god. You’re considering it.”

“No I’m not.”

“You literally are.”

You stare at the screen for another few seconds before finally sighing dramatically and unlocking your phone anyway.

“Fine,” you mutter. “But when this fails horribly, I want both of you to remember this moment.”

Soomin grins. “Yasss. Lie to that man.”

You quickly type out the message before you can overthink it.

you: migraine. can’t study tonight.

The reply comes so fast it almost feels aggressive.

jungkook: cute excuse. door better be unlocked when i get there.

Your jaw drops. “Oh my god,” you whisper in disbelief. “What the fuck is actually wrong with him?”

Minji immediately grabs for the phone. “LET ME SEE.”

You hold it away dramatically while glaring at the screen. “He’s such an asshole.”

Then, fueled entirely by irritation and poor decision making, you type back:

you: fuck off. i got a migraine fr and going to bed early. we’re rescheduling.

And before he can answer? You turn your phone off completely.

The girls immediately erupt beside you.

“AS YOU SHOULD!"

“Stand your ground, queen.”

A laugh escapes you despite yourself and for the first time all day, you actually feel slightly victorious. Maybe Jungkook finally pushed too far, maybe you’re finally growing a backbone.

Or maybe you’re just delusional.

Either way, you ride the confidence upstairs when you go to your room later, changing into comfortable pajamas before climbing into bed with your laptop balanced against your legs. Rain taps softly against the windows outside while Netflix loads quietly across the screen and slowly, little by little, your shoulders finally start relaxing.

See? Nothing happened.

Jungkook’s not here. The world didn’t end.

Everything’s fi-

tap.

You freeze. The sound is soft enough that you almost convince yourself you imagined it.

Then another tap comes a few seconds later. You pause your show while your heartbeat suddenly starts climbing.

Slowly, confused, your eyes drift toward the window andyour soul nearly leaves your body.

Jungkook crouches outside your second-story window with a cigarette between his lips, dark hoodie pulled over his head while rain dampens the edges of his hair. One hand rests casually inside his pocket and the second your eyes meet through the glass, he tilts his head slightly.

Like this is completely normal behavior.

Every single thought inside your brain evaporates instantly. There’s a terrifying mix of fear and heat rushing through your body so violently it almost makes you dizzy because what the actual fuck is he doing here?

Jungkook taps the glass once more before speaking through the window, voice low and calm enough to make it worse somehow.

“Open the window.”

You don’t move. You’re still sitting frozen in bed staring at him like prey spotting a predator too late.

Jungkook watches your expression carefully before taking a slow drag from his cigarette.

Then, just as calm: “Open the fucking window or I’m gonna break it.”

No anger nor a raised voice. Which somehow makes the threat feel completely real. Your pulse goes feral.

Slowly, almost mechanically, you push yourself out of bed and walk toward the window while Jungkook watches your every movement through the glass. The second you unlock it and slide it open, cold air rushes into the room together with cigarette smoke and rain.

And then he climbs inside. Like he belongs there.

Instinctively, you back away the moment his shoes hit the floor while your heart pounds violently against your ribs, but Jungkook only straightens calmly before pulling the cigarette from his lips and looking at you with that same terrifying composure he always has. He takes another drag before flicking the cigarette through the window.

“You turned your phone off,” he says simply.

Like that explains everything. He keeps looking at you like he already knows exactly what you’re thinking.

That’s the worst part.

Not the fact he climbed through your window. Not the rain still dripping faintly from the edges of his hoodie onto your bedroom floor. Not even the cigarette smoke slowly filling the room while your pulse spirals further and further out of control.

It’s the way he watches you: Calm. Patient. Completely aware.

Like he can see every panicked thought flickering behind your eyes before you even act on it.

“You know what’s funny?” he murmurs quietly while taking another slow step toward you. “You spent all day testing my fucking patience and now you look surprised I showed up.”

Your breathing turns uneven immediately.

“I didn’t test anything,” you argue weakly while instinctively backing away from him again.

Jungkook just hums beneath his breath.

“No?” Another step forward. “Calling me an asshole in front of an entire lecture hall wasn’t testing me?”

Heat flashes across your face. You keep moving backward slowly while he advances just as steadily, his gaze locked onto you with terrifying focus.

“Lying just to avoid me? Then telling me to fuck off over text?” he continues calmly. “Turning your phone off after I told you I was coming?”

Your legs hit the edge of the bed suddenly and you nearly stumble backward onto the mattress before catching yourself at the last second. Jungkook notices immediately, eyes flicking downward briefly before a smirk slowly pulls at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, now it’s sinking in…,” he murmurs softly. “Starting to realize this might’ve been a bad idea.”

Instead of staying cornered against the bed, you quickly move around it, keeping distance between the two of you while your heart pounds harder and harder inside your chest. Jungkook watches the movement with obvious amusement.

“You’re dramatic,” you mutter, trying desperately to sound unaffected.

“Yeah?” His head tilts slightly. “Then why do you keep running from me?”

Because every instinct inside your body is screaming at you to. The realization alone makes panic and heat mix together so violently it leaves you dizzy.

Slowly, carefully, you start backing toward the bedroom door instead and Jungkook notices instantly. A quiet laugh leaves him while he watches your eyes flick nervously between him and the exit.

“Seriously?” he chuckles softly. “You really think you’re faster than me?”

Your breath hitches and for one tiny second you hesitate before you run for the door anyway.

Your fingers barely brush the handle before Jungkook is suddenly there, large hand slamming flat against the wood above it hard enough to make you gasp. The door rattles sharply beneath the impact and before you can even process how fast he moved, his other hand calmly reaches down and twists the lock into place.

Click.

The sound echoes through the room like a gunshot.

Your pulse goes feral. “Jungkook-”

You try slipping past him immediately, panic hitting hard enough now that all you can think is 'window window window’, but the second you turn, his hand catches your wrist effortlessly.

Then suddenly your back slams against his chest. A startled yelp escapes you before his large hand immediately covers your mouth, pulling you tighter against him while your heart nearly explodes out of your ribs.

“Shhh…” he murmurs softly against your ear. The sound sends a violent shiver down your spine.

Everything about him feels overwhelming like this. The warmth of his body pressed firmly against yours, the smell of rain and smoke clinging to his hoodie, the way his chest rises slowly behind you while yours heaves uncontrollably.

And somehow the calmness in him only makes your panic worse.

“You’re gonna wake the whole fucking house,” he murmurs, lips brushing lightly against your ear now.

Your fingers instinctively grip his wrist while your breathing turns shallow beneath his hand. Jungkook notices every second of it.

A low chuckle vibrates against the side of your neck before his teeth graze your earlobe softly enough to make your knees nearly give out beneath you.

“Are you scared of me?” he asks quietly.

The question wraps around your throat instantly because the answer is complicated- you are scared. Not of him hurting you. Not truly. But scared of what happens to you around him.

Scared of how quickly your body folds every single time he corners you like this. Scared of the heat flooding through you right now despite the adrenaline making your pulse shake violently. Scared of the fact that even now, pinned against him with his hand over your mouth and the bedroom door locked behind you… you still don’t want him to stop.

A small sound escapes you before you can help it. Half whine, half something else entirely. Jungkook goes very still behind you for half a second, then he laughs quietly.

It’s not loud, not even cruel. But satisfied.

“Good,” he murmurs softly against your ear while his grip tightens just slightly around your wrist. “You fucking should be.”

A sudden knock against the bedroom door cuts through the tension so sharply that your entire body jolts.

“Hey, babe?” Soomin’s voice comes through the wood a second later, slightly muffled. “Are you okay? We heard a really loud noise.”

Pure panic flashes through you instantly. Jungkook feels it.

A quiet chuckle vibrates against the side of your neck while his hand still covers your mouth, your back pressed tightly against his chest as rain taps softly outside the open window behind you.

Then his lips brush your ear again.

“Tell her you’re fine,” he murmurs softly. “Tell her you’re just a stupid, clumsy thing and something fell down.”

Heat crashes through your body at the words, humiliation and arousal twisting together so violently it leaves your head spinning. Before you can even react, his hand slowly slides away from your mouth and down your throat instead, fingers wrapping firmly around it.

Not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you he’s still controlling this. You swallow hard beneath his grip while your pulse pounds wildly.

“I’m okay, Soomin,” you call out finally, praying your voice sounds normal. “Just… clumsy. My laptop fell from the bed.”

Silence follows for a second. Then:

“Okay…” Soomin says slowly. “Well, it sounded really loud.”

Jungkook’s fingers tighten slightly against your throat. “Lie better,” he whispers calmly into your ear. A shiver runs violently through you.

Then suddenly he starts guiding you toward the door, one hand still wrapped around your throat while the other settles briefly against your waist.

“Open it.”

Your stomach twists.

Slowly, nervously, you unlock the door and pull it open just enough to peek outside while Jungkook slips silently behind it, completely hidden from view.

Soomin immediately raises her eyebrows the second she sees your face.

“Oh my god,” she says slowly. “You look… I don’t know.” Her eyes narrow slightly. “Your face is completely flushed.”

You let out one slow breath while your heartbeat threatens to explode.

“Caught me,” you mumble awkwardly. “I was actually, uhm…” You vaguely point toward the bed behind you.

Soomin’s eyes widen instantly. “Oh my god,” she gasps. “You were having special alone time and I interrupted?” Heat floods your face for real this time.

“God, I’m so sorry!” She quickly holds her hands up.

“Yeah…” you laugh weakly, cheeks burning. “I, uh… fell from the bed.”

“So that’s why it sounded like someone died,” Soomin snorts before grinning suddenly. “Damn. That intense, huh? You need to tell me your secrets next time.”

Behind the door, you can feel Jungkook shifting and you swallow nervously. Soomin completely misses it.

“Well,” she continues with a wink, “have fun, babe. I’ll tell the others it was the washing machine or something.”

“Thanks.”

“Love you!”

“Bye.”

You slowly close the door again, pulse still racing violently, and the second the latch clicks shut, Jungkook’s hand immediately comes into view beside you.

Click.

He locks the door again.

The sound echoes through the room while you remain frozen against the wood, breathing unevenly as Jungkook steps back into view.

A slow smirk spreads across his face.

“Some special alone time, huh?” he murmurs, amusement dripping from every word. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

Heat burns across your face instantly.

Jungkook’s eyes drag slowly over your expression before he steps closer again, one hand settling beside your head against the door while the other remains loosely around your throat.

“You really are a little slut.”

The word hits exactly where he wants it to.

Your eyes flash immediately and Jungkook catches the reaction in real time, sees the anger flare behind your expression, sees the way your body tenses like you want to shove him away or curse him out again.

And then the asshole smirks.

“Do it,” he murmurs softly, lips dangerously close to yours now. “I dare you.”

The second the word leaves his mouth, Jungkook sees it hit you. Not the anger first or the embarrassment.

No… something way worse.

Your breath catches sharply while your entire body goes tense beneath his hand and for half a second you look genuinely offended, lips parting immediately like you’re about to snap back at him again.

But then nothing comes out and Jungkook notices that too. A slow smile spreads across his face while his thumb drags lightly against the side of your throat, eyes locked onto yours with terrifying focus.

“There it is,” he murmurs softly. “That little look again.”

Heat burns straight through you. “Shut up.”

The words come out weak, almost breathless. Jungkook’s expression darkens instantly at that.

“Oh,” he says quietly, almost amused now. “That word got to you, huh?”

Your stomach twists violently. “No it didn’t.”

“Liar.”

He steps even closer until your back presses fully against the locked door behind you, one hand planted beside your head while the other stays loosely around your throat. His eyes drag slowly across your face before dropping briefly to your mouth.

Then lower.

Watching the way your thighs instinctively press together again. A rough chuckle leaves him immediately.

“Fuck,” he mutters softly. “You really do like this shit.”

Humiliation crashes through you all over again. “You’re delusional.”

“And you’re standing here letting me call you dirty names while you melt over it.” His head tilts slightly. “Interesting little situation you got yourself into, princess.”

Your pulse pounds harder and harder while he keeps looking at you like he’s slowly peeling every layer off you one by one.

Then suddenly his expression shifts into something mocking.

“What did your sweet boyfriend say to you earlier that made you laugh like that, huh?”

The question catches you completely off guard. A fake pout tugs at his lips while he leans down closer, eyes never leaving yours.

“Was he all sweet with you?” he asks softly, voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Telling you cute little things while you smiled up at him?”

Heat floods your face because yes- He was.Your boyfriend was sweet. Gentle. Affectionate.

And somehow standing here now with Jungkook pressed against you, cigarette smell clinging to his clothes while his hand grips your throat possessively, that memory only makes your stomach twist harder.

Jungkook sees the realization happen in real time. The smirk on his face sharpens immediately.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Thought so.”

His thumb presses slightly higher beneath your jaw while his eyes darken.

“What do you think he’d say if he knew I was in your room right now?” he asks quietly.

Your breathing turns uneven instantly. Jungkook leans down until his lips brush barely against yours.

“What would he say,” he murmurs softly, “if he knew I’m standing here calling you my little whore…” Your breath catches sharply.

Jungkook’s tongue drags slowly across your lower lip. Then he pulls back just enough to whisper: