Neinya's fave fic collection.

- alpha jungkook who had spent his entire life being told that one day the pack would be his, who grew up with every elder and beta lowering their eyes before him and every omega treating him with careful reverence because everyone knew the future alpha was not someone to offend

- alpha jungkook who stands beside his father as your pack officially merges with theirs, barely paying attention to the formal speeches until he catches the sweetest omega scent threading through the crowd, his head turning before he even realizes he’s searching for its owner

- alpha jungkook who finds you tucked quietly behind your pack elders, hands folded in front of you, avoiding everyone’s gaze as though shrinking into yourself might make the dozens of unfamiliar wolves disappear

- alpha jungkook who cannot hear another word his father says after that because all he can think is mine

- alpha jungkook who has never believed in destiny, dismissing the old stories about wolves recognizing one another at first sight as little more than comforting myths told around winter fires, only to spend the entire ceremony unable to drag his eyes away from the shy omega who refuses to look back at him

- alpha jungkook who learns your name before sunset and your mating status before the following morning through elders and packmates who never question why their future alpha suddenly seems so interested in one newly arrived omega

- alpha jungkook who as the Alpha’s son and heir to the pack treats the newly merged pack members like intruders to be culled yet directs his singular predatory focus entirely on you by pinning you under his stare while you struggle to remain upright under the weight of his alpha dominance

- alpha jungkook who doesn’t care about the customs of your old pack, finds you in the communal dining hall, walking straight past his own lieutenants to kick the chair next to you and forcing you to sit still as he leans in far too close, his hand resting on the back of your neck as he enquires about how you’re “settling in”

- alpha jungkook who interrupts your chores, finds you in the woods gathering supplies and shadows your every step with his sheer physical presence stifling the air around you until you’re trembling

- alpha jungkook who publicly corrects your posture during pack gatherings with his large calloused hands gripping your waist to adjust you and his touch burning through your clothes as he murmurs “you need to learn how to present yourself if you want to stay in my pack” while the rest of the pack watches in fearful silence

- alpha jungkook who displays a terrifyingly calm precision when he’s angry unlike the other hot-headed pack members, stares you down with those wide intense eyes, tapping his fingers against his thigh in an impatient beat until you are so unnerved by the silence that you end up apologizing for things you didn’t even do just to get him to stop looking at you

- alpha jungkook who uses his natural restless energy to keep you constantly off balance by appearing suddenly in your peripheral vision or blocking your path in narrow corridors, his chest broad and imposing, forcing you to look up at his set jaw and eyes that hold a predatory glint as he waits for you to step aside or drop your gaze in submission

- alpha jungkook who finds your naturally flowery scent offensive to his senses and will corner you against the pack house walls with his calloused thumb pressing firmly into your scent gland until you whimper, effectively layering his own scent of rain, pine and metallic iron over you until you feel like you are suffocating in his presence

- alpha jungkook who notices you glancing at other omegas in the pack and proceeds to isolate you, manufacturing tasks that keep you occupied in the high security training zones where only he and his closest lieutenants have access, effectively cutting off your social tether to anyone but him

- alpha jungkook who makes a habit of "inspecting" your living quarters citing the need to ensure the safety of the new members only to spend the time inhaling your scent from your pillows and leaving his own heavy aggressive musk layered over your bedding until you feel like you can’t breathe without tasting him

- alpha jungkook who catches you trying to sneak away during the night, cornering you against a stone wall in the dark with his body slamming into yours and his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck as he growls that you are never going anywhere without his explicit permission

- alpha jungkook who takes you to the highest ridge of the pack territory, showing you the expanse of his future domain with his arm a band of iron around your waist and telling you that everything you see here belongs to him now

- alpha jungkook who is hyper aware of the pack’s hierarchy and uses it to isolate you, intentionally assigning you to "special duties" that require you to stay in his quarters and ensuring that when other members of your former pack come looking for you he can turn them away with a single thunderous growl and a display of teeth that leaves no room for argument

- alpha jungkook who loves to play with the strings of your emotions, acting perfectly charming and helpful in front of his father the Pack Alpha only to turn freezing cold and demanding the moment the door to his room clicks shut which serves as a terrifying reminder that there is nowhere in this territory where you can find someone who will truly stand up to him for your sake

- alpha jungkook who brings you gifts in the form of fresh kills, rare pelts, polished stones and expects you to be grateful with his smile never quite reaching his eyes if you try to refuse and his voice dropping as he asks if you really want to insult the future pack leader

- alpha jungkook who notices you hiding a tremor when he enters a room so he purposefully drops his voice into that deep gravelly register that vibrates in your chest and steps into your personal space until you’re pressed against a wall with his nose nuzzling into the scent gland at your neck to inhale deeply

- alpha jungkook who displays an obsessive streak regarding your health with him obsessively checking your pulse or forcing you to eat until you are nauseous, his eyes scanning your body with a possessive hunger that makes you feel like an object under a microscope

- alpha jungkook who when he is in a foul mood will spar with other pack members until they are broken and bloody and then immediately find you and forcing you to clean his wounds or help him out of his gear as his eyes track your every hesitant movement with a dark intensity that demands you acknowledge the violence he is capable of unleashing

- alpha jungkook who whenever he sees you struggling to carry heavy supplies from the new pack stores knocks the items from your hands with a casual kick with his eyes turning hard as he tells you that he’d much rather see you tired from being under him than tired from manual labor that is beneath a mate of the future leader

- alpha jungkook who in a moment of twisted intimacy sits you in front of a mirror in his private chambers and forces you to watch his reflection behind yours as his hands move over your skin with as he whispers “look at yourself, look at how you tremble for me” making you witness your own loss of autonomy until you are weeping because you’re overwhelmed by the reality that there is no part of your life he doesn't own

- alpha jungkook who during the cold winters forces you to share his fur lined sleeping pelt with his large body acting as a living furnace that traps you completely as he presses you into the mattress with his heavy thigh thrown over your hips to keep you anchored and his palm splayed over your stomach to "keep the warmth in” and his eyes tracking your every shallow breath in the dark

- alpha jungkook who senses the subtle shift in your scent that heralds your heat and immediately stops his training, his eyes darkening to obsidian as he abandons the pack yard and locks the heavy timber door to his quarters from the inside the moment you stumble through with his movements fluid and predatory as he stalks toward you, trapping you against the heavy wood

- alpha jungkook who ignores your breathless protests that you aren't ready as his large calloused hands grip your wrists to pin them above your head with his voice dropping into a guttural alpha rumble that forces a submissive whine from your throat making his teeth scrape against the sensitive skin of your neck as he growls “you’ve been playing coy for weeks little one but your body is screaming for me and I’m done waiting”

(NSFW section redacted)

- alpha jungkook who when he finally knots you at the end of his brutal heat gives you a mating bite so cruel, it bruises the skin of your neck for weeks and makes other omegas stop and stare as your new mate finally lets you out of his room

- alpha jungkook who discards all pretense and simply keeps you in his quarters ensuring your days are marked by the heavy suffocating scent of his devotion and your nights consumed by his need to mark you repeatedly until you can’t remember a time before his hands were on you

- alpha jungkook who when you realize you’re pregnant with his heir becomes a fortress refusing to let you leave his side with his protective instinct twisting into a claustrophobic need to keep you hidden away from the world entirely and cradling your belly as if it were a fragile precious treasure that belongs solely to his lineage

- alpha jungkook who becomes increasingly needy as your pregnancy progresses and develops a compulsive wish to be by your side at any time that he can, making you wonder at the stark contrast of the strict alpha who rules the pack and the needy mate who walks behind you with his arms wrapped around your frame even as you swat at him to move away so that you can complete your chores

- alpha jungkook who stands at the head of the pack meeting with his hand resting possessively on your shoulder and his thumb digging into your collarbone as he announces to everyone that you are carrying the next generation with his eyes daring anyone to even look at you with anything other than total cowering reverence

- alpha jungkook who in the quiet of his room becomes the only world you know as he whispers into your hair and he holds you against his chest “you were so shy when you arrived my little omega but look at you now, you’re completely mine inside and out and you’re never going to be anything else as long as I breathe”

TEASER FOR THE FULL LENGTH VERS.-

- alpha jungkook who while buried deep inside you during the height of your slickest most frantic release pauses his rhythm just long enough to sneer at the puddle soaking the sheets beneath you with his voice dripping with cruel amusement as he murmurs “look at you losing all control. you’re leaking like a faucet, so pathetic and desperate that you can’t even hold your own water. does it feel like you’re pissing yourself on my cock pup? do it, leak all over your alpha’s knot”

How I felt posting this :

Before you know it, you fall asleep between Namjoon and Jungkook on the sofa. You wake up the following morning in your own bed, wrapped in the alphas’ scents and a blanket that smells like Hoseok.

Since it’s a weekend, you decide to get up slowly. You scroll on your phone for a while, still snuggled into the sweet citrusy smell of Hoseok. You sigh in relief, wrapping the item around you tighter. You don’t know why, but the scent smells practically divine this morning.

Even when your belly begins to rumble with hunger, you hesitate to leave the throw blanket behind. Feeling kind of childish, you leave the item wrapped around your shoulders as you brush your teeth. It just feels right.

You yawn as you walk through the halls, headed for the kitchen. Your heart does a little leap in anticipation of the alphas’ voices, but to your dismay, the kitchen is empty. Pouting, you fix yourself a quick breakfast. Maybe they’re out Christmas shopping? You hypothesize, since November is almost over. You smile into your bowl of cereal at the thought of decorating a Christmas tree and opening gifts with the pack. My first Christmas with them…

You reminisce on the sweet moments you’ve had with the pack lately, along with how good you’ve felt. Your body hasn’t given any signs of heat, but the frequent affection has eased your symptoms by a lot. It feels so right.

You stroll through the house, thinking of watching some Netflix. You gaze through the big windows in the hall you walk through, sighing at the lack of snow outside. It would be nice to have some snow soon to get into the season’s spirit, but maybe some classic movies and hot chocolate would work, too. You enter the living room, finding the remote for the giant TV easily. Still, you hesitate. You glance at the spiral staircase down the hall, leading towards the alphas’ bedrooms. You don’t want to disturb anyone, especially the night owls of the pack.

Then, you recall the much smaller TV in the sitting-room-slash-study. Since the room is tucked away, it shouldn’t bother anyone. Plus, you could use the fireplace there, too. So you retreat down the opposite hallway, until you get to the study. You take a breath as you step through the French double doors. You still remember the first time you came here on the day of the welcome ceremony. Even though it was a matter of only months ago, you feel completely different now. Then, you were so scared. Now…well, you’re still scared but comfortable enough to seek this place out willingly. 

You’re browsing through Netflix’s endless catalog of holiday movies when you hear quick footsteps going up and down the stairs down the hall. You sit up straighter, unwrapping yourself from the blanket. You’ve seen the entire house by now, except for a few of the bedrooms and whatever is in the basement. Since no one has mentioned those places to you, you’ve kept your curiosity to yourself out of courtesy. But surely, it’s rude to ignore one of the men if they’re awake? And surely, if you get a peek of that area of the house while saying good morning, it’s no biggie? Right?

Unfortunately for you, you only make it around the corner before a strong figure smacks right into you.

You gasp, grabbing blindly. Someone curses, wrapping his arms around you tightly. “Shit, are you okay?” Hoseok asks, strong arms helping to steady you. The alpha’s wide, earnest eyes peer down at you. It’s only then that you notice the alpha is scantily clothed in a muscle tank that shows off his strong arms, wet hair, and still damp skin like someone fresh out of the shower.

You blush. “I, yeah. I heard someone was down here, so I thought I’d come say good morning.” You say, peering around Hoseok. The flight of stairs behind him leads to a closed door. How uneventful.

“Oh. Was I being loud?” Hoseok asks. You shake your head meekly. The alpha blinks at you for a second, then realises he’s still holding you tightly.  Hoseok clears his throat. He lets go, taking a step back. “You’re up early, did you sleep well last night?”

“Yes, I did.” You reply, then eye the alpha’s muscle tank and grey sweats. “Did you just get home from the gym?” You ask innocently, wondering if that would give you more of an answer for what lies in the basement.

Being as gullible as he is, Hoseok smiles right away. “Kinda? We have a gym in the basement, along with a couple other things.”

“Oh, that’s cool.” You lie, more interested in the thought of shirtless alphas working out than anything. “Like what?” You press.

Hoseok’s eyes sparkle in delight. “Free weights, machines, you name it. We all love working out. Do you wanna see?”

You have to hold back a grin of satisfaction. “Sure!”

The alpha leads you down to the basement, which is frankly a very humble word for the sprawling room before you. There’s a sitting room in the centre with sofas, a TV, and a kitchenette with a fridge, sink, and a giant tin of protein powder on the counter. It is very…bachelor-esque.

The sitting room splits off in two directions. To the left, there’s a set of glass double doors. To the right, one simple wooden door. Hoseok, of course, leads you through the glass double doors into the gym. You’re amazed at the sheer size of the room, covered with dozens of neatly organized exercise machines, weights, and seven pairs of workout shoes set in the corner. You look at your own amazed face in the furthest wall, which is covered in a big mirror, likely for lifting weights in front of. 

“Do you like it?” Hoseok asks genuinely. “If you do, feel free to come down here, too. It’s okay if you don’t want to lift weights, we’ve got a treadmill and an elliptical and some workout bikes, too, see?”

You nod noncommittally, already interested in leaving. You half-listen to Hoseok’s spiel about his favourite brand of equipment, steering him back out of the gym. “Oh, games.” You notice a stack of familiar board games, cards, and a PS5 near the TV.

“Yeah, this is where we usually game in the evenings. Either that or in our own rooms with headsets on, since some of us have our own gaming computers.” Hoseok says. Then, he adds with a fond smile: “I’m not much of a gamer, but the maknaes could probably talk your ears off about it. Or Nini, who is honestly an honorary maknae line member.”

Your blush deepens. “How did you know I call him Nini?”

Hoseok laughs, ruffling your hair. “Because he told me, of course. You should know by now that hyung never misses an opportunity to brag about you.”

Face now completely hot, you turn away from the alpha. “Yeah, right. All he does is bug me.” You grumble. Then, you walk over to the other door. “What’s in here?”

Hoseok leaps into action, all but pouncing you before you can reach for the handle. “J-Just a bathroom.” He says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to steer you back towards the stairs. You frown at the abrupt change in his behaviour. “You haven’t eaten breakfast yet, have you? I’ll make you something.” The alpha says, guiding you back up the stairs. Before you can protest, the alpha shuts the door to the basement and ushers you back up to the main floor.

Once in the kitchen, Hoseok seems to realize something. “You smell like me.” He notes. 

“Yeah, I was wearing your blanket earlier.” You reply shyly.

The alpha coos at you. “Is that right?” He asks, reaching for your nape and scratching at it. Hoseok’s large, veiny hand at the base of your neck makes you hum in satisfaction, especially when his thumb reaches up to rub at your bite. 

Smiling at your shyness, Hoseok heads to the fridge and pulls out some eggs, leftover rice, and kimchi. You hover around the alpha as he washes his hands and prepares a pan with oil. “You can cook?” You ask.

Hoseok chuckles at your proximity. You realize you’re unconsciously trying to get a whiff of the alpha’s scent and go to take a step back. But the alpha reaches for your arm, pulling you in between his legs as he cooks. “Just simple things like eggs and rice. It’s good to know how to whip up a few things when you’re hungry, right?”

Within minutes, Hoseok expertly makes a plateful of egg rolls. Then, he hands the container of rice to you. “Could you heat that up for me, sweetheart?”

Nodding, you step away from him to complete the task. While you wait for the rice to warm up in the microwave, Hoseok lays out dishes and cutlery for two on the island. You return with the warmed up rice and rest it on the island, sliding into one of the bar stools. 

The alpha takes a bite of the egg rolls and rice, nodding in satisfaction. Then, he blows on the second roll and holds it out to you. “I actually already had some cereal, I’m not that hungry.” You admit sheepishly. “You can have it all.”

Hoseok isn’t convinced. “You need to eat properly if you’re going to get better. Cereal won’t keep you full for as long as a home-cooked meal.” He scolds, insisting on feeding you. The meal goes by quietly, with the alpha doting on you and feeding himself in between. Afterwards, Hoseok puts all the dishes in the sink and returns to you. Observing your face, he adds: “You look better lately. Are your pain and nausea under control now?”

“They are.” You answer honestly, enjoying his doting. 

“Good.” Hoseok notes in satisfaction. “You’ll tell me or Seokjin-hyung if anything happens, right?”

“Yes.” You reply. As you two leave the kitchen, you turn back. “I’ve been meaning to ask, does the pack celebrate Christmas? It’s already almost the end of November.”

Hoseok gives you a grin. “We do, but not until after December 4th, which is Seokjin-hyung’s birthday. We like for him to have his own special day before we start holiday festivities. And of course, he likes it that way, too. Why do you ask?”

“I love the holidays, they’re so cosy. Y’know, the decorations, the parties, and the movies. I love it all.” You smile. 

Hoseok follows you into the study, sitting down beside you as you show him the list of holiday movies you were considering watching. The two of you settle on Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer, a classic you discover Hoseok loves, too. You pull your legs up onto the sofa, curling up under the throw blanket to get comfy. The alpha sends you a look that makes you pout. “What?” 

“Won’t you share with me?” He asks, eyes beginning to darken.

You swallow, then slide into Hoseok’s arms. The alpha tucks in the throw blanket—his blanket—around you, wrapping you in a cloud of delicious citrus. You rest your head in the crook of the alpha’s neck and take a deep breath. There’s no denying it: Hoseok does smell different today. Regardless of the reason, you’re on cloud nine.

The two of you make it exactly ten minutes into cuddling when things begin to go sideways. In your defence, it’s Hoseok’s fault for putting his big, veiny hand at your nape again and rubbing circles into your skin with his thumb. His action prompts you to rub your face into his collarbone, then further up to his neck. Both of you pretend it’s innocent until your nose brushes Hoseok’s scent glands. Then, it’s game over.

Movie be damned, you flip over onto your tummy so your chests collide. You wrap your arms around the alpha’s neck and immediately give him access to your bite. Hoseok growls at your submission. He begins to lick and bite at your skin, sending shivers through your body.

Then, with more strength than you knew the alpha to have, Hoseok grabs your hips and pulls them up so your legs wrap around his middle. You groan at his strong hands kneading your hips, pinning you to him. “Smells so good.” You murmur, digging your hands in the alpha’s hair. 

“Yeah?” The alpha asks, pulling you in for a white-hot kiss that sets every nerve in your body on fire. It’s messy, passionate, and you can hardly get your own soft sounds out in between. 

In the blink of an eye, the throw blanket is discarded on the floor and you’re pressed down onto the cool leather of the sofa. Hoseok’s hands find your wrists, pinning them on either side of your face as he continues to kiss you. You can feel slick beginning to gather in your panties already, head spinning with the ever-strengthening smell of citrus. 

You spread your legs to give the alpha room to lay between them, and the movement allows Hoseok to catch a whiff of your slick. He growls, grinding down onto you. You shudder at his half-hard knot, already so big through the layers of clothes between you. You feel your wolf beginning to take over, ready to accept what your alpha has to give you.

“H-Hobi—” You begin desperately.

Suddenly, Hoseok sits back on his heels. “Wait, what day is it today?” He asks breathlessly. You look up at him, still mesmerized. It could be July 55th of the year 3000 for all you care right now. The alpha wipes his own saliva from your bottom lip and tries to reel himself in. “Where’s my phone?” He asks.

“Why do you need your phone?” You pout. 

Hoseok shakes his head. “Sweetheart, I’m serious. I need to know what day it is today.”

“It’s Saturday.” You reply smartly. 

The alpha gets up, pausing the movie. Since neither of you have your phones on you, he navigates to the main screen of the TV. Hoseok’s face goes pale as he reads the date. “What the fuck.” Hoseok curses. “It’s only the 21st today.”

“Why does that matter?” You whine from the sofa.

Hoseok looks torn, like he wants nothing more than to pounce you right now. He digs his teeth into his bottom lip, as if using pain to ground himself. “Sweetheart, you need to listen to me.” He says, crouching in front of the sofa. You sit up slowly, frowning down at him. The alpha’s pupils are blown wide with desire, his breaths still heavy. But despite it all, Jung Hoseok is a man of self-control. He cups your face gently. “I need you to go upstairs and wake Namjoon. Tell him I’m going into rut early and that I need supplies. I’ll be in the basement.”

Hoseok stands up. Before he can walk away, you grab his arm, guiding one hand back to your face. “Can’t I go with you?” You ask, peering up at him.

Hoseok clenches his jaw so tightly that a muscle in his cheek quivers. “Absolutely not.” His tone is firm and no-nonsense, a complete contrast to the lover of only a few minutes ago. “I know you’re worked up, sweet girl. But no means no. If you want, ask one of the others to take care of you. We can’t.”

You’re upset to watch him go. There it is again, the same excuse Yoongi gave you last night. “But…aren’t I your omega?” You whisper. Hoseok freezes in the doorway, then squeezes his eyes shut tightly. “Can’t I take care of you?”

“I said no, Y/N.” Hoseok says more loudly now. You can see beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he tries to regain composure. Then, despite his better judgement, the alpha looks at your small, dejected form on the sofa. 

“But—”

“Please—” Hoseok says loudly, cutting you off. You startle. The alpha tips his head back, revealing thick veins sticking out in the side of his neck. The sight alone makes you leak slick. “Please don’t argue with me, baby. I can’t control myself forever. You need to leave me before I want you even more.”

“But I want it…” You say quietly. 

Hoseok curses under his breath, then charges at you. He almost knocks you over with the force of his embrace, strong arms wrapping around you. You gasp as the alpha holds your face in one hand, the other tight around your waist to press your bellies together. He peppers kisses all over your face and neck, including your bite. “I know, I know.” He repeats the words like a prayer. “And you’d be so perfect for me, my beautiful omega. But we can’t. I’m too rough when I’m in rut and I only think about what I want. You’re already sick. I…I could hurt you.” 

You know Hoseok is being logical, but your heart aches at the thought of him all alone in rut. “But what about you? Won’t you be in pain?”

Hoseok frowns deeply. “It won’t be easy. Now that we have you, my wolf will constantly crave you. I can handle pain, but I’d never forgive myself if I demanded too much from you and your weakened body.” He says, caressing your hair. Then, he lets you go a second time. “Be a good omega, hmm? Listen to Alpha.”

Hoseok pulls you to your feet, caressing your hair again. “I’m going to go to the basement and lock myself in. You go wake Head Alpha. Then ask Seokjin-hyung to take care of you right now. Okay? He’ll make sure you’re safe, he won’t let you get hurt.”

With a deep, shuddering breath, the alpha turns away from you a second time. But this time, there is someone else standing in the doorway. “What the fuck did you just say?” Namjoon snaps.

You flinch at the angry look on Namjoon’s face. “What is all of this about being sick and getting hurt?”

Hoseok visibly pales. “Namjoon-ah, I—”

“BASEMENT, NOW!” Namjoon roars, making both of you flinch. Immediately, Hoseok bows his head and leaves the study, headed for the basement. The difference between Namjoon’s usual polite, thoughtful voice and his Head Alpha voice is like night and day. There is no room for argument, only an order to submit.

Namjoon follows Hoseok, as if making sure the alpha is actually going where he told him to. A few minutes pass. You hear the basement door close. The Head Alpha returns alone. 

“Come with me.” The head alpha orders, grabbing you by the wrist. 

Your blood runs cold. “W-Where are we going?”

You dare to meet the head alpha’s eyes. They are dragon-like now and brimming with fury. You’ve seen Namjoon’s anger, but never like this. Instead of answering you, Namjoon goes down the connecting hallway and stands at the base of the stairs leading up to the second floor. “PACK MEETING, NOW!” He bellows.

You shudder in anticipation. 

At Namjoon’s holler, the entire house wakes up fast. Within minutes, the remaining five alphas are clamouring down the stairs and into the living room. Meanwhile, Namjoon paces back and forth, running his hands through his hair. You’ve never seen the head alpha so livid, nor so anxious. It fills you with unease, seeing Namjoon act so out of the ordinary.

The other alphas blink sleep out of their eyes, yawns and groans getting cut short the minute they pick up the two sour scents in the room. You’re so anxious that nausea begins to stir in your belly. You lower your head. So much for holiday cheer.

“Where’s Hobi-hyung?” Jungkook asks, glancing at you.

Namjoon waves a hand dismissively. “Rut.”

Jungkook looks confused, exchanging looks with the others. You hear a few murmurs of “Already?” and “It’s not the 28th yet…” but no one dares to press the head alpha any further. Namjoon sighs heavily and sinks into his usual armchair at the head of the living room. With one look, Namjoon nods for everyone to take a seat on the sofas. Immediately, everyone falls into line. 

You scurry behind Jungkook, about to sit beside him, when Namjoon calls your name. You stop. “Come here.” The dragon-eyed alpha orders. You shiver, unintentionally trying to make yourself small as you approach the head alpha.

The remaining five alphas sit gingerly on the sofas, exchanging nervous looks. You hover awkwardly in front of the head alpha. A muscle quivers in Namjoon’s jaw as he assesses you. Then: “Omega, kneel.”

Your blood runs cold. You glance at Jungkook, who watches on with utter confusion. You take a deep breath, ready to speak, but Namjoon cuts you off. “I’m not going to repeat myself. Now.”

Fresh tears spring into your eyes, and you bow your head so Namjoon won’t see them. You look down at the rug. It looks soft enough. You suppose there are rougher surfaces to kneel on. You look back at Namjoon, whose expression is stony. You look around the room, at the tense, displeased looks on all of their faces. You’re normally not the type to succumb to others’ dislike for you, but it’s different because it’s them. Because you’re newly mated. Because you’re sick. The excuses go on and on, but the ugly, embarrassing truth is this: you want to be loved. You want these alphas to look at you with love not hate. You want to be one of them, even though you’ve tried a million times to convince yourself otherwise.

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic! The voice in your head screams at you. 

You kneel before Namjoon’s legs. 

For a long moment, he says nothing. You can hear Namjoon breathing deeply, as if trying to calm himself down. You hear him crack his knuckles, the sound making you wince. Then, his hands move in your peripheral. You flinch, but the alpha’s hands are gentle in your hair. Namjoon cards one hand through your hair, then applies slight pressure to make you tip your head up to look at him.You swallow, knowing you’re extremely vulnerable now, on your knees and with your bite exposed. From this angle, the head alpha is pure danger. 

Namjoon smiles faintly, but there’s no kindness in it. “I should’ve had you like this a long time ago.” He murmurs, taking his other hand and wrapping it around your throat. You shudder. The hold isn’t tight enough to cut off your breathing, but it’s enough to remind you of who has your life in his hands. Your bite tingles under the alpha’s hand. “Jimin was right. I have been too lenient with you, haven’t I?”

Your heart beats wildly in your chest. You can’t muster even a word in reply. Namjoon’s cold smile grows at the sight. “You told me once that I must think I’m some sweet, perfect alpha from the movies. Admittedly, that made me want to prove I am. I wanted us to be gentle and accommodating, to give you time to come to us. I should’ve known that this is what it really takes to claim an omega like you.”

“I-I’m sorry.” You apologize, but you’re not really even sure what you’re sorry for. Maybe everything.

Namjoon scoffs. “We’re 1:1 now, sweetheart. You were right, I’m not a sweet alpha from the movies. But I was right, too. You’re every bit of a liar as I thought you were from the very beginning.” 

Tears roll down your face for everyone to see, but you don’t dare reach up and wipe them. You just keep your hands in your lap, not daring to move an inch unless Namjoon permits it. 

“There, see? How hard is it to submit when you’re told?” Namjoon asks coldly.

“It’s not hard.” You whisper. 

“If it isn’t hard, why did it take you so long to do it?” Namjoon criticizes you. You take it as a rhetorical question, but Namjoon presses you for an answer. “Tell me.”

“It was my pride.” You tell your clasped hands.

“Your pride didn’t seem to get in the way when I fucked you in your apartment.” Your face burns. 

Terrible. You’re terrible, you’re terrible! Your mind runs in circles. They all hate you! 

Your wolf cries with you. She begs to be held and comforted. She begs for forgiveness. You have to fight to keep your mouth shut to stop yourself from saying something stupid. 

Namjoon releases you, sitting back in his armchair. You look down at your folded legs, crying quietly. Addressing the room now, he continues. “Hoseok said Y/N is sick. If my thoughts are right, at least one more of you has to know about this. Who else knows anything about this?”

Seokjin sighs deeply. He stands from the sofa, coming over to stand a few steps behind you to your right. Then, he kneels. Pack Alpha casts a cold look around the room, waiting. Then, Jimin comes over, kneeling to your left.

Namjoon curses sharply, running his hands through his hair like he wants to rip the silky strands out. “Unbelieveable. THREE of my alphas knew our omega was sick and none of you thought to tell me? Am I a fucking joke to you all?” He roars.

None of you dare to reply. 

Namjoon clicks his tongue. “When did you all learn about this?” He demands from Seokjin.

Seokjin hesitates, then answers. “I don’t know about Jimin, but Hoseok and I both found out after she was hospitalized. I found her sick note for work and Hoseok approved her leave.”

Namjoon’s look turns to something murderous. “Hospitalized.” He whispers. You flinch under his glare. “You chose to work yourself to the point of hospitalization while living in my fucking house?” He all but roars.

You shuffle backwards, carpet burning against your legs. You bump into Jimin in the process. “I–I—” You stammer.

Namjoon stands, shaking his head in disbelief. “For what, to protect your fucking secret? Would you rather die than rely on us, rather die than submit? Is that it?!” A whimper escapes you. 

Namjoon leans forward. You see his hand move in your peripheral. You move before you can think, driven solely by fear. You’re so afraid that you scramble behind Jimin to hide. You grip his shirt tightly, face buried in his back as you cry. 

Now I’ve really done it. You think. 

I’m fucked now.

“I wanna go home!” You cry. The room stills. You continue to sob into the alpha’s back. “I want my mom. I want to have my heat. I don’t wanna live like this anymore!”

You open your eyes, peering at the head alpha around Jimin’s shoulder. Namjoon crouches in front of you, hand hovering midair. His mouth hangs open in shock. You shuffle back even more, hiding your body behind Jimin. The head alpha’s eyes soften. 

“I wasn’t…” Namjoon trails off. You dig your hands into Jimin’s shirt, burying your face into his wide back and wailing.

“You’re so mean to me. All of you are so mean.” You cry, rubbing your face against Jimin’s back. The alpha moves, turning around to look at you. You flinch. To your surprise, his expression is gentle. 

“Y/N, you’re going into your headspace again.” Jimin informs you in a calm, collected voice.

“No I’m not!” You retort, not caring that you sound childish. But indeed, you feel that familiar panic and the fog beginning to form in your mind. “D-Don’t talk like you know me! So mean to me. So mean.” You repeat, feeling yourself lose the ability to speak just as you did before. It only sends you spiralling further as you can no longer defend yourself verbally from the hateful alphas around you.

“Yes, you are.” Seokjin interjects. He pries your hands off Jimin’s shirt, then pulls you up onto his lap. You flinch away from the head alpha, burying your head in the crook of Seokjin’s neck. The alpha wraps his arms around you tightly, and you wrap your legs around his wide hips. 

“Go home. Home, home.” You repeat, falling further and further into the headspace.

“That’s not true.” Seokjin whispers, caressing your hair. “You like it here, but you’re scared. You just want us to be nice to you.”

“Scared, scared, scared.” You echo, trembling in the alpha’s hold. Seokjin rocks you back and forth gently, never shushing you or speaking over you but letting you get out your feelings. You dig your nails into the alpha’s shoulders. “Alpha, scared.”

“I know.” Seokjin murmurs in the softest voice you’ve ever heard from him. “Come on, let’s get you in bed.”

The alpha carries you up the stairs like you’re weightless, leading you to the largest bedroom. It’s almost double the size of the other rooms with a king sized bed, and everything smells like petrichor and pine. Namjoon’s room. You wriggle as Seokjin sets you down in Namjoon’s bed, not wanting to be near anything associated with the angry head alpha. But Seokjin is firm. “Turn around.” He orders. You roll onto your side, and Seokjin gets you out of your clothes. Goosebumps appear on your skin as the alpha strips you down until you’re just in your bra and panties. Your hair clip is next, releasing your hair onto the silky sheets. 

“She’s really deep in her headspace, hyung.” Someone comments off to the side. You flinch as another scent enters your nose. Cinnamon. Yoongi.

“Yeah, I know.” Seokjin grits, quickly discarding his shirt and pants. “Go get her as many of our blankets and clothes as you can, I’m gonna make her a nest.”

“Nini, Nini!” You cry. Seokjin wraps his arms around you. You sigh as you feel his bare chest against yours, then feel him tuck the duvet in around you. Despite his own rose scent being as sour as your own, the alpha scents you gently, slow and methodical despite how upset you both are. “Bad omega, bad.” You mumble, crying continuously throughout Seokjin’s care. “Don’t deserve!”

“I’ll help.” Someone else says, and you feel the bed dip beside you. Sour lilies fill your nose. You wrinkle your nose. Jungkook. 

“Bad omega, bad. Bad.” You mumble, beginning to tire yourself out from all the crying. Unbeknownst to you, six alphas watch on with concerned expressions. The alpha closest to you, Jungkook, looks heartbroken. “Alpha hate. Alpha mad. Omega bad, bad.”

“Where are those fucking blankets?” Seokjin says over your head to someone. 

Meanwhile, Jungkook sheds his shirt and pulls you on top of him. You feel the firm muscles of his chest, whimpering into the crook of his neck. Your tears slow down, your wolf more soothed by the alpha that marked you more than all the others. “Alpha.”

“Shh. I know.” Jungkook reassures you, lifting you up onto his chest. You calm down as you lay on his chest, his heartbeat a steady, soothing sound in your ear.

You land on both of your feet on the dried grass of the courtyard of Basgiath and breathe the humid summer air of July. You’ve done it. You’ve crossed the parapet. 

Behind you, boots still scrape against stone as the next cadets attempt the crossing, some cursing, some praying under their breath. Ahead, the vast courtyard sprawls beneath iron-gray skies, crowded with survivors trying—and failing—to look unaffected by the fact that they’re still alive.

Your pulse is still pounding hard enough to rattle your ribs. A laugh threatens to escape you, wild and disbelieving. You made it. No carriage waiting at dawn. No wedding dress on you but black leathers instead.

A familiar voice cuts through the ringing in your ears before you can properly enjoy your victory.

“Well,” it says, equal parts disbelief and accusation, “either I’m concussed from too many sparring matches, or you are the last person I expected to see standing on this side of the parapet.”

You turn sharply. There, weaving through the scattered cluster of first-years and unimpressed officers, is your cousin.

Third-year rider leathers fit her like they were sewn onto her body—dark, weathered, practical. A relic scar nicks across one brow from some incident your aunt had dramatically described in three separate letters.

You hadn’t seen her for a hot minute. Not since she’d left for Basgiath and your family had started speaking about your future in increasingly transactional terms.

Her eyes narrow as she takes you in, from your windswept hair to your death grip on your pack. Then her expression shifts from surprise to outright suspicion.

“…What are you doing here?”

 “Lovely to see you too.” You exhale, still trying to regulate your heartbeat. She ignores that entirely.

“No…” she says, stepping closer, voice dropping. “Seriously. What are you doing here?” There’s a beat. Then realisation dawns across her face with almost comical horror.

“Oh, gods.”

“Yes.” You grimace, trying to downplay this even though you don’t have to. But you cannot let yourself to feel any guilt.

“No!”

“Yes.”

“You ran?” Her mouth actually falls open.

“I prefer strategically redirected my future,” you throw your hands around, nervously laughing. Out loud, it all seems so…weird.

“You fled your marriage by voluntarily attempting the parapet?”

“When you say it like that, it sounds dramatic,” or maybe the word dramatic indeed suits your current predicament better than weird.

“It is dramatic.” She glances over your shoulder as if expecting armed guards to descend at any moment. “You were supposed to be halfway to the capital by now, drowning in ceremonial silk and regrettable life choices.”

“Exactly the issue.” A small smile tugs at your mouth and she drags a hand over her face.

“You cannot possibly understand how insane this is,” she mutters. “Do you have any idea what kind of diplomatic incident you’ve just caused?”

“Hopefully a memorable one,” you say as if turning this into some kind of a joke will save your ass once someone will dig into this.

“This isn’t funny.” Her tone lowers further. “You weren’t being married off to some forgettable noble heir from the infantry.”

You know. Of course, you know. There has not been a single conversation in your family home for the year he was courting you that didn’t somehow circle back to him.

General Jeon Jungkook.

Youngest general in active command. Marked one. Rider. Political liability turned military necessity. A man spoken about in one of two ways: with fear or careful diplomacy. Never casually. Never lightly. Never as though he were a person.

“You were engaged to the general Jeon.” Your cousin folds her arms.

“Betrothed,” you correct automatically.

“As if that distinction matters.”

“It matters to me,” or you thought so the past year.

She studies you for a long moment, like she’s trying to determine whether you’ve lost your mind somewhere between your estate and the parapet.

“When he’ll get to know–” Then, with the kind of timing the gods reserve purely for cruelty, her gaze shifts over your shoulder and all the color drains from her face. Slowly, suspiciously, you turn. The noise of the courtyard seems to dim. A cluster of professors parts near the stone staircase leading toward the academic buildings.

And there he is.

Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed not in ceremonial uniform but dark rider leathers lined with a general’s insignia at the collar. A relic mark disappears beneath the edge of his throat, curling just above the neckline like spilled ink. General Jeon Jungkook looks less like a political arrangement and more like a very well-dressed threat.

He’s speaking to some professor, expression unreadable. Fuck. He got here way too fast? You were counting on having some time before he’d come to confront you. At least until threshing, which would give you three months to think of what you’ll say to him. Well… it seems you have about half an hour before the conscription day ends. 

Then, as if sensing the exact moment your life begins to deteriorate in real time, he lifts his gaze and looks directly at you. Not through the crowd. Not past you.

At you.

Your stomach drops harder than it did on the parapet. Shit.

“Oh, you are so screwed.” Your cousin mutters, being deeply unhelpful.  You tear your gaze away first.

Cowardly? Maybe.

Necessary? Absolutely.

The alternative is standing frozen in the middle of Basgiath’s courtyard while your almost-husband stares you into an early grave.

“No,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. “He can wait.”

 “Can he?” Your cousin lets out a sound suspiciously close to a laugh.

“Yes.”

“No, I mean biologically. I’m not entirely convinced General Jeon has ever waited for anything in his life.”

You shoot her a glare, adjusting the strap of your pack higher on your shoulder.

“He waited for a year; he can wait three more.”  

All remaining chatter dies almost instantly. A commanding officer steps onto the raised platform at the center of the grounds, voice amplified with the kind of authority that suggests insubordination is a hobby punishable by death.

“First-years, line up by section markers! Conscription processing begins now!”

Movement erupts around you. Cadets scramble into formation, some jogging, others practically sprinting as if late arrival might somehow disqualify them after surviving the parapet. You take one last glance toward the staircase.

Jungkook is still there, his eyes still dark, overlooking all the outcasts that made it through the parapet and you…among them. He’d probably never anticipated that you’d go to such measures to avoid marrying him. It’s the codex you did it for. Once you cross the parapet, there is nothing he can do for another three years. There is no way they would grant him any exception just because he is a general. Right? You count on all the codex worshipers that are you won’t have any exception.

Your best wish is that he won’t wait, just like Maelys suggested; he doesn’t have it in him to wait. Not three years at least. If you’re lucky, he’ll let you be useful somewhere other than as his bride. You’ll be a rider…if you’ll be seeing the daylight.

You pivot sharply and join the stream of first-years before your body can betray you by doing something humiliating—like turning around and fleeing back across the parapet.

Later that day, a healer presses a blade to your thumb. You hiss as blood wells across your skin.

“Name.”

“Y/N Y/S,” you state it.

The second year rider glances at the roster. Pauses. Looks up at you. Then looks back down again.

Ah.

Recognition.

Wonderful.

By the time you’re handed your assigned temporary quarters and formation details, at least four people have stared at you with varying degrees of confusion, curiosity, or poorly concealed horror.

Apparently, word travels fast. Or perhaps your spectacularly failed political disappearance plan was never as discreet as you’d hoped.

The sun has dipped lower by the time the final orientation announcements conclude. You’re halfway through considering whether hiding in your newly assigned bunk until winter is a viable life strategy when someone stops directly in front of you.

A red-haired girl in rider leathers—older, scar across her jaw, expression carved from stone—regards you with open disinterest.

Your…. section leader.

Or maybe…..wingleader? Or whatever delightful title belongs to the person most capable of ruining your evening.

“You.” You look behind you. There is no one there even though you hoped. Excellent.

“Yes?”

“You’re wanted.”

Every muscle in your body goes rigid. There are only so many ways that sentence can go wrong here. And none of them is fun.

“Wanted,” you repeat carefully, “by whom?”

“The board.”

Of course.

Naturally.

Why let you survive one life-threatening experience today when administrative terror is still available? You suppress a sigh and stare at her for a moment longer, briefly considering pretending you didn’t hear that. Unfortunately, military environments tend to frown upon selective deafness.

So with all the enthusiasm of someone marching toward their own execution, you nod.

“Lead the way.”

The corridors of Basgiath are colder inside. Stone walls. Torchlight. Echoing boots. Your footsteps sound far too loud as you follow the redhead girl deeper into administrative halls, which you definitely should not already be familiar with.

This is it, then.

Perhaps they’ve decided your enrollment was legally questionable. Perhaps your mother has already sent formal complaints. Perhaps someone finally realized accepting a runaway noble bride into the deadliest quadrant in the kingdom is poor institutional judgment.

Perhaps you’re fucking thinking too much.

You round one final corridor. The redhead girl stops outside a heavy wooden door reinforced with iron. She gestures toward it.

“You’ll go in alone.” You blink. Shouldn’t she come with you as your section slash wingleader or whatever she is? 

“Aren’t you—”

“No.”

That seems unnecessarily ominous. Your pulse quickens. Something about this feels… off. Before you can interrogate her further, she turns on her heel and leaves. Just walks away. Actually walks away. Leaving you alone outside the door like some offering left at a shrine.

You inhale once. Twice. Then shove the door open. The room beyond is dimly lit, lined with shelves and maps pinned across stone walls. A war room, not a board chamber… and very much not occupied by a panel of professors.

Just one person.

General Jeon Jungkook stands near the far table, one hand braced against its edge, head lowered over a spread of maps. He doesn’t look surprised when you enter. Which means he is, of course, the one who summoned you.

Sure thing. As if you expected him to just stare at you. Okay….you can do this.

The door clicks shut behind you with a deeply offensive finality. For one long moment, silence stretches between you. Then Jungkook lifts his head. Dark eyes settle on you with maddening calm.

“Are you alright?” 

“…What?” You blink at him with confusion. 

Jungkook straightens from the table, expression unreadable. Is he…?

“I asked if you’re hurt.” His gaze drags over you with clinical precision, like he’s conducting an inventory. Your shoulders. Your hands. The scrape on your palm from the parapet stone. A loose strand of hair plastered to your temple from dried sweat. As if he is checking for damage.

“I survived.” You recover just enough to lift your chin. 

“That was not my question.” There’s an edge to his voice now. Sharper. More personal than a general should sound.

You stare at him, thrown off balance by the fact that he seems genuinely annoyed by your refusal to elaborate.

“No,” you say at last. “I’m not hurt.”

His shoulders loosen so subtly you almost miss it. Almost. Only then does he exhale. A slow breath through his nose, like he’s been holding onto a very specific kind of rage since the moment someone informed him of your location.

“Good,” he says. And then his expression hardens. There it is. There’s the version you expected.

Because when he speaks again, his voice is calm in the way storms are calm right before flattening entire villages.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

“In my defence, your proposal was always deeply inconvenient.” You fold your arms.  A dangerous pause, you’re waiting for him to snap at you, which…he does.

“We were supposed to be married by now!”

“No, right. My apologies.” You gesture vaguely. Something dark flickers behind his eyes. He pushes off the table and begins walking toward you. His boots echo once. Twice. You hate that your body registers each step as he keeps walking.

“You crossed the parapet,” he says, like he still hasn’t fully accepted the reality of it. “Without training.”

“Yes. I made it.”

“Barely.”

“Still counts.”

He stops in front of you now, close enough that you have to tilt your head back slightly to maintain eye contact.

“You disappeared before dawn,” he says, voice lower now. “Left your family in chaos, your escort unconscious and half the capital convinced you’d been abducted.”

You wince. In fairness, the unconscious escort had been a regrettable necessity. Unhinged move that you’ll be apologising for later…in life.

“They’ll recover.”

“That is not the issue,” you swear you can hear his teeth grind against each other.

“No, I gathered–”

A humourless breath escapes him. For a second, he just looks at you. Not with anger, exactly. Something more exhausting. Like you have personally shortened his lifespan by several years.

“This,” he says quietly, gesturing once toward you, toward Basgiath, toward all of your terrible life choices, “was a deeply irritating move.”

“You thought enrolling here would solve your problem?” Jungkook continues in his…lecture? Preaching?

“It actually did,” you retort.

“No–” his voice is maddeningly certain. “It changed the location of your problem.”

“The Codex is clear.” You fold your arms tighter. That earns you the faintest shift in his expression. Almost amusement. Almost.

“Yes,” Jungkook says dryly. “I’ve finished this death college. I lived by the codex…sort of.”

“Then you understand the complication.”

“You seem to be under the impression that a bureaucratic clause is what was keeping this arrangement intact.”

That… is not the answer you wanted. Your stomach tightens.

“You cannot possibly mean—”

“If you wish to be here,” he cuts in, “then be here.” His tone is level. Controlled. Too controlled.

“I will not drag you from the Riders’ Quadrant because you wanted to prove a goddamn point.”

That surprises you. Enough that your guard slips, just slightly. Jungkook notices. Of course, he notices and continues.

“You crossed the parapet. You earned your place.” There’s something almost respectful in the words. Almost.

Then:

“But let’s be very clear.” His gaze sharpens, pinning you in place more effectively than any physical restraint could.

“This changes absolutely nothing.” The words land like stones. Your jaw tightens and you tighten your fists. 

“You don’t get to decide that alone anymore–”

“No,” he agrees, infuriatingly calm. “But you do not get to vanish into a death college and pretend I will simply… what? Move on?”

Well. When he says it like that, it sounds almost ridiculous. Which is inconvenient.

“I entered the Riders’ Quadrant,” you say, forcing steadiness into your voice, “because I–”

“Because you don’t want me? Is that it?” The interruption lands like a blade thrown with terrifying precision. He steps closer, but you don’t move back. Your lips part, but for one humiliating second, absolutely nothing comes out. 

Because of all the responses you’d prepared for this conversation—anger, threats, political manipulation, outrage—that was not one of them. Not even remotely. Jungkook watches you carefully. Not like a general assessing a cadet. Like a man waiting for an answer he actually intends to remember.

“Because Basgiath is the only place in this kingdom where my name belongs to me.” 

For the first time, something in his expression softens. Not much. Just enough to be dangerous.

“You think I don’t understand that?” That throws you. Because no, actually—you hadn’t considered that possibility. Not really when he was eager to give you his name.

Jungkook studies your face for a long moment before speaking again.

“If being a rider is what you want,” he says, quieter now, “then I’ll allow this.”

“How generous of you.” You bristle instantly. His mouth twitches. But his next words erase any satisfaction you might have gotten from that.

“However,” he says, “if this becomes too much for you—if you are overwhelmed, too injured, or one reckless decision away from becoming dragon food—I will remove you myself.”

“You can’t do that.” Your eyes widen at his proclamation.

“Watch me.”

“The Codex—”

“Fuck the Codex.”

The sheer bluntness of it knocks the air from your lungs. Jungkook leans in slightly, voice dropping low enough to feel less like conversation and more like a threat wrapped in velvet.

“If you thrive here, then fine. Stay. Bond a dragon. Graduate. Become the most insufferable rider Basgiath has ever produced but you will be my wife.”

“The Codex says no cadet can marry while enrolled,” you say, clinging perhaps a little too hard to the one technicality currently standing between you and total loss of autonomy.

As if a paragraph in military law is somehow stronger than the man currently looking at you, like bureaucracy is a mild inconvenience.

Jungkook’s expression doesn’t so much as flicker.

“Yes–” he says. “And eventually, you will no longer be a cadet.”

That is… annoyingly logical. You open your mouth, then close it again. He steps just slightly closer—not enough to crowd you, but enough to make the air feel tighter.

“You seem very attached,” he says, voice low and maddeningly calm, “to the idea that this was an escape.”

“It was.”

A pause. Then Jungkook tilts his head, almost considering you.

“No,” he says, almost gently. “This was an inconvenient delay, more for your father than me.”

“You’re awfully confident for a man whose intended bride fled before sunrise.” That actually gets him. A very slight exhale through his nose. Not quite a laugh, but adjacent.

“Mm.” Not enough reaction. Unacceptable.

“I’m serious.” You narrow your eyes.

“So am I, love.”

The ease with which he says it is honestly offensive. Like he’s discussing weather patterns, not the deeply inconvenient trajectory of your future. Jungkook folds his arms.

“I’m gonna trust the Gods and be patient–” he leans back, looking down at you.

“You are welcome to continue staging elaborate acts of rebellion,” he says. “They’ve been entertaining so far.”

Your jaw drops slightly and he puckers his lips, smiling at you. You must have pissed him off less than you intended. Shame.

“Entertaining?” you muse.

“You drugged an escort, escaped a guarded estate, crossed the parapet with no formal training and enrolled in the most lethal quadrant in the kingdom to avoid one conversation.” He studies you, something almost admiring, buried beneath the exasperation.

“It was, indeed, dramatic.” He adds which makes you stare at him, standing strong and proud in front of you.

“You’re impossible.” Then scoff. His gaze doesn’t waver, though.

“And you,” he says, infuriatingly calm, “are still going to be my wife.”

Heat climbs your neck so fast it should qualify as a medical emergency. Absolutely not. You turn sharply toward the door, yanking it open with significantly more force than necessary.

“And Dunne, I want this union to happen even more.” You look over your shoulder when he says that.

“We’ll revisit your delusions after I survive the first year, General.”

Behind you, his voice follows—low, steady, far too confident.

“I look forward to it.” You hate him. You really, really hate him, which is unfortunate because that voice is probably going to live in your head for the foreseeable future.

“I can’t believe you did that.” 

Maelys bites down on the chicken while you sit in the dining hall for lunch, staring at you from across the table as you’ve personally offended her ancestors. The air smells like smoke, sweat, and over-seasoned meat. You stab aggressively at something that might once have been a potato.

“Which part?” you ask. “The parapet, the enrollment, or basically telling General Jeon to his face that he was inconvenient?”

“You said what?” Maelys nearly chokes on her chicken. Her hand shoots to seize her cup of water to save yourself.

“In my defence, he was being irritating.”

She sets her chicken down with exaggerated care, as if sudden movement might worsen your already alarming condition.

“You are clinically incapable of self-preservation.”

“That feels dramatic.”

“You entered the Riders Quadrant to avoid marrying a marked general and then immediately antagonised him in private.” She leans forward. “Do you have some kind of death wish I should know about?”

You glare at your tray.

“No.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“He summoned me under false pretences.” You tear off a piece of bread.

“Please. You’re lucky he didn’t summon you by physically dragging you out of formation.” Maelys scoffs. That….is unfortunately true. But even he knows better. He cannot touch you here, and he couldn’t touch you before, not with all the chaperone prying eyes.

Not during negotiations, not during formal dinners, not across carefully monitored estate visits where every interaction was observed by at least three politically anxious adults pretending not to eavesdrop.

Jungkook has always maintained a maddening level of restraint around you; even when he seemed to break it, he would rather leave you pressed to the wall with the faint memory of his warm breath on your cheek than ruin the prospect of marriage.

“He wants the alliance,” you say, though it sounds less convincing out loud. Maelys gives you a long, knowing stare.

“No,” she says flatly. “He wants you. The alliance is a pleasant administrative bonus.”

“That is an absurd conclusion.” You nearly inhale your own drink.

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“He crossed three provinces to personally attend your family’s negotiations.” Maelys leans back in her chair.

That is true.

“He declined two stronger political offers beforehand.” Also, unfortunately true.

“He somehow knew within what—an hour?—that you’d enrolled here?”

You open your mouth. Close it again. Because yes, that had also felt aggressively efficient.

“I don’t understand him,” you mutter. That, finally, seems to earn something like sympathy from Maelys.

“Well,” she says, “that at least makes two of us.”

The next time you have to see him will be after Threshing, if…you’ll bond a dragon. Because after Threshing, all bonded riders are formally presented. That’s when high-ranking officers and generals attend.

Ceremonial, strategic, deeply inconvenient. But until then? Freedom. Relative freedom, anyway.

You don’t receive any letters until you finish your first year, and for the sake of your sanity, you don’t subject your mind to venturing into the thoughts of how fuming your father must be. Your province needed the alliance with Tyrrendor, military and civilian enforcement. 

Tyrrendor’s military reach, trade access, and civilian enforcement agreements would have strengthened your territory more than any alliance your father could realistically secure elsewhere.

But you technically didn’t break the engagement, you simply stalled the I do part for the foreseeable future of three years. During which you can find out how to get out of it fully.

Without, of course…dying. 

Until then, your father has to settle for whatever Jungkook demands…without you in the picture.

Threshing comes dangerously quickly, and as you expected, General Jeon did not seek you. He couldn’t, not with reasonable cause. Not after that disastrous conversation in the war room. Not in the weeks that followed. Not during training. Not after squad challenges. Not even during the handful of events where high-ranking officers briefly appeared to evaluate first-years like livestock with better weapon access.

As far as what you heard from Maelys or the battle brief, he was busy and kindly said….you were too.   

“You’ll be fine, it’s not as scary as it looks,” one of the second-year cadets of your wing says to you. You spoke to him on occasion during sparring matches or the gauntlet, but beyond that, you never really talked to anybody; people were sort of…avoiding you. Which is not surprising at all, considering who you are beyond the walls of Basgiath. 

You’ve been carrying your reputation like a second set of armour since the moment you crossed the parapet, which is to say: heavier than necessary, and entirely unhelpful in close combat. You shift your weight, rolling your shoulders as if that might settle the tension coiling beneath your skin. 

By the third hour, your muscles are screaming. Not dramatically. Not in a way that would earn sympathy. Just a steady, grinding ache that settles into your bones like it plans to live there permanently.

The valley beyond Threshing is quieter now—most dragons have already chosen or discarded their cadets. What remains is the aftermath: injured pride, broken bones, and the rare cadet still stupid enough to believe there’s something left for them out here.

You adjust your grip on your blade as you move between jagged stone outcroppings. You’re running out of time; it’s almost dark. You need to find her. From one of the professors, you got to know she likes to hide and make the cadet earn her so you knew you wouldn’t find her in the open field. It’s worth a try, even if you’d be leaving unbonded tonight. That would sure suit general Jeon.

One you now only hear in whispers at family gatherings when adults thought children weren’t listening. A dragon your great-grandfather rode. The last bonded rider of your bloodline. A legend your family stopped speaking about properly after the war—like silence could erase history. But you remember. You remember sitting too close to the hearth, listening anyway. You were very little when you saw her with your own eyes.

Red dagger tail. Crimson scale ridge. Old-world intelligence. Ferocious loyalty.

And a name spoken with reverence.

Virelia.

You step carefully over fractured rock, scanning the narrow cleft ahead. Something feels… wrong here. Not danger. Recognition. Your foot slips. The ground gives way beneath you before you can correct.

“Shit—”

Gravity wins.

You fall hard.

Stone scrapes along your side, your shoulder slamming into jagged rock as you tumble into darkness. The world spins—dust, pain, impact—and then stillness. For a moment, there is only your breathing and the distant drip of water somewhere deeper inside the earth.

Fuck. How far down did you fall into the cave? 

“You have got to be joking,” you mutter into the dark. Your voice echoes back at you—thin, swallowed quickly by the stone. The cave doesn’t bother responding beyond that. No comforting signs of life. No convenient lantern-lit exit. Just cold air and the slow, rhythmic drip of water somewhere deeper inside the earth.

Fantastic.

You push yourself up anyway.

Pain flares immediately along your side, sharp enough to steal your breath for a second. Blood runs warm down your temple, sticky against your skin when you swipe at it with the back of your hand.

“That’s just perfect,” you mutter into the dark, wiping it away with the back of your hand. “Really elegant way to die, honestly.” 

You take another careful step forward. Then another. The cave feels wrong in a way you can’t name—too still, too aware, like the air itself is holding its breath.

Blood has dried hot along your temple and every movement sends a dull ache through your side. You ignore it. Pain is irrelevant now when you’re running out of time. The cave widens and the air changes. Not colder. Not warmer. Heavier. Like the space itself has been occupied for longer than anything alive should be able to measure.

Your breath slows without your permission. Something is here. That thought makes your stomach tighten.

You round the fractured edge of stone—

—and stop.

Because she is there. Or at least you hope it’s her. You cannot see her colour, nor tail, but something tells you your search is over, you can feel it deep down. Maybe even your life if she decides that you’re not worth being her rider and eats you–

That’s such a nonsensical thought.

The dragon’s large head lifts and her chest expands. A low sound builds in her throat—not warning, not hesitation.

Decision.

Then—

Fire.

It erupts upward in a violent, controlled column of crimson-gold flame. The ceiling of the cave explodes in light. Heat slams into you so hard you stagger back, throwing an arm up instinctively as molten brightness floods the space. Stone blackens instantly, ancient rock cracking and hissing as centuries of cold are erased in seconds.

The roar is deafening. Not just sound—pressure. A living force that vibrates through your bones. You drop into a crouch on instinct, shielding your face as embers rain down around you like burning snow.

For one terrifying heartbeat, you think—she’s rejecting me.

That this is it. That you’ve misread everything. That you’ve fallen into a cave just to be incinerated by a dragon your family never even deserved to name aloud.

But then—

you feel it.

Not rage or rejection. Control. Absolute, terrifying control. The fire doesn’t spread. It doesn’t consume the cave. It clears it.

Burning away loose stone. Shattering weak rock. Carving open a jagged path upward through the ceiling like the mountain itself is being rewritten.

Light pours in.

Moonlight. Cold air rushes down through the new opening, mixing violently with the heat until the entire space shimmers between fire and night.

We’ll be late, girl.

“…Late?”

A pause. Then, with the patience of something that has watched civilizations make worse decisions:

Yes, I don’t like being late, but someone had to fall down and hit her head.

That lands something into your stomach. Isn’t she funny large–

I can hear you. Let’s go or I’ll let you walk your way back. She huffs a hot air in your direction and looks up.

You whip your head toward the opening she just carved—toward the sky, the valley, the world outside this cave that is still full of cadets, dragons, chaos, and one very specific general you have been doing your best to avoid thinking about.

Virelia exhales once, smoke curling lazily from her nostrils as if time itself is optional, then she steps forward so you can climb her.

“We’re absolutely going to be late–” and your voice catches as you scramble to your feet, adrenaline snapping back into place. 

A faint ripple of amusement answers you.

Then move your ass.

Air slams into you as Virelia tears upward through the opening she made herself, massive wings catching moonlit currents with predatory ease. The valley drops beneath you in a dizzying rush of cliffs, forest, and scattered dragons still circling lower fields.

Gods.

This is flight.

You used to talk more. Virelia remarks dryly in your mind.  The cold air bites through your leathers, sharp enough to sting against the blood drying at your temple.

“YO-HOOOOOOOO!” You scream from the top of your lungs. “BETTER?” 

Virelia releases a powerful huff through her nostrils, warm air curling past your legs. Approval. You decide to count that as affection. And for one reckless, glorious second—

nothing exists except this.

I didn’t think you’d find me, little one.

“Me neither!” You scream back to her. Virelia banks slightly, moonlight washing over the crimson ridges of her scales until she looks less like a creature and more like a moving ember against the darkening sky.

So you…a rider?

The last person reckless enough—or brave enough—to choose dragons over obligation. After him, your house had changed. Or maybe simply corrected itself. No more riders. No more unnecessary risks. Just politics. Land management. Strategic marriages. Children raised to be useful in ways that required less dying. You stare out at the horizon.

“My father would probably rather eat stone than admit I’m here by choice.”

I gathered as much.

You grin faintly. 

“So you do judge people.”

Constantly.

That feels correct. A comfortable silence settles between you. Wind whistles past. The Threshing field is still active, though quieter now. Torches have been lit around the perimeter, their flames flickering gold against deepening twilight.

You are definitely late. Very late. Catastrophically late.

“Wonderful,” you mutter into the wind. You’re about to land. Virelia begins her descent with terrifying calm. Unlike you.

Your stomach flips as the field rises to meet you, details sharpening with every beat of her wings—officers near the command tents, upper years gathered in loose clusters, dragons resting across the valley like living mountains.

And then—

people start noticing. At first, it’s subtle. A few heads tilting upward. A pause in conversation. A second-year student nudges someone beside them. Then the effect spreads outward in visible waves.

You dismount Virelia once she lands; the ground vibrates under her weight. You’re dizzy and light-headed from your fall, but you have to make it to the scroll keeper to sign your names. 

Your eyes scan the gathered officers—

and immediately land on him. Standing near the command line as if personally summoned by narrative cruelty itself.

Jungkook.

His eyes are not on you more than they are on your dragon. You glance towards Virelia one more time, but her focus is also not on you or anybody else in particular, they are looking up beyond on the cliff where the dragons of the board and commanders are alongside Jungkook’s….oh. 

“Lia?” You call her name to get her attention, but she isn’t turning her head.

Hm?

“How’d you know I was looking for you?” You ask and then realize “and how’d you no my father–” you stop yourself mid sentence. Oh no. You feel it—her awareness shifting, a slow amusement brushing against your mind like heat curling from banked coals.

Your great-grandfather was my last rider, we figured–

“Who’s we?” 

You stare at Virelia for one long, terrible second. Then at the cliff. At the black dragon. At the way, his entire focus has narrowed onto Virelia with unnerving intensity. Not casual interest. Not curiosity. Something far more instinctive. Ancient. Possessive.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Your stomach drops so violently, you’re surprised it doesn’t physically hit the ground. The pieces slam together in your mind with horrifying precision. You turn slowly toward Virelia. Disbelief first. Then betrayal. Then the pure, unfiltered horror of comprehension.

“…No…” Virelia remains infuriatingly calm. You lower your voice, as if speaking softer will somehow make this less real.

“No!”

Her silence is a confirmation so loud it may as well be shouted. Your eyes widen.

“You cannot possibly be serious.”

“That dragon?”

A pause.

Then, with all the dignity of a creature ruining your life through logistics:

Yes.

Your jaw drops. No. Absolutely not.

Of all the dragons in all of Navarre—

of all the ancient, powerful, terrifying creatures you could have bonded—

yours had to be mated to his.

This is not luck. This is targeted harassment from the gods.

You look back. Jungkook. He’s no longer standing still. He’s crossing the field now. Fast. Not rushed enough to look undignified. But with enough purpose to make your pulse spike. Your entire body goes on alert on instinct. Not because of him. Not entirely. Because you suddenly become excruciatingly aware of how you must look.

Gods.

Blood. You are still covered in blood, and soot, and cave dust. Your sleeve is partially torn. There is dried crimson all over your temple, your knuckles, your throat. Your hair is somewhere between windblown and post-apocalyptic. You look less like a newly bonded rider and more like something Lia dragged home as a conversation starter.

Wonderful. Just perfect. You straighten instinctively, which is ambitious considering your ribs currently feel like shattered architecture. Jungkook closes the distance. His expression remains controlled. Unreadable. Infuriatingly composed. Until he gets close enough. Then he properly sees you and everything changes.

It’s subtle. So subtle, most people would miss it. But you don’t. His eyes sweep over you once. Quickly. Efficiently.

Temple.

Blood.

Shoulder.

Sleeve.

Hands.

The visible stiffness in your posture. Assessing damage. Calculating.

And then—

his jaw tightens.

“You’re injured.”

“It’s mostly decorative.” You immediately bristle. His gaze lifts slowly to meet yours. Unimpressed.

A truly extraordinary amount of judgment packed into one look. Behind him, his dragon descends from the ridge with powerful, controlled grace, landing several yards away with a heavy impact.

The ground trembles. Virelia shifts beside you immediately. Not away. Toward him. Toward his dragon.

You close your eyes briefly thinking that this might be a dream, but it isn’t.

The black dragon lowers his head slightly, releasing a low sound from deep in his chest. Not threatening. Not territorial. Something intimate enough to make you deeply uncomfortable on principle. Virelia answers with a softer rumble. You physically flinch.

Jungkook glances toward them. Then back at you. His expression shifts by approximately half a degree. Which, on him, is basically emotional upheaval.

“You bonded Virelia.”

It wasn’t a question when he already knew the answer. He fucking knew she was your grandfather’s dragon and that the most logical step for you would be to look for her in the field.

“Yes,” you say dryly. “Though I’m beginning to suspect there were external influences involved.” You cross your arms despite the immediate protest from your ribs.

His gaze flicks, almost imperceptibly, toward the two dragons. Virelia and his black dragon are still entirely too occupied with each other, their attention narrowed into something old and intimate and deeply inconvenient. The black dragon lowers his head further, brushing his snout along the side of Virelia’s neck with slow familiarity. The gesture is unmistakably affectionate.

Jungkook watches you for a beat too long, something dangerously close to amusement threatening the corner of his mouth.

“You seem distressed.”

“Your dragon is emotionally compromising mine.” You stare at him.

“That is not how dragon bonds work–”

“That sounds exactly like something a person benefiting from this arrangement would say.” You look at Jungkook. “This is somehow your fault.”

“Is it?” His brow lifts faintly.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“You knew they are bonded!” You gesture wildly toward the dragons. Virelia, infuriatingly, looks entirely at ease. Like she hasn’t just detonated your life with ancient reptilian matchmaking.

“How would I know you’ll go looking for her out of hundred dragons out there?” Jungkook exhales slowly. Not frustrated. Not surprised. Just… resigned in a way you deeply distrust.

Before either of you can continue this deeply productive conversation, movement stirs around you. The gathered officers are closing in. Board members, commanders, scribes. The whole dreadful administrative ecosystem.

A rider in command leather steps forward, clearing his throat with the solemnity of someone about to ruin your evening.

“Cadet Y/S.” 

“Yes?” You already hate him.

“The Board requests your immediate presence.”

Why would your first successful day as a rider conclude in anything other than bureaucratic suffering? You pinch the bridge of your nose. Behind you, Virelia shifts, wings rustling softly as if none of this concerns her in the slightest.

Traitor.

Virelia and Kaelor are a confirmed mated pair, which you had no idea before you ventured far enough to find her. Only for her to betray you–

I did not betray you.

You nearly laugh, a short offended sound you manage to disguise as a cough. 

Sure, you just let me bond with you when you knew you had a mate whose rider is my betrothed I specifically came here to escape.

You were looking for me. 

Yes.

And you found me. 

That is not the point.

You wished to become a rider.

Well….kinda.

You wished to avoid a life chosen for you by others.

Possibly–

So I gave you what you asked for. 

I wanted to be away from him–

Why?

Mentally scrambling for an answer that feels simple enough to survive being spoken aloud. 

Because he acts like I’m already his.

Well–

Don’t. 

You won’t admit it. You won’t admit defeat when there is still a lot to fight for.

When he looks at me it feels like he already knows what I’ll do before I do it.

And you dislike being known.

That is—

rude but uncomfortably accurate.

I dislike being predictable.

That is not the same thing. 

No, it isn’t and that is somehow worse.

Because suddenly this feels less about escaping a marriage and more about escaping the deeply destabilizing possibility that Jungkook sees through you with alarming consistency.

That he reads you too well. That he understands parts of you you’ve worked very hard to keep inaccessible. He spent the whole year learning everything about you. Courting you, trying to capture your heart, only for you to screw him over by becoming cadet.

And all that—

that is terrifying.

The Board, after what felt like an offensively long amount of discussion over your life as though you were a scheduling inconvenience rather than an actual person, reached what they proudly called a reasonable compromise. 

Due to the confirmed mating bond between Virelia and Kaelor, prolonged separation was deemed operationally unwise—not only for dragon wellbeing, but for rider stability and flight performance. Which, translated from military language into something more honest, meant: your dragon would become increasingly insufferable if kept from her mate, and everyone preferred avoiding that scenario.

As such, a formal exception was entered into Basgiath records granting you temporary leave every third day to fly to Tyrrendor under supervised authorization. The destination? Aretia—but, more specifically, a smaller fortified island territory under General Jeon Jungkook’s jurisdiction.

Officially, these visits were classified as necessary dragon accommodations and advanced rider instruction. Unofficially, the Board had managed to weaponize your betrothal into a logistical arrangement so absurdly intimate it felt like a personal insult.

You were now, by written military decree, required to report to your betrothed every three days so your dragons could spend time together. A line of text in an official record that would haunt you for the foreseeable future. 

So it’s been a few months of you two flying back and forth. They even allowed Jungkook to substitute for some of the classes you’d miss. He always gets what he wants; his high standing allows him to do so.

The morning air is sharp with sea salt and early frost as Virelia cuts through a pale sky, her massive wings beating steadily over the endless stretch of water separating Tyrrendor and Drakskar. 

Drakskar was less an island and more a weaponised hidden outpost carved into rock. Watchtowers lined the perimeter, their silhouettes sharp against the grey horizon, while the estate itself sat at the highest point like something designed by a man who considered comfort suspicious. It was isolated, brutally practical, and impossible to reach without a dragon. Which, you suspected, was exactly how Jungkook liked it. 

Waves crashed violently below, white foam exploding against jagged black shoreline. There was no softness here, no ornamental architecture, no attempt at charm. Just defense. Height. Distance. A place built for command, secrecy, and people who preferred being unreachable.

Only Virelia knows precisely where the place is, and now…you. 

The Board still believes your authorised residence during leave rotations is Aretia proper. Which, to be fair, had been true at first. For approximately four visits. Long enough for your presence there to become an immediate logistical headache.

Too many people. Too many guards. Too many officers with eyes and functioning pattern recognition. And, according to Jungkook, far too many security vulnerabilities.

His exact phrasing had been: If someone wanted to leverage you politically, Aretia is the first place they would look. A sentence that had somehow resulted in you being quietly relocated to Drakskar. 

You were now being housed on Jungkook’s aggressively isolated island stronghold like a very politically inconvenient treasure. You are still undecided on how to feel about this. Actually. No. That is a lie. You know exactly how you feel.

Annoyed.

Vileria lands with practised precision in the centre of the stone courtyard, claws scraping against weathered rock as her wings fold in around you. 

Maybe next time I don’t have to land at all?  

You slide from Lia’s back onto the weathered stone with significantly more grace than you had during your first humiliating weeks as a rider. 

No stumbling.

No nearly-dislocated shoulder.

No accidental public embarrassment.

Months of flying had finally taught your body how to move with Virelia instead of against her. Dismounting now feels almost natural, boots hitting the courtyard with an ease you would have once found deeply suspicious. But not quite ready for flying dismount yet.

Virelia lowers her head slightly. 

If you like me to fall face-first on concrete, be my guest. 

“That would certainly stain your beautiful face with bruises.” A familiar voice echoes from the other side of the courtyard. 

Jungkook stands near the base of the stone staircase leading toward the upper terrace, one hand resting loosely against the hilt of a training blade at his hip.

Dark riding leathers. Hair windswept by the violent coastal air in that annoyingly effortless way that feels strategically designed to worsen your life. He must have land just minutes before you. But you didn’t see Kaelor in the sky; he must be down in the cave. 

He looks entirely too comfortable here. Of course he does. This is his island. His fortress. His aggressively isolated piece of weaponised rock in the middle of nowhere. 

Beside you, Virelia emits what feels suspiciously like amusement through your bond. Traitor. You ignore her. Mostly because Jungkook is already approaching. His gaze shifts from your face to your harness, then your gloves, then briefly to the still-settling position of Virelia behind you.

Assessment mode.

Again.

Honestly, at this point, you’re considering asking if he was born like this or professionally trained to be incapable of greeting someone normally.

“You landed well,” he says. That almost sounded like praise. Almost.

“I know.” You cross your arms.

“Confidence.”

“I’m trying it out.”

“It suits you.”

You stare. Again.

There is a beat of silence in which the sea crashes violently below the cliffs, and your brain very helpfully forgets how language works. He’s being way too nice today. Usually, his teaching style consists of relentless criticism.

Your footing is weak.

Your grip is inefficient.

Again.

Always followed by some variation of: I’m trying to keep you alive long enough to become a competent rider. 

Even Virelia doesn’t let on what is going on in his head and you don’t know how to use the bond you all have to your advantage just yet. Simply because…you have yet to manifest a signet. No manifested power. No sharpened access to the deeper mechanics of your bond.

Something is clearly wrong. You eye him suspiciously as you follow him toward the western terrace, where you usually train. When exactly he changed his mind about you being a rider remains a mystery. In the beginning, he tolerated it at best, but you knew deep down he wanted to pull you out of there numerous time.

He allowed it, technically, because he had promised he would. But there had always been an undercurrent to it—an expectation that perhaps eventually you would realise Basgiath was too brutal, too dangerous, too much. That you would leave yourself if he gave you the chance.

Now?

Now he trains you like he fully expects you to survive. To stay. To thrive, even. Which is significantly more disorienting. You haven’t managed to figure out what shifted.

The worst part of your arrangement here, however, is not the logistics. Not the forced travel. Not even the fact that you are now essentially military paperwork away from being professionally supervised by your own betrothed.

No. The worst part is sparring. Without question. Because sparring with Jungkook is a uniquely miserable experience. Not because he is cruel. Though he can be ruthless.

Not because he is impossible to beat. Though he absolutely is. But because sparring requires proximity. Far too much of it. You get way too close in those sessions, and he enjoys that way too thoroughly.

You spit a strand of hair out of your mouth.

“This island is actively hostile.”

Jungkook glances toward the darkening sky. Heavy clouds have begun gathering over the sea, low and bruised, swallowing what remained of the afternoon light.

Rain.

Imminent.

The coastal kind, which on Drakskar likely translates to biblical punishment. He lowers his blade.

“We’re moving inside.”

You don’t argue. A rare and deeply humbling occurrence. Mostly because your fingers are already beginning to numb despite the suspiciously well-fitted gloves currently betraying your principles. He gifted them to you on your second visit when you complained that your hands are always cold here even when the sun is shining. 

Jungkook leads you through a side corridor branching off the main fortress and down a curved stone staircase you haven’t explored before.

The air shifts gradually as you descend. Less salt. Less cold. Warmer. Humid, almost. Interesting. The corridor opens suddenly into an enormous glass conservatory built into the cliffside. You stop walking. Oh.

Floor-to-ceiling arched windows rise overhead, framed in black iron and fogged faintly at the edges from the warmth trapped inside. Rain begins tapping softly against the glass almost the moment you enter, droplets racing downward in silver lines.

The space is absurdly beautiful.

Wild greenery spills from enormous stone planters—climbing ivy, dark ferns, flowering vines twisting around wrought iron columns. Strange herbs and medicinal plants line raised beds near the centre, their leaves glossy in the filtered evening light.

It is the softest room you have seen on this island. Which feels almost scandalous.

“Did you build this?”

“No.”

“How disappointing.”

A faint brow raise.

“You seem surprised I didn’t personally construct an entire glass botanical structure.”

“I’m still learning where your unnecessary competencies begin and end.” That almost earns another smile. Almost. 

You stop beside a citrus tree growing improbably well near one of the windows. Rainwater streaks down the glass behind it, blurring the violent coastline beyond. The contrast is strange.

Outside: cliffs, storms, cold sea, black stone. Inside: warmth, greenery, quiet.

“This feels suspiciously peaceful for somewhere you spend time voluntarily.” You glance over your shoulder.

Jungkook has removed his outer jacket now, setting it over the back of a chair near the mats. Rolled sleeves. Bad. Deeply unhelpful visual. He catches you looking. You immediately focus very intently on a nearby fern. Botany is suddenly fascinating.

“This space belonged to my mother,” he says.

You freeze.

That—

you did not expect. Slowly, you turn back toward him. His tone is neutral. But quieter somehow.

Less guarded. Something about the admission feels unexpectedly intimate. Not because the information itself is dramatic. But because it sounds unpolished. Unstrategic. Simply offered.

“Oh.” An incredibly eloquent response. Well done. You glance around again, this time differently. Not as an anomaly in this island. But as something preserved.

That changes things. Subtly. Enough.

“She liked plants?” A small pause.

Then:

“She liked things that required patience.”

He must have inherited that part of her, because Jeon Jungkook must be the most patient and thorough man you’ve ever met. 

No other general would ever let you get away with this. Everyone had apparently been deeply convinced Jungkook would drag you out of Basgiath by your elbow within a week and punish you for your misbehaving. 

As far as Maelys has very helpfully informed you, most commanders in Navarre would have treated your enrollment as either an insult or a logistical inconvenience to be corrected immediately.

Not accommodated. Not entertained.

But he didn’t and now you’re almost at the end of your first year, which means one thing: your time is shortening, and you still haven’t thought through how you’ll get out of this, which now seems very impossible with the fact that your dragons are mated.

Several rounds later, you are beginning to suspect Jungkook is enjoying this far more than necessary. Not the sparring itself. Though he is, infuriatingly, still barely winded while you are starting to feel every muscle in your body protest.

No. He is enjoying you being frustrated. A deeply different problem. Wood clashes again, dull and ringing in the warm conservatory air. You drive forward with more force than precision, aiming a strike toward his left shoulder. He blocks immediately. Predictably.

You twist, trying to force an opening. He counters. Your blades lock. Too close. Again. This is becoming an issue.

Your breathing is heavier now, chest rising faster from exertion while warmth has begun gathering annoyingly beneath your leathers. The conservatory is warmer than the terrace.

Humid. Dense with heat trapped beneath glass and rain. And sparring, as it turns out, is significantly less enjoyable when your body has decided to become acutely aware of temperature. 

“This is tactical bullying.” You break apart from the lock with a frustrated sound.

“You’re overcommitting.” Jungkook lowers his blade slightly, dark hair fallen messily across his forehead now from movement.

“You say that like it’s a character flaw.”

“It is.”

Rude. You lunge again. He sidesteps. You miss. Badly. Your momentum carries you farther than intended, and Jungkook catches your wrist before you can fully lose balance. His hand is warm around your wrist. Your body stills instantly, and you swear all you hear is your heartbeat and his ragged breath.

For one deeply unfortunate second, neither of you moves. Rain drums harder overhead. Your pulse immediately begins behaving like it has lost all military discipline. Jungkook releases you first. A tactical retreat you are grateful for.

He steps back, gaze briefly dropping to the collar of his shirt where damp fabric has begun sticking lightly against skin. Then, with infuriating calm, he sets his training blade aside.

What is he—

Absolutely not.

You stare in mounting disbelief as he pulls the shirt loose over his head in one efficient movement and tosses it onto a nearby bench.

And—

well.

This feels like targeted psychological warfare. Your brain stops functioning for approximately three full seconds. Which, in combat terms, is catastrophic.

Jungkook is built exactly like a man who spends his life fighting wars and making deeply controlling logistical decisions.

Broad shoulders. Defined muscle cut sharply beneath warm lanternlight. A scattering of old scars crossing his torso and ribs like quiet evidence of every life he has apparently survived.

There is a relic mark curling darkly over one shoulder and along part of his collarbone, disappearing lower where your eyes absolutely should not be following. This is deeply inappropriate. You look away immediately. Then, accidentally look back. A tactical failure.

Your throat feels dry. Too dry. The conservatory suddenly seems approximately ten degrees warmer. You tighten your grip on your weapon. Trying very hard to recover some degree of composure. Trying harder not to notice absolutely anything. A losing battle. Jungkook settles back into his stance. Completely unbothered.

The audacity. What does he think he’ll achieve?

You’re getting distracted by the handsome general.

Virelia’s voice cuts through your scalp. The sheer betrayal of it nearly has you dropping your blade on principle.

Excuse me? You grip the practice sword harder, glaring at absolutely nothing in particular. Do not start. 

It is an observation. A fairly obvious one. Virelia sounds unbearably amused.

You are supposed to be on my side.

I am. This is very entertaining.

Fantastic. Wonderful. Your own dragon has decided to become a commentator on your rapidly declining emotional stability.

Across from you, Jungkook remains infuriatingly composed, blade angled lazily at his side as though he is not currently responsible for approximately eighty percent of your internal distress.

You narrow your eyes at him. This is somehow his fault too. You haven’t worked out how yet, but spiritually? Certainly.

“What?” he asks. His tone is neutral. Suspiciously neutral. Like he’s aware something has changed and is waiting to identify the threat. 

You blink. Had you been staring? No. Absolutely not… Probably.

“Nothing.” 

A pause.

Then Jungkook glances briefly upward, as though he could somehow locate Virelia through several floors of stone and an aggressively rainy sky and smirks. He is surely talking to Kaelor. You hate when he does that. 

Don’t you dare tell him Lia!

You are flustered. All the fucking time. Virelia remarks helpfully. 

I am not flustered.

Your pulse is elevated.

I’m sparring.

You have sparred before.

Traitor.

Absolute traitor.

You inhale once through your nose, attempting to recover what remains of your dignity.

Jungkook rolls one shoulder, loosening his grip slightly before resetting his stance. Still shirtless. Still unfairly calm about it.

Thunder rolls somewhere over the sea. The lanternlight catches gold against the sharp line of Jungkook’s jaw, across old scars, along the planes of muscle in his shoulders and arms.

You look away so quickly it nearly gives you whiplash. Absolutely not. Not happening. Not acknowledged. You raise your blade again with renewed hostility.

Enough. 

If he insists on being distracting, then you are at least going to make him work for it.

You lunge.

Fast.

Not reckless this time. Focused. Jungkook blocks immediately, but you’re already anticipating it. You pivot left, letting his blade glance off yours before dropping lower and shifting your weight.

He moves to counter—

too late.

You duck beneath his arm, twist sharply, and hook your foot behind his ankle with far more force than elegance. A dirty move but an effective one. His balance falters, just enough for him to fall and before he can fully recover, you use the opening.

One hand catches his forearm that holds his weapon and pins it to the ground. The other drives your practice blade upward—

stopping with the flat edge pressed firmly against his throat.

Silence. You are breathing hard. Chest rising too fast. Hair is partially stuck to your forehead from heat and exertion. Your pulse is so loud it should qualify as a military announcement. But none of that matters right now.

Because for once—

finally—

Jungkook is still. Not because he chose to be. Because you put him there. His back pressed to the cold stone ground while you straddle him, your body far closer to his than is remotely strategic. Victory, glorious and intoxicating.

“There.” Your mouth curves before you can stop it.  

“I win.” Breathless. Triumphant. For one beautiful second, satisfaction floods through you. Pure and untouched. Then you realize exactly how close you are.

Oh.

That is—

less ideal. Your smile falters by approximately half a degree. Jungkook hasn’t moved. Hasn’t even attempted to disarm you. Which feels suspicious. His chest rises once beneath you. Steady. Controlled. Far too calm. Slowly—dangerously—his eyes lift to yours.

Not to the weapon. Not to your hand. Just you and something in his expression changes, subtly, but enough. The playfulness is gone. The instructor’s detachment is gone with it. Replaced by something lower. Darker. Focused in a way that immediately sends heat racing beneath your skin.

Your grip tightens involuntarily. A terrible instinct.

“You should have followed through.”  His gaze flicks once toward the wooden blade at his throat. Your heart stumbles. That is not remotely what this moment needed.

“With a wooden sword?”

“Everything can be made into a weapon.”

There is something deeply unfair about the way he says that. Like it means two things at once. You narrow your eyes. Mostly because you are losing control of this situation at an alarming rate.

“Do not make this weird.”

That—somehow—makes his mouth twitch. Barely, but enough.

“You’re the one straddling me.”

You freeze. Horror. Immediate. You glance downward. And yes. Yes, this is visually catastrophic. Wonderful. You should simply throw yourself into the ocean. The conservatory windows are right there. Easy access.

You let his hand go and move to step back—

but Jungkook’s hand closes lightly around your waist to keep you in place.

Not forceful. Not trapping. Just enough to stop you. Your entire body stills. Oh no. Your pulse is now actively treasonous. Slowly, your gaze lifts back to his. 

“You did well.” His voice is lower now. Almost lost beneath the rain hammering against the glass overhead.

That should not be the thing that undoes you.

And yet.

Something about the quiet sincerity of it—here, now, like this—hits harder than any teasing ever could. Your pulse immediately abandons all remaining loyalty to your dignity. 

Jungkook is looking at you like he has forgotten every single thing outside this room exists.

“What are you doing?” 

Jungkook’s thumb shifts almost imperceptibly against your waist. A tiny movement. Devastating consequences. His gaze flicks once to your mouth. Then back to your eyes. Your stomach drops somewhere into the ocean below Drakskar. His voice is low enough that you barely hear it over the storm.

“Stopping you from running away.”

That—

that is not helpful.

His hand remains steady at your waist.

Grounding.

Possessive in a way that makes your entire nervous system light up like a distress signal. Your voice is barely above a whisper now.

“You are making this very difficult.”

“I’m aware.” His gaze doesn’t leave yours.

At least he has the decency to admit it. That should annoy you. Instead, it makes something warm and traitorous unfurl low in your chest. Terrible, absolutely terrible.

You look down briefly, mostly because maintaining eye contact has become a high-risk activity. A mistake. A fatal one.

Because all that does is make you more aware of proximity, of his sweaty, muscular torso right under you.

You exhale slowly. Trying for composure. Failing. Spectacularly.

When you look back up to his face, Jungkook is already watching you with an intensity that feels almost unfair. He sits, still keeping you in place, straddling his hips. You instinctively put your hands on his chest to push yourself in case he’d let his hands fall from your waist. Which doesn’t happen and now you’re in more trouble.

If that position felt close before, this is even worse. Close enough that one more inch would be a terrible idea and judging by the way Jungkook’s gaze lowers once more, very briefly—

he is thinking the exact same thing.

The firm grip of his hand still settled at your waist, not restraining exactly—but making it very clear you are not being allowed another graceful retreat.

Not this time.

Not when you are already here.

Not when you are practically straddling his hips in the middle of a conservatory during a thunderstorm like the gods themselves have lost all subtlety.

Your entire body feels like a tactical liability. Jungkook’s hand shifts just slightly higher at your waist. 

The fact that for all his possessiveness, for all his maddening certainty and terrifying competence—

he has never once taken what wasn’t willingly offered.

Your breath catches. Something in your chest shifts.Dangerously. Your gaze flickers from his  eyes to his mouth. Back up again. A fatal hesitation.

Jungkook goes still beneath you. Not frozen. Focused. Like he is one breath away from losing whatever carefully maintained control he has been operating under.

“If you keep looking at me like that—” His voice is low. Rougher now. “Fuck that.” 

The words barely leave his mouth before his hand at your waist tightens just enough to pull you the rest of the way in.

And then his lips are on yours.

Gods.

Every coherent thought simply evaporates. Gone. Reduced to static.

Because Jungkook kisses exactly the way he does everything else—like he has spent an unreasonable amount of time thinking about it and is now executing with terrifying precision. 

The kiss is warm and immediate and entirely capable of ruining your week. Possibly your life.

You kiss him back. Which is arguably the most reckless thing you have done since enrolling at Basgiath.

Out of…pure curiosity.

Not because the way Jungkook kisses you feels alarmingly like something you could get addicted to with catastrophic efficiency. Certainly not because his hand is still warm against your waist, thumb brushing absentminded circles there like he has forgotten he is doing it.

No. Scientific inquiry. That is all.

You kiss him back again—more deliberately this time. As if testing a theory. A hypothesis. One requiring immediate and repeated verification. For research purposes.

Jungkook makes a quiet sound against your mouth that completely dismantles whatever remained of your internal logic.

That—

you hate how much you like this kiss. Something is irresponsibly pulling you to continue kissing him back. 

“We shouldn’t—” you manage to mutter through the smooches of your intertwined lips.

“Yes, we should—” he replies, as breathless as you are.

You feel the tip of his tongue demanding an entrance you are hesitating to give, but when his hand slides to grasp your ass, you cannot help but yelp into his mouth. The kiss deepens, growing messier as your tongues tangle together. Jungkook tastes faintly of mint and something uniquely him that makes your head spin. Saliva mixes as the kiss grows increasingly frantic, your breathing coming in ragged pants between moments of feverish connection. Jungkook’s hand tightens on your waist, pulling you flush against him as his other hand moves to cup the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. The slight pressure against your scalp sends another wave of desire through you. 

The kiss becomes a dizzying spiral of sensation—wet heat, probing tongues, and the occasional scrape of teeth against lips that sends jolts of pleasure through you. Jungkook sucks gently on your tongue, drawing it deeper into his mouth before releasing it to resume. You’re completely lost to sensation, your earlier hypothesis forgotten as you abandon yourself to the overwhelming pleasure of his kiss. 

When you briefly break apart to gasp for air, Jungkook’s lips immediately seek yours again, as if unable to bear even a moment of separation and as if the thunder wasn’t loud enough, the epiphany of what you just let happen is louder. 

Mortified. 

Somewhere deep in the bond, Virelia radiates a wave of smug satisfaction so intense it nearly gives you psychic whiplash. 

Were you observing that? 

Yes, we were.

You close your eyes for half a second. Of course they were. Of course the dragons are worse than the humans.

The distance between you is still dangerously small—small enough that your breath keeps catching on the space where his mouth had just been, small enough that your pulse refuses to settle back into anything resembling normalcy.

His forehead brushes yours again, slower this time. Controlled, but not entirely steady. Like he is trying to reassemble something he just deliberately broke and failing. You swallow.

It does not help. You have to get away.

“That cannot happen again.” You stand up from him abruptly, taking advantage of his guard falling. You walk away a few steps, your back turned to him.

Something in Jungkook’s expression changes when you look back at him still sitting on the ground.  

He exhales once, slow, like he is physically containing a reaction before it becomes visible.

When he speaks, his voice is lower than before.

“Why?”

You straighten slightly, forcing your thoughts back into alignment, back into something resembling reason.

“Because it—” you start, then stop, because anything you say next feels dangerously inadequate for what just happened.

Because it was a mistake.

Because it changes things.

Because it cannot be repeated.

All of those feel correct, yet none of them feels strong enough.

“You kissed me back.” 

“That doesn’t change anything,” you say quickly.

“Doesn’t it?” Jungkook’s gaze sharpens slightly.

Your stomach drops. Because there it is again. That unsettling certainty. Like he has already accounted for this outcome in a future you haven’t seen yet. 

“Everything happens for a reason. Dunne be my witness Y/N–” he says instead, voice steady enough to cut through the heat still lingering between you. 

“You don’t get to reduce this to fate,” you say quickly, forcing steel back into your voice. “Not when you’ve been steering every outcome since my father said yes–”

Jungkook doesn’t deny it. That is the worst part.

“I didn’t steer Lia, bonding with you was her own decision Kaelor just told her you entered the quadrant—” he says quietly. So he did tell her afterall.

He’s telling the truth. She says. But you refuse to believe he didn’t persuade her any further.

“That doesn’t make it destiny–” Your throat tightens as you speak to both of them. 

“No,” he agrees, calm as ever. “It makes it confirmation.”

Before you can respond, the corridor outside grows louder. Footsteps. Voices. The approaching certainty of interruption.

Jungkook exhales once, like he is setting something aside—not abandoning it, just postponing it.

“This doesn’t end here,” he says, quieter now.

Not a threat but a structural fact. You feel it in your bones anyway.

The door opens.

Cold air spills into the warm conservatory, breaking the fragile heat between you like a snapped thread.

“General Jeon. The dinner will be ready in half an hour if you wish to dine—” A steward stands in the doorway.

“Prepare the table,” he says evenly still looking at your rose colored cheeks.

“As you command, General.”

The dining hall in Drakskar is nothing like Basgiath. It’s small and private. It is carved into the cliff like everything else—long stone walls, high arched windows facing the restless ocean. Wind rattles faintly against the glass panes. Inside, everything is too controlled. Too quiet. You sit where you are told to sit. A long stone dining table entirely too large for two people, lit by low candlelight that softens absolutely nothing. 

Just you..and him again. 

You got used to being alone with Jungkook. He never took advantage, up until today’s sparring lesson, which after some thought, you admit you didn’t do anything to stop it. 

Sea fish rests on your plate, seasoned with herbs probably from the conservatory, alongside roasted vegetables and fresh bread still warm enough to steam when torn apart.

It should be comforting, but anxiety is beating you to it. You don’t wanna talk about it. But your mind would be at ease if you two established some boundaries. You didn’t need them before but after today…you’re not entirely sure.

He eats with infuriating calm. You, yourself, focus on your food with militant precision.

Knife.

Fork.

Fish.

Chew.

Do not make eye contact. A flawless system. It lasts approximately three minutes.

Then—

“We should talk about it–”

You close your eyes briefly. There it is. Of course. You don’t even bother looking up.

“No.” Across from you, a beat of silence and a deep groan.

“That was not a question, Y/N.”

You set your fork down slowly. Very slowly. As slowly as you look up to him. He’s already watching you. Not with the detached composure he uses in meetings or strategy briefings or while dismantling your sparring technique with surgical precision. This is different. Like this conversation has occupied his thoughts since the second you fled the conservatory. Or perhaps even longer.

You fold your hands neatly in your lap, mostly so he cannot see how restless your fingers suddenly feel.

“There is nothing to discuss.” A lie so transparent it should embarrass you. 

Jungkook leans back slightly in his chair, studying you with that maddening patience that somehow always feels more dangerous than outright confrontation.

“You kissed me back.”

Heat immediately floods your face. A physiological betrayal. Unacceptable.

“I got carried away–will never happen again.” Your jaw tightens while you breathe in as much air as you can muster in your lungs. 

“Will it not?” The calmness of the question is almost worse than if he had argued.

“No.” You say sharply. One dark brow lifts. “It was a lapse in judgment.” 

“A lapse in judgment,” he repeats, nodding his head with a stead rhythm. “You’ll realise that we’ll do much more once you’ll come to your senses?” 

Your grip tightens around your glass. 

“Excuse me?” you stare at him across the candlelit table, genuinely offended by the sheer audacity of his existence. 

“You continue speaking as though our relationship is temporary—Y/N, you’re my—.” 

“Because it is–” Your brows knit with anger as you interrupt him. Jungkook exhales once through his nose, gaze never leaving yours. 

“No.” Just that. Flat and certain. The single syllable lands harder than anything louder might have. 

“I am still a rider at Basgiath and when–” You straighten slightly in your chair.

“And I am still the man you are betrothed to.” He snaps back at you, clearly losing his patience but you simply stare back at him with the same anger that reflects in his eyes. The candlelight catches against the sharp planes of his face, throwing shadows across the relic mark disappearing beneath his collar.

“I have been very patient with you.” That gets your attention. Not because the words are dramatic. Because they are true. Painfully, inconveniently true. It took him years up until now to dare to kiss you. And kiss he did. If you close your eyes long enough, you can still feel him on your tongue.

He could have made your life significantly more difficult. Instead, he gave you distance. Space. Too much time, perhaps. Enough for you to mistake patience for surrender. A tactical error.

“You enrolled in the Riders Quadrant believing it would place enough distance between us to make this avoidable.” When he says it aloud like that, it sounds embarrassingly naive…and perhaps it was….at least partially.

“But–” a faint pause, as if he stopped to answer Kaelor in his mind. Virelia is oddly quiet this evening, usually she jabs at you with snarky remarks about how you should give this a shot. Or that it would make your life entirely easier if you’d just bend and accept this union.  

“Your dragon is mated to mine.”

The unavoidable, catastrophic truth of your existence. You’ll never be away from him. Can’t. As though fate itself saw your carefully constructed escape plan and laughed. 

“You will continue returning to this island–” 

Your pulse does something deeply unhelpful.

Because hearing it laid out like this—

so plainly, so clinically—

makes the situation feel even more absurdly intimate than it already is.

“Until you stay here as my wife—” Jungkook’s gaze holds yours steadily. “Willingly.” 

He stands up, throwing the napkin he had on his lap onto the table and walks right to where you’re sitting. You don’t pivot to see him, instead, you keep your gaze fixed stubbornly on the arched windows ahead, where the black ocean churns violently beneath moonlight. White foam crashes against jagged cliffs below. A fitting visual representation of your internal state.

Behind you, you hear the quiet shift of fabric as Jungkook rests one hand against the back of your chair. An impossible awareness at your shoulder. You can feel him bending down, his nose nudging your hair away before he whispers into your ear.

“The sooner you accept that there is no version of future in which we remain separate,” he says quietly, “the easier this will be for you.” 

And with a warm kiss to your cheek, he leaves the dining room.

Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him.

Your room at Drakskar is quieter than Basgiath ever was. You sit at the edge of the bed, fingers absently unfastening the leather straps at your wrists one by one. The room is dimly lit by a single candle already burning low, throwing amber light across rough stone walls and the neatly folded blankets at the foot of the bed.

The mattress dips slightly beneath your weight. You let out a slow breath and lean back onto your palms, staring at the wooden beams overhead. This was manageable before—

that is what keeps circling in your head.

Before today, whatever strange arrangement had formed between you and Jungkook was at least functional. Predictable, in its own infuriating way.

You came to Drakskar. You trained. He criticized approximately every aspect of your technique like it was a sacred duty. You returned to Basgiath. Simple. Contained. Annoying, but manageable. Then today happened. 

Because the second darkness settles behind your eyelids, your mind immediately betrays you. His lips.

Warm.

Intentional.

The way everything in your body had gone utterly still for half a heartbeat—not from shock, not entirely, but from the unbearable realization that this was happening. The heat of his skin beneath your palms because apparently at some point you had decided holding onto him was an excellent idea. 

A truly catastrophic lapse in judgment. You groan softly and drag both hands over your face. You should have never kissed him back. You should have slapped him the moment he let you breathe again. 

That is the worst part. Not the kiss itself. Gods, no. If anything, that may somehow be the more alarming issue. No. The problem is that you had wanted to.

Like some traitorous part of you had been waiting far longer than you were prepared to acknowledge. Which is absurd. Completely absurd.

You sit up abruptly. As if changing position will somehow disrupt your own thoughts. It does not. You kick off your boots with more force than necessary and begin removing the rest of your leathers, folding them onto a nearby chair with rigid efficiency.

You should stop thinking. Immediately. A wise decision. One you are unfortunately denied.

Because suddenly—

heat floods through you so sharply you physically jolt. Your breath catches in your lungs. 

What is it?

A pulse. Hot and immediate, racing through every nerve like liquid fire. Your hands grip the edge of the mattress.

“Oh, no–”

Another wave hits. Stronger. Deeper. Is…is Lia channeling her magic? Right now?

A warmth low in your stomach unfurling with alarming speed, curling outward through your limbs until your skin feels entirely too sensitive. You just gotta get to bed and sleep it through. Right?

You make it approximately six minutes.

Six.

A humiliatingly short amount of time before pride, dignity and every sensible instinct you possess lose the ongoing war against whatever this is. You yank your chamber door open and step into the corridor, breathing sharply as cooler air brushes overheated skin. They are mating. She started to channel right when they are fucking mating. You feel almost every single bit of it.

You don’t know where you’re running off barely dressed, but it seems that there is a red thread in front of you that you follow.  

It does not help. Nothing helps. The fortress is mostly quiet at this hour. You walk faster. Then faster still. Not running. Certainly not. Just… urgently relocating.

Another pulse rolls through the bond. You stop so abruptly your palm hits the wall beside you.

“Oh, for the love of all the gods.” Your forehead briefly meets stone. Cold. Marginally useful. Virelia offers nothing except a smug warmth that feels deeply personal at this point.

How do I stop this? You are met with silence. 

You push off the wall and continue. You need distraction. Water. Fresh air. Possibly divine intervention. 

Any of the above.

What you do not need is company.

Which is why naturally, when you round the final corner and push open the heavy doors to what you vaguely hoped was an empty common room—

you freeze.

Because of course.

Of course.

There is one person here.

Seated near the massive hearth, one arm resting lazily along the back of a dark leather sofa, a glass of amber liquid loose in one hand. The entire setting looks offensively intimate. But that is not the worst part.

No.

The worst part is what he is wearing.

Or rather—

what he is not.

AGAIN.

Jungkook is wearing only loose black sleep trousers slung low on his hips. That is it.

Nothing else. Bare chest. Bare shoulders. Bare arms. Fucking again. You physically stop breathing for half a second. Fucking again.

He looks up. Sees you and immediately knows something is wrong.

Or rather—

not wrong.

His gaze sharpens with quiet recognition. A slow, deeply knowing expression settling across his features. Not smug. Worse. Aware.

“No–I–ehm–” You stutter. Defensively. A warning or maybe a plea. Hard to tell.

“Running from something?” he asks, voice low and rough. Jungkook sets his drink down on the low table beside him with measured calm.

“I think Lia started to channel and they are–”

“You lasted longer than I expected.” He interrupts you.

“You expected this?” Your mouth falls open. Pure offense.

“Our dragons are mated.” He arches one brow as if this was indeed inevitable. “It was inevitable.” 

You step backward slightly unfortunately, your body betrays you again with another sharp wave through the bond, warmth curling low and immediate enough to make your knees feel briefly unreliable.

You grip the doorframe. Jungkook watches the motion. Entirely too calmly. The fire crackles behind him. Outside, thunder rolls faintly somewhere over the ocean. There has been a storm the whole day.

“I’m fine. I just needed air,” you lie, taking a step back toward the hall. He turns then and the intensity in his eyes makes you freeze. 

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N. I can feel it too, you know. What they’re doing.”

Another pulse of heat courses through you at his words and you grip the back of a nearby chair to steady yourself. 

“That’s them. Not us.”

“Is it?” He rises slowly, muscles flexing with the movement. “Then why does your heart race when I look at you? Why do your pupils dilate like you want me to devour you?”

He crosses the space between you, stopping just short of touching. The heat radiating from his skin feels like a physical caress.

“You can’t hide from this," he murmurs, fingers tracing the line of your jaw. “From us.”

“We shouldn’t—” Your body betrays you, leaning into his touch despite your mind screaming at you to pull away. 

“Why not?” he challenges, thumb brushing your lower lip. “This is not the last time they are mating, it will help to ease the–”

The mating bond surges again—stronger this time—and you gasp as pleasure coils tight in your belly. Jungkook’s eyes darken with understanding and something else—primal satisfaction.

“Feel that?” His voice drops to a husky whisper.  “Your body wants this. Wants me–” 

His voice drops to a husky whisper as his thumb presses harder against your lip, parting them slightly. “Tell me you don’t feel it. That emptiness inside you that only I can fill.”

You can’t answer. The mating bond of your dragons pulses through you again, a searing wave of desire that makes your knees weak. Your hands, which had been clenched at your sides, now reach instinctively for him, fingers curling around his biceps.

“That’s it,” he murmurs in approval, his other hand sliding around your waist to pull you flush against him. “Stop fighting me.”

His tongue sweeps against yours with practiced dominance, tasting and taking as his hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. The thin fabric of your clothes does little to dull the sensation of his hard body against yours.

You moan into his mouth, hands coming up to grip his shoulders as the dragon bond pulses through you again. Every nerve ending feels electrified, hypersensitive to his touch. His fingers work the fastenings of your tunic, deftly loosening them until cool air kisses your heated skin.

“Jungkook,” you gasp as his lips trail down your neck, teeth scraping lightly over your pulse point. “We can’t—” 

You’ve said these words today already, but this time you don’t believe yourself one bit. It’s easing the painful knots in your body. 

“We fucking can,” he corrects, nipping at your collarbone. “We will.” His hands slide beneath your tunic, palms rough with calluses from dragon riding as they map the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine. 

The mating bond intensifies again and you arch against him helplessly as pleasure coils tight in your belly. Jungkook chuckles darkly, the sound vibrating against your throat.

“Our dragons are enjoying themselves,” he murmurs, lifting you effortlessly until your legs wrap around his waist. The position presses you intimately against his hardness and you both groan at the contact. 

“Why shouldn’t we?” He moaned. Jungkook carries you in front of the fire, laying you down gently on the armchair near it despite the urgency in his movements.

Jungkook kneels before the chair, his eyes dark with hunger as they sweep over your body. “I’ve been wondering what you taste like,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the edge of your tunic. “Since that first day I saw you.”

Your breath hitches as he slowly lifts the fabric, exposing your stomach, then higher still until your breasts are bare to the warm air and his heated gaze.

With practiced movements, he strips away the last of your clothing until you’re completely exposed before him. The vulnerability should terrify you, but all you can feel is anticipation as his eyes drink in every inch of you.

“Perfect,” he breathes, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your inner thigh. “All mine.”

His mouth continues its upward journey, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. When he reaches the apex of your thighs, you’re already trembling with need. His thumbs part your folds gently, exposing your slick center to his gaze. 

“Look at that…your body knows who it belongs to.” He teased, voice thick with satisfaction, smiling into your sore skin.

Before you can respond, his hot mouth kisses your sex making you moan from satisfaction. His tongue flicks against your clit, exploring every inch of you with a thoroughness that makes your head spin, until you’re writhing in the chair. Your legs slide onto his shoulders, covering the dragon tattoo on his back. Your hands fisting in his hair as you hold him to you.

Jungkook groans against you, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through your body. 

“Jungkook–” you gasp, hips bucking against his mouth.

He responds by sucking gently on your clit, drawing it between his lips as his tongue continues its wicked dance. The dual sensation is overwhelming, pushing you closer to the edge with each passing moment.

“So close,” you manage, breath coming in ragged pants. His tongue delves deeper, thrusting into you in a rhythm that makes your toes curl. One hand slides up to grip your breast, thumb circling your nipple in time with the movements of his mouth. The combination is too much—too intense, too perfect. 

“If you come–” he heaves “you’ll come clenching my cock.” 

He doesn’t wait for your answer. Instead, he doubles his efforts, tongue thrusting deeper as his thumb presses harder against your nipple and when he senses your trembling, he tears himself away from your cunt.

He wipes his chin from your juices and looks into your eyes for any kind of resistance. When he finds none, he grips your hips, pulling you down to the ground with him, only to spin you so your ass is up. 

His large hand presses your naked chest onto the chair. His hand remains firm between your shoulder blades, holding you in place as you hear the rustle of fabric behind you. He hooks one of his fingers into the black sleeping trousers and pushes them down. 

You daren’t look back to see him. Afraid of your own body’s reaction upon doing so.

The head of his cock presses against your entrance, teasing, threatening. You push back instinctively, desperate for the fullness he promised, but his grip on your hip tightens, holding you still.

“Promise.” He demands. 

“Promise what?” you manage, voice ragged with need despite the position of submission.

His free hand traces the curve of your spine, a stark contrast to the firm pressure holding you down. 

“Promise you won’t run again. That this—” he presses forward slightly, enough to make you ache without giving you what you need to release the pain that is holsting through you “—is ours. Not just tonight, but always.”

The mating bond keeps surging through you one with his words, a searing wave of desire that makes your knees weak, that makes you not think clearly. You need this to stop and he…is your only release. You want to resist, to maintain some semblance of control, but your body betrays you, pushing back against him again.

“Say it, Y/N.” His voice drops to a husky whisper. “Swear that you’re mine.”

“I—” you begin, but the words catch in your throat as he circles his hips, the head of his cock teasing your entrance in a way that makes you tremble.

“Say it, love” he commands, thumb pressing into the dimple above your ass. “Or I’ll stop. I’ll leave you here, painfully wanting, while our dragons finish what they started.”

The threat is effective. The thought of being left like this—aching, empty, desperate—is more unbearable than surrendering to his claim.

“I promise,” you whisper, the words tasting like defeat and something else—relief. “I won’t run again. I’m yours.”

“Good girl,” he praises, and then he’s pushing into you—slow, deliberate, stretching you until you’re completely filled. The sensation is overwhelming, a perfect mix of pleasure and possession that makes your head spin.

“Feel that?” he murmurs once he’s seated fully inside you. “This is where you belong. Wrapped around me, taking what I give you.”

His movements start slow—deep, measured thrusts that stoke the fire building in your core again. Each push forward is punctuated by a possessive word or phrase.

“Mine.”

Thrust.

“Made only for me.”

Thrust.

The bond pulses in time with his thrusts, amplifying every sensation until you’re pushing back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. His pace increases, one hand gripping your hip while the other slides around to find your clit. 

There is something so satisfying about the way his head hits all the right spots inside of your  cunt, your walls clenching around him as a silent thank you for pleasuring them. 

You are lost in him, in between his praising words how good you’re for him and the way his cock stretches the rim of your cunt. The pressure builds like a storm gathering over the Drakskar—inevitable, devastating, absolute. Your cheek presses against the chair, the leather texture sticking to your skin as Jungkook drives into you with a rhythm that has lost its patience. He is no longer teasing. He is claiming. 

“Look at you, love” he pants, the sound of his voice ragged, ruined. “Taking me so well. Made to be fucked by your husband, weren’t you? Even if you won’t say it yet.”

The word husband sends a spike of heat through your belly, dark and forbidden. You want to deny it, to remind him that you ran precisely to avoid that title, but your body arches into him, meeting each thrust with a desperation that makes a liar of you.

“Jungkook—” You gasp as his fingers on your clit press harder, circling in time with the snap of his hips. “I can’t—it’s too much—”

“Not yet.” He pulls out suddenly, leaving you hollow and keening at the loss and before you can draw breath to protest, he’s flipping you onto your back on the furs before the hearth. The firelight paints his skin in gold and shadow, highlighting every lean muscle, the dragon-scale scars that mark him as Kaelor’s rider, the absolute focus in his eyes as he settles between your thighs.

This position is different. Intimate. Inescapable. Woman and man. Wife and husband. Apart…you are yet to be wed and this would be absolutely scandalous if anyone got to know he bed you before you tied the knot. He isn’t…your first. But he sure thinks he’ll be your last.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, the word almost a purr as he settles his weight more fully against you, his cock pressing hard and insistent against your entrance. “I’m the one whose name you’ll scream when you’re desperate, whose seed you’ll carry.”

He enters you slowly, torturously slow, watching your face with an intensity that feels like it could burn through steel. You are stretched around him, filled completely and the intimacy of this position—face to face, heart to heart—makes you want to look away. But his hand catches your chin, holding you captive to his gaze. 

“Look at me,” he demands, his thrusts becoming relentless, punishing, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the chamber like war drums. “Look at me when I claim you. When I fill you. When I breed my future wife for the first time.” 

You feel him swell inside you, feel the tension coil in his spine, feel through the bond his absolute determination to fill your womb, to plant his seed so deep you’ll feel it for days, to ensure that even if you ran again, you would carry him with you. You know it can’t result in  the outcome he’d probably want due to the fertility suppressant you are taking, but you know it’s Kaelor speaking through him and this…is merely a desire for now.

His hips snap against yours with such deliberate precision it makes you catch onto him. You bite down on his shoulder to stop yourself from screaming how good this feels. How good is his cock hitting your cervix, making you gasp loudly each time it does.

“Show me you accept it. Accept me. Show me you want my child growing inside you.”

The orgasm crashes over you with the force of a dragon’s wingbeat, tearing a scream from your throat that echoes off the stone walls. Your body seizes around him, milking him, your walls clamping down in rhythmic pulses that draw out his own release.

Jungkook buries his face in your neck too, his teeth finding the juncture of your shoulder, biting down hard but not enough to break skin as he spills inside you with a groan that sounds like your name and mine and finally all tangled together. 

The bond flares blindingly bright, Virelia and Kaelor’s pleasure cresting and breaking through your consciousness as Jungkook marks you from within, hot and deliberate and endless, his hips jerking in short, possessive thrusts as he empties everything he has into you.

He collapses atop you, his weight a blanket that you should push away but can’t, his cock still twitching inside you, his breath ragged against your sweat-dampened skin. For long moments, there is only the sound of the Drakskar wind and your thundering heartbeats, synchronized through the bond.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your temple, his voice rough, sated, and still terrifyingly possessive. “I’ve been loving you for very long time–”

You go still beneath him, your fingers pausing their tracing of his scars, your breath catching in a way that has nothing to do with the aftershocks of pleasure still rippling through you. He has laid himself bare in a way that frightens you more than his dominance ever could. It is one thing to be claimed by Jungkook the rider, the relentless general. It is another to be loved by him.

“—and I won’t stop until you’ll be truly mine.”

“Truly yours,” you repeat, your voice barely a whisper, testing the weight of the words.

He shifts above you, his hips rolling in a slow, deliberate circle that makes your breath hitch, a reminder of where he’s still seated deep within you.

“Your heart is still running–” He leans down, his teeth grazing your earlobe, his voice dropping to a growl that vibrates through your bones. “And I will chase it. I will chase you. Through every argument, every denial, every time you look at me and see the contract instead of the man.” 

The dragon bond flares, Kaelor’s determination bleeding into Jungkook’s, a mirror to Virelia’s restless stirring in your own mind. You feel his love through it—not soft, not gentle, but fierce and unyielding as stone, as fire, as the dragons themselves. 

“You’re mad,” you breathe. 

“Mad for you,” he agrees. “Mad enough to burn the world down if it tries to take you from me.”

He captures your mouth in a kiss that tastes like desperation and devotion, his tongue sweeping through yours in a rhythm that matches the snap of his hips against yours. 

“So run if you need to,” he murmurs against your lips, his hand sliding across your body, his thrusts intensifies, eager to make you cum again.

“Hate me if you must. But know that I will be here. Every time you fall, I will catch you.” 

The pleasure builds again, relentless and you arch beneath him, meeting his thrusts, your body betraying your fear even as your heart pounds warnings. 

“Every time you hide, I will fucking find you.” 

He drives you to the edge with devastating precision, his cock hitting that spot that makes your vision blur, and when you come—screaming, shattering, breaking apart beneath him, yet again—he follows, spilling inside you with a groan that sounds like a prayer and a battle cry tangled together. 

“Until you look at me and see not your cage, but your sanctuary.” 

I N T E R L O G U E

You exploited her. 

Kaelor is coiled somewhere in the caves below, wings tucked, scales black as obsidian in the dim light, but his rage burns bright enough to sear through the connection.

Jungkook presses your sleeping form against his chest tighter. 

I didn’t.

You let her go through our mating heat when you could teach her how to shield.

I could have, he admits to the darkness, to the dragon, his thumb tracing idle patterns across your stomach—possessive even in his guilt. Jungkook buries his face in your hair, inhaling the scent of sea salt and sex and something uniquely you. 

I felt her burning and I chose to let her burn. 

Why? After all the work you've done to have her.

Because once she learns to shield, she’ll use it against me. Against my love for her.

And that terrifies you? That she could shield herself from you?

I’m afraid of waking up to silence. Of reaching through the bond and finding walls. 

When she wakes—truly wakes, not dazed by heat and hormones—she will know what you denied her. 

Your hand clenches against Jungkook’s forearm, nails digging crescent moons into his skin, and he wonders if you’re fighting him even now, unconscious, building those walls in the dark. 

We’ll see. 

Far beyond the chamber walls, Drakskar breathed beneath the night like something ancient and half-awake, all black stone and sharpened edges, guarding its secrets with the same ruthless devotion as the man beside you.

.

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THE END.

©pennyellee. please do not repost

"Can I sleep with you?" you mumble tiredly when you realize that he's in the middle of carrying you to your room.

"On the first date?" his low voice teases, and it's so close it makes goosebumps rise on your arms.

"Are you slut shaming me?"

"Yes. That's kinda dirty."

In contrast to his words, he changes course, walking past your bedroom and instead toward his.

Sleep hangs over you like a weighted blanket, and by the time Jeongguk lowers you onto his bed in the dark room, you're almost drifting off again. With only one eye open, and by a sliver at most, you lift your head to see Jeongguk head over to his closet, pulling out a big t-shirt and some shorts which he then turns around to lay on the bed.

Your heart skips a beat and your skin warms because… you have your own sleepwear. They're a few steps away, in a room with so many of your things and clothes, and there's literally no need for you to sleep in his clothes. You know that, and he knows it too.

Without a word, probably figuring you're halfway to the Night Garden already, Jeongguk approaches the door.

"Where are you going?" you mumble.

He pauses, peering back at you softly. "To blow out all the candles."

You nod, your eyes already closing again. But before you can comfortably fall asleep, you realize somewhere that you'd actually prefer to change. Even in your nearly comatose state, you manage to reach for the oversized black shirt and clumsily change into it—intentionally leaving the shorts untouched—and burrow further into the bed before Jeongguk returns. There were a lot of candles after all.

You don't think he realizes that you're still awake when he returns, but since he most likely doesn't care if you watch him undress, you don't feel bad for the way you observe him as he pulls the shirt over his head. Facing the closet, he gives you the perfect view of his broad, naked back. A certain kind of awe and even pride fills your chest. You're always impressed by him, but sometimes, it definitely hits differently.

"How do you even get those muscles?"

"Hm?" Jeongguk turns, his eyebrows raised slightly.

"Those," you nod lazily. "On your back. Like, low, almost on your side. No. Come here."

Still holding his shirt in his hands, he walks over to your side of the bed. You reach an arm out, touching his lower side, a little further back. It's so attractive how wide his back is and how it slowly tapers into his tiny little waist. "These."

"Those are called 'Latissimus Dorsi,'" he informs, clearly amused.

"Oh. The 'lats,'" you nod, recalling the name. You know a few; bicep, tricep, gluteus maximus, hamstring, lats…

"Right," Jeongguk smiles. "And these," he lowers his hand to just underneath. "Are called 'external obliques.'"

Well, you've definitely heard of those too. While you still visit the gym occasionally—or at least you did until a few months ago—you've never taken the rabbit hole down into the deeper knowledge. Or… scratched more than the very surface, really.

"You can train lats by doing any kind of pull-downs," he states, showing how he'd pull a bar or something down in front of him. And while there's no weight, you can see the muscles flex ever so slightly.

"And obliques, you train effectively by twisting. Weights or body weight or whatever. Easy."

You watch him demonstrate by holding some kind of invisible dumbbell in front of him while twisting his upper body. Again, you can't help but glance a little extra at the muscle and how it moves.

You grin lazily. "Oh, so you're a nerd nerd. Got it."

Rolling his eyes endearingly, Jeongguk steps back, grabbing the folded shorts and changing into them, himself. He doesn't mention that he knows you're pantless in his bed.

A second later, he's lifting the duvet to get under it, but if you thought he was just lying down, you were mistaken. Instead, he remains upright as he scoots closer and places one hand on either side of you, carefully leaning over you.

“So I did okay?”

Your heart beats heavily because he's clearly really wondering. Like it's important to him. So, you bring your hands to his sides, running your nails over his skin, and wrapping your arms around him loosely.

He's so warm and so firm, and he smells so, so nice. It's the hint of masculinity and safety again, something so contradicting to you but feeling so right when it comes to him.

There's hope and curiosity and maybe a trace of uncertainty in his dark eyes as he smiles down at you. Even his dimple makes a show-stealing appearance. Your gaze travels over all of him briefly, from the tattoos to the scar on his chest. Everything you can see.

“You did okay," you confirm even though it's the understatement of the century. "Thank you. I don't remember the last time I… I don't remember ever feeling like this."

You've never felt wanted like this. Desired. Like you could be special in any remotely positive way to someone. If ever singled out from a crowd, it's only ever been bad. Or neutral at best. Jeongguk's expression fills of understanding, softening further.

"But don’t… unless you happened to find the roses on the side of the road for close to free, that’s too many flowers.”

He shakes his head, opening his mouth to argue, but you're quicker.

“Yes," you say, nodding determinedly. "Once was okay, but you can’t waste that much money again.”

“It’s not a waste if it makes you feel good.”

“Yeah, it is a waste if you do it more than once. I’ll feel bad instead.”

He pouts, and it makes your already warm chest even warmer. Instinctively, you pull him closer, smiling dumbly to yourself. As if trying to convey your gratitude by more than words, your fingers knead his back, eliciting a surprised yet deep groan from him.

“Can I… is this okay?” you ask, just to make absolutely sure. If you've expected something from him, you want to give him the same kind of consideration in return.

He breathes in deeply, clearly enjoying your hands on his back. “You don’t have to ask. As long as you touch me cause you want to and not because you feel like you should or because I expect you to.”

"Okay," you say quietly, admiring him, high on the content sounds he makes as he closes his eyes. In another setting, they'd turn you on, but at this time, they only make your heart soar. "…You don't have to be scared to touch me either."

"I will not take that responsibility lightly."

And while you can tell by his light tone and closed eyes that he's keeping it… easy, you don't doubt that he's very much serious.

You move your hand to the back of his neck, feeling his black hair between your fingers. "Kiss me?"

The next morning is a lazy one. It starts with you waking up, head resting on Jeongguk's tattooed bicep, his chest moving calmly against your back, and his slow, deep breaths in your hair. His other arm hangs limp from your waist.

You're happy. Content. Not even the fact that your—his—shirt has ridden up, exposing your blue cotton panties, worries you. Sure, Jeongguk is very much asleep but you don't think he'd make a big deal out of it.

Maybe that's what you need the most? Not necessarily positive affirmations because while it's nice to hear him say that you're pretty—and you definitely needed to hear that first—letting him see you however vulnerable sometimes feels easiest when you're not expecting any kind of reaction.

You wonder if he realizes that or if he's just winging it; choosing his actions and reactions as they come. After all, he said he consciously didn't comment on your looks when you first came to live with him so that you wouldn't second-guess his motives.

You stay where you are, your left hand softly tracing the inked designs in front of your face. Jeongguk sleeps for a few more minutes, until you hear him yawn behind you. He happens to move at the same time you adjust, and your lower halves bump into each other.

"Sorry," he mumbles, moving back a little.

"No need to apologize."

You shut your eyes for a moment. Waking up hard is definitely not his fault, and although you appreciate his consideration, knowing exactly how he feels in your hand—big and hard—nearly has you turning around, offering to help.

You do roll over though, but only to look at his sleepy face. Although tired, you've at least had a few more minutes to wake up.

Jeongguk's dark hair is messy, endearingly sticking out in multiple directions, and you raise your hand to gently brush it out of his face.

Sighing deeply, he shuts his eyes again. "I dreamed about you."

"Hm?" you voice, amused.

"Not… It's not why I have a boner," he clarifies after realizing your logical conclusion. "I dreamed that Jihyo had a new mission for us, and I got to have you as my wife again. Well, at first, she insisted that Jimin go with you? As your husband? But I fought tooth and nail and told her how good we look as a couple, and she finally gave in."

"Sounds toxic."

"Mhm. Only for you."

"And she really let you go with me because we looked good as a couple?" You chuckle. "No other qualifications?"

"Yes. Dream logic."

"Right. I mean Jimin's a good looking guy as well."

Jeongguk opens one tired eye, staring at you in silent warning.

"What? He's not my type, but you can't say that he's even remotely ugly."

"No, you're right. He's handsome. But what's your type then?" Jeongguk asks, smirking… curiously?

As if thinking about it, you let your fingers trace his features. His eyebrows, his nose, his cheekbones and jaw. But you know that he sees the admiration you can't keep from your gaze as it moves over his face, and he closes his eyes for another moment, satisfied and happy.

He's so clearly your type, there's no need to say it. But you do anyway, heart beating. "You've always been my type. At least physically."

"But not enough to remember when we first met," he questions lazily.

You think back to those months. They were all very dark for you. "When was it? October? I knew who you were even before you came, but I probably just didn't recognize you. I was under a lot of stress back then."

"No, I know," he says, his voice losing its teasing tone. The hand he's kept hanging off your waist strokes your back.

"The first time I remember seeing you at the station, you were talking to the Chief outside his office. I was sitting at Sana's desk, and she had just gone to the bathroom."

It feels like three lifetimes ago, how you straightened your back to peer over the monitor in front of you to catch a careful glimpse of the new intimidatingly handsome officer.

"You were wearing your uniform, and I think you'd just come back from your first shift after transferring. I'd seen pictures of you, including after you won the Officer Olympics, but I remember thinking that even the pictures didn't do you justice. Then you looked around, and I ducked behind the monitor."

"I didn't see you," he concludes. "Do you… remember the second time we met? Like actually interacted?"

You lick your lips, revisiting another memory. "I think so. Like a week or so later? You were entering the station with Hoseong and Ryung a few steps behind me, and I slammed the door in Ryung's face? And you asked me what my problem was and told me to grow up?"

You smile a small smile. Knowing now that they'd just started slowly and carefully putting their claws into Jeongguk, you don't blame him.

"Yeah. Sorry about that. They'd just told me that you couldn't accept that Hoseong didn't want to date you. It sounded so unrealistic that you would've actually shot him—and they had to convince me for like a week straight not to bring it up to the chief—but when you seemed so angry, doing stuff like that, seemingly unprovoked? And then looking at me as if you were surprised I was daring to speak up, but then giving me the finger? I guess I started buying it."

You remember his face; frustration overflowing when neither Hoseong nor Ryung told you off for your 'unprovoked' attack. A show of innocence for the gallery, of course. And then more frustration when you flipped him off.

You trace his jaw with feather light fingers. "Honestly, it was a bit out of character for me because you and I hadn't really talked yet. But they'd been calling me from unknown prepaid sim cards, just breathing and not saying anything, for like five consecutive nights, and I was just so tired. And you were a man in law enforcement and clearly already friends with them, so why would I even bother giving you the benefit of the doubt?"

Despite knowing everything you'd been subjected to, maybe it feels different to hear your side actually intertwined with his because he pulls you closer, hugging you tightly. He's so warm against you, so strong.

"So while I wish you would've talked to me about it, I don't blame you for that," you continue.

You imagine him pulling you aside, alone. The thing is that you could tell that he wasn't… mocking or taunting you in any way when he called you out for slamming the door, but he was frustrated and agitated, and it didn't make enough of a difference. But if he had asked one or two questions that would've clued you in on the fact that he wasn't aware of the full story, the actual reason you shot Hoseong…

If he either would've asked in a calmer voice why you felt the need to slam that door, or even if he'd just outright questioned why you shot his new-found friend or if it even ask whether it was true that you had…

"I'm sorry," he mumbles into your hair.

"I know. But it turned out alright in the end anyway, right?"

"Did it?"

"I'd say so? I mean… I'm in your bed?" you chuckle.

"Imagine we got to go undercover now though? Or if we'd been… civil while we were? Maybe that was the reason for the boner. The dream."

You burst out laughing, leaning back to look at his face. "Because you got to play house again?"

Jeongguk grins happily. "Yes. I can't believe how out of my mind I was, not realizing the opportunity I had."

"Opportunity to do what, exactly?" you quirk an eyebrow.

"To make things right? Say we were shipped out now instead of then and told to pretend to be married? Would you not have an at least alright time?"

You choose not to misunderstand his words. "I would. Being undercover is always a bit nerve-racking, though."

"Yeah, but pretending to be married to me?"

"Not having to be scared you'd kill me?"

"Yes," he says, pulling you just a little closer again as if he can't help it.

"I would have a better time, yes. A good time, even. Do you think they'd believe us, though?"

"They already did?"

"Hoseok outright asked me if you were abusing me."

"Yes, but he was reading you, not me. You were scared, understandably, but I was never even thinking about hurting you in any way."

"Oh, so it was my fault that they didn't believe us?" you tease.

"No? Because I still think everyone but Hoseok and Yoongi bought it. I mean, even they bought that we were married. I'm also sorry for making you have that conversation with Eunha and Hyeji. At least they seemed to believe you, and I also thought it was very sweet the way you spoke about me."

You let out a loud, painful groan. "Do not remind me. You know what, I think I'm still angry at you for that. Wait—exactly what did you hear?"

Jeongguk snickers, and you both know you're very intentionally skipping the heavier side of the topic, how he essentially but unknowingly joked about your assault when you confronted him about the handcuffs.

"I heard you say that you got a uniform and cuffs for role playing since you enjoy, what was it… 'a man in uniform,'"

"Jeongguk, domestic abuse or not, I will pinch you."

He continues to laugh, pulling you even closer. "I beg your mercy. But I also heard you say that I wasn't only hot and intimidating but also sweet and kind and your best friend in the whole world. And I think that was sweet, and it was super smart of you because I wholeheartedly think they believed you were just a bit embarrassed."

"You know I wasn't talking about you, though? I didn't consider you sweet, kind, or a good friend in the slightest."

"I know," he says, putting his nose in your hair and breathing you in without any sort of shame.

It feels like you're moving together, like you've wordlessly agreed that you've addressed the deepest issues and can now instead talk about other aspects without always apologizing. It's progress you never expected until very recently, but it feels good.

"Should we get up? Have some cheesecake for breakfast?"

At that, he moves back, stretching his arms over his head. "Yeah."

But then he makes no effort to get up, just looks at you. It's like you so often find yourself looking at him. Dreamily.

"What?"

"You are insanely gorgeous."

"Stop," you say, cheeks heating embarrassingly as you wrestle your way out of the covers. Being complimented into embarrassment isn't something you thought you'd ever experience, but… you've never been this happy.

"Alright. Why don't you go and prepare some cheesecake? I'll be with you in a moment; I just have to decide what to do with… this," he explains, casually putting a pillow over his crotch.

You grin, understanding his dilemma and definitely not jealous regarding it. Waking up hard, just as a bodily reaction, and then talking about matters which won't exactly rile you up further. Do you rub one out if it persists or just let it die down?

It's definitely some kind of torture, cutting up slices of cheesecake while wondering what Jeongguk decided to do. The knife you're using is dull, good enough for cheesecake and the safest choice for your fingers when you can't stop thinking about his hands wrapped around his thick cock, muscles tense, and his eyes shut in pleasure. Did he stay in bed or is he in the shower?

As you wait so that you can eat together, you take the opportunity to send your mom a text, and you look through your unread emails, answering some. By the time you hear his footsteps, you're just finishing pouring two cups of coffee.

"Am I correct in thinking we're not really doing anything today? I'm waiting on a call, but other than that…"

You turn, spotting Jeongguk behind you, his hair a little tamer than before but partially in his eyes. Like a real couple, you're sharing an outfit; he's wearing the black sweatpants to your black shirt, his muscular chest bare. If he in any way stopped to admire your legs, naked from where the shirt ends at right underneath your butt, you didn't see.

"You're working tomorrow right?" you ask. "Patrol?"

"Yeah. Night shift, though. For the entire week if I'm not mistaken."

You meet his eyes, and you can tell that he shares your quiet disappointment. You'll be preparing for the preliminary hearing, so you'll barely see each other.

"Then I think doing nothing today would be really nice."

You don't do nothing.

The cheesecake is just as delicious as yesterday. First, you watch a short Youtube documentary about the possible reasons humans dream, which ends just as the cheesecake does. Not ready to leave the couch just yet, you do some traditional zapping, ending up on a channel showing 'Back to the Future.'

You pay attention for a whole ten minutes, Jeongguk's arm around you and you resting against him, a blanket over your laps. He's wearing a black t-shirt, having gone searching for it after the cheesecake because it was a little too chilly to remain shirtless. You, however, still only wear his shirt that you slept in, satisfied with the blanket's warmth.

While Jeongguk watches the movie, you think about him. His body, his voice, his face, his touch… How he talks to you and how he treats you… The roses are where you left them last night, bouquet after bouquet lining the walls and decorating the surfaces.

The more you look at them, and the more you think about Jeongguk, breathing his scent with every inhale, you fill with something. It's a blend of confidence and… need? Or a want, at least. A desire to be even closer and to show him how good and confident he makes you feel. How grateful you are for him.

Putting your hand on his chest, you glance up when you feel his soft gaze on you and his hand gently tuck your hair behind your ear.

That's it. Nervous, yet more determined than you've felt in quite a while, you crawl onto his lap, straddling him. His hands fall to your naked thighs on either side of his as he watches you curiously, eyebrows raised slightly as to ask what you're up to.

"I want to kiss you," you whisper, admiring him with your heart beating rapidly and butterflies fluttering their wings.

"I'd love it if you did," is what he says, smiling in that way that makes his dimple appear.

So you do. With one hand gripping his shirt and the other at the back of his neck, you lean down, pressing your lips against his.

It's so different this time around. You've been seated on his lap a few times, kissing him, and while you've always wanted to feel his lips against yours, you've been different degrees of terrified.

Undercover, when you kissed on the hammock, thinking that he was planning to kill you, and then after everything, when you merely feared that he was lying about his intentions and feelings, bound to hurt you in one way or another.

This time, you're nervous, yes, but in a different way. It's more biological, a natural reaction to wanting to fit in and not disappoint, rather than thinking he's just with you because he pities you. You can never prove that he feels the same kind of irresistible attraction you feel toward him, but he likes you. Jeongguk likes you.

His hands stay respectful, one on your lower thigh and the other moving to hold your waist. They're both warm because of course they are. He hums appreciatively into the kiss, and you lift your hand that was gripping his shirt to carefully hold his jaw instead, kissing him slowly. God, he's addictive in the best way, letting you explore this kind of affection without the overhanging threat of a border with no return.

Feeling cheeky, you pull the tiniest bit on the hair at the back of his neck, immensely satisfied when he lets out an unmistakably appreciative groan. Grinning against his lips, you do it again.

Despite his still hands, he's not passive. Although letting you lead, he follows enthusiastically, even nipping your bottom lip at one point. You're high on something, maybe the roses or just him and his sounds and his touch, and you're full of something else, that deep and warm want.

Adrenaline fills your veins and your pulse kicks into another gear as you lower your left hand from Jeongguk's jaw to his hand that's resting on your thigh. You take it, placing it between your breasts, right in the middle. Since you're only wearing his thin, black t-shirt, you wouldn't be surprised if he feels every single beat of your heart against his palm.

Slowly, while still kissing him, you lower his hand, just like he lowered yours that time in the shower. But he catches on, stopping just before your hands venture between your spread legs.

"Are you sure?" he mumbles against your lips.

"Yes," you whisper. "I want you to. If you want to."

"Of course, I want to. You know that. But it's up to you."

You nod, closing your eyes and kissing him again as you lower your hands further, in under the shirt but on top of your panties. Your heart beats heavy with anticipation and nerves when you feel his hand right there. At first, he caresses carefully, rubbing with gentle pressure over your slit and to your clit, and it makes you break the kiss, unable to focus.

He watches you, you know that even if your own eyes are closed. Drawing a shaky breath, you grip his shirt at his chest again.

"Okay?"

"Mhm," you bite your lip, almost flinching when he adds pressure to your clit, circling it over the fabric of your panties. They seem to annoy him a little, and next thing you know, he's pulling them to the side, running his fingers through your almost embarrassingly soaked folds.

"You're a literal dream," he states, his words breathy.

"Jeongguk," you whisper quietly into his ear.

"Does it feel good?"

Leaning forward, you nod against the side of his face, whimpering when he rubs your clit again, this time harder. He spreads his legs and in turn, yours, giving him unrestricted access. It's vulnerable, and you feel so exposed, but in a mostly exhilarating way.

"What did I do to deserve you, huh? So beautiful and gorgeous and sexy; you take my breath away."

If you weren't so preoccupied, you would've gladly clued him in, telling him that you're not this fond of him purely by chance. But you don't have nearly enough brain power, and honestly, you hope he already knows.

Slowly, gauging your reaction, he trails his middle finger lower, circling. When you nod in approval, he pushes it in. You're so wet already that it slips right in, and he immediately finds that spot, rubbing against it as he pumps his finger in and out.

"Jeongguk…" you repeat. It's like he already knows everything about you and your body.

He stops, his finger still deep inside you.

"Is this okay?" he asks, voice deep and calm.

"Mhm, keep going," you hum. "Please…"

Something about your breathy pleading makes him groan lightly, but he resumes, even adds another finger to pump in and out.

"You are so pretty like this," he says. "The prettiest. My pretty girl."

Your grip on his t-shirt tightens, and your eyes are one second away from tearing up, feeling him hit your sensitive nerves every time. His other hand warms your waist through the t-shirt, his hold on you gentle but firm.

Every ragged breath you take, his scent is there, clouding your brain. Him, him, him; he's all you feel and all you think about. His big body, his muscular arms and shoulders, the tattoos, veins, his warm, golden skin. And that's not even mentioning his dark, dark eyes, capable of conveying so much strength but also gentleness. Or his long fingers, currently fucking in and out of you at a quickening pace.

His phone rings.

You don't know who's calling, but you don't spare it too much thought, seeing as he doesn't stop. Two seconds is all he needs to decide his next action.

"Can you be quiet?" he asks lowly, pulling his wet fingers out of you to eliminate the worst sounds but keeping them on your clit instead.

You take a deep, shaky breath, nodding, still with your eyes closed and your forehead pressed against the side of his face.

"Hey," he answers the phone, sounding entirely normal.

It sounds like a man on the other end of the line, although you can't discern more than a single word here and there.

"Yeah, okay, good. That's great. Listen, can I call you back in a few minutes?"

You bite your lip, feeling him casually roll your clit between his fingers as he waits for an answer. To stop any sound from escaping your lips without permission, you press them against his warm neck.

"Mhm, okay, I'll call you back. Bye."

You hear the faint thud of his phone hitting the couch further away.

"Sorry, about that," he apologizes, and his genuine words and deep voice has you weaker in the knees than his hand between your legs.

"It's okay," you mumble, because you absolutely don't mind. He wouldn't have answered if it wasn't important.

However, your knees definitely feel even weaker when he puts in another gear, clearly enjoying it when the your thighs shake and your hips move seemingly on their own, trying to deal with the intensity of his touches. It's definitely not ruthless, but he's braver than he was at the start, rubbing both quicker and with more force, alternating the pattern and motion.

"So mesmerized by you," he says, and you grip at what you can reach of his back.

As you hold onto him, your breaths become shorter and shorter as the sharp pleasure builds inside you, threatening to spill over.

"Jeongguk."

"I know, baby," he encourages, turning to kiss your jaw.

It builds and builds and builds, until those shallow breaths become one that you hold, biting your lip while the electricity pulses through your entire body, and you drop your head to Jeongguk's shoulder.

His fingers continue a few seconds longer, softly and smoothly letting you ride out the orgasm before he removes them, your panties snapping back in place. Still keeping your head on his shoulder, you open your eyes just in time to see him casually wipe his fingers on his pants.

A quiet moment passes, a chance for you to catch your breath, Jeongguk stroking your back in the meantime.

"I'm gonna live a long time on that," he admits, making you chuckle. "How are you feeling?"

"Good," you say, sliding off him and to the side. Your skin is warm, both because of the nature of what you just did but also since he made you come in like, what, less than five minutes? "I guess two minutes is all I need," you joke, referencing his words from that day at the station when he desperately wanted you to listen to him.

"If you think that makes you less irresistible…" he comments, his round eyes surprised yet slightly… wild.

You just chuckle again. Sure, men usually only come once and 'premature ejaculation' is a different 'problem,' but it still feels embarrassing. To show your gratitude, mostly for his comforting words and how well he treats you in general, you grab a soft hold of his jaw, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on his cheek.

When you straighten up, he takes it as his sign, reaching for the phone.

"Well, I need to make a call," he states, slapping his thighs and standing up. "And then… definitely take care of something this time."

You snort, finding him so incredibly endearing and lovable. You didn't look for the boner, and you don't see it as he leaves the room, phone held up to his ear. What you do see, however, is how he brings the fingers he used to get you off to his mouth, casually licking them clean as he waits for whoever called to pick up.

<previous | next>

The next days you’re surviving on three hours of sleep a night- your hands shake badly enough that you nearly spill coffee down the front of your shirt twice before noon. In the morning you find yourself standing outside a classroom you’ve walked into a hundred times before while your brain completely refuses to remember why you’re there in the first place.

“You lost?”

The voice cuts through the thick fog inside your head just enough to make you blink.

Jungkook is standing a few feet away, one hand hooked around the strap of his backpack while he studies you with a faint frown.

“What?” The word leaves you automatically, genuinely confused.

Jungkook’s eyebrows pull together slightly. For a second he just looks at you, then his gaze shifts toward the classroom door.

“We’ve got English.”

Your brain struggles to catch up. English. Right.

You just stare at him and Jungkook stares back. Then something almost resigned crosses his face and he lets out a quiet sigh through his nose.

“Sit next to me,” he says. “I’ll take notes for both of us.” Another sigh leaves him before he closes the distance between you, gently taking hold of your wrist.

“C’mon, princess.” There’s no teasing in his words, no flirtation. Just… patience. The realization feels strangely unsettling.

You let him guide you into the classroom without protest, still feeling vaguely disconnected from your own body while Jungkook leads you toward the back row and drops into a chair. A second later he tugs lightly on your wrist again until you finally sit beside him.

The lecture starts and you remember almost none of it. The only thing you do remember is looking down halfway through class and realizing Jungkook’s notebook is twice as full as everyone else’s.

Because he’d actually been taking notes for both of you.

The botanical gardens are nearly empty by the time you arrive.

Evening has begun settling over the winding paths, painting everything in shades of amber and gold as sunlight filters through the trees in fractured ribbons of light, the kind of scenery people usually describe as peaceful. Couples wander lazily through the distant walkways. A few students occupy benches scattered throughout the gardens. Somewhere nearby, water trickles softly from a stone fountain.

It should feel calming, instead, every step makes your stomach twist tighter. Then you spot Levi.

He looks completely at ease sitting on one of the benches near the center path, one arm draped across the backrest as though he’s simply enjoying the evening rather than waiting for the person he’s been tormenting for weeks. The moment his eyes find yours, a smile spreads slowly across his face.

The kind of smile that makes something instinctive inside you recoil.

“There you are...” The words are spoken lightly, almost affectionately, and somehow that makes them worse.

You stop several feet away because you simply don’t want to sit next to him, not even be in his direct vicinity…

He simply leans back against the bench and looks at you the way someone might admire a painting they already own- the mere thought makes you nauseous.

For a few seconds neither of you speaks, so the silence stretches. Levi seems content to let it, he likes this; he simply likes making you stand there, likes watching you squirm and knowing exactly why you’re here. The realization settles unpleasantly in your stomach.

“Well?” he asks eventually. “Aren’t you going to sit down?”

“No.”

His smile widens. “Still got some fight left in you. That’s cute.”

Your jaw tightens. “I thought we could… talk.”

A laugh escapes him, low, amused. As though you’ve just said something truly entertaining. “Talk,” he repeats, stretching the word, „Sure.“

You hate him. You hate the way he manages to make every ordinary word sound filthy. Hate the way he looks at you and the fact that he knows you came anyway.

“Please, Levi…” you say before pride can stop you.

The change in his expression is immediate. “Oooh, there it is.” Your stomach drops. Levi slowly sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees while studying your face with unsettling concentration.

“I was wondering how long you’d hold out.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” The amusement dancing in his eyes makes your skin crawl. “You’re finally desperate enough to say please.”

Heat floods your face- not ofembarrassment but because he’s enjoying this. Every second of it. Every ounce of your discomfort seems to delight him.

“I came because I want this to stop.”

Levi shoves his lower lip into a fake pout. “As if you’re the victim here.”

The words hit so hard that for a second you genuinely can’t respond. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. There.

That reaction. That was what he wanted.

“You know,” he continues casually, glancing toward the trees, “Marc used to talk about you all the time.”

The mention of Marc feels like someone driving a knife between your ribs. Levi notices immediately; predators always notice where the wound is.

“There-” his voice softens, almost fond. “You make the saddest face whenever I mention him.”

“Levi.”

“No, keep making that face. It’s adorable.”

Your hands curl into fists. “Delete it.”

For the first time, his smile fades. Not because you’ve upset him. Worse. Because he’s bored now. As though you’ve interrupted a conversation he was enjoying.

“You still think that’s what this is about.” The shift in his tone sends a chill down your spine. Levi rises from the bench with unhurried ease, and suddenly the distance between you feels far smaller than it did a moment ago.

Instinctively, you take a step backward and his eyes immediately drop to the movement before he smiles again; slowly, hungrily- and somehow that smile feels far worse than any anger could have.

“You know what I find interesting?” he asks. “All semester you’ve been pretending to be this sweet little thing. The innocent one. The good girl.” He takes a single step forward. “And now look at you.”

Disgust crawls beneath your skin. “You blackmailed me.”

“That’s one way to phrase it.”

“That’s exactly what you’re doing.”

Levi laughs softly. “You make it sound so ugly.”

“It is ugly!”

His gaze drifts over you with slow, deliberate consideration. The look alone makes you feel filthy. “You know,” he says thoughtfully, “at first I thought I’d get bored.”

Your stomach tightens when he steps even closer. “But every time I think you’re finally going to break, you surprise me.” His smile returns.

“I just wanted a quick fuck at first but now? Now I think I‘m gonna keep you a bit longer, tugging on that invisible leash a bit more.“

Something cold settles in your chest because suddenly you understand: This isn’t about getting something from you. It never really was. The footage is just a leash. The real prize is watching you panic whenever he pulls it.

Watching you bargain. Watching you beg. Watching you stand in front of him knowing he has power over you.

Levi likes fear, he likes being the reason for it and the realization is somehow more terrifying than the blackmail itself.

“Please.” You hate how small your voice sounds, you hate even more that you’re saying it again.

Levi’s expression changes. Like he’s finally hearing exactly what he wanted. For several long seconds he simply stares at you. Then his smile widens.

“I knew you’d look pretty begging.” And just like that, he turns and walks away.

No deal. No answers. No compromise.

Leaving you standing alone beneath the fading sunlight while nausea churns violently in your stomach and humiliation burns hot behind your ribs.

You remain frozen long after he’s disappeared from view, staring at the path where he’d been standing as evening shadows stretch across the gardens and darkness slowly begins swallowing the last traces of gold.

Several paths away, concealed behind a dense wall of hedges and shrubs, Jungkook watches the space Levi just vacated. At first he’d only followed because something about the situation felt wrong.

First the text message you’d received during class: the way your expression had changed afterward. The fact that you’d spent the rest of the afternoon distracted and anxious before disappearing across campus without telling anyone where you were going.

Individually, none of it meant much. Together, it had been enough to catch his attention.

Now, standing partially hidden among the trees, he finds himself staring at the bench with a growing sense of unease. Because whatever he just witnessed wasn’t an argument between friends- the entire interaction had felt wrong from the beginning.

The way you’d approached this guy and the way you’d kept your distance… Your shoulders had remained tense the entire time. Most of all, it had been the look on your face.

Jungkook has seen people angry, embarrassed, heartbroken, jealous… What he’d seen on your face had been none of those things. It had looked frighteningly close to fear. Fuck.

His gaze drifts toward the path that fucker disappeared down. He hadn’t looked nervous once. Hadn’t looked uncertain. If anything, he’d looked fucking entertained.

And that detail bothers Jungkook more than anything else, because people don’t smile like that unless they think they’ve already won.

The thought follows him into the next morning and into the afternoon. Then into the day after that. By Wednesday he’s asking questions.

Not enough to attract attention, never enough to reveal why he’s interested. Just casual conversations scattered throughout campus, observations disguised as curiosity, names dropped into discussions whenever opportunities present themselves.

The answers begin accumulating slowly: A hesitation here, an uncomfortable laugh there. Expressions shifting the moment Levi’s name enters the conversation. Nobody seems surprised that Jungkook knows who Levi is. What surprises them is that he’d willingly bring him up.

By Thursday the pattern has become impossible to ignore: people don’t merely dislike Levi. They fucking avoid him.

The distinction matters- dislike is simple. Dislike is normal. But this? This feels different.

Every conversation leaves Jungkook with the same impression, as though everyone knows something but nobody wants to be the person who says it out loud. Cowards. Maybe.

Then rumors surface. Stories that don’t quite qualify as accusations. Warnings disguised as fucking jokes. Just enough fragments to suggest a much uglier picture hiding underneath.

And with every new piece, his thoughts return to the botanical gardens; to the way you’d looked standing across from Levi. The desperation in your posture. The expression on your face after he’d walked away.

By the end of the week, Jungkook stops asking whether Levi is a problem. The only question left is how dangerous that fucking problem actually is.

Because that little wanker is hiding something. Jungkook would bet money on it. And judging by the fear he’d seen in your eyes that evening, whatever Levi is hiding somehow leads directly back to you.

He doesn’t know how yet, doesn’t know why, but for the first time since this started, he has a direction.

And somewhere across campus, completely unaware of the attention quietly settling on him, Levi continues moving through life with the confidence of a man convinced he’s untouchable. Idiot.

Jungkook has met plenty of people like that.

None of them enjoyed what happened after he decided to shift his focus on them.

By friday afternoon, Jungkook tells himself he’s only still watching Levi because of you- the lie sounds reasonable enough in his head.

At first, the plan had been simple: figure out why you’d looked terrified in the botanical gardens, why you’d spent the last days moving through life like somebody was holding a knife to your future. And why you’d rather slowly tear yourself apart from the inside than ask for help.

Unfortunately, the more Jungkook learns about Levi, the uglier the picture becomes… On the surface, the guy is exactly what Jungkook expected: a spoiled little prick with too much confidence and not nearly enough substance. He sleeps through half his lectures, spends money he probably doesn’t have, drinks like his liver personally offended him, lies as naturally as breathing, and flirts with anything possessing a pulse and a functioning nervous system. Every interaction feels rehearsed, every smile manufactured, every apology delivered with the polished ease of somebody who has never once meant a fucking word coming out of his mouth.

The problem isn’t who Levi pretends to be- the problem is what keeps slipping through the cracks.

At the end of the week, Jungkook has memorized most of his routine without even meaning to. He knows which coffee shop Levi visits every morning, which campus buildings he cuts through between classes, which parking lot he disappears into whenever he thinks nobody is paying attention, and which groups of people he gravitates toward when he’s looking for an audience.

More importantly, Jungkook has started noticing the people Levi leaves behind: the girls.

There are always girls. Different faces and different conversations but always the same expressions in the end. At first, Jungkook thinks he’s imagining it, but it keeps happening- a flash of discomfort, forced smiles, nervous laughter. Their shoulders tense whenever Levi gets closer while their eyes dart toward exits. Entire conversations that somehow manage to look wrong from fifty feet away.

After a few days coincidences stop being a believable explanation and a cold feeling has settled permanently beneath his ribs.

At a little after four o’clock, he’s parked across from the humanities building with his motorcycle resting beneath him and his helmet balanced beside his leg while students stream through the glass doors in endless waves. His phone vibrates and the contact name immediately softens something inside his chest.

Princess: where are you? weren’t we studying today?

For a moment, Jungkook almost starts the bike. Almost.

The guilt hits instantly because he knows exactly what that message means. You don’t ask where he is because you’re impatient. You ask because you’ve spent the last week looking over your shoulder every five fucking seconds and somewhere along the way you’ve started checking for him without even realizing it. He fucking loves that you want him close and need him, even if you never admit it out loud, but he fucking hates that someone scared you so bad for it to happen.

Then movement near the entrance catches his attention. Levi.

The asshole exits the building while staring at his phone, smiling at something on the screen. He’s not alone.

A girl follows several steps behind him and Jungkook notices the distance immediately- not because it’s dramatic but because it’s deliberate. She’s clutching her bag tightly against her chest like it’s armor. Her shoulders are tense. Her gaze keeps flicking around the parking lot as though she’s searching for witnesses without wanting to admit she needs them. Every instinct Jungkook possesses starts screaming.

Another message appears.

Princess: you’re late.

His jaw tightens.

running late. sorry. be there soon.

The lie sends before he can reconsider it. Then he slips the phone back into his pocket and focuses on the scene unfolding below because something has changed.

The girl says something, something Jungkook can’t hear. Levi can. The smile vanishes from Levi’s face so quickly it almost looks unnatural. Interesting.

Levi takes two slow steps forward and she takes one back, her fingers burying even tighter into her backpack. Jungkook straightens slightly while his own fingers tighten around the edge of the seat.

The girl’s posture grows smaller while Levi’s grows larger. Not physically. Psychologically. Like a fucking predator sensing weakness. Like somebody who knows exactly how much space he occupies in another person’s head.

Levi says something- sharp enough that even from a distance Jungkook sees the reaction: She visibly flinches and Levi laughs. The sound carries across the parking lot. What a fucking annoying sound.

Jungkook’s jaw locks in pure anger. God, he wants to hit him. No warnings, no light punch… Hit him hard enough that he’d spend the next month drinking soup through a straw.

The girl finally shakes her head and Levi shrugs. Then his next words drift clearly across the open space. “You want me to leak it?” The girl visibly freezes.

Jungkook goes completely still, trying to gather even more from the conversation. Levi keeps talking. He‘s still calm and relaxed- like they’re discussing weather forecasts instead of whatever the fuck this is.

“Then get the money.” The girl’s eyes immediately fill with tears. “You have until tomorrow.” Levi checks his watch. “Last warning.”

The realization lands with a sickening certainty- not because Jungkook is slow. But part of him still wanted to be wrong. Blackmail. The little fucking psychopath is blackmailing her.

Not you.

Her. An entirely different girl. Which means this isn’t personal. It’s probably a habit. A routine even…

The girl starts crying and Levi instantly looks annoyed. Actually annoyed. As if her tears are inconveniencing him, as if she’s somehow making his day harder.

“Please,” she says, the word barely carrying across the distance. He rolls his eyes then reaches forward and hooks two fingers beneath her chin. The gesture is small- gentle, even. Which somehow makes it worse because nothing about it feels impulsive or emotional.

It feels practiced, like he’s done this before. Over and over again... The same conversation, the same fear, the same outcome. A hundred fucking times. Something ugly shifts deep inside Jungkook’s chest.

“Tomorrow.” Levi tells her once more. “Or don’t.” Another shrug, another filthy smile.

Another reminder that he genuinely doesn’t give a shit what happens to her afterward. Then he turns around and walks away. Just like he did with you in the botanical garden… Leaving her standing there.

She’s still crying long after he‘s gone. Jungkook can practically feel the fear and desperation radiating off her… after a while, she wipes at her face, turns and walks in the opposite direction where Levi walked off.

For a long moment, Jungkook doesn’t move. Students pass. Cars pull out. Conversations continue. Life keeps moving.

Meanwhile, something cold and deliberate begins assembling itself inside his head. Because now he understands the part that has been bothering him: Levi isn’t just a problem. Because problems have always been simple for Jungkook- problems have solutions.

Levi is a pattern. A system. A parasite that’s figured out exactly how much fear it takes to keep people quiet. And if he’s doing this to random girls on campus, then what the fuck has he been doing to you?

The thought hits hard enough to make Jungkook’s stomach twist. Suddenly all those late-night messages make sense. The panic in your eyes, the exhaustion during the day and at night during tutoring. The way you’d looked like a trapped animal every time Levi’s name came up.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You’d been drowning right in front of him and he’d spent weeks calling you stubborn instead of realizing somebody was holding your head underwater.

His phone vibrates again. Another message from you appears on the screen.

Princess: you better have a damn good excuse.

For a brief second, despite everything, a smile threatens to appear but then it’s gone again. Somewhere across campus, Levi is still walking around like he’s untouchable. Like nobody is paying attention or putting the pieces together.

Fucking idiot.

Jungkook slides his helmet over his head and starts the motorcycle. The engine growls beneath him, low and vicious, while his eyes remain fixed on the corner where Levi disappeared. Whatever secret the bastard is hiding, Jungkook is going to find it.

And if Levi is stupid enough to keep threatening people while believing nobody is watching, then he’s about to discover exactly how dangerous that assumption can be.

By the time Jungkook finally arrives at the sorority house, he’s nearly forty minutes late, which is exactly why the front door swings open before he even has a chance to knock and finds you already standing there with your arms crossed and a look on your face that promises violence.

“You’re late.”

Jungkook glances lazily at his watch before lifting his eyes back to yours. “Observation skills. Nice.”

Your expression immediately darkens. “Actually, I think you should leave.”

A slow grin begins pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Before he can step inside, you plant your palm directly against his forehead and begin pushing with all the determination of someone who has already committed to the bit and refuses to back down now.

Unfortunately, Jeon Jungkook is built like a concrete wall. He doesn’t move. Not even a little.

You keep trying anyway. “I waited.”

The pressure against his forehead increases dramatically, which might have been intimidating if he weren’t actively fighting a laugh.

“Did you?”

“Forty minutes.”

“Sounds… unbearable. Did ya miss me that bad, baby?”

“You’re the worst.”

Jungkook finally catches your wrist before you can shove him again, the movement so effortless it only makes the situation more irritating. One second you’re aggressively attempting to evict him from the premises and the next your finger is trapped between his while he bends slightly at the waist until his face is level with yours.

“Careful, princess.” His voice drops lower, playful amusement curling around every word. “You need me.”

Heat flashes across your face so quickly it feels unfair. “The ego on this man.”

“I’m the tutor.”

“The self-delusion on this man.”

His grin only widens, entirely too pleased with himself. “I seem to remember somebody failing quizzes.”

The offended gasp that leaves you could probably be heard from three rooms away. Jungkook looks delighted.

“You wound me.”

“You wound yourself.”

“I’ll have you know I got a solid seventy-three last week.”

“Congratulations.” The sarcasm practically drips from him. “That’s almost a real grade.”

You make the most angry face you can manage before sticking your tongue out at him like a child. Jungkook blinks. Then blinks again. And suddenly a laugh escapes him. Not the quiet chuckle he usually hides behind a smirk, but a real laugh that lights up his entire face and catches you completely off guard. For a moment, all you can do is stare.

“Cute.”

Your stomach immediately decides to become a problem. “Shut up.”

“No.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

“You suck.”

“Like, on that sweet pussy? If you insist.” He gives you a shameless wink and you feel your cheeks heat up. He just keeps smiling.

The worst part is that lately you’ve started noticing every version of that smile: the smug ones, the teasing ones, the rare genuine ones that appear when he forgets himself for a second. Most importantly, you’ve started noticing when they’re directed at you.

Jungkook, unfortunately, notices things too- especially when those things involve you. His eyes narrow slightly. Then the grin returns with renewed strength.

“Aw.”

You immediately know where this is going. “No.”

“She’s blushing.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“Jungkook.”

“Princess.”

A loud groan leaves you before you finally spin around and stomp toward the living room, abandoning the argument before he can make it worse. Behind you, Jungkook follows, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Asshole.

The studying begins surprisingly well- for approximately seven minutes…

Then Jungkook glances down at something you’ve written. Then back at you, back at the paper, then back at you again.

Your eye twitches. “What.” He just remains quiet and it annoys you even more.

“What?” you repeat, more aggressively this time.

Jungkook slowly lowers the page. “This sentence is shit.”

You stare at him, he stares back, neither of you blinks for a few seconds. Finally, you place a hand against your chest.

“Wow.”

“Constructive criticism.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m correct.”

“That’s not the point.”

“It literally is.”

You snatch the paper from his hand but he just grabs it back. You try to get a hold of it again but the page bends alarmingly between you.

“Stop fighting me.”

“Stop being wrong.”

“I’m not wrong.”

A long sigh leaves him, accompanied by the expression of a man attempting to explain basic survival instincts to someone determined to lick a power outlet.

“Princess,” he begins patiently, “you wrote four paragraphs and somehow managed to say absolutely nothing.”

Your jaw drops. “That’s rude.”

“It’s impressive.”

“You are so annoying.”

“You submitted this.”

You immediately launch a highlighter at his head. Without even looking, Jungkook catches it out of the air. Show-off.

“You know,” he says while opening your notebook again, “most students actually try to pass.”

“I am trying.”

“No, you’re improvising.”

“That’s basically the same thing.”

“It absolutely isn’t.”

The next thirty minutes disappear beneath arguments about thesis statements, grammar choices, sentence structure, citation formats, and whether Jungkook is intentionally making things difficult for his own entertainment.

The answer is almost certainly yes.

At some point, Minji wanders through the living room carrying a drink, pauses when she notices the two of you arguing over a textbook like a couple celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary through mutual irritation, then silently turns around and leaves without saying a word. Neither of you notices.

The strange thing is that nothing has actually changed. Levi still exists, the fear still exists. The pressure sitting permanently inside your chest hasn’t magically disappeared.

None of the real problems have gone anywhere.

And yet, somehow, the weight feels lighter- easy enough that you can breathe without feeling like your lungs are collapsing. Enough that laughter occasionally slips through the cracks.

Easy enough that when Jungkook eventually declares you a menace to higher education and you threaten to hit him with the nearest textbook, the familiar rhythm that always existed between the two of you settles naturally back into place.

The bickering. The teasing. The endless competition to have the final word. The comfort hidden beneath every insult and eye roll.

For the first time in days, everything feels familiar again, and for a little while, neither of you says a single thing about the subjects that actually matter.

By the end of the first hour, Jungkook is irritated. By the end of the second, he’s offended.

Somewhere during the third, while kneeling on Levi’s bedroom floor surrounded by enough junk to qualify as a biohazard, he seriously considers setting the entire mattress on fire out of principle.

Because there should be something.

There has to be.

The room isn’t spotless by any means. Levi still lives like a feral raccoon that somehow acquired a student loan and access to online shopping, but all the obvious places have already been checked. Every drawer has been emptied. Every shelf has been searched. Jungkook has flipped through textbooks, dug through storage bins shoved beneath the bed, checked jacket pockets, old backpacks, gym bags, and stacks of loose papers that looked important until they turned out to be useless.

Nothing.

No notebooks. No folders. No hidden collection of blackmail material waiting to be discovered. No convenient smoking gun. Just garbage.

Which is exactly why Jungkook keeps looking- because innocent people don’t spend their afternoons threatening girls for money. And Levi definitely isn’t innocent.

A floorboard creaks beneath his boot. The sound is subtle enough that most people wouldn’t even register it, but Jungkook freezes immediately, every instinct sharpening at once as his gaze drops toward the floor.

For several seconds he remains perfectly still. Then he slowly shifts his weight- the board creaks again. Interesting.

Nothing about it looks unusual. The wood isn’t damaged. There aren’t any visible pry marks. No scratches. No signs that anyone has been lifting it. Still, when Jungkook crouches and presses down near the edge, he feels something move. Just slightly.

A slow smile appears. “There you are.”

Two minutes later, the board comes loose and suddenly everything makes sense…

A second laptop sits hidden beneath the floor alongside several USB drives and an external hard drive, each item carefully wrapped in plastic as though Levi knows exactly how much trouble he’d be in if anyone ever found them.

For a moment Jungkook simply stares… then training takes over; his phone appears in his hand. A photograph. Another. The laptop, the serial numbers, the USB & hard drive. The compartment itself.

Every angle. Every detail. Every piece of evidence exactly where he found it.

When he’s finished, everything goes back beneath the floorboards. Taking it now would be stupid- Levi would notice and panic. And panicked people become reckless and even more dangerous

No. Jungkook needs him comfortable. Confident. Completely unaware that someone has already broken into the walls of his life and started pulling bricks loose.

Which is how he finds himself sitting inside Yoongi’s apartment an hour later.

The place looks exactly the same as always; coffee cups occupy every available surface. Multiple monitors cast pale light across the dark room. Half-finished projects litter the desk, and Yoongi himself appears to be functioning exclusively through caffeine, nicotine, and sheer stubbornness.

Jungkook drops into a chair and slides his phone across the desk. Yoongi scrolls through the photographs. Once. Twice.

Then reaches for his coffee. “Interesting.”

“Can you get into it?”

For the first time, Yoongi looks up. The expression on his face suggests he has been personally insulted.

“That’s what you’re asking?”

“Yes.”

A long pause follows before the older one gestures vaguely toward the screen.

“Jungkook.” Another pause. “That’s not even a challenge.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “I need thirty seconds.”

“Show-off.”

“Correct. And that’s also why you came here.”

The plan comes together quickly after that because predictable people are easy to manipulate.

And Levi is painfully predictable- another night and the idiot disappears into another party.

Jungkook knows he won’t return for the rest of the night. He drinks way too much for someone who can’t handle his liquor well.

Around 2am the idiot is unconscious behind a row of fraternity bushes, covered in dirt, soaked in stale alcohol, missing one shoe, and sleeping dangerously close to his own vomit.

Jungkook stares while Yoongi stands next to him. Neither looks impressed.

“You know,” Yoongi says eventually, “I expected better.” Jungkook just shakes his head. Levi snores. The disappointment somehow deepens.

Twenty minutes later they’re back inside his room. This time they have time and the tools. Yoongi settles into the desk chair, powers on the hidden laptop, and waits for the password screen to appear.

Jungkook watches while Yoongi doesn’t look remotely concerned. A small device disappears into one of the ports, then code begins scrolling across the screen. Twenty-three seconds later the desktop appears.

Jungkook blinks, Yoongi takes a sip of coffee. “Told you.”

Then he starts opening folders and very quickly the room changes because they stopped looking for evidence… now they stare right at it.

Folder after folder appears across the screen:

Names. Dozens of them.

Each one labeled carefully, belonging to different persons. Videos. Photographs. Screenshots. Private conversations. Class schedules. Social media accounts. Secrets. Mistakes. Embarrassing moments. Painful ones.

Every insecurity, every vulnerability, every weakness meticulously catalogued and stored. Not memories or keepsakes. Weapons.

For several seconds, neither man speaks. The laptop fan hums softly beneath years of accumulated files.

Yoongi scrolls and scrolls before he slowly leans back. “Jesus Christ.” The words come out quieter than usual.

Jungkook just keeps staring; another folder, another victim. Another life Levi decided he had the right to own.

“What a fucking loser.”

Yoongi’s expression darkens. “Nah.” His eyes remain fixed on the screen. “This is worse than loser.”

The silence stretches, then he exhales. “This is psychotic.”

Jungkook barely hears him- he’s already noticed something else. One specific folder. It’s recent. His hand moves before he consciously decides to.

The folder opens and a quiet curse leaves his lips. There are dozens of photographs of… you.

You leaving lectures, carrying coffee across campus, laughing beside Soomin, walking toward the sorority house, sitting outside academic buildings, glancing over your shoulder.

You were completely unaware someone was following you.

Jungkook’s stomach drops, not because he’s surprised, but suddenly every missing piece clicks into place: Every exhausted expression. Every nervous glance. Every time you’d looked like you were carrying something too heavy to say out loud.

He scrolls through the folder until a video appears. The thumbnail is only in black and white, not very sharp and kind of grainy but he recognises it immediately. The library.

The way you were kneeling for him, looking up while he stroked your hair.

Levi had seen it too… and used it against you.

Beside him, Yoongi leans forward. “Holy shit.” His gaze moves between the screen and Jungkook’s face. “Is that little asshole blackmailing you?”

Jungkook’s jaw tightens hard enough to hurt, then he slowly shakes his head. “No.”

The answer is quiet. Understanding settles across Yoongi’s face almost immediately.

“Oh.” A long pause follows. “Oh, he’s blackmailing her.”

Jungkook doesn’t answer, doesn’t even move nor blink. His eyes remain fixed on the screen. On the thumbnail of the video.

“My girl.” The words leave him without thought. Not even possessive, not performative just certain. Like a fact.

Yoongi closes his eyes briefly before rubbing a hand down his face. “Idiot.”

Jungkook finally glances over.

“Not you.” the older one quickly adds. “Him.” Yoongi points toward the screen.

Neither of them speaks for a long time, both just stare at the screen, trying to process what kind of fucked up rabbit hole they dug up.

Yoongi glances toward his friend, and the look on the younger man’s face should scare him. In fact, it probably would scare anyone else… but Min Yoongi knew one thing: Jeon Jungkook rarely got loud or angry, and even more rarely got physical unless he had a damn good reason…

Finally, Yoongi leans back. “Just make sure you leave no evidence.” The room falls silent.

Jungkook’s hand stops on the touchpad. Slowly, he turns his head.

Yoongi shrugs and gestures toward the screen.“I’ve known you long enough.”

His gaze drifts back to your folder, back to the photographs. Back to the proof of what Levi has been doing.

“I know exactly what you’re thinking.”

Jungkook remains silent but a tiny twitch under his right eye tells Yoongi everything he needs to know.

Yoongi snorts. “Don’t give me that look.” The silence lingers for a few more seconds before his voice softens.

“Honestly…” He exhales slowly. “I get it.”

The words aren’t approval or encouragement. Not really. But they’re understanding. Because some people spend years building the walls of their own downfall. And Levi has spent years laying every single brick himself.

Yoongi finally looks back at him. “Just be careful.”A tiny humorless laugh escapes him. “You’re smart, so make sure you stay smart.”

Jungkook nods then carefully, almost deliberately, closes the laptop. “Good.”

Yoongi frowns. “Good?”

Jungkook slides the laptop back into the bag and into its hiding place under the floorboard. “Now I know.”

“Know what?”

For the first time all evening, something changes in his expression- and it’s colder than anything Yoongi has ever seen before on his friend’s face.

Something final.

The look of a man who has stopped asking questions and started making decisions.

“What kind of person he is.”

The answer sends a chill down Yoongi’s spine because it doesn’t sound like a discovery. It sounds like a verdict.

The day starts badly and somehow finds increasingly creative ways to make itself worse.

The first problem arrives shortly after lunch when one of the freshmen Levi has been leaning on for the better part of a month suddenly decides she doesn’t have the money. Not next week. Not tomorrow. Not after payday. Apparently she spent the entire amount on tuition and now breaks down crying every time he calls.

Pathetic.

Levi hangs up halfway through her latest sobbing apology and blocks the number without a second thought. If she’s stupid enough to force his hand, that’s her problem.

The second problem arrives during class when he realizes he’s probably going to fail another exam. The third when his professor asks him to stay behind afterward. And the fourth when he checks his bank account.

By the time evening rolls around, Levi is in a genuinely foul mood, which usually means somebody else is about to have a much worse night than he is.

The thought improves his mood considerably.

As he walks back toward the fraternity house, gym bag slung over one shoulder, his mind begins drifting through possibilities. A photograph would probably be enough. Maybe a video if he’s feeling generous. Nothing catastrophic. Nothing that couldn’t be explained away later.

Just enough. Enough humiliation, just enough fear. Just enough pressure to remind people what happens when they stop cooperating.

The familiar feeling settles warmly inside his chest. Control. Consequences. Fear.

People always respond best to fear.

Whistling softly beneath his breath, he climbs the stairs toward his room, fishes his keys from his pocket, unlocks the door, and steps inside.

Then he freezes- a weird sensation hits him... not because anything is obviously wrong. Nothing has been overturned or appears to be damaged.

The furniture remains exactly where he left it. The room looks normal. And yet something deep inside him immediately recoils. Wrong.

The realization crawls slowly up his spine.

For several long seconds he remains standing just inside the doorway while his eyes move across the room. Everything looks exactly the same, which somehow makes it worse.

A strange pressure begins building beneath his ribs and his pulse picks up slightly, the same way animals know they’re being watched before they understand why.

Levi tells himself he’s being ridiculous and walks across the room. His movements feel strangely careful now. Like somebody entering a house that may or may not contain a stranger.

When he finally kneels beside the floorboard, the unease inside his stomach sharpens. The board comes loose easily. Too easily.

The compartment beneath it is empty.

For a moment, his brain simply refuses to process what he’s looking at…

The laptop should be there… the hard drive... the USB drives... They’ve always been there!

The empty space seems impossible. Unreal.

Like his eyes are showing him the wrong image. Slowly, he reaches inside- his fingers scrape against bare wood. Nothing.

His stomach drops. “No.”

His hands move faster now, searching corners, feeling beneath edges, as though the devices might somehow reappear if he looks hard enough. Nothing.

The compartment remains empty. Completely, utterly, terrifyingly empty.

A cold rush shoots down his spine as the room feels different: violated. Someone was here and found it. Found the one place nobody was ever supposed to find.

“No, no, no…”

His breathing starts quickening. The floorboard slips from trembling fingers and crashes against the floor with a sharp crack that echoes through the room.

Because another realization is already crashing into him: Photographs, videos, folders, entire conversations and files… Every secret and threat. Every victim. Everything.

Gone…

Levi stumbles backward so quickly he nearly loses his footing. His pulse pounds violently inside his ears. Someone has it- has all of it.

And suddenly every person he’s ever threatened begins flashing through his mind. Every girl. Every guy.

Every desperate plea. Every ruined life. Every enemy he’d created. The list is much longer than he’d like it to be.

A strained sound escapes him, part laugh, part panic. Because this isn’t happening. It can’t be.

Then he sees the note.

A single folded piece of paper resting neatly at the bottom of the compartment. The sight sends a fresh wave of nausea rolling through him- suddenly the missing files aren’t the most frightening part.

The note is.

Whoever took everything wanted him to know, wanted him to come home. To look. Wanted him to understand.

His fingers shake as he unfolds the paper:

OLD SWIMMING POOL, MIDNIGHT

For several seconds he simply stares. The room around him seems to disappear, silence feels suffocating. Something awful begins crawling slowly up his spine: whoever did this could have vanished… They could have gone to the police, could have exposed him and leaked everything.

Instead, they left an invitation. Or maybe it isn’t an invitation. Maybe it’s a summons.

A cold sweat breaks across the back of his neck because now he isn’t imagining administrators or police officers. Not even angry victims demanding justice.

He’s imagining something much worse.

Someone patient, methodical. Someone who already has every card in their hand.

Someone confident enough to tell him where to be and fully expect him to show up.

The realization lands like a punch directly to the chest. This isn’t a warning… warnings happen before consequences but this? This feels like the consequence itself.

Slowly, Levi lifts his gaze and looks around the room. For the first time since moving into the fraternity house, a thought occurs to him that nearly makes him sick. What if someone has been standing in this room while he slept?

The possibility lodges itself inside his head and immediately begins growing teeth. If they found the floorboard, what else do they know? What else have they seen? How many times have they been here? How long have they been watching? A shiver runs through him.

The room no longer feels familiar, doesn’t even feel like his. Every corner suddenly seems capable of hiding eyes. Every shadow feels occupied.

Outside, darkness slowly settles over campus. Midnight remains hours away. Far too many hours. Hours he will spend imagining every possible outcome, wondering who found him.

Hours he will spend realizing that for the first time in years, he has absolutely no control over what happens next.

Yet despite the fear clawing through his chest, he already knows one thing with complete certainty: He’s going.

Because the person who left that note now owns every secret he ever buried.

And somehow, as he stares down at those simple words, the thing waiting for him at the old swimming pool feels infinitely more dangerous than prison ever could.

➻ taglist for stupid little girl

@cherricherryy @sacredscourgeprototype @jeonette @lachimolalajeon @bangtans-momma @muniing @curiousswordarcade @barbie-girl84 @İjkxoxx @sierrakook @jendeuk123 @eeeeeeeruab @bebesnyia7 @mydecalcomania @jeonggukiebts @lilbitcherries @evtrack @koonosekisser @asther1389 @angelsdecalcomania @thatbmar @sassywildbunny @darklove2020 @tejal802002 @evtrack @ijanajk @naniis18 @seokmyballs @mar-lo-pap @prodajeon @sugadclaws @vhyunjinverse @tojiswifeyy @rjsmochii @avawants2havefun @yoonclaire @rkive994 @pinkpinkpinkkkk @carebearkook @akilovescake @jeongguks-posts @ceyqzx @jkgivinsleeplessnite @babydoll-143 @bjoriis @jaebae420 @vjoon9495 @sweetcloudie @loveforchangbin @polnaraffsrack @kelsyx33 @jelly16 @sierrakook @thajazzy-1 @sophiasnzz @jjanajk @hubbytaehyung @kvttns @svitozz @mysteris-things @sunnnnnhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii @magicalnachocreator @btspurplesky @viradodefeijao @pitchblack0309 @kimyishin

[if you want to be added to the taglist, please leave a comment below]

The lecture hall is already half full by the time you arrive, conversations blending together beneath the low hum of fluorescent lights while students shuffle through notes and half-finished coffees like exhausted zombies. Normally you’d sit somewhere near the middle with your friends and mentally prepare yourself for two hours of academic torture.

Unfortunately, Jungkook is already there. Of course he is.

He’s sitting near the back row with one leg stretched lazily beneath the desk, black hoodie sleeves pushed up his forearms while he scrolls through his phone like he owns the entire fucking room. A few people glance toward him when they walk in, some nodding cautiously, others immediately avoiding eye contact altogether.

Jeon Jungkook has that effect on people.

Your stomach tightens slightly when his eyes briefly flick toward you before returning right back to his phone again like he couldn’t care less.

Asshole.

You immediately sit with your friends several rows away from him. The professor starts discussing narrative structure and eventually opens the floor for interpretation. After a brief silence, you answer confidently, explaining your theory while gesturing lightly with your pen.

“I think the protagonist’s unreliability is intentional,” you explain. “The contradictions in her narration aren’t flaws in the writing. They’re there to show how distorted her perspective became over time.”

Several students nod along thoughtfully. The professor looks pleased. “Exactly. Good observation.”

Then:

“That theory’s garbage.”

The room immediately goes quiet.

Your head snaps toward the back row where Jungkook sits slouched in his chair, spinning a pen lazily between tattooed fingers while staring at you with complete disinterest.

The professor sighs already. “Mr. Jeon…”

“No seriously,” Jungkook interrupts casually. “That makes absolutely no fucking sense.”

Heat flashes through your body instantly. “Maybe because you weren’t listening,” you shoot back.

A few students visibly tense. Nobody likes when people fight with Jungkook publicly because it almost always turns ugly.

Unfortunately for everyone involved… you genuinely don’t care anymore.

Jungkook leans back slightly in his chair, eyes dragging slowly over your face before one corner of his mouth lifts.

“No, princess,” he says calmly. “I was listening. That’s exactly the fucking problem.”

The nickname lands like a grenade in the middle of the classroom. Several heads immediately turn toward the two of you.

Your face burns instantly but you force yourself to ignore it.

“If you actually understood the material,” you reply sharply, “you’d realize unreliable narration doesn’t require logical consistency. That’s literally the point.”

Jungkook snorts quietly through his nose.

“Yeah? And if you actually understood character writing, you’d realize there’s a difference between unreliable and badly constructed.”

A few quiet “oh shit” reactions spread through the room.

You cross your arms immediately. “It’s called layered characterization.”

“No,” Jungkook says flatly. “It’s called lazy writing disguised as depth because people like you overanalyze every fucking thing to sound intellectual.”

The room erupts into nervous laughter.

“Oh my god,” you scoff incredulously. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you sound pretentious as hell.”

“At least I can form an argument without swearing every second sentence.”

That earns a low amused laugh from him.

“Cute,” he drawls lazily. “You think sounding polite automatically makes your argument smarter.”

Your jaw tightens instantly. “It’s called basic academic professionalism.”

“It’s called kissing professors’ asses.”

More laughter breaks out across the lecture hall while the professor looks moments away from developing a migraine.

You glare at Jungkook across the room. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you sound stupid,” he replies flatly before tilting his head slightly. “Actually scratch that. Your whole argument sounds like something written at three in the morning during a mental breakdown.”

Several people choke on laughter immediately.

“Oh fuck you.”

Jungkook just grins. “Nah, you’re getting emotional now, princess.”

The nickname hits even harder this time because he says it so casually, like he genuinely doesn’t care that thirty people are listening to this conversation right now.

Your face burns hotter.

“You don’t even have an actual counterargument,” you snap. “You’re just insulting me because your ego can’t handle someone disagreeing with you publicly.”

That finally gets a reaction out of him. It’s not anger, it’s something worse…

Jungkook’s eyes narrow slightly while he slowly lowers the pen onto the desk beside him. The entire room seems to notice the shift immediately.

“You think this is about ego?” he asks quietly.

“Well it’s definitely not about intelligence.”

A few students audibly gasp. The professor looks ready to physically intervene.

Jungkook stares at you for a long second before leaning back again, completely relaxed despite the dangerous look settling into his expression.

Then his gaze drifts slowly over you once. Deliberately.

“Is there actually something behind those pretty eyes,” he asks calmly, “or are you just a nice pair of tits?”

The room goes dead silent for a mere second then: Audible gasps. Nervous laughter. A horrified “what the fuck?” somewhere near the front row.

A few people look genuinely offended while others stare at you wide-eyed waiting for your reaction, but nobody openly tells Jungkook off. Nobody wants to get on Jeon Jungkook’s bad side.

Heat crashes through your body so violently you nearly stand up. “You absolute fucking asshole-”

Jungkook immediately smirks then clicks his tongue softly. “Careful.”

The single word slides beneath your skin like a warning and the slight narrowing of his eyes makes your pulse stutter because suddenly you remember exactly who you’re talking to.

Exactly what happened in his apartment and how dangerous that calm look on his face actually is.

“Okay,” the professor interrupts quickly before things escalate any further. “Please keep the discussion respectful and civilized.”

Jungkook doesn’t even look remotely sorry.

Meanwhile you’re still staring at him across the lecture hall, chest heaving slightly while he lazily picks his pen back up like publicly humiliating you was just a casual little hobby to him.

And somehow the worst part? When your eyes accidentally lock again for half a second, the asshole smirks.

By lunchtime, apparently the entire campus has already heard about what happened.

You sit at one of the outside tables with your friends while they aggressively attempt to comfort you.

“He’s just an asshole,” one of them says immediately. “Ignore him.”

“Seriously,” another agrees. “He just wants to get under your skin.”

“Well congratulations,” you mutter while stabbing aggressively at your food. “Mission accomplished.”

Your friends laugh softly, trying to lighten the mood, but before anyone can continue the conversation, a shadow suddenly falls across the table.

Then Jungkook casually drops into the empty seat beside you. The entire table freezes- one of your friends nearly chokes on her drink. Jungkook completely ignores all of them.

“What do you want?” you ask flatly, not even looking up from your food.

“We have to study at your place tonight,” he replies calmly like he didn’t just publicly degrade you in front of an entire lecture hall two hours ago.

Your eyebrows pull together instantly. “…why?”

“Because.”

You open your mouth to argue again but then suddenly his hand lands against your thigh beneath the table.

You nearly jerk but nobody else seems to notice. From the outside, Jungkook looks completely relaxed, one arm stretched lazily across the back of his chair while he stares ahead like nothing’s happening.

Meanwhile beneath the table, his fingers squeeze slowly into the soft flesh of your thigh hard enough to make your pulse jump.

Possessive. Deliberate. Like he’s marking you with his fingertips.

Your breathing turns uneven immediately and Jungkook notices from the tiny glance he gives you before the corner of his mouth lifts slightly.

Then the asshole stands up again completely casually. “See ya later, princess.”

And just like that, he walks away.

The entire table stares after him in complete silence before all eyes slowly turn toward you instead.

“…what the fuck?” one of your friends finally blurts out.

You just stare down at your tray for a second before letting out a long exhausted sigh.

“Yeah,” you mutter weakly. “I don’t even know anymore.”

Late afternoon sunlight spills gold across campus, warm enough to make the concrete shimmer while groups of students drift between buildings in loud exhausted clusters.

Somewhere nearby music crackles softly from someone’s speaker and the whole courtyard carries that lazy end-of-day atmosphere where nobody’s really paying attention anymore.

Nobody except Jungkook.

He’s sitting outside one of the main buildings with a cigarette balanced between his fingers, one arm stretched lazily across the back of the bench while his friends talk around him about assignments and weekend plans he couldn’t care less about. Every now and then he hums absently like he’s listening, but his attention is somewhere else entirely the second you walk into view.

It locks onto you instantly- like instinct.

You’re crossing the courtyard alone, bag hanging loosely from one shoulder, sunlight catches against your face and for a second Jungkook simply watches you move through the crowd, calm and unreadable while smoke curls slowly from his lips.

Then your boyfriend appears behind you and Jungkook goes completely still.

He watches the guy wrap both arms around your waist from behind, pulling you back lightly against his chest, and your entire face softens immediately. The laugh that leaves you is quiet but real, warm enough to make something dark settle low inside Jungkook’s chest while he stares from across the courtyard with frightening stillness.

Your boyfriend turns you around inside his arms and kisses you like he’s done it a thousand times before, casual and affectionate and completely unaware that someone else is watching every second of it with predatory focus.

Technically, there’s nothing wrong with this. That’s your boyfriend.

Those are his hands on your waist. His lips against yours. His soft smile making you laugh again when he whispers something near your ear.

And yet the moment you turn your head and accidentally meet Jungkook’s eyes across the courtyard, your entire body reacts like you just got caught cheating.

The smile disappears from your face instantly. Not even slowly, it’s just gone. Like your body recognizes danger before your brain catches up.

Jungkook notices it immediately.

From this distance, he can practically see the panic bloom beneath your skin while your boyfriend keeps talking softly beside you, oblivious to the way your pulse suddenly starts racing. Jungkook takes another slow drag from his cigarette without looking away once, his gaze heavy enough to make your chest tighten painfully even from across the courtyard.

He doesn’t wave. Doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t move at all. That’s what makes it worse.

Because he looks completely calm sitting there with smoke curling lazily around him while something sharp and possessive settles behind his eyes the longer he watches your boyfriend touch you.

Your boyfriend’s hand brushes your waist again and suddenly it feels wrong. Not because it is.

But because Jungkook is watching.

That horrifying realization crashes through you all at once and heat floods your body so fast it almost makes you dizzy. Guilt coils tightly beneath your ribs even though you technically did nothing wrong, but the problem is that somewhere along the way Jungkook already buried himself so deeply beneath your skin that your body reacts to him before logic even gets the chance.

Across the courtyard, the corner of his mouth slowly pulls upward.

It’s not a smile. Not really… Something worse. Something knowing…

Your stomach drops so hard it almost hurts. Because he sees it. He sees the guilt. The panic.

The way your body stiffens inside another man’s arms while staring directly at him like a deer frozen beneath a predator’s gaze.

And then, without breaking eye contact once, Jungkook slowly drags his tongue across his lower lip.

The gesture is small. Lazy.

But it sends a violent rush of heat through your entire body anyway. You swallow hard.

Jungkook notices that too. Of course he fucking does.

Your boyfriend finally pauses mid-sentence, brows pulling together slightly while brushing your arm.

“Hey,” he says softly. “You okay?” The words barely even register.

Because all you can focus on is Jungkook sitting across the courtyard looking at you like he already knows exactly what’s happening inside your head, exactly how guilty you feel right now, exactly how badly your pulse spikes every time his eyes drag over you.

And the most terrifying part? He looks pleased. Not jealous. Not angry. Possessive.

Like he’s watching someone else touch something that already belongs to him.

The sorority house feels unusually warm compared to the cold evening outside. Soft yellow lights filling the living room while some random reality show plays quietly in the background. You’re curled up on the couch between Minji and Soomin with your legs tucked beneath a blanket, phone resting against your stomach while your entire body still feels tight from everything that happened today.

Honestly, ‘tight’ might be an understatement. Your nervous system has been held hostage by Jeon Jungkook since approximately nine in the morning.

The classroom argument keeps replaying in your head against your will, followed immediately by the memory of him watching you across the courtyard afterward, cigarette between his fingers while your boyfriend kissed you completely unaware.

Just thinking about that goddamn smirk again makes heat crawl uncomfortably up your neck.

“You look traumatized,” Minji says finally, glancing over from the other side of the couch.

“I might actually be,” you mumble dramatically before dragging both hands down your face. “I genuinely don’t know if i’ll survive Jeon Jungkook today.”

That immediately earns a snort from Soomin. “Well then reschedule,” she says simply. “Tell him you have a headache or something.”

You roll your eyes instantly. “Yeah, because he’s definitely gonna believe that.” Still… Your gaze slowly drifts toward your phone.

Minji notices immediately. “Oh my god. You’re considering it.”

“No I’m not.”

“You literally are.”

You stare at the screen for another few seconds before finally sighing dramatically and unlocking your phone anyway.

“Fine,” you mutter. “But when this fails horribly, I want both of you to remember this moment.”

Soomin grins. “Yasss. Lie to that man.”

You quickly type out the message before you can overthink it.

you: migraine. can’t study tonight.

The reply comes so fast it almost feels aggressive.

jungkook: cute excuse. door better be unlocked when i get there.

Your jaw drops. “Oh my god,” you whisper in disbelief. “What the fuck is actually wrong with him?”

Minji immediately grabs for the phone. “LET ME SEE.”

You hold it away dramatically while glaring at the screen. “He’s such an asshole.”

Then, fueled entirely by irritation and poor decision making, you type back:

you: fuck off. i got a migraine fr and going to bed early. we’re rescheduling.

And before he can answer? You turn your phone off completely.

The girls immediately erupt beside you.

“AS YOU SHOULD!"

“Stand your ground, queen.”

A laugh escapes you despite yourself and for the first time all day, you actually feel slightly victorious. Maybe Jungkook finally pushed too far, maybe you’re finally growing a backbone.

Or maybe you’re just delusional.

Either way, you ride the confidence upstairs when you go to your room later, changing into comfortable pajamas before climbing into bed with your laptop balanced against your legs. Rain taps softly against the windows outside while Netflix loads quietly across the screen and slowly, little by little, your shoulders finally start relaxing.

See? Nothing happened.

Jungkook’s not here. The world didn’t end.

Everything’s fi-

tap.

You freeze. The sound is soft enough that you almost convince yourself you imagined it.

Then another tap comes a few seconds later. You pause your show while your heartbeat suddenly starts climbing.

Slowly, confused, your eyes drift toward the window andyour soul nearly leaves your body.

Jungkook crouches outside your second-story window with a cigarette between his lips, dark hoodie pulled over his head while rain dampens the edges of his hair. One hand rests casually inside his pocket and the second your eyes meet through the glass, he tilts his head slightly.

Like this is completely normal behavior.

Every single thought inside your brain evaporates instantly. There’s a terrifying mix of fear and heat rushing through your body so violently it almost makes you dizzy because what the actual fuck is he doing here?

Jungkook taps the glass once more before speaking through the window, voice low and calm enough to make it worse somehow.

“Open the window.”

You don’t move. You’re still sitting frozen in bed staring at him like prey spotting a predator too late.

Jungkook watches your expression carefully before taking a slow drag from his cigarette.

Then, just as calm: “Open the fucking window or I’m gonna break it.”

No anger nor a raised voice. Which somehow makes the threat feel completely real. Your pulse goes feral.

Slowly, almost mechanically, you push yourself out of bed and walk toward the window while Jungkook watches your every movement through the glass. The second you unlock it and slide it open, cold air rushes into the room together with cigarette smoke and rain.

And then he climbs inside. Like he belongs there.

Instinctively, you back away the moment his shoes hit the floor while your heart pounds violently against your ribs, but Jungkook only straightens calmly before pulling the cigarette from his lips and looking at you with that same terrifying composure he always has. He takes another drag before flicking the cigarette through the window.

“You turned your phone off,” he says simply.

Like that explains everything. He keeps looking at you like he already knows exactly what you’re thinking.

That’s the worst part.

Not the fact he climbed through your window. Not the rain still dripping faintly from the edges of his hoodie onto your bedroom floor. Not even the cigarette smoke slowly filling the room while your pulse spirals further and further out of control.

It’s the way he watches you: Calm. Patient. Completely aware.

Like he can see every panicked thought flickering behind your eyes before you even act on it.

“You know what’s funny?” he murmurs quietly while taking another slow step toward you. “You spent all day testing my fucking patience and now you look surprised I showed up.”

Your breathing turns uneven immediately.

“I didn’t test anything,” you argue weakly while instinctively backing away from him again.

Jungkook just hums beneath his breath.

“No?” Another step forward. “Calling me an asshole in front of an entire lecture hall wasn’t testing me?”

Heat flashes across your face. You keep moving backward slowly while he advances just as steadily, his gaze locked onto you with terrifying focus.

“Lying just to avoid me? Then telling me to fuck off over text?” he continues calmly. “Turning your phone off after I told you I was coming?”

Your legs hit the edge of the bed suddenly and you nearly stumble backward onto the mattress before catching yourself at the last second. Jungkook notices immediately, eyes flicking downward briefly before a smirk slowly pulls at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, now it’s sinking in…,” he murmurs softly. “Starting to realize this might’ve been a bad idea.”

Instead of staying cornered against the bed, you quickly move around it, keeping distance between the two of you while your heart pounds harder and harder inside your chest. Jungkook watches the movement with obvious amusement.

“You’re dramatic,” you mutter, trying desperately to sound unaffected.

“Yeah?” His head tilts slightly. “Then why do you keep running from me?”

Because every instinct inside your body is screaming at you to. The realization alone makes panic and heat mix together so violently it leaves you dizzy.

Slowly, carefully, you start backing toward the bedroom door instead and Jungkook notices instantly. A quiet laugh leaves him while he watches your eyes flick nervously between him and the exit.

“Seriously?” he chuckles softly. “You really think you’re faster than me?”

Your breath hitches and for one tiny second you hesitate before you run for the door anyway.

Your fingers barely brush the handle before Jungkook is suddenly there, large hand slamming flat against the wood above it hard enough to make you gasp. The door rattles sharply beneath the impact and before you can even process how fast he moved, his other hand calmly reaches down and twists the lock into place.

Click.

The sound echoes through the room like a gunshot.

Your pulse goes feral. “Jungkook-”

You try slipping past him immediately, panic hitting hard enough now that all you can think is 'window window window’, but the second you turn, his hand catches your wrist effortlessly.

Then suddenly your back slams against his chest. A startled yelp escapes you before his large hand immediately covers your mouth, pulling you tighter against him while your heart nearly explodes out of your ribs.

“Shhh…” he murmurs softly against your ear. The sound sends a violent shiver down your spine.

Everything about him feels overwhelming like this. The warmth of his body pressed firmly against yours, the smell of rain and smoke clinging to his hoodie, the way his chest rises slowly behind you while yours heaves uncontrollably.

And somehow the calmness in him only makes your panic worse.

“You’re gonna wake the whole fucking house,” he murmurs, lips brushing lightly against your ear now.

Your fingers instinctively grip his wrist while your breathing turns shallow beneath his hand. Jungkook notices every second of it.

A low chuckle vibrates against the side of your neck before his teeth graze your earlobe softly enough to make your knees nearly give out beneath you.

“Are you scared of me?” he asks quietly.

The question wraps around your throat instantly because the answer is complicated- you are scared. Not of him hurting you. Not truly. But scared of what happens to you around him.

Scared of how quickly your body folds every single time he corners you like this. Scared of the heat flooding through you right now despite the adrenaline making your pulse shake violently. Scared of the fact that even now, pinned against him with his hand over your mouth and the bedroom door locked behind you… you still don’t want him to stop.

A small sound escapes you before you can help it. Half whine, half something else entirely. Jungkook goes very still behind you for half a second, then he laughs quietly.

It’s not loud, not even cruel. But satisfied.

“Good,” he murmurs softly against your ear while his grip tightens just slightly around your wrist. “You fucking should be.”

A sudden knock against the bedroom door cuts through the tension so sharply that your entire body jolts.

“Hey, babe?” Soomin’s voice comes through the wood a second later, slightly muffled. “Are you okay? We heard a really loud noise.”

Pure panic flashes through you instantly. Jungkook feels it.

A quiet chuckle vibrates against the side of your neck while his hand still covers your mouth, your back pressed tightly against his chest as rain taps softly outside the open window behind you.

Then his lips brush your ear again.

“Tell her you’re fine,” he murmurs softly. “Tell her you’re just a stupid, clumsy thing and something fell down.”

Heat crashes through your body at the words, humiliation and arousal twisting together so violently it leaves your head spinning. Before you can even react, his hand slowly slides away from your mouth and down your throat instead, fingers wrapping firmly around it.

Not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you he’s still controlling this. You swallow hard beneath his grip while your pulse pounds wildly.

“I’m okay, Soomin,” you call out finally, praying your voice sounds normal. “Just… clumsy. My laptop fell from the bed.”

Silence follows for a second. Then:

“Okay…” Soomin says slowly. “Well, it sounded really loud.”

Jungkook’s fingers tighten slightly against your throat. “Lie better,” he whispers calmly into your ear. A shiver runs violently through you.

Then suddenly he starts guiding you toward the door, one hand still wrapped around your throat while the other settles briefly against your waist.

“Open it.”

Your stomach twists.

Slowly, nervously, you unlock the door and pull it open just enough to peek outside while Jungkook slips silently behind it, completely hidden from view.

Soomin immediately raises her eyebrows the second she sees your face.

“Oh my god,” she says slowly. “You look… I don’t know.” Her eyes narrow slightly. “Your face is completely flushed.”

You let out one slow breath while your heartbeat threatens to explode.

“Caught me,” you mumble awkwardly. “I was actually, uhm…” You vaguely point toward the bed behind you.

Soomin’s eyes widen instantly. “Oh my god,” she gasps. “You were having special alone time and I interrupted?” Heat floods your face for real this time.

“God, I’m so sorry!” She quickly holds her hands up.

“Yeah…” you laugh weakly, cheeks burning. “I, uh… fell from the bed.”

“So that’s why it sounded like someone died,” Soomin snorts before grinning suddenly. “Damn. That intense, huh? You need to tell me your secrets next time.”

Behind the door, you can feel Jungkook shifting and you swallow nervously. Soomin completely misses it.

“Well,” she continues with a wink, “have fun, babe. I’ll tell the others it was the washing machine or something.”

“Thanks.”

“Love you!”

“Bye.”

You slowly close the door again, pulse still racing violently, and the second the latch clicks shut, Jungkook’s hand immediately comes into view beside you.

Click.

He locks the door again.

The sound echoes through the room while you remain frozen against the wood, breathing unevenly as Jungkook steps back into view.

A slow smirk spreads across his face.

“Some special alone time, huh?” he murmurs, amusement dripping from every word. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

Heat burns across your face instantly.

Jungkook’s eyes drag slowly over your expression before he steps closer again, one hand settling beside your head against the door while the other remains loosely around your throat.

“You really are a little slut.”

The word hits exactly where he wants it to.

Your eyes flash immediately and Jungkook catches the reaction in real time, sees the anger flare behind your expression, sees the way your body tenses like you want to shove him away or curse him out again.

And then the asshole smirks.

“Do it,” he murmurs softly, lips dangerously close to yours now. “I dare you.”

The second the word leaves his mouth, Jungkook sees it hit you. Not the anger first or the embarrassment.

No… something way worse.

Your breath catches sharply while your entire body goes tense beneath his hand and for half a second you look genuinely offended, lips parting immediately like you’re about to snap back at him again.

But then nothing comes out and Jungkook notices that too. A slow smile spreads across his face while his thumb drags lightly against the side of your throat, eyes locked onto yours with terrifying focus.

“There it is,” he murmurs softly. “That little look again.”

Heat burns straight through you. “Shut up.”

The words come out weak, almost breathless. Jungkook’s expression darkens instantly at that.

“Oh,” he says quietly, almost amused now. “That word got to you, huh?”

Your stomach twists violently. “No it didn’t.”

“Liar.”

He steps even closer until your back presses fully against the locked door behind you, one hand planted beside your head while the other stays loosely around your throat. His eyes drag slowly across your face before dropping briefly to your mouth.

Then lower.

Watching the way your thighs instinctively press together again. A rough chuckle leaves him immediately.

“Fuck,” he mutters softly. “You really do like this shit.”

Humiliation crashes through you all over again. “You’re delusional.”

“And you’re standing here letting me call you dirty names while you melt over it.” His head tilts slightly. “Interesting little situation you got yourself into, princess.”

Your pulse pounds harder and harder while he keeps looking at you like he’s slowly peeling every layer off you one by one.

Then suddenly his expression shifts into something mocking.

“What did your sweet boyfriend say to you earlier that made you laugh like that, huh?”

The question catches you completely off guard. A fake pout tugs at his lips while he leans down closer, eyes never leaving yours.

“Was he all sweet with you?” he asks softly, voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Telling you cute little things while you smiled up at him?”

Heat floods your face because yes- He was.Your boyfriend was sweet. Gentle. Affectionate.

And somehow standing here now with Jungkook pressed against you, cigarette smell clinging to his clothes while his hand grips your throat possessively, that memory only makes your stomach twist harder.

Jungkook sees the realization happen in real time. The smirk on his face sharpens immediately.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Thought so.”

His thumb presses slightly higher beneath your jaw while his eyes darken.

“What do you think he’d say if he knew I was in your room right now?” he asks quietly.

Your breathing turns uneven instantly. Jungkook leans down until his lips brush barely against yours.

“What would he say,” he murmurs softly, “if he knew I’m standing here calling you my little whore…” Your breath catches sharply.

Jungkook’s tongue drags slowly across your lower lip. Then he pulls back just enough to whisper:

“…about to fuck you dumb?”

The words nearly destroy you.

Heat crashes through your body so violently your knees almost give out and Jungkook notices every second of it, sees the exact moment your resolve completely starts crumbling beneath him.

Because the worst part? You’ve thought about it too. Late at night. Alone in bed.

Replaying every filthy thing he’s whispered to you so far while imagining exactly what it would feel like if he finally stopped teasing and actually touched you the way he keeps promising he will.

And judging by the dark look settling deeper into Jungkook’s eyes… he knows.

“Fuck,” he mutters quietly while staring at your face. “You’ve imagined it already, haven’t you?” You hate that your silence gives you away.

Jungkook laughs softly beneath his breath before leaning down once more, mouth brushing teasingly against yours again like he’s about to kiss you properly this time.

But instead he just licks slowly across your lips once more…

…and pulls away.

The loss of contact feels almost painful. You stare at him in disbelief while he casually steps backward toward your bed, eyes never leaving yours for even a second. Completely calm. Completely confident.

Like he already knows exactly what you’re going to do next.

Jungkook drops onto the edge of the mattress slowly before spreading his legs slightly, tattooed hand resting lazily against his thigh while he looks up at you with smoke-dark eyes.

Then he pats his lap once. “Sit on your throne, princess.”

Your stomach flips. Because somehow that’s the part that affects you most: Not the degrading words or the threats. Not even him climbing through your goddamn window.

It’s this- The terrifying ease of the command. The way he says it like your place is already there. Already decided.

And horrifyingly enough… your body moves before your brain can catch up.

Jungkook watches you cross the room toward him with something dark and satisfied settling behind his expression, eyes dragging slowly over your body while you finally stop between his legs.

Then, without a single word of protest, you sink down into his lap again.

Exactly where he wanted you.

Jungkook’s hands settle against your waist the second you sit in his lap, fingers spreading slowly like he’s memorizing the shape of you there. The room feels unbearably warm now, rain still tapping softly against the windows while your pulse pounds harder with every second he keeps looking at you without moving.

And god, the way he’s looking at you… Like he already won.

Your eyes drift toward his lips almost automatically, still slightly swollen from the cigarette pressed between them earlier, and for one dangerous second you think he’s finally going to kiss you properly.

But he doesn’t. He just sits there watching you. Waiting.

The intensity of it makes your stomach twist violently because suddenly you realize exactly what he’s doing. Jungkook wants you to choose this. Wants you to cross the line yourself so there’s no pretending afterward, no acting like he forced you into something you didn’t secretly crave from the start.

A slow smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth when he sees the realization hit. Then quietly, voice rough enough to send heat rushing straight through you:

“If you want something…” His hands tighten slightly against your waist. “…take it yourself.”

You blink at him for a second, breath uneven, brain struggling to catch up while his eyes stay locked onto yours with terrifying patience. Then you understand.

And suddenly you’re nervous again.

Which is ridiculous considering everything that already happened between the two of you, but somehow this feels different. More dangerous somehow. Because now he’s waiting for you to do it first.

To prove him right.

Slowly, almost shyly, you lean forward.

Your fingers curl against his shoulders first before sliding higher toward his neck, brushing through the damp strands of his hair while your lips finally meet his.

Soft. Careful. Tentative enough that it almost feels sweet. And Jungkook lets you.

He doesn’t take control immediately. Doesn’t grab your face or pull you closer. He just sits there beneath you while you kiss him first, hands still firm against your waist as if he’s letting you figure this out on your own.

The realization alone nearly melts you. So you kiss him again, longer this time. Your fingers tighten in his hair while confidence slowly starts replacing the hesitation and Jungkook finally reacts, a low groan vibrating against your mouth the second your lips part slightly for him.

The sound destroys whatever self-control you had left. Heat crashes through your body while you kiss him harder now, your hands sliding fully into his hair as his grip on your waist suddenly tightens enough to pull a gasp from you.

That’s all it takes.

One second the kiss feels slow and teasing and the next it turns messy almost instantly, Jungkook finally kissing you back with all the intensity he’d been holding back until now.

More tongue. More teeth. More heat.

His hand slides up your spine before gripping the back of your neck, holding you exactly where he wants you while your mouths move together desperately enough that neither of you can breathe properly anymore. The wet sounds of kissing fill the room together with uneven breathing and quiet curses slipping from Jungkook every time you tug at his hair.

“Fuck…” he groans against your lips when your hips shift instinctively against him. The sound goes straight through you.

Jungkook kisses like he does everything else, controlled right until the moment he suddenly isn’t. One second he’s calm and composed and the next his teeth catch your lower lip hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth while his fingers dig possessively into your waist. And somehow that only makes you kiss him harder.

Saliva glistens between your mouths every time he pulls back barely an inch before crashing back into you again, messy and hungry now while your fingers stay tangled tightly in his hair. Jungkook moans quietly when you tug harder and the sound nearly drives you insane because it’s the first time he’s sounded genuinely affected tonight.

Not smug or teasing just genuinely gone.

His forehead presses briefly against yours while both of you struggle for air, but even then he doesn’t let you get far. His mouth keeps brushing against yours between breaths, tongue dragging slowly along your lower lip again before he mutters lowly:

“There’s my princess…” And this time the words don’t sound mocking at all. They sound possessive. Jungkook kisses you like he’s trying to drag every reaction out of your body at once.

Your fingers stay tangled tightly in his damp hair while his hands grip your waist hard enough to keep you completely pinned against him, every messy slide of his mouth against yours making your head spin worse and worse.

The room feels overheated now, thick with smoke and tension and the quiet wet sounds of kissing while your breathing turns more uneven every second he keeps pulling those desperate little noises from you.

A low groan leaves him when your hips shift instinctively in his lap again.

“Fuck…” he murmurs against your mouth before dragging his lips slowly along yours once more. “I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good, baby…”

The words hit straight through you. A soft moan escapes before you can stop it and Jungkook immediately swallows the sound with another rough kiss, tongue brushing against yours while his hand slides higher up your back possessively.

Then suddenly… he pulls back slightly. Just enough that his lips still ghost against yours while both of you struggle for air.

And then, sweetly enough to make it worse, he whispers:

“But first…” His thumb brushes slowly along your waist. “…I’m gonna punish the shit out of you for today.”

Your eyes snap open instantly. The blood in your veins practically freezes. Jungkook sees the exact second the realization hits and the corner of his mouth twitches upward immediately.

Because he means it. Oh god. He actually means it.

Before you can even process what the hell that’s supposed to mean, Jungkook kisses you again hard enough to steal the breath from your lungs while one arm suddenly hooks around your waist.

Then the world flips.

A startled gasp tears from you when he throws you backward onto the mattress, your body bouncing slightly against the bed hard enough to knock the air straight out of your chest.

Jungkook climbs over you immediately. Terrifyingly composed despite the fact he was just kissing you like he’d lost his mind thirty seconds ago.

“Jungkook, I-”

“What?” he interrupts instantly, amusement dripping from every word while he settles between your legs. “You thought all’s good now?” A low chuckle leaves him. “Thought I’d just overlook everything?”

Heat flashes through you while your pulse starts climbing all over again.

“Cute.” The mocking tone nearly kills you.

Instinctively you try scooting backward across the mattress, some survival instinct finally kicking back in now that he’s towering over you like this, but Jungkook just grabs both your ankles effortlessly before dragging you right back toward him again.

The movement pulls a shocked sound from your throat. Jungkook’s eyes darken immediately.

“No more running,” he murmurs calmly while his hands slide slowly up your legs. “But keep fighting me.” A dangerous smirk spreads across his face. “Turns me the fuck on.”

Jungkook keeps you pinned beneath him for several long seconds after dragging you back across the mattress, one hand wrapped loosely around your ankle while the other braces beside your head. His breathing is slightly uneven from the kissing, dark hair falling messily across his forehead now, but somehow he still looks maddeningly composed.

Meanwhile your entire brain feels like it’s actively melting.

The room stays quiet except for rain tapping softly outside and both of your breathing slowly filling the space between you. Jungkook studies your face carefully, eyes dragging over every tiny reaction like he’s piecing something together.

Then finally he sighs softly through his nose.

“You really know how to piss me off,” he murmurs almost fondly.

Your stomach flips nervously. “Jungkook-”

“No.” His thumb brushes once against your ankle. “You don’t get to interrupt right now.”

Heat flashes through you immediately. A low hum leaves him while his gaze drifts slowly downward over your body before returning to your face again.

“You fought with me in class.” Calm. Casual. “Called me an asshole in front of everyone.” Another slight tilt of his head. “Ignored my texts. Turned your phone off. Tried to hide from me.”

Every word settles heavier and heavier inside your chest because he’s listing them like offenses being read aloud before sentencing.

And horrifyingly enough… part of you likes it.

Jungkook sees the realization flicker across your face instantly and the corner of his mouth twitches upward.

“Yeah,” he murmurs quietly. “That’s what I thought.”

Your thighs press together instinctively and his eyes flick downward immediately.

A rough chuckle leaves him. “Holy fuck.”

Heat burns through your entire body while Jungkook slowly sits back on his heels between your legs, one hand sliding lazily along your thigh.

Then, completely calm, like he’s asking what you want for dinner:

“You can choose.”

You blink at him. “…what?”

Jungkook’s expression barely changes.

“I’m either gonna spank your bare ass twenty times with my hand…” His fingers tap lightly against your thigh once. “…five with the belt…”

Your breathing catches sharply at that one. Jungkook sees it immediately and a slow grin spreads across his face.

“Oh?” he murmurs mockingly. “That scared you a little?”

“You’re insane.”

“Hm.” Completely unconcerned.

Then his thumb presses slightly harder against your thigh while his voice drops lower.

“…or ten against your bare cunt.”

Your entire body goes still. Jungkook watches it happen in real time and actually laughs quietly beneath his breath.

Not loud. Worse.

Genuinely amused.

“There it is,” he murmurs softly. “That’s the one.”

Your stomach flips violently. “No it’s not.”

“Princess.” His head tilts slightly while his eyes drag slowly over your flushed face. “Your thighs literally just closed.”

Humiliation burns straight through you because the worst part is that he sounds almost pleased by it.

Like he enjoys exposing you.

“You should see your face right now,” he says quietly, lips twitching again. “Cute little brain trying so hard not to imagine it.”

Your breath turns uneven immediately.

A rough exhale leaves him while his fingers slowly slide higher up your thigh until you physically tense beneath him.

“Fuck,” he mutters softly. “You really don’t know how obvious you are yet, huh?”

You glare up at him instantly. “Shut up.” But it comes out weak again. Breathless.

And Jungkook absolutely loves it. A dark grin spreads slowly across his face while he leans down closer, close enough now that his lips brush faintly against yours when he speaks.

“I can practically hear you thinking,” he murmurs quietly. “Trying to decide which one would hurt the most.” His thumb presses lightly between your thighs over your pajamas. “Meanwhile your body’s over here getting wetter every second.”

A soft sound escapes you before you can stop it and Jungkook’s eyes darken immediately.

“There she is,” he whispers.

Heat crashes through you so violently it almost hurts.

“You know what I think?” he asks softly while watching your expression unravel further. “I think part of you wants me to choose.” A low chuckle leaves him. “Because then you can keep pretending none of this is your fault.”

You glare at him instantly. “You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah.” Completely calm. “Still waiting for an answer.”

Then finally, when you still don’t answer, a slow grin spreads across his face.

“Okay then…”

Your stomach twists sharply because the second those words leave his mouth, you already know he’s choosing for you.

Jungkook watches the realization settle into your face with obvious satisfaction before slowly leaning down over you again, one hand spreading beside your head while the other drifts lazily along your thigh.

“Look at you,” he murmurs softly. “Completely gone already and I haven’t even started.”

Heat burns through your entire body while his fingers slide slowly upward beneath the hem of your pajama shorts, teasing without really touching where you want him most. Every movement feels deliberate now, like he’s dragging the anticipation out on purpose just to watch you squirm beneath him.

And the worst part? He looks like he’s enjoying this far too much.

His mouth brushes slowly against your jaw before trailing lower toward your throat while his fingers hook lazily into the buttons of your pajama top, undoing them one by one with agonizing patience.

Then quietly:

“Also…” His lips ghost softly beneath your ear. “…there’s something else that made me fucking mad, princess.”

Your stomach thightens at his words.

A low hum leaves him while another button slips free beneath his fingers, exposing more skin inch by inch while his eyes stay fixed on your face.

“Can you guess what it was?”

You blink up at him, still dazed from the kissing, from him dragging you across the bed earlier, from the way he keeps touching you like he already owns every inch of your body.

“I…” Your voice catches slightly. “I don’t know.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue softly. “Use that brain, dummy,” he murmurs against your skin.

His hand slips beneath the fabric of your pajama top then, fingertips dragging slowly across your stomach and your breath hitches hard enough to interrupt your thoughts completely.

Jungkook notices that too and a quiet chuckle vibrates against your throat. “See?” he murmurs mockingly. “Can’t even think properly anymore.”

You hate how weak your body feels beneath him. Hate how your brain keeps turning to static every time his hands move over you.

His lips trail lower along your neck before suddenly his teeth catch your skin hard enough to pull a sharp whine from your throat.

“There it is…” he mutters softly.

Then he sucks slowly against the sensitive spot beneath your jaw while his hand spreads possessively over your stomach, holding you still against the mattress while you squirm beneath him.

Your fingers clutch weakly at his shirt. “Jungkook…”

A low hum leaves him before he finally pulls back just enough to look down at you again. And somehow that calm expression is worse than if he looked angry.

Because he looks completely composed. Completely certain.

His thumb brushes slowly across your waist beneath your pajama shirt while his voice drops quieter now.

Too quiet.

“I told you yesterday,” he murmurs softly, “to fucking text me when you got home.”

Your eyes snap open instantly. Oh. Oh no.

“I…” Your stomach drops violently. “I forgot-”

Jungkook clicks his tongue immediately. “Stupid.”

Heat crashes through you all at once. Another soft kiss presses against your throat.

“Stupid little girl,” he murmurs almost affectionately before biting lightly at your skin again hard enough to make you gasp.

“I really forgot,” you whisper quickly, trying to explain while your pulse spirals harder and harder beneath him. “I didn’t mean to-”

“But you still forgot.” Calm. Casual. “After I told you to do one simple fucking thing.”

Humiliation curls hot in your stomach while Jungkook watches your face carefully, fingers slowly gliding higher beneath your pajama top.

“You know what I think?” he asks softly.

You barely manage a shaky breath. “What…?”

“I think you stopped taking me seriously for a second.” His thumb drags lightly across your skin. “Thought maybe I’d let things slide because i kissed you a little.”

Your stomach sinks because that’s almost exactly what happened.

Jungkook sees the realization spread across your face instantly and the corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “That’s what I thought.”

His hand suddenly grips your waist firmly before he leans down close enough that his lips brush faintly against yours again.

“You’re learning though,” he whispers softly. “Slowly.”

Then another kiss against your mouth. Gentle this time, almost sweet.

The sudden softness catches you completely off guard after everything else tonight and before you can stop yourself, your body relaxes slightly beneath him. Your fingers loosen against his shirt while you melt into the kiss for one dangerous second, lips moving slowly against his while the hand beneath your pajama top drifts lazily across your skin.

And Jungkook notices immediately. A low hum vibrates against your mouth the exact moment you soften for him.

Then suddenly-

Pain flashes sharply through your chest when his fingers pinch your nipple hard enough to rip a loud whine straight from your throat.

Jungkook swallows the sound instantly with his mouth.

The kiss changes immediately after that, less gentle now, more possessive.

His hand tightens around your waist while his mouth moves hungrily against yours, tongue brushing forcefully against yours as another softer whimper escapes into the kiss. Jungkook groans quietly at the sound before pinching again just enough to make your back arch beneath him.

Heat crashes through your body violently while he keeps kissing you harder now, every movement deliberate, possessive, like he’s actively reminding you who’s in control again after letting you relax for those few stupid seconds.

Your fingers tighten in his shirt instinctively. A dark chuckle leaves him before his teeth catch your lower lip briefly.

“See what happens?” he murmurs softly. “The second you get comfortable, you stop thinking.”

Your breathing turns uneven again immediately, eyes glistening faintly once the sharp sting finally eases..

Jungkook’s mouth drags over your neck downwards to your chest until he softly takes the sensitive nub between his lips, gently sucking and kissing it.

“Good girl.” he mutters against your heated skin and you automatically arch your back against his mouth.

Jungkook finally releases your nipple with a quiet hum before sitting back slightly above you and for one horrible second you think maybe he’s done teasing now.

But then his hands move toward his belt. Your stomach drops instantly.

The metallic sound of the buckle sliding free cuts through the room while your pulse suddenly pounds harder beneath your ribs. You watch him slowly pull the belt from the loops of his jeans inch by inch and the moment leather slips fully free, your body instinctively squirms beneath him.

A low chuckle leaves him while he glances up at your face, dark eyes dragging slowly across your expression.

“Relax, dummy…” he murmurs softly.

Heat floods your face anyway because absolutely nothing about this feels relaxing right now.

The belt hangs loosely from his hand while he shifts closer again and before you can even ask what he’s doing, his fingers close around your wrists. Your breath catches sharply.

Jungkook calmly guides your hands above your head before threading the belt around them and securing it loosely against the headboard behind you. Not painful. Not tight enough to hurt. Just enough to stop you from pulling away.

“There,” he mutters quietly once he’s finished, eyes flicking over your restrained wrists with obvious satisfaction. “That’s better.”

Your pulse jumps violently when you test the movement slightly and realize you genuinely can’t move your hands now.

Jungkook notices that too and the corner of his mouth lifts faintly. “Cute,” he murmurs while settling back between your legs again.

The mattress dips beneath his weight while his hands slowly drag down your body- fingertips brushing over your stomach before hooking into the waistband of your pajama pants.

Your breathing turns uneven immediately.

Jungkook keeps his eyes on your face the entire time while he slowly pulls the fabric down your legs, watching every tiny reaction like he’s studying you.

Like he enjoys seeing you nervous. And honestly? He probably does.

The second the fabric disappears completely, his gaze drags slowly over your body before a quiet exhale leaves him beneath his breath.

“Fuck…” he mutters softly.

Heat burns across your face while you instinctively try to close your legs a little but Jungkook’s hand immediately settles against your thigh, stopping you.

“None of that.”

Your stomach twists harder.

Then his fingers tighten slightly against your thigh while his expression turns calm again. Focused.

Terrifyingly composed.

“You’re gonna count for me,” he says quietly. “And if you miss one…” His eyes lift slowly back toward yours. “…I’m starting all over again.”

Your breath catches sharply. For a second you just stare at him in shock, brain struggling to fully process what the hell is happening right now.

Jungkook waits patiently. Eventually you manage the tiniest nod and a slow smirk spreads across his face.

“Good girl.” The praise melts through you embarrassingly fast.

Then Jungkook’s hands slide firmly against the inside of your thighs before gently pushing them apart.

“Spread your legs.” And suddenly you realize exactly which punishment he chose.

The first slap catches you off guard- his hand lands exactly in the middle of your exposed pussy and a sharp sting spreads instantly through your body. You let out a strong gasp and instinctively try to close your legs but Jungkook holds them open with ease.

“Count.” he orders in the same calm tone as if none of this affects him at all. You swallow thickly before muttering a small “One” and he hums in return.

“Good girl.”

His fingers run through your wet folds a few times, pulling another shudder from you and a quiet moan slips beneath your lips just as his hand lands on the sensitive flesh once again.

“Fuck!” you yelp, eyes clenched shut but when you slowly open them again you see his raised eyebrows and quickly add, “Two…” He nods approvingly.

Jungkook hums softly in approval, fingers smoothing briefly along your thigh afterward almost absentmindedly before another slap follows only seconds later.

This one feels worse- not because it hurts more, but because now you’re expecting it.

Your entire body tenses in anticipation and Jungkook notices immediately, eyes flicking slowly across your face while another quiet sound escapes you.

“Three,” you whisper.

“Louder.”

Heat burns through your cheeks. “Three,” you repeat properly this time and a faint grin spreads across his face.

“That’s better.”

The room slowly fills with the sound of your uneven breathing mixed with the occasional sharp sting that keeps pulling broken reactions from your throat. Somewhere around four your legs start trembling slightly beneath his grip and Jungkook notices that too, thumb pressing lazily into your skin while he watches you try to hold yourself together.

“You’re sensitive already?” he murmurs almost mockingly. “Poor thing.”

You glare at him instantly despite the tears beginning to sting faintly at the corners of your eyes.

“Shut up.”

A low chuckle leaves him. Then another slap lands before you’re fully prepared for it and your back arches sharply against the mattress while a louder sound slips from your mouth before you can stop it.

“Fuck-”

Jungkook’s eyebrows lift. Your eyes squeeze shut in embarrassment before you quickly force out:

“Five.”

“There you go.” The praise feels humiliatingly good.

That’s the worst part. Not the punishment itself. Not even the sting.

It’s the way your body reacts every time he tells you you’re doing well, every soft “good girl” melting straight through your pride while Jungkook watches the effect it has on you with growing amusement.

By the time he reaches seven your breathing is completely uneven now, thighs twitching helplessly beneath his hands while your wrists pull instinctively against the belt every time another sting spreads through your body.

And somehow Jungkook still looks perfectly composed. Relaxed even.

Like he could do this all night.

“You keeping up okay, princess?” he asks softly after another sharp slap makes your head fall back briefly against the pillows.

You nod weakly. “Mhm.”

His hand grips your jaw lightly immediately, forcing your eyes back toward him.

“Use your words.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Then another slap lands suddenly and your entire body jerks beneath him hard enough that the next number completely slips from your brain.

Silence.

Oh no.

Your eyes widen instantly while Jungkook just watches you calmly.

“…what comes after seven?” he asks softly. Panic flashes through you immediately.

“Wait- give me a second please…”

“Too dumb to count properly?”

“Jungkook please-”

His head tilts slightly, expression almost thoughtful now while his fingers drag lazily over your wet folds again. “Think carefully, dummy.”

You try to breathe properly, cheeks burning with humiliation while your thoughts scramble uselessly around in your head.

“…eight,” you whisper finally.

Jungkook studies your face for another second before humming softly. “Correct.”

Relief crashes through you embarrassingly fast.

His thumb presses against your clit, drawing slow circles around the sensitive nub, pulling a deep moan from you. He increases the speed of his thumb, making you squirm beneath him while a slow smirk spreads across his face. Your eyes almost flutter shut as your thighs start to tremble, your orgasm building embarrassingly fast.

Just as your release is about to crash over you, he removes his thumb, delivering the last two slaps harshly against your pussy and bringing you over the edge. The final sting sends tears slipping fully down your cheeks despite how hard you try to hold them back.

“Oh my god-“ a strangled sob escapes you as pain and pleasure mix together and wash over you in intense waves. Jungkook lets out a satisfied hum as he watches your body writhe beneath him while he softly grips your waist.

Your body goes limp and you let yourself sink further into the mattress. You feel Jungkook’s weight shift on top of you and suddenly his lips are against your ear, softly whispering:

“Forgetting something, princess?”

You open your eyes in exhaustion. He’s already looking at you, waiting for your answer and you swallow thickly.

“Nine… ten…” your voice weak and small.

Jungkook studies your face for another second after the weak answer leaves your lips before a quiet satisfied hum finally escapes him.

“There you go,” he murmurs softly. “Knew you could do it.”

Your chest rises and falls unevenly while he reaches upward to loosen the belt around your wrists, fingers rubbing gently over the faint red marks left behind. The sudden softness after everything else tonight feels almost disorienting and your eyes flutter shut briefly when he brings one of your wrists toward his mouth, pressing a slow kiss against the sensitive skin there.

“So pretty like this,” he mutters quietly.

Heat spreads weakly through your exhausted body while Jungkook’s hands slide slowly down your arms afterward before one of them hooks beneath the hem of his hoodie. Your breath catches the second he pulls it over his head, revealing warm skin, dark tattoos and lean muscle beneath the dim light of your room.

And embarrassingly enough… you stare.

Jungkook notices it and slow smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth while he tosses the hoodie somewhere onto the floor, dark eyes flicking briefly toward your face when he catches the way your gaze drags helplessly across his chest. But he doesn’t tease you for it.

Instead he just leans back over you again slowly, one hand settling beside your head while the other glides lazily across your waist beneath your already open pajama top.

“You look exhausted,” he murmurs softly, lips brushing faintly against yours.

“You’re horrible,” you whisper weakly. A quiet chuckle leaves him.

“Yeah,” he hums against your mouth. “Still did so good for me though.” The praise melts straight through you again.

Jungkook kisses you slowly after that, deep enough to leave your thoughts hazy while his hand drifts lower over your stomach, fingers tracing absentminded patterns against your skin. Every touch feels unhurried now, almost lazy, like he has all the time in the world while he takes you apart piece by piece.

His mouth leaves yours eventually only to drag lower instead. Over your jaw. Your throat.

A soft shiver rolls through your body the second his lips press against one of the marks he left there earlier and Jungkook hums quietly at the reaction before kissing lower again.

“You get sensitive so fast,” he murmurs softly against your skin, sounding almost amused by it.

Heat curls low in your stomach while his hands slowly push the fabric of your pajama top further open again, exposing your chest completely beneath him while his mouth keeps wandering lower.

Every kiss feels deliberate. Possessive. Like he’s memorizing you now.

Your breathing turns uneven again the moment his lips brush over your chest, lingering there just long enough to make your pulse stutter while his hands tighten faintly against your waist.

“Jungkook…” you breathe softly.

A low hum vibrates against your skin in response before he kisses lower again, dragging his mouth slowly over your stomach while his fingers spread gently against your hips to keep you still beneath him.

And when his lips finally brush against the inside of your thigh? Your entire body jerks slightly.

Jungkook chuckles quietly at that, eyes lifting briefly toward your face while his thumb strokes lazily against your skin.

“So fucking reactive,” he murmurs softly. “Can barely touch you without you falling apart for me.”

You feel his hot breath right between your legs before his tongue drags lazily over your folds, settling at your clit where he starts sucking almost softly.

“Oh…” you breathe out, your back arching as everything is still sensitive and overstimulated. Jungkook just hums, giving your clit a lazy swirl with his tongue as he carefully pushes two fingers inside of you.

“So fucking tight…” he mumbles while curling his long fingers against your sweet spot over and over again. “You taste so sweet, baby.” He hums, then his mouth is on you again, this time more intense, latching onto you like he’s possessed and turning you into a writhing mess.

“C-close…” you gasp, one hand finding his hair as you give it a strong tug and he hums in response.

Your eyes flutter shut as he mercilessly sucks on your clit while his fingers continue to fuck you open with scissoring motions, and moments later your orgasm crashes over you so intensely that you grab the nearest pillow to muffle your screams.

Jungkook continues to help you ride it out until you try to close your legs and shove him away. He just chuckles and slowly lets go of your throbbing pussy before sitting back up. You’re still hiding beneath the pillow, your chest rising and falling as your breathing slowly returns to normal when he pulls it away, looking down at you with a smirk.

“Cute.”

His arm reaches out to brush the strands of hair clinging to your sweaty forehead out of your face. You look up at him, slowly blinking, and once again, almost instinctively, lean into his touch. You can see the way his jaw clenches at that, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Jungkook strokes your cheek one last time before slowly retracting his hand and settling it at his pants. Your eyes follow his movements as he opens them, hooking his fingers beneath the waistband of his pants and boxers before stepping out of them entirely, leaving him completely naked before you.

You swallow as you take in his whole form and something in your chest shifts slightly, but you quickly push it away as you sit up and peel off your pajama top, leaving both of you entirely bare. He hums, the corner of his mouth lifting as he slowly climbs above you.

“Are you on the pill?”

You blink. “What?”

“Can I fuck you raw?” He tilts his head and the way he licks his lips makes your heart stutter for a second.

“Y-yes…” you finally manage to say, and he smirks. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, please…” you whisper against his lips, your sense of shame already gone. All you want is Jeon Jungkook inside of you. Right now.

“Hm…” he hums, his tongue ghosting over your bottom lip. “I think you can do better than that, princess.”

“Jungkook…” you whine in frustration, which makes him chuckle, clearly enjoying it. “Please fuck me. There, happy?” You roll your eyes and he lets out a snort.

“Did you just fucking roll your eyes?”

You open your mouth to protest, but he already pushes you back into the mattress. “Shut up. Turn around, hands on the bed, ass up…”

“Wait, wha…” you don’t even finish the sentence before he grabs your waist and flips you onto your stomach, a surprised yelp escaping you.

Jungkook looks down at your figure lying beneath him as he wraps his hand around his cock, giving it a few pumps before lining himself up within your soaking entrance. His chest presses against your back, one hand wrapped around your throat as you finally feel him push inside.

He’s not fast with it. It’s slow, almost excruciating. And still, the stretch is so intense your walls try to refuse him at first.

“Jungkook…” you gasp. “…too much… I can’t…”

He lets out a low chuckle against your ear.

“You can and you will, princess. Listen to the cute noises your cunt makes every time my dick slides back in…”

To make a point, he pulls back only to thrust in again, the wet smacking sound echoing through the room.

You shake your head while clutching at the bedsheets. “Too big… you’re too big…”

“Aw.” He tuts with fake concern, his hand landing sharply against your ass. “Poor little baby can’t handle my dick. Where’d all the attitude go, huh?” His hips snap against yours as he sets a faster, rougher pace, making you whine into the sheets.

“Your mouth’s writing checks your ass can’t cash, dumb little brat,” he growls, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling a sinful moan from you that would usually belong in a porn.

The degradation should irritate you, should offend you, but instead you can feel yourself getting wetter by the second, and so can Jungkook.

“Fuck, you’re soaking. It’s literally running down your fucking legs…” His voice is hoarse, fingertips pressing into your skin as if he’s trying to brand you. And maybe he truly is.

His hand runs over the curve of your ass, kneading the soft flesh and spreading your cheeks when you feel his thumb against your back entrance. You freeze for a second and he notices immediately.

“Ever tried it before?” he asks calmly, and you let out a shy, “No,” earning a soft hum in response. His thumb circles the tight hole over and over before he finally says, “Relax. Not tonight.”

Before you can properly process his words, you feel his breath fanning against your cheek.

“But soon I’m gonna fuck that cute ass.”

Jungkook flips you around onto your back and increases the pace of his thrusts. His cock keeps hitting that special spot inside you while he reaches down to circle your clit.

“I’m gonna…” you bite your lip, desperately trying not to be too loud as you stare up at him. Sweat clings to his forehead, his hair messy, and suddenly all you want to do is bite that lip piercing of his. You grab him by the neck and pull him down, kissing him fiercely, which earns you a satisfied grunt from him.

“Fuck, baby…” he mumbles against your lips as his thrusts turn harsher, almost painful in the most delicious way. Your legs lock behind his back as your orgasm crashes through you, making you uncontrollably tremble beneath him. Jungkook follows seconds later, burying himself as deep as possible while his cum floods your swollen walls, slowly dripping out of you afterward.

“Holy fuck…” he breathes against your neck and you manage a weak nod. Your hand wanders absentmindedly through his hair and down his back, drawing lazy patterns against his skin.

For a long moment neither of you says anything.

The room feels heavy in the aftermath, warm and ruined and far too quiet now compared to everything that happened only minutes ago. Your body still buzzes pleasantly from the intensity of it all while Jungkook stays stretched out on top of you, one arm lazily wrapped around your waist as both of you slowly catch your breath again.

It should feel wrong. You should want distance after everything that happened tonight. Instead you feel… comfortable. Safe.

The realization settles unpleasantly in your chest. Dangerous.

Jungkook notices the shift immediately but instead of commenting on it his head tilts slightly toward the hoodie tossed somewhere beside the bed.

“Mind if I smoke?”

Usually you would. Usually you’d complain about the smell, roll your eyes dramatically, tell him he’s disgusting or slowly killing himself. But right now your brain still feels hazy and unfocused, caught somewhere between exhaustion and the terrifying realization slowly creeping up your spine.

“Huh?” you blink before quietly shaking your head. “Yeah… no. Go ahead.”

Jungkook goes still for the briefest moment beneath you. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But you do.

His eyes flick briefly toward your face like he’s trying to figure out what exactly is happening inside your head right now. Then, surprisingly, he doesn’t push.

Doesn’t tease. Doesn’t pry.

He just hums softly before reaching for the hoodie beside the bed and pulling a slightly crushed cigarette pack from the pocket.

Then suddenly his hands settle on your waist. Before you can even react properly, Jungkook flips the two of you over effortlessly until he’s lying beneath you instead, one arm tucked behind his head while the other brings the cigarette toward his lips.

You let out a startled sound immediately. “The fuck-”

A low chuckle rumbles beneath you. “Relax, princess.”

The lighter flicks softly in the dim room before smoke slowly curls upward between the two of you. You stay sprawled half on top of him afterward, your cheek resting against his chest while you continue tracing his tattoos absentmindedly.

It’s quiet.

Not awkward quiet. Just… still. The kind of silence that feels strangely intimate.

Jungkook smokes lazily above you while your fingers drift over the ink on his ribs and chest, your thoughts growing heavier and heavier the longer this silence stretches.

Because this doesn’t feel like hooking up anymore. It feels dangerously close to something else. And that realization honestly scares the shit out of you.

After a while your eyes drift upward toward the cigarette between his fingers.

“Can I try it?”

Jungkook immediately looks down at you with raised eyebrows. “Smoking kills.”

You stare at him flatly. “Are you serious right now?”

A grin slowly spreads across his face before he finally brings the cigarette toward your lips anyway.

“Go on then.”

You carefully lean upward and inhale way too much immediately.

The second smoke hits your lungs, violent coughing tears out of you while you jerk back against his chest in horror.

“Oh my god-” you choke out between coughs. “That is disgusting!”

Jungkook starts laughing instantly. Not the quiet amused chuckles from earlier. Actually laughing.

Deep enough that you can feel it rumbling through his chest beneath your cheek while he steadies the cigarette away from you.

“You looked confident for a second there too,” he grins.

“Shut up,” you cough weakly, smacking his chest which only makes him laugh harder.

Asshole.

Eventually the room settles again afterward, smoke curling lazily through the dim light while your fingers wander back toward the tattoos stretched across his chest.

You trace one slowly. Then another.

Jungkook watches you quietly this time, dark eyes half-lidded while the cigarette rests between his fingers near his lips.

Then softly: “Something going on in that head of yours?”

Your stomach tightens immediately. Because yes. Way too much. But there’s absolutely no fucking way you’re saying any of that out loud.

So instead you just shrug slightly against him. “Tired.”

Jungkook studies your face for another second like he knows you’re full of shit but decides to let it slide for now.

The silence stretches again after that until eventually the question slips from your mouth before you can stop it.

“…are you staying?”

Jungkook’s gaze flicks back down toward you immediately. “Do you want me to?”

The answer should be no. It absolutely should. Instead you hesitate and think about it.

Then slowly nod.

And something unreadable flickers briefly across Jungkook’s face before he leans back further into the pillows again.

“I would’ve stayed anyway.”

You immediately smack his chest again. “You’re so annoying.”

A low chuckle leaves him while his hand slides lazily up your back once more, fingers brushing through your hair.

“Yeah,” he murmurs softly. “Still not leaving though.”

And horrifyingly enough… you realize you’re glad.

➻ taglist for stupid little girl

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[if you want to be added to the taglist, please leave a comment below] — if your name is white, it means i couldn’t tag you. please reach out to me.

“…and please remember that the upcoming project next month will count heavily toward your final grade, so make sure to familiarize yourselves with the material early enough. okay, that’s it for today. class dismissed.”

The professor gives the class a small smile before chairs immediately screech across the floor and students begin gathering their things. Conversations slowly fill the lecture hall while bags zip shut and notebooks disappear into backpacks. You shove your notebook into your bag and are just about to leave when you hear your name.

Your head turns toward the professor instantly.“Yes?”

“Do you have a minute?”

You nod quickly, and she waits until the last student leaves the room before taking a paper from the stack beside her and sliding it across the desk toward you. Your essay.

“I reviewed your paper from last week,” she says carefully, pushing her glasses slightly higher up her nose, “and unfortunately… I still don’t see much improvement from your previous work.”

Your stomach sinks immediately. You stare down at the paper while folding your hands in your lap, trying not to cringe at the red markings scattered across the pages.

“I know you’re trying,” she continues gently. “You always take notes, you participate in discussions… honestly, you’re one of the few students who actually listens to everything I say.”

The small compliment barely softens the blow.

“…but this,” she sighs softly, tapping a finger against the paper, “is not enough to pass. and the essay next month is worth even more.”

“I understand,” you mumble quietly. And you do. That’s the worst part.

Every other class comes naturally to you. You’ve never struggled academically before, never needed help, never been anything less than one of the best students in the room.

Except here.

The professor studies you sympathetically for a moment before speaking again. “I may have a solution.”

Your brows lift slightly.

“There’s someone who could tutor you,” she explains. “One of my best students. Honestly, probably the most naturally talented writer I’ve taught in years.”

You nod automatically. “That would actually be really helpful, thank you.”

She gives you a small smile before reaching for another paper on her desk. “I’ll send him your contact information then.”

You grab your bag and finally leave the lecture hall, already mentally preparing yourself to spend the next month studying with some pretentious academic nerd who probably corrects people’s grammar for fun.

Unfortunately for you… that is not who waits in the cafeteria downstairs.

The cafeteria is loud when you walk in, music blasting from someone’s phone in the corner while groups of students crowd around tables laughing over lunch and unfinished assignments. Your friends wave you over immediately from one of the tables near the windows.

“There she is,” Soomin grins. “Took you long enough.”

You drop into the empty seat beside her with a sigh. “Mrs. Higgins held me back.”

“Uh oh.” Minji winces dramatically. “That bad?”

You stab your straw into your iced coffee harder than necessary. “She basically told me my essay sucks.”

“Ouch.”

“She’s assigning me a tutor.”

That gets everyone’s attention immediately.

“A tutor?” Soomin blinks. “You?”

“Exactly.” You slump back in your chair with a groan. “This is humiliating.”

“Maybe he’ll be cute,” Minji offers unhelpfully.

“I don’t need cute. I need someone to stop me from failing.”

“Fair.”

You grab your drink and glance around the cafeteria absentmindedly while your friends continue talking, only for your gaze to suddenly snag on a familiar figure sitting several tables away.

Black hoodie. Tattooed arms. Pierced lip. One boot lazily hooked over the empty chair beside him. Jeon Jungkook.

Unfortunately.

He leans back in his seat while one of his frat friends talks loudly beside him, a cigarette tucked behind his ear despite campus rules he very obviously doesn’t care about.

And somehow, even from across the cafeteria, he looks arrogant. Like the human embodiment of bad decisions.

You’ve never spoken more than three sentences to him before, but honestly, that’s already been more than enough.

Everybody knows Jungkook- The frat boy with perfect grades. The asshole with scholarship-level academic scores. The guy professors adore despite the fact he looks like he should be kicked out of at least three establishments daily.

Your eyes narrow slightly.

“Why are you glaring at Jungkook?” Minji asks immediately.

“I’m not glaring.”

“You are absolutely glaring.”

Before you can answer, your phone buzzes against the table.

Unknown Number: ‘mrs. higgins gave me your contact. jungkook’

Your entire body stills.

No. Absolutely not.

You look up instantly. Across the cafeteria, Jungkook is already staring directly at you like he knew the exact second you’d read the message.

The bastard even smirks.

“Oh my god,” Soomin gasps beside you. “NO WAY.”

“There’s no way what?” Minji immediately asks.

Soomin points dramatically across the cafeteria.“THAT’S her tutor.”

Your friends collectively lose their minds while you stare at Jungkook in horror.

“No.”

“Yes,” Soomin wheezes. “Oh, you are SO fucked.”

You ignore her immediately and push yourself up from the table before your irritation can cool off, because absolutely not. There is no universe where you let Jeon Jungkook think he has any sort of power in this situation.

His friends notice you approaching first. One of them lets out a low, entertained: “Ooooooh.”

Another outright laughs.

Jungkook doesn’t move though. He just watches you approach slowly, expression unreadable while lazily spinning his phone across the table. The closer you get, the more annoying he becomes.

Too pretty. Too calm. Too aware of himself.

You stop directly beside his table. “You’re going to tutor me for the essay Mrs. Higgins mentioned.”

No hello. No politeness. Jungkook’s eyebrow lifts slightly.

“So let’s just get this over with,” you continue smoothly. “My place tomorrow night. Six o’clock. Be on time or-”

A hand suddenly covers your mouth- your entire brain short-circuits.

The cafeteria goes dead quiet around you.

Jungkook doesn’t even look remotely bothered. One tattooed hand rests lazily over your mouth while he leans back in his chair, eyes half-lidded with boredom.

“Be quiet,” he says calmly. Your eyes widen immediately. Nobody moves, nobody speaks.

Apparently nobody in this cafeteria is insane enough to interrupt Jeon Jungkook once he decides something.

Slowly, his gaze drags over your face before he tilts his head slightly. “Has no one ever taught you manners?”

Heat floods your face instantly, humiliation and anger twisting together with something much worse. You shove his hand away immediately.

“Excuse me?” you snap. “Who the hell do you think you-”

“Yeah, no,” Jungkook interrupts casually. “I’m sacrificing my free time for you, princess.”

Princess.

The nickname lands somewhere dangerous in your stomach.

“My place,” he continues smoothly. “Tomorrow. Six o’clock.” Then finally:

“Be late and we’re done.”

For a second you just stand there, completely stunned while your brain struggles to catch up with what just happened. The feeling of his hand against your mouth still burns into your skin while a few of his friends exchange amused looks, one of them outright snorting into his drink.

Jungkook ignores all of them. He already looks done with the conversation, like dismissing you publicly was the most natural thing in the world. Which somehow makes it even worse.

Heat crawls furiously up your neck as you glare at him one last time before turning sharply on your heel and stomping back toward your table. The second you sit down, your friends practically launch themselves at you.

“Oh my god,” Minji whisper-yells immediately. “What the fuck just happened?!”

“Did he seriously put his hand over your mouth?!” Soomin gasps.

“He did NOT just call you princess.”

Your face burns hotter. “Who the hell does he think he is?” you hiss furiously while throwing your bag down beside you. “The fucking audacity of that asshole-”

Across the cafeteria, Jungkook glances toward you again. Just once. And the smirk tugging briefly at the corner of his mouth is enough to make your stomach twist violently because he knows.

The bastard actually knows; knows you’re angry, knows you’re humiliated. And somehow knows exactly what that did to you too. Then he looks away again, attention shifting back toward his friends like you’re no longer important enough to focus on.

Which should not irritate you this much. It absolutely should not make heat pool low in your stomach either. But unfortunately, your body seems deeply committed to betraying you today.

You shift slightly in your seat, thighs pressing together instinctively while trying to focus on literally anything else.

God.

You hate him already. You hate the way he talks, the way he looks at you, the way he somehow managed to shut you up in front of an entire cafeteria without even raising his voice.

And worst of all? A tiny, deeply embarrassing part of you is already replaying:

be quiet.

over and over and over again…

Thursday somehow passes even slower than usual, mostly because you spend the entire day irritated. At Jungkook. At Mrs. Higgins. At yourself for thinking about him way more than necessary.

Unfortunately, none of that stops you from showing up at your sorority house later that evening while helping your friends prepare decorations for tomorrow’s party. Music plays loudly from someone’s speaker while streamers and fairy lights are scattered all over the living room floor.

Minji sits cross-legged on the couch blowing up balloons with visible regret. “This is how I die,” she mutters dramatically before tying one off.

“You’re so brave,” you deadpan while taping another decoration to the wall.

Your phone buzzes in your back pocket.

Boyfriend 💙: good luck with tutoring tonight :) call me later?

A tiny smile pulls at your lips automatically.

You quickly type back:

i will 💕 miss me while i’m suffering pls

Minji notices immediately. “Ooooooh.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

“How is he?” Soomin asks from the floor. “Is he coming tomorrow?”

“Yeah, probably.”

Minji grins immediately. “And?” she asks. “Will you finally do it?”

You blink. “Do what?”

“Oh please.” She throws a balled-up ribbon at you. “You’ve been dating for what now? Three months?”

You raise one eyebrow slowly. “So?”

“So,” Minji repeats dramatically, “normal people would’ve slept together by now.”

A laugh escapes you.

“Please,” you scoff while reaching for another strand of lights. “Just because we’re dating doesn’t mean i’m gonna throw myself at him.”

“So cruel,” Soomin gasps.

You shrug casually. “Maybe i want him desperate enough to get on his knees for me first.”

The room erupts immediately:

“DAMN.”

“OH MY GOD.”

“You little menace.”

You grin proudly while your friends whistle and holler dramatically around you. “Yeah yeah,” you laugh. “You all love me for it. Now help me with the decorations.”

Minji suddenly pauses. “…wait.”

Your stomach sinks instinctively.

“You have tutoring with Jungkook in like thirty minutes, don’t you?”

Immediately your mood worsens. “Ugh,” you groan loudly. “Don’t remind me.”

“You better not be late,” Soomin warns.

You wave her off dismissively while grabbing another balloon. “Please. I’m sure a few minutes won’t kill that asshole.”

Forty minutes later, you stand outside his apartment with an iced coffee in your hand while waiting for him to open the door. The hallway smells faintly like smoke and you barely have time to adjust your bag before the door swings open.

And there he is- Black shirt. Grey sweats. Piercings glinting underneath the dim hallway light.

Jungkook leans against the doorframe lazily before his eyes immediately flick toward the clock behind you and then back to your face.

“You’re late.”

No hello. Of course.

You shrug casually while taking another sip from your iced coffee. “Had errands to run.”

“Hm.” His eyes drop toward the drink in your hand.“Iced coffee?”

Before you can react, he takes it straight from your fingers and lifts it above his head casually.

Your jaw drops. “Hey!” You immediately reach for it, but Jungkook easily steps back out of range. “Give it back!”

He presses two fingers lightly against your forehead, stopping you from getting closer while looking completely unimpressed.

“You’re late,” he repeats calmly. “And i’m not wasting my time with you today.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “…what?”

“Come back tomorrow when you learn how to read a clock, dumb little girl.”

And then he slams the door directly in your face.

Silence.

You stand there staring at the closed door for a full second, your brain visibly lagging behind reality.

“…what?!”

You knock once. Then harder.

“Jungkook!” Nothing.

“You cannot be serious right now!” Still nothing.

Your irritation spikes violently. “You bastard!” you yell while pounding against the door again. “Open the fucking door!”

A muffled voice finally comes from inside. “Get lost.”

You let out a genuinely high-pitched sound of frustration before glaring at the door like you might commit actual violence. And somehow your stomach twists anyway.

God. You hate him.

You hate how calm he sounded, how easily he dismissed you, how your pulse immediately sped up when he pushed you back with two fingers like you weighed nothing.

Worst of all? The asshole kept your coffee.

By the time you stomp back into the sorority house twenty minutes later, your friends immediately look up in confusion.

“…back already?” Minji asks slowly.

Your face burns instantly. You quickly look away while tossing your bag onto the couch. “Yeah, ugh,” you mumble. “He got sick apparently. We’re meeting tomorrow instead.”

Nobody looks convinced. “Right…” Soomin says suspiciously.

You immediately start walking toward the stairs.“I’m in my room,” you announce dramatically. “Do not disturb me.”

Then you disappear upstairs before anybody can ask more questions. Your bedroom door closes behind you with a sharp click and immediately you throw yourself onto the bed with an irritated groan, burying your face into the pillow before rolling onto your back dramatically.

What an asshole. An actual, genuine asshole.

You stare up at the ceiling while replaying the entire interaction against your will.

‘you’re late’

God. The worst part is how calm he sounded. Not angry, not annoyed, just completely unimpressed by you.

Your phone buzzes against the bed beside you before you can spiral any further.

Boyfriend 💙 calling…

The tension in your shoulders softens automatically. You answer after the second ring.

“Hey,” you mumble quietly.

“There she is,” his warm voice laughs softly through the speaker. “How’d tutoring go?”

Your stomach twists instantly. “…fine.”

Lie. Complete lie.

You roll onto your side while tucking the phone between your ear and shoulder, absentmindedly tracing circles into your blanket with your fingertips.

“Just boring?”

“Mhm.”

Another lie.

Your boyfriend hums softly. “Well, at least you survived your first session.”

Barely.

You close your eyes briefly and unfortunately, instead of focusing on your sweet, patient boyfriend, your brain decides to replay Jungkook leaning against the doorway again.

Black shirt. Pierced lip. Tattooed fingers holding your iced coffee just out of reach.

‘dumb little girl’

Heat curls low in your stomach instantly. Oh god. You squeeze your eyes shut harder.

“What’re you thinking about?” your boyfriend asks softly.

You nearly choke. “Nothing.” A sigh slips out before you can stop it. Not romantic. Frustrated.

Your boyfriend immediately notices. “Sweetheart?” he asks gently. “You okay?”

Your eyes snap open. “Yeah,” you answer quickly. “Fine, sorry. My laptop just froze on me.”

A beat of silence passes before a soft laugh comes through the speaker. “You sound traumatized.” If only he knew.

You force out a weak laugh before sitting up abruptly. “I still have homework to finish,” you mumble quickly. “I should probably go.”

“Alright.” He sounds slightly disappointed but still sweet about it. “Call me tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you answer immediately. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, pretty girl.”

The call ends.

And the second the room falls quiet again, your brain goes right back to him.

Jungkook.

Annoying. Arrogant. Mean.

The kind of guy you’d normally avoid on instinct.

And yet your thighs press together anyway as you stare blankly at the wall. You should be angry.

Instead you’re still thinking about:

‘be quiet’

Still thinking about the way he pushed you back with two fingers against your forehead like you were something irritating and manageable.

Your stomach twists harder.

“This is so embarrassing,” you mutter to yourself and yet your hand wanders down beneath your pants, fingers dipping between your soaking folds as you bite back a moan. You find your sensitive nub, starting to circle around it while imagining his large hand wrapped around your neck, whispering filthy, degrading things into your ear.

‘dumb little girl…’

His voice loops through your brain like a broken record.

‘i’m not wasting my time with you today…’

Your fingers increase their speed instinctively, bringing you closer and closer to your release as you imagine yourself kneeling before him, letting him use you however he pleases.

“Oh fuck…” you choke out softly, your orgasm approaching rapidly while his face burns itself deeper and deeper into your mind.

‘be quiet ’

‘dumb little girl’

‘get lost’

You shove your face into your pillow as a string of moans and curse words spills from your lips, your orgasm crashing over you in intense waves while humiliation and pleasure twist together painfully inside your stomach. You stare up at the ceiling again, cheeks burning while your pulse slowly settles.

All that… over Jeon Jungkook.

A guy you’ve known for less than two days. An asshole who stole your coffee and slammed a door in your face.

You drag both hands over your face with a miserable groan. “…i hate him.”

Friday evening arrives way too quickly.

You spend far too long standing in front of your closet before finally settling on an outfit that’s technically for the sorority party later tonight.

At least that’s what you tell yourself.

Not the fact that you redo your hair twice. Not the fact that you spend extra time on your makeup. Not the fact that your stomach twists nervously every time you think about seeing him again.

It’s for the party. Obviously.

Five minutes earlier than yesterday, you stand outside Jungkook’s apartment while mentally preparing yourself not to let him get under your skin this time.

Then the door opens and your brain immediately short-circuits: he’s hirtless.

The first thing you notice are the tattoos stretching across his chest and arms before your gaze drops lower toward the grey sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips.

Oh. Oh, fuck me.

For one horrifying second, your mind flashes back to last night- your hand between your legs, his voice in your head: ‘…dumb little girl…’

Heat rushes through your body so fast it’s almost humiliating.

Jungkook catches you staring instantly. Of course he does. A slow smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Want a picture?” he asks lazily. “Lasts longer.”

Your brain snaps back into focus immediately.“Shut up,” you mutter while brushing past him into the apartment.

Behind you, he laughs quietly under his breath.

The apartment looks annoyingly organized; his desk is already set up neatly with papers, books and highlighted notes spread out across the surface like some kind of academic crime scene.

Jungkook gestures toward the chair. “Sit.”

“You know saying please won’t kill you.”

“You know being annoying won’t make you smarter.”

Your jaw tightens instantly. That asshole. You drop into the chair anyway while Jungkook casually grabs a black shirt from the couch and pulls it over his head. Unfortunately, that somehow makes him even more attractive, which feels deeply unfair.

He notices you staring again in the reflection of his dark computer screen. “You always this distracted around hot people?”

“I’m distracted by how unfortunate your personality is.”

“Hm.” Jungkook sits down beside you before glancing at your outfit slowly. “Interesting choice of clothes for tutoring.”

You immediately roll your eyes. “I’m going to a party afterwards.”

“Sure you are.”

Your brows furrow instantly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jungkook leans back lazily in his chair. “It means you spent two hours getting ready to sit at my desk and pretend you hate me.”

Heat creeps up your neck immediately. “I did not spend two hours getting ready.”

“Mm.” Completely unconvinced. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, princess.” You glare at him.

He ignores it effortlessly before pulling your essay toward himself. “Alright,” he sighs. “Let’s see how bad this actually is.”

“I passed.”

“Barely.”

Your eye twitches. Jungkook flips through several pages quietly before suddenly tapping one paragraph with his pen.

“This sentence is awful.”

“Wow,” you deadpan. “What inspiring tutoring.”

“It’s repetitive, overexplained and trying too hard to sound intelligent.” He glances at you briefly. “Kinda like you.”

Your mouth falls open slightly. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet,” he says calmly, “i’m still the one fixing your grade.” God. You hate him.

You hate how good he is at this too. Because unfortunately… the second Jungkook actually starts explaining things properly, you immediately understand why professors love him so much.

He’s annoyingly smart.

Not textbook smart, not memorization smart but naturally smart. The kind that makes difficult concepts sound easy while barely even trying.

And somehow that’s hotter than the tattoos. Which is deeply upsetting.

“You keep doing this thing,” Jungkook says while leaning closer to your laptop screen, “where you write what you think sounds smart instead of what you actually mean.”

His arm brushes against yours lightly and your brain immediately stops working.

“…what?”

“There.” He taps the screen. “You overcomplicate everything because you’re scared simple writing won’t sound impressive enough.”

Your brows slowly pull together because annoyingly enough… he’s right.

Jungkook notices your expression instantly. “Oh wow,” he murmurs mockingly. “Look at that. Tiny little brain finally working.”

“Fuck you.”

“See? That sentence was clear and concise.”

Your glare deepens immediately while Jungkook only smirks faintly before turning back toward the screen. “Alright,” he says casually, spinning a pen between his fingers. “Rewrite this paragraph.”

You scoff softly. “Right now?”

“No,” he deadpans. “Next year.”

The irritation bubbling inside your chest only gets worse as you aggressively pull the laptop closer, fingers immediately flying across the keyboard while Jungkook leans back in his chair beside you.

The silence lasts all of thirty seconds. Then:

“Wrong.”

Your head snaps toward him. “You didn’t even read it yet!”

“I saw enough.”

“Oh my god, you are insufferable.”

“And you’re dramatic. Keep typing.”

You mutter something deeply insulting underneath your breath while deleting half the paragraph again.

Beside you, Jungkook looks entirely too entertained. “What was that?”

“I said you have horrible teaching methods.”

“Hm.” He leans forward slightly, one tattooed arm resting against the desk while his eyes drag slowly over the screen. “And yet you’re listening to everything i say.”

Your fingers pause briefly over the keyboard. Jungkook notices immediately.

“You get all quiet when you’re thinking too hard,” he murmurs lazily.

“I’m trying to work.”

“No,” he says calmly. “You’re trying not to react.”

Heat crawls straight up your neck but you refuse to look at him. “That ego is insane.”

“And i’m right.”

Unfortunately… he is.

The problem is that every single interaction with Jungkook feels like getting backed into a corner slowly.

Not rushed. Not obvious. Just controlled. Intentional.

Like he enjoys watching you lose composure piece by piece.

You force yourself to focus back on the essay instead. Ten whole minutes pass before Jungkook suddenly reaches over you, grabbing your wrist lightly before you can type the next sentence.

“Don’t use that word.”

Your entire body stills instantly. His hand is warm. Firm. Way too distracting.

“…why?”

“Because it sounds stupid.”

You slowly turn toward him. “You know, most tutors don’t insult people this much.”

“Most students aren’t this spoiled.”

The word lands directly in your stomach.

Spoiled.

Not princess this time. Not dumb little girl. Spoiled. Like he’s figured you out already.

Your eyes narrow slightly. “You think you know me after two conversations?”

Jungkook hums softly while finally letting go of your wrist. “I know enough.”

“Oh yeah?” you shoot back immediately. “And what exactly do you know?”

“That you hate hearing no.” His eyes flick toward you calmly. “That nobody tells you what to do.”

Your jaw tightens. “And?”

“And I think you secretly enjoy that I do.”

The room suddenly feels way too warm. You stare at him for a second too long before scoffing and turning back toward the screen.

“You’re delusional.”

“Mm.” That stupid hum again. Like he doesn’t believe a single word coming out of your mouth. It’s infuriating.

And somehow your pulse still jumps when his chair rolls closer beside yours again.

“You missed another mistake,” he says quietly, leaning in just enough that his shoulder brushes yours once more. Your breathing catches slightly.

Not because of the mistake. Because he smells unfairly good. Clean laundry. Smoke. Something warm underneath it.

“You gonna keep staring at the screen,” Jungkook murmurs lazily, “or are you actually gonna fix it?”

Your grip tightens around the pen immediately. “I hate you.”

A quiet laugh leaves him. “No you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Hm.” Jungkook leans back slightly in his chair, eyes dragging slowly over your face before settling on your mouth for one dangerous second too long. “Then focus that dumb little brain of yours.”

And before you can react his hand lands lightly against your thigh.

A quick slap.

Not hard. Barely anything. But your entire body freezes instantly.

Oh.

Jungkook notices too: The way your thighs tense. The tiny hitch in your breathing. The split second where your brain completely shuts off.

A slow smile spreads across his face. Dangerous. Interested.

“Well, well…”

Heat floods your entire body immediately. “Shut up.”

“That did something, huh?”

“No, it didn’t.” The lie sounds weak even to your own ears.

Jungkook leans closer slowly, elbow resting against the desk while his gaze stays fixed directly on your face now. “You’re terrible at hiding things.”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

“You almost stopped breathing.”

Your stomach twists violently. God. This is humiliating.

Jungkook watches you for another second before finally leaning back again, looking deeply entertained now.

And then-

“Oh.”

The sound leaves him softly. Thoughtfully. Like he just solved something.

Your brows furrow instantly. “Oh what?”

His tongue presses slowly against the inside of his cheek before he grins. “You like being talked down to.”

Your face burns immediately. “I absolutely do not.”

“Hm.” Completely unconvinced. “That’s interesting.”

“You’re insane.”

“No,” Jungkook says calmly while spinning the pen between his fingers again. “I just pay attention.”

And unfortunately… he does. Way too much. The atmosphere shifts after that. Subtly. Dangerously. Like Jungkook suddenly starts testing reactions on purpose now:

“You missed another mistake.”

“Jesus, are you even trying?”

“Use your head, princess.”

“There you go. Tiny brain’s finally waking up.”

Every insult sends irritation and heat crashing together violently inside your chest. And the worst part? Jungkook can tell.

Every single time.

Because now there’s amusement lingering underneath every word he says. Like he’s slowly figuring you out piece by piece.

Then finally-

after an hour of him bullying your essay into something readable, you fix a sentence before he can correct it.

Jungkook stills slightly. “Huh.”

You glance toward him suspiciously. “What?”

“That was actually good.” The praise hits you so hard it’s embarrassing. Your entire body softens instantly before you can stop it.

And Jungkook catches it immediately:

The brief widening of your eyes, the way your shoulders relax, the tiny shift in your expression.

Silence.

Then slowly… his grin returns. Oh no.

“Oh my god,” he murmurs softly.

Your stomach drops. “What?”

“You’re even worse with praise.”

Heat explodes across your face instantly. “I hate you so much.”

Jungkook laughs quietly under his breath while leaning back in his chair again, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Cute.”

The atmosphere shifts completely after that. Not playful anymore. Not even teasing. It turns sharp.

Dangerous.

Every little comment from Jungkook feels deliberate now, like he’s carefully pressing against invisible buttons just to watch how you react.

And the worst part? You think he enjoys your reactions more than the tutoring itself.

“There,” he says lazily while pointing at your screen. “That sentence doesn’t sound completely stupid anymore.”

You glare at him immediately. “You are such an asshole.”

“And yet your legs squeeze together every time i insult you.” Your entire body locks up.

Jungkook smirks slowly. “Thought so.”

“Shut up.”

“No.” The answer comes instantly, casually, and somehow that only makes heat crawl higher up your neck.

You turn back toward the laptop quickly before he notices how badly your pulse just jumped again. Unfortunately… he notices everything.

The room falls quiet for a few seconds except for the sound of typing before your phone suddenly vibrates loudly against the desk.

You barely glance toward it before Jungkook grabs it first. “Hey-”

He leans back in his chair while reading the screen casually. Then he huffs out an amused laugh.

“Oh, cute.” His eyes flick toward you lazily. “Your boyfriend’s asking where you’re at.”

“Give me that!” you snap immediately while lunging toward him.

Jungkook catches both your wrists effortlessly before you can grab the phone back and suddenly you’re shoved back down into the chair again.

Your breath catches sharply.

“Unbelievable,” he murmurs while shaking his head slightly. “You got a sweet boyfriend and still came here dressed like a slut.” Heat explodes through your body instantly.

“You really are desperate, huh?”

“Are you insane?!” you snap furiously while trying to pry his hand off your wrists. “As if i’d waste my time with some asshole like you-”

Suddenly Jungkook yanks you forward by your wrists hard enough that you nearly end up in his lap. Your breath stutters instantly.

Way too close- his face hovers right in front of yours now, dark eyes locked onto yours while his grip tightens slightly around your wrists.

“Careful with that attitude, princess,” he says lowly. “I don’t fucking care that you got a boyfriend. Imma put you into place right here, right now.”

Your stomach twists violently.

Jungkook’s tongue drags slowly across his lip piercing while watching your expression unravel in real time. “So,” he murmurs softly, “what’s it gonna be?”

Your pulse pounds harder.

“You gonna apologize for that attitude,” he continues quietly, “or should I actually put you over my knee?”

Your brain completely stalls. “Oh my god…” you whisper breathlessly.

Jungkook only tilts his head slightly. “Well?”

“You wouldn’t da-”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” he interrupts with a low chuckle. “We both know I absolutely would.”

And somehow? That’s the problem. Because looking at him right now… you believe him.

Completely.

The realization sends another wave of heat straight through your body while embarrassment and arousal twist together so intensely it almost makes you dizzy.

Jungkook watches the entire internal battle happen across your face. And he enjoys every second of it.

You stare at him for several long seconds, trying desperately to think straight again before finally whispering:

“…i’m sorry.”

His eyebrow lifts slightly. “For?”

Your cheeks burn hotter. “The attitude…”

Silence.

Then slowly Jungkook nods once. “Good girl.”

The praise hits infinitely worse than the degradation ever did. Your entire body softens involuntarily before he suddenly lets go of your wrists completely.

You stumble backward into the chair while trying to catch your breath and Jungkook just watches you calmly for a second before standing up from his seat.

“We’re done for today,” he says casually like he didn’t just completely destroy your ability to think.

Your eyes snap toward him. “What?”

“I’m not in town over the weekend.” He grabs his cigarettes and lighter from the kitchen counter. “See you monday. Six o’clock sharp.”

Then finally, while glancing back toward you:“Don’t be late or else.”

Your stomach twists again. The threat shouldn’t sound as attractive as it does.

Jungkook heads toward the balcony before sliding the door open. “I’m sure you’re smart enough to find the door yourself,” he says lazily over his shoulder. “Have fun at the party, princess.”

The smirk he sends you is devastating. Then he steps outside onto the balcony and leaves you sitting there alone in complete silence.

For several seconds, you can’t move. Can barely breathe properly. Your wrists still tingle where he held them while your brain desperately tries to process what the hell just happened in this apartment.

Eventually you gather your things with shaky hands before standing up from the chair.

And even while leaving his apartment… you can still hear his voice looping through your head:

‘good girl’

By the time you arrive at the sorority party, the music is already shaking the walls. The house is crowded, warm and loud, bodies packed together beneath dim lights while alcohol spills freely through the rooms and someone immediately drags you toward the kitchen the second you walk in.

For a while, things actually feel normal again. Your friends surround you instantly, music drowning out your thoughts before they can spiral too far, and soon you’re laughing, dancing, drinking, letting yourself sink into the chaos of the evening instead of thinking about tattooed hands and degrading comments that still linger far too vividly in your head.

Eventually your boyfriend arrives too, and the second he sees you, his entire face softens.

“There’s my girl,” he smiles warmly while pulling you against him.

Your chest aches unexpectedly at the sight of him because he’s sweet. So sweet. The exact opposite of Jungkook.

You spend most of the evening attached to him after that, sitting on his lap while your friends tease the two of you mercilessly. His hands stay respectful and warm against your waist while he kisses your cheek occasionally and smiles every time you laugh. Everything about him feels normal, easy, safe. It should feel perfect.

And yet Jungkook keeps creeping back into your head anyway- every time someone jokingly calls you princess. Every time someone grabs your wrist. Every time your pulse jumps unexpectedly for absolutely no reason at all.

It’s exhausting.

Later in the evening, you end up tucked against your boyfriend again on one of the couches while people dance around you, his hand resting gently against your thigh as he kisses you softly, sweetly, and suddenly your brain flashes back to Jungkook’s hand landing sharply against your leg earlier that evening.

‘That did something, huh?’

Heat rushes through you instantly. Without thinking, you bite down lightly against your boyfriend’s lip during the kiss and he immediately pulls back with a surprised laugh.

“Ow,” he grins. “Sweetheart, i didn’t know you liked that.”

Your stomach twists painfully. “Yeah well…” you murmur, still slightly dazed from the comparison flashing through your head again. “What if i do?”

Your boyfriend’s eyes widen slightly and honestly, the reaction alone tells you enough. Cute. God, he’s so cute. And somehow that only frustrates you more tonight.

Still, he kisses you again eagerly after that and you let yourself sink into it, trying desperately to focus on him instead of dark eyes, tattooed fingers and degrading whispers that keep poisoning your thoughts. The kisses grow messier after a while, needier, and eventually your frustration starts boiling over completely until, before you can think too hard about it, you grab his hand and pull him upstairs toward your bedroom.

Your boyfriend nearly stumbles after you in surprise. “Someone’s impatient tonight,” he laughs breathlessly. If only he knew.

The second your bedroom door closes behind you, he kisses you again immediately, hands fumbling awkwardly against your waist while you melt against him for a moment before frustration creeps back in all over again.

Too soft. Too careful. Your brain keeps comparing and you hate it.

Eventually you pull back slightly, still flushed and restless while your boyfriend looks at you with visible confusion.

“You okay?”

You hesitate for a second before awkwardly mumbling, “Could you maybe be… I don’t know… a bit mean?” Silence.

Your boyfriend blinks at you. “…mean?”

Immediately you feel stupid. “Agh, nevermind-”

“No no,” he says quickly, visibly flustered now. “I can do that.” His cheeks turn pink instantly, which honestly only makes this worse.

You try not to laugh while he awkwardly attempts to look intimidating for maybe the first time in his entire life before finally mumbling after several painfully adorable seconds:

“…you’ve been a bad girl?”

You stare at him. He stares back nervously.

“…like that?” he asks uncertainly. And oh my god. The problem isn’t that he’s doing it wrong. The problem is that all you can hear in your head is:

‘careful with that attitude, princess’

Your boyfriend kisses you again sweetly, clearly trying his best, and guilt suddenly crashes into your stomach so hard it almost makes you sick.

Because none of this is fair to him.

Not the comparison constantly running through your head. Not the fact that every time he touches you gently, your brain cruelly flashes back to rough hands around your wrists and a low voice telling you to behave. And definitely not the way your body keeps betraying you every single time Jungkook slips into your thoughts.

Still, you try. You really do.

You pull your boyfriend down onto the bed with you, kissing him deeper this time while his hands settle carefully against your waist. He lets you guide the pace completely, soft and patient even while your kisses grow hungrier, more desperate. His fingers slide underneath the hem of your shirt slowly, hesitantly, like he’s making sure every touch is okay before allowing himself more.

Sweet. Careful. Respectful.

You hate that it suddenly frustrates you.

Your boyfriend pulls back slightly to catch his breath, eyes warm while he brushes your hair away from your face.

“You’re really worked up tonight,” he laughs softly. If only he knew why.

You kiss him again immediately instead of answering, trying to force yourself back into the moment, trying to focus on him instead of another man’s smirk burned permanently into your brain.

But then your boyfriend’s hands pause again. Hesitate. “Hey,” he murmurs gently, thumbs brushing softly against your hips. “We don’t have to rush anything.”

Your chest tightens instantly. “It’s okay,” you say quickly, almost too quickly. “I want to.”

“I know.” His voice stays soft. “But you seem nervous.”

That word almost makes you laugh. Nervous. No, nervous was showing up at Jungkook’s apartment.

This? This is frustration slowly eating you alive.

Still, your boyfriend only smiles reassuringly before pressing another sweet kiss against your forehead.

“We can just cuddle, sweetheart.”

And god. That should make you melt. It should make your heart ache in the good way.

Instead, disappointment curls ugly and shameful inside your stomach before guilt immediately follows right after it.

Because he deserves someone who looks at him and feels content. Safe. Satisfied.

Not someone lying in bed secretly replaying another man’s voice in her head.

Your boyfriend pulls you against his chest afterward, wrapping an arm loosely around your waist while you curl up beside him beneath the blankets. The room slowly quiets around you except for the distant bass of the party downstairs and his steady breathing beside you.

Eventually your eyes drift shut.

And still, somehow… the last thing you see before falling asleep is Jungkook’s smirk:

‘good girl’

By the time sleep finally pulls you under, frustration still burns hot beneath your skin, tangled together with shame, confusion and the horrible realization that you are already anticipating monday evening far more than you should.

Sunday evening is somehow even worse.

You spend most of the weekend irritated for reasons you absolutely refuse to examine too closely. Your friends notice immediately of course, constantly asking why you seem distracted while you keep brushing them off with weak excuses about stress and assignments, but the truth is far more embarrassing.

You can’t stop thinking about him.

Not just the way he looks at you or the degrading comments that keep replaying in your head at the worst possible moments, but the way he somehow slid underneath your skin in less than a week and made himself comfortable there.

It’s deeply annoying. And deeply concerning.

By sunday night, you’re lying in bed staring blankly at the ceiling while your laptop sits abandoned beside you. You’ve reread the same paragraph at least three times now without processing a single word because your brain keeps wandering right back to friday evening.

‘good girl’

You groan quietly into your pillow before finally grabbing your phone from the nightstand.

This is stupid. Very stupid.

Still, your thumb opens Jungkook’s chat anyway.

You stare at the conversation for a long moment while trying to come up with literally any excuse to text him that doesn’t make you sound insane. Maybe ask about the essay. Maybe pretend you forgot something important. Maybe…

A new message suddenly appears.

Jungkook: write a 5k essay until monday as homework.

Your eyes widen instantly. Then, in pure panic, you immediately close the chat again because oh my god. He saw that you read it instantly.

Meaning you were already in the conversation. Meaning-

Another message appears almost immediately after.

Jungkook: huh. you’re either psychic or a lil crazy stalker. what’s it gonna be?

You stare at the screen in disbelief. Asshole. Absolutely not.

You refuse to answer immediately because that would only prove his point, so instead you throw your phone dramatically onto the bed beside you and force yourself to wait before responding.

Five minutes pass. Then ten. Twenty. By minute thirty, you’re honestly starting to feel proud of your self-control.

Finally, you grab your phone again and type back:

You: please, don’t fool yourself. i accidentally opened the wrong chat. what topic for the essay?

The typing bubble appears instantly. Of course he’s already online.

Jungkook: yea sure lol whatever lets you sleep at night, princess. don’t fucking care. just get it done

Your eye twitches immediately.

You: 🙄

Three dots instantly appear again.

Jungkook: don’t roll your eyes

You snort quietly into your pillow before typing back without thinking too hard about it.

You: or what?

Honestly, what exactly is he gonna do over text?

But then your phone suddenly lights up.

Incoming Video Call:

Jungkook

Your entire body freezes. “What the fuck…”

You just stare at the display while your pulse immediately starts climbing for absolutely no reason at all. Then another notification appears on the screen.

Jungkook: answer the fucking call. now.

Your thumb hovers uncertainly over the green button for several long seconds before you finally press it with a deep inhale, immediately arranging your face into the most unimpressed expression you can manage.

Jungkook appears on the screen almost instantly-Black hoodie. Messy hair. Lip piercing catching faint light from somewhere outside. And annoyingly enough, he somehow still looks unfairly good.

“What?” you ask quickly. “I’m busy-”

Jungkook silently lifts a finger toward his lips and you actually stop talking. Then you realize. Your eyes narrow immediately and you roll them dramatically instead.

A low chuckle leaves him. “Ah,” he murmurs lazily while taking a slow drag from the cigarette between his fingers. “Another eye roll. Well… that’s gonna be a 15k essay by now.”

Your jaw drops instantly. “What?!”

Jungkook just watches you calmly through the smoke curling around his face.

“You’re kidding. Jungkook, it’s sunday evening and I have classes tomorrow-”

“Dooooon’t care,” he interrupts smoothly, dragging the word out mockingly. “Get it done by tomorrow.”

“I can’t!”

“Yes you can.” Another drag. “Use that little brain of yours.”

“You’re such an asshole-”

Jungkook clicks his tongue softly before leaning closer toward the camera and blowing smoke directly at it. When he leans back again, his expression is completely unimpressed.

“20k.”

Your mouth literally falls open. “Oh my god?!”

“Want to add another 5k?” he asks calmly. “Then keep going.”

The smirk from earlier is gone now and somehow that’s worse because suddenly he sounds serious.

“You can either shut the fuck up,” Jungkook continues lowly, “or keep being a brat and make your own life harder. Your choice, princess.”

Your stomach twists violently. The fight inside you doesn’t disappear, but eventually you stay quiet anyway.

Jungkook notices immediately. “Good choice.”

Heat crawls slowly up your neck against your will.

“20k words,” he says lazily. “And it better not be shit.” Then finally, while looking directly into the camera:

“Otherwise I’ll make you kneel for the entire study session tomorrow.” Your breath catches sharply. Jungkook’s eyes flick downward briefly like he noticed. Of course he did.

“See you tomorrow, princess.”

And then the call ends just like that, leaving you staring at your phone in complete disbelief while your heart pounds violently against your ribs.

Because what the actual fuck just happened.