𝓜𝓲𝓰𝓰𝓾𝓴𝓲𝓮

Being the heiress of your “family business” sounds fun. Sounds like you shouldn’t have to worry about a thing for your future. Your parents have already set it up for you between making sure you would never have to worry about money or a roof over your head. 

The downside that comes with it is all the danger. Strange and dangerous men out for your family, or worse, you. 

It happens more times than you would like to admit. You are used to the feeling of a gun holster on your hip and your lovely bodyguard always three feet behind you. 

Except he can’t always be behind you. Not when you sneak out of the estate at 2am because you’re on your period and if you don’t have the specific candy right then and there you might actually end up in jail for the night for the crimes you commit. 

That’s when you meet Min Yoongi. 

He was just sitting outside of the gas station. Leaned up against his luxury car, hair slicked back with a cigarette hanging between his teeth. You didn’t think anything of him, other than he’s hot, as you passed by him to go into the store. 

When you come back out, that’s when he gives you no excuse but to pay attention to you. 

“y/n.”

You turn to him slowly… how the fu-

“Min Yoongi.”

He bows politely. You don’t know what to think of him at first. This random hot man just called you out by name, introduced himself yet still didn’t forget his manners as he bowed. 

But little did you know at the time that he would become a very important man in your life. 

You can’t even recall how it all happened. One day you were on edge from him knowing your name, the next you were sneaking into his car so you could make out with him for a little while. 

There was fun with your situation. You know where he came from weren’t exactly allies. There was danger, adrenaline and so many secrets. So many sneaky nights. So many hands over your mouth and grunted, “be quiet, princess. Unless you want people to hear us.”

You never thought of the actual dangers when you were with him. Not the target on your back. Not how everything could crumble if you guys were caught. And you for sure thought no strings. This was just sex. Just fun. 

And that’s how you ended up now. 

There was another target on your back. Another hitman. And this time you were with Yoongi. You were just at your newfound favorite alley, making out against the wall when Yoongi abruptly pulled away from you. 

He noticed them before you did. Something twisted in his chest as he realized what was happening. He was quick to put himself in front of you.

Yoongi wouldn’t consider himself an angry or violent man. He just couldn’t help himself when the man said,

“Hand her over.”

Like hell he will, over his dead body. 

The man was dead before he could even take another breath. Bullet through the air and into the man's skull. And fuck if that didn’t send a new warmth straight into your panties. Maybe its trauma, the way you were raised or the fact that he just killed a man for you but you can’t help your breathless words-

“Oh my god, Yoongi.”

“Shit, are you okay?”

And he looks so concerned. Brows almost in his hairline, hands shaky, gun still loosely held in one hand as he checks over you like you were the one he shot and not the man. 

“Yeah, yes, I’m okay, Yoongi. That’s not my first threat.”

“Okay, good-”

“That was hot.”

“Oh.”

That’s when you pull him into a kiss. Desperate to feel his lips on yours again but with more hunger now. He groans into it, sliding his tongue between your lips as his free hand grabs you by your waist and tugs you towards him, unable to deal with any space between you. Fuck, he just protected you and you thought it was hot. 

It’s a battle of tongues as your hands impatiently trail down his body. Feeling the hard planes of his chest to his stomach to the ever growing bulge in his pants. You palm him and he is so responsive, a soft moan escaping his throat that you greedily swallow as his hips buck involuntarily into your hand. 

He pulls away to attach his mouth to your neck. Your head tips to grant him more access as you feel his teeth and tongue attack the soft skin. Your hand rubs him faster as your other finds his hair, tugging at the dark roots. 

“Fuck, baby. Did I turn you on that much?”

And you can feel the smirk against your neck. All too smug bastard that you are unfortunately really attracted to and can ruin you in ways no other man has been able to before. 

“Please, Yoongi. Need you. Now.”

“Damn, you’re crazy.”

The moment is only ruined by police sirens only because he can’t give into you right here and now. The moment is heightened because you two little freaks kinda like the adrenaline right now. 

He groans unappreciatively as his forehead finds your shoulder. He takes a couple of deep breaths as he tries to regain his bearings. If either of you two were in a higher ranking, (more importantly him), the police wouldn’t be an issue. In fact, the police wouldn’t be an issue at all now. The issue would lie within the fact that when you both got back to your families later on, everything would come out. And unfortunately, neither of you are the bosses. Yet. 

“Come on, we gotta go.” 

He grabs your hand and drags you out of the alley, already having an escape plan like the smart man he is. Thank god you decided to be sneaky with him and not some bonehead. 

You guys run for at least 10 minutes until you find a good enough spot to lay low for a while. Just some abandoned house. The furniture is covered in dust and the cobwebs in the corners but that doesn’t matter to Yoongi when he is pinning you to the nearest wall, picking back up where you left off. 

His lips trail from your neck and down to your collarbone. Your shirt gets in the way of his path and he wants nothing more than to rip it right down the middle and off of you. But, he is still logical, knowing that you will eventually have to leave here and you kind of need your clothes back to do that especially because it’s going to be a long walk back to his vehicle. 

His hands are shaking from adrenaline and the pure need to see you as he slips your shirt off, revealing your clothed breasts. God, if one more thing gets in his way he might snap. He does tear your bra off of you, the claps breaking in the back earning a gasped “Yoongi!”. Your nipples go from soft to hard in the cold and stale air. He moans at the sight, cupping your breasts with a muttered “you don’t need it anyway. I’ll buy you a new one.” before he pushes your tits together and takes both your nipples in his mouth. You moan, back arching off the wall and into his touch, hands fisting his hair as he swirls his tongue around the two small buds. His teeth gently tug on them, drawing out a delicious mewl from you before he continues his trail down.

The way he kisses down the middle of your stomach to your waistband is borderline worship. That’s because it hits him hard that he almost lost you. He almost lost the only person he actually gives a damn about. The only person that has made him genuinely smile for the first time since he was a child. The only person that has seen him at some of his most vulnerable states and still makes sure he is whole afterward. The only person that makes him feel more like a human and less like the man he was trained and raised to be. 

He places one more kiss to your navel before your pants are yanked down and the fabric pools around your ankles. He places another kiss to your mound before finally coming to rest on his knees. 

And fuck, if that sight doesn’t make your head spin. The man knelt before you. Face scarred up, long black hair still mostly slicked back. His suit still on and perfectly in place other than the top button that you managed to get undone. Someone powerful enough that he is next in line to lead. Someone skilled enough that he shot a man cold for you with no hesitance. That man now on his knees for you sends a new gush of warmth between your thighs. 

He tilts his back slightly to look at you, naked and pressed up against a wall. He can smell your arousal through the thick dusty air. But first, he has one thing he wants to ask. He pulls the gun back out from his holster, smirk slowly pulling at his lips. 

“So, princess… This turned you on?”

You nod your head. In all honesty, you don’t know if you just discovered a new kink, if it just made him look that much more powerful while he used it or if he used it to protect you is what turned you on. But you can’t deny how your poor cunt has been drenched and throbbing since then. 

He smiles then. Gun trailing up your thigh and making your shiver, your walls clench around nothing but air as you feel the cool metal get higher and higher. 

“Let’s see how much you really enjoy it then, hm?”

He drags the metal through your folds and your hips already buck at the contact. He chuckles darkly, the sound coming low from his chest as he guesses correctly. You are a little bit of a freak like him because even he couldn’t deny that this is only making his cock start to strain in his pants more. 

“Now, princess. Do you want to take a guess if my safety is on or not?”

He asks as he gets the metal soaked with your slick. You whine and your hips roll against it. Safety on or off? Why is the thought of it possibly being off only making you even wetter?

“O-on.”

“Tsk. Wrong, princess. That means you have to be real good for me.”

He slides the metal into you, it slipping in with ease from how turned on and soaked you are. You gasp, willing yourself to stay still now with the knowledge he doesn’t have the safety on. 

But little do you know, he lied. He does have it on and is being extremely careful to make sure it doesn’t get turned on and his finger is nowhere near the trigger. He would never be able to forgive himself if the worst happened. Losing you. 

He pumps the small barrel in and out of you, your slick dripping down the metal and onto his hand. You can only think about how crazy this is. How you are literally putting your life in his hands. But dammit, you can’t deny the heat growing in you, how your pussy drips and how your moans only get louder and more unfiltered with every pump. 

“F-fuck Yoongi… you’re crazy.”

“You’re only crazier, princess. You’re soaking my hand.”

“Feels s-so good. C-can’t help it.”

He pushes it in further until you can feel it hit that sweet spot inside of you. You can’t even control your hips and how they jerk with the new pleasure. He uses his free hand to hold your hips against the wall. 

“Gotta stay still. Can’t afford me to slip, can we?”

“N-no, fuck.”

He pumps it in and out of you quicker now. You moan as you watch him with half lidded eyes, hands finding anything to grab onto which only is his hair as there is nothing else nearby except a wall and air. He accepts it though, hissing through his teeth as he uses the opportunity to go forward just that foot and wrap his lips around your clit. 

“Y-yoongi!”

You mewl as the heat grows too quickly in your belly. He doesn’t let up though, going between swirling his tongue around your clit and sucking on it all the while using the gun to fuck you. Your hand grows tighter in his hair, not caring anymore if you mess up his perfectly slicked back long locks. 

“F-fuck. Gonna c-cum.”

He moans in encouragement, already salvitating even more as he anticipates getting to taste your release. The vibrations send you right over the edge, your walls clamping and keeping the metal inside of you while he slowly swirls his tongue around your clit to help you ride your high. Your blood feels like fire and you are floating by the time orgasm finishes. 

He pulls the barrel out of you, only to replace it with his tongue as he laps up every drop of sweet essence you made for him. 

“T-too much. G-give me a m-minute!”

You whine as you tug on his hair and try to wiggle against his grip. Only for him to moan against you, your words barely reaching his ears as he gets drunk off of you. 

“Taste too good, baby.”

The words muffle against your soaked core but you understand him anyway. His tongue works expertly to make sure a single drop of you doesn’t get wasted. He thinks it would be a shame if any of it were to make it on the floor when it could so easily be on his tongue instead. Once he feels your legs shaking from overstimulation and your whines waver is when he finally decides to give you some reprieve. 

He stands up, keeping a hand on your hip to make sure you stay standing. He brings the barrel to your face. You look at it, intrigued yet cautious. Your heart starts beating faster with the metal now pointed at your face. 

“Open, princess. ‘Want you to taste yourself.”

You look at the barrel once last time with hesitance, before making eye contact with him and opening up your mouth. Hell, he already had it inside you, if he wanted to use it for bad, he would’ve done it already. He groans at the sight. Eyes wide, mouth open with compliance but trust. He pushes the metal past your lips as they wrap around it. You moan at the taste of yourself still on it. 

“There you go. See how good you taste now? It’s addicting, princess.”

He pulls it out of you with a pop from your lips still being suctioned around the metal. He wipes your lips with his thumb before sucking on it himself. Again, he seriously doesn’t want a drop to go to waste. 

Once he is satisfied is when he starts looking for your clothes that he left.. All over the dirty and dusty floor. He grimaces to himself as he dusts them off the best he can. 

“Yoongi? What are you doing?”

“Getting you dressed? The floor is filthy.”

He crouches down to pull your pants back up your legs, only making your confusion grow. 

“No, I mean. What about you?”

That’s when he realizes and he chuckles softly under his breath, kissing your navel too gently before standing in front of you again to help you get your shirt back on.

“Princess, you will not be touching anything more in this place. Bad enough you are in here breathing this air.”

That makes you blink. But before you can even process just how much he means it, he slips your shirt over your head and you slide your arms through as he fixes your hair. 

“Let’s get out of here. Been out long enough now.”

He grabs your hand and leads you out of the abandoned house. You guys have quite the walk back to where you started. He leans down as you guys walk, his breath touching your ear as he speaks. 

this wasn’t supposed to happen. your friend swore this spot was a neutral playground, a place too crowded, too polished for ghosts to appear. you even laughed about it—what are the odds? and yet here he is, head thrown back under the strobe, veins sharp at his neck, looking a hundred times better than he has any right to. and here you are, stuck in the crossfire between your past and your present. your boyfriend’s hand rests heavy on your hip, possessive without noticing, eyes glued to the endless glow of his phone. his thumb scrolls, taps, dials, chasing deals even on a saturday night. he doesn’t see you break. doesn’t see how your chest caves when jungkook shifts, or how your spine prickles when your ex’s gaze cuts across the room and nearly—almost—meets yours.

you came to forget, to unhinge from the week clawing at your brain, to drink until your blood hummed like static. you told yourself tonight you’d laugh too loud, sweat on the dance floor, prove to your own skin you were free. so you lean down, press your lips near your boyfriend’s ear, murmur something about dancing. he waves you off with two fingers, eyes still shackled to the glow of his screen, already answering some call with that low, brisk tone. business first, always. you burn hotter.

and so you slip. into the press of bodies, into perfume and cologne mixing into a dizzying storm, into the haze where the bass bruises through ribs and people grind as though skin was currency. your friend pulls you deeper, and for a moment, your body obeys the music. but even surrounded by strangers’ hands and the stench of expensive smoke curling through chandeliers, you feel it—his presence, his eyes. you can’t shake the pulse of it.

the club is not ordinary, not some grimy dive—it’s expensive, lush, velvet-lined, a place with polished tables and bouncers that barely blink. your boyfriend wouldn’t step into anything less; he’s a businessman, careful with appearances, unwilling to let you or himself be seen below standard. that means your choices never really matter.

“if you keep fading, i’m gonna start sobering up,” your friend drawls, her voice syrupy with alcohol, body rolling like the music lives in her bones, every flick of her wrist or tilt of her hips too precise to be accidental, too chaotic to be practiced. she moves like the kind of girl who has memorized every pop video but still makes it her own, messy, wild, magnetic, a star who doesn’t know she’s performing.

you try to follow, but your body is stiff, sluggish, like the music has skipped a beat only for you. there’s heat under your skin, a feverish current, not from the alcohol or the crowd but from the gnawing, unbearable awareness that somewhere beyond this blur of limbs and neon light, he is there. your mouth moves before your mind does, almost a scream to cut through the suffocating bass, “i saw jungkook.”

your friend stumbles mid-spin, heels scraping against the sticky floor, and nearly collides into you. “the fuck you just say?” she shouts back, her rings cold where her hands land on your shoulders, the metal catching in your hair as if she’s trying to shake the answer out of you. “you mean your ex?”

“behind us. just—don’t turn around,” you hiss, though even as the words leave your mouth you know her too well—she thrives on the disobedience, on being the spark in gasoline. of course she does the exact opposite, craning her neck with no shame, eyes scanning the shadows.

she cackles, head snapping back over her shoulder like you hadn’t spoken at all. “oh, damn. girl, you weren’t lyin’.”

“what—no, don’t look. oh my god,” you groan, dragging your hands over your face like you can hide yourself in your palms. but it’s too late. that gravitational pull you swore you outgrew latches onto you, and when you peek through your fingers, you meet it—his gaze.

your friend laughs, carelessly, like she’s immune. “and he’s fuckin’ starin’ at you right now. jesus, he’s about to set me on fire with that look.” she tips her glass to her lips, unfazed, taking a long swallow of her drink as though this isn’t the kind of thing that could rip the floor out from under you.

your throat dries, your hands slick with sweat. it’s the same gaze you remember—unyielding, unblinking, molten with something indecent and raw. it doesn’t just meet your eyes, it takes you apart piece by piece, stripping you down in the middle of a crowded room until you’re suddenly sixteen again, or twenty-one again, or whatever version of yourself you were when you first learned what it was to be unraveled under him.

he steps forward. it’s subtle, but you feel it like an earthquake. he moves from the girl on his arm, drifting toward the edge of the staircase, and it hits you like it always did—he doesn’t walk so much as prowl, languid and deliberate, every stride carved out of arrogance and danger. the suit he’s wearing is expensive, sure, but careless in the way only men like him can afford—cufflinks undone, shirt buttons open just enough, fabric pulling against shoulders and thighs too broad for tailoring. the watch gleams on his wrist, heavy and commanding, and his shoes catch the light with a shine brighter than the highlighter you dusted onto your cheeks earlier, futilely. his hair is perfectly imperfect, too intentional to be accidental, still carrying that invitation, that dare.

he doesn’t stop staring. of course he doesn’t. jungkook has never been subtle, never been soft with you. he stares like it’s his right, like no time or distance has earned him less.

“let’s go say hi,” angelina chirps suddenly, her smirk all teeth and malice, and your stomach caves in.

“are you fucking crazy?” you scream back over the music, panic scraping your throat raw. you glance toward where he was standing, but he’s already gone, vanished from his spot like smoke curling out of reach, slipping into the thick crush of the crowd, maybe descending the spiral staircase that glints like something out of a film noir.

your friend just shrugs, smug, almost sharp in her clarity now. “what? your boyfriend’s out there fuckin’ around anyway. this is prime time—show him what the hell he stands to lose.” her steps are sure again, confident, like she’s sobered just enough to enjoy the game she’s playing with your pulse.

you spot him before she does. a flicker in the crowd, the unmistakable shape of him—shoulders like carved stone, hips cut with the kind of arrogance no suit can smooth out. his figure is magnetic, impossible to mistake, every detail familiar and yet impossibly new. your friend spins you halfway, leans close to whisper a final sermon, “behave decently—” she pauses, smirk curling, “—and be provocative. got it?”

you nod, though your tongue is cement, and then you lose the ability to breathe altogether. because he’s coming closer, and every step of his is a declaration. he adjusts his cuff, rolls his watch back on his wrist, smooths the front of his shirt with the kind of composure that feels like a prelude to war. his pace is deliberate, predatory, each step slow enough to drag your nerves tauter. it’s there in his walk, in the tilt of his chin, in the half-smirk tugging at his mouth—you are not going to resist him.

you’re about to turn, already halfway into the motion of escape, when you catch it—the ghost of his smirk curling at the edge of his mouth, sly and sharp like a blade half-hidden. he wipes it away with the back of his hand in one fluid gesture, replacing it with something cooler, deliberate, a seriousness so sudden it makes your stomach pitch. your throat works against the weight of a swallow, muscles stiffening as if you’ve been caught in the act of something unspeakable, and you can’t even straighten your back without feeling like it would expose too much. his voice drops into you like an anchor, low and steady, cutting straight through the noise and bass that thunders across the room.

“didn’t think i’d see you here,” he says, and there’s nothing but precision in the way he lands it, no hesitation, no distraction. his eyes are tracing you like a map he already knows by heart, and out of the corner of your gaze you notice the small, maddening tick of his tongue pushing into his cheek, a subtle flex that makes his jaw look sharper. his hands sink deep into his pockets as though he’s got all the time in the world, but you can’t help noticing the silver glint of his watch catching the low light, smug and unapologetic.

“can’t say the same about you,” you snap back, arms crossing tightly over your chest like a shield, though it only makes you feel more exposed, every nerve raw and naked under his attention. there’s a sensitivity that blooms, prickling across your skin as if you’ve stepped out into winter air without warning. you see his face shift for a fleeting second, something vulnerable, maybe even genuine, but then it’s gone—buried beneath that infuriating mask he wears so well, the one you’ve watched him perfect for years.

“ouch. harsh. that’s a low bar,” he answers, laying one hand flat against his chest in mock injury, his tone feather-light yet intentional. he plays at being wounded, but you know better. you know the difference between his masks and his truths, and this is nothing but performance. his eyes flicker like he’s taking stock of you again, and then the tilt of his head follows—barely angled, deliberate, observant, like he’s peering into a private window you never gave him permission to open. “did you come alone?” the words land softly, deceptively soft, yet they coil around you, and the slight arch of his brow cuts sharper than any blade.

your lips part but nothing comes out at first. the question sits there, smoldering, and you feel its weight pinning you in place. “how does this concern you?” you manage finally, though it doesn’t come out as sharp as you wanted—it trembles at the edges, and you despise yourself for it. because he knows. god, he knows. every twitch of your shoulders, every quickened beat under your skin, every little betray of breath. he reads you without effort, without trying, as though your whole body is written in ink only he can see. and you hate that you can’t decide whether that makes you furious or undone.

“mm. still fuckin’ hard to reach,,” he murmurs, the words sliding out like smoke, curling in the narrow space between you. his body doesn’t move much, but it doesn’t need to; it exudes. he stands with that maddening composure, as though sculpted out of something immovable, shoulders squared, lines and angles crisp as if carved by hand. his chin tilts just slightly, knives of shadow sharpening the edges of his jaw, and his skin carries a faint sheen under the light, the kind of glow that feels both holy and ruinous.

then the head tilt comes again, so slight, so damn practiced, resurrecting every dead butterfly in your stomach until they riot, chaotic and unwelcome, as though he’s tossing a challenge directly into your bloodstream.

“and you’re still the same narcissistic moron,” you shoot back, the words bursting out faster than you can rein them in.

his laugh is low, a spark more than an explosion, and he tastes the sound with a slow drag of his tongue across his lip. “look at you. first five minutes and already tossing compliments,” he muses, the ease in his voice taunting, his stance softening into a relaxation that makes you feel like you’re vibrating at a different frequency altogether.

“wasn’t a compliment.”

he leans into the moment the way you want to lean out of it, utterly unbothered while you feel like the ground is threatening to swallow you whole. “you didn’t answer my question.” his tongue presses into his cheek again, the motion sharp and telling, a little crack in his mask. the words linger, not casual, not careless, but edged with something that betrays him: concern or jealousy, you can’t tell. and maybe you don’t want to.

“you’re staring,” your voice doesn’t tremble, doesn’t even so much as waver, but inside you are unraveling thread by thread, every muscle taut, every breath locked like a secret in your chest. it feels obscene, the way his eyes linger, the way they touch more boldly than hands ever could.

“always did,” he says, and it isn’t tossed out casually—it lands like a stone in water, rippling, deliberate, a confession dressed as a fact. his hand runs lazily through his hair, ink-black strands falling right back into place like they know where they belong. he doesn’t look away, not even for a second, and the weight of it makes your dress, already unforgiving, feel like it’s tightening around your ribs. “does it bother you?”

“no,” you lie, the word catching on your tongue before it spills into the heavy air between you. your fingers lace together so tightly your knuckles pale, like holding yourself together could disguise how undone you really are. you hate how obvious it must be. “you should stop.”

his smirk unfurls, slow and wicked, like he’s been waiting for you to hand him that line. “you lie prettier now,” he murmurs, and the way it sounds—admiring, taunting, sinful—makes your throat tighten. it’s not just a smirk anymore, it’s a weapon, an entire performance sharpened to a point, daring you to break against it.

“and you’re still full of yourself,” you bite back, even though your eyelid twitches, even though the sheer smugness radiating off him makes your skin prickle. it’s the way he breathes, like even the act of existing is done at your expense. you want to slap it off his face, that dangerous curl of his lips, but you know him—he’d laugh, not flinch.

“mm,” he hums, stepping closer, as if proximity is his native language and distance an afterthought. you feel it, the invisible burn of him, the way his aura presses into you like a tide. “maybe. but im not wrong.”

people part around him unconsciously, as though they can smell the danger simmering between you, giving you both space as if they know one spark could set the entire room ablaze.

he dips closer, his expression slipping into a look of indulgent satisfaction. “the same perfume,” he says, inhaling deep like he’s claiming a relic, like you’re still his to catalog. his face is dangerously near yours, the brush of his breath warm against your skin, and you drop your fists to your sides, balling them as if that will tether you to sense. “thought you’d switched it by now.”

“you notice too much,” you manage, though the words come out strangled with the sweetness of memory. because you can smell him, too. darker now, richer. expensive cologne tangled with cigarettes, with something that tastes like bitter chocolate melted into cognac. the scent spins around you dizzyingly, and it feels like you could trip forward into his chest just to drown yourself in it.

“yeah,” his smirk sharpens, hand moving instinctively, thoughtlessly, until it rests on your thigh—just like it always did when you were his. when he couldn’t go five minutes without touching you, as though his body couldn’t stand the separation. your breath stutters, your pulse wild, and you jerk a step back. he only shrugs, clearing his throat like he didn’t mean it, like his fingertips hadn’t already burned into your skin. “always did,” he repeats, softer this time, almost like an oath.

“stop it.” the words come out harsher than you intend, almost a plea. you point a finger at him like it’s a weapon, like it could guard you against the thing his eyes are doing to you.

“can’t.” his answer is quick, steady, without hesitation. he moves closer again, and you instinctively recoil another step, colliding with a stranger behind you, jolted and breathless. before you can apologize, before you can catch your balance, his hand finds yours—firm, unyielding—and pulls you back to him.

you don’t fight. god help you, you don’t even resist.

“don’t want to,” he adds, low, molten, and in the next breath he’s tugging you through the crowd, his stride long, purposeful, yours stumbling to keep up. his hand swallows yours like it was built to. his presence eclipses everything else, blotting out the edges of the world until you can’t remember where you are or who might be watching.

your mind flickers—your boyfriend somewhere in this same room, jungkook's girlfriend possibly just steps away—and yet the thought scatters like dust in the wind. nothing penetrates this pull, this gravity. you should resist, you know you should, but it’s like sinking into a swamp you secretly wanted to find, something sticky and dangerous that sucks you in deeper with every step. you think of the excuses, of the hollow spaces left by unanswered calls and “late nights at the office,” of the business trips and boardrooms that have made your bed cold. and it stings to admit it, even to yourself, but it’s your ex—the boy who broke you and branded you both—that makes you feel seen, wanted, touched.

and the worst part? you don’t want to stop him.

you climb the wide staircase like it’s a stage you never signed up to perform on, but he takes it two steps at a time, moving with that easy, practiced grace of someone who has already memorized every inch of the place. his confidence is so sharp it cuts through your nerves, dulling them for a second, making you feel that familiar, almost shameful safety in his presence—the kind you only ever felt with him. your mind slips, forgetting for a dangerous moment that you’re no longer his, that the rhythm of your steps isn’t supposed to fall into sync with his anymore.

the hallway stretches out ahead of you, muffled and padded with thick carpets that swallow your footsteps, while his gait still echoes with power, every step unapologetic. he pushes open a door marked with a simple, glittering word—vip—and the world tilts slightly in your chest. you swallow, tasting adrenaline, tasting memories. of course it’s dangerous. everything with him always was. he was the boy who could take your pulse and turn it into a drumline, the boy who made even silence ring too loud.

before you realize it, you’re inside, the door shutting with a sound too final to ignore. the music below becomes nothing more than a dull heartbeat, leaving you alone with the thick, unbearable tension vibrating between your bodies. the couches at the end of the room are waiting, shadowed and velvety, and you already know—like some terrible prophecy etched in your ribs—that if you stay too long, there’s only one way this can end: with you under him, gasping for air like you’ve been drowning for years.

“this is the vip room,” you murmur, the words falling flat, half a statement, half a test, waiting for him to fill in the blanks.

he glances back at you, smirking like he already knows what’s running through your head. “no shit,” he mutters, low and rough, and then moves away, like even the air can’t cage him.

he drifts to the other end of the room, where a stand gleams like a personal altar to indulgence. bottles line the counter in perfect symmetry, catching light in their glass bodies, and he pours without hesitation, without question. his hands are steady, his movements confident, like this ritual has belonged to him forever. two glasses, liquid sloshing gold and amber, and then he’s swallowing lemon, chasing it with liquor, the burn hidden in the steadiness of his throat. his body doesn’t falter, doesn’t sway. he’s a man drinking like water what would drop anyone else.

“i didn’t tell you?” his voice is silk dragged over gravel. his mouth curls, arrogant. “i own this place.”

you blink too fast, your eyes widening like you’ve been sucker-punched with a truth you never expected. “you— you're the owner of this club?” the words stumble out, equal parts disbelief and bitter irony. the last time you saw him he couldn’t hold onto anything—jobs slipped through his hands like sand, plans fell apart like paper in the rain. you remember the arguments, the way you craved something steady, something reliable, something he never was. and now this? this empire of noise and light, this room above it all?

he laughs, deep and unapologetic, like you’ve just revealed how little you know him. “why does that surprise you so much?” he lowers into the chair with sprawling authority, spreading his legs, his hands gripping the edges like he’s carving his territory into the furniture itself. he looks devastatingly at ease, while you are stitched together with trembling thread.

“you’ve always been reckless,” you fire back, though you won’t even glance at the glass he set down. you know better. if you drink now, your brain will stop listening to reason and start whispering the things you’ve been fighting to bury.

he tilts toward you, his eyes glinting with something sharp, something smug. “reckless, yeah. but not fucking stupid,” he says smoothly, knocking back another shot. the glass empties, but his body remains carved in precision, his movements calculated, untainted. “apparently it was a mistake,” his head tilts more, eyes narrowing, and when he speaks, his voice is even dirtier, a scrape against your skin.

“what exactly?” your voice pushes through the dense air, but you feel it—his gaze slicing into you, dissecting you, uncoiling things you thought you had locked away.

“underestimate me,” the words drip like honey and venom all at once. his hands run down his thighs slowly, deliberately, veins prominent beneath his skin, rings and bracelets gleaming like trophies. your eyes betray you, dragging over the width of his arms, over the swell of muscle that didn’t exist months ago, over the dark ink etched into his skin like secrets you weren’t invited to hear.

“you’re staring,” he mocks, echoing your earlier words, his smirk cutting, and you should be angry, should rise to the bait. but anger doesn’t come. instead, something else blooms—something scandalous, something hungry.

you imagine it before you can stop yourself: the heat of his legs under your palms, the strength of muscle beneath the fabric, his skin hot and alive under your touch. the jungkook you knew was leaner, softer at the edges, but this jungkook is sculpted, larger, his body an entire map of temptation you want to memorize. you imagine climbing onto his lap, staking claim, daring the world to see you there, unashamed and crowned by his body like it was carved only for you.

“wanna’ sit?” he breaks the fantasy with words that feel like a direct invasion of your thoughts, his big hands patting his thighs with deliberate provocation. and in that second, your head spins, light and dizzy, like you’re the one who drank those shots, not him. your pulse hammers, reckless, traitorous, whispering the answer you don’t want to admit.

“jungkook, i can’t,” the words slip out before you can leash them, half apology, half excuse, though you hate how awkward they sound in your own throat. it’s not that you want to feel clumsy, not that you want to be painted into this corner of hesitation, but the moment stretches hot and fragile, and your body betrays you with the tremor that runs through your chest.

“can’t what? breathe? think? or just admit you wanna climb on?” he presses, that boyish recklessness sharpening into something far more deliberate. his wrist twists with lazy precision, the glass rolling between his fingers, liquor sloshing perilously close to the rim but never spilling, like he’s teasing even gravity itself. his eyes glitter, too intent, too knowing, as if you’re a riddle he’s already solved, a book he’s read cover to cover but pretends to skim for the thrill of it.

“i have a boyfriend,” you mutter, and the words don’t sound like the shield they’re supposed to be — more like a child’s flimsy excuse, something you toss between you as if it could stop the inevitable. the bitterness creeps into your mouth anyway, so you drown it with liquor, amber heat sliding down your throat until it settles like fire in your stomach.

“fuckin’ knew it,” he exclaims, hand slapping against his thigh with a sharp, amused crack. the heavy watch on his wrist catches the low light, a gleam that mocks you — it costs more than every single thing you’re wearing combined, and he knows it.

“what’s wrong with that? i can’t have a boyfriend?” you shoot back, voice dipping into defensive bravado, though the edge dulls when you taste the whiskey again. it burns sweet and acrid, like melted sugar on steel, forcing you to swallow the sting while your lips twist against the rush of heat.

“thought you needed time. always said that,” he murmurs, tipping another shot back like it’s water, like his veins are lined with copper and his blood doesn’t curdle with alcohol the way everyone else’s does. he should be drunk by now — red-cheeked, loose-tongued — but instead he sits straighter, his arrogance calcifying into something even heavier, even harder to peel your eyes away from.

“i needed time to understand how selfish you are,” you retort, but your voice is soft, feathered at the edges by the warm blur that’s creeping through your skull. you can feel the alcohol working, thinning the walls in your head, making the room slant, making your judgment slip one degree at a time.

“selfish? baby, that’s rich. from you,” he chuckles, shaking his head with exaggerated amusement, hand sliding over the solid breadth of his thighs like he’s framing them as the seat they are, as if the whole exchange is nothing more than foreplay to him, dialogue soaked in irony and intent. “keep talkin’ shit though. sounds good on you.”

the room itself feels colder, the air stiff and sharp, but your skin burns in direct defiance, prickling with heat like you’ve been caught in some feverish trance. every second that ticks past, every flicker of his gaze that hooks you in, it feels as if he’s pulling you closer into his orbit, some merciless gravitational field where you have no chance of escape. he hasn’t touched you yet — hasn’t done anything you didn’t allow — but his very presence sprawls across the small room, thighs spread, elbows braced, hands flexing at his hips, a living invitation you’re not ready to admit you want to accept.

you swallow hard, extending your empty glass towards him with a lift of your brow, a flimsy attempt at defiance. “i think you’ve had enough,” he murmurs, voice languid and saturated with that dangerous knowing.

jungkook smirks, lazy and devastating, biting his lip as his fingers tap rhythmically against the bottle like he’s drumming on your nerves. you glare daggers at him, heat rushing to your cheeks, but he only lifts his palm in mock surrender, laugh curling low in his chest, before tipping the bottle anyway, pouring another shot like he knows you won’t resist. and he’s right — you don’t. you tilt it back, throat stretching, fire rushing down, and for a moment you can’t tell if it’s the liquor burning you or the way his gaze clings like a brand.

“he’s fucking it up,” he repeats, and this time it doesn’t just skim past you like some throwaway jab, it sinks and lodges itself inside the quiet, inside that thick silence that had already swallowed the room whole. the air felt so tight you could almost see it bend, like glass under pressure, and still all you could smell was him—his clothes heavy with the ghost of smoke and spice, his cologne curling into your chest until your lungs weren’t your own anymore. it was suffocating and magnetic all at once, like the way fire tilts you closer even while it warns you to back away.

“that’s a lie,” you manage, but the words are weak and stretched thin, sliding out of you while your body sinks back into the couch cushions like they’re quicksand. you feel wrung out, emptied, as though the walls you’ve spent months layering brick by brick around him had quietly dissolved into dust the second he sat too close.

his shoulders roll, dismissive. “say it’s a lie all you want, doesn’t make it true.”

it’s terrifying how stripped bare you feel, and yet it’s exactly what lures you deeper toward him. you know he’s talking about your boyfriend—of course you know, the shape of the accusation is so sharp you almost cut yourself on it—and still you can only push back with a trembling defense. “you just say shit to piss me off.”

“yeah. no fuckin’ doubt,” he shrugs, and the small roll of his shoulder is maddeningly casual compared to the gleam in his eyes. “but that’s the whole fucking point,” his body tips into yours, not all at once but in a dangerous lean, like a shadow creeping across a floor, and it rattles you—your behavior, your sanity, the small fragile scaffolding you’ve kept yourself balanced on. because he’s looking at you with a hunger that isn’t soft or patient or safe; it’s feral, glittering, the kind of hunger that melts you from the inside out while whispering that you should run. “you’re filthy hot when you’re mad,” he purrs, rolling his tongue over the syllables like he wants to taste them, eyes catching the dim light and throwing it back at you like a dare.

“and why is he so bad at it, mm?” your words wobble out, weak mimicry of his mannerisms, the ones you’d once gotten drunk on, memorizing the way he dragged vowels, how he bent consonants until they were his own. it’s ridiculous how easily your body remembers him, like muscle memory doesn’t give a damn about the calendar. you try to dress your answer in anger, but it’s flimsy armor, because the moment the last word leaves you, he moves.

he takes your legs like he’s claiming them, the shift so sudden your breath stutters, your dress shoving up high above your hips in one careless sweep, fabric bunched and useless. his hands are wide and unashamed on your bare thighs, and before your brain can blink, you’re straddled over him, perched on the heat of his lap. your lungs collapse, emptied of all air in one harsh gasp, and the tilt of his head only deepens the suffocation. “so why the fuck are you here with me,” he murmurs, voice low and sharp as a knife, “and not out there with him?” he says it like he wants an answer, but you know it’s just another trap, another hook he digs into your mouth.

his thighs burn against yours, their size obscene, twice the width of your leg, the difference making you shiver with unease and something far darker. they’re hard as stone beneath you, corded muscle pushing up so firm it feels like you’re perched on solid ground instead of a man. the tension in them thrums through you, a pulse you can’t unfeel, his hands skim up your skin, dragging fire lines, leaving you branded and marked with every inch. and the shame rises like a tide, choking you, because you can’t even remember the last time your boyfriend’s touch sparked anything close to this inferno. and here you are, undone, unraveling under the graze of the wrong man’s hands, as if you’d been starving are for this exact sin all along.

‘what are you doing? stop’ the thought flickers inside you, frantic and sharp, but it never makes it past your lips. it stays caged in the hollows of your memory, where all the forgotten reasons you left him have been gathering dust. you don’t remember who was right, who was wrong, or even why it had ended in the first place—every argument, every ultimatum feels like it belongs to someone else’s story.

because all of that dissolves the instant his hands drag down over the curve of your ass, fingers digging deep, clutching skin like he can mold it into his palms, greedy and possessive, like he wants more than what’s even humanly possible to take. his grip brands you with a claim that feels as inevitable as gravity. “tell me to fucking stop,” he hisses, hot breath skating across your neck, thick and dizzying, and your mind reels with the betrayal of your body. it’s wild, feral, the kind of want you’ve starved for, the kind you could never touch with your boyfriend no matter how many times you tried.

you shake your head—weak, trembling—but it’s a hollow protest. his lips hover so close to your skin you can feel the ghost of them, but he doesn’t kiss, and the denial is almost worse than the touch. you moan, a soft wounded sound, at the absence of what used to unravel you in one second flat. he always had that power, the ability to ignite your body with a single brush of his mouth, to mark your skin like a map he’d memorized.

god help you, but you missed it. missed him. not just the weight of him, but the way he made you feel—shameless, alive, seen. you want to deny it, claw the confession back, but it would only be lying to yourself.

“nah, baby, you gotta,” his voice drips into your ear, low and ragged, almost a groan. he buries his face into the crook of your neck and inhales like you’re oxygen he’s been starving for, like he could overdose on the sweetness of you. “fuck—you smell the same. like you knew it drives me crazy.” his teeth snap against your skin and you jolt, a sharp gasp falling apart into a moan as your hips betray you, rolling against the hard length pressing into you. his head tips back into the couch with a groan that rattles the air between you.

you seize it, that fleeting second of weakness. your hips start grinding slow, deliberate, swaying side to side, friction blooming hot and unbearable in the space where your bodies collide. the sound that claws its way out of both your throats is obscene, a harmony of remembered sin. “fuck, i missed this,” he growls, voice stretched thin with hunger, vowels drawn out into a moan that feels like it’s meant to seep straight under your skin.

“what exactly?” you manage, the words brittle, quiet, trembling on your tongue but still defiant.

“feeling you on me. the way you ride my thigh like the dirty fucking good girl you are,” he spits it out like filth that tastes too good to swallow, every syllable slick and deliberate. the vulgarity rolls off him so easily, like it’s his native tongue, and it burns through you like gasoline catching flame. your hips move faster, unthinking, the couch squeaking faintly under the rhythm, your dress shoving up until it’s nothing more than a bunched mess at your waist. his gaze cuts down without apology, locking on the black slip of your underwear, and his teeth sink into his lip in a way that makes your stomach flip inside out.

“yeah? what would your girlfriend say to that?” you throw it out sharp and biting, the words laced with venom and mockery, because who said he got to play the game alone? years with him taught you this—the art of revenge dressed up as flirtation, the satisfaction of striking where it stings.

his laugh is low and dark, a sound that slithers into your bones. “you really wanna talk about other girls when you’re grinding your pretty pussy all over my dick, mm?” his brows lift, his head tilts just enough for you to catch the wicked gleam in his eyes from under his lashes. his hands are back on your hips, firm, commanding, forcing your movements sharper, harder, like he’s choreographing the way you break apart on top of him. a sharp slap lands against your ass, loud and sudden, and you jolt forward, biting back a moan that’s already too loud.

the sting burns into pleasure, and his chuckle rides your reaction like a victory. your thighs clamp tighter around him, wetness spreading faster than your mind can keep track of, and it’s terrifying—how quickly you’re unraveling, how easily you’re remembering every dangerous reason why you should’ve never been here in the first place.

“wanna feel you, baby,” he breathes, the words sliding out like smoke, low and ragged, his hand already prying at the insides of your thighs, spreading you open with a certainty that doesn’t ask permission. “let me?” his voice is sin incarnate—thick, husky, dangerous enough to buckle your knees—and you nod without hesitation, too eager, too reckless, like your body answered for you before your mind even caught up. it’s a surrender, quick and careless, but god, you don’t care. not now. not with him this close.

his palm presses down over the flimsy barrier of your panties, dragging slow, deliberate strokes that feel almost cruel in their patience. he treats the fabric like it matters, like he’s seducing it before he devours you, and the gesture makes your throat tighten around a swallow that burns. instinct kicks in—you try to close your legs, to shrink away from the touch that feels too sharp, too soon—but his voice is there again, sharp velvet, commanding.

“nah, baby, keep ’em open for me. let me see you fall apart.” his mouth grazes your neck with kisses that are maddeningly soft, too gentle compared to the feral hunger beneath his hands, and the contradiction leaves you boneless, collapsing against him. your thighs tremble with the effort to hold steady, but he’s already anchoring you, steady as iron, unshakable as fate. the strength in him is terrifying, magnetic, and when your body keens toward his touch with a helpless whine, you realize you’ve stopped pretending to resist.

when his fingers slip beneath the thin line of your underwear, it’s like ice and fire all at once—rough fingertips dragging over silk flesh, the bite of his cold rings sending electric shivers through you. your brain dissolves into static, thought thinning into nothing but need, and before you even realize it, you’re grinding against his hand, desperate, chasing release like you’ve been starving for it. and maybe you have.

every stroke feels like theft and salvation in one, the kind of touch that breaks you down and rebuilds you in the same heartbeat. you remember every fight you ever had with him, every cutting word, every cruel goodbye—but they pale in comparison to this, to the way his fingers move in slow, devastating circles, dragging slick heat from you until you’re gasping. “fuck, you’re soaked,” he groans, the sound guttural, half moan, half growl, his body wound so tight you can feel his muscles straining against you like he’s holding himself together with sheer will.

“off… off,” you choke out, fumbling with his jacket until it slips away in a messy arc, landing somewhere at the far edge of the couch. he doesn’t even look where it falls, too focused, too intent. his hands go to his cuffs, unbuttoning slowly, deliberately, like he’s putting on a show for you, like he knows you’ll squirm from the loss of his touch and wants to drag it out. you writhe, impatient, restless, every nerve in your body screaming for him to come back, to touch you again, to not leave you hanging in this limbo.

“so needy, baby,” he growls, the words sharp with amusement but softened by the way his eyes darken when you push at his shirt, unfastening buttons with shaky fingers. the fabric parts and your gaze locks onto the ink sprawled across his chest, dark lines on flushed skin, tattoos you don’t remember, tattoos that weren’t there before. your fingers trace over them, tentative at first, then bolder, your touch dragging along the fresh pinkness of his skin. his hiss escapes before he can bite it back, a sharp inhale that confirms what you already know—he’s just as wound up as you, maybe even more.

“these weren’t here,” you whisper, fingertips ghosting across the designs, curiosity sparking hotter than you expect. “when did you get them?” the question slips out unplanned, but it lodges in you like a hook—you need the answer, need to hear him explain, even though you don’t know why.

“reckless, remember?” he mutters, voice rough, almost amused, like he’s shrugging off the weight of his own choices. “didn’t think. just did it.” and while you’re still staring at the ink, still tracing lines like they’re secrets, you don’t see the way he’s watching you—hungry, unblinking, drinking you in like he wants to memorize the shape of you on his lap, clinging to him, trying to grind out your release like you’ve done a hundred times before.

it drives him insane, the way you give in so easily, the way you let him undo you like it’s second nature. insane, intoxicating, and it makes him want more. always more. but he won’t tell you that. no, he’ll bury it deep, where you’ll never reach it. knowing it himself is enough.

he’s sick of the silence, sick of the half-truths you’ve built with someone else, and most of all he’s sick of the way you keep pretending you don’t remember how it used to be. there’s something dangerous winding through jungkook tonight, something snarling beneath the smooth veneer of his voice, and it’s all sharpened into a single intention: to break you apart, piece by piece, only to put you back together again like a toy he’s owned all along. he wants to brand you in ways no ink ever could, to stamp himself into your memory until you can’t breathe without thinking of him.

“nah, baby. your ass on my lap. now,” he murmurs, the words sliding out soft and syrupy, hot and venomous, honey wrapped tight in poison. it’s not a suggestion, not even a command—it’s inevitability dressed up in velvet.

your eyes widen, lips parting, and you don’t even get the chance to answer before he’s rolling his own eyes like he’s already tired of your hesitation, his hands closing around you with practiced ease. he flips you over onto your stomach, the motion so smooth and final it makes your heart jump, and suddenly you’re stretched out across his lap, your face turned away, his expression hidden from you.

somehow that makes it worse—your chest pressing against the couch, his thighs steady beneath you, his face an unreadable shadow behind your back—and the blindness leaves you dripping, wetter than you want to admit. when his hands drag over the curve of your ass, deliberate, possessive, you twitch beneath his touch, your body betraying you before you can school it into stillness.

then the sharp sting of his palm cracks across your skin, and the moan tears out of you raw, instant, shameless. he laughs, the sound loud and sharp, delighted, like this is a show put on for his entertainment, and you hate how much you love being the spectacle.

“he doesn’t treat this pussy good, does he?” his voice is thick velvet, rich with smoke, threaded with that iron weight of dominance he wears like a second skin. masculine and stern, but dripping with temptation, it cuts straight through you.

his fingers are already tugging your dress higher, sliding it up over your stomach until the fabric bunches at your ribs, forgotten. you can’t see it, but jungkook is biting his lip, his gaze devouring every line of you like he’s starving. your body hasn’t changed, not really, but to him you’re something else entirely—softer, tighter, maddeningly familiar yet even better than memory allowed. it’s enough to light a fire in him, a slow-burning heat that coils low and dangerous.

“say it,” he growls, his palm landing another stinging slap before circling the warmth with mock-gentle fingers, the motion like an apology he doesn’t mean, cheap and transparent.

“no,” you moan, your hips snapping back against his hand, trying to rile him, to resist his easy control. the word is defiance, thin as paper, already curling at the edges, but it’s all you’ve got. “don't wanna’”

you know he wants to hear a yes, to wring your confession from you, to make you give him that win—but you can’t, not when pride still claws at your ribs. even though every part of you knows he’s right. your boyfriend doesn’t know how to touch you, hasn’t learned the language your body speaks in moans and shudders. you’re too embarrassed to tell him, too embarrassed to admit you like it rough, that you like the sting and the dominance, when he only knows how to cradle you slow and gentle, as if passion could survive on softness alone. the memory makes you sick, that night when he abandoned you at the edge of pleasure because his phone buzzed with some meaningless call, leaving you unsatisfied, aching, humiliated.

he lets out a sharp little laugh, dark and humorless. “yeah? that why you’re dripping all over my fucking lap, baby?” another slap, harder, blooming heat across your skin. “cute. you think ‘no’ still works on me.”

you grit your teeth, hating the way your thighs tremble, hating that he’s right, hating that your boyfriend’s name feels hollow in your throat compared to the sharp edge of his voice.

“don’t play dumb,” he hisses, leaning down close enough that his breath scalds the shell of your ear. “you want me to remind you, huh? remind you what it feels like when somebody actually knows how to use you?”

your panties are gone before you realize his fingers hooked them away, carelessly shoved down to your knees like they never mattered. he nudges your hips higher, forcing your ass up, forcing your legs apart until you’re open for him, pliant, ready. there’s no ceremony, no wasted pretense, no slow introduction—he’s already catalogued the state of you, remembered the way you’re soaking, remembered the way you unravel when he skips foreplay and drags you straight into his rhythm.

he knows you like the shock of it, the unexpected tilt that makes your breath catch, and he uses it now, letting it cut into you deep. you look like someone starved, someone who’s been touched wrong for months, and the sight makes the smirk on his face curl even lazier, sharper, steeped in insolence. he’s savoring it, savoring you, like victory tastes better when you’ve been denied it for too long.

“look at you. soaked for me already. pathetic little brat, acting like you don’t miss it,” his voice curls out low and deliberate, like smoke rising from the ruin of something half-burned, and his palm comes down again in a sting that makes your skin hum, a sharp bloom of heat spreading across the curve of your ass. you can already imagine the blush of pink staining there, the faint outline of his hand etched like a claim, but still you bite down on your lip with stubborn fire, refusing him that satisfaction. he leans into it, chuckling darkly, the sound thick with arrogance. “say it. tell me who owns it.”

your body betrays you before your mouth ever could, a moan sliding free despite the barricades you try to build behind your teeth, despite all the willpower you gather to keep yourself still. his hand smooths over the same spot he punished, a soothing stroke that feels more mocking than tender, a cruel caress that says he could push harder, deeper, harsher. and you want him to. you crave the way his hand could brand you scarlet, the way pain could melt so quickly into pleasure under his touch. and underneath you, heavy and undeniable, his cock swells against your stomach, straining hard and hot through his jeans, a weapon you can’t stop thinking about, a promise that could ruin you if you let it.

his laughter spills out, rough and unrestrained, when you shake your head instead of answering, when you keep your mouth sealed around your pride. the refusal only seems to thrill him more, his eyes burning darker, his grin edged with cruelty. “that’s fine, baby. i’ll beat the ‘no’ outta you. you’ll be begging before i’m done.” the words drag across your spine like a blade, each syllable steeped in promise, and it doesn’t matter how hard you pretend—you know you’ll fold.

his accent slips thicker now, soft edges blurring into a sharper bite, that familiar lilt that always gave him away when he was turned on beyond reason. it curls into your ears, shakes you from the inside out, because you remember exactly how it used to be: how his voice would cut through you when his body had you unraveling. that memory alone makes you wetter, heat spilling down between your thighs, a slick ache that feels almost humiliating.

then his finger—long, calloused, devastatingly certain—slides inside you with no resistance at all, sinking straight to the hilt. and then his hand is on your cheek, flat and firm, shoving your face down into the couch cushion, pinning you like an animal, like you’re not even worth looking at. your nose smears against the fabric, your lips pressed shut under the weight of him, suffocated by the rough material and his unyielding grip. you try to lift your head, try to twist, but his strength crushes you down, grinding your face harder against the couch until you feel tears prick hot at the corners of your eyes. “stay down,” he snarls, low and commanding, the heel of his palm grinding into your cheekbone. “fucking stay where i put you.”

you whimper against the fabric, muffled, humiliated, your voice nothing but a vibration into the cushion.

“see? only a fucked-up loser wouldn’t give in to a pussy this good,” he mutters, vulgarity sharpened by the rasp of his voice, his words sinking into you deeper than his finger ever could. that finger curls, twists, drags against a spot inside you that you haven’t felt in months, maybe longer, and your body convulses before you can even process it, before you can brace. you try to cry out, the sound strangled and raw, but his palm clamps down over your mouth, sealing it away, swallowing your voice into silence. your eyes slam shut, your lashes wet against your skin, as if shutting him out could make it any less overwhelming.

his hand works mercilessly inside you, wrist twisting with practiced cruelty, and the pleasure burns so sharp you can hardly hold yourself together. your body writhes in instinct, hips shifting, thighs trembling, trying and failing to resist the fullness that feels too much, too invasive, too exactly what you wanted. you moan into his palm, muffled, helpless, the sound vibrating against his skin, and he only rewards you with another sharp slap below your ass, stinging the backs of your thighs this time.

his pace is brutal, two fingers slamming into you now, stretching you, prying you open with no patience, no care. your body clutches around him, helpless, strung tight, your thighs trembling under the weight of sensation. he slaps the back of your thigh sharp enough to sting, the crack echoing, and you jolt forward, face pressing even harder into the couch. your cheeks are hot and damp, smeared against the fabric, the position degrading enough to make you want to sob.

“so fuckin’ tight,” he growls, his voice all praise and mockery in the same breath. “perfect little cunt. mine. and you’re gonna take it however i give it.” his grip on your face doesn’t waver, keeping you smashed down against the cushion, forcing you to breathe shallow through your nose while he works your pussy open like it’s his personal toy. humiliation burns through you, sharp and electric, but underneath it coils that unbearable ache, that hunger that makes your hips push back into him despite yourself, shameless and needy even as he grinds your face down into the couch like you’re nothing.

“gonna talk up, brat? tell me who owns it?” his words slice right into your skin like glass wrapped in velvet, sharp enough to sting but dripping with that lazy silk he always threads through everything, that casual menace that turns your nerves inside out.

his palm drags slow down your spine, heel of his hand grazing each vertebrae, a molten line burning in his wake, until his fingers skate over the small of your back, deliberate, lingering, making every hair on your body rise like static. you arch without even meaning to, back bowing into him like your muscles are his strings to pluck, lungs caught in your throat. your ass is pink and glowing under his touch, each handprint blooming across you like a brand he’ll never let fade, a wicked gallery carved into your skin.

you breathe him in—cologne and smoke and something darker, metallic like coins pressed to your tongue. your body loves every second of it, even the sting, even the shame. words won’t crawl out of your mouth but the truth is screaming under your skin, pumping through your blood like a drug. he doesn’t need your lips to move—he’s mapped you before, he knows the slope of your spine, the quake of your thighs, the exact pitch your moan breaks at when you can’t fake anymore. the intimacy of it prickles like needles under your skin, suffocating in its precision, a closeness that feels more like ownership.

he smirks when you shake your head, lashes wet, when you try to hold onto that threadbare scrap of defiance. he likes it—he always liked it, the chase, the theater of your resistance, the way you look pretty even when you’re stubborn. it makes him hungrier, meaner, like a wolf nosing at a locked cage he already knows he can break. he doesn’t grant victories, he stockpiles them, and your orgasm is just another trophy to be denied until you crumble right where he wants you. his fingers are already coated, dripping down your thighs, and he spreads it across your ass with obscene ease, smearing it like war paint, then delivers another slap—wet, brutal, echoing. the sound bounces off the walls, ricochets back into your ears, a thunderclap paired with your own desperate cry.

you can’t even open your eyes anymore, the pleasure’s too sharp, too violent. it rips through you, folds you in half. your voice cracks out of you, high and broken, “jungkook, f-fuck, jungkook—” his name raw on your bitten lips, already swollen, shining red like fruit abused in someone’s palm.

“atta girl,” he rasps, grin edged and wicked, fingers plunging inside you so deep your body snaps tight around him. “wasn’t so hard, huh?” he pistons into you, dragging slick sounds out of you so filthy it makes your ears burn. obscene, squelching, sticky noises fill the room like a soundtrack, each one reminding you exactly how ruined you are. “hear that?” he growls low, his teeth flashing, “noise only special pussy makes.” his pace spikes sharp, punishing, and his breath is harsh in your ear, every exhale scorched with heat.

“fuck—fuck, ohhh—” it pours out of you, hips rolling, cunt fluttering around his hand. “oh god, jungkook—please..”

“nah, baby. not god. me,” his words tear through you just before the orgasm does, brutal and merciless, detonating inside you. you scream it out, body convulsing, thighs shaking uncontrollably as you gush, a messy, relentless flood soaking his hand. he groans low, satisfied, dragging his soaked fingers across you, rubbing your swollen clit until you’re kicking and squirming, overstimulated and ruined. “that’s it. fuckin’ gush all over me. my good girl.”

you’re collapsing against him, skin burning, chest heaving, hair clinging damp to your face, the whole world reduced to the couch biting at your knees and his hand dragging every ounce of aftershock out of your wrecked body. you can feel tears streaking down your cheeks, salt mixing with your lipstick, but he only smears your messier edges back into place, tugging your panties up, damp cotton sticking cruel against your folds, tugging your dress down as if the neatness could erase the wreckage.

he lifts you slow, settling you beside him like you’re breakable glass, even though you’re already cracked wide open. his tattooed hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking across your damp lashes, almost tender. “nah, baby. dick stays right here. lesson first, reward later.” he murmurs when your hand slips down greedy toward his bulge, stopping you with a smirk that cuts deeper than denial.

the couch is ruined beneath you, wet and sticky, the air still trembling with the echoes of your moans. your phone buzzes across the floor, screen flashing bright like an alarm. you look at it, lip caught between your teeth, stomach plunging when you see the name lighting up the glass. he doesn’t need to check—just points lazily with the neck of the liquor bottle in his hand, that lazy grin carved deep. his cock strains against his pants, obscene and heavy, but he strolls back to the bar like it’s nothing, like he’s untouchable, like he already knows the kind of hell waiting on the other end of that call.

and you sit there, dizzy, face wrecked, body throbbing, knowing you’ll answer anyway. knowing you’ll lie through your swollen lips.

“that didn’t happen,” you murmur, wagging your finger in protest, but it feels flimsy in the air, especially when he doesn’t even bother turning to face you, his broad back stretching beneath that thin shirt, shoulders carved sharp and muscular, a body built to defy you.

you can feel yourself splintering inside your own lie, because your body has already betrayed you. the damp heat in your panties, the way your thighs ache from clenching, the steady pulse between your legs—all of it testifies against the neat fiction you’re trying to spin. you can’t pretend with him, never could, even when you rehearsed it in your head.

“whatever,” he tosses it like a cigarette butt, flicking the word away with a careless wave, his hand slicing through the dim light, but you catch the truth in the way he hovers too long by the bottle on the bar. his fingers linger on the glass neck, restless, betraying him in a way he’d never confess.

“no, jungkook,” you insist, forcing your body upright, closing the space with steps that feel heavier than they should, dragged between want and warning. “i’m serious. this needs to stay between us.”

“yeah, yeah. got it, baby,” he answers, his voice too loose, too easy, as he toys with the empty shot glass like it’s a coin toss, spinning it against the table, catching nothing but his own reflection in the sheen.

“and don’t call me baby,” the words cut out of you harsher than intended, the edge sharper, meaner, but it feels necessary. like armor. like if you don’t wound him first, he’ll crack you wide open with that voice, those eyes, that memory of who he used to be to you.

he doesn’t fight back. doesn’t even meet your gaze. just clicks his tongue and pushes the door open, stepping aside in silence, but his body blocks out everything behind him, the width of his frame filling the doorway like an immovable wall. you hesitate only a moment, the thought of his jacket abandoned on the couch darting through your mind before you remember—this is his place. his walls, his whiskey, his shadows. the reminder makes your pulse thrum harder, because jungkook has always carried this kind of power, the kind that doesn’t need to be spoken, only felt.

when you step past him, the hallway feels too narrow, his presence trailing you like static, and then his phone is in front of your face, held out with deliberate patience. “what is this?” you ask, hating the stupidity of the question the moment it leaves your lips, cursing yourself for the way it trembles, for how obvious it makes you.

he doesn’t bite. doesn’t soothe. just answers flat, “my number,” his voice steady, face unreadable, but something in his expression pulls you back to an older version of him—the man you loved and feared in equal measure.

he’s steadier now, collected, matured in a way that makes him more dangerous. and instead of deterring you, it drags you in like a current, like you’ve always been wired to follow him even when you swore you’d swim the other way.

“don’t need it,” you snap, voice sharpened by too much confidence, a shield that doesn’t last a second.

because you see it—the corner of his mouth twitching, then curving, that lazy smirk you used to unravel under. the kind of smirk that says he’s already won, that says you’ll fold the way you always do. and you do, sighing through your own defeat as your hand betrays you, taking his phone, typing his number into yours, feeling the burn of your own betrayal creeping across your skin like fever.

“i’m goin’ other way,” he says finally, not so much a statement as a warning. your gaze betrays you once more, dragging over the tousle of his black hair, the undone buttons on his chest, the bulge in his pants that he doesn’t bother to hide. it’s a goodbye without softness, without ceremony, just a shadow breaking off into the night, leaving you breathless in his wake.

and still, you can’t shake the need. because even though you didn’t kiss him tonight, didn’t taste him, didn’t mark him with your nails or bruise him with your lips, every nerve in your body screams that you should have. you want to tear him open with your mouth, taste him raw, take him down your throat until your lungs burn. you want to kiss him like you’re rabid, like you’re starving, like the only thing that could keep you alive is him pressed against you, rough and unrelenting. you want to claim him, brand him with your scratches, your teeth, your tongue, because something deep in your mind whispers it’s wrong, while something even deeper purrs it’s the only right thing you’ve ever known.

you saw his lips before he turned away—swollen, reddish, that familiar fullness that carried charisma like perfume, a magnetism that’s always pulled you back no matter how far you’ve run. you ache for your fingers tangled in his raven-black hair, for your gaze drowned in his dark eyes, for the weight of his body caging you in. you want every inch of him, muscle and scar, the way his hands brand your skin, the way his cock always felt like the one thing that could split you open and still put you back together.

you hate yourself for it, but you’ve always compared. always measured your boyfriend against jungkook’s thickness, his skill, his merciless rhythm. and it leaves you mad, seething, hollow, because nothing ever matches. no one else ever knew what to do with you, how to play you like an instrument until you came undone, begging, unraveling under the sheer force of him.

you stumble back onto the dance floor, head light and body too loose, like you’ve been dipped in syrup and spun under the dizzying lights. the bass is heavy now, a brutal thud that pushes through your chest and rattles your bones, every beat making the room bend and sway. you’re looking for the table, hoping for the familiar sight of him, maybe a crooked smile or the comfort of his hand reaching toward yours, but when you get there, the table is stripped bare, abandoned. no jacket slung over the couch, no drink sweating onto the wood, no boyfriend waiting for you.

the air caves in. where did he go? did he actually leave you here alone? the thoughts loop and gnaw, sharp teeth tearing at the edges of your intoxication. even the music doesn’t save you this time, doesn’t drown out the ache. your phone glows in your hand, mocking. you swipe it open with trembling fingers, dread already pooling in your stomach, and there it is: fifteen missed calls from angelina, one missed call from him. you feel sick, livid, like betrayal has its own flavor—metallic, bitter, too close to blood. your chest burns. what does this mean? where the fuck is he? why isn’t he here? the word abandoned drills through your skull, louder than the bass, sharper than the vodka still ghosting your throat.

and then—contact. a hand latching onto you, so familiar your body jerks like it’s muscle memory. you’re ready to claw, ready to spit, but the spin comes too quick and suddenly you’re caught in laughter. “you look like you’ve been fucked sideways,” angelina croons, her voice jagged with amusement, her hair wild, a halo of snarled static that keeps brushing your bare arm. her eyes are glazed, but not gone; she’s been pacing herself, skating beneath the haze, watching you spiral.

“don’t scream in my face,” you hiss, venom flicked off your tongue before you even know who it’s aimed at. him? her? you?

“no one hears shit in here, dummy,” she smirks, leaning in, close enough that her words vibrate against your collarbone.

“where’s sergei?” you grind the name through clenched teeth, your fists balling at your sides. his name feels poisonous on your tongue, acid you want scraped clean.

“oh, right,” she pauses, already wincing, and you know instantly this won’t end well—not for you, but for him. “he said something about an urgent office meeting. like—seriously? midnight spreadsheets?” she adds, face tilted upward as if she’s tasting the thought, trying to decide whether it’s sour or rotten.

your knees give way the velvet cushion swallowing your weight as exhaustion smothers you. you’re still wet—shamefully, hungrily—from before, and the contradiction makes you want to claw your own skin. anger doesn’t even have the strength to stand up inside you. “he left me here,” you whisper, the edges of your voice cracking like glass. tears threaten, too close, but you bite down hard and choke them back, fumbling for your purse, already plotting your escape into a cab, into the night, into anywhere that isn’t this fucking place.

your skull pounds like a war drum, your body aches with every sway of the bass, the music is thunder and iron in your ears. the air is too thick with vodka and burnt cigarettes, making you gag even though you barely drank. it’s disgusting, and you feel disgusting, like the world is tipped sideways.

“babe, i’m with you,” angelina chirps, her tone too light, too fragile, and you glare so sharply she folds instantly, sighing as she drops into the couch beside you, legs crossing with lazy defeat.

“you don’t get it. none of it changes what he did,” your fingers rake through your hair, tugging, your movements disjointed, like you’re puppeteering your own body from a distance. even your own touch feels alien. “he left his girlfriend alone. in a club.” the words come out ragged, panicked, laced with rage, with that swelling black tide that wants to spill over and drown you.

“sucks, babe,” she mutters, her voice softened now, sympathy draped across her features. her body looks worn out too, shoulders sagging, knees angled lazily. but then her eyes spark, and the shift is sudden, slicing through the haze. “but like, tell me what your ex did to you.” her smirk curls up, unbothered, sly, dismissing everything else you just said like it’s irrelevant, like the real story is already tattooed on your face.

“what does that even mean?” you bark, but your voice wavers, the armor cracking.

“did you fuck?” she spits it with no hesitation, no filter, just truth cutting the air.

“what? no,” you snort, turning your head, your eyes darting anywhere but hers. but she pins you, like she always does. angelina’s always been able to read you better than you read yourself—sometimes a blessing, sometimes a curse, and tonight it’s the latter, peeling your excuses away before you can even form them.

“don’t buy it,” she shrugs, eyes dragging over you with knowing precision, taking inventory of every flushed inch. “you’re glowing. like.. radioactive.”

her words slice straight into you, leaving your breath unsteady. glowing. fuck. she’s right. butterflies kick in your stomach, your heart still thrashing against your ribs like it’s trying to escape. every flicker of memory burns you alive—his face too close, his body pressed tight, his voice, god his voice, low and guttural, the kind that unravels you at the seams and leaves you wrecked on the floor.

“i did something bad,” you blurt, too fast, hand raised like a shield before she can pounce with her predictable ‘i told you so’s. “something unacceptable.”

she’s on you before the sentence even finishes leaving your mouth, practically collapsing into your lap like gravity itself conspired with her perfume. it’s dizzying—champagne fizz tangled with her skin-warmth and the sweet bite of her cologne, so sharp it cuts right through the bass pounding the walls. her nails scratch lightly at your arm as she leans too close, yelling in your ear like she’s been waiting all night to pounce.

“knew it,” she squeals, voice pitched above the music, slicing through air so thick with heat and laughter it almost hurts to hear. “oh my god, you’re nasty,” her lips split into a grin so wide you can see the flash of her teeth even in strobe light, her hand shooting up like a shield to half-cover her own face—like she’s embarrassed at how much she’s laughing, except she’s not, she’s letting it bubble over, shaking her shoulders with it.

you shove her off a little too roughly, annoyance and shame crackling hot under your skin, but she just swings herself right back in, pressing into your side, those wide wet eyes fixed on you—puppy, pitiful, relentless. and it’s that look, the one that always makes your chest cave, that cracks you open.

“had the best orgasm of my life,” you blurt, muffled into your palms, hands slapped over your face like that’ll hide the memory slamming back into you in jagged reels. “fuck.”

she gasps, too delighted, leaning back just enough to beam at you like she’s announcing your sins to the ceiling. “he looks like walking sex,” she chirps, sing-song, nails tapping against her glass before she tips it back, watching you like she wants to see your reaction splinter you in half.

you don’t give her the satisfaction. your jaw locks tight, your eyes dead on the dance floor, though the words ricochet inside you until your bones rattle. walking sex. she’s right, too right. you’ve always known it—known him like a religion. jungkook isn’t beautiful, not in the flimsy way people throw that word. he’s myth spun into flesh, something stitched too finely for earth. his face, his mouth, that impossible pull of him—it’s all magnetic oil-slick, black tide, quicksand that swallows and swallows. you’d go under every time, no breath, no struggle. you’d beg to drown.

her tone softens suddenly, the fizz of her laughter fading into something steadier, an anchor disguised in sweetness. “you can lean on me, yeah?”

you inhale sharp, guilty, because angelina—angelina has earned this. she stayed when no one else did. picked you up when you weren’t even worth the weight. stitched you back together when you unraveled ugly. and over these long months she’s moved from friend to something deeper, sister-blood, the mirror that still chooses to see you clear.

“i know,” you manage, voice low, your head heavy, dropping like your body doubled in weight. “i feel terrible.”

“don’t,” she cuts, quick, sharp, like snapping a rope before it knots. her finger lifts—pointed, scolding—narrowing her eyes like she’ll pierce the truth straight into you. “you did it all right. he’s a slippery guy. never gonna take that back.”

“why would he—” you start, brows pulled tight, but she just shakes her head, her certainty flattening you before you can finish.

and deep down, under your practiced denial, you know exactly what she means. sergei. his name feels foreign even in your head. you met him on ground that was shaky from the start, that club haze of flashing lights and bitter liquor, the smell of sweat and perfume blurring into chaos. it was the night you broke with jungkook, the night your heart was still raw and bleeding, and the loudest voice inside you demanded something reckless, a distraction, a body that wasn’t his. and sergei was there, convenient, and you let yourself reach. one night, you told yourself. one night to fill the hollow.

but the night spun into another, and another, until you found yourself cornered into something you hadn’t chosen. he asked to see you again, pressed insistently, and before you could even catch your balance you were in the middle of a relationship you never wanted. you warned him, over and over, that you weren’t ready, that your veins still pulsed with the afterburn of jungkook, but he didn’t care. he pushed, he smoothed over your refusals until they frayed, and somewhere in the cracks you gave in without even realizing.

he loves you, in his way—soft hands, gentler words, like a blanket that smothers instead of warms. but it never seeps to the bone. jungkook’s love was fire, confidence, atmosphere itself bending to hold you. sergei is tighter, like ropes, like he’s guarding something fragile or dangerous—like he doesn’t trust the light to touch you. you’ve fought about it, again and again, his insistence that you’re too unpredictable, too dangerous to trust fully, his accusations that you could betray him on a whim. he’s turned it on you more than once, made you feel guilty for what you aren’t, for what you’ve already bled dry.

and that’s why tonight stings strange: sergei, who never leaves you unchained, who hoards you quiet, who hates letting you out of his sight—he left you here. in a club, free, unguarded, no leash around your wrist. and the thought gnaws, because maybe he’s slipping. maybe he knows. maybe deep down he feels it too—that you’re already reaching for the only man who ever made your body hum alive.

—

you slam the door so hard the echo rattles through the hall, the movement of your hips deliberately exaggerated, a sway that’s equal parts defiance and exhaustion, because if someone close to you is going to treat you like shit, then the least you can do is leave like a storm. the apartment is empty, predictably so, a vacuum of silence swallowing you whole. of course he wasn’t waiting—of course sergei called you a cab and checked you off his list as if that was enough, as if that counted for care.

one missed call, one apologetic gesture, as if crumbs could count as a meal. you’ve always believed, with a certainty as sharp as glass, that if a person wants you, truly wants you, they’ll move heaven and earth, they’ll rearrange the world just to get to you. sergei used to be that person, charging forward, unstoppable, but now he hides behind late-night meetings that sprout like weeds, choking everything else.

your heels kick free, your purse and jacket collapse into the couch without ceremony, your body too heavy with the day to care where anything lands. the bathroom light burns bright against your eyes as you strip your clothes away, every button and strap flung like proof of your irritation, and you step into the shower like it’s the only absolution left. the water scalds your skin and you welcome it, scrubbing harder than necessary, not just at the city grime but at the suffocating weight of responsibility, of silence, of being kept small.

you tell yourself not to think about jungkook, not to picture the phone number you still haven’t deleted, not to imagine his knock at your door instead of anyone else’s, but the thought hangs stubborn and electric. you know that if you called, he would come.

when you step out, steam drapes itself across the room like heavy velvet, but you ignore it, pulling yourself straight into the shared bedroom you already resent. your hair damp against your shoulders, your glasses perched back in place, the book in your hands becomes a shield, a performance. you’ve already rehearsed tonight’s script in your head—you’ll be cold, you’ll be composed, you’ll be above everything, even him. you’ve told yourself over and over there is no equality in love, that someone always tips the scale, and tonight you’ve decided it will be you.

the yellow glow of the bedside lamp softens the room, but not you. when you hear the front door creak, when footsteps drag closer, you don’t look up, not even when the knock sounds and the door opens. bags shoved through first, his monotone apology floating after them—“dry sweet red wine ‘n your favorite cake.” it makes you want to laugh, or cry, or roll your eyes so far back you’ll never see him again. he enters in his suit, hair mussed, his face worn raw from rubbing at it too many times, and it’s pathetic, this tableau of weary devotion. “baby, i’m so sorry,” he says, placing the offerings beside you before lowering himself at the edge of the bed, as if his proximity is a privilege.

you don’t spare him a glance. the words scrape past your ears like background noise. “you have to understand me, this is work, i couldn’t do otherwise,” he starts, and that’s what makes your eyes snap up, a sharp twist of anger unraveling through you.

“couldn’t do otherwise? otherwise how? do you even know what conscience means?” the words hiss off your tongue, brittle with disbelief.

“just—don’t make a scene, i’m done, baby, i’m tired,” he sighs, pressing his palms to his face like the gesture alone absolves him.

and maybe you should understand, maybe you should swallow it down the way you have so many times before, because yes, he works hard, yes, he makes sure you never want for the glossy things—clothes, dinners, little luxuries. but the trade-off is always your loneliness. it’s the empty side of the bed, the hollow silence when he vanishes for nights, the way he reduces love to balance sheets. you’ve told yourself every couple has rough seasons, that patience is strength, but patience feels like rot in your chest now, and you’re too aware of time slipping fast, too aware of how much more you want.

“you’re tired..” you repeat back to him, every syllable deliberate, tasting the bitterness before setting the book aside, removing your glasses with unhurried precision. “and i’m tired of your excuses.”

“don’t guilt me. you want the life, the nice things, don’t pretend you don’t,” he shoots back, jacket sliding into his lap, his voice teetering between defense and accusation.

your mouth opens, sharp words already forming, but he cuts you off, a venomous edge in his tone: “cut the crap. all girls are like that. all y’all want money ‘n shiny shit.”

it’s like a crack of thunder in your chest, the sound of blood rushing cold. “so what, i’m a burden to you? extra trouble you don’t need?”

he laughs, lips curling as his hand drags across his mouth, smug and slippery. “you always twisting my words.”

“nah. answer the question,” your eyes lock onto his, demanding, burning, but what stares back is emptiness, distance, a void where love should live.

“i know i fucked up, i admit it,” he says finally, with a smile that feels crooked, practiced, manipulative. “but don't act like i’m a moster,”

“you think one sorry fixes shit?” you shift, rising slightly, inching away from him, because even this closeness feels dangerous, suffocating. “you jealous of every man breathing, but you leave me stranded in a club?”

“fuck, yes, i know, i know, stop throwin it back at me!” he explodes, his voice cracking the fragile calm, his hand rising in a gesture too sharp, too violent. and in that instant, fear slices through you, raw and ugly, your throat tightening around a swallowed gasp as you brace for something you don’t want to believe possible.

he saw your reaction and the shift of your face made him inhale deeper, more serious, like the weight of the air itself pressed too heavily against his ribs. his fingers trembled at the buttons of his shirt, unfastening them one by one with the urgency of a man suffocating, as though the fabric clinging to his chest was cutting off his oxygen supply.

“baby, i’m sorry. shit, i don’t know what else to do,” he muttered, voice dragged low, almost unraveling. his hand slipped through his black hair in that nervous rhythm you’d memorized long ago, strands falling rebelliously across his forehead. his features looked impossibly soft in that dim light, but at the same time sharp, chiseled with a tension that could slice glass, and for one impossible second you remembered how easy it once was to lean into those contradictions.

you tried to keep the anger alive, but your pulse betrayed you, and underneath the heat of it a thin thread of fear wove itself through—fear for his reaction, fear for yourself, fear for the inevitability of falling into the same old orbit. so you swallowed it down, deciding in that fractured moment to let it go, to hell with cold shoulders and promises you made to yourself in nights of loneliness. they never changed his attitude anyway, never bent him into someone easier to love.

“forget it. i guess i’m overreacting. that’s all,” you murmured, your eyes sliding away from him, catching instead on the bent corners of the book on the nightstand, clinging to details that could distract you from the quaking pull of his presence.

he only shook his head and smiled, that tired little curve that felt more like surrender than charm, before sitting closer, his silhouette dipping toward you in a slow lean meant for your lips. but you turned your face just in time, and his mouth landed on your forehead instead, warm but unsatisfying, a gesture that only fed your simmering anger.

“my boss invited me to dinner next week,” he said casually as he stood, his hands already working at the buttons of his shirt, fabric falling loose like the words themselves. “it’s a shared dinner, so you should come with me,” he glanced over his shoulder as he spoke, catching your reflection in the mirror before him, gauging you like he always did when he wasn’t brave enough to look directly.

“should?” the word came out sharp, pressed between your teeth, nerves rising like static. you waited for the answer you already knew.

“please,” he corrected softly, lowering himself back onto the bed, immediately winding his arms around you with the kind of insistence that left you no space to breathe. “it’s just dinner, you won’t even notice how time flies,” he added, coaxing you the way he always did, the tone sliding under your skin until refusal felt heavier than surrender.

you bit down on your lip, a small self-inflicted pain to anchor yourself, but in the end you sighed, that little white flag spilling out of your lungs before you could swallow it back. “fine.”

“perfect,” he said simply, slipping on the glasses that always lived on the shelf above the bed, his laptop following quickly after. his attention shifted instantly, screen glow illuminating the angles of his face, and he mumbled a goodnight like an afterthought. you turned away, the familiar irritation rising as the white-blue light kept you awake, and you knew he would never notice. he never asked why you turned your back, never wondered if it was more than a habit, never cared enough to press past the silence. his ignorance was its own kind of violence, blunt and unyielding.

—

the week blurred in fast-forward, days collapsing too quickly until the dinner circled around on the calendar like an inevitability you’d tried not to dread. your boyfriend was good at his job, maybe too good, efficient and tireless, but still a long climb from anything resembling a director’s chair. excellence without power, diligence without the keys to the kingdom. and yet, in the quiet way he worked, he was always rewarded as the best employee, the dependable one, the man who could be trusted with weight but not given the throne.

the restaurant loomed vast when you arrived, its exterior understated compared to the grandeur inside. stained glass stretched wide across the walls, catching the light of the floor lamps and scattering it like broken jewels. the wallpaper curled in intricate asian patterns, golden cranes soaring against burgundy skies, delicate flowers painted with a patience that felt centuries old. you were led to a private room tucked behind heavy wooden doors, and you knew immediately this was the kind of place people like sergei—people who could afford separation, seclusion, superiority—called their regular haunt.

and then your heart stopped.

because the silhouette standing at the head of the table twisted your stomach inside out, spun your world on its axis until your knees gave way in your imagination, until you swore you might collapse onto the floor in reality. everything in you screamed to crawl backwards, to undo your steps, to flee before the room closed in around you. you cursed yourself silently, cursed your outfit that felt suddenly wrong, too simple and too obvious, not enough for this circle and yet far too much for the ghost sitting at its center.

jungkook.

he was here, of course he was, because fate had the cruelest sense of humor. grey cashmere suit pressed sharp against his frame, a black tie cutting neat down the front of a beige shirt, cufflinks glinting with subtle arrogance at his wrists. the tattoos you knew too well spilled out beneath the sleeves, those same black strokes you once traced in the shadows of a club vip room, that night you swore you would forget but never really did. his hair, his posture, the slight twitch of his jaw—all of it hit you like a memory resurrected in flesh.

and before you could make sense of that, another figure slipped in through the doorway, a girl at his side. the one you’d seen with him before, the one you tried to write off as a one-night mistake, only now it was clear she wasn’t. the way she walked into the room, comfortable, steady, familiar—it told you everything. she was his girlfriend. maybe had been for longer than you wanted to imagine.

your stomach knotted, bile sharp in your throat, because the weight of what you’d allowed, what you’d done, pressed down heavier than the air in that closed room. unjustified. unacceptable. the words screamed in your skull, but they changed nothing. you were already sitting there, and he was already across from you, and every corner of the night was poisoned before it even began.

“is this the girl you’ve been hiding, sergei?” his voice slices through the chatter like velvet sharpened on steel, and his gaze drags over you in one deliberate sweep—from head to toe, skin to bone—devouring, assessing, undressing, making it abundantly clear that there’s no surface of you he hasn’t already claimed in his mind.

you catch the faint flicker of his tongue sweeping across his lower lip, and your stomach twists. once, you would’ve called it a nervous tic, some useless habit, but you know him too well now—you know every feigned gesture he uses as a weapon. he does it for you. he does it to remind you how easily your body used to fold for him. you swallow, eyes wide, throat too tight to mask the shock of realization: your boyfriend’s boss, the untouchable man sitting at the head of the table, has been jungkook this whole time. not just the elusive ceo with his hands in every market, not just the owner of the glitter-drenched nightclub you’ve heard whispered about—he is him. the him you tried to cauterize from your memory. and yet here he is, alive and smirking, another secret tossed into his piggy bank of power.

“what can i say, man,” sergei replies with an overfed confidence that makes your teeth ache. he skips any respectful pronouns, throws the words out too casually, and you brace for retaliation. but jungkook doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink. the absence of reaction is somehow worse, like his silence is louder than anything else at the table.

he gestures you toward the long mahogany table, his touch ghosting your lower back like he owns the air around you, and your skin burns where he doesn’t even touch. the table is pristine, staged like a photograph—gleaming cutlery, candles that look sculpted rather than lit, plates waiting to be dirtied. you sit opposite his girlfriend, tiffany, a name that fits too neatly: glossy, sharp, unbothered. she scrolls on her phone without shame, acrylics tapping like percussion. if this dinner is a circus, then she is the disinterested queen in her glass box, while you’re still wide-eyed enough to play audience.

with a snap of invisible fingers, food begins appearing as if conjured—bowls and platters steaming, sauces too artful to be real. everything smells divine, looks poisoned, and tastes too good to trust. you chew mechanically, hyper-aware of the weight of his stare. every time you look up, his eyes are already there, drilling into you, and every time you dart away to another safe object—a wine glass, a flicker of candlelight—you hear it: the quiet exhale of his laughter, the smirk you don’t have to see to feel.

“what about the exhibition i made you the director of?” jungkook finally speaks, leaning into the silence with a confidence so heavy it feels like his words might sink the table. you could drown in that smug cadence alone, and the idea disgusts you almost as much as it excites you.

sergei clears his throat too loudly, fumbling, grabbing water as if it will shield him. “everything went great, there was more press than we thought.”

jungkook hums, low, approving but unconcerned. his girlfriend chooses that moment to enter the performance, her voice airy, unguarded, laced with a softness that makes you instantly suspicious. “jungkook and i were at that exhibit,” she says, almost carelessly, “giant canvases, just enormous. i told him they were too big to even fit in someone’s house.”

he leans back in his chair, the leather sighing under his weight, his presence expanding until it crowds your lungs. “depends where you put ‘em,” he smirks, a smirk so deliberately slow it makes your thighs tighten under the table. “sometimes the biggest things slip in easier than you think.”

heat floods you, the room tilting like you’ve been doused in scalding water. the meat on your tongue turns to ash. sergei notices your silence, slides his arm around your shoulders like a bandage, his hand fumbling for yours, extending water with a clumsy sort of concern. “honey, is everything okay?” he whispers, all worry and no teeth. you nod, grateful for the glass but cursing the tremor in your hands.

you tilt your drink, and in that sliver of warped reflection you see it—jungkook’s stare, unblinking, burning holes through you. how no one else notices it is beyond you. maybe they’ve been conditioned not to look too long, maybe they’ve already surrendered to his gravity. tiffany hasn’t lifted her head from her phone in twenty minutes, and sergei’s already buried in his plate again. you are alone in the war he wages with his eyes.

conversation ricochets around the table, swinging between intimate and careless, the tone so informal you can barely reconcile it with the professional hierarchy you thought existed. but you realize—jungkook doesn’t set limits. not at work, not in life. he drags people into his orbit and demands they treat him as equal while never forgetting he is above them. you used to admire this. you used to crave it. now it terrifies you.

then you feel it—something sliding up your leg, silk disguised as leather. you inhale sharply, a gasp too obvious, so you drown it with a sip of water, coughing it into silence. it’s his foot. his polished black shoes press against your ankle, then glide higher, casual as breathing. he doesn’t look at you, doesn’t falter. he just tips his glass, amber whiskey catching the light, laughing at some mediocre joke.

tiffany breaks again, bright and oblivious. “so we’re at the gym yesterday, right? and his trainer keeps saying, ‘don’t overdo it, you’ll wear yourself out,’ but he never listens. he just keeps going, like, hours.” she giggles, sweet and stupid. “no breaks.”

sergei hums approval, lifting his wine. “discipline. it’s hard to work with.”

jungkook crosses his legs, the motion slow, deliberate, the aura rolling off him almost blinding. “breaks are overrated. if you know how to pace yourself, you can last all night.”

the words slam into you, freeze your hand halfway to your mouth. are you imagining the subtext? are you insane enough to believe it’s meant for you? the thought makes you dizzy, but then his foot plays with your ankle again, teasing, lifting, lowering, slow like a secret rhythm only the two of you hear. you want to groan, to shudder, to betray yourself, but you clear your throat, clutch the glass tighter.

“all night?” you ask, your voice steadier than you feel, your gaze cutting across the table to meet his.

he lifts a brow, his smirk a dagger. “yeah. all night.” his voice is low, rich, deliberate, and you feel it coil through your spine.

you straighten, pretending composure, forcing adulthood onto yourself like a costume you can barely keep buttoned. the table slips quiet again until sergei, oblivious, babbles about deadlines and late nights at the office. “pulled an all-nighter for the team,” he brags, chest puffed.

jungkook cuts him without effort. “all-nighter’s easy if you got the right motivation.”

tiffany isn’t offended. she takes a sip of wine, playing at ignorance with unnerving skill. “motivation… like bonuses?”

“mm,” he rolls his glass in his hand, whiskey catching firelight, smirk curling like smoke. “more like when somethin’ feels too good to stop.”

your lungs feel like they’re singed from the inside out, every inhale raw, every exhale molten, because the pressure of his thigh locked between yours has your body coiled tight and traitorous, your muscles betraying you by clenching around him. you hate that he remembers this is your weakness, hate it more that you can’t disguise the way it unravels you. your hand flies to your mouth like instinct, covering it, trying to trap the moan that trembles up your throat—the moan no one in this room is waiting for, the sound that would snap the whole fragile illusion in half.

but you can already feel the edges fraying when she leans in again, his girlfriend, her voice silk-slick and deliberate, words sharpened like she’s rolling them across her tongue just to watch the way they slice into you. and god, the worst part is you’re waiting for it—you’re waiting for her to do it again, to lick at you with those long, teasing syllables, because every time she speaks you feel the heat crawl higher, a humiliating, dangerous thrum that you can’t silence. and the way jungkook sits there, monotone and detached, answering her in that infuriatingly casual way, only makes it worse—because you know his indifference is a mask, the same mask he wore when he wanted to break you apart with nothing but patience.

“jungkook’s got this thing where he never quits until i’m literally begging him to stop. so stubborn,” she croons, and the smirk that twitches her lips is a tell she probably doesn’t mean to give away, her body angled just so, her eyes flicking not at him, not even at her phone, but at you. again and again. like she’s testing you, like she knows something you don’t, or worse, like she knows everything you’re trying to keep quiet.

the air is stretched taut, seconds dragging slow, until another sound interrupts it—sergei moving in the corner, tugging open the cabinet, clinking bottles as he digs out another one at jungkook’s request. it buys a sliver of distraction, but not enough. you’re still stuck between them, caught in the middle like the hinge of some cruel design—jungkook lounging on one side of you, his girlfriend sprawled on the other, scrolling on her phone now with a deliberate kind of disinterest, like she’s bored of her own performance. her leather chair groans as she leans back, head tilted, pretending not to see the tension crackling like static between you and the man she calls hers.

then jungkook finally decides to speak, voice smooth as whiskey, slow as sin. “nah,” he drawls, tongue dragging along his lip in a way that feels aimed, precise. “i don’t stop till i know it’s all wrung out.”

and he isn’t looking at her. he isn’t looking at anyone but you. his eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, lock onto yours, and the burn in them makes you feel like you’re already naked, like he’s undressing you layer by layer with nothing but that stare and the taste of liquor still wet on his tongue. his hand lifts his glass, amber swirling, and he takes a sip without breaking the hold he has on you, without so much as blinking. you feel the pressure of his thigh shift again, pressing, insisting, and this time you decide you won’t just sit there and let him play his game. if he wants to test you, you’ll test him right back.

your heels click against the floor as you move, the arch of your foot finding his polished shoe, the sharp point of your stiletto pressing down—not enough to hurt, just enough to mark your presence, to leave him with something to remember. your tongue wets your lips unconsciously, the gesture too quick to disguise, and before the moment can expand you’re pushing yourself up from the chair, rising smoothly, your eyes carefully avoiding his face. but not before you catch it—the way his teeth sink into his lip, the flicker of his throat working as he pretends to clear it, disguising the sound like nothing happened. your mouth curves at the edges, sharp with satisfaction, even as you murmur your excuse, polite and shallow.

“bathroom,” you say, the word soft but final, and then you slip out, freeing yourself from the room before the storm in your chest can spill over, before anyone else can notice that you’re already drenched in it.

you don’t even get the chance to slip through the crowd, don’t even have the grace of one more steady breath, when from the dim corner a hand snakes out fast and sure, catching you by the wrist and spinning you with such force that the world tilts. before you can gasp, before you can register who’s caught you, his burning eyes are right there, dragging you into their orbit—dark and dangerous, heavy with hunger and lust so scorching it singes your skin just to be looked at like that.

then his mouth is on yours, crashing, stealing, claiming, and you can’t keep yourself steady under the weight of it. his lips are fever-hot, his kiss raw and wet, and those hands—those big, rough, unrelenting hands—frame your face like he’s holding you in place for the rest of your life. you stumble back instinctively, searching for an anchor, your palms brushing uselessly against the cold wall, but he’s quicker, stronger, greedy. jungkook’s grip cinches around you and reels you back in, chasing your mouth each time you try to break away, persistent like a man obsessed, lips hunting yours like pursuit is all he’s ever known.

“don’t run from me, baby. i’m done with it,” he growls against your lips, his thigh sliding firm between your legs before you realize what’s happening. the pressure makes your chest hitch, a sharp sigh escaping you, and then his other hand is at your waist, fingers digging so deep into your dress you’re sure he’ll leave bruises there, purple-blue signatures stamped into your skin.

you’re breathless, head buzzing with oxygen loss and desire that tangles in your veins like wildfire, cheeks blazing hot. “what the fuck are you doing here?” your words stumble out in fragments, shaky, breaking against the rhythm of his kiss.

he doesn’t answer in any way that soothes you, only presses closer, pinning you into the wall like he’d rather die than give you an inch of space. “boring without you in it.” the words sound like sin coated in velvet, half confession, half accusation.

you roll your eyes because that’s the only defense left in your arsenal, but your teeth sink into your lip, betraying you, betraying the heat that coils low in your stomach. “we shouldn’t. we can't—” you place your hand against his chest, pretending it’s to push him away, though your fingers are already tracing the soft fabric of his shirt, the rise of his breath beneath it.

“don’t care. i want.” his reply lands sharp, insistent, lips swollen, pink and glistening from your kiss. he looks carved out of temptation itself, mouth begging to be kissed again, and every inch of you aches to obey.

“it’s wrong, jungkook,” you whisper his name like a sin, and he groans into the column of your throat, the sound hot and low, vibrating against your skin. his cologne curls around you, sharp spice and lingering musk, the same scent that once made you dizzy on sheets you never wanted to leave.

you try to twist your head away, to pull free from his mouth, but he only smirks, lazy and cocky, his lips ghosting your skin. “yeah. say my name again.”

“you’re insane,” you gasp, trying to twist away, but his hand cups your jaw, thumb pressing beneath your lip, holding you still.

he smirks, slow and lethal. “insane for you. same difference.”

your laugh cracks, jagged, desperate. “god, you talk so much shit.”

the moment unravels you, weakens your knees, and when his tongue parts your lips you lose the battle entirely. he kisses like a man who knows your body’s cheat codes, who knows how to make you pliant, desperate, trembling beneath him with nothing more than his tongue sliding deep, coaxing moans from your chest. you slam your fist against his chest in some futile spark of resistance, but it’s weak, laughably so, and he catches your wrist midair, locking your fingers with his and pressing it hard into the wall beside your head, a reminder of how easily he cages you.

“jungkook. stop—” you manage, gasping around his kiss, your body arching into him even as your words fight against it. every part of you aches to surrender—to give him your body, your heart, your mind, all of it—but your head screams impossibility, screams no.

“nah. other way ‘round, baby.” his lips curl wider, a dark grin between kisses, and when you glance at him you catch the glint of his mole beneath his bottom lip, so close you could trace it with your tongue, the tiny mark you used to kiss like it was yours.

his tongue is merciless, practiced, the wet slide of it making you shudder as he presses closer, hands everywhere all at once. it feels like a reunion dressed in chaos, his grip carving bruises into your waist, his palms groping lower, sliding to your ass, kneading you until the moan rips out of you against your will. the sound slips into his mouth, and you feel him smirk into the kiss, arrogant, savoring.

“tell me and i’ll guit.” his voice is hoarse, his hand bruising your hip like possession, like theft. “just one word.”

“you won’t quit for shit.” your smirk bites back, your eyes daring him, because you know him—you’ve always known. rules were never meant for jungkook, and if there’s a line in the sand, he’ll be the first to ruin it.

“fuck yeah—know me too fuckin' good.” his tone is molten, reverent and filthy at once, his hand sliding back up your body until his fingers hook around your chin, holding it between them. he tilts your face to him like he’s reclaiming something stolen, his thumb brushing your lip as if he’s about to devour it again.

his hips press flush against yours and the world folds inward, shrinks down until it’s nothing but the weight of him covering you, powerful and vast and male in a way that feels ancient. his body is so broad it eclipses yours, eats the space around you until you’re half swallowed by him, and instead of fighting it you let yourself float, drifting in that spell like it’s velvet smoke curling into your lungs.

his lips find you again, dragging you deeper into trance, and you don’t care that the hallway’s open, don’t care if footsteps echo by, don’t care if you’re bare and undone in the center of the party—you’d let the whole world witness if it meant this moment could stretch endless, if it meant you could keep diving into the labyrinth of jungkook’s hunger, knowing he’d never hand you the map out.

but then something shifts. it rushes over you like cold water, sharp and intrusive, and suddenly you remember, too vividly, too sharply. “you hurt me before,” you whisper, your voice a crackling thread in the thick heat between you. your breath is ragged, your chest scraping for air, and his face is too close—his hair mussed from your fingers tangled so desperately in it, his mouth damp from your kiss.

his gaze doesn’t waver. his eyes dig into yours, searching, haunting, like if he stares hard enough the answer will rise up between your lashes. his arms only tighten, biceps flexing as they lock around your lower back, anchoring you to him, your thighs clenching around the solid heat of his cock.

“don’t start with that,” he cuts, low and serrated, like every syllable’s dragging across his teeth. “don’t fuckin’ start. i’d do everything—hear me?—everything—to never let it happen again.” his hand comes up slow, reverent, cupping your cheek like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he’s too rough.

and still—you lean into it. you tilt into that palm, reckless, because somehow his touch is both punishment and salvation, because no one else has ever made you feel this contradictory peace, this oxygen disguised as fire. “we can’t erase the past,” you murmur, the words slipping before you can bite them back, and instantly regret scalds your throat. his face hardens at once, unreadable, anger simmering under the skin.

his brows knit low, his jaw shifting sharp from side to side, nostrils flaring with something volcanic. but you can tell—god, you can tell—that the fury isn’t aimed at you, it’s aimed at himself. because when his fingers claw back to your waist, when his grip bruises into the curve of you, it’s not softness but a harsh kind of reverence. he touches you like you’re both sacred and ruined.

“erase, no. but the future—” he grinds the word like gravel between molars— “the future’s mine to change. ours.”

the kiss is a war. he devours you like proof, like if he presses hard enough you’ll remember what only he can give. your head tips back under the onslaught, his mouth hot and sloppy down your throat, wet trails smeared across your skin like possession. you choke around the words, fighting a lump in your throat, “there’s no future. there’s no us.” you keep your grip in his hair but it’s shaky, traitorous, because you watch how his face twists darker, angrier, his silence thickening the air itself.

“don’t fuckin’—don’ fuckin' talk like that,” he snarls, teeth clashing as he drags them over your neck, biting, pulling muffled moans from you like confessions.

“you’re not my boyfriend. not mine.” you push again, needling, cruel in your denial because you want the breaking point, you want to see how far you can pull him.

he drags a groan through his teeth, raw and guttural. “baby, stop. please. i can’t—i’ll lose my goddamn mind.”

the thought is poison and honey at once—that you want him to snap, to pin you down right here under the flickering hallway light, to ruin you in front of anyone, everyone, to mark again in public what’s already true in secret. the thought burrows in, treacherous, and you can’t shake it because it feels right, more right than anything else has in months. you want his fingers splitting you open, his cock driving you to incoherence, his body hammering the point of ownership into you until you’re wrecked.

“watch your tone,” he growls, hand cracking against your ass with sharp sting. you only grab for him harder, dragging his neck down so his hungry lips smash back into yours, your moan spilling into his mouth like surrender.

“you did hurt me. you might do it again,” you confess, your voice breaking into his kiss, the words a plea and a dare, tangled with the wet suck of his mouth. he’s pulling harsher at your hips now, his grip steel, his body taut like he’s terrified of losing you to your own words. “stop saying that, fuck” he bites out, squeezing your waist so tight you can feel each pulse of his fingers branding the shape of you. “never again. you hear me? never fuckin’ again.”

“then why?” your hands cradle his face, nails digging into his jaw as you try to hold him still, to keep him from swallowing you whole again.

“was mad. fucked up. lost it. that's it.” he spits, a near-growl, his eyes blown so wide it’s dangerous. he’s starved for you, ravenous, and you see it in the dilation of his pupils, in the strain of his lips trembling with everything he hasn’t said.

“what about your girlfriend?” you bite, the word sour as venom, scalding your own tongue.

he flinches—like you do—at the mention, his face curling as if even hearing her existence disgusts him. “much more complicated,” is all he manages, and you know it’s the dead end it sounds like.

you glare, lip trembling. “that’s all you’ve got?”

his stare burns back, black hole wide. “complicated’s already too fuckin’ generous.”

yet his arms reel you in tighter, his mouth plastering desperate, wet kisses until your lips spark with static, until they feel claimed, tingling, numbed by his electricity. the rhythm of it is so reckless you nearly miss the sudden intrusion—footsteps, closer, then closer still. jungkook moves fast, clutching your hips, dragging you down the corridor into shadow. the air tightens. he corners you against the wall, his palm flat above your head, his chest shielding you in the dark. his eyes gleam, wild and bright, though they flicker away to track the sound until the steps fade into distance.

when the silence returns, you collapse into him, your body pressing desperate to his chest, his muscles iron under your palms. he holds you everywhere—one hand tangled in your hair, the other caging your lower back—before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“what have we done?” you whisper, hollow and small, your heart collapsing under the weight of your own desire, the contradiction of being right where you want to be and knowing it’s the wrongest place of all.

————

“10 seconds” by @deepdarkdelights

Read the whole series!!

“Champagne confetti” by @pennyellee

Part 2 “Side b”

“Tempted sin” by gottagogo07 (on Wattpad)

It’s a series

“Nowhere” by @aajjks

“Teeth” by @joonberriess

“Darling.” by @aris-ink

“Do I wanna know” by @joonberriess

“Visions” by @trivia-yandere

“Romantic dreams” by @kooktrash

“I can’t stop you” by @jeonggukieverse

“Code of conduct” by @go1denjeon

Every month I re-read the whole series. Make sure to check it out it’s really good!

“Viceversa” by @sombreboy

“Metamorphosis” by @explicit-tae

Part 2 here

“Taking over you” by @go1denjeon

It’s a series

“One way or another” by @explicit-tae

Part 2 here

“Don’t blame me” by @ctrlsht

“Seat of power” by @ctrlsht

~

My father left before I was even born, and I never had a father figure in my life. My mom would date new guys all the time and stay out late with them. I was 14 in high school when my mom stopped coming home at all. I started going to Jungwoo’s and his mom didn’t mind if I spent the night. I would stay home until mom left for the night before heading out for Jungwoo’s. It was the only time I would see her.

I ate supper with the Jeons most nights then.

I used to be super jealous of their lives. A nice house with two parents. They didn’t have to work, and they went on vacations. Everything appeared to be perfect for them. Jungwoo never led on to be any different.

Mr. Jeon always worked late and Mrs. Jeon always had hot food on his plate and a beer waiting for him when he arrived. We always had to wait for him to eat.

I’d stayed with them countless times growing up, and then one day, I became old enough for the facade to fade.

One night, it was his birthday so she cooked his favorite meal for him.

Jungwoo, Jungkook and I were already sitting at the table when he arrived, but of course, we weren’t allowed to touch our plates.

Things felt tense the minute he stepped into the room.

“How was your day sweetheart?” Mrs. Jeon helped him out of his jacket and hung it up.

“A fucking mess.”

He paused when he saw his dinner plate, and I noticed a sort of tick in his jaw like he was holding his tongue.

“I know I burnt the carrots a little, but I didn’t have time to run to the store again before you got home.”

I thought the notion was ridiculous.

“My one favorite thing you couldn’t get right.”

Looking down, the comment made my stomach turn.

I’d only been staying at their house for a couple weeks when I’d picked up on the dynamic. Mr. Jeon was the head of the house.

“Well, I went to hang up your work clothes so they wouldn’t get wrinkled and I didn’t think I be gone long enough for them-“

“So, you’re blaming me?”

“No all I was saying was-“

The sound on his palms on the table stopped her short. We all flinched except for Jungkook who glared daggers at his father.

When his father stood, so did Jungkook. His attention went to his son. “Sit down, boy. You’ll learn someday.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

I didn’t have time to be shocked at the response from Jungkook. I only caught a glimpse of the fury on Mr. Jeon’s face before he lunged for Jungkook.

Mr. Jeon had him pinned against the wall, bloodying Jungkook’s mouth. Each hit was intentional and he paused to say something each time. “You think you’re so tough, little boy?!” he spat in Jungkook's face. "What about now? Not so tough are you?"

“Let’s go,” I didn’t notice Jungwoo had even gotten up and was now grabbing my hand.

Go? And just leave Jungkook to fend for himself?

I didn’t have a father and my mother never got mad at me, so I had no experience in this kind of situation at all.

Which is why I ignorantly turned and said, “Stop hitting him!” After being ignored I was growing frustrated. Jungkook would have a broken nose and no telling what else. He was almost his father’s height, but not strong enough to overpower him. I had to do something. I remembered how Jungkook got his attention. “Hey, asshole!”

He finally stopped, but I still couldn't breathe. Having that look of violence directed towards me was one of the scariest moments of my life, but I’ve never regretted it.

It was like he knew it would be crossing a line hitting me so instead he went for words. “I’m sure you’ll grow up to be a whore just like your mother. Isn’t that why you’re always hanging around my sons?” he snarled.

Jungkook had stood there and taken his dad’s punches until that moment. With his head turned towards me, Jungkook took the opportunity to swing at his father.

His punch made a sickening crack, and it hung heavy in the air. His dad was stunned into silence.

I thought he might hit Jungkook back, instead he stood deadly still. “Get out,” it was a low grumble, but said with conviction.

Jungkook didn’t need to be told twice.

“Don’t come back home until you learn whose house this is!” His dad yelled at his back. Jungkook didn’t turn around.

I ran after him into the garage. “Wait!” I could barely hear myself over the roar of Jungkook’s motorcycle, so I wasn’t quite sure how he heard me.

“Where are you going?”

He shrugged, wiping the blood off his face with his black t-shirt, uncaring of its stains.

“You can stay at my house.”

“You need to go home y/n,” was all he said before he drove off.

~

More so than anything, I was upset that Jungwoo and Jungkook felt like they had to cover up this part of their lives. All those times as a kid when I’d been over, they never let me suspect that anything was amiss.

Sure, I’d picked up on their dad being an ass, but I didn’t know to what extent.

Mrs. Jeon always made me feel safe in their home.

“Was that the first time that’s happened?” I asked Jungwoo.

We had gone out to actually get something to eat since dinner was ruined. He looked up for a moment and I knew before he even shook his head.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You wouldn't want to come over anymore.” My shoulders deflated at his confession. He was more concerned for me than himself. “Plus, you’re safer at our house anyway. Neither Jungkook or I would ever let anything happen to you there. I can’t promise the same for your house.”

I looked down, embarrassed that somehow, after just watching a man yell at his wife and beat up his son before kicking him out, that my situation was worse.

“Why won’t your mom leave him?”

He took a deep sigh, looking down at his burger like it wasn’t appetizing anymore. “I think, a lot of reasons. He provides for her, for us. She knows that if they separated, she couldn’t support us on her own.

She makes excuses for him all the time. I don’t know how she can still love him but,-” he took a breath. “I think she truly does, as twisted as it sounds. She hates to see him hurt us, but when it comes to how he treats her, she doesn’t care. Like, she’ll take it because she loves him.”

I chewed the food in my mouth slowly, finding it hard to swallow. I wasn’t sure I knew enough, or had enough life experience yet to comment on it.

~

`It was near ten o’clock when I heard the sound of a motorcycle idling outside. I knew none of my neighbors drove one, and hurried to peek out the window at the parking lot.

Jungkook sat below, taking a drag from his cigarette. I guessed Jungwoo had given him my address. He hadn’t gotten off his bike yet, as if he might leave at any second.

I threw a sweatshirt and some shoes on before running outside to meet him. He appeared shocked by my presence, as if I didn’t live there.

“Sorry, I didn’t know where else to go.”

~ I was embarrassed, to say the least, for Jungkook to see where I lived. His house was so pristine and expensive. Surely, because I’d been witness to how unglamorous his life could be, he wouldn’t judge me too much.

I lived in an apartment building on the rougher side of town. The wood was rotting off and the paint was chipped everywhere. Some windows were busted out, some patched with tarps and duct tape.

People were always outside. There was a half-court basketball goal with a metal net that had been ripped off for fifteen years or more. Kids still played, and the adults sat around the balconies, mostly smoking. I figured most drugs would keep you up all night.

There was an older lady who sat in a rocking chair on her balcony talking to herself 24/7. People called her crazy Kathy. It saddened me deeply knowing she had fried her brain out on drugs. What was even sadder was the people around who made fun of her, but would one day become her if they didn’t stop drug use. People like my mother.

“This place doesn’t look safe.” Jungkook said, wrapping his arm around my shoulder when we passed a man who stared a little too long at us. He’d probably tell my mom that he saw me with some boy and that he thought I’d be just like her and wind up pregnant.

“I’m used to it.” Which was true, but that didn’t mean that there weren’t times when I felt scared. There were times when I hid in my closet clutching a kitchen knife.

My neighbors were nice enough, but when you consume certain substances, your mind can do crazy things, as I had been subjected to before.

I looked up into his eyes. Half lidded and red. I’d seen it on my mom countless nights. “You’re high.”

He shrugged. “Had to do something.” He looked around our apartment, noticing the place was empty. “Where is your mom?”

“She stays gone most nights.”

“So that’s why you’re always at our house.”

I nodded, and was relieved to find no judgement in his eyes. Instead, he just look embarrassed of his own situation.

He sighed, taking a seat on the couch. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

I opted for a seat across from him. “How long has that been going on?”

His gaze was distant, and I knew it wasn’t just because of the drug. “My whole life.”

That was the answer I was expecting, but hoping not to hear. I closed my eyes briefly, my chest aching for them. “Woo never told me. I’m just confused, I thought he trusted me with everything.”

“I think he didn’t want you to feel unsafe at our house.” That was exactly what he told me. Both of them are too protective of me.

Silence stretched between us, and it wasn’t a comfortable one. There was a time when I felt okay being alone with him, not anymore.

“We haven’t hung out alone in a while,” he noted, breaking the awkward silence, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Not since like, eighth grade, right?” I asked, I tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace.

That was when Jungkook started to change. He’d always been rebellious on the inside, always getting in trouble at school. But, then he started hanging out with a different friend group. One that wore all black and stole their parent’s cigarettes.

Meanwhile, Junngwoo and I were the perfect examples of teachers’ pets. Never walking a toe out of line. A part of me missed the old Jungkook. Another part of me liked the thrill it gave me whenever someone like him interacted with me. We shouldn’t have crossed paths, but I was best friends with his brother. He couldn’t ever escape me.

He eyed me with suspicion. Of course there was a time we hung out alone since eighth grade, but I liked to pretend that night didn’t exist. It was one of the most humiliating nights of my life. “I guess so.” Apparently so did he.

“How are things with Peter?”

“Parker.” I corrected. “Great. Things are really great.”

I suddenly wished Jungwoo was there as a buffer.

“What about you, are you seeing anyone?” I blurted out, trying to make small talk.

A smile crept on his face that brought heat to my cheeks. It was a smile that felt patronizing, like when a kid asks an adult a silly question. “I’m not really the relationship type.”

“Oh.”

I’d seen Jungkook with girls countless times. He was very attractive, and could pull girls with no problem.

There was a time though, when we were younger and he was just as awkward and dorky as me. I remember the day he asked a girl out and she rejected him. Jungwoo and I spent the recess cheering him up.

Now, I bet no girl would turn him down. Even if he couldn’t give them a relationship.

I still remember when Jungkook got his first girlfriend. Sally. We were in the sixth grade. He was still in his dorky phase. He wasn’t too cool to hang out with us yet, but he started to blow us off for her, or worse, started inviting her to hangout with us.

I hated her. For what reasons, at the moment I couldn’t tell you, but I did. I was petty and rude to her. I paid no attention to her when we all hung out. Jungwoo confronted me about it one day after she and Jungkook left.

“You’re jealous.”

“What?” I looked at him confused at his sudden accusation.

“You’re jealous of her, that’s why you hate her.”

I pulled a disgusted face. “What’s there to be jealous of?”

“Because you like Jungkook.”

All of the color drained from my face. I didn’t like Jungkook. He was Jungwoo’s weird twin. And Jungwoo was already weird on his own.

“That’s insane.”

“No, what’s insane is you treating her badly because you’re jealous of her.”

“I am not! Stop saying that!”

He shrugged. “You can deny it, but the evidence says otherwise.”

Just to prove him wrong, I thought to myself, I’ll start treating her differently. But, for some reason, when I tried to, a lump formed in my throat. It definitely was not because I liked Jungkook. No way.

On Halloween in seventh grade, we played spin the bottle in somebody’s basement. I’d brought up the idea of Jungkook and I being Spiderman and Mary Jane, and he was just as excited as I was.

I thought it meant something, but as I watched him spin the bottle and it land on Carly Lorance, my hopes fell. He won’t actually do it, I told myself. My heart dropped when he actually kissed her.

I excused myself to the bathroom. I told Jungwoo my stomach was hurting, which was less embarrassing than why I was in the bathroom for twenty minutes. I texted my mom to pick me up.

In Eighth grade, he no longer hung out with us. He would give me a nod of acknowledgement when we passed in the hallway, but that was it.

Of course, I couldn’t escape him at his own house. One night, I was spending the night and Jungwoo was in the shower. I was listening to music on my ipod when Jungkook appeared in the doorway. He looked so different to the Jungkook I grew up with. It was intimidating, but I knew deep down he was still the same person.

“Hey,” he leaned against the doorway.

“Hi,” I said from Jungwoo’s bed.

“What are you listening to?” He nodded at my earbuds.

“Paramore,” I said embarrassed, unsure of what he thought of them.

He nodded with approval and I relaxed a little.

That was until he left the doorway to come sit beside me on the bed. “Can I listen?”

I nodded, handing him an earbud.

He looked down at me, meeting my eye. I could feel the heat in my cheeks, and I knew he noticed but didn’t say anything.

We stayed like that until he heard Jungwoo coming down the hall. He got up and left without another word.

Then, he started messaging me song recommendations. For a while, that was all we communicated. But it was enough for me.

~

Freshman year he came home with his first tattoo and his mother cried.

“What does it mean?” I asked him.

He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean anything,” he said, but I noticed the way he scratched his arm. I knew he wouldn’t get a meaningless tattoo.

Sophomore he started working as an apprentice at the local tattoo shop, and he was able to save up enough to buy his motorcycle. It was old and he was always having to work on it, but he loved it. He was proud of it like a father.

~

It wasn’t until junior year when things came to a head. I was spending the night in the guest bedroom at their house when I heard footsteps and decided to follow them out to the front porch. I wasn’t sure how people like Jungkook got cigarettes. His parents didn’t smoke like my mom did. It would be easy to sneak a few off from her. She’d probably assume she got drunk and didn’t remember how much she smoked.

The moon shining on his left eye was turning green from where the bruise was healing. I always assumed he got into a lot of fights. He was always hurt in some way.

He didn’t turn his head toward me, but I sat beside him anyway. “Couldn't sleep?”

He didn’t bother offering his cigarette to me, and for some reason it irritated me. It was like he doesn’t think I’d be interested in the same things as him, like he was putting me above himself.

“Never can.”

The night was so peaceful and still. I could see why he came out here to think.

It felt like that night that we were alone listening to music on Jungwoo’s bed. Except this time we were all grown up. Or so I felt like.

“You stopped sending me music.”

“I guess I don’t know what you’re into anymore.”

It felt like he was talking about more than music. About how we had drifted apart since we were kids.

“You can still send me what you’re listening to. You know I’d be honest if I didn’t like it.”

He smiled, memories of our past conversations coming to mind. I was always very opinionated when it came to music.

“I’ve missed you,” my words were a mere whisper. I've been wanted to say that since middle school, but I'd never been brave enough. With the way his body stiffened I knew he heard them.

“I see you all the time.”

“Yeah, but we don’t talk much.”

He held my gaze unrelenting, and something compelled me to reach up and delicately trace where his eye was bruised. I wished my touch would magically heal it for him. His eyelids dropped at the soft touch, his eyes lowering.

There was a hunger in his gaze that set me alight. How could he look at me that way if he didn’t want me to kiss him? Maybe he’d been waiting for me to make a move all this time? Without giving it another thought, bravely, I leaned in closer, our bodies already close enough, it only took an inch further for our lips to touch.

That was it. It was finally our moment. I’d waited patiently since that night he kissed Carly instead of me at spin the bottle.

He let out a sigh, leaning away. “Look, y/n.” I didn’t like the way he said it. Like I was about to be let down. “You’re like my sister.”

Ouch. Sister zone hurt more than being outright rejected. It set a clear line of non-attraction. Like he could never fathom it.

I nodded. “I get it.” I turned away from him to hide my embarrassment, my stomach churning.

“Don’t put yourself down because I’m not into you. Take it as a compliment.”

I shook my head, fighting back the tears. I would not cry over him. “I wish you didn’t think of yourself like that.”

“I just know my place in life. And it’s far away from you.”

I wasn’t sure if he realized how much his words hurt me.

I stood, not wanting to bask in the rejection anymore. “It’s fine if you don’t view me like that. Just don’t put yourself down in the process. We’re more alike than you think.”

I left him with that.

~

I gave Jungkook a pillow and blanket to sleep with on the couch. He offered a soft smile. One I hadn’t seen in a very long time. “Thank you, y/n. I’m sorry about tonight.”

I shook my head, rejecting his apology for something that wasn’t his fault. “Don’t apologize."

I started to walk to my room to go to sleep when he said, “I’ve missed you.” He threw my words back at me a year later.

I froze in place for a moment, unsure if I heard him correctly. “I see you all the time,” I threw his back at him, walking away before I could do or say something I would regret. He said he wasn’t the relationship type, and I was in a serious committed relationship. Yet, I knew deep down, if he had come onto me the way I did that night to him, I wouldn’t have resisted. It was better if we kept our distance.

~

I was the first person Jungwoo came out to. Jungkook was the second. I was there when he did it. He was nervous and had doubts about how Jungkook would react, but I never did. If there was one thing about Jungkook that never changed, it was his love for his brother and mother.

He wasn’t out to the public, but still dated around.

Junngwoo and I didn’t know much about football, but it was the most popular event at our school. Plus, it was hard to get invited to parties if you didn’t go and get to hear someone shout “Party at my house tonight!”

I met Parker Senior year at a party that Woo drug me to while he was secretly “dating” a football player that also wasn’t out to the public. I already knew who Parker was. There were just certain people at my school that warranted attention, and he and his friends were those people.

He had short blonde hair and blue eyes that looked like crystals. He had that eye catching smile, the one that charmed you if you got to see it. He was a charming guy. The teachers all seemed to like him, and he was supposedly the coach’s favorite player. The golden boy of the school.

I wasn’t sure how I caught his eye. I didn’t make myself stand out at parties, I just sort of hung around JungWoo and faded into the crowd to dance once I got drunk. I was laughing at a joke someone made in someone’s living room after a game and he’d slid into the group I was talking to.

He contributed some conversation and people would always laugh, but every time he would glance at me, as if gauging my reaction. It was when I dismissed myself to get another drink that he followed me to chat me up.

I was no exception to being charmed by the golden boy. He got my number and started inviting me to football games, finding me afterwards, pulling me into his sweaty form in his winning-highs.

I couldn’t believe that I had snagged the sought after quarter back of our school. I was the one he celebrated his insanely talented wins with.

He was my first boyfriend, so everything that happened, I just sort of figured that’s how relationships worked. I’d heard from older people that “marriage is hard” and “takes work”, so I thought that was how my relationship should be too.

Our good moments were really good. He would take me to the beach on some romantic date, and later we’d sneak off to have sex in his car. He charmed my mom and made me feel like a giddy little girl.

I liked the feeling when the entire stadium erupted in screams of joy for him knowing that he was mine. I had the guy who all these people admired.

But, as always, there was more to the story than anyone else knew of.

“Ugh! I’m so jealous. You two make me sick,” Jungwoo groaned at the sight of our PDA. He was constantly complaining of his singleness, yet made no effort to be serious with any relationship.

Jungwoo always liked Parker, and I never gave him a reason not to. That way I could finally pretend like my life was perfect for once.

~

I was putting my books away in my locker between classes when, in the distance I spotted two figures down the hall. I knew that leather jacket, saw it many times, and at times wished he would lend it to me. A guy I recognized, but didn’t remember his name was laughing, saying something to Jungkook. Jungkook’s back was turned to me, so I couldn’t see his reaction, but the tension in his body told all. In the blink of an eye, Jungkook crossed the distance between them, his fist colliding with the boy's face before I could register what was happening.

After the second hit the boy went down, but Jungkook was on top of him, throwing both fists into the bloodied face.

I slammed my locker shut, rushing over to the pair and skidding to a stop in front of them.

“Jungkook stop!” I called out to him, grabbing his shoulder. People stood around and gawked, and I glanced around desperately for help. Parker was the one to actually pull Jungkook off the other boy. Jungkook was ready to swing at Parker as well until he saw the principal approaching. I had a hard time looking at the guy’s bloody face on the ground.

“What on god’s green earth is going on?” The principal approached, giving his best disappointed look.

“That fucking freak attacked Joey.” Parker said, wrapping his arm around me like he was protecting me after the fight had already happened.

“He was insulting my brother,” Jungkook explained, his gaze stopping on me for a second, eyeing the way Parker’s hand on my shoulder held me against him.

“I’m sure he was just playing around.” Parker responded.

If looks could kill, Parker would be dead. “He was calling him slurs.”

Parker shrugged. “That’s what guys do, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“I can’t believe you’re defending him right now,” I told Parker. I tried to pull away, but he held me close to him.

“What?!” he asked defensively.

“That’s my best friend he's talking-”

“So, his brother has to beat someone to a pulp for a few words?”

I thought it was ironic, and I wasn't sure how he could be so un-self aware.

I glanced over at Jungkook who was looking at me with disgust. I was embarrassed by Parker, and I could feel the disappointment from him.

“I don’t care who started it. My office, now.”

I could never forget the look of betray in Jungkook's eyes as he stared at me for what felt like eternity before reluctantly following the principal.

I wished I could go with them and defend Jungkook, but I knew there were no excuses for violence on campus, even if it’s self defense, you were in trouble.

I wished I could erase Jungkook's dissapointment in me.

~

I couldn’t sleep that night. The scene of Jungkook flying into a rage played over again in my head. I knew how he must be feeling, so I called him. It was late and he should be asleep, but he picked up after a few rings, “Are you okay?” His voice was full of concern and I felt bad for not texting first. I’d be lying if I said I didn't like how protective he is. Of his mother, Jungwoo, and I’ve experienced it at times too. He loved the people around him fiercely.

I convinced him to meet me on his porch. He was already waiting for me when I got there, sporting a bruise on his cheekbone that I hadn’t noticed earlier.

It’s just like that night that he told me to get over him. Except this time, everything felt different.

“Is Jungwoo still not speaking to you?” I took a seat beside him.

“What do you think?”

His brother was a peace keeper to the fullest and would rather Jungkook just bite his tongue when people insult him. The last thing he would want is causing a scene over defending him. He’d dealt with it his whole life: the bullying.

And Jungkook hadn’t changed, always ready to swing hands at whoever dares a snark at Woo.

“He’ll get over it by tomorrow. You know how bad he is at silent treatments.”

“I didn’t notice him getting a hit on you,” I referred to the bruise on his face. This time, I resisted the urge to reach up and trace it. I had a boyfriend now, and he didn’t like me like that anyway.

Jungkook’s hand came up to cradle it, almost defensively. I wondered if it was punishment from his dad for getting in trouble at school.

“Are you here to lecture me on getting expelled?” He changed the subject.

I bit my lip, “I think it was stupid. You could have at least waited till you were off school grounds.”

That pulled a smile from him. I wasn't sure I’d be able to hide my rage either if I’d heard someone calling Jungwoo those names.

Joey was banned for three football games, and I'd heard enough of Parker complaining about it.

I took a deep breath, saying what I came there to say, “I’m sorry about Parker.”

“When I told you to go date someone else, I meant someone actually decent.”

His comment offended me. I always felt super defensive of our relationship. “He’s a good guy., if you get to know him.”

There was a silence that I didn’t like. The tension grew, and I already knew what Jungkook was thinking. I couldn’t defend Parker anymore, or I'd look desperate.

“You’ve seen my mom growing up,” he said softly, looking out at the street instead of us. “That’s really what you want y/n?”

Fear rose up in my throat and choked me. How could he know? He couldn’t, I never told anyone. Surely he was just talking about his dad being a bad guy, not the other stuff.

“He’s not like that,” my voice cracked as I said it.

Jungkook turned to me, and I found it hard to escape his gaze. “Don’t think I don’t see how you are around him. I’ve seen it my whole life.”

Abruptly, I stood up, not liking his accusations. They were true, but I couldn’t let him think that. I’d done too good of a job hiding it. How could he have possibly known?

“You really want to date someone who’s friends with a guy who talks about Jungwoo like that?”

My mouth opened and then closed. “He’s not perfect, but he’s never insulted Jungwoo. He has a lot of friends, and some of them are dicks, but that’s not himself.”

“One bad apple spoils the bunch,” he muttered, as if it wasn’t meant for me to hear.

I eyed his bruise. “Take care of yourself,” I said genuinely before leaving.

~

The nights that the team lost were the worst. I knew better than to try and comfort him with words. It would only piss him off more. Instead, I listened if he had something to say, and after he flung my arm off him when I tried to rub his shoulder, I learned not to try and comfort him that way either.

Instead, I let him take me to his car and he’d wordlessly drive me somewhere where I had the least chance of being caught. I let him take whatever he needed to out on me. It hurt physically, but it felt good to make him good. It lightened the ache in my heart when his shoulders became relaxed and he didn’t scowl at me anymore.

He’d always take me in his arms after and hold me gently, the way I crave for him to do. His lips are soft on my head and he whispers words that make me remember how sweet he can be.

The pressure for getting recruited to the best school grew for Parker everyday. I hated watching him lose himself. Even on the winning nights when the whole team patted his back the whole night and he drank with his friends, I could see the light that was in his eyes when I first met slowly grow dimmer and dimmer.

He’d laugh at a joke, but I could tell it is weighed down by so many other feelings that it had to fight to make it out.

Maybe it was some kind of ego thing for me, but I always felt best when I was making him feel better. I liked when he’d pull me away from all his friends and drag me upstairs because I knew that was the only way he would feel better.

I let him do whatever he pleased. Most times, his hand found its way to my neck, and sometimes I was afraid that he’s going too far. I don’t think he knew his own strength.

It was always little things that set him off. I’d tried to be more aware of my actions, but sometimes it was hard. I didn’t want to be rude to his friends. I knew what the moment was that set him off, but I’d hoped he’d finally gotten over those kinds of things since he didn’t react.

George stood next to me the entire night. He always was attentive to me and made sure I was involved in the conversation. He laughed at all my jokes. The tipping point was when I misstepped and he put an arm around me to steady me. That was when Parker dragged me upstairs.

“You want to fuck George?” He pushed me further into the wall of the bedroom upstairs at whoever's party it was.

I shook my head, unable to say anything with the way his hand was wrapped around my throat.

“You think I’m stupid?” He spoke with venom, his grip tightening.

I clawed at his hand and struggled to tell him to let go.

“You know I only want you.” I barely choked out. ‘You have to stop caring about stuff like that.”

“Like what? Like you flirting with another man in front of me? Humiliating me in front of my friends?”

“You’re being ridiculous-”

He finally let go of my throat, but my relief was short lived. He’d freed his hand to slap me hard. Between the force of the blow and the lack of oxygen, I lost my footing, my head catching my fall on the corner of the night stand.

He didn’t even glance at me to see what he’d done. He left me alone in the room, storming out of the room, probably to fight George. I wished I could go after him and try to stop him, but my vision kept blacking out, and more and more blood pooled from my head. I needed to stop the bleeding soon.

It wasn't the first time he hit me that hard, in fact, I’d lost count. He would get heated and hit me, and then it was over. Then, he was usually as lovely as ever, taking care of me and telling me he was sorry and how much he loved me.

That night was different. He left me injured. I looked for him downstairs to find he’d left without me. His friends offered to drive me home, but I had to embarrassingly decline. Parker definitely wouldn’t like it.

I walked home that night by myself. I was tired and my head hurt, but it was worth it not to make Parker mad.

I could take it, if it made him feel better. That’s all I wanted. I viewed it the same as Jungkook putting himself in harm's way so the people he loves don’t hurt. He takes the physical pain for his mom and Jungwoo. I took the pain away from Parker.

~

I made up some story about how I fell, and my mom let me stay home from school the next day. I probably should have got stitches and my head checked, but we couldn't afford to go to the hospital.

After a couple of days of laying out of school, I had to return to school, and my head was still patched up. I’d successfully been avoiding Woo because I didn’t want him to be worried about me. I was fine. He just wouldn’t understand how I felt about Parker. How it wasn’t like his parents. Parker had so much pressure on him from his parents and the whole school. How could he not be constantly stressed out?

It wasn’t until my third period when I caught sight of him. I knew he would never let this go, so I quickly grabbed what I needed from my locker and tried to run away. He caught me.

“What happened?” Jungkook asked from behind me, coming around to face me. I tried to turn the wound away from him, but he tucked a hand under my chin and turned my head, examining the patched up gash.

I pulled my chin out of his grasp, backing away. “I-I ran into a dresser at home. Tripped over my dirty clothes on the floor.”

He shook his head, fury in his eyes. “I should kill him.”

I wanted to say that wasn’t true, but the lie caught in my throat. I opted for playing dumb. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He stopped closer, closing the distance I’d put between us, speaking just for us to hear. “I wish you could just realize that you don’t deserve this. Whatever has happened to you for you to think you have to put up with this, you don’t. There are plenty of sane people out there who wouldn't hurt you.”

“Jungkook…” I trailed off, looking around the hallway, as if someone could save me from this conversation.

“I don't get it. Why are you still with him? You know how many times I've had to help my mom up after she got beat up. Help patch her up as she made excuses for that piece of shit.”

He was saying it because he cared about me, but teenage me was taking offense to it. I didn’t need him lecturing me about my relationship.

“Parker-”

“Save it. Whatever excuse you’re about to make, save it. Because, nothing excuses this. Nothing.”

“Please don’t cause trouble with him.” I knew how he was. He wouldn't hesitate to confront Parker out of the blue and start fighting him.

He took a breath, as if controlling himself. Something about the rage in his eyes scared me even though it wasn’t for me. “If I knew that he wouldn’t take it out on you, I would make him hurt for everything he’s made you hurt, tenfold.”

He walked away from me then.

~

The house was crowded, the lights dimmed low, but I still spotted him. I was shocked, to say the least. He didn’t usually hang out with these kinds of people. He didn’t appear to be with anybody, which I thought was strange.

Finally, I was able to catch his eye and I waved to Jungkook, but he didn’t wave back, or do as much as a nod before disappearing into the crowd.

“Will you get me another drink?” I asked Parker, knowing he’d be gone for a few minutes.

I slipped my way through the crowd towards the back porch where Jungkook was headed.

“Hey,” I called softly to his back where he leaned against the rail smoking. He didn’t acknowledge me, so I tried again. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

Still, radio silence.

I huffed, crossing my arms. “Are you mad at me, or something?”

Instead of speaking to me, he shook his head, tapping the ashes out of his cigarette.

I came up right beside him, tilting my head so he was forced to stop ignoring me. “What’s your problem?”

He turned suddenly, taking me back. “My problem is you never come over anymore, and you’re too stuck up your boyfriend’s ass. Jungwoo misses you.”

My eyebrows furred in confusion. That was the last thing I expected him to be upset over. I saw Jungwoo everyday, talked to him on the phone every night. He’s never complained to me before about not spending enough time with me.

Was it really that hard for him to admit he missed me instead?

“I don’t appreciate how preach-y you’ve gotten with me lately. I can handle myself.”

He raised his hand and swatted, and I flinched on instinct. Embarrassment and dread set in when I realized he was merely swatting at a bug. I’d just given him more ammunition to use against me.

Instead of his face becoming angry like I’d expected, it turned sad. “Seems like that’s not true.”

Now, I was the one getting angry. He had no right to speak on my relationship.

“What the fuck are you doing out here with him? I’ve been looking all over for you.”

My body tensed at the sound of Parker's voice. I turned to him, already dreading dealing with this situation. I should have left sooner so he wouldn’t have found us out here alone. “We were just talking."

Parker eyed Jungkook menacingly. “Alone, outside?”

“She told you we were just talking. Why do you not believe her?” Jungkook butted in, and I swore under my breath.

“Stay out of this, freak. Why don’t you fuck off now?”

I cringed, knowing for sure that Jungkook would fly off the handle and try to fight Parker. Instead, something scarier happened. He walked calmly up to Parker. “Keep putting your hands on her and find out what happens.”

With that, Jungkook left. Parker stood stunned for a moment before trying to call Jungkook back, but he’d already gone inside, lost in the crowd.

Since Jungkook was gone, it was me he had to turn his fury to. “You told him I hurt you?”

“N-no. I promise.”

“Why were you alone with him out here?”

“We were just catching up. I’ve known him my whole life. There’s nothing there. I promise I don’t have feelings for him. He’s like a brother to me.” Even as I said the words, I knew they were a lie. Maybe he could tell.

We left the party immediately.

~

Parker was always smart about where he hit me and I could always hide the marks with clothes or makeup. This time, however, he lost all thought and went on pure rage.

My nose and jaw ached from his hits. He told me if he ever saw me talking to Jungkook again, this same thing would happen.

It was the first time I felt like I couldn’t defend him anymore. I tried to explain to him not to be threatened by Jungkook, but he wouldn’t listen.

Although he was drunk, he drove my car back to my house, where we would be alone, and no one could come save me. Tears streamed down my face as I gripped the seat as a lifeline. I couldn’t be sure how fast he went, maybe 100, maybe more. I knew it would do no good to argue with him over it, so I accepted my fate, praying to anyone that would listen to let me make it there alive.

He waited until we were alone in my apartment to finally let it out on me. I waited until he fell asleep to slip away.

I didn’t ever want my best friend to see me like that, but I couldn’t be strong anymore. I had lost all of my strength and I needed my best friend to be able to go on. I couldn’t physically drive anywhere but to their house. So many nights I had self-soothed, tried to be strongI couldn’t do it anymore.

If Jungkook knew, then most other people would probably connect the dots soon.

I texted Jungwoo to meet me at the basement door and made sure that Jungkook wasn’t there. I was worried about Jungkook’s reaction. I couldn’t handle “told you so”.

I broke into a sob when Jungwoo answered the door. I couldn’t see his reaction, but he softly said my name and pulled me tight into his arms like if he held me tight enough he could put me back together.

“What’s wrong, who did this to?” He asked gently, but there was a tell, a fear in his voice that said he already knew.

I got myself together enough to confess to him. I told him everything.

He was angry, but he cried on my shoulder and I cried on his chest. No more words were spoken, or needed at the time. Eventually, I gathered my tears and pulled myself back from him. My tears and blood covered his shirt.

He helped guide me over to the couch. “Sit down. I’ll be right back.”

He came back with a rag and silently cleaned the blood and snot off of me. I tried to do it myself, but he would let me.

He noticed me wincing as I leaned forward and that immediately alerted him. “Lift your shirt up.”

“I didn’t think you swung that way.”

He had never found me as unamusing as he did in that moment.

Knowing he wouldn’t let it go I showed him. Tears welled up in his eyes again. “I’m such a dumbass,” he sounded so disappointed in himself, it hurt me. I shouldn’t have kept this from him.

At the sound of the basement door opening I yanked my shirt down, but I couldn’t hide my face.

Jungkook paused at the end of the stairs when he spotted us.

He was frozen for a moment and I couldn’t meet his eye. “Did he do that to you?” There was violence in his voice. He asked like he already knew the answer, but didn’t want it to be true.

Jungwoo was the one to speak. “Jungkook, what she needs is support right now.”

“I’m going to kill him.” It did not sound metaphorical.

“Jungkook,” I abruptly stood up and winced in the process. “Don’t.” I finally met his eye and hoped he saw the begging and pleading in my gaze.

“I should have broke his hands the second I suspected something so he wouldn’t put his hands on you again.”

“Why don’t you go upstairs and get her some ice?” Jungwoo suggested, trying to lessen the tension.

Jungkook held my stare for so long I didn’t think he would, but eventually he went upstairs.

“Follow him,” I told Jungwoo.

“He’s not gonna do anything crazy. He respects you too much.” I didn’t have much faith in his statement. Jungkook had beaten Joey up for less. “Tell me you at least broke up with him.”

My hesitation was answer enough. “It’s not that simple.”

“Of course it is.” Jungwoo shook his head. “Tell him to fuck off and you never want to see him again.”

“He did this to me for less, you really think he’s gonna let me break up with him?”

“Oh, he’s going to ‘let you’. I’ll go with you to make sure he doesn’t lay a hand on you again.”

~

I told Jungwoo to wait in the car. It took a whole lot of fighting, but he finally agreed. I didn’t want anyone to see me like that. I’d handled his abuse for a while now, I felt brave enough to face him for one night.

I decided to break up with him after the football game. I didn’t trust him enough to be alone when it happened, and I didn’t want to drag Jungwoo into it. I could have waited until Monday morning, but he would be trying to call me if he hadn't heard from me, or drove to my house when I didn’t show up tonight.

I wasn’t sure why he was taking so long. Usually he’s one of the first out of the locker room. I decided to go farther than my usual waiting place and head down the parking lot to where I know the locker room was.

I was out of Jungwoo’s line of sight behind the building, but hopefully he wouldn’t follow me.

I was hoping that there would be lots of football guys around as witnesses so that he wouldn’t do anything crazy. My hope dwindled and dwindled the more football guys came out. There was going to be no one left. Maybe I’d missed him already?

I spotted a figure walking across the parking lot, and it wasn't Parker. Of course that was why Jungwoo finally agreed to wait in the car. Because he sent Jungkook. I was pissed at him for showing up. It was just gonna piss Parker off even more.

“Please go away,” I pleaded, though I knew it would be no use.

“If you think I’m ever leaving him alone with you again, you’re dead wrong.”

I sighed at the Jeon stubbornness. “Fine, just let me do the talking.”

We waited until Parker and the coach walked out. Parker was holding an ice pack to his head, and the coach clapped him on the back before walking to his car.

Parker’s eyes lit up at the sight of me, before dimming when he noticed who stood beside me. “What is he doing here?”

“What happened to your head?” I ignored his question. I hadn’t watched the game.

“I probably got a mild concussion, but I’m fine. What is he doing here?” He kept walking closer, and I eventually took a step back. Parker froze then.

My mouth opened, but the words had got caught in my mouth. I swallowed hard, talking myself up. I thought of enduring what happened last night again. The fear of experiencing that again was what finally drove me to speak. “Parker, I can’t do this anymore.”

I had to admit, I don’t think I could have said the words if Jungkook wasn’t standing behind me. The broken look on his face made my chest ache.

“Baby, what are you talking about?”

He took another step forward, and me one back, bumping into Jungkook. “I can’t take it anymore. I’ve had enough. I want to break up.”

“So what, you’re with him now?” He nodded towards Jungkook.

I shook my head, already feeling regret at him coming. I knew this would happen. “No.”

“Liar,” the hurt in his voice was mixed with anger.

“Come on, let’s go.” Jungkook grabbed my arm, leading me away, but Parker closed the distance quickly, pulling him back, and punching him square in the face.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. That was exactly what I was trying to avoid.

Much like the night Jungkook and his father got into it, Jungkook didn’t fight back, he tried to escape, but Parker was faster, stronger. I looked around, desperate for anyone’s help, but everyone was gone, the stadium empty.

Jungkook got in a few good punches eventually, but nothing like Parker did to Jungkook. Parker was much larger than him. He got him on the ground, his fists kept pummeling his face, over and over again. My screams did no good. My hands grabbing and pulling at him did no good. My fists pounding against him did nothing.

I knew getting Jungwoo wouldn’t help, he was weaker than Jungkook. He would end up beaten up on the ground beside his brother. All because of me. I should have been the one Parker hit.

Eventually, Parker tired, my throat raw from screaming and tears ran down my face.

Jungkook’s face was unrecognizable. He laid unconscious on the ground and I could have sworn my heart stopped beating until I recognized the rising of his chest.

Then, his attention was on me. I was flung to the ground in an instant.

“I knew you were fucking him!” He kicked me in the stomach. For some reason, I didn’t mind it. It felt good to be hurt after what Jungkook went through. I deserved it. “You thought you could make me look stupid!” Another kick. I gagged from the force of it.

“Hey, asshole. I’m not done yet,” Jungkook slurred from the blood flowing out of his mouth. He was trying to sit up, but failed due to his injuries. So much blood.

“No,” I gasped breathlessly.

Jungkook’s diversion worked. Parker turned to him again.

“You’re gonna kill him!” I screamed.

The only thing I could think of that was better than my fists was the gravel. The first few rocks did nothing, so I started grabbing larger ones. Ones the size of my palm. All it took was one to hit his temple. I didn't think I was that strong, but the rage must have amplified my throw.

His body went limp over Jungkook’s and mine froze in place. My first thought was that I killed him.

Jungkook grunted and barely managed to slip out from Parker’s lifeless body.

All I could think of was that Jungkook would be guilty if he was found near Parker’s body. I couldn’t think clearly, my hands were the first thing to shake until my whole body joined. “Go. I’ll call an ambulance."

“They’re gonna think you’re a suspect,” he gasped out, bent over from his injuries. He needed medical attention too, but Parker could be dead. I killed him. I killed him.

“I don’t care. Go!” I screamed at him, hyperventilating. I collapsed on the ground beside Parker. Through the violent shaking, I lifted my hand to his neck. He was still breathing. I’d just knocked him out. I finally let a miniscule sigh of relief out.

I would call the cops, and we would explain that it was self defense. They would understand, right?

I knew I needed to call, and yet, I couldn't force myself to do anything but rock back and forth. I heard the sounds of sirens eventually. I was barely responsive when they showed up. I couldn't speak or move as I watched them load his lifeless body into the vehicle.

I looked around for Jungkook desperately, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. He was gone.

Han smiled at him, “You want to protect your woman, fine. Admirable, even. But if you’re serious about building your own foundation and protecting her, you could do it smarter.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning,” Han turned to him, hands in his pockets, “Marry my daughter instead.”

Jungkook’s expression didn’t change, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, I will not lay a hand on Changsub’s daughter or even ask for a dime if you just,” Han said lightly, “Marry my daughter.”

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

For a few seconds which then turned into a full minute, the room stayed silent.

The whiskey in Han Byungchul’s glass remained untouched on the table. The only thing that could be heard was the traffic outside, but even that was barely audible through Han’s soundproof windows.

Jungkook didn’t bat an eye or move at all. He simply looked at Han, letting silence slowly kill the man in front of him.

Then, without warning, Jungkook lifted his hand from his knee and slammed it on the desk.

The loud sound cut through the silence. The marble table rattled, the pen rolled off the desk, the coaster was now on the floor, and Jungkook’s veins along his arm and wrist stood out of anger.

Han was snapped back into reality of who he was dealing with.

“You must not remember who I am, Han,” Jungkook said it with such a normal tone, he didn’t raise his voice yet it sends shivers through Han’s body, “I can buy Sejin Group tomorrow morning and still be a billionaire by lunch, don’t take me for a joke.”

Silence followed. Han’s eyes flicked to the door behind Jungkook as if expecting someone to hear the loud thud of Jungkook’s fist against the desk and rush to check on Han. Inside his mind, a dozen calculations were happening, with each of it ending the same way.

There is no version of it where he walked away from the Jeon heir winning.

He is terrified of the young man sitting in front of him, and how easily the Jeon heir could ruin him.

“I was just testing how serious you were,” Han said, forcing a nervous chuckle, “clearly, you’re very serious about it.”

Jungkook didn’t move, he just stared at the pathetic man in front of him. When he finally spoke again, his voice was steady, he never has to raise it, because Jungkook knows his words alone could kill a man, “You do not test me, Han.”

Something in Han’s posture shifted, a man who was leaning back on something that could be barely called a throne, is now quietly trying to find ways to stay steady.

“It was a joke, Jungkook,” he insisted quickly, “besides, my daughter is engaged to Kim’s son, Kim Taehyung. He is a lovely boy. Let’s talk business again,” Han exhaled, collecting himself, “you want me to forget Changsub’s debt. I want something to balance it, the Gangnam retail store. And if you’re not okay with the three hotels, how about one of the Jeju resorts?”

“You will not touch our resort,” Jungkook responded immediately.

“Just one of them, not all, I’m not greedy.”

Jungkook tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly at the man in front of him, “You are.”

The older man’s eyes blinked a little too many times before he said, “Gangnam retail and one Jeju resort. That’s all I ask or I’ll keep Changsub on my list and we both know,”

“Don’t,” Jungkook said cutting him before he could finish his sentence, “don’t finish that sentence.”

Jungkook leaned forward, “You told me you bled when Changsub embarrassed you,” he quoted the old man, “I think you’re reckless. You bled because you didn’t understand the person in front of you. You saw what you wanted to see without trying to explore other outcomes, and you made that mistake and it costed you. and it will cost you again if you make it with me.”

For a fleeting moment, Han saw the reflection of Mr. Jeon in the young man across from him, the same ruthlessness, “This feels personal,” Han said softly, almost kindly, “and businesses should not be,”

“Personal is why I am here instead of sending a lawyer,” Jungkook interrupted, “business is why you’re still alive.”

Another shiver shot passed through Han’s body.

“All right,” Han said, “Gangnam retail is a reasonable settlement. But I want terms written to protect me from potential misunderstandings. I don’t want the Jeon Group trying to take it back, I don’t want sudden changes before I take over.”

“I’m a fair businessman, Han. You can trust me,” Jungkook responded.

“Fairness is all I’ve ever asked for,” Han said as he nodded, then he quickly added, “I apologize, I shouldn’t have mentioned my daughter, it was out of line.”

Jungkook nodded once at him, “It was stupid.”

The negotiation, if it could even be called that, is already over. Han knew it and he first thought that rich young men like Jungkook were predictable. But today he learned the Jeon heir is more than what Han thought he was, he is far from predictable.

Jungkook sat back against the couch, “You will take over the Gangnam retail store,” he continued, “you will strike Changsub from your lists. You will forget his daughter’s face and name. If any of your people approach her, or anyone who approaches her can be traced back to you, we will have another conversation and I assure you, you will not like it.”

“Understood,” Han said quietly.

Jungkook let the word linger in the air. Then he reached into his blazer and placed a single folded sheet on the table. Han glanced down at it, “What is it?” he asked.

“The names of stakeholders you would want to get rid of in the Gangnam store,” Jungkook said. “I’m sure even you know some of them aren’t capable of being in their positions.”

Han’s eyes widened slightly. He didn’t expect that, didn’t even imagine Jungkook would prepare this for him.

Han was startled, confused, and a little impressed. How could he have known? How did he predict what Han was going to settle with?

This was the moment when Han realized he wants to always be on the good side of Jeon Jungkook.

Han couldn’t stop himself from asking, “How were you certain that I would settle with the agreement?”

Jungkook stood up from his seat, his expression was as calm as ever when he said with a low tone, “Haven’t you heard?” he said, “I’m calculated.”

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

You’ve been lying on the couch since 7 PM.

Your mother called you and you finally virtually met your step-father, who is nothing but sweet and nice to you. You could also tell that your mom and him are good to each other. They introduced you to Jaeyun who asked for you to take him and Jaeho around Seoul, and you promised you would.

You didn’t notice when you fell asleep, but you were suddenly awaken by a knock on the door. You looked at the clock on the wall showing 1 AM.

Who would be knocking at this time? 

Then, whoever it was outside, knocked again and it made you to finally sit up. You walked towards the door, and pulled the door open.

And of course, standing there was the one and only, Jeon Jungkook.

“What the,” you said a little surprised, “what are you doing here? It’s so late.”

“I know,” he replied, “I’m leaving at 2 PM tomorrow.”

“Two?” You knew he was leaving soon, but it still made your heart flinch in pain anyway.

He nodded once, “I wanted to spend the night with you.”

You stepped back automatically, as if your body knows before your mind does that there is no universe in which you would close the door on him tonight.

“Come in,” you said.

He walked past you, and you felt the brush of his sleeve against your arm. He took off his shoes by the door, lining them neatly beside yours.

“Do you want coffee?” you asked. “Yes.” “Okay, just sit somewhere,” you replied, heading to the kitchen while Jungkook sits on the couch.

He didnt interact with you as you were making coffee, though it’s no longer surprising to you how much Jungkook loves to be with his own thoughts.

You walked to the couch to sit next to him, setting his mug on the table, “I got a job and I'll start work next week,” you said, “It’s a startup with a small team, but I just loved what they are trying to do, and I’ve always wanted to help build something, so I said yes.”

He studies you for a few seconds, before finally saying, “You’ll be good at it.” “I hope so,” you blushed a little at his trust in you.

Out of nowhere, Jungkook said, “Don’t get too close with your male coworkers.”

You look up from the mug in your hand and catch the way he’s not quite looking at you, like he’s watching himself say it from a distance to check if it sounds as stupid as it does in his mind.

You put your mug down, slowly, “Are you,” you couldn’t help the smile forming across your face, “jealous?”

His gaze shifted to you, he didn’t flinch, or try to deny it, “Yes.”

“Of men I haven’t even met yet?” you teased him.

“Of any man who stands near you,” he said.

You leaned back into the couch and fold your arms, clearly enjoying this, and teasing him even more, “What if they are reaaaaaaaaally charming? Like, they’ll remember my coffee order and helps me when the printer gets jammed, and they say, ‘great job!’ at every thing I come up with.”

“I’ll buy the company and replace everyone in it but you,” his tone wasn’t angry, it was terrifyingly calm.

“Possessive, are we?”

Jungkook smirked at your statement, “I don’t like sharing what’s mine,” he stated, and he leaned forward then, just enough for you to feel his breath near your ear, “do you understand, sweetheart?”

“Jungkook,” you responded softly, “you need to learn to trust me.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything else or even move a flinch. You almost thought he didn’t hear you.

Then he slowly smiled at you, “I do trust you. I’m just protecting you,” he continued, “you think it’s the same as being possessive because you’ve never been protected properly before. It’s the rest of the world I don’t trust.”

“That’s not fair,” you followed, “you can’t keep assuming people have bad intentions.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours, “They just need to not get too close.”

You sighed, “That’s exactly what I mean, Jungkook, we can’t live like that.”

His eyes still fixed on you when he said, “I can because I’ve seen what happens when I don’t pay attention.”

Something in the way he said it made you wonder what happened to him, but you let it pass for now especially since he’s leaving in 12 hours.

“Jungkook, I can take care of myself,” you frowned.

“I know you think you can, but I see things you don’t.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, confused.

He leaned back against the couch, still watching you with that unnerving calm, “Trust,” he said, “doesn’t mean letting go. It means holding on long enough to make sure nothing can take you away.”

You then heard him whisper, “I just want to make sure nothing ever takes someone away from me again and if that makes me possessive, then I’ll live with that.”

The word again lingered on your mind. You almost asked what he meant, but he already turned his eyes back to his mug, like the conversation was over.

“Jungkook,” you said, tugging his shirt, “kiss me.”

He didn’t need you to repeat yourself, Jungkook leaned in, and you met him halfway, the first touch of his mouth was gentle, and the gentleness burns off into something hungrier.

♡━━━━━━━━NSFW━━━━━━━━━♡

His other hand slides to your hip, and your fingers clutched in his hair. He bit your lower lip lightly and you slide a hand under his jacket and feel his body go rigid, then soften under your touch.

He shifted, lifting you gently into the corner of the couch, his kiss was slower now like he’s memorizing you the way you taste. Jungkook shivered when your fingers slip beneath his shirt and touched his bare skin; you smiled against his mouth. Your hands move up his shoulders, to his back, and to his toned abs. 

When he finally pulls back, it’s just far enough to see you. He goes still for a few seconds, his hand in your hair tightening briefly.

Jungkook then guides you down onto the cushions, your back sinking into the fabric as he kneels between your legs. His hands slide up your thighs, pulling down your shorts, “I've been dying to taste you,” he murmured. Jungkook hooked his fingers into your underwear, pulling them down your legs, and tossing them aside. He spreads your thighs wider, and when he leaned in, his breath felt warm against your exposed pussy.

His tongue flicked out first, savoring your pussy. You gasped, moving your hips slightly, and he pressed his hands on your inner thighs to hold you steady. Your hands gripped his hair, pulling him closer as he moved his tongue around. He sucked your clit into his mouth gently at first, then harder, the feeling of it sent shivers through your body. 

Your moans fill the room, and Jungkook slides one finger inside your pussy, curling it upward, making your legs tremble. He added a second finger, moving them in and out, matching the way his tongue moves on your clit. Your pussy clenches around his fingers, and he can feel the tension building in your thighs and the way you gasp. 

“That's it, baby,” Jungkook said as he thrust his fingers faster. Your back arches off the couch. “Jungkook!” you cried out as you orgasm. 

But he's far from done.

He pulled his fingers out, sucking them with his eyes locked on yours. God, the things this man does.

You sat up, pushing him back against the arm of the couch. Your hands are on his belt in seconds, yanking it open, then unzipping his jeans to shove them down his hips along with his boxers. His cock was thick and hard.

“It’s my turn to help you,” you said as you wrap your hand around his cock, slowly stroking it once, twice, teasing him. Then you leaned down, swirling your tongue against the tip of Jungkook’s cock. He groaned with his head falling back against the arm of the couch. Your lips stretch around his cock as you take him in inch by inch, and he had to fight the urge to thrust up, letting you set the pace.

“Fuck, your mouth feels fucking incredible,” Jungkook moaned, watching as you take his cock deeper in your mouth, gagging slightly but pushing through. He picked you up gently, and pressed his mouth against yours in a messy kiss. He pulled away to take off his shirt before he started stripping you fully, removing your top. He positioned you on your back again, but this time, holding his cock near your pussy. 

“I need to be inside you,” Jungkook said. “Please,” you begged as you wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him closer.

He pushed in slowly at first, you could feel the head of his cock stretching you open, then he thrust his cock deeper, inch by inch, until his whole shaft was buried inside you. You both let out a soft moan as Jungkook held still for a moment, letting you adjust, and pressing his forehead against yours. Then he started to move, pulling out halfway and sliding back in.

Your old couch creaks beneath you as Jungkook picks up his speed, thrusting deeper and faster into you. Your breasts bounce with each thrust, and Jungkook leaned down to bite your nipples as he fucked you. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he grunts, pounding you harder.

You met his thrusts by moving your hips around, your hands moved to his back, your nails digging against his skin and scratching him, leaving red marks on his skin. He shifted, placing one of your legs over his shoulder to change the angle, and you cried out as he hit that spot inside you, again and again. Your pussy tightens, another orgasm building.

“Good, cum with me,” he demanded. You finished first, your juices flowing out of your pussy and down to his cock. Jungkook thrusts deep one last time as he comes.

It didn’t stop there, Jungkook fucks you like that for what feels like hours and switching positions. Each round leaves you messier and sweatier. By the third time, you were on all fours, with your ass up as he fucks you from behind, one hand fisting your hair, and the other slapping your cheek. Your moans turn into sobs of pleasure. 

Finally, you curl up together, exhausted, and his cock softening inside you as you drift to sleep. 

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

A little before 10 AM, you finally woke up to the sight of Jungkook already watching you. His hair was still messy, and there’s a faint line on his cheek from the cushion. He looked like an adorable little puppy.

“Hi,” you greeted him.

“Hmm,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead and then he softly kissed your mouth. You pulled away from the kiss to prepare some breakfast for the two of you while Jungkook decided to shower. When he finally joined you, the two of you ate mostly in silence. 

At 12 PM, he was already at the door, his shoes worn, and his hair still a little damp from the shower he took.

“You have to text me when you land,” you reminded him.

“I will,” he replied as he steps closer, close enough that you can smell your shampoo on his hair. He places a hand to the back of your neck, and kisses you in your doorway.

“Don’t get too close to your male coworkers,” he whispered against your ears, making you giggle.

He opened the door, paused, then turned to you to take one good look at you before walking away. And just like that, Jungkook was gone.

You walked to the couch and sit where he sat last night. 

He showed up. 

Jungkook showed up without you needing to ask. 

And that’s what you liked most about him. 

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

It has been eight weeks since Jungkook moved to Hong Kong. Some days it still feels like he never left.

You used to text him constantly, every single small thing you could find, photos of your morning coffee and the rain outside your office window. The texts would pile up unanswered, it felt like you were just talking to yourself.

His replies wouldn’t come until much later, and if he does reply it would only be: “Was busy,” “Working,” or “I’ll call.”

Sometimes he does not reply at all.

Then you learned his ways, Jungkook always calls.

It takes a while to notice how your phone lights up at almost the same time every night, sometimes an hour earlier, sometimes later depending on meetings, flights, or events. 

But Jungkook always calls and he would then respond to all of your messages, verbally, not through texts. 

Now you’ve understood how he is, you stopped expecting replies. You stopped waiting for his messages. Instead, you would wait to hear his voice.

When he calls, you tell him everything. The stories you’ve already written on texts, and you pour out your coworkers’ antics, the frustrations you felt at work, the cats or dogs you saw on your way to the office, and the soup you ruined because you forgot to turn off the stove.

And Jungkook would just listen to you rambling.

Sometimes, you would hear him humming in acknowledgment. Sometimes, he lets out a little laugh or reactions. 

And at first you thought he would be half distracted, but Jungkook remembers everything.  

One day, he texted you:

“How’s your boss’ cat?”

You never mentioned your boss’ cat more than once.

Jungkook listens.

Jungkook always listens to you. 

The call would last for hours. Sometimes he tells you about Hong Kong too, about the view from his apartment that overlooks the harbor, the long traffic he hates, the local food stalls, and how he’s trying to learn Cantonese.

He tells you about the branch too, the hurdles, constant negotiations, long meetings that feel like tug-of-war more than a quick catchup.

You would ask Jungkook questions about your work, because who else would be a good mentor if not the Jeon heir?

You talked about the most suitable business model, profit & loss, even marketing campaigns. Sometimes, you would send him a draft from your project and ask him, “Would this make sense? Is this sustainable?”

And he would actually give his inputs like a mentor and a partner.

It’s strangely comforting to talk about business with him. You’ve always known he was smart, but Jeon Jungkook is actually very smart.

And sometimes, you tease him about how he sounds more like your CFO than your boyfriend.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Every weekend, Jungkook flies back.

He kept his word. No matter how hectic things are, he always has a Friday night flight booked from Hong Kong to Seoul. 

Sometimes he arrives after midnight, when the city is asleep. You would hear a familiar knock, he’s made a knock with a certain sound to tell you that it was him without Jungkook ever needing to say a word. 

You would open the door half asleep, “You know normal people text first, right?”

Jungkook stepped inside, “You wouldn’t have opened it that fast if I did.”

You yawed, “You’re not wrong.”

“I’m never wrong,” Jungkook flatly said.

At first, you expected him to go straight to his penthouse or his family’s mansion then he’d visit you the next day. But he doesn’t do that.

Jungkook comes to you immediately, to your small and old apartment with its tiny kitchen.

Jungkook always runs to you first.

“You know you have a penthouse, right?” you said as you watch him drop his coat on your couch.

“Yeah.”

“And yet you’re here.”

He looked at you as he said, “I have everything there except you.”

Weekends with Jungkook strangely feel peaceful. He moves around your space as if he’s never left, brushing his teeth at your sink, sitting on your floor, and helping you fold laundry. 

At first, you couldn't believe the sight of him folding his own clothes. “Is this your first time folding clothes?” you asked, teasing him. Jungkook looked up at you, “I’ve never seen the need to do it myself.”

You couldn’t help rolling your eyes at him. 

He doesn’t talk much about work when he’s home. Sometimes, he’s quiet for long periods of time, his fingers brushing your arm absentmindedly while you talk. Other times, he’ll cook dinner and scold you or call you "Reckless," for not stirring the pot. 

“You’re supposed to stir, not stare,” he scolded, reaching past you for the spoon.

“I like watching you cook,” you responded.

He glances up at you, “That’s not helping.”

“Didn’t say I wanted to help,” you smirked at him.

It’s easy to forget that he’s technically living in another country. The realization that he doesn’t live here only shows up in small ways, like when his phone rings at odd hours, or when he steps away to take a call from work, or when you see his suitcase packed on Sunday night.

Still, he always leaves with no drama or big goodbyes.

Just a kiss on your forehead, a quiet “I’ll call you,” and the sound of your door clicking shut.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Your mom calls every Friday, right before Jungkook’s flight lands.

It’s become its own ritual. You would answer with a bright smile, and she immediately starts fussing, asking if you’re eating properly or if you’ve been sleeping enough. You tell her about work, your colleagues, and what meals you’ll prepare for next week. 

Sometimes your step-father joins the call, waving awkwardly into the camera, and your brothers shout greetings from the background.

You love those Friday calls, the warmth, noise, and the ordinariness of it, something you barely had growing up without her.

You’re planning to spend the next long holiday with them. The idea makes you happy, even though you haven’t booked anything yet.

You haven’t replied to your father’s letter either.

Jungkook told you not to rush it, to let it happen when it feels right, and you agreed with him.

For now, the silence between you and your father feels safer.

At work, things are finally clicking. The startup’s pace suits you, fast and unpredictable. The pay is good too, and for the first time, you’ve started thinking about moving to a better apartment. A place with better natural light and maybe a big balcony for your future plants.

You’ve made friends too, Namjoon, Jia, Woobin, and Yoongi. The office is way more enjoyable because of them. You spend lunch time together, share memes in the group chat, and sometimes stay late finishing projects. 

But Jungkook is jealous, especially of Namjoon.

You can’t really blame him. 

Namjoon is calm, articulate, observant, and infuriatingly insightful. He’s the kind of man who only listens to the person talking to him. When he gives feedback on your work, it’s always layered and thoughtful. Sometimes, when you work until late at night, he would walk both you and Jia home. 

You never think of it as anything beyond kindness. When you mentioned Namjoon’s name once during a call, just casually mid ranting about work, Jungkook’s silence felt different. Yes, you could tell what kind of mood Jungkook is in by the way he breathes when it’s silent.

It’s not that hard when that man only expresses like three emotions. 

“Namjoon?” he repeated. “Yeah, my coworker. He’s like a creative lead or something. He’s married, by the way.” “Good.” “What?” “Yeah, it would be a shame if he suddenly disappeared.”

You could hear the faint click of his pen on the other end. You smiled, knowing exactly what that meant.

He never says it outright, but his jealousy shows in quiet ways after he finds out about Namjoon.

The next day, he texts more than usual, even the smallest things like, “Did you eat lunch?” or “Show me your outfit today.”

When he flies back that weekend, he left hickeys all over your neck. You scolded him for it, but Jungkook only looked at you and with a flat and unamused expression, he said,  “It’s so people know you’re taken.”

With Jungkook, you’ve learned how affection can live inside silence and trust can be built through consistent gestures.

And Jungkook, despite his flaws and the distance, keeps showing up.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Hong Kong's air doesn’t smell like it does in Seoul. 

Every morning he opens his messages, it’s the one routine he never misses.

Taehwan would send the first picture of you around 7 AM, crossing the street near your office, with a cup of coffee in hand, and the same bag you always use. The next one would come at 5 PM, as you step outside of your office lobby. 

He needs to know you’re safe, because the world is cruel and careless and he’s seen what it does to people.

He’s protecting you.

Sometimes, during meetings, his phone vibrates in his pocket and the smallest part of him relaxes. Taehwan has texted: She’s home. 

He never asked Taehwan to follow you inside your office or speak to you. 

He’s hired someone else to do that. Jungkook told himself it was harmless to hire this person and to put him in your team. He didn’t even have to ask for updates about you, they came naturally, a comment here and a schedule there.

Information about you flows to him as if the world itself conspired to keep him informed.

Afterall, Jungkook is just a man trying to protect what he can’t touch.

Sometimes he wonders what he would do if you found out. Whether you would hate him for it, or whether you would understand that it was the fault of the distance between them. He tells himself he would stop if you ever asked, that Jungkook would let you live unseen. But even as he thinks about it, he knows it’s a lie.

Jungkook doesn’t want to control you. He just can’t bear not knowing.

Tomorrow he would wake up, another meeting, another report. And when Taehwan’s message arrives, She’s fine, he’ll let himself breathe again.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

It's been six months since Jungkook moved to Hong Kong.

You still talk every night and he comes every weekend. He still calls, sometimes from airport lounges, sometimes when he’s still in the office, and sometimes from the backseat of a car. 

But this time, his voice through the phone call sounds different.

“Pack something nice,” Jungkook said. “For what?” you asked, confused at his statement. “I’m flying back on the Saturday, there’s a ball I want you to come with me to.”

You laughed, thinking he’s joking, but Jungkook rarely jokes around. 

“A ball?” “It’s a formal thing. It would be a good exposure for me, for us.”

For us. The word felt strange in your chest. You hesitated, “Jungkook, I don’t think I should.” “Why?” “Because it’s not my world anymore.”

He paused, as if he was expecting that answer, “You used to go to these events all the time.”

“That’s the point,” you replied, “I don’t want to anymore.”

You tried to explain how small talks make you feel exhausted, how you don’t want to see the faces that remember a version of you that no longer exists, and you couldn't bear to hear the whispers and expectations. 

“I just don’t want to deal with all that,” you continued.

Jungkook listened to everything you said, then he responded with; “I’ll handle it.”

You sighed, “That’s not the point.”

“You’ll be fine, I’ll be there.” “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

And the matter ends unresolved.

When Saturday comes, you hear the doorbell rings.

You opened the door, expecting Jungkook in his usual outfit, but instead, Jungkook stands there in an expensive-looking black suit, holding a long garment bag over one arm.

“Hi,” he said, like nothing is unusual. “Hi?” you asked, “you look like you’re about to host the Met Gala.” “Close enough,” he said, stepping in. 

He hangs the garment bag on the back of your door, then unzips it slowly, revealing a dress that makes your breath stop. The fabric was a soft pale green. The dress is strapless with a floor-length skirt. There’s a slit up one side, enough to make your heart skip when you imagine walking in it. It’s elegant and modern, and it’s a dress that doesn’t need glitter to turn every head in the room.

You stepped back, almost afraid to touch it, “Jungkook,”

“Try it on,” he said. “You didn't buy this, did you?” “I did.” “How much?” He didn’t answer. “How much, Jungkook?” “It wasn’t much.” “Jungkook,” you threatened him with a look. “20 thousand,” he said flatly, like that amount of money meant nothing to him.

Well it probably does not mean anything to him.

“You could’ve paid my rent for forty months,” you whispered. “It’s not about the money.” “Then what is it about?” “You deserve something beautiful,” he said simply.

You stare at Jungkook, trying to find the right words. But he looks so sure and you knew that he’s already made up his mind.

It’s one of the things you love and hate about him, that controlling streak, disguised as care and affection. 

He doesn’t demand or ask anything from you, he simply decides.

You run your fingers across the fabric. It feels impossibly soft against your skin, “Jungkook, I could’ve just borrowed something.” “No,” he respondend. “You shouldn’t have to.” “I wanted to.”

There’s no winning this argument. You know that look in his eyes, this was final. He stepped closer, hands gentle but firm as he brushed strand of hair from your face.

“You don’t have to impress anyone,” he murmured, “just come with me.”

You want to say no, but you ended up nodding in agreement, “Okay.”

“Good. I’ll pick you up in two hours.”

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Two hours later, your apartment smells faintly of perfume. You stand before the mirror, the dress hugging your body in the right places. It’s elegant and unmistakably expensive.

When he arrives, he just stared at you for a moment. His eyes traced you from the top of your head to the heels you were wearing.

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the heat rising to your cheeks.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

The event is held at one of the Jeon Group four-story high wedding venue overlooking the Han River. When you stepped inside, it’s like stepping into another version of your life, the one you have buried years ago.

You moved in the room together, with Jungkook nodding to acquaintances and you keeping a smile across your face.

Everyone greets him with warmth, respect, and curiosity. And when they turn to you, they looked surprised, but with Jungkook by your side, they greeted you warmly too.

You stand beside Jungkook, your fingers resting lightly on his arm. You felt awkward, you felt like you didn’t belong. 

You were watching the crowd when you heard someone calling your name. 

You turned around to see Ashlee. She looks older, of course, but her eyes are the same.

For a few seconds, you were both fifteen again, sitting cross-legged on her bedroom floor, talking about nothing and everything.

“Ashlee,” you breathed out, your voice unsteady.

“Oh my God,” she said, stepping closer, “I wasn’t sure it was you. Wow, you look amazing.”

You smiled at her compliment, “So do you.”

“I didn’t know you would be here tonight,” she goes on quickly. 

“I’m just a plus one,” you replied. 

Ashlee didn’t even notice Jungkook until you said you were just a plus one, “Right,” she murmured, her tone softening and she nodded to him, “Jungkook.”

He returned the nod, “Good evening.”

Ashlee gave him a quick smile before looking right back at you, “I can’t believe this. How long has it been? Five years?”

“Something like that,” you nodded at Ashlee.

“It’s crazy,” she said, “you look so different, there's something about you, you seem calmer.”

You didn’t know what to do with that, so you said, “I guess time does that.”

“I guess it does,” she gave you another smile, “I’ve thought about calling you a few times since that night we spoke, but I didn’t want to bother you.”

“It wouldn’t have been a bother,” you lied automatically.

Ashlee glanced down at her glass, swirling it, “I didn’t know if you would even want to hear from me, after everything.”

You watched her fingers tighten slightly around her glass. For a long second, neither of you said anything. Around you, the gala continues, music, laughter, and the faint pop of another champagne cork, but it feels distant, like the world shrank to just this small interaction. 

“I was angry for a long time,” you admitted quietly, “not at you exactly, just at how things turned out.”

Her head lifted to you, “I’m sorry I didn't reach out to you.”

You nodded, unsure if that was enough.

She stepped a little closer, “When everything happened, my parents told me not to get involved with you and I didn’t fight them. I should have.”

“Ashlee,” you said softly, “we were teenagers.”

“We were old enough to know what friendship meant,” she answered with her voice breaking slightly.

You exhaled, “Maybe, but loyalty is complicated when reputation is at risk.”

She looked at you then and you can see the guilt across her face, “I still feel awful about it,” she said, “I heard so many lies about you, and I just let them talk. I didn’t even defend you.”

You glance toward Jungkook, who’s standing quietly beside you and you noticed his jaw flexes.

“I don’t blame you,” you told her, “not anymore.”

“But you did,” she whispered.

“I did.” There was no point denying it, you thought. 

She nodded slowly, “I deserve that,” she swallowed, “I really am glad you’re doing well.”

Jungkook cleared his throat gently then, and you glanced at him. Ashlee notices and she smiled at you, “He’s good to you, right?” she asked, worried.

You looked up at him, his eyes meet yours as you answered, “Yeah, he is.”

Ashlee’s shoulders relaxed, “I’m glad,” she reached out to you, her fingers brushing your arm, “for what it’s worth, I really am proud of you.”

You blinked, surprised, “Why?”

“Because you didn’t give up,” she said, “I think me and a lot of people would have.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, “I did want to give up for a while, but life keeps moving.”

She nodded, “And you moved with it.”

“I should let you go,” Ashlee said, stepping back, “you probably have a line of people waiting to talk to you now.”

You smiled, “Hardly, it’s just because of Jungkook.”

“Still,” she said, “I hope we can talk properly sometime.”

You hesitated, but then nodded and smiled at her, “Yeah, I actually would like that.”

She gave you another smile, “And Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I meant what I said that night on the phone,” she said softly, “I never forgot you.”

Before you could answer, she walked back into the crowd, leaving behind her faint scent of perfume.

You watched her disappear until Jungkook leaned down to you, he studied you for a moment, then said, “She needed to say it and you needed to hear it.”

“Yeah, we both needed that,” you whispered.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

At some point, you excused yourself to breathe while Jungkook was talking about some investment with a middle-aged man.

You walked outside to clear your head, and the air feels cold against your skin. You had around two minutes by yourself before you heard footsteps coming from behind you.

“You disappeared,” Jungkook stated. “I just needed some air.” He looked at you, his expression flat and asked, “Do you want to leave?”

“No,” you replied quickly. 

“Look at me,” he commanded, so you looked at him. “You’re here with me, not them. So you can focus on just me,” Jungkook said.

It sounds simple, but the way he says it, calms you down in an instant.

“Okay,” you exhaled. “Good,” he replied and as he leans down, his lips brushed against your ear, “I could fuck you right here and now.”

“You’re insufferable,” you rolled your eyes at him and gently slapping his arm.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

You have finally gotten more comfortable being in the gala when you saw him.

Across the ballroom, Taehyung’s eyes found yours.

He froze. The color drained from his face as if the sight of you has emptied him of oxygen. You haven't seen that expression since you were sixteen, almost seventeen.

“y/n?” Taehyung said as he finally approached you, “I heard the rumours about you and Jeon Jungkook," he smiled while he nods at Jungkook, “I didn’t think they were true.”

Jungkook set his drink down carefully, “Taehyung,” he greeted with a flat voice.

Taehyung smiled, “Jeon Jungkook. I’m just greeting your plus one.”

Plus-one.

That angered Jungkook, you have a name that people should start learning before Jungkook puts them in their place.

But Jungkook kept his face still, “You knew each other?” he asked Taehyung, his voice low enough that only the three of you heard.

You hesitated, “We were friends.”

Taehyung’s mouth formed a small smirk and Jungkook so badly wanted to wipe that smirk from his face.

“Friends,” Taehyung repeated, “that’s what we’re calling it now? So it means you and Jungkook are just friends?”

Something hot crawled up the back of Jungkook’s neck.

He spent years tracing every detail of your life from a distance, years of learning your past, but this ex of yours was something he missed.

Jeon Jungkook does not know this part of your life and the thought of it was killing him. 

Jungkook missed it. He fucking missed it.

“Taehyung,” you warned.

“We dated for two years,” Taehyung said, “from when we were fourteen to just before you were seventeen right? Though we basically stopped meeting each other when you disappeared, God knows where,” he glanced at Jungkook, before facing you again, “we had our firsts together, in case you forgot.”

The world around Jungkook was shrinking until everything else blurred into background noise. His hand flexed at his side, a feeling of something hot and ugly in his chest, he wanted to put his whole fist against this motherfucker, Kim Taehyung’s smug face. 

If Kim Taehyung wasn’t the son of Mr. Jeon’s closest ally, Jungkook would not be holding back. 

Jungkook bit the inside of his cheek until the pain steadied him while also counting down from ten in his head to drown out the impulse.

Anger, he reminded himself, is useful only when it is dressed in control.

He let the heat goes inward and let the silence do the work it always does, the silence that makes other people rearrange themselves around him.

This manchild will learn through a different way, Jungkook is already calculating so many things he could easily do to him.

You responded to Taehyung quietly, “I didn’t forget.”

Taehyung gave you a sarcastic smile, “You just ran away.”

“It was the best thing to do,” “For who?” Taehyung interrupted you, “I never asked you to protect me. I didn’t care what other people think. I loved you.”

The confession landed like a punch against Jungkook’s chest.

The noise, the crowd, even the chandelier lights, all of it disappeared from his world for a moment.

Only that word was on Jungkook’s mind. Loved.

Jungkook felt it stir something old and unpleasant in him. It wasn’t just jealousy, it was something deeper and cruel. The ache came from knowing someone else touched a version of you he would never meet. 

Jungkook’s throat tightened. He hated how that single word made him feel like a stranger in his own story. He spent years building his control around you, layer by layer, and now this man cracked it open with one sentence. 

Loved.

For the second time in his life, Jungkook didn’t feel in control of anything.

The first time was when Nayoung died. He couldn’t stop it then, he couldn’t fix it with all the power and wealth the Jeon name promised him.

And now, history repeated itself in a different form.

For all his influence, Jeon Jungkook felt small and ordinary. And he hates it.

Jungkook forced his eyes back to Taehyung, trying to find the quickest way to break him. 

“You’re engaged,” Jungkook said with a flat voice, “maybe talk to your fiance about closure.”

Taehyung blinked at him, thrown by the steadiness Jungkook is showing, “I just wanted her to admit what we had.”

“No,” Jungkook said, “you wanted to see if you still matter to her.”

The space between them went silent. Taehyung scoffed at Jungkook, “You don’t even know who she was.”

“Maybe not,” Jungkook replied, “but I know who she is, and I think we both agree,” his arm tightened slightly around your waist, before continuing, “I won this one.”

Taehyung lets out a sarcastic laugh, “You think that changes anything? You can stand there with your arm around her waist all night and it still will not erase me.”

The corner of Jungkook’s jaw twitched once. Taehyung is trying to draw blood. 

“Enough,” Jungkook said as he took one step forward, close enough that Taehyung has to tilt his head slightly back to keep eye contact, “you’re standing in a room full of people, Taehyung. Don’t act like a manchild, choose your next words carefully.”

Taehyung’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Jungkook continued, “This conversation is beneath her, and beneath me.”

A flicker of embarrassment crossed Taehyung’s face, “You talk like you own her.”

You sighed, looking at Taehyung, tired of all this theatrical bullshit, “No one owns anyone, Taehyung. You’re just embarrassing yourself.”

Then, quietly, Jungkook said, “Enjoy your evening, Kim Taehyung.”

Jungkook grabbed your hand, and dragged you with him toward an empty room, locked its door, and guided you to the balcony connected to this room.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

The balcony is wide and open, but it felt hidden.

Around its edges, tall bamboo and leafy green plants formed a wall of privacy. It felt completely secluded, a small world of its own, where the rest of the city might as well not exist.

Jungkook cornered you against the railing, and his face is shadowed with something dark, “So your first was with that fucker?” he asked, you could see that he was jealous, his hand gripped your arms just tight enough to make your heart race as fast as an F1 car.

You looked into his gaze, unflinching, “Yes,” you answered honestly, because there is no need to lie, it’s ancient history.  

His eyes narrowed, “I guess you’re not as innocent as I thought,” he murmured, pressing his body against yours.

You rolled your eyes as you placed your palms over the firm muscle under his shirt, “Please. It’s not like you haven’t fucked other people before me.”

“Well, I haven’t.” His breath felt warm against your ear, and his grip tightening around your arms.

You laughed in disbelief, “Yeah, right.”

“I don’t lie,” his hand slid up, fingers tilting your chin until your eyes met his, "Fucking prostitutes doesn’t count, if I did it just to learn how to fuck you right.”

The words felt so raw and honest, it sent a shiver through your body. Before you could respond, his mouth crashed onto yours. The kiss was demanding, it felt like Jungkook was claiming you right there on the balcony. You gasp into the kiss, pulling him closer even as your heart races too fast for your own good.

♡━━━━━━━━NSFW━━━━━━━━━♡

Jungkook doesn't waste time. His hands roamed down your sides, hiking up your dress with an urgency, fingers digging into your thighs, '”You're mine now,” he murmured against your lips. He spins you around, placing your hands to hold the cool metal railing, the party noise fading into the distant as his body pins you from behind.

You feel his cock hardening against your ass through his pants as he slides one hand up your thigh, shoving your underwear aside. He groaned as he circles your clit, making you feel weak in the knees.

“I did all of it,” he whispered in your ear, biting your earlobe lightly, “to make you this wet, so wet for me.” He pushed two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out. You arch your back against him, moaning, the jealousy fueling his touch into something feral.

Jungkook’s thumb pressed against your clit while his fingers thrust harder and faster, until you're dripping down on your thighs. But he pulls away just as you were about to come, leaving you whimpering and needy for him.

“Not yet,” he muttered. You could hear the zipper of his pants, and then his cock against your skin. He rubs the tip along your pussy, teasing your entrance, and coating himself in your wetness, “I want you to feel every inch of me.”

With one thrust, he buries himself deep inside you, stretching your pussy wide around his thick and big cock. You cried out, hands gripping the railing as he filled you completely with his cock. With each pound of his cock, he hits the spot that makes you see stars in your eyes.

He fucks you hard with one hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back so he can bite at your neck, marking you as his. The other hand is placed over your mouth to muffle your moans, though the thrill of being exposed only heightens the pleasure for Jungkook, and for you too. 

“Tell me that fucker never made you this wet."

“He never made me feel so good and so wet, Jungkook,” you moaned out his name, making Jungkook pick up his pace and thrusting his cock in you even harder.

You pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, and your pussy clenching around him as the orgasm builds again.

“Cum for me,” he demanded, his voice breaking as, he too, was about to come. His fingers find your clit once more, rubbing it in circles that send you to your orgasm. He came seconds later, moaning your name while his cement filled up your pussy.

Both of you were panting, his arms wrapped around your waist, while the party inside continued, oblivious to what happened out on the balcony. 

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Jungkook left for Hong Kong just this morning around 6 AM.

You felt him kissing your forehead while you were half asleep, whispered something you couldn’t catch, and by the time you opened your eyes, he was gone. The day somehow felt longer since. 

Mondays are always quieter than the other days, not just because work is not as busy but it’s also because Jungkook is usually even busier on Mondays. So, you buried yourself in work, asked your co-workers if they had anything you could help them with, then you stayed late just to fill the space Jungkook left. 

By the time you left the office, it was past 7 PM.

The streets were damp and you could see puddles here and there from the rain that lasted almost the whole day. But thankfully, the moment you left the office, the rain stopped.

You usually go by bus, it usually only takes 10 minutes to get home. But today, for some reason, you just wanted to walk home.

It’s a route that is familiar to you, you would even walk past the flower shop that you still go to just to help the owner now and then. Although you no longer need to work there, that flower shop was like a second home to you, so you love to drop by now and then.

Then you would walk past the convenience store with the flickering light above the sign. But tonight, there was a strange heaviness in the air. 

You don’t understand why, but it just felt different and odd. The night is odd, that’s the word you were looking for.

Halfway down the fifth block, you noticed it.

You could hear the footsteps behind you, not too close and not too far, matching yours with an almost perfectly matched speed. 

Your stomach tightened, but you told yourself not to overthink it.

It was a main road, people walk this way all the time. Sometimes you do meet drunk men, like that one time Jungkook helped you, but it’s a Monday. They don’t usually creep people out on Mondays.

You turned down the quieter street towards your apartment, pretending to check your phone as you passed a shop. In the glass, you could see your reflection, and around 11 steps behind you were a shadow of a man, or woman. You couldn’t really see that well.

You swallowed, adjusting your bag strap, pretending to be calm. Maybe they live nearby. Maybe it’s just someone who needs to head home too, like you.

Again, it wasn’t like your apartment is in the middle of nowhere. There are houses, other duplexes, and apartments surrounding it. There are even shops that are still open until 11 PM. So, no, you were 100% just freaking out. 

Is it time for your cycle soon? Is it why you’re so sensitive and scared?

Still, your chest feels that instinctive feeling of unease. You just feel so uneasy. 

The sound of footsteps came again as you snap yourself back to reality. You crossed the street, and the person behind you did so too.

You walk past another flickering lamppost, and the rain starts again, making you feel even more anxious. You could almost hear your heartbeat syncing with the rain.

Is this not how thriller movies usually start, you thought. God, what if you have a stalker? By now you were considering calling 112. 

You tried to focus on something else like what to have for dinner, whether Jungkook will call you anytime soon, or if you should text or call him right now, and would he even pick up if you do?

You kept your inner thoughts of other random things running to help take your attention off that person behind you.

When you reached the end of the street, you finally turned around.

For a second, your breath stopped because it looked like the figure behind you slowed down too, like they were just as surprised as you. 

You are even more anxious once you find out it was a male all along. A tall and muscly one at that. Now you have to figure out how to fight him, you thought to yourself.

You probably won't even be able to beat him at arm wrestling, let alone in a fist fight. 

The light hit just enough of his face to make your heart drop and stutter all at once.

He looks so familiar.

You blinked and your own voice breaks the silence surrounding you and the man in front of you,

It didn't take long for you to become consumed by the man that was Shin. Your life slowly wrapped around him - and he knew it. He allowed his attention to be on you, as well. He gave you side glances when he knew your eyes were on him and even smirked a few times when your eyes connected; a harsh blush evident on your cheeks.

Your parents hated Shin once the two of you became official. He was not the man they thought you needed. He was older - only by a few months - and as soon as he became of age, he was covered in tattoos and a few piercings. While you graduated and attempted to look into your future, Shin had already had a job lined up. In the beginning, you were left clueless in what it was. You worked as a barista in a cafe making whatever you could while he brought in bigger cash.

You were embarrassed - now more than ever - to say that you followed Shin to Seoul and left your small town behind. It was no secret how Shin got his money and the gossiping became too much to handle. You spoke with your parents every few months when you left, ensuring that you were alright in Seoul. The phonecalls were never made by them and when you did call, it only lasted a few minutes - until it didn't. Your father stopped answering your calls, and little by little, so did your mother. You got the message that they wanted nothing to do with you now after your years in Seoul with nothing to prove of yourself.

You promised your mother that you would study in Seoul and start a job soon. Shin, on the other hand, thought you didn't need to work. He afforded an expensive luxury apartment for the two of you (that you knew he had to pay double for without any legal income) and bought most of your clothes and necessities. Now as you recollect that memories that you shared with Shin, you suppose his idea was to isolate you - to get you comfortable enough so you didn't depend on anyone but him. To not even depend on yourself.

"You must feel embarrassed." a smooth voice comes through your ears. The sudden sound makes your eyes narrow ahead and finally, you gained consciousness back into reality. You blink a few times, false eyelashes fluttering as you done so. "Sitting here crying while your boyfriend is being laid to rest." the voice says once more, this time closer and familiar. You recognize the voice - the light and smooth voice with a hint of rasp in it. "Nor are you the only one sitting here crying."

Jungkook hums as his eyes lay upon your features. He could tell by your cheeks - tear stained and puffy red - that you've been crying. However, at this moment, he was unsure if you were crying because the death of your long term boyfriend or the fact that said boyfriend - now rotting in his grave - had been going agaisnt the relationship for years now. To see the look on your face when you witness not one, but three woman crying above the closed casket of your boyfriend.

"Are you here to laugh in my face?" You scoff, bringing up your hands to wipe the tears from your eyes. You let out a gulp, your eyes trying (but failing) to keep off the three women, one across from you and the other a few feet away on your right and the last to your left. "You go to all of your dealers funerals?"

Jungkook chuckles. He shakes his head. "Only the ones with such great drama just like this!" he responds.

You roll your eyes. You turn to face him, upset with yourself for finding his smirking lips attractive. However, you managed to shake yourself out of the naughty thoughts. This isn't what you need now - not at your boyfriend's funeral.

"I should go." You accomplish saying. You glance around at the small group of people - to the once crying women who must feel just as idiotic as you, to the man men in black who dressed similiar to Jungkook. The funeral was small, not many people arrived. Shin didn't have many friends and neither did you. He was long exiled from his parents and former life prior to Seoul.

"Off to where?" Jungkook asks. He begins to follow close behind you as you make your way out of the grassy field, your heels digging into the soil. You knew you should've worn flats to something such as this. "You don't have a job and soon you won't have a roof over that pretty little head of yours."

You turn on your heels and shoot him a glare. "You don't know shit about me!" you hiss at him. The audacity of this man, a man you met only once before, to come and speak to you in such a way. You knew who Jeon Jungkook is and just how cocky he was. He had a reason to - he was the physical meaning of tall, dark and handsome. His energy oozes luxury, riches and power and damn did he know it.

"Oh but I do, sweetheart." Jungkook hisses right back, his tone laced with venom. He grasps your wrist tightly and yanks you closer to him. His eyes narrow into yours. "To think I offered you a better life with much more money, power and glory yet you deny me to stay with maggot food." Jungkook lets out a laugh - a genuine laugh as if it was the most comical phenomenon he's ever been apart of.

"Is this the real reason why you're here?" You shake your head in disbelief. "A man who claims to have money, power and glory yet pisses his pants when someone doesn't want him." It was your turn to laugh in his face, enjoying how you seem to hit a nerve. The tongue in his cheek was evident that you succeded in doing so.

Jungkook drops your wrist with a scoff. He composes himself quickly and throws you glare. "When those payments stop coming from that luxury apartment you reside and when you are forced to stop swiping those cards," Jungkook motions with his lips to the bag wrapped in your arms, the black leather bag you wore to seem more humble - it was one of the cheaper ones Shin bought for you in the beginning of your move to Seoul. "then you'll realize that you truly have nothing. Or, maybe when they come and repossess that luxury car you're driving..." Jungkook shakes his head with a chuckle. "Jimin's always hiring."

"More wine?" the soft voice of the waitress says, a look of pity in her eyes as she awaits your response.

You nod your head, a frown on your lips. You take the wine glass into your hands after she pours the red wine into it. You take a gulp, swallowing the wine whole before slamming it onto the table.

You were pissed, to say the least. You were expecting to see Shin here at the restaurant an hour ago - especially since he planned the date. You dolled yourself up for this, washing with the bodywash you knew he loved, dressing in the new designer outfits he bought for you and even pinned your hair up the way he enjoyed.

You checked your phone, not seeing any missed calls or messages from Shin - you have already sent a few to him. You scoffed, shaking your head. Now you were humiliated - stood up by your own boyfriend for an hour now while the waitress comes every few minutes to offer you wine out of pity. The surrounding tables had came and went while you remained waiting here.

"Waiting on someone?"

Your head snaps to the voice and your eyes land on a man, tall with dark hair and the same darl eyes watching you. You swallow at the sight of the familiar man.

"Jungkook-ssi." You bowed your head, realizing the man to be associated with Shin, his respected boss. You've witness the man from afar a few instances.

Jungkook raises his hand. "Just Jungkook is fine." he responds. "May I sit? Or are you waiting for someone?"

You shake your head. You were waiting for a man that wasn't going to turn up anyways.

Jungkook sits, his eyes wandering around the resturant. He motions for a waiter to come. You take note how fast service was when it came to Jungkook, the waiters and waitresses nearly running to his aid. "I need to speak with the owner." Jungkook commands.

You furrow a brow at him and speak once the waiter leaves to fulfil Jungkook's request. "What are you planning to do?"

"Too crowded here." was his response and before you can ask what he expected from such a expensive resturant, a short man comes rushing your way.

"Jeon-ssi!" the man bows to Jungkook. "If I would have known you were going to be here, I would have had the entire area vacant for your arrival."

You watch with curious eyes as Jungkook speaks with the man, his voice firm as he throws around requests. Soon, you're dumbfounded when the tables surrounding you and Jungkook are being ushered away, a few complaining customers protesting. Nonetheless, in the matter of minutes the restaurant was cleared.

"What would you like to eat?"

"Why did you do that?" you question.

"Why not?" was Jungkooks response. "I can hear you better now that we're alone."

You gulp. This felt intimate - far too intimate for a woman with with a boyfriend should be with his boss.

"What are you doing alone here?" Jungkook asks, taking his freshly poured wine and taking a sip. "I'm sure Shin isn't busy now."

You scoff. "I'm sure, as well." you murmur. "He must've forgot."

Jungkook shakes his head. He lifts up the menu before him and says, "Ashame. A man never appreciates a woman until she's fed up and leaves."

"I don't think-"

"Are you ready to order?" the waiter interupts your speech.

Jungkook eyes you and nods. "You can order whatever you want." he assures. "The steak here is exquisint."

Another hour passes and you and Jungkook converse and eat. You haven't had any calls from Shin and slowly, you have grown less concerned. Jungkook was a good conversationalist and even a flirt - but you managed to ignore them and hopefully appeared uninterested.

"Still no word from that boyfriend of yours?" Jungkook questions.

You shake your head. "No, I'm sure something came up."

Jungkook snickers. He chews on a piece of steak and swallows a few moments later. "If I had a beautiful woman like you," his eyes rake your body. You wore a lavender satin dress with a deep neckline, exposing your breast. "I would never let you go where any man can come and snatch you."

Your cheeks flush - you blame the wine. "Luckily there isn't a man snatching me." you retort.

It was that response that had Jungkook pining after you more than he was previously - unbeknownst to you and Shin. He offered you a ride home, which you declined because you drove. However, that didn't mean he went home. No, he followed and watched - from afar - as you entered your apartment, the tall and wide windows gave him a full view. He couldn't hear you but knew well enough you and Shin were arguing with the other.

As days turn to weeks and weeks into months, he already had men following you and reporting back to him. Regardless if you were going to the Salon for your monthly styling or to the boutiques for whatever designer item you can buy. He learned much about you - probably more than Shin ever did.

"Your obsession with this girl is cute." Namjoon told him once, a teasing tone in his voice.

"I think he wants her more because she has no need for him." Jin responded.

Taehyung hums. "She'll have no need for him as long as her personal bank is open." he retorts. "Get rid of the middle man." he shrugs. “Make her vulnerable that she’ll need no one but you.”

You slam your comb down on your vanity table, the clutter of lotions, perfumes and other beauty items jump at the sudden impact, a few even falling over. You let out a snarl as you tightly wrap your hair into a bun - a mess type bun that wasn't presentable in the slightest. "Jimin's always hiring." You mock Jungkooks voice. "Stupid motherfucker." you hiss.

You knew well enough who Jimin was; his name came up a few times from Shin. You didn't know the extent of the name by the name of Jimin - just assumed he was an old greasy man who pimped women out. The audacity Jeon Jungkook had to assume you would stoop low to even do that - let alone for his corporation.

It's been a week since Shin's funeral and to say you were slowly growing miserable was an understatement. You rarely slept, the dark circle under your eyes being evident of such. Your mind wandered often to the three women crying just like you were and pondered who they were and how long they've been in this affair with Shin. You couldn't feel anger with them, however. The look in their eyes when the three of you caught the other was priceless and telling. The three of you were clueless and dumb - and once in love.

You haven't eaten much in the time of Shin's death and then having to prepare for his funeral. You didn't cook much - Shin preferred to eat out. It wasn't as though you couldn't- your mother ensured you knew how to cook for yourself and your children if you decided to have any. Shin on the other hand found it unnecessary. The large luxury kitchen with updated appliances left untouched many years upon your arrival. The fridge and cabinets were useless. Since Shin preferred eating out, you only had light food and bottled drinks.

Within the hour you went from in your empty and quiet apartment to the busy grocery store in Seoul, rolling the squeaky cart down aisles in search of something - anything - you could put together for lunch. You probably looked out of place in here. You wore a denim jumpsuit - something you had for months but only wore now - and a pair of white Louboutins - a gift from Shin after he forgot your birthday dinner he planned last year. Now that you think of it, he was probably with one of the three girls you've seen at the funeral.

You scoff and throw any and everything in your cart and stroll towards the front counter to pay. Your heels clicking against the tiled floor as you done so. The cashier was a young boy who eyes you up and down before offering a smile. You do the same and place your items nearly in front of him to scan.

"Cash or credit, noona?" the boys voice rang through your head.

"U-Uh, credit." You murmur to him, wondering how caught up into your head you were to not realize how fast he was. You rummage through your purse and pull out the black card and swipe.

"Can you try it again?" the cashier says, a look on his face.

So you do. You try twice more then settled on inserting before the cashier looks uncomfortable. "I-It says declined."

"Excuse me?" You hiss back in response, your intention not meaning to sound as harsh as it did.

"It says declined, Noona." The boys face reddens. You hear a few snickers behind you. Your eyes glance at an older woman behind you, arms crossed over her chest.

You swallow. "Can you...can I try again?" you murmur to him, feeling defeated. "I know there's-"

"I can-" the cashier nods.

"There's a line!" the older woman protests. "If you don't have money then try selling your shoes."

You bite your tongue from snapping at the woman. You scoff and snatch your card from the reader and throw it in your purse. "Nevermind." you say to the cashier who looks just as embarrassed as you. You hear your phone ringing when you're half way out the grocery store.

Your eyes roll when you notice it's notice it was your bank - a personal banker to be exact. You sighed, ready to ask what the hell was going on with your card.

"Ji-hoon!" You answer as soon as you close your car door and start it. "Please tell me you know what's going on with my card?"

Ji-hoon lets out a soft chuckle - a nervous one. "Why don't you come down to the bank, Y/N-nim?"

You sigh. "Why? Is everything alright?"

You got your answer when you arrived at said bank and now sat wide eyed in front of Ji-Hoon. Everything was not alright, after all.

"He...he went into our savings?" You mutter in disbelief as you look at the bank statements.

Ji-Hoon shakes his head. "His savings." he says. "Your name is no where on here."

"B-But-" You were with Shin when he opened these accounts.

"I am aware that you were present while Shin-ssi opened these accounts. By what my documenta are saying, a few months back.." Jo-Hook continues to read. "As the main account holder, he has dropped you as a share holder."

"He can do that?" You whimper. You felt like slapping yourself. Of course he could because it's already been done for months.

"I was not aware." Ji-Hoon sighs, a look of pity on his face. "He must've went to another banker."

You allows yourself to sit in Ji-Hoon's office, trying to settle your harsh breathing. "U-Uh, um, what did he spend it on?" you muster up to ask after a few minutes. "If it says."

"That it does." Ji-Hoon nods, a frown on his lips. "He hasn't removed the money and paid with cash, yet that would look more suspicious to take such a large amount of money out."

You patiently wait for Ji-Hoom to continue, blood boiling at the sudden news.

"He's made a few payments to departments of education." Ji-Hoon reads. "Two different types of payments, however. One to the University of Seoul and another a medical facility."

You clench your fists, your manicured nails digging into the skin of your palms. You were sure it had to be one, if not two or even all, of those girls that were crying for him. You were not the only one depending on his wealth it seems. One of them was a college student - you assumed as such. She appeared younger and more naïve - if you could even judge such naïvety.

"That fucking-" You slam your hand down on Ji-Hoon's desk, starling the man. "So I'm broke?" you scoff, tears in the corner of your eyes.

Ji-Hoon swallows a lump. He cared for you like a friend. He saw the hopeful look in your eyes when you and Shin arrived here years back, both young and you seemingly in love. He didn't want to see you hurt. "Y-Yea, technically."

You let out a sob, your anger cracking into sadness at how down bad you were now. Your mind swirled into the memories of the last few years - of your mother begging you not to leave home and to your father threatening to disown you if you had, an empty threat you thought. Your mind fluttered to your high school friends who told you following Shin to Seoul was dumb after graduation.

You were sure if anyone saw you now they would be cackling at your situation. A "I told you so" slipping between their lips soon after. You didnt follow a lot of people from your old town on social media, but the few you did you knew they were either graduating their respected universities, becoming engaged, getting married and even a couple welcoming their bundles of joy to the world.

"Y-You don't have a job, right?" Ji-Hoon ponders aloud.

You shake your head, defeated. You stand, far too embarrassed of your situation.

"You can work here. I can put a word-"

"Thank you, Ji-Hoon. I will be off now." You give him a sad smile, attempting to make it as warm and inviting as you could.

You managed to wreck the apartment upon your arrival back home. You smashed every mirror in site, the anger and sadness finally getting to you. You damaged the kitchen - no cookingware left unharmed and no glass left unsmashed. You went as far as to damage the gifts he gave you - the designer shoes and purses littering your closet.

It didn't make you feel much better, but being able to scream and cry as loud as you wanted was refreshing. Your head was pounding and you were sure you looked as attractive as a bears ass. You could feel the snot on your nose drip and your cheeks puffed red.

You swallow a lump in your throat, falling onto the leather couch next to your phone. You contemplated racking your kitchen knife into it, but as of now you were exhausted.

You grab your phone and unlock it, scrolling until you found the familiar name on your screen. You press the screen and lift it to your ear, listening to the ring.

"Hello?" a soft, sweet voice answers.

Your heart flutters at the familiar sound of home. "E-Eomma." you stuttered into the voice, voice cracking."

"Y/N?" your mother voices raises. "Are you crying? What's happened?"

You shake your head, even though she wasn't there to see. It was a long story that you had no desire to speak of over the phone.

"I-I missed you." You stammered.

Your mother giggles. "I'm always a phone call away." she assures you. "And I'm sure you have enough wealth to visit."

There it was, the side comments. Your mother was known for them, yet you come to miss them and her.

"I-I..." You bite your lip. What did you have plan to say? That your boyfriend was dead? That he has been cheating on you and left you broke with nothing to your name? How could You manage to go through such disturbing events again - all in the same day?

In the end, you couldn't be upset with Shin. You had a reason to, sure. Yet you were raised better than this. Your father raised you to learn how to do anything on your own so you wouldn't depend on a man for anything. And now, you destroyed your home because of the same type of man you were raised to stay away from.

"I-"

"Is that Y/N?" You hear your fathers voice ask in the background. There was shuffling and before you knew it, your dads deep hut loud voice is speaking to you. "Are you alright? Are you pregnant?"

You hoped not. "No!" you insist.

"Hm." was your fathers response.

"I-I...we aren't-"

"Together anymore?" your father scoffs. "I know as much.".

You're taken aback. "How-"

"A man like that is never going to be faithful. Nor will he marry you." Your fathers harsh words were like reality in your ears. You could hear a few murmurs of your mother behind the phone, possibly telling him now wasn't the time.

"I-"

"She needs to hear this." Your father fires back to your mother. "She was grown enough to make the decision to follow a drug dealer to Seoul! She is grown enough to deal with the consequences of her actions."

Your fathers word cut deep, but you knew they were the truth. Your father was never the one to hold anything back- if he had something to say, everyone was going to hear it. It's what you loved and admired about him; even if those same admirations were now thrown at you.

"A-Appa, I-" your voice cracks and soon you're crying again. It's amazing how much tears you had in you - you believed you were out of tears.

"Don't cry, my love. your fathers voice soothes you, the childhood nickname you haven't heard in years making your heart flutter. "I'm disappointed in your actions, yet you are still my daughter. I will love you regardless. Come home."

You wipe your tears from your eyes, letting out a choked sob.

"I knew eventually you would." your father says. "He was never good for you."

Your fathers words hit, you admit. But it's what you needed to hear. The fact that he still loved you after all these years of ignoring and pining after a man he despised - you're forever grateful. Speaking to your parents had you come to the realization that you let yourself go. You weren't the one to let a man use you while you sat by idly and allowed it.

You would be on the next train back to your home town if it wasn't for your fathers words. Him stating that you were grown enough to deal the consequences of your actions. That he knew you'd come home eventually. Of course, you understood he meant no malice in his statement. But now that you had calmed down and let a few weeks pass, you come to your own plan. You wouldn't be the damsel in distress in your story. As the week passed, your sadness turned to anger, then to spite. You hated Shin for what he'a done to you and before you can hate yourself, you knew you had a job to do.

Shin may have been a drug dealer in Jeon Jungkook's little Mafia corporation, yet he still had duties. You knew well enough that once a week the man held meetings with his dealers. Shin was only a low level - a weakling if anything. He did nothing but ove weight. He was surrounded by higher ups who had more to do with Jeon's business. You knew of the family - a group of 6 more men besides Jungkook - who ruled besides him. Each man having power around South Korea just as Jungkook does. However, you were acquainted with Jungkook only but knew of Jimin and his dealings in the brothel and clubs.

This is how you found yourself now at such meeting, At the club owned by the family. It was a cheesy name, Persona, with dark red lights lining up across the walls. It oozed luxury and sex - as it was intended to. The music blares as you walked through, bodies upon bodies held close together - grinding against one another.

Persona wasn't an easy club to get into. You had to know someone or be someone to get in. You were no one - yet - and only attended a few times with Shin because of the dead man - maggot food Jungkook called him. You managed to give the bouncer all the money you had left - 6,000,000 won. It was risky to do so, seeing as you no longer had a roof over your head and lived out of your car that would soon be reprocessed. But - you had hope.

You made your way to the familiar route you recalled Shin taking - a back room where the meetings were held. With the amount of men in black suites hanging around, you were sure the low level dealers were done with their meetings and now it was the bigger leaders chatting. Even better.

You witness the inside of the room once. It held a stage for whatever performer - obviously a nearly naked woman - to be on. There was a black, leather couch surrounding the stage and the walls of the room held mirrors. You knew that was your destination - and as if God was on your side, you saw a cockrail waitress ready to enter the room, sporting a tight white tank too and the shortest black shorts ever. She wore a corset around her - you questioned if she could even breathe.

"I can take it for you." You offer, eyes on her ad you approached. "You look nervous."

"I am." the girl admits, her lips forming into a shy smile. "I know they're important men. They requested a new face."

You nod, liking the new information. "I'm a new face. I don't want you to feel as though I'm taking your spotlight." you back away, hands raising slightly.

"N-No!" she shakes her head. She held a tray of whiskey and a few shot glasses - a total of 7. "I-I'm a bunch of nerves. I'm sure they won't mind if you do it."

This girl must've been new. She appeared young and naïve - much like the crying girl at Shin's funeral. She didn't know everyone here and that would be your win and possibly her downfall on this job.

You grasps the tray and smile at her. "Go check on the other customers." you encourage. "I got it here tonight."

She nods and scurries off. You take a breath and turn to the door. You made sure you looked presentable (not like you had much available besides your reflection in the shot glasses). But you knew you looked good. You made sure that you scrubbed your skin clean and lotion it to perfection. You bought a cheap hotel room for the night - you were determined to not go back. You wore the tightest and sluttiest dress you owned for this occasion.

You knock twice but don't wait on a response. You enter the room and close the door gently behind you. You let out a smile but it wasn't as though any of the seven men acknowledge You. They are speaking among themselves. It was only then did you realize that theres another woman in the room, her being seated in a mans lap. You didn't know his name but watched as he spoke to a blond haired man. As you placed the tray onto the table and begin pouring drinks, your eyes wandered and landed on the woman. Your eyes widen as you recognized her.

And her eyes did the same upon the realization.

You snapped out of your trance and place the shots alongside The table and in front of the chatting men. It was your time to go onto the stage and you did just that. The pole was chrome and inviting. You weren't a pole dancer in the slightest, but you knew how to look enticing enough that it didn't matter. You took notice of the chattering dying down and adverted your eyes to the familiar brown ones staring back at you.

Jungkook watches you, his heart beating in his chest and, dare he say, his length twitching in excitement. His eyes traces the way the dress - a black bodycon dress - hugs your figure as you dance before him.

Your eyes meet with his and Jungkook offers a smirk, eyes gleaming with lust and mischief. He doesn't take his eyes off of you, and neither do you. Not even when you get on your knees, breast on full display for him, and begin to crawl slow and sensual towards him.

You're at the end of the table in front of him. Your fingers wrap around the small shot glass, whiskey untouched, and bring it to your lips. You slurp up the whiskey and once the bitter taste is in your mouth, you bring your own lips to Jungkooks, forcing his mouth open.

Theres a few hollering and laughs being thrown around at the sight of you and Jungkook, tongues twirling against one another.

"I think we should go." a deep voice says, a hint of teasing. "To give our Kookie some alone time with his girl."

His girl. At the moment you didn't understand but soon you would come to. They knew who you were and why you were here and that you weren't your own person anymore - but you were now tied with Jeon Jungkook.

You and Jungkook tongues stopped dancing when the sound of the door closes. You remove your lips from his, however you sit in his lap, arms wrapped around his neck. As if it accustomed, his hands are on your ass. He gives a light squeeze.

"Look who it is." Jungkooks murmurs against your skin. He leaves a trail of kisses down your neck to your breast. "Missed me?"

You hum, hips going to rub against his hardened clothed length. "I thought about what you said."

"Hm?" Jungkook hums in response. His hands leave your ass to rip your breast out of the tight dress. The sudden action makes you gasp. The air was cold against your hardened nipples.

"Y-yeah." You stuttered, biting back a moan. Jungkook doesn't waste any time in poking his tongue out to twirl them against your nipples. He moans at the same time as you do, louder as he begins to slurp on your buds. "Jimin's always hiring."

Jungkook grunts. His hand - right - removes itself from your breasts and comes down hard against your cheek. A loud slap echo's across the room and you're stunned in his lap. His fingers take hold of your jaw and forces you to look at him. The lustful look in his eyes says it all. "You're not selling my pussy in a brothel."

You swallow the lump in your throat. You're embarrassed - almost ashamed - at how wet his words made you. You only ever been with one man - Shin - and now being in the lap of another, someone so dominant and powerful - you were sure in a few minutes you'll be leaking in his lap.

"Who says I belong to you?" You retort, grinding your closed clit against him once more, moaning at the friction.

"You did." Jungkook licks up from your breast to your neck then jawline. "When you brought my pussy back to me without me asking."

Jungkooks lips meet yours. It was a quick, deep kiss while his hands roam your breast. He release his lips with a groan. "I can feel how wet you are through my jeans, baby. Let me have a feel."

Your own hands go to rub his shoulders and down to his biceps. You continue to rock against him with the help of his hands on your hips. The sound of moans and the friction of your clothes rubbing against one another is heard throughout the room.

You peak an eye open to see Jungkook, head rolled back and mouth slightly agape. This was your chance. You can feel the metal handle of the gun on his waist against your thigh, all you had to do was grab ahold of it...

Jungkook flutters his eyes open when he feels metal against his forehead. He glares at the hun - his own - pointing back at him. "You," Jungkook chuckles darkly, "are one sneaky bitch."

You smirk back down at him, gun firmly in your hands. You turn the safety off, incase he was feeling bold enough to test you.

"Are you going to shoot me, my love?" Jungkook fake pouts, his doe eyes feigning hurt. "And here I thought you weren't that dumb." he tsks. "Here I thought you would finally be mine again."

"I never was yours." You correct him. As your right hand pressed the gun against his head, your left played with his belt buckle, undoing it and releasing his harden length.

Jungkook gulps, his cock twitching. A trail of pre-cum slides down his veiny length. You lick your lips at the sight. You move your panties to the side and manage to place the tip of his cock against your clit.

Jungkook hisses, fist clenching when you push the gun harder against his forehead. "You dirty bitch." he murmurs. You were circling his tip against your wet clit and he wished nothing more than to show you your place and fuck you until you begged him to stop.

"I won't be in that position again." You tell him, allowing a few inches of his tip to enter you. You both inhale sharply. "I refuse to left with nothing if anything happens to you."

Jungkook flutters his eyes open to heed your expression. He bites his bottom lip at the sight of you - breast on full display for him, pussy nearly wrapping around his cock. He takes a deep breath. "Nothing is going to happen to me." was his response, voice low and firm. "And I won't let anything happen to you."

You moan, sliding his cock deeper inside you. You feel Jungkook's fingers dig into your thighs. You proceed to push his gun deeper onto his forehead in case he felt as though this was a game - it wasn't. You were serious.

"You're a powerful man, Jeon Jungkook," you slurred out, your walls clenching around his girth. "I know you aren't idiotic enough to not have legal money coming in."

Jungkook nods. He had many properties and businesses throughout Seoul alone, let alone the entirety of Korea that he employed trusted men to handle. It was effortless to run through whatever product he was selling through these businesses and the brothel alone brought in enough money to live comfortably.

"I want my name on all of your legal businesses." You rocked your hips, moving slowly. You don't tear your eyes away from his face. Jungkook's eyes snap open and his brows furrow in surprise. "I also want it on your house," you quicken your pace as you rode him, the wet sounds of your pussy only adding to the erotic encounter. "and my car."

Jungkook nods quickly, he doesn't take his hands off of your hips as you ride him.

"A smart man like you also has a will." You sigh, feeling your stomach clench. You bring yourself closer to his face and kiss his forehead next to the gun - still pressed against his head. "I want my name added onto it."

Jungkook lets out a loud groan when you tighten your walls around him. He would give you whatever you wanted if you continued riding him the way you are now. "I will." he insists. "We'll go first thing tomorrow and I'll add you to everything." he promises, hands sneaking to your ass to squeeze.

You halt your bouncing, eyes staring at him. Slowly, you lowered the gun. Jungkook whines and looks at you. He finally sees you clearly. You were fucked out - probably as much as he was. Jungkook snickers. "You have a lot of demands." he tells you. In a swift moment he crashes your back against the stage, gun now across the room. You widen your eyes at the sudden movement but you don't get the chance to speak. His right hand grips the back of your hair and yanks it back, forcing you to look at him forcefully. "But I have my own demands."

Jungkook's face is a few inches from yours as he speaks. "You can have it all. My cars, my businesses, my properties..." his tongue reaches out the trace the side of your cheek in a disgusting - yet erotic - way. "...my money. You will have the luxury you deserve and the power of being by my side. In exchange, I want your loyalty and devotion."

You gulp when he jerks your hair again. You couldn't help but moan - the sensation of his cock, still pulsing inside of you, and the grip he has on your hair. It was the right amount of dominance you craved from him.

"You will be my wife. You will love me and me only." Jungkook swirls his tongue on your lips and you open them, obeying his gesture. "And you will give me a child."

You whimper.

"Those are my demands. You and our child will want for nothing." Jungkook's word are serious, no matter if he was deep inside of you now and tongue going in and out of your mouth.

"I-I..." you stammer. "...want a daughter."

Jungkook chuckles, thrusting into you once. You cry out from the sudden sensation. "I want a son. We can have both." he begins thrusting inside of you at a harsh pace, leaving you no room to adjust to him.

Jungkook lets go of your hair and proceeds to wrap his hands around your neck. "You're finally mine." he grunts out, his eyes not knowing where they want to look. He could watch your face, the beautiful twist of your features as you take him. Or, he could watch the sight of your breast bouncing as he fucks you. He even desires to watch your pussy as he fucks in and out of you - clit engorged and wet just for him. "And all it took was for me to take out that useless boyfriend of yours."

You hear him, but you don't fully comprehend. All you know is that Jungkook is fucking into you with such force and need. "Y-You...killed...him?" you moan at each thrust inside of you.

Jungkook shakes his head. He removes himself from inside of you and swiftly flips you over, ass now in the air. He wastes no time in entering you again and continuing the brutal pace. "No, but it was orchestrated by us." Jungkook is mesmorized by the way your ass bounces against him.

Us. It doesn't go unnoticed by you - his words. You had an idea that Jungkook had something to do with Shin's death, yet without any proof you couldn't do anything. But, as time went on and you lived with the realization that Shin was not the man he said he was, you pondered if it made you seem heartless that you didn't care if he killed Shin or not. The man you loved and left everything behind was going against you to fund other women's lives - so much so as leaving you with nothing to fall back on.

"F-Fuck!" you hiss. Jungkook was hitting your G-Spot with such force and need. You don't remember the last time you had sex like this - sex with urgency. It was as though Jungkook was waiting for this moment - to fuck you like his life demanded it.

"Your pussy was made for me." Jungkook hisses. Again, he removes himself from you and once more flips you over onto your back. He was animalistic, becoming almost a different person at the sight of you being his and only his now. He pushes your legs apart and lowers himself. His tongue swirls against your clit, grunting at the wonderful taste of your juices lapping onto his tongue. He could eat your pussy forever and be content with life.

You didn't care about being loud anymore, the sound of the music just outside the door would drown out your loud shrieks. Yet and still, you could be caught right now, legs wide open and pussy of full display for Jungkook - but you didn't care. Jungkook's tongue sucking and twirling against your clit was all your mind could focus on.

"Look at how fucked out you are and I haven't even fucked a baby in you yet." Jungkook chuckles, his fingers harshly rubbing against your clit. He hovers above you now, his eyes twinkling with delight to see your breath hitching. He then brings his fingers towards your entrance, smirking at the way you whine. He enters three fingers inside of you - index, middle and ring - and thrust. The sloppy sounds of your juices mixed with the fast pace of Jungkook's fingers shoving deep into you.

"S-Shit" You curse, eyes snapping shit. Your hands go to grab onto something - anything - around you to be able to keep you up. Your stomach tighens and you knew that you were seconds from coming.

"Cum for me." Jungkook demands, blood shot eyes watching your face. "Cum all over my fingers."

You let out a sudden shriek as you do as you were told. You let go, feeling relief wash over you.

"Look how beautiful you are..." Jungkook murmurs, his eyes widening when he feels the wet sensation hit his abdomen. "...squirting all over me like a bitch in heat." he shakes his head, removing his fingers. "I'm going fuck a baby into you now."

You don't respond, exhausted by the events of Jungkook making you squirt like it was nothing. Shin never had, but sex with Shin could never compare to sex with Jungkook.

Jungkook enters you again, his hands on your hips. He fucks you with urgency now, determined to cum inside of you. He knew you would be his in the end - ever since the day he decided to speak with you over dinner. He was certain that you would come to him eventually - either willingly or by force. Shin couldn't give you the life you deserved - the power of ruling Korea, the luxury and the riches you and your children will have just by having the Jeon name.

Jungkook's thrust turned sloppy and he knew he was going to cum. He throws his head back and releases a choked moan. With a final thrust, he releases deep inside of you. You're twitching underneath Jungkook, feeling his cum ooze out of you and onto your ass. Your back falls against the cold stage and finally you're able to breath steadily.

Jungkook removes himself from you, pulling his pants up and tightening his belt. He tilts his head at you, offering a warm smile you don't see.

"Let's get you home, my love." Jungkook coos, his demeanor changing as he speaks with you. It was as if he hadn't fucked you like a slut in the club he owned. "We have a hectic day tomorrow and a wedding to plan."

You lift yourself up, eyes glancing at Jungkook. The man was calm but excited, you can tell. You pondered if this was the right decision - to be with Jungkook. His demands weren't much - to marry and bear his children. You were willing to do that for Shin at a point of time, without the man offering you half of his business, properties and eventually a will for you and your children.

You stand and fix yourself. You bite your lip and turn towards him. "Did you kill Shin?" you ask, unsure if he was telling the truth when he said he hadn't.

"I'm not a liar, my love." Jungkook responds. He turns away from you to retrieve his gun. "I did not pull the trigger, however, if you're asking me was it set up by me and my family - then yes. It was. I was not the only one who wanted that useless man dead."

Your own eyes examine his for any hint of deceit.

"I did have plans on killing him so you and I can be together." Jungkook admits, a sinister smile on his lips. "When we were bargained into doing the deed, we agreed. And now, you're mine."

You remained quiet.

Nothing yet..

Nothing yet..

Nothing yet..

Nothing yet..

In Another Universe (Series) (Ongoing)

Parallel Universe au [Smut\Angst\Fluff] Infidelity

Closure (One shot)

Genre? [Smut\Angst\Fluff sprinkled 😁]

After the End (One shot)

Reincarnation [Smut\Angst\Fluff] - Sequel to Closure

Perfect Partner (One shot)

Artificial Intelligence au [Yandere\Smut\Angst]

Perfect Partner| Sequel 1

Yandere | Dark Romance [Yandere\ Angst]

Perfect Partner| Prequel

Yandere | Dark Romance [Yandere\ Slight Smut\Angst]

Perfect Partner| Sequel 2.1

Yandere | Dark Romance [Yandere\ Smut\ Angst]

Perfect Partner| Sequel 2.2.

❥ what the fire gave us | shadow elemental!jungkook x water elemental!(f)reader | Supernatural AU | @gimmethatagustd

❥ rivers over stones | jeon jungkook x reader | @ichorai

❥ Miss. Vagabond | JK X Reader | Online Friends AU | @bubblesuga

❥ Redolence of Love | Blind!florist! Reader x Tattooist! Jungkook | Two shots | @starsinsky1999

❥ Rigor Mortis | Police Officer!Jungkook x Reader | @readyplayerhobi

❥ teacher’s pet? nah, professor!jeon’s pet. | Professor!JK X Bimbo!OC | @adoredcored

❥ (he)art thief | thief! jungkook X daughter!OC | heist AU | @latetaektalk

❥ idealizations concerning real life relations | fuckboy!jk x hopeless romantic!oc | One-Shot | @venusiangguk

❥ Little Wolf, Pretty Wolf, Your Wolf | Omega!Jungkook x Alpha!Reader | @readyplayerhobi

❥ Dystopia | Trainer!Jungkook x Initiate!FemReader | @streetlight11

❥ Obsesión | Yandere! Jungkook x Female! reader | @thvlouvre

❥ of honey and cinnamon | jungkook x reader | One-Shot | @ephemerlskies

❥ Deus Ex Machina | Android!Jungkook x Reader | @readyplayerhobi

❥ home is where the heart is | JK X Reader | Fantasy AU | @corajjk

❥ 𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓼𝓲𝓬 | Alien!Jungkook X Human!Reader | @bonny-kookoo

❥ High drive | JK X Reader | One-Sho7t | @journalwjoonie

❥ Crybaby | dom!JK X sub!Reader | One-shot | @lavishedinjimin

❥ 'I'm yours" | CEO!possessive!Jungkook x reader | @bethschamberoftales

❥ Commitment | Mafia!JK X Detective!Reader | Series | @eureka-its-zico

❥ kaiho | detective!jeon jeongguk x trophy wife!reader | toxic relationship | @99liners

❥ Ares | General!Jungkook X Spy!Reader | @littlemisskookie

❥ After Hours | fwb!JK X Reader | @lovelyglares

❥ The Turing Test |  Android!Jungkook x Creator!Reader | Series | @fortunexkookie

❥ “just an extension cord” | gamer bf!jungkook X gf!reader | @gywaruu

❥ Tebori Tapioca | JK X Reader | Love at first sight | @mypersonmyg

❥ hold me close | boxer!jungkook X girlfriend!reader | Rival Gang AU

❥ seasons don’t fear the reaper | reaper!jk x reader | @augustbutwinter

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆

OTHER POSTS:

JUNGKOOK FANFIC RECOMMENDATION(1)

JUNGKOOK FANFIC RECOMMENDATION(2)

JUNGKOOK FANFIC RECOMMENDATION(4)

ALL BTS MEMBERS WATTPAD RECOMMENDATIONS(1)

jeon jungkook

𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐃 𝐉𝐊

ʚïɞ can’t let it go

ʚïɞ physically obsessed

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐉𝐊

ʚïɞ he give it to me

ʚïɞ he won’t touch you like me

𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐉𝐊

ʚïɞ hooked up on the feeling

𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐈𝐎 𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝐉𝐊

ʚïɞ put it on me

𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐉𝐊

ʚïɞ thinkin’ bout you

𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐉𝐊

ʚïɞ wrong in the right way

𝐁𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐉𝐊

ʚïɞ i got it girl, oh i got you girl

𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐉𝐊

ʚïɞ craving the connection

park jimin

𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐉𝐌

ʚïɞ prince of poison 1

ʚïɞ prince of poison 2

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐏𝐉𝐌