S.

It takes three steps before you give up, bending to slip your finger under the thin black strap that hugs each ankle to keep the red bottoms in place. Off-balanced from holding your leather jacket balled up under one arm, you teeter on one foot, and Jungkook has to fight the urge to grab your waist.

Air rushes out of Jungkook’s nostrils, a scoff that mixes with the wind. It’s one of the last days of summer before autumn cuts the nights short and chills the air. If Jungkook could have his way, he would be sitting out on his balcony right now with a fat blunt and his phone on silent.

Instead, he’s dealing with you.

“Are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna fucking help me?” you snap, words slurring together when you pout through them.

Jungkook tongues the inside of his cheek where he’s bitten into the fleshy skin. The metallic flavor mixes oddly with the aftertaste of his half-smoked blunt from earlier.

“Thought you said you hate me,” Jungkook sucks his teeth, tattooed fingers squeezing your bicep to steady you while you unclasp your shoes.

“I do.”

“Hmm.” Jungkook exchanges a grip on your arm for the heels, black and deadly like the Glock clipped to his waist.

Your dress rides up far enough that your asscheeks are exposed when you bend down again, your skimpy black thong doing nothing to cover you. The sheer pair is one Yoongi bought you for Valentine’s Day last year. Yoongi hadn’t batted an eye when he dropped thousands of dollars on a lingerie set that he isn’t even patient enough to appreciate on your body before he rips it off.

Not Jungkook, though. Jungkook is patient.

“Carry me,” you whine, pushing up against Jungkook’s side, nimble fingers wrapping around his wrist and tugging.

Jungkook knows not to look up at the columned overhang, but the many cameras lining the mansion's exterior weigh heavily on him as he helps you up the stairs to the front door.

“I can’t,” Jungkook grits his molars, jaw flexing beneath taunt skin, “And you know that.”

The keypad at the front door unlocks with Jungkook’s thumbprint. Inside, the foyer is dark. It’s nearly four in the morning, and the rest of the guards are either monitoring the cameras or asleep. They’re all lower-level and easily bend to Jungkook’s will, meaning none of them will rat you out for slipping off in the dead of night to go party with your friends despite being under strict orders not to leave the house until Yoongi returns from his business trip.

As second-in-command, Jungkook should be in Japan with Yoongi, handling what will likely be one of the largest arms deals in Bangtan’s history. But Yoongi is paranoid, and paranoid men don’t leave their girlfriends with just anyone. Especially when their girlfriends are trouble.

And you? You’re trouble in a tight little black dress, hips swaying as you walk with new purpose through the foyer, your leather jacket thrown on the floor for Jungkook to pick up as he trails behind you — always trailing, following just a half step behind you, only in front when he puts his life on the line over yours. And he does, has the scars on his body to prove it, scars you like to bite to remind him of everything he’s willing to lose for Yoongi. For you.

There are only three types of rooms in the house that don’t have cameras installed: bedrooms, bathrooms, and arms rooms. You like to have Jungkook fuck you in all of them.

Tonight, it’s one of the basement-level arms rooms, the one Yoongi likes to use for entertainment because there’s a full bar and a conference table typically littered with guns, drugs, and money.

And sometimes, if Yoongi is in a shitty mood, girls.

You don’t care what Yoongi does, though it wouldn’t matter even if you did. As Bangtan’s leader, there’s no room for criticism of the boss — unless someone wants to lose a limb or their life, and Yoongi is known to be trigger-happy.

You learned that from him.

Jungkook lets out a shuddered breath as you drag the muzzle of his gun from the middle of his sternum down his abdomen. The metal is cold, and you move slowly, taking your time over every hill and valley of his muscles, painting goosebumps across his skin until you reach the waistband of his underwear.

The chamber is empty, but it still makes Jungkook’s heart jump in his throat when you press the gun against his clothed cock.

“Yoongi is going to kill us one day,” you whisper, rolling your bottom lip between your teeth to bite back a smile.

Jungkook leans back with his elbows against the table where you’ve sat him at one of the chairs. You’re in your heels again. Jungkook loves it when you stand over him, a powerful force far too often squandered by Yoongi’s overbearing leadership and desire to be the most feared person in the room. It’s one of Yoongi’s greatest mistakes.

You’re gorgeous, stripped down until all you’re wearing is another man’s Valentine’s Day gift, your own body a present Jungkook has the unholy pleasure of opening again and again — but only after you’ve opened him up, gutted him like a fish.

Or blown him open, a bullet bursting like shrapnel to cut him from the inside out. Jungkook would let you do it.

Jungkook stares up at you with innocent eyes that tell nothing of the secret horrors his hands have done, of the horrors he has endured and inflicted upon others. He stares up at you with innocent eyes and his lips wrapped around the muzzle of his gun that you hold with your finger on the trigger.

“Bang, bang,” you giggle as the gun clicks, and Jungkook lets you slide it further into his mouth, the tangy taste too similar to blood and nothing he hasn’t tasted before.

Maybe it’s fear that makes Jungkook crave you. Maybe Jungkook has a death wish. Maybe Jungkook likes the idea of you being his lifeline, the sole decider of whether he lives or dies. All it would take is one tiny confession twisted into a lie, and you could convince Yoongi that Jungkook came onto you and tried to seduce you.

Jungkook knows Yoongi would enjoy making him suffer if he thought Jungkook was treating you unkindly. Yoongi would enjoy violently murdering Jungkook even more if he knew just how good Jungkook treated you.

You don’t pull the gun back until Jungkook gags. Tears collect along his eyelashes, but he blinks them away as you toss his gun onto the table.

“You’d let him kill you.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook’s voice is hoarse from the gun, and it cracks when you sit on the table in front of him and spread your legs. “I would.”

“You’re fucking stupid.”

“So are you.”

Jungkook’s cock throbs as he watches you slip your thong down your legs. You drag his spit-slicked gun along your dripping pussy, parting your folds and getting the muzzle shiny with your arousal. When his eyes flit up to meet yours, you let out a broken moan, tongue slipping out to lick your bottom lip.

“Come here,” you beckon, the curl of your finger tugging Jungkook forward like a red string tied in a noose around his neck. He fits perfectly between your thighs, his clothed cock pressing against your exposed pussy.

“Can I kiss you?” Jungkook whispers against your lips. His body crowds yours, forcing you to tip your head back to look into his pretty doe eyes.

“Be a good boy and clean this up first,” you say as you hold up the gun in front of Jungkook’s face.

Jungkook doesn’t look away as he licks a stripe up the length of the gun’s muzzle, too turned on by how intensely you watch him lick and suck your juices off it. How eagerly he bends to your will is pathetic, but he doesn’t care.

When you toss his gun away to dig your nails in his hair and tug him into a bruising kiss, Jungkook feels like he can finally breathe.

You taste sweet, like whatever fruity cocktails you’d been drinking with your friends. Jungkook sucks your tongue, and he feels the vibration of your moans go straight to his leaking cock.

“Fuck me,” you moan with nails in his back, “And make it hurt.”

Jungkook helps you off the table to bend you over it. He may prefer sex that is slow and face-to-face, but Yoongi is coming home in a few hours, and sometimes, you like to punish yourself by denying yourself the sweet, sensual care that Jungkook prefers to give you. Sometimes you like it dirty and fast like this, Jungkook fucking into you with your wrists behind your back and your face pressed into the conference table’s cold, sleek surface.

You look forward to the tender bruise you’ll have on the apple of your cheek and against your hips from where Jungkook fucks you hard enough that you slam into the edge of the table. It’s a gamble, wondering if this will be the time Yoongi finally notices.

Sometimes Jungkook wonders if Yoongi already has noticed, and he’s just biding his time, waiting for the opportune moment to kill you both.

“Fuck, jagi,” Jungkook moans. The table squeaks and grunts as the force of Jungkook fucking you pushes the table back and forth across the floor.

“Do I feel good, baby?” you gasp, twisting your hands in Jungkook’s so you can wrap your fingers around his wrist, too, to have something to hold onto.

“So good,” Jungkook whimpers, tightening his grip on your wrists. “Can I cum? Please?”

Your skin is probably chafing from how hard you’re being bounced against the table, but all you do is moan and clench around Jungkook’s cock, taunting him.

“Jagi, please,” Jungkook begs, hips faltering slightly. You’re so wet and creamy. There’s something about fucking you in the arms room that always makes you feel and sound better.

“You wanna cum? Baby boy wants to cum?”

“Wanna cum so bad, you feel so, fuck, so, so good.”

Jungkook lets go of your wrists to dig his fingers into your hips and pull you onto his cock with each thrust. You lift off the table slightly so he can wrap one arm around your waist and slip his fingers through your folds, playing with your clit as he fucks you. He knows he needs to make you cum first before you’ll let him.

"Just like that, you're doing so well," you pant, pussy clenching and pulsing around Jungkook's cock so hotly that he knows you're going to cum soon.

Luckily, it doesn’t take long. Jungkook has you so worked up that you cum once he pinches your clit, rolling it between his fingers while you writhe and squirm on his cock, whimpering his name.

“Come on, baby,” you moan, “Cum for me, now.”

Tilting your head up, you let Jungkook kiss you. He squeezes his eyes shut as he cums inside you, mouth hanging open and completely useless to kiss, so you press light kisses along his sweaty throat instead.

“Thank you,” Jungkook whispers once his body has calmed down, gently easing out of you. His hands shake as he collapses into the chair and pulls you into his lap.

You kiss him properly this time, sliding your hands through his sweaty hair. He’s pussy-drunk, fucked dumb, nothing but static in his head as your lips glide with his. He could stay like this, pliant like clay in your hands, let you mold him into whatever you want him to be. Let you make or break him. Jungkook doesn’t care.

“Tell me you love me,” you demand, nails sharp against Jungkook’s scalp.

“Jagi,” Jungkook whimpers when you pull his hair, “I love you so much. I love you more than anything.”

“More than yourself?”

“More than myself.”

You hum into the next kiss, and Jungkook feels his body melt. 

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories.