#studiosev7n

It’s not even about sending something. You’ve got no intention of doing that. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. But the screen is always open, staring back at you with that last unread message you sent almost a week ago — a throwaway meme you found on your lunch break. No reply. Not even a reaction.

And it hadn’t felt like a big deal in the moment. You sent it like always, light and dumb and nothing. But then the nothing kept going. No little gray typing bubble. No 'lol.' No double text. No late night 'you up?' Just this wall of silence.

You would’ve rather gotten a dry reply. Hell, even a thumbs up. Anything to prove that he saw you.

But now it’s been long enough that sending something new would feel desperate. Like you’re chasing him. Like you’re asking for something you’re not even supposed to want.

You lock your phone and throw it face down on your bed.

Then pick it back up five seconds later.

Then toss it again, harder, as if that’ll prove something.

You wish you were mad. You think you are mad — at least a little. But it’s a tangled kind of anger. One that knots itself up with embarrassment and sharp, bitter shame. You want to scream at him, yeah. But also at yourself.

Why did you let this happen?

Why did you let him blur the lines and kiss you like that and touch you like he meant it?

You were supposed to be smarter than this.

You lie back across your bed with one arm flung over your eyes. It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid. It was just sex. Just two nights. Two insanely good, dangerously close, way-too-connected nights. But still — technically just sex.

Except it wasn’t.

Not when he remembered your favourite sauce order without asking. Not when he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear while you ranted about work.

And especially not when he went cold the second things felt too good.

That’s what keeps twisting the knife. That shift in him. Like someone flipped a switch and rewrote the script. One minute, he was holding you like you mattered. The next, you were stepping out of his bathroom and into a stranger’s apartment.

You haven’t heard his voice since.

You bite the inside of your cheek and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to push down that lump of feeling before it rises too high.

It’s fine. You’re fine. You’re overthinking it.

Maybe he’s just going through something. Maybe he didn’t mean to shut you out. Maybe he thought you didn’t want to hear from him. Or maybe he’s just a fucking coward who got scared when the stakes changed.

But then, why didn’t you reach out?

Why didn’t you ask if he was okay, or tell him he was being weird, or demand an explanation like you’re owed one?

Because you’re afraid.

Because you don’t want the truth if the truth is that he regrets all of it.

Because deep down, you know this isn’t just a friendship anymore, and pretending it is would break you worse than silence.

Your phone buzzes once on the comforter beside you.

You freeze. Then sit up fast, breath catching halfway in your throat.

Your eyes are already scanning the screen before your brain can fully catch up.

Kook 🍜: hi

One word. Just hi. Like the last seven days didn’t happen. Like your stomach hasn’t been in knots trying to make sense of his silence. Like he didn’t vanish without warning after folding you into his sheets and leaving you to figure out what the hell it meant.

Your breath leaves you in one uneven exhale.

You blink at the message, your body locked in this strange stillness. Your thumb hovers, frozen. Part of you is tempted to stare at it until it disappears. Ignore it. Let him feel what it’s like to be the one left hanging. But your hands betray you again — just like they always do with him.

You: Radio silence for a week and all I get is a fucking hi? Wtf Jungkook

It’s not even what you really want to say, but it’s the closest thing you can manage that doesn’t sound like I missed you so much it made me sick or please don’t do this again.

Three dots appear.

Your heart squeezes like it’s caught in someone’s fist. And then the dots vanish.

Then come back.

Then vanish again.

You mutter, “Fucking say something,” to no one. It comes out too small, too desperate. You shut your eyes tight for a second like you can wring the feeling out of yourself by force.

A minute or so passes before his reply finally sends.

Kook 🍜: sorry. can i talk to you today?

You reread it so many times the text starts to lose meaning. Can I talk to you today?

You feel sick.

There’s no way you don’t know what this is. The phrasing. The tone. He wants to talk? What the fuck else could that mean, if not that he’s about to cut things off? That he’s going to hand you some polite little speech about how you’re great, but this can’t happen again. That he wants to stay friends and he doesn’t want to confuse things any more than he already has.

Or worse — he thinks you guys are better off cutting contact all together.

You bite down hard on your thumb, suddenly on the verge of tears and furious at yourself for it. You should’ve never let it get here. You should’ve drawn the line before the second time. Before the car. Before the party.

You should’ve been more careful with your heart.

But you’re here now. So far past the line you can’t even see it anymore.

You open your keyboard, then close it again. You want to ask what he wants to talk about. You want to demand answers over text so you don’t have to see his face when he says the words. But you know you won’t get anything that way.

You: Where?

Kook 🍜: i can come to yours

You sit there for a second, just breathing. You feel like you’re bracing for a crash that’s already midair.

You: What time?

Kook 🍜: i can be there in an hour?

You don’t answer. Not right away. You’re too busy staring at your reflection in the dark screen, wondering why your face looks so calm when your body feels like it’s trying to collapse in on itself.

You: Okay

You put the phone down carefully, like it might go off again, or explode, and turn your gaze to the ceiling. Every minute after this is going to stretch like it’s mocking you.

You don’t know if you’re getting closure or clarity. You don’t even know which one would hurt more.

But you know you won't cancel.

Because if this is going to end — if he’s going to say it — it has to be to your face. You need to see it.

You need to know for sure.

Jungkook is fucked.

Like, actually, cosmically, irreversibly fucked.

He stares at the elevator doors like they’re the gates to hell, and his own reflection in the brushed metal does him no favours. He looks tense. Jaw tight, shoulders hunched up high like he’s trying to fold himself into a more manageable version. Someone chill. Someone who isn’t about to shit himself over the thought of seeing you.

He rolls his shoulders back, shakes out his hands. Useless. He’s already sweating through his hoodie.

Every nerve in his body feels like it’s tuned an octave too high. Like if someone so much as breathes in his direction right now, he’ll either snap or confess something humiliating.

He wipes his palms on his jeans again. That’s the fourth time since the lobby.

The worst part is, he knows how he got here. He knows exactly when it happened, too — the moment the line moved.

It was your laugh. The tired kind, all cracked at the edges after that hellish Friday you had. You were curled up in his passenger seat, half out of it, feet tucked under you, and you’d looked over at him with that soft, worn-down smile.

And it just… hit him.

The weight of it. Of you.

He wanted to reach over and touch your face. Not to tease. Not to start something. Just to feel your skin under his fingers like it was allowed now.

And the second that thought formed — clear and blinding and way too tender — it was over. Game fucking over.

Because it wasn’t supposed to feel like that.

You’re his best friend. Have been for years. He knows how you take your coffee, how you organise your playlists by mood, how you chew on the inside of your cheek when you're anxious. You’re not just some girl he hooked up with at a party. You’re you.

And now, he’s standing in an elevator on the way to your apartment, trying not to think about how badly he messed it all up.

He hadn’t meant to ghost you. Not really. It was just — after that night, after the way you looked at him, all warm and trusting — he panicked. Full-body, brain-scrambling, total system failure. He couldn’t even look at you without feeling like he was seconds from saying something stupid like "Don’t sleep with anyone else, please," or "I think I’m in love with you."

So instead, he shut down. Did the one thing he always swore he wouldn’t do with you — he pulled away. Got weird. Avoided it. Avoided you.

And now you’re pissed.

Rightfully so.

He deserved that text you sent. Probably worse. You could’ve ignored him completely and he wouldn’t have blamed you. But you didn’t. You texted back and he’s clinging onto that like a lifeline. Because it means there’s still time. Still a chance to fix it — if he doesn’t blow it again.

He presses the heel of his hand to his chest like that might steady the erratic rhythm of his heart.

What the fuck is he even going to say?

Sorry for being an emotionally constipated idiot?

Sorry I ghosted you because I realised I’m in love with you and it short-circuited my whole fucking personality?

Sorry I thought I could fuck you and still keep pretending like you don’t mean more to me than anyone else?

The elevator dings.

Jungkook flinches like it slapped him, then scrubs a hand through his hair, lets out a tight breath, and steps through the doors before he can change his mind.

He’s here.

Fuck. He’s actually here.

Jungkook looks like he didn’t sleep last night. Hair messy, clothes a little wrinkled, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a second before they dart away again. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his jacket like he’s afraid of what they’ll do if left unsupervised.

You tell yourself not to feel relieved. Not to let it show. He didn’t cancel. He showed up. That shouldn’t mean as much as it does. It really, really shouldn’t.

But still — there’s something in your chest that unclenches when you see him standing there, real and present. Even if he does look like he’s about to apologise for burning down your house or something.

“Hey,” he says, voice quiet.

You step back from the door to let him in. Dry. Wordless. The move is automatic, but your body feels stiff with it, like your own muscles are annoyed on your behalf.

He hesitates before stepping inside, like he thinks the floor might swallow him up. You don't offer a smile. Don't even look at him once the door’s closed behind him.

You cross your arms and lean back against the edge of the kitchen counter, watching him with a blank expression that’s only half-real. The other half is tightly coiled under your skin — anger, sure, but under that, all the feelings you’ve been pretending not to have.

He does a slow, uncertain glance around your apartment like something might’ve changed since the last time he was here. But it hasn’t. It’s still your place. Same plants, same overhead light humming softly, same faint scent of laundry detergent that clings to the air.

He stands there awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. It’s like he doesn’t know where to put his body.

You’ve never seen him like this before. Not around you. Jungkook’s always been comfortable here. The kind of comfortable that leaves shoes by the door without asking. The kind that opens your fridge like he owns a shelf. But right now, he looks like a stranger in someone else’s house.

You let the silence stretch out. You’re waiting for him to just speak, but he doesn’t

He doesn’t even try.

Eventually, your voice cuts through the air, a little too sharp. “Jungkook, you said you wanted to talk.”

His head snaps up like he forgot that was part of the deal. Like the fact that he came here at all already cost him everything he had in reserve.

“Yeah,” he says. His throat moves when he swallows. “I do.”

You raise your eyebrows, waiting.

He opens his mouth like he’s about to start, then closes it again. Shifts his stance. Rubs the back of his neck with one hand. You catch the way his eyes flick to the floor, then back to you, then away again.

You narrow your eyes. “Well?”

He breathes out a weak, almost bitter laugh and runs both hands down his thighs, like he’s physically trying to ground himself. “I don’t know how to do this,” he mutters.

You frown, arms still crossed tight across your chest. “What? Talk?”

You hate being like this towards him — you feel like a bitch. But it’s the only way that you can stop yourself from just spilling all of your thoughts and feelings to him.

“No, I—” He breaks off, jaw flexing. “No. I mean… say the right thing. Say any of it without sounding like an idiot.”

You blink, unimpressed. “So you came here without knowing what you were gonna say.”

He looks at you then. Fully. And for the first time since he walked in, you see the real wreckage behind his eyes. There’s nothing cool or casual about it. He’s unravelling in slow motion. Everything about him is quiet desperation wrapped in someone trying really hard not to fall apart.

“I didn’t know what to say because I didn’t know what I wanted,” he says finally. “And then I figured it out, and that somehow made it worse.”

You stay silent.

He shifts closer, not by much — just a few inches. “I fucked up,” he adds, voice barely above a whisper. “I know I did. I know I disappeared. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t care. I was just—” he stops, jaw tightening again. “I got scared.”

You scoff under your breath and look away.

“I’m serious,” he says, softer now. “It freaked me out. How fast it happened. How much it changed.”

You look back at him, jaw set. “What changed?”

He swallows again. Stiff. His voice cracks a little when he speaks next.

“You,” he says again. “How I feel about you. That changed.”

Your chest tightens.

You don’t react, not visibly. You keep your face still, unreadable, even though your brain is suddenly scrambling. You’ve been yanked in too many directions this past week. You’re not going to lean into hope just because he finally decided to speak.

So you say nothing. You just hold his gaze and wait.

Jungkook takes a breath, his shoulders rising with it, then falling in a slow, deliberate exhale. The nervousness is still there — but it’s settled into something quieter now.

“I kept trying to tell myself it didn’t mean anything,” he says. “That it was just— whatever. Two friends, getting carried away. We were drunk the first time, right? It was easy to lie to myself about that. Easy to say it didn’t have to go anywhere.”

His voice is calm, but there's tension underneath it.

“But the second time?” He pauses, tongue running along the inside of his cheek, eyes still locked on yours. “That wasn’t drunk. That wasn’t casual. That was me driving us across town just to make you feel better, because I can’t stand it when you’re not okay.”

You flinch — barely — but he sees it. You know he does.

“And then it was me kissing you like I’d lose my mind if I didn’t. You think I didn’t notice how different that felt? I’ve never kissed you like that before. And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air between you.

You’re still standing by the counter, arms crossed, but now your grip has loosened. You hate how much this is getting to you, how badly you want to give in, how your chest aches just hearing him say the things you’d only let yourself think when the lights were off and your phone screen was dark.

Jungkook takes another step toward you.

“When I brought you back to mine that night… when you came out of the shower, and I saw you just standing there in my space, looking at me like I was safe…” His voice catches, but not in a way that makes him crumble — just enough to show the truth of it. “I freaked the fuck out.”

You blink at him, finally speaking. “Yeah. I noticed.”

He huffs out a breath that's almost a laugh, but not quite. “I didn’t mean to shut down. I didn’t even know what I was doing in the moment. I just— everything in me wanted to pull you close, and that’s when I realised I couldn’t keep doing this the way we were doing it. Not without losing my shit every time you left.”

Your throat feels tight, but you still ask, “So you decided to ghost me instead?”

That lands. His jaw flexes, and he nods once. “Yeah. I did. I thought if I gave it space, I could go back to being normal. Go back to just being your friend. But I couldn’t. I can’t.

“I don’t want to be just your friend anymore. Not because of the sex, not because it was good— which it was, but that’s not the point. It’s you. It’s always been you. I didn’t realise how much until I almost lost it completely.”

You swallow hard. Your arms are uncrossed now. Not folded in, not defensive — just hanging at your sides like you’re too stunned to remember what to do with them.

Jungkook steps in closer. Not touching you yet. But near enough that you can smell him — faint cologne, his laundry detergent, the scent you associate with your car windows fogging up.

“I missed you,” he says, and his voice turns softer. “Every day. And it scared the shit out of me, how badly I wanted to talk to you. Touch you. Just be around you. I wasn’t ready to admit it last week, and I was a coward for that. But I’m not running anymore.”

Silence again.

Except it doesn’t feel like the ones you’ve been drowning in for a week.

“I don’t know what you’re feeling,” he says, lower now, like the words might break if he’s too loud. “And I’m not assuming anything. But if you still want me around— really want me— just say the word. I’ll figure out the rest.”

You inhale slowly, try to even out your breathing, but your chest still feels like it’s barely holding together. Your heart’s doing that thing where it thuds too hard without speeding up.

You hate that you believe him. That you always would’ve. That no matter how angry you were, no matter how cold you tried to be when he walked in — you still wanted him to explain, to prove it wasn’t what your worst thoughts told you it was.

And now he has.

He’s standing in front of you with open hands, with the words you oh so desperately wanted to hear. And for a moment, you’re not sure what to do with that.

“I hate you,” you say quietly.

It’s not true. Not even close. But it’s the first thing that leaves your mouth.

Jungkook huffs out a dry laugh, eyes dropping to the floor. “Yeah,” he murmurs, nodding. “I figured.”

You shake your head once. “No. I mean it. I fucking hate you for this. For—” You break off, because your voice is shaking now. “For making me feel like I was crazy. For not even saying goodnight after… after everything.”

His face tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“You could’ve just told me,” you go on. “You could’ve said it was too much. That it got weird. That you needed time. Anything. But you disappeared. And I had to sit here wondering if I made it all up."

You pause, pressing your lips together.

“And I— I missed you too, you know,” you add, quieter this time.

His mouth opens like he might speak, but no sound comes out at first. Instead, he closes the space between you by half, slow and steady, like he’s afraid of pushing too far.

“God, you’re such an asshole,” you whisper, but your tone isn't mean. Not even close.

He laughs, soft and low. “Yeah. I know.

“You promise me you’re sure? Cause Jungkook, I will fucking cut off your dick if you pull this shit again.”

He smiles but doesn’t hesitate. “I promise. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

You stare at him.

Long enough that the air between you stretches taut, thin as thread.

His hand twitches like he wants to reach for you but still doesn’t know if he’s allowed. His jaw flexes, his chest rising and falling in uneven swells. You can tell he’s waiting — for a sign, for a go-ahead, for you.

And even though part of you still wants to be mad, still wants to make him sweat just a little longer, the rest of you aches. For his mouth. For his hands. For the solid, grounding weight of him.

So you move.

You step into the last inch of space between you and grab the front of his hoodie. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for a year, but you don’t give him a chance to say anything.

You kiss him.

At first, it’s quiet. Just lips pressed to lips gently. There’s a pause between each pass of your mouth over his, like you’re both trying to remember how this started. How you even got here.

But then he sighs against you and it unravels something.

His hands lift, hesitating for only half a second before they settle on your waist, fingers curling tight. You press closer, and his lips part beneath yours. The angle shifts. Your nose bumps his cheek.

The sweetness melts fast.

He makes a sound low in his throat and drags you in like the distance is unbearable. Your hands slide up into his hair, fingers threading through the strands at the base of his neck, and the way he reacts — the little shiver he tries to swallow — sends heat straight down your spine.

You kiss him harder.

His body crowds yours until your back meets the wall. His chest presses to yours, and you can feel the way his heart races. How your own pulse kicks up to match it.

The kiss deepens, turns messy at the edges. His teeth catch your bottom lip and your breath stutters, but you don’t pull back. You tilt your chin, chasing more, and the next time he kisses you, it’s hungrier. One of his hands slips to the small of your back, palm dragging slow and warm beneath your shirt. The skin-to-skin contact makes your whole body twitch.

You gasp into his mouth, and he swallows the sound, his hands tightening. His other arm slips around your waist completely, pulling you flush against him, and suddenly you’re not thinking anymore.

The tension that’s been bottling up between you two — the silence, the week of wondering, the ache of missing him so much it hurt — it all floods to the surface.

You fist your hands in his hoodie, yanking him impossibly closer. Your hips shift forward, just enough to brush him, and the sound he makes is sharp and involuntary, caught between a breath and a groan.

“Fuck,” he mutters, barely pulling back. His forehead presses to yours, breath ragged. “You’re driving me insane.”

You huff, lips brushing his. “That’s fair.”

He doesn’t stay at your mouth for long. His lips trail down — your jaw, your cheek, the shell of your ear. His breath is hot and uneven, and when he finds your neck, your whole body reacts. Your hands clutch at him, your back arches off the wall, and the soft sound that escapes your throat isn’t one you mean to make.

He feels it. Hears it. Answers it with a low, reverent sound that seems to vibrate straight through you.

His tongue traces the spot beneath your ear and your eyes flutter shut.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, your breath catching sharp in your throat. You pull back for a second before lowering your mouth to his neck, right where the collar of his hoodie dips. He lets out a small sound, hands flexing on your waist, when your lips press there.

You start slow. You can feel his pulse under your tongue, the way his chest rises against yours, unsteady and warm. Then you part your lips and suck gently at the spot just below his jaw. His whole body stutters, hips jerking against yours before he can stop it.

Your fingers trail down his chest, tugging his hoodie collar aside for better access. His head tips back, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted.

You do it again, this time with enough pressure to leave a mark, and the sound of your mouth working against his skin is lewd.

He groans. It’s low and rough and barely held back, and the sound shoots straight between your legs. You feel him hardening now, undeniable through the fabric where he’s pressed against you.

“All mine?” you whisper, your lips brushing over the new mark you’ve left.

He doesn’t even hesitate. “All yours.”

His voice is breathless. Wrecked. And so damn certain it knocks something loose in your chest.

You pull back just enough to look at him — really look. His pupils are blown, his lips swollen, a flush climbing high on his cheeks. He looks at you like he wants to devour you. Like he would if you let him.

“I missed that mouth,” he mutters, hands gliding under your shirt again, palms broad and warm. “Missed everything.”

You kiss his throat in reply and drag your teeth across it until he swears under his breath.

His hips grind against you again, harder this time. You both feel it — the friction, the heat building between your bodies.

His arms shift beneath you and he lifts you clean off the ground in one smooth motion, hands strong under your thighs. A startled sound escapes your throat as your legs wrap around his waist on instinct, gripping him tight.

“Fuck,” he mutters again, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “I want you so bad it’s actually stupid.”

You smile, drunk on the feel of him.

“Bedroom?” you murmur, tracing your lips over the new mark blooming against his skin.

He hums lowly, and shifts his grip on your thighs.

He carries you through the hallway and your lips never leave his skin for more than a second.

When he reaches your bedroom, he doesn’t hesitate. He steps inside and drops you onto the mattress in one fluid movement.

You barely get your bearings before he’s crawling over you, slotting his body between your legs, His mouth finds yours again, and you moan into it before you can stop yourself when his knee presses between your legs.

Your hips twitch, grinding down against the pressure, and he groans in response, the sound vibrating through your chest as his mouth moves with yours. His hand slips under your shirt again, this time bolder, fingers spanning across your ribs and inching higher until his knuckles brush the curve of your breast.

You gasp softly, and he pulls back just enough to murmur, “Off.”

You sit up just enough to grab the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head in one smooth pull, your hair mussed from the friction. He watches the fabric fall to the floor, then looks at you.

“You’re so fucking pretty," he breathes.

You roll your eyes automatically, even though your face is already burning. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” he says, and his voice drops low. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His lips part and he kisses along your sternum — slow, wet presses of his mouth that trail up and then out, over the swell of one breast, then the other.

You inhale sharply when his mouth grazes the sensitive skin beside your nipple, and his eyes flick up at the sound, pupils blown. He kisses lower, then higher again, murmuring against your skin, “Can’t believe I went a week without this.”

The vibration of his voice right against your skin makes you arch, and he meets you halfway, grinding down slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly what you’re chasing and wants to stretch it out just to watch you squirm.

Your hands curl into his shoulders, nails biting down just enough to make him grunt softly into your skin. He rolls his hips again, slow and heavy, and the pressure against your core has your breath catching in your throat.

“Koo,” you whine out.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, lips pink and wet, hair falling into his eyes. He grins, crooked and hot and deeply pleased with himself.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, and his voice is pure sin.

You glare, but your thighs shift open under him anyway.

“Please.”

He hums, satisfied, and starts working his way lower. Every kiss is wet and unhurried. Down your chest, across your stomach. His hands follow, smoothing over your ribs, down to your hips, dragging the waistband of your pants just slightly with them. His thumbs hook in the fabric, pausing right above your pelvis.

He looks up at you, smug and dark-eyed.

“Gonna let me take these off?”

He's so annoying you're gonna kill him. “Do I look like I’m stopping you?”

“No,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just below your navel, “but I like hearing you say it.”

You huff, fingers threading into his hair again. “Take them off, Kook.”

He eases them down slowly — too slowly — dragging the fabric down your legs while his mouth follows in a path of heat and pressure. He kisses your hipbone, your inner thigh, every patch of skin he uncovers like it’s something sacred. When your panties go next, he makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat — more reverent than smug this time.

You’re already wet, already aching, and from the way his eyes flicker as he takes you in, he fucking knows it.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re soaked. You missed me that much?”

You exhale hard, cheeks hot. “Shut up and do something about it.”

He grins again, slower this time. “Anything you want.”

His hands grip your thighs and spread them further apart, and before you can say another word, his mouth is on you.

The first swipe of his tongue is long, and delibirate. You jerk at the contact, a broken sound slipping from your lips, and he groans like he’s the one falling apart. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you in place, and does it again.

Every movement of his tongue is practiced and precise. He starts slow, almost gentle, licking through your folds with a kind of focus that makes your head spin. Your thighs threaten to close around his head, but he pushes them apart with ease, never breaking rhythm.

Your hands move to the back of his head, gripping tight. His tongue circles your clit once, then again, and the third time he sucks it between his lips. You try to stifle a moan, but it slips from your lips anyway.

He pulls back just enough to speak, breath hot on your skin.

“Keep making those sounds, baby,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “Wanna hear every fucking thing I do to you.”

He movements turn faster, his mouth messy and hot and relentless. You’re already close, the build-up sharp and climbing, and he can feel it. One of his hands slips lower, spreading you open further with his thumb, and his tongue drags in tighter circles.

You’re writhing, panting, toes curling into the sheets. Your fingers tug at his hair, your spine arching off the bed.

“Fuck— Kook—” you gasp, head thrown back.

He groans again, the sound vibrating straight through your pussy. He doubles down, mouth moving faster, and when your hips start to stutter, erratic and desperate, he presses his hand over your stomach, grounding you.

“You’re gonna come for me?” he murmurs against you, mouth slick with you. “Gonna let me taste it?”

You nod frantically, unable to speak, your whole body wound tight and ready to snap.

He presses his mouth against you again, lips sucking against your clit, and the feeling has you squirming with pleasure.

“Kook—” your voice breaks open as you come hard against his mouth.

He moans, but his movements don't stop.

Your body arches helplessly, heels digging into the bed, one hand fisted in the sheets, the other still tangled in his hair as you ride out the wave. You’re gasping, blinking hard, your heart trying to punch through your ribs.

Only when your legs start to tremble uncontrollably does he finally pull back.

His lips are slick and swollen, jaw damp, hair messy from where you’ve been gripping it. And he looks wrecked — eyes heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide, like just being between your thighs has undone something in him.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then drags his lips slowly up your inner thigh, leaving lazy kisses in his wake.

You’re still catching your breath, staring at the ceiling like your soul just left your body, when he plants a final kiss on the inside of your knee and murmurs, “Yeah. I’m never ghosting you again.”

You let out a breathless laugh, too blissed out to be mad. “You better not.”

“After that?” he says, crawling back up your body, slow and unhurried. “I’d be clinically insane.”

He settles over you again, pressing a warm, open-mouthed kiss to your stomach, then another between your breasts, then finally your mouth. You taste yourself on his tongue, and when he groans against your lips, it sends a fresh jolt of heat straight through you.

His body is flush against yours, his clothed cock thick and heavy where it presses against your thigh. You let your hands trail down his chest slowly to tug at the denim loops of his jeans.

"Want these off," you mumble against his lips.

He smiles and presses one last kiss to your mouth before he leans back onto his knees. His hands go to his belt, and you watch the way his fingers fumble for just a second.

He gets the buckle undone, then the zipper, the sound louder than it should be in your quiet bedroom. You watch as he shucks them down, boxers and all, and your breath catches slightly at the sight of him — flushed and hard and achingly ready.

“Better?” he asks, voice low.

You nod, breath shallow, and he’s already crawling back over you. The heat of him sinks into your skin as his body settles between your thighs, bare now.

Your legs part without hesitation.

His weight, the press of his chest to yours, the familiar scent of him wrapped in something raw and new — it all hits at once, and your whole body shivers.

He’s warm everywhere. The kind of warmth that soaks into your bones and makes you ache for more.

His hands slide along your arms until they find yours where they’re resting above your head. He threads his fingers through yours and presses them gently into the pillow, pinning you there. His eyes search yours, and you feel the first brush of him between your legs, just the tip, teasing the edge of you.

He doesn’t move yet. Just rests there, eyes locked on yours.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice low and thick, like he’s hanging on by a thread.

You don’t answer — not with words. You just tilt your hips up, welcoming him in with nothing but a look.

He pushes in slow — painfully slow — each inch dragging fire across your nerves as your body stretches to take him. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp, your fingers clenching around his. When he’s fully buried inside you, he stills completely.

“Fuck,” he breathes, forehead dropping to yours. “You feel… unreal.”

You can’t speak — your body’s too full, too wrecked already — so you kiss him instead. Slow and sweet and a little desperate. Your hips rock up, seeking more.

He groans into your mouth, finally starting to move, and every thrust is so fucking deep. It’s not rushed or frantic. It’s him savouring you, like he wants to remember how this feels with every part of himself.

His hands stay tight around yours, anchoring you both to the bed, to each other.

The rhythm builds, a slow burn that spreads everywhere, and between kisses you catch the way he looks at you — like he’s seeing something he’s afraid to lose. Like there’s something he wants to say but can’t yet.

“You were supposed to beg,” you manage to murmur against his mouth, breathless. “Grovel a little.”

That crooked smile curls against your lips. “My bad, baby,” he murmurs. “You can make me beg next time.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re gonna regret that.”

He shifts his hips, thrusting deeper, and your breath leaves you in a ragged gasp.

“You promise?”

The challenge in his voice is smug, but his eyes are dark and glassy, his control hanging by a thread. You whimper in response, thighs tightening around his waist, and he dips his head to your throat, dragging his lips along your pulse like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth.

He starts to move with more purpose now, making you feel every second of it. His cock grinds into that spot that makes your vision blur, and your whole body tenses, fingers squeezing his like a lifeline.

The moan you let out is shameless, high and wrecked, when he tilts his hips just right — again and again, like he’s carving his name into your body from the inside.

“Right there?” he murmurs, already knowing. His hand slips between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with the kind of confidence that only comes from knowing you — every reaction, every sound. “God, you’re so fucking wet. You always get like this for me?”

“Koo—” His name slips out broken, a warning and a plea wrapped in one.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, voice ragged, forehead pressed to yours. His thrusts get rougher now, faster, the rhythm losing polish but gaining intensity. “Let me have you, baby. Come again for me.”

The words send a bolt of heat straight to your core, your whole body winding tight. His mouth crashes against yours before you can respond, tongue tangling with yours, greedy and open and honest in all the ways his words still aren’t.

When he pulls back, he’s panting, “You feel like heaven, fuck.”

You can’t even process it — not now, not when his rhythm stutters and his hips slam harder, each thrust jolting a cry from your throat. Your legs are trembling, your grip bruising where it clings to him, and you can feel the knot in your stomach tighening.

“That’s it,” he groans, watching your face like it’s the only thing that matters. “Let go for me. Let me feel you.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, teeth catching on his skin as your orgasm crashes over you. Your body locks up, thighs clenching, and you cry out his name. His hand squeezes yours back, holding you through it.

Your walls grip him tight, and he groans loud against your skin, hips faltering. “Fuck— shit—”

He thrusts once more before spilling into you with a broken sound, voice rasping your name like a prayer.

His whole body shudders as he comes, arms locked tight around you like he needs you to stay exactly where you are — here, under him, around him, real. His forehead drops to your shoulder, damp curls brushing your skin as he exhales, long and shaky.

Neither of you move right away. The air between you is thick with heat and breath and a comforting silence.

Eventually though, he shifts just enough to press a kiss to your collarbone. Then another, softer.

His hand slides along your waist, fingertips brushing lazy patterns into your skin. You hum under your breath — not a word, just a sound — and he responds by kissing your shoulder again.

Your legs are still tangled together. His body still half-draped over yours. There’s a mess between your thighs and sweat clinging to your skin, and you should probably say something, anything — but there’s something sweet about the silence now. It’s soft. Unspoken. Peaceful, in a weirdly intimate way.

He shifts again, easing out of you with a quiet groan, and you wince a little at the loss.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, running a hand gently over your thigh like an apology.

“It’s fine,” you breathe, eyes closed, chest still rising and falling too fast.

He doesn’t go far. Just rolls to the side, still close enough that his leg stays pressed against yours, and reaches for the blanket to pull it up over you both. He tugs you into his chest like second nature, burying his nose in your hair, his hand stroking absently up and down your arm.

“You good?” he asks softly, lips brushing your temple.

“Yeah,” you say, quieter now. “You?”

He pauses. Then he nods against your skin. “Yeah. More than.”

You lay there like that for a while, heartbeats evening out. He’s still drawing shapes on your skin — fingertips slow, mindless — and you smile to yourself, warmth blooming low in your stomach.

“So,” you murmur eventually, voice still hoarse. “What now? We high-five and call it a night?”

He huffs a laugh into your hair. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no to a high-five.”

You laugh, nudging him with your shoulder. “Cocky.”

“Confident,” he corrects, grinning. “But really—” He shifts a little so he can see your face, one hand reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “If we’re doing this, I wanna do it right.”

You blink, caught off-guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice. “Do what right?”

He raises an eyebrow, like it should be obvious. “Us.”

There’s a pause. You look at him, and he looks at you, and it’s terrifying and sweet all at once.

“I really like you,” he says, quieter this time. “And I’m not just saying that because I just got laid.” He cracks a small smile. “Though, to be fair, that was mind-blowing.”

You snort. “So humble.”

“I’m serious,” he says, nudging your nose with his. “I’ll take you out. I’ll plan dumb dates. I’ll be obnoxiously charming and show up with flowers. I’ll be— like— a gentleman, or whatever.”

You give him a look. “You should’ve done all that before you fucked me.”

His grin spreads. “Yeah, well. Guess I got the order wrong. You gonna hold that against me?”

“Maybe,” you say, lips twitching.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, fingers brushing your cheek. “You’ll see. I’ll be so romantic it’ll make you want to punch me.”

“I already want to punch you.”

“And yet,” he says smugly, pulling you closer, “you’re still in my bed.”

“This is my bed, dumbass.”

He pauses. “Okay, fair. But I am naked in it. With you.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face won’t go away. His arm tightens around your waist, and you let yourself relax into it — into him. For once, it doesn’t feel like something to second-guess.

He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth.

You tuck your face into his neck and sigh. “You better bring the good flowers. Like the ones that don’t die in two days.”

“Oh, so now you’re picky?”

“You said dates and flowers. I’m holding you to it.”

“Noted,” he says, fingers threading into your hair. “I’m gonna be so disgustingly good to you.”

You laugh softly into his skin.

And he just holds you tighter.

The bathroom door opens suddenly, and a pissed-off-looking Jaemin is standing there. His eyes drift to you sitting on the bathroom sink with your dress hiked up, then to Jungkook, standing in between your open, exposed legs, with his jeans loosened around his waist.

Jaemin’s face flushes crimson, the fury unmistakable as his eyes lock onto the scene unfolding before him. His fists clench at his sides, every muscle in his body tensing with barely contained rage.

Across from him, Jungkook lets out a nervous laugh, the tension crackling in the air around them.

“Oh, brother….”

𝑶𝒏𝒆 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓…

Jungkook taps incessantly on your shoulder, not stopping until you switch your attention from the view from the small window to him and take out your airpods.

“God, this flight feels like it’s never going to end. How much longer?” Jungkook whines, shifting in the seat next to you.

“We only have an hour left. Suck it up,” you reply, popping your airpods back in and restarting your music.

He gives you that classic puppy-dog face he always uses when he’s not getting enough of your attention.

You sigh, taking them out again. “What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow when he still says nothing. Before he can answer you, the overhead speaker crackles to life as the flight attendant makes an announcement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we will begin our descent into Las Vegas shortly. Please make any final trips to the lavatories before returning to your seats, fasten your seatbelts, raise your tray tables, and ensure your seat backs are in the upright and locked positions.”

You're headed to Vegas for a post–college graduation celebration for Jaemin, Jungkook, and Jaehyun. It was originally supposed to be a guys’ trip until they found out you were coming. Then, suddenly, everyone invited their girlfriends. You didn’t mind, though. Honestly, you only wanted to come because you didn’t trust Jaemin and Jungkook not to get into another fight.

Jungkook had been unbelievably sweet the first time, he took everything from Jaemin without throwing a single punch back. He knew it was against the bro code to date you, sleep with you, or even think about you. You were so off-limits, yet he couldn’t resist you.

Once Jaemin finally cooled off, he and Jungkook talked things out after a month of silence. Since then, things have been smooth for the most part. Just a couple of minor arguments over dumb stuff, like best friends tend to have.

Still, you can’t shake the feeling that this trip has disaster written all over it. That’s why you were so dead-set on coming along. Jungkook caved first; he’s never been good at saying no to you. Jaemin agreed the next day, realizing that if Jungkook was bringing a girl, then he had an excuse to invite Kira, the girl he’s secretly in love with. And not wanting to be the odd one out, Jaehyun decided to invite his not-so-sneaky link along too.

“Will you come to the bathroom with me?” Jungkook asks, already rising from his seat, clearly expecting you to follow without question.

You blink at him. “What for?”

He doesn’t bother answering, and instead throws a look over his shoulder that makes your stomach flip.

With a sigh, you unbuckle and trail after him toward the back of the plane. He stops outside the lavatory and taps the door, eyes then noticing the small green indicator light that reads Vacant.

Glancing around to make sure no one’s watching, he quickly opens the door and ushers you inside. He slips in after you, locking the door behind him.

You’re immediately squished together, your back nearly hitting the tiny sink.

“What are you doing?” you whisper, annoyed and slightly breathless. “Both of us can’t fit in here.”

“I need you,” he murmurs, eyes dark and intense.

“Now?” you hiss. “You couldn’t wait until we’re in the luxurious king-sized bed that’s waiting for us?”

He leans in, brushing his lips along your neck. “I always need you,” he breathes. “I always want you. I always crave you.”

He presses hot, desperate kisses into your skin, moaning like he’s been touch-starved for days as your fingers tangle in his hair. His breath stutters against your neck when you tug just a little, pulling him closer.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “Don’t you want to join the Mile High Club? Now’s the perfect chance…”

His hands drift lower, fingers teasing the waistband of your sweatpants with maddening slowness.

You roll your eyes, breath hitching. “And what if we get caught? Then we’re joining the No-Fly List instead.”

But before you can talk yourself out of it, his fingers dip between your thighs, and your argument dies in your throat.

Your back hits the mirror as he kisses you hungrily, all lips and tongue. The cramped space is forgotten the second he slips two fingers inside you, teasing you with shallow thrusts and curling them to hit your sweet spot.

“Jungkook,” you mewl, clutching his shirt to pull him closer, needing more.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, his fingers now circling your clit, taunting you for what’s to come.

“Please fuck me,” you breathe, eyes glazed. You're already too far gone to care about consequences.

That’s all it takes. In one swift movement, he yanks your pants down, followed by his own. Wasting no time, he buries his thick cock deep inside you.

You bite your lip to keep from crying out as he starts to move, fast and rough, rocking into you over and over. Thank god you’re in the air, where the engines are loud and the small bumps of turbulence cover up any noises coming from the small space you two occupy.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, as he adjusts his hips to a new angle that has you on the verge of coming undone.

Jungkook is mid-thrust when someone starts aggressively knocking on the door.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

You freeze. He doesn’t.

“Ignore them, baby,” he growls into your ear, voice thick with lust. “I can’t stop now. Not until I come in this sweet little cunt of yours.”

His pace doesn’t falter as he speaks, hips slamming into yours.

“Fuck, I’m so hard for you. You’re dripping for me, so tight and so perfect. You hear that?” he grunts as he bottoms out again. “That wet little pussy’s begging for it. You’re such a cock-hungry slut, look at you.”

You moan, vision blurring, every filthy word driving you closer to the edge.

“I can feel you gripping me,” he pants. “You gonna come, baby? You want me to make you come all over my cock?”

You nod frantically, unable to form words. Everything in you is coiled tight, seconds from unraveling.

Your body arches against him as waves of pleasure crash through you, every nerve lit up, every muscle trembling. You clamp around him, moaning his name as your orgasm rips through you.

Jungkook doesn’t stop. He groans against your neck, fucking you through the aftershocks, his pace stuttering as he loses control.

“Fuck–” he chokes out, hips jerking as he buries himself deep one last time. His release shoots into you in hot, pulsing streaks, his whole body tensing as he moans your name one last time.

When it’s finally over, you gather yourself with a flushed face and shaky hands. Jungkook presses one last kiss to your temple before using some toilet paper to wipe his come that’s leaking out of you. You both try to straighten your clothes in the tiny mirror before unlocking the door to escape.

After opening the door, you’re met by the impatient glare of a teenage girl.

“I’m so sorry,” you mumble, sliding past her quickly. And then your heart drops.

Standing directly behind her, arms crossed and jaw tight, is your brother.

Jaemin stares at you both for a beat, his expression unreadable. Then he mutters, “God, you two act like newlyweds—fucking everywhere all the time.”

You can practically feel Jungkook smirk beside you. Cheeks burning, you drag him back to your aisle before he says something that would escalate the ordeal.

Turning your head back around once seated, you make eye contact with your brother who’s face looks just as pissed off. Like he’s silently calculating whether joining the mile-high version of Fight Club would be worth the federal charges.

The first few nights in Vegas were a blur of flashing lights and endless drinks. You danced until your feet ached and woke up with memories that felt like a dream. Last night was a well-needed break. The group opted for a low-key evening, which involved a quick dinner, a few drinks by the resort pool, and an early night to recharge.

Today, you’re still taking it easy. Lounging in the private pool that wraps around your suite, a hidden oasis high above the Vegas strip. The sun is warm on your skin, the water cool against your lower half as you lean on the edge and take in the view.

You close your eyes, breathing in the stillness, until the balcony door slides open.

“Where is everyone? All the rooms are empty.” Jungkook asks as he steps out, towel slung around his neck, sweat still clinging to his post-gym glow.

You tilt your head toward him without opening your eyes, resting your head on your arms. “Jaemin and Kira went to brunch earlier. And Jaehyun’s taking Sophia shopping as a way to make up for flirting with the hostess last night.”

He chuckles, stripping out of his gym clothes and easing into the water beside you.

“I told everyone we’d meet in the lobby at 10. DJ Johnny doesn’t go on until 11, so we’ve got plenty of time to get to the club.”

He hums in agreement, arms sliding around your waist as he pulls you close. For a moment, the two of you just float there in silence, the city stretching below and the desert sun catching the water in shimmering flecks.

“You look happy,” he says softly, his eyes scanning your face.

“I am happy,” you reply, smiling up at him.

He kisses you lightly at first. It’s sweet and unhurried, like he’s savoring this moment with you. But then it shifts. His lips grow firmer, more insistent. The hand on your waist slides lower, fingers pressing into your hip as his tongue parts your lips. The kiss deepens, turning molten. Your body responds instantly, pressing into him as heat begins to build beneath the surface of your skin.

His mouth trails down your neck as he pushes you gently against the pool’s edge. The water laps around you as his hands roam, exploring you, teasing you beneath the surface. You gasp when his fingers find their way between your thighs, and he smirks against your skin.

“Think you can handle me? I’m fully recharged and overflowing with energy,” you tease with a grin.

“You know the gym doesn’t drain me. If anything, it just pumps me up,” he murmurs, voice low and full of promise as he presses his hard length against you. “Think you can handle me?”

You chuckle, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him in for another kiss. He pulls the material of your bathing suit bottoms to the side before thrusting into you, the water adding a slow, gliding rhythm to every thrust. The city sparkles behind him, but you can’t take your eyes off his face.

“I love you,” you moan, breathless, pulling his face back to yours for another scorching kiss. Your lips crash together, tongues tangling, bodies clinging beneath the water like you’re trying to melt into each other.

“Let me show you how much I love you,” Jungkook growls against your mouth.

He grips your waist, lifting you just enough to slip out of you, only to slam back in, hard and deep. The water ripples violently around you as your hips meet with perfect timing repeatedly. You toss your head back with a gasp, eyes fluttering shut.

A low groan escapes him as he watches you come undone. One hand braces behind your back, the other reaches up to tug at the strings tied behind your neck. With a practiced flick, your bikini top slips loose and floats off beside you, forgotten.

His eyes darken as he stares at your bare chest, his mouth instantly descending to taste you. Jungkook leaves hot, wet kisses trailing over sensitive skin as he sucks a nipple between his lips.

You're lost in it, lost in him, until a familiar voice breaks your spell.

“Oh, shit,” Jaemin curses, immediately turning away, hand thrown up to shield his eyes. “What the fuck, you guys? Seriously?!”

You shriek, instinctively trying to cover yourself, but Jungkook barely flinches, holding you firmly against him, knowing that his broad shoulders hide you from your brother’s view.

From inside the suite, Kira peeks out, drawn by Jaemin’s raised voice. Her eyes widen the second she takes in the scene of you straddling Jungkook in the pool, easily able to figure out what you guys are up to.

Moving quickly to Jaemin’s arm with both hands. “Let’s go,” she says brightly, dragging him back toward the suite. “Give them some privacy.”

Jaemin mutters under his breath, still scowling. “Fucking hell. I take it back, you’re worse than newlyweds. At this point, you’re like like fucking horny teenagers.”

He throws a glare over his shoulder. “Jungkook! Don’t make me fuck you up again, bro. I will! Geez!”

“Oh, come on, Jaemin,” Kira laughs, tugging him away before his temper flares. “Don’t be such a cockblock. See you two later!” She shoots you a wink just before disappearing inside, her voice echoing faintly, still teasing Jaemin for his unlucky streak of catching you two.

You make a mental note to buy her a thank-you drink tonight.

But that thought vanishes the second Jungkook thrusts up into you again, dragging you back into the moment. The water splashes around you with every movement, slapping softly against the tiled edges of the pool.

Your head falls back, mouth parted in a silent moan as your body clenches around him again. And this time, there’s no holding back.

You’re not exactly sure how you ended up here.

When you and Jungkook slipped out of the club earlier tonight, ditching your friends in a whirlwind of whispered giggles and stolen touches, you figured it would end in another wild quickie somewhere. And to be fair, it started that way. He had his hands all over you in the back of the taxi, his mouth on your neck as the Strip blurred by.

But then, the car dropped you both off at the far end of Las Vegas Boulevard, where you ran straight into a group of strangers who swore they’d partied with you on your first night in town. Whether they were right or not didn’t really matter; they bought you shots like old friends and kept them coming, one after the other, until the world tilted sideways.

And somehow...you agreed to Jungkook’s crazy idea.

Now you’re standing inside a chapel bathed in neon pink light, next to a man in a bedazzled Elvis costume who smells faintly of old cologne and too much hairspray. Jungkook is holding both of your hands in his, his fingers warm and solid around yours. His grin is so wide it practically splits his face in half, his eyes crinkling with drunken joy as he watches the impersonator read the vows.

“Do you, Jeon Jungkook, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” Elvis says in a dramatic drawl.

“I do,” Jungkook replies without hesitation, his voice thick with emotion, and maybe tequila. “With my whole heart.”

He slips a thin silver ring onto your finger. One he bought just minutes ago from a display stand outside. It’s slightly too big and also a little tacky, but somehow perfect.

Now it’s your turn. You blink up at him, your heart thudding wildly in your chest.

“I do,” you say softly, biting back a giddy laugh. “With my whole heart.”

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the Elvis impersonator declares with flair, throwing out his arms. “You may kiss!”

Jungkook’s hands envelop your face as he kisses you, sealing your fate.

The handful of drunk couples that are waiting for their turn cheer loudly as Jungkook lifts you straight off your feet. You wrap your arms around his neck, squealing as he carries you bridal-style down the narrow aisle and out of the chapel, laughing the whole way.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” you say breathlessly, still laughing as you cup his jaw and guide him into another messy kiss.

“I can’t either,” he says against your lips, eyes shining. “But god, I’m so ridiculously happy right now.”

He sets you down and pulls you close, forehead pressed to yours.

“Mrs. Jeon Jungkook, you make me so fucking happy. I love you, baby. So much.”

You can’t stop smiling and neither can he.

The next morning, your head feels like it’s still spinning. The light bleeding through the hotel curtains is too bright, stabbing straight into your skull. You groan and crack an eye open, trying to piece together where you are, and more importantly, what the hell happened last night.

Bits and pieces flash into your memory.

The pounding bass of the DJ set. Clinking shot glasses. Jungkook’s laughter against your ear, both of you cracking up about something that felt hilarious at the time. Though now you can’t recall a single detail.

You shift beneath the sheets, rubbing your eyes, when something cool and metallic catches your attention.

You pause, blinking.

There’s a ring on your finger.

A ring.

You yank your hand back and jump upright, heart now thudding in your chest like it’s trying to break free. In your sudden panic, your elbow smacks straight into Jungkook’s face.

“Ow! What the–” he groans, rolling onto his side. “Babe, what was that for?”

“Oh my god,” you whisper, scrambling out of bed.

Still half-drunk, half-hungover, and fully spiraling, you make a beeline for the bathroom and immediately hurl the remnants of last night into the toilet.

Your knees hit the cold tile as you clutch the porcelain bowl, your mind spinning even faster than your stomach.

Jungkook is at your side a moment later. Sleepy, shirtless, and concerned, he crouches beside you without saying a word, gently pulling your hair back and rubbing slow, soothing circles across your spine.

“Breathe,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. Just breathe.”

Once you’re fairly certain your insides are empty, you lean back on your heels, wiping your mouth with a towel and groaning.

“I feel like death,” you mumble.

“You look beautiful,” Jungkook says with a lazy smile, though his eyes are scanning your face carefully. Searching. Bracing.

He stands, reaching into the shower to turn on the water. Steam starts to fill the bathroom as he undresses and steps inside, then turns to hold out his hand for you.

You hesitate.

Your eyes drop to the ring on your finger again, then flick back to his face.

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to. You can tell he’s watching you closely, reading every micro-expression, seeing if you have any doubt. There’s no trace of regret in his eyes, but there’s a quiet question behind them.

What are you feeling? And are we okay?

You reach for his hand and step in beside him.

You wash up quickly, letting the hot water rinse away the hangover haze clinging to your skin. Feeling clean doesn’t solve everything, but it helps ground you.

After drying off and throwing on fresh clothes, you sit on the edge of the bed and breathe for a moment. Jungkook's quiet, giving you space, but you can still feel his eyes on you.

Then, finally, he breaks the silence.

“C’mon,” he says gently. “Let’s get some breakfast and cure your hangover before you spiral again. I got a text from Jaemin, they’re waiting for us in the lobby if we want to join everyone for brunch.”

You nod, grabbing your phone and purse before the two of you leave the suite and step into the elevator. Oh god…how are you going to tell everyone…

Jungkook speaks again once the elevator doors close. “Well, last night happened.”

You exhale, almost laughing. “Yeah. I guess it did.”

You start picking at your fingernails, nerves creeping in again as the elevator begins its descent. Jungkook notices instantly.

“Hey,” he says, catching your hands in his. “Don’t do that. Don’t second-guess this. I’m happy. Let’s be happy.”

You look up at him. He gives you that soft smile, the one that always manages to settle your heart.

He pulls you into a hug, wrapping you up like he’s trying to shield you from the chaos of the outside world.

“It’s not how I imagined it, not even close,” he says, resting his chin on your shoulder. “But you know what? I love that I get to call you my wife now. I like that I’m your husband.”

He leans back just enough to nuzzle into your cheek, his lips brushing against your skin in a quiet, reassuring gesture.

And for a moment, your worries melt away. Because if nothing else, you’ve got him. And maybe that’s more than enough.

His hand squeezes your waist as the elevator descends, and you feel his fingers trailing lower, skimming the hem of your skirt with intent.

“Jungkook…” you murmur, glancing toward the mirrored walls, but he’s already moving, slipping his hand beneath the fabric like he owns you, because, well, after last night…he kind of does. And you kind of like that.

His fingers find your heat instantly, and your breath catches in your throat.

“So wet already,” he hums against your ear, voice low and dangerous. “You want to get caught, don’t you?”

You press your back against the elevator wall, heart hammering as his thumb begins to circle your clit.

It feels so good that you can barely stand. The pressure is building fast, your thighs trembling as he slides two fingers inside you.

“Fuck,” you whisper, eyes fluttering shut as he curls them just right.

“Don’t close your eyes,” he says, nipping your earlobe. “Look at yourself. Watch how fucking wrecked you look when I touch you.”

Your gaze finds the mirrored wall. You see your parted lips, the way your chest rises and falls, the dark hunger in Jungkook’s eyes as he watches you unravel.

He moves faster, fucking you with his fingers, thumb pressed tight to your clit.

“Scream my name, baby. Who makes you feel this good? Who makes you come uncontrollably?”

“Jungkook!” you cry out before you can think.

He sinks his teeth into your neck, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make you gasp.

“Wrong,” he growls. “Try again.”

“M–my husband,” you stammer, on the verge of falling apart. “My husband makes me come uncontrollably.”

“That’s right,” he whispers, voice thick with pride and lust. “That’s fucking right, wife. Now come all over these fingers. You’ve earned it.”

And you do, trembling, legs barely holding you up, biting down a scream as wave after wave crashes over you.

As the elevator nears the lobby, he slowly pulls his hand from between your thighs, sucking one of his fingers into his mouth like he’s tasting the best thing he's ever had before returning it for more.

“Wow,” you pant, trying to catch your breath. “Being married already has its perks.”

He smirks, using his other hand to brush a strand of hair from your face. “Baby, we haven’t even started collecting the benefits.”

The elevator dings softly as it reaches the lobby, and the doors slide open with an almost theatrical slowness, just in time to reveal a very pissed-off-looking Jaemin standing directly in front of you.

Judging by the way his jaw is clenched and the murderous glare aimed at the two of you, he definitely heard the tail end of that little scene. Probably more.

“You’re married?!” Jaemin’s voice echoes through the lobby, loud enough to turn heads. A few bystanders pause mid-step, curious and mildly entertained by the drama unfolding in front of the elevators.

Thankfully, he hasn’t seemed to notice Jungkook’s hand still slick from where it was between your thighs before he reluctantly slips it away.

Jungkook glances over his shoulder, letting out a sheepish laugh. “Well, the honeymoon’s off to a strong start. Guess your newlyweds joke actually fits now…”

Jaemin takes a slow, threatening step forward and Jungkook tenses beside you, instinctively bracing for whatever’s coming next, whether it’s a punch, a lecture, or both. But when his eyes flick back to yours, and he sees the worry written all over your face, his shoulders square a little more.

Whatever’s coming, he knows it’s all worth it.

“Oh, baby…”

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He’s totally passed out on the living room couch, sprawled across the entire length of it, one arm dangling off the edge, fingers nearly brushing the floor. Hair falls across his forehead in messy dark strands, and mouth is slightly open in that way that should be gross but somehow isn't.

The PS5 controller rests on his chest, whilst the TV screen shows the Call of Duty lobby, still logged into ProofedToKill, waiting for him to respawn or join another match or do whatever it is people do when they're not unconscious on furniture.

And nestled on his stomach is Griffin; orange fur bright against Jungkook's dark hoodie, both of them dead to the world.

He looks… young, kind of peaceful too. Like sleep finally gave him permission to let his guard down.

It's cute.

You grab the throw pillow from the armchair—the one that usually lives there specifically so Griffin can claim it as his personal throne—and lob it directly at Jungkook's face.

It hits with a satisfying thump.

Griffin launches off Jungkook's chest like he's been ejected, landing on the floor with surprising grace before immediately trotting toward you, tail high.

"Mmph." Jungkook's eyes flutter open, confusion clouding his features as he swipes at the pillow. "The fuck?"

"Good morning, sunshine," you say as Griffin weaves between your ankles, purring like a motorboat. "Late night conquering digital battlefields?"

He groans, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Almost eleven."

"Shit."

He sits up, the controller sliding down his chest and landing in his lap. His hair is all ruffled and messy, and and his cheek sports a crease from where he was pressed against the couch cushion.

Your eyes flicker down when Griffin bumps his head against your shin, and you crouch down automatically to scratch behind his ears.

“Didn’t mean to pass out here.”

“Yeah, well. Your gaming addiction finally caught up with you.”

He gives you a look that’s half-glare, half-pout. “It’s not an addiction. I was just… decompressing.”

“Right. By shooting people online until dawn.”

“Virtual people,” he corrects, like that makes it better. “And it wasn’t dawn. Was probably like… three? Four?”

Griffin circles your legs once, twice, then looks up at you expectantly.

He meows, and it‘s pointed, almost demanding.

You frown. "When's the last time you ate, bub?"

"Couple hours ago," Jungkook says, resting his chin on his hand. "He's been off his food though. Barely touched breakfast."

That makes you pause.

Griffin's never off his food. The cat's an eating machine.

"How long?"

"Day or two." Jungkook sighs. "And his, uh… his litter box situation has been… not great."

You glance down at Griffin, who's still headbutting your knuckles. He looks fine—bright eyes, clean coat, normal energy. But if Jungkook's worried about the litter box…

"Liquid?" you ask.

Jungkook nods, looking almost embarrassed. "Yeah. Tried switching his food yesterday, been making him plain chicken and rice, but he's being picky about it."

Something in your chest tugs.

Because of course Jungkook's already on it. Of course he's making homemade food and monitoring Griffin's bathroom habits like the helicopter cat dad he is.

"Give me like ten minutes," you say, already heading for the kitchen.

"For what?"

"Just because."

You don't wait for his response. Just make a beeline for the kitchen, Griffin trotting behind you like you've promised him something incredible.

The chicken breast is right where you left it two days ago, tucked in the back of the fridge in a container labeled with your name in aggressive sharpie.

You pull it out along with the carrots and the chicken stock you'd picked up at the same time.

You hadn’t really thought much about it. But when Taehyung had hinted at Griffin’s stomach problems and his delicate overall health, you’d ended up researching cat nutrition.

Nothing major, but it sounded like a good idea.

Just in case.

Not because you care about Griffin. Obviously you care about Griffin.

But not because it means anything significant. Just because… he's a good cat. And Jungkook worries. And it's easier to know things than to be useless when shit goes wrong.

The cutting board comes out along with the knife. You dice the chicken into small pieces, then mince them even finer. The carrots get the same treatment—tiny, uniform pieces that'll cook down soft.

Small pot. Chicken stock. Everything goes in together.

Behind you, you hear Jungkook yawn, peeking over the couch.

"What are you making?"

"Homemade churu," you say, stirring the pot. "Chicken breast and carrots in chicken stock. Helps with digestive stuff."

Silence.

You glance over your shoulder to find him staring at you, expression unreadable.

"What?"

"Nothing." But his voice sounds weird, softer than usual. "You looked that up?"

You shrug, turning back to the stove. "After the whole grocery store thing with Taehyung. Figured I should know what to do if Griffin gets sick and you're not around."

More silence.

The chicken finishes cooking faster than you'd like—because now you're committed to this, and there's no backing out without looking like you care way more than you're willing to admit.

You drain the water, let the chicken cool for thirty seconds, then start shredding it with two forks. The carrot pieces are soft enough to mash, and you add them to the shredded chicken along with a generous pour of chicken stock.

Then you grab the immersion blender from the drawer Jungkook keeps all his weird kitchen gadgets in—because of course he has an immersion blender—and blend everything into a smooth paste.

It looks disturbingly baby-food-like.

Griffin seems thrilled.

"You even know where I keep the piping bags," Jungkook observes.

"You literally have them next to the ziplocs. It's not detective work."

You scoop the paste into a piping bag, twist the top closed, and cut a small opening at the tip. Grab Griffin from the floor, place him on the kitchen table, and of course the cat is already vibrating with anticipation, little paws kneading.

"Okay, Your Majesty," you mutter, squeezing a small amount onto your finger. "Here."

Griffin attacks it like he hasn't eaten in weeks, tiny tongue rasping against your skin as he devours the paste with single-minded determination.

"Jesus, G. Slow down."

He does not slow down.

You squeeze out a bit more directly onto the table—easier than trying to hold still while he mauls your finger—and he gobbles it up just as frantically.

"He's gonna make himself sick again," Jungkook says, but he's smiling.

That stupid soft smile he gets when Griffin does literally anything.

It makes you, stupidly, want to smile too.

"Not my fault he has no self-control," is what you settle for.

Griffin finishes the small portion you gave him and immediately starts licking the table, searching for more.

"That's enough for now," you tell him, moving the piping bag out of reach. "You can have more in a couple hours if you keep it down."

He meows indignantly.

"Don't give me that look. I'm not the one who gave you an upset stomach."

You clean the table with a kitchen cloth, then rinse your hands in the sink, very aware that Jungkook is still looking at you over the couch, sitting there.

"What?" you finally ask, turning to face him.

"Nothing," he says, but he's definitely still smiling. "Just… thanks. For doing that."

You shrug. "It's fine. He was hungry anyway."

"You made cat food."

"Chicken paste."

"For my cat."

"Our cat," you correct without thinking, then immediately want to take it back. "I mean—he lives here. He's technically all of ours. Community cat."

Jungkook's smile gets wider. "Community cat. Right."

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

"You don't have to. Your face is saying it."

He laughs. Small and surprised and weirdly fond.

It makes you want to die a little.

“So,” you say, “ProofedToKill, huh?”

Jungkook freezes in the middle of stretching his arms over his head. “What?”

“Your gamertag. I saw it the other day when I needed to charge my laptop. Pretty impressive stats, actually.”

His eyebrow furrows. “You were snooping on my PlayStation?”

“I was looking for an outlet. Your stats were just… there. On the screen.” You shrug. “Crimson rank is decent. What’s your K/D ratio again? Like 2.5?”

“2.7,” he corrects automatically, then catches himself. “I mean—”

“And you’ve got what, almost 3000 hours logged? That’s dedication. Or unemployment. Hard to tell.”

“I’m not unemployed.”

“Right. You’re creatively underemployed. Very different.”

He doesn’t respond for a bit, which gives you enough time to rummage for a mug and prepare to make yourself some tea.

“I’m also not creatively underemployed,” he says after a while. “I freelance. Weddings, theater shoots, venue promos. Editing projects for NYU kids who don’t know Premiere from iMovie. Pays better than you’d think.”

You blink at him, steeping now your tea, the way Jason taught you. “So you’re basically a glorified wedding crasher with a camera?”

“Phoenix,” he groans. “Two weddings in a weekend covers rent. The theater house pays per show, and I get steady checks from editing projects. I make more than some full-timers chained to a cubicle.”

He yawns again, rubbing his eye with one hand while he checks the time on his phone like he didn’t believe your earlier statement.

“It’s good money. Flexible hours. And—” his eyes flick down to your mug ”—lets me game enough to keep that 2.7 K/D ratio.”

You roll your eyes, then take out the tea infuser when the timer on your phone goes off.

“So you’re rich in headshots and wedding vows. Congratulations.”

“And somehow, still richer than you, book girl.”

“Right,” you say sweetly. “Except those random monthly payments you’ve still got to make because Mia wasn’t exactly a book girl. Guess if she’d spent all that energy at Barnes & Noble instead of Bloomingdale’s, you wouldn’t have a problem.”

He opens his mouth, then closes it immediately with an indignant expression.

Shoots you a sharp side-eye, that half-playful, half-don’t push it look, like he’s weighing whether to be annoyed or impressed, fake disdain in the tilt of his mouth.

You sip your tea deliberately.

“Cute,” he mutters, eyes narrowing. “Really cute, Phoenix.”

You shrug, unbothered, blowing across the rim of your mug. “Hey, your words. You brought up ‘book girl.’ I’m just… applying context.”

He doesn’t snap back right away. Just exhales through his nose, that little huff that’s more about buying time than actual annoyance. His head tilts back towards for the TV.

“That’s not you applying context” he mutters finally, side-eye sharp but not cutting. “That’s you tryna fish for some. You’re nosy, Phoenix, I know your patterns.”

Your only answer is another sip of tea.

Let him shape the silence however he wants. You digged, true—but you’re giving him now the shovel.

His head tilts back in your direction.

“It’s not… random payments anymore. Steady ones now, fixed amount every month. It’s—” his jaw works as he scratches along it, eyes shifting away “—it’s a lot. I’ve got a… long way to go still.”

The room goes quiet for a beat. He’s not looking at you, and you know that’s as close as he gets to admitting anything that matters.

“So,” you say, light, “a hardworking man. Makes me wonder how you’ve got time to virtually assassinate strangers.”

That gets the corner of his mouth twitching again. “Because I’m the shit, obviously. Anyway, why do you care about my gaming habits?”

“I don’t. I’m just impressed by your commitment to virtual violence.” Bergamot settles on your tongue. “Most people don’t dedicate that much time to shooting strangers online.”

“You wouldn’t get it. There’s skill involved. Teamwork. Communication, ya kno’.”

“Communication. Mhm, so you mean screaming at twelve-year-olds for not covering your six?”

“I don’t scream at twelve-year-olds.”

“What about thirteen-year-olds?”

“They should know better by thirteen.”

You nearly choke on your tea trying not to laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m competitive,” he corrects.

“If you say so.”

Griffin meows then, tail flicking as he surveys his domain and judges you both for disturbing his peace, like he’s telling you both to shut up.

But you can’t deny it sort of feels nice—the kind of easy domestic moment that sneaks up on you when you’re not expecting it.

Which is probably why you ruin it.

“So,” you say, settling onto one of the bar stools. “Want to talk about Thursday night?”

Jungkook’s hand freezes on his phone. “What about Thursday night?”

“The whole thing with Jason. Your little performance.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He stares at his phone with exaggerated focus, like zooming in the random pictures of Griffin he has saved on his phone require his complete attention.

“Really? The Kerouac comments? The surface-level interpretation digs? The Ted Hughes comparison?”

“That was just conversation.”

“That was you being an asshole.”

Jungkook grabs the PS5 controller once again, jabbing at buttons, and the TV immediately flickers to life, Call of Duty loading screen filling the space between you.

“I’m starting a match,” he says, not looking at you.

“Don’t you dare deflect by gaming right now.”

“I’m not deflecting. I’m gaming. There’s a difference.”

But you’re already moving, already planted directly between him and the TV screen. Arms crossed, tea mug abandoned on the counter, fully committed to this confrontation whether he wants it or not.

“Move, Nix.”

“No.”

“I’ll play around you.”

“You’ll look like an idiot.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

He tries to peer around your shoulder, controller tilted at an awkward angle, but you shift to block his view.

This is too important to let him hide behind virtual warfare.

“What was that for?” you demand. “The whole hostile interrogation thing. Jason didn’t do anything to you.”

Jungkook’s jaw ticks, fingers tightening on the controller. “Can we not do this?”

“Do what? Have a conversation like adults?”

“Have a conversation where you pretend not to understand why I reacted the way I did.”

“I genuinely don’t understand.”

He sets the controller down carefully, like he’s afraid he might throw it otherwise.

When he looks at you, his expression is flat.

“You already know I don’t like him.”

“Yeah, but—”

“So why are you surprised that I acted like I don’t like him?”

“Because there’s not liking someone and then there’s being actively hostile to them in your own living room,” you snap. “Jason was perfectly polite. He was trying to be friendly, and you just… attacked him.”

“I didn’t attack anyone.”

“You insulted his taste in literature. To his face. While he was eating food in our apartment.”

Jungkook stands up abruptly, pacing toward the windows like he needs physical distance from this conversation.

"First off, you brought him to my apartment.”

“Our apartment.”

“My apartment too,” he corrects, spinning to face you. “My space that I pay rent for and live in and generally expect not to be ambushed by people I specifically told you give me bad vibes.”

There it is. The bad vibes. His favorite excuse, like his intuition is some kind of spiritual Wi-Fi that’s never wrong.

Your chest fires up, defensive instincts kicking in. “I asked if anyone was home! I texted the group chat!”

“And I didn’t see it,” Jungkook replies, voice rising slightly. “So thanks for the consideration, but it was still a surprise to me. A surprise that involved walking into my living room and finding you making out with someone who sets off every single one of my internal alarm systems.”

You freeze.

Because that line—that’s not casual dislike. That’s not ‘I don’t like his shirt.’ That’s deeper.

Something that sounds almost… afraid.

“What alarm systems?” you ask, voice quieter now.

Jungkook runs both hands through his hair, tugging at the ends in a gesture that looks painful. “Nix.”

“That’s me.”

“He’s controlling.”

You blink.

The word that turns the air inside-out.

“What?”

“He’s controlling, and manipulative, and he’s got you so fucking turned around that you can’t even see it happening.”

You actually choke out a sound—half a scoff, half disbelief. “You’ve officially lost it.”

“Have I? When’s the last time you made tea the way you used to? Before he came over and taught you the ‘proper’ way to do it?”

Your mouth opens, then closes.

Because he’s not wrong.

You have been making tea differently. Following Jason’s instructions about water temperature and steeping time and proper technique.

But that’s not controlling. That’s just… learning. Improvement.

“What about your assignment? The one you were working on together? Did he let you choose the topic, or did he guide you toward something he preferred?”

“He suggested the comparative analysis because he thought I’d—”

“He thought you’d what? Be good at it? Or he thought you’d be more likely to need his help with it?”

Your stomach clenches. “You’re being paranoid.”

“Am I?” Jungkook sighs deeply like it comes from the deepest part of his soul. “Tell me about the scratch on his cheek, because I know my son’s claws when I see them.”

“He—” You stop.

Because Jason had petted Griffin even when the cat had given clear signals that he didn’t want to be touched. Even when Griffin was hissing and backing away.

But that’s not controlling. That’s just… not understanding cats. Being unfamiliar with their body language.

“He wanted to pet Griffin because I like him,” you say weakly. “He was trying to connect with something important to me.”

“Right. And I’m sure that ended with him somehow making the conversation about consent and boundaries while framing himself as the respectful, mature guy who knows better than a hissing cat.”

You swallow, at a loss for words.

It wasn’t… It wasn’t like that, was it?

Yeah, okay—Jason had used Griffin’s reaction to pivot into that moment where you were checking his scratches, where the tension built, where you ended up kissing him.

But that doesn’t mean it was calculated? That just means he handled an awkward situation gracefully.

“You’re reading into things,” you say, but your voice lacks conviction.

“Am I?” Jungkook’s voice drops, becoming quieter but somehow more intense. “Tell me something, Nix. When you’re with him, do you feel smarter? Or do you feel like you need to be smarter?”

You—always mouthy, always first to say what’s on your mind—suddenly struggle with words.

Because the answer is the second one.

You do feel like you need to be smarter around Jason. Need to prove you’re worth his intellectual attention. Need to demonstrate that you can keep up with his references and insights and academic expertise.

But that’s just… that’s just because he is smart, and he challenges you to think more deeply about things. It’s not manipulation.

That’s… That’s growth.

“I think you’re projecting,” you say finally.

“Jesus Christ.” He turns away, hands clenching into fists at his sides. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t considered that maybe I’m just fucked up and paranoid?”

The pain in his voice stops you short.

“Rogue—”

“No, you want to have this conversation? Let’s have it.” He spins back to face you, and his eyes are bright with something that might be tears or might be rage. “You want to know why I reacted the way I did to your perfect, polite, academically sophisticated boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Whatever he fucking is.” He spits out. “You want to know why every single thing about him makes my skin crawl?”

“Yes, that would—“

“That whole fucking Ted Hughes thing, bro! I made a stupid comment, okay? I was being a dick because I hate him and I wanted to piss him off. Sue me!” He makes a disbelieving sound. “So yes I made a snarky comment implying poets being the perfect costume because you’re both literary nerds or whatever.” 

He doesn’t even pause, words tumbling out faster.

“I didn’t know the whole fucking backstory about domestic abuse and suicide, okay? I was being petty and ignorant, but I am not cruel and I do not fucking joke about mental health. I’m not stupid, contrary to what you might believe—”

“I don’t think you’re stupid."

Jungkook stops pacing for half a second.

Swallows like he’s processing what you said.

Then he’s off again.

“But your boy Jason? He made sure you knew exactly how insensitive and horrible I was being. Gave this whole lecture about Plath’s mental health struggles and reducing suicide to relationship dynamics.” His voice takes on that mocking academic tone. “Made himself look like the smart, sensitive guy who actually understands literature while I looked like some frat bro making jokes about women killing themselves.”

Your chest feels tight.

“Then what does he do? Immediately turns to comfort your friend—"

“Your girlfriend,” you snap, because why is he making this about you when Tessa was his date?

“—not my girlfriend, anyway, he reassures her that of course she didn’t mean anything bad. Made me look like a piece of shit to both my friend and my date. Then presented himself as the good guy to both of you as well. Comforted Tessa, smiled at you. Two birds, one perfectly intellectual stone.”

He stops pacing, turning to face you directly.

“It’s exactly what Mia used to do, Nix. She’d take something one of my friends said or did—maybe they were late to something, maybe they forgot to call back, maybe they made some stupid joke—and she’d twist it. Make it seem like they didn’t really care about me. Like they were bad influences. Like I deserved better friends.”

The apartment feels too quiet suddenly. Too small.

“She’d be all concerned and supportive about it. ‘I just think Taehyung’s been really flaky lately, don’t you? I hate seeing him treat you that way.’ ‘Did you notice how Hobi didn’t even ask how your presentation went? That’s not how real friends act.’ ‘Yoongi hasn’t even congratulated you for that project. Maybe he’s jealous of you.’” His voice gets softer, more raw. “She made me think my friends were the problem. That they didn’t really give a shit about me.”

Your mouth feels dry.

“By the time I realized what was happening, I’d pulled back from everyone. Stopped hanging out as much, stopped calling, stopped trusting them when they tried to tell me something was wrong.” He laughs bitterly. “Perfect isolation. Made me think it was my idea.”

“Jason wasn’t trying to isolate anyone,” you say, but it sounds weak even to your own ears.

“He made me look like a piece of shit to you. Made sure you’d think twice before trusting my judgment about anything.” Jungkook runs both hands through his hair. “Classic move, Nix. Make the person you want to control think their friend is toxic.”

“That’s way too—”

“For fuck’s sake, I’ve been here before, Nix. I’ve sat in rooms with someone who sounds exactly like him. Someone who uses the same reasonable tone and the same intellectual superiority and the same subtle corrections as helpful suggestions.”

His voice cracks slightly on the last word.

“I’ve been in conversations where every single response was designed to make me feel smaller, stupider, less capable of making my own decisions.”

You want to interrupt, want to tell him that Jason isn’t like that, but something in his expression stops you.

He swallows harder, like there’s a tide building up inside him and he wants to choke it out, but he can’t.

He can’t, because then he glances at you, and he’s speaking again.

It doesn’t slide off his lips so much as it erupts—half-yelled, half-choked, the sound of someone who’s stopped thinking mid-sentence and just started bleeding emotion instead.

“She got me into debt, Nix. Like, serious debt. Credit cards I didn’t even know existed until collectors started calling.”

The sudden topic change makes goosebumps rise on your skin.

Because Jungkook doesn’t do this.

He doesn’t open up, he doesn’t speak about his shit, doesn’t give shape to his past—at least not to you.

Your stomach drops. “What?”

“Took them out in my name. Forged signatures, probably, or maybe she just knew enough of my information to do it online.” He exhales. “I was so fucking trusting back then. Gave her access to everything—my laptop, my mail, my social security number for ‘emergencies.’”

You try to swallow around the knot that’s formed on your throat.

“How much?” you ask, though you’re not sure you want to know.

“Forty-seven thousand.” The number comes out flat, matter-of-fact. “Mostly shopping. Designer shit, expensive dinners, weekend trips I thought we were splitting but turns out were entirely on my credit.”

Jesus Christ. Forty-seven thousand dollars. That’s more than some people make in a year.

“And the worst part?” Jungkook continues. “She made it seem reasonable. Every purchase. Every decision. She’d show me the bills after the fact, all concerned and apologetic, like ‘Oh Kooky, I think there might be an error on your statement,’ and then explain why each charge was actually necessary. Or justified. Or my fault somehow.”

You don’t know what to say.

So maybe it’s best to let him get it out of his chest.

“The groceries were expensive because I liked organic food. The clothes were pricey because I’d complained about her wearing the same dress to multiple events. The hotel upgrades were my idea because I’d mentioned wanting to make good impressions on her friends.”

“But you didn’t actually say any of those things.”

“That’s just it—I did. Sort of. I’d make some offhand comment about liking fresh produce, and three months later that became ‘Jungkook insists on shopping at Whole Foods.’ I’d notice she wore the same outfit twice, and suddenly that meant I was embarrassed by her wardrobe.”

He turns to face you, and his eyes are red-rimmed.

“She was so fucking good at taking tiny grains of truth and building entire narratives around them. And then presenting those narratives back to me like they were my own thoughts. My own decisions. My own fault.”

Your chest feels heavier now, pressed down with the weight of what he’s just shared.

“How long did it take you to figure it out?”

“Too long.” He mutters. “Even after I found the statements, even after I saw the charges, she convinced me it was a misunderstanding. That we could work it out together. That leaving would just make everything harder for both of us.”

“But you did leave.”

“Eventually. When Griffin got sick and she forgot to take him to the vet because she was too busy shopping for another fucking weekend trip.” His voice hardens. “That’s when I realized she’d rather let my cat suffer than interrupt her spending spree.”

And that makes… A lot of sense.

Griffin’s expensive food, Jungkook’s obsessive attention to his diet, Taehyung’s encyclopedic knowledge of cat care requirements.

It’s not spoiling—it’s guilt.

It’s making up for the time Griffin almost died.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and mean it.

“Yeah, well.” Jungkook shrugs, but the gesture is hollow. “I’m still paying it off. Probably will be for the next three years. Turns out financial abuse is really hard to prove when you technically gave someone access to your accounts.”

Three years.

Three. Fucking. Years.

He’s going to be dealing with the consequences of Mia’s manipulation for three more years.

“That’s why you work so much,” you realize. “All the freelance stuff, the editing gigs…”

“Every extra dollar goes to credit card payments.” He moves back to the couch, collapsing onto it like the conversation has physically drained him. “So yeah, when I see someone using knowledge and expertise to subtly redirect conversations, when I watch them position themselves as the authority on subjects you’re interested in, when I notice them making you second-guess your own preferences…”

He trails off, looking at you with an expression that’s equal parts pain and frustration.

“It fucking terrifies me, Nix. Because I know how this story ends. I’ve lived it. I’m not crazy, Nix. I’m not making this up. And if you think I’m going to sit quietly and watch someone do to you what was done to me, you’re wrong.“​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

It’s a plea for understanding you’re not sure you can give.

Because you get him. You do. You understand the paranoia, the way he sees danger in people just being people. You know that look in his eyes when he talks about Mia—hell you saw it firsthand back at the karaoke place, like he’s still half-stuck there, reliving it on a loop he can’t shut off.

But understanding him doesn’t mean he’s right.

It doesn’t mean you have to let his trauma dictate your reality.

And yeah, maybe Jason does remind him of her. Maybe it’s the way he talks—too polished, too thoughtful, too sure of himself. Or the way he pays attention, the kind that feels almost studied.

But that doesn’t automatically make Jason a villain in his sequel.

People aren’t carbon copies.

Just because someone once smiled before they wrecked him doesn’t mean every smile is a warning sign.

Jason’s—well, he’s a little much. The academic thing. The long tangents about literature and postmodern irony like he’s auditioning for a podcast nobody asked for.

But he’s also kind and respectful and genuinely interested in your thoughts and opinions. He hasn’t done anything outrightly manipulative that’s thrown you off.

So maybe the problem isn’t Jason.

Maybe it’s the ghost that’s still squatting in Jungkook’s head, rearranging the furniture every time someone new walks in.

And okay, yeah. You could be wrong. You’ve been wrong before. But his fear isn’t a compass; it’s a wound that won’t close.

You draw a slow breath.

“Rogue,” you start carefully, voice steady but not cold, “I hear what you’re saying. But I think you might be seeing things that aren’t there.”

And maybe that’s cruel.

But so is letting him live inside a story that already ended.

His shoulders slump slightly. “Of course you do.”

You jump in fast, too fast, like if you clarify it quick enough, you won’t bruise the space between you.

“Not because you’re crazy,” you say. “Just because… Jason’s not like that. He’s awkward, for fuck’s sake. Half the time he adjusts his glasses when he’s nervous. How is someone who blushes when I compliment his tea knowledge supposed to be some master manipulator?”

Like, seriously. If Jason’s secretly a narcissistic sociopath, he’s hiding it behind a lot of chamomile facts and dorky sweaters.

But Jungkook doesn’t smile. Doesn’t crack even a little.

“Mia blushed too,” he says. “When it served her purpose.”

And there it is. The comparison. The weight of it. The assumption that people are puzzles with the same solution over and over.

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

You cross your arms. “Yes. Because Jason actually cares about the things he’s teaching me. He’s not doing it to control me, he’s doing it because he’s passionate about literature and tea and… I don’t know, sharing knowledge.”

“And how do you know the difference?”

The question catches you off guard.

Because the answer is… you just do? You can tell when someone’s being genuine versus manipulative. You’re not some naive girl who falls for every smooth-talking guy who shows interest.

You’re not naive. You’ve made choices. Own them. You chose your own classes. Your own friends. Your own goddamn birth control.

You got an IUD and didn’t tell anyone, not because it was a secret, but because it was yours. Your decision. Your body. Your life.

You don’t let people run you.

“Because I’m not an idiot,” you say finally. “I can tell when someone’s trying to control me.”

But the way Jungkook looks at you—soft, almost sad—makes something twist in your ribs.

It’s not condescending. It’s not angry.

It’s pity.

“I thought I could tell too,” he says.

That stings. More than it should. Because it’s not a jab. It’s a confession. He’s not doubting you—he’s warning you. From the wreckage.

“I’m not you, Ro.”

“No,” he says quietly. “You’re not. But the patterns… they’re the same, Nix.”

You don’t respond. Not right away.

Because what the fuck are you supposed to say to that?

That he’s wrong? That he’s broken in ways you’re not?

That just because his past bled out everywhere doesn’t mean yours will?

“When’s the last time he asked for your opinion without offering his own first?”

You open your mouth to answer, then close it.

You can’t think of a specific example. Not because it hasn’t happened, just because… most of your conversations with Jason have been him sharing knowledge. Teaching you things. Showing you better ways to approach literature or tea or whatever topic comes up.

Which is nice. Educational.

…Normal?

“He cares about accuracy,” you say thoughtfully. “He wants me to get the most out of things.”

Jungkook’s sigh is its own sound. “Right.”

He picks up the PS5 controller again, doesn’t turn anything on. Just holds it like it’s anchoring him.

“Look,” he says, and his voice has softened again. Like this matters. “Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he’s exactly what he seems like—a nice guy who happens to know a lot about stuff and wants to share it with you.”

“He is.”

Jungkook nods once, but he’s not buying it. “Okay. But just… remember what I told you?”

You nod too. Slower. More reluctant. “Yeah. To be careful around him.”

“No. Well, yes. But not just that.” He leans forward, elbows on knees, controller still dangling loosely from his fingers. “Just… pay attention. To how you feel around him. Not how you think you should feel. How you actually feel.”

Your brows knit. “What do you mean?”

He hesitates for just a second. “Like… do you feel… bigger around him? Or smaller?”

The question hits somewhere deep in your chest. Because the honest answer is… complicated.

Around Jason, you feel smarter in some ways. More sophisticated. Like you’re accessing parts of yourself you didn’t know existed.

But you also feel… aware. Constantly aware of whether you’re keeping up, whether your responses are insightful enough, whether you’re proving yourself worthy of his attention.

Which isn’t the same thing as feeling smaller.

Is it?

“I feel challenged,” you say finally. “Like he pushes me to think more deeply about things.”

“Challenged. Okay.” Jungkook fiddles with the controller buttons, not looking at you. “And when you disagree with him? How does that go?”

You pause. “We haven’t really… disagreed about anything major.”

“Because you agree with everything he says, or because you don’t want to risk conflict?”

“Because we have similar tastes.”

“Do you?”

The question doesn’t land—it lodges.

Somewhere between your collarbones, in the space where doubt has been quietly stretching its legs for a while now.

Jungkook shrugs, finally looking back at you. “It’s fine I just… I’ve gotten pretty good at overthinking lately. Occupational hazard of having your reality systematically dismantled by someone who claimed to love you.”

The raw honesty in that statement makes your chest ache,

“Ro…”

You don’t even know what you’re trying to say. Maybe nothing. Maybe just ’I see you.’ Maybe ’that shouldn’t have happened to you.’ Maybe ’fuck, I wish I didn’t care that you said that.’

But he’s already backing out.

“It’s fine,” he cuts in, fast and clipped like a door slamming shut. “I’m fine. Just… hypervigilant about red flags now. Even when they’re probably not actually red flags.”

There’s something bitter in the way he says it—self-aware and exhausted, like he’s tired of his own alarm bells.

You shift, about to reply, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

He clicks the controller, the menu beeping like a social cue. Deflection in high definition.

“Anyway—wanna watch me get my ass kicked by twelve-year-olds? Might restore your faith in my judgment.”

The pivot is so fast it gives you whiplash.

This is what he does. Retreats when things start getting too close to the marrow. Wraps it all in humor, changes the subject, offers you a lifeline back to the surface before either of you has to name what just happened.

And maybe he thinks he’s doing you a favor.

Maybe he is.

Because, truthfully?

This conversation was starting to make you question things you weren’t questioning in the first place.

And you don’t know how to feel about that.

Because your life is already complicated enough, and you’re not looking to add mess. Not looking to detangle someone else's trauma from your relationship.

So maybe this is easier.

Maybe he’s giving you an out.

And you're not too proud to take it.

“Only if you promise to rage quit spectacularly,” you say, sliding back onto your bar stool like you haven’t just been emotionally sucker punched.

“I don’t rage quit,” he says, fake-offended.

“You literally threw the controller at the wall last month.”

“That was me expressing my emotions like a mature adult.”

“That was a temper tantrum,” you shoot back, arching a brow.

He grins. The kind that reaches his eyes this time. “Potato, po-tah-to.”

And just like that, you’re back.

Back to safe banter. Back to playful insults and easy rhythm. Back to the version of him that makes sense—cocky, annoying, warm in a way that doesn’t require eye contact with your own reflection.

Back to the version of you that knows exactly who she is: sharp, independent, in control.

But even as he launches into the game, some of the tension finally leaving his shoulders…

You can still feel the question, lodged behind your ribs.

Do you feel bigger around him? Or smaller?

One week of Jungkook asking you what costume he should wear, and you’re ready to commit actual murder.

“Remind me why I always end up going shopping for shit with you against my will?” you mutter, sidestepping a plastic skeleton that’s somehow ended up in the middle of the aisle despite the fact that Halloween isn’t for another week and this warehouse is supposed to have some semblance of organization.

“Because you secretly love it,” Jungkook replies without missing a beat, picking up a rubber zombie mask and holding it up to his face. “Look, I’m you before coffee.”

“I absolutely fucking do not.” You snatch the mask away from him and hang it back on its hook with more force than necessary.

“Yeeeeet…” His eyebrows rise as he presses his lips together, looking you up and down with his palms spread in that infuriating gesture that basically screams ‘but here you are’. “Here you are. On a Tuesday afternoon. In a costume warehouse. With me.”

You scoff and push past him, making a beeline for Yoongi who’s walking alongside Jimin up ahead, both of them examining what appears to be a display of medieval weaponry with detached interest, which may suggest they’re questioning every life choice that led them to this moment.

“Can we ditch Jungkook somewhere on the way?” you ask, hooking one arm through Yoongi’s and the other through Jimin’s like you’re forming some kind of human chain of solidarity. “I promise I won’t tell the police.”

Yoongi doesn’t even blink. “What’s the plan? Leave him in the zombie section? He’d probably fit right in.”

“I was thinking more like the kids’ costume area,” you reply. “Seems more his intellectual speed.”

“Hey,” Jimin looks mildly horrified, his eyes wide behind his glasses. “That is so mean. I’m sure he’s nice when you get to know him.”

You and Yoongi exchange a look over Jimin’s head.

Sweet, innocent Jimin who probably still believes in the fundamental goodness of humanity and has never had to live with Jungkook’s particular brand of stupidity.

“Jimin,” you say gently, “have you ever seen him try to make breakfast?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Have you ever heard him practice guitar at two in the morning?”

“I mean, artists need to create when inspiration strikes—”

“Have you ever watched him argue with a cat about territorial rights to a couch?”

Jimin opens his mouth, then closes it.

“Okay, that one’s pretty weird.”

Behind you, Jungkook’s voice carries over the ambient noise of the warehouse as he loudly explains something to Taehyung about literary costumes.

Because apparently Taehyung has been tasked with finding matching outfits for himself and Irika, and judging by his tone, he’s taking this responsibility very seriously.

“I’m just saying,” Taehyung’s voice drifts over, “if we’re going as Morticia and Gomez, I need to make sure the mustache doesn’t look ridiculous.”

“All mustaches look ridiculous,” Jungkook replies. “That’s the point.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re probably going as something safe like Dracula.”

“I am not going as Dracula!”

You tune them out and focus on the more pressing matter of Yoongi being here at all.

“Anyway,” Yoongi says, slowing his pace and looking around the warehouse. “Why am I even coming to this party? I’m not even in NYU. I hate parties. I hate drunk people. I especially hate drunk people in costumes.”

“Because Tessa said it was an arts and literature themed party,” you reply smoothly. “Music production is art.”

Yoongi gives you a look that could wither plants. “You’re bullshitting me.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. That’s not a real reason and you know it.”

“Fine.” You sigh dramatically. “Because I don’t want to be alone dealing with Jungkook’s ass all weekend.”

“But you won’t be alone,” Yoongi points out with his trademark deadpan logic. “You’ll have Jason. And Yeji and Irya.”

“Bold of you to assume Yeji won’t be too busy picking verbal fights with random people to actually hang out with me,” you deflect.

Yoongi considers this. “Fair point. What about Jimin?”

You glance at Jimin, who’s currently examining a wizard staff with gentle reverence, and feel a pang of protective affection for his pure soul.

“He’s too sweet,” you say, squeezing both their arms tighter. “Look at him. If Jungkook starts being an ass, Jimin will probably just make excuses for his behavior and try to find the deeper meaning in his dickishness.”

“Hey!” Jimin protests, finally looking up from the wizard staff. “I don’t make excuses for people. I just… try to understand different perspectives.”

“See?” You gesture at him with your free hand. “He’s too much of a decent person. He’d probably tell me to ‘consider Jungkook’s motivations’ or some shit like that.”

“I would not!” Jimin pauses. “I mean, I might suggest trying to understand where he’s coming from, but that’s not the same thing as making excuses.”

Yoongi makes a noncommittal sound. “It kind of is.”

“Plus,” you continue, using your human anchors to steer the group toward a display of literary character costumes, “Jungkook’s actually decent to people he doesn’t live with. He’s not going to be actively annoying around you guys. I need witnesses to his true character.”

“That’s…” Jimin blinks. “That’s actually kind of concerning.”

“Welcome to my life,” Yoongi says flatly. “And okay, fine. I’ll come. But only because the alternative is listening to you complain about it for the next month.”

“Plus we invited Hobi too,” you add, because you’re not completely heartless. “So you won’t be the only non-NYU person there. He said he might stop by after his studio closes.”

Yoongi nods approvingly. “Good. Hobi’s the only one who doesn’t make me want to invest in noise-canceling headphones.”

“That’s because Hobi’s actually evolved past the emotional maturity of a twelve-year-old,” you reply. “Unlike some people we could mention.”

“I heard that!” Jungkook calls from somewhere behind you.

“Good!” you call back without turning around. “It was meant for you!”

You hear Taehyung snicker, followed by what sounds like Jungkook making an offended noise.

“Okay, but seriously,” Jimin says, apparently determined to steer this conversation back to more wholesome territory, “what’s everyone thinking for costumes? I was considering going as Edgar Allan Poe, but that might be too obvious for an English student.”

“You should go as a romantic poet,” you suggest. “Really lean into the sensitive intellectual thing you’ve got going on.”

Jimin turns bright red. “I don’t have a ‘thing’ going on.”

“Bullshit,” Yoongi says matter-of-factly. “You’ve got that whole soft scholarly vibe. People probably write poetry about you.”

If possible, Jimin turns even redder. “That’s not—people don’t think of me like that.”

“Jimin,” you say gently, “you’re cute, you’re smart, you get excited about bookmarks, and you wear cardigans. You’re basically designed for people with a thing for the bookish type.”

“I don’t wear that many cardigans,” he mumbles.

“You’re wearing one right now,” Yoongi points out.

Jimin looks down at his cream-colored cardigan like he’s just now noticing it exists. “This is different. It’s cold out.”

“Uh-huh.” You pat his arm sympathetically. “Sure it is.”

“Can we please change the subject?” Jimin pleads. “What about you? What are you going as?”

You swallow thickly. Because the truth is, you figured Virginia Woolf would match Jason’s intellectual vibe, and so it would be perfect.

But there’s something about…

“I was thinking Virginia Woolf,” you say finally, and it comes out more tentative than you’d like.

Yoongi squints. “Who the fuck is that?”

Before you can even roll your eyes, Jimin perks up like someone’s just handed him an essay question. “She was an early twentieth-century modernist writer. Really important in stream-of-consciousness literature. Known for novels like Mrs. Dalloway and To the Lighthouse.”

Yoongi hums, tipping his head slightly in Jimin’s direction. “Stream of… what?”

“Stream of consciousness,” Jimin explains, warming up now, cardigan sleeves pushed back like he’s about to start lecturing. “Basically trying to capture the way thoughts actually flow, all messy and fragmented. No neat beginnings or endings—just… thought spirals.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows lift a fraction.

“That’s… kind of cool.” He doesn’t say it with his usual dryness. It’s softer, almost curious, like he actually wants to know more.

“Yeah,” Jimin says, and his smile is shy but bright. “It’s hard to pull off, but she was brilliant at it.”

You blink at the two of them, fighting the urge to make a disbelieving sound because Yoongi doesn’t look bored out of his skull for once.

Which is something you’ve never seen when you are in his vicinity, okay.

“Huh,” Yoongi says finally, smirking faintly in your direction. “So… Dramatic. Fits you.”

“Fuck you, I’m delightful.”

“When you’re unconscious, maybe.”

“I’m standing right here.”

“I know.”

You’re about to come up with a suitable retort when Jungkook’s voice snags your attention, suddenly much closer than it was before.

“What about couples costumes?” he asks, and you turn to find him and Taehyung have caught up to your little group. “Anyone thinking about doing a matched set?”

“I already told you,” Taehyung says with the patience of someone who’s had this conversation multiple times, “Iri and I are doing Morticia and Gomez. It’s classic, it’s elegant, and it gives me an excuse to wear all black.”

“What about you, Nix?” Jungkook asks, and there’s something in his tone that makes you immediately suspicious. “Matching with Jason?”

You tighten your grip on Yoongi and Jimin’s arms, using them as human anchors against whatever verbal trap Jungkook is setting.

“I mean, I don’t know,” you say carefully. “It’s kind of early for matching costumes. We’re just… seeing each other.”

“Situationship,” Jungkook corrects with a smirk that makes you want to flick him in the forehead.

“Like you’re any better,” you shoot back. “At least I’m not spending forty-eight dollars on shampoo to impress someone.”

Jungkook sticks his tongue out at you like the actual child he is, which only proves your point about his emotional maturity.

“That shampoo is an investment in my hair health.”

“Right. Hair health. That’s definitely what you were thinking about.”

“Unless…” His eyes gleam with what you’re beginning to recognize as his particular brand of mischief. “You want to do a group costume? All of us together?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on, it could be fun. We could be the Scooby-Doo gang. I call Shaggy.”

“No.”

“The Avengers?”

“Still no.”

“The cast of Friends?”

“Jungkook, I would rather go naked than coordinate a group costume with you.”

“That could work too,” he says with a grin that’s absolutely wicked. “Very sophisticated.”

You turn your head towards him slowly, narrow your eyes. Yoongi makes a sound that might be a laugh or might be the noise people make when they’re trying not to choke on their own spit.

“I’m leaving,” you announce. “Yoongi, Jimin, you’re with me. We’re going to find you guys something that doesn’t require me to pretend I enjoy Jungkook’s company for an entire evening.”

“Bold of you to assume you don’t already do that every day!” Jungkook calls after you as you march toward the far end of the warehouse.

You don’t dignify that with a response, mostly because he’s not entirely wrong, and you’re not admitting that anywhere near him.

You unhook your arms from them and drift toward some rack of costumes, letting them have whatever weird moment is happening behind you.

But you can’t help but listen.

Because there’s something in Jimin’s voice when he speaks—softer than usual, with this eager undertone that makes your ears perk up like Griffin when he hears the can opener.

“That’s actually really interesting,” Jimin is saying, and you glance over your shoulder to see him gesturing at a particularly elaborate plague doctor mask that Yoongi just flicked with one finger. “The whole plague doctor aesthetic. It’s based on actual 17th-century medical practices, you know? They thought the long beaks would protect them from ‘bad air.’”

Oh?

Oh, this is interesting.

Jimin’s got that slightly breathless quality to his voice that he gets when he’s talking about something he’s passionate about. Usually it’s literature or obscure historical facts, but apparently medieval medical equipment also does it for him.

And Yoongi… Yoongi’s not walking away.

Which is weird, because Yoongi usually has the attention span of a goldfish when it comes to anyone’s academic interests that aren’t directly related to sound engineering.

“Yeah?” Yoongi says, and his voice is doing that thing where he’s trying to sound casual but you can tell he’s actually interested. “That’s… stupid. The bad air thing.”

“Right?” Jimin’s face lights up, and you have to physically turn back to the witch hats to keep from staring. “It’s all based on this theory called miasma—basically the idea that diseases were caused by ‘noxious air’ from rotting organic matter. Completely wrong, obviously, but it led to some really fascinating cultural developments.”

You pick up a pointed black hat and examine it like it’s the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen, when really you’re straining to catch every word of this conversation.

Because this is not how you expected this shopping trip to go.

“Huh.” There’s a pause, and you can practically feel Yoongi processing this information. “You know a lot about… medieval shit.”

Smooth, Yoongi. Real smooth.

“I read a lot,” Jimin says, and there’s this shy laugh in his voice that makes something warm and amused flutter in your chest. “Probably too much. My friends always say I retain the most random information.”

“It’s not random if it’s interesting.”

Did Yoongi just… Was that almost a compliment? From Yoongi? Who considers most human interaction a necessary evil?

You abandon all pretense of hat shopping and edge closer to a display of fake ravens, positioning yourself where you can see them in your peripheral vision without being obvious about it.

Jimin is fidgeting with the sleeve of his cardigan, that soft cream one that makes him look like he stepped out of an autumn catalog. And Yoongi is standing with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, but his usual ‘get me out of here’ posture has relaxed into something that might actually be called engaged.

“Do you…” Jimin starts, then stops, then starts again. “Do you watch a lot of horror movies? Because the plague doctor thing shows up in a lot of modern horror. There’s this really interesting evolution from historical medical practices to contemporary fear imagery.”

And there it is. The opening. The little bridge between Jimin’s academic interests and something that might actually overlap with Yoongi’s world.

Because you know for a fact that Yoongi has a thing for horror movies. Not the gory, jump-scare bullshit, but the atmospheric, psychological stuff that requires actual thought and attention to detail.

Yoongi tilts his head slightly, it’s what you’ve seen him do before when he’s listening to a track for the first time and trying to figure out what makes it work.

“Some,” he says, which is Yoongi-speak for ‘yes, and I have opinions about it.’ “Depends on the movie.”

“Right, there’s so much garbage out there,” Jimin says, and his voice picks up momentum. “But when it’s done well… Like, have you seen The Wailing? It’s this Korean horror film that uses traditional folklore but updates it for modern anxieties about disease and contamination.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, because you’re having a hard time processing the fact that Jimin knows Korean horror.

Sweet, cardigan-wearing, library-working Jimin watches movies that probably gave you nightmares for weeks.

The surprises just keep coming, huh.

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, and there’s something almost surprised in his voice. “That one’s good. Fucked up ending.”

“Right?” Jimin’s whole face animates when he gets excited, and watching it happen is like watching someone turn on a light. “The ambiguity of whether it’s supernatural or psychological—you’re never really sure what’s real. And the way they use sound design to build tension…”

Oh.

Oh no.

You can practically see the moment when Yoongi’s brain latches onto those two words: sound design.

“The sound design is what makes it work,” Yoongi says, and now he’s the one who sounds excited.

Well, excited by Yoongi standards, which means his voice has lost that flat, disinterested quality it usually has when talking to people he doesn’t know well.

“Most horror movies fuck it up. They think louder equals scarier.”

“Exactly!” Jimin practically bounces on his toes. “Subtlety is so much more effective. Like that scene in the forest—it’s not what you hear, it’s what you don’t hear that creates the tension.”

You’re standing there holding a black plastic bird, watching what might be the most unlikely friendship in the history of your social circle bloom over plague masks and Korean horror films.

And it’s… kind of adorable?

Which is weird, because you don’t usually think of Yoongi as adorable.

Yoongi is dry sarcasm and perpetual mild irritation and the kind of person who can shut down a conversation with a single raised eyebrow.

But watching him try to navigate small talk with someone he’s obviously interested in talking to?

It’s like watching a cat try to ask for attention.

Awkward and endearing and slightly painful to witness.

“There’s this other one,” Jimin continues, completely oblivious to your eavesdropping. “The Handmaiden? It’s more psychological thriller than straight horror, but the way they layer sound and silence…”

“Park Chan-wook,” Yoongi says immediately. “He did Oldboy.”

“Yes! You know his work?”

“Some of it.” Yoongi’s hands are still in his pockets, but his shoulders have relaxed even more. “The editing is insane. Music placement is good too.”

“The way he uses classical music as counterpoint to violence…” Jimin shakes his head. “It’s brilliant. Disturbing, but brilliant.”

You’re starting to feel like you’re intruding on something private, which is ridiculous because they’re having this conversation in the middle of a crowded costume warehouse.

But there’s something about the way they’re leaning slightly toward each other, the way Jimin’s nervous energy has focused into genuine enthusiasm, the way Yoongi’s usual defensiveness has dropped…

It’s like watching two puzzle pieces discover they fit together.

“You should…” Yoongi starts, then stops, and you can practically see him recalibrating. “I mean, if you want… There’s this other director. Bong Joon-ho. Did Parasite, but his earlier stuff is more horror-adjacent.”

“I’ve been meaning to watch The Host,” Jimin says quickly. “I read that it’s actually a commentary on environmental disaster disguised as a monster movie?”

“Yeah.” Yoongi nods, and there’s something almost shy about the way he’s not quite making eye contact. “It’s… you could probably show me. The academic perspective. We could watch it together.” And he fucking shrugs, looking to the side. “Or something.”

Oh my god.

Did Yoongi just ask Jimin to hang out? In the most awkward, roundabout way possible?

You have to bite your lip to keep from making an actual noise of delight.

“Really?” Jimin’s voice does this little uptick thing that’s definitely not subtle. “I mean, if you want to. I don’t want to bore you with my overthinking.”

“You wouldn’t.” Yoongi’s response is immediate, and there’s something almost fierce about it. “Bore me, I mean. You don’t… it’s not boring.”

Jesus Christ, these two are going to give you secondhand embarrassment if they keep this up.

But also it’s kind of sweet? In a deeply awkward, ‘neither of us knows how to have this conversation’ way?

“Cool,” Jimin says, and his smile is so bright it could probably power the entire warehouse. “That sounds really cool.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi agrees. “Cool.”

And they both just stand there, smiling at each other like they’ve just discovered fire.

You spot him waving like he’s hailing a cab, and immediately regret making eye contact.

The dramatic downward sweep of his hand is practically screaming ‘get your ass over here’, and you’re half a second from flipping him off just on principle.

Instead, you sigh, let go of the random fabric you were absentmindedly thumbing through—some itchy-looking velvet monstrosity—and stalk your way over with your arms crossed.

“What,” you deadpan.

That’s all he gets.

Jungkook’s holding up a mask between his fingers like it’s something holy. A plastic one. With cartoonishly hollow black eyes and a droopy, gaping mouth.

You freeze.

No.

No no no.

“Is that—”

“Ghostface,” he confirms proudly, lifting it so it hovers next to his face. “Well?”

Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

Oh, fuck.

Because, yeah. You’ve seen that mask before. A lot. On TikTok. Usually accompanied by heavy breathing and very creative knife choreography. Sometimes shirtless. Occasionally involving… rope?

Look, you’re not proud of how deep that particular rabbit hole got, but in your defense, your algorithm is deranged and your taste is none of Jungkook’s business.

Still.

That mask has associations. And none of them involve Jungkook standing in an aisle of the world’s saddest costume warehouse.

“I—why do you need my opinion?” you ask, trying desperately to sound neutral.

He blinks at you. “Because you’re the only female friend I trust to be brutally honest with me.”

You narrow your eyes. “We’re not friends.”

Jungkook recoils, dramatically slapping his palm against his chest like you just stabbed him in the heart with a prop dagger.

“Damn, Nix. Right in the feelings.”

He taps twice on his pec, and of course your eyes flick down without your permission. Just for a second.

And of course he catches it.

He grins. “Right here. Fatal wound.”

“Oh my god.” You swat at him, heat creeping up your neck. “What the fuck are you doing? Stop it. You look unhinged.”

He raises his forearm in defense, blocking your half-hearted smacks. “You’re just mad because I’m right.”

“I’m mad because you’re annoying.”

“Which is part of my charm. Come on. Don’t be like that. We’re totally friends.”

“Friends implies I like you,” you retort, eyes narrowing.

He shrugs. “You like me horizontally.”

Your brain skips. Just full-on, no-buffer skips like a scratched CD.

“On the couch,” he continues casually, like he’s listing furniture. “Against the window. On your bed. That time on—”

You slap your hand over his mouth without a second thought.

“That was before,” you hiss, eyes darting around scandalized. “Shut up. God, shut up, you maniac.”

His eyes crinkle, mouth still under your palm. But he’s smiling. Of course he is. The little shit.

Then—too gentle—he reaches up and wraps his fingers around your wrist, pulling your hand down slowly.

Doesn’t let go right away. Just… holds it there for a beat.

“Still,” he says, voice lower now. “We’re friends.”

You roll your eyes so hard they nearly get stuck. “If we’re friends, then you’re my most insufferable one.”

That earns you a grin. A big one. Full teeth. Dimples. God, the smugness.

“I’ll take it, Nixy-friend.”

You make a noise halfway between a groan and a death threat. “Don’t call me that.”

He’s still grinning when he lifts the mask again.

“So? Opinion?”

You squint. “Uh… it’s a choice.”

His mouth drops open, scandalized. “What do you—seriously, Nix?”

“What?” you say innocently, folding your arms again. “You picked the most generic costume in the entire building.”

“It’s not—” he scoffs, crossing his arms too, like he’s physically offended by your taste. “It’s not about that.”

And then he turns slightly, facing the wall of costumes behind him, but his eyes stay locked on the mask. He spins it once between his fingers, like he’s not entirely sure why he’s still holding it.

“It’s not about being scary,” he says, but mostly to himself. “Or edgy or… whatever.”

The way he says it—quiet, almost absent—makes something in your chest tug.

You don’t say anything right away. Just watch the way his thumb traces the edge of the mask like it’s delicate, not ten-dollar plastic. Something about the way he holds it makes your throat go tight.

You cross your arms tighter, mostly to stop yourself from doing something stupid, like ask what he’s really thinking.

Instead you roll your eyes—softly, this time.

“…Okay.”

He doesn’t react. Just keeps staring at it.

“Okay,” you repeat, louder. “Explain it to me then.”

That gets his attention.

“Huh?” 

He glances up, blinking like he forgot you were still standing there. Those stupid boba eyes blink wide and confused, too much light in them. Too much sincerity.

Makes you want to punch him in the chest just to knock some of it out.

You tilt your head, dry as hell. “You’re gonna stand here talking about how it’s not about being scary and then not elaborate? That’s so irritating. Explain yourself, Roguersese.”

He snorts, but his eyes flicker back to the mask almost immediately.

You see the shift happen—how he starts to retreat a little, like he’s stepping back into his own head.

And okay, maybe you should’ve let it go.

But then he starts talking.

“…I dunno,” he says first, which is a lie. You can tell by the way his fingers still. The mask stops moving.

You give him a look. That look. The one that says ‘try again’ without having to say it.

He sighs, deep and put-upon, like this is such a chore. But he also shifts on his feet. Shoulders roll.

And that’s when you know he’s about to do it. That nerdy, spiraling thing where he starts rambling and forgets anyone else exists.

Just like at MoMA.

“I guess,” he starts, “Ghostface’s not really like the others?”

You raise a brow. “You mean in the entire genre or just in your little tier list?”

He shoots you a glare but doesn’t bite. Nerd filter: activated.

“I mean, yeah, he’s technically a slasher villain. But the thing is, he’s not one guy, right? Or even one character. That’s kind of the whole point. He keeps changing.”

He pauses, twirling the mask again with his fingers.

“Like—it’s always someone new. And half the time it’s some random dude or girl you wouldn’t suspect. Some kid. Some freak. Someone you know but didn’t think could pull that kind of thing off. And that’s what makes it so good. Because he’s not a monster. He’s just… us.”

You don’t say anything. You just watch him. Watch his face shift, slowly, into something more open than he usually lets himself be.

He talks with his hands now, one still holding the mask, the other gesturing vaguely as he thinks out loud.

“And he’s messy,” he adds, quieter now. “He gets thrown around. Tripped up. Hit in the face with shit. He’s not like—Jason or Michael, all cold and slow and invincible. Ghostface gets fucking wrecked. And then comes back anyway.”

You shift, something about the way he says that last part catching somewhere in your throat.

Jungkook doesn’t notice. He’s still going. Still spinning the damn mask like it’s a compass and he’s trying to figure out which direction it’s pointing in.

“And I dunno,” he mumbles. “There’s something kind of cool about that. Like… you think he’s gonna play it one way. And then—he doesn’t. He fucks it up. Or flips it. He’s not clean.”

He pauses, fingers stopping the mask mid-spin.

“It’s subversion,” he says. “The mask is supposed to be the scariest thing in the room. But it’s also the thing everyone laughs at now. That shift… that’s film language, right? You build tension, then break it. Make people think they’re safe, then twist it again.”

He looks weirdly serious now. Focused. Like you’re not standing in a shitty seasonal warehouse surrounded by fake cobwebs and plastic axes.

“And it’s not about the killer,” he adds, quieter. “It’s about what the audience expects from the killer. You give them something obvious, something they think they understand, and then you flip it.”

There’s a pause.

Then—

“I mean, not that I’m, like, planning a murder or whatever,” he mutters, side-eying you. “I just think people underestimate the craft behind a ‘dumb’ costume.”

You blink at him. Hard.

Because, okay.

You know Jungkook is good at what he does. You know he edits projects for other film students. You know he’s constantly watching weird old movies ‘for reference’ even when no one’s asked him to.

But hearing him talk like this?

It’s different.

It’s thoughtful. Specific. Self-aware.

But not in that annoying Jason way that feels like a lecture waiting to happen. It’s just—his brain. Quietly running ten layers deeper than anyone gives him credit for.

You kind of forget sometimes that there’s more going on under the tattoos and hair and dumbass sex jokes.

And that’s dangerous. Because now he’s doing this whole thoughtful, nerdy, vaguely hot film student thing, and you hate how much it works on you.

You exhale slowly, not trusting yourself to respond yet.

Because if you do, it’ll probably come out soft.

And that’s the last thing you need.

“Anyway,” he mutters, a little laugh under his breath. “It’s probably dumb. I guess Tessa will think it’s cool that I… put thought into it.”

You blink.

There it is. The turn. That awkward, sheepish thing he does when he’s trying to pretend he doesn’t care as much as he clearly does.

“I mean,” he continues, eyes fixed firmly on the mask like it might bail him out of this conversation, “she’s into, like… the analysis side of stuff. So I figured maybe if it has meaning, she’ll think it’s interesting.”

He says it like it’s a question. Like he’s unsure if it even counts.

Then he glances at you, just barely. A flicker of eye contact before he retreats again.

“So I kinda just…” he shrugs, “wanted to know what you think. Because, like, you’re a woman too and…”

He trails off, face pinching slightly like the words themselves physically embarrass him.

“Yeah,” he finished lamely.

You stare at him. Loudly.

Then sigh. Loudly.

“You’re so annoying,” you mutter.

His brows twitch. “Okay, what—”

“No, like, you’re so annoying, because now I can’t even make fun of you.”

His mouth tugs into the faintest grin. He tries to hide it by looking back at the mask.

You roll your eyes. “You want me to say something validating and supportive so you can pretend you don’t care. I see your little game.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. It’s written all over your stupid face.”

He doesn’t argue. Just lifts the mask to eye level again, tapping one finger against the edge like he’s stalling.

You sigh again, softer this time. “Look. I think it’s cool, okay? It’s not just… the mask. It’s the fact that you thought about it. You didn’t just grab something hot or funny or whatever. You thought it through.”

He exhales, mouth twisting like he doesn’t know how to take that.

“And you didn’t force her to match,” you add, quieter now. “Which is cool. Like, you could’ve said ‘let’s be a pair’ and I guarantee she’d have done it. She seems like the type to just go with the flow.”

He nods slowly. “Yeah. She’s… nice.”

You wait, but he doesn’t say more. Doesn’t elaborate. But you know there’s more—underneath that word, under the softness of it.

“She’s sweet,” he says finally. “And like… she would’ve said yes to whatever I wanted. I just—” he breaks off, brow furrowing. “I didn’t want to decide for her, y’know?”

That makes something click.

Because yeah, you know that feeling.

Not wanting to accidentally trap someone in your orbit. Not wanting someone else’s whole night to hinge on your decision.

But the way he says it… it’s heavier. Like the guilt’s already sitting on his shoulders even though nothing bad happened.

“I didn’t want to be the guy who’s like, ‘this is what we’re doing.’” He grimaces, thumb rubbing over the mask. “But I also knew that if we went looking together, she’d just pick whatever I picked. And I didn’t want that either. So I kinda just… made it easy. Said no to matching from the start.”

You tilt your head. “So you picked something meaningful and let her do her own thing.”

He shrugs again. “Maybe. I don’t know. It still feels like I made a call that wasn’t mine to make.”

You narrow your eyes. “What do you think she wants?”

His mouth presses into a line. “To make me happy.”

The way he says it makes your chest twist. Not because it’s smug. It’s not.

It’s almost… self-loathing.

Like he hates that she wants that. Hates that she puts him in that position.

Which is weird, because she’s lovely. You like Tessa. She’s gentle and open and kind in a way that’s rare in this city. But maybe that’s the problem.

Maybe that kind of softness makes Jungkook feel like he has to carry the whole shape of the relationship in his arms.

And maybe he’s not built for that.

You don’t say any of that out loud.

You just nudge him lightly with your elbow. “You’re not a dick for picking a solo costume. If anything, you were trying not to make it about you.”

He glances at you, uncertain.

“Ghostface is kind of the opposite of that,” you add. “He’s no one. That’s kind of the point, right?”

A pause. His fingers still on the mask. Then—

He smiles. Small. Real.

“So you like it?”

You make the grave mistake of hesitating. Just for a second. Barely even a pause. But it’s enough.

You clear your throat. “I mean…”

His brows go up, expectantly.

You side-eye the wall of plastic masks in front of you. There’s a really stupid one shaped like a cartoon banana.

You focus on that instead of his stupid boba eyes.

“Well. I mean—” you shrug, picking at the corner of the banana mask like it personally insulted you, “—there’s definitely, uh. A thing. On TikTok.”

Jungkook’s face screws up in confusion, like you’ve just introduced a new word into the English language.

“What kind of thing?”

You shrug again, too casual. Way too casual.

“Just… a thing.”

He keeps staring at you.

You know what you just did.

And unfortunately, so does he.

His lips twitch. And then that bastard grin breaks full force across his face like a sunrise that wants to ruin your entire day.

“No way.” He lifts the mask slightly. “You’re joking.”

“’Bout what?” you mumble, eyes glued to the banana mask.

You tug it off its hook. Pretend to inspect the elastic strap like it matters to your life in any way.

Jungkook doesn’t fall for it.

“Oh my god.” He laughs into the sleeve of his hoodie, turning slightly like he needs a moment to process this newfound information. “Phoenix thinks Ghostface is hot.”

“I did not say that.” You whip around and jab a finger in his direction like that will undo your own mouth.

He just grins wider. “You definitely just said that.”

“I said it was a thing. That other people find it hot. Which is factually true—there’s, like, entire edits—”

“Right, but not you.” He steps forward, still holding the mask between two fingers. “Totally not you. You just happen to be deeply educated on this very specific TikTok niche.”

You huff, turning back to the rack. “Can we not do this?”

“Why not?” he says, and he’s grinning now, like a shark circling blood in the water. “I think this is fascinating.”

“I think you’re an idiot.”

“Mm,” he hums. “An idiot who just found out you’re into anonymous masked killers.”

You spin back around. “I’m not—”

“Okay, okay,” he says quickly, mock serious, lifting one palm like he’s swearing an oath. “You’re not. Obviously. I’m just… curious.”

“No you’re not.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You totally are,” he says, stepping closer. “Look at you. Getting flustered over a Halloween mask.”

You scoff. “Literally fuck off. I’m not flustered.”

“Sure you’re not,” he says, tipping his head.

His tone is light, teasing, but there’s something else under it now—something that crawls under your skin and presses right where it shouldn’t.

You glare. “Rogue, shut up.”

“What exactly is hot about it though?” he asks, turning the mask toward you like it’s Exhibit A in some humiliating trial. “Like, is it the whole ‘mystery man’ thing? Or the knife?”

Your mouth falls open. “Oh my god.”

“Wait—” he grins, ignoring you— “is it the voice?”

You throw the banana mask at him. He catches it one-handed and doesn’t even flinch.

“You are the worst person alive.”

“I’m trying to understand!” he insists, like he’s the picture of sincerity. “It’s important research. Academic.”

“Academic?” you deadpan.

“Yeah. For cultural awareness.”

You squint at him. “You just wanna hear me say it.”

“I so do,” he agrees instantly. “But I’ll settle for you panicking.”

You stare him down. He stares right back, clearly enjoying every second of this.

“You’re an asshole,” you mutter.

“True,” he says easily. Then leans in just slightly. “But be honest… you’d still let Ghostface rail you, wouldn’t you?”

Your mouth opens in offense.

Nothing comes out.

His grin spreads, impossibly wider.

“Interesting,” he says again, eyes flicking over your face like he’s committing this to memory for future blackmail.

You try to punch him in the shoulder.

He dodges it. Barely. Still grinning.

And he’s leaning just enough into your space to be irritating on purpose.

“You’re obsessed,” he says.

“Delusional,” you snap back.

“You brought up TikTok thirst traps.”

“You asked for my opinion!”

He shrugs. “Didn’t expect a confession.”

You glare. “There was no confession.”

“Mhm.”

You move to step around him. He steps with you. You move the other way. So does he.

Human traffic cone. Human wall. Human virus.

“I will strangle you with that stupid mask,” you mutter.

“I dare you.”

“You think I won’t?”

“I think you’ll try.”

You huff. Real dramatic. Real fed up. “Fine. I don’t know, okay? It’s just hot.”

He stops. Grin falters, then returns—slower this time. More knowing.

“Hot, huh.”

You cross your arms. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“It is a thing. You said it’s a thing.”

“Yeah, but not my thing.”

“Oh no, no, no,” he says. “You said it’s hot. That makes it your thing.”

You make a sound that’s basically just teeth grinding frustration. “Like you don’t have one.”

He raises a brow. “A thing?”

“Yeah. A kink. A—whatever. Something weird that gets you going.”

“I don’t—”

You cut him off with a scoff so exaggerated it might as well be choreographed. “Oh, please.”

He blinks. “What?”

“You seriously wanna sit there and pretend,” you say, stepping right up to him now, “that you don’t get off when someone pulls your hair?”

Jungkook freezes.

Just—stops.

Eyes blinking slowly, like a computer rebooting after a crash. “What are you talking about?”

You squint. “You’re not serious.”

“I—”

“Come on, Rogue. You make that little sound every time.”

His mouth opens, then closes.

And you—dumbly, automatically, without thinking it through for even half a second—reach up.

Your fingers slip into the soft hair at the back of his neck, right where it curves into his collar.

You tug—not hard, but just enough.

Jungkook goes completely still.

Like frozen in place, breath suspended somewhere between inhale and denial.

His pupils dilate so fast it should be illegal, and his jaw does that lil' clenching motion it always does when he's holding something back.

His voice, when it finally crawls out of his throat, is embarrassingly raspy. “I do that?”

You nod, slowly. “Yeah.”

Your fingers tighten—just slightly—and you swear you feel the tremble ripple down his spine. His eyes flutter, just once, like he’s trying not to let it show but his body’s already ratted him out.

“See?” you murmur, tone whispery. “You don’t know why you like it. You just do.”

He swallows again. Adam’s apple jumping. “That’s different.”

“It’s not,” you counter. “That’s what I’ve been saying this entire time.”

He looks down at you—mouth parted, expression hazy like you’ve rebooted half his nervous system—and you know what he’s thinking.

You know because your own brain is right there with his, high-speed spiraling into very inappropriate flashbacks.

You. Him. Your bed.

Your fingers twisted in his hair.

His hands grabbing, mouth somewhere you shouldn’t still think about at night.

But you do.

And it’s definitely not helping that his eyes are dark now. Really dark. The kind that promise trouble.

That twitch in his jaw. The shift in his breathing.

You know every single version of this look. You’ve worn it.

And then, finally, your brain screams abort. Every nerve in your body lights up in panic.

What are you doing?

You pull your hand back like you’ve been electrocuted, stepping away fast, lungs tight, chest somehow both hot and cold.

Jungkook turns his head to the side and lets out a short, embarrassed cough, one that sounds like an apology and a warcry in the same breath. His fingers loosen imperceptibly on the mask and the plastic shifts but he doesn’t look at it.

You stand in the aisle with your heart thumping like a bad drum, suddenly aware of the absurdity of everything: you, in a Halloween warehouse, having just proofed a man with hair tugging and ghost masks and all the mess around both of you.

“Right,” you say, because words are safer than quiet. “We good?”

He swallows. Eyes still slightly unfocused, like he’s choosing whether to answer honestly or with a joke.

“Yeah.” His voice is rough in a way that shouldn’t be legal in aisle six. Clears his throat. “Yeah, we good.”

Silence blooms. The bad kind. The aware kind. Your skin buzzes like you stood too close to a speaker stack. He spins the mask once, catches it, buying himself a second like a coin trick.

You try for neutral; shoot for bored. Miss entirely.

He tilts the mask toward your face, safer territory, the smallest curve at his mouth like he’s begging you to kick the ball back into banterland.

“So,” he says, lighter on purpose and you can hear the effort. “For the record. The mask is… what? Eight out of ten hot? Nine?”

“Don’t push it.”

“Ten,” he murmurs, faint smug creeping in. “Noted.”

“Die.”

“Later.” His mouth quirks. “What do you want to dress up as?”

You freeze. Stupid question. Normal question. Suddenly impossible.

Because it’s not ‘what are you going as?’. Its ’what do you want to dress up as?’ and that’s different.

He watches you, but you stare at the floor, then the wall, then anywhere that isn’t him.

Should you tell him?

You try it soft. So soft he doesn’t catch it.

“What?” he says, leaning closer, forehead creasing.

You force the word out, steady this time.

“Medusa.”

You don’t look at him when you say it. Just let the word hang there, weighty and weird.

Jungkook doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t do the dumb ’wow, sexy snakes, okay’ thing you half-expect.

He just blinks once. Quiet. Maybe processing.

“I thought you were gonna do… like…” He gestures vaguely with the mask. “That Virginia Woolf thing?”

You wince. “Yeah, I was.”

You finally meet his eyes. He’s watching you with something softer than before. No grin.

Just curiosity, plain and unshaped.

“Was gonna do Virginia Woolf,” you add, casually, like obviously, like it’s not weird to switch from one literary symbol to another because your semi-boyfriend might be going as Jack fucking Kerouac.

You fiddle with the hem of your sleeve, eyes fixed somewhere around his shoulder.

“But that felt a little too… on the nose.”

He nods slowly, still quiet.

“And I don’t know. Medusa just—” You stop. Shrug. “—feels right.”

“Care to…” he gestures vaguely, “…elaborate?”

You sigh.

It comes from somewhere deep within the confines of your chest.

“She’s not just… you know.” But he probably doesn’t know. “Stone eyes and snake hair. She’s text. She’s so much text. Ovid, obviously, but then Cixous, and Atwood, and like—Plath has that one poem where she twists the myth, and Carol Ann Duffy literally rewrites her voice. Everyone has something to say about her. Everyone uses her.”

You’re rambling now, and you know it. The words rush out too fast, but you can’t stop them.

Like if you say it all out loud, it’ll make more sense.

Or at least justify why it matters to you.

“She’s a battleground. A metaphor. A warning. All the things people call girls when they don’t know what else to name us. She’s rage and revenge and survival. She wasn’t a monster until someone decided she had to be one.”

You pause. Exhale.

You don’t look at him when you say it.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m projecting,” you mutter. “But it kind of fits.”

He doesn’t say anything.

You half-laugh to yourself. “I mean, I got detention for a note, so. On brand.”

You smile to yourself. Dry. Sharp-edged. It’s not really a joke, but it sort of is.

Because yeah. You’re not a monster. But people love to pretend.

Mrs. Henderson. Your mom. David Morrison’s stupid scribbled lies. A rumor muttered loud enough to echo.

You were never trying to be anything. But the second someone decided you were dangerous, it stuck.

Your throat tightens unexpectedly.

“It’s not about being sexy. I know everyone’s gonna assume that. It’s not snakes for the aesthetic. It’s like…” You shrug. “She’s a reclamation. Or maybe just… a way to show I see myself. The way people keep misreading me. And her. And maybe Jason will get it. And maybe he won’t. But at least I’ll feel like I tried.”

You don’t know why you said that last part.

But there it is.

Jungkook shifts the mask in his hand, tapping the plastic absently against his leg. Then looks at you.

“Phoenix,” he says, quietly.

Your eyes meet. Something stills.

The smile that breaks through his fair is unfair.

But what’s even more unfair is what he says next.

“You’re gonna kill in that costume.”

Said like a fact. No doubt. No teasing. Just… full belief.

You feel something in your chest tug. Then pull harder.

He reaches out and gently bops you on the head with the Ghostface mask. You blink. Then he flicks your nose.

“Hey—”

But he’s already walking.

“C’mon,” he calls over his shoulder. “Let’s find Jimin.”

You frown after him. “What?”

“Need to find you a mouth-dropping Medusa costume,” he says, turning back just long enough to flash a grin. “You’re not showing up to that party looking like a half-baked metaphor.”

And then he disappears around the corner of the aisle, mask swinging in one hand.

Maybe it shouldn’t matter. He’s always said shit like that. Flirty comments. Offhand compliments that don’t mean anything.

That’s the whole thing with Jungkook—he’s reckless and smooth and too pretty for his own good. That’s who he is.

Except.

Except he didn’t say it like that.

Not like it was a line.

Not like it was meant to land and linger and make you flustered.

It wasn’t even about him. He said it like he meant it for you.

Just you.

Like he got it.

Like he saw what you were trying to do—be powerful, be alone, be understood—and wanted to make sure it hit the way you hoped.

You stand there for a second, a smile forming despite yourself.

The way he listened. The way he didn’t laugh.

The way he looked at you like you weren’t ridiculous for wanting something deeper than cute.

It sits oddly in your chest.

Not heavy.

Just… unexpected.

Like rain when the sky’s still blue.

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Side eyeing your boyfriend as he lifts the pillow over his face, peering hesitantly over the top of it to watch the movie, you find yourself rolling your eyes. You have no idea why he agreed to the horror movie marathon you’ve been dying to do since October began, as you know how much he hates them. But if you’re honest, you found his fear oddly attractive.

On the screen, the killer jumps out from behind a tree as the music screeches to a deafening volume, making Jungkook jump and throw the pillow across the room.

“What the f-” he says under his breath, clutching his chest.

You fight the giggle that bubbles up inside you, focusing instead on the way desire pools deep in your belly.

“Is my baby scared?” you ask, tone dripping with sensual teasing.

His wide eyes meet yours, as he nods apprehensively.

“There must be something I can do to help,” you say, sliding off the couch and crawling over in-between his legs.

Your fingers toy with the waistband of his sweat pants as you look up at him through your lashes. “Do you want me to help?”

He nods again, eagerly this time, and you're unable to help your smirk that pulls at one side of your mouth.

You pull down his joggers and boxers, with him lifting his hips to aid the action, and watch his cock spring up. The sound as it thuds against his stomach has your core throbbing with want, but right now it's not your desire that needs to be taken care of.

Wrapping your fingers around his swollen cock, you point it to your lips, letting them graze gently over the tip. He moans in such a sinful way, you have to squeeze your legs together to provide some relief.

Precum weeps from his slit. You've barely touched him and he's already writhing under you, like a sex starved maniac.

"Someone's eager today,” you whisper, smirking up at him. “I thought the first rule of surviving a crazed killer was; no sex?”

His hips thrust up, clearly not amused. “No teasing today, please, baby,” he pleads, eyebrows turned up together in anguish as he stares down at you.

The thought crosses your mind to ignore him completely, as you love the sounds of him begging, but you push it away.

Enveloping your mouth over him and plunging yourself down, you take him to the hilt until he hits the back of your throat. The muscles contract around him, making his body jolt off the sofa, and his hands grab fistfuls of your hair as you bob your head up and down.

“Fuck,” he gasps.

Pulling yourself off with a loud pop, you spit on the tip and spread the lubricant down his shaft with your palm, rotating your hand as you go. The muscles on his thighs ripple as he stretches his legs out when you envelope him inside your mouth once again.

Sucking him in greedily, you enjoy the small sounds you're prying from his lips, and when you look up and meet his eyes, he loses all composure with a loud moan, throwing his head against the back of the couch.

Your movements are fast but controlled as you move your tongue expertly along the length of him, and you can tell by the way his legs are shaking that he's close already. He tugs on your hair, pulling you off completely, a string of saliva the only thing connecting you, as you look up at him with a pout.

“Ride me,” he pants, and your insides quiver with anticipation. Standing, you pull down your panties, flinging them at his face, and watch as he takes a deep inhale. Lifting your skirt, you kneel on either side of his thighs, letting the material fan out over you.

He lines himself up underneath you as you slide down slowly on him, allowing your eager cunt to adjust around him. The stretch has your toes curling and the moan that leaves you is absolutely sinful as it seems to ring out around the room above the piercing screams from the movie.

His fingers are grabbing the material of your top and pulling it up and over your head before his hands move to your breasts, yanking your bra down and freeing them.

You start to rotate your hips while his lips envelope one of your nipples, swirling his tongue around the hardened bud, and your core clenches around him.

“You like that, baby?” he asks.

“Yes,” you reply breathlessly, sliding yourself up and down on him, enjoying the way your sex pulls him in each time.

His teeth graze your sensitive peak, making you hiss, and it only spurs you on. He bucks up into you to match your movements, hitting that perfect spot inside you each time.

Leaning down, your lips connect in a hungry mess of tongue and teeth as his hands traverse your body, feeling like they're everywhere all at once. Until they grip the flesh of your backside so hard you bite his lip, making him whimper. He uses your rear to control your movements, speeding you up and slamming you down.

Your core tightens, the band inside you pulling tight and ready to snap.

“Fuck, baby, don't stop, please. I'm gonna fill you up, fuck,” he gasps, veins in his neck bulging. His pleas are enough to tip you over the edge, sending you unraveling around him, your core spasming and milking him of his own orgasm. His warm seed spills into you, and when your climax is over, you collapse on him.

“I think I'll have to be scared more often.” He chuckles as you both try to catch your breath.

“The horror movie marathon is not over yet, babe,” you remind him, planting a trail of kisses up his neck and along his jaw. His hand cups the back of your head, turning you towards him, capturing your lips with his in a slow, passionate kiss.

“You can watch all the horror movies you want if you let me fill you up like that while you watch them,” he whispers, licking your bottom lip in such a sensual way your sated hunger starts to bloom again.

You force yourself to look around, searching for a distraction. The cabin is meticulous, neat, and undeniably cozy. Every surface speaks of warmth and care, yet none of it reaches you—not with the unease clinging to your chest, the same restless weight that’s followed you since you left home.

When the feeling swells again, you turn toward the window.

This mountain cabin is nothing like Taehyung’s summer place—smaller, yes, but no less comfortable. Quaint. Homey. The kind of place meant to soothe. Outside, the surrounding woods blur beneath sheets of rain, a view that should evoke peace.

But all you see is the storm. The same storm which accompanied you all the way here, as if trying to stop you from getting further away from home.

Less than an hour ago, one just like it raged inside you—chaos tightening in your chest, a deep chasm forming until escape felt like the only option.

What was it again? 

Yes, that’s right. A fight. That was what sent you away from home.

You can’t even remember how it started. The details are gone, blurred by adrenaline and hurt, but the pain remains sharp and unmistakable. The look on Taehyung’s face. The way it lodged itself somewhere beneath your ribs.

It feels almost silly now. Maybe no sillier than your current state—soaked from head to toe, hair plastered to your skin, makeup ruined. The surprise you’d so carefully planned for him was washed away by rain and impulse. That’s what happens when you run out into a storm and drive across the city without thinking.

A chill tears through you at the memory, your arms tightening instinctively. You’re just wishing for a blanket—something warm, something safe—when footsteps sound from the hallway.

You turn just as Jungkook appears with a folded towel in his hands. The moment he takes you in—standing there like a drenched, unsteady cat, barefoot on the floor—his easy smile fades. “I told you to sit on the couch,” he says, approaching.

You gesture weakly at your dripping clothes. “I didn’t… want to get it wet.” Your voice trembles, betraying the cold you’re trying to ignore.

His brows knit together as he opens the towel and drapes it around your shoulders. “Here,” he murmurs, his voice as gentle as the way he tucks it around you.

Warmth blooms—partly from the towel, partly from him stepping closer, close enough that his chest nearly brushes yours. You look up before you can stop yourself, breath catching when you realize just how near he is.

“Is everything okay?” he asks softly, his face etched with worry.

The question stirs something dangerous. Unbidden memories resurface—last summer, Taehyung’s cabin, the heat of shared nights. Jungkook’s slow approach at the hot tub. His sweet, yet commanding whispers. The way your body had learned and memorized every one of his touches and how easily they sparked a reaction in you.

Heat unfurls through you, vivid and unwelcome. His gaze darkens, the same way it did back then—when he watched you give yourself over to pleasure, whether by his hands or someone else’s. The memory makes your cheeks burn, your skin hum with need.

Last summer feels like another lifetime.

The four of you haven’t been together since, yet there were nights when you’ve been reliving it silently through your dreams.

Jungkook lets out a soft chuckle, as if he knows exactly where your thoughts have wandered. “Why don’t you go and change first?” he says, voice lowered, causing the heat inside you to swirl wildly. “You can use the bathroom. I’ll find you something to wear.”

“Right… okay.” This time, your stammer has nothing to do with the cold.

Still, you don’t move. If anything, you lean closer, telling yourself it’s just the warmth you crave. But there’s something deeper stirring—something reckless.

His hands come up to steady you when your body sways. “Does Taehyung know you’re here?”

You shake your head. Your throat tightens as flashes of the fight come back to you, and the knowing look on his face falters.

“Something happened,” he says gently.

“We fought,” you whisper, tears pricking your eyes. Guilt floods back in, sharp and heavy, when you remember the look you saw from Taehyung as you fled. “I said things. So did he. I had to leave before either of us started saying the wrong things.”

“And you came here,” Jungkook says. “Why?”

“I… don’t know.” You exhale slowly. You try to recall everything that went through your mind as you were driving through the rain. Clearly, you weren’t thinking straight. But as your mind continued to drift towards your lover, one thing was made clear. “I was driving… Then I remembered Taehyung telling me you’d be here until the end of spring. I guess that’s what led me here.”

“Well,” he says quietly, brushing his fingers along your cheek, “I’m glad you did. It’s better than getting lost in that storm.”

You smile faintly. “Yeah. Probably not my smartest decision.”

“Call him,” Jungkook says after a moment.

You shake your head. “Not yet.” You’re not sure if you’re ready to face him yet. Not even to hear his voice. Because you will break down the moment you do.

“He still needs to know that you’ve come here,” Jungkook reassures you. “I know he must be worried.” 

He’s right. But still. “I know. Just… not yet.”

Seeing the look on your face, Jungkook seems to understand what you’re thinking. Instead of insisting on it, he only nods and steps back, taking the warmth with him. “We can figure things out later,” he says, “Get out of those clothes first. We don’t want you getting sick.”

With a sigh of relief, you nod, telling yourself that it would be best to do as he says. You’re about to move when a sound cuts through the rain—sharp, sudden, unmistakable. Both of you freeze on the spot as you realize what’s happening.

A car pulls into the driveway, its tires screeching over the wet gravel before coming to a full stop right in front of the cabin. Car doors open and close. Heavy footsteps echo from the front porch. Then, moments later, the front door flies open. Wind and rain burst inside, and you flinch as a figure rushes in.

His eyes are wide as he sweeps across the room, searching, until he finds you inside the living room. The relief written on his face mirrors yours — because it’s only Yoongi.

Yet your relief is short-lived when he calls over his shoulder, “Told you she’d be here.”

Your breath catches as Taehyung appears at the doorway. His gaze locks onto you instantly, noticing your tremble, the towel on your shoulders, and then Jungkook’s hands that are placed on your upper arms. Jungkook pulls away as if burned, though he doesn’t step back.

Sensing the tension in the room as Yoongi closes the door behind them, Jungkook lingers by your side. “I promise, I didn’t call him,” he whispers, and you turn to him with a small smile. 

“But you called Yoongi, didn’t you?” 

“I—” 

“No, he didn’t,” Taehyung cuts him off before Jungkook can answer. His gaze remains locked on you as he kicks his wet boots off and dumps them at the door. “I picked up Yoongi at work, and he suggested that you might come here if you knew that Jungkook was at the cabin.” 

Jungkook looks between you and Taehyung, looking unsure. But then he looks at Yoongi, and guilt fills his eyes as their gazes meet. “I was planning to call you, I swear,” he says to his boyfriend. “I was going to wait until she changes, and—” 

“Don’t be mad at him. I told him not to call anyone,” you try to explain to Yoongi. The last thing you need is to cause trouble for others, when you were the one to bring your problems into their home.

Jungkook throws you a smile to show his gratitude before approaching his lover, allowing Taehyung to take his place. Once again, the room tightens with tension as Taehyung steps closer, his eyes studying you closely. “Why are you soaking wet?”

You roll your eyes. “It was raining,” you snap, even as your heart pulls in the opposite direction.

One look at his face, and your anger sparks a new urge to fight him. To argue and act like a brat to annoy him. But at the same time, seeing him here makes you want to jump into his arms instead of running.

“Why haven’t you changed yet?” He asks, annoyed. You can see it in the way he is looking at you—brows knitted with worry and exasperation—and hear it in his voice. “You know you’ll get sick if you stay like this.” 

“I—” You try to argue back, only to lose your voice.

Oh, damn him. Why does seeing him so angry please you so much?

It stirs warmth inside your chest. Something that you shouldn’t be feeling when you’re still mad at him. Yet, it’s impossible to fight it. “I haven’t been here long,” you explain instead. Your voice comes out small, and your eyes are downcast as you gesture to the thick towel wrapped around your shoulders. “Jungkook just got me these to help dry myself up.”

“You made us both worried,” Yoongi says, calmly, as if trying to ease the tension. “He drove like a madman when you wouldn’t answer your phone.” 

“I’m sorry—” You fight the smile that’s threatening to show as you picture Taehyung rushing to get you. But it seems like Taehyung is seeing it the wrong way, when he catches the smile that comes together with the soft voice, which wasn’t meant for him.

A soft growl draws your attention back to your lover. “Come on. We need to get you out of these clothes,” Taehyung says, his voice tight. But it’s not the snarky tone of his voice that you’re paying attention to, as he begins peeling off his coat from his shoulders.

As he struggles with it, with water dripping from the tips of his clothes, you’re quickly reminded that he would’ve had to run through the rain like you did to get here. Then your gaze trails upward, seeing his shirt sticking wet on his chest.

Oh yeah, you’ve definitely forgotten how good he looks with his shirt clinging to his broad chest. 

Fuck, that’s so distracting.

Before you can get lost in his charm, you shake it off and look straight into his eyes to ask, “Excuse me? Who’s we?” 

But any chance of arguing ends there when Yoongi cuts in. “I say both of you need to change,” he says. “Use the en suite in the master bedroom to wash up. It’s the only one that has hot water running.” He signals Jungkook to follow him to the kitchen while promising, “I’ll make something to help warm you guys up and grab some change of clothes.” 

“Wait—” 

“Let them go, kitten.” Taehyung steps closer, blocking your path as the pair leaves the room. His voice drops.

“Now,” he murmurs, “are you going to be good and listen… or should we do this the hard way?”

You adjust the towel around your shoulders and lift your chin, meeting his gaze instead of retreating. “Why should I?” You challenge him. “Who says you get to boss me around?”

Taehyung’s mouth curves—not sharp, not amused, but slow. A knowing grin lifts. “Really?” he says lightly. “Alright. If that’s how you want it.”

You barely have time to process the words before he moves.

“Taehyung—!” Your squeal cuts off as he ducks and sweeps forward, his shoulder pressing into your stomach as the floor disappears beneath you. In the next breath, you’re hoisted up, draped over one of his shoulders like you weigh nothing.

“You asked for this,” he mutters, already walking, his hand firm against your thigh to keep you steady. “Now stay still.”

You don’t—panic has you kicking, arms flailing uselessly. He responds by delivering a light slap to your backside.

The sting is fleeting, more surprise than pain—but it steals the fight right out of you.

“At least don’t drop me,” you mutter weakly, scrambling to secure the towel before it betrays you.

A soft chuckle rumbles through him. “You know I never would, kitten.”

That does it.

You go still, surrendering with a sigh as your body relaxes against his. There’s no triumph in his silence—just certainty, as if this outcome had never been in question.

Your gaze drops to the floor as he carries you down the hall, the shift of rooms barely registering until warm light spills over tiled floors. The air also changes around you—with light steam, a musky scent of cologne, and the faint trace of shower gel.

This is the en suite bathroom.

Taehyung lowers you carefully, hands firm and sure as he sets you back on your feet. You sway, disoriented, and immediately his arm slips around your waist, anchoring you. Only once you’re steady does he reach up and pull the towel from your shoulders, tossing it aside without even a glance.

“Strip,” he says quietly. Not with a command raised in volume, but with one lowered in tone. “Let’s get you out of these clothes.”

You look away, lips pressed into a stubborn pout, suddenly at a loss for words. His gentle voice—so at odds with the firmness of his command—knocks the fight right out of you. There’s warmth in his eyes now, threaded with concern, and it seeps into you, thawing something tight and knotted inside your chest.

Before you can respond, Taehyung reaches for the buttons of his shirt.

Any words you might have had dissolve as you watch him peel the damp fabric from his body. The way he moves—unhurried, deliberate—draws you in completely. When his shirt falls away and he stands bare-chested before you, it feels like the air is punched clean out of your lungs.

He moves to unbuckle his belt, fingers already working at the clasp, when your silence finally registers.

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs, voice low. A dark glint flashes in his eyes as he drops his hands and steps closer. The heat radiating from him makes it harder to breathe; his presence feels overwhelming as he closes the space between you. “Or should I do it for you?” he adds softly. “You know I won’t be gentle if I take over.”

The words snap you out of your daze.

You inhale sharply, irritation flaring—not at him, but at yourself. At the way your body betrays you so easily. Heat stirs low in your belly, your skin prickling with awareness, already aching for his touch. You shouldn’t feel like this. Not when you’re supposed to be angry.

And yet, you don’t step back.

If anything, you sway toward him, drawn in despite yourself.

“Well?” he prompts, when you still don’t move, your arms tightening around yourself instead, like a warm, protective shield that is blocking him from getting closer.

Damn it.

Even now, you can’t deny the pull between you—the need humming beneath your pride. “Fine,” you mutter at last. “But I’m doing it myself," you add, knowing the risk of letting him help and what it means for him to take over.

His grin is slow, unmistakably pleased. “I thought you liked it when I ripped your clothes off.”

Your cheeks burn. “Not this time,” you argue, though your voice lacks conviction. “This is my favourite blouse. I’m not letting you ruin it.”

A chuckle vibrates from his chest, warm and low. It fades into a quiet hum as you let your arms fall to your sides and reach for your blouse. You glance up, savouring the way he goes still, struck silent now as you undress at your own pace—each movement deliberate, unhurried.

When the blouse comes off, you slip out of your bra, breathing a little easier. As you reach for your pants, Taehyung suddenly lowers himself to his knees.

“What are you—”

He looks up at you, a soft smile playing on his lips, eyes never leaving yours as he carefully guides the wet fabric down your legs. You steady yourself with your hands on his shoulders, heart racing as the chill of damp cloth leaves your skin, one ankle at a time.

“See?” he murmurs lightly, tossing your pants aside. “I can be gentle too.”

His gaze drifts lower, darkening as it lingers on you. Your lace panties cling to your skin, soaked and nearly transparent beneath his scrutiny. “Need help with these as well?”

“N-no, I’ll do it,” you manage, voice rough as you step back and slip out of them yourself.

Taehyung rises slowly, hands returning to your bare waist as if drawn there by instinct. “Feel better?”

You let out a breath. “Maybe.”

Your body shivers then, the cold finally catching up to you. He notices immediately, tightening his hold, drawing you closer as if to shield you from it.

“You’re freezing,” he says quietly. “I know how to fix that.”

“You keep making promises,” you whisper, the last of your resistance slipping away. It had started the moment you saw him walk through the door—and now, with nothing between your skin and his gaze, there’s almost nothing left to hold onto.

“You know I keep them,” he replies, breath warm against your lips.

You think he’s leaning in—until you realize it’s you who’s closed the distance.

You know you should stop. Say something. Pull back. But instead, you rise onto your toes and kiss him, silencing the last protesting thought in your head.

He responds instantly, hunger flaring as his hands settle firmly on your waist. In the next breath, you’re lifted again, your body cradled against his as he turns and carries you toward the shower.

Your lips still tingle from the kiss when he breaks away from it, lowering you to the floor. Your mind is hazy. Yet his touch continues to anchor you to him, his arm around your waist to hold you steady against his chest while he reaches around you.

Warm water begins cascading down your bodies, drawing a soft gasp from your lips. He bends down, silencing your voice with another kiss, though it only draws a soft hum when he gently rubs his hands down your skin.

You are just starting to lose yourself in his kiss when he pulls away.

A loud clink prompts you to open your eyes, and you witness him stripping out of his pants, which he tosses away without care. But you can care less about the last item of clothing he just discarded. Not when your attention is drawn somewhere else.

His hair, now wet, frames his face perfectly, drawing your focus to his eyes, now smouldering with heat that would be able to scorch your skin. His lips, plumped after the kiss, are lifted into a small grin, knowing, as he follows your gaze that keeps drifting lower.

Your eyes trail down his broad chest. The water running down his body makes his skin glisten, and you follow the toned lines trailing down his chest, his abs—then the magnificent sight of his hard-on catches your eyes. It leaves you breathless and hot inside; the urge to reach out and touch him quickly overcomes you.

“Come here, kitten,” he calls you, and your body moves as if enchanted, taking a step forward to melt into his arms. His mouth captures yours so easily, while your arms find their place around his shoulders. Pressed against him, you feel his stiff cock kissing your stomach.

A heated pulse rises at the touch. Your hips move in response. Before you realize what you are doing, you are gently moving, rubbing yourself against him, until his hands come to your waist to stop you.

“Easy now,” he murmurs against your lips. “We can visit this later. Let me take care of you first.”

You protest with a whimper, yet it melts into a soft, relaxed hum when Taehyung begins washing your back, his fingers pressing gently against the tight knots under your skin. His touch sends the warmth all the way underneath your skin, swirling in your belly, melting together with the warmth building in your center.

“Good?” He asks, earning another hum coming out of your lips.

You hear his low chuckle and you open your eyes, only for him to slowly turn you around. “Just relax,” he whispers when he feels you growing tense under his touch. “Let me help warm you up some more.”

His bare chest presses against your back, letting you feel his steady heartbeat vibrating through his warm skin. He bends down, pressing his lips on the base of your neck. It tingles, yet you feel grounded as he starts leaving a trail of gentle kisses on your skin. It feels good, comforting, and you can’t resist it when your head falls back against his shoulder as you grow lax.

With his lips continuing to graze the side of your neck, he moves his hands around you, caressing your skin gently as he makes his way to the front. Then you feel his hands on your breasts, kneading the soft flesh for a brief moment, before his fingers find the hardened tips. He starts rubbing and pinching them, drawing a myriad of sensations that send your head spinning.

Your eyes flutter close when it gets harder to ignore the heat now thrumming between your legs. You’ve missed this maddening taste of his touch to begin with, so it’s not surprising how your body is so quick to give in.

Suddenly, you are turned back around to face him. You barely have the chance to look at his face when he bends low, burying his face between your bare breasts.

“Taehyung…,” you gasp when you feel his mouth wrapping itself around your now sensitive nipple, your back arching into him as he devours the flesh between his lips, nibbling on it. You writhe against him as he swirls his tongue around the hardened nub and then starts suckling on it. He continues for a while, then moves his lips to the neglected nipple on the other side, doing the same thing while his hand continues his work on the other.

“Don’t be tense, kitten,” he murmurs against your skin, his breath brushing against your nipple.

With a sigh, you do as he says and do your best to relax once again, to enjoy what he is doing to you. When your hands come to his shoulders, they are not there to push him away, but only to steady yourself when you start swaying with the electric current slowly coursing through your body.

You look at him through heavy eyelids when his mouth returns to the tip of your breast, devouring you with a hum. Keeping one arm pressing the small of your back, he lowers his other hand, palm pressing your stomach, before he gently glides it down, heading towards your pulsing center.

As his palm falls flat against your heat, you spread your legs just a bit wider to welcome him. His fingers are gentle as he slides them against your folds, opening your nether lips for him, yet it still sends a wave of scorching heat through your body.

“Oh, God…!” You gasp as he begins sliding his fingers back and forth against your slick heat, his palm pressing and rubbing on your clit. His move is slow, gentle. His touch feels delicate, yet still enough to light up the sparks flowing through your body, and you soon begin rocking against each stroke of his hand.

“I love the way you respond to me,” Taehyung chuckles, his lips still attached to your nipple. Gently, he sucks the bead one more time and straightens up to his height.

“Tae…” You let out a gasp when he pulls you close, bare chest to bare chest, while he presses harder into your heat, going deeper, until you feel the wave of pleasure shooting through you, going straight up your chest.

But the moment you look into his eyes, a flash of pain strikes through your heart, reminding you of the resentment you felt for him. So you hold back, not allowing yourself to give in to the pleasure so easily.

When a sharp inhale of breath leaves your lips, Taehyung takes a closer look. He can feel it when you are holding back, see it on the look on your face that you are trying to fight it, even when the pleasure comes. It’s obvious to his eyes that something is still holding you back from letting go.

So he slows down, pulling his hand away from your heat, and presses his forehead against yours. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, sighing. You look up to see his gaze softening. A gentle smile spreads across his face when he says, “I shouldn’t have said what I said while we were arguing. I was the one who made the mistake and made you angry. Let me make it up to you.”

The tightness in your chest eases. But it doesn’t stop you from wanting to show him how you feel. “Well, I’m not taking back what I said,” you stubbornly argue, rather unconvincingly. It’s hard to stay angry when he looks at you the way he is doing it now—with a gaze so deep, knowing, as if he finds it intriguing that you are defying him even when you’re in a situation where he is holding all control.

“Is that so?” Chuckling softly, he tilts your chin up to look at him. “You think it’s okay for you to talk back at me because I did you wrong?”

You swallow hard, your chest is fluttering with the promise hidden in his question. “If I say yes, then what are you going to do about it?”

“I can always choose to remind you how to behave.”

“I thought you wanted to make up for your mistakes?” You scoff, pouting. At the same time, your cheeks grow warm at his words. You know exactly what he is implying.

“Oh, I definitely am planning to do just that,” he says, with a smirk that tells you how right you are. As if that isn’t enough, he makes his intentions clear by pressing his palm on your bare bottom and giving your flesh a light squeeze. “But that doesn’t mean this part”—he gives your flesh another squeeze—”won’t come later.”

Gasping at his touch, you can feel the light pressure reaching deep inside. So deep, you feel a pulse rising in your core, your hot walls throbbing against the emptiness his fingers left behind. As it happens, Taehyung looks down and reaches between your legs.

“What’s this?” he teases, as his fingers come across the slickness between your folds that feels nothing like the warm water running down your bodies. “Did the thought of being punished make you grow excited, kitten?”

“Hmmh…”

You bite your tongue before the word ‘no’ slips out of you. A part of you wants to deny it so badly, but that would only mean defying him further, while the rest of you wants to be honest with him.

Even your body is honest. You realize this as you tremble at the touch of his fingers, your heat rising as he slips a finger between your folds and into your pulsing walls. A sharp cry leaves your lips when he touches your sweet spot, drawing a wave of pleasure rushing through your body. You bite your lips to stop yourself from moaning when he moves his fingers, in and out, and he continues touching the same spot, pressing just a bit harder each time he pushes his way in, making you feel more pleasure rushing in.

“What do you want me to do, kitten? Tell me,” he whispers, as he slows down, fingers still teasing against your heat, but not enough to relieve your needs. “Tell me how to make it up to you.”

Gasping, you grab his shoulders tightly and beg, “Please…”

“Yes?” He kisses the tip of your nose. “Say it.”

“Please touch me…I want…it feels good. I want more…” You continue to beg, unable to stop yourself. As much as you want to continue feigning anger, you feel a stronger need for his touch. For pleasure. “Please, Taehyung.”

As he bends, you feel his smile pressing on your lips. Then, “Your wish is my command.”

With that promise, he pushes his fingers into your heat. He rubs against the pulsing walls as he drives his fingers in and out of you, pressing the right spots. It doesn’t take long before you feel the waves of pleasure rising, drawing soft gasps and moans out of your lips when you start riding on them.

“Don’t hold back, kitten. Let me hear your voice. Tell me that I make you feel good,” he coaxes you with a smile, drawing a whimper out of you as you continue to try to keep your voice down. “It’s okay. No one is listening to us.”

Like a spell, his words manage to get you to stop holding back. A cry leaves your lips, echoing through the walls around you, as he pushes his fingers deeply into your heat, pressing against the intense pulse that has been building inside. As the pressure inside you rises, your knees begin to fail you, and you fall helplessly against Taehyung’s chest.

“Wrap your arms around me,” he instructs you as your hands begin to slip from his shoulders. “Come on, kitten. I don’t want you to fall. You can be mad at me all you want, but I want to be the one making your pretty butt sore.”

Biting back a groan, both from the sensations you feel inside you and the promise in his words, you push back against the overflowing bliss and raise your arms, wrapping them around him. Now you’re clinging hopelessly against him, with only his arm around your waist to keep you up, and the fingers lodged inside you keeping you anchored to him.

“Good girl.” His praise sends the flutters in your chest straight down, heightening the pleasure. You know that he can sense it when he adds more tension, more speed. Then he presses his thumb against your clit, rubbing it in circles to send you close to the edge.

“Oh, yes!”

With only a couple of more strokes, you feel as if you are floating, going so high that you feel as if you are blinded by the pleasure. The feeling is overwhelming, almost daunting, yet you want nothing more than to embrace it. Cries after cries leave your lips with each wave sending you further to your peak. And when you feel it happening, the last coil in your core is tightening and swelling until it almost bursts, and Taehyung is there to help you welcome it.

“That’s it, kitten. Feel it. Let it go.”

And you let go, allowing yourself fall freely into your climax. You welcome it with a loud cry, as your body trembles and quivers along with it. The fingers in your depth continue moving steadily, helping you ride the pleasure. The sweet words Taehyung whispers into your ear, with his lips ghosting close to your skin, become the ones guiding you back to him before you find yourself lost completely in oblivion.

You remain in this heightened bliss for a while longer, until you feel his fingers slowly leaving your pulsing heat.

Keeping your eyes closed, you savour the waves of pleasure still rushing through your body. It feels conflicting; when you can still sense the vexation you’ve had of him hanging far in the back of your mind, yet your muscles are lax, and your body continues to give in to the delightful touch and the pulsing pleasure you feel coursing inside you.

You feel warm, not just on the outside, which comes from the water still running down your skin despite slowly losing its heat. But you can feel the warmth settling down inside, caused by the swirls of pleasure that are taking their time winding down.

Your eyes flutter open at the touch of his lips, as they trail up the column of your neck, across your chin, then upwards to capture your mouth in a slow, languid kiss. Through your hazy eyes, you see the room is now full of fog, just as thick as what you have inside your head. Then, everything disappears as your eyelids grow heavy, and he deepens the kiss.

In your dreamlike state, the touch of his hands feels faint and far, though they still ignite the dancing flutters under your skin as his fingers make their way down your hips. Then his hands continue travelling further until he gets a hold of your thighs and begins to lift.

With a gasp, you find yourself floating again. This time, not metaphorically.

You open your eyes, and the fog around you slowly clears as he takes you out of the shower. A cold surface touches your skin when Taehyung gently places you on top of the counter.

"I know you just love showing off," you mutter as he carefully dabs your body with a new towel, wiping off the dripping water from your skin.

"I'd like to think of it as making use of the hours I spent working out," he chuckles, and wraps the towel around your body. He grabs another towel and makes a quick work of drying himself off, then discards the towel when he is done. "Come here."

When he kisses you again, you no longer feel any urge to push him away. You simply lean in, wrapping your arms around his neck as your mouth meets his in a soft, lingering kiss. His hands settle on your waist with a gentle hold. Just when you think he's going to pull you to him, he moves your legs to wrap them around his waist, and once again, with no warning, Taehyung lifts you and starts carrying you out of the bathroom.

"You'll regret it once I get used to this," you sigh into the kiss, drawing a low chuckle from him.

"Only more reason to keep working out."

Your eyes are droopy, so you sense it rather than see it when he walks into the bedroom. The air around you smells like a mix of vanilla and cedarwood, a familiar scent that reminds you of Yoongi and Jungkook together. Your heartbeat speeds up as you think about being in their private space, the same way they did when you spent the summer nights with them in yours.

Humming into the kiss, you breathe in the comforting scents, just as Taehyung slowly lowers you back on the bed. 

You fall back against the sheets, breaking away from the kiss. The towel falls off, exposing your body to his eyes.

"Damn, baby," he muses, groaning deeply while running his gaze down your body, taking in your bare breasts, your nipples still puckered after the shower and from his relentless nibbles, and your center all damp and swollen from the way he played his fingers until you erupted.

With a gentle grip around your thighs to keep your legs spread, Taehyung moves to join you. He crawls up the mattress with his eyes locked on you, while your eyes travel down his body, still naked and partly soaked, his cock dangling hard and firm. His move is deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. It makes you feel exposed and small, your heartbeat racing, yet something in you just wants to open up further and present yourself entirely to him.

As he hovers right above you, his hands begin to move upwards. You let out a gasp as his palms move to your bottom, cupping each soft cheek with a firm grip, making your skin tingle with the ghost feeling of a sting which he promised to give you.

"Tae…baby…"

“Right here,” he whispers, his deep voice rumbling with a sound that comes out almost like a low groan as he presses his palms harder into your skin, “I should mark this spot right here to make up for all the scare you put me through.” 

You whimper. “You wouldn’t dare,” you protest, though your words fall flat to your own ears.

Grinning wickedly, Tae leans in to kiss your lips and says, “Oh, I would, and I know there’s someone else who was just as worried as I was and would love to do it too.” 

You react with a gasp the moment it registers to you what he is trying to say.

"They should figure out by now that we're done showering," Taehyung says, gesturing with his chin at the two cups of tea sitting on the bedside table, steam still floating from each one. Right next to them, you see a couple of loose T-shirts and sweatpants that both you and Taehyung can change into.

Immediately, your cheeks burn hot when you realize that either Yoongi or Jungkook—or both—had been here, and they could easily hear everything that was happening in the shower.

No wonder Taehyung made sure you couldn't keep quiet about it.

"They're probably waiting outside," Taehyung teases you with a kiss, "Should we call them in?"

Before you can answer him, you hear someone knocking at the door, and Jungkook’s voice calls out. 

“Is everything okay with you guys in there? Do you need anything?” 

Taehyung’s grin deepens. “Answer him,” he whispers as he leans down, pressing his lips on your earlobe. “Make a decision, kitten. Do you want to call him in?” 

We’re fine.

Those words should be the ones leaving your lips. But something inside you stirs. The need that Taehyung had awakened is now boiling hot, and the words come out of your lips before you can stop them. 

“Ca…can you guys come in?” 

Taehyung smiles. As if he is pleased with your choice, he kisses your lips gently and murmurs, “Good girl.” 

Your heart flutters as his praising words, and it grows more intense when the door opens with a click, and both men slowly enter the bedroom. 

Jungkook comes first, his eyes finding you with a sharp gaze, drifting low the moment he notices your state of undress, while looking vulnerable under Taehyung’s arms. Yoongi follows close behind, his eyes immediately following Jungkook’s gaze as he closes the door behind him. 

“Did you need us, princess?” Yoongi asks as he slowly approaches the bed.

Taehyung gives you a brief kiss and moves to your side, before gathering you in his arms, situating you until you are sitting against his chest while facing the other men. “Our sweet princess here wants to make up for causing all the trouble, and I suppose she wanted you guys to get involved, seeing that she made each of us worry.” 

Your gaze drifts to Jungkook as a soft groan slips out of his lips. It seems that Taehyung’s words have shifted something inside him, which makes his eyes grow dark with a look of hunger—as if he wants to devour you. It’s a look that you rarely see coming from him. Not since that summer, when he looked at you the same way.

And you can see that he is struggling to keep it down. 

But it’s Yoongi who speaks on behalf of both of them. “Is that so?” A slow, deep chuckle comes out of him. Licking his lips, he tilts his head and looks at you closely. His gaze makes your skin tingle, as if he is touching you with his eyes. “Looks to me like she wants to run away.”

“Really?” Taehyung asks, turning to you. “Are you thinking of escaping us, kitten?” 

Words fail you when the tension in the room grows heavy. Your throat feels tight with nerves, with a mix of other emotions swirling inside you. You feel them coming from the heat of their gazes. The only thing you can do is shake your head. 

“Maybe we should tie her up to the bed while we punish her for being bad today?” Taehyung continues. He acts as if he is making a good offer to his boys, yet you can sense that the question is directed solely at you. “What do you say, kitten?” 

For a moment, you deliberate your choices. Exhaustion has begun to set in—your body is welcoming it as the stress you felt earlier has been lifted out of you. And yet, being in the center of attention, with all their deep gazes locked solely on you, the heat of your desire is slowly coming back to life.

“Alright, f-fine,” you finally answer, crossing your arms around yourself while feigning annoyance. But there’s no denying the way your body heats up at the thought of what’s to come, your skin tingling when you picture yourself being under their care.   

Taehyung presses a kiss on your bare shoulder and pulls your arms away, peeling your protective shield off your body. “I promise not to hurt you, kitten.” 

“It’s still going to hurt.” You let out a whimper.

But then his kiss returns to your shoulder, easing your mind a little bit more. Your body reacts by rocking against him, feeling his cock pressing against your back. The feel of his hardness awakens the throbbing need inside you, but it fades under the shadow of the sting on your skin that suddenly comes to the surface just by thinking of what he is going to do to you.

What everyone is going to do to you.

“Only for a moment,” Taehyung touches your chin, tilting your face to the side as he reassures you with a kiss. “And if you behave, once you’ve shown us that you’re truly sorry, you’ll get a reward right after.” 

You hear a hum of approval coming from Yoongi and Jungkook, both still keeping their eyes on you. Even when their heated gazes have slowly turned warm with care, helping you feel less self-conscious and vulnerable, it still doesn’t stop you from feeling nervous about what’s happening. 

Pouting, you try not to think too much of it, yet take this time to protest. “I still think it’s unfair. You were the one who made us fight.” 

“I know, and I’m still sorry.” A small, regretful smile lifts across his face. “I promise that you’ll get your turn to punish me later for misbehaving.” 

His promise makes you smile. “You mean it?” 

“Of course, kitten. Anything for you.” 

You hear Yoongi chuckling from the side. “That’ll be interesting to see.” 

“I’m sure you’d think so,” Taehyung groans. 

“Should we put a blindfold on her while we’re at it?” Jungkook suddenly suggests with a smile, which surprises you.

Usually, Yoongi would be the one to take the lead between them, and you can see him as the one suggesting this kind of thing. Just like how you know that he is the dominant one between the two lovers. But Jungkook’s playful gaze shows you that this is something that he wants from you as well.

“We can play a little game and see if you can guess whose turn it is.” 

Once again, you whimper. Being tied down and blindfolded at the same time will make you feel even more vulnerable.

It’s not that you hate it. And it’s obvious that the boys are loving the idea too. You’re just not sure if your body can take it all at the same time.

“That’s actually a good idea,” Taehyung chuckles. He leans back, and a tiny scarf manifests in his hand. As if they’ve already prepared it beforehand. “Well? Blindfold on, or off?” 

You bite your lips, considering it for a moment. It feels intimidating, yet intriguing at the same time. You take one look at Jungkook, and the answer slips out of your lips before you can stop it.

“Yes,” you sigh. “I can take it.”

“Good girl. Then let us get you ready,” Taehyung says. “Let’s start by tying up your hands first.”

Yoongi moves to the bedside table just then and opens the drawer. When he pulls out a bundle of silk rope, you realize that’s where Taehyung had gotten the silk blindfold from. Yoongi returns to the bed while unwinding the rope to get it ready for you.

You can’t help but be mesmerised as you watch his skilful hands work the rope; his fingers are delicate, yet they move methodically to make it appear as if the rope is dancing in his hold.

“It won’t hurt you,” Jungkook suddenly says, his voice gentle. You turn to him, meeting his smile. He must’ve noticed you looking at the rope in Yoongi’s hands so closely and thought that you felt intimidated. “We’ve used the rope during our time together,” he adds, while running his fingers up his wrist. “And I can promise you that the silk will feel soft on your skin.”

Just as he says those words, an image appears in your head—of Yoongi and Jungkook having their playtime in this room, with the same silk rope binding one of them to the bed.

Picturing them together makes your body grow hot. It takes you back to the summer night when you watched them together, embracing pleasure side by side with you and Taehyung.

Your legs twitch. You try to press your legs together to ease the pulse that suddenly appears in your heat, only for Taehyung to press his palm on your lower belly, prompting you to rock your hips into the mattress instead.

“Patience,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your earlobe. “Give me your hands.”

Sucking a deep breath, you put your wrists together, which he gathers gently with his strong hand. He keeps them together as he lifts them like an offering. Yoongi climbs onto the bed right after, kneeling on your left side, before he wraps the rope around your wrists to bind them together.

The fabric feels soft on your skin, just as Jungkook promised. It takes away the uneasiness you feel of being bound and your control taken away.

But the feeling only stays with you for a fleeting moment.

Taehyung tugs at the rope to make sure that it’s secured, then slips his fingers between the silk and your skin to make sure it isn’t too tight. Once he is pleased, Taehyung gently lifts you from his lap and slips aside.

“Lie back against the pillows,” he instructs you as he sets you down on the mattress.

You do as he says, wiggling against the sheets to get comfortable before lying back.

“Good girl,” he says. He kisses your lips and steps away, leaving the bed altogether and taking away the last warmth that’s been protecting you from their eyes.

Jungkook climbs the bed just then, settling down on your right. His eyes are transfixed on you as he moves closer. And when he takes your tied hands in his, bringing them to his lips, your heartbeat races. He kisses your wrist, right at the part of skin which isn’t covered by the rope, and carefully begins guiding you to lift your arms.

“Arms up, beautiful,” he says, his voice gentle.

You have your eyes looking straight into his when you follow, moving your arms above your head, your tied hands getting close to the headrest. He then takes the remaining length of the rope and brings it upward, before tying it to the headrest to restrain you. Once he is done, he pulls back to watch his work.

“Should we tie her legs to the bed too?” He asks, his eyes glinting with hunger and never leaving you.

Taehyung hums as he thinks about it. “No, that won’t be necessary. I want to be able to move her around a little bit,” he says, much to your relief. Until he adds, “But you’ll be a good pet and keep your legs spread open for us, won’t you?”

With a whimper, you nod your head. Then you remember that your lover prefers to hear your voice. “Yes, I can do that.”

“Good. Bend your knees and keep them up, then open your legs for us.”

Your legs feel a bit stiff when you try to move, almost as if you are not in control of them. They tremble when you bend your knees up, and Jungkook has to lend a hand to help you spread your legs open, wide enough to feel the chill breeze brushing against your pulsing heat.

“Perfect,” Taehyung murmurs, as he climbs back up from the foot of the bed and kneels between your legs. His praise heightens everything that you’re already feeling once you are settled.

In this position, you feel vulnerable. Lying naked on your back, your legs spread open, and your most intimate parts on display for three pairs of hungry eyes. The way Taehyung is towering over you on the bed while you are bound to the damn furniture makes you feel small. The feeling that is surprisingly welcomed, knowing that you are no longer in control of all the mess that you’ve created for yourself. 

Yet you don’t feel any fear when Jungkook’s presence on your right side exudes calmness, and Yoongi is giving you comfort from your left. Their hands, all delicate and gentle and deft, begin tracing up and down your thighs, your hips, your waist, giving you all the soothing touches you need, which only further inflates the heat inside you until it soars. 

“Please…” 

You whine, begging, even if you’re not entirely sure what you are asking of them. 

“What is it, kitten?” Taehyung asks with his deep voice, his hands spreading your legs wide. “Tell me what you want.” 

Opening your eyes, the hunger you feel comes rushing in, taking over your senses. And you want more. You want them. 

You want everything.

Taehyung lowers himself right as the others shift, settling back on either side of you and giving him space. He covers your body with his own, pressing down with his heat as his lips find your earlobe to give a light bite. “Use your words, kitten. Or are you ready for your punishment?” 

Your breath is caught in your throat. The threat of his punishment makes your skin tingle. At the same time, heat begins to form right at the center of your legs. 

“Yes, I’m ready,” you whisper, nearly breathless as your heartbeat picks up. Yet you hold your gaze on his when he looks down at you again, once again pleading with him, “Please punish me, Sir. I’ve been a bad girl.” 

A collective sound of deep groans and low chuckles answers you. Seems like they all enjoy hearing your response. 

Your attention is briefly drawn to Yoongi when he begins stripping out of his clothes. He catches your gaze as he throws his shirt away, leaving his chest bare. His hair—that has gotten longer—looks unruly as it falls against his face, and you itch to run your fingers through the soft strands.

You look away from his knowing grin when Taehyung moves. You watch him hand over the blindfold to Jungkook, who takes it after taking off his shirt. “Ready?” He asks as he turns to you. When you give him no answer, too distracted by the sight of the pretty inkwork on his broad chest and arm, he then reassures you, “You trust us, don’t you?”

Forcing your gaze away from his toned body, you look into his eyes and nod. “Yes.”

“Good,” he says. “And remember that you can put a stop to this anytime you want.”

You know this, but his reassurance continues to put you at ease.

“Do you have a safe word that you can use?”

Glancing at Taehyung, you nod. “Yes. It’s red.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says with a smile. “Use it if you feel like it’s too much and you feel like you can no longer take it. We’ll make sure that you’ll feel safe with us, but always let us know if you want to stop. All right?”

You nod to answer, but then you remember to use your words. “Okay. I will.”

This pleases Jungkook and the others. Then Jungkook moves closer. “Close your eyes, beautiful,” he gently instructs you.

You follow his words and close your eyes, immediately hating it when you can no longer see them. But you say nothing as Jungkook carefully puts the blindfold on you. His fingers gently graze through your hair as he secures the silk at the back of your head.

“Is this too tight?” He whispers, his voice sounding much closer than you realize.

“No, it’s okay,” you answer with a whisper, your heartbeat picking up again now that you are in complete darkness.

But as you lose one sense, your other senses heighten. You can feel the movements from both sides of your body as Yoongi and Jungkook pull away. Then you hear the shuffling sounds that tell you they are shedding every piece of clothing they wear, followed by the soft thuds of fabric falling on the floor. You can also hear the steady breath coming from your front, as Taehyung continues to sit still. Watching. Waiting.

Yet neither of your companions makes a move to return to you and touch you.

For a lingering moment, they remain still. And you wait, allowing the anticipation to build up. It doesn’t make you feel tense. In fact, it only heightens your senses further. It feels as though your body, your skin, is slowly growing more sensitive with each passing second you are being denied their touch.

Just when you are about to beg them to touch you, to give their attention, to do anything, you feel a dip on the mattress, right between your legs. Taehyung returns to his previous position and lowers himself over you.

“How are you doing, kitten?”

His deep voice vibrates through his chest. His lips feel close. You tug at your restraint, wishing that you could pull him down to you so you could kiss his lips. But any effort you make will be futile. So you simply clench your hands against the bind and whisper, “I’m okay. I need you, baby.”

Taehyung chuckles, then you feel his lips pressing against the column of your throat. “I’m here, kitten,” he says.

He pulls back, then you feel him running his hands down your body. Starting from your chest, which arches into his touch, to your waist, then his strong palms settle on your hips. They stay there for a moment before he starts moving his hands lower.

You feel him shifting on the bed, changing position. And when his hands continue travelling down your thighs, he carefully guides your legs down to the mattress. They quiver in his hands as he moves them, and you struggle to keep yourself steady—your body has grown quite stiff, yet much attuned to his touch after the long wait.

“Easy, baby,” he murmurs. “Now relax and let me move your body.”

Before you can process his words, he grabs a strong hold of your hips and flips your body around as if you weigh nothing, drawing a gasp out of you.

Taehyung pulls your hips up until you are on your knees, your face hovering slightly above the pillows, and your bare bottom facing up. The restraints around your wrists tighten, and you feel like your gravity is distorted as you are bent at such an angle. Yet Taehyung’s firm hold on your hips keeps you grounded. 

“Get those legs wide,” you hear him say, his voice sounds deep and low. 

You struggle to keep your knees apart, feeling yourself sinking into the mattress with each move you make. But Taehyung grips the tops of your thighs firmly and pulls them open, parting you wide enough to his liking. You can barely feel his presence from this angle, yet you can feel it when he moves, the mattress dipping lightly as he bends forward, his warm breath on your skin gives away his intention before it happens. 

The press of his fingers on your bottom cheeks steals your breath away. Then he draws a breathless cry from you when he licks into you, his tongue sliding between your legs, parting your nether lips before tracing your slick slit. 

You cry out as he continues to lap every drop of your arousal, tasting you, and then tonguing your clit. Your thighs begin to quake, yet his firm grip keeps you steady. Then he starts dragging his tongue up to your behind, finding your puckered rim where he licks, just as he slaps his palm between your legs. 

The cries leaving your lips are sharp, yet the sound is more needy than in pain. It urges him to continue, spanking your wet center as he licks your anus. 

“No…no more…oh my God. I can’t…” 

Instead of stopping, Taehyung spanks harder, faster, until you start feeling the telltale of your orgasm shooting from the depths of your core. You suck a deep breath, bracing yourself for climax. The moment Taehyung notices this, he stops and pulls back, denying your release. 

“Please, Taehyung.” Whining, you push back against him, only to be rewarded with a rough squeeze on your bottom cheek to stop you from moving.

“Not yet, kitten. You still have to finish taking your punishment.” 

When you say nothing in return and simply stop pushing back, fighting against the urge to sway and rock your hips to meet his touch, you hear Taehyung humming his appreciation.

“Do you trust me, kitten?” Taehyung asks, his voice firm.

“Ye-yes…” 

“Do you trust us, princess?” Yoongi takes his turn to ask. You feel his hand rubbing gently on your back, while you feel another touch coming from the other side, as Jungkook gently tucks your hair back, exposing your face and neck.

“Yes, I do,” you sigh, then their warmth fades as their hands leave your body. 

Taehyung hums. “Good. Now, hold steady. Hold yourself up for a minute and try not to fall,” he orders you, before his hands disappear from your body. “And remember to breathe.” 

“Yes,” you find yourself answering, as your mind is floating in a daze. You feel overwhelmed with expectation. “Yes, Sir.” 

The next thing you hear isn’t a response from Taehyung, nor a command, but the sound of a hard slap, skin against skin. The sting comes later, as if your brain needs time to register the pain, now that your body has grown used to the mix of sensations he made you feel with his touch—when your body is still filled with a blissful current running through your veins.

Your head is in another space, almost as if everything is happening outside of your body. Then another slap lands on your other side.

“That’s for making me worry,” Taehyung says.

“This is for running out when we weren’t done talking." His hand crashes down three times before you can wiggle your ass to seek relief. “This is for driving off in the middle of the rain and putting yourself at risk.” Then another spank. “This is for being a brat and refusing to listen.” 

As he continues listing the things you did which warrant his punishments, his spanking gets harder, faster, until the pain slowly morphs into something else. You continue crying out, your voice barely recognizable when you hear yourself crying in a wanton, needy sound that contradicts the pain you are feeling. 

He keeps spanking, still with the list of your offences. “This is for not listening to me and talking back when I was trying to take care of you.” 

Your bottom cheeks burn with the pain he inflicts on you, but it feels so right. The sensation building up in your body is exactly what you have been craving for the most. You need this pain—you’ve needed something to ease the pressure building inside you since the fight.

Something to distract you from the cracks that still reside inside your chest. 

When the pulsing pain courses straight towards your center, you try to squeeze your thighs together, trying to ease the throb in your swollen sex. Taehyung continues spanking you with a steady beat. As the pain begins to set in, you squeeze your muscles and writhe against the restraint, trying to dodge his touch when his hand comes back to you. 

“Taehyung,” you gasp when you feel his palm pressing against your skin, not with another slap, but with a gentle brush. Your ass still tingles and burns, yet it only intensifies the sensation building between your legs. 

“How are you doing, kitten? Okay?” 

“Hmmmm,” you can only hum as you savour the calming touch he is giving you, helping soothe the pain, and slowly turning them into pleasure.

“Use your words, kitten.” 

“Ye-yes. I’m okay.” With each word you give him, your heat throbs with hunger. With a dark need that shouldn’t be there with all the painful ministrations he’s given you. “Please, Sir.” 

Taehyung answers you with a deep groan. “It’s not over yet, kitten,” he says with a deep voice. "You know what comes next, don’t you?"

You open your mouth, yet words fail you. A whimper escapes you when he gently rubs his palm across your skin. He kisses a trail down your back, further distracting you. Then the mattress dips on either side of you, and you are quick to find your answer.

"It's our turn, beautiful," Jungkook promises with his gentle voice.

Before you can respond, Yoongi chimes in from the other side, instructing you, "Take a deep breath, princess."

They leave no chance for you to speak, as two separate slaps land on your skin, coming almost simultaneously. The first comes from your right, landing on your plushy, now overly sensitive butt. The second one comes from your left, a little bit more gentle, landing on the top of your thigh, yet close enough to your pulsing center, that the pain shoots right through your core.

You gasp at the sudden strike, your body swaying, as if trying to shake the pain away. A pair of gentle hands comes to your hips, holding you still. "Easy, baby. We're just starting," Yoongi's deep voice mutters.

You feel another hand brushing against the sting, briefly soothing you, before another slap lands on your other thigh.

"Oh…!"

"I’ll try not to hurt you too much, beautiful," you hear Jungkook say as you feel his fingers tracing the spot that stings after his touch. "But this is only the beginning—for making us both worried."

Another slap lands on the back of your thigh, staring from the upper side, then going lower, coming on your right side once, then on your left. It happens so rapidly, you can barely register what's happening or where they will be coming from next. The only thing you can focus on is the glorious pain surging across your body, while their voices as they list out your misdeeds sound almost faint.

"This is for almost giving me a heart attack when neither Tae nor I could contact you," says Yoongi as a slap lands on the bottom side of your butt, where it’s already sensitive to the touch.

"And this is for running through the rain when you could've waited," Jungkook’s voice comes next, driving his spanks lower, focusing on your thighs to avoid the spots that are still pulsing from the previous assaults—starting from the back of your right thigh, to the left, then he slowly drives his palm towards your inner thigh.

A memory of your arrival comes flashing through your head while the strikes continue to come at you—of how you ran out of the car and into the cabin seconds before Jungkook could run out with an umbrella to cover you from the rain.

You inwardly argue that some of these misdeeds that they are listing for you don’t even warrant your punishment. But as you remember the panic in Jungkook’s eyes when he welcomed you at the door, completely drenched, with your tears melting together with the rain, guilt plagues you, and you choose to keep your mouth shut.

Your wandering thought breaks as a sharp slap comes between your parted legs, not more than an inch away from your pulsing heat.

The sudden strike of pain nearly does it, once again triggering your impending climax to push forward. Trashing back against your bind, your head falls back, knees buckling. You try to snap your legs close, pressing against the rising pulse of your climax. But a hard body leans down against your back, pressing on your skin, hands pulling your hips back before you can escape.

"Steady, princess," you hear Yoongi's voice whisper to you. He caresses your neck and moves your hair aside to bite your ear. "You've done so well. Isn't that right?" Basking in his sweet praise, you lean back as he trails his lips at your nape. But you know that the question isn't intended for you.

"She did a good job taking her punishment." Jungkook praises you, and you feel his lips on the other side of your neck, leaving soft kisses that make your chest flutter.

They continue soothing you with their touches and kisses for a bit longer, until you nearly forget about the pain. Until your soft whimpers turn into delicate sighs of need.

Your body trembles under the hands exploring your body. Every inch of your skin lights up. With your hands still bound to the headrest, the feeling heightens, and there's nothing else you can do but feel it. Your upper body bends over the pillow, barely keeping a good distance from the mattress as you struggle not to fall over. Your knees are quaking beneath you, a fragile foundation, yet they are the only things keeping you up, as your hips move languidly to ride the pulsing pain.

"I wish you could see yourself, kitten," Taehyung murmurs. "You look so good, taking it all like a good girl."

A pair of lips comes pressing on your back. Warm kisses trailing down your spine, stopping at the small of your back and ghosting across your bruised skin. His fingers take hold of your hips when the other hands slowly disappear from your body. Then, your world suddenly tilts over, as you are flipped around until you are lying on your back once more.

The twisted rope loosens once you are settled back into the pillows, just enough to allow your blood to flow back to your fingers. Your body flinches briefly as your back hits the cold sheets, which soon grow damp with your sweat and from the water dripping from your hair. But as your head rests against pillows, you breathe a sigh of relief, and your muscles grow lax.

Yet the relief doesn’t last, as your bruised skin meets the sheets, and the sting shoots right through you.

“Everything okay?” Taehyung asks. “Try to relax. Can you do that?”

With a groan, you twist your body, moving under the restraint to find a comfortable angle that doesn’t inflict pain when your tender skin rubs against the sheets beneath you. “Yea…yes,” you hiss, earning a deep chuckle that vibrates through Taehyung’s chest.

You try not to strain against the bind as he runs his fingers down your waist. Each lingering touch tickles your senses. You feel his grip on your hips, and just when you think he’s about to stop there, Taehyung runs his hands down your thighs. He grabs a hold of your flesh and carefully lifts your legs up, and keeps going up, until your lower body is suspended upward, before he slowly pushes your thighs towards your chest, nearly folding you in half.

It feels weird to remain in this angle. Bound to the bed and blindfolded, you have absolutely no control over your own body.

And now you are feeling a greater sense of losing that control, when Taehyung keeps a tight hold of your legs, keeping them open, your sore butt floating above the mattress, and your slick pussy completely exposed as he keeps your center open while facing the ceiling.

You hear a deep hum and almost feel the touch of his gaze as Taehyung takes a moment to marvel at the work of his and his friends’ hands. “Someone seems to be enjoying the punishments too much,” he murmurs, as he lets go of one leg and runs his fingers between your folds, finding slickness.

You suck a deep breath at his touch, which ignites the sparks beneath your eyelids. You should be feeling embarrassed, ashamed, for being exposed as someone so wanton to enjoy these punishments that you nearly climaxed more than once while they kept striking you.

You’d wished that neither of them caught on. But it seems that nothing could pass Taehyung’s attention, no matter how hard you try to hide it.

“Are you looking forward to your reward? Do you want to come?”

“Yes, Sir. I do…I need it,” you start to beg, when all you feel now is nothing but a numbing pain on your tender skin. And with him holding you like this, you cannot help but pay more attention to your center, where your arousal seems to have been building up without you realizing it.

It’s hard to ignore it now, when you feel every pulse, every drip of your arousal, which feels cold against your warm skin.

Taehyung clicks his tongue. “For some reason, I want to tease you some more,” he muses, and his fingers slip between your folds, causing your hips to twitch when he presses against your heat.

“Do you think you can handle just a bit more, kitten?”

You open your mouth, yet are unable to answer. Can you really take more?

Biting your lips, you relive what had just happened to you. The punishments they gave you have been intense and harsh, yet your body seems to welcome the pain so openly. It’s proven through the slick sound of your arousal, which you can hear as Taehyung slowly moves his fingers in a barely-there touch, just to feel your arousal building up further.

Your body trembles with each touch, your breath quivers. Your core pulses. Then Taehyung moves his fingers away from your center, smearing your arousal across the area on your inner thighs, which he has yet to touch.

“I’ll need to leave a mark here,” he muses with a deep, growling voice that would have made your knees grow weak, if only you were standing on your feet. “What do you say, kitten? Will you let me?”

Your throat feels dry when you try to answer. You didn’t realize how much you’ve been screaming and wasting your voice. The thought of more punishments also puts fear into your chest, stealing your words. But the strong need for release, and the promise of pleasure that you are expecting to gain once it’s all over, prevent you from using your safe word to put a stop to this.

Instead, you steady your breath and answer him calmly, “Yes, Sir. I can take it.”

“Good girl.”

Taehyung lets go of your legs. Before you have the chance to lower them or feel the relief of being freed from his restraint, two hands come to take his place.

Jungkook's fingers wrap themselves on your right calf, while Yoongi takes hold of your left knee, both working together to keep your legs up without adding more restraint that may hurt you.

“Remember to breathe,” comes the reminder from one of them, before a slap lands on your inner thigh, its sound echoing around you, the pain shooting up to your spine, and into your heat.

Another strike lands on the other side before you can react, stealing your breath and drawing a stifled gasp when he follows up with another slap, moving just an inch away from the previous spot he touched.

"This is for trying to steal an orgasm from us," Taehyung says as he spanks you right above your folds.

Your pussy throbs against his assault, while your cheeks burn, chill runs down your spine.

He knows, you wonder with a gasp. Shame runs through your blood realizing that you’ve been caught.

"Oh, God!" You squeal in pain as his large hands come down on your bare center, causing your entire body to arch and quiver.

He gives your pulsing heat a few more spanks before stopping, once again timing it perfectly right before you erupt into an orgasm. "Please, Taehyung. Baby, I need to cum."

Taehyung pauses, then gives your inner thigh one more hard slap before he pulls away, followed by the hands that have been keeping your legs hanging, allowing you to finally find relief as your lower body falls to the mattress. You immediately start kicking your feet and humping your hips into the sheets, feeling wild for something more, something less, for everything.

Your body is still feeling the sting of pain and pleasure and the desperation of not being able to touch yourself, when a tug on your wrists draws attention to your limbs, which have grown sore and numb at the same time.

Suddenly, the rope that binds you falls. Gentle fingers pry your hands apart, freeing you completely. Warm lips come pressing at your wrist, kissing them one at a time, as if to soothe the numbing ache left behind by the tight bind.

As your arms fall back to your sides, the bed dips, right between you and Jungkook. You feel Taehyung shifting, pulling you up the mattress easily as if you are nothing but a ragdoll, and pulls you up to sit on his lap, facing away from him. He parts his knees, dragging your legs out wide.

“You still want more, kitten?” His breath is scorching hot on your ear. “You’re going to get this pussy spanked one last time for trying to sneak an orgasm when we’re not looking, so you’ll remember not to repeat it. Then you’re going to give our friends a little show to reward them for keeping you safe before I got here.”

You nod, unable to find your voice. Taehyung wraps a firm arm around your waist and brings his hand down between your legs. A swift, yet firm spank lands on your pulsing center.

“Ooh, ooh!”

You let out a squeal at the impact. The sensation feels like an explosion of pain and pleasure that shoots through your body. It feels too much, but you leave your knees open, though you are powerless to stop your hips from moving to ride the feeling.

He slaps again, lighter this time. And with his other hand, he crushes your breast, massaging your sensitive flesh that’s been abandoned just a little bit too hard. After the third spank against your dripping folds, you are practically sobbing with need. Thankfully, his fingers remain where they are and cup your dripping mounds. You squirm against them, needing friction. He screws one finger in, and you grab his hand to urge it deeper.

“So wet for me.” He groans, his voice filled with hunger and need.

Taehyung cups your jaw and gently lifts your face as he tugs the blindfold off. The light in the bedroom was dimmed while you were left in the dark, and it takes some effort to be able to see through the haze.

You inhale sharply as you feel his finger softly probing your opening, just barely inching inside. The walls of your pussy tighten, anticipating the impending invasion. But he doesn’t go deeper—not yet.

Taehyung swirls the tip of his finger in lazy, minute circles just inside of your opening. Your skin grows even hotter as the gentle sensation begins to cause a reaction inside of you so quickly. His finger slips with effortless ease with how slick you’ve become, how ready your muscles are to welcome him.

You begin squirming as the tickling feeling becomes almost unbearable. His gentle touch felt nice at first, almost soothing, but now, it feels almost irritating with how much he is holding back, as if teasing you. You want nothing more—no, need—than for him to either put his finger in deeper, or touch you harder.

And then he finally does, pushing his finger deeper into your heat, while he murmurs to your ear, “Or are you perhaps wet because you have eyes here watching you unravel, kitten?”

You open your eyes with a gasp, meeting both Jungkook and Yoongi’s deep gazes. Those deep, intense gazes that are filled with hunger. Your gaze trails down their bodies, noticing the thin sheen of sweat on their skin, the rise and fall on their chests as they watch you closely, taking in the way you are responding to every touch, every sensation that your boyfriend is giving you.

And then your gaze continues to trace down the length of their bodies, falling on their hard cocks, all fully erected, ready and needy that you can almost feel the heat without having to touch them. You lick your lips, wishing for a taste, and you feel Taehyung’s chest pressing on your back as he whispers, 

“Touch them, kitten. You’re the only one getting punished right now, so you need to take some responsibility.”

His command takes a few minutes longer to sink in. Then you need another moment to order your body to move, still too overwhelmed, too stimulated, that your brain seems to have grown numb.

But then you manage to move your hands, reaching out to each of the men who have joined you on the bed.

Your eyes meet Jungkook’s as you wrap your fingers around his cock, watching his eyes flutter close at your touch. You feel his cock twitching against your palm when you begin to move your hand, sliding it up and down his shaft at a slow and steady pace.

Keeping your grip steady and your strokes light, you turn to Yoongi. Your eyes are locked on his when you cover his stiff cock with your other palm. His erection feels hard and rigid. His blood pulses against your touch. And when you begin stroking him, keeping the same pace as what you are giving to Jungkook, his jaw clenches, and a deep groan slips from his mouth that falls open at the pleasure he is feeling.

You briefly pause to lick your palms, hoping to add some lubrication to avoid hurting them. Then you continue, stroking them simultaneously, up and down, keeping a steady pace. You look between them, watching their expressions change; how Jungkook closes his eyes when he feels the pleasure rising, while Yoongi keeps his eyes on you the whole time, with his jaw clenching, holding back a groan.

Your hands are still sore from the bind they kept you in earlier, your fingers still feeling the tingles from the blood now flowing back into each digit, so it doesn’t take long before you feel the exhaustion. Your wrists are beginning to grow sore, your strokes unsteady. Just when your movements become jerky, Yoongi covers your hand with his own, gripping it to guide you to keep the same pace as you continue.

A groan comes from Jungkook, and soon he is doing the same thing. His fingers encircle your hand, giving it a firm grip as he guides you to stroke harder, faster, until you hear his soft moans in the air around you.

It leaves you feeling mesmerized for a moment as you watch them coming close to unravelling under your touch. Beads of precum are leaking from the tips of their cocks, making you salivate for a taste. When you feel them twitch and their cocks hardening, their groans getting louder and deeper, you know that they’re getting close to finding release.

But instead of reaching it, you feel their grip loosening, then with a groan, Yoongi opens his eyes and firmly says, “Enough.”

Gently, they pry your hands from their hard-ons, both throbbing and hot, so close to climaxing. Jungkook looks at you with his eyes dark and hazy, his smile tired and amused, then kisses the inside of your wrist before letting you go.

Yoongi lets out a soft hiss when you release him, cursing under his breath when he seems to have trouble fighting the pleasure rushing in his body.

“W-why did you make me stop?” You meekly ask, disappointed. You were marvelling at the fact that you were giving them pleasure, and had wanted nothing more but to help them find release.

Jungkook smiles. “You made us feel good, beautiful,” he reassures you. Then adds, “But we both prefer to cum while we’re deep inside you.”

His confession makes you gasp, and you fall back against Taehyung’s chest, which rumbles as he lets out a deep chuckle. “You like the sound of that, don’t you, kitten?” He whispers to your ear, his arms still on your waist, while he reaches between your legs, dipping into your slickness. “Did touching them and watching them go crazy from your hands make you feel excited?”

You sigh. “Yes, it did.”

His hand slides across your throat next, fingers tightening just enough to draw a gasp from your lips. "Do you think you deserve that reward now?"

"Yes. Please, Sir. I need to cum," you answer breathlessly, wishing his hands would move down to touch you right where it tingles. Your heat has been pulsing with need, and any touch would be enough to light you right up.

A movement catches your eyes, and you let out a sigh when you see Jungkook kneeling between your parted legs. His dark eyes are locked on you as he spreads your legs wider, exposing your hot center to his eyes.

"Fuck, she's dripping so hard," Jungkook murmurs with a sigh. He runs his tongue across his lips and grins. "I think she's ready for us."

"I bet she is," Yoongi chuckles. "Stop torturing the poor thing. She's been doing so well."

"I agree," Taehyung says, much to your relief. "And I think Jungkook is eager to taste you first." Your eyes move back to Jungkook, who has lowered himself with his fingers moving to your center. "Would you let him, kitten?"

You groan softly. "Yes…"

Jungkook doesn't waste any more time. Dipping low, his mouth latches onto your inner thigh, biting hard enough to leave a bruise. You whimper at the pain, hips jerking, yet the sting only intensifies the pulsing you feel in your core.

Jungkook moves his hands up your waist, holding you down as he gives a slow lick across the pain he inflicted, soothing your skin until you are no longer tense. You feel the warmth of his breath across your folds, his fingers parting your nether lips, then his lips press down. A sharp gasp leaves you when he drags his tongue up your slit, stopping just before he reaches your clit.

You groan in frustration, bucking your hips, wishing that he would put that wickedly hot tongue of his over your clit and suck. "Beg for it, beautiful," he murmurs against your folds, his lips ghosting over your heat.

Taehyung tightens his grip on your throat and whispers, "Do as he says, kitten."

"Please," you gasp, "Please, Jungkook."

"What do you want him to do to you?"

"I…" you gasp breathlessly, your cheeks flushing with humiliation when a thought crosses your mind. Yet the words come out easily, "I want Jungkook to lick my pussy and suck my clit. Hard."

"I love it when you call my name and beg like a good girl," Jungkook teases, drawing a soft groan from you as his praise warms you inside. And then his mouth returns to your heat, capturing your clit between his lips while flicking his tongue mercilessly until your legs start shaking around his head.

"Damn, she tastes so good," he murmurs against your heat. You barely feel him pulling away when his lips continue to devour you, tasting and sucking, making you lose your mind.

You start bucking on the bed, your hips rolling back and forth against his face while he devours you. Taehyung keeps his hold around you; his arm keeps you still, while his hand keeps a steady restraint around your throat, restricting your need for air. Once again, the sensation you feel growing in your body is intensified, and the sparks seem to erupt wildly inside when you feel another set of hands reaching out, touching your breasts.

Your eyes flutter open to see Yoongi on your other side, his hands roughly playing with your breasts, kneading and pinching at your nipples until they grow hard again. He seems to be lost in a trance as he watches your body rocking against Jungkook’s face, riding him, with your head falling back against Taehyung's chest, and your hands sinking into the sheets beneath you.

You cry out when he pinches at your puckered nipples, feeling overwhelmed with everything you feel rushing through your body. His lips slowly lift to a grin, and he leans closer to whisper to you, "Do you think you can take us, princess?"

A moan escapes you as an answer, and he murmurs to you again, "You're going to take all three of us. One at a time, together, until you can't take anymore."

As Yoongi puts the image inside your head—of you being ravished by the three of them, together—your entire body shudders. You’ve dreamt about it ever since that summer, pictured it whenever you had to sleep at night, and have been longing for it for as long as you can remember. With a sharp inhale of breath, you remember sharing your desire to Taehyung once or twice, who had only responded with a smile and a promise, “Anything for you.”

"Answer him, kitten." His grip around your throat tightens, briefly, snapping you back into focus. “Isn’t that what you want? To have all of us giving you attention and care. and make sure that you’ll feel good?”

"Yes,” you moan. “I do. I want all of you."

"Good girl." Yoongi rises to his knees, his hand stroking his thick cock and slapping its tip against your cheek. "Open your mouth, princess."

You open your mouth willingly, while Taehyung slowly releases his grip on your throat. Yoongi's cock slides in smoothly, going deep as he fills your throat in one swift thrust. His hand moves to the back of your head, pulling you up to him while you gag around his thickness, tears forming in your eyes when his thrusts keep knocking the air out of your chest.

Taehyung shifts behind you, straightening his back so you can lean on him better, with his hand reaching down between your legs. He slides his fingers down your center, and Jungkook pulls back just so Taehyung can push his fingers into your tight, pulsing walls. Feeling him pressing deeply, your back arches. You nearly choke on Yoongi's cock, yet he doesn't stop thrusting into your mouth, as if your reaction and the sounds you are making only continue urging him on to keep moving.

"I think she's close to cumming," Jungkook teases with a low chuckle, his warm breath brushing against your pulsing center.

"Yeah," Taehyung groans. "I can feel it."

And both of them are right.

You can feel yourself burning from the inside. You are feeling delirious, feeling too many things at once; the cock in your throat, the fingers moving inside you, the hands touching, owning, and dominating every inch of you.

Your walls clamp down on the fingers pounding in and out of you. But just as you are about to come to your climax, both Taehyung and Yoongi move simultaneously to stop it from happening. As Taehyung pulls his fingers out of your heat, Yoongi pulls out with a gasp, his breath unsteady and his cock pulsing as if he was also close to his release.

Taehyung lets you go, and Jungkook takes over. You open your eyes as he turns you around, gently positioning you on Taehyung's lap as the latter sits back against the headrest, his arms opening to welcome you as you sit facing him. Your eyes grow wide as he impales you slowly on his cock. You cry out in a mix of relief and pleasure, feeling gloriously filled as he stretches you to the edge.

He grabs your hips, lifting you and slamming you back down. The sound of your screams fills the bedroom, echoing against the walls.

"Oh…oh, God! You're too rough, baby. So hard."

"You can take it, pet," Taehyung groans as he slams your ass down on his thighs, burying his cock deep with each ride.

"Such a good girl. You like it rough, don't you? Does it feel good to have his cock pounding your pussy?" Jungkook mutters from behind you as he kisses and bites your shoulder. His hands move around your chest, palming your breasts, making you even more delirious.

"Oh…yes…yes…!" You scream, barely coherent.

"Might want to quiet her voice a little," Taehyung groans, although he's not making any effort to slow down.

"I might just have a way to make that happen," you hear Yoongi speak, then the bed dips slightly as he moves. He grabs the back of your head and turns you to face him. You see the tip of his cock right before your eyes, and you open up for him, welcoming him back into your mouth.

"That's it, princess. What a perfect little pet," he groans, as he once again buries his cock deep in your throat while Taehyung continues pounding into your pussy.

With his hands resting on the back of your head, Yoongi starts rocking his hips, fucking your mouth as if he is fucking you deep in your pussy. He does it so rapidly as he pushes deep that you nearly choke around his girth, and you struggle to breathe. But once you begin to adjust to his width, you manage to swallow him without gagging. You even start using your tongue, flattening it against the underside of his length as he moves back and forth, in and out of your mouth and throat.

“You love being fucked in your mouth, don’t you?” Taehyung says. You can’t see his face, yet you can hear the smile in his voice when he teases, “You’re getting even wetter, kitten. You’re absolutely drenching around me.”

You moan around Yoongi’s cock, not only from his words, but also from his touch, when he reaches between you to give pressure on your clit.

Your body shudders, your breath unsteady. Then, things become even more intense when Taehyung picks up his pace, going the same rhythm as Yoongi. It almost sends you off to climax, making you cum with how intense they are fucking you together.

As Yoongi pushes deep into your throat, Taehyung keeps pounding you, hard and fast. Your body is jolted up and down, back and forth. Taehyung’s hands on your hips keep you centered, but Jungkook’s fingers that are playing with your breast do things to your brain that make you feel like you are lost in another space, where there’s nothing but pleasure around you.

There’s nothing you can do but ride the waves, allowing them to take over your body. You are so lost in the moment, with your climax rolling and slowly unfolding within, that you almost miss it when Yoongi speaks with deep grunts, “Fuck, I’m close. Her mouth feels so good.”

Even the sounds that come next—Jungkook’s soft murmurs as he responds to his lover, the loss of his hands on your skin, and the click of a tube opening—barely register in your brain. Until Yoongi suddenly stops, merely moments before you can embrace your release. With his fist on your hair, he slowly pulls your head back, and his cock falls out of your mouth with a pop.

You look up with bleary eyes, seeing his grin when he says, “I need to be inside you when I cum, princess.”

Before you can respond, Yoongi moves away from your sight. Taehyung guides you to face him, then gently pushes you forward until your chest are hovering on top of his. He continues thrusting in and out of you, slowing down, but still enough to distract you from the movements happening around you. Yet you certainly feel it when fingers come down to part your bottom cheeks, delicate against your still-tender skin, then something cold is being rubbed on your rear opening.

The sensation makes you gasp, and the hand that’s touching you doesn’t stop there.

“Deep breaths, princess,” Yoongi whispers in your ear, and it's the only warning you get before you feel him push his finger through your puckered rim.

“Oh…Oh!”

Yoongi begins moving his finger in and out of your hole, drawing more sounds from your lips. It feels odd to be stretched out like this, to be invaded from behind while you are filled from the front with Taehyung’s thick shaft.

But the lube helps.

It doesn’t take long before his ministrations flow smoothly. And once you are stretched enough, he adds another finger. Then another. From two fingers, become three. You let out breathless moans with each intrusion, while your body starts moving on its own, your hips grinding on top of Taehyung as you welcome each thrust of fingers, driving you to ride your lover’s cock steadily.

Then the fingers are removed. It happens so suddenly, cutting off the steady rise of your climax. You push your ass back to get them back, but a steady hand stops you, then you feel something larger pressing against your opening.

You finally realize what Yoongi meant earlier: that he wants to fuck you from behind while you are riding Taehyung’s cock.

Your body tenses for a brief moment, not sure if you’re ready for it when you’re already overstimulated. But your lust-filled mind wants it, and your body seems to crave it, when you pulse around Taehyung’s width just at the thought of it.

As Yoongi pushes his way in, you lean forward to give him better access and try to relax. You feel the head of his cock spreading you, stretching you further than his fingers did. Once he’s passed the rim, you feel his width filling you up and let out a cry. He struggles with a groan when your body tenses up, both around his cock and Taehyung’s, who also lets out a strangled groan.

That’s when Jungkook moves in. Gently, he places his palm on the back of your head, guiding you to look at him. “Focus on me, beautiful,” he says, smiling. Then he bends down to capture the tip of your breast with his mouth.

He gently sucks and licks around your nub, drawing shivers through your body. It helps take your mind away from the intrusion coming from behind.

Your body gives in, then slowly relaxes. When you are no longer tightening your muscles, Yoongi continues. He moves to push until he is a few inches in, then pulls back. He repeats it a few more times, making use of the lube again when he struggles. Within a few more strokes, he is finally buried in your ass, and he settles in your depth with a sigh.

“You feel good, princess,” he murmurs against your skin as he kisses your shoulder.

Jungkook pulls away, and the two cocks inside you begin to move, quickly picking up a rhythm. They go in and out, moving simultaneously, with one filling you deeply when the other moves back. You let out cries and moans with every stroke, every thrust, as the pleasure rushing in your body rises rapidly.

Taehyung lets out a deep groan when his body tenses, his cock pulsing hard inside you. “I think I’m going to cum.”

“Me too,” Yoongi groans, as he pushes as deep as he can, nearly causing you to topple onto Taehyung’s chest.

“Yes, come inside me,” you cry out, already feeling your own release coming. “Give it to me.”

Your words send them both into climax. Yoongi picks up speed before spilling his release inside you. Then, as he slows down, Taehyung lets out a groan, and you feel his warm load filling you up. Having their cum inside you puts you straight to the edge, and you are more than ready to embrace it, even though neither of them has yet to say a word for you to come.

You close your eyes, let your head fall back, getting ready for it. Yet, seconds before your climax explodes through you, Yoongi pulls out of you, and Taehyung grabs you by the hips to pull you off his cock.

“No…no, please!” You beg, as you are lifted off his lap and turned until you are beneath him. Cum spills out of your front and back, with your muscles spasming around emptiness, and your body is shaking from being denied your own release. “Please, I need to cum.”

You struggle in Taehyung’s hold; the dire need for release is making you impatient. You manage to squirm out of his grip, only for him to tackle you back onto the bed, catching your wrists and pinning them down into the pillows over your head with his large palm.

Taehyung rises over you. Dark determination is written clearly in his expression.

“I see that you tried to sneak an orgasm under our noses again,” Taehyung teases, his voice growling deeply.

“I just need to cum. Please, baby. I’m so close,” you whine, your body twitching, the spasms of your denied orgasm pushing from your core.

“I know, baby,” he says, leaning down to kiss your lips. “But you must’ve forgotten that there’s still one of us who hasn’t cum yet.”

Eyes wide, you remember with a gasp that there’s someone who hadn’t joined you. Taehyung moves away, and Jungkook quickly takes his place. He grabs your calves, opening your legs for him, and takes his position between them.

Your eyes follow his hand as he starts stroking himself, though it’s clear that he’s more than ready to take you.

“Ready to take me, beautiful?” He whispers, his lips ghosting over yours in a barely-there kiss, drawing your eyes away from his hard-on. “You’re not too sore to let me in, are you?”

“Hmmmh…no,” you whimper, barely managing to let the words out. “Please, I need you inside me.”

“Your wish is my command,” he groans.

You inhale sharply as you feel his finger probing your opening, just barely inching inside. Your inner walls tighten around him as Jungkook swirls the tip of his finger in lazy circles just inside of your opening, teasing you, testing your soreness. Cum drips around his digit, its slick sound reaches your ear, making your cheeks flush with warmth.

It causes new sensations that immediately elicit a reaction from your now overly sensitive body, as your muscles pulse and spasm around him, and your hips start rocking, needing him deeper. Then he pushes, and his finger slips with effortless ease.

His gentle touch makes you squirm. You welcome it when a sigh as he starts moving his finger in and out of you, adding more force with each thrust. Yet it doesn’t feel enough. After all the rough fucking, and the way the other men handled your body, you need him to bury his finger deeper and to touch you harder.

The ghost of your denied orgasm is still there, still palpable, though it no longer feels like your body is going to erupt at the slightest touch. And Jungkook’s finger is rousing it back to life—very, very slowly.

When he pulls your legs up, your body tenses. Your muscles are aching. You feel soreness in various places, with barely a feeling in your trembling legs, and you’re not sure if you can take rough handling of your body anymore.

But then he drops forward, resting his weight fully on yours, and pulls your legs up around his waist. It gives you a small sense of relief, only until you feel his warmth pressing on your skin, and his hardness meets your soaked sex.

Your heart thrums rapidly in reaction to his hard, hot cock as it rubs up against your folds. He moves gently, almost as if he is trying to be careful enough not to hurt you, yet still insistently, sliding along your ever-increasing slickness. His slow movements ease the soreness you feel in your core, leaving only intense ripples of pleasure each time his hips come full circle.

The soft moans you make let him see this, and he continues grinding his hard cock against your wet clit with the perfect amount of pressure to make you feel it even more. Your core throbs on the inside, and the need to be filled overcomes you once again.

“Easy now, beautiful,” he says, as he lines up the tip of his cock against your pulsing heat. “Hang on tight with me just a bit longer.”

Jungkook puts his arms beneath your shoulders, crushing your body against his hard chest. Then he moves his hips back. When he pushes forward, his cock slides right into your hot pussy, filling you up with a force that makes you cry out sharply.

The slight pain of his entrance doesn’t go unnoticed, when it knocks the air right out of your chest, and you can feel the force of his thrust so deep in your chest, your walls pulsing and tightening around him like a vice once he goes deep. Yet there’s a pleasurable gratification of being stretched and thoroughly filled that takes away the tension, the ache, and the soreness you felt.

You cling to him desperately, taken over by the urgent need to have him buried inside you, and keep him there. But then Jungkook begins to move, rocking his hips and moving his cock in and out of you, and you soon cling to him to stop yourself from unravelling beneath him.

His thrusts are fast, hard and relentless. Unlike how you normally see Jungkook, his movements seem almost uncontrolled. Rapid and undisciplined, almost as if he has gone crazy with lust.

You whine each time he pulls almost the way out, and you squeeze your muscles, tightening your pussy walls around him as hard as you possibly can, afraid that he might slip out from how slick you are, leaving your desire unattended and hanging on the edge once more. But each time he comes back, he always comes with a force. Jungkook bucks his hips against yours with more force than you’ve anticipated. Enough to send the bed beneath you rocking back and forth violently against the wall, following each movement he makes.

In your blissful fog, you realize that Jungkook is truly taking you, ravishing you, almost like he is trying to possess you, and is using your body as the sole object of his pleasure. The moment you feel ready to fully accept his rough fucking, to embrace being ravished completely by him, you begin to relax in his arms, though only briefly.

Because he continues pounding into you, while you continue moaning and screaming beneath him, letting out sounds that only increase his need and desire for you. You grab his hair and tighten your legs around him, feeling the tingle rushing through your body. Jungkook notices the shudder running through your body, then continues to hit the same spot over and over, until you feel as if something explosive is about to happen from within.

Lost in the pleasure of being roughly taken by the gentle-hearted Jungkook, you let your head fall back into the pillows, your eyes closed shut. When Jungkook suddenly grows tense above you, your eyes fall open, and you see Yoongi moving behind him. You catch his eyes, drawing a smile on his face as he starts stroking himself lazily, his cock springing back to life under your gaze.

You swallow and moan softly at the sight, feeling more turned on by watching him.

Just as you watch his cock twitching, you feel your rear rim tightening, pulsing with the pleasure he made you feel when he was inside you. You wonder if he's planning to take a turn taking you from the front, and it makes you shudder. You don't know if you can handle being taken by him again—don't know if you can take all three of them for endless hours of the night.

Jungkook tilts your chin, turning your attention back to him. He slows down, taking you gently, and that's when you hear the click of the tube snapping open. You sneak a glance at Yoongi as he covers his length with the lube and continues jerking himself, before lowering behind Jungkook.

Then, after giving you a teasing wink, Yoongi grabs Jungkook's hips and thrusts into him. You let out a gasp as you watch in a daze while the two lovers connect. Your gaze flutters to Jungkook's eyes, seeing him closing those eyes of his in pleasure as Yoongi buries himself deeply inside him from behind. You hear the sound of your moan mixing with Jungkook's low groan as he stills his movements inside you, his grip on your hips tightening as he braces himself to take Yoongi deeper.

You cannot take your eyes away from them, completely turned on with what's happening, as Yoongi grinds himself against Jungkook's bottom, pumping himself slowly into him.

With a sharp gasp, your attention is drawn to your own heat, where you can feel Yoongi's steady movements vibrating through Jungkook's shaft, going straight into your core. You let out a moan, throwing your head back as you feel Yoongi drilling into Jungkook, sending secondary thrusts through you with each rock of his hips.

When Jungkook begins moving again, rocking in rhythm to Yoongi's steady thrusts, you nearly lose it. Somehow, it feels like you are being fucked by two guys at the same time, as their energies collide so that you can feel Yoongi pounding into you through Jungkook's hard thrusts.

You feel fuller than ever before, a sensation which sends your mind swirling. Then, once you are getting used to their movements, with your body welcoming the pleasure they ignite inside you, they begin increasing their speed, moving in tandem, sending shudders of blissful pleasure through your shaking frame.

As the pleasure rises, it's getting hard for you to keep your eyes open. You are completely wracked with pleasure, yet you force yourself to continue watching them as they also begin embracing the pleasure rocking through them.

Your entire core spasms with pleasure, your clit tingles against Jungkook's pelvis as he continues rocking against your heat, and you squirm beneath their weight to try and milk your orgasm. Noticing this, Jungkook lets out a growl, his hands gripping your hips to keep you still.

"You only get to cum when we do, beautiful," he groans, followed by the most arousing sigh falling out of his lips as Yoongi thrusts deeply into him, with a pair of hands gripping firmly on Jungkook's hips. "Ah, fuck," Jungkook curses, his voice sounding desperate as he, too, starts pleading for his own release.

Watching them move together, both with a shared look of pleasure written on their faces, while they continue drilling into you, feels like torture. With each deep thrust Yoongi is giving to his lover, he keeps sending Jungkook deeper inside you. Each thrust comes with a force that rocks your entire body, the pleasure building up until you find it hard to breathe. It feels maddening, when you can feel your impending orgasm hanging so closely, so overwhelming that you can feel it slowly swallowing you alive, only to be denied.

This time, not only from their words, but also because your body has been programmed to react only to their command.

"Please," you hear yourself beg, which only seems to trigger something else from Jungkook as he opens his eyes, pausing his thrusts briefly to slap your clit. Your body jolts from the contact, then the pain shifts into an intense pleasure when Jungkook continues pounding into you again.

It feels so good, yet so unbearable. You are so damn horny. So damn close. You cannot even see straight anymore.

“I’m coming!” You hear Jungkook moaning, then feel his body shuddering wildly against you as he takes the rough pounding coming from behind. His own thrusts become rapid and unsteady. He is slowly losing control as the waves of his climax are coming through him.

“Fuck…!” Yoongi cries out. “I’m also close.”

Jungkook’s back straightens, his rocking becomes more unsteady and rough, and it feels like he keeps pushing himself deeper with each thrust. The sound of his sharp gasp becomes your warning before he explodes inside you; his guttural moans of pleasure echo around you as he fills you up with his warmth.

Then Yoongi soon follows when his climax comes with a shout. With one last deep thrust, he releases inside Jungkook, which sends the latter to another smaller orgasm, his cock throbbing inside you, pressing against your walls.

“Please, let me cum. Please, I can’t take it anymore!” Your begging melts into incoherent cries, which you can no longer recognize as your own voice.

The wave of your climax is coming to you rapidly. You know that you should push it back, but you feel powerless. You know that there’s no stopping it this time when it comes.

Thankfully, as if Taehyung hears your plea, you feel him crawling closer. He trails kisses down the side of your neck and nibbles on your ear. Scraping his teeth against your earlobe, he slips his fingers between you and Jungkook to capture your hardened nipples. He pinches your nipples, hard, while demanding, “Now come for me, kitten.”

At the same time, Jungkook pushes against the haze of his orgasm and reaches down, pinching your clit to set you off.

Your orgasm rolls through you not as a wave, but an explosion. You feel an eruption on the inside, and you cry and cry until your voice grows hoarse. It feels powerful, yet also with relief. Your screaming fills the bedroom, yet you can only focus on the pleasure that is taking over you, the way it rocks your body and tilts your world upside down at the same time.

Wave after wave of electric currents surge through your veins, across your skin, flowing through your entire body. You feel it going to your head, when you feel like you are floating away. The white-hot intensity of your orgasm takes over all of your senses, almost blinding you, and each time you are about to come down from it, Jungkook’s slow, insistent rocking only makes it last longer, as if it will never stop.

And when you start feeling the current running through your body slowly coming steady, your entire body relaxes, before everything disappears.

You wake up feeling warm all over.

Inside, outside, even the air you breathe feels warm.

You feel drowsy. Your body feels heavy, as if it’s no longer your own. When you try to move, your limbs are languid and stiff. There is soreness spreading everywhere, and you notice the presence of a dull ache between your legs. You try to shift on the bed, only to find restrictions.

There’s a heavy weight on your waist; an arm resting there, keeping you in place. Both your sides are blocked with hard chests, though you are pressed only on one side, while the other is lying next to you with barely a touch.

Sighing, you try to move your legs. They feel numb, but as you try to stretch them, your attention is drawn somewhere else. Your skin was stinging with pain the last you remember, after all the spanking you received, and you are supposed to feel it as your skin rubs against the sheets.

Instead, your skin feels numb and delightfully cooled, the sting of pain almost faint. As if someone had lathered some kind of ointment or cream across your tender skin. And instead of feeling all sticky with sweat and cum dripping from your center, you feel your skin cool and smooth, almost as if you had been cleaned with a warm cloth.

I must’ve blacked out, you realize, finding your memory a bit fuzzy.

The last thing you remember is feeling an intense orgasm, with Jungkook lodged inside you and Yoongi pressing his weight from behind his lover to push him deep inside you, and Taehyung’s touch toppling you over the edge. You faintly remember when Taehyung reached in and gathered you in his arms when everything was over.

And they must’ve cleaned all the mess and taken care of me while I was completely out of it, you wonder with a sigh, feeling warm inside.

“You’re awake,” you hear Jungkook hum from beside you, snapping you to wake up completely.

Your eyelids are heavy, but you force them open to look at him through the haze, only to give up and let them close again.

“I can’t move,” you whine and sigh as you shift to lie on your side, with Taehyung’s heat pressing against your back, slowly dragging you back to sleep. “I don’t think I want to.” 

“Then sleep, baby,” Jungkook murmurs as he bends closer, trailing lazy kisses across your collarbone. 

“But I’m hungry…” You continue to whine. “You guys have completely drained me. I need sustenance to survive.” 

“Yoongi made dinner earlier,” Taehyung whispers while he moves his fingers in circles across your belly. His warm breath falling on your skin feels distracting, yet you manage to whisper anyway,

“Hmmm…bet it’s gone cold.” 

“I can always heat it up, princess,” Yoongi chimes in, and you let your eyes flutter open to see him looking all drowsy, just as sleepy as you are. You can barely see his full face as he lies behind Jungkook with his arms around his boyfriend. 

Always the small spoon when they are together, you wonder with a small smile. 

“I don’t want to leave the bed. It’s too comfortable.” You let out a sigh and briefly close your eyes. You really are sleepy, but your stomach has been rumbling for the past few minutes. 

Jungkook pulls back, his eyes are heated even when he is just as tired as you are. “What if we heat up dinner and bring it here for you? We can feed you while you rest.” 

Yoongi pushes himself up on his elbows. “Good idea. You won’t even have to lay a finger.” 

“Or one of us can carry you out to the dining table while the rest prepare dinner,” Taehyung murmurs. “Your choice, baby,” he continues to offer with his lips dragging on your skin, “as long as we get to have you for dessert.” 

You let out a groan. “You are insatiable. All of you.” 

“Guilty as charged,” Yoongi chuckles, while Jungkook tilts your chin up and sweetly whispers, 

“But you know you’ll feel good when you’re with us.” 

Taehyung tightens his arm around your waist, pulling your attention back to him as he asks, “So? What do you say, kitten?” 

You turn to lie on your back and look between the three of them. The looks of anticipation written on their faces are adorable; it makes you want to tease them so badly.

But something else crosses your mind, making you smile. “I want to stay in bed. It might be messy, but it’s better than having to move around too much,” you suggest, drawing a smile to everyone’s faces. Seems like they all share the same idea with you.

But they obviously won’t be prepared to hear what you have planned.

“Besides,” you add, as you reach back to cup Taehyung’s face with your palm. “I believe I was promised a chance to give someone a punishment for causing my plans to fail today.”

Taehyung’s eyes widen, while the two other occupants filling the bed share a chuckle.

“Well, better to leave you guys to it, then. Let’s go, babe,” Yoongi teases, pulling Jungkook with him as he leaves the bed.

“Well?” You turn to Taehyung once both boys are out of the room, smiling. “You’re not going to back down from your promise, are you?”

Chuckling deeply, he shifts to lie on his back and puts his wrists together to offer them to you. “I’m all yours, kitten. Punish me all you want. I’ve been a terrible boyfriend, after all.”

Not long after, when Yoongi and Jungkook return with the late dinner meal—all reheated and served on a wooden tray—they find Taehyung’s hands tied up against the headboard, his chest rising and falling rapidly with breathless groans slipping out of his lips, while you are bent over him, taking his cock deep in and out of your mouth while he squirms helplessly against the bind.

“Remember,” you murmur as you pull back to catch a breath, using your palm to stroke his length, “You can’t cum until I tell you to.”

Taehyung lets out a grunt and nods. Holding back a playful grin, he answers with a strained voice, “Yes, mistress.”

author’s note: Thank you for reading and for getting this far. Please kindly leave likes/kudos if you enjoyed the story, help boost the story by reblogging the post, and also feel free to leave comments and questions if you have any. Any kind of feedback is also welcomed. Thank you again for reading!

Thursday

Jungkook’s snores woke you. You groan as you try to stretch your arms mid-yawn. However, your sweet boyfriend is nestled under your chin, breathing you in.

“Koo,” You whisper as you try to move him off you gently. He grunts, stirring for a moment before you sigh. You’d get some more sleep then.

The next time you wake up, the birds are chirping outside, and Jungkook’s chest is pressed to your back. He’s stopped snoring.

“Morning,” His raspy voice greets you. 

“Good morning,” you respond as you yawn and roll over to face him. He smiles, kissing your cheek.

“I missed you,” He admits bashfully.

“I’ve been right here, babe,” You remind him, but he pouts.

“But I was asleep. I didn’t get to appreciate you,” He states, and you roll your eyes playfully.

“Come on, Romeo. Let’s get some breakfast and figure out what we’re doing today.” You push the covers off you, and Jungkook whines when the chill of the room hits his warm body.

“Babe,” he frowns as he shivers, tugging the covers back over him.

“Guess I’m showering alone,” You sing as you take off the oversized shirt you stole from him and head to the shower.

Jungkook curses as he gets tangled in the sheets in his hurry to join you.

Laundry was done, dishes were done, breakfast was eaten, and groceries had been ordered to be delivered at Jungkook’s place later this evening.

Jungkook laced his fingers with yours the moment you walked into the aquarium. His nose wrinkled when he got a whiff of the fishy scent but you were excited to see all the sea animals, so he kept his mouth shut.

Grinning, he holds his phone out to the ticket taker. They scan his phone twice and point to the entrance behind them.

“Where to first?” Jungkook asks as he pockets his phone. You can go straight or go left. You hum as you decide to go straight and follow the crowd. 

For a Thursday, it’s pretty empty. There are a few families and children about, but no school field trips or large groups. You relax, grateful you won’t have to crowd around others like at work.

Jungkook lets you lead him to the large tank with one huge fish swimming about. You read the information card aloud, and Jungkook listens attentively. He steps back to admire the brown fish, but soon screams with you when the fish swims upward, splashing in his tank and spraying the two of you.

“Yeah,” the nearby worker says. “He does that.”

“Good to know,” you utter as you wipe water off your arms. “Off we go.”

Chuckling, Jungkook follows you to the next tank and so forth until you reach a dark passageway that leads to a ginormous tank with a rainbow of fish swimming in schools or by themselves.

“Make way! Make way!” A loud voice shouts as people part ways, some across from you and some beside. There’s a worker with a flashlight walking backwards as a parade of penguins passes by.

You grab Jungkook’s arm in excitement, grinning when they waddle past you with the staff. In a little wagon, baby penguins sit with curious eyes as they’re led past you to continue the parade.

You hug Jungkook, kissing his cheek. “They were so cute!” 

Jungkook nods in agreement, his hand finding yours as you watch the tail-end of the Penguin Parade before you continue on your way.

After a snack break, Jungkook leads you to the shark tank. 

Scared, you clutch his hand as a hammerhead shark swims over your heads before it rests on the glass.

“That’s sturdy, right?” You ask Jungkook with wide eyes as the shark remains in place. 

“Should be,” Jungkook responds, but his arm drapes over your shoulders to pull you away from it. “But let's go over here just in case.”

The both of you continue on your path, learning about all the animals you can see. When you arrive at the penguins, you get excited.

“Think I can sneak in the tunnel to get a picture?” You ask Jungkook as a parent and their child exit the tunnel.

“Go for it, babe!” Jungkook encourages you to hand him your purse and phone, so he can take a picture of you in the clear circle right by the penguin habitat.

Jungkook watches as you drop to your knees, your skirt covering your ass and thighs, but he glares when he sees one of the father’s trying to look up your skirt.

Jungkook easily moves to the entrance of the tunnel to cover your behind, a dark brow raised in the direction of the father, who has the sense to flush and look away.

He could be pretty intimidating if he wanted to.

“Kook!” You wave from the penguins’ habitat.

“So pretty, love! Smile!” Jungkook instructs, though he doubts you could smile any wider whilst being surrounded by penguins. When you’ve had your fill, you crawl out and encourage Jungkook to have a turn.

“This looked easier when you did it,” Jungkook groans as his shoulders threaten to get stuck in the tunnel.

Giggling, you tell him to keep going until his head pops up.

“Smile!”

Jungkook does as he’s told, posing before he crawls out of the end of the tunnel. You show him the pictures, grinning madly as you take his hand.

Nearing the end of your excursion, you spot a pool with stingrays. You lean in close to watch them, a few kids feed them and a few of the stingrays splash you as they swim by to the feeding hands.

“Today was wonderful,” You tell Jungkook as you cling to his side. His cologne fills your nostrils, and you inhale him deeply as you shop around the gift shop. You find a small turtle magnet that you love, and Jungkook purchases it for you.

“A reminder of our date,” he says as he hands the tiny turtle to you.

“Thanks, baby,” You kiss his cheek before you head out the doors towards his SUV.

You’re not entirely sure how you ended up in this position. One moment, you were teasing Jungkook about his proposition, and now he was in the process of rearranging your insides… not that you were complaining.

“Jungkook,” you gasp as his hand wraps around your throat. Your back is pressed to his sculpted chest, his lips on your jaw as he pounds into you.

“Come on, babe. You can moan louder than that,” He laughs as he grips your hip with his other hand, squeezing to make your curse. 

“Jungkook,” you repeat, eyes closed as pleasure courses through every inch of your body. Your tits bounce with each of his thrusts, your moans filling his bedroom as he gently squeezes the sides of your throat.

“Just say you’ll think about it,” he whispers as he nips your earlobe. “Just think about it.”

“Fuck, yes! Okay? Yes,” you moan as you turn to kiss him before he can say something sarcastic. 

Instead of responding, his tongue meets yours as he slows the pounding of his hips, grinding against you instead.

His hand moves from your hip to your breast, a moan of your name muffled by your lips. 

Jungkook’s forehead rests against yours, ignoring the way you push back on him, trying to fuck yourself on his thick cock. 

“Really?” He asks with confirmation, his eyes displaying his apprehension.

“Really,” you take a moment to cup his face. “I want to move in, and not just because one rent payment is better than two.”

“I was trying to be convincing!” He protests, giggling as he pushes his hair out of his eyes.

“Yeah, babe,” You mock his voice dramatically. “You should move in, we’d save on rent and bills.”

“I don’t sound like that,” he snorts before he releases your throat. His lips meet yours again, easily weaving his tongue with yours as he holds you to him. Your back is arched in a ridiculous angle that will make you sore tomorrow, but you couldn’t care less as he kisses you as if his life depended on it.

“You do so,” you joke, and he easily pulls out of you.

Your back meets the pillows as you laugh. 

Jungkook hovers over you, his broad chest obscuring what little purple light he had allowed in his bedroom.

Quickly, Jungkook plants sloppy, wet kisses on your face, neck, and chest until your laughter mixes with his.

“Fuck, I love you,” He breathes, eyes sparkling with stars and hearts.

You pause, eyes wide, before you kiss him.

“I love you more,” you whisper as you caress his face. Jungkook stares down at you, ignoring the somersaults in his chest from his heart.

“Knew it,” he smirks before you grab his pillow and hit his shoulder with it.

Jungkook cackles as he takes the pillow from you, settling between your legs. You moan when his cock rubs against your thigh. 

“So easily distracted by my dick,” He coos sardonically.

“Shut up!”

“Gladly,” Jungkook replies before he captures your lips with his, your moan swallowed by his mouth as your legs wrap around his waist and he slides home once again.

Fuck, you love him.

Friday

Sleep clung to you as you parked in the lot. Jungkook chugged his energy drink, setting the empty can in the cup holder.

His long hair curled at the ends. His half-ponytail looked so hot on him. You would ruin it before you even made it into the building.

“Tonight should be good for tips,” he states as he looks at you. You don’t respond, just undo your seatbelt, ignoring the annoying dinging of the SUV as you move over the center console to climb onto Jungkook’s lap.

“Hello,” he giggles as his hands grip your hips.

Your hand finds the lever to move the seat back as your lips meet his. Jungkook moans as your tongue meets his. Fuck, you need him.

“Whoa!” he chuckles. “What’s got into you?”

“You, hopefully,” you giggle as you kiss him again, your hands going straight for his hair. Jungkook moans when you tug it, his hips rocking against yours. 

“Good boy,” you praise, and he groans gutturally. 

“Baby,” he whines, hiding his face in your chest. You laugh softly as you card your fingers through his hair.

“No need to be shy with me,” you remind him, kissing his cheek. “After all, you did ask me to move in with you.”

Jungkook can’t contain the grin that appears on his pretty pink lips. It had been a few months since he’d gotten his bottom lip pierced again. The silver hoops always got your attention when you’d look at him, and it made your heart flutter as you leaned in closer to kiss him.

Tonight was one of the busier nights this week. The air was balmy for late spring, which meant more customers would be out and about in the streets. You have been carpooling with Jungkook for a while now. He had more patience for the after-club traffic than you did. Trying to maneuver your way through cop cars, (hopefully) sober drivers, and rideshares made your head nearly pop. If Jungkook wanted to take on the horrific task of getting you both home safe, you’d let him.

Slowly, his hands move to your hips, his gaze locked on yours. “I can’t wait to wake up next to you every day.”

“You do that already, you clingy fuck,” You retort and he rolls his eyes before smacking your thigh sharply.

“But now you won’t have to leave me at night or for a few days to get more clothes.”

“True,” you nod as your hands move to his shoulders. You wanted to keep Jungkook all to yourself. He looked too damn fine to go to the bar and sell drinks to others. 

Without another word, your lips meet as his hands hike up your skirt to rest on your upper thighs. You undo the button of his pants, wishing he’d worn sweatpants instead for easier access.

“Again?” he asks with a silly smile.

“You look too good to not fuck before work,” You admit as you palm him over his pants. “Besides, if you weren’t expecting it, why did you get the backseat ready?”

Jungkook chuckles, shaking his head. “Fair enough. Why don’t you get your pretty ass back there so I can fuck you?”

Smiling, you nod as you carefully climb off Jungkook. His hand is at your hip as you take one step over the center console and fall hands-first onto the backseat that’s been pulled down and covered with soft blankets and a pile of pillows to keep you comfy.

You get on your knees to crawl forward, but Jungkook is on you before you can roll onto your back. He chuckles when you push back onto him, feeling the rough denim against your thighs.

“So needy,” Jungkook teases as his hand moves to your thighs, easily finding its home between them. 

“Jungkook,” you try (and fail) to scold him while pushing back onto him. “Don’t tease me.”

“It’s so easy, though,” He pouts in that cute way you love. It makes you rock your hips harder, growing needier as your shirt bunches up at your neck. You easily rip it off your body, tossing it into the blankets where you’ll regret it when your alarm goes off fifteen minutes later.

“We don’t have time,” you remind him as his fingertips brush your clit, and you bite back a moan as he dips his fingers into you. “Fuck.”

“We have all the time in the world, babe. There’s always time to get you creaming my fingers… or my cock.”

“Fuck, Kook,” you moan as he rubs your clit in the way you like. It has you seeing stars when your eyes shut, and his cologne and soft floral scent hit you. You want to breathe him in, make him one with you… if he’d just fuck you already!

Jungkook laughs, his head thrown back, cursing when he bumps the light overhead. You giggle in response, earning another spank before his hands grip your skirt, nearly tearing it as he pushes it out of the way. 

“Finally stopped wearing panties to work,” He praises you as his hand caresses your behind. You roll your eyes.

“You kept ripping them or losing them,” you huff as he moves his hand upward, past your stomach and straight to your tits.

“Mhmm,” he hums in response, only half listening now that your body is exposed to him. He only pauses to remove his shirt, carefully folding it onto the driver’s seat for work. Not that the ‘just fucked my girl in the backseat’ stink would lift off it.

Oh, well.

“Please, Kookie,” you whine when his hands are off your body for a moment too long. Jungkook smirks. He loves when you’re so wet and needy for him, begging for his cock, his fingers or his tongue.

One hand grips you, spreading you open for him, and you bury your face in a pillow, your cheeks hot as he exposes you to him. It’s not like he hadn’t been in every hole, devoured every bit of you entirely, but being so exposed and knowing he loved seeing you so, made your heart jump.

Jungkook eases two of his fingers into your cunt, groaning when you moan his name so sweetly. It goes straight to his cock. 

“Jungkook!” you exclaim when his tongue circles your tightest hole. You press back into him, cursing when he continues to fuck his fingers inside you, his thumb rubbing your clit while his tongue works wonders behind you.

When it comes to your body, Jungkook is an expert and it only takes a few moments to have you cumming, loudly.

You pant as your thighs shake from the orgasm. Jungkook smiles, pride fills his chest as he admires your body before he palms his cock over his boxers. At this point, he wondered why he bothered with underwear at all when things always ended with you bouncing on his cock, creaming him so good each time, it felt like an out-of-body experience.

“Want you,” you admit when you finally catch your breath. Your body craves him, needs him to fill you so good you’ll see stars, maybe even Heaven.

Jungkook doesn’t make you wait much longer; he lines himself up at your entrance and easily slides in.

He curses, his hands gripping your hips to steady himself. Pure pleasure and satisfaction overcame him, his face the picture of sin.

The SUV rocks with his thrusts, the windows are fogged, and the playlist he made for car fucks fades into the background. Your sanchrine moans are all he needs as he sets a steady pace. His hands are greedy, needy as they palm your breasts, hips, and ass. 

You fuck back into him, pleasure overriding every other emotion as he hits that one spot that makes you empty headed and nearly loopy. Fuck, how blessed were you to have an Adonis breaking you in half at any given moment.

You knew Yoongi would lose his shit again when he pulls into the parking lot and sees Jungkook’s car rocking, windows fogged, and a slight creak. Maybe he’ll spot Jungkook’s hand as it drags down the window as he readjusts—Titanic style.

Jungkook goes slow, grinding against you before you grab his hand, lacing your fingers with his. You kiss his hand, moaning his name as you arch further. 

“Fuck, just like that,” Jungkook growls. “Such a good girl for me, huh? Take every inch of my dick like a good slut.”

“Yes,” you respond, cursing when he hauls you to him, mindful of your head as he kisses you messily before his other hand moves between your legs to rub your clit.

“Can’t get enough of this dick,” He chuckles, eyes hooded and filled with lust. “Can’t get enough of me.”

You cling to his hand, nodding like a bobblehead as he fucks you harder, deeper until you cum on his cock, screadming his name until your voice grows hoarse.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunts as he holds you to him. A few more deep thrursts is all it takes for him to cum, his teeth biting your shoulder, causing you to cum again from the pain.

When he pulls out of you, you collapse onto the pillows with him at your side. Both of you stare at each other before smiling through your heavy breaths.

“Want to go again?” Jungkook asks with a smirk.

You playfully slap his chest, and he laughs, the sound music to your ears as you kiss him again. 

“We should call in sick,” Jungkook jokes as your alarm goes off.

“Don’t even think about it,” Yoongi’s voice startles the two of you as he knocks on the window with Jungkook’s handprint.

You groan as you scramble for your top while Jungkook pulls his boxers and pants over his thick, muscular thighs.

“What are you doing here?” You huff as your head pops through the neck hole of your shirt.

“Having a smoke,” Yoongi answers nonchalantly as he leans against the car door. You roll your eyes as Jungkook climbs over the center console into his seat after picking up his folded shirt. You wiggle your skirt down, hoping Jungkook has a pair of your panties in his pant pocket.

Slyly, Jungkook hands you a pair of folded pink panties and you put them on under your skirt before you settle into the passenger seat. 

Jungkook shuts off the SUV before he opens his door, then jogs to your side to open yours.

Yoongi takes another drag, shaking his head. “You two are nasty.”

“You’re the one watching us!”

“Wasn’t watching,” Yoongi shrugs as the smell hits him and he takes another deep drag. “Was waiting for you to finish so we can go in.”

“Hoseok, know you’re smoking again?” Jungkook asks, seeing right through his friend.

“Shut up,” Yoongi retorts as he finishes his cigarette.

“That’s a no,” you chime as you hand Jungkook your bag with your clothes. 

“Can you stop fucking in my parking lot?” Yoongi asks as he lights another cigarette, playing with his lighter before putting it away.

“Probably not,” You shrug as Jungkook locks the doors and sets the car alarm.

Yoongi sighs heavily, “I didn’t think so.”

Friday nights were awful.

The tips were good, the ambience was great, but fuck you were busy as you tried to scoot past Jimin to grab a bottle of liquor off the wall to pour into a shot glass.

“Behind you,” you warn as you step behind Taehyung, who is now a bartender and no longer a barback. 

Jungkook is at the end of the bar, smiling and flirting with a group of women here for a bachelorette party. They laugh at something he says before bills end up in his overflowing tip jar.

He thanks them with a wink before he gets their drinks.

Across the bar, Joon tries to politely decline one of the stragglers from the bachelorette party. When you squint, you see the white sash on her chest that reads ‘Bride-to-be’. Whoop! That is none of your business.

You turn to the next customer, leaning over the bar to hear them better.

A ghost of a touch is on your thigh, and you immediately know it’s Jungkook’s way of checking in on you.

Beside you, Jimin is dancing to the music, drawing attention and tips from the customers as the song ends and another one begins.

You rest against the bar during a lull in the crowd. Jimin pushes into your side playfully with a smile.

“Heard your man finally popped the question,” Jimin wiggles his eyebrows.

“We’re just moving in together,” You respond with a curious gaze.

“That’s what I meant,” Jimin nods as he grabs a water bottle and downs half of it.

“That’s not what pop the question means,” You roll your eyes at him, and he shrugs.

“What the hell do I know?”

“Anyway,” you grin. “He did ask, and I said yes.”

“Good,” Jimin smiles warmly. “The two of you are perfect together.”

“You think so?”

“Definitely,” Jimin answers before someone comes to the bar to ask for a shot and a mixed drink.

Midnight arrives faster than you think. 

“Take a break with Kook,” Yoongi says as he appears beside you behind the bar.

“What? You’re actually letting us take a break together?” you ask, incredulously. 

“I heard he asked you to move in. I’m in a romantic mood,” Yoongi shrugs. “Don’t make me regret it.”

“Aye, aye, boss!” You salute him, and he flips you off.

Laughing, you stand beside Jungkook as he places a cap on a bottle of liquor.

“Break time!” You shout over the music. 

Jungkook looks past you at Yoongi, who nods.

The two of you slip away from the bar, heading upstairs to the breakroom. You fan yourself as Jungkook gets you water.

“What’s got Yoongi in a giving mood?” Jungkook asks as he sits beside you on the couch.

“Heard you asked me to move in,” You explain as you hand him the bottle of water. Jungkook sips it before handing it back to you.

“Didn’t think it made headlines,” He laughs as he pulls you to his side. You lean into him, your hand on his thigh, until he laces his fingers with yours.

“Wait till they hear about our wedding,” You tease with a giggle. Jungkook kisses your forehead, grinning from ear to ear.

“I haven’t even proposed yet,” He giggles, his pretty eyes shining like the stars in the sky. 

“But you will,” You state, and he kisses you.

“I want it all,” Jungkook tells you as he brings your joined hands to his lips.