#bts fics

Auntie Lin’s only piece of advice after you announced your acceptance of your first corporate job: Small talk is your best friend. The advice hadn’t registered in your mind until you facilitated a meeting with executive management where the first five minutes of silent judgement nearly made you quit the job until you asked, “Any weekend plans?”

You learned the power of small talk and how obsessed executive leaders were when it came to bragging about their personal lives outside the office. The advice worked so well, management gave you an unprompted promotion two weeks later.

Nothing wrong with being the personality hire if it helps you climb the corporate ladder. 

Okay, well, no, you had history with this company.

Your father’s connection with the talent acquisition management landed you an internship at this very company right out of high school, so you didn’t need to reestablish your rapport after graduating from university.

You’re still a hard worker. Yes … objectively speaking, nepotism played a part in your current successes — you don’t shy away from that fact.

Your charming and curious personality only got you so far, but the magic always stopped with one person.

Jeon Jeongguk.

Hard case to crack and even harder to not stare at when he’s within your vicinity.

He’s polished, well-spoken, and … let’s just say there are things you shouldn’t say or think about in a place of work, let alone towards someone in the senior management team. He hardly smiles and if he does, it’s never towards you.

Right now? You think the least Jeongguk could do is crack a smile at your joke to break the tension in the virtual meeting. No one liked hearing bad news and you became the bearer of bad news as you explained to the client why a deliverable will not be made by the proposed timeline.

Delivering bad news was a manager’s job and unfortunately, your manager entrusted you with this responsibility right before she left for maternity leave, raving about how it’ll build your leadership and communication skills … right, right.

Jeongguk was the other leader overseeing the project. His team met all the deliverables, so there was no real need for his attendance other than pure formalities. 

This was your chance to show him what you were capable of. 

“Mr. Choi, we apologize for not making the deadline. With half the team on leave, the estimated completion date will need to be extended as a result.” You explain.

Jeongguk sits and watches you exchange words with the client. The mic button remained on mute during the many moments you would’ve benefited from his direction or support. You didn’t think you’d have to go through a humiliation ritual the day before your big trip for your best friend’s wedding in Italy. It’s your turn to have your mic button on mute as you let the client chew you out in front of your peers.

“Mr. Choi.” Jeongguk interrupts.

Thank god, finally. 

“The deliverables will be completed by the original proposed due date. I will personally see through that.”

You exhale in relief once the client settles back into their chair, demeanor shifting from their outburst moments ago.

You [3:32 p.m.]: Thank you, Jeongguk.

As expected, he doesn’t reply. 

The meeting wraps up on a positive note thanks to Jeongguk’s interception. Everyone bids each other farewell until you hear a call of your name.

“Stay on the call. Need to discuss a few things with you.”

Confused, you aren’t sure why he doesn’t ask you to walk ten steps to his office to chat privately. You swallow and one by one, all of your colleagues leave the meeting until it’s just you and him. 

He sighs, letting his agitation come out freely now. He loosens his tie and fixes his frames on his nose.

“So …” you begin.

“Do you know what your first mistake was on that call?” He sneers, a complete one-eighty from the well-mannered speaker he was during the meeting.

“I’m–uh, not sure.” You reply honestly.

“‘We apologize,’” he repeats your words, “there is no ‘we’ in this — you were the one that didn’t meet the service level agreement. Learn to take accountability for your own shortcomings.”

Ouch.

He continues, “You also failed to offer any alternatives or incentive for the delay. This is about being reputable — customer experience dictates future collaborations with new clients. If this one goes sour, we lose our clientele.”

Each word morphed into daggers piercing and digging into your self-esteem.

The finishing blow?

“That being said, you will finish what we originally promised the client.”

“But,” your heart drops at the mention of working during your time off, “I’m not going to be in the country.”

“I’m sure there’s internet wherever you’re going.”

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“And then! He said I’m paid salary, not hourly, so it doesn’t matter how long I need to work — I just need to get it done.” You complain to your colleague, Mina, who happened to work under Jeongguk’s section. 

“Oof, sorry girl.” She pours the coffee into her cup, unsurprised by her boss’ expectations. Setting the pot back onto the warmer, she leans against the counter. It’s just the two of you in the breakroom, free from prying eyes and ears. “So what are you gonna do?”

You groan. As much as you’d like to ramble and moan about how unreasonable Jeongguk’s demands were, you knew he was right about needing to take accountability.

“Well, if I push in some work in the early morning and night the first couple of days in Italy, I should be able to get it done.” You sigh. “Just hate it.”

Mina pats your shoulder and gives you a reassuring smile, which soon changes into a bewildered expression as she digs her fingers into your shoulder.

“Oh, hey bossman, here for a coffee refill?” Mina’s voice strains, projected to the space behind you.

You turn and there stands Jeon Jeongguk in all his glory. While you had the privilege to see him earlier today during the virtual meeting, nothing compared to the real deal. Dressed in an all-black suit, Jeongguk looks ever immaculate. His face is free from his metal-framed glasses, but they leave their small indentations on the sides of his nose. The deadliest combo came in the form of his hair pushed back, exposing his wrinkle-free forehead.

If it weren’t for his wired earphones and outdated iPod you caught him with during his walk, you would’ve never guessed his age. Technically, you still don’t know the exact number but Anna in Human Resources hinted he’s in his mid to late thirties.

Whatever. Age is just a number and hasn’t stopped you from trying to befriend the older man. 

“Yes, my third one today.” He muses.

“Anything the team and I can do to help wrap up things for you before your vacation?” Mina probes.

Wait. You never caught wind of that.

“No,” he shakes his head, “thank you, though.”

Your heart stirs at the low timbre of his chuckle, surprised at his abilities in displaying any other emotions outside his stoic expression. You theorize it comes easier with an established rapport. 

Maybe you’ll try your luck today.

“How long are you going to be out for?” You ask, moving to the side so he has better access to the coffee pot. His scent naturally fills your space — a mixture of fresh laundry and cedarwood. 

“Two weeks.”

“Oh, same here!” You beam. 

“Yes, you’ve mentioned that quite a bit this month.”

You warm in embarrassment; though, the feelings get swept underneath the rug at another fact.

He listened — more importantly, he remembered your many musings. 

“I’m going to Italy.” You remark, hoping he’d give a little more detail on his own vacation if you shared a bit about your upcoming adventures.

Jeongguk freezes momentarily and clears his throat before setting down the nearly empty pot.

“That’s nice.”

Seizing the moment to continue the conversation, you throw out details of your trip, namely for the wedding you’ll attend as maid of honor for your best friend.

“And they’re going to have this lovely venue near the beach. It’s going to be great.” You marvel.

“Ugh, I’m jealous,” Mina pouts. “Are you going to be doing something fun during your time off, Jeongguk?” 

You watch him with expectant eyes.

“Tending some family matters.”

That’s corporate lingo for: it’s personal, so none of your business. Everyone knows to back off on the topic at that point.

Taking a sip of his coffee after mixing a pack of Splenda, he offers a tight-lipped smile, “I have to head back to the desk. Enjoy your break.”

Alone with Mina once again, you look at her with defeated eyes.

“He’s just introverted and private, babe. I wouldn’t sweat it.” She waves.

“I’ve been here for over a year and he’s never like this to management or clients.” You sigh. “Maybe I’m the problem.”

It’s hard to not take things to heart being a natural born people pleaser. You want to be liked and if you’re not, at least know why; except, Jeongguk kept things strictly work related with all the little pocket of interactions you’ve had with him. 

If you were brave enough, you’d ask him about it over coffee or lunch — anywhere that might give you a glimpse of who he is outside of work. 

“Don’t mind him. In about twenty-four hours, you’ll be in Italy! Last time you updated, the best man was a little wishy-washy about the wedding? How’s that going?”

“Jihyo said Seojun got it sorted out, so they’re okay.” All you know from the matter is how much of a struggle it was to get a definite answer from his best man. Prick move and unnecessary stress for the wedding party. Had you been in Seojun’s position, you would’ve cut losses and moved forward without the best man early on.

Planning a wedding was difficult enough, let alone dealing with difficult people in the wedding party. You pray he steps into his role as the best man to lessen the to-be-wedded couple’s worries. 

“Good. Wedding drama’s the worst.” Mina nods. “Still haven’t recovered from finding out my cousin’s husband was fucking his cousin.” 

The gossip session goes for another fifteen minutes until you begrudgingly head back to finish up some last minute tasks. You weren’t going to be that coworker who leaves a bunch of unfinished work for your backup. 

Another thing you didn’t want to be was like your father, but you’re no different by the time you finish your pending tasks at 9:52 p.m. You do a quick once-over your automatic out-of-office notice and send out a list of items for your backup to look after before stuffing all your belongings into your workbag.

Going home was always your favorite time of the day, granting you the chance to walk past Jeongguk’s office. Even from where you’re standing, the lights in his office are the only ones still on out of all the managers on the floor.

His door remains slightly ajar throughout the day aside from the times he’s on a call or speaking to one of his employees. An ‘open door policy,’ Mina explained. Wants the folks on his team comfortable coming to him with their needs or questions.

You didn’t need anything, per se. There were plenty of questions floating in your head, but none that would qualify as work-related or professional. Things like … where are you going for vacation? Would you like to grab dinner together? … Are you seeing anyone? 

Your short almond shaped nails tap on his metal name plaque outside his office.

He looks up from his computer, the monitor’s brightness setting doing little to hide his exhausted stare. One brow raised, he cocks his head to the side.

“Come in.”

You take in your surroundings: a shelf containing all his Employee of the Year awards, empty “In” bin as opposed to a stacked “Out” bin, and half-finished cup of coffee. Above all, no pictures of his family or signs of life outside of work.

A stark contrast in comparison to your cubicle full of small trinkets, pictures of your loved ones, and cards you’ve received from both your coworkers and clients.

“Just wanted to say goodnight and thank you again for joining the meeting.” You say. “I followed up with the client with your recommendations and they’re happy with the timeline.”

He nods. “I’m glad it worked out.”

“Well,” You rock on your heels, not wanting to leave just yet, “I’ll see you in two weeks. Hope you have a nice time off, Jeongguk.”

He leans back into his deskchair, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he studies your face. His black dress shirt stretches and expands tightly at a passing thought; at the last second, he makes his resolve in foregoing the notion for simpler words.

“Likewise. Safe travels to Italy.”

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Despite the two layovers and many near-death turbulences later, you arrive in Venice, Italy in one piece. Your best friend, Jihyo, was the first person you see at the gates, smile lighting up the building when she finally spots you through the crowds. These days, she glows more with her soon-to-be husband, Seojun.

You’ve met him only a handful of times and he’s always been kind. You don’t know him well enough, but as long as your friend was happy, so were you.

Which is why she’s going all out for her wedding — it’s her chance to do what she wants with those who care for her. Jihyo’s parents unfortunately did not extend their support and care. They were so against the idea of her marrying a person of no status, her father threatened to cut off all ties and funds if she were to go through with marrying Seojun. 

“My favorite person is finally here!” She squeezes you in her arms. “How was the flight? Are you hungry? We can go get a quick bite.”

“Jihyo, love, slow down,” Seojun comes from behind and offers you a kind greeting. “You must be exhausted. We can head back to the hotel. Just waiting for my uncle to clear customs.”

“Oh! Do you know when he’ll land?” You ask.

“I think he was on the same flight as you, so he should be out soon.” He pulls out his phone to answer a quick text before scanning the area. 

“Think that’s him.” He squints. “Uncle, over here!” He extends his arm above his head. 

You expected a fifty year old balding man, not senior manager, Jeon Jeongguk. 

Fuck.

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You didn’t think you’d ever ride in the same car as one of your managers, especially one you had a dire crush on. You definitely didn’t think you’d be seated in the back of a rental car with him in Italy for your best friend’s wedding.

This whole scenario has to be straight out a romcom … or, in your case, a horror film.

You open up the notes app in your phone and type out a quick message: Do we tell them we know each other? 

What you really wanted to ask was: Why the hell didn’t you say anything about this being the “family matter” you had to take care of?

He takes your phone from your hand and begins typing something before handing it back to you. Nothing from your original note was edited, but a second later a notification comes through.

Jeongguk [4:56 p.m.]: No. Too complicated. You [4:56 p.m.]: Okay..

“Uncle.” Seojun looks at the rear mirror. “How’s work been?”

“Busy,” he sighs. “But it’s been getting better.”

“I’m glad. Hope these two weeks will give you the break you need. You didn’t bring your work laptop, right?” He presses.

Kind of cute seeing the younger male lecture his uncle — cuter seeing Jeongguk grumble at his nephew’s nagging.

“No promises.”

“Speaking of work,” Jihyo chimes in, “How you coping with work?” She turns her entire body from the passenger seat to look at you.

The passengers in the car go silent for your reply, feeling Jeongguk’s shift from the work status inquiry.

“Fine.” You answer quickly.

“Really? That one manager didn’t give you more shit right–”

“Jihyo!” You interrupt, quickly covering up with an awkward laugh and stiff smile, “ Ha-ha … no, it’s been great!”

“Wha–? But you were venting about having to work during the trip … Honestly, that manager’s lucky he’s hot.”

“Ji–”

“Hot?” Jeongguk asks with a raised brow. There’s a lift in his voice, forcing you to bury and shrink deeper into your seat.

“Allegedly.” Jihyo replies mindlessly. Oblivious to your discomfort of the topic, Jihyo continues, “You still gotta sneak a picture of him when you can, babe. I need to see if his pretty privileges warrant this sort of power trip.” 

You’ve heard summers in Italy were magical. You wish for some of that magic to touch you right now — the kind good enough to make you disappear all together from this awkward conversation.

“Huh.” Jeongguk props his elbow by the car’s window ledge, palm covering his mouth. “I’m curious too.” 

Jihyo changes the topic to the itinerary she made for the wedding party; however, you couldn’t be bothered to tune into the details. Knowing Jihyo, she’ll eventually send the party a spreadsheet of the schedule.

You [5:02 p.m.]: Please ignore Jihyo 🥹

Your heart accelerates at the appearance of the infamous dots signaling Jeongguk’s reply in the making.

Jeongguk [5:03 p.m.]: I’ll try. Power trips make it insanely hard to.

You chew on your bottom lip out of habit, feeling the sweat gather behind your neck. Hand fanning your face, you glance over and notice a slight shake in Jeongguk’s stature. He’s still facing away from you and towards the window, but from the reflection, you can see the corners of his mouth lift.

Endorphins rush through your bloodstream at the thought of making him happy.

While chasing your happiness has always been your life motto, you wouldn’t mind chasing for Jeongguk’s happiness too.

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On Jihyo’s itinerary, she deliberately left Venice off from the rest of the wedding party arriving later at the actual wedding site. The next two days were solely meant to spend more time with the maid of honor and best man.

The first day in Venice naturally got cut short with your arrival time; so, the only thing Jihyo planned was a nice dinner after you and Jeongguk settled into your respective rooms. Dinner rolls by with just you, Jihyo, and Seojun perusing the menu for the umpteenth time. The seat, meant for Jeongguk, remains cold and empty. After about thirty minutes and a couple text messages, Seojun confirms with the waiter to remove the utensils and plate — something about his uncle not feeling well.

“Okay, but he’ll be at dinner tomorrow, right?” Jihyo frowns, eyes full of worry.

“Yes, love.” He smiles. “Just old man tendencies and jetlag got the best of him. He’ll be there tomorrow.”

Back at the hotel, you had half a mind to check in on him and just as you built up the courage to knock, the door swings open to reveal a Jeongguk you’ve yet to ever witness: dark grey compression shirt with five-inch inseam shorts. He has his wired earphones in and looks well rested, contrary to what Seojun mentioned at dinner about two hours ago.

“Oh, are you feeling better?” You ask, hand retracted and tucked behind your back.

His brows twitch, fingers removing one of the buds out his ear. “Sorry?”

“Seojun mentioned you weren’t feeling well. Are you better now?”

“Yep.” He answers.

Awkward. 

“Where you headed to? It’s late.” You rock on your heels, afraid you might’ve overstepped with your light interrogation.

“Saw a small running trail nearby, just wanna get some movement in.”

“Would you like—”

“Well, goodnight.” He places the earpiece back in and walks off, the scent of his fresh linen deodorant trails along with him.

“—company?” The end of your sentence comes out in a tiny whisper, the question dying on the tip of your tongue as his figure disappears in the distance.

It was going to be a long two weeks, but you’re optimistic for a chance to change the tides with Jeongguk. Maybe even get to know him a little better or collect more versions of who he may be outside of work before this trip ends.

Arms linked with Jihyo, you walk down the small alleyways of Venice the next day, marveling at the tiny trinkets on display. Seojun and Jeongguk were always a couple steps behind, mainly taking note of the repeating gelato flavors at each stand. Your ears perk when Jeongguk chuckles at Seojun’s excitement of finally finding a stall with a new flavor. His laugh rings deep and rich, something you’re rarely afforded at the workplace.

You hold up two carnival masks to your face. “Which one suits me better?” You preferred the pink one in your left hand, but the green in your right hand spoke to you as well.

“Mm, you know I’ll always favor pink, but is there room in your suitcase?” Jihyo inquires.

Well, no, but you could always buy another suitcase. 

“All going to end up as clutter once you’re home.” Jeongguk mutters to himself, eyeing the other trinkets on the shelf.

Whether or not it was directed at you, you put the mask back with the rest. The shop owner smiles, a little dejected at the missed sale, but with the numerous tourists filtering through the alley, he’s bound to make his daily quota by closing time.

The rest of the day is spent on trying new food — your favorite being the bruschetta flight near the waters. Again, Jeongguk and Seojun were always a couple steps behind, chatting about god knows what while you and Jihyo swap gelatos between every two or so licks. Venice was packed — mainly with tourists, but in a specific alleyway you all decided to turn into held a different kind of danger.

Pigeons. Lots of them. 

One could argue Venice might be the motherland to birds; you’re not in any position to disagree as you cower between the birds staring down at your group from the railings. They swarm around your feet, begging for whatever you’d offer or accidentally drop.

Lucky for you, a shop owner comes and throws out bits of their baguettes. All the pigeons flock over in pursuit of their (probable) tenth snack for the day. You breathe a sigh of relief for the small deterrence, walking quicker to escape from the flock.

“Phew, thought we were goners back there.” Jihyo jokes, looking back at the boys.

At the last second, a seagull swoops in and takes the unfinished gelato right from your hand. You let out a blood curdling scream, hand immediately letting go of the cone. You grab Jihyo by the shoulder and chant for the birds to take her as an offering instead.

Everyone within the vicinity laughed, some tourists offered a sympathetic smile and asked if you were okay. Among the laughter, Jeongguk’s chuckle echoes loudest in your head. It had never been your goal to become the group’s court jester, but you wouldn’t mind making it your life’s sole purpose for this version of him.

Seojun checks his watch. “Jihyo, baby, we still have five more hours to kill before our flight over to Sicily. Should we head back to the hotel? Uncle said he’s tired—”

Smile wiped off his handsome face, Jeongguk nudges the young man in the arm. “Don’t use me as a scapegoat.”

You never realized how much the two men resembled each other, catching you off guard when Jeongguk hooks his arm around Seojun’s neck, and rubs his knuckles over his nephew’s head. Their laughter comes out the same, pairing well with their toothy grins.

“We only have one last item on the itinerary.” Jihyo says, a fond smile at the sight of her happy fiance. “I wanted to do a little gondola ride.”

Most tourists seized the golden hour for their boat ride too, which sent you and your group on a hunt for an unoccupied gondola, eventually finding two docked boats on the opposite entrance of Venice.

“I’ll pass.” Jeongguk says with a hand up.

Jihyo pouts, pointing in your direction. “But she’d be all alone.”

“Oh, um, I don’t mind staying behind.” You smile, doing your best to not sound disappointed at the lost experience. “Can always ride a boat at home.”

“But Miss, when will you ride a gondola in Venice while the sun is setting?” One of the gondoliers pitches.

“He’s right.” Jihyo nods. “Please, Jeongguk?”

He’d rather not waste money on a tourist trap … one look at Jihyo’s pleading eyes in combination with his nephew’s displeased stare has him folding on the spot.

Defeated, he sighs, “Fine.”

Jihyo cheers, skipping over to the first boat lined up where Seojun waits patiently with a hand out for her.

Their boat rows off first and five minutes later, it was yours and Jeongguk’s turn to step into the gondola. He holds out his hand to steady your step, boat wobbling as you plant your first foot down. His hold lingers a little longer even when you’ve successfully made it into the boat. Eyes peering up at Jeongguk’s tall stature, your body heats up under his watchful gaze.

“Steady now?”

“Yes.” You chirp.

“Good.” He lowers you both carefully onto the small seats. Once secured, the gondolier begins his descent through the canals.

Naturally, you strike up a conversation with the gondolier, asking how many rides he averages a day to which he politely answers, ‘too many to count.’ The conversation goes on for another five minutes until Jeongguk sighs, a subtle signal for you to stop and take in your surroundings instead.

Despite the on and off whiffs of the decade old sewage lines rooted in the city, the ride descends to the narrower alleyways one would miss on foot. Water levels rising, the gondolier signals you both to duck at an approaching bridge. You hadn’t realized you didn’t duck low enough until you feel Jeongguk’s warm palm at the base of your head, urging you lower.

His hand rests there until it’s time for you both to lift your heads up again. So warm and thoughtful, unlike how he’s been treating you at work.

You might explode at the silence, finding the need to address the elephant in the room. What were the odds you’d be alone with Jeongguk again? What are the odds you’d be riding on a gondola in Venice, Italy with Jeongguk?

“Do you hate me?” You blurt out, immediately embarrassed at your sudden forwardness. The gondolier peers from the side and looks forward again, slowing his rowing motion with his oar. 

Jeongguk’s brows furrow, lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t hate you.”

“It seems like you do. You always are just so …”

“So …?” He trails along.

“Mean.” You frown. Feeling more foolish for your lack of proper vocabulary words for such a serious confrontation, you do your best to explain. “You seem to get along with everyone else at work and even here. You’re nice to everyone but me.” 

He stares straight ahead, tongue probing against his cheek. He doesn’t respond right away and you deflate at your wasted effort in an attempt to understand Jeongguk beyond the cubicle. You only hear the waters splashing against the gondola as the oar steers you both to another quieter route. 

If Jeongguk didn’t hate you before, he probably does right now. So evident in his silence and unwillingness to discuss this topic, you wonder to yourself … were older generations this bad with expressing their emotions and thoughts? Your father was a great example, and while you don’t want to generalize an entire generation, Jeongguk drives a hard bargain.

“How’d you get into Cientra Corporations?” The question rolls out of Jeongguk with no hint of curiosity.

What did your place of work have anything to do with his alleged animosity? 

“I applied for an opening.” You answer.

His chuckles, full of mock and taunt. “When?”

You frown, a little taken aback by the conversation now turned into an interrogation.

“I think a month before my graduation?” Your stomach churns from the unpredictability of his next words.

“Right, of course.” Jeongguk looks to the side, eyes tracing the water stains on the old brick buildings.

“I’ve had plenty of internships during undergrad and I graduated early with honors.” His demeanor only makes you overexplain your qualifications. “My recruitment was done through a fair hiring process.”

“The position was not in the budget.” He rolls his eyes, his crossed arms accentuates his muscular build. If you were more shameless, you’d let your eyes linger at his chest for a little longer despite how his next words batters your pride. “Freshly graduated with little to no experience landing a mid-entry position?”

You’re not ashamed to admit you had a foot in thanks to your connections. Of course, you were unaware a position had been created just for you, but to insinuate you didn’t deserve your place … now, that was not something you’d take lightly.

“I’ve worked hard with all the opportunities—”

“As one should.” He interrupts. “But all your ‘opportunities’ only became yours because they were taken away from someone else. There were at least ten other highly qualified applicants in the candidate pool.” 

You open your mouth, but Jeongguk beats you to it, “One summer internship at Cientra wouldn’t have gotten anyone else into the company.”

Now that shatters you. You had really thought you stood out in the pool considering you had previously applied and interned for the same company. Now you’re rethinking whether you’ve also gotten the job purely from connections.

Fighting through your imposter syndrome, you stand your ground. “At the end of the day, I was chosen and I take my job seriously. I can’t change what’s already set in stone.”

“That’s your privilege speaking.” He leans against the backrest. “I’ll only repeat this once: I don’t hate you.” Extremely hard to believe after your self esteem’s been kicked to the curb. 

And despite the sour mood, you still try to salvage what you can. “Okay,” You breathe, “Regardless of how you feel about me, can we get along for the sake of the wedding?”

“Of course.” He rolls his shoulders, discomfort clear from the small chair setup. “Trying to make this wedding as seamless and pain-free as possible.”

You piece his aversion to the wedding now. The last minute confirmation of his attendance and lack of enthusiasm for the trip’s activities … it all checks. The gondolier rounds to the ride’s starting point and docks the boat where you and Jeongguk need to quickly alter your attitude in front of the unsuspecting couple.

Jeongguk stays behind to tip the gondolier, murmuring his apologies for the tense ride. From a distance, you overhear the gondolier snort, saying something on the lines of how he should be tipping Jeongguk for the soap opera level conversation.

Your act works — neither Jihyo nor Seojun suspected any shift in moods because Jihyo was too busy begging for another cannoli and, of course, Seojun being the exceptional fiance he is, advised you guys to return to the hotel first to prepare for the flight while he ran to the specific stall Jihyo requested for.

“Uncle, you go on ahead with the girls.”

Jeongguk shakes his head. “I’ll come with you.”

On the train ride back to the hotel, Jihyo lays her head on your shoulder. “I think Uncle Jeongguk hates me.”

That makes the two of you.

She continues, “I know this wedding was rushed, but I thought he’d warm up to the idea of us by now.”

Very out of character for Jihyo to sulk over the minute things in life. You’re not one to talk, knowing firsthand what it’s like to wish for someone’s approval.

“Hey … it’s been less than two days. And who cares what he thinks? You and Seojun are in this for life.”

“I know, I know. Seojun just adores his uncle, you know? That’s his only family.” Jihyo frowns. Unlike him, she’s grown up in a big and affluent family her entire life — well, now cut in half since her choice to marry Seojun, a man of no title or status. She can bear the disdain from her own family, but she doesn’t want Seojun to lose his one and only family member over their choices.

“I was thinking,” Jihyo begins, suddenly sitting upright with determined eyes. “You know, you’re always so fun and great with people … could you maybe get to know Uncle Jeongguk and put in a good word for me? Just until the time of the wedding at least.”

You’ve never seen her this desperate. You ponder back to the conversation on the gondola and if there were little to no chance of making things right with Jeongguk yourself, how were you going to do it for Jihyo?

You’re no better than Seojun and eventually give into her plea. 

“Okay.” You smile, arms embracing her.

All checked out of the Venice hotel, your party makes it through the airport’s security checkpoint just in time for the flight to the actual wedding destination: Sicily.

Italy is magical and Sicily proved every part of that belief even in the cab ride over to the rental property. Windows down, you let the warm breeze run through your locks, uncaring if the sea salted air clung onto your hair and skin. The tips of your hair unknowingly float over and graze Jeongguk’s arms, marking and reminding him of your presence whether or not he welcomed it. 

Jihyo really went all out and booked the dreamiest villa. The villa had everything: a fifteen minute walk to the wedding venue, close to local shops and restaurants, and here’s your favorite: the beach. It’s perfect … almost as perfect as the living situation Jihyo had planned out. No brainer, she and Seojun would get the main house while you and Jeongguk would occupy the cottage a couple steps away.

“Dinner in fifteen minutes? I have a reservation with the restaurant down the street.” Jihyo shrugs her duffle bag higher on her shoulders to which Seojun immediately takes after he unloaded all the other suitcases from the trunk.

“Isn’t it a little late for dinner?” Jeongguk reads his watch.

“Customary to eat later in Italy.” Jihyo smiles.

Jeongguk checked off all the body cues to decline. His resolve crumbles yet again from another one of Seojun’s stares, ultimately agreeing to dinner after settling in.

The first thing you and Jeongguk noticed upon entering the cottage was the stuffy and warm air from the windows being closed for too long. No matter how hard you push and yank the panes, the windows just wouldn’t budge. With a sigh, a strong source of heat presses against your backside.

The scent of fresh linen only welcomes you after laundry day and whenever you’ve switched out your bedsheets. Your mind wanders around scenarios of being welcomed by this exact scent and warmth in bed, sheets needing to be constantly changed afterwards.

Fuck.

Jeongguk’s fingers pull at the knobs above the window sill. Using way less force and energy, the window cracks open with ease and the crisp crash of waves in the distance meets your ears. Nothing was louder than the beating in your chest — must’ve been your imagination when you thought Jeongguk stayed a beat longer behind, breath sucked in from the proximity.

You replay the scenario in your head even at the dinner table. 

The times you’ve looked up from your plate, you’ve unconsciously caught Jeongguk staring in your direction too. He looks away, suddenly mesmerized by the shoreline. His attention pulls at some clapping in the background, waiters and waitresses nearing your section of the restaurant. Your smile widens as they circle your table, confused but pleased by the grand gesture.

Setting a small cake down on the table and resuming their singing, you peer over at the frosted words: Happy 37th Birthday, Jeongguk!

Jeongguk keeps his smile at a sensible level, not wanting to show too much excitement. 

After the employees leave, Seojun beams, “Jihyo arranged this. Nice, huh?” He has his arm around her shoulder.

“Yes, very. Thank you, Jihyo.” Jeongguk smiles, warm and sincere. 

Bellies full, you all walk back to the property. Everything seems to fall into its natural place. Jeongguk lets you shower first and because you’re self conscious of taking too much time, you cut your usual routine by half. You’re seated at the same window sill again, watching the shoreline. 

The lights in the room turn on and you startle. Looking back, you catch a half naked Jeongguk drying his wet hair with a small towel. Bare torso on full display, you gulp at the sight while unknowingly clenching your thighs together. 

Thirty-seven looked good on Jeongguk.

You hope you looked this good at that age, but you have a long way to go. At twenty-two, you know your two little tattoos, one on your lower back and the other on your forearm, will look completely different in fifteen years. They’re nothing like Jeongguk’s, especially with all the intricate tattoos going up his arm, stopping at his chest — both old and new ones. In the office, you’ve only seen a snippet of his tattoos on his forearm, now you’ve been granted full access. Which you’re reminded that everything that happens in Italy will have to stay here. Water break chatter with Mina will exclude these details, saving these memories just for yourself on lonelier nights.

Jeongguk sucks in a breath, surprised at the sight of you. Should be in bed and knocked out from today’s festivities, but you’re there in your silk pajamas, shorts riding dangerously high in your seated position with your knees hiked up to your chest. His jaw clenches, fixing himself a glass of water at the kitchen sink. Hips pressed against the sink counter, he drinks the water, letting a couple droplets dribble past his chin and sharp jawline.

Summers in Italy were magical, but were they usually this hot?

You edge closer to the window sill, praying for the night breeze to snap you out of whatever spell you caught at this hour.

“Jetlagged?” He asks, rinsing the cup. You blink at his question, a little confused at his initiation. It warms you, but you know better than to latch onto this small exchange. 

“A little.” You let out a disgruntled sound as you get up. You think you must’ve hallucinated Jeongguk’s frustrated exhale at your change of position. “You?”

“Mhm. Not as bad as the first night. The run helped.” He replies.

You have all the reason not to get along with him, let alone strike a normal conversation; though, you bare your warmest and genuine smile, “That’s nice. I’m glad.”

“Yes. Well. Goodnight.” He clears his throat.

The lock on your door clicks first, back pushed against the door for some grounding and support. Your bones click against the hard surface, ears cluing in for any sounds from your temporary roommate on the other threshold. His door shuts too, followed by a deep sigh.

There’s some shuffling followed by a drop of what you assumed were clothing. Hot and consumed by your thoughts, your mind spirals at the image of him in nothing but his briefs.

God, this was going to be a long trip.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

The internet connection in this villa was probably the worst thing Jeongguk has ever encountered in his life — even worse than the time he went abroad for school during his prime. It was another neighboring country, but still … how hard was it to get an adequate signal? 

He’s tried everything. Sitting in odd places, being closer to the router — nothing’s worked. 

He looks out the same window you were seated at last night, hoping to find an answer before he hurls his laptop out. 

Until he sees you.

You’re seated outside near a lemon tree between the two accommodations, laptop perched on the patio table while you tug at one of the nearby branches for a quick sniff at the fruit. Your eyes shut in bliss, lemon distracting you with its fresh scent.

You’ve done well to distract Jeongguk from his work too. As much as he’d like to hold onto this vendetta, he knows the grudge was misdirected and undeserving. He also knows a part of his hesitancy with you is who you are. Knows the reasons why you were hired aside from the connections you had. And although you had a good personality, he can’t call you a personality hire if you knew how to do your job.

He won’t deny your accomplishments in school, allowing you to graduate with high honors by the time you were twenty. You were an adequate worker, but again, only because you were given unfair advantages — tools and resources that were taken away from someone else more deserving and eligible. 

His grudge stretched beyond that, having been on the other receiving end of losing opportunities because of his upbringings. So yeah … maybe he’s biased.

You, on the other hand, want to hurl your laptop for other reasons. The laptop sits on top of the patio table, waiting for you to begin your long half day of work.

The metal legs of the empty chair across from you scrape against the concrete floor.

“Mind if I join you?”

You straighten from your slouched posture, surprised eyes meeting his neutral expression. Vacations were meant for fun, not the work you were trying to escape from. With Jeongguk here, you really can’t slack off. You quickly clear your items from the small table and gesture for him to sit.

“Terrible connection in the cottage.” You remark. “Gave me problems all morning.”

He hums, typing away on the laptop to make up for the lost time. You fall back into your work too seeing that there was a good motivator.

On your left side, there’s a small bowl of olives paired with the wine Jihyo delivered to your shared cottage. Jeongguk stares at the bowl, following one of the olives held by your fingers and popped in between your plump lips.

A small puff of air escapes through his nose at your winced expression from the initial burst of flavors, washing it down with a swig of wine.

“Would you like to try?” You push the bowl towards him.

“Didn’t look all that good.” He stares up, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Though small, you detect a teasing tone in his comment.

“It was … different. But!” You perk, “When will we be in Italy again, in a beautiful villa eating olives while working?”

Answer? Never.

Such a ridiculous thought that he reaches into the small ceramic bowl to plop an olive into his mouth. The bitter tang of the small fruit amplifies on his tongue from your expectant stare.

Not unpleasant, but there were plenty of other cuisine choices in Italy worth trying. 

Though, when will Jeon Jeongguk be in Italy again, in a beautiful villa eating olives while working with your melodic laughter resonating in his ears as you scoot your wine glass over to him?

Tongue no longer graced with the olive’s bitterness, a new type of bitterness spreads as Seojun and Jihyo announce they’re headed to the beach.

“How much longer do you need to work?” Jihyo pouts, hands on her hips as she peers down at your laptop. She’s not reading anything you have opened, deeming them unimportant especially when you should be spending time with her.

You offer a sheepish smile, afraid to voice your true thoughts in front of management. Jeongguk keeps his face trained to his screen, brows twitching in an attempt to hide his bemusement.

Had it been anyone else in front of you, you’d throw your hands in the air and say ‘Fuck it.’ But it was Jeongguk … one of the higher-ups you’d always admired — whose opinion you immensely cared for. 

“Uncle …” Seojun frowns. “You promised you weren’t going to work.”

“Code red. Need to take care of this.” Jeongguk explains.

Seojun sighs, the expression resounds his frustration to his uncle’s work habits.

In the short span of time working at the company, you’ve never seen Jeongguk falter; yet, the man seated across from you wavers at his nephew’s disappointment.

“It’ll be quick.” He remedies.

You also know Jeongguk took his time. He’s meticulous and wants everything right the first time around. It appears Seojun knows this too, not taking his promises too seriously, and grunting a small ‘okay’ before he takes Jihyo’s hand to lead them both to the beach.

Jeongguk purses his lips, a vexed expression he doesn’t let linger for long. You shouldn’t meddle with family affairs, but you couldn’t help thinking back to the missed dinners, absent parent recitals, and text messages telling you to not wait up late from your father. 

“Work’s never that important.” The words slip past your mouth before realizing it.

Jeongguk isn’t afraid to voice his response too, seemingly prepared for your judgment. 

“Easy for you to say.” His eyes narrow. “Some people aren’t afforded breaks.”

You take another bite of the olives, hoping the flavor would conceal the shame. The invisible wall between you and Jeongguk grows higher and thicker, making it impossible to penetrate. You refocus on the task at hand. 

Three hours pass with the sound of birds and ocean in the background — the sounds would have been enough for anyone to relax into their work, but all it does is make you yearn for fun. Makes you think anything might be better than being with the man seated across from you. Which is so unlike you when just a week ago, you’d do just about anything to be closer to him in the office. 

Every five minutes, you have to look at the shoreline and the people enjoying the summer rays. It was a good distraction until the envy sets in.

Another deep sigh.

“Go.”

“Huh?” You look up from your laptop. 

“I have access to your document in the shared drive. You won’t be leaving any time soon at the rate you’re moving.” He takes off his glasses, index and thumb pinching and rubbing to relieve himself of any tension. “Go spend some time with Jihyo.”

You almost think it’s a test until he looks at you questioningly for not having moved. You scramble to close out everything after a quick thank you before going back into the cottage to change. You shouldn’t feel guilty as you slip into your swimsuit and cover-up … shouldn’t feel guilty exiting the property, sneaking one final look back at the patio.

You shouldn’t ache the way you do for Jeongguk’s content smile when he nears the lemon tree.

Even Jeon Jeongguk needs breaks too.

You blame the aches from having laid down in the sand for an hour and not at the image of him back at the villa taking on your unfinished work. He made his decision, so why are you still feeling this way? 

“Uncle!” Seojun beams. “You made it.”

At the acknowledgment, you lift your head up and it’s none other than the man who’s plagued your mind since you’ve left the villa. He’s changed into lighter clothing, a short-sleeve button up over his white tank top with some beach shorts. The tight tank top hugs around his figure, ab ridges outlined from his small chuckle. The contraction intensifies when he looks down at you and over your stringy two-piece bikini.

He clears his throat. “Was able to wrap up what I needed to get done for the day.”

“Good.” Seojun replies. “Should enjoy our time while we can.”

Jeongguk’s face falls; immediately, the moment’s swept away when Jihyo calls for Seojun to help her take pictures. 

The older male settles next to you, mindful to not kick up any sand in the process. The couple eventually go to get some refreshments, leaving both you and Jeongguk under the rays of the sun.

He doesn’t say much … actually, he doesn’t say anything as he stares out to the bluest waters. 

“Thank you, Jeongguk.” You say. “You didn’t have to.”

You wonder if your father had acted the same at work, taking on additional workload he didn’t necessarily have to at the expense of missing out on moments in your life.

Jeongguk isn’t your father. He didn’t have obligations to you. Didn’t need to sacrifice his own time for your sake.

The center of a candy was usually the sweetest — perhaps if you keep at it, you’ll discover more of Jeongguk’s sweetness too. 

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Being around Jeongguk has been a tad more tangible now that you’ve spent a few hours together the next couple of days working in the morning, ending the nights over dinner with the couple. 

The next evening, Jihyo has you all crammed in a kitchen for a cooking lesson with a private chef. You’re on garlic peeling duties with Jeongguk, fingers sticky from the essence of the individual cloves, so sure this scent was going to linger on your skin.

Jeongguk remains unaffected, diligently peeling away. At the sight of you rubbing your sticky fingers together, he chuckles.

“Just wash your hands in between.”

The advice works. While you’ve barely peeled half a clove, Jeongguk was already on his second. 

“Did you have ‘pro-garlic peeler’ on your resume?” You try teasing.

He pauses, a small smile on his lips as he continues peeling the cloves.

“My sister had me on garlic peeling duties whenever we cooked.”

As far as you’re aware from Jihyo, the topic of Seojun’s mother was unspoken … only knowing she passed when he was very young. 

You work a little harder peeling the leftover cloves, running your hands under the faucet to rid yourself of the stickiness. The stickiness retained in your chest whenever Jeongguk peers over at your pile of perfectly peeled garlic. It’s retained throughout dinner and the glasses of wine served during and after a meal, following you as the group takes a walk on the beach the night before the rest of the wedding party was scheduled to meet for the rehearsal dinner tomorrow.

Jihyo yawns and announces she’ll head back to the villa to rest. Naturally, Seojun follows along. You expect Jeongguk to do the same, but he sits on the brick wall staring out at the beach.

You tuck your hair behind your ear and a strong, pungent scent greets you. Hand discreetly at the front of your face, you sniff.

“The smell doesn’t leave for a bit.” Jeongguk says. “My sister always recommended lemon juice and a little bit of soap.” 

“Have you tried it?” You ask, tucking your hands underneath you to hide the excitement of Jeongguk initiating a conversation with you. 

He shakes his head, “I like the smell of garlic.”

Be it from the glasses of wine served over dinner, you’re bolder as you ask about his sister. And he’s just as loose-lipped as he recalls memories of her. You learned she was four years older than Jeongguk, her first job was at their aunt and uncle’s convenience store, and they were ultimately left to fend for themselves the moment she had Seojun at eighteen.

Every story, small chuckle, and silence of the memory of his sister only softens the hard, jagged edges around Jeongguk.

“She sounds lovely.”

“She was,” he concedes, “Would’ve loved Italy too.” He speaks into the sea-salted air. He leans back, hands anchoring himself up as he looks up at the clear night sky. “Maybe give her son an earful about marrying too early.” She’d know firsthand how she lost out on her own developmental years as a result of having Seojun early with a man that wanted no part in fatherhood. Though, a small part of Jeongguk knows his sister would’ve adored Jihyo.

Back at the villa’s garden, you make a quick detour to the lemon tree, picking one from the bottom branches.

The lemon doesn’t get used quite yet when you both enter into the stuffy cottage. You and Jeongguk reopen all the windows to let some fresh air in.

You eye the unopened wine bottle — the night’s gone too well to end like this. Lemon placed on the counter, it’s spared and unscathed for the time being as you pop off the cork. 

Wordlessly, you pour and slide the glass over to a receptive Jeongguk.

One glass turns to three over the course of the night. The alcohol loosens the year’s worth of work tension, eyes blinking slowly as he swirls the glass around.

“Do you plan to stay with the company until retirement?” You ask.

“Depends.”

“On?”

“If I have to keep overseeing project leads who can’t make their deadlines.”

Had you both been less drunk and not seated on the high stools of this lovely cottage in Sicily, you’d be more offended. Eyes bemused and lips curved at your exaggerated gasp, Jeongguk brings the glass of wine to his mouth, red staining and deepening the natural shade of pink on his lips.

You’ll take this. It’s a development in comparison to what you’ve experienced in working with the company … not to mention the ride on the gondola. You like this Jeongguk. Where he isn’t going on a tangent about deliverables and Key Performance Indicators.

“What about you?” He asks.

You swallow the last of the wine in your glass. “I’m not sure.”

Honestly, you thought you’d be at another place of employment after your one year anniversary at the company. Yet, you’re still here.

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Answered like a person with one foot out the door.” He shrugs.

“I don’t mind the company.” You pout.

He rolls his eyes. “You’re young. There’s more out there.”

“You’re staying.”

“Never said I was.”

Wait … you hadn’t accounted for the fact of Jeongguk leaving one day. He has so much more years of experience than you, so having a promotion elsewhere would be a cake walk. One of your incentives to stay might disappear one day without warning and it frightens you. 

“The benefits are nice.” You reason. “It’s worth staying for.”

“The benefits are standard. Hm.” He purses his lips. Then, an expression you’ve never once witnessed stretches across his face. “That hot manager Jihyo mentioned can’t be enough incentive to stay.”

“She’s lucky she’s my best friend.” You groan. 

He laughs through his nose, “You’ll know if a company is worth staying for. Don’t be afraid to venture out.”

Friends and family have often told you to look for a higher paying job after every promotion — never concerned whether you’re content with where you’re at.

You find it hard to believe just a couple days ago, Jeongguk was grilling you for being a nepo-baby, and now he’s mentoring you over wine. You take in his words, letting them swirl in your mind before shaking away thoughts of the future. 

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

He nods, taking another small sip, “If only Seojun listened more like that. That brat.” He lowers his head with a fond smile, orbs glimmering like the wine glass caught in the light.

You should hold off from asking any overbearing questions and end tonight on a high note, but that just wasn’t your style.

“Do you not support their marriage?”

“It’s unfavorable.” He sighs. “I’m sure Jihyo’s nice—”

“She is.” You interrupt.

“But she’s reckless and so is my nephew. They didn’t think this through.” A pause. “Doing things out of love only gets you so far.”

If life wasn’t about love, then what could it possibly be about?

He chuckles and mumbles to himself, “She’s too much like her.”

“Huh? Who?” Your brows scrunch from the cryptic words, trying to decipher who he was referring to. Foolish of you to think he’d answer as he gets up and empties his glass of wine into the sink, eyes locked on the counter where the lemon resides.

You were going to ask if he’d like to use the lemon too; though, he beats you to your question when he tucks in the stool.

“Get some rest, we have a long day tomorrow.”

You exert all your energy into the lemon, squeezing and wringing out the halved fruit to distract you of the confusion. Have you pushed for too much? Were you out of line wanting to know more about Jeongguk? You hope the lingering thoughts of your cottage mate disappears with the garlic stench after a thorough soak. 

After your shower, you take one last peek at his door and the light emitting from the small slit persists even through the late hours. Was he still working or also plagued with the thoughts of tonight’s conversation?

It’s a little past midnight when you emerge into the kitchen again to get a glass of water only to notice a slightly ajar front door.

101 Dumb Ways to Die would commend you and your efforts to close the door. Your fingers touch the doorknob, ready to twist and secure the locks. 

You die a little inside when you spot a figure outside near the lemon tree.

Jeongguk. 

He sits there, staring at his hands before he lifts one of them up to his face. A small sniff, then his hand falls onto his lap again.

You lean against a nearby wall, hand clutching the glass of water close to your chest.

He bends down from his seated position and grabs a fallen lemon, uncaring if it came from the top or the bottom branch. Suddenly, he stands up and makes his way back to the cottage again.

“Fuck!” You whisper yell, scrambling to go back to your room but your foot catches onto your other ankle and you’re sent flying to the floor with the glass of water held close to your chest to brace the fall and potential damage.

Aside from a wet shirt and the bruise forming on your knee, the glass was still intact. What wasn’t intact was your pride as Jeongguk opens the door to find you laying on your side.

His eyes widen, immediately crouching down to check your conditions. “Are you okay?” 

You could fake an episode of sleepwalking and walk back to your room, wet shirt and all, but then you’ll be labeled as the colleague who sleepwalks.

“Oof,” You grab his extended hand, the one without the lemon, and pull yourself up to a sitting position. “Y-yeah, um, just wanted some water.” You peer down at the pool of water around you and flush harder.

He grabs a nearby cloth to clean up the mess and when he’s done, he holds his hand out again, “Can you stand?”

You nod, hand engulfed in his warmth as he tugs you up along with him. You walk stiffly next to him and thank him after he hands you a spare towel in the kitchen. 

You should return to your room to nurse your broken pride; yet, your feet stay planted as Jeongguk gets out the cutting board.

“Oh, there’s still half a lemon in the fridge.” 

Nodding, he retrieves the lemon and he squeezes the sliced half with ease. He dips his fingers in first, spreading the juice all over his hands and in between the crevices just as you did. You watch his fingers spread the juices all over the top of his veiny hands, light from the kitchen emulating the glisten on his skin.

A tingly sensation starts at your fingertips and you clench your fists tightly before it travels up your arms, unsure why your body is reacting at the simple act.

God, did you hit your head on something during the fall? 

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks, breaking you out of your daze.

You blink, body automatically moving around to check for any soreness. High knees in place and a twist to your side, you confirm your health condition. You do one last stretch, intertwining your fingers and reaching up to the ceiling.

All’s well, so it seems.

Actually, no.

The action lifts your camisole, exposing the lower half of your stomach. Jeongguk’s gaze dips to your full hips and areas where the sun can’t fully reach. 

“Yeah, all good.” You swallow, arms coming down and holding your hands behind your back.

Lights shut off, you and Jeongguk make your way back to your bedrooms, steps heavier as you near your door. 

Suddenly, your hand reaches out, weak fingers wrapped around his wrist. He looks down at you with a raised brow, unmoving, so you tighten your grip around him. 

“I saw you outside.” You confess, voice small and hesitant. “Are you okay?”

Jeongguk didn’t owe you an answer. But after all the time spent leading up to this moment, you think something should’ve changed by now. 

His jaw clenches, eyes swirling with a mixture of uncertainty and discomfort as he considers the option of being honest.

He purses his lips and shakes his head no. 

Be it your underdeveloped prefrontal lobe or your innate desire to fix a troubled man, your fingers tighten around his wrist.

“Is there something I can do–” The latter part of your question gets cut short at another shake of his head. 

Your default solution is to deflect and lessen the embarrassment with cynicalism and a humorless laugh. “I know you hate me and all–”

He laughs, too — the dullness masking the irritability behind your unfinished statement.

“I don’t hate you.” He pauses and ponders his next words. “Whatever I’m going through right now has nothing to do with how I feel about you.”

Maybe … if you do make it about you, Jeongguk might forget about his bigger worries. The day has gone so well and all your effort’s about to be undone with what you do next. You step closer, gleaning at his reaction and any indication of his repulsion from your proximity.

“If we didn’t work at the same company, how would you feel about me then?” You ask.

His stare darkens. Pattern recognition from all the other fleeting moments in Italy only pushes you to do something you’d never have the courage to in a professional environment where you’d both break all code of conduct. 

What happens in Italy, stays in Italy … right?

“We’d get along.” You answer for him.

“We’d be strangers.” He corrects. “I don’t need twenty year old friends listening to my problems.”

Good thing you’re not twenty and good thing you don’t want to be friends with Jeongguk. In the span of this conversation, you and Jeongguk now share the same air and warmth as you press your front to his hard chest. He doesn’t pull away from your softness whether it be through the silky camisole, your nature, or exposed skin … he lets himself soak in what you offer him.

And when you tip-toe closer to his face, he doesn’t move, allowing you to do as you like despite all signs in his head telling him to turn you away.

“We’d get along.” You repeat, eyes bold and hopeful as you stare into his hooded ones. “You’d let me help you forget about your problems.”

Cause you’d create new ones for Jeon Jeongguk as you press your lips to his. 

The original hold you had on his wrist ceases as your nimble fingers find refuge on the ends of his cotton shirt. Your thighs tense from the vibrations of his small groan, the pleasure pangs intensifying when his hands cup your jaw. Lips soft and so rightfully slotted on yours, your eyes flutter shut and embrace the abundant hues of yellow and green similar to the villa’s lemon tree. 

The crisp citrus scent from his fingers warms and melts you further into his lips. He parts his mouth slightly, and for a moment, just a moment … you hope he’d run his tongue on yours.

Your hope gets wringed out like the used lemons residing in the wastebin the exact moment he says your name and pulls away, chest moving in tandem with his strained breaths. 

“This isn’t right.” He breathes, swallowing as he steps back to create some space between your bodies.

“I–”

“Goodnight.”

His door shuts, no different than how he shuts you out of the life you hoped to get a better glimpse of. Your fingers trace your lips, remembering how he felt against you before he took everything including your pride with him. You also shut your door, only bringing humiliation and rejection back in with you.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

You barely slept. 

Instead, you chose to put in the extra work you needed to meet your deliverables for your client. You locked yourself in the bedroom — rather brave through the shitty internet connection until it was time to meet up with the rest of the bridal party who arrived last night.  

“So,” Yebin starts, “I hear the best man is a hottie and you’re staying in the same cottage as him?”

You splutter into your drink, quickly grabbing the napkin on your lap to dab away the cascading liquid on your chin.

“Uh, wha–”

“Jihyo mentioned it in the group chat. What? Been too busy with him to catch up in the thread?” She wiggles her brows with a playful grin.

You push your body forward to give Jihyo a tiny glare. She sits prettily at the top of the table, the only person wearing white while the rest of you were in different variations of yellow to match the wedding theme.

“What?” She says with a mouthful. “He is objectively handsome. Not a surprise, I mean, look at my Seojun.”

“Isn’t he in his forties?” Another one of the girls asks.

“Thirty-seven.” Jihyo corrects. “We celebrated his birthday recently.”

“Basically forty.” Yebin retorts and turns back to you. “So what’s he like?”

You’re thankful for the soft breeze in the midst of Italy’s humid summer — helps you cool the sweat sitting uncomfortably on your skin, both from the rising afternoon temperatures and last night’s memories. 

“He’s … fine.” You pause and try to come up with other adjectives to better describe him, ultimately coming short and resorting to a foolproof excuse. “We haven’t really spoken.”

“Oh, please. Aside from his nephew, Jeongguk’s more friendly with you than he has been to me.”

Yeah, ‘cause you also work in the same building as him forty hours a week for the past year, but no one here needs to know that. The conversation eventually shifts over to Jihyo’s wedding itinerary, makeup and hair plans, and what the other girls plan to do after the wedding dinner rehearsal. You enjoyed your time in the smaller group, but you also valued the community the other girls brought in this part of the trip. You visit the nearby boutiques, splurge on things you could most definitely find back at home, because … when were you going to be in Italy with your girls again?

“Remember, be there at 8 p.m. The venue’s gates close five minutes after.” Jihyo reminds.

“Yes, ma’am. Got it marked down in our calendars.” Yebin yawns, still slightly jetlagged and ready for a much needed nap after the day’s festivities. You and Jihyo drop off the girls at the front of their hotel and begin the walk back to the villa. Would’ve been quicker to take a cab, but Jihyo wanted to walk off her second gelato and you didn’t mind not being in the same vicinity as your cottage mate all that soon.

“You nervous for tomorrow?” You ask, steps slowing as you both near the villa.

“No,” she smiles fondly at a passing thought. “But I am anxious for the future. Don’t know how long it’ll be till my parents want to talk to me.”

You’ve thought about the times you’ve fought with your parents — nothing as big as marrying someone they didn’t approve of. Hopefully Jihyo’s parents will come around. Love, from a parent at least, should be unconditional. 

She reads your thoughts with a chuckle and nudge to your shoulder. “Hey, I’m okay. It’s me and Seojun against the world.”

“They’ll come around.” You reassure. “You also have your friends too, so you’re never alone.”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

“And then, the maid of honor and best man will walk here.” Violetta, the wedding planner, points down the long stretch to the altar. 

She looks over to the group, trying to single out the girl with that title since Jeongguk was the only male aside from the groom. You step out, having avoided Jeongguk all day with the wedding party, there are just some things you can’t avoid.

You avoid looking at the older man, keeping your stares locked on the wedding planner and aisle markings.

“Oh, to be maid of honor.” Yebin mumbles jokingly and the group of girls erupt into a small fit of giggles.

Jeongguk pays no mind and extends his arm for you to hold. Practice. Yes, this was still a rehearsal. You might’ve imagined his tense inhale as you press your body closer, breast pushing against his arm to see if the action could produce a similar sound or reaction.

Nothing.

After the rehearsal, you and Jeongguk still avoid each other like the plague, unwilling to address the elephant in the room. You try to sleep, tossing and turning all night until you made the executive decision for some much needed fresh air.

Part of you worries Jeongguk might also be outside, claiming the lemon tree as his area of respite. Can’t be his if you claimed it first. Unfortunately, the spot was occupied … not by him at least.

Pulling the metal chair, Seojun looks up, startled, but relaxes at the sight of a familiar face.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks.

“Yeah. Too stuffy in the cottage.” You lie, unwilling to admit the actual source of your unrest. “You?”

“Yeah.” He looks into the distance, worries swirling in his orbs. “I think my uncle’s right.”

Your brows pull together, head tilting in confusion.

“We’re too rash. Jihyo’s parents might never speak to her again and it’s all my fault. And I,” Seojun begins to crumble at the weight of his realization. “I don’t know if I’m enough for her to lose everything.”

You know more than anyone that there are some things money and power can’t buy. Jihyo wasn’t risking anything because Seojun was everything. Because if life wasn’t about love, then what was it about?

“You’re enough for Jihyo.”

“Uncle said–”

“Screw what Jeongguk thinks.” You interrupt, gasping at your sudden abrasiveness. “Wait, I don’t mean any offense to your uncle …”

His laugh could’ve woken up the entire villa, but you’re thankful to see this side of him in comparison to how he was a moment ago. 

“No, no,” he chuckles, “I know he’s not the most likeable person.”

“He’s not … awful.”

Seojun nods, tilting his head down to conceal a tender smile you’ve witnessed whenever he was around Jihyo — now you understand those were reserved for his loved ones. “He used to be different … lighter, does that even make sense?”

You agree, waiting for Seojun’s next words.

“Uncle was fun.” You learn how Jeongguk would take little Seojun to the zoo every year because his mother would be too busy with work, along with the late night video game sessions he would partake in despite his busy university schedule.

“He was in his second year of university preparing to study abroad … I don’t know much, but something didn’t work out and another student was chosen instead of him. Mom worked hard so that she could support uncle and his dreams.”

“Worked too hard — damn workaholics.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know he means well not wanting me to rush into things without a proper safety net.”

You think back to a younger Jeongguk navigating life alone with a young child … he couldn’t have been any older than you — a baby raising another baby with no one to turn to.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” Seojun shakes away some thoughts, “I didn’t mean to dump all of this on you. I’m sure you’re tired–”

“No, no,” You wave your hands. “I don’t mind. You’re marrying my best friend and whether her family or Jeongguk approves, it doesn’t matter. I’ve seen how happy you make her — how relaxed she is around you.” You offer a warm and comforting smile to which Seojun returns at the mention of your friend. “We’re both in this for Jihyo’s happiness. You deserve to be happy too.” 

“Yeah, we do.” He replies, shoulders sagging in relief.

You linger outside a little longer after Seojun’s departure, begrudgingly going back into the cottage. Before entering your room, you take one look at Jeongguk’s room, noting the small sliver of light from underneath his door.

You remember all the late nights waiting for your father’s lights to turn off … wondering when you’d be enough for his attention. And as you shut your door to your room, you hope that was enough to garner Jeongguk’s attention too. 

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Jihyo loved everything about yellow. Loved the song by Coldplay and loved her flowers yellow — thinks she saw yellow when she met Seojun. Her bridesmaid dresses had to be yellow, as with everything in the wedding.

You see yellow everywhere too: the sand in the distance, wedding favors in the form of bagged perle di sole candies, and the boutonniere pinned on the left side of Jeongguk’s vest.

Yellow blurs around you during the ceremony, tearful gazes exchanged with the other bridesmaids. 

Jihyo had always centered her world around her friendships — no man has ever been enough to pull her away from that value. Though, as she stands across from Seojun, her hands in his, it seemed as though nothing could’ve pried them apart from each other’s gravitational pulls. Your eyes peer over the wedding attendees, taking in their expectant stares and proud smiles — even Jeongguk seemed to have softened at the sight. 

When it was time for the vows, you hand them over to Jihyo from behind, who took them without turning around, eyes still locked onto her soon-to-be husband.

She takes a steadying breath before speaking: “Seojun. These past years with you have been the happiest of my life. I could’ve never imagined meeting anyone like you. Now, I won’t call you my best friend, because that spot is taken and I think my lovely maid of honor might have some things to say about that–” The wedding party sounded a collective chuckle. You smile to yourself, eyes instinctively finding Jeongguk’s, who had already been looking your way in confirmation of your title.

“But I’m so happy to have found you, that I’m able to call you my friend, lover, and now, husband. I know a lot of people thought we were rushing into this, and they might be right. It is early, but I’ve never been as certain about anything as I am about wanting to spend the rest of my life with you. Seojun, you are the most wonderful and kindest person — better than I can ever hope to deserve, I love you.” Her voice had become increasingly more unstable as she went and she quickly wiped her eyes, not wanting to ruin her bridal make-up. Seojun wasn’t fairing any better, softly cupping her cheek and kissing her lips, whispering a small gratitude to her.

“Excuse me?” The officiant interrupts. “We’re not quite there yet.” 

Laughing, the pair separates and refocuses their attention back to the ceremony. You turn to your fellow bridesmaids after hearing a quiet sniffle from Yebin. You carefully lean back into her, nudging her shoulder in comfort. 

“Jihyo, you son of a bitch.” The girl mutters, dotting the corner of her eye with a tissue. 

You chuckle, moving back into your position after assessing everyone’s conditions.

When you find the confidence to check on Jeongguk, he’s just as affected and politely turns away from the couple to hide his emotions.

At the wedding reception, you watch Jihyo and her husband dance to every song on their playlist, joined by their guests, eventually being the last ones standing as the night progresses. The ache on the soles of your feet grow by the hour, and you find yourself sitting alone, nursing your drink and watching your best friend soak in happiness.

Yellow persists in the form of strung lights on the small dance floor. Though, a new opponent, green, enters when you catch some wedding guests approaching an unsuspecting Jeongguk.

As the maid of honor, you should stay for the night even if it’s nearing 2 a.m. Selfishly, you can’t bring yourself to. You tell Jihyo you’re not feeling well and that you’re going to walk back to the cottage to rest. She looks at you with concern, but she nods and asks you to text her once you’ve made it back.

Ten steps out the venue, you hear some whistles and chuckles. Shit. You walk quicker and a slimy hand wraps around your wrist.

The men smile at you, saying something you can’t really decipher. If all fails after your persistent ignorance to the Italian language, your heels make an excellent weapon of defense.

“C'è un problema?” A familiar voice says in the distance.

Immediately, the man releases your wrist and holds his hands up. The group of men shuffles away, mumbling to themselves as they look back at your savior.

“You okay?” Jeongguk asks.

“Yep.” You answer quickly, steps resuming in the direction of the villa.

Jeongguk follows closely behind you, silent as he has been all night.

“Aren’t you supposed to stay with the bride? Maid of honor duties.”

“Aren’t you supposed to stay with the groom? Best man duties.” You retort with no malice.

“Touché.” He contemplates his next words. “I’ve got an early flight tomorrow.”

Your brows furrow, and an immature part of you assumes you’re the reason for his early departure. He quickly follows up with, “There’s a fire I have to put out at work.”

The bitter memories of your father leaving for work resurfaces again. Would it be so awful to not think about work and be with his loved ones?

You wave off those feelings and express your gratitude instead. “Thanks for helping me back there. You never mentioned knowing Italian.”

Would’ve come in handy during the ample times you all had to order food, but this was not the right moment to joke. 

“Studied some basic phrases before going abroad. Didn’t end up in Italy though.”

You freeze a little, remembering the small detail Seojun mentioned the night before about Jeongguk’s missed opportunity. 

Silence takes over and continues even as you both face your bedroom doors.

“Jeongguk.” You say, before he enters his room. “I hope what happened between us doesn’t impact our work. Please forget it happened — I’m truly ashamed and sorry.”

He nods, jaw clenched and tense. 

“Have a safe flight home. See you in the office.” No other words are needed in your retreat back into your room.

The knot at the back of your neck strains and you can’t wait to finally shed your makeup, tight bun, and dress.

You [2:18 a.m.]: Made it to the cottage 💛 Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: GOOD Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: JEONGGU SAI HES HEDIN TO COTT TO Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: ILY Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: im drun

You smile at your phone, typing a quick reply and before you hit enter, you hear a knock on your door.

Door swung open, your eyes widen at the sight of Jeongguk, tie loose around his neck and hair tussled as if he ruminated for an eternity before knocking your door.

“It’s been nice with you in Italy.” His arm from behind comes to the front with a small object. You remember it from your last day in Venice: the green masquerade mask. “Safe travels home.”

You take the little green mask in your hands, frown deepening at the sentiment.

“Why would you get this for me?” You ask.

His tongue probes against his cheek, eyes coming down to look at your figure in your yellow halter dress. The same fleeting stares you’ve grown accustomed to in the time spent in Italy, unaware these glances have always existed without your knowledge back at home. He laughs through his nose and shakes his head.

He brings his eyes back to your face. “You’re a smart girl, graduated with honors and all … so think a little harder for me.”

You shake your head, afraid of the aftermath of another wrong move that could jeopardize your heart.

“I don’t know if I can …”

Leaders take initiative — you’re nowhere near that point in your career and life. Jeongguk recognizes this too, which is why he walks you backwards into the room. His fingers trace the intricate beadings on the mask still in your hands.

“Here, we’re just two people who met through the people we love. No roles or responsibilities. I only know you as Jihyo’s friend. You’re just … you, and I’m just Jeongguk.”

“And who are you, Jeongguk?” You place the mask onto a nearby dresser, eyes never leaving the man in front of you.

He looks down at you again, a type of stare only capable of burning and tainting every inch of your being. He’s afraid to admit who he really is — what he actually wants, knowing he can’t fully have even if it was ready for him to take. Though, with only a couple hours to spare in Italy, he wants to use what little time he has on an experience he would never let himself indulge in back at home.

It’s what vacations are meant for, right?

“Someone that wants your help. Someone that wants to finish what you started two nights ago.” He answers.

It doesn’t make sense with you — he doesn’t make sense with you just like when he leans down to press his lips on yours. The kiss is punishing, no colors of yellow like the kiss from two nights ago. Yellow is only meant for lovers and Jeongguk is no lover. Would be the only logical reason you’d now see black and blue  — colors of old bruises and wounds left unattended for too long, and Jeongguk has far too many to count. 

“Fuck,” He says in between kisses, shrugging off his vest, “Tell me to stop.”

You whimper, shaking your head and looping your arms over his neck to bring him closer. He pushes his tongue past your lips, savoring the way you moan around and suck on his wet muscle. 

The only thing that makes sense is how your dress, the only yellow left, needs to come off. Your hands move behind your neck to undo the tight knot, letting the top fall down your front. Taking Jeongguk’s large hands, you take note of their softness, like sand — so malleable and so much harder to hold. You place them on your breasts instead. 

He groans, the sound so painful and full of want to give into his desires.

“This can’t mean anything.” He says through a harsh breath. “You know that, right?”

“It’s okay.” You reply, moaning again as the pressure from his hands increases. “I’m … I’m okay with that.”

You’re not and Jeongguk knows this too. He’s aware of the subtle glances in the time he’s worked with you, your shift in demeanor when he enters a room, and how your eyes search for his approval when none was ever needed. He knows you won’t be okay with this just being a one night stand or quick fuck, but it has to be because you and Jeongguk don’t make sense.

Not under the dull fluorescent lights of the company building, not in Italy.

His teeth grazes your skin, leaving a trail of pain and pleasure behind its wake. You quiver and his body presses harder against yours in panic that if he leaves any space in between, the distance would only grow should he second-guess. 

Dress bunched up at your midsection, he turns you away, eyes immediately landing where your mistake from your teenage years resided right above your pert ass. 

Was this going to be another mistake too?

Your hands brace yourself on the dresser, arching from his hand tracing down your back and down your ass. He pauses and waits for your nod to proceed. Palm up, he runs his hand over the pathetic cloth you’d call your underwear now completely soaked through and scrunched to the side of your pussy.

He sucks in a breath, “Kissing gets you like this, hm?”

You shudder, praying he eventually moves. His middle finger probes gently at your sodden folds, gathering your arousal. He stays doing this for a couple minutes, listening to your soft sighs, wondering when you’d begin to beg for him to continue.

And when you don’t ask for more, it aggravates him realizing he’s the one who needs more out of something that’s supposed to be meaningless. As the older adult, he should be the gentleman with better restraint, but he’s here in your room seeking something he can’t find anywhere else:

A distraction from all the buried guilt and pain — for once, he wants to win.

He somehow gets you perched on the dresser, head between your thighs as he eats you out both as a punishment and reward. The bottom half of your dress hangs over the side of your hips, thighs spread wide open as Jeongguk thrusts his tongue into your cunt.

He knows this is just sex … worse that you’re a younger colleague whom he has vehemently denied his attractions for. But he’s here in Italy where he’s tasted olives, rinsed his memories of past loved ones with citrus … he should enjoy this trip — enjoy you. Because when was Jeongguk going to be in Italy again fucking you in a shared cottage?

“Jeong–fuck, m-yeah, right there.” You cheer, fingers carding through his hair.

Your encouragement only spurs him on to work harder, lapping over your swollen clit until you tense and cease all noise in concentration for the impending orgasm. It’s all over when you fight his hold and win the battle with your legs clamped tightly around his head. You cum with a small sob, thighs shaking around him as he continues to eat you out.

He replaces his tongue with two fingers, lazily pumping his digits in you while he kisses your lips with the taste of you still on his tongue. Meanwhile, you fumble clumsily with his buttons and zipper, jaded by how much you want him.

He’s just as eager, moaning and grinding his cock into your hand when you’ve finally freed him of his confinements. 

Hoisting you in his arms, he brings you to the edge of your bed, groaning at how you automatically spread wider on the softer surface. So ready for him to do more with you until he realizes:

“Shit, I don’t have a condom.”

You hold yourself up with your forearms, legs still spread wide open for him despite his hesitance to move forward. His teeth sink onto his bottom lip, troubled dimples appearing as he stares at your glistening pussy clenching around nothing. 

“I’m on birth control.” You assure and add, “You can pull out if you want.”

What’s another bad idea added into the pile?

He strokes over his length, squeezing harder at the tip and lines himself up. You whine and circle your hips from the hard poke at your entrance, arousal coating his bare cock. He doesn’t push himself in just yet, watching as a bead of precum smears at your opening … a silent territorial marking. 

You’re his for tonight.

His thumb lands on your clit, rubbing it up and down. You keen, eyes shutting to concentrate on the added stimulation around the bundle of nerves.

“You’ve always been too rash on your decisions.” He pushes the tip of his cock into you, teeth biting the inside of his cheek. “Gotta work on that.” As if he’s not about to make an irrevocable mistake himself.

“High risk, high rewards … r-right?” You stammer through a shaky breath as he pushes more of him into you, uncaring that there’d been little to no prep. But that doesn’t matter, all your fantasies were coming true at this very moment and you’ll take whatever he gives you.

He gives you two more orgasms. One with your ankles by his ears. The other one where you lay on your side, memorizing the way his fingers dig into your skin as he pumps his thick shaft into you. You hike your knee closer to your chest to allow him to sink even deeper into you, hitting a specific spot repeatedly to burn figments of stars behind your lids.

The room’s hot and musty — didn’t help that neither of you remembered to air out the cottage upon arrival, but no one cared about that at the moment. Your sweat gathers behind your knees and drips down the slope of your thighs as Jeongguk continues fucking you into the mattress with an intense need.

“Gonna cum.” He announces, jaw going slack as his balls grow heavy with the need to release. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

“Want you to cum for me.” You nod, and the slapping of his skin on yours grows as he moves quicker and harder. 

You moan, brows scrunched in anticipation for Jeongguk to pull out and the feeling of being stuffed full by him will cease all together. And through your past experiences with other men, sex typically ends once they cum, so you ready yourself for the mirage to end — ready yourself to face reality again. Your lower half relaxes, waiting for him to turn your body so that he could unload everything on your stomach.

Two things happen.

He pushes deep inside you, stilling as he fills you with his arousal.

Hands soft as sand, cradle your jaw for a searing kiss to conceal words he shouldn’t utter to a colleague, let alone a direct report.

Minutes pass like this and you come to find out: sex doesn’t stop when Jeongguk finishes inside you.

He lays down next to you and hoists your body on top of his, movements swift in slipping his sensitive cock back into your cum-filled hole. He hisses, fighting through the overstimulation in acceptance of the punishment for all the terrible acts he’s committed with you. Again, both a punishment and a reward as he lets you ride him, watching the way your hips roll smoothly over his. Your mixed juices trail down his length and over his balls the more you move and bounce.

He doesn’t tell you to give him another orgasm, knowing you’re working hard to get there again. 

“Don’t wanna stop. Wanna do this with you all night long.” Your breath hitches as the pleasure shifts into a type of pain no one can see. And no matter how you try to fight the physical effects of the hardest orgasm of your life, your body gives into the exhaustion and slumps over Jeongguk’s sweaty body.

In your slumber, you feel the sand, the breeze, and the absence of another human body. The next morning only proves your reality when you wake up clothed and sore from last night’s affair … with Jeongguk nowhere in sight.

You frown, tucking the sheets closer to your chin and watching the tree branches scrape against your opened window. The air in the room was no longer stuffy, ridding any evidence of what you and Jeongguk did.

Summers in Italy were magical. 

Though, the fact stands: magic was nothing but illusions, deluding you from the truth. And you feigned indifference when Jihyo tells you Jeongguk had gone home for an important project — you ignored the hurt and betrayal. You had never been enough for your father to come home, so it was easy to turn a blind eye at the heaviness in your stomach from the thoughts of hoping you’d be enough to make Jeongguk stay.

Another couple of days in Italy go by with those illusions till the truth sets in the day you return to work.

A couple coworkers stop you on the way to your cubicle, asking you for a trip recap. Your debrief takes longer as intended — half due to wanting to avoid work and the other half as a result of your efforts to leave out key details of a certain someone. 

You could’ve taken another path to your desk — one that kept you from the usual ajar door. Perhaps the magic followed you back home and you’ve alluded to think Jeongguk’s stares trail after your figure when you walked past his office.

The magical illusions continue as you settle into your cube, a bright yellow sticky note on your keyboard with a familiar handwriting reads: Lunch at Romano’s. - J

Even if the center of the candy happened to be sour, you have to see through it — you want to see through it.

fin.

a/n: missed me? cuz i’ve been missenU. ahh, ahh?? 🥹 i’ll see yall in about 1-2 months with something new! in the meantime, go send your well wishes to the bday girlie!! toodles ♡

also s/o to my bestie @takeitawaykenny for beta’ing!! love ya pookie

“What do you think?” you ask him, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

He turns his head left and right to look at his hair, nibbling on his bottom lip, as if gathering his thoughts before he gives you an answer.

“Damn, okay. When you said ‘braids,’ this isn’t what I thought you meant. I love it, noona,” he says, giving you that signature, eye-crinkling smile.

“Yeah?” you ask, exhaling a breath of relief at his approval.

Jimin nods excitedly. “Yeah.”

You release him from your work station then, cleaning up your hair tools now that your job is done.

During each outfit change of the concert, you check on Jimin’s hair, securing and restyling braids as they come loose, ensuring his hair stays as neat as possible.

He sits perfectly still, always the cooperative client, as you redo a single braid that’s now falling into his face.

“Pretty hyped tonight, huh?” you ask with a soft laugh.

He starts to nod, his head tipping forward, causing him to let out a quiet hiss as he accidentally tugs at the braid in your hand, a sharp sting coursing through his scalp.

“Sorry–”

“Shit–”

You both speak at the same time, your hand instinctively releasing the braid.

“You okay?” you ask him then.

Jimin can’t help but chuckle then.

“All good, noona. Can you fix my hair now?”

You just smile, going back to redoing the braid you were working on.

There’s a minute of silence between you two, the chaos of backstage fading as everyone starts to take their places to go back on stage for the last part of the concert.

“I am hyped tonight,” Jimin says then, answering your question that was so rudely interrupted by you pulling his hair, “I’m really feeling myself tonight.”

You smile at him in the mirror as you finish fixing his hair.

“Good. See you after,” you say with a gentle squeeze to his shoulders, stepping back to let him go.

Jimin stands from your chair, glancing around before he leans in, his breath ghosting your ear.

“I’d rather be feeling you, though,” he murmurs, and he turns to go back on stage without so much as another glance your way.

-

The absolute whirlwind that is backstage post-concert is nothing you aren’t used to. Even as a hair stylist, you, and everyone else, are expected to help with the cleanup to make sure the dressing and styling rooms are left impeccably clean. That is BTS’ reputation, after all: the perfect guests at every stadium or venue they perform at, leaving nothing dirty or disorganized when they leave for the night. It’s something the whole staff has always prided themselves on, ensuring the group maintains their perfect image, ever the respectable idols.

As you pack your things and head toward the staff buses with everyone else, Jimin falls into step beside you at the back of the group.

“Come celebrate with me,” he murmurs quietly.

You glance at him, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Celebrate what?” you ask him.

He shrugs.

“Told you. I’m really feeling myself tonight. Come have a drink with me.”

Your voice lowers, not wanting anyone to hear the conversation.

“Jimin.. you sure that’s a good idea?”

He shrugs again, his hands in his jeans pocket.

“No one has to find out, noona. C’mon, it’s just me. I’ll have some champagne delivered to my room and we can hang there. No pressure.”

You can’t help but sigh slightly then.

“Yeah– okay. But if anyone finds out…”

Jimin holds out his pinky finger then, automatically moving to intertwine his finger with yours.

“They won’t. It’s perfectly safe.”

He falls out of step with you then, disappearing down the long hallway to your right, catching up with the other members while you continue walking toward the staff buses.

-

Back at the hotel, you change out of your staff clothes, then rummage through the casual clothes you brought with you for this leg of the tour. You aren’t sure if Jimin’s actually going to follow through with inviting you to hang out, and you really don’t know how casual to dress if he does.

Your phone vibrates, pulling you out of your thoughts.

Jimin: room 3903.

That’s it? you think, expecting more in his message than just telling you where to go.

Jimin: i’m in sweats. don’t worry about how to dress, noona.

Typical, you think, always knows.

You pull on a pair of leggings and a t-shirt, an oversized hoodie over it, and slip on your sneakers. Grabbing your phone and room key, you slip out of your room and move quickly down the hall.

The members and staff have this entire floor booked, the tour having so many people working to keep it flowing flawlessly that you always take up a whole floor in every city you go to. You really hope no one leaves their room while you’re out here, because you don’t have a clue what your excuse would be at this point.

Your eyes track each room as you pass, wandering down the hall until you reach Jimin’s room. Your knuckles tap softly on the door, shifting from one foot to the other as you wait.

“Get inside before someone sees you,” Jimin says with a chuckle as the door opens, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as he tugs you into his room.

Inside his room, you can’t help but glance around and let out a small laugh as you take in his massive suite compared to your standard room.

“Damn. Really feeling that tax bracket difference,” you say then.

Jimin rolls his eyes, looking sassy as ever.

“Perks of working our asses off for fifteen years. They gotta keep us happy,” he says sarcastically.

He makes his way over to the kitchen area, popping open a bottle of champagne that probably costs more than your monthly salary, and pours two glasses.

“None of the others wanted to drink with you tonight?” you ask curiously as he hands you a glass.

He shrugs. He seems to be doing that a lot tonight.

“I didn’t ask.”

He sips his champagne, hand waving in front of you to encourage you to do the same.

You take a sip too, the sweet, bubbly taste exploding on your tongue.

That’s when you notice something interesting.

“You didn’t take the braids out,” you point out.

His eyes sparkle with his smile as he walks back toward the sitting area.

“They look good. Made me feel good,” he says, plopping down on the couch.

You follow him, taking a seat on the other end of the couch.

“The fans seemed to love them, too,” you say with a soft chuckle.

Jimin looks at you then, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Did you?” he asks.

“Hm?”

He sips his champagne again, throat bobbing as he swallows.

“Did you love the braids, noona?” he clarifies.

It’s your turn to shrug then.

“They look good on you. I wouldn’t have done them if I didn’t think they would,” you say.

Jimin shifts on the couch, closing some of the distance between you two. He brings his left leg up on the cushion, sitting more casually.

“You made me feel really confident tonight,” he continues, his Busan satoori coming out a bit with his casual demeanor.

You can’t help but laugh softly.

“That’s what I’m here for. Making sure you feel confident enough to go on stage and be happy with how you look.”

You sip your champagne again before setting the glass down on the coffee table.

Jimin’s gaze follows your movement, his hand moving to set his own glass down.

He swallows, jaw working as he considers his next words.

“You’ve been doing my hair since debut,” he says then, “and you always make sure I’m happy with it before you let me go on stage.”

Your brow furrows in confusion.

“Well, yeah— of course I do. I might be the stylist, but it’s you that has to be okay with how you look.”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head.

“Not all stylists feel that way. Some think it’s their vision, and the idol just has to live with it.”

Jimin shifts a little closer to you on the couch, leaving only a foot of space between you now.

“You actually care,” he continues, “you want to make me feel good.”

You rest your elbow on the back of the couch, turning to face him a bit more.

“I do,” you say simply.

That mischievous glint in Jimin’s eyes shines a little brighter now.

“I want to make you feel good too,” he rasps, his Busan satoori bleeding into every word now.

“Hm?” you ask, confused.

The corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk then.

“You asked me to trust you earlier,” he says, “can you do the same for me now?”

Your body tenses slightly as Jimin closes the remaining distance between you two on the couch, his thigh pressing against yours now.

His arm snakes around your shoulders then, hand coming up to cup the side of your neck. His thumb traces the line of your jaw, making your head turn instinctively toward him.

“Jimin—,” you start then, meeting his gaze.

“Trust me, noona,” he breathes, his face inching toward yours.

He nudges at your jaw then, his breath ghosting your neck as his nose trails slowly along your jawline.

“Can I?” he murmurs, the slight vibration of his voice hitting your neck, “can I make you feel good this time?”

You shiver slightly, the heat of his breath making your skin tingle.

“Jimin— is that a good idea?” you whisper.

He chuckles softly against your neck then, his lips brushing against your skin.

“You’re always so collected, noona. So put together, worried about everything,” he murmurs.

You laugh a bit nervously, unsure what to say.

“Can’t you stop worrying about if something’s a good idea, and just think about how good it would feel to let go?” he continues.

His lips press a barely-there kiss to the spot just below your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin.

“Just trust me,” he repeats.

You pull back, looking at him. You definitely thought he was fucking with you, but the look of pure want in his eyes tells you how wrong you were.

“Okay—,” you say quietly then, “yeah. I trust you.”

You barely get the last word out before Jimin surges forward, claiming your mouth in a desperate, sensual kiss. His hand grips the side of your neck more firmly, holding you in place.

You kiss him back, lips following his lead as he deepens it. It’s all teeth, tongue, and heat, him licking into your mouth like he’s been dying to do it for longer than he’s let on.

Your hand moves to his stomach, fisting into his t-shirt as you keep him close. You feel his free hand wrap around your hip, his fingers gripping right at your waist.

“Taste like the champagne,” he breathes against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip, eliciting a soft catch of your breath.

His hand at your waist tugs you forward, putting you on his lap. He gently positions your thighs so you’re straddling him, his hand sliding to the small of your back then, pressing firmly to slide you closer so your chest presses to his.

“Don’t stop now,” he breathes, looking up at you, “I know you want this as badly as I do.”

Your free arm drapes onto the couch cushion behind him, fingers threading into the back of his hair as you claim his lips this time.

Jimin’s hips buck up against you slightly, a soft hiss following the movement as he kisses you.

The kiss gets more intense, your earlier hesitation fading into confidence. Your tongue meets his, sloppy and inhibited. You pull his lower lip between yours, sucking lightly.

“Ah— shit, noona. Please,” he breathes.

That makes you pause. “Please?” you murmur against his lips, pulling back just a bit to look at him.

He tugs at the hem of your hoodie then, his eyes half-lidded as he nods. “Yeah, please. Wanna see.”

You strip your hoodie and t-shirt off in one motion, tossing it on the floor haphazardly.

Jimin’s eyes darken slightly, taking in your black bra, the tops of your breasts spilling over the edge of the cups. His hand immediately slides up your back to the clasp, stilling there.

“Okay if I take this off?” he asks, eyes searching yours.

“How else are you gonna see?” you ask, a small smirk of your own crossing your lips now.

Jimin flicks his fingers quickly, deftly undoing the clasp and moving both hands to the straps at your shoulders, pulling them down to fully reveal your breasts to him.

A low groan leaves Jimin’s lips then, his hands sliding to your front and stopping at your ribs. His thumbs brush the underside of your breasts, eyes meeting yours again.

“Can I?” he asks, ever the king of consent.

“Yeah,” you breathe out.

His hands cup your breasts, squeezing and massaging them, his thumbs occasionally brushing or circling over the nipple. He shifts forward, his lips pressing to the hollow of your shoulder above your collarbone.

Jimin trails hot, wet kisses along the path of the bone, his tongue darting out to lick at your skin.

“Thirteen years,” he breathes against your collarbone, “thirteen years of being too fucking professional with you to ever want this.”

He sucks the skin lightly, leaving a tiny red mark that’ll fade by morning.

“But not tonight. Tonight— tonight you gave me the confidence to ask for what I want,” he finishes.

Your breath hitches, hips rolling against him as his lips reach the sensitive skin of your throat.

You tug at his t-shirt then, wanting him to be as bare as you.

“Lemme see you now,” you say quietly.

Jimin chuckles, his eyes glinting with that signature sparkle as he pulls his shirt off and tosses it somewhere on the floor.

“God— Jimin, what the fuck?” you ask, a soft scoff leaving your lips.

He gives you that cheeky smile, eyes crinkling at the corners as he shrugs.

“Been in the gym a lot with Yoongi-hyung and Jungkookie,” he says casually, as if there’s nothing impressive about his newly formed, nearly-washboard abs.

“I see this,” you say, rolling your eyes.

He takes one of your hands, dragging it down his chest and abdomen.

“Touch me too, noona,” he whispers then, “want you to want me, too.”

Your hips roll against him again, his words sending a jolt through you.

Jimin groans more audibly then, his hips bucking up to meet yours.

“Fuck,” he exhales, “don’t stop.”

You lean down and capture his lips again, one hand resting at his lower stomach, your thumb brushing along the sensitive skin there while your other hand holds the back of his neck.

He kisses you back, more sensual than before, his tongue dragging against yours as he lets out a soft moan into your mouth.

He squeezes your thigh gently, slowly working his way higher up your leg as he kisses you more. At the top of your thigh, his thumb brushes the inner part, and he breaks the kiss, keeping his mouth close against yours as he speaks.

“Can I touch you more?” he murmurs.

You nod against his lips, sliding your ass further up his lap, causing his thumb to press against your clothed core.

Jimin takes the hint, his thumb pressing firmly and rubbing circles over your clit through your leggings, making you gasp.

His soft, short laugh comes out against your lips.

“Pretty noise, noona. Can you make more for me?” he teases gently, his thumb circling a bit faster.

He moves quickly then, shifting his position, flipping you onto your back on the couch and kneeling between your thighs.

“Need these off,” he says, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your leggings, waiting, as always, for your consent.

Instead of saying anything, you lift your hips. His hands pull at your leggings, dragging them and your panties down your thighs. He gently pulls one foot and then the other out of the material, tossing the rest of your clothes onto the floor.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes, his hands resting on the outsides of your thighs as he leans down to press his lips against the inside of your knee, “gonna make you come for me.”

His lips follow a path up your inner thigh then, his mouth wet and hot against your skin, hands parting your thighs as he settles on his belly between them.

His kisses get sloppier, more urgent, more tongue, the higher up he goes, and your breaths come shallower, quicker, as your body responds to the anticipation.

“Jimin— what are you doing?” you whine softly.

He chuckles against your skin, nibbling it gently.

“Teasing. Or showing you what to expect when I get my tongue on your pussy,” he says, “you decide.”

A jolt of desire courses through you at his words. He notices, because, always so attentive with everyone, of course he does.

“You’re thinking about it, huh? About how good it’ll feel to have my tongue between your legs?” he teases.

You whine softly again.

“Fuck— yeah, I’m thinking about it,” you admit.

He chuckles again, his tongue dragging down your inner thigh until he stops, his face hovering just above your core.

“Stop thinking then.”

His eyes meet yours from between your legs, and his tongue drags a long, slow path from your entrance up to your clit, stopping there and tracing firm, target circles around the sensitive bud.

You can’t stop the moan falling from your lips, your hips squirming as his tongue continues its torturous circles.

“The walls aren’t soundproofed, noona,” Jimin chuckles against your pussy, making you clap your palm over your mouth to muffle your sounds.

When he sees your hand covering your mouth, he licks faster, his tongue circling your clit, the pattern only broken when he dips lower, tasting your arousal before returning to that sensitive spot.

You moan into your hand again, pressing harder to make sure the sound doesn’t travel.

He buries his tongue deeper, alternating between fast and slow strokes, experimenting to learn what makes you moan and tremble the most.

You squirm more, his hand coming up to rest over your lower stomach to keep you still. His free hand trails up your thigh, two fingers pressing against your entrance before they slide inside you.

You gasp, the added stimulation only fueling your pleasure.

Jimin huffs a soft laugh against your pussy again, crooking his fingers upwards in search of your sweet spot.

His tongue works tirelessly, never slowing as his fingers work until they press against your g-spot.

You whimper into your palm, thighs shaking as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. You uncover your mouth briefly to whimper quietly.

“Jimin— fuck, there. So close.”

He speeds up his licks, tongue lapping at your clit in tandem with his fingers thrusting directly into your g-spot.

You feel your climax build rapidly, clamping your hand down over your mouth again just as the coil in your lower stomach snaps.

You moan out into your palm, wave after wave of pleasure ripping through you. Jimin doesn’t stop, simply slowing his movements to push you through your orgasm.

He only lets up when you wince quietly from oversensitivity, pulling his mouth off your pussy and slipping his fingers out of you gently. He brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean of your juices before wiping his mouth on his upper arm.

“Good?” he chuckles quietly, meeting your eyes.

Your breathing is still too unsteady to speak, so you just lift your hand to give him a thumbs up and a weak smile. He sits up then, never looking away from you.

His eyes sparkle as he smiles back at you, holding his hand out to help you sit up too.

“You’re cute when you’re fucked out like this,” he comments, making you glare at him. But there’s no heat in your gaze, your eyes dropping to the obvious erection tenting his sweatpants.

Your breathing finally settles enough to talk without pausing between words.

“Off,” you say simply, your hand pulling at the fabric of his pants.

Jimin looks at you one more time for confirmation before sliding his sweatpants and boxers off, settling back on the couch in the same spot you started.

Without hesitation, you climb back into his lap, straddling him. Your wetness brushes his cock as you settle, a sharp hiss escaping his lips.

“You’re sure?” he breathes, “because I really wanna fuck you.. but don’t feel like you owe me for what I just did.”

You roll your hips on his lap, grinding your still-dripping pussy against him in response.

“I’m sure,” you whisper, “wanna ride you.”

He groans, the sound low in his throat as you position yourself with his cock pressed to your tight hole.

“Then— fuck, then please, do it,” he murmurs, voice cracking slightly.

You sink down onto his cock then, walls stretching around him to accommodate his size. He’s thick, making the movement slower than you would’ve liked, but after a moment, you settle on his thighs, his cock buried completely inside you.

“Shit—,” he hisses through his teeth, hips instinctively bucking up, his cock hitting deeper with the movement.

You gasp, the pressure against your g-spot intense as his cock hits it just right from this angle.

Jimin’s hands settle on your hips, thumbs gently stroking your skin as he looks up at you.

“Move for me, baby,” he breathes, his hands pressing upwards to lift you.

Your arms wrap around his neck, lips meeting his in a heated kiss as you lift yourself, grinding down on his cock, forcing a low moan from his throat.

He kisses you back, the kiss slow and lazy as his hands work to help guide your rhythm. Your breasts press against his chest, hips rolling as you repeatedly bounce on him.

The room fills with the slick sound of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy, his low moans and your quiet whimpers.

“That’s it,” he breathes, “fuck— pull my hair, noona.”

Your rhythm breaks slightly as you process his request.

“Please—,” he continues, “not hard. Just— tug it. Like you did when you were doing my hair earlier. When I moved and you accidentally pulled it. Felt good.”

You kiss him again, regaining your bearings, and ride him more deliberately then. Your hand slides into the back of his hair, fingers threading into it at his scalp, and tug lightly.

The sound that escapes his lips can only be described as a desperate whimper, quiet and needy.

“Shit— yes. Please, more,” he breathes.

You break the kiss, tugging his hair a little more firmly to tip his head back, your lips pressing to his throat. He groans at the sensation of your mouth on his skin and the pulling of his hair, his hips bucking up to meet your every move.

His fingers press into your hips, leaving indentations on your skin, soft grunts and deep, low moans punctuating every thrust up into your pussy.

“Noona— gonna come. Where—,” he starts, his question cut off when you suck lightly at the base of his throat, your fingers tightening in his hair.

The sting of the harder tug pulls another needy whimper from him, his hips thrusting up hard.

“In me,” you breathe against his throat.

He groans deeply, his hips thrusting up once, twice, three more times before they still, stuttering against you as he spills inside you.

“Fuck,” he moans, “you— fuck.”

You slow your hips, rolling them slowly to draw out every drop of his release, continuing until his hands pull you down to stop you from moving anymore.

The room is quiet now save for panting breaths from both of you. Jimin’s arms wrap around your waist then, his eyes opening to meet yours. His thumbs brush the skin of your lower back, not saying anything at first.

After a few slightly awkward moments, he finally speaks.

“Well— that was.. that was fucking incredible,” he chuckles nervously.

You chuckle too then, nodding. “It was.”

He lets out a slow breath, the awkwardness fading as you both realize things are still okay between you two.

“I really don’t wanna kick you out,” he says quietly then, “but— we’re already pushing it with you even being here.”

You shake your head slightly then, a small smile crossing your face.

“I know. I’ll go,” you say, understanding.

Jimin leans forward then, pressing a few quick, tender kisses to your lips, his lips curving upward in a smile of his own.

“Not mad at me?” he asks.

You shake your head again.

“No. Not mad. I’ll be— so fucking fired if anyone ever finds out about this,” you respond.

His smile fades slightly, but it’s not in sadness, just gentle understanding.

“You won’t be. I’d take the blame, have them cover it up. I told you, it’s perfectly safe. You’re perfectly safe with me,” he says quietly.

You nod, pressing a kiss of your own to his lips before you finally pull yourself off his lap.

The two of you dress quickly, and Jimin stands, facing you. His hand reaches up to smooth over your hair, making sure it doesn’t look too messy before you go in case you’re seen.

You take one last look at each before you finally step away.

At the door, you turn back and give him a small smirk.

“Next time you’re feeling yourself again…” you trail off.

Jimin’s eyebrow raises, curious.

“Come feel me instead.”

Jimin can’t help but laugh at your words, giving you that characteristic eye-crinkling smile.

“Yeah,” he says, “I will, noona.”

With that, you slip out of his room, making your way back down the hallway toward your own room.

Just as you’re about to open your own door, you hear a clearing of someone’s throat from behind you.

You freeze, heart rate picking up as you turn slowly to face the owner of the sound.

Looking up, you’re met with the man who made the sound, instantly knowing he definitely either saw you leaving Jimin’s room, or worse, heard you from inside.

“Namjoon,” you say quietly, “it’s not—.”

“The walls aren’t soundproofed, noona,” he cuts you off, “be more careful next time, unless you want the whole floor to hear you,” he says simply.

You let out an anxious breath, nodding slowly.

“I won’t say anything. But I can’t say the same for the rest of the staff,” he continues.

You fidget with your room key, still anxious under Namjoon’s gaze.

“Go to bed before someone else finds you out here,” he finishes, giving you a small, dimpled smile before he disappears into his own room.

You turn back quickly, unlocking your door and rushing inside. You press your back against the door, exhaling shakily.

Fuck.

Namjoon knows you just slept with Jimin. You trust him to keep his word and not tell anyone, but if he heard you.. who else did?

Not even five minutes later, your phone buzzes.

Jimin: told you, noona. you’re safe with me.

You breathe a sigh of relief, but it’s tinged with residual anxiety, knowing Namjoon probably talked to Jimin too, based on his text.

Jimin: just gotta be more quiet next time.

Jimin: hope there is a next time.

You smile softly to yourself, reading his messages as they come through.

You: there will be.

You put your phone away, getting ready for bed. The anxiety fades eventually. You curl into your sheets, staring at the dark ceiling above you as you get lost in your own thoughts.

You just slept with Jimin. An idol who, all things considered, could be labeled as completely untouchable. Shouldn’t be accessible, especially not to you. The one who’s been with him since the group’s debut, traveling the world, at every performance and event, simply styling his hair. Making sure he looked good, felt good. And it shouldn’t have happened at all, but it did. 

You keep replaying the night in your head. How he touched you, the way he asked over and over for your consent. The way it seemed like you’d done this a thousand times before, when neither of you have ever even attempted to cross that line. None of it makes sense. Shouldn’t it have been a little awkward? Shouldn’t there have been more fumbling, more learning each other? Shouldn’t there have been a little more hesitation?

You shake your head, hoping to clear your mind. What’s done is done, and you can’t take it back now that it’s happened. You start to drift off to sleep, your brain slowly shutting off for the night.

But there’s one specific thought that you can’t seem to shake from your mind.

The thought makes your brain buzz, your mind replaying his request, every sound that fell from his lips as he responded to you.

Jimin has a hair-pulling kink.

And you were the one to find that out.

So now, you wonder..

A few seats away at first, there was a man in dark slacks and a button-up rolled casually at the sleeves. He looked older than most of the crowd, more composed. When his eyes met yours, it wasn’t accidental. He didn’t rush to look away. Instead, his gaze drifted, unapologetic but controlled, lingering at your figure before lifting back to your eyes.

Your stomach flipped.

After a moment, he shifted closer, stopping just beside the empty stool next to you.

“Would you mind if I joined you for a drink?” he said, eyes flicking to the seat and then back to you. It sounded less like a question and more like an invitation. His voice was more captivating than you would’ve expected, with a warm and sinfully smooth tone to it. 

You shook your head, suddenly very aware of how warm your cheeks felt. “Go ahead.”

He sat, his knee angling just slightly toward yours. Close enough that you noticed. Close enough that it felt intentional.

“First time here?” he asked, glancing at your drink.

“Yeah,” you admitted. “Needed something to calm my nerves.”

“Oh?” A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Dangerous place to come for that.”

“Tomorrow’s my first day at a new job,” you said, taking another sip. The alcohol buzzed a little stronger now, making you braver. “I figured one drink wouldn’t hurt.”

“Usually doesn’t,” he said, his gaze lingering on you instead of the room. His eyes dipped to the open neckline of your dress. He leaned in just enough that you could smell his cologne, a luxurious scent, if you had to describe it. “You know, that dress,” he murmured, voice deepening, “...it’s very distracting.”

“Distracting, huh?” you teased softly. “That’s not exactly what I expected from someone like you.”

He tilted his head slightly. “I’m—” he paused, like he was deciding whether to give you the real thing or a half-truth, then smirked again, “—Yoongi, by the way.”

You smiled, fingers curling lightly around your glass. “Y/N,” you said, meeting his gaze without flinching.

He repeated it once, slower, like he wanted to feel how it sounded. “Y/N.” His forearm stayed where it was, warm and steady against yours. “Nice to finally put a name to the distraction.”

“Could say the same about you,” you replied, biting your lips without even noticing. 

“I’m not much of a dancer,” he murmured after a moment, his voice softer now, closer. “But I’ll admit… I’d much rather get out of here with you than stay where everyone can see.”

You laughed quietly, but didn’t pull back. “You’re very confident for someone who just met me.”

His fingers slid closer, just barely grazing the side of your hand. “Can’t blame a guy for knowing what he wants.”

The music swelled, and for a second the world narrowed to the space between you. When he leaned in, he met your eyes, as if to ask for permission. You nodded lightly, breaths feeling heavier than they were seconds ago. Before you knew it, his lips pressed lightly against yours, a testing kiss. His hand rested at your waist, warm and possessive without being rough. The two of you thoroughly explored one another’s mouths, the kiss remaining slow and gentle. 

He pulled back once the two of you ran breathless, taking a second to admire your appearance before leaning back in again. 

The scent of alcohol was unmistakable—whiskey on his breath, wine on yours—mingling in a way that made your head feel pleasantly light. The kiss wasn’t careful this time. It was messier, slower to line up, your lips brushing clumsily before finding each other properly.

You kissed him like you’d had just enough to forget yourself. A little sloppy, a little eager. Your balance tilted toward him, and he steadied you without breaking the kiss, fingers tightening just slightly at your hip. He tasted like alcohol and something darker underneath, and you could tell you tasted the same to him by the way he exhaled softly through his nose, like he enjoyed it.

The kiss deepened, as the desperation of the two of you took over. His mouth moved against yours with confidence, letting you lead for a second, letting your intoxicated enthusiasm set the pace before he responded. His thumb traced a slow, absent-minded line along your jawline, grounding you while everything else felt pleasantly blurred.

When he finally pulled back, it was only enough to speak, his lips brushing yours as he did.

“I’m not really a PDA kind of guy,” he murmured, voice low, eyes dark as they flicked briefly to your mouth again. “But I’d really like to show you just how good you’re making me feel.”

His hands hovered at your waist as he leaned in close, forehead nearly touching yours.

“My place isn’t far,” he added quietly. “Easy walk.”

The way he said it was calm and controlled, like it was already decided, and it made your stomach flutter. The bar suddenly felt louder, brighter, and less important. All you could focus on was the warmth of his hand, the lingering taste of alcohol and him on your lips, and the fact that saying yes felt far too easy.

You barely remembered finishing your drink. One moment you were still tasting the lingering sweetness on your tongue, the next his hand was guiding you off the bar stool. The noise of the bar felt distant now, muffled by the warmth humming through your body and the way his attention never left you.

He paid quickly, fingers brushing yours as he did, and that small touch felt heavier than it should have. When you stepped outside, the cool night air hit your flushed skin, making you laugh softly as you swayed just a bit. He noticed immediately, his hand settling at your lower back, grounding you like it was instinct.

“Careful,” he murmured, amused, fond. “You’re a little unsteady.”

“So are you,” you teased back, glancing up at him. His eyes crinkled slightly at that, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

The walk to his place was quiet but the tension was loud. The city lights blurred pleasantly, footsteps syncing as you moved side by side. Every now and then your arm brushed his, or your fingers caught on his sleeve, and neither of you pulled away. The alcohol made everything softer, slower, like the night was stretching just for the two of you.

After a bit more walking, the two of you had finally arrived at his place. 

The lobby was quiet, immaculate. Soft lighting, marble floors, the kind of space that smelled clean and expensive. You suddenly felt very aware of your skimpy dress, of how tipsy you still were, of how wildly out of place you probably looked standing beside him. And yet, his hand stayed warm and steady at your back, like you belonged there.

The elevator ride was silent but heavy. You caught your reflection in the mirrored wall, seeing your flushed cheeks, slightly mussed hair, and eyes that were a little unfocused from alcohol and anticipation. Then you glanced at him with his tailored coat and relaxed posture. You couldn’t really believe you were actually doing this, but you really needed some easing for your nerves. 

The door barely clicked shut before he turned on you, his movements a blur of controlled aggression. He shoved you back against the wood, the impact vibrating through your spine, and pinned your arm high above your head. You thrived on the roughness of his grip; it was a physical manifestation of the restraint he was finally losing.

The kiss wasn't a request—it was a claim. It was fiercer, hungrier, and more invasive than before. When his mouth crashed against yours, it wasn't just a meeting of lips; it was a collision. He used his tongue to force your mouth open, slick and authoritative, demanding total entry.

He didn't just kiss you; he devoured you. You felt the wet slide of his tongue against yours, a rhythmic, deep-reaching intrusion that made your knees weaken. He caught your tongue with his own, pulling it into his mouth to suck on it with a low, primal groan that you felt in your chest more than you heard.

The air between you vanished. His hand at your waist bruised, pulling your hips flush against his, while the other remained braced like a vice beside your head. Every time he broke the seal of the kiss, it was only to lick a path across your bottom lip before diving back in, his tongue sweeping against the roof of your mouth in a way that felt dominant and utterly possessive. He was tasting you, marking you, his desperation vibrating through the heavy, wood-scented air of the room.

He broke the kiss with a wet, lingering sound, his forehead resting against yours for a heartbeat before he tilted his head back. He looked you up and down, a smug, low chuckle vibrating in his chest.

"Look at you," he rasped, his voice dropping an octave, thick with the satisfaction of being the one who wrecked your composure. "Hardly catching your breath, and I’ve barely even started with you."

He gently took your hand and led you down the hallway. The alcohol made everything feel softer, dreamlike, your steps slightly unsteady as you followed him. When he opened the bedroom door, you paused again.

It was just as refined with its large bed, crisp linens, low lighting that cast everything in cozy shadows. The room felt intimate without even trying to be. Private. 

He turned to face you then, finally, fully. His gaze drifted over you seductively, taking in your dress, the way it clung to you, the deep dip at your neckline. His eyes darkened just a little and it sent chills through your body.

“Finally,” he said quietly, stepping closer as his presence filled the space between you, “I have the pretty lady all to myself.”

His fingers trailed down your arm, the subtle touch getting your body worked up in ways you didn’t even know were possible. You felt feral, almost. 

“Why don’t we…” he added, voice low and teasing, “get that pretty dress off you now?”

He walked toward you, his movements fluid yet powerful. His fingers found the strap of your dress, and with agonizing slowness, he slipped it down over your shoulder, then the other. The fabric whispered against your skin as it pooled at your feet. You stepped out of it, leaving you in nothing but your lingerie. He took a step back, his eyes sweeping over you in appreciation.

“Well now,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “Aren’t you a surprise.”

You were wearing a matching set of deep burgundy lace. The bra was a balconette style, lifting your breasts and offering them up, the delicate floral pattern of the lace contrasting beautifully against your skin. Thin straps sat on your shoulders, and a small, pretty bow sat nestled between the cups. The panties were high-waisted, the same intricate lace covering the front, scalloped along the edges, with a small satin ribbon tied in a bow at one hip. They were more elegant than anything you’d usually wear, a secret layer of confidence you’d chosen just for yourself.

His gaze dropped to the lace between your legs, and a slow, genuine smile spread across his face. “Those panties,” he said, his voice dropping even lower. “They’re almost as pretty as the girl wearing them.” He knew exactly what he was doing, and the sheer, arrogant certainty in his voice made you want to pull him back in just as much as it made you tremble.

He closed the distance again, his hand coming up to cup your jaw. His thumb rested gently on your cheek, tilting your face up until your eyes met his. “Look at me,” he commanded firmly. Then his lips were on yours. He pulled you flush against him with a force that made your head spin, and you melted into it, a soft moan escaping your throat as you reveled in his dominance.

As he kissed you, he stepped into your space, forcing your legs apart with the weight of his own. He drove his knee upward, wedging it high and hard between your thighs until the fabric of his suit trousers pressed directly against the burgundy lace of your panties.

A muffled cry broke against his lips as he began to rock his leg in a slow, agonizingly deliberate circle. The friction was electric as the rough wool of his slacks against the thin, delicate lace of your crotch created a heat and wetness that made your head spin. He gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin to hold you steady as he forced you to grind against him.

He was using his knee to stoke the fire he’d started, his movements authoritative and unyielding. You arched into him, your hands clutching his shoulders as the friction sent waves of unbearable tension through your lower body. Every time you tried to speed up the pace, he’d growl into the kiss, his knee providing a heavy, constant pressure that made you feel utterly conquered.

His hands finally slid past the swell of your hips, his palms hot against your skin, before trailing lower to catch the curve of your ass. He squeezed the firm flesh with a bruising strength, molding you against his frame, before he suddenly pulled back just enough to deliver a sharp spank.

The sound of the impact cracked through the quiet of the room, and the sting sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to your core. You gasped into his mouth, your body bucking instinctively against him, your fingers gripping tightly onto the muscles of his back.

He didn't pull away. Instead, he chuckled against your lips with a low, dark vibration that felt like a purr of pure satisfaction. He leaned in closer, his teeth grazing your lower lip as he felt you tremble. "I thought you might like that," he whispered, his voice thick with the thrill of your reaction. "Do you want another, or are you going to behave?"

It was at this point that he’d finally decided to break the seal of your mouths. His chest was heaving, his gaze dropping to where his leg was buried between yours.

“The bed,” he rasped, the command leaving no room for argument.

He began to walk you backward, guiding your stumbling steps toward the large bed. The backs of your knees hit the edge, and he gently lowered you down onto the crisp sheets, his body hovering over yours, caging you in. He pulled back just enough to look down at you, his chest heaving slightly. Then, with a sense of urgency, he rid himself of his clothes. His blazer and shirt were discarded in a heap on the floor, followed by his slacks, leaving him in just a pair of black boxer briefs that did little to hide the hard ridge of his arousal.

While he was undressing, you reached behind your back and unhooked your bra, letting it fall away. Your breasts spilled free, your nipples pebbling in the cool air. You moved to take off your panties, but he stopped you, his fingers hooking into the delicate lace at your hips.

“Allow me,” he murmured, his eyes glued to your core as he slowly, torturously, pulled them down your legs and tossed them aside. His gaze was intense and hungry and you’d just wanted him to devour every bit of you already.

The thick outline of his cock straining against the fabric of his boxers was surely no help either. A surge of boldness suddenly washed over you as you sat up to allow your hand to reach out and palm him through the cotton. He groaned, his hips twitching into your touch.

“Let me take care of you,” you whispered, guiding him to sit on the edge of the bed. You knelt before him, pulling his boxers down. His cock was finally fully visible to you, wet and hard. 

You wrapped your hand around his shaft, feeling his velvety skin over the steel-hard length. You leaned in, sticking out your tongue to swirl it around the flushed head. A deep groan rumbled in his chest. You began to stroke him, your hand moving in long, slow pulls from base to tip while your tongue continued to explore, lapping at the sensitive slit. You loved the sounds he made, the way his breath hitched with every flick of your tongue.

You got sloppy with it, letting your saliva coat his length until it was dripping, the wet sounds filling the room. He seemed to love it, his fingers tangling in your hair. You shifted, taking more of him into your mouth, sucking him deep as your hands moved down to gently massage his balls.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, his voice strained. “You’re so good at that.”

After a moment, he tightened his grip on your hair.

“Look at me,” he panted.

When your eyes met his, they were dark with lust.

“You want to gag on my cock?” You weren’t expecting the raw, filthy question, but it didn’t make you want it any less. “I want to see my cock stuffed in that pretty face of yours. Could you do that for me?”

“Yes,” you breathed, the word a desperate, enthusiastic plea. “God, yes.”

He helped you reposition, settling you more comfortably on your knees. He placed a hand on the back of your head, his other hand gripping his shaft to guide it to your lips.

“Open up,” he commanded.

You did, and he began to thrust into your mouth. He started slow, letting you get used to the rhythm, but it wasn’t long before he was chasing his own pleasure. You could feel his cock exploring the walls of your throat with each thrust, going deeper and deeper. Your gag reflex prickled, and you choked slightly, a tear slipping from the corner of your eye. He pulled back immediately, giving you a moment to breathe whenever necessary. 

“Again?” he asked, his voice rough.

You nodded, eager, and he slid back in, picking up the pace once more. You could taste the salty precum on your tongue with every thrust.

After what felt like an eternity of the delicious, rough face-fucking, he pulled you up, his mouth crashing against yours in a messy, passionate kiss. You could taste yourself on him as he pushed you back onto the bed, his body covering yours. He kissed his way down your body, over your breasts, your stomach, until he was settled between your thighs. He didn’t touch you right away, teasing you with kisses on the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Then, without warning, he gave your clit a long, hard, pressured lick.

You yelped, your back arching off the bed at the sudden, intense feeling of pleasure. He did it again, and again, and you couldn’t stop the high-pitched whines and moans that spilled from your lips. The feeling was overwhelming, a dizzying spiral of sensation. He switched to sucking, drawing your clit into his mouth and flicking his tongue against it. It was another level of pleasure entirely. Your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands as you tried to guide his movements, desperate for more.

“You taste so fucking good,” he groaned against you.

While he was lost in you, you felt his cock twitch against your leg, and a sudden, desperate need to ride him took over. You pushed at his shoulders, and he got the message, rolling onto his back. You straddled him, a satisfied, predatory grin spreading across his face. His hands immediately found your hips, gripping you tight.

You sank down onto his cock, the stretch a perfect, burning pleasure. He helped you find a rhythm, lifting you and slamming you back down onto his length. The feeling of his strong hands gripping your sides and ass, controlling your movements, was intoxicating. You took over, setting a punishing pace, rolling your hips and grinding down on him. He met you thrust for thrust, his hips bucking up to meet yours, driving himself deeper and deeper inside you. The room filled with the sounds of your moans, his groans, and the slap of skin against skin.

It was a desperate race toward the edge, and when you finally fell forward, your orgasm crashed through you with the force of a tidal wave, your body convulsing with the force of it. He followed you moments later with a loud, guttural groan, his own release pulsing deep inside you.

You collapsed onto his chest, both of you panting and slick with sweat. You two laid there for a while after, the frantic energy slowly ebbing away into a warm, sated glow. The alcohol haze was fading, replaced by a pleasant exhaustion. You shifted, glancing at the clock on the nightstand, and your eyes widened.

“Shit,” you muttered, scrambling to sit up. “I have to go. It’s way later than I thought.” You’d finally pushed yourself up off the bed, slowly gathering your clothes that were all in different locations of the room. 

“Stay,” he rasped, the command softened by the gravel in his voice. He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of your spine. “The bed is finally warm.”

“I wish I could,” you admitted, gripping your burgundy lace panties from the floor. 

He watched you dress with hooded eyes, a look that made you feel like you were still under his thumb even as you hooked your bra. He moved with a slow grace to gather his own clothes, the comfortable silence between you charged with the memory of what had just happened.

“Don’t think I’m letting you disappear,” he said, pulling his phone from his pocket. He didn’t ask but simply held it out, waiting for you to bridge the gap.

You recited your number, and a second later, your phone vibrated on the nightstand.

He walked you to the door, but he didn't just let you walk out. He caught your waist, pulling your back against his chest as he tapped at his screen. “I’m calling you a car. I’m not having you wandering around this late.”

When the headlights cut through the darkness outside, he turned you in his arms.

“I’ll be in touch,” he murmured, his voice low and certain. “And next time, you aren't leaving the bed until I say so.”

He stepped back just enough to let you breathe, but his gaze remained locked on yours until the car door clicked shut. As the cab pulled away, you watched his silhouette in the rearview mirror, standing under the glow of the streetlamp with his hands in his pockets.

The city blurred past the window, a smear of neon and shadow that felt light-years away from the room you had just left. Your skin felt hypersensitive, the friction of your clothes a constant reminder of the way he’d handled you. Every time the car hit a bump, you felt the faint, throbbing ache between your thighs. You touched your bottom lip and it was swollen, sensitive to the slightest graze of your finger.

The short drive ended quietly, the soft click of your apartment door sealing the night behind you. The lingering scent of his cologne and the ghost of his touch clung to you like a second skin. 

A soft, shaky sigh escaped your lips. Your head was still a tad bit fuzzy from the drinks, a gentle haze that softened the edges of reality and made the memory of his hands on your hips and his tongue in your mouth feel more like a fever dream than a Tuesday night.

Your phone buzzed, the vibration rattling through your hand and cutting through the quiet of the entryway. You didn't even have to look to know it was him. A single, weighted sentence stared back at you:

“I can still taste you.”

A slow, involuntary smile spread across your face. You toed off your heels, the relief immediate, and padded toward your bedroom, your fingers already flying across the keyboard. “Really? And what exactly do I taste like?” you typed back, the honesty of it sending a fresh thrill through you.

His reply was instantaneous. “Actually, I’m starting to forget. I think I need you to come back here so I can make sure.” You paused, your thumb hovering over the screen as a slow, secret smile spread across your face. 

You dropped your phone on the bed and began to undress, the sleek fabric of your clothes feeling like a costume you were finally done with. The bathroom filled with steam as you turned on the shower, the warmth acting as a welcome embrace against your sensitive skin.

“Gonna shower then head to bed,” you texted, setting the phone on the counter. You paused, biting your lip before adding, “Need to be a professional, functioning human for at least eight hours.” The reply came through while you were unhooking your bra, the chime sharp against the bathroom tile.

“Is that right?” he shot back. “You’re going to sit in a boardroom and pretend you didn’t just get railed the night before?”

He was playing with you, marking his territory from miles away.

You stepped under the hot spray, the water cascading over your body, washing away the lingering stickiness of the club and the heat of the car. On a sudden, wicked impulse, you grabbed your phone with a damp hand. The screen fogged slightly as you snapped a picture—just your chest, covered in a thick layer of white soap. You hit send before you could second-guess yourself.

His response didn’t take long. “Fuck.” 

The single word was heavy, loaded with unspoken desire. You finished your shower quickly, the air outside feeling cool against your heated skin. You toweled off and slipped into something soft and comfortable, an oversized t-shirt that barely covered your thighs, and slid between the cool sheets of your bed.

You kept your phone in your hand, your fingers brushing idly over the screen as his texts lingered in your mind, the phantom weight of his body still pressed against yours. The alcohol haze was settling, but your mind was wide awake, replaying every moment.

Finally, you typed a simple: “Goodnight.”

His reply came a moment later, a simple, “Same goes to you, sexy thing.” 

You set the phone down on the nightstand, a slow smile on your lips as you closed your eyes, his last message a sweet, thrilling lullaby.

Morning came too fast. Your head ached, the dull throb of the hangover making your temples tight. You groaned, tugging your hair back, and realized you were already running late. First day at a new job, and your body reminded you that last night’s indulgence had consequences.

You moved quickly, throwing on a professional outfit that felt both sharp and safe. It was fitted enough to look put together, but simple. Your makeup was light, applied in a rush, and you styled your hair just enough to look presentable. You caught your reflection and nearly laughed, patting your hair again and adding a touch more makeup to disguise how tired you really were.

With your water bottle in hand and your bag over your shoulder, you stepped into the day. Your pulse was still high from the night before, and a quiet thrill lingered under the dull headache. First day. New job.

The elevator dinged, and you stepped out into the office lobby, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights. The building smelled faintly of coffee and polished wood. The environment was professional, but definitely a little intimidating. You tugged your blazer a little straighter, trying to ignore the throb behind your eyes. You thought the feeling would’ve been long gone by now but the alcohol from last night still made a distant appearance in the back of your head.

“You must be Y/N. Welcome.” A receptionist smiled at you, clipboard in hand. “We’re just about ready to get you settled.”

You nodded, forcing yourself to look composed. Your legs felt unsteady in your heels as you followed her down the corridor, ears picking up the faint hum of phones ringing, keyboards clicking, and quiet murmurs of colleagues already at work. Each sound felt sharper, somehow louder, through the fog in your head.

“This way,” she said, leading you to a small office area. “You’ll start with a bit of orientation, then we’ll get you familiar with the system. Oh, and here’s your workstation.” She gestured to a sleek desk with a polished surface, a computer already booted up, and a chair that adjusted too smoothly. “You can get settled here, there’s some training modules we’ll just have you do for today. I’ll be just down the hall if you need anything.” 

You nodded, trying to appear the part of the capable new hire. 

With a final, encouraging smile, she turned and headed back toward the lobby. You took a seat, the chair adjusting with a smooth, expensive hiss that made you feel small in the minimalist space. The office was clean and modern and there was a subtle sophistication to everything, but you couldn’t tell if it was the neutral color palette or the quiet efficiency of the layout. You smoothed the front of your blouse over your chest and took a deep breath. 

Your hands hovered over the keyboard, shoulders tense, fingers useless as your thoughts drifted back to the blurry events of last night, despite your best efforts. It had been a while since you’d let yourself fall into something so reckless, so fleeting—a one-night stand type meeting with no expectations and no promises. You hated how much it took over your thoughts, but you couldn’t help it. It left you wanting more, even now, but you exhaled sharply, forcing the thought away. 

You straightened, finally pressing your fingers to the keys and pulling yourself back to work. You weren’t going to let a single night of poor decisions ruin your first day.

For the next hour, you actually managed to sink into the flow. You navigated through the software orientation with a sharp, practiced focus, clicking through the security protocols and taking diligent notes in a leather-bound notebook. The rhythmic clack-clack of the keyboard became a mantra, grounding you. You answered a few introductory emails from the HR team and organized your digital workspace, your movements efficient and professional. Aside from the occasional, faint stir of silk against your skin, you had successfully pushed last night into a neat little box at the back of your mind. You were a professional, and you were proving it.

It wasn’t long before a movement in your peripheral caught your attention. A man was walking down the aisle of desks, a familiar stride that made your stomach twist in a way you didn’t expect. And then your brain finally caught up. Yoongi.

Your heart did a little double take. The same dark hair, the same smirk, and the same casual confidence. He was right here. In the office. Your new job. What was he doing here? 

You froze, cheeks heating, and quickly looked down at your keyboard like the screen could shield you from recognition. He noticed you immediately, eyebrows quirking as his gaze slid over you. A small, near-silent chuckle escaped his lips before he continued to the desk beside you, acting perfectly nonchalant. 

Your phone buzzed, and you didn’t need to even look to know who it was.

“Nice seeing you here. If I didn’t know what a dirty girl you really are, I’d totally believe that innocent, businesslike act of yours.”

You bit your lip so hard it almost hurt, the sting helping to ground you as a furious blush stained your cheeks. Dirty? You glanced over discreetly; he was already at his desk, his fingers moving with a lazy, practiced rhythm over his keyboard, but the glint in his dark eyes was unmistakable. He was enjoying the chaos he’d just dropped into your lap.

You tried to refocus on the modules, but the words on the screen were just a blur of black and white. You reached for your coffee, the warm ceramic of the mug acting as an anchor for your trembling hands. Every shadow that moved in the corner of your eye made you jump, your heart hammering against your ribs.

And then, you felt him.

He was walking past your workstation again, his pace agonizingly slow, as if he were savoring the way your posture went rigid the moment he drew near. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. Your hand jerked instinctively, the coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim of the mug.

“Careful now,” he warned, his voice a low, playful rumble just behind your ear. You jumped, a small gasp escaping your lips before you could choke it back. He leaned down just a fraction closer as he passed, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Don’t want you spilling coffee on yourself… can’t have you soaking wet on your first day can we?”

He let the words linger in the air as a deliberate, wet promise, before he straightened. You managed a shaky, breathless laugh, trying to hide your flustered heartbeat behind the mug. “I... I’m fine,” you muttered, your knuckles white as you gripped the coffee.

In your haste to look busy, your hand brushed against a silver pen resting on the edge of the polished desk. It rolled, clicking softly against the wood before dropping off the side. Without thinking, you ducked down to retrieve it, leaning forward and reaching toward the floor.

The movement caused the deep neckline of your blouse to fall away from your skin.

From his vantage point, standing right over you, the view was unobstructed. You realized it the second you looked up, pen in hand, that he wasn’t looking at your face. He was staring straight down into the dip of your shirt, his eyes dark and fixed on the soft swell of your breasts.

The air in the cubicle felt like it had been set on fire. You straightened up quickly, clutching the pen, but the damage was done. He smirked, a slow, predatory curve of his lips that told you he’d memorized every inch of what he just saw.

He leaned in one last time, his voice dropping to a whisper that was for your ears only. “And is that view just for me?”

He didn't wait for an answer. He straightened his tie and kept walking, leaving you breathless and gripping your pen so hard the metal bit into your palm.

Your eyes darted back to the screen, trying to finish the modules to the best of your ability, despite the difficulty of such a simple task. Every clack of your keyboard felt loud and every reminder of his presence seemed amplified. Your mind was a riot of the absurd realization that Yoongi, your mysterious flirt from last night, was right here, mere feet from you, acting as if nothing was happening at all.

Your mind betrayed you, flashing to the naughty images from last night. With him on top of you, that smirk as he hovered close, and the way his hands moved over you, how could you get any of this work done? 

You eventually snapped yourself back to reality, taking a slow, steadying breath before letting your fingers glide over the keyboard with a little more confidence.

It seemed Yoongi was finally giving you some space, leaving you alone to work without any more teasing interruptions, for now. The faint buzz of the office and the hum of computers became your rhythm, and slowly, you started to fall back into the task at hand, though a tiny part of your mind remained painfully aware of his presence nearby, just in case he decided to strike again.

It wasn’t long before you glanced at the clock and realized it was just about time for lunch. Grabbing your bag, you made your way toward the break room. The small kitchen area smelled faintly of reheated meals and coffee, the vibrations of the refrigerator acting as a background to your thoughts.

You popped open the lid of the instant ramen you’d brought along with you and heated it up before taking it over to one of the tables. You settled in, letting the steam from the noodles warm your hands, hoping the routine act of eating would help ground you after the morning’s… distractions.

You were just about to take your first bite when you sensed a presence beside you.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Your heart lurched. You glanced up. Of course. It was him. Yoongi. Leaning casually, that effortless confidence in his posture, eyes dark and knowing. Your cheeks heated immediately and you nodded before you could stop yourself.

No one else was in the break room yet, and suddenly the air felt thick between you. He sat, close enough that you felt your breaths get shorter and heavier. How could he get you like this? 

“You’re such a tease,” you murmured, the words coming out as a soft, breathless confession.

“Only because I like seeing you struggle.” he countered.  He leaned in just a fraction closer, his shoulder brushing against yours “You’re so cute when you’re a horny mess.”

Your eyes widened, a sharp intake of breath betraying you. You looked around frantically, praying no one was rounding the corner to hear him dismantle your composure so easily.

Trying to regain some scrap of dignity, you jabbed your fork into the noodles. “So… you didn’t get lunch yet?” you asked, your voice higher than usual.

He leaned back slightly, eyes glinting with mischief. He nodded toward the small bag of snacks he’d tossed on the table, but the look in his eyes said something entirely different. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, his smirk widening. “My lunch is sitting right next to me.”

The blatant innuendo was frustratingly effective at getting you worked up. You tried to feign annoyance, tapping your chopsticks against the rim of the bowl. “Persistent, aren’t you?” “Hungry,” he corrected, the word vibrating with a double meaning that made your hand shake.

He shrugged with a mock innocence that didn't reach his eyes. You couldn’t deny it—you thrived on this. Every whisper and every lingering glance made the desire coil tighter in your stomach. You’d been aching for him since you woke up, and his relentless teasing was only feeding the desperation.

You hadn’t realized just how dangerously close you’d leaned into his space until the heavy thud of footsteps broke the spell. Your stomach dropped as a coworker, Kai, strolled into the breakroom. His eyes landed on Yoongi immediately, then flickered to you with a friendly, unsuspecting curiosity.

“Hey, Yoongi,” Kai called out, leaning casually against the counter. “Did you tell her about the barbecue tonight?”

The invisible heat between you and Yoongi was so thick you were sure Kai could see it. In a sudden, panicked rush, you scooted your chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the linoleum. You buried your face in your ramen, pretending to be deeply fascinated by a stray noodle. Totally not suspicious, you thought, your heart hammering against your ribs.

Kai didn’t seem to notice. He grinned at you, eyes bright with the typical excitement of an office social. “It’s a tradition! Everyone shows up, the food is great. You should definitely come, it’s the best way to meet the team.”

He gave a quick thumbs-up and headed back out, his footsteps fading down the hall.

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with the residual electricity of Kai almost catching you. Yoongi didn’t move back. Instead, he watched you with that familiar, ruinous smirk.

“He’s right. You should be there,” Yoongi said, his voice dropping back into that low, gravelly register that made the rest of the room disappear. “I’m planning on staying late. And I have a very specific set of ideas for how we’re going to spend your ‘after-hours’ orientation. I'd hate for you to miss it.”

You noticed the subtle inflection in his tone, the way his words carried a hint of promise beyond just a night out. You glanced at him, trying to mask the flutter in your stomach, and he caught it immediately, obvious from his facial expression. 

“Okay,” you whispered, the word feeling small against the weight of his attention. “I’ll be there.”

He chuckled, a short, dark sound of victory. “Good girl. I’ll see you tonight. Try to keep your head in the files until then.”

The day dragged on, the hours stretching longer than you expected, though at least the work itself wasn’t unbearable. You found yourself stealing glances at Yoongi now and then, resisting the urge to check your phone for another message or a sly comment. He was at his desk, pretending to type, but you caught the cheeky grin that never seemed to fully leave his lips when he thought no one was looking.

When the clock finally released you, the office cleared out in a blur of small talk. You gathered your things, your hands finally steady enough to pack your bag. As you passed his desk, he didn't even look up from his screen, but his voice reached you.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said quietly, only enough for you to hear. 

You nodded, trying to keep your voice steady. “See you then.”

The bus ride home was a blur of anticipation. The thought of being around him again and this time outside of the office, made your pulse thrum a little faster. This was especially enticing when considering the events that occurred between the two of you the night before. 

At home, you started rifling through your closet, searching for something that was nice but not too over the top. You settled on a fitted silk blouse in a deep, midnight blue and a skirt that skimmed your thighs just right. You spent a little too much time on your hair, letting the curls fall loosely over your shoulders, and finished with a swipe of gloss that made your lips look bitten and plush. You looked in the mirror, took a steadying breath, and told your racing heart to behave.

The restaurant was a chaotic mix of savory smoke, cold beer, and the loud, boisterous laughter of people finally off the clock. You stepped through the door, scanning the crowded tables until your eyes locked onto his.

The place was lively as you arrived, laughter and conversation spilling out from the restaurant where the barbecue was in full swing. The smell of grilled and marinated meat hit you instantly, mingling with the faint tang of alcohol. Your heart beat a little faster when you spotted Yoongi seated at the table, casually leaning back as he surveyed the crowd. Around him, coworkers laughed and clinked glasses, but his focus found you immediately.

“Glad you came,” he said as you approached, his voice cutting through the surrounding chatter. He didn't stand, but he reached out, his fingers briefly ghosting over the side of your waist as he gestured toward the empty chair beside him.

You made your way over, trying to appear casual.

You sat, and almost immediately, the "professional" distance you’d tried to maintain collapsed. His arm brushed yours as he reached for a plate. You went rigid, your breath catching in your throat, and you knew by the way his jaw tightened that he felt the exact moment you faltered.

He didn't stop there. Under the shelter of the heavy tablecloth, his hand slid onto your thigh. His palm was warm, his grip firm. He didn't move at first; he just let the weight of his hand settle there, marking you while he casually joined a conversation about quarterly projections.

“Yoongi…” you murmured, the name escaping you as a faint, desperate breath.

“Mm?” He didn't even look at you. He leaned in just enough for his shoulder to pin yours, his voice a low, vibration intended for your ears alone. “Something wrong?”

His fingers began a slow, torturous climb. He traced the seam of your skirt, his thumb dipping just beneath the hem to graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The sensation was a lightning strike of heat that settled directly between your legs.

You were losing it. Your heart was hammering against your ribs, and the polite chatter of your coworkers sounded like it was coming from miles away. You couldn't sit there and pretend to be a "new hire" for one more second while he was dismantling you under the table.

“Excuse me,” you managed, standing abruptly. The chair legs shrieked against the floor, drawing a few curious glances from the table. You didn't wait to explain so you just turned and moved toward the restrooms, your legs weak. 

The cool air of the restroom did nothing to dampen the fire he’d started. You leaned against the sink, staring at your reflection as your eyes were blown wide, your cheeks a frantic, deep pink.

Your phone buzzed in your hand. It was him:

“On a scale of 1–5, how ruined are those panties right now? I’m gonna bet on 5 ;)"

You let out a frustrated breath, leaning your forehead toward the mirror. You felt the undeniable, heavy dampness between your thighs signaling he was absolutely right.

You splashed cold water on your face, took three deep breaths to steady your pulse, and walked back out. You found him exactly where you left him, leaning back with a glass in his hand. He didn't say a word as you sat down, but his slow, teasing smirk said it all. 

The rest of the barbecue felt like a blur of polite nods and shallow conversation. As predicted, once the managers began to settle their tabs and head for the exits, the atmosphere shifted. The "performance" was over. 

Once everyone was ready to get going, you followed the group down the dimly lit street. Yoongi trailed just behind you, his presence a physical weight at your back. He wasn’t touching you yet, but he was close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body, marking his territory in the middle of the sidewalk.

“You sure you can keep up?” he murmured, cutting through the city noise. “It’s a long night. I’d hate for you to get overwhelmed before we even get started.”

You glanced over your shoulder. “I’ll manage,” you replied, though your voice lacked any real conviction.

His smirk deepened, sharp and knowing under the amber glow of the streetlights. “Good. Because I don't plan on letting you out of my sight tonight.” You bit your lip, trying to suppress the rush that bloomed wherever he touched.

The club was a sensory assault. The moment the heavy doors opened, the bass rolled through your chest like a heartbeat, and the air turned thick with the scent of expensive alcohols and crowded skin.

Yoongi didn't hesitate. He stepped up behind you, his hand finding the small of your back. And it wasn't a gentle guide. It was a firm, possessive grip that pulled you flush against him as he wove through the chaos of a crowd. Every time a stranger got too close, his hand tightened, his fingers splaying across your spine as if to remind the room exactly who you belonged to.

He navigated you toward a darker corner, the neon lights flashing in rhythmic bursts that made his eyes glisten amidst the lights. He leaned in, his chest pressing into your back, his lips brushing the sensitive shell of your ear.

“You’re struggling,” he murmured. He leaned in until his lips were hovering against your cheek. “I think you’ve had enough of playing nice for the cameras. We could walk out that door right now and no one would even notice. Is that what you want?”

Your pulse spiked as you nodded. “Yes… please,” you breathed, the word barely above a whisper. “I want to get out of here.”

He didn't just smile—he smirked with the triumph of a man who knew he’d won. His hand slid up your thigh, his fingers hooking into the hem of your skirt and pulling the fabric just an inch higher. He didn't move his hand any further and simply allowed it to rest there. His thumb traced the sensitive skin of your inner leg while you stood in the middle of the crowd, trapped between his body and the music.

As a group of people surged past, he used the momentum to press you against him. You could feel the hard line of his frame and the rhythm of the club’s bass vibrating through both of your chests at once. 

“Come on. I’m tired of sharing the view.”

The transition was jarring. One moment you were in a world of neon and sweat, and the next, you were stepping into the sharp, biting chill of the night air. The heavy bass faded into a muffled hum behind you as he took your hand. He pulled you along, his strides long and purposeful as he navigated toward the darker side streets where the streetlights were sparse.

By the time you reached his car, the city felt like it had disappeared. He unlocked it and held the door open, his eyes dark and unreadable in the shadows.

“Get in,” he ordered, his gaze sweeping over you one last time before you slid into the shadows of the back seat. 

The door clicked shut as he followed you inside, sealing out the rest of the world. The car was silent, smelling of his cologne and expensive leather. With him occupying the seat beside you, the space felt impossibly small. 

He looked at you—not with the "work Yoongi" smirk, but with the raw, hungry gaze of the man who had pinned you to the door the night before.

You moved without hesitation, swinging one leg over his lap to straddle him. The fabric of your skirt bunched up around your thighs, exposing more skin to the cool leather of the seats. His hands were instantly on you, one gripping your hip, the other sliding up your back to press you closer.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your lips before capturing them in a hungry, desperate kiss. 

The kiss was a collision that was hungry, desperate, and entirely devoid of the "professional" restraint he’d worn all day. His tongue was a hot, confident intrusion that made your head spin, and you met him with equal fervor, your fingers tangling into the dark hair at the nape of his neck.

His hands moved with a brutal purpose, mapping the curves he’d been eyeing from across the office. One hand slid down to find the swell of your ass, gripping it tightly as he held you closely against him. The distance was so close that you could feel the heavy, pulsing hardness of him through his dress slacks, a silent demand that made your stomach flip.

“Need to see you,” he let out a jagged growl.

He didn't fumble. His fingers worked the buttons of your blouse with a surprising speed until the silk fell open. He moved to the clasp of your bra, the metal giving out with a sharp click that echoed in the quiet cabin of the car. As the lace fell away, your breasts were finally exposed. He cupped them with his hands, fondling them in soft circles.

He groaned before burying his face between them. His chin scraped deliciously against your sensitive skin as he pressed kisses to the valley between your breasts. His hands came up to hold them, thumbs brushing over your nipples until you were arching into his touch with a soft moan.

“Yoongi,” you gasped, your head hitting the window as his mouth closed around one peak. Your hips rolled instinctively, seeking friction against the hard ridge of his cock still trapped in his pants.

“Like that?” he murmured against your damp skin, before switching his focus to the other breast. “You’ve been thinking about this all day, haven't you? Sitting at that desk, wondering exactly how my mouth would feel on you.”

His words sparked a reckless fire in you. Reaching down, you tried to slide your hand beneath the hem of your skirt to find your slick folds, but he intercepted your wrist with a firm, sudden grip.

“Patience,” he chuckled, though his voice was laced with restraint.

But savoring seemed to be the last thing on his mind as his hands slid down to your hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. He tugged them down as far as he could in this position, his knuckles brushing against your wet folds. You gasped at the contact, your body already humming with anticipation.

But his "savoring" was far from gentle. Two fingers dipped under your skirt and into the waistband of your lace panties before dragging them down in one swift motion. His fingers pressed against your wetness and you couldn’t seem to contain yourself. 

“Look at you,” he murmured, sliding a finger through your slickness with a slow, agonizing confidence. “Already so wet for me. You were telling the truth after all, weren’t you?”

You could only nod, words failing you as his thumb found your clit, rubbing circles that made your vision blur with pleasure. Your hands flew to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as you rode his hand, chasing the building pressure.

“Please,” you finally managed to gasp out. “I need you inside me now.”

With a dark groan of agreement, he fumbled with his belt, the metallic click sounding deafening in the quiet car. He freed himself—thick, hot, and already glistening—and you didn't wait. You shifted, straddling him in the cramped darkness, your knees pressing into the leather on either side of his hips.

You sank down slowly, the stretch so intense it made your head roll back. You took him inch by inch, your body tight and welcoming, until you were fully seated. The air in the car was thick, the windows already beginning to fog over, sealing you both into a private, humid world.

His eyes were dark with lust as he watched you, lips parted as soft pants escaped him. “God, look at you,” he murmured, reaching up to cup your breasts. “Riding me like you were made for it.”

The praise was like fuel. You increased the pace, your movements turning frantic as you bounced against him, the cabin of the car filling with the raw, rhythmic sounds of the encounter—the slick slap of skin, the heavy creak of the leather, and the tangled sounds of your breathing.

His hands guided your movements, sometimes urging you faster, other times pulling you down harder onto him. When he leaned forward to capture a nipple in his mouth again, you cried out, the dual sensations pushing you closer to the edge.

“Yoongi, I—”

“I know,” he cut in, voice strained. “Let go for me. Want to feel you come around my cock.”

His words combined with a particularly well-angled thrust sent you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you, waves of pleasure making your body convulse as you cried out his name. He kept thrusting up into you, forcing you to feel every vibration of your climax until you finally collapsed against his chest, panting and boneless.

“Perfect,” he murmured, kissing your temple as you caught your breath. “Absolutely perfect.”

But he wasn’t done with you yet. With surprising strength, he adjusted your position, lifting you slightly before flipping you so your back was pressed against the door and he was hovering over you. The new angle allowed him to thrust deeper, and you gasped as he drove back into you, this time with a passion that told you he was close.

“Where do you want it?” he demanded, his voice ragged. “Tell me where it goes.”

“Inside,” you breathed, your legs locking around his waist to pull him closer. “Please, Yoongi. Inside.”

With a guttural groan, he buried himself deep one last time, his body going rigid as he filled you. You felt the pulses of his release deep inside, reaching even your sensitized nerves. You clung to him, your fingers resting against his shoulders until he eventually sunk his weight onto you.

For several minutes, neither of you moved. The world outside the fogged windows had ceased to exist. The scent of him was everywhere and it dark, masculine, and intoxicating.

Finally, the tension in his muscles eased. He shifted, pulling back just enough to look at you before he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“That was a good start,” he mumbled. He reached out, his fingers beginning to idly toy with a stray lock of your hair. “But I don't think eight hours of wanting you is out of my system yet.”

You were about to answer and tell him exactly how much you wanted that second round, when a sudden burst of laughter cut through the quiet of the street.

Your heart stopped.

Through the fogged side window, a group of people was spilling out of the club’s side exit, their voices loud and fueled by adrenaline. You froze as you recognized a familiar tone—Kai. “I’m telling you, she probably just went home,” Kai’s voice drifted through the glass, closer than you ever wanted it to be. “New hires always flake out early. But Yoongi? That man is a ghost. He probably disappeared to close some deal or find a quieter bar.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. You were half-dressed, tangled in the back seat with the man they were looking for, hidden only by a thin layer of condensation on the glass. One curious glance, one hand wiping away the steam, and your career would be over before it started.

Yoongi didn't panic. He didn't even flinch. He simply went still, his eyes locking onto yours with a terrifyingly calm intensity. He placed a single finger over his lips as a silent command for you to stay absolutely quiet.

The footsteps lingered. A shadow fell across the fogged window as someone leaned momentarily against the car's frame to light a cigarette. The car rocked slightly under the weight. You held your breath until your lungs burned, your eyes wide as you stared at Yoongi’s silhouette in the dark.

Finally, the voices began to fade. “Come on, the after-party is two blocks away. Let’s go.”

Yoongi stayed close for a moment longer, his eyes tracing the wreckage he’d made of your blouse before he finally pulled back and shifted into the driver's seat.

“Suddenly, the thought of my shower after a long night sounds awfully appealing,” he said, his voice a low velvet. “Care to join?”

masterlist

“-I’m just saying it’s bad enough I have to see you on stage like that…but then you go live and basically act like a drunken slut for the entire Army?” You stomp around the hotel room as Jungkook watches on in amusement from the king sized bed.

“Jagiyaaa I was letting off a little steam after the show…I was frustrated you weren’t here with me if that helps.” He slides up behind you, grabbing your waste and tries to pull you against him. You pull away, still frustrated after seeing all of the comments and edits thirsting over your boyfriend after his half naked live on Weverse. You head over to your suitcase to find something to wear, eager to go out and “let off some steam” yourself.

Jungkook sighs and sits back on the bed, watching your every movement. Letting himself fall backwards against the plush quilt once you enter the bathroom and shut the door behind you. He lays there as he hears the shower running, wondering what he could do to make it up to you. But also wondering why it was so bad that he dressed the way he did last night? It’s not like Army hasn’t seen him shirtless before. It’s not like they haven’t seen him drunk before.

He decides you’re overreacting and he’s going to tell you so when you get out of the shower. He lays there for a while longer before he realises the showers been off for some time. He hears you rummaging around your makeup bag, assuming you’re just doing your night routine he hops up to grab his own pyjamas.

With his back turned to the bathroom door, you step out. Eager to go out and see what the nightlife was like in Madrid and enjoy some drinks.

Still rummaging through his suitcases back turned to you, he starts pleading his case. “Baby I need to be honest with you, I think you’re getting upset over nothing. Army have seen me like that heaps, I don’t see what the big de—.” He cuts himself off as he looks up at the floor to ceiling mirror, conveniently placed behind the bed, and finally sees what was taking you so long.

Jungkook drinks in every inch of you as you walk over to observe yourself in the mirror. Standing right by Jungkook’s crouched figure. The black silk mini dress drapes over the curve of your hips and barely covers your ass. The back almost completely bare, only connected by one thin strap. Your legs looking endless thanks to the weapon-like heels on your feet. Your nipples taut against the fabric, the bars on your piercings far too evident against the silk for his liking.

“You’re not wearing this out Jagiya.” He runs his hand up your leg slowly, causing a shiver to run through you. You step away from him, not letting him charm his way out of this one.

“Like hell I’m not. I look good and if you can flash your chest for 50,000 people on the internet, why can’t I show a little leg at the club?” You cross your arms, staring at him with a raised brow thinking you’ve won.

“It’s not just a little leg, baby. One wrong move and you’re going to be showing everyone what’s mine.” He rises slowly and stalks towards you, causing you to inch back slowly until your legs hit the side of the bed. His tall frame and broad shoulders making you feel even smaller than you already were, even with the heels on your feet. “You know I don’t like sharing jagiya,” he grabs your hips and pulls you flush against him, “and if you walk out of here in this dress, you’re going to have every man in Madrid falling at your feet.”

“Oh so it’s fine for you to have the entirety of Madrid falling at yours?” You huff and attempt to pull away from him, but his grip on your hips never falters. He chuckles at your attitude and begins leaving gentle kisses down your neck, you sigh and lean into it…before remembering your frustration. You suddenly push him away and begin moving towards the front door. Jungkook, now frustrated as well, quickly grabs you before you can open the door to the hallway.

You let out a yelp before he slaps his hand over your mouth, his other wrapped around your waist. He walks you over to the bed before turning you around and pushing you down. “I’ve been patient baby, I’ve been trying to make you see my side but you keep pushing me.” He starts unbuckling his belt as he stands between your legs.

“Why won’t you see my side kook? I have to share you with the world…it’s like you don’t just belong to me but everyone else.” You pout at him, giving him boba eyes that nearly defeat his own. You sit up, dragging your hand up his crotch deciding to tease him as punishment, before he grabs your wrist. He finishes removing his belt and grabs your other wrist, before placing them together and using the belt to bind them.

You let out a surprised gasp as he grabs you by the waist and throws you back on the bed, before climbing up and sitting over you. He places your bound hands above your head with one hand before grabbing your face with the other. “Open.” You immediately open your mouth and stick out your tongue, eyes rolling back when Jungkook spits on your tongue. You swallow it before letting out a yelp as he slaps you in the mouth. “Did I say you could swallow it?” You shake your head before opening up again, he spits one, two, three times before shoving his middle finger to the back of your throat causing you to gag.

“The world gets to see me shirtless every once in a while and you go ahead and start acting like a slut.” He pulls his finger back, eyeing the spit that dripping from his finger and down your chin. He leans in to lick it from you before pulling you in for the filthiest, sloppiest kiss. “But they don’t get to see me the way you do Jagiya. They don’t get to see me absolutely ruin you in this fucking dress.”

He flips you over, slides himself between your legs and pulls your dress up around your waist before pulling your hips up. “These tiny little panties don’t cover much do they baby? If you had of bent over in the club, anyone could have seen this sweet little pussy. And I can’t have anyone seeing that…” He drags his fingers over the lace of your panties, feeling your arousal seep through them.

You jolt forward as he suddenly spanks your right ass cheek, before gently rubbing the mark he’d left behind. He then spanks the other side, again gently soothing your ass with soft touches. He continues this a couple of times, alternating sides and causing your arousal to soak through your tiny panties. He stops and uses both hands to rub over the welts on your behind with his finger tips, causing goosebumps to cover your body and have you attempting to lean away from his touch.

He grabs your hips, pulling your soaked pussy flush against his hips. You feel him through his jeans and you can’t help but rock back against him, despite the contact against your ass making you hiss. “Dripping for me already my jealous baby? Can feel you soaking my jeans, slutty thing. Like being punished jagiya?” You nod eagerly, making him laugh. He pushes your hips forward before pulling your panties to the side. You clench around nothing when you feel him spit on your exposed cunt, before using his thumb to rub circles on your clit.

You push back against him, trying to get more from him but he holds your hip with his free hand. You groan in frustration, “I want you to use me Kookie, show me what they can’t have. Show me what they’re missing out on.” This seems to have hit the spot with Jungkook, as he retracts his hand and flips you over onto your back. He reaches to the top of your dress and suddenly rips it down, the tiny straps no match for Jungkook’s strength. Your tits spill out as the dress tears and he groans at the sight.

He pulls the dress off you completely before leaning down to take one of your nipples in his mouth. Your back arches as his tongue swirls around the piercing on one, while his hand plays with the other. You hiss as he nips at your right nipple before leaving over and doing the same to the left. He sits up before spanking your tits, loving the way the red flush immediately covers your pale skin.

You stare up at him, pouting when you realise he’s still fully dressed while you’ve got nothing but your panties and heels on. He smirks down at you before reaching to the hem of his shirt and finally lifting it. You practically drool as you see the tan skin, abs and tattoos everyone else was thirsting over. “Mine.” You whisper. He looks down at you, his eyes darkening and he begins to move off the bed. He maintains eye contact as he undoes his jeans and drops them to the floor, you eye his fat cock straining against the black Calvin’s sitting low on his hips. He pulls them down, your legs rubbing together as you watch his cock slap against his belly.

He reaches down and starts rubbing his cock, tilting his head back with a hiss as he does so, knowing how much you love watching. He looks over at you, smirking at the way you’re pressing your legs together for some relief. Your hands are straining against the belt above your head. Your chest heaving with every breath as you watch the golden maknae spit down onto his cock as he strokes it.

He finally makes his way over to the bed, standing at the end and staring down at you before grabbing your ankles. He pulls you towards him and then presses your legs back in the filthiest mating press. He gets down on his knees before immediately devouring you. His tongue teasing your swollen clit before moving down to your dripping hole. The slurping noises are obscene and you can’t help but bring your belt bound hands down to grab at Jungkook’s hair. He allows you to pull, groaning into your pussy as you do so.

He suddenly pulls up, grabs your hands and places them above your head again.

He then moves up so he’s sitting on your chest, he grabs the back of your head and brings it forward. He grabs his cock and brings it to your lips, he rubs the tip of his cock over them before telling you to, “open up.” The angle causing a strain on your neck, but you still welcomed Jungkook’s cock into your mouth. “Relax your throat baby.” You do as you’re told before he starts ramming his cock down your throat. Using his hands at the back of your head for leverage, you thank the gods above that you have no gag reflex because you could feel his cock sliding down your throat. The sight of him towering above you, using your throat like is own cock sleeve had you dripping down your thighs.

He chokes out a moan as he looks down and sees you staring back up at him with a glazed out look in your eyes and spit dripping down the sides of your mouth. You looked absolutely ruined, but it wasn’t enough for him. He rips your head back by your hair and pushes it back down on the bed before flipping you over again. He pulls your hips up, landing another slap on your ass before grabbing your cheeks and spreading them. He lets a glob of spit fall from his mouth and drip down both your needy holes before he lines his cock up and slams all the way into your pussy without preamble.

You scream as he grabs your hair with one hand and pulls back, causing your back to arch in an almost painful way. Your arms still being wrapped tightly by the belt made it harder for you to hold yourself up. You look forward and see the giant mirror in front of you and your eyes immediately find Jungkook’s. But his are too hypnotised by the way your ass jiggles when he slams his hips against you, loving the sight of your arousal sticking to the fine hairs above his cock. “Show me why it’s yours baby. Show me why you’re the only one who can cream on this big dick.” He stops moving, still with a tight grip on your hair. You whine before starting to move your hips back, bouncing against him in an attempt to prove yourself.

“My pretty little slut. So desperate for me. You need more?” He asks with a huff, getting caught up in the feel of your pussy tightening with his filthy words. “P-please Kookie…make me feel good. It’s not enough..I-i can’t do enough.” You sob and look at him through the mirror as you try to continue your movements before Jungkook suddenly starts fucking you at a relentless pace again. His thick cock stretching you out like it was your first time all over again.

He lets go of your hair and rakes his nails down from your shoulders down to just above your ass. They’re just long enough to leave bright red marks down your back and a sting when touched. Your upper body now completely pressed into the bed as Jungkook keeps your ass up in the air as he continues fucking into you. He spanks your ass over and over again before dragging his nails down your ass cheeks, causing you to moan out and attempt to scramble forward.

He suddenly pulls out and flops down on the bed next to you and undoes the belt around your wrists. “Ride me Jagiya, I wanna see you come undone on top of me.” You eagerly climb on top of him, lifting your hips before grabbing his cock and sliding down on to him. Despite him already fucking you, the different position has you sucking in a breath as you take all of him in. He throws his head back as your pelvis makes contact with his, gripping your hips tightly before angling his hips up, encouraging you to start moving.

He grabs your hands and moves them to his chest, “mark me pretty girl, let everyone know.” You look down at him in shock. You’ve been together for 5 years now and he’s never let you mark him. He left his mark on you any chance he could…and anywhere he could. But the possibility of people seeing hickeys or scratch marks and then digging into his personal life, more so than they already do, was not a risk he was willing to take. So him asking you to do so now had you taken aback. Apparently your silence wasn’t good enough, suddenly he thrusts up into you causing you to fall forward. You put your hands on his chest as leverage and start riding him, digging your nails into his chest as you do so.

Jungkook lets out the filthiest moan as you drag your nails down his chest, the stiletto acrylics causing a sharp sting to run through the man’s chest. You look down and see the marks adorning your lovers chest and can’t help but grind down harder. The sight of your marks turning you on even more. You lean down to Jungkook’s neck and start to suck right under his ear, he leans his head back to give you more room and the grip on your hips grows harder as he begins to fuck up into you faster.

You’re bouncing down on him, the room filled with the sounds of both of your moans and the ‘plap plap plap’ of his balls against your sopping cunt. You sits up and wraps his arms around you, trying to hold you as close as possible. He looks up at you and grabs the side of your face with one hand, “all mine, you’re all mine Jagiya. And I’m all yours.” You stare back down at him before pulling him in for a passionate kiss. You continue kissing each other as your grinds grow sloppier against him. “I can feel it baby, I feel you. Let go.” He reaches down between you both to rub your clit.

You can’t help the loud yell that leaves your body as your orgasm suddenly hits. Your hips lift and Jungkook continues rubbing your clit as you squirt your release all over him. He pushes you backwards suddenly before climbing over you and pushing your legs back into a mating press and thrusting into you. His hips setting a brutal pace as he chases his high, his hands leaving bruises on your thighs with the way he was gripping them. You reach up and drag your nails down his chest again, “cum inside me Kookie, I want you to fill me.”

“That’s one way—to let people know I’m yours, huh Jagiya? F-fill you up…fuck! Fill you up with my baby? You’re my beautiful girl, how about I make you a beautiful eomma?” He chokes the words out as you grip down on his cock, making you feel impossibly tighter and bringing him closer to the edge. The final straw was you reaching up and wrapping your tiny hand around his throat and pressing. His orgasm rips through him as he continues slamming his cock into you, painting your insides with his cum.

Your hand slowly drops down from his throat, tracing down his chest as it heaves with each breath. He gently pulls your legs down, causing you to wince due to the position they were in, before also slowly pulling his softening cock out of your used hole. He bites his lip as he watches his cum slowly spill from you, before using two fingers to swipe it up and slide it back inside you. You gasp at the intrusion, before he leans down and catches it with a kiss. Your lips slowly move together, savouring each other and enjoying the feel of his body against yours.

He moves away causing you to pout, “I’ll be back, I need to get you cleaned up.” He grabs his discarded jocks and puts them on before quickly makes his way to the bathroom, grabbing a cloth before coming back to gently wipe away any mess left on your skin before doing the same to himself. He places the cloth back in the bathroom before joining you back on the bed. He pulls you into him, both facing each other. He places on arm under your head and the other on your hip, drawing gentle circles with his fingers.

“You okay? I wasn’t too hard on you was I?” He reaches up to move some hair from your face. “No, you were perfect…” you look down at your hands, suddenly embarrassed by what you had to say. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t do it to upset me and don’t think anything of it. It’s just when I see the way some people talk about you…it bothers me. I can’t just go out and tell everyone that I’m yours can I?” You shrink into yourself, the insecurities suddenly coming forward.

Jungkook suddenly rises and tears start to fill your eyes, thinking you’ve said something wrong. He walks over to his suitcase, rummages around for a second before finding what he was looking for. You sit up as he makes his way over to you with an odd look in his eye. Your mouth drops in shock as he stops at the side of the bed and gets down on one knee. “Kook-“ you start, but he raises his hand to cut you off. He opens the box and the tears you were holding back begin to fall. It was beautiful. It was everything you could have imagined and more…and here was Jungkook, holding it in his hand like it was a grenade.

“I know this isn’t perfect but I can’t wait any longer….so here goes. I know that there’s times you’ll get frustrated with me and the way I behave. I know there’s times I’ll make mistakes and upset you, but I’ll do whatever I can to fix it. I know that my life is not normal and it probably never will be, which means yours won’t be either. But I’ll spend every day of my life, ensuring you have everything you could ever need or want. I’ll spend every day, reassuring you that you are the ONLY one that I want. I’ll spend every day, making sure you know how cherished you are. I couldn’t imagine anyone else being by my side for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?”

You let out a sob as you tackle him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into you. He rises from the floor before joining you on the bed, laying next to you and holding himself up with one arm. He stares down at you before leaning into kiss you, you kiss him back, ignoring the tears running down your face. You both pull away and he asks, “well? You haven’t answered me yet! I’m getting a little worried here Jagiya…”

You laugh before swatting his chest, “I would be honoured.” You both smile at one another before he grabs the ring from the velvet box and carefully sliding it onto your finger. You stare down at the ring for a second before looking up at Jungkook.