#mmbh

“Fuck this life.” You snickered as you walked out of the university. Your stomach growled loudly, begging for food. You had not eaten anything since you arrived at the campus. You would rather starve for a while than spend money on the food there, since everything was too expensive. You kept reminding yourself that you were lucky to be a scholar in a prestigious school and that you should endure it.

'Just two more years.' You told yourself that again. You only needed to hold on a little longer. Once you finished your nursing degree, you would leave that place and take your younger brother, Shon, away from the hell you both lived in.

You arrived home and found him sitting on the floor. He was drawing on a piece of paper. The moment he saw you, he ran toward you with a smile.

“I miss you, noona.” He hugged you tightly, his face pressed against your stomach.

You touched his hair and knelt down to hug him back. “I miss you too, sweetie.”

He sat again and returned to his drawing. You placed your bag down and asked, “What are you drawing, baby?” He showed you the paper.

Your smile slowly faded. In the drawing, there were three figures: you, him, and your father. Shon had drawn horns on your father’s head, making him look like a devil.

Even at a young age, he already knew how cruel your father was. Sometimes you wondered if things would have been different if your mother were still alive. Would your father stop drinking? Would he stop doing illegal things? Would he stop hitting you? Would he stop stealing from you?

You had always dreamed of having a normal family. A mother and a kind father. A warm home that felt safe. But you already accepted that it would never happen when you were sixteen.

“Shon, I will buy us food. Stay here, okay?” You kissed his forehead before walking to your small room. You turned on the light. Your heart sank. Your hidden money box was open on your bed. Empty.

Your father stole from you again. This time, you felt something snap inside you. That money was for Shon’s kindergarten fees. You could not let this slide.

You stormed out of the room and ran outside. Shon stayed in the living room, still drawing, unaware of what was happening.

You kept running until you reached a large building. Cars filled the parking area. You knew this place well. This was where the underground boxing fights happened. Your father usually hung around here, betting, drinking, or causing trouble.

You wiped the sweat on your forehead and took a deep breath before slipping into the building. The air inside was heavy with smoke, sweat, and loud voices. People were shouting, laughing, arguing. You kept your head down and moved through the crowd, trying not to be noticed.

Your eyes searched for your father. You knew he always stayed near the betting tables or the back corners where he met with men you did not want to know.

You walked quietly, your hands shaking with anger. Every time you remembered the empty money box, you felt heat rise in your chest. That money was for Shon. You worked for it. You saved every coin and he took it like it was nothing.

You heard familiar laughter near the back. The kind of laugh that made your stomach twist.

You turned your head and saw him. Your father sat with a group of men, drinking and smoking, completely relaxed. He looked happier here than he ever did at home. The sight made your jaw clench.

You stepped closer, ready to shout, ready to take back what was yours. But before you could open your mouth, a shadow moved near the boxing ring. The crowd began to cheer as someone climbed through the ropes.

The infamous underground boxer was inside the ring. You had seen posters of him around the city. Jungkook. People said he was unbeatable, people said he was dangerous, people said he had no mercy once he set his eyes on something.

You tried to look away and focus on your father again, but Jungkook’s head suddenly turned. His eyes scanned the crowd. They were dark, cold, sharp.

And then they stopped, right on you.

You froze. It felt like he could see straight through you, his gaze did not move. It did not blink. He looked almost curious, almost hungry.

The men around him shouted his name, but he did not look away. You felt your heart beat faster, not from fear of your father anymore, but from the strange feeling that this man was studying you.

Someone beside him tried to speak to him, but Jungkook only tilted his head slightly, as if you had become the most interesting thing in the room.

You swallowed hard and forced yourself to keep walking toward your father, pretending you did not notice the way the boxer stared. But even with your back turned, you could feel it. Jungkook did not look away.

You pushed through a group of drunk men and stepped closer to your father’s table. Your hands were balled into fists, and your throat felt tight. He did not even notice you at first. He was too busy laughing at something one of the men said.

“Dad.” Your voice came out sharper than you intended. His head snapped toward you. His face twisted the moment he recognized you.

“The hell are you doing here?” he asked. His words were slurred, his eyes half red.

“You took my money.” You kept your voice low and calm. You did not want to cause a scene, not here. He rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “So what? It is my house. My rules.”

“That money was for Shon’s school.” You felt your nails dig into your palm. “Give it back.” He laughed, not a normal laugh. A mocking one, the kind that made you feel small.

You stepped closer. “I mean it. Give it back.” One of his drinking buddies whistled. “Feisty kid.”

“Watch your mouth,” you muttered. Your father slammed his bottle on the table. “Stop talking back. You think you are better than me just because you study in some fancy school?”

Your heart pounded. People were starting to look. You could not let the situation get bigger. Shon was alone at home. You needed to fix this fast.

“Please,” you said quietly. “I worked hard for that money. Just give it back.” Your father stood up. He was towering over you now. You smelled the alcohol on his clothes.

“You do not order me around,” he said. “You are just a burden, always have been.” His words hit you harder than his fists ever had. You felt your vision blur for a moment, but you did not move away. You refused to back down this time.

But then a strange silence spread over the area. As if the whole room paused for a second. You felt it before you understood it, someone was behind you.

A cold shiver crawled up your spine. You turned your head slowly, and the noise of the underground ring faded into nothing. The infamous underground boxer stood there.

Not just close, but towering over you. The lights above hit his skin, making the sweat on his chest glisten. His eyes were fixed on you like you had done something to wake him up. Like you were the only thing he saw.

The room went quiet, almost unnaturally so. People moved out of his way without being told, like prey sensing a predator. You could feel the change in the air, even the men your father drank with avoided his gaze.

No one wanted Jungkook’s attention, no one. Finally, your father noticed the sudden silence and looked up. His drunken grin disappeared the moment he saw who was standing behind you.

“Shit…” someone whispered. Jungkook didn’t glance at them. His eyes were on you. He scanned your face, then the hand your father still had on your arm. His jaw tightened, a muscle flexing sharply with anger. He didn’t say anything, but the tension around him was louder than any shout.

You didn’t move. Your father’s hand hovered near your arm, but his posture stiffened. The smell of cheap beer was replaced by something cleaner, sharper sweat, leather, and a hint of expensive cologne that felt completely out of place here.

Jungkook was so close you could feel the heat radiating from him, the kind that comes from intense focus and power. Your father, the man who had scared you all your life, began to shake, not with anger, but fear.

“Jungkook,” he slurred, instantly losing his harsh tone. “Didn’t see you there, son. Just a family thing. We were just—”

Jungkook didn’t look at him. His dark eyes stayed on you, noticing the small panic on your face, the tension in your jaw. Your father was like a buzzing insect he barely tolerated because it was near you.

Then Jungkook moved.

It wasn’t a shove or a punch. It was a sharp, controlled motion. His hand shot out, not to your father’s face, but to the wrist holding your shoulder. He didn’t squeeze hard, not visibly, but it was enough to make your father gasp.

“Let go,” Jungkook said, his voice low, deep, and commanding, vibrating through the floor. There was no anger or emotion, just absolute authority.

Your father yanked his hand back like he’d been burned, clutching his wrist. He stumbled, hitting the sticky table and sending a few coins clattering to the floor.

“She’s my blood, kid!” your father protested, trying to sound tough, but the whine in his voice gave him away.

Jungkook finally looked at him, a cold, sharp glance that promised pain without a word. Your father’s friends, once bold, now stared at anything but the scene, fascinated by their own sleeves, their own shirts.

Jungkook turned back to you, his gaze heavy and unrelenting. Under the harsh lights, you felt exposed, small.

“What did he take?” he asked, his voice direct and demanding.

You froze, your instincts urging you to run but the thought of Shon’s kindergarten fees burned brighter than fear.

“My savings,” you whispered, hating how tiny your voice sounded. “For my brother’s school. All of it.”

Something flickered in Jungkook’s eyes. It wasn’t sympathy, maybe recognition, maybe irritation that someone had wronged what he cared about.

Without breaking eye contact, he reached into his shorts pocket and pulled out a thick bundle of bills, held together with a rubber band. It was more than you’d hidden in your tin box.

“How much?” he asked.

“Thirty eight thousand won,” you said, barely above a whisper.

Jungkook counted roughly, peeled off a few bills, then doubled it, pressing the cash into your hand.

Your fingers closed around the warm paper. It felt like a lifeline.

“Take it,” he said.

You stuffed the money into your pocket. This man had fixed your problem in thirty seconds with almost no effort.

“Now, get out,” he ordered. His words weren’t for you, they were for your father, who was still trying to argue.

“Wait—Jungkook. You can’t just—”

The boxer took one slow step toward your father. It was barely a movement, but it carried the weight of a hammer.

“I’m fighting tonight,” Jungkook said, his voice dropping to a near whisper that somehow cut through the shouting crowd. “I don’t like distractions. Leave, or be the warm-up.”

That was enough. Your father’s face went pale, realizing just how dangerous Jungkook was. He swallowed hard, stepped back from the table, and without another word, slipped into the shadows of the exit. His drinking buddies followed, scattering like frightened birds.

You stood there, breathing hard. The stolen money was safe, but now all your attention was on Jungkook.

“Thank you,” you managed to say, cheeks burning. You should leave, Shon was waiting. Jungkook tilted his head, dark hair damp and clinging to his forehead. He barely moved, but his stare was suffocating. He watched your chest rise and fall, your rapid blinking, the trembling of your hand around the money.

“You’re hungry,” he stated, not asked. It was like a predator noting the weakness of its prey. You ignored the gnawing in your stomach. “I need to go home. My brother is waiting.”

His lips curved slightly, a faint, unsettling expression that wasn’t exactly a smile.

“You came here for him,” he murmured, his voice scratchy, intimate, barely audible over the roar of the arena. He stepped closer, closing the distance until you had to meet his gaze.

“Don’t come back here, Y/N,” he said, using your name as if he had known it forever. You hadn’t told him.

Your blood ran cold. “How do you—”

“It’s a bad place for you,” he interrupted, scanning your worn sweatshirt and the exhaustion under your eyes. He lifted a heavy, calloused hand, and you flinched, expecting a strike.

Instead, his thumb brushed lightly just below your earlobe, a shockingly gentle touch in the middle of all this tension.

“If you need money, Scholar,” he said, his voice so low only you could hear, “Don’t ask him, ask me.”

There was a sharp focus in his eyes now, a possessive, almost territorial edge. He dropped his hand, turned, and climbed effortlessly through the ropes back into the brightly lit ring, leaving you alone in the smoky crowd. You clutched the money that could save your life, terrified by the cost of that salvation.

You watched him settle in the center of the ring. The crowd roared: Jungkook! Jungkook!Already forgetting the small drama that had just happened. He was the eye of chaos, the embodiment of danger. But just before the bell rang, he glanced over his opponent’s shoulder, straight into the shadows where you stood.

He found you instantly. That same unnerving half-smile appeared on his lips, the one that made it clear you had just walked out of one nightmare and into the sightline of another, far stronger and far more dangerous. And this one knew your name.

The roar of the crowd hit like a physical force, vibrating through the concrete and into your bones. But your attention stayed on him, the man who had dismantled your fear with a single, precise gesture.

You clutched the bills in your pocket, thirty eight thousand won. A lifeline from a man who existed in a world entirely separate from yours, a boxer, a fighter, a predator.

Your father had been a petty monster, fueled by cheap liquor and resentment. Jungkook was something else. Something far more dangerous. A coiled spring, a force of nature wrapped in human form. And he knew your name.

The memory of his thumb brushing your skin, the low rumble of his voice promising protection? possession? It sent a shiver down your spine, sharp and thrilling.

You turned, the money heavy in your pocket, and pushed through the crowd. The smell of beer and sweat now mingled with the metallic tang of adrenaline and the faint, intoxicating scent of Jungkook’s expensive cologne. It was the scent of a different world one where problems were solved with force and unspoken threats.

As you navigated the throng, one thought pierced your mind like his gaze had: he hadn’t just given you money. He had taken something, too. Your father’s power, his threats, they were gone. And in that moment, Jungkook had claimed a piece of you. He had seen your fear, your desperation, and become the storm that swept it all away.

You finally reached the exit. The cool night air hit your face, a relief after the chaos inside. The city sounded quiet, almost strange after the roar of the arena. You should go home, pay Shon’s fees, tuck him in, and try to forget everything that had happened.

But Jungkook’s eyes stayed in your mind.

He had called you “Scholar.”

He saw how hard you were trying, how you were working for your brother with nothing but your hands and a worn university sweatshirt.

He had noticed your tired eyes. And he had offered to help.

But it didn’t feel like a simple offer. It felt like a claim.

Not your father. Not anyone else. Him.

A low growl from the alley made you jump. Your father. He hadn’t really gone. He was hiding in the shadows, like a wounded animal waiting to attack.

But now, his anger felt weak. Compared to Jungkook, your father was nothing. Just a small candle next to a roaring fire.

“You think that pretty boy can save you?” your father slurred. “He’s just another fighter. He’ll break you like everyone else.”

You stopped. The money in your pocket felt heavy. You could run, pretend you didn’t hear him. But something inside you had changed after Jungkook’s words, his touch, his presence.

“No,” you said, voice steady. “He’s not like you.”

Your father reached for your arm, but you didn’t move. Your father recoiled, as if you had hit him. He wasn’t used to this version of you, strong, unafraid and it shook him.

“You’re a fool,” he spat, but he didn’t sound sure. He knew he had lost, lost his control, lost your fear. He turned and disappeared into the shadows.

You exhaled, relief washing over you. One threat was gone. But the bigger one, the man in the ring with dark eyes, a quiet voice, and dangerous power, that one was only beginning.

You looked back towards the arena, the music still pulsing like a frantic heartbeat. Jungkook was in there, fighting. And he had looked for you. He had found you. He had offered you a choice, a dangerous bargain.

The money in your pocket felt heavy, a reminder of what had just happened. It wasn’t just cash. It felt like a deal, a responsibility. You had to use it wisely. You had to protect Shon. And now, you had to figure out how to handle the dangerous world Jungkook had just pulled you into.

You took a slow breath. The scent of his expensive cologne mixed with the dirty city air. It felt like the beginning of something new, something risky. You had escaped your father, only to end up in the sights of someone far stronger. Someone who knew your name.

Jungkook’s fight might have been finished, but yours was only starting. The music still pounded from inside the arena, heavy enough to shake the ground. Instead of heading to the bright main street, you found yourself drifting toward the service alley beside the building, as if some invisible pull from Jungkook was guiding your steps.

You didn’t wait long. A black SUV rolled up quietly and stopped beside you. It looked expensive, armored, out of place beside the grimy walls. The back door opened, and the inside light switched on.

Jungkook sat there. He wasn’t in his fight gear anymore. He wore black tailored pants and a charcoal shirt with the top buttons undone, showing a fresh bruise forming near his collarbone. Even cleaned up, he looked powerful, solid shoulders, tense posture, the faint smell of sweat and cologne wrapping around him like heat.

“Get in, Scholar,” he said. His tone was low and calm, but it was still a command. You froze, hugging your bag. “I need to go home. Shon is waiting—”

“Shon is fine,” he cut in, his eyes steady on yours. “He’s with your neighbor. You have thirty minutes before you need to go back.”

Your breath caught. He hadn’t just watched you tonight, he knew your routines, your life, your weak spots. The thought scared you but it also sparked a strange curiosity inside you.

Slowly, you climbed into the SUV. The door shut behind you with a soft, expensive thud, shutting out the noise of the city. Inside, it was quiet. Too quiet. All you could really feel was the heat rolling off him, the leftover energy of someone who had just been in a fight.

“The money,” you said, trying to sound calm even though your pulse was racing. “I need to know the terms. Thirty‑eight thousand won isn’t a gift.”

Jungkook didn’t look at the money you pulled out. Instead, he reached out and grabbed your hand swift, firmand pressed it against his thigh, holding it there. The move was so quick, so sure, it stole your breath. His hand was rough, warm, and impossibly steady.

“It’s not a gift.” His eyes finally lowered to your face, sharp and intense. “It’s payment for your obedience.”

You felt your throat tighten. “Obedience to what?”

“To this.”

He leaned in close, and everything else faded away. He didn't kiss you softly. It was rough and strong, tasting like blood and mint. His lips pushed hard, making you react right away. He wiped away the dirt from the bad world outside and filled you with his sharp want.

This wasn't sweet love. It was him taking control of you. Each move of his tongue and each squeeze of his big hands on your jaw said: 'You needed my help. Now you're mine because of it.'

You tried to pull away, words of fear stuck in your throat, but he moved fast. He pressed your body hard against the car door, his weight holding you down. His smell leather, sweat, and power overwhelmed you, choking and exciting at the same time.

"Your father touched you," he growled low against your lips, his voice rough and scary. His eyes stayed open, staring at you, making you see his anger. "He went after what's mine now. He won't get the chance again."

His words hit like a punch. You suddenly saw that his safety came with him owning you. He had stopped your father's danger, but now he was the new boss, a smarter, stronger, more frightening one.

His hands slid down, quick and firm, ripping your worn uniform open. The scrape of his fingers on your bare skin shocked you, but even more shocking was the hot rush inside you, a mix of scare and gladness that someone was in charge, even if it was total control.

"Scholar," he whispered, pulling back a bit to see your eyes go foggy with fear and growing heat. He moved closer, his body felt like a solid wall. He wasn't asking if it was okay; he was making you accept his rules. His strength wasn't just his muscles; he knew your tired soul. He saw how worn out you were and gave you a risky way to forget for a while.

He lifted your chin, making you look right at him. "For the next thirty minutes, you're just one thing. Mine to protect. Mine to wreck."

Those tough, owning words broke your last fight. The push to be tough and keep battling just vanished. In its place came a basic need to give in to this huge power that offered calm even if it meant losing your freedom.

The next minutes were a wild mess of heat and fast moves. Your body arched involuntarily under his touch, every muscle of yours ache as Jungkook drove into you with unyielding force. His cock stretched your pussy wide, slamming deep with each punishing thrust, the slick friction building a fire that bordered on pain. The car's suspension creaked faintly beneath the rhythm of his hips, but the world outside faded to irrelevance, there was only the raw invasion of his body claiming yours, marking you from the inside out.

He gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, fingers digging into soft flesh as he pulled you onto him, forcing you to take every inch. "Mine," he growled low, the word vibrating through his chest into yours. Sweat beaded on his skin, dripping onto your exposed breasts where he'd ripped your uniform open, leaving the tattered remnants hanging like a flag of surrender. His mouth descended again, teeth grazing your collarbone before latching onto a nipple, sucking hard until you cried out, the sharp pull sending jolts straight to your core.

You clawed at his shoulders, nails scraping over the taut muscles of his back, but it only spurred him on. He laughed darkly against your skin, the sound rough and conquering, as he shifted his angle to hit that spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyelids. Your thighs trembled around his waist, the confined space of the backseat amplifying every sensation, the sticky slide of your arousal coating his shaft, the slap of skin on skin echoing like a profane drumbeat.

"Feel that?" he rasped, his breath hot against your ear as he pinned your wrists above your head with one massive hand. His other slid between your bodies, thumb circling your clit with brutal precision, rubbing in tight, insistent strokes that had you bucking wildly. "This pussy clenches for me now, only for the man who owns it." The possessiveness laced his voice like venom, but it ignited something feral in you, a desperate need to shatter under his control.

The pressure coiled tighter, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as he fucked you harder, faster, his cock throbbing inside your tightening walls. He released your wrists only to wrap a hand around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur at the edges, heightening the rush. "Come for me, Scholar," he commanded, his eyes locking onto yours, dark and unblinking.

The orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your pussy spasming around him, milking his length as waves of pleasure ripped through your core. You screamed his name, the sound muffled against his shoulder as your body convulsed, juices soaking the leather seat beneath you. He didn't stop, pounding through your climax, chasing his own release.

With a loud growl, he buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he came, flooding your pussy with hot spurts of cum. He held you there, grinding deep, ensuring every drop stayed inside, sealing the claim. His weight collapsed onto you for a moment, both of you panting in the humid aftermath, his forehead pressed to yours.

Slowly, he pulled back, his softening cock slipping free with a wet sound, a trail of your mixed fluids leaking onto your thigh. He watched it with satisfaction, then reached down to smear it back over your folds, possessive even in the afterglow. "That's better," he murmured, voice husky from exertion.

The city lights flickered through the tinted glass, a harsh reminder of the dangers waiting outside, but in that hanging moment, wrapped in his arms, the exhaustion that had plagued you for so long felt distant.

When it was over, he didn’t move away right away. He rested his forehead against yours, breathing hard, his big hand still holding the back of your head. The air inside the expensive car felt thick warm with leftover tension and the strong smell of sweat and adrenaline.

He finally pulled back. He calmly fixed his shirt, smoothing the fabric as if nothing had happened, while you were still trying to steady your breathing. Then he reached into the glove compartment and took out a small velvet box heavy for its size and handed it to you.

"This isn’t payment," he said. His eyes were sharp, unreadable. "This is a marker. Use the money for Shon. Use this when you need people to understand that you’re not someone they can use anymore."

You opened the box. Inside was a simple silver ring, plain, solid, and undeniably heavy. It looked less like jewelry and more like a warning, something that claimed you.

Jungkook started the engine. The quiet thrum of the SUV filled the space. "Your thirty minutes are up, Scholar. Go home. Make Shon dinner. Study. Do what you need to do." His voice softened, but the words were no less frightening. "Just know this, I didn’t help you so you could walk away. I helped you so I could be the only person you rely on, and I always collect what I’m owed."

He drove you to the edge of the alley, close enough to the main street. The car slowed, the back door clicking open. You stepped out, unsteady, the cold air hitting your flushed skin. Then the SUV rolled away and disappeared into the darkness.

You stood there alone, shaking, holding the velvet box in one hand and the ring inside it. His scent, expensive cologne mixed with raw power clung to your skin, refusing to fade.

You held the ring and the stack of bills tightly. You had traded one monster for another. This new one, Jungkook, had given you a way to survive, even as he claimed control over your life. The fight was over for the night, but the real challenge had just begun. You knew, with a sinking feeling, that you were already losing.

The service alley led you out onto the main street, which felt too bright and too loud. The music still pounded, but it was distant, muffled by the ringing in your ears. You shivered in the warm summer air, feeling less like yourself and more like an empty shell.

The money, thirty eight thousand won, felt impossibly heavy in your hand, a weight that reminded you of the debt you now carried. The ring, cool and solid in its velvet box, was even heavier, a silent contract marked in sweat and fear.

You did not look back. You moved automatically, following the streets toward the worn apartment building you called home. Shon was where Jungkook said he would be, next door with Mrs. Choi, the kind neighbor who looked out for him in exchange for small favors. The handoff was quick. Shon, focused on his coloring books, barely looked up. He frowned when he saw your shaking hands.

"Are you okay, Noona? You smell funny," he asked.

"I’m fine, Shon," you lied, forcing a tight smile. "Just the arena air. Go take a shower. I’ll start dinner."

Once he was safely locked in the bathroom, you put the money into the hidden panel under the kitchen tile. It would cover this month’s needs, bought at the cost of your pride. The ring was harder. It pulsed with danger, too obvious to hide and too strong to throw away.

You took off your ripped uniform, your movements were stiff and raw. You stepped into the shower, scrubbing your skin until it burned, desperate to wash away the smell of expensive sandalwood, adrenaline, and violence. But the smell of him, the strong, dominant scent of his control, was on your skin. You could not see it, but you could feel it everywhere.

The exhaustion of the past week hit you all at once, the stress from your father, the need for money, and the chaos in the SUV. You leaned against the tiled wall, letting the hot water run over you, clutching your knees. For a brief moment, you allowed yourself the thought that someone else had carried the burden for thirty minutes. And that relief, however sudden, had been complete.

Knock. Knock. KNOCK.

The sound was loud and sharp, breaking the quiet in the apartment. You wrapped a towel around yourself and froze. Shon was still in the shower.

"Open up," a slurred voice called through the thin door. "I know you’re in there. Where’s your father?"

It was Park, the building’s rough, unofficial superintendent. He had been bothering you more and more since your father got into debt. He always demanded rent, and sometimes other things too.

You pulled on a thin cotton robe and tied it tight. "Go away, Park. Rent is due Friday. I’ll pay then."

"Oh, I’m not here about Friday," he said, laughing cruelly. "I saw your dad earlier. Heard someone roughed him up. Someone had to take care of the family, huh? I heard you were out late working."

Your heart pounded. You had to protect Shon. Hesitantly, you cracked the door just a little, enough to speak without fully opening it.

"What do you want, Park?" you asked, keeping your voice steady.

He peeked inside, a greedy grin spreading across his face. "Now, that’s better. I like talking to you face to face."

Before you could react, he shoved the door hard. The thin wood splintered and bent. He pushed inside, filling the hallway with his rough presence, the apartment suddenly too small for him.

You stumbled back, clutching the knife, your robe slipping slightly from the movement. Panic surged through you. Shon was still in the shower, unaware and vulnerable.

Park’s eyes caught the silver ring on your hand, the one Jungkook had given you. His grin faltered, a flash of surprise and greed in his gaze.

“Hey. Where’d you get that ring?” You instinctively glanced down at your hand. You hadn’t even realized you had put it on. The heavy silver band, the ‘marker’ Jungkook had given you, rested on your index finger. It looked monumental on your delicate hand, completely out of place against the worn fabric of your robe.

"Something's different about you tonight." Park growled, his voice tinged with greed and suspicion. "You smell like expensive trouble.”

You reached for the kitchen knife, your hand shaking violently. Before you could move, the apartment door groaned and gave way. It wasn’t kicked, it was shoved off its hinges with impossible force. The frame splintered and collapsed. A huge shadow filled the doorway, blocking the dim hallway light.

Jungkook. He was back in his black trousers, but his shirt was gone. His bare chest glistened with sweat, muscles tight and bruised from the fight. He looked terrifying, like a living weapon.

Park stumbled back, his face changing from greedy to terrified as he met Jungkook’s cold, deadly gaze.

"Who the hell are you?" Park stammered, trying to get his footing on the grimy floor. Jungkook didn’t answer. He moved like a predator. One hand lifted Park off the ground, slammed him against the wall, and dropped him in a crumpled heap. The wet thump and Park’s choked gasp were followed by silence. Jungkook didn’t even look at him.

He stepped over Park and fixed his gaze on you. You froze by the broken doorframe, wrapped in a thin towel. You hadn’t asked for help, but he was here anyway, fulfilling his claim.

"You shouldn't have answered when he first came to the door," Jungkook said quietly, his voice dangerous. He moved closer, radiating heat and power. "You are not to talk to anyone who crosses the entrance of my space."

"Your—this isn’t your space!" you whispered, horrified, glancing toward the bathroom where Shon was just turning off the shower.

"It is now," he said, gripping your chin and tilting your face up. His thumb brushed the silver ring, confirming the marker. "And you are mine. Did you really think I would leave you alone?”

He pulled you to your room and locked the door. He pushed you down on the narrow bed, his weight an inescapable pressure trapping you. With a low growl, he tore away the flimsy robe, leaving you utterly exposed beneath his hungry gaze.

"Mine," he snarled, his hands seizing your wrists and pinning them above your head. His dark eyes raked over your nude form, taking in every curve and hollow with a possessive intensity that made you tremble.

He dipped his head, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck. He bit down, marking you, branding you as his. You cried out at the sharp sting, your body arching instinctively. He soothed the hurt with his tongue before moving lower, tracing the line of your collarbone with hot, open-mouthed kisses.

His free hand skimmed down your side, calloused fingers leaving trails of fire on your skin. He cupped your breast roughly, thumbing your nipple until it peaked into a tight bud. The sensation arrowed straight to your core, making you gasp.

Jungkook chuckled darkly against your skin, the sound rumbling through your body. "So responsive," he purred. "I'm going to enjoy playing with you."

He bent his head further, taking your nipple into his mouth. He sucked hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, sending jolts of pleasure-pain straight to your throbbing clit. His hand continued its journey south, dipping into your navel before cupping your mound.

"Already so wet for me," he murmured, his fingers sliding through your slick folds. "Fucking soaked."

He circled your clit with a feather-light touch, making you buck against his hand. "Don't be shy now," he taunted. "I want to hear every sound you make."

His fingers dipped lower, pushing into your heat. You cried out at the sudden intrusion, your walls clenching around him. He pumped in and out, his thumb still rubbing tight circles on your clit.

"Jungkook!" you keened, writhing beneath him. He withdrew his fingers, making you whine at the loss. But then he was shoving his trousers down, freeing his thick, hard cock. He notched himself at your entrance, the broad head pushing insistently.

"Beg for it," he demanded, his voice rough with lust. "Beg me to fuck you."

"Please," you gasped, too far gone to care about pride. "Please Jungkook, fuck me. I need you inside me."

With a fierce grin, he surged forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. You screamed at the sudden fullness, your nails digging into his shoulders.

He didn't give you time to adjust, immediately setting a punishing pace. He pounded into you, his hips slamming against yours, the obscene sound of skin slapping skin filling the room.

"Yes, yes, fuck!" you chanted mindlessly, meeting every brutal thrust. Your body was no longer your own, just a vessel for his pleasure.

Jungkook leaned down, capturing your lips in a filthy kiss. His tongue plundered your mouth, fucking in and out in time with his cock. You could taste yourself on him, salty and sweet.

His hand snaked between your bodies, finding your clit. He rubbed hard circles on the sensitive nub, sending you hurtling towards the edge. "Come for me," he commanded against your lips. "Now."

Your body obeyed, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You screamed his name, your walls clamping down on his cock like a vice. He followed moments later, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he came with a guttural roar.

He collapsed on top of you, both of you gasping for breath. His cock was still buried inside you, pulsing with the aftershocks. You lay there, trembling and boneless, completely claimed.

"That's one way to make sure you remember who you belong to," Jungkook said with a satisfied smirk, rolling off you. He pulled you into his arms, tucking your spent body against his side.

After a long minute, he slowly shifted, leaning onto his elbows, his gaze still fiercely possessive. He dipped his head, licking the moisture from the curve of your jaw, a gesture utterly animalistic.

He reached down, his fingers tracing the outline of the silver ring now resting on your finger. "Keep it on," he ordered, his eyes promising violence if you disobeyed.

The silence in the room was broken by a small, hesitant sound from the hallway. Shon, done with his shower, stood holding a damp towel. His eyes were wide and horrified as he stared at the broken doorframe and Park lying crumpled in the hall.

Jungkook did not flinch. He threw the thin blanket over your body and stood up, powerful and completely unashamed. He moved to the door.

He looked down at Park, then back at Shon, who was trembling.

"Go back to your room, kid," Jungkook said flatly, with no emotion. "Your sister had a problem with the landlord. I fixed it."

He picked up his shirt from the floor and buttoned it over his chest, covering the bruise from the fight. He did not look at you again, only at Shon.

"Don’t worry about the mess. My people will take care of it."

Then, as quietly and forcefully as he had come, Jungkook stepped over the broken doorframe and disappeared into the night. You were left trembling on the bed. His scent clung to you. The silver ring felt heavy and cold on your finger. You realized with a shiver that you were completely his.

You were safe and you were broken.

The quiet in the room pressed down on you, heavier than the thin blanket. Your breathing was loud in your ears. Your body ached, and your mind was a storm of fear, shock, and a strange, uneasy relief.

Jungkook’s words still echoed in your head. The silver ring felt like a brand. Its coolness against your skin contrasted with the heat that lingered from his touch and his anger. You traced the smooth surface, a solid reminder in the chaos.

Shon’s quiet retreat to his room hurt more than anything. You were supposed to protect him, to keep him safe. Instead, he had seen the violence spill into your world. His fear reflected your own helplessness and the reality that everything had changed.

The broken doorframe loomed in front of you, a sharp reminder of the chaos that had just happened. Park, the landlord, was no longer a problem. He lay unconscious in the hall. Jungkook, the one who had done this, had simply walked away, leaving you to deal with the mess. His comment about sending people to clean it up felt almost like a cruel joke, showing how much control he had and how easily he could erase problems with his power.

You stayed on the bed, too afraid to move, holding the thin blanket tightly to your chest. His scent, a strong mix of mint and something deeply masculine, lingered in the air, on your skin, and in the cheap mattress. It was overwhelming, a constant reminder that he had claimed you. The memory of him taking control played in your mind, not exciting, but frightening, a proof of your vulnerability.

You were safe. Park was no longer a threat. But the price for that safety was high. Your freedom had been taken away, leaving you feeling hollow and exposed. The dangers outside seemed far less important compared to the reality of being under Jungkook’s control. The ring on your finger was heavy with meaning, a permanent mark that reminded you of what had happened. The room no longer felt safe; it felt like a cage.

The quiet lasted only long enough for your shock to settle into a cold, hard knot in your stomach. Just as the adrenaline started to fade, the heavy sound of the main apartment door closing echoed through the walls.

Jungkook was back.

He did not announce himself. He just stood in the open doorway of your bedroom. The broken wood framed his tall, imposing figure. The damage felt deliberate, not just a result of anger, but a statement. He took off his jacket first, tossing the expensive wool onto the floor near the broken frame, a clear display of ownership.

You could not move. The blanket offered no real protection against him.

"You're shaking," he said, his voice low and flat. He took two steps closer, stopping at the foot of the bed. His scent of mint and something sharp surrounded you, pressing down like a heavy weight.

"Shon..." you whispered, your voice rough and small.

"He is asleep," Jungkook said, cutting off your worry with a small wave of his hand. "I checked. He will not wake up until morning. He needs to rest."

He did not mean Shon’s body. He meant his mind and the cold truth in his voice made your stomach twist. Jungkook had controlled when your brother slept. He had controlled what he saw, he had controlled what he remembered.

Jungkook stepped closer, his shadow covering you where you sat on the bed. His eyes dropped to your left hand, still holding the blanket too tightly. He reached out and slowly pulled your fingers apart until the ring was visible.

"This is not a simple piece of silver," he said quietly. His thumb moved over the band, his touch almost gentle, but his meaning sharp. "This is the thing that keeps you safe. But safety has rules and you must follow them."

You finally managed to speak, your voice shaky but firm. "I am not yours. I asked for help, not this."

His hand closed around your upper arm, steady and heavy, stopping your movement at once. His expression did not change. It was calm, clear, and frightening in its surety.

"You asked for protection you could not give yourself," he said. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. "You lived because I decided you would. So I took what was owed, the moment I had to."

He pulled the blanket away, letting it fall at the end of the bed. The thin clothes you wore felt too light in the cold air between you.

"The fight was to remove the threat," Jungkook said as he sat on the edge of the mattress. His voice was low and steady, a stark contrast to the wildness in his eyes. "Now I need to make sure you understand the line. You do not question who controls or what happens here."

He moved closer, his presence overwhelming. You felt trapped beneath the weight of his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest. There was nothing wild in his eyes now, only a cold, calculated determination. He was in control, and he intended to make sure you knew it.

His hands moved across your body with a mixture of familiarity and detachment. You were not a woman being touched, but a possession being claimed. He explored every inch of your body, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that left you trembling.

"You are mine," he growled, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Every inch of you belongs to me. His mouth found yours, his kiss rough and demanding. You could taste the whiskey on his tongue, the heat of his desire. He bit your lower lip, hard enough to draw blood, and you gasped, the pain sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

He pushed you onto the bed, his body covering yours. You could feel the hardness of his cock pressing against your thigh, the heat of it searing through your skin. He was big, bigger than you had imagined, and you felt a flicker of fear at the thought of taking him inside you.

But Jungkook was not a man to be denied. He spread your legs wide, his fingers finding your wetness. You were already dripping, your body betraying your fear with its desire. He growled in satisfaction, his fingers sliding inside you with ease.

"You're so fucking wet," he murmured, his voice a low purr. "You want this as much as I do."

He moved down your body, his mouth finding your breasts. He sucked on your nipples, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, and you arched your back, a moan escaping your lips. His hands moved to your ass, squeezing the soft flesh, his fingers tracing patterns that left you trembling.

He moved lower, his mouth finding your pussy. He licked your folds, his tongue exploring every inch of you. You could feel the pleasure building, your body trembling on the edge of release. But Jungkook was not done with you yet.

He flipped you onto your stomach, his hands gripping your hips. He pulled you up onto your knees, your ass in the air. You could feel the cool air on your wetness, the vulnerability of your position sending a shiver down your spine.

He spanked you, his hand coming down hard on your ass. You gasped, the pain sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. He spanked you again, and again, each strike leaving a stinging sensation that only served to heighten your arousal.

He positioned himself behind you, his cock pressing against your entrance. He was big, bigger than you had imagined, and you felt a flicker of fear at the thought of taking him inside you. But Jungkook was not a man to be denied. He pushed inside you, his cock filling you completely.

You gasped, the pleasure-pain of his entry sending a shockwave through your body. He moved slowly at first, his cock sliding in and out of you with a deliberate rhythm. But soon, he was fucking you hard, his cock pounding into you with a force that left you breathless.

He reached around, his fingers finding your clit. He rubbed the sensitive nub, his fingers moving in time with his thrusts. You could feel the pleasure building, your body trembling on the edge of release.

He spanked you again, his hand coming down hard on your ass. You gasped, the pain sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. He spanked you again, and again, each strike leaving a stinging sensation that only served to heighten your arousal.

He moved faster, his cock pounding into you with a force that left you breathless. You could feel the pleasure building, your body trembling on the edge of release. And then, with a final, powerful thrust, you came, your body convulsing around his cock.

Jungkook groaned, his cock pulsing inside you as he found his own release. He collapsed onto the bed, his body covering yours. You could feel the heat of his skin, the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

When it was over, he fixed his clothes with slow, exact movements. His eyes stayed on the broken doorway. He did not look at you, giving you a small moment to pull your shirt down and curl up on the side of the mattress.

"The deal is simple," he said as he put on his jacket. His voice sounded like he was explaining a rule instead of talking about what just happened. "You keep the ring. You accept what it means. And I make sure nothing harms you. Not Park, not the police, not anything else outside this room." He reached into his pocket and took out a black keycard, he tossed it onto the pillow beside you.

"That opens your new apartment. Top floor. Strong locks, guards at all hours, food ready for a month. Pack what Shon needs now. My people will move the rest later."

He paused and finally turned his eyes to you. His gaze swept over your tired face, taking in everything without emotion.

"Follow whatever I say. If you fight back," he said as he stood up, "you will learn that my anger is much worse than anything you saw tonight."

He did not wait for a reply. He walked to the ruined doorway and stepped into the hall. Then he was gone. The silence that came after felt heavy, not soft. It pulled at your lungs, making it hard to breathe. You lay on the old mattress, the smell of mint still on your skin, the space around you still shaped by his presence.

You looked at the silver ring on your finger. You looked at the keycard beside you. Both felt like warnings. Both felt like chains. You had traded your small, broken home for a safer one, but the cost of that safety had taken something deep from you. The silence in the room was not calm. It pressed on you, filled with the memory of his voice and the cold truth of what he now controlled.